Rebel

by Linda Windsor

  Adding insult to injury, Kella used the bright brooch her lover had given her as additional security, lest the strips she knotted should slip. “Damage it, and I’ll damage you,” she threatened.

  The wrapping of his body seemed to have taken the sting from her peeve, for the warning was softened with a half smile. It was still on her lips when exhaustion claimed her not long after.

  Between the discomfort of his ribcage and those lips, Alyn doubted he’d sleep at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alyn rose before the break of dawn to bury the two thieves in shallow graves. ’Twas more an act of what was right in this world than of the heart. Plaguing his conscience further were the only words that came to him as he bowed his head in prayer over the mounds—Christ’s warning in the garden. “All they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.”

  But it wasn’t his first kill that had robbed him of sleep the night before or made Alyn wonder why he’d ever thought he could be a priest, as he and his companions made their way along the last leg of their journey to Glenarden. ’Twas the still-warm memory of Kella’s touch upon his flesh. To be sure, ’twas but one torture traded for another.

  Alyn had tried blaming the pump of excitement from the ambush while he watched wide-eyed as a moonstruck calf while she slept. Digging the graves with little more than a spear for a pick and a sturdy section of bark for a shovel had been a welcome distraction from repeatedly taking inventory of the lady’s charms.

  Alyn groaned as the litany started of its own accord again. The face of an angel, the spirit of a warrior, the mind of a scholar …

  He stole a sideways look to where Kella fascinated even the monkey as she spoke in baby talk to him. Such babble usually sickened him and, he surmised, slowed a baby’s speech progress. Not that Fatin would suffer.

  Then there was her body, pure temptation itself in the belted tunic and braccae. Especially when he was close enough to inhale the scent of wildflowers and woman that was Kella’s essence. She’d been that close last night, with no idea that the sweat of his brow came not from pain but from longing. An ache that plagued him every time Alyn allowed himself to dwell upon it.

  ’Twas more worrisome than a boil. Nothing took his mind away from Kella for long. Not the psalms he recited, the mental account of every vial and box so carefully stored in the alchemy case—

  Or the possibility that Kella was with child … by a man she mourned deeply.

  That by itself should have cooled Alyn’s preoccupation with her, but nay. By high noon, a noble solution overran his desire-muddled brain. What if he married her?

  That foolishness he blamed on an empty stomach. At midday, once they’d consumed the remains of the food packed by Strighlagh’s cooks, Alyn’s accustomed cool reason returned, as did the ache in his ribs. Both made the passage of time no less discomfiting.

  The sun had completed better than half of its downward plunge on the green braes rising higher and higher to the west, when at long last the cliff where the O’Byrne dun presided came into view. Proud red banners with black wolf heads fluttered over the watchtowers to either side of the front gate. A well-drained road sloped from it, ambling through a checkered landscape of orchard, furrowed fields, and meadowland edged by forest.

  From a thick stand of hazel and ash near the river below, two shaggy brown ponies with black manes and tails bounded at full gallop across the meadow. Leaning low over their backs, mite-sized riders ignored the indistinct warning shouts of their guardians, who brought up the rear at a more leisurely canter. Alyn recognized Ronan’s dappled gray stallion as one of the horses. Or, considering the passage of six years, ’twas at the least Ballach’s offspring.

  “Uncle Daniel!”

  Young Conall had changed far more than Alyn anticipated. His nephew still had his mother’s eyes and that dimple that plagued the shaving blade of every O’Byrne man, but his baby-round face had begun to take on his father’s angular profile.

  Daniel broke the suffering-inflicted silence that had affected him most of the day to give the lad as low a formal bow as his wounded thigh would allow. It was swollen and pained him, but his eyes twinkled with affection. “I greet you a free man, Master Conall O’Byrne … and Lady Joanna,” he said to the second rider, a younger girl with a head full of dark curls that had escaped the straggling remains of two bows.

  At eight, rosy-cheeked Joanna reminded Alyn of a buttercup. A bundle of yellow with flower-embroidered skirts hiked up to her knees, revealing the edge of the brown trousers she wore beneath. She stared at Kella, bemused by the men’s clothing, but only for a moment. Rising in her stirrups, Joanna bellowed over her shoulder with glee in a voice that belied her delicate facade. “It’s Aunt Kella, Mama! Aunt Kella! And she’s dressed like a boy.”

