Ruthless (5 page)

"If ye bring harm to this lass of her blood,
I see what awaits in time to come." She swept her arms wide to
include them all. "The two Clans will suffer. Fathers will fight
sons. Brothers will fight brothers." Grunda's voice rose to a
shriek "All will be split asunder!"

Magnus no more believed in witches than he
believed he could jump from atop a mountain tree and fly across the
valley below. But the use of one name had immediately caught his
attention.

"Ye said Lady Ragnhild? Of Blackbriar?"
Magnus hand tightened on the rope around the lass' neck.

"Aye! Her killers will curse the day they
laid hands to her!"

Turning to the lass, he took a lock of hair
and stretched it out to its entire length. About two-fingers wide
from her scalp, the hair was a soft gold-flecked color. The rest of
its length was murky brown. Unwashed for many moons from the likes
of it, for brown water colored his hand.

He tipped the lass' chin up to stare into
eyes shooting shafts of hate at him.

"Ah. This wild lass who fights like a crazed
cat is Muriele of Blackbriar."

'Twas not a question but a statement.

Magnus stared down at her, a hard glint in
his eyes. "When I conquered Blackbriar Castle, ye were part of the
spoils of war that belonged to Clan Gunn. Ye are mine, now. I canna
have my new servant trailing a rope behind her as she goes about
her duties," he said with an evil chuckle.

The woman hissed like the cat he'd referred
to.

"Hold still if ye dinna want yer neck's blood
to join the water."

She did as he said. He grasped the rope and
studied it. Seeing the crude knot had tightened from her struggles,
it was easier to cut through part of it. Likely, it would open
easily and fall free. His fingers slipped between the rope and the
fine skin of her neck. When his flesh pressed the pulsing vein
there, a jolt flashed through him setting his heart racing.

'Twas not an unpleasant feeling. Far from it.
More like the excitement of a wild summer storm. He stared down at
her to judge if she had felt the same. She had. At first, her
almond shaped eyes were near golden. He watched their slow change
as sprinkles of gold darkened to amber flecked with brown.

The rope fell free. The back of his hand
stroked the length of her silky neck then dropped to his side.

"There is great evil here."

The words floated from Grunda's lips, her
voice near a whisper. She studied Feradoch's face then stared into
his eyes. She blinked and took a quick, startled breath; her eyes
clouded and appeared sightless. She turned toward Magnus.

"As months pass, evil will rule and spread to
Clibrick Castle. Ye must right a great wrong."

Magnus shrugged. "Humph! Enough of yer
caterwauling, Grunda." Turning to Muriele, his gaze held her
prisoner. His voice deepened. "Ye are mine now. Serve me well and I
will treat ye the same. But know ye this. If ye dare to leave
Kinbrace, I will hunt ye down. Ye will be most sorry for causing me
the effort." His eyes turned sinister. "Again."

Muriele's hand went to her throat as she
swallowed.

"Grunda, ye have room in yer bothy for the
lass?"

"Aye. Enough for another pallet.

"See she washes the filth from her hair and
body. After first light, bring her to me. I'll decide on her duties
then."

Muriele watched as Grunda studied Magnus. She
took her time on his face. She looked deep into his black eyes then
stared at the harsh set of his lips. His face tightened under her
scrutiny, making him even more forbidding than before.

Unconcerned, the spaewife walked around to
view him from all angles. When she again met him face to face, she
nodded, satisfied.

Satisfied? Why did her mother's old friend
seem pleased by what she saw? He didn't look to have any softness
in his entire length. Even men feared him. She sensed they listened
to him even over his foster father.

"Old one, if ye are through judging me like a
turnip ye plucked from the ground, tend to her. Her feet are raw
and cut from her run here." He frowned as he gazed down at
Muriele's kirtle then into her eyes.

"Do ye have any other weapons hidden about
yer person?"

"Nay."

"Best check, brother, else a blade might seek
your ribs."

The beautiful blond man stood behind Sir
Magnus' right shoulder. Her gaze flew up to meet his and found
naught but a warm, kind light shining from clear blue eyes. He gave
her a small, regretful smile, his lips turning up slightly at the
corners. He nodded at her then explained.

