Caledonia Destiny

by Lexi Ander

  Presenting the smaller horse for Roi to ride, Ewen smiled widely with pride until he noticed the horror upon Roi’s face. “What be wrong?”

  Roi regarded the steed with a countenance that said he thought the animal would eat him alive. “I… I do not ride well.”

  Ewen would have scoffed but Roi had turned an odd shade of green. “Then you can ride with me.”

  Roi dropped his head and gripped the wide leather belt at his waist until his knuckles turned white. “I cannot. I would embarrass meself. It would be folly upon my part for I cannot be close to ye and not give meself away, bringing shame to ye. What would men think? Already they see I be different, and I wish not to draw unwanted attention upon yer kin. I would do naught to befoul yer house or yer name. If ye permit, I shall walk.”

  “I wish to speak with you at length whilst we travel. I cannot do so whilst I be up there and you down here. I refuse to bellow at you for all to hear. If the horse frightens you, then you can ride with me. I shall skewer any man who maligns my name or kin,” Ewen reassured him.

  Roi glowered at Ewen. “What shall you do? Leave all yer countrymen bloody? I be not afeard of the horse. I shall ride the beast to keep ye from—” Roi snatched the reins out of Ewen’s hand and gave the horse a baleful glare.

  Ewen pursed his lips to hide a grin. “I acquired the animal as loot. She has a smooth gait and be of good temper when not challenged by another horse. The pompous arse who owned her wisely used a wooden saddle tree with horsehair over the seat.” Unlike Ewen’s own saddle of wool and leather with a slightly curved seat, the knight’s saddle lifted the rider above the horse’s back to keep the horse from becoming swaybacked from a knight’s weight. “If you would like, I can lead the horse and you can hold onto the saddle-bow.” Roi turned and glared at him. “Until you be comfortable,” Ewen added quickly.

  Roi blew a forceful breath from his nose afore he nodded his head. Confounded, Ewen watched as he mounted the horse in one fluid motion but said naught more. The mare shifted and stomped as the additional weight settled. Roi paled slightly and gripped the arching wooden front of the saddle.

  Retaining the reins of the mare, Ewen quickly mounted his grey-speckled warhorse. With little other discussion, they set off with the three wains trailing them and a dozen riders hemming them in.

  “I ask your pardon for my behaviour this morn,” Ewen said.

  Roi’s face closed off, and he turned away until Ewen could only behold the profile of his scarred face.

  “Ye have no need to beg pardon from me, m’lord,” Roi stiffly replied.

  With naught else to steal his thoughts, Ewen could discern certain aspects of Roi’s injury, reminding him of how he told Ewen of Gillie Ainndreis inflicting the wound. From a distance, the series of marks appeared to be a single wound carefully created, not meant to maim him, only disfigure. Someone had been cautious to not take his sight or hearing, yet wreak as much damage as they dared without killing him. Such extensive burns caused great illness as the body attempted to heal the damage. The only cure would be the daily removal of dead flesh, the pain from the process debilitating and weakening the patient more. Even then, if the wound had become foul from the burns, which oft happened, Roi would have died no matter how careful his tormentor had been or how skilled the healer.

  Once again, Bear snarled. Ewen struggled against his own impotent rage. Bear may have prodded him to awaken from his indifference, but they both were drawn to Roi. He could not raise Gillie Ainndreis upon a pike again, nor could he alter Roi’s past. The man’s future? Ewen hoped it would lie with him.

  “Simply Ewen, please. As to this morn, I be surprised and reacted poorly. I need you to understand that I… there be something… I be unlike other men you have known. The clansmen of my house be special, separate from other clans. That which distances us from our countrymen would inspire them to assail us. I be responsible for the lives of my kinsmen. We be cautious of who becomes aware of the qualities that set us apart.”

  Roi glanced at Ewen out of the corner of his eye. “I would never give yer secret away, even if I knew it. I know how life can be when people do not understand ye. I would not cause ye or yer kin the suffering committed by men who hold such foul ideas.”

  “I admit your gift confounds me, Roi. I hope one day you shall trust me with your own secret. I would never reject you for what or who you be. My people be born with a gift of our own, and I pray you shall be as accepting of our true nature. Already my kinsmen hold you in high regard. More than one be waiting for me to blunder and lose your attentions. If you reject me, they can pursue you and steal away your affections.”

