by Shana Ab
“You'll make a fair bride,” Hannah said.
“And with the jewels the Murdoch sent, what a sight you'll be,” sighed Clara.
Lauren let out little laugh, then smothered it. Only Hannah noticed; she gave her a glance that said she understood what Lauren was feeling.
Two months ago Payton Murdoch had sent a trunk across the sea for her. It had been delivered right before the invaders first came, with great fanfare and protocol from the captain of Murdoch's personal guard. That man had huffed at Lauren and eyed her up and down while she had stood in front of him and everyone and endured it. The captain had announced that the laird of the Murdochs sent his greetings and well wishes to his future bride, and honored her with this chest of goods to prepare for their wedding.
In the chest had been four things.
His mother's wedding gown, carefully folded into many layers.
The Murdoch tartan that would go over it, taking the place of her own after the ceremony.
A brooch of polished silver, carved into the shape of a rowan twig, the badge of his clan.
A ring, heavy and thick, also silver, set with three large rubies that gleamed like frozen blood in the light.
Lauren had worn the ring only when she had to, and at least had had the excuse that she could not work properly when having to care for such a precious item. Everyone had seemed to accept that, and she had put it away with a sigh of relief.
She could not say the same about the brooch, however, and so over dinner with the captain, Da had ceremoniously removed the elegant golden brooch of her own clan to pin this new one on her. The color of it remained a distraction to her for weeks afterward. Even now she could find herself startled by the glint of silver at her chest, instead of the gold that had been there all her life before.
The wedding dress and tartan, obviously, had not been a concern until recently.
The marriage was drawing near. Assuming, of course, that Murdoch intended to show up and claim her still, Lauren thought sourly. He could send an army of men from the mainland to guard a bit of jewelry and cloth, but her clan's pleas for aid against butchery remained unanswered even a month and a half later.
Spirits remained high that he would still come, however, and privately Lauren agreed with them, though not for the same reason as they. She figured that Pay-ton Murdoch would want his ring and brooch back, if nothing else.
So she stood there in her chamber with a strange mixture of dejection and laughter coursing through her, and kept a faint smile firmly in place as the women of her clan admired her and the gown and the vision of their splendid wedding to come.
Lauren tried not to think of the wedding. Da would not be there for it, so no matter how splendid it might be, there would always be something dark about it for her.
She tried to imagine what he would say to her now, if he could see her in her bridal gown. Would he smile at her? Would he hug her close, and tell her how proud he was of her?
She had to hope so. She had to believe that he would. If only he were here …
“You're a bit taller and thinner than Murdoch's mother,” pronounced the seamstress, stepping back to admire her work.“But it will do, I think.”
“Your Da would be so pleased,” said Vanora softly.
Lauren turned her smile down to the ground, holding on to it with gritty determination.
Eventually the women collected their needles and pins and sewing baskets and left her alone, whisking away even the dress, to be labored over with careful devotion until it was perfect.
Murdoch's ring was a heavy weight on her hand, and she pulled it off her finger as soon as they were gone, taking it over to the cushioned box that held her own few pieces of jewelry. She placed it carefully beside her old brooch, the golden one that held the intricate, twisting lines of her own clan's badge, then shut the lid. The silver twig of rowan was waiting for her on her pallet, and she changed into her regular clothes and then pinned it back in place, trying to find an angle for it that pleased her. At last she gave up, exasperated. Nothing about it looked right on her, and perhaps it never would.
Supper would not be served for a few more hours, but because she was restless and slightly apprehensive of her own thoughts, Lauren left her room and began to wander down the hallways of Keir, thinking vaguely of going to the buttery and helping with the food.
But she walked by a door that had not been closed carefully enough, and what she heard there made her pause, then suck in her breath.
“… won't tolerate the du Morgans much longer, by God. When this is over, I say if they step foot on our half of the isle, we show them what we would have done to those Northmen!”
Lauren pushed the door open slowly to reveal Rhodric, his back to her, James and Ranulf standing in front. The older men were listening, arms crossed, as Rhodric continued.
“We've got only three days left of this agreement.” He made the word a sneer. “But it's three days too many. I'm not the only man who wants to see the backs of those English.”
“No doubt,” said James, his tone heavy.“But it is still an agreement, son. You will heed it until the fortnight is done.”
“I'm telling you, we don't need them!” Rhodric slammed his fist into the flat of his palm.“This alliance never should have existed in the first place!”
“Oh, truly?” said Lauren, not moving from the doorway.
All three men turned to see her for the first time, and their expressions ranged from embarrassment in the elders to bluster in the younger man.
“This talk does not concern you, woman,” said Rhod-ric, with clear derision.
James immediately stepped over to him, grabbing his tunic and pulling him close, face to face.“Never address her like that again, do you understand me?”
His son glowered for a moment, but then nodded, glaring at the fire in the hearth.“Aye,” he muttered. James released him, pushing him away with a slight shove.
“It was merely idle conversation, Lauren,” Ranulf said into the silence.“Pay it no mind.”
Lauren stepped into the room. “Rhodric is right about something. The alliance will be ending soon, by our own terms. It's time to think about what might happen afterwards.”
