by Hazel Hunter
The Gods dinnae bestow a gift to see it thus squandered, lad.
Pretending to hunt for herbs allowed Edane to use the bow and arrows he’d made in secret. That led to him hunting with Domnall and the others, and the chance to finally do as he wished. That Edane sometimes grew breathless and slightly muddle-headed he attributed to the thrill of the hunt, and of fulfilling his true destiny.
Then came the night when he’d brought a brace of hares for the shaman, and then without warning had collapsed at his feet. When Edane had finally roused he could scarcely catch his breath for what seemed to be gutting him from within.
After painting protective spirals in woad over his chest, the shaman had made him drink a bitter tonic. When his breathing eased the old man had told him a terrible truth.
Bending to retrieve his sack of ramson leaves, Edane strode away from the spell barrier. He’d never spoken to Domnall or the others of what had passed between him and the old man that night. If he had, they would never have permitted him to hunt with them again. He dimly recalled losing his breath after they’d taken shelter in the abandoned fortress, but in the next moment he’d awakened in the ash grove.
Since that day Edane had never suffered again. Yet, for what he had done, he knew himself to be the cause of their fate, as the shaman had predicted.
Ye shall be forever damned for yer defiance.
Chapter Nineteen
Riding into the village, Jenna admired the cottages and outbuildings. Unlike the primitive structures in the Moss Dapple settlement, made primarily of notched, chinked logs, Wachvale’s buildings had been made with thick wattle and daub walls white-washed by chalky lime. High roofs built from layers of fern bracken and straw thatching appeared to weather well, judging by their still-solid condition. Bits of quartz crystal glittered at the top of every flagstone chimney, and boughs studded with clusters of orange-red berries hung over every threshold. The fragrant scent of baking bread and simmering soup warmed the air, adding to the aura of coziness.
The place looked peaceful and prosperous, but the villagers seemed a little nervous. Then again, the arrival of her trio was as unexpected to these people as hers had been to the Moss Dapple.
The stockmen and cotters returned to their work, but none of the women emerged from the cottages. Before coming within earshot of anyone Mael had quietly advised her to let Domnall do all the talking, and be ready to ride out if need be.
“If they were going to attack us,” she murmured back, “wouldn’t the first two have done that?”
“You never ken, lass,” the tracker said. “Customs change, and we’ve no’ been in the world…for some years.”
Jenna eyed him, wondering what he would have said if he hadn’t caught himself. Gradually she’d come to realize that everything the Mag Raith avoided discussing had to do with the passage of time. She’d also heard the headman mention Domnall using ‘aulden ways.’
Just how long had Galan kept the hunters guarding the Moss Dapple?
Once they reached the three-sided patch of grass in the center of the village, Mael drew a bucket of water from the communal well there and filled a long stone trough for the horses. Domnall held up the brace of ptarmigan, turning around slowly until a pair of older women appeared. Both peered as closely at him as the birds before approaching.
“Be ye hunters?” one of them asked, while the other inspected Jenna.
“Aye, Mistress.” Domnall placed the brace atop a wooden bench before taking a step back. “We’d trade these for oats and veg, and mayhap some tartans, if you’re willing.”
The two women’s expressions turned pleasant as they came to examine the birds. Mael stayed by the horses, casually but constantly scanning their surroundings. He also kept one hand on his hip, which seemed odd to Jenna until she realized that from there, he could draw his sword quickly.
Both men obviously felt as wary as the villagers.
Why don’t I?
Jenna knew her own lack of fear to be just as inexplicable. Waking up in the ash grove had felt good, not terrifying. Despite all of them being complete strangers she hadn’t been frightened by Domnall, his men, or the Moss Dapple tribe. She’d deeply disliked Galan at first sight, but even he hadn’t really scared her. Only the Sluath did that.
She saw one of the women beckoning to her, and walked over to join Domnall.
“Aye, as I reckoned, Hunter,” the older woman said as she inspected Jenna. She tapped her crooked nose knowingly. “Too fair-faced for even a pretty lad. Wear ye trews and tunic for riding, then, lass?”
