Blood Feud: A Dark Ages Scottish Romance (The Warrior Brothers of Skye Book 1)

by Jayne Castel

  Yet the mist did not bother Tea this year. Tempests could have raged, and she would have hardly noticed—such was her newfound joy with Galan.

  Since Mid-Winter Fire, a warmth burned within her that had nothing to do with the festivities. She and Galan spent much time together. They would rise late from their furs, often waking early but lingering in the warmth of their bed together, pleasuring each other. After that, they would talk while the rest of the household roused the peat in the great hearth and warmed the cavernous space.

  Some mornings, they would often ride out with Galan’s men to secure the south and eastern borders of The Eagle territory. The People of The Boar, their closest neighbors, had been seen hunting in the vales to the east earlier in the year, and Galan wanted to make sure they were not taking further liberties. However, their scouting parties found nothing suspicious. Other mornings, they would spar together with swords or staffs, oversee the repairs on the defensive walls, or take Lann out for a hunt so that the falcon could stretch his wings.

  In the afternoons, more often than not, Galan would come looking for her and together they would ride out alone upon their two stallions: his black, hers chestnut.

  The thick mist made visibility difficult, but Galan knew this landscape very well, and he led the way over the hills, or along the edge of the loch, with confidence. They rode side-by-side, their knees almost touching.

  These were magical days for Tea. She slowly let her guard down. Galan was patient with her; he did not question her about her family and did not bring up the wounds of the past that could risk driving a wedge between them. Their trust was still fragile, still too new, and they both understood that they had to tread carefully or risk destroying the bridge that they had built.

  One afternoon, Tea and Galan left the walls of Dun Ringill and headed west along the shore of Loch Slapin. The mist had cleared slightly, leaving long, slender wisps, like crone’s hair, drifting along the tops of the green hills.

  To the north, rose the dark shadows of the Black Cuillins, those mountains that would forever remind Tea of her wedding day. Only now that she and Galan had formed a bond, she no longer looked upon that night with shame or anger, but instead recognized it for it was—the first step on the path to a new life.

  They reached the coast—the point where the waters of the lake met the sea—where surf crashed against the rocks below, sending up a thick spindrift. Under the lee of a hill, they climbed down from their ponies and perched upon a rocky outcrop. The wind raked through their hair, and the cry of gulls echoed down the cliff-face from where they wheeled overhead. It was a lonely spot, but a beautiful one to be alone with her husband.

  The afternoon was chill, but neither of them cared nor noticed as Tea perched on Galan’s lap and wrapped her arms about his neck. The pair gazed out to sea, enjoying the solitude and the closeness.

  “I’ve never been this happy,” Galan whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her skin. “I knew the moment I saw you that there could be no other woman.”

  She glanced down, expecting to see a teasing smile, but instead saw that he was serious. Galan could be that way—when he spoke of things that mattered his gaze was piercing. It snared hers and held her fast.

  “Really?” she murmured. “Surely not—I was so sullen that day.”

  He inclined his head slightly. “You were magnificent. You captivated me the moment you stepped out of that tent and walked down toward the edge of the pool. I thought one of the fairy folk had taken human form.”

  She laughed, the sound whipped away by the wind. “Now, you’re teasing.”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. I always knew it would be like that for me—that there would only ever be one woman. That one woman is you, Tea.”

  She studied him for a few moments, her humor fading. “You’re a constant surprise,” she said finally. “I thought you so intimidating when we first met, so serious.”

  A wistful smile tugged at his mouth. “I can be like that sometimes—I take my role as chief seriously. It sometimes feels like a cage.”

  Tea reached out and stroked his cheek, feeling the rasp of stubble along his chin. “I used to think we were opposites, but now I see we’re actually alike, you and me.”

  His gaze widened. “How so?”

  “We’re both loyal to those we love, maybe too much so. We’re both protectors.” She smiled into his eyes. “I think, together, there’s nothing we couldn’t achieve.”

