by Mia Pride
If he was not so weak, he would laugh at the irony of his own predicament. He had set out to claim Clarice’s body for his own and instead, he felt the many crawling legs of the insects that wished to claim his body as their own. They could have him, but not until he was dead. Some of these wee nasty critters did not seem to care that he was not yet dead, for every few moments he felt the twinge of pain from tiny teeth sinking into his cold flesh. The pain in his head had long since gone numb, but the pain of each insect bite made him grit his teeth. Would death not take him away, already?
He heard an eerie keening sound high above his head. He could not open his eyes to identify the origin of the sound, but he knew it well enough. Vultures. The disgusting birds of prey were also awaiting his death. Well, they could get in line. It seemed the entire world wished him dead, but none more than he.
Another sound caught his attention, this one much closer to the ground. It sounded like snapping twigs and crunching leaves. It was getting closer. Were those voices? It was hard to tell with the constant ringing in his ears from his head injury, but he thought he could detect the patterns of human voices fluttering toward him in the breeze. It was so cold but he was not sure if it was the frigid early spring weather or the fact that he had lost so much of his life’s blood.
“I am certain the trail continues through there,” he heard a voice say through the thickness of the woods.
“Mayhap we should split up?” a deep voice questioned.
“Nay. If tis an enemy clan, we are more powerful together. Tis not usual to find horse tracks out here in the forest so close to Caledonii. The only people out here usually are our own hunters and we never bring our horses.”
“Aye. Tis true enough,” the deep voice replied again.
There were men nearby! From his own village! He knew he had been close when they stopped to rest for the night, but he was not aware they were resting in the same patch of woods the hunters usually used. He was a warrior after all. His days were spent wielding a sword and practicing in the fields. The hunters went out by day to fetch food for the others and all Gregory did was sit down at the end of his long day to eat whatever meat had been captured and cooked for the village.
“Do you not see those vultures overhead?” the first voice questioned. “Something is dying nearby. Mayhap tis a large boar or stag that would feed our tribe well! If it is not dying of disease, that is. Let us find it.”
“I thought we were following the horse tracks to make sure nay enemies are in our woods,” said the deep voiced man.
“Aye, but we must not arrive without meat, either. Besides, the trail seems to lead in the same direction as the vultures. Mayhap we can catch some game and kill any enemies at once. Our chieftain would reward us handsomely.”
“Aye, and the lassies would favor us,” the deep voice responded with obvious excitement.
Gregory groaned. No wonder the chieftain chose these men to be hunters and not warriors. They had the intelligence of the very boar they sought to kill and while they clearly had decent tracking skills, they lacked the common sense to quiet their steps, and their mouths, while tracking an enemy. They were too hopeful for glory and lassies to focus on their mission. As warriors, they would be dead before a battle ever began.
“Did you hear that?” the first voice asked. “I heard a low moaning sound.”
Suddenly the hunters went silent. Had Gregory truly been an enemy, these fools would have died long ago, but as it was, he lay there helpless, awaiting certain death. But he wanted to be found. Survival seemed unlikely, but anything was better than waiting to become worm food. He struggled to groan again and was pleased when a guttural, pathetic sound escaped his lips.
“Over there!” Deep voice shouted.
The steps came closer to his ear and he knew they had found him when he heard their simultaneous gasps. He must truly look disgusting. Nay doubt blood surrounded his body. He could feel its cold, stickiness soaking into his tunic and could smell the metallic stench of death. Gods only knew what sort of vermin or insect consumed his flesh. He winced as another critter bit the tender skin of his calf.
“Dear Gods!” the first man whispered. “How is he not dead?”
A hand grabbed the fabric of his tunic over his shoulder and turned him over. He still felt much too weak to attempt to open his eyes, but he knew by the sudden brightness that penetrated his shuttered eyelids, then the cool shadows that shut out the light again, that at least one man hovered above him.
“Nay. Tis Gregory! The chief’s best warrior! He looks as if he is on death's door, he does.”
