by Shana Ab
His horse, lifting his head, turning his ears to the wooded grove across the long line of beach ahead of them, let out a soft snort of air.
Ari looked, seeing nothing at first. But then he caught it—the way the shadows shifted near a space between two trees, patches of ghostly light slipping over something solid and large. Another horse, a hooded rider on it. They halted just where the woods met the sand, as Ari had.
He gathered the reins and took his steed out into the open moonlight, nothing but sand dunes and tufts of sea lavender to hide him now. After a moment, the other rider did the same.
They approached each other slowly, cautiously. Ari couldn't yet see the man Lauren had sent to him. The hood was large, and the cape connected to it covered him completely. But as the distance between them grew shorter, he didn't have to see the face of the other rider to know who it was.
She had come herself. She had shunned handing off the task—and the risk, Ari supposed—to anyone else. He was not surprised, though the anticipation in him now was heightened almost to exhilaration.
She rode a horse that matched the moonlight instead of the night. It suited her well, he thought, a stroke of boldness that complemented her spirit, disdainful of hiding.
Lauren brought her mount up to his and then stopped, pushing back the hood.
“du Morgan,” she greeted him, nodding coolly.
“MacRae,” he replied, nodding back, hiding his amusement at her reserve. “You gamble much for someone who doesn't trust me.”
He could see her choose not to respond to this, almost as if her thoughts were open to him, no secrets. The wind twined between them, stirring her hair from its coif, stealing loose strands to dance around her face, beckoning him to touch her. Lauren's hand came up; she pushed back the errant strands impatiently.
“Well?” she asked.“What news have you?”
“They agreed,” Arion said.“We will join with you.”
Obviously this was not the answer she had expected. Astonishment flashed across her features, a bare second, and then she masked it by turning her head away from him, as if to scan the ocean. If he hadn't been examining her so closely he wouldn't have caught it at all.
“Excellent,” she said, turning back to him, perfectly composed. The playful strands came free again, now brushing her lips. Arion watched them, helpless to look away, while Lauren continued to speak, appearing not to notice his distraction.
“I should tell you that my clan would agree only to a test period, however. A fortnight, nothing more.”
“Why didn't you mention this before?”
She actually smiled.“I didn't think your people would accept your plan. So it didn't seem to matter.”
His steed shifted sideways, restless, and Ari brought him back near hers with a calming hand, though there was a rising irritation in him. “Such faith you have! And what happens after a fortnight, MacRae? Two weeks of cooperation and shared goals, suddenly followed by a renewed animosity between us?”
She looked down at the mane of her horse, then out at the water again. “I don't know,” she said softly, and the wind took her words away from him and made them thin.
He stared at her and she ended up staring back, both of them arrested in the moment, blind to the wind and the sea and the stars. Arion felt the desire welling up once more, a natural reaction to her nearness, but this time he gained no pleasure from it. Her beauty grated on him, that she could be so close and never his, that she could command that any truce between them would be only temporary at best.
It hurt him somehow, though he knew it was absurd, and unwarranted. His ache for her turned sharp, cutting; nothing like pleasure but more of frustration, and pain.
“It appears we have a bargain, then,” Arion said, trying to keep the myriad of emotions from showing in his voice.
“Aye,” she finally replied.“It appears we do.”
He edged his mount even closer to hers, until they were almost side by side, then held out his hand, palm up. Lauren merely looked at it, then back up to his face.
“In England,” he lied,“we seal a bargain like this.”
She hesitated, then mirrored his move, allowing him to take her hand and bring it close to his face. He bowed his head and pressed his lips against her skin—not on the back of her hand, the way he should have done. Ari raised her palm and kissed her there, in the center of it, so that her fingers curled up and touched his cheek, and he could feel the heat of her wrist so near to him, the scent of flowers and woman tantalizing him.
When he lifted just his eyes to see her she was perfectly still, staring at him, aghast. So Arion moved his lips down farther, over to her wrist, and the beating pulse that fluttered there made him smile against her, a wicked satisfaction. Let her consider this when their fortnight ended.
Lauren snatched back her hand.
“A very strange custom,” she said, and the velvet of her voice seemed roughened, shaken.
“On the contrary,” Arion replied.“You'd be surprised at how many good unions begin in such a way.”
She pushed her mount back to put space between them, pulling up her hood at the same time, until the shadows hid her face, and all he was left with was a woman on a horse, her breathing a little too shallow for normal.
“Tomorrow morning, du Morgan, we will have a patrol at the eastern meadow with the rock oak. Do you know the one I mean?”
“Aye. I've seen it.”
“Bring your men—or send them, I don't care—to that rock oak at dawn, and we will begin this … union.”
“Very well,” he said.
She turned her steed and galloped away, quickly absorbed in the depths of the forest leading back to Keir.
Arion, alone now in the sand, smiled grimly to himself. He knew what Lauren MacRae didn't, or wouldn't admit: The union between them had already begun. He could only pray to God it didn't kill him before the Vikings did.
