'Bradan and I are old friends,' she said. 'We understand each other.'
'I am sure you do,' Aharn said, 'but I do not wish to wear the horns of the cuckold even before we are married.'
'I am not cuckolding you with Bradan,' Melcorka felt her anger rise at the suggestion. 'We are friends, not lovers.' She was unable to look at Bradan as she said that.
'All the same,' Aharn said, 'my men are beginning to talk.'
'Let them,' Melcorka was suddenly reckless. 'If they want to talk they can come to me and I will talk directly to them, with a steel tongue and a sharp answer!' She glanced over at Defender that lay between her and Bradan.
'There is no need,' Bradan stood up. 'I am not here to be the cause of a dispute between a woman and her husband-to-be.' He placed a hand on Melcorka's arm. 'The solution is simple. I will leave. I am no warrior and have no place in this army.'
'Bradan …' Melcorka held his arm. 'There is no need for this.'
'There is every need,' Bradan retrieved his staff. 'You required a guide and a companion, Melcorka. Now you have both without me; you are your own woman with coming responsibilities. I am a wanderer on the roads of life.' His smile was twisted and she saw the pain in his eyes. 'May the road rise up to meet you, Melcorka.'
'May the wind be always at your back, Bradan,' she replied automatically.
'May the sun shine warm upon your face,' he continued.
'And rains fall soft upon your fields,' Melcorka held his hand tightly, hoping she was not betrayed by the tears she felt sting the back of her eyes.
'And until we meet again,' they said together, 'may God hold you in the palm of his hand.'
'And your life in his care always,' Melcorka inched closer. 'I don't want you to go,' she spoke so only Bradan could hear but he stepped away without another word and ducked under the low doorway of the shelter. She listened to his footsteps until they merged with the noise from the camp.
'There now,' Aharn said. 'That is that settled. Will you join me in my tent?' He looked around the lean-to. 'It is more comfortable than this little hut.'
'Maybe tomorrow night,' Melcorka temporised. She looked at the space that Bradan had occupied.
'I may insist,' Aharn did not lose his smile.
'We would both regret that,' Melcorka told him.
For a long minute he stared at her, eyes steady in his strong face, and then he swivelled and stalked away, head erect and back straight as befitted a prince of Fidach.
Melcorka slid down the rough wall to sit on the ground and no longer fought her tears. She did not want to be a Pictish queen. She did not want to be a warrior. She only wanted to be back on her island again, with her mother and all the certainties of her youth. She reached out for the space that Bradan had occupied and allowed her tears to flow.
Chapter Twenty-Two
'Aharn!' The sentry pointed to the west. 'Something is coming.'
'Fergus: take a patrol out,' Aharn ordered.
'I hear something as well,' a spearman said as his companions hooted their disbelief.
They had been six days at the Dun of Ruthven and save for the ragged band of Shaws, there had been no Alban reinforcements. The elation of their victory over the Norse at the Spey encampment was fading as men wondered about wives and girlfriends back home in Fidach and realised they were alone in hostile territory.
'We are wasting our time here,' one spearman openly grumbled. 'And all on the word of some foreign woman who does not even share Aharn's bed.'
'You keep your mouth shut,' Llew said, 'or I will shut it for you.'
'You are a friend of hers, an Alban rather than a Pict,' the spearman stood up, backed by his friends. 'You are no Fidach man!'
When Llew stepped forward, Fergus leaned down from his horse. 'Enough of this: you will have work to do,' and both parties withdrew to grumble sullenly, secretly thankful they did not have to test the other's mettle.
Melcorka heard the discussion and said nothing. She could sympathise with the spearman. Fidach had supplied a thousand men for a war that was not theirs, while Alba had so far sent about twenty ragged farmers with sticks and sharpened spades who would be a liability in any battle with real warriors.
The sound of bagpipes drifted across the wind, faint at first and stronger by the minute. Melcorka looked up: neither the Picts nor the Norse used the pipes.
'That's Fergus back,' Llew reported, 'and he's brought some friends with him.'
