Son of the Sword

by J. Ardian Lee

  A line of men formed under a tall oak tree, with Malcolm at one end, who gestured to Dylan to join them. When Dylan tried to decline and held up a palm, Malcolm insisted, gesturing again. When Dylan still wouldn’t go, Malcolm went over to collect the reluctant cousin, pulling him by the arm into the line. The other men began to dance, and Malcolm and Dylan joined in. Everyone was well on the way to intoxication from whiskey as well as ale, so they were not a graceful lot. Dylan kept his eye on Malcolm’s feet and hoped nobody noticed he was a hair behind everyone else. The wail of the pipes made his heart pound, and his soul soared. Quickly, for the dance was a lot like the Appalachian clogging he’d learned as a boy from an aunt up on the ridge, he picked up the steps and began to enjoy himself. When he caught a look from Cait, he laughed out loud and his feet were just a little lighter.

  Once the fire died down, some people began to jump over it. Couples ran hand-in-hand, and some women made the leap by themselves. Dylan had heard of this, and knew it was a custom that had roots as some sort of pagan fertility thing. When Cait moved into position to try it herself, he could feel his shock all the way to his toes. He glanced around at the crowd, and found a few faces as surprised as his. Nobody looked in his direction, though, and that was a relief since it was obvious Iain Mór was not pleased to see his unmarried daughter jump the fire.

  She took a running start and leapt, and made it with only a slight stumble at the far side. Quickly she shook cinders from her skirt and stomped them out on the ground, then smiled at the onlookers. Color was high on her cheeks, and she laughed with joy. Dylan could hear the mutterings and jests, but he ignored them. Cait was simply in high spirits and would be forgiven the indiscretion, he was sure. He wished he could sweep her into his arms and kiss her, right there in front of everyone, so the entire glen would know she’d be married soon.

  But again he was hauled into a circle of men who began an a cappella singing Dylan knew as “mouth music.” He’d heard this particular song before at a céilidh, but had never sung it, and found himself giddy trying to keep up with the clip of syllables that went so fast they were almost nonsense. The men’s voices sounded almost like the low register of the pipes. The repeats were a maze of similar lines changed just slightly each time sung. They moved with an almost mathematical progression until the entire thing was repeated once. Then, like most of these songs, it would probably come to a sudden ending. Dylan focused to find the pattern as he sang, and when the whole was repeated he began to smile because he finally knew where he was. Then the ending came and he quit right with everyone else. There was a moment of dead silence, then the men all looked at him and laughed. Dylan grinned. They’d expected him to keep going and give himself away, but he’d tripped them all up. Malcolm slapped him on the back and he laughed.

  The dancing continued, and Cait took a turn. God, she was beautiful! Her chin held high and her body straight and proud, her face lit up with a happiness he wished would last forever, she danced with such grace he couldn’t take his eyes from her. Afterward she rested, standing near her father, her cheeks aflame, and her eyes shone the color of star sapphire.

  Her ring was nowhere in sight, which did not surprise him. He wondered where she hid it. Though he knew why she couldn’t wear it in public, he still found it annoying. For all his adult life he’d had girlfriends, or not had them as he or they wished, and it was strictly between himself and the woman in question. Though his mother had always butted in with opinions, he’d never thought it was any of her business who he slept with and had always done as he’d pleased.

  But here, everyone in the village had an opinion of every coupling, and the immediate family, especially, had a vested interest that was very real and weighted with economic and political considerations. It was the most irritating thing about this century, even worse than the incessant cold and that lunatic faerie.

  The party was still lively when Dylan noticed Iain, Artair, and Coll taking their leave. Malcolm had already retired. Iain had hold of Cait’s arm to take her home, but she shook her head and gestured to Dylan. It appeared she was asking to stay late. Iain considered it, then nodded and left with Artair and Coll, chatting with various villagers on his way out, like a politician.

  Not much later, Cait disappeared and Dylan suspected where he might find her. He backed to the rear of the crowd, which was clapping rhythm for another dancer. It took several minutes to make it look like he was only milling among the villagers, but once he was behind everyone he moved more quickly toward the rocks jutting at the edge of the hilltop. Darkness hid him, and he stood for a moment to watch the dying bonfire.

