Lords of the Isles

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  She sat in a heap, momentarily stunned by the organized chaos that reigned around her.

  The three men on horseback were still seated and systematically ordering men in the ranks to attack. Huddled together using their shields as a barrier, the men were charging the archers. The bodies of at least a dozen men littered the ground. Their deaths a combination of every attack that had been thrust their way. She searched the bodies for Aaron, cringing at even the slightest similar arch of nose, but he was not among them. Thank the gods. She felt a little guilty that she expected to see him dead.

  Macrath caught sight of her and panic flashed on his face. He started to turn his horse in her direction, but she shook her head, not wanting to divert him further.

  “Bitch!” shouted the woman who’d joined her out the window, snapping her back to attention.

  If she weren’t in such a precarious position, she might have laughed and corrected her. She’d not shared her name with anyone other than Judith. But there was no time for that. An arrow whizzed past her, stabbing into the ground by her hand. A sign from the gods that she needed to move. She whirled toward the door and together they hoisted the heavy wooden bar.

  “We need to keep this—as a weapon,” Ceana said.

  They burst through the door of the croft and slammed it closed behind them. Nearly two dozen sets of expectant eyes met theirs.

  “What was it like out there?”

  Terrifying. “The men seem to have a good handle on the attackers. I think they will be triumphant.”

  She met the gaze of her partner, and a silent message passed between them. There was no need to describe in detail the carnage. She’d wager a guess that at least half the women in the games had not witnessed battle before.

  A great melee of clanging weapons and shouts of anger, cries of pain, filled the nighttime air. Inside the croft, the women were quiet, save for their fearful, quickened breaths. So far the threat of fire had not reached them.

  “We are safe, for now,” Ceana said, her voice breathy, heart pounding in her ears.

  Flashes of Macrath atop the horse, his face contorted in anger towards his enemies, passed through her mind. He’d shouted and pointed and swung his sword. And then fear for her had transformed him. She’d never seen a man look that way before. She wanted to rush outside and leap onto his horse, to tell him to run away from it all, that they had to escape. But doing so would only get the two of them killed.

  “ ’Twill not be long now,” she murmured mostly to herself.

  Ceana dragged the bar over to the window, pulling back the shutter enough to peer outside. The men appeared to have taken out at least half the archers, but the other half were still firing their blazing death points into the air.

  And then the howling started. The wolves had been brought back into the fold.

  Ceana shuddered, her knees quaking. The men had so many odds against them. If these horrors were only the third game, how would she ever make it through two more?

  The first wolf came from the left, launching itself at a warrior just outside her window. His snarls and the man’s bellows reverberated off the croft walls.

  “Wolves!” cried the women.

  Ceana slammed the shutter closed, afraid the wolf would catch the scent of their fear and leap through after he’d finished with his victim.

  “Do you smell that?” Judith asked.

  Ceana hadn’t noticed her coming up beside her.

  She sniffed. Smoke.

  Holy mother of all gods, ’twas smoke. They’d been hit by one of the fiery arrows.

  The other women began muttering and looking up at the thatched roof. Thin curls of smoke reached through the thatch, and speared out in all directions, covering the ceiling within a few breaths in a blanket of dark, swirling fog.

  “We were hit!” That was all it took for the panic to start.

  The women started scrambling for the door and Ceana and Judith leapt in front of it.

  “There are wolves! You can’t leave,” Judith shouted.

  “Get out of the way!” cried another woman, punching Judith in the throat.

  Judith staggered backward, clutching at her neck and coughing.

  Ceana lifted the board and swung it in an arch, nearly hitting several women. “Step back!” she warned.

  “You’re killing us!” Several women collapsed on the ground, coughing.

  Their panic only made their coughing worse.

  “Nay, you nitwits. I’m saving you! There are wolves afoot. You cannot run out without a plan!”

  “We need no plan with wolves out there.”

