Ruthless (27 page)

Even amidst a violent summer storm, his body
would know she was near.

'Twas Muriele.

Muriele stood outside the great entrance
doors to the keep. Her hands clutched the wool shawl around her
shoulders. Not for the first time, she wondered how men could go
about without as much as a thin shirt covering their chest and
back. True, they did have the end of their kilt thrown over one
shoulder and tucked beneath the weapons belt at their back. Even
so, most of their flesh was bare to the elements.

The early morning light was enough to see two
men on their warhorses racing across the drawbridge as if they were
carefree younglings playing catch-me-if-you-can. A burst of
laughter floated to her. She strained in hopes she'd hear it again,
for Magnus had never laughed heartily before. She knew it was he
for a blur of white, surely Odin, streaked ahead of the other horse
as they reached the end of the drawbridge.

A dozen knights and their squires trailed
them at a canter. By the looks of their taut arms, she sensed they
longed to let their mounts have their way and gallop after
them.

How long would Magnus be gone? Hmpf! He'd not
even bothered to wake her and say he was leaving. She would be
grateful not to endure his unwelcome bed sport. Her cheeks heated
with the memory of just how
unwelcome
her body had been
throughout the night. One touch of his calloused fingertips on her
bare flesh was enough to send heated throbs of anticipation betwixt
her thighs.

The thought of it made her cross her legs as
if she had a sudden need to pee. She startled when Grunda's voice
spoke softly behind her.

"Dinna worry. He will return within a
fortnight. Sooner if he can. His dreams will plague him and make
his sleep restless."

"Worry? I welcome having him gone. Even more
welcome would be his not returning."

"Tsk!" Grunda sucked her teeth. One bony
finger prodded Muriele's shoulder. "Ye'd best pray the Devil is too
busy tormenting souls to hear ye."

"Tsk yerself! I dinna care if he hears me.
With Magnus gone, he canna be ordering my every move."

Grunda shook her head. "Be careful for what
ye wish for. One day Lucifer might send Magnus on a needless
journey. Then ye'd learn just how much ye longed for his
return."

Muriel grasped the wool beneath her chin,
warding off a sudden gust of cold air. Clouds were creeping in over
the mountaintops to the east. She'd hoped for a warm day to work
with Grunda on the herb garden. She could even take a stroll
through the orchards picking up pears, plums and apples. Ivar the
Stout's wife would be pleased for the fresh fruit to make
pasties.

"Come back to the hut. Barley broth is
warming by the fire and fresh baked scones. I have yer favorite
raspberry sauce to trickle over them."

Muriele's stomach growled reminding her she'd
eaten little last eve.

When she turned to follow Grunda down the
stairs, her muscles reminded her of Magnus' appetites of another
kind.

o0o

Muriele's days passed painfully slow. She and
Esa spent much of their time together. After they had mended all of
Magnus' clothing and their own, the only outlet for their energy
was to work in the herb garden with Grunda. They helped the old
seer gather herbs and make potions. Muriele didn't have enough to
keep her mind occupied, nor ample exercise to work off the energy
of her healthy body.

At Blackbriar, her mother had trained her to
take over the responsibility of a keep when she married. She had
been busy from sunrise to sundown. Once abed, she'd had no trouble
sleeping.

Now, her nights were restless. When she did
sleep, she awoke with heavy breasts and heat throbbing through her
woman's place. She spent half the night pounding her pillows and
pretending she enjoyed having the bed to herself.

One day, after they had bathed and dressed
and were awaiting the evening meal, Muriele sat cross-legged on the
bed. Esa walked around Magnus' big chair, studying it from all
sides. Finally, she flashed a bright smile at Muriele and plopped
down in it.

"Ow!" She sprang up and rubbed her buttocks.
"What a monstrous hard chair! I'll sport bruises on my nether
cheeks."

"When Magnus lounges there, he always looks
comfortable."

Muriele slid off the bed and went over to try
the chair. Forewarned, she eased herself down on it.

"Ugh!" She murmured and tried to scoot to the
chair's back "Never have I sat in a more troublesome seat. Mayhap
because the chair is overlarge?"

She gave up searching for a comfortable spot
and stood. She took her pillow from the bed and placed it on the
chair before she sat again.