Rhodric still would not look at her, but she had the attention of the two other men.
“I think we should renew the agreement,” she said calmly.
“God's blood!” Rhodric exploded.“Are you mad?”
James grimaced, and Ranulf was already shaking his head.
“Listen to me,” Lauren said.“Everything about this joining has worked so far, barring”—she looked at Rhodric—“minor discontent. You cannot deny that we have been safer and more informed since the du Morgans began to work with us. We are a stronger force now. We are the better for it!”
“Well, lass,” began Ranulf.
“There are no Vikings, Lauren, none at all!” Rhodric threw his hands into the air.“You would tie us to our enemy just to fend off the clouds! There is no more threat!”
“Of course there is!” She crossed to him, more than ready to argue.“Just because we succeeded in shaking them off up until now doesn't mean they won't be back!”
“You're suspicious of the wrong people! It's the English you should be worried about, not the Vikings!”
“And how is that?” she demanded.
“The moment this alliance ends, they'll be at us, and don't think they won't,” replied Rhodric, looking away from her to his father and Ranulf.“They've been trying to quiet our misgivings the whole time. When the moment is right, they'll attack us! It's what they've been after all along!”
For a moment Lauren just stared at him, speechless. Then she said, “I think you're the mad one, Rhodric MacRae. Only a madman would consider such a witless plan!”
“I'm not the one who ran to the leader of our enemy, Lauren,” Rhodric spat. “I'm not the one who listened to his false words and let him court me away from my own clan! I'm not the one who pretends to be loy
al to the family while letting the Earl of Morgan woo me with lies! I'm not the one who finds any reason to see him, to stay near him! I've watched you with him, I've seen you—”
“Enough!” bellowed James. “I've heard enough of this!”
Rhodric fell silent and Lauren stood there, mute, faint, feeling the blood drain from her face, feeling the betraying, leaden knot of guilt expand in her stomach.
Oh God, he knew.
Rhodric knew about her feelings for Arion. Somehow, he knew!
She managed to look at his face and found him staring back at her, flushed, breathing hard, anger and something more in his eyes, wounded pride.
“It's not true,” she breathed, cold with fright.
“Of course it's not, lass.” Ranulf placed a heavy arm around her shoulder. “The lad was mistaken. Weren't you, Rhodric?”
Rhodric didn't reply. He kept staring at Lauren, finding that guilt in her, seeing it, she was certain, each damning word of his echoing through her, adding to it.
“Weren't you, son?” James spoke the words with pointed emphasis.
At last Rhodric nodded his head, just once, and the other men seized on it with sighs of relief.
“Hotheaded, just like his father when he was a lad,” said Ranulf with a forced smile.
“It's a fact,” agreed James, another false smile.“Don't let it worry you, Lauren.”
Ranulf was urging her to the door. She walked with him in wooden steps, trying to find her breath again. “And never mind about the end of the agreement, lass. We know how you feel about it. I cannot help but agree with you that it seems to have worked out well enough. When the fortnight ends, the council will consider your idea to renew it.”
“Aye, we'll consider it,” added James from behind her, but Lauren already heard the verdict in his voice. Rhod-ric had gotten to him first.
HE VILLAGE WAS REMOTE, ONE of the farthest from Keir on all of Shot, nestled up against the base of a mountain, great fields spreading all around, sheep in clusters in the meadows. The name of the village was Dunmar, and the MacRaes who lived there had the all-important job of tending to the largest herds of sheep on the island.
It took almost a full day to get there from Keir, a hard ride with twisting trails and steep edges near the hills—one more precious day, leaving only two to the alliance.
Lauren cherished every moment of it, every second of freedom and beauty on her mount, on her way to investigate reports of missing sheep from the herds.
It was more than what they would occasionally lose to a wild boar, or a bog, or even a cliff, the messenger had said. It was a slow, steady loss, one sheep a day—no carcasses—and Lauren knew what that meant.
“Vikings,” she had said to the men at the council meeting that morning.
“Or du Morgans,” Rhodric had thrown in from the other side of the room, scowling.
Lauren had not bothered to look at him again. She couldn't risk letting him see the guilt in her once more—or the icy fear he gave her—so she had pretended to ignore him. And fortunately, no one else took him very seriously, and the comment had passed.
It would not be the du Morgans stealing these sheep. In the past, yes, they had certainly plagued the village, knowing Dunmar's defenses were not as strong as Keir's. And the MacRaes always managed to retaliate in some way or another. Plenty of sheep had crossed and recrossed the border between them over the years.
This time, however, Lauren was certain it was the invaders, most likely the ones that had been left by the longboat, now scattered about on Shot. Apparently they had not drowned, after all. Not all of them. It was a problem that demanded immediate action, and Lauren found herself ready for it.
Anything to escape Keir now, and the massive burden of all the things that pressured her to stay: her wedding, the women, even that thick ruby ring in her chamber.
So Lauren had ridden out right away with a parcel of her men and a few of the English, since Fuller had insisted that they come as well. Any threat to Shot was a threat to both families, he reminded her, and Lauren had been forced to agree. But both had left behind the majority of their factions to keep up the regular patrols, which they could ill afford to underman.
