“Are you afraid you’ll hurt the baby?”
“Yes,” he blurted, his hands shaking much to his chagrin. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt him, deathly afraid I’ll hurt you and more likely myself. This wound on my side won’t heal overnight and the thought of new stitches doesn’t thrill me.”
“We can always try what we did earlier,” Aila offered. “Or I could try this.” Aila pressed her hand to the stitches as heat radiated from her hand. It warmed his skin until he was all but cursing. When she was finished chanting though, Aila felt the stitched dissolve against her palm.
Dagmar looked down at his scar and grinned. “You’re a minx I tell you.
“I’ve got an idea,” Dagmar grinned. Lying down, Dagmar showed Aila how to straddle him, how to take him in, to the depth she preferred. The first time she sank down on him Dagmar had to close his eyes to concentrate on control. Aila was a woman who was wonderful simply because she didn’t realize how wonderful she was.
She rode him up and down, turning them both on as he watched her touch herself. Her hands cupped her breasts, as if offering them to him as they made love. Wanting to show her more, Dagmar took her hand and pressed it between her legs, teaching her how to stroke her clit to the rhythm she set. Within minutes Aila was riding him hard, her moans of pleasure pulling him along with her. She crested easily, her orgasm sliding through her as he anchored her while he came.
Pulling her close, Dagmar covered them with the thick bear blanket, ensuring both of them would stay warm. She curled next to him and as if the child she carried had requested it, he rested his hand over their new baby. He couldn’t explain the awe that had come over him when Aila had mentioned expecting a baby. Before her, he wasn’t even sure he’d wanted children. Now though, the thought of raising a beautiful little girl like Aila was thrilling. So was a shot that the baby would have red, curly hair like him. The toss-up was just as exciting as the news of their baby. He could hardly wait to meet their new addition.
***
Aila and Dagmar spent the winter and spring continuing to oversee their people’s affairs. With the expert help of Svenbreck and Dufguss homes continued to be built for all of Hails’ residents. Much like Aila, Breslin and Bregnan announced shortly into winter that their wives were also expecting babies. The summer flew by and once the last villager’s home was constructed, work started in earnest of Dagmar and Aila’s new abode. When finished it would sport an indoor area for holding important meetings. It also would sport an area for expansion should they have other children.
“This is amazing,” Aila smiled as she walked through the structure. The wide open spaces were huge compared to the small tent she currently shared with Dagmar, especially considering she was very pregnant now.
“I’m glad you like it,” Svenbreck said, wrapping Aila in a hug a she stepped into her home. “Congratulations on everything.”
“Thank you, Sven.”
“Come inside,” he beckoned. You’ll notice immediately how the clay walls help to keep everything much more solid in temperature. Cool in the summer and warm in the winter, you’re going to love this place.” Svenbreck took her room by room, explaining how each room supported her and Dagmar in their roles as rulers over the people of Hail. “This is where you and Dagmar can meet to discuss topics that affect us all. You can also, should you decide to, come up with a council of leaders to help carry out your wishes as our village continues to grow.”
“And the living quarters?”
“Right through that hallway there. You’ll have a huge room for you and Dagmar to share and then right off of it is the baby’s room. I’ve left plenty of land off the edge there should you two make any more babies.”
“Thank you Sven,” Aila gushed. “I still can’t believe how quickly everything came together.”
“It’s not a hardship for our first queen,” he grinned. “Tell Dagmar, whenever he’s ready, Duffgus, Bregnan, Breslin, and I are ready to hunt. I know he mentioned earlier that we needed to stock up as we seem to be popping out babies like rabbits.”
“This is true. With the Bulcher wives and myself carrying, we’ll have three new additions within the next few months. Not to mention Dragna’s granddaughter carrying twins.”
“I can’t even imagine two at one time. I would think, should I ever have children, one at a time should suffice.”
“I like to think so,” Aila smiled. “Although I’m not testing fate.”