  Roi scowled, his countenance turned unbelieving as he fully faced Ewen. His stunning blue eyes held Ewen’s gaze. “Yer kinsmen, all of them, be accepting of such pairings?” He shook his head. “It matters not. I do not see what they would want with me.”

  “Most of my people of my clan be accepting, aye. There be a few, such as Cináed, who would be unkind with their choice of words when they vent their cause of offence, however those who reside upon my land shall not speak against us. There be much for me to explain, but it shall be several days afore we arrive home. By that time, I hope I have answered all of your questions.” They reined in the horses next to the ferry landing, halting their conversation. Donn dismounted to speak to the ferryman about passage.

  After dismounting as well, Ewen raised his hands to assist Roi down. He mayn’t have needed Ewen’s help, yet Ewen wanted the excuse to touch Roi for a short time. When Roi’s feet firmly touched the ground, Ewen stood staring into Roi’s pale blue eyes. How quickly Roi had ensnared not only Ewen’s beast, but the man as well. Mayhap Ewen should be alarmed by this unaccustomed ease. But his da had warned only fools fought the instincts of their mathan. Earlier, Ewen had almost done just that, allowing alarm to overwhelm him instead of relying upon the calm assurance from Bear.

  Did he miss Caitriona? Aye. And he would continue to miss her. Natheless, life did not end because she had passed unto the fade. Ewen had spent close to a twelvemonth as a man half dead, only beginning to pull out of the consuming grief at Yule. Now afore him stood the marrae Bear wanted, a man who had shaken Ewen awake and sparked a desire he thought lost. His mathan assured him that with a little time he would grow fond of Roi. Ewen could not disagree because Roi already felt familiar to him, as if they had spent countless hours together.

  Bear sniffed, wanting them to touch, so Ewen gave in and ran his fingertips down Roi’s forearm. “I hope you can answer a question for me now.” He spoke quietly, yet emotion caused his voice to break.

  Roi leaned towards him. Ewen took a chance, stepping closer until their chests brushed together and their breaths mingled. Roi did not move away. Indeed, his head tilted to the side as he gave a deep sigh, his eyelids sliding closed as if savouring the light touch.

  “Would you forgive me? Please?”

  XI

  ROI WISHED HE KNEW why his fate had changed so, why his vision came not to pass. Unlike the other augural dreams sent to him by Cerridwen, the one of his death had always been hazy. The only clear aspects were Ewen standing over him, raising his sword with both hands over his head. Never did Ewen glance down or meet Roi’s gaze, merely stared over Roi’s shoulder.

  Why, for the love of the gods, had he been spared?

  Did he even care anymore?

  This new life was a dream come true: the one person Roi wanted above all else touched him as a lover would and caused him to spill his seed. This day Roi had ridden boldly at Ewen’s side. Now Ewen asked Roi for a forgiveness he had already bestowed.

  Mother had ever told Roi he was more tender-hearted than other children. The young men of the village outside the temple had teased him for soft emotions afore heading off to find their fortune. As boyhood grew into manhood, Roi’s friends came to decry the worth of hearth and home. But more than one youth returned from high adventure in search of someone to care for and hold every night. At time
s, the desire for a home held more than one meaning but, in the end, the ease of heart the men sought stayed the same.

  The priests had believed he had grown out of the soft, childish feelings that Ewen so easily brought to the fore. In truth, he had buried them deep within, never giving voice to what he keenly wanted after coming to know he would not be granted the boon of a family of his own. In the King of the Isles’ court, such ties would have slain him, Gillie Ainndreis’ supporters exploiting Roi’s emotions as a weakness. He wanted to trust Ewen with the heart of him, natheless trust was a leap of faith he could not afford to bestow—for now.

  Would he grant Ewen pardon for his manner and words? Aye. Roi discerned why Ewen acted thus. If only the man knew him. “Ye need not ask, for methinks I shall ever forgive ye.” Why could he not be quiet around this man? This doting on Ewen, Roi’s affection for him, could be wielded like a weapon against Roi. Alas, it was not in his nature to lie. Instead he had learnt to turn questions quickly aside or avoid answers he did not wish to give. Yet with Ewen standing close, gazing at him as if Roi mattered, he forgot how to hold his tongue.