Rhodric was one of the party going to Dunmar. Lauren could not refuse him, not without a scene. She had shrugged when he insisted upon going, as if she didn't care one way or another. If he meant to spy on her, there was nothing she could do about it. But if he planned to disrupt what was left of the bargain with the English, he would have to fight her every step of the way.
For the first time, Lauren found herself devoutly glad that the Earl of Morgan was so far away.
It was a group of about thirty who made their way up the final path to Dunmar, past golden meadows and autumn trees, all eyes turned up to take in the sight of the misted mountain ahead of them.
Dunmar had a long, rudimentary wooden fence encircling the majority of the structures in the village; tall, pointed spikes that were buried deep in the earth. Several large, penned areas inside of it were for the sheep, to guard at night. The fence was relatively new, put in only a few years ago to spite the du Morgans, and Lauren wondered if the earl's steward knew of this.
She rather hoped not. She was coming to like this Fuller, his quiet demeanor, his polite ways that guided a sharp mind. When he offered ideas she invariably found them sound, and told him so. Though he spoke for the earl, Lauren found that she felt none of the nervous discord with Fuller that Arion brought out in her. A strange thing, to find something like easy goodwill in a du Morgan.
It would be a step backward for them both to insult him now with the obvious gesture of the spiked fence. But if Fuller knew of it, he said nothing, only allowed Lauren to lead the party to the gate, which opened for them as soon as they were seen.
People came forward and greeted them, eyeing the strangers warily, though of course they had been told of the agreement. Lauren dismounted and found herself wrapped in a solid embrace—her cousin Kenna, daughter of her mother's sister, who had wed one of the shepherds of Dunmar and lived in this outpost.
“I'm so happy to see you!”
Lauren laughed and leaned back, examining the other woman's bulging stomach.
“You haven't changed a bit, I see! What's this, number five?”
“Six,” said Kenna proudly.“A girl this time, I'm sure of it.”
“Well, five boys are likely enough.” Lauren linked arms with her cousin and then looked around, searching until she found the face she sought.
“Any of the herd gone missing today, Cormic?”
“Naught,” replied the old man, acknowledged leader of the village.“At least, not yet.”
It was Cormic who had sent the rider to Keir to warn of the strange loss of sheep. He came forward to her now in slow, dignified steps, the setting sun turning the white of his hair to rosy gold, an illusion of youth. When he was close enough he became the familiar elder she had known all her life, a seamed face with deep brown eyes, the edge of a smile always just tucked away, it seemed. Only right now he was not smiling.
Lauren released Kenna and greeted him properly, offering a small curtsy, even though she wore a tunic, and it most likely looked ridiculous. Cormic just nodded, then took in all the others behind her.
“A fair number,” he commented, and Lauren couldn't tell if this was approval or not.
“If it is the Vikings stealing the sheep, there can't be that many of them. We've had only one boat sighted recently, and we think there could be only a few men that might have made it to the shore.”
“I hope so, lass,” said Cormic, and turned away from her, walking back up to the village.
Kenna noticed Lauren's frown. “He's worried,” she whispered, coming close.“He won't say it, but he's afraid we'll lose people next. And he doesn't like the English at all, you know.”
“How astonishing,” Lauren said wryly. She glanced over her shoulder and found Fuller standing close by. “Bring your men and mounts up t
o the village. We'll be spending the night here, since it's so close to dark now. I'm going to leave a group of men outside the gate, keeping watch. You may do the same, if you like.”
Fuller nodded.
“Come.” Kenna tugged on Lauren's arm. “Time to sup. Come see my family. And I want to hear all about the wedding. I can't wait for it!”
Lauren was taking the first few steps up the grassy slope to the center of the village when she heard the commotion behind her, raised voices, the thunder of hooves. She pulled away from her cousin and went running back down to the gate, joining the crowd gathered there, the hairs on the back of her neck raising.
“What is it?” she asked, because she couldn't see over the heads of her kinsmen. No one answered her, but the feeling in the air around her was ominous. She ducked and elbowed her way to the front of them, nudging her way forward until she could see for herself the reason for the stiffness in the men around her, the antagonism in their stances.
A mass of horsemen were racing across one of the meadows, up to the wooden wall, still too far away to be readily identified—but it didn't matter. Lauren knew who was leading that pack, and so did everyone else around her.
The Earl of Morgan rode his midnight destrier with almost unnatural grace, his hair loose and flying in the wind, the last of the sunlight blanketing him and his group in such a blood red that they might have been riders from the underworld, come for a final, murderous battle with the mortals of Shot.
As he came closer she could see a strange wad of cloth secured to the back of his saddle, bouncing with the gait of the stallion. But no—it wasn't cloth at all.
It was a lamb. A dead lamb, limp and broken, tied behind the earl.
Lauren was not the only one alarmed by the sight. All around her the men were drawing their broadswords, edging toward the advancing horsemen, narrowing their eyes.
“The devil family,” she heard someone say, and the phrase was taken up immediately.
“Lucifer's own!”
“Damned English!”
“Thieves!”
“Demons!”