Ruthless (8 page)

"No matter where ye be Muriele, yer mother
will always know where to follow and protect ye."

Muriele nodded, gave the stones one last pat
and stood.

"How did ye know someone had buried her
here?" She asked Magnus in a hoarse voice.

A bark of laughter split the air, and for the
first time Muriele must have realized he had not come alone.
Feradoch stood, his shoulders propped against a tree, grinning at
her. His face looked as pure as a newborn bairn despite having as
much blood splattered over his clothing as was on Magnus.

"Ye did this kindness?" she asked.

"Me? Nay. A dead body doesna know or care
what happens to it. He pushed away from the tree and straightened.
"'Tis a dafty compulsion of your master.
He
canna leave a
body aboveground. He and Sweyn saw to it last eve whilst we grown
men were swiving."

"Enough, Feradoch. I grow tired of yer
yattering."

Feradoch's eyes heated. He'd been subtly
prickling Magnus since he had gone to Clibrick Castle for his
fortnight there. Magnus didn't know what the cause was. Could he be
testing his loyalty to see if he could provoke a fight between
them?

Yestereve, he had studied Feradoch's face
when Olaf asked his son if he hadn't had manly training at
Clibrick. When Feradoch asked why, Olaf grumbled Feradoch's body
was not as muscled as Magnus'.

Feradoch's pale blue eyes had turned murky
gray.

Magnus stepped back from the women.

"Come. We leave now."

He waited to see if the woman obeyed.

o0o

Muriele looked one last time at the cairn
then turned back to the bothy. She made haste to keep up with his
long strides through the woods to the hut. She didn't want to give
him an excuse to grab her neck again.

'Twas a strange thing. When he had forced her
to the horse trough the day afore, he had hoisted her in the air
like she weighed no more than a fowl about to be axed. A small
quiver went through her. Today, his strong fingers on her neck had
not felt cruel. She knew he could have tightened them enough to
break the bones there if he chose. His hand had been firm to make
sure she went where he led, but not so harsh they bruised her
flesh.

When they came back to the hut, he pointed to
two men and ordered, "Take the bundles beside the door and tie them
to yer saddles." He waited until they did as he asked before he
pulled the door tightly closed.

He nodded to his commander, "Sweyn, Grunda
will ride behind ye."

Taking Grunda's waist, he hoisted her up to
sit behind the man. She settled herself and grasped Sweyn's waist,
avoiding his weapon's belt. Magnus nodded satisfied the old woman
would be secure.

He looked at Muriele and debated on tossing
her up behind Feradoch's squire but saw the lust shining from his
eyes when he looked at the lass. He could take her up behind
himself. If he did, he wouldn't be able to wield his weapons if
someone attacked them. Before he could speak, Feradoch did.

"Give the lass to me. I will keep her safe if
any brigands be in the area." His blue eyes held no expression, nor
did his face.

"Come, girl. We have tarried long
enough."

Magnus wrapped his hands around her waist.
For truth, she was slender, for his fingertips near met each other.
It took no great effort to lift her to sit behind Feradoch. The
horse, Thor, sidled, near upsetting her until she grabbed Feradoch
around the middle. Feradoch smiled and took her hands, pulling her
closer. A flash of heat from his eyes told Magnus he relished her
breasts against his back.

He regretted giving his blood brother that
pleasure instead of himself.

o0o

Muriele held tight, for the horse pranced and
stomped and seemed to dislike carrying the extra burden. Feradoch
didn't seem to mind and let the beast have his way. Once Magnus
started ahead, the rest fell in line behind him. Though they
traveled fast, the gait evened out and she felt more secure.

Now she wasn't afeared of falling, she tried
to pull away so she didn't fit against him like a second surcoat.
He didn't let her. One hand moved to clamp over hers, keeping her
in her place.

It was not unpleasant feeling the muscles
playing across his back. Far from it. Her breasts hardened and she
wondered what his hot, bare flesh against hers would feel like. She
brought herself back to reality when she realized his hand moved
hers lower against his stomach. The blood on the surcoat was still
wet. Sticky.

Repulsed by the feel of it, she began to note
the odor as well. The mingled smell of blood and sweat sickened
her. She turned her head, lifting her face as far away from him as
she could, welcoming the fresh pine scent of the forest. He felt
her movement.

