The Horsemasters (8 page)

“Dhu,” said Neihle out of a suddenly dry throat.

“You see. Arika is right to be fearful of me,” Ronan said.

Silence fell. The day was unusually warm for so late in the year, and Ronan had removed his shirt to save it from the hare’s blood. His torso was still tanned a deep summer brown, and Neihle found himself staring at that wide, well-muscled chest and shoulders. Ronan had long since lost his boyish slenderness, though his waist and hips were slim as ever.

His face…when he had said, “Arika is right to be fearful of me,” there had been such a look on Ronan’s face. Ruthless…almost cruel.

“I am young,” Ronan was saying now, the ruthlessness even more pronounced. “And the Mistress is old.” His dark eyes were cold. “I can wait.”

Neihle felt a shiver run up his spine. He had always thought that Arika’s fear of her son was unreasonable. Never had he imagined that the Mistress might be right, that there might be something in Ronan to fear.

Until now.

“Have you spoken to anyone but me about this?” he asked Ronan sharply.

“Na.” Ronan lowered himself to his heels and once more picked up the sharp flint knife.

Well, at least that was something. Neihle watched his nephew working on the hare and thought about what he might say to make Ronan understand the impossibility of his illicit desire.

“It is true you were the bear slayer,” he began. “It is true that you killed the biggest great stag anyone in the tribe has ever seen. But in this tribe, Ronan, it is not hunting that makes the chief.”

“I know,” Ronan said. “The Mistress’s man is the chief in this tribe.” Neihle stared as if mesmerized at Ronan’s skillful fingers wielding the bloody knife. “But what if the Mistress should choose just one man, Neihle? What if the Mistress should wed?”

“You cannot wed Morna,” Neihle said in bewilderment.

“Not Morna,” Ronan said. “Nel.”

Neihle looked stunned. Ronan looked up from the bloody pile of fur in front of him. “Wouldn’t you rather see Nel as Mistress than Morna, Uncle?” he asked.

Neihle began urgently, “You must not say…”

He was interrupted by a soft feminine voice. “Ronan, I have been waiting for you.” Iva came the rest of the way up the steep path that led to the upper cave and gave Neihle a reproachful look. She put a hand on Ronan’s bare brown shoulder and said to him, “I thought we were going to go fishing together.”

“I have almost finished here,” he answered, his hands busy with the hare. “Be a good girl and wait for me by the river.”

She nodded, ran her fingertips caressingly over the skin of his shoulder, and departed, scrambling down the path to the valley floor.

Neihle watched Iva progress toward the river, his somber face in odd contrast to the enticing sight made by her swinging hips. “You cannot marry Nel, Ronan,” he said at last. “You are too closely related.”

“The Old Woman says not,” Ronan replied.

“Nel and you.” Neihle was very pale.

Ronan smiled, and suddenly all the ruthless arrogance, all the cruelty, was gone, swallowed up in that beguiling grin.

“I promise you I am not a fool, Uncle,” he said, “I know how to bide my time. But do not ask me again to seek a wife from another tribe.”

Morna stood in the arch of the lower cave and watched Ronan cross the valley floor, his deerskin shirt slung over his shoulder. She watched as Iva came out from under a tree to join him, watched as the girl slid her arms around the young man’s waist and leaned her breasts against his bare chest. His dark head bent. He seemed to be saying something into her ear. Then he separated himself from her and went to rinse his hands in the river. When he came back to Iva, he draped an arm around her shoulders and, thus linked, the two of them began to walk together up the river.

Chapter Six

After a full summer of watching Ronan, Morna had decided that she wanted to lie with him. She wanted to find out for herself if what all the other girls said about him was true.

There could be no harm in it, she told herself. He had never been as a brother to her. They would simply keep it to themselves, and no one would ever know.

It never once occurred to her that Ronan might not be as eager for her embraces as she was for his.

She watched for an opportunity to be alone with him, but the tribe lived too close to each other at summer camp and no opportunity presented itself. She decided she would have to wait until they returned to their home caves.

The first snow fell in the upper pastures, and the deer began their migration back to lower altitudes. The hunters of the Tribe of the Red Deer followed.

