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

by Jayne Castel

  The kiss was brutal, wild—and for a few moments Tea succumbed to it. Desire crashed over her, sweeping her up in a great wave, and she drowned in the taste and feel of him. She knew then that she would never want another man as she did Galan.

  But even her hunger for him was not enough to make her forget herself—or cast aside the decision she had made.

  Tea tore herself free of Galan’s embrace and staggered backward. “It is what I want,” she panted. “Go from here, Galan—leave me be.”

  The pain in his eyes nearly made her relent. For a brief moment, his shield slipped and she saw his naked grief. He looked as if she had just driven a blade into his chest. Unable to bear the sight of his pain, for it mirrored her own, Tea whirled and dove for the stairs.

  Galan did not go after her.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Absence

  “They have gone.”

  Eithni’s words sounded bleak in the chill morning air. Tea, unable to bear the sight of Galan and his men leaving, had left the broch before dawn. She had climbed out to a spot on the cliffs behind the fort—a place where she and her siblings had played as children—where no one would bother her.

  Of course, Eithni remembered the hiding place.

  Tea sat perched on the rock, her knees pulled up under her chin, her fur mantle pulled tight about her. Far below, the surf pounded the rocks, throwing up spray that settled over her in a fine mist. Of course, it had been a mistake to hide here, for this place reminded Tea of the spot where she and Galan had made love, during one of their afternoon excursions from Dun Ringill. She had been so happy that day; barely able to believe how kindly the gods had treated her.

  Grief constricted her throat. How quickly things changed.

  She had not slept the night before. The rest of the broch slumbered while she stared with burning eyes up at the smoke-blackened rafters. Grief and anger warred for the long night, but this morning she felt nothing—a chill numbness had seeped through her.

  Eithni sat down next her on the rock ledge. She did not ask if Tea had heard her, did not try and disturb her. Instead the sisters sat in silence, listening to the rumble and crash of the waves below. The sky above was lightening. After days of fog, it felt as if the world had suddenly expanded.

  Eventually, when the first rays of sun bathed them, Tea felt Eithni’s gaze settle upon her. “Come, Tea. You’ll be frozen through—let’s go inside, and I’ll get you some hot broth.”

  Tea nodded, grateful that Eithni did not try and speak to her of Galan. The last thing she needed right now was her sister singing The Eagle chieftain’s praises. Wid clearly worshipped him and was completely mystified as to Galan and Tea’s estrangement. She did not look forward to her cousin’s looks of reproach this morning. He had believed she would relent in the end.

  I’m stubborn—like my father, she thought as she stiffly rose to her feet and followed Eithni off the ledge. In the past, such a comparison would have filled her with pride. This morning, the thought depressed her, for Domech mac Bred’s last years had been unhappy ones. And I’ll end up alone and bitter like him too.

  Smoke was rising from the broch’s roof as the two women made their way back inside the fort. Somewhere inside the walls a rooster crowed, the mournful cry carrying over the cliffs.

  Tea felt Galan’s absence the moment she stepped back inside the broch. Despite that she had barely spoken to him during his time here, she had been aware of his presence at all times. Even when he had not been looking at her, or when he had been speaking to one of his warriors, she had sensed his nearness.

  A chill went through Tea at the realization that she would miss him.

  She followed Eithni to the chieftain’s table, where Wid was breaking his fast with a barley and oat pottage, enriched with fresh cream and honey. He watched Tea, his brow furrowed, as she took her place at the table.

  “Are you well, cousin?”

  Tea nodded, avoiding his gaze, and reached for the cup of goat’s milk one of the women handed her.

  “Galan asked after you,” Wid continued. The sound of her husband’s name nearly made Tea wince, although she managed to suppress the urge.

  “I thought it best, if I stayed away,” she murmured. She raised the cup to her lips and took a sip.

  “He did not leave us with a smile on his face,” her cousin continued. “Like me, he does not understand your behavior.”