Knowing her strange accent might alarm the villagers, Jenna offered her a shy smile and nodded.
“Me daughter mated with a lowlander last season. He’s a weaver, and sent more tartans than we may use. I’ll fetch them for ye.” The woman trotted off to one of the cottages.
“We’ve want of meat, but we’re no’ starved.” The other woman gestured to one of the cotters, who brought three large sacks and placed them beside her. “One of oats, two of greens, and tartans for yer birds,” she said firmly. “You’ll no’ get more.”
“’Tis generous,” Domnall said and bowed to her. “My thanks, Mistress.”
The other woman returned with a bundle of colorful plaids in different patterns, which Jenna accepted with a murmur of thanks and a slightly wobbly curtsey.
“Ye’re a good lass,” the woman said, and then scowled at Domnall. “Only ye should do more to keep her safe. Riding through that part of the valley.” She flicked her fingers in the direction of Dun Chaill. “’ Tis courting an evil end.”
“We passed the ruins of a castle,” Domnall said, “beyond the valley. Do you ken it?”
“Aye.” She made a swift circling gesture above her bodice. “’Tis cursed.”
He nodded. “Have any claim now to the land? We’d camp there if no’.”
The villager recoiled as if Domnall had slapped her. “Ye’d willing go back to tha’ kithan’s boneyard, ye great fool?” She gave Jenna a stern look. “Run ye from these madmen, lass.” She spat on the ground before she stalked off.
“None lay claim to Dun Chaill and live,” the other woman said. She grimaced before she added in a whisper, “’Tis long been the lair of a kithan, a naught-man. ’Twill savage any who dare enter the ruins, then strew their torn limbs across the valley.” She tapped her temple with a gnarled finger. “Beheld it meself as a lass, when I herded. Three fine lads, all left in pieces.”
“How long has the kithan dwelled there?” Domnall asked, keeping his own voice low.
“’Tis said when it came that it caught and ate alive the Mag Raith hunters, poor lads, and then hunted and killed their tribe entire.” Shuddering, she twisted her hands in her skirts. “’Twas in the time of the Roms.”
Jenna saw the village’s headman walking quickly toward them and cleared her throat. When Domnall glanced at her, she nodded in his direction.
“See to yer work,” the headman told the old woman, who quickly retreated. To Domnall he said in a much colder tone, “Ye’ve made your trade. ’Tis time ye go.”
For a moment Jenna thought Domnall might try to persuade the man to talk to them. But he simply nodded, picked up the sacks and handed the lightest to her. After they carried them over to their horses, he tied them to their saddles before lifting her up onto the mount. She glanced over to see the headman making the same quick circling gesture over his chest as he watched them.
“Ride past the herd, and then circle back,” Domnall told her and Mael. “I dinnae want them to ken our true direction.”
As they rode out of the village, Domnall and Mael remained silent and stayed in front and in back of her. Only when they had gone around the sheep and turned around did Mael drop back to ride alongside her.
“Do you mean to make a gown with the tartans, and dress as a proper lass?” he asked, but the smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes.
“Maybe I’ll give them to you guys.” She glanced over her shoulder at Dom
nall’s flinty expression. “If the kithan doesn’t savage me first.”
Chapter Twenty
The valley’s ripe grasses and blooming wildflowers colored the warm afternoon air with sweetness, but the ride through them back to camp only deepened Domnall’s dark mood. Mael, who ever sensed such things, did his best to keep Jenna distracted. With much embellishment he spun a tale of one of their early, less than successful hunts, making light of the many mistakes they’d made as young men. While she chuckled at the proper moments, Jenna also seemed preoccupied.
Taking the lass from the Moss Dapple settlement had placed her in more danger than Domnall could have realized. She could never be left alone. What if some murderous rogue had concealed himself inside the castle, and even now plotted against them? The kithan the villagers feared might be but a deranged lunatic intent on slaughter without purpose or reason.