  A woman’s voice came from the darkness behind him down the slope, and he turned toward her. Then a man’s grunt made him stop, and the woman’s giggle made him wonder who in hell was down there. He crept to investigate the thicket, and he recognized the voice of Seonag Matheson chattering in praise of whoever was making her giggle. Dylan smiled, tickled to hear quiet Seonag so cheerful. She was usually unsmiling, and had a lost, sad sort of look.

  The man spoke her name in a husky voice, and Dylan realized he was eavesdropping on Marc and Seonag getting laid. He backed off and eased down the slope toward the rushing burn. He stifled a drunken giggle himself, amused to learn those two were involved, for he never would have guessed by their public behavior.

  Soon there was another rustling in the denser woods ahead and Cait’s whispered “A Dhilein!” He descended toward the sound, and found her down by the burn, in a clear spot where moonlight glinted on the bits of golden hair that peeked from the front of her snood. She picked up her skirts and rushed to him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with the full passion of the evening. Joyous laughter rose as he kissed her in return. She pressed her body to his, and the laughter became a moan. Then she pulled away and drew him along. “This way. Come with me.” She stepped onto a stone to cross the burn.

  He pulled the other direction. “No. This way. The woods are too crowded.” He knew where he wanted to go, and she followed without hesitation, picking up her skirts with one hand and gripping his hand with the other. Up he led her, along the burn, over rocks, lifting her over tree roots, to the tiny glen where the ruined tower stood, gleaming gray and silver in the moonlight.

  Cait hung back at sight of it. “Nae. This place is enchanted. Faeries live here.” Her voice quavered, and her eyes were wide, staring at the moon-washed stones.

  “I know. Don’t be afraid.” He kissed her and touched her bright hair. “The faeries are the good guys.” He chuckled. “Mostly.”

  That made her laugh, and she followed him, close behind, hip to hip, as if to put him between herself and any faeries that might jump out. Which, he knew, was a possibility if Sinann wanted to cause trouble. He led her through the gap in the stones, and watched her look around in wide-eyed wonder. “You’ve never been here before?” Dylan glanced around and hoped Sinann might have the grace to take herself elsewhere for tonight.

  Her voice was soft with awe. “I’ve never been inside. When I was a child I once came to glimpse it from under the trees. Over there, up on the little hill. I never was brave enough to come so close.” She turned and looked, then turned again and ventured away from Dylan to investigate under the branches of the oak that grew through the window. He followed her as she said, “I was always too afraid of the wee folk, for they will take you away to their home and enchant you so that a night is like a lifetime, and when you go home everyone you knew is dead and gone. I could never bear that, to lose my family and the time on earth given to me.”

  A chill skittered up Dylan’s back. He coughed to clear his throat, then had nothing to say. He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, then nuzzled her neck and murmured, “I’ll keep you safe. As long as I live, I’ll never let you come to harm. I swear it.” He pressed his palms to her belly and held her against him. If he could only hold her like this for eternity, she would be safe from the world.

  She turned to him and
placed her palms against his chest. “I know.” His hands rested against the swell of her hips, then he pressed one to her yielding breast. A smile curled his mouth. No bra in this century, only a woolen overdress and a linen shift. She pressed his hand to her with her own, and her softness was luxury. He kissed her, freely for the first time ever. No angry uncles would venture here to catch them in flagrante. Cait tugged on his hand, down, until he sat with her on the grass. Then she reached for his belt.

  Suddenly he was the one who faltered. The thunder in his heart was almost unbearable, but he made himself stop for a moment and shake the whiskey from his brain. He put his hand over hers against his belly. He’d lived with these Mathesons long enough to understand the enormity of this. She was offering the most valuable thing she had, which, once gone, would be gone forever. “Are you certain?” Please say yes. Wanting her was a fire in his gut that had smoldered for months, but he would rather wait than give her regrets. After all, they surely would be married before long and the waiting would then be over. He ran one finger up under the edge of her blouse sleeve and hoped she wanted this as much as he did.