  Tea glanced up, meeting Wid’s gaze. He was only three years younger than her, the same age as Eithni, but she suddenly felt decades older. “I can’t pick up where we left off—he needs to accept that,” she replied. “Dun Ringill is my rightful place. I should never have left it.”

  Wid stared back at her, the look on his face telling her he was still unconvinced. However, perhaps seeing that his cousin was on a knife-edge this morning, he held back further comment.

  Tea was grateful for that.

  Galan led the way south. He pushed Faileas hard, urging the stallion into a fast canter across the desolate moors. He had lingered at Dun Ardtreck far longer than he should have—he needed to return home and secure his borders.

  The austere landscape suited his mood. He felt as if all color had leached from the world, all joy. Until last night he had hoped that Tea would change her mind; yet he had not bargained upon her obstinacy.

  Anger—at Tea, at himself, at life—churned through Galan. The tempo of Faileas’s pounding hooves thrummed through his body, giving him focus for the moment. He wanted the distraction. The last thing he needed was to be alone with his thoughts.

  Leaving this morning had been harder than he had anticipated. The desire to go looking for her, to tie her up and throw her across the back of his saddle, had swept over him as he saddled his stallion. He had not expected her to see him off, but her absence had still hurt.

  Enough.

  He needed to focus on leading his people. His tribe had to come first. Wid and promised that the peace would endure, and now that Tea co-ruled with her cousin, Galan felt sure that the People of The Wolf would not break their word.

  The knowledge should have brought him solace, yet it did not.

  For the first time, he envied his brothers and their campaign against the Caesars to the south. He wished that he was with them, rushing at that great wall, roaring the battle cry of The Eagle.

  Now that he had lost Tea, he wished only for oblivion.

  ***

  “Fernilea and Carbost both need fortifying,” Wid announced, setting down his cup of ale with a thud.

  Across the table, one of his warriors, Beli, frowned. “Is that really necessary?”

  “Aye—The Stag have given us little trouble of late, but their numbers grow in the north. If they send out raiding parties across the water and attack from Loch Harport, those villages have little defense.”

  Beli’s frown deepened. “I thought you found The Stags friendly when you asked them for help?”

  “I did, but that was only because we were uniting against a common enemy. Forcus was a danger to us all.”

  “So you think we should be wary of them?”

  Wid shrugged. “I think it pays not to be complacent. Just because we’ve made peace with The Eagle does not mean we should not mind our borders.” Wid then turned his attention to the tall, statuesque woman with long dark hair who sat next to him at the chieftain’s table. “What do you think, Tea?”

  All eyes at the table fastened upon Wid’s cousin. The noon meal had just finished and the warriors had been deep in discussion. However, the distant look on Tea’s face told Wid that her thoughts were elsewhere.

  Irritated that she appeared to be ignoring him, Wid frowned. “Tea?”

  Blinking, Tea came out of her reverie. “Sorry, Wid. What?”

  “Did you hear what we were discussing?”

  Her features tensed. “No, can you repeat the question?”

  Wid gave a huff of impatience. “I asked you if you believe we should keep an eye on the People of
The Stag. Their numbers grow along our northern borders.”

  Wid watched his cousin struggle to focus on the topic at hand. She had become distant of late, often disappearing into her own world when she thought no one was watching. Still, it was unlike Tea to do so at a conference with the other warriors. Dun Ardtreck’s safety was important to her—she was usually the first to bring up discussions about its defense.

  “I agree,” she replied softly. “My parents’ union forged peace between the tribes for a while, but ever since my mother’s death contact has diminished. Some of the villages have stopped trading with us.”

  “Then we should see to it that Fernilea and Carbost have stone outer defenses built,” Wid replied. “Just in case an attack ever comes from the water.”

  Tea nodded her approval, before her gaze settled upon Beli. “Take a group of ten strong men and start work on Fernilea tomorrow,” she ordered. “The sooner those villages are defended the better.”

