Hadrian exhaled frustration and looked at him. “You be calmer about this than I.”
“I am not calm, Hadrian.”
“Then, you hide it better! That is my little girl up there. She makes me a grandfather for the first time. I suppose if it were Raven or Rowanne I might have an easier time of this. They are my elder daughters. In the natural course of events, you wouldst think they would be the first to have bairns. I saw them married. Mistakenly, I let them have their way, and in both cases, the marriages were failures. Raven thought she needed a gentle husband―something unlike her powerful father, I suppose. The bloody milksop died because of the damp. And Rowanne―” He looked around as if he wanted to hit something. “The tale be the past. One I shall regret to my dying day.”
Julian still wondered about the death of the Lady Lochshane’s husband―one topic Tamlyn was unwilling to discuss with him. He held his tongue. Hadrian was in a flux with his emotions over Tamlyn. The man did not need Julian giving him an outlet to vent those frustrations by dragging up ghosts of the past.
Hadrian’s pale green eyes narrowed on him. “Will your brothers make them good husbands? They deserve such after what they have been through.”
“They shall. With me wed to Tamlyn, and Damian to Aithinne, Edward is content Glen Shane is in my control. I granted leave for long betrothals. My brothers gifted the ladies until the spring to come to know them. Both of your daughters accepted the generous offer. ’Tis my presumption that they shall marry around Beltaine.”
Hadrian nodded. “That was kind of you. My daughters need time. One to finish her supposed grieving. The other to trust again.”
Julian finally had to sit. He had been standing and pacing half the night. The servants were off to the Imbolg rites, save for those tending Tamlyn, so the tower was silent. He was tired, but knew there would be no breath of peace until he learned she and the babe were safe.
“I understand you likely wished for a higher born man for both women,” Julian commented, rubbing his forehead where an ache was building.
It was fear. Fear for Tamlyn. He knew women often had problems, even died in childbirth. That anxiety chewed at him. Talking to her father was a distraction. Hadrian took the chair before the fire, opposite him.
“Guillaume and Destain are honorable men, well-liked and respected. They are Challon born, and to a woman of noble birth,” Julian assured him.
Hadrian smiled. “They be brothers to the Dragon of Challon. If they are of the same mettle―which I have no doubt―I could choose no better than I did in selecting Tamlyn’s lord and husband. I am not sure how I recognized you. I just knew you would be the man for my youngest daughter.”
Julian nodded thanks for the approval. “I have raised my brothers up to barons. None would dare cast slur on your daughters. I paid handsomely for dispensations for both marriages.”
“A man is not responsible for the circumstances of his birth. ’Tis how he shapes his fate that speaks of his worth. I know much of you, your brothers―the mighty Dragons of Challon. My daughters can be in no better hands.”
A scream cut through the tower. Both men came to their feet. They looked up to the ceiling as if they could find the answer staring at stone and wood. Julian took a step to go to Tamlyn, but Hadrian caught his upper arm and stayed him.
“Bessa shall not brook a man underfoot. Believe me, I have been there. She chased me out with a hot poker when the twins came.” Hadrian chuckled. “Bessa and Evelynour will care for Tamlyn.”
Julian looked at the man’s hand, considering the advice. But then, a second scream followed the first. He flung off the grip of Tamlyn’s father, and took the stairs to the lord’s chambers two at a time.
♦◊♦
Julian held up his son, seeing the curly black hair, nearly as thick as his own. Tears filled his eyes as he touched the tiny head, stroked the soft curls. So perfect in every way. He lifted the plaide blanket and looked at the stem poking from his belly. “Take this...thing...off him. He is not a plant to be rooted,” he demanded of Auld Bessa.
She clucked and shook her head. “Leave that be, Lord Challon. It will fall off when the time be right.”
Julian’s eyes looked at the tiny toes and gently stroked them. His daughter was beautiful. Daughter? He blinked, shocked to see he indeed had a daughter! Carefully scooping her up and cradling her in the curve of his arm, he stalked to the bed with his beautiful, precious daughter. “Wife, what is the meaning of this?”
Tamlyn weakly sat up, but frowned in pain. “Meaning of what, Challon?” she panted out, then grimaced hard again.
