Warrior's Secret (The Pict Wars Book 2)

by Jayne Castel

  “You can’t love me in that way, can you?” It split him in two to ask the question, but he forced himself to.

  She shook her head, eyes glittering with tears. More pity. He could not stand it.

  Muin leaned forward, his gaze snaring hers. “Why? I’m not your brother or your cousin. Why couldn’t you see me as a lover?”

  Her face went rigid at the question. “I’ve known you too long,” she whispered. “I just can’t.”

  Muin had heard enough. He suddenly felt brittle, as if one more word from her would shatter him into pieces.

  But then, as Ailene continued to stare at him, the shawl about her shoulders slipped, revealing a creamy, pink-tipped breast. Muin sucked in a deep breath as his groin started to throb once more. Ailene was watching him so intently, she hadn’t even realized what had happened.

  Muin focused on her face. “I’ll leave you now,” he rasped, and stood up.

  The moment he rose to his feet, Muin regretted his action.

  He was so upset, he had forgotten his arousal. It had not subsided. And Ailene’s gaze was level with it.

  Her eyes widened, her lips parting in wordless shock.

  A chill washed over Muin, and he looked down.

  His erection thrust out against the wet plaid of his breeches—impossible to ignore or deny.

  A wave of sickly heat crashed over Muin, dousing the chill.

  He would have thought her rejection would have calmed his body’s physical reaction to Ailene, yet it had not. His body did not care she did not want him, did not see him as a lover.

  His fears had been realized: Ailene didn’t see him as a man.

  Although she was in no doubt about his sex right now.

  A weighty silence fell.

  Muin was momentarily frozen in place. He would not apologize, would not cringe or cover himself up—that would only make this worse. It would make his humiliation complete.

  Yet he flinched on the inside.

  Right now, all he wanted to do was find a high cliff and hurl himself off it.

  This changed everything between them.

  Without another word, Muin stepped away from the hearth, walked to the door, and let himself out into the drumming rain.

  Ailene did not move, long after Muin had left her hut.

  She was stunned first by his admission, and then by—

  Gods … it was huge.

  Shakily, Ailene reached for the pot of warming mead and froze. Glancing down, she saw that her shawl had slipped. Her right breast thrust out; her nipple pebbled in the damp cool air.

  Heat flushed across her chest, and she yanked her shawl closed. Was that what caused it?

  Ailene filled a cup to the brim with mead and drank deep.

  She closed her eyes and then snapped them open again. That was no good. The moment she closed her eyes she saw it—that bulge in his breeches.

  For her.

  Ailene choked out a curse, drained the cup, and poured herself another.

  This day had not started well, but it had just gotten so much worse.

  Muin, her oldest and dearest friend, was in love with her. He lusted after her.

  Ailene’s cheeks burned when she remembered how she had stripped off her sodden vest and tunic upon entering the hut. She now wished she’d donned a clean tunic instead of throwing the flimsy shawl around her shoulders.

  “The Hag curse me.” Ailene’s fingers tightened around the cup. “How could I not have seen it?”

  Even Talor knew. Who else did?

  They all probably thought Muin had a possibility, that her sisterly feelings toward him would go once he professed his love.

  Ailene squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers clenching around her cup.

  But they would not.

  She did not see Muin as a lover. He was her friend, someone she could always rely on if she needed him. He had been kind to her over the years, especially in that dark time after her mother died.

  The thought of him being anything more was terrifying, although the hurt she had witnessed in his eyes had cut her deep.

  She did not want to be the one to break his heart, and yet she just had.

  Chapter Five

  Our Old Ways

  TALOR TOOK A step back and crouched low, swinging his wooden practice sword in taunting circles. “Think you can take me on?”

  A few feet away, Bonnie gave her half-brother a toothy grin. “I know I can.”

  “Go on, lass,” Fina called out. “Wipe that smirk off his face.”

  Looking on, Muin watched the young woman circle around her opponent. Bonnie was young, but already a fierce opponent. Like her cousin Fina, she dressed lightly for training in a short plaid skirt and leather breast binding. Her long walnut brown hair swung around her in thin braids as she ducked forward, swinging her wooden blade under Talor’s guard.