“I don’t blame you, that’s for sure,” Svenbreck said. “Well, I’m going to go pack up what I need for the hunt later.”
“Sounds good,” Aila smiled. “Thanks again Sven. I’ll send Dagmar your way when I see him.”
“Thanks, Aila. I’ll see you again soon.”
***
Dagmar paced up and down the length of the food tent, gnawing on his finger nails as he waited. Even without a way to mark the true passing of time besides the sun, he was a nervous wreck, looking up at the exit of the tent every five seconds. “She’ll come through with flying colors,” Breslin smiled. He knew too well the anguish Dagmar must be going through. His own wife was just days away from delivering their child and it was a race to see if he or Bregnan would be a father first.
“Aila’s a strong, brave woman,” Bregnan agreed. “She’d whoop us and I have no doubt she’ll deliver herself of a beautiful baby.”
“I can’t take it,” Dagmar said, springing toward the back of the village. He burst into their home as the first tiny cries ripped through the air. He saw Aila on their bed, a huge smile on her face as she held his daughter, their daughter in her small hands.
“You’re the new father of a beautiful little Ceana Danga Stalson.”
“You named her after our mothers?”
“It seemed fitting, considering neither of them are here to enjoy her.”
Overcome, Dagmar simply sat down on the edge of the bed. He watched as Aila put his dark haired beauty to her breast. The new babe suckled easily and seemed so content with the world around her. Within what seemed like minutes, his own arms were full of sweet smelling baby. “I’ve never held a newborn before,” he whispered.
“Not even our siblings?” Aila asked, truly astonished. “I can just imagine what would have happened should my parents have had more.”
“You’re not thinking about more right now are you?”
“Not right now,” Aila chuckled. “My body is wrecked right now, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t entertain the thought in the future. I’m partial, but she’s gorgeous and I like the baby we’ve made together.”
“She was made with love,” Dagmar smiled. “Even if we didn’t know it at the time.”
“That she was,” Aila agreed.
The pair spent their lives loving each other and the people of Hail. The village thrived through the centuries, always choosing Dagmar and Aila’s descendants to rule. They taught through modesty and moderation, instilling in them the kindness that saw to the needs of the people before the needs or wants of the ruling family. Decades and centuries later if you were to look at the Pict people now, you would see that those same fundamental beginnings ring true, even now.
They have technologies now that weren’t available back then, things like working indoor plumbing, washers and dryers, cars, and the like. But beneath it all, you can look back to see through the generations that Aila and Dagmar’s children and grandchildren kept to the principles of Hail and it’s generous king and queen. To see their beginning you might not think that Aila and Dagmar would have made such a great ruling couple, but they came to complement each other in the most advantageous way. They’d come through mutual tragedy and found that through promised pleasure and by holding each other accountable to pleasure they were able to bare the pain that life sometimes sent their way.
Aila and Dagmar might not have lived a long time when compared with today’s lifespans, but their legacy, even now, lives on in the Scottish people. Everything from kilts and bagpipes to red hair and frec
kles, Scotland became the backdrop of a love story that would span the ages and go down in history as one of the most elegant and lovely stories of romance, war, and pleasure.
THE END
Highlander's Fight
Chapter 1:
The sound was loud and unfamiliar. Aila looked up from the hearth where she the larde red deer had been set to cooking for the evening meal. Her hands, sill holding a large bunch of herbs, stilled and she looked at Dragna with a questioning expression.
Dragna looked equally puzzled but she also looked afraid. Aila stood, her eyes going to Ceana, who was busy stuffing grains into a pot. At five the child was stunningly beautiful. She had her father’s red hair and her mother’s gray eyes, fringed by a thick set of black lashes that gave her a mysterious and wise look, one that seemed far too old for her tender years.
Ceana looked up and asked, “What is it?”
Aila’s throat closed and she said, “I don’t know. Ceana, you and Dragna go to the cave, the one where we put the fresh meat until it’s cured. Now.”