Buffalo Moon was almost at its end when Pier spotted a buffalo bull in the forest along one of the tribe’s hunting runs. Buffalo were most often found running in great herds on the grass plains to the north of the mountains, but there were a small number of woodland buffalo in the low hills of the Pyrenees, and occasionally they strayed into the territory of the Tribe of the Red Deer. Morna proposed that the initiated boys and girls of the tribe go together the following day to hunt for buffalo.

The opportunity to take a buffalo hide was too good for the tribe to miss, but the Mistress was not pleased with the idea of sending only the youngsters.

“Buffalo are dangerous to hunt,” she said to Morna with a frown. “It will be better to send some of the more experienced hunters after them.”

“We have spent the entire summer weather hunting, Mother,” Morna pointed out. “We are experienced hunters too.”

“Buffalo are dangerous,” the Mistress repeated.

“Sa.” Morna smiled. “That is the fun.”

She meant it, Arika saw. Morna, in fact, was an excellent hunter—the best among the girls, as good as most of the boys. She was fearless and swift and strong. Upon their return from summer camp, several of the men had praised her ability to Arika.

It was important for the tribe to see Morna at her best.

“All right,” Arika finally agreed. “The young people may hunt the buffalo.”

The bull Pier had seen had been in rut, and rutting bulls were easy to locate because of their bellowing, so it was with high hopes of success that the hunting party of twelve young people set off from the Greatfish River in the direction of the Volp. The day was very warm for the season, and the sky was hazy with the unusual heat. The hunters wore their buckskin clothing without the reindeer fur vests that were the usual gear for this time of year.

“Buffalo meat is delicious in the autumn,” Tosa said, as she walked behind Morna along the reindeer track that wound up and down the wooded hills. “There is usually lots of fat.” Tosa made a slurping noise, indicating her anticipation of this treat.

Morna, who was greedy for many things but not usually for food, wrinkled her small, perfect nose.

When they reached the area where the bull had been sighted, Morna suggested that the hunters split up.

The others stared at her in surprise.

“Na,” Ronan said. “That would be dangerous.” He looked at her sternly. “A bull in rut is an evil-tempered creature, Morna.”

“I thought the initiates of the Red Deer were men, not boys,” Morna said. “Are you afraid?” And she let her gaze trail slowly from one young male face to the next, a look of amusement was in her eyes.

“Of course we are not afraid!” Adun blustered. He was seconded loudly by the rest of the boys.

Morna’s eyes came to Ronan and stopped. “I have always been told that buffalo bulls travel alone during the rutting season in search of cows unattended by a male,” she said. “I am thinking we will have a better chance of finding the bull if we spread out rather than keep together in one pack.”

Dana, a pretty blue-eyed girl, reached out to take Tyr’s hand. “Perhaps Morna is right,” she said softly. “Perhaps we should split up. We can always climb a tree if we get into trouble with the bull.”

Tyr looked at her; then he looked at Ronan and raised his eyebrows. Ronan’s mouth tightened, but he shrugged his shoulders, effectively leaving the decision up to the group.

They decided to split up into couples, rutting being on the minds of more than the buffalo on this hazy autumn afternoon.

To everyone’s surprise, Morna went with Ronan. This she managed by the simple expedient of announcing that she would be his partner, a decision that obviously dismayed Iva and Cala as well as several of the boys who had hoped to go with Morna. Ronan gave his sister a single hard look, but made no comment.

“If you locate the bull, give the tribe’s hunting call,” he said to the others; then he lifted his spear and turned purposefully into the forest. Morna followed.

She did not try to talk to him. Morna had never been a great one for talking. She followed after him, watching in silence the buckskin-clad back, slim hips, long legs and midnight black braid which were all she could see of him at present. Their footfalls made no noise on the forest path.

The air was heavy, almost sultry. From somewhere deep in the forest a cave hyena screeched. Birds flew up into the air, crying in alarm. Morna saw the shadow of a deer flit through the deeper part of the woods. Ronan continued to push on through the trees until he had reached the game trail he was aiming for.