Fergus returned at the head of his ten men, with two pipers blowing mightily at their back. Behind the pipers, a man held a broad banner on which a rampant cat extended a paw to claw at the sky.
'Not Norsemen then,' Aharn said. 'It seems that the first of the Albans have arrived.'
Directly underneath the banner limped a broad shouldered man with a fierce moustache and a cloak of cat skins, with the paws of the cats trailing like a fringe around him. Behind him followed a column of men, marching in a loose formation.
'Fergus seems to have collected a small army,' Aharn said quietly. He stood beside Melcorka without touching her.
'Clan Chattan has arrived,' Melcorka said. 'The clan of the cat.' She tried to count the marching men. 'I see about a hundred and twenty warriors.'
Some wore chain mail that descended to their knees, others the Highland plaid in different setts. The men in chain carried double handed swords and a handful of throwing darts, while the others had spears, short sturdy bows or the arm-length highland dirk; all walked with the arrogant swagger of Gaelic fighting men.
They marched straight to the dun, where Aharn and Melcorka waited to greet them. 'I am Mackintosh,' the man in the cat-skin cloak announced. 'I have brought Clan Chattan to fight the Norse.' He looked at Melcorka. 'What is left of us after Lodainn Plain.'
'Well met Mackintosh,' Melcorka said, 'you and yours are welcome. You are the first major clan to come in.'
For all his bombastic appearance, Mackintosh did not boast about his timing. 'My men were scattered,' he said soberly. 'Some were still making their way home from Lodainn, others were trying to retrieve the planting. The other clans will come once they hear that Chattan has arrived.'
'I hope you are right,' Aharn said.
'We are Chattan; where we lead, lesser clans follow.'
Mackintosh was correct. The very next day a small contingent of Camerons came in from the far west. They eyed up Chattan and established themselves at the opposite side of the encampment.
'Chattan and the Camerons are at feud,' Mackintosh explained. 'For my part, I will keep my boys' swords outside Cameron bodies for the duration of this war- so long as Cameron does the same.'
'I will pass your kindness on to the Camerons,' Aharn said.
The remnants of other clans came in dribs and drabs. A score of Mackinnons, a dozen MacNabs, with an angry handful of MacRaes and a hundred Mackays from Strathnaver in the far North West.
'The clans are gathering,' Aharn said, 'although not in the numbers I had hoped for.'
'The Norse have hit Alba hard,' Melcorka said. 'Best to strike now, before they mass their forces to attack Fidach.'
'We have been here for three weeks,' Aharn looked at the sky. 'Summer is wearing away and autumn will be upon us so if we wait much longer. The weather will turn and we will be bogged down. The rivers will flood, snow will choke the mountain passes and the men will drift away homeward.' He looked over the plain where the orderly camp fires of the Picts were now surrounded by the scattered fires of the Albans, each clan having its own site.
'One more day,' Melcorka agreed, 'and then we must march.' Ever since his abortive invitation into his tent, Aharn had been polite but distant. He had kept her in touch of every command decision without ever becoming too familiar.
This man is to be my husband, Melcorka thought. He is a good man in most ways. I did find his head-hunting unpleasant but the Norse are our enemies and deserve as little mercy as they granted. He has done nothing to offend me in any way. I should be kinder to him; if I
am to cement the alliance between Alba and Fidach.
Do I dislike him? No; not at all.
Do I love him? No.
Do I love anybody?
Melcorka did not attempt to answer her own question. Instead she took the one step that brought her closer to Aharn and slipped her hand into his. 'Is your offer of a shared tent still open?'
There was as much surprise as pleasure in his face as he replied. 'It is always open to you, Melcorka.'
'Perhaps it would be an idea to spend this night together, Aharn, if you are willing. There is no telling what the morn will bring.'
Aharn tightened his hand on hers. 'Could you give me some time to tidy it up?'
Now that the idea had been voiced, Melcorka was impatient to see it through. She shook her head, smiling. 'That is not necessary, my lord Aharn. I have seen an untidy tent before, indeed I find it hard to believe that you of all people would ever be untidy!' She smiled into his eyes and stepped toward his quarters on the far side of the dun. 'Come Aharn! We have many days and nights to catch up on.' She pulled him behind her in sudden impatience. 'Come on man, or don't you find me attractive?'