  “But we have to,” Ceana said. “We have this weapon,” she indicated the board. “Who has the strongest swing?”

  Judith raised her hand. “I do, lass.” Her voice was tight. An angry, red welt had formed in the center of her neck where she’d been hit.

  Ceana handed her the wood plank. “Then you’ll be the one to fight off the wolves.”

  Judith smiled. “I’m good at that.”

  “Seems you are.” Ceana turned her attention back to the women. “We file out one at a time. No pushing. A burning roof is the least of our worries if we’re to go outside.”

  The women quieted, agreeing with her.

  “We go behind the croft and remained huddled together, as far from the fighting as we can get.”

  Ceana cracked open the door, checking to make certain no wolves waited on their haunches, ready to pounce. It looked clear. As clear as it was going to get. “Do not look at the carnage,” she warned.

  She pushed the door all the way open and they were at once hit with the brutality of war—game or not. Taking a deep breath, she led the women out of the croft and into the chaos. Despite her warnings, several women collapsed after taking in the bloodshed and had to be dragged by others.

  Judith stood guard as the women filed around the side of the croft toward the back. A few of them screamed drawing the attention of the men, and a lone wolf. As his hackles were raised and he started toward them, teeth bared, Judith raised the plank, ready to swing.

  A loud thundering came around the side of the croft in the form of Macrath on his massive warhorse. The charger’s eyes were wild, and Macrath tugged the reins, a subtle hint for his mount to rear up. Taking his cue, the animal raised up and, forelegs swinging, he trampled the wolf beneath his hooves.

  At the same time, a horn blew and the ping of arrows ceased. The male warriors shouted of the attackers retreat. Must have been the last of the wolves that Macrath and his horse flattened.

  Game three was over.

  Macrath had survived. She had survived.

  Ceana didn’t hesitate. She ran toward him, tears of relief flooding her eyes. Macrath leapt from his horse and lifted her up in the air, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. She breathed in his scent and squeezed him tight.

  “We made it.” Her throat was too tight with emotion to speak louder than a whisper.

  “Aye, lass. We’ll live to see another day.” And then he kissed her, right there for anyone to see.

  And she let him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Macrath never wanted to let go.

  Never wanted Ceana to leave his arms.

  His chest swelled, blood still pumping with battle rage, and fear for her safety. She clung to him, lips warm and pliant, fingers curled tight on his shirt. The moment he’d seen her rushing toward him—alive—he’d leapt from his horse without a second thought.

  “That was awful,” she murmured against his mouth. “I’m so glad you’re not…”

  Macrath cupped the sides of her face and pressed his forehead to hers, their gazes locked. He had only eyes for her and none for the carnage around them. “We made it, lass.”

  Standing behind the crofter’s hut, they were hidden from the guards and most of the entrants, save the women. The dim light of the torches that had ringed the croft let off a soft eerie glow.

  “Might want to break apart now,” th
e woman Ceana called She-muscle warned. She held a thick wooden bar in her hand and cocked her head toward the front of the croft. “Got company.”

  They’d been lucky not to have company before now.

  To have kissed so openly where any of the guards could have seen was extremely dangerous. Reluctantly, Macrath let go of Ceana and took a step away, hating every inch that separated them.

  “Thank you, Judith,” Ceana said to the larger woman.

  She inclined her head, and Macrath found himself amazed that they’d been able to form a bond. At the same time, he regretted the sorrow Ceana would feel when she mourned her friend’s passing—for they could not both win.

  “Where is she?” bellowed her guard, Aaron, as he charged around the corner. Blood streaked his face, mostly that of whoever he’d fought against as there didn’t seem to be any wounds readily visible. His eyes were ablaze and wild like a rabid animal. His sword was still drawn, causing a couple of entrants to take a step back and another to leap in front of him, warning to put the weapon aside, that the game was over.