“Shoo, you wee nasty vermin!” the deep voice growled and he was grateful to sense that whatever creature had been feasting on his calf had been chased away. “We will be even more rewarded if we can bring the chief’s champion back alive.”
“Aye…was he not supposed to be retrieving his dead brother’s wee wife so she could be tried for murder?”
“Och, aye. She must have tried to kill him as well. She is a wee bonnie lass. Does not seem like the sort to kill a man, or even be able to.”
“I never believed so. Tis too unusual that her husband and Gregory’s wife died within a moon of each other.”
Gregory felt what little blood was left in his body start to boil. These men dared question his claim against Clarice openly? It did not matter that their assumptions were accurate. He could not allow it. If it became known he was the true killer of his wife and brother, he would be the one to pay and he would never have Clarice for his own. These imbecilic hunters were perhaps smarter than Gregory gave them credit for. He would have to silence them…eventually. For now, he needed their help if he was ever to survive.
“I believe he wanted Clarice for himself,” deep voice added to the conversation. “Not that I blame him. She was a sweet wee thing and I would do almost aught to taste that sweetness myself, if you know what I mean.”
The other hunter grunted and Gregory decided in that moment that both needed to die for certain. No man could talk like that about his woman. But he could only silence them if he survived. Suddenly, any will he had to die evaporated and was replaced with pure determination. He would survive, and he would find Clarice.
“Let us get him back to the chief,” the first man said and though they could not see it, inside, Gregory was smiling with more mirth than ever before.
Chapter 12
“Och, the weather in Alba is as unpredictable as my breeding wife’s mood changes!” Jeoffrey said with a laugh as he put his sword down and wiped the sweat from his brow.
It had been only two moons since his marriage to Clarice had finally become official, and spring was nearly over. It had been a busy season with his role as one of the main farmers for their village. His crops were flourishing and Wee Jeoffrey had taken quickly to the trade, helping to pull any weeds that threatened to take over and fetching water from the well to help water the fields when necessary…although, spring in Alba was a very wet season and Jeoffrey rarely had to worry about his crops needing water. In fact, he was far more worried about them flooding and rotting away.
Indeed, spring could be quite wet in Ériu as well, but Alba was a new experience altogether. It was a rare thing these days to have a day as hot as it was now. He enjoyed the sun’s rays as they streamed through the sparse floating clouds in the cerulean sky and wrapped their warmth around his body. It seemed everything was a bit more enjoyable and a lot more beautiful since Clarice and wee Jeoffrey had come into his life. Suddenly his moods were always light and he found himself whistling as he worked and even enjoyed a new spring in his step.
One moon ago, Clarice had surprised him with a wee tunic she had created. He had laughed and kissed her fiercely, informing her that, while the tunic was good craftsmanship, it was much too small to fit their growing son, who would be four summers old in the fall. But his laughter had died and a new powerful emotion consumed him when she shook her head, sending him that smirk that was always his undo
ing. But it was not so much the smirk that caused his heart to squeeze like a vice in his chest and his breath to catch. Nay, it was the one hand gently placed upon her abdomen that had completely rendered him speechless.
“Nay…” he whispered as he stepped closer to her, too afraid to ask the question burning on the tip of his tongue.
“Aye, Jeoffrey.” Her two-worded response sent Jeoffrey to his knees, clinging to her legs as he rested his head against her stomach reverently.
“Och, my dearest wee lass. You have brought too many blessings upon my life in only one season.” Finally, at last, he would be fortunate enough to watch his child grow within her womb, to feel its wee kicks, and sing to it at night. Wee Jeoff had jumped up and down with excitement at becoming a big brother. Jeoffrey had never in his life been more content and he could tell from the sparkle in Clarice’s eyes that she felt the same.