  He reached up and trailed his fingertips along the line of her jaw, his grey eyes turning that smoky shade she was coming to know well. The color that told her he was pleased. She shivered with pleasure under the lightness of his touch.

  Wordlessly, she leant down and kissed him. The gesture was initially chaste but as soon as their lips touched, heat ignited between them, and a moment later she was sitting astride him. They shared a deep, sensual kiss that sent her pulse racing and ignited a melting sensation deep in her belly.

  “Tea,” he groaned into her mouth. “My wife.”

  She gave an answering groan, her hands sliding down his chest, over the leather vest he wore, to the bulge at his groin. Deftly, she unlaced his breeches and freed his manhood. It sat stiff and proud against his belly, straining toward her as she reached out and stroked it.

  Galan inhaled sharply. “Gods, your hand is cold.”

  Tea laughed. “I know somewhere much warmer.”

  She hiked up her skirts so that the heavy plaid bunched around her hips. Often, Tea changed into leggings before going out for a ride, but today she wore heavy skirts with nothing underneath. To keep the chill wind from them both, she pulled her thick fur mantle about them.

  Raising herself up, she settled herself upon his shaft, sliding down until he was buried to the root inside her. She groaned. He was large and this position brought him deep—so much so that the pleasure that pulsed through her lower belly was almost edged with pain, as he pressed against her womb.

  Head bowed, she buried her face in his neck. She gasped as he took hold of her hips and started to move her against him. The pleasure grew in waves, till it was almost unbearable. Suddenly, her body felt as if it did not belong to her. She bucked against him and let out a cry.

  Galan gently bit her neck, his teeth trailing down to the hollow of her shoulder, where he nipped her. His hands slid under her skirts, cupping her buttocks. He then pulled her hard against him, penetrating her deeper still.

  Tea cried out again, arching back as she climaxed.

  The wind whipped her cry away, as she gave herself up to the pleasure that crashed through her like surf on the beach below. When Galan finally reached his own climax, their cries soared high, mingling with those of the wheeling gulls above.

  Afterwards, Tea lay limp against his chest, her heart thundering, her limbs boneless. The depth of pleasure he could arouse in her never ceased to amaze her. Finally, when the wind’s teeth began to bite through the fur mantle into their exposed skin, they rose from their rocky seat and made their way back to the ponies.

  Tea mounted, adjusting her skirts so that they covered her legs, protecting her from the cold. Feeling Galan’s gaze upon her, she glanced up to find him watching her, a sensual smile on his lips, hunger in his eyes.

  “What is it?”

  “You’ve bewitched me woman,” he growled. “I want to throw you down on the grass and take you again.”

  The crudeness of his words made heat pulse between Tea’s thighs. She loved this dominant, wild side to him. If they had not been on horseback, she did not doubt his word, and she would have taken delight in every moment of it. However, it was getting late. The shadows were lengthening and the light was dimming. Days were short this time of year; it hardly seemed any time at all between dawn and dusk. A warm hearth and a hot supper awaited in Dun Ringill.

  She grinned at him before winking. “I’ll bet I can get home before you?”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “You’ll never outrun Faileas,” he replie
d, patting his stallion’s furry neck. As if knowing he was speaking of it, his black stallion tossed its head and side-stepped.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  She turned her chestnut pony, a muscular stallion with a white blaze, and took off north down the rocky path. Bent low over his neck, the pony’s mane flicking in her face, Tea felt a wave of exhilaration. She grinned when she heard the thunder of hooves behind her and knew that Galan had given chase.

  Ruith was picking some greens for supper from her garden when the chieftain and his wife returned from their afternoon ride. They were late home this eve, for dusk had almost settled. Galan’s warriors had already lit the braziers on the wall around the fort, and the chill of the coming night caused an ache in the bandruí’s bones.

  She straightened up, a handful of kale in one hand, and waved to them with the other as they thundered through the stone archway. They were both smiling, their faces flushed with cold and happiness.

