Her gaze slid over his body. His chest was covered only by the strip of leather over one shoulder that held his sword, and she seemed to become fascinated by the tattoos covering his skin. She reached out and traced one of them with a finger before he could stop her.
“I like your tattoos. I think they’re sexy. So beautiful.”
Bridei held his breath. He wasn’t entirely sure he could stop her from touching him. It felt good. Too good. He could imagine her hands on every inch of his bare skin. He knew it would be ecstasy.
“Kiss me. I want to be kissed.” She was almost begging now, but her words were slightly slurred with the effects of the potion. He doubted she even knew what she was saying, but still her hands moved to his arms as she tried to pull him closer.
“Please…I need you…”
He didn’t kiss the women he had sex with as a rule, and he had never really had the desire to; and so he was utterly unprepared for the sudden, inexplicable need he felt to press his lips to Nessa’s and taste her mouth. He nearly groaned with the agony of holding himself back. His body was alive with some powerful force he had never felt before, and it would be so easy to lean in and kiss her as she wanted him to. She might not even remember, come the morning. Gods, this was torture.
He sighed in frustration, forcing himself to push his chair back, away from her. Meara hadn’t told him the potion was also an aphrodisiac, or he wouldn’t have given it to the lass, especially since it somehow seemed to be affecting him as well, though he hadn’t even drunk any wine. The problem was, the potion was making the lass shamelessly wanton, but not drawing the truth from her. This whole evening was a waste of time; he was no closer to knowing anything useful about his uninvited guest.
The drugged wine seemed to be taking a stronger and stronger hold, and the lass now stood and began pacing the room. She spoke the whole while, as if to herself, but the words made no sense to him. It was gibberish to his ears. Perhaps he had put too much of the drug into her cup. He thought for a moment about sending someone to fetch Meara, but then he suddenly realized something: it wasn’t that the lass made no sense, but that she was speaking a different language. And though the sound of the words as she spoke reminded him of Saxon, he could not understand them. She must have been speaking her native tongue, whatever that may be. Ah, the mystery deepens, little lamb.
He watched and listened for any further clue, but it wasn’t long before her words began to slow, and her eyelids began to look heavy. When it seemed she would collapse at any moment, Bridei led her to the bed and helped her to lie down. He even pulled a blanket over her, not knowing why he cared whether she was chilled. Though she was barely awake, she reached for him, finally speaking in Pictish again. “Come to me Bridei. You were always mine. The books…my books…”
She was delirious, he knew; and a few moments later she had fallen into a deep sleep, her arms now limp and heavy across her chest. But still, those few words tugged at him with a meaning he knew they didn’t have; couldn’t have. Always mine. They echoed in his mind as if trying to find a place to land, but he couldn’t concentrate. His body burned with unspent lust that had again risen seemingly out of nowhere, and his cock still strained painfully against the fabric of his pants. His hand moved to press against it as if that alone could ease the ache, but in his mind he imagined so much more. Want was beginning to feel very much like need, and he was starting to become more than a little angry with himself over his own lack of control.
I am King, he silently reminded himself. But his body didn’t seem to care who he was, it only wanted to lie with the woman before him. He forced himself to leave the room before he completely lost control.
Namet was in the main hall, the metal of a knife flashing in the firelight before him as he carved a piece of wood. The man was touched by the gods, carving the most beautiful designs with just a simple blade.
He looked up when Bridei appeared.
“How did it go? Learn anything?”
Bridei sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees and drawing his fingers through his hair with a tired sigh. He had told Namet about the potion, and at the time he had been confident it would work. But it hadn’t given him any truth, only more questions.
“No, nothing of importance. I think maybe I gave her too much. After a while she started speaking a different language.” He sat up suddenly, slapping his hands down on his knees. “Now that I think about it, it might just be the same tongue she and the old man were using at the well when we first found them. I couldn’t understand what she was saying, but the words reminded me of Saxon.”
“Hmmph.” Namet continued carving, but Bridei knew he was thinking about what he’d just told him. He waited, and finally Namet spoke.
“It’s her first language, then. The one she was born to.”
That was what Bridei had thought, as well. “Then she’s not really from Fife.”
“You never believed she was.”
“No. I never did.” Bridei leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees once more, and scrubbing his hands over his face. “I can’t think of any other reason the lass would lie about where she’s from, unless she was sent by an enemy.”
Namet shrugged. “And the uncle?”
“Crazy. Or very talented at pretending to be so. No one has learned anything of consequence from him.”
“Could she be lying to protect him?”
“It doesn’t make sense. I just have a feeling that I’m missing something that’s right in front of me. Something important. Crucial even. It makes me uneasy.”
“Hmmph.” Namet held his carving up to the firelight to inspect it.
“I need to speak with my men before they retire for the night. The lass should be brought to my chamber and tied as before. I can’t risk her escape, or having someone reach her. Would you see to it?”
Namet put aside his tools and dusted the wood chips from his lap. “Aye, of course.”