  She kissed him. “You’re to be my husband, and you will be my only. Waiting will merely put off what must be.” Her smile widened. “And tonight is Beltane. Waiting will bring us to nae better time.” Her hand went to his belt again, and this time he let her. He couldn’t think of an argument against her, and didn’t care to try. He shoved his plaid from his shoulder and let the kilt and belt fall behind him as she unbuttoned and wriggled from her own clothing.

  Her body was soft and warm in his hands, and she quivered at his touch. He wanted to do this slowly, to learn and explore her, but his own urgency matched hers and it was all he could do to wait until the clothing would be set aside. He removed his shoes and leggings, then pulled his shirt over his head. “Skyclad” was how Sinann had put it, and the night air on his skin felt just like that—as if the sky were his cloak.

  Cait lay back and drew him with her. He was her first, and he swore she would be his last. She bore the pain with only a single squeak, then relaxed under him as he moved slowly and with care. Her warmth covered him and filled him, suffusing him with joy throughout, as if his soul had already gone to her and his body was now rejoining it. He moved faster as she responded with short, breathless words of love. Being so close, and knowing how she cared for him, his heart was touched in places he’d never guessed he had. The century ceased to matter. Time became forever. Existence was now.

  For a long time afterward he held her, heady with the scents of disturbed grass and her own sweet skin. She was a rag doll in his arms, and he could barely move. It was a pleasure just to feel her breathe against his chest. He reached for his plaid, to draw it over them, and they slept.

  It was dawn when Dylan awoke, half surprised to learn the night before hadn’t been a dream. He rubbed the cold from the end of his nose and leaned up on one elbow to gaze at Cait, asleep in his arms, under his plaid where it was warm and their bodies soft with sleep. He pressed his lips to her hair and she stirred. Then she snuggled to him with a sleepy moan, and reached for him under the plaid. Her hand was gentle and he needed little encouragement. They made love again as the east sky outside the gap in the wall began to glow pink and the world awoke to a new spring day.

  There was the slightest touch of blue in the sky, though the sun wouldn’t be visible for a while yet, when they dressed to return to the castle. Hand-in-hand they made their way down the burn, then slipped silently along the stone dikes that defined tenancies in the glen, and crossed the drawbridge quickly in hopes of going unseen. Dylan, not having his sporran with him, whispered to the night’s watch, “A shilling for you later, Robin.”

  Innis, who sat on a stool with his whittling, dropping shavings between his feet, didn’t look up as he replied, “Nae. I’ll not need bribery from you. Take her in, and be swift about it before Himself awakens.” He gestured with his knife and took quick, careful glances at Cait.

  Dylan grinned. “Thanks, friend.” He urged Cait onward. To avoid the Great Hall where breakfast was in preparation, they climbed the empty prison tower of the gatehouse where there was a door onto the battlement. Across the top of the curtain wall they hurried, above the stables and barracks. The bailey below was empty of movement this early, and still deep in purple shadow. They crossed to the West Tower and descended in silence past the chambers of Cait’s parents and her young uncles, to her own room and Dylan’s alcove.

  There they found Iain Mór sitting on Dylan’s bunk, cleaning his fingernails with a long, sharp dirk. His elbows leaned on his knees and he gave no acknowledgment of their arrival. Cait and Dylan pulled up short. “Father,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 13

  Iain didn’t look up, but continued to dig dirt from his nails. His elbows rested on his knees, and his heavy eyebrows met over his nose. Iain Mór Crosda, thought Dylan, and, perversely, he nearly laughed. Big, Bad John. He knew what was coming, and knew Cait’s father wanted her out of the way. So did he.

  “Cait,” he whispered, “go on inside.” She shook her head and stood her ground, but he squeezed her elbow. “Trust me,” he said. She looked into his face, and he repeated, “Just trust me.” She went, and he closed the door behind her.

  He turned back just in time to avoid Iain’s dirk. Dylan dodged, and it slammed into the door next to his head. As Iain yanked his knife free, Dylan drew Brigid from his legging and circled fast to avoid being cornered in the alcove, then backed away. “I love her, Iain.”

  “Which matters not in the least, lad. That doesnae make you any different from a dozen other men who would do what you’ve done.”

  “She loves me in return.” Dylan backed down the stairs. “That makes me different.”

