Ruthless (7 page)

o0o

Olaf wiped his brow and pulled back in the
shade, letting his foster-son take the lead. Magnus patted Odin's
neck, easing not only the horse's tension but his own. He always
enjoyed a good fight. He could not judge today's as one of them. It
did not take long for the Kinbrace men to subdue the raiders. But
some louts were more cowardly than others. Three such men stood
together, the one in the center slightly ahead like a spear. Each
man clutched a villager's child against their chest to escape the
two-bladed axes he and Feradoch wielded.

He edged forward as he fingered his weapon's
long handle. His mouth tightened. Noting Feradoch's black Thor
stamped and snorted, ready to burst forward, he motioned his foster
brother to hold back. He stared at the first lout backing away. His
left arm clutched a young boy's waist so tightly his frightened
face turned red.

"Put the lad down."

He led Odin a step closer. The man snarled
and tightened his hold even more as he took another backward
step.

"I willna tell ye again."

He was bone tired. Heat from his helmet near
made his head steam. His lids narrowed as he decided. The young boy
was brave lad, trying hard not to cry. He stared at him until their
gazes met.

"Lad. Obey."

The boy gave the slightest nod.

"Bend at the waist. Now!"

Magnus' bellowed command demanded obedience.
Quickly, the boy did as Magnus told him and folded over the louts
arm—just in time.

Whoosh!

The speed of the two-bladed axe as it sliced
the air created a breeze.

Blood spurted. The man's face froze in
shocked surprise less than a heartbeat before his head flew through
the air to bounce along the hard ground in front of the hut.

At first, the dying man's arm convulsed then
slacked. As hot blood showered over him, the boy's shrieks sent
birds from the trees into flight. Screaming, he broke free and ran.
Unthinking in his need to put distance between himself and the
twitching body, he near overtook the rolling head until an old
woman blocked his path and caught him up in a tight embrace.

The other louts took but one look at Magnus
and Feradoch's faces and read their fate. They dropped their human
shields, turned and made a mad dash for the woods beside the
huts.

The thunder of Odin and Thor's hooves, along
with Feradoch's wild laugh were the last sounds they heard.

Olaf left with several men to return to the
castle, but Magnus did not leave the village until he talked to the
men and women and learned what they needed. He found the old woman
who had helped the young boy. She guessed his age as near twelve
years old but said he was smaller than most because he had little
enough food. He had been a newborn when dropped off at the village
in the dead of night, wrapped in a cloth still wet from the
birthing.

The woman who took him in named him Gille.
She had died of a fever this past winter. Since then, the other
families fed him what they could, without starving their own
bairns. Magnus thanked her for her kindness and gave her a
coin.

He promised the villagers wagons of thatch to
repair their roofs, a dozen chickens and a cow to replace the one
killed by a wayward axe. It did not take long to see things set to
rights.

Still, he would not leave. One last duty
remained. 'Twas a deed that always caused Feradoch to shake his
head with disgust and call him a weakling for it. Magnus and his
men helped the villagers bury their dead, though Feradoch fumed at
the duty.

Magnus never left a battle with slain men
above the ground who had fought honorably. He had no such qualms
about cowards. For them, he had the men haul their bodies with
ropes tied to their ankles deep into the woods.

Soon after the noon hour, they left the
village. The boy Gille sat on Odin's haunches, his thin arms
clutching Magnus around the waist.

o0o

Frightened by Muriele's anguished screams,
forest creatures scurried away. Frantic, she ran around the
clearing looking for signs of her mother's body. Loud sobs tore at
her throat. Had wild animals already feasted on her loved one?
Would she find bones and pieces of her scattered around the forest?
She fell to her knees and rocked back and forth, keening. Time had
denied her this last act of kindness for a well-loved mother who
had given her the best of care.

Grunda, gasping and stumbling, crashed
through the brush and stopped. Her gaze scanned the area looking
for the cause of such dire keening. Nothing threatened Muriele.
Puzzled, she knelt beside her and stroked the young woman's
hair.