  Spying her, both Galan and Tea waved. As they neared, Ruith smiled at their obvious joy. They made a handsome couple, both tall and dark, with proud bearing. Galan, whose face had grown so austere of late, looked young and breathtakingly attractive, while Tea was radiant. Her hair had come loose of its braids and rippled over her shoulders in thick, dark curls, and her eyes were dancing.

  “Evening, Ruith!” Tea called out. “Will you join us for a mulled cider by the fire later?”

  “Aye,” the bandruí replied. “As soon as I’ve had supper I’ll join you.”

  She watched the chief and his wife ride past, her gaze following them as they headed for the fort’s walls. It warmed her heart to see a couple in love. It was as the bones had foreseen. The Eagle and The Wolf would be united.

  Ruith’s smile faded then as she remembered the other, less pleasant messages, the bones had left her.

  Death and betrayal.

  She wanted to believe the bones had lied to her, that they were mistaken, but Ruith had been a seer since she was fourteen winters old, and her divinations were rarely wrong. Misgiving settled upon her as she turned back to her hovel and went inside to make her supper.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Raiders

  Tea stepped out of the fort and blinked as a stiff breeze feathered her face, blowing strands of hair in her eyes. She made her way across the muddy ground toward the squat dwellings beyond. It was the first time the sun had shown its face in many days, and Tea found herself smiling.

  Beyond the walls of Dun Ringill, she spied the rippling waters of Loch Slapin. White crests, like the manes of galloping ponies, raced across the surface of the lake.

  She wandered down through the settlement, walking amongst the stone roundhouses with sod roofs, making for one of the large homes in the center of the settlement. This was the home of Mael and her husband Maphan. They had taken in Donnel’s son, Talor, and were raising him as their own.

  Mael was well overdue a visit, and Tea was looking forward to seeing how Luana and Donnel’s son was growing.

  Waving to some of the folk of the fort, who knew her well by now, Tea felt a sense of belonging. She had never thought after leaving Dun Ardtreck that Dun Ringill could ever be her home—but how wrong she’d been. Now, four months on, this place felt more like home than Dun Ardtreck ever had. It was odd, the tricks that life played on you. She would never have imagined she could be happy here.

  Tea reached Mael’s roundhouse and knocked on the timber door, calling out. “Mael, are you at home. It’s me—Tea.”

  “Tea!” A woman’s voice called out from within. “Come in!”

  Tea opened the door and ducked inside, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. Mael’s home was a lovely one. More spacious than most, the roundhouse had a dirt-packed floor and alcoves around the sides—a large one for husband and wife, and smaller ones for the children. A stone-lined fire pit burned in the center of the space.

  Tea spied Mael’s daughter in one alcove, and Talor in the other. The two babes were both awake, gurgling and waving their arms around, their chubby hands grasping at the woolen hangings that Mael had suspended over them.

  The aroma of mutton stew filled the home. An iron pot sat simmering over the fire pit.

  Mael beamed. “I’m so glad you’ve visited.”

  Tea smiled back, guilt trickling over her. She had been so taken up with Galan over the past days, she’d had little thought for anyone or anything else. She barely knew Mael, but she could see that the young woman possessed the same kindness and gentle spirit of her elder sister. She had that same gift for making one feel welcome in her presence.

  “Please sit down.” Mael gestured to a stool by the hearth.

  “Thank you.” Tea handed her the basket she had brought before taking a seat. “We baked some sweet buns, with walnuts and dried currants in them,” she said with a smile. “I thought you could do with a treat.”

  Mael’s gaze shone. “That’s very kind of you. I was just about to warm some milk and honey. Would you like some?”

  “Aye,” Tea replied. She watched Mael bustle about pouring fresh goat’s milk into a pan with a drizzle of heather honey. After warming it, she retrieved two wooden cups and filled them. Tea accepted her cup gratefully, wrapping her fingers around its warmth.

  “How’s Talor?” she asked, glancing over at the gurgling infant. She could see that he had managed to tangle his fingers in the wool.