  “Aye, Tea.” Beli dipped his head in respect, before rising to his feet. “I will see it done.”

  Now that the discussion had ended, the other warriors rose from the table and made their way back outdoors. Wid and Tea remained seated at the head of the chieftain’s table, and watched them go. Presently, Eithni joined her sister and cousin. She had brought a basket of dried herbs, powders and clay bottles with her, which she began to sort out upon the table.

  The three of them sat in companionable silence. A girl refilled their cups with watered-down ale before returning to help the other servants chop onions and turnips for that evening’s supper. The rise and fall of conversation in the feasting hall moved around them. A few yards away, a dog yelped as one of the cooks accidently stood on its foot.

  Tea looked down at her cup of ale, her thoughts turning inward once more now that the conference had ended. She felt drained today, and wished she could just crawl into her alcove and sleep the afternoon away.

  Feeling her cousin’s gaze boring into her, she glanced up. Wid was surveying Tea over the rim of his cup. “What ails you, cousin?”

  Tea stiffened. “Nothing—I’m perfectly well.”

  “You’re not yourself, all of us can see that.”

  Tea gritted her teeth, forcing down irritation. This was not the first time Wid had brought this subject up in the month since Galan’s departure. She grew tired of having to defend herself.

  “I’m just weary,” she murmured. “Once the spring arrives I will feel better.”

  Wid’s gaze narrowed. “That’s your flimsiest excuse yet.”

  “It’s not an excuse.”

  Wid gave her a hard look. “You pine for Galan mac Muin,” he said eventually. “He was a fine match for you—a great warrior and leader. You’ll find no better man upon the isle.”

  A few feet away, Eithni went still. Her eyes widened, flicking from her cousin to her sister.

  Tea drew herself up, glaring at Wid. “I don’t wish to find a better man—or any man,” she informed him coldly. “The match was my brother’s idea, not mine. Besides, you need me here.”

  Wid shook his head. “You have been a great help to me, Tea—and for that I will always be grateful—but we both know I can rule Dun Ardtreck without you.”

  Tea went rigid. “You don’t want me here?”

  Wid’s swarthy complexion darkened. “No, I don’t need you here.”

  Eithni shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “Of course we want you here,” she murmured, casting her cousin a look of censure. “We’re all worried about you, that’s all. You’ve been so pale and drawn since Galan left.”

  “There’s no need,” Tea snapped, setting her cup of ale down with a thump. “I wish you’d stop fussing like a couple of crones.”

  “Tea.” Wid snapped, the last of his patience dissolving. “Neither of us are fools. I see your red-rimmed eyes every morning. You haunt this broch like a shade. What has happened to you?”

  Tea stared at her cousin, shocked by the bluntness of his words. Did she really cut such a pathetic figure?

  The days since Galan’s departure had been the bleakest of her life. Yet she had thought no one had noticed her melancholy.

  “I just need time,” she choked out the words and rose to her feet. “Can’t you give me that?”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  You Must Go to Him

  Tea fled from the broch, hurrying down the steep steps to the yard below.

  Fowl scattered before her as she strode out of the fort, through the cleft in the rock face. The village was deserted, as most folk were indoors resting after their main meal of the day. Relieved that she was alone, Tea took the winding path along the cliff face to the west.

  A chill wind blew in from the north-west, stippling the dark waters of Loch Bracadale. Tea barely felt the cold, such was her desire to be away from her sister’s pity and Wid’s concern.

  Out of breath, she reached the edge of the rocky cliff-face and turned her face up to the buffeting wind. Tears streamed down her face, and her shoulders shook with the force of the emotion she kept in check.

  Curse you Galan—why can’t I forget you?

  Then she saw a slight figure, swathed in a thick fur cloak, hurrying up the path behind her. Eithni’s unbound hair twisted and billowed around her pale, heart-shaped face. Her eyes had deepened from their usual hazel to a blazing green as she reached her.