"I would have no harm come to my brother
because he trusted foolishly."

Magnus snorted. His gaze roamed over every
inch of her. She followed where he looked. Embarrassed, she saw her
nipples thrust against the wet cloth she'd clutched at her breasts.
Down further yet, she blushed hotter. Over her belly, the kirtle
clung to her skin until it met the springy curls on her woman's
place. The lush hair there thrust the light cloth away from her
flesh.

Muriel lowered her other hand to shield
it.

"Huh. Ye worry for naught, Feradoch. Even the
smallest flower petal would be easily seen."

His black gaze swept quickly upward to tangle
with hers. Where she steeled herself to see hot need, she found
emptiness.

"See she wears proper clothing," he said and
nodded to Grunda.

He turned, ignoring her presence as he
pointed one finger at the five bloodstained men who had attacked
her.

"Ye dared lay hands on two noblewomen." His
face turned grim as he motioned to his man standing nearby.

"Sweyn?"

"Aye, Sir Magnus?"

"Hang them."

"Tell me of yer mother, child," Grunda
ordered as she scrubbed Muriele's long hair. "Last eve, I felt a
coldness in the air as the moon began its rise. I suspected 'twas
Ragnhild's spirit."

Muriele crouched in the wooden washtub, her
knees drawn up under her chin. She swallowed and recounted the
horror of finding her mother's body.

"The boy Mother came to aid?" She tilted her
head back to look at Grunda and held her opened hands at her
forehead to reroute the soapy water away from her eyes. "Did it not
go well?"

"Nay. The family was most grateful."

Grunda stood and tapped the back of Muriele's
head for her to lower it then emptied a bucket of warmed water over
her. "Now ye'd best get out of the water afore yer skin has as many
wrinkles as me neck." She laughed with good humor, the sound no
more alike the wild cackle in the stable yard as a dove's cry was
to an owl's screech.

"The lout ye kicked in the stones lived in
the hut beside the boy's family. He knew yer mother was there. The
evil scum must have watched the forest roads waiting for her to go
back that way."

"I must return to the woods and bury
her."

"Huh, lass! Dinna try to leave whilst he's
here. He came by the name Ruthless by honoring his vow to track
down enemies and end their lives. Should ye flee, he would make ye
as sorry as he vowed. Did ye not hear Chief Olaf give ye to
him?"

"Aye, but he canna be serious. I am not a
common woman to be given to another."

"Child, dinna ye ken? Maybe not amongst
civil, gentle people. Even more than what the Chief decided, ye'd
best pay heed to Sir Magnus. Ye heard him order his man to hang the
louts. Not a person dared say him nay."

Thinking of living behind castle walls as a
servant was stifling. Hot fear near closed Muriele's throat. The
man had ripped Blackbriar apart like a castle made of twigs. If not
for him, her mother and she would still be there. Granted, life
would be difficult amongst the ruins, but this Magnus had made sure
they could never return.

"... dinna trust such sweetness," Grunda
muttered.

"Eh? Forgive me. My mind gathered webs
instead of thoughts."

"The Chief's son. The yellow-haired one."

"Aye, I noted him. He looks to be filled with
kindness."

"His eyes and face show sweetness and light.
Yet when he looks at Magnus, the heat surrounding his form tells of
tightly held secrets."

"How can ye tell he has aught to hide?"
Muriele stopped drying her hair to study Grunda.

"The struggle to keep his thoughts hidden
makes him so tense I can hear the blood pounding through his body.
Ye ken? 'Tis a sound like plucking the deepest sounding string of a
lyre?"

"'Tis because ye see and hear things no one
else can."

Muriele sat on a stool close to the small
fire, clutching the drying cloth around her. "Why did ye nod when
ye walked around Magnus?"

"His face be made of stone. I canna read it.
But when I stepped behind him, his body remained calm.
Confident."

"Aye, why would he not be? He is a massive
warrior."

"All else believe I am an old woman to be
feared. Even Olaf blanched when I talked this day."

"I see."

"Magnus has changed much from the boy of
seven. These past months, I have talked to the women. His first
year at Kinbrace he was like a Peregrine eyas, a young hawk not out
of the nest, hiding his fear. Chief Olaf's wife tried to nourish
him. Olaf stopped it saying it would make him soft.