The hazy sun spilled through the trees onto the beaten dirt of the narrow game trail, and the boy and girl began to walk along it on silent moccasined feet. The smell of pine was heavy in the unusually warm autumn air. Small creatures scurried in the undergrowth, and overhead a golden bird circled lazily above the treetops.

Abruptly, the hazy peace of the afternoon was ripped apart by an angry bellow. Then came crashing noises that sounded alarmingly close. Through the screen of thin birch and oak and pine, Morna suddenly saw a massive black shape…saw great curving horns…and the smell of buffalo overpowered the fragrant scent of the pines.

“Ronan,” Morna said urgently, and bumped into him. He had stopped, turned toward the buffalo, and was lifting his spear. He did not look at her, but said calmly, “Get up a tree, Morna. That bull is too close.”

Morna stared toward the bull, who was striding along aggressively at a much faster gait than the normal lazy amble of the buffalo. As she watched, he hooked a small tree with one of his horns, easily breaking its fragile trunk.

Morna’s breath caught. Ronan still had his spear in his hand, and she could see that the screen of trees made getting off a clear throw impossible.

“Get up a tree,” Ronan repeated.

“Na,” Morna said. “I will back you up.” She stood by his side and raised her own spear to her shoulder.

As the two hunters watched through the impeding screen of trees, the great bull halted, lowered his head to the ground, and sniffed intently. Then, with great deliberation, he urinated on the spot he had been sniffing. Next he knelt and rubbed his head and horns in the area he had just dampened. Standing upright, he let out a loud bellow and looked in the direction of Ronan and Morna. His tail went up, a certain sign of danger.

There was but one open line in the trees between the buffalo and where the boy and girl stood, and now the bull moved into that opening.

Without hesitation, Ronan stepped in front of Morna and brought back his left arm. The throw was perfect, straight and true. Unfortunately, however, as the spear left Ronan’s spearthrower, the bull stepped sideways with frightening quickness to hook a small birch.

Ronan’s spear buried itself harmlessly in the trunk of a tree.

The bull looked at them again.

“He is going to charge,” Ronan said. He sounded perfectly calm.

“Take my spear,” Morna said from behind him, and put her weapon into her brother’s hand.

But it seemed that the buffalo had changed his mind. Before Ronan could make another throw, he had turned away from them and plunged off into the woods.

The boy and girl stood for a moment in silence, holding their breaths. They let them out at almost the same moment; then Ronan turned to Morna and said furiously, “I told you to get up a tree. You could have been killed!”

“You didn’t get up a tree,” Morna pointed out. “I am your hunting partner. If you were going to try for the bull, it was my job to stand with you.”

Ronan continued to stare into her face. Slowly his fury was replaced by a look of reluctant admiration. At last he nodded. “I’ll get my spear and we can go after it again,” he said. He began to turn away.

Morna reached out and put a restraining hand on his arm. “Let it go.”

He swung back toward her, a line between his slim black brows.

“Ronan,” Morna said softly. She smiled into his uncomprehending face.

“We can still get the bull,” he said impatiently. “Let’s go.”

“I can think of something better to do than chasing bulls.” Morna stepped very close to him. “Can’t you?”

He still did not understand. His dark eyes were wary…and bewildered. Her own eyes were wide and dilated. She reached up, swinging her arm, and struck him lightly across the cheek with the back of her hand. “Stupid,” she said mockingly.

He recoiled from the blow. His face went very pale under its tan. His eyes began to glitter.

“Let’s go,” he said. Now his voice was hard.

Morna stared at that tall strong young male body before her. Her voluptuous apprehension of him was so acute that she felt dizzy with it. The hazy autumn heat had brought out perspiration on her upper lip, and she licked the salty beads. “Ronan,” she said. “Lie with me.”

She heard the harsh intake of his breath. She felt his body begin to vibrate. Once more she stepped close.

“You are my sister!” His voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

“No one will ever know.” She reached up to slide her hands around his neck. She leaned against him. “We were not reared as brother and sister, you and I,” she said into his ear. She rose up on her toes and, none too gently, took the lobe of his right ear into her mouth and bit it. “No one will ever know,” she said again.

He shuddered. She was close enough to him to feel the immediacy of his other reaction too. Her lips parted in a faint smile, her eyes half closed. She rubbed against him.