Standing highest on her toes to brush the concealed words against his ear, “Nae,” she whispered, fiercely.
His shoulder-length hair tickled her nose. She crushed her eyes closed. What was louder, her teeth chattering sounding like a hammer on an anvil, or the pounding from her heart filling her ears? Hard to tell.
The hand still holding her spine became firmer, pinning her arms between them with a silent message: he would grant her wish, but she heard him murmur. “Ssshhhh,” he soothed.
Raging hell, her teeth were going to give them away!
“Keirah!”
Nooooooooo.Lord Kollungr echoed right outside! If another bolt struck, they were found for sure.Clench the damn chatty teeth– no, this didn’t work despite her strongest effort. Her whole body began to shake the same as the leaves on the trees about them.
Aonghus pressed her closer, trying to calm or slow or stop her terror. A checkered mantle draped around his neck pressed her nose; she thrust her lips against…ugh, the wool tasted like the rancid slime on a toadstool; her throat tightened, releasing a gag reflex. What if she lost the few contents from her stomach? Lord Kollungr certainly could hearthat. Moving her lips over from his infernal mantel she rested her teeth on a warm and salty and secure collarbone, reflected to equal the rest of Aonghus’s monumental size.
Pressing her nose to his neck, a sigh exhaled from her nose at the solution; her teeth held quiet, while his hand on her back grew heavier alongside a low rumble vibrating his broad torso.
“Lord Kollungr,” Svørn said, distantly, “she fled this direction, the branches are broken.”
Maybe what they saw had happened when Aonghus ventured to this hidden location? Her teeth had quieted enough that Lord Kollungr didn’t hear her; he barked orders at Svørn. The Northern hunters were echoing farther away into the rain. Her shoulders lowered in what felt like the first time in years.
“Lass,” Aonghus murmured, “I am goin’ to take you from here and the pack of them. I shall protect you. Forthwith, you must remain silent, hold my hand all moments, move when I move, and when I pause to drag you close, you do this without question or consideration. Agreed?”
She removed her teeth reluctantly from the salty collarbone to whisper, “Aye.”
“Let us commence,” he said, approvingly.
He kept the axe in his right hand, but the left, his fingers roughened from warfare, lowered to intertwine with hers. Grabbing her sodden skirts with her free hand, she felt him tug gently; her feet moved on a will of their own to follow this Scotsman. He would see her safe and, if luck favored her, to King Alexander’s court. If luck didn’t favor her, she would beg.
The rain turned from sheets to mist when they emerged from the hollow trunk, as he paused. One swift pull and they were off into the night; she could see his stride shorten to accommodate hers.The Northman always dragged me if I could not keep up.The damp ferns smacking her bare knees frantically at the pace they kept took a calmer meaning at his presence. Her fingers unknowingly tightened around his.
They cleared the yew grove to re-enter the bulky pines. Was the direction they headed southward? Aye, south; she had come from the east and the Northmen had gone west, she guessed after the last bellow. Her shoulders lowered a notch, but her breath caught when Aonghus’s step pivoted suddenly before he had her crushed up against him behind one of the pines. The grizzled bark dug her spine.
“Lord Kollungr was seen charging this direction for Keirah,” hissed a Scottish voice belonging to Sturan MacNaller, Rudri’s distant clansman. He sounded close – too close. Rudri was a traitor to the Scottish crown, but Sturan was a killer of his own innocent countrymen. “Get goin’. You must return Lord Kollungr’s jewel, or he will be fierce at being looked at as a fool in King Håkonsson’s court. I will not have my alliance placed at risk for this Scottish wench. Brother, move!” It was possibly Seumas or Sorley, the evil brothers to Sturan she had never met, who was present.
A splash from footsteps caused her heart to pound in her ears again. They were on the opposite side of the tree they were hidden behind! Had her guide known this in the pitch dark? His cheek brushed her brow with his stubble coarse over her temple; she bit her lip to keep from asking, then gave a whimper when he roughly dragged her into the next sprint southward.Move to keep up lest we are discovered.
Was it minutes or hours? Everything turned to a blur by the footrace, ducking behind makeshift obstacles for concealment whenever a member belonging to the hunting party surfaced, till her Scottish beast stole her into the night.
Chapter 2
Keirah’s eyes looked out over the valley stretching below. Forever. It seemed forever since they had lost the Northmen; the rain had stopped, even a crusted moon could be seen overhead, with her hand remaining tucked tightly within Aonghus’s grip. Was he worried she would bolt on him? He hadn’t spoken a word other than advising in a grunt for her to mind her step when a log or root blocked the forested path. The discussion, nope, it couldn’t keep any longer.
She asked quietly: “MacCade, where are we venturing?”
“South,” he answered, gruffly. “A cavern is down this ridge. We are to hold a conversation once there, commencing with how you know my name, Cluaran.”
He called her ‘thistle’ in Scottish Gaelic; why? Perhaps it was her odd auburn hair color. It had drawn many a curiosity when she was in Bjørgvin before King Håkonsson’s court due to its darkest undertones, same as a thistle’s flower’s base.
“Aye, Aonghus MacCade,” she retorted, “however, ’tis KeirahnotCluaran.”
He paused a step. Oh, raging hell, had she had pushed too hard? She really knew nothing about his temper, only the brief glimpse in the foreshadow. Heaven knew the Northman had dented her cheek on more than one occasion for her quips orstubborn streak. Instead of a palm across the jaw, she observed him taking a long hard look over her features, almost studying her before meeting her eyes. A grin shadowed across his lips; the teeth, pale as the moon above, shone against the beard. Her lashes widened at the strange uptick in her pulse by his action. Damn, he was handsome, but he was not to be trusted. Scotsman or not – the others they had just raced from, such as Sturan and his brother, had taught her this grim fact.
“’Tis simply Aonghus I answer to,” he advised, to her surprise, with a dry chuckle. “Keirah suits you, lass, but I also find you prickly in manner as a cluaran. Now move.” She lurched forward when he tugged her – hard. Ugh!
***
Aonghus wouldn’t let her go till he could decide what to do. It wasn’t every evening when he would seek refuge from a storm only to have a lass with eyes in a unique dark thistle color happen across his path. Well, it actually had never happened before. Even drenched, one would have to be blind not to see a bonny quality hidden beneath the muddied slop. Not that it mattered.None of it matters, do not be a fool. After all suffered in the past regarding trust, be wise, do not grow any sentiment toward this prickly lass.
What was his first consideration? The Northern bastards were seeking a wee bit of enjoyment in raping a local lass. But once the name King Håkonsson came across the air, it became apparent the lass was more than a roll in the hay to the Northmen. Also, who the hell was the Scot arriving at the end? Could it have been Sturan? His palm unconsciously tightened on hers at the reflection about the traitor to King Alexander whom he had been charged with finding. Was that the wind or a whimper from his newly acquired travel companion? Dragging the lass down a steep incline toward the cavern, the pebblesunderfoot were slippery, but he yanked hard, needing her to move hastily.