  “I want you to be mine.” The wind almost stole Ewen’s whisper away.

  “All my life I have been yers.” Even after this morn, Roi could not keep from confessing the truth to Ewen. He cursed himself for a fool. No matter where he was or what happened, Ewen mhic Friscalach unknowingly held a piece of his soul.

  Rough fingertips ghosted over the smooth skin of Roi’s unmarred cheek. “Sometime soon you shall have to share what you mean when you say such to me.”

  Roi broke the gaze and swallowed thickly as he begrudgingly parted from Ewen. Forgiveness, he could bestow. Revealing the depths of his secrets? Roi would hold his tongue for another day.

  Together, they readied the horses and wains to be loaded onto the ferry. Ewen’s kinsmen, who had been naught but kind to him since he came into Ewen’s care, gave him nods and knowing grins when they caught his eye. Donn patted him upon the back as he strode by. Ewen appeared by Roi’s side, drawing Roi away as Donn released a rough, hearty laugh.

  “Donn does not want me.” Roi sought to assure him, even as Ewen still gave his brother an icy glare.

  Other than a fitful horse, the crossing of the River Clyde was quick and quiet. The land here smelled unlike that of the islands. Even the wind differed, carrying curious sounds from birds that dwelled not upon the small patches of rocky land of his old home. Would he ever again behold the place he had been raised, draw into his lungs the salty sea air or hear the water clash upon the cliffs? In a small way, Roi afeard the difference. Everything seemed new and changèd from what he was used to. Though being with Ewen was his darkest desires come true, Roi still felt lost. This new life promised to be wholly unlike the old one. Would he be able to change who he was in order to live amongst Ewen’s people?

  Teams of two oxen were hitched to each wain after the ferry touched the opposite shore. The roads closer to Glaschu were well kept, yet farther out, away from the burgh, the path became so rutted Roi was thankful for the narrow, hard saddle.

  They followed the path, little more than a well-travelled track, along the east side of the River Clyde until the trail veered north towards Loch Laomainn, if he understood Ewen aright. The road began to rise into low hills, the mountains looming afore them. Copses of aspen, birch, alder, and rowan dotted the landscape. The closer they came to the foothills, the thicker the trees became, until the forest seemed to swallow them. Gone was the view of great distances across fields, sight dwindling down to a couple of horse lengths. He cared not for the closed-in feeling the dense wood brought. When they broke through the trees, Loch Laomainn lay beyond, calm and peaceful. Yet though the open water of the loch was upon his right, the forest looming upon the left pushed at him.

  Questions had nagged at Roi all day, but he was loath to put voice to them. He and Ewen had found a balance after Ewen made amends, and he lacked the desire to cause discord with his curiosity. However, with the unsettling new surroundings, it seemed he had not kept his visage clear of his unease.

  “What be upon your mind?”

  Roi held no fondness for speaking of his discomfort of the mist-filled woods, so he turned his thoughts to Ewen’s home. “Who awaits yer return? Where do you make yer home in the Highlands?” Who filled Ewen’s bed? Wife? Lover? Did Roi truly want to know? He would not presume this morn’s tumble meant Ewen desired Roi’s warmth next to him through the night, despite Ewen saying he wanted Roi to be his. Much could be meant by such pretty words, not just what Roi desired.

  “A modest estate upon the west end of Loch Raineach, in the heart of the Caledonia Forest, be mine. I am duty bound to ninety and three souls.” Ewen’s voice dropped low and became tinged with sorrow. “I am widowed now a little over a twelvemonth. Caitriona bestowed upon me four children. Two boys, Eumann and Gibidh. Two girls, Brigid and Una.”

  Of a sudden, Ewen’s eyes appeared older, haunted by what he relived whilst answering Roi’s question. He might be widowed, yet the sound of his sorrow spoke of deep affection. Roi’s heart ached for him. He would wipe away Ewen’s grief if he could. To lose a loved one was a hardship Roi would save Ewen from had such power been gifted him in Cerridwen’s temple.

  Not knowing how to console Ewen, Roi moved the talk to something neutral and, upon the surface, trifling. “Why did ye shave yer hair and beard?”