  Macrath might have been taken aback by the man’s behavior, except, he’d been waiting for it. Ceana, however, actually took a step closer to Macrath, her eyes wide and lips pursed as she watched her personal guard experience a breakdown of sorts.

  Aaron’s scrutinized every person standing, though he did toss aside his sword. Finally, seeing Ceana, Aaron quickly affected an expression of concern, but it had been plain for everyone to see his anger moments before.

  “My laird, I was so worried.” He scrubbed a hand over his face as he rushed toward her.

  “As you can see, I am fine.” She turned a smile at Judith and the other women. “We worked together, and no harm has come to us.”

  Aaron waved away her comment and came to stand beside her. Macrath watched in silence, finding it only slightly humorous when the man’s hand twitched toward Ceana’s. He must have thought better of it, letting it fall to his side. And good thing, because the part of Macrath that didn’t find it humorous was infuriated enough to pick the whelp up and toss him as far as he could.

  “I cannot say it was the same for the men,” Aaron made a pointed stare at Macrath.

  Macrath crossed his arms and stared the man down, daring him to say another untruth. The men had worked impeccably well together. Their formations, their willingness to let Macrath and the two others on horseback take the lead. Trusting them to see the game through. And they’d won because of it.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Ceana asked, narrowing her brows.

  Macrath was pretty certain she was about to get a taste of just how low her guard could go. He was also confident that she would see reason, and understand that her guard was completely out of line. He’d seen her watching the men. She knew what they’d been through.

  “Aye, Aaron, whatever do you mean?” Macrath said, challenging the man. A crowd started to gather, including the other horsemen.

  “Only that—” But his words were cut short as the guards blew the horn and bellowed for the entrants to line up.

  To his surprise, Ceana shifted forward, away from both him and Aaron in favor of walking beside her new friend, Judith. He frowned at her back and then at Aaron—it was his fault after all. The cowardly bastard would try to make him look bad in hopes of gaining favor with his mistress. Disgraceful.

  The men and women waded through the bodies and trudged through mud formed by pools of blood mixing with the earth. They formed lines as they stood, not separating as they did normally. Judith stood between him and Ceana, and Aaron was on her other side. Bastard.

  But the time for anger and jealousy abruptly came to an end as he took in the carnage around him. ’Twas a stark reminder of why they were there—and it wasn’t to argue with a paltry green lad over a pretty lass.

  “Entrants! We need to bury the dead. There.” The guards tossed wooden shovels from a mule-drawn cart, and pointed toward a burial cairn that they’d set up torches around. “Dig on the right side. Those that are injured need to be piled in the wagon.”

  Macrath was one of the first who stepped forward to pick up a shovel. Covered in sweat and blood, the rush of battle made him tremble as his mind tried to tell his body that he was still alive and the threat was gone.

  To the right of the cairn was a flat piece of land that looked undisturbed. Around the left, the land rose and fell in subtle waves. That was where entrants of past games had been buried. With five years between, the grass had regrown.

  Macrath struck the ground with the tip of his shovel, feeling it slice into the earth. He tipped his head, looking up at the stars in the sky and whispered a prayer for those who’d died not only tonight, but before, as well.

  “Have you buried someone afore?” Ceana asked, striking the ground with her own shovel.

  “Aye, lass.” Too many. “You?”

  She didn’t say anything. He paused in his digging to look at her, tears streamed down her face. He reached out for her, but she shook her head, offered a sad smile. She swiped them away. “I’ve lost many, but I’ve only buried one.”

  “What did you say to her?” Aaron snarled.

  Macrath gritted his teeth, his patience growing thin. “Look, lad, I am not your laird’s enemy. Nor will I ever be.”

  “But—”

  “That’s enough, Aaron,” Ceana cut him off. “Macrath is my friend. You will treat him as you would a guest who’s come to visit us at Gruamach Keep.”