  Iain still came. “That nevertheless gives you nae right to decide for her, or for the clan, who she would marry. I’m her father, and I will do the deciding.”

  Dylan took a deep breath and made himself relax in readiness and confidence. He had to know he would succeed, or the fight was already lost. “Me. I want to marry her, and I won’t let her go.”

  Iain let out a roar and came at him. Dylan parried and nearly fell down the tower steps in his hurry to get away backward. He retreated, feeling his way down each dark step as he guarded his back. Iain took random swipes, which did little more than keep Dylan on the defensive. They were easily parried.

  At the bottom of the tower, Dylan bypassed the door that led to the corridor behind the non-family living quarters. He needed open ground and room to maneuver. He continued to back around inside the tower toward the door that led to the stables. Iain saw his plan, and launched a series of attacks meant to back him past the door and corner him in the bottom floor room of the tower.

  Dylan parried furiously, not willing to attack and risk hurting Iain, but not eager to be cornered, and perhaps be killed. He suddenly fell back a step and let aggressive Iain overbalance, then stepped in and shoved the older man away from the door. He ducked through it, ran under the stairs of the tack room with Iain right behind him, into the stable, and through the wide double doors to the castle bailey. There he turned to make his stand, in a spot where he stood a chance of defending himself without damaging Iain.

  Iain’s frustration at losing his chance to kill Dylan away from prying eyes showed in his reddening face. “You want to marry my daughter? You? Would I let her marry a man who makes a pledge then throws it away like so much refuse?” He took a swipe at Dylan’s face, but sliced only air. “And a penniless one for a’ that.”

  “I promised to protect her, and I have. I want to keep protecting her for the rest of my life. I swear on my soul I’ll never let her come to harm. She needs me. Can’t you see she’ll never be happy with someone else?”

  Iain’s eyes went wide and he seemed to swell with rage. “Well, now, aren’t ye just so full of yerself as to burst? So ye’re arrogant enough to think ye’re the only man on all the earth who can make my Cait h
appy?” He took another swipe at Dylan’s face. Dylan fell back to avoid the blade. He circled to get the rising sun out of his eyes, but Iain wouldn’t let him, and they sidled toward the stable. Iain feinted, trying in vain to get Dylan to retreat. Dylan dodged the knife. On the third feint they clashed dirks again and Dylan stood his ground.

  He didn’t know how long he could keep this up without hurting Cait’s father. The look in Iain’s eye was murderous. The older man wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d drawn blood, and Dylan had to resign himself to that. At the next attack, he blocked with his left forearm instead of the dirk. Iain’s dirk put a deep lengthwise slit in it.

  Dylan let out a shout of pain to satisfy Iain with his victory. He was surprised at how much the wound hurt. Brigid thudded on the ground and he grabbed the wound. It felt like it had gone to the bone, and he hoped he was wrong. He held his bleeding arm and shouted, pissed off now, “Yes! I am the only one who can make her happy!” The pain was a fire that crept past his elbow, and he wondered if he’d made an error that might cost him his life. If he bled to death, the question of him marrying Cait would be easily settled, and not in his favor.

  He pressed hard with the heel of his other hand. Blood smeared his arm and his hand and dribbled onto his kilt. He looked Iain in the eye and said again through gritted teeth, “I am the only man who can make Cait happy. If I wasn’t dead sure of that, I would want her to marry someone else. Anyone else, as long as she was happy. We both want that for her, Iain. For God’s sake, and for her sake, let her have it. You’re her father; let her be happy.”

  Rage drained from Iain’s body, and he stared at Dylan’s arm. He wiped his blooded dirk on his kilt, then slipped it into the scabbard at his side. Without a word he headed for the entrance to the Great Hall, leaving Dylan standing alone in the middle of the bailey.

  Artair and Coll were outside the Great Hall, watching with hooded eyes. They stood among the castle residents who had gathered at the entrances to the bailey, silent in their shock. Dylan watched Iain go, and saw the Laird’s half brothers follow him into the Great Hall. Then he picked Brigid off the ground, wiped the dirt onto his kilt, returned her to the scabbard in his legging, and turned his attention to stopping his bleeding.