Rebel

by Linda Windsor

  With a tortured moan, Kella swayed against Alyn. He caught her from sliding off the bench, but she managed to come to herself. She leaned upon Alyn for support, clenching his leg so tightly with her fingers, he knew they’d leave their mark.

  “But I made certain the blackguard fed the wolves that night, milady,” Elkmar told Kella.

  Alyn shot him a glowering look, incredulous that the oaf considered that comfort. “I think you should retire,” Alyn advised Kella. Dislodging her death-like grip, he placed her hand, folded between his own, on the table.

  Though unable to speak her objection, she shook her head fiercely, determined to bear up.

  Lady Elaine handed her a glass of the strong red wine that had been watered down for the ladies. “I agree with Father Alyn. You’ve suffered enough—”

  “I …” Kella fortified herself with a breath. “I would hear of m-my father.”

  Although Prince Lorne’s rear guard had cut a swath through the rear attack, the Glenarden men had led the sortie into the ambush.

  “I never knew there were so many of the scoundrels in all of Alba,” Elkmar declared to Arthur. “We were surrounded on all sides by three times as many as first attacked us. To be sure, there were more than Miathi having at us, though we recognized no one tribe apart from another.”

  That was not a good sign. Were the southern Picti allying against Gododdin? Increasingly troubled, Alyn listened to how the Strighlagh warriors returned in force the following morning to collect their dead, but Egan was nowhere to be found.

  “I’m so sorry, Kella,” Alyn whispered through his own despair. “So sorry.”

  The big Irishman was like a father to him and his brothers. Many of the slain Alyn had grown up with. So many friends. He held the silently weeping girl against him, fearing she might swoon again.

  Across the top of her head, he met Cassian’s narrowed gaze. It ignited Alyn’s anger like drops to the powder. The devil take the man’s disapproval. Kella needed Alyn, and he’d promised to be there for her. He needed to be there for her.

  “’Twas as we surmised,” Arthur declared above the growing furor in the hall. “Though I am loath to hear it.”

  He addressed the gathering. “People of Strighlagh,” he announced, “you have seen it with your own eyes. Grieved it in your own hearts. Your brothers to the north have turned upon you like wolves on sheep. ’Twill break my queen’s heart as it does yours and mine when she arrives a few days hence.”

  The mention of their beloved queen stirred the crowd even more, for Gwenhyfar was one of them.

  Arthur, Pict only through his paternal grandmother, rose from the table. “But what will Gwenhyfar see when she rides into Strighlagh?” he challenged. “Will she see a beaten people licking their wounds?”

  For a moment, Alyn thought that was exactly what the people believed she’d see.

  But one man shouted from a nearby bench, “Nay, never!”

  Then another … and another. Until the rafters in the hall shook with “Nay, never!”

  Arthur drew his sword, its blade and jewels flashing light from the candelabras and torches in all directions, and held it over his head until the room quieted enough for his battle voice to be heard. “Or will she see brave men and women determined to rebuild and hold on to what is theirs?”

  A roar of ayes overcame the room, waning only when Arthur waved Excalibur to get their attention. “And see our armies training to pluck the sting from our Miathi neighbors once and for all!”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration. A promise, driven into the board with the High King’s sword for all to see. Its thunderous reception continued even as Arthur signaled his captains to follow him into an adjoining room. Strighlagh … place of strife. So it had been since the first chieftains had constructed a wooden dun where the great stone fortress now stood, for it guarded the only pass into the highlands.

  “I pray, sir,” Lady Elaine told Alyn, “that you will persuade Lady Kella to remain at Glenarden while you and Daniel of Gowrys search for her poor father.”

  So that was how Cassian knew. Alyn gave Kella a stern look for having shared what he’d considered a confidence for the three of them alone, but she was so wretched, he checked the scold on the tip of his tongue. But with everyone who knew of their plans, the risk of the genealogies being stolen increased.

  “I promise to do my best,” Alyn answered Elaine, “but my foster sister is strong of will.” An understatement if ever he’d made one.

  He was helping Kella up to accompany the Lady Elaine to the ladies’ tower, when Strighlagh’s steward, Budoc, called him aside. “Pardon, Father, but my lord has asked that you join him and the Dux as soon as possible.” The request of the steward—a graying man with a naturally loud voice, perhaps from his years of authority over the Angus’s staff—sounded more like a demand wrapped in apology.