"Ah. Much better."

She wriggled around and sighed again. Her
muscles were sore from spending the morning on her knees tending
the smaller plants.

"Magnus sits on his bare arse when his kilt
rides up in back. Ye would think it would be a discomfort to his,
uh, dangling parts," Muriele said with a wide smile.

"Surely he finds it as hard as we do?"

"Aye, 'tis likely. He often leans forward
with his elbows on his knees. Do ye think perchance he tries to cup
his stones betwixt his thighs?" Muriele paused then snorted,
"Pah!"

"What is it?"

"I am a fool to think about
his
comfort. He destroyed every comfort I had."

"I think the blame lies with Lord Baldor. Sir
Magnus warned him to surrender. All in Scotland know when Sir
Magnus speaks they'd best heed his words."

"True. But because of him, I'll never make a
suitable marriage. Why could he not have been content with killing
Baldor? Did he have to ruin me, too?"

"I am sorry for it. Everyone at Blackbriar
paid for Baldor's stubborn pride."

"Aye." Muriele's shoulders slumped. "I was
trained from a child to run a keep. To be a lord's wife. He
stripped all from me. He forces me to be his servant. His leman. He
didn't even offer a handfast." She flushed. "I'll always hate him
for it."

Seeing the haunted look in Esa's eyes,
Muriele was shamed for being so insensitive with her friend. She
remembered her unease when Feradoch had stalked over to Esa's body
crumpled on the floor. He had seemed triumphant. Like a man who
claimed the spoils from a war fought for his amusement. Grunda's
face had set in grim lines when she watched.

Muriel swallowed, uneasy. Was Feradoch
forcing Esa to be his leman?

o0o

Fortunately, for Magnus, dark clouds overhead
waited until they crossed the Helmsdale River before they pelted
the travelers with showers so cold as to be near hail. He didn't
complain. They'd had several encounters with men too thick between
the ears to be wary of attacking them. A good fight loosened their
muscles and warmed their bodies.

Glancing behind him, he saw why the fools had
been so bold as to attack. To a stranger, the bedraggled men
appeared harmless, too hefty around the gut to put up a good fight.
Few weapons showed. What the attackers hadn't seen was the quantity
of swords, flails, war hammers and knives beneath the wet
plaids.

Whenever they stopped and watered their
horses, the men rummaged through leather saddlebags to find tidbits
saved from their last meal. As they chewed on stale bannocks, they
tended their weapons with dry cloths.

The thick canopy provided by the dense forest
gave them some protection. Thankfully, the clouds finally emptied.
Looking ahead, he spied an area large enough for a good-sized camp.
When daylight started to wane, Magnus called a halt.

A small stream ambling alongside provided
water for drinking and perhaps a quick bath, while plentiful
branches and ferns were available to build lean-to shelters for the
night. He would relish sleeping without rain dribbling into his ear
and seeping through his wet clothing.

"What do ye think, Feradoch? Are ye ready to
rest yer bones?"

"Huh! It'll take more than a night," he said
with a wry smile.

"Aye. If we build a round of fires, it should
be ample warmth to dry our clothing."

He turned in the saddle and gave orders for
the squires and servants to hunt dry kindling for fires then
branches and ferns to build shelters. The knights would see to
their own horses. He motioned Brian off when he stepped over to
take Odin.

"Nay, I'll see to him. Tend yer own
mount."

Sweyn and Magnus led their animals down to
the stream where they both stopped to drink. At the same time, Odin
drank then threw up his head and shook it, neighing softly.

"Nothing like a cold drink when ye're tired,
eh, boy?"

He stood and rubbed Odin's neck and shoulders
while the great horse drank his fill. When it snorted and stepped
back, Magnus led him to the campsite and removed his saddle.

"Ye must be glad the day is done. If ye could
speak, ye'd have demanded I hie myself off yer back and walk, would
ye not?"

Odin shook his head and snorted. Magnus
chuckled as he began to rub him down.

"When ye rear and buck, are ye trying to tell
me so?"

He stopped and patted Odin's neck, then
scratched between its ears. While brushing the horse, Magnus kept
up a steady stream of soft comments, telling Odin what a valued,
stalwart steed he was.