  It was a chill morning. A raw wind blew in from the north, gusting over the thatched roofs of Balintur. However, despite her naked arms and legs, Bonnie paid the wind little attention. Her finely featured face, so much like her mother’s, was taut, her hazel eyes fierce.

  Talor countered her attack and swung around, twirling his sword as he did so.

  “Show off!” Fina jeered. “It’s a sword, not an axe. Those moves will get you into trouble one day.”

  Despite his dark mood, Muin’s mouth curved. Talor loved to add a bit of spectacle to his fighting. Instead of a sword, his favorite weapon was a one-handed axe made of iron; the weapon was double-edged with jagged teeth along one side. It was particularly lethal when Talor went for his enemy’s throat. And his cousin liked to fight with two of them.

  Clack. Clack. Clack.

  Brother and sister went at each other with savage intensity.

  Watching them, Muin noted how light on her feet Bonnie was. Like Fina, she made up for her smaller, lighter build by being blindingly fast. And like her older cousin, her bare arms and legs were strong and finely muscled.

  “He favors his left side,” Muin called out as Talor deflected a particularly vicious blow with his shield—a rectangular shaped slab of oak, with leather stretched over its front and a gleaming iron boss.

  “Traitor,” Talor grunted. “Once Bonnie eats dirt, I’ll deal with you.”

  “Fighting words,” Bonnie snarled. A heartbeat later her wooden blade smacked into Talor’s ribs. She’d taken Muin’s advice, and had also used her brother’s momentary distraction to her advantage.

  Talor hissed a curse, his own blade swiping around to return the blow. However, Bonnie had shifted in close, under his guard. She drove a sharp elbow into her brother’s belly and barreled into him.

  The pair toppled onto the muddy ground.

  Fina whooped and applauded from where she stood, leaning up against the stacked-stone wall of the armory. “Where did you learn that move?” she cackled, her grey eyes alight.

  “Muin,” Bonnie announced, rolling off Talor and climbing to her feet. She grinned across at Muin then, awaiting comment.

  Despite that he had awoken with a headache, and that the world seemed a heavy, oppressive place this morning, Muin favored her with a tight smile. They had practiced that move countless times during practice sessions of late. He was impressed that she had managed it so smoothly, especially against Talor.

  “Well done,” he said.

  “That wasn’t a fair fight,” Talor complained. He sat up, wincing as he rubbed his ribs.

  “My favorite kind of combat,” Fina quipped. “That’s why you never want to face a woman to the death … we always fight dirty.”

  Talor muttered a curse under his breath and rolled to his feet. He was now covered in sticky black mud. The rain from the day before had turned the streets of Balintur into a bog. Around them, the clang and rasp of iron blades being sharpened rose into the cool morning air; a reminder that the shadow of war loomed over the village.

  “What did you say?” Bonnie shrugged out her shoulders and adopted a fighting stance once mor
e, shield and blade at the ready. “Want to go again?”

  Talor’s handsome face screwed up, and he was about to reply when a loud noise cut him off.

  The wail of a horn echoed across Balintur. It was a long, drawn-out, haunting sound that made the hair on the back of Muin’s arms prickle.

  Varar’s scouting party was to depart.

  Fina pushed herself up off the armory wall, her face suddenly serious. “I’ll spar with you when we get back,” she promised Bonnie with a wink as she skirted the edge of the enclosure. “Let’s see if I can teach you a few more dirty tricks.”

  Talor groaned at this.

  Fina ignored him and strode away from the training yard.

  Muin fell into step with her, with Talor just a few steps behind. Walking shoulder-to-shoulder, they headed toward the gates of Balintur, where Varar would be waiting. On the way, they passed a wide lean-to where men and women were fastening iron tips to ash spears, stringing bows, and fletching arrows. The preparations for battle were always endless. Waving to the warriors, Fina and Muin walked on. As they navigated a network of narrow, muddy lanes flanked by squat stone huts, Fina cast Muin a speculative look.