Dragna stood. Her age showed in her slow movements. Dagmar came runnin, his face tight. He said, “The hunters have come back. There’s an entire army marching toward us. They’re miles away, at least five. We have to get the little and old ones to safety. Now.”
Fear exploded into Aila’s being. The wind smelled of sweat and the sound grew louder. There must be a great many headed toward them then. She nodded and said, “Dragna, tell the others. Don’t go to the cave, if they’re many and they’re hungry they’ll find it quickly enough. Go into the woods, deep. Head for the highest of the hills and the hunter camps there.
“There’s a cache of food, but do not light fires. They’ll see and smell the smoke from miles away.”
Dagmar said, “We’ll have to hold them Aila.”
She nodded. She knew what he meant without having to hear him say it. The men coming toward them were bent on murder, and claiming Pictland. The Hail had little chance against so many, and their only hope was to allow some of their number to escape while they fought the invaders. The ones who got away would be the ones who carried on their legacy here in Pictland.
She, Dagmar, and the ones who stayed to fight would, undoubtedly, all die here.
So be it.
Her heart broke as she considered, for one moment, that Ceana would be an orphan and that despite their best efforts the people of the Hail might not be able to flee far enough away to escape the charge of the army headed for them.
She thrust that thought aside. Now was not the time to consider such things. Now was the time to fight.
She took a deep breath. Dagmar gathered the men and weapons. Aila gave the deer, neatly skinned, a regretful glance. It seemed a shame to waste it.
Dagmar gave the orders. Some of the best hunters were to go with the people who were to flee. They’d help to provide for them, and to protect them. The land was wide and deep, and there was plenty of places in its thick forests where they could escape the grasp of the invaders. But they had to get away from Hail first.
Several of the hunters protested. They wanted to stay and fight but Dagmar said, “No. If Hail is to survive our people must survive this day. You must go to help make sure they survive. Those are our children, and they will carry on the blood and tradition of the Hail. You must go, or we all fail.”
The hunters and the others fled, carrying little with them. One hunter took up the deer and several others took small things necessary for their survival. Everyone carried a slim roll of furs to use as shelter and cover.
They were gone in minutes, fading into the high forest soundlessly. Aila asked, “Do you think it will be enough?’
He nodded. “They know how to hide deep in the woods and how to hunt. They’ll be without fire but they can eat the meat raw if they have to, and they will be fine.”
His hand went to her shoulder and lay on it. His face was pensive and slightly ashen. “We’ll fight until the last breath Aila.”
“Damn right we will. That’s my child heading away from here, and so many others that I love as well.”
His lips turned upward at her heated declaration. He said, “They haven’t faced fury until they meet you. If they only knew…”
His jest made her laugh despite the direness of the situation. “If only that army was made up of men who were like you before I made you into a suitable king.”
The joke would have stung many years before but they’d grown accustomed to each other, and they had enough love and understanding for him to take it for what it was. He said, “I love you. I love you more than my life. I wish you’d go too.”
She shook her head. “You know I can’t.”
“I do know.” His shoulder met hers and he dropped a kiss on her mouth. “To whatever lays beyond this, and past that I will love you. And I’ll fight for you.”
She said, “And I the same. But fight for Hail, and for those who’ll carry it on.”
The bleak words brought it home again. They wouldn’t survive this. They’d survived so much but this was impossible to live past. All they could do was fight well, and hope the fight gave those who’d managed to flee the chance to live.
The sound of the marching men grew louder, sending a rush of terror through Aila. She’d known that death was inevitable. Everyone knew that death was inevitable. But to see it, to feel it rumbling along the ground below her feet, made her understand just what death really meant.
Her vision became almost painfully clear. The trees, the sky, the people gathered to distribute weapons and try to consider a plan to hold the army off, they all took on a sharper clarity. A clarity that brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes.