"Olaf believed 'twas no way to train his
future protector. If Magnus showed any weakness, any kindness, his
foster father was swift to beat him. Now he is as Olaf wanted. A
hardened raptor. He can slash and tear the life's blood from a man
then laugh and drink wine with the chief as if naught had
happened."

Someone scratched so lightly on the door as
to be furtive. Between the cracks, they saw a tall woman standing
close on the other side. The hinges creaked when Grunda opened it
to allow her to walk through.

Muriele thought her most unusual in looks.
Black hair, long and full with waves and curls, framed a lean face
with sun-kissed skin. The woman's high forehead rose above striking
black brows, slightly slanted dark eyes with thickly lashed
eyelids. A thin nose and wide, red lips accented her angular
jaw.

Deep brown eyes studied first Grunda then
Muriele. A hesitant smile flirted with her full lips. She carried a
beige smock and brown kirtle draped over her arm.

"I thought this may have belonged to you?"
She handed the clothing to Muriele and glanced uneasily at the
door. "We are near alike in height. I was told to discard it afore
the next sun."

"Thank you. 'Tis most kind to return it to
me. I feared I'd have to stay wrapped in a blanket until my kirtle
dried enough to mend it."

Grunda stared at Muriele as if she saw
something far away then scowled.

"
He
is a fool, Esa."

Esa's gaze darted to Grunda and back, but she
ignored the blunt statement as if she had not heard it. She looked
hopefully at Muriele.

"Per chance when this fortnight ends, we
might talk together?"

The sounds of a male striding past outside
made her stiffen and back against the wall. She held her breath
until the footsteps passed the hut. When her gaze returned to
Muriele, Esa reminded her of a hare lifted into the sky with a
raptor's claws piercing its back.

"Aye. 'Twould be most agreeable." Muriele
felt drawn to the woman who seemed in dire need of kindness.

Her words barely faded before the girl
glanced though one of the door cracks then opened it to slip
silently out and disappear in the shadows.

"How strange. Why was she so afeared of
someone seeing her here?" Muriele rubbed her hand over the familiar
clothing, remembering the smooth feel of it. 'Twould be comforting
to again wear something soft and finely made.

"She lives in a small room in the keep's
north tower. Away from the others." Grunda shook her head. "I
believe 'tis the golden angel she fears, though I have never seen
him with her. 'Tis whispered most of the year she is happy and
outgoing. When he arrives, 'tis not long before they dinna see her
at all. The first few days after he leaves, she wears clothing
which covers her skin from neck to toe."

"Perchance it is the Ruthless one who
mistreats her?"

"I thought the same. But never has anyone
seen Magnus near the north tower. During last year's visit, the
blacksmith's daughter returned through the postern gate late of a
night. Hearing the tower door ease open, she ducked behind a tree.
Moonlight glinted off a man's pale hair."

"Could it not have been one of the men here?
Many look like their Danish sires from long ago?"

"Nay. Only
he
strides with such
arrogance. Any other would walk calmly away."

Grunda banked the peat fire and they moved to
sit at the small wooden table to drink cups of hot broth.

"We must rise afore the sun if ye are to
receive yer new duties. The master will go with the early patrol at
first light to show all the villagers his sons are here."

They unrolled the two pallets and placed them
close to the cook fire for warmth. Though it was summer, the
Highlands were never warm of a night. Exhausted, they rolled
tightly in their blankets and slept.

o0o

Olaf lounged back in his seat at the high
table with Magnus and Feradoch, the two young men he had forged
together to protect Clan Gunn for the next generation. Everything
had gone as he planned. Since the blood oath, the Gunns had
prospered, adding more and more of their neighbor's lands to their
own.

It was quite canny of him to have arranged
for the powerful Morgans to be at his beck and call whenever he
felt the need for extra warriors. Of course, the casualties of war
were mostly from the Morgan ranks for he placed them in the most
dangerous positions.

Olaf always reported to Magnus' father Angus
that as many or more of the Gunn warriors were lost in battle. To
make sure the Morgan chief never learned the deceit, he had those
'lost' men stay hidden until after the Morgan warriors returned to
Clibrick.