  “Something’s amiss with you today,” she observed. “You usually love seeing Talor bested, but you barely raised a smile.”

  “I’m fine,” he grunted.

  “Aye, and if that groove between your brows gets any deeper, it’ll be permanent.”

  Muin scowled, inwardly cursing Fina her perceptiveness. Like Talor she knew him too well. Even if he tried to hide his bleak mood, she sensed it nonetheless. Muin shrugged. “I’m just preoccupied … that’s all. Ailene’s reading of the bones yesterday concerned me.”

  Fina frowned. “Aye … I hope she’s wrong about there being dark times ahead … but until now her tellings have been accurate.”

  “So you think taking An Teanga back first is the right choice?”

  His cousin nodded. “With The Boar broch secured, all the tribes of this isle are stronger. Whatever happens, Varar will stand with us.” She paused there, pride flickering in the depths of her grey eyes. That eye color—storm-grey—was distinctive in his family, passed down through the chieftain’s line. All the Mac Muin brothers had those eyes, as did Muin himself. He was named after his grandfather, who had died a couple of years before his birth.

  “Us?” Muin’s mouth quirked. “You keep forgetting … you’re one of The Boar now.”

  Fina raised an eyebrow. “I’ll always be an Eagle, cousin.” She patted the mark that had been inked upon her right bicep. “Just like you.”

  Muin smiled. He too bore the mark of The Eagle, although unlike most warriors, who wore it on their bicep, he wore the tattoo across his chest: two spreading wings.

  They were approaching the gates now, and up ahead Muin spied the tall, broad-shouldered silhouette of Varar mac Urcal.

  “Muin!”

  The sound of a woman’s voice made Muin’s spine stiffen—it was familiar, one that he knew as well as his own.

  Reluctantly, he slowed his pace and let Fina go on ahead. Meanwhile, Talor stalked by, casting Muin a sly smile as he did so.

  Thank the Gods that he’d had the wisdom not to confide in Talor about yesterday’s disaster. His cousin didn’t know that he had finally dredged up the courage to face Ailene, and nor did he know about what had happened once he did.

  It was a secret that Muin hoped he would take with him to his cairn.

  Ailene was the last person he wanted to see right now, and yet there she was walking toward him.

  The Reaper strike him down, but his breathing still quickened at the sight of her. He tracked her progress toward him.

  Comely in an ankle-length tunic made from blue plaid, Ailene held up her skirt as she walked to prevent the hem from dragging in the mud. She wore fur-lined boots, and a fur stole around her shoulders. A wide leather belt cinched in the waist of her tunic, accentuating her curves.

  Ailene’s peat-brown hair was loose, and it fell in heavy waves around her shoulders.

  However, her finely featured face was tense this morning, her gaze clouded. She wore a determined expression that made nervousness curl up from the pit of Muin’s belly.

  “Are you off then?” she asked, slightly breathless. He wondered if she had hurried here to intercept him when she had heard the horn.

  Muin nodded. The less said the better. After yesterday’s disaster, he could barely meet this woman’s eye. However, he forced himself to do so. He had laid out his soul to her, and then given her unintended physical proof of his desire for her. The humiliation still stung, yet he wouldn’t stand there staring at his boots.

  He would not let her see how she’d wounded him.

  “How long will you be away?”

  “A few days,” he replied, deliberately keeping his voice aloof. “We need to scout out their defenses and discover just how big the garrison at An Teanga is before we return.”

  Ailene observed him. He could see concern in her lovely blue eyes; their shade always reminded him of a summer’s sky. “I just wanted …” she began awkwardly. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

  Muin swallowed. His body tensed. The Reaper’s cods, why was she bringing this up? “No need,” he grunted, taking a step back from her. “Look, Ailene … I’ve got to go.”

  Her eyes widened, and she moved forward, following him. “I know, but I don’t want this to change things between us … for it to ruin our friendship.”

  Muin quelled the urge to bark a laugh. “Of course it changes things.”