“This is a daughter, not a son,” he stated the obvious.
Bessa chuckled. “Men,” she muttered, as she folded padding and slid it under Tamlyn’s legs, then rearranged the bedding.
“Aye, Challon. I am glad to see this ordeal has not affected your faculties.” She ground another groan out through bared teeth, her hands clutching the bedding on either side of her. “If you do not wish to hold your daughter give her to Raven.”
Raven winked at her sister and started toward him. “Here, Lord Challon, I shall take the wee lass―”
Julian spun aside as she reached for his daughter. “I did not say the first word about not wanting. I am just surprised. Challons never have girl babes. They always breed sons. I never expected to have a daughter.”
“You be in Scotland now, mighty Dragon,” Tamlyn growled. “Wait until your daughter grows up, and I tell her you did not want her, that you preferred a son. She will make you so sorry!”
He again dodged Raven, trying to steal his tiny daughter. “You will do no such thing, wife. She is perfect. The first she-dragon of the Challons. She is special. Magical. But then, what else would she be when she was conceived under the boughs of the sacred apples, eh?”
Busy smiling at his tiny girl, it took time to register Tamlyn’s pains were getting worse, not better. He glanced to Raven, who wiped Tamlyn’s brow. “What ails her? Her pains increase. Something is not right?”
“Damn you, Challon! This is your fault!” Tamlyn moaned again, clearly in agony all anew.
The babe began to cry, as though she noticed her mother’s distress. Raven flashed him a sour look and moved to take the baby. “Give me the lass, Lord Challon.”
“My child is fine. Just expressing her feelings.” Julian used his shoulder to keep her from taking his daughter from his arms. He glanced to Tamlyn who wailed like the Bansidhe. “Like her mother.”
“Challon…” Tamlyn warned, eyeing him as if she wanted to sink her teeth into him.
“Tamlyn, what distresses you?” Julian felt panic rising in him again. She should not be having these agonies, he thought. Once the babe came, she should be resting. “What is wrong?”
Bessa barked. “Och, do no’ be a useless male. Take your daughter into the solar and rock her.”
“I am not budging until you tell me what plagues Tamlyn.”
“You stupid lackwit!” his sweet Tamlyn growled. “I give birth.”
Julian blinked, not grasping what she said. “Aye, she is a beautiful girl babe. She will be the Challon princess―”
“Put a rag in it, Challon. Oooooo―” Tamlyn reared back, seeming to grimace with her whole body. “No’...I...gave…I give…Oooooo…”
Raven glared at him. “Please step aside, Lord Challon. You only hinder things.”
Bessa cackled. “Never kenned a man to be helpful when ’twas time for the coming of a bairn.”
Lowering his brows, he frowned at the old woman. “Save the hot poker―answer me! What is the matter with my wife?”
“The lass gives birth to your bairn.” Bessa shook her head, as if she did not believe his stupidity.
“She has already done that.” He glanced down at the crying child, waving her fist angrily. A smile spread across his lips. He could feel it reforming his whole face. Then it nearly dropped off. “Another babe?”
“Och, My Lord Lackwit, it dawns…Grrrrrrr
rrr.” Tamlyn panted, as another contraction racked her body. “I do no’ want to do this anymore…I am too tired, Challon.”
Evelynour suddenly materialized at his side, carefully lifting his daughter from his arms. “I shall care for the wee lass. Go sit with Tamlyn. She shall need your strength.”
Julian numbly sat on the bed’s edge, worrying about Tamlyn. She looked exhausted, wane. “Come wife, you are a warrior true. We have another dragon waiting to see this world.”
He let her take his wrists and use them to bear down on as the next contraction racked her muscles.
“Giving birth to dragons be bloody hard work, Challon. I shall make you pay for this.”
Julian smiled. “I wouldst judge the price well worth it, my lady.”
His strength seemed to flow into Tamlyn, fill her, for suddenly, she had the vigor to face the next round of pain. From that point, matters moved fast. This dragon wanted to come into the world quickly. Tamlyn only threatened him with bodily harm twice.