Bridei opened the door to his chamber and stepped inside. In front of him, the moon hung perfectly framed in the window, a bright ball of light that illuminated the room with a soft glow. In the center of the room, tied to the post as before, was Nessa. Namet must have taken pity and moved a sheep skin close, and she had taken full advantage even in her sleep. She was curled up on it as far as the ropes would allow. He wondered if she was cold. Aye, she probably was. There was a night wind from the sea blowing through the window. He went to the bed and took a thick woolen blanket from the foot of it, draping it over her. For a moment he imagined untying her and bringing her into his bed, even though he had just relieved himself by his own hand. Twice. It hadn’t seemed to make a difference; his cock had been hard more often than not since he had first laid eyes on the maddening woman.
Ru trotted through the open door, and he smiled and ruffled the fur between the dog’s ears. “Ready to sleep, old boy? We’ll not be sleeping here tonight, though. It will be the round-house again for us.” The dog had slept at the foot of his bed since he was a pup, but tonight Ru gave him a censorious look and plopped down on the sheep skin next to Nessa, curling his big body around hers.
Bridei narrowed his eyes. “Traitor. Though I can’t say I blame you.”
Oh god. My head hurts.
Nessa woke with a start, the pounding in her temples immediately apparent. There was something warm and furry pressed against her, and a moment later it licked her face. She cracked her eyes open, but quickly squeezed them shut again at the bright morning sun streaming in the window. She was back in the broch again, and Ru had apparently taken a liking to her, or at least to her body heat. She struggled to remember what had happened the night before, but it was all a blur. She’d been locked up most of the day in the round-house. She’d gotten cold and started a fire with the flint and steel she’d found near the hearth. Bridei had brought her food and wine…the wine!
She’d felt dizzy, almost drunk, after only one small cup. Then, apparently, she’d blacked out. What had happened?
Had she told him everything? Her heart began to pound, which only made her head hurt worse. There was only one explanation: the bastard had drugged her!
The door to the room opened and the King himself was there. Her mouth fell open in shocked indignation.
“You poisoned me!”
Speaking made her head hurt more and she groaned as her vision swam. She dropped her forehead to her knees until the room finally stopped moving.
“If I had poisoned you, you would be dead. I only wanted to hear you speak the truth. I’ll have someone bring you some willow tea.”
“I won’t be able to drink it. You tied me up again.” She tugged at the ropes binding her hands in demonstration.
“I didn’t tie you up.”
“Well someone did.”
“Aye”, he agreed. “Someone did.”
Her mind finally caught up with what he’d said about speaking the truth, and she gasped. “What did I say?” For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. God, what had she told him? Everything?
He shrugged. “Nothing of use. I’m afraid we’ll have to move on to more persuasive methods.”
Relief that she hadn’t spilled her guts to him warred with concern for whatever his ‘more persuasive’ methods might be.
There was a light knock on the door. Namet poked his head in. “Bridei?”
“Aye?”
“The old man is gone.”
Nessa felt her stomach drop to the floor, her headache and whatever she’d confessed the night before suddenly all but forgotten. She tried to jump to her feet, forgetting her bound wrists and landing back on her bottom with a thud.
“Gone where?” She struggled frantically against the ropes, as if she could actually get herself free and run out to look for him. “How could you lose my uncle? What’s going on? Tell me!”
Namet ignored her, keeping his attention stoically on the King. “Petra went to check on him this morning, and he was gone. His bindings had been cut.”
Bridie’s eyes flashed fire. “Could he have cut them himself?”
Namet pressed his lips together in a hard line. “No, I don’t see how he could have. He must have had help.”
The King’s nostril’s flared in anger. “Find him. And whomever cut the bindings.”
Namet nodded, and Nessa soon heard his footsteps receding down the hall. Bridei turned his entire attention to her. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his expression was dark and stormy. “What do you know of this?”
Nessa felt a frantic, clawing sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her uncle was somewhere out there on his own. And without him, she was stuck here, possibly forever.
“Nothing. I don’t know anything! I was here all night; you know I was because you poisoned me!” (And she would have to revisit that one later.) “But you have to find him! Please…he’ll never make it out there by himself—he’ll be killed!” And he’s my only way home. What if I can’t get back without him?
If Angus was gone, she might never make it back home on her own. She might not ever see her grandmother or Nathan again. The cold chill of fear skittered up her spine, followed by the edges of a deep sorrow for what she might never have again: the comforting support of her grandmother, and the hope of a future with a good man that loved her; the farm that she loved and even the business she had been carefully building. If only she could go home again, she would never take all those things for granted again! The lump that formed in her throat was so tight she felt like she was choking on it. It wasn’t long before the tears came. Damn it! She didn’t want to cry. Especially not in front of him.
And he was looking at her as if she had grown an extra head.
“Are you crying lass?”
“What, is there something wrong with your eyes?” she snapped.
He narrowed his eyes as if in thought. “For your uncle?”
“Aye!” And so much more. “He can’t be out there on his own. How could you have lost him? Find him! And goddammit untie me!”