  Mael smiled, her expression tender. “He’s a lovely wee lad. He has a gentle nature and hardly cries.” Mael’s smile faded then. “But sometimes I wonder if he isn’t a little sad … as if he knows what he has lost.”

  Tea felt a pang of grief at these words. On a rational level, she knew that Talor was too young to grasp that he had lost his mother and father, but on another level, she too believed that the infant had been affected by the grief surrounding him.

  “You can hold him, if you like,” Mael offered, putting down her cup.

  “I’d like that,” Tea replied.

  Mael went over and retrieved the little bundle, wrapped in seal fur. She brought him over and placed him in Tea’s arms. Tea’s gaze settled upon him, and she found herself smiling. He had a serene, beautiful face that was definitely a mix of both parents. He had his mother’s eyes already, you could see that, but you could also see the beautiful lines of Donnel’s face.

  “He will be a heartbreaker, like his father,” Mael observed.

  Noting the trace of bitterness in her voice, Tea glanced up. “Are you angry with Donnel?”

  Mael sighed, looking away. “I don’t blame him for his grief, for I know Maphan would be the same if he lost me,” she admitted. “Yet I’m angry that he showed no interest in Talor before he left. If he meets his end in the south, it would be such a shame for his son.”

  Tea was silent a moment. She agreed with Mael, but at the same time, being of a passionate disposition herself, she knew what grief could do to people and how it could change them. The pain she had seen in Donnel had been so raw it risked destroying him. Going away had been his only choice.

  “He’ll be back,” she said, with more conviction than she actually felt.

  Mael managed a wan smile and their gazes met across the fire. “For Talor’s sake, I hope so.”

  Tea was introspective later as she left Mael’s roundhouse and wandered back through the village to the high walls surrounding the fort. She had enjoyed her visit, but her conversation with Mael had left her out of sorts.

  Mention of Donnel made her wonder what was happening across the water to the south. Had the tribes gathered as planned? Had they attacked the wall? The Winged Isle sat far from the worries of the rest of the world, and yet she sensed the shadow of forces beyond their control, creeping toward the shores of her island.

  The aroma of roasting goat caught Tea’s attention then, drawing her from her thoughts. It was nearing noon and the cooking smells wafted out of the fort, carried on a strong breeze.

  Tea quickened her s
tep; she had lingered a little too long at Mael’s. She made her way up the stone stairs and through the stone archway into the wide space beyond. Inside, women were making the final preparations for the noon meal.

  Deri was tending the roast goat, basting the meat and adding the final seasonings, while two other women were setting out wheels of cheese and long loaves of fresh bread on the tables.

  Tea crossed the space, her feet crunching on rushes, to Deri, before she placed her empty basket on the table.

  “How is Mael and the lad?” Deri asked.

  “Very well,” Tea replied with a smile. “Talor thrives—and is starting to look very much like his father.”

  Deri grinned and was about to reply when her gaze shifted over Tea’s shoulder, to where Galan had entered the fort. Tea turned and smiled at him, waiting while he approached. As always, the sight of him made it difficult for her to think upon anything else.

  Reaching Tea, Galan pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately, not caring who looked on. Tea returned his embrace, coiling her arms about his neck. They were both breathless when they parted.

  “It’s a beautiful morning out,” Galan said, smiling into her eyes. “Finally some sun.”

  “Aye,” Tea replied. “I’m looking forward to this afternoon’s ride. I thought we could return to Beinn na Caillich.” Their last trip to the Red Hill had been marred by her reaction to their kiss; Tea was eager to give them more pleasant memories of that breathtaking spot.

  Galan’s smile widened. “Yes, we’ll do that.”

  Warriors started entering the fort and taking their places for the noon meal. Soon they were all seated at the long tables and helping themselves to roast goat. The clatter of wooden dishes, spoons and iron knives caused a din, drowning out the rumble of conversation. Ruith had joined them today. Dressed in a high-necked tunic made of thick wool, she squeezed in at the end of a table, next to a heavy-set warrior who was taking up the space of two men.