When he spread the saddle blanket over its
broad back to ward off the night's chill, Feradoch laughed behind
him.

"You treat the horse like he is your leman.
He's naught but a foolish animal."

"Hmpf! A warhorse is nay foolish. In battle,
he has saved my sorry arse and struck down opponents I couldna
reach with my sword. Do ye not value Thor?"

"He carries my weight," he said and shrugged.
"The beast responds to commands because he knows my whip stings and
my spurs prod him if he doesn't. I don't waste foolish words on
him."

Thor snorted and pawed the ground trying to
get at Odin. Impatient with the black horse, Feradoch yanked on the
reins and led him to the far side of the fire where his knights had
tethered their own mounts.

"That one gives nary a thought to anything
living unless it eases his comfort," Sweyn muttered behind
Magnus.

"He has changed since we returned to
Kinbrace."

Magnus frowned, disliking that he'd noted the
difference throughout this last visit. Never before had Feradoch
uttered such sly comments about Clibrick under the guise of an
innocent, smiling face. And though Magnus had chosen to ignore
them, his instincts told him 'twas a good thing this spring would
see the end of their fostering.

By the time Magnus and Sweyn had taken a
quick dunking in the stream, several good-sized fires chased the
chill away. Within the warm circle of fires, servants had built
drying racks out of sticks and spears then placed the damp plaids
over them.

Magnus and Sweyn wiped cold water off their
naked bodies and walked over to stand in the circle. Magnus bent at
the waist and reached his arms over the glowing heat to rub them
dry.

"Dangle your randy cock any nearer the flames
and you'll not be swiving the witch's get when you return." Behind
Magnus, a man sniggered and belched. "Her rosy lips look ample for
a big, burnt cock. Cold well water will cool her mouth when you
pump your seed there."

Magnus stiffened. His flesh was no longer
chilled but near aflame. His fists convulsed with suppressed rage.
Loathing welled like bile from his belly. He slowly turned. 'Twas
one of Feradoch's knights. The fool grinned and held up a beefy
hand to thrust his middle finger in and out of his mouth in vulgar
imitation, all the while sucking and making noises like a lass near
a climax.

He near bit his finger off when Magnus' left
hand flashed out to clamp steely fingers around his hairy neck.
Grabbing the knight's left wrist, he twisted it backward and up
between his shoulder blades. One fierce blow from his bare foot to
the backs of the man's legs sent him to his knees, squealing like a
stuck pig.

Hardened warriors scurried backward. Growls,
as chilling as an angry wolf's, rumbled from Magnus' chest and
spilled from his twisting lips. His breathing rasped. He steadily
forced the knight's face toward the hot embers at the fire's
edge.

The screech of a sword drawn from a sheath
filled the air.

Magnus ignored it.

"Come now! You canna harm my man over a
jest," Feradoch protested.

Magnus paid no heed.

"Hold back!" Sweyn ordered. "'Twould be
unwise to meddle with Magnus after the fool stoked his rage."

Magnus felt Sweyn's bare leg touch the side
of his hips. He heard him draw his sword.

Steadily, Magnus forced the knight's nose
toward the hot embers, near burying it there. The man screamed and
jerked. Magnus held his thrashing body firmly while he counted to
five. He leapt to his feet, pulling the dolt up with him. Still
clamping the howling man's arm, he shoved him to the stream. A
swift kick to his arse propelled him into the icy water.

"Dinna ever stick yer nose in my business or
mention the lady again. If ye do, 'tis yer cock I will singe!"

At the bellowed words, birds already abed for
the night, rustled branches as they took flight.

The knight spluttered and tried to crawl out
of the cold water.

"Fool! Keep yer nose beneath the water to
draw the heat out."

Magnus turned to find Sweyn still guarded his
back, though there was no need. His men stood close by wearing
grins. He thought to see Feradoch's knights armed to the teeth.

None had drawn a sword.

Faces solemn with admiration, nodded

He grunted. He retrieved his near dried kilt
and gathered it around his waist. He went to sit beneath a gnarled
oak tree, his back against the trunk, facing the camp.

With half his attention on the men and their
duties, he puzzled why his temper had flared so quickly. The
knight's comments were no worse than usual for men gathered
together. No doubt, at times he had been as course himself.