“Are you imagining yourself back in the moment Clarice told you she was with child again?” Alastar’s mocking voice snapped him back to the present where he stood in the middle of a field, sweating profusely after a round of mock battle with the warriors. Jeoffrey’s blue tunic stuck to him like a second skin and he hastily tore it over his head and threw it to the ground, enjoying the sudden breeze across his damp flesh. Running a hand through his soggy brown hair, he could not help but send Alastar a proud grin. Aye, he had been dreaming of that moment again. He seemed to do it often and apparently, his best mate knew it well.
“By all the gods, you are a love-sick fool. Remind me to search your house when I come over for the evening meal tonight,” Alastar scoffed and punched Jeoffrey in the shoulder.
Jeoffrey looked at Alastar like he had grown an extra nose. “Search my house? For what?”
“Och…for the jar Clarice must keep your bollocks in, mate!” That made Jeoffrey burst out with laughter. Let Alastar mock him all he wished. He had no idea what it was like to love a woman and for that woman to keep blessing him with children. He had been deprived of all happiness for four lonely years and now that he had it, he would not stifle those emotions…not for anybody’s sake.
But, he was still a man and a clearly virulent one at that. “What can I say, mate? My seed likes to stick within my wee wife’s womb. Do not shame yourself with jealousy.”
Now it was Alastar’s turn to burst out into laughter. He followed Jeoffrey’s lead and pulled his sweaty white tunic over his head. They both began to slowly walk back to the farm. “If you think to try to convince me that having a wife and wee children is what I am missing in my life, then I would save your breath, Jeoff. After I leave your house tonight, I have plans to meet with a very curvy serving lass in the gathering hall and I assure you, I will not be giving her my name nor my seed. I quite like my freedom.”
“Of that, I have nay doubt, Alastar.” Nay, Jeoffrey knew his best mate well enough to know that marriage and babes were not on his list of things to accomplish in life. Mayhap he wished to bed every serving lass in Ériu and Alba, but marriage? Nay.
As they approached his farmhouse, he heard tinkling laughter floating out of the open door. He recognized Clarice’s laughter instantly, but it was mingled with several other feminine squeals. Alastar looked at Jeoffrey apprehensively. “I do not know if I am brave enough to enter a house filled with laughing women. Few things make women laugh like that other than laughing at their men.”
Jeoffrey snorted with mirth. “Considering you have nay woman, you have nothing to fear. They cannot be laughing at you.”
“This is true. Well then, let us enter and discover what, or whom, they are laughing at.”
As they entered the house, it took a moment for Jeoffrey’s eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The fire blazed in the center hearth as always, but it had been unusually bright outside, making the entrance into his home seem almost cavernous.
Clarice stood near a bench toward the back of the house, close to the loom she had been endlessly working at since discovering she would be having a wee babe to clothe soon enough. Surrounding her were Morna, Lili, Floraidh, and Agnes. These four lassies had become quite fond of Clarice over the past few moons, and had become even protectors and allies since Ealasaid had betrayed her to Gregory. In fact, the entire village had taken to shunning the deceitful wench. Clarice was apparently favored by most of his people, which pleased him to no end.
“My wee wife,” Jeoffrey purred as he came behind her and wrapped his arms around her slightly expanding middle. It was still early days, but it was also her second child. She had explained that she was likely to expand much quicker with the second child. “What has you lassies laughing so?”
Agnes made a tisking sound and wiggled her finger in his face. “Tis women’s business Jeoffrey. You are a married man now. You must learn that when you come upon a group of lassies whispering and giggling, that you are not privy to their words.” She giggled playfully and winked at Clarice.
Alastar grunted. “I have nay use for women’s business whatsoever. I will be on my way. But I will be back when that stew over there,” Alastar pointed to the cauldron suspended over the fire releasing tantalizing scents of boar meat, rosemary, and thyme, “is good and ready for me to devour.”
Not surprisingly, Alastar winked at Agnes at the exact time he said the word “devour.” However, what did come as a surprise was the disdainful look she shot back at him. Few lassies ever turned away from Alastar’s winks and dimpled smile. Alastar, as confident as ever, merely shrugged and began to leave the house.