Melcorka strode ahead, nearly dragging Ahern with her and very aware of the approving glances and knowing nudges from the Picts.
'Don't wear him out!' Fergus advised, 'we might need his sword arm tomorrow!' That brought a ribald but not unfriendly laugh from the cavalry.
'Give me just a few moments, Melcorka,' Aharn pleaded. Melcorka ignored his plea and plunged into his tent: and stopped dead. It was not untidy in the slightest. Rather than a litter of covers and clothes, she was faced with an immaculately clean and orderly interior. The only things out of place were the two young women who stared at her as she stepped inside.
'Who may you be?' Melcorka stood at the entrance of the tent, hands on her hips and legs apart.
The girls were both about seventeen, very shapely and with the bright hazel eyes of the Picts. Auburn hair descended in ringlets past their necks as they giggled in unison and looked at each other. 'We are the Cwendoline twins,' they chorused.
'And why are you here?' Melcorka kept her voice calm. She knew that Aharn stood behind her.
'They help me keep the place tidy,' Aharn said.
'Is that what they used to do?' Melcorka stepped aside and pointed to the door. 'You are now relieved of all your housekeeping duties. Get out.'
The girls giggled again and looked to Aharn, who nodded. As they passed Melcorka lifted her foot as if to kick the nearest, glanced at Aharn and lowered it again. 'Get out!'
They fled, to renewed laughter from outside. Melcorka followed them. 'Fergus!' she called. 'These two women are good housekeepers I hear! Maybe the horses need some good housekeeping; their dung is piling up!' She withdrew and fastened the tent tight shut.
'As for you, Aharn,' she said, 'it seems that you need two women to take my place.'
She was surprised to see that he looked ashamed, as if it was unusual for a prince to pleasure himself with girls. Melcorka pressed home her advantage. 'Well then, Aharn, I am here now and there will be no other women in your life except me.'
Aharn nodded, saying nothing.
He is not even arguing! And then Melcorka remembered the forthright manner in which the queen had spoken to Drest. Women in Fidach were important; they mattered.
'Right then; that is settled,' Melcorka pushed the affair aside. She did not love Aharn and they had made no formal agreement so his behaviour with the shapely twins was unimportant. It was what was expected of a man or a prince. 'The past is over. I have neglected your needs so the fault is mine.'
Suddenly Melcorka remembered what it had been like with Douglas. She felt the passion rising within her as it had not done since that night and sat on the camp bed. This man was to be her husband; this was to be her life.
She patted the bed. 'I think it is time we got to know each other better.' She fought away the vision of that other man that came into her head. Aharn was her future now; she had given her word and there was no more to be said, or thought.
Chapter Twenty-Three
'You cannot leave us for the Isles,' Aharn said quietly as they sat side by side on the pile of rugs that made up their bed. 'The Albans look to you for leadership. They would not follow a Pict.'
'You are man enough to handle them,' Melcorka told him. Her hands explored under the covers. 'You see?'
He removed her questing fingers. 'We are talking military strategy here, Melcorka, not that.'
She removed her hand. 'Yes, Aharn.'
'If you journey to the Isles, you will be away for weeks or even months. Your Albans would not hold together for that length of time. They are already showing signs of internal dissention, with Clan Chattan and the Camerons drawing dirks on each other and the MacNabs and MacNeishes coming to blows.'
Melcorka nodded agreement. 'In that case we will have to act without Donald. We have to march against the Norse before the Albans implode.'
'We march in two days,' Aharn said. 'And God help us.' Rising, he began to dress, leaving Melcorka with a sense of frustration. Neither her military or personal plans were proceeding as she wanted.
There was a thin smirr of rain as the combined army of Fidach and Alba filed out of the Dun of Ruthven and headed south to seek out the Norse. Their formation was not as precise as it had been when they left Fidach, with the Alban clans a ragged collection between the disciplined formation of the main Fidach army and the outer screen of horsemen.