“Stop crying”, he ordered. “For all I know that man isn’t even your real uncle.”
“You can’t tell me to stop crying. It doesn’t work that way. I’ve been here for two days and it feels like forever and I’ve been tied up and my head hurts and now my uncle is gone. I can cry if I bloody well want to!”
She sniffled, looking up at him. “And how do you expect to learn anything about me if I’m stuck to this bloody post? It’s not like I’m going to tell you! You’ll have to kill me first, and then you won’t know anything at all!”
And now she had to search for Angus god-knew-where before she even had the possibility of going home.
He watched her for a moment, and she could tell he was actually considering what she had said. “You have a point, lass. Actions do speak louder than words.”
She glared. “Aye, they do. And I’ve done nothing to you.”
“I don’t know that though, do I?” He turned and paced the room for several moments. “You can come to the fires tonight.” He must have seen the sudden panic in her eyes because he clarified, “It’s Beltane. We celebrate.”
She relaxed just a little and sniffed. “You’ll find my uncle?”
“Aye, of course we will. Namet will have sent out a search party already. My men are excellent trackers. They will find him. How far could one old man have gotten?” His eyes narrowed just a little. “Unless, of course, he had help…”
“I. Am. Not. A. Spy!”
He ignored her. “You will be free to attend the celebrations tonight. Your every move will be watched, of course, and anyone you speak to is beholden to tell me every word. There will be no chance of escape. Understand that. If you try, you will be killed.”
“Sounds like a great time”, she muttered under her breath.
In the end, it actually wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be.
It was the evening of Beltane, and Bridei was determined to forget his problems for a few hours and enjoy himself, though it wasn’t an easy thing. The most important battle of his life was looming in the near future. Failure would mean nothing less than the loss of most of his ancestral lands to the South, and the continued exploitation of the Pictish people who called them home. He could not—would not—let that happen. Then there was the troublesome woman that had appeared in their midst with no worthy explanation. Namet and a team of his most trusted men had finished questioning every man, woman and child in Tallorc and its surrounding villages. No one had ever seen her before or even heard her name.
There was also the matter of her strange speech and dress. He had no idea what to make of it, and that bothered him deeply. The man she had travelled with was still missing, even though his best trackers had been combing every inch of the area for hours. This left Bridei no choice but to send men riding to the south to try to intercept him in case he was returning to Ecgfrith. And to top it all off, his closest friend and companion was so smitten with a woman that his company, usually a welcome distraction, now bordered on aggravation.
Domech had his new wife by the waist, and he leaned over to whisper something to her before slapping her behind as she went off to join a group of women who were preparing for the ceremonial dance. Then, finally, he turned his attention to his life-long friend. Bridei knew that his gaze had been hovering in one place for some time, and he also knew Domech would notice and tease him. Let him; he had too much on his mind to be overly troubled by it.
“You certainly show a lot of interest in her, for suspecting her of treachery and spying.”
Bridei scoffed. “Of course I show interest in her, she is a stranger here, and needs to be watched. I’ve freed her for tonight to see what she will do. Questioning her was going nowhere, but if she makes a move against me, however small, I will know. There are no less than twenty men and women keeping a close eye on her even now.”
Domech snorted in return. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. You look at her with hunger. The kind of hunger a man has for a woma
n he wants in his bed.”
Bridei shrugged, not willing to admit that having Nessa in his bed was nearly the only thing he had been able to think about all day. “Perhaps”, he conceded. “She is beautiful, what man wouldn’t have such thoughts?”
Domech smirked conspiratorially, poking Bride in the arm. “Bed her then, if she’s willing. What harm could it do?”
“You know I can’t, and I won’t. Besides, she says she is promised.”
“Promised to who? Certainly no one that’s here to notice.”
“A man from the North, I suppose. What does it matter?” Bridei knew his temper was running short, and he didn’t want to talk about Nessa and whatever man she may or may not belong to. He found he didn’t really like to think of her with a man at all. She was too beautiful, too strong, too fiery, to belong to someone that didn’t deserve her. If she wasn’t a spy, of course. If she was, then all that was null and she deserved naught more than a slow death at his hands. His stomach clenched painfully at the thought. Gods. Was he growing weak? Was the thought of killing an enemy suddenly so distasteful to him? He steeled himself. He couldn’t let that happen. The moment he allowed mercy for an enemy into his heart was the moment he was no longer fit to lead his people.
His gaze returned to where Nessa now sat with Meara on a grassy rise near one of the smaller fires. She was staring wide eyed at a couple twining together in passion on the ground not ten feet from her. She looked as if she had never seen such a thing before. Maybe it was only a trick of the firelight and the final glow of the setting sun, but she looked flushed and a little breathless, and everything in him wanted to go over there and kiss her until she was even more flushed, and could barely breathe at all.
Domech laughed and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “You’re in a bad way, my friend. I’m going to find my woman, I’ve already been apart from her too long. Unless you want me to stay and keep you company in your misery?”
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