  Alyn’s thoughts churned as to why. He was no captain. He wasn’t even a proper priest.

  “As soon as I see to the ladies,” he replied when no answer came to mind. He’d hoped for a good night’s rest, though his dreams would likely be haunted by the descriptions of the bloodshed and destruction presented that eve.

  “Budoc’s wife will accompany us,” Lady Elaine assured him, nodding to where a matronly woman with a crisp white apron hovered over the servants clearing the table.

  “I’ll be fine.” Kella rose on tiptoe and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. Hers were salt raw from the grief spilled upon them. “You go,” she told him, forcing a brave front that he could see through. “You go and learn all you can. Anything that will help us find Da.”

  Unshed tears magnified the plea in her gaze just as her plaintive touch, the press of her hands against his chest, compounded it all the more. Alyn’s weariness and reluctance fell away, replaced by a surge of determination. He would do anything to take the hurt away from Kella O’Toole.

  Alyn watched and waited until the ladies disappeared through a side door before following the steward. The imprint of Kella’s lips was branded on his cheek. When he entered the war room, he was prepared to go to the ends of the earth, or at least to Alba.

  Alyn was stunned to find out that Arthur not only knew about his intent to search for Egan O’Toole but had summoned Daniel as well. More shocking was that the High King wanted the two of them to gather intelligence from the Pictish settlements along the way.

  “You are asking us to spy?” Alyn cast an unsettled glance at the stoic Daniel of Gowrys to see if his friend had heard the same thing he had.

  “Both of you have Pict mothers. And he,” Angus of Strighlagh said, pointing to Daniel, “not only looks like one of them, but knows the highlands as well as any.”

  ’Twas true. Daniel had hunted and healed his way from shore to shore in the north.

  But this was beyond irony. Bad enough to be looking for Egan like a lost needle in a mountain range and deliver the genealogies to Mount Seion without Arthur’s knowledge, but now—

  “As a priest, Father Alyn, you will be well received, especially in Fortingall,” Cassian chimed in. “Drust’s queen, Heilyn, has requested a priest be sent there to found a church.”

  “Me found a church?” Alyn didn’t mean to shout, but this was the last thing he wanted. He was barely responsible enough to discipline himself, much less others. “That requires taking along twelve brethren. We travel light.”

  At least that was the same dilemma Alyn’s longtime friend and mentor Bishop Martin had faced years ago. The aging priest had sought seclusion in Glenarden’s hills, but God had other plans for him.

  “We … the king and I,” Cassian explained, “expect you to discuss the arrangements the Lady Heilyn is prepared to make with regard to her project, so that we might proceed from there.”

  “I see.” Meaning Alyn was to find out how much money and land the lady intended to bequeath the church.

  So was this God’s plan or Cassian’s?

  “Glorify Me.”


  Alyn felt ill. As if the birds and dragons were merely a thought away.

  Have I no say in this, Lord?

  Even as Alyn rebelled, he knew the answer. Daniel’s resigned, grim expression confirmed Alyn’s answer. He might say no to Cassian, Arthur, even to Kella, if for her good. But never to God.

  Alyn merely hoped that it was God’s voice he followed and not that of man.

  Chapter Ten

  The following day Alyn and his companions journeyed away from the Strighlagh curl of the River Clyde toward the north run of Teith. The sight of the highland hills rising before them, the mists hugging them, the heather and gorse clothing them in color, was enough to soothe Alyn’s conflict-weary soul. Here and again it was possible to glimpse the sparkling silver expanse of the river as it wound close to the old Lindum road and gobbled up its golden carseland with spring’s overflow. Between time, weather, and lack of maintenance, the passage was a mire of mud and sinkholes that brought traffic almost to a standstill.

  Travelers on horseback or afoot fared far better than those with laden wagons, but the slow progress did allow more time to appreciate the surroundings. Where land had been cleared, farmers worked in their fields, clearing stones, tilling, and planting. Where the river wound close to the road, the occasional fishermen could be seen in the cobles, hauling in fat salmon in their nets. One might almost believe that the threat of war was no more than a dream.