"What is it? Has some strange creature
threatened ye?"

Never before had Muriele cried where anyone
could see her weakness. She had been stoic these past days, holding
back her grief until she was alone. Shaking her head, she put a
hand to her mouth and choked back a sob.

"Nay. Mother's body. It's gone!"

"Ye are sure this is the right spot?"

"Aye." She pointed to a flattened area ten
paces ahead. The disturbed ground and darkened stains on the
crushed grass and leaves proved the louts had murdered her
there.

After Grunda walked around the whole clearing
and searched beyond, she came back, shaking her head.

"No signs of animals. Only horses and men
have been here. But they could be from when the patrol found
ye."

"Aye." Muriele whimpered and gazed up at her
with grief-stricken eyes. "What can I do?"

"Naught, child." Grunda held out her hand and
urged Muriele to her feet. "Come. Let us go to the bothy. Ye will
want Ragnhild's things about ye."

Muriele nodded. She would collect her
mother's comb and brush, and the pewter clasp that swept her
mother's hair back from the sides of her face. After they fled
Blackbriar, Ragnhild had hidden two rings and a silver chain in a
small box in the ground beneath where she slept. Ragnhild's wedding
ring from Lord Colban was a silver band with twisted gold around
the rims and two gold trinity knots with a blood-red stone between
them. He'd said it symbolized his heart.

The second ring was Lord Colban's given to
him by King David when he made him Baron of Blackbriar. 'Twas heavy
gold carved with Celtic designs and set with a large bloodstone
from Iona.

Once Lord Baldor arrived at Blackbriar, her
mother had hidden the rings.

Her only other treasure was the soap her
mother made because Muriele favored the scent of apple blossoms. On
the first sunrise of May, her mother had worked her spells beneath
the wild apple tree. It was in full bloom, its scent sweetening the
air. When Ragnhild made the soap, she'd added a hint of
spice-scented oil to the blossoms to add mystery to the scent.

When they reached the hut, Muriele calmed her
breathing before she entered the familiar room. Built much like
Grunda's hut, they had used it mostly for sleep and the making of
potions. She moved aside the pallets and taking a small garden
trowel, quickly unearthed the box. With tears streaming down her
cheeks, she secured the chain and rings around her neck. The feel
of them between her breasts made her feel her mother and father
were watching over her.

Time passed quickly as they collected those
medicinal things that lost their potency if left too long. They
would take them back to Kinbrace with them.

Muriele tied her belongings into a small
bundle, her treasures safely locked in the center. She and Grunda
would carry the bundles slung around their shoulders and backs.
'Twas only when they heard the soft huff of horses and the creak of
leather they realized the day had sped faster than they had
reckoned.

Muriele grabbed her spare bow and quiver of
arrows she always kept beside the door. She nocked an arrow, ready
to speed it through some churl's throat. Had she not moved back
several paces, the door would have swept her to the floor when it
crashed open.

o0o

Magus was furious. Nary a man at Kinbrace
dared to disregard his orders. Yet a mere slip of a girl defied him
the moment he turned his back!

Nay, he corrected himself as he glared down
the length of the arrow aimed at his throat. She was not a mere
slip at all, but sleek and long-legged. Her rigid body spoke of
tension ready to explode. Curly, wheat-colored hair fell wild
around her face. Puffy and rimmed with red, her almond shaped eyes
stared back into his. He watched their near golden flecks darken to
deep amber, spitting fire at him. Muriele looked like a cornered
animal ready to kill.

Humph! He spied the bundles beside the door.
Whatever she'd cried about before was as nothing compared to the
reason she'd soon have. She belonged to him

His lips quivered with the snarl rumbling up
from his chest. He had expected her to drop the bow when she saw
who faced her. She didn't. She stood, resolute. With full lips
pressed together, the muscles in her shoulders and arms taut,
Muriele was a picture of stubborn determination. Magnus' eyes
narrowed further at this display of strong will.

"Ye disobeyed me." His words seemed to bounce
against the walls of the small room.

"In what way?" She widened her stance,
balancing herself firmer.