  Alyn smothered a laugh at the sentry-worthy volume.

  “Well, I’ll be blessed!” Conall declared, at last recognizing Alyn. “’Tis our Uncle Alyn, Joanna … and with all his hair.”

  “Conall!” Lady Brenna of Glenarden finally caught up with her son’s pony and gave the lad’s wild locks a punitive tug. “Six years your uncle has been away, and this is how you make him welcome?”

  “He only speaks the truth,” Ronan told his wife. Time had treated them both well, brushing only a hint of gray at Ronan’s temple. Brenna was as pretty in Glenarden’s colors as the day she’d impressed Alyn by nearly winning the archery prize for the clan at the Strighlagh fair.

  The eldest O’Byrne sidled his dappled gray against Alyn’s mount and, before Alyn guessed what he was about, all but pulled him off the saddle and into a bearlike embrace. “This is indeed a grand—”

  Alyn gasped, although how was a mystery since his big brother had crushed the air from his lungs. Thankfully Alyn’s strangled reaction was warning enough for Ronan to let him go.

  The questioning scowl he gave Alyn deepened when Ronan spied the splint on Daniel’s leg. “What happened?”

  Joanna preempted her father’s inquiry with a squeal of wonder. “What’s that?” She pointed to Fatin, who clung to Kella in the face of so many strangers. “Oh, Aunt Kella—” The little girl urged her pony next to Kella. “Where did you find such an adorable—” Joanna took care enunciating the big word—“creature? Is he yours? Did you bring him for me?”

  “Brigands,” Alyn mouthed to Ronan, hoping to discuss the ambush later rather than now in front of the children. “Actually, Lady Joanna,” he addressed his niece, “the monkey is mine. A prince of the Ghassãnid gave him to me as a gift.”

  “Mon … key,” she repeated carefully. “What a strange name for a strange creature.”

  “Who are the Ghassãnid, and do they hunt monkeys in Baghdad?” Conall inquired. His bright-eyed expression suggested he liked the idea.

  “This is an African monkey,” Alyn explained. “And yes, sometimes monkeys are hunted for food.”

  “Oh no!” Horror washed over Joanna’s cherubic countenance. “It’s just a baby,” she objected.

  “But not often,” Alyn assured her. Surely not even God would condemn a lie told to avoid the dismay welling in such beautiful brown eyes. “And the Ghassãnid,” he told Conall, “are a proud Christian Arabic people who defend Byzantium from its enemies. I’ll tell you all about them later,” Alyn added upon seeing more questions leap into the lad’s eyes. He turned back to Joanna.

  “Would you like Fatin to ride with you?” he asked.

  Joanna’s dark auburn curls bounced with her enthused “Yes!”

  At Alyn’s nod, Kella handed the monkey over to the little girl.

  Fortunately, the pet’s curiosity regarding Joanna was as keen as hers for him. Fatin went willingly onto the child’s lap, focusing on her long hair.

  “Now, he might pull your ribbons,” Alyn warned her. “He loves bright ribbons and beads … but he also likes to be scratched between his ears, like so.”

  Alyn demonstrated, then let Joanna try. But it was the ribbons that won Fatin over … and mad
e him the guest of honor for Glenarden, especially for the littlest lady of the keep.

  Though the news of Kella’s father missing in battle had already reached Glenarden, Ronan was anxious for all the additional details that she, Alyn, and Daniel could add. While the children cured Fatin’s boredom after a day with his quiet companions, the eldest O’Byrne brother questioned the three travelers over a light repast served by Brenna herself and Ervan, Glenarden’s new steward.

  Kella wrung the hem of her tunic, fighting to keep her vow that she’d cried her last, as Ervan told of how his father, Vychan, passed peacefully in his sleep winter last. Though the old steward had run the keep with an eagle eye and iron fist, Vychan had been another uncle to Kella for as long as she could remember.

  Too tired to eat, Kella nibbled on honeyed bread and savored one of Brenna’s relaxing teas to the last drop. Thankfully, Alyn and Daniel had honored her plea not to speak of her betrothal. Nor were the plans to go into the north to find Egan mentioned … perhaps to postpone the objections that would surely come, especially about her accompanying them.