  Tea’s first reaction was anger. She scrubbed at her tears and turned on her sister. “Can’t you give me a moment alone?” she snarled.

  Eithni put her hands on her hips, her gaze narrowing. “Not when you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. If you love Galan, then you must to go to him.”

  “You don’t understand,” Tea shot back. “It’s not as easy as you think.”

  “Yes it is—you’re the only one making it complicated.”

  Tea stared at her a moment before folding her arms across her chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Eithni drew herself up, her eyes glittering with fury. “I’m no goose, Tea—but I’m beginning to think you are. Do you know that when we went to the Lochans of the Fair Folk and I saw the man you were to marry, I was jealous? I couldn’t believe how lucky you were—to marry such a fine warrior, a man who wanted peace not bloodshed for his people. I hoped I’d one day be as fortunate as you, but Forcus tore that hope from me—he destroyed any dreams I’d once had.”

  Tea held her sister’s gaze, her body going cold at these words. She did not want Eithni to continue, but now that her sister had begun to speak, the words rushed out in an unstoppable tide.

  “The gods have always been kind to you, Tea, yet you throw their benevolence back in their faces. If you keep taking it for granted they will stop giving. Our parents and Loc are gone—we won’t see them again until we pass into the realm beyond—but Galan is still alive. You still have a chance at happiness, don’t throw it away.”

  Tea stared at her, shocked by the bluntness of Eithni’s words. Had she really been as blind as her sister accused her of being?

  Was she really that ungrateful?

  ***

  Galan had just returned from a scouting expedition with his warriors when the bandruí approached him.

  Their party had found nothing suspicious, no sign of any further raids, yet Galan was in a dark mood this afternoon. He had barely spoken to his men during the day, preferring to keep his own counsel. Sensing their chief’s ill-humor, his warriors had wisely given him space. Galan did not share in their conversation as they unsaddled and rubbed down their ponies.

  After seeing to his stallion, Galan strode across the yard toward the fort. He felt in need of a strong cup of mead and time alone in his alcove. Initially, when he had first returned to Dun Ringill from Dun Ardtreck, he had been unable to sleep there—for memories of Tea were too raw, too fresh. However, a month on he now spent time there once more. The space gave him the solitude he craved.

  Noting Galan’s unwelcoming expres
sion, Ruith’s gait slowed as she drew close to him. Despite her advancing years, the seer still moved with the grace of a much younger woman. Barefoot, her lithe frame shrouded in a heavy woolen cape, she strode across the frozen earth without seeming to notice its chill. There had been a hard frost that morning and the ground had just started to thaw.

  The bandruí reached Galan and fell in step next to him. “Good afternoon.”

  Galan grunted and lengthened his stride. He did not wish for company right now; could this woman not see that.

  “Galan, I must speak with you.”

  He cast her a dark look. “Speak then.”

  “Please stop a moment. I require your full attention.”

  Irritation surged, but Galan did as bid. He stopped and turned to her. Ruith was much shorter than he was, and so she had to crane her neck up to meet his gaze. In her dark-blue eyes he saw consternation. The seer was not a soft, gentle woman—she was known to speak plainly and to be fierce when riled. The empathy he saw now in her gaze was new.

  “You are so changed, Galan,” she observed.

  Galan shrugged, his irritation mounting further. “Is that what you have to say to me?”

  Ruith shook her head, her features tightening. “I cast the bones this morning. It is a good time to seek answers from the gods. The sun grows warmer and the days begin to lengthen—soon the first signs of spring will be here.”

  Galan folded his arms across his broad chest and regarded her under hooded lids. “And what did the bones tell you?”

  He knew his tone was bordering on disrespect. Had he spoken to the bandruí in such a manner as a lad, his father would have knocked him to the ground. Muin had always revered the seer, and Ruith’s mother too, who had lived among them as bandruí before her.