Chapter Five
HE ROCK OAK WAS THE only one of its kind on the island, an oddity that Lauren had always thought had been dubbed with a reversed name, since it was not an oak at all, but really a stone that was shaped as one.
It was distinctive on Shot not just for that quality but because it was the only thing of any height in the eastern meadow, a lone mark against the sky and the ocean, a heavy twist of mottled rock in reddish brown and gray and clear quartz.
Lauren had always considered it beautiful. She supposed it was a strange quirk in her, that she found poetry in things where others found only practicality. A river became a ribbon of liquid gold, instead of an obstacle to cross. A storm was the pageantry of nature, instead of a cursed nuisance. Lightning was fascinating, not frightening. Thunder was thrilling, not the wrath of God. The distinctive taste of sea salt, the rainbowed interior of mussel shells, even the cries of the sea birds that circled their ships were all things of wonder to her.
And the rock oak was one of the best wonders of them all. It thrust out from the waving meadow grass, dark against the green and yellow ground, completely out of place. It stood taller than she—taller than anyone in the clan, for that matter. Stone bark, rough in some places, smoother in others, just like the bark of an actual oak tree. But instead of branches coming out of the top, it was cut off, as if a capricious giant had come and snapped it in half. As a girl she used to climb up the trunk of it to sit on the top, and there, on the uneven table of its crown, she had discovered the circles of alternating color that started small and spread out, like rings on the surface of a pond.
A whim of nature, at least to Lauren. To everyone else, it was just a good place to meet, a distinctive marker for that part of the island.
They gathered next to it now and watched the sun come up over the water, mostly silent, a group of young warriors and older ones. Their horses were still fresh, slightly restless, shifting in the grass.
Lauren, who had dismounted to wait, leaned back against the rock oak and tried not to yawn. When had she last had a good night
's sleep? She had no idea.
“Mayhap they won't come,” said Rhodric, one of the men who, yesterday, had expressed more doubt than most at this scheme. He was the youngest son of James, and apparently he was even less ready to accept an agreement with the enemy than his father was.
“They'll come,” Lauren said.“They have every reason to.”
No one replied. They just kept scanning the horizon, a few holding up hands to block out the bright light of the new sun.
A slow commotion at the southern edge of the meadow drew everyone's attention. It was the sound of horses, many of them. A dark, hazy line became heads, torsos, and then horses, at least forty men, all converging on the group by the rock oak.
There were only thirty of the MacRaes.
“They've outnumbered us,” someone muttered.
“It's all right,” Lauren said, hoping it was true.
One rider broke away from the rest and took the lead. Lauren didn't bother to remount to meet him. She strode across the yellow and green grass, walking up fearlessly to the large black stallion.
“You're late,” she said.
The Earl of Morgan gave her a disgruntled look.“This meadow is closer to Keir than Elguire.”
“Is that all it was, du Morgan? Or were you having second thoughts?”
He swung out of the saddle, coming down close beside her, but Lauren refused to take a step back.
“Second and third and fourth, MacRae,” he said to her, offering that dry smile of his.“Yet here we are.”
“So I see.”
One of them would have to move. She had to bend her neck too much to meet his look, but he seemed not to notice, only stood there with that smile, so close she could follow the pattern of threading at the collar of his tunic. Each stitch was precise, exact, she noticed—and then she wondered who had sewn them for him.
A sweetheart? A betrothed? Some English beauty, no doubt, with flaxen hair and sky-blue eyes …
This was unseemly. Lauren took the step away, using her arm to sweep back to her men as a cover for it.“We are ready to ride with you. I have some information from this morning's early patrol, however.”
“What is it?”
“A longship was spotted off the northeastern coast. At least one, perhaps more. My men said it was too far off to be certain. They've been watching it, but the Vikings made no move to come inland.”
“Are they still there?”
“Aye, as far as I know.”
“Then let's go,” he said.
It didn't take long to reach the lookout point where the longship had first been spotted. A narrow hill atop a steep cliff, more of just a rock face, really, marked with stunted bushes and no path to speak of. Trees and bushes grew thick along the edges of the cliff on either side of the outcropping, which hung thin and pointed over the fury of the ocean below.
They found the guards' horses first, tied at the bottom of the incline. The hill was too steep for riding. Two of her men remained up there still; she saw them both staring out at the water. They always kept scouts in pairs now, ever since the disastrous attack that had killed Da. One to mark the progress of the boat, the other to ride back to Keir to warn of the impending assault.
When they heard the group approaching, one of them walked down the hill, searching the crowd until he saw Lauren.
“It's still out there,” he said to her, and Lauren dismounted and tied the reins of her steed to the same scrub as the scout had. When the man began the climb back up the hill, Lauren followed, then looked back at the earl, still mounted.
“Well? Aren't you coming?”
He looked around him, then dismounted, handing the reins and his shield to one of his soldiers. Lauren began to climb again.
The view from the top of the craggy incline was spectacular, if windy. From here she could see out to forever, to the endless line of the water meeting the sky, blue on blue, with perfect, even whitecaps farther out. Marring the symmetry of the scene was the faraway form of the longship, brown and red and white, the curving prow of it unmistakable even from this distance. All of the oars had been lifted from the water. Rounded metal shields lined the edge of the hull, flashes of brilliance against the sunlight.