“Jeoffrey.” The commanding voice of their chieftain called to him from just outside his open door, causing every voice to fall into silence.
Crinkling his forehead, Jeoffrey stepped outside, wondering what his chieftain could possibly want from him. “Aye, King Ailbert?”
One look at the men standing behind his king made his eyes bulge out of his skull and he instantly got into a defensive stance, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Jeoffrey,” King Ailbert repeated, “You have visitors from Ériu.”
His king sounded skeptical and slightly irritated as he raised a questioning brow. Jeoffrey may be one of his king’s best warriors, but he was also a newcomer to this tribe. They had graciously accepted him into their embrace because he was the hero of the battle that had put Tuathal on the throne. Since Tuathal had been born and raised in Alba and his mother was the daughter of one of their kings, he had been welcomed openly. The people of Alba adored Tuathal Techtmar, High King of Ériu.
“They claim to be here on King Tuathal’s orders…” King Ailbert added slowly.
“Jeoffrey? What is the matter?” he heard Clarice say as she came up from behind him and placed a gentle hand on his waist.
Jeoffrey clenched his jaw and tried to control the rapid beating of his heart. He had never expected to see this man again for the rest of his life…nor did he wish to. No good reason could have brought him across the sea in search of Jeoffrey. In fact, the blazing look of hatred in the man’s hazel eyes told Jeoffrey all he needed to know. He had left an enemy back on the shores of Ériu and that enemy had come for him now under the guise of working for Tuathal.
“Eoin,” Jeoffrey said dryly. “Have you come from across the sea to try to kick my arse?”
Eoin snorted in disgust and scowled at Jeoffrey. “Gods, nay. You are not worth my time.” He spat on the ground close to Jeoffrey’s boots and his nostrils flared. Aye, Eoin hated Jeoffrey and he could not blame him one bit.
Clarice gripped him tighter and he could feel her nervous energy. “Jeoff, who is this man?” She rubbed her abdomen absently as she chewed on her bottom lip.
“Och. I see you moved on quick enough. Got yourself a new lass, and got her with child, as well. Mayhap now you have nay need to steal another man’s wife.”
Clarice gasped, having obviously put all the pieces together. “Is this…is he—”
“The husband of the woman he stole away last summer and forced into a jest of a marriage? Aye, I am he.” Eoin’s
jaw continued to clench and Jeoffrey was unsure of why he was here, but he was certain he wanted him gone. He had apparently arrived with several other men, two of them standing behind him with identical black hair and bright green eyes, although one man was slightly larger than the other.
“Eoin. Not that I am not completely thrilled to see you, but why have you come? Has something happened to Treasa?”
Looking over at Clarice, he saw were lips turn down at the mention of Treasa’s name and he felt more guilt flood him. He had been an arse and a bastard to steal Treasa away. Mayhap he deserved whatever punishment Eoin had brought for him all the way from Ériu.
“Nay! Treasa is hail and just gave birth to our first babe. And if I hear her name on your filthy lips ever again, I will wash it out with your own blood.”
Eoin did not frighten Jeoffrey in the least. Aye, he was a large enough man and a warrior, but Jeoffrey could take him if needed, or at least it would be an even match. He knew he deserved the man’s ire, so he let the insult go.
Everyone seemed to gather around him and the newcomers, clearly as interested in their visit as he was. “You said you came on Tuathal’s command,” King Ailbert barked in irritation.
“Aye, only the word of my king could have ever brought me face to face with this lout again,” Eoin growled with his fists clenched. Again, Jeoffrey let it go, though he could sense Clarice stiffening next to him. She was a feisty lass, and most assuredly not one to stand by and allow her husband to be treated in this manner. In truth, if it were any other man, Jeoffrey would have knocked his teeth out long ago, but he was certain he would hate any man just as much if he had done to Clarice what Jeoffrey had done to Treasa. Never mind that he had protected her with his life and kept her safe…he had also been the man to steal Treasa and put her in danger in the first place.