  Ailene’s expression clouded, her eyes narrowing. “Why?” she demanded, a challenge in her voice. “We’ve been friends our whole lives. I know you’re hurt now, but … with time … we can go back to our old ways.”

  Muin stared back at her, clenching his fists by his sides. This conversation was getting harder by the moment. It hurt to breathe; he felt as if he had a boulder on his chest.

  Ailene’s features tightened when he did not reply. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she said stiffly. “You just took me by surprise … that’s all. I was blunter than I intended.”

  “Muin.” Varar’s voice boomed across the street toward them. “Are you coming?”

  Never had Muin been so grateful to be interrupted. “I’ve got to go,” he muttered.

  “See you in a few days then?” Ailene asked.

  Muin gave a curt nod. He then turned and strode over to where the rest of the scouting party—Varar, Fina, and Talor—stood waiting by the gates.

  The entire way there, he felt Ailene’s gaze boring into his back.

  Chapter Six

  Adrift

  AILENE WATCHED MUIN walk away and fought down irritation. However, underneath it all, hurt simmered.

  The stiff set of Muin’s shoulders told her that he hadn’t welcomed the conversation. She had seen the horror in his eyes as she had approached. He looked as if he wished to flee from her.

  The group at the gates spoke together for a few moments. Varar had chosen a small party for this scouting mission; a wise choice, for the Cruthini would have An Teanga well-guarded. It would be difficult to slip in and out unseen, and to get close enough to the broch to get a clear idea of their defenses.

  The Boar chieftain was speaking to his three companions, his expression intent. Fina, Talor, and Muin listened wordlessly.

  Bring them back safe.

  She barely knew Varar and was still wary of him in many ways, yet the thought of Fina, Talor, and Muin never returning from this mission made her chest constrict.

  Irritated at herself for worrying about such things, Ailene twisted on her heel and marched back the way she had come.

  She had woken up feeling on-edge, a nagging sense of dread pulling at her belly. Yesterday’s council, and then Muin’s revelation, had completely thrown her. She felt as if something was wrong, and yet couldn’t say exactly what.

  I wish you were here, Ruith, she thought, her lips pressing toget
her. I sometimes feel out of my depth.

  In all the years Ruith had been bandruí of The Eagle tribe, Ailene had never seen her falter or doubt herself. But then, the tribes had never faced anything like this before.

  Brow furrowed, Ailene made her way through Balintur’s muddy streets. The shouts of warriors as they sparred in the training yard echoed over the village.

  Ailene was halfway back to her hut when a group of children barreled toward her. She recognized Eara, Eithni and Donnel’s youngest daughter, among them.

  Tiny with long dark hair that flew behind her, the lass squealed as she slipped and slithered in the tacky mud.

  She was the smallest of the group of bairns and was having trouble keeping up with them. The scrunched-up determination on her face made Ailene’s brow smooth.

  Eara was a delight.

  Already she was showing an interest in her mother’s healing herbs and practices. Unlike her elder sister, Bonnie, who had always wanted to follow her father and become a warrior, Eara would likely apprentice at her mother’s side.

  At the thought of Eithni, her people’s healer, Ailene felt a little of her tension ebb.

  Instead of continuing back to her hut, where she would be alone with her uneasy thoughts, Ailene turned right into a narrow lane.

  Donnel—The Eagle chieftain’s brother—Eithni, Bonnie, and Eara lived in a large round-house at the end of it. Even though the dwelling was larger than most in the village, it was still cramped, so Talor no longer lived with them. Instead, he shared a hut with Muin.

  Ducking through the open doorway, Ailene found Eithni standing at a long table in the corner of the main living space. She was pounding herbs with a wooden pestle and mortar, while behind her an iron pot bubbled over the fire pit.

  Ailene sniffed, her belly rumbling. “Is that boar stew?”

  Eithni glanced up and smiled. “Aye … you’re welcome to join us for the noon meal later.”

  Ailene found herself smiling back. “Thank you, I’d like that.”

  She had not had much appetite for her usual oatcakes and honey at dawn. It would be a pleasure to join Eithni and her family for a meal rather than eat yesterday’s stale oatcakes and cheese when she got home.