Bessa slapped the babe, and another Dragon of Challon voiced its opinion of this world. The child squalled, causing his daughter in turn to kick up a fuss in the solar. Swaddling the child, she handed the babe to him. “Your son wishes to greet his father.”
“Son…” For the second time this night, Julian was humbled in awe at the miracle of his second child. Then he blinked. “Tamlyn, what is the meaning of this?”
“Oh, Challon, do shut up. I am busy.” Bessa massaged Tamlyn’s belly to expel the afterbirth. He could see Tamlyn was in no mood for his teasing questions. “You wanted a son. I bloody well gave you a son. Now hush.”
“But he has your golden hair. All Challon sons have black hair. I suppose he will have your amber eyes, as well. Mayhap that faint clef in his chin.” He tried to sound properly grumpy, but the grin betrayed him. His heart moved him to tears as he fingered the straight, fair locks.
“Challon, you want a black-haired son? You have my leave to give birth to one. I am tired. Two bairns in one day are enough.” She lay back, closing her eyes, as Bessa pulled up the covers.
Hadrian opened the door, and paused to check if Bessa was near the fireplace poker. Seeing she was across the room from it, he entered. “So, am I allowed to see my grandson?”
Julian pushed aside the swaddling to reveal his boy.
“Och, he has Tamlyn’s hair.” Hadrian chuckled, a twinkle in his eye, as Julian covered the child up again and gave the babe over. “The Black Dragon now has a Golden Dragon for a son. How exciting!”
Julian strode into the solar and returned with his daughter. “But here is the most special gift. My wife not only gave me a son, but a daughter.”
“Oh, what a little beauty.” Hadrian immediately traded babies, so he could hold his granddaughter. “I am partial to girls. They are a joy.”
Tamlyn called, “If you two are no’ too busy, I wouldst like to see my son and daughter.”
Julian sat on the bed’s edge and shifted his fair son to his mother’s arms. Her face softened and tears filled her eyes as she ran her finger over his toes. “Oh, Julian, he is so beautiful.”
“Do not forget my granddaughter. She be the true beauty.” Hadrian leaned to his daughter and brushed a kiss to her forehead. “You did well, Tamlyn.”
♦◊♦
A sennight later, Julian paced the floor, rocking his daughter. Her tiny face pruned up, then she gave a big yawn, closed her eyes, and drifted to sleep. He was endlessly fascinated with this tiny person. She had his black hair. He tried to imagine a female with that riot of blue-black waves. “Oh, you will give all the lads a merry chase.”
“Challon, put that baby in the cradle. She needs her sleep,” Tamlyn called from the bed, where she sat nursing his son.
“A son and a daughter. How lucky can one man get?” Julian marveled aloud. “Is not your mother the cleverest woman in the world?”
Ignoring his wife’s order to put his daughter to bed, he sat on the bed cradling the tiny bundle on his lap. “We need to name her. I thank you for allowing me to name our son after my brother Christian, but our lass needs a name, too.”
“I have gone through choices. Naught seems to fit.”
The little girl began waving her fist again and fussing. Julian’s finger stroked the soft skin of the arm, surprised when she grasped his finger. “Look, Tamlyn, she clutches my finger. I think she wants her brother to hurry. She is hungry. She is strong. A little warrior woman just like her mother. A pagan most likely. Glenrogha will pass to her?”
Tamlyn nodded. “My first daughter will follow me.”
“Then, I shall have to build a castle at Kinmarch for our son.” Julian smiled at the beautiful children, a gift. “Tamlyn, these two babes are half you and half me. A daughter like the father, a son like the mother. I think their names should reflect that. Since our son is Christian, what about naming our daughter Paganne?”
Tamlyn smiled as she removed her boy from her breast and switched babies with him. Instantly, their son set to squalling. “Tell Christian he must learn to share. His sister Paganne be famished, too.”
“You like the names?”
“Aye, I think they are perfect.”
Julian smiled she was pleased. “Mayhap next year you shall give me a black-haired son and we can name him after your father.”
“You can go shovel horse dung, my lord husband. I shall give you a black-haired son when it pleases me. I just went through this. I am not eager to rush into labor again.”