Her throaty, sensual voice stirred something
in his gut. He snorted at her reply.

"Ye fled Kinbrace after I warned ye I wouldna
allow it."

The arrow quivered a trifle. She started to
shake her head then thought better of it while she was trying to
keep her eyes on her target.

"She wasna fleeing Kinbrace," Grunda said as
she walked over to stand beside Muriele.

"Pfft. Her bundles are beside the door."

"Tis to take back to the castle. Potions and
salves will spoil without looking after them. Some personal items
and such, is all."

"She could have asked for them to be brought
to her."

"She had a more personal matter to attend."
Grunda stopped and looked at Muriele, giving her a chance to
speak.

"I came to bury my mother." Muriele spoke
slowly, the words forced through her stiff jaw. "I couldn't leave
her for forest creatures and animals to...to devour." She halted
and swallowed. "I came too late."

To his surprise, silent tears trailed a path
down her high cheekbones. She blinked them away, appearing shamed,
and clamped her teeth tight seeking composure.

His anger eased, though he still planned to
punish her for disobeying him. If he did not, she would believe him
weak. She was a woman who would defy him at every chance.

"Ye should have sought my permission."

"I tried this morn. Ye didna let me."

"Put the bow down."

Magnus waited. Though Muriele looked
undecided, she didn't obey. She shook her head, the movement so
slow he almost didn't see it. He took a deep breath to cool his
temper. And lost.

His bellow near scattered thatch off the
roof.

"Put the bow down!"

Magnus' right hand whipped out. Steely
fingers clamped around hers on the bow, locking the arrow there.
His teeth clamped so tightly together the muscles in his jaw
jerked. Staring into her defiant eyes, he pried her hand from the
weapon. His first instinct was to break the bow over his knee. He
thought better of it and tossed it to the ground.

"Come!"

Instead, Muriele backed away. He grabbed her
by the scruff of her neck and forced her ahead of him. She flailed
her arms around trying to break his hold. When she attempted to pry
his hand from the base of her skull, she may as well have tried to
move fingers forged to her skin.

Magnus snorted. Unlike the day before, he
left her feet on the ground to do their own walking. It seemed the
only way this woman obeyed an order was to grip her neck and force
her. He ignored his men on horseback as he propelled her around the
left side of the bothy.

"Did ye think to look in yer own
surroundings?

He led her thirty paces through the trees
until they came to the apple tree growing wild and lonely. On the
ground beneath stood an oblong mound heavily covered with stones
and rocks to discourage animals from digging.

Muriele let out a lonely cry then burst from
his hand to fall on her knees beside the cairn. She leaned over to
pat the stones then spoke rapidly in the language of her Celtic
ancestors, saying prayers for her mother's soul.

Grunda knelt opposite her, echoing her words
in a soft, strong voice. At the end of their prayers, Grunda
spoke.

"Bend yer head for me, lass."

Muriele did.

Grunda pulled a small knife from a sheath in
her worn kirtle. The maker had made the hilt from a rowan tree and
carved into the wood the Pictish Double Disc symbolizing the two
worlds, the here-and-now and the 'otherworld.' The knife cut the
cord of life leading from mother to child after birthing. Magnus
strong hand gripped her wrist before she could move.

"Dinna fear. I would cut a lock of Muriele's
hair to leave with her mother."

Magnus eased his hand away but remained
watchful. Grunda took seven long hairs from the curls falling down
Muriele's back and followed them up to her scalp. She covered all
but the very tip of the blade before cutting the hairs close to the
skin. Asking Muriele to hold them at the top end, she carefully
braided them together.

Once Grunda finished, she searched for a
long, thin stone and wrapped the hair twice around before knotting
it tight. Chanting as she did so, she stood and held the stone
high, facing north, east, south and west then back to north.

She fell to her knees at the head of the
cairn and began moving stones until she reached the dirt below.
With great care, she scratched out a shallow basin, then put the
rock in it and covered it with grass, leaves and dirt. When she
replaced all the stones atop it, she stood, satisfied.