  Unless Alyn had had second thoughts with Daniel’s injury preventing his going. Too weary to face that possibility, she abandoned ladylike manners and leaned heavily with her elbows on the table, not even sure she had the energy to seek a bed.

  When a handful of servants started setting up the hall for the evening meal, Brenna came to her rescue—Kella suspected Alyn’s and Daniel’s as well—by insisting they rest before supper. Alyn and Daniel were shown to Ronan’s office, where two pallets were made up, while Kella occupied the guest bed in the adjoining room.

  There she fell into a sleep as deep as that of the men Alyn had buried, a dreamless place where neither anxiety nor grief troubled her. How much time passed before the scent of food cooking and warming in the hall urged her senses awake, she had no idea. Struggle as she might to sink back into the sweet numbness of slumber, a growling stomach and the joyful screeches of Fatin and the children would not be ignored.

  “Are they happy or dyin’?” Daniel grumbled, his voice traveling through the wattle-and-mud wall to where Kella lay.

  “Either way, we’ll not sleep through it” came Alyn’s resigned reply.

  In reluctant agreement, Kella rolled into an upright position on the plump pallet of her bed, feeling as if she’d just abandoned heaven itself. Cupping her belly with her hands, she whispered to the babe within, “Now I want you to think of how tired you are when you’re the wee one making the loud noise.”

  Purple twilight painted the horizon a while later when Kella emerged from the guest chamber in her turquoise gown. Boards had been set up in the hall, and every rush light, torch, and candle had been lit. At the family table, Alyn and Daniel shared cups of beer with Ronan. Both Kella’s companions had shaved and bathed and were now clad in clean clothing like herself.

  Kella wondered if they felt as refreshed as they looked. No matter how hard she’d scrubbed her cheeks to bring out the rose in them, she could easily gobble a pinch of meat, a fist of bread, and head straight back to her oh-so-soft bed. How the nights of sleeping on the ground had deepened her appreciation of a well-stuffed pallet.

  The boiled venison, poached salmon, wild field greens, and fresh breads served with Glenarden’s own honeys and cheeses did honor to Brenna’s intricate knowledge of herbs. Kella ate more than she’d thought possible and settled by the hearth to feed Fatin some fruit. The little monkey was so exhausted by all the attention from the children that he ate half an apple and, abandoning even Kella, sought the refuge of his cage for a much-needed nap.

  While the tables and benches were cleared or broken down for the night, Alyn presented the few gifts he’d been able to pack on the horses. Queen Gwenhyfar promised to personally see the rest delivered to Glenarden, given his vow to deliver to Fortingall the precious books now stored in the chamber he shared with Daniel.

  Lady Brenna was more thrilled with the teak box filled with exotic herbs and medicines Alyn presented her than the silver scissors and costly bolt of rose silk for a new gown. She marveled over the box’s design. Much like Alyn’s alchemy case, it had sealed separate compartments and folded into a light and portable case.

  “It shall replace my old leather satchel,” she said, referring to the medicine pouch the healer carried on her monthly rounds through Glenarden’s hills and lowlands to see to the care and needs of its people. Her husband had even built a sick house apart from the keep for the hospitality and treatment of those who came from afar to seek her help.

  Ronan would have built her a great hall for her patients, had she asked for it. Such love and devotion was rare in this world so filled with war and strife.

  ’Twas unfair that it be snatched from Kella’s grasp … with the slash of a sword blade.

  ’Twas punishment. All the day, she’d chased the word from her mind, but it would never drift far.

  “Now that,” Ronan said, upon learning Alyn had purchased cases of fine wine for both him and Caden, “is worth waiting for.”

  It was most likely on its way from Carmelide by now.

  Fresh guilt hammered at Kella’s mind. How dare she hope Queen Gwenhyfar would forgive her disobedience? She had not only broken God’s law but the queen’s orders. Being with child might be taken into account for Kella’s rash disregard, but carrying one conceived out of wedlock begged disfavor, if not banishment from the court life Kella cherished.

  Oh, what foolrede upon foolrede have I committed?