Or even worse, what if a band of brigands stumbled across her? The rare color of her eyes and the lithe grace of her form only made sure she would fetch the highest price as a slave.
Jenna reined in her mount until she rode beside him. “It’s all right. The villagers think we went in the other direction. Besides that, with all their superstitions about naught-man, no one should come after us.”
Any other time her voice would have soothed him, but her words proved she had little idea of what harm might be done to her.
“Ken you how to fight an attacker?” The startled look she gave him made plain how harsh he sounded. “Tell me then, what do you if a man comes at you, arms outstretched to seize you?”
“I’d run away screaming for help,” Jenna said but then thought for a moment. “But if I couldn’t get away from him, I’d use the blade you gave me to defend myself.”
“’Tis likely he shall knock it from your fist,” Domnall said and saw the frown Mael directed at him but ignored it. “What do you then, should he?”
“I don’t know.” Her gaze grew distant as she regarded the valley ahead of them. “I’d fight him however I could.”
“A man twice your size, intent on having you?” He shook his head. “You’d fail.”
“Aye, but another man with much care could teach the lass how to prevail,” Mael said loudly without looking back at them. “Should one wish to.”
Domnall saw the smile that tugged at Jenna’s lips before she looked away, and that, too angered him. “’Tis no’ a jesting matter.”
“Certainly not,” she agreed. “Since I can’t remember how to fight, I definitely need training. Perhaps Mael will–”
“I’ll train you.” He regretted growling the words, especially when he saw the tracker’s shoulders stiffen. “Aye,” he added in a softer tone, “and with much care, as Mael says.”
By that time, they’d reached the forest surrounding Dun Chaill, where they stopped at the stream to water the horses before leading them through the trees. At the camp Domnall felt gratified to see what the hunters had gathered during their absence. Broden had lain out peeled rushes to dry in the sun. Edane had plentiful herbs and greens hanging in tied bunches from a low bough. Flat stones had been stacked over the fire, on which bannocks now cooked.
Kiaran came out of the woods to greet them, two of his kestrels hovering just above his head. “Naught on the boundaries, Chieftain. Tracks of creatures, and mayhap what ’twas once a cook’s garden, but ’tis long gone wild.”
“Fish abound in the stream,” Broden said and held up a string of large brown trout. “Much hare scat and burrows are scattered through the undergrowth. I’ve set snares.”
“I’ve something for the lass,” Edane said and brought a small wrapped bundle to Jenna. He opened it to reveal a mound of golden-red berries.
“Thank you.” She plucked one and rolled it between her fingers. “But aren’t raspberries supposed to be bigger than this?”
“They’re cloudberries, lass,” the archer told her. “Taste one.”
Jenna took a nibble and began to wrinkle her nose, and then sighed with pleasure. “Oh, they’re wonderful.” She handed the bundle back to him. “But I can’t eat them by myself. We should all share them.”
Domnall turned away to remove the sacks from their saddles. That Edane’s gift to the lass would reawaken his ire baffled him. All his hunters had come to care for Jenna. Predictably Mael had been the first to speak for her, and fretted over her still. Edane had saved her from Galan’s second arrow, and calmed her after the Sluath attack. Kiaran had given up his cloak to keep her warm and charmed her with his birds. Even Broden, whose heart had surely been hewn from stone, had challenged him over the lass.
But there was one duty to her that Domnall had claimed for himself.
He took the sacks procured from the villagers to Mael. “See to their storage and give me your dagger.”
Without turning to face Jenna and the rest of the men, Domnall knew he’d drawn their attention from the sudden quiet. Mael reached behind him and brought out the short blade that all the hunters carried. He placed the dagger’s hilt in Domnall’s upturned palm. Without a moment’s hesitation, the headman spun and tossed it handle-first to Jenna.
To his surprise and pleasure, she deftly plucked it out of the air.
Edane took a half step toward Domnall. “Have a care, Brother. The lass ’tis no’ a hunter.”
Broden put a restraining hand on Edane’s arm. “Do you no’ think the chieftain kens that, archer?”