"Ye best get used to the stench of blood
around Magnus. Did ye know he can lop the head off a man with one
swift stroke and yet on the return swing chop off another's?"
Feradoch laughed when she startled in surprise. "Aye. His
double-headed axe is as a second arm to him. And ye must have seen
the fighting flail he used to defeat your stepfather."

"And what is yer favorite weapon?"

"My Claymore when not fighting ruffians. With
rabble, I favor the hooked spear."

To her eyes, she deemed Feradoch's clothing
and horse more blood-soaked than Magnus'. She had not realized the
broadsword was bloodier than the axe.

When they rode into the front bailey of the
castle, Magnus began barking orders.

"Collect yer clothing. Be quick about
it."

Muriele startled and looked up at him. His
voice seemed filled with ire, and with the look he gave her, he
blamed her for his temper.

Instead of swinging her to the ground,
Feradoch was up and off the horse in one easy movement. He stood
with arms outstretched. His hands brushed against her breast when
he caught her beneath her arms and plucked her off Thor's back.

Holding her close, he lowered her slowly
against his body. Her breath caught at the lust in his eyes. She
could not mistake the long hard shaft pressing into her belly
before her feet touched the ground. Trying to put distance between
them, she pushed at his chest.

"Feradoch."

The sound at her back was just above a
whisper.

Feradoch grinned and winked at her. What
ailed him? Did he not hear the menace in Magnus' cold voice? 'Twas
far more than if he'd bellowed the name.

"Get what clothes ye need, lass, and bring
them to my bedchamber."

His black gaze swept over her, causing her to
edge away.

"I wish to bide with Grunda."

"I dinna wish it. I canna trust ye when my
back is turned." Magnus' eyes slanted at Feradoch, letting him know
he realized what he'd been doing. "Ye will be within my sight until
ye learn to obey."

"I wasna running away."

Hands on her hips, Muriele frowned and backed
away. She didn't want to share his room. He was a man. Her mother
had warned her, men didn't have a woman in their room unless it was
to keep them handy for bed sport. She'd no sooner allow him to
force her than yestereve's louts.

"Dinna argue. Ye thought to disobey me
without any consequence. By rights, I should thrash ye for it. When
ye prove I can trust ye, I will allow yer return to Grunda. Collect
yer clothing and be there, else Sweyn will do it for ye."

o0o

Magnus waited until he saw the men hand down
their bundles to the two women then motioned the warriors to the
stables. He wheeled Odin, giving her no more chance to argue. If
she had, he'd be sorely tempted to treat her roughly.

When they arrived at the stables, Gille came
to wait beside him as he dismounted. Hesitantly, the boy looked at
the great white horse and held out his hand to take the reins, eyes
wide with fear. Magnus was pleased the lad wanted to prove his
worth, but there were duties other than handling the big
gelding.

"Brian will take the horse, lad." He turned
to his squire. "Have him help ye with washing down Odin so the
horse will get to know him." He looked at the boy and noted how
dirty he was. How long had it been since he'd had a good washing?
"Do both horse and lad at the same time. I canna tell the color of
his hair. Find him clean clothing, too."

"Aye, I will, my lord. I can place a pallet
beside my own in the warrior's tower, if it be your wish."

"It is. The lad has courage. I'd like to see
if we could turn him into a warrior over time. Ye can start with
teaching him to clean armor and weapons."

He hoped Brian could do for Gille what Sweyn
had done for him.

Since the day he fostered with Olaf, Sweyn
had honed Magnus' skills at the practice field. When Magnus turned
twenty, he named the red haired giant his first in command. Sweyn
had proved himself a staunch companion, someone he could trust at
his back in the fiercest battles. He also stitched wounds. Though
he'd had plenty of practice over the years, every scar stood out
from Magnus' skin as if he'd left his mark there.

Brian tied Odin's reins to a loop attached to
the wall, then turned to help Magnus remove his stained armor and
outer clothing.

Once done, Magnus nodded and strolled across
the grassy area between the stables and the outer bailey. His body
felt free. 'Twas a relief to be rid of armor and leather which
sometimes felt like an unwieldy body clinging to his flesh. One
that was heavy and stifling.