Soon none of them would see the sky again. The beautiful trees sat at the base of the hill, the slow-moving streams with their clear waters and fat fish, the green grass and the soft purple and dark-green brush.
Gone.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
Dagmar said, “We need a plan. I need you, the best with the bows, to go to the trees. Climb higher than their arrows can fly. Rain down as many arrows as you can on them from above, quickly, before they can defend themselves.
“Those of us with swords will fight on the ground. It’s too late to dig traps so we’ll try to draw them into the forest. We’ll try to trap them into the trees where they don’t have as much room to fight back, and do what we can to stall them. Fight hard, fight for Pictland, and those of our blood who will be here after we are gone.”
There were a few nods of assent. No cheering or cries. Those with bows gathered as many arrows as they could head and scurried up high into the trees. Aila whispered, “What if they cut down the trees?”
Dagmar said, “Not if. When. They’ll fight all the way down I imagine.”
There was nothing else to say. Aila took a long breath and took up her sword. She said, “I can try to call down the wind.”
He asked, “Will it tire you?”
She said, “I don’t know but if we can confuse and scare them while the bows shoot arrows at them we might have a better chance.”
He took her into his arms and held her tightly. She could feel the furious beat of his heart against her breast. “Do what you can Aila. It’s all any of us can do.”
She took a deep breath. Some of the men were busy dipping their swords into poison, the poison they used to keep dangerous vermin at bay. She dipped her sword and a few knives as well. It might now work on their enemies but anything that might help was a good thing.
More men lit fires, hoping the smoke would screen the ones who’d left for a few hours, and give them a better chance. Aila took a handful of dried meat and herbs from a woman passing it out and chewed slowly, her eyes on the hills.
The army had come into sight a few minutes before and dread made her mouth dry and her pulse race.
So many!
They came on. The sun beat down on their shields and swords. Bright flashes of light sp
un back toward the sky and she bit her lips as she took her place beside Dagmar.
The day was bright and warm. The feel of the sun on her shoulders made her happy. She didn’t want to lose that, or any of those who stood with her. She wanted to stand in the sun and feel safe and warm, not cold and afraid.
Anger boiled into her. How dare they come to try to take the land that wasn’t theirs and do it with such force?
The anger grew almost out-of-control. The army marched toward them. They were less than half-a-mile from them now. Her body tensed and she forced her muscles to relax and loosen. She began to hum and beside her Dagmar did the same. Soon they were singing, their voices raised as death marched toward them in the form of the Roman soldiers.
Aila sent one of the hunters into the trees to tell the ones up there what she was about to do, and to wait to fire so their arrows weren’t lost in the wind she hoped to summon. When he came back down and nodded the soldiers had halved the distance between them and the Picts standing, waiting.
She took a deep breath.
Could she do this?
It was hard to say.
She had to try.
She let that rage, and her fear take shape. Her body quivered with it. Her hands floated at her waist, palm down and she felt the power of the earth gathering in her hands. She lifted them up and then she held them to the sky, gathering more and more of the world’s magic and her own high emotion.
She could make it rain and keep people warm. Could she use her power to keep them safe too?
Lightning crackled down and struck the ground, charring it. Trees fell in the path of the soldiers. They paused, their faces showing confusion and fear. There were no clouds and no reason for the lightning that they could see.
Aila hurled the lightning again. It sped along the sky and struck in the middle of the soldiers. She smiled grimly when several screamed and fell to the ground, writhing in agony. She and many of her people would die here, but they would die remembered, and feared.
The wind howled out of the sky, whipping the soldiers viciously and behind it came freezing cold that saw many of them dropping their swords. The power flashed and pulsed and she knew it would ebb and soon. She had to do whatever she could to cut their numbers even further. Scores of them had fallen to the lightning and the cold but some were already recovering and those who’d broken and run were being slaughtered by some of their own.
Married To The Cowboy (Love In Collin's Ranch 3) Page 47