  Aaron glowered at Macrath, but he kept his own expression blank. He refused to take part in anymore pissing matches. As it was, at some point, the lad wouldn’t be around anymore. Either he’d die by Macrath’s own hand or one of the other entrants.

  The moment was lost, and rather than continue to confess her losses to Macrath, Ceana kept on digging. Aaron jabbed his shovel into the ground, a satisfied smirk on his face.

  Macrath put all his irritation into moving dirt, pounding the earth as he wanted to pound the whelp. The mounting tension between the two of them was palpable, and Macrath couldn’t see it ending any other way than in violence.

  About an hour later, the moon had shifted in the sky and all the dead were buried.

  “Though it be not yet morning, Samhain is upon us,” a guard bellowed. “Return to the castle. The injured shall be attended while the remainder of you rest and clean yourselves up. As it is a sacred holiday, you will be given a day of respite.”

  Many a breath was drawn in. Macrath had forgotten about Samhain. ’Twas the day that marked the end of the harvest and the beginning of winter. In Argyll, they would have celebrated it from sundown to sundown, with great bonfires, feasting, sacrifices to the gods, and the wine would flow. Men and women would dance and flirt and make love with abandon. ’Twas a day of merriment.

  But, the souls of the dead walked the earth on Samhain.

  At Sìtheil, there were many dead. A century, and more, of death surrounded and clouded the lands and castle like a thick, ash-filled cloud, making it hard to breathe. How could they dance and laugh without restraint when shadows loomed all around?

  To make matters worse, with his stepmother and half-brother afoot, they would be certain Macrath did not enjoy even a moment of the celebration. That was, if they got to him before Beatrice. He shivered.

  He could still feel her bony fingers sliding over his nude skin. Her nails digging. Her whip lashing. The way she’d rubbed her breasts all over him. It was hard to suppress his shudder. Forced him to think of more pleasant things, like the way Ceana’s lips melded to his. Or even just the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, or the splash of freckles on her pert nose. The strength that sat on her shoulders and the fierceness of her determination. Those things made him smile.

  “So far away.” Ceana touched his elbow, jarring him back. “Are you going to make a night of it at the croft?”

  Macrath saw that nearly all the entrants had filed into a line down the darkened road, only the torches of the guides to light t
heir path. Judith and Aaron stood a few feet away, and it looked as though the woman was trying to distract Aaron from Ceana.

  “Nay, lass.” Macrath smiled. “Was just thinking about tomorrow.”

  “Samhain?” Ceana smoothly tucked her arm in his elbow and steered him toward the road. She limped slightly, and he wondered if the stitches in her leg had come undone. When they returned, he’d take a look to be sure her injuries weren’t getting infected.

  He kept his eyes ahead, not interested in the least in Aaron’s reaction. “Aye. How did you celebrate at Gruamach Keep?”

  “We always sacrificed to the gods—but we never seemed to have enough livestock to do it. We started the day with a hunt and we’d sacrifice half. Then we’d sip whisky and wine, dance by the fires. It was a nice escape. Most years our enemies left us to it.” She shook her head, pulling herself from her reveries. “I fear, ’twill never be the same again.”

  Macrath wanted to wrap her up in the protection of his arms and promise that he’d keep her safe. That in every year to come, she could dance and laugh and not be afraid. That she could live her life until she was bursting at the seams with fond memories and no more heartache would touch her. But, sadly, even when they won, he could never promise her a life without strife. ’Twas simply not the way of it. To be human was to struggle and overcome the odds, whatever those odds may be on any given day.

  “You had a lot of enemies?”

  She nodded. “ ’Tis one of the reasons I joined the games.”

  “You’ve not spoken much about your reasons,” he prodded.

  Ceana kept her head forward, without answering. Their feet crunched along the trodden path, several paces behind the others. Aaron turned around every so often in a jerking move as if hoping to catch them at something. An owl hooted in the distance. A startling sound. So removed were they from reality, it was hard to fathom nature living on as though death did not blanket the land.