The two most approachable beaches on Shot were always well guarded: Keir overlooked one, Elguire the other. Otherwise the shoreline was rocky at best, deadly at worst. Yet these Vikings weren't near a beach at all. It made no sense.
“What are they doing?” Lauren asked, almost to herself.
“They're waiting,” said a voice at her shoulder, firm and authoritative.
“For what?” asked one of the scouts.
“I don't know,” the earl said.“That's the bad part.”
Her braid was already coming loose; Lauren put both hands on her hair to keep it from whipping around them, still staring at the menace of the boat, almost motionless amid the waves.“There's no place to land here,” she said. “It's all cliffs on this part of the island. They won't be coming this way, unless they're crazed.”
“No,” Arion agreed.“And there's just one boat. We've already shown them we can defeat one boatload of men. Mayhap they're waiting for more of them to arrive.”
“Why here?” Lauren asked.
“It's almost the exact middle between Keir and El-guire,” Arion said.“Perhaps they chose it for that.”
“But there is no haven—” Lauren began, then exchanged a long look with the scouts.
“What?” Arion asked, curt.
“No haven off this shore except for the caves,” she finished.
“Caves? What caves?”
“The cliffs here are riddled with them. But they're mostly very small, and they fill with water at high tide— they're too dangerous even to visit, much less dock in. It's why we haven't patrolled here as much as the beaches.”
She inched farther up the incline, past both of the scouts and the earl, until she lay against the slope of the hill at the very edge of it, leaning her head down over the top. The drop would be quick and staggering from this rock, nothing below her but air and then the churning water, crashing up against the cliffs. She craned her head to the left, seeing only white froth and waves, nothing unordinary. Then she looked to the right, and found Arion beside her in an identical position, leaning over the edge of the rock, following her look.
“Refreshing,” he commented, as the wind came up hard and slammed against them, smelling strongly of the sea.
She ignored his sarcasm, creeping up even farther over the brink, so that her elbows were braced against what was almost the underside of the stone, and her head hung far down, her braid falling past her to point to the sea. If she looked straight down it was a dizzying distance to the swirling blue.
“Careful,” said the earl, now sharp. She felt his hand on her back, and then her arm, holding her in place.
“I'm fine,” Lauren said, but she didn't dare try to shake him off. She kept searching the water below.
Nothing. No Vikings down there, as far as she could see; no boats of any kind. But the sunlight coming off the water made a jumble of the waves, blinding her in spells, so that she had to squint to close out most of it. She gave up on the ocean and started looking down at the face of the cliffs instead, at the layers of shadows against the pink stone, chips of white sparkles shimmering at her.
The shadows were deep and impenetrable, easy camouflage for the natural cave openings pocketing the bluffs here.
“I think that's enough,” the earl said, and began to pull on her arm.“Come up, Lauren, and we'll talk—”
“Look!” She did shake him off now, taking back her arm and pointing. And then she lost her balance and tipped forward, toward the seething blue water.
Firm hands pulled her back, stabilizing her. She heard him swear at her under his breath. “Come up!” Arion demanded, pulling at her.
“No, look! Don't you see it, du Morgan? Open your eyes!”
She pointed with her other hand, right to the betrayin
g shadow, turning and finding his face until he scowled and tilted his head to follow her finger, partially blocking her view.
His black hair billowed up around them, brushing her cheek, tickling. He had not let go of her arm.
Lauren spoke into his ear.“That shadow there, beyond the rock that looks like a seal. It's moving. Do you see it?” She tried to go lower than his head, then higher, to find her view again. “It's the tip of a boat, du Morgan! A rowboat, I would say, from that longship of theirs. They found their way to one of the caves, but the tide is rising, pulling at the boat. That's why we can see the end of it.”
The wind was a steady howl around them now, the echoing crash of the ocean seemed all too near. He hung there with her, motionless now, and Lauren managed to find a space to look around him at the very tip of the rowboat, a bobbing speck of color against the darkness.
“Yes,” Arion said at last. “I see it. You're right—it's a boat.”
He looked back at her and she at him, their faces so close together, enthusiasm and thrill between them. His hair blew around them again and then mingled with strands of her own, ebony on copper red, creating the illusion of shelter around them.
All at once the elation of discovery in Lauren turned to something else, something that had nothing to do with the boat below, a spiraling sort of intensity. She met the earl's look—altered now as well, not so open as before—then watched as his eyes dropped lower, down to her lips.
Lauren pulled away, and her hair freed from his, and the wind and the sun came back between them. She scooted down the incline of the hill until there was all solid rock beneath her, shaking her head to rid herself of the strange potency of his look. When she turned around he was standing at her side, and the men in front of them were showering them with questions.
“It's a rowboat,” she said, to no one in particular. “They've found one of the openings in the cliff face.”
“Are you certain?” asked Rhodric.
“It's there,” answered the earl.
Rhodric didn't look at him, keeping his gaze pinned to Lauren.