  Alyn purchased one of the big fish from an enterprising vendor at a crossroads village for supper later that evening. They set up camp on the banks of the river where, years ago, Daniel’s clan had saved Alyn’s eldest brother and his wife from a murderous ambush conceived by the middle O’Byrne brother, Caden, and his treacherous wife, Rhianon.

  Not that Alyn remembered the specifics. Rhianon had drugged the wine, which, at the cocky age of sixteen and just having been rescued as a hostage from their enemy, he’d drunk to excess. ’Twas all over by the time Alyn came to his senses. His father, Tarlach, had died a hero’s death, saving Ronan’s wife, Brenna. The witch Rhianon had leapt into the river to her death—or so everyone thought. And Caden was exiled, only to find a second chance with God and love with his lovely bard Sorcha.

  How fast the years had flown, Alyn mused, glancing sidewise at Kella. Except for a sniffle now and then, she held her great grief in uncharacteristic silence. Egan’s loss was hard enough, but the brutal slaying of her betrothed was surely doubly painful for her.

  Especially if she carried his child.

  Alyn tried to shove the afterthought aside, but it would not leave. As intelligent as Kella was, she’d always been gullible, and as such, a victim of the most outlandish pranks her foster brothers could think of. And, as Daniel pointed out, she was a pretty flower in the court … and vulnerable.

  The possibility that she’d fallen victim to moonlit kisses and sweet words, even if they were of true love, tightened Alyn’s grip on the reins until his nails dug into his palms. Had Lorne of Errol any honor, he would have controlled himself … waited for the wedding bed.

  Fatin, who’d taken quite happily to more travel, reached for Kella to take him, whining until she noticed. When she patted her lap, the monkey leapt from Daniel’s shoulder into her waiting arms. He wound his small fingers into her hair as she cuddled him, exacting a halfhearted smile from her.

  Alyn’s indignation faded at the exchange. Lorne of Errol he could condemn without hesitation, but not Kella. Kella he wanted to protect.

  God in heaven, Alyn prayed, if this be so, wrap her in Your arms. She has broken Your law, but You are a God of second chances. A God of love.

  That evening Daniel proved himself a good cook as the three of them enjoyed the fresh, fire-baked salmon spiced with an assortment of herbs the highlander carried with him. Beneath that hardened exterior was the complex soul of a man who cherished all life, yet gave no second thought about killing for food; who wielded any weapon with warrior skill, yet possessed the knowledge and touch of a healer; and who lived his faith quietly, though it was solid as the oak under which they camped.

  Kella ate her share and more of the fish and fresh loaves from Strighlagh’s kitchen, though she gave her fruit to Fatin. When she was a child, her sweet tooth had rounded her figure more so than other girls her age, but maturity and height had stretched the cherubic figure into eye-catching curves.

  Alyn checked to see if Daniel also noticed them when she stretched to grab another small piece of the fish, but the highlander was busy tossing a stone among others for the taut-bellied Fatin to find. Unfailingly, the monkey always returned with the right one.

  “He must have a good sense of smell,” Daniel surmised aloud.

  Alyn’s attention shifted back to Kella, who stared at the two as though not really seeing. The glow of her cheeks came surely from the firelight and not from a recovery of the heart. Other than monosyllabic answers to questions, she was not his characteristic Babel-Lips.

  No need to guess where her thoughts lay … or with whom.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Alyn offered.

  He scanned the site for the best view of the forest edge, which had been cleared away from the riverbanks to give travelers more warning of an ambush than Ronan and Brenna had had years before. If anyone had taken more than a curious interest in two men and a woman traveling on fine horses with a couple of packhorses loaded to capacity, he’d spy them in time to prepare for an attack.

  From his belongings, Alyn withdrew a wooden staff, a fine piece of workmanship with Celtic and Christian symbols carved into its hard oak. To his astonishment, Cassian had presented it to him that morning.

  “’Twas a gift from the bishop Columba,” Cassian informed him, “but alas, I have no need for two croziers. It may be useful in those savage highlands.”