"Have hot water sent to my bedchamber,"
Magnus ordered the first servant to cross his path while climbing
the stairs to the front door of the keep. By the way she scuttled
away, you'd think she had seen a beast.

He reached up to shove away a hank of hair
pestering his eyes and saw his stain covered hands and arms. He
turned his palms up then over and shrugged. He couldn't blame her.
He looked like he'd bathed in blood.

He scowled. When he'd first returned from
subduing the raiders, he had noted his clean tunic spread across
the bed. He'd hooked a finger under its hem and lifted it to the
light to see if she'd repaired the sword's damage. The gash had
made him bleed like a gutted hare but he'd seen no reason to have
it tended. Sweyn's stitches left puckered scars, for they hadn't
easily healed. He'd mend faster without them.

He'd noted Muriele's stitches and nodded with
approval. Never had he seen such precise mending. Hmm. From now on,
he'd have her stitch his flesh. When he'd sent a servant to order
her to attend him, he found she'd fled.

Suddenly, the stench of blood and sweat
caused his nose to wrinkle and his lip to curl. 'Twas overpowering.
He jerked open the keep's heavy doors and strode into the great
room.

Olaf, sitting beside the fireplace in a
massive armed chair, looked up and waved a horn of ale at him.

"Ah, come sit and tell me of the fun. You
hardly began when you found out the girl was gone. Did you hunt her
down? Such a tasty bit. 'Twould be a shame to miss swiving such a
lush piece of flesh."

"The hunt didn't take us far. She'd gone to
bury her mother."

"Eh? Did you beat her?"

"Nay."

"Why not? Feradoch tells me you wasted your
time last eve depriving the forest creatures of food. 'Twould have
been better to throw her body off a cliff so it wouldn't be
offensive. Then you had to go chasing after the daughter."

Magnus sighed. "Beating draws blood. I dinna
want a bleeding woman in my bed. I wish to rid myself of the smell
not create more of it. I'll sit with ye later."

He raised his hand and brushed it through the
air as if ridding it of the questions. He heard the Chief chuckle
as he took the stairs two at a time to the upper floor.

When he slammed open the door to his
bedchamber, he didn't see Muriele within as he expected. Seething
with anger because she had disobeyed him, he turned and near
knocked her off her feet. How had she come up behind him so
quietly?

"Where have ye been?"

"I came as soon as I collected clean
clothing."

He noticed she carried a small bundle close
to her chest. He nodded, his temper cooling.

"Get me a clean tunic. A bath will be here
soon."

Muriele nodded and went to retrieve the tunic
she'd washed earlier.

"Ye will tend my clothes each day. Go through
the chest to see if any need mending."

"Yes, my lord." Without looking at him, she
folded the tunic over the chair beside the fireplace.

She seemed tense. Was she afeared he'd beat
her? Servants arriving with buckets of hot water distracted him. He
pointed to a spot in front of the fireplace where they placed the
tub. Squatting before the banked fire, he added kindling and
squares of peat to bring it to life. Once it was blazing, he
noticed the servants pouring the water as slowly as they could, one
eye on the girl as she bent to place a drying cloth and a pot of
soap on a stool.

Did she stir lust in everyone who set eyes on
her? It pricked his ire.

"Get on with it," he snapped. "Afore ye empty
those buckets, the water will be cold."

His ill temper soon had them splashing water
into the tub and hurrying from the room. Ignoring her, he sat on
the bed and jerked off his boots. Standing, he bent and grabbed the
end of his shirt and pulled it over his head then tossed it to the
floor. The filthy thing stank as it swept against his face.

Unlacing his breeches, he hooked his thumbs
in his waistline. After pulling them over his hips, he stopped to
untie a bloodied cloth from around his right thigh then bent to tug
his breeches off his feet.

A strangled cough sounded behind him. He
frowned and looked over his shoulder at Muriele. The creamy skin on
her face had turned a mottled red.

"What ails ye girl? Are ye ill?"

o0o

Muriele couldn't speak but shook her head.
She knew what made a man's body different from a woman's. Growing
up at Blackbriar, she'd seen couples tupping in the keep's alcoves,
behind the stable and any other place providing scant privacy.