“I’ll tell you what I think, trapper,” Edane said without a trace of banter. “That your hand ’twill become separated from your arm if it doesnae leave mine.”
Domnall pushed himself between them. “’Tis training for the lass,” he said, and looked at Jenna. “We agreed, did we no’?”
Jenna stared wide-eyed down at the dagger in her hand, before lifting her gaze and focusing on his words. “Right,” she said slowly, no longer sounding so sure.
“Make room,” Mael said backing up.
The other men did likewise until Domnall and Jenna faced each other in the midst of the square made by the four hunters. Domnall took out his own blade from behind his back, and began circling right.
“Move,” he told her. “Be my mirror.”
“Be your what?” she said, watching him. “I thought you were going to show me self-defense.”
A kestrel landed on Kiaran’s shoulder and cocked its head at her. “’Tis what he does, lass,” the falconer said. “Move.”
“Quickly, lass,” Broden said, a warning tone in his voice. “Dinnae let him box you in.”
Despite his men knowing that Domnall would sooner gut himself than see Jenna harmed, he noted that each stood in a ready stance. Centuries of being the Moss Dapple’s defenders had honed their battle instincts into razor sharp reflexes.
Jenna must have sensed their tension because her feet finally moved.
“Keep the dagger up,” Domnall said. “Never stop moving. Dinnae make yourself an easy target.” Quickly he circled in the opposite direction, and smiled a little when she matched him. “Aye. Keep your body behind the blade.”
Though she might not remember the skills of fighting with a blade, as in all else, she showed no fear. He circled a while, just long enough for her to feel at ease. Of course his brothers saw what he meant to do.
“Watch his eyes,” Edane urged her as she passed in front of him.
“Keep tight hold of the blade,” Mael said.
“Dinnae listen to them,” Domnall said. “They but fret over–” He lunged forward, knife first.
Careful to avoid her delicate fingers, Domnall easily flicked his blade under hers with a swift, small circle. The blades tanged with a high-pitched note and in the next moment her dagger had landed on the ground.
Broden blew out a loud breath and crossed his arms over his chest. Kiaran’s kestrel launched for the sky as though it had seen enough.
“Lass,” Domnall said, pitching his voice low to soothe her. “Never give up your blade. Now pick it up.”
&nbs
p; “That was an accident,” she protested, her face flushed. “I didn’t give it up.”
But when she bent down to retrieve the weapon, Domnall stepped forward, his boot nearly landing on the blade.
“Never take your eyes from your attacker,” he said.
Rather than cower away, Jenna snatched up the dagger, backed up in a crouch, and pointed the tip of the blade at him.
“Aye,” Edane said. “’Tis the way of it.”
Domnall nodded at her. “Good. Now slowly this time.” He inched forward, gradually extending his knife arm as he made to stab at her chest. “Parry my blade by keeping your tip to the sky and sweeping your dagger across the path of mine.”
As the two pieces of steel slowly met and slid across each other, murmurs of ascent came from each of the men. Domnall let her move his blade aside, but now he stood close enough to touch her. Rays of sunlight sparkled the violet flecks of her blue eyes. They gazed up into his as though she searched for something. With daggers still locked, it was as though they’d paused in some stately dance.
Only when Edane cleared his throat, did Domnall back up a pace. Jenna quickly looked away.
“Chieftain,” Mael said. “We should put the mounts to graze before the daylight is lost.”
“Aye,” Domnall agreed.
Jenna handed his dagger back to the tracker. “Thanks for the loan,” she said and started toward her horse.
“No, lass,” he said to her. “Take a rest. Domnall and I shall see to them.”
Following Mael out of the camp to the grassy clearing where the other mounts waited, Domnall tucked his dagger away and waited for the tracker to speak his mind.
“’Tis good we stay here,” Mael said as he began unsaddling Jenna’s mount. “They’d no’ welcome the Mag Raith back in that village, but I’ll wager Jenna may return. I reckon those two old ones would look after the lass. They might find a good, strong man for her to wed.”