  That the bishop of Iona had blessed it was more than enough for Alyn to treasure it. He thanked the Roman archbishop sincerely. Of the two croziers, Alyn undoubtedly carried the better. Unlike the gold and jewel-inlaid staff Cassian carried, this cruder one was well balanced, fit for walking … or as a weapon.

  Kella shook herself from her self-imposed silence. “Let me stand watch.”

  “What?” Daniel had yet to learn Kella was her father’s daughter in will and pluck.

  “I can’t sleep. If I do, I might dream,” she explained. “And if I dream—” Her voice broke. “’Twill be of Lorne, and I cannot bear it.”

  Curse the man, Alyn swore to himself. Not that he’d think ill of the dead, but if Kella were in a family way …

  “Troubled by dreams last night, were ye, lassie?” Daniel rose and brushed the dirt and leaves from his legs. “Well, I’ve somethin’ in my pack that’ll help ye sleep a dreamless sleep. A special blend of herbs and tea to soothe the soul.”

  Kella giggled at his courtly bow and bold wink. “That pack of yours must hold more than the Bible widow’s cruse of oil.”

  That the mischievous Daniel made her laugh still irked Alyn later as he propped himself up against a tree to keep from nodding off. All Alyn had at his disposal to lift her spirits was a prayer and comfort from Scripture as she settled down by the fire.

  “God is with you. He will never leave nor forsake you. He will help you through this difficult time,” Alyn had said. But “God is in control” broke her grudging patience.

  “If that is the case, then why did this happen?” Kella had snapped at him. “Why is Lorne dead and my father missing?”

  Alyn couldn’t bring himself to say ’twas the consequence of sin, not God’s doing. If Kella were with child, he could not trouble her further. Besides, he’d questioned God himself. Why had Abdul-Alim suffered for Alyn’s sin of carelessness? Where was the just God when that happened? Why hadn’t Alyn perished?

  “Why, God?” he whispered to the star-spangled sky. “I believe, but I don’t understand.”

  Nothing. No voice, nor vision, nor a dagger of pain. Only his pulse, wrung from a bewildered heart, a lone beat against the utt
er silence.

  ’Twas too silent. The hair lifted on the back of Alyn’s neck. The moonlit riverbank and forest edge were as still as Strighlagh’s mural. But night creatures did not quiet without cause. He nudged Daniel’s sleeping figure with his foot and, faking a yawn, turned back to the woods to put another log upon on the fire.

  Daniel’s eyes flew open as if he’d been awake all along. “Where?” he asked quietly.

  “Trees,” Alyn replied in kind.

  Remaining still, Daniel narrowed his eyes, peering beyond Alyn. His hand crept toward the sword he slept with unsheathed and ready as Alyn tossed another log on the fire. A shower of lights shot upward, illuminating the area all the more.

  As if it were a signal, the forest erupted in shrieks. Alyn’s blood turned cold as four—nay, five—shadowlike men charged out of the wood toward the encampment.

  “Somethin’ tells me ’twill do nay good to declare yerself a man o’ God to that lot,” Daniel observed dryly as Alyn seized the oak staff.

  “A priest might not use a sword,” Alyn declared, far bolder than he felt, “but a staff is a worthy weapon.” He hoped. For all Egan’s training, Alyn had never had to fight for his life.

  Kella bolted upright from a sound sleep and swung her head in confusion from Alyn and Daniel to the shrieking charge of the thieves. “Wha—”

  “Get behind the tree and stay there,” Alyn ordered. ’Twould at least protect her from flying lances or arrows. “And take Fatin with you.”

  Fatin was sleeping like a babe, curled up in his cage near Kella.

  Daniel, blade in one hand and dagger in the other, let loose with a howl that would raise the hairs on a wolf’s neck and charged headlong at the towering leader of the band.

  They clashed like two bulls, but Alyn heard it for only a second before a thin, wiry sort with a long beard heaved a lance straight at him. Alyn dodged the shaft. Following Daniel’s seasoned example, he threw himself at the brigand before he could turn his ax into the whir of blinding arcs and deadly angles it could become in practiced hands. A feigned thrust at his assailant’s groin forced the man to swing wildly to protect himself. Then Alyn spun, catching his attacker broadside of the temple with the other end of his staff, just as Egan had taught him. The bone-crunching impact practically lifted the villain off his feet.