  Ewen ran a palm over the dark stubble of his head, the skin lighter than his sun kissed cheeks. His hair was growing out, but Ewen continued to shave his cheeks and chin. As was custom, most nobles were clean shaven. So why had Ewen sported a beard? “It be tradition amongst the leaders of our family to shave the hair after a conflict that draws blood. The ritual brings to mind the blessing of a new beginning, that we be victorious and alive, albeit changed by the encounter. Shaving the hair shears off the dark energy so we do not carry the venom of word or deed back to our homes and kin.”

  “That be a good ritual. It helps to establish harmony once again.” Mayhap Ewen’s kin kept to the old ways more than other clans. How different were Ewen’s people?

  “But leaves the head cold and chapped.” Ewen’s hazel eyes sparkled with humour. Roi was pleased he had steered Ewen out of the dark memories of mourning.

  “Mayhap I should follow suit and shear my hair.” Roi pulled upon the thick braid that fell over his shoulder to mid chest. The priests sheared not their hair unless a newcomer seeking shelter brought in lice or some other pest. He had been fortunate, though Roi did have it trimmed upon occasion.

  “I forbid it.”

  Roi snorted a laugh that caught in his throat when he glanced at Ewen. His vehemence and haughty glower was that of a man who gave instructions others followed without question.

  Ewen’s pupils dilated as he spoke, the black swallowing the bright hazel. “If you wish to be cleansed, there be other ways of doing so. But your hair, it stays untouched.”

  Roi swallowed thickly, the gleam of lust in Ewen’s eyes stirring his loins. He glanced away, of a sudden shy. “I understand.”

  The rest of the day passed rather quickly. He hearkened as Ewen spoke of his estate and his kinsmen. Roi noticed that even though Ewen addressed him, Ewen built a wall of sorts betwixt them. The laughing light, the teasing, and the visage of lust that crossed Ewen’s face every now and then soon departed. Left behind was a blank countenance and Ewen’s straight, stiff back. Roi knew not what word or action caused Ewen to withdraw. The distance placed betwixt them caused Roi to feel set adrift, lost and inexplicably alone. By the time they halted for the night, the easiness betwixt them had turned aloof and cool.

  They journeyed until it became too dark to travel safely, pulling off the road at a small clearing that contained a blackened fire ring. Ewen assigned duties to everyone aside from Roi. When asked, Ewen brushed away Roi’s question and offer of assistance with a non-answer.

  Roi did not like being idle. Living in the King of the Isles’ court, he
had learned to rely not upon others for even the simplest of things. The castle servants never served him unless the King of the Isles instructed they do so. Roi might have stayed in a suite close to the King of the Isles, but he was never awaited upon. He ate cold meal remnants standing in a corner of the scullery, and laundered his own bedding and clothes, all the while dodging unwanted advances. More than once, Roi had slept in a disused stairwell or out-of-way nook because someone had stolen into his room.

  So he assisted Ewen’s kinsmen with the horses and hauled water from the nigh stream, stumbling painfully over rocks and roots. He would have to soon make peace with the hostile spirits of the wood if he did not want to end up with a broken neck. After brushing down and feeding the fiery wyrms called horses, Roi gathered kindling for the fire and assisted in setting out the furs. Ewen’s kinsmen seemed not to mind that he wandered from task to task, however Ewen’s refusal to give him tasks had set Roi apart from the other men. He had spent the last three years separated, warned time and again to keep a distance from those about him, and found it frustrating that some things stayed the same even when so much else had changed.

  After they made a quick meal of bread, cheese, and dried meat, Roi claimed a fur for himself, not knowing where Ewen would have him. Some men lay down to sleep, others walked into the dark forest to stand watch. Dry grit pricked his eyes and a huge yawn cracked his jaw. When Ewen did not return to camp, Roi gave up waiting and burrowed under the heavy coverings.

  He wondered about the state of Ewen’s wealth. Ewen had not brought it up, and Roi thought it impertinent to ask. The furs, the tents, the wains, and horses, all of it heralded a life of privilege. Roi had known both prosperity and poverty. He had witnessed the deeds of men with more good fortune than honour, yet Ewen did not portray himself like the self-important mongers of the King of the Isles’ court. Unfortunately, they were the only basis Roi had to judge those of nobility. Even Ewen’s kinsmen were courteous and kind. Roi had not seen such character upon landed men afore now. It was odd.