  Not even Conall and Joanna’s utter ecstasy over the toys that their cunning uncle had designed and made for them could lighten thoughts casting stone upon stone at Kella’s conscience.

  One toy was a pigeon carved by the hand of fellow scholar. Alyn took credit for the mechanical function only. The bird pecked the table, sprung up, and pecked again each time Joanna turned a small wheel. Fatin’s former master Hassan had painted the creature so lifelike that even Daniel admired each distinctly carved and painted feather.

  “My hand is steady for mixing and measuring, mayhap even surgery,” Alyn explained, “not for carving or painting.”

  Conall’s eyes grew and grew as his uncle unwrapped an extraordinary wooden sword. The hilt was embedded with sparkling red glass and its end carved into a Glenarden wolf’s head. When Kella didn’t think the lad could become more excited, his uncle removed a dagger of the same wood from its hidden sheath in the thick crossguard.

  “I don’t know which is the bigger child,” Brenna laughed, pointing to Alyn as he grabbed a large wooden spoon from the table and challenged his nephew. Warmth and more kindled in the look she exchanged with her husband.

  A blade of emotion wedged in Kella’s throat. Her baby would never know such love and happiness. And because Kella was part of this family, she couldn’t bring her shame here, even though she knew they’d take her and the child in.

  “Ho, knave,” Conall shouted.

  Alyn, forgetting his sore ribs, leapt upon a bench to avoid the wooden sword’s wild assault … where the pain promptly reminded him. “Hold, good sir,” he gasped, grabbing at his side. “Your chase has sorely wounded me.”

  Conall’s dark brow knitted with suspicion. “I haven’t laid blade to you, you curmudgeon.”

  “Nay?” Alyn tugged up his tunic. “Then have a look at this.”

  At the sight of the bindings, Conall backed away, until his blue eyes steeled with second thought. “Those are old wounds.”

  Alyn held up his hands in surrender and stepped down. “Aye, but newly sore, nonetheless.”

  “What a lovely brooch you’re wearing, brother.” Ronan’s badgering dripped with sarcasm.

  Alyn caught Kella’s eye. “’Tis Kella’s—one of the gifts for her service at our cousin’s court.”

  “It’s as funny an animal as Fatin,” Joanna observed from where she played with her bird.

  Conall was less impressed. “You’re wearing a lady’s brooch?”

  Undaunted, Al
yn grinned. “You will too someday, Conall,” he promised as he tossed aside his “weapon.” “Especially if the lady is as pretty as Lady Kella.” With an exaggerated sigh, he dropped down to the bench, changing the subject. “But ’tis love and compassion I need now,” he announced. “If only I knew where to find it.”

  “I have love,” Joanna volunteered. Leaving the pecking pigeon with Daniel, she raced at Alyn, slowing only when her mother reminded her of her uncle’s injury. The little girl put her arms about Alyn’s neck from one side while her brother, sword still in hand, embraced him from the other.

  Alyn planted loud kisses, one on each flushed cheek. Grinning drunk from the attention, he sought out Kella at the hearth.

  And drew her across the distance and into the warmth of their embrace.

  “Now this”—he told her, reveling in the love surrounding him—“was worth coming home for.”

  Except it was his home that surrounded him with love and acceptance, not hers. And certainly not her fatherless baby’s.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alyn’s grin faded as Kella leapt up from the hearth and ran through the group of servants clearing the floor to retire for the night. She’d been solemn all evening, her lips twitching a time or two at the children’s antics, but he could practically feel the anguish that she must have suppressed. But when she fled the family gathering, it broke free, contorting the face she tried to hide behind her hands.

  The abrupt retreat left all but Alyn and Daniel frozen in her wake.

  Little Joanna pulled out of Alyn’s embrace in alarm. “What’s the matter with Aunt Kella?”

  “Poor girl.” Brenna rose from the table in concern. “How thoughtless of us to find such joy in Alyn’s homecoming, when she must be in utter despair over Egan. One would think we’d forgotten his loss.”

  Daniel caught Alyn’s eye, jerking his head toward the door, though Alyn needed no prodding.

  “I’ll see to her,” Alyn insisted. He moved the children aside. “’Tis more amiss than Egan’s loss,” he explained.