Julian leaned to Tamlyn kissing her softly, slowly. “Beltaine shall near soon. The apple trees will bloom. Will you dance for me before the balefire.”
“Oh, do hush gloating, Challon, and kiss me.”
“Aye, my lady.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
An nì a thig leis a’ghaoith, falbhaidh e leis an uisge.
(What comes with the wind goes with the water.)
— Auld Scots Adage
An claidheamh a 'seinn ann an làmhan de ghaisgich fìor
(The sword sings in the hands of a warrior true.)
— Medieval Adage
Lightning cracked, the flash hitting so close it lit up the dark interior of Kinmarch Kirk with a blinding white light. Blinking until the flash passed, Tamlyn glanced out the stained-glass window. The Kenning caused a flutter of rising alarm within her.
Usually she loved storms. Loved the smells they brought, their vital, elemental force.
For some reason, this storm unnerved her. Also, mayhap guilt nibbled at her. She had slipped off from Glenrogha while Challon was away at Lyonglen. If he returned to find she had left Glen Shane and come to Kinmarch, she feared her backside would pay the price.
Even so, she had to come, and for a task she could not reveal to Challon. It plagued her conscience. Despite promises to him to stay within Glenrogha’s walls until his return, she had kept silent about her intention to come to Kinmarch Kirk. He would have forbidden her leaving the dun. She had no aim to conceal her actions from him, and would face the repercussions after Challon learned of it. That he would learn, she had no doubt. The man seemed to see all, know all. She still pondered if her husband were a warlock. Malcolm’s seven sons―Skylar, Phelan, Iain, Sean, Michael, Donnal and Jago―along with ten men from Kinmarch, were going off to join with Hadrian and Andrew de Moray.
To fight the English.
Her heart heavy for the deed, she had stolen from Challon. Tamlyn wanted them to go with the best armor and the finest mounts, and to ride as knights under the pennon of Kinmarch. She sought for them to have every advantage. The armor she filched from the barrack’s tower and the fine chargers might mean the difference between them living and dying.
Malcolm finished speaking mass before the kneeling men, then anointed each with holy water. Now it was her turn to perform the adoubement―knighting these beautiful young men. When she reached the final one―Skylar―she stared into his lavender eyes, knowing he was going into harm’s way. Her heart twisted. Born
the same day she was, they had been childhood friends, the two of them constantly into mischief. He had been Challon’s teacher, showed him the ways of the claymore. Skills that could save her husband’s life.
Her chin quivered as she lifted the sword and placed the flat of the blade on his left shoulder.
“In remembrance of oaths given and oaths received. In remembrance of your blood and obligations.” She carried the Sword of Glenrogha over his head to the right shoulder tapping it, then returning to tap the left. “Walk in honor, Sir Skylar. Rise as a knight.”
His head bowed in modesty. “My lady.”
He stood, the last of the seventeen men of Glenrogha and Kinmarch she had knighted. Instead of giving the colée―the buffet―the slap to remind the knight that he should always remember his oath, she rose up on tiptoes and bestowed a kiss of peace to his forehead. “Return to us safely, Sir Skylar.”
Lightning struck overhead; the clap of thunder terrifying. The stones of the ancient kirk rattled until Tamlyn feared they might clatter down around them. Outside grew strangely black. Though midday, it appeared nearly night.
“My lady!” The doors flew open and Connor Og stumbled in. “Riders…flags flying. One scarlet…mayhap Longshanks’ leopards. They were too far away…to tell. They come this way!”
The men scrambled to gather their swords and mantles.
“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Santi,” Malcolm intoned as he traced a cross in the air. “Go with the blessings of our Annis, goddess of the water, Evelynour of the Orchard and Bel, our lord of fire. Come back strong and whole.” Arching a brow, he shrugged at Tamlyn bemused smile. “They are my sons. I want all the protection they can get.”
Everyone hurried out of the church and to the side where the horses were tied. Skylar lifted Tamlyn to Goblin. “Farewell, cousin. Be sure to thank Challon for the loan of his fine steeds and all the strong English armor. Keep safe until we meet again at Beltaine.”
A Restless Knight (Dragons of Challon Book 1) Page 39