'Southward,' Aharn ordered. 'By now the Norse will know that we have gathered and will either run from us or will come to meet us. If it is the former, then we have succeeded in our aim in freeing Alba and have saved Fidach from invasion. If it is the latter, then we will yet have to fight for our mutual freedom.'
'We fight!' One of the men from Clan Cameron roared, amidst a waving of swords and the long-staffed Lochaber axe they favoured.
'We march to Dun Edin,' Aharn told them. 'And we cleanse the country of the Norse as we go.' He sent strong mounted patrols ahead and in each direction, with orders to observe and report, but to kill any small party of Norse without compulsion.
'Now that I have seen your people fight,' Melcorka said loudly, 'I have less fears that the Norse can defeat us.'
Aharn was more relaxed today. He reached across and patted her thigh. 'We will win back this Alba,' he said, 'and rule it together.'
Melcorka smiled back. 'You are a good man,' she said truthfully, 'and you will make an excellent king.' If not the most attentive of husbands, she thought, noting his appreciative glance at the Cwendoline twins who rode on top of a supply wagon.
They marched south, climbing up the Pass of Drummochter where the granite peaks glowered down at them and the winds of late summer howled like a banshee's wail from the gaunt slopes. The army huddled together, with the outriders so close they were visible, picking their way through sodden heather dangerous with peat holes, and the scouts picking their cautious way only quarter of a mile in front.
'These are not like the hills of Fidach,' Aharn muttered. 'We do not have these ugly crags of granite.'
Melcorka nodded. 'I don't like these mountains,' she agreed.
'Deer!' Lynette's voice rose high above the echoing drumbeat of a thousand hooves and slow trudge of the infantry. She pointed to a ridge on the right, where a herd of red deer, scores strong, were making their way down from the slopes.
'Loose the birds!' Loarn shouted, and moved toward the quarry.
'Stay where you are!' Aharn shouted, 'you have no idea who is out there!'
'You can't give us orders!' Lynette taunted as she spurred her horse away from the army. Loarn followed, trying to outdo his sister.
Aharn thumped his hand from the saddle, swearing. 'It's like caring for children! Do we really share the same parents?' He looked around, 'Llew: take twenty men to escort that pair of fools.'
'If there were Norse around, the deer would not be so bold, my lord,' Llew said.
'I know that, but these two would ride through hell to hunt their prey. They are as likely to fall into a bog or plunge over a ravine than anything else.'
Llew nodded, 'yes my lord. I will take care of them.' Whistling up two sections of riders, he followed Loarn and Lynette.
'These two are a pair of prize fools,' Aharn said. 'I hope they don't think that I will halt the army to accommodate their pleasures.'
'At the speed we are moving, they won't find it hard to catch up,' Melcorka assured him.
With men and horses bowing their heads from the rain that lashed at their faces, the army moved at the pace of the slowest. Aharn ordered the men to take it in turns to help push the carts and wagons up a track that was becoming both steeper and narrower.
The thunder boomed suddenly, surrounding them, echoing from the granite peaks, grumbling in the distance and re-echoing so men muttered about the wrath of God.
'Dismount!' Aharn ordered. 'The horses are stressed enough without having to carry us as well.'
Men comforted startled and panicking horses as Aharn kept them moving, step by slow step up toward the summit of the pass. The army coiled along like an elongated snake, two horsemen or one wagon deep between the high hills and with a brown burn rushing and tumbling down below on their right.
'If the Norse were to attack now, we'd be slaughtered,' Aharn said. 'We've no depth in defence at all. Come on Melcorka,' he spurred to the head of the column, urging them to move faster. 'We have to clear the pass by nightfall!'
'Where could they attack from?' Melcorka shouted. 'They would have to be mountain goats to negotiate these heights.'
Fergus led the vanguard. ''If we move too fast,' he cupped his hands around his mouth to be heard through the hammer of the rain and increasing roar of the burn, 'there will be a gap between us and the bulk of the army. The Albans will surge in front and the wagons will be in the rear.'
'You get your men and the Albans out of the pass,' Aharn ordered, 'and let me worry about the wagons! Move on and find somewhere to camp for the night!'
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