Isle of Mull 03 - To Love a Warrior (10 page)

Duncan grunted in reply.

“It may not please ye, my love,” Brenna said, “but it pleased her.” Then Brenna turned to Garik. “At times my husband wishes his daughter was less spirited, but I believe we should not take away her purpose. Anyway,” she said as she winked at Garik, “Nellore is not the first woman to plow this field.”

“Och, woman,” Duncan said. “Can ye not keep silent? Every spring am I to be reminded of that one lapse in judgment?”

“Aye,” Brenna said, her blue eyes dancing. “Besides, ye’ve missed five plants and five harvests while ye’ve marched with our king. I figure that means ye had it coming. Ye see, Garik,” Brenna said as she gave her husband a mischievous grin, “this man once sat about while the summer drifted away, leaving me to tend my fields alone. I had not half the strength of my daughter. Nellore can manage an ox-driven plow. I turned this stretch of earth ye see with only a hand plow. Ye can imagine the bloody mess it made of my hands.” Brenna said. Then she thrust her palms out for Garik to examine. “Ye can still see the scars.”

Garik chuckled when Brenna scowled at her husband. Duncan grabbed her, pulling her flush against him. “Aye, but I don’t recall ye complaining about the careful way I tended your wounds.”

The blush that colored Brenna’s white cheeks told Garik all he needed to know about what transpired while Duncan had cared for her bloodied hands. Garik smiled and turned away from the loving couple. He decided to go in search of Nellore.

He found her around the backside of the croft, standing beneath a large oak tree. The afternoon sun slanted through the branches, alighting her black hair with streaks of amber fire. Tied onto a post protruding from the earth near the tree was a sheep blinded by its shaggy fleece. Nellore stood with a sharpening stone, smoothing away the dullness from a set of shears. Raking his eyes over her sleek form, he was once again struck by the duality of her grace and strength. She still had not seen him. She ran her thumb over the shears, checking for the right sharpness. Satisfied, she set the stone and sheers beside the tethered sheep.

Gathering her hair into her hand, she twisted the length all the way to the bottom and looped it through itself, tying a knot at the nape of her neck. Then she untethered the sheep and laid it on its side. With the animal straddled between her legs, she began cutting through the fleece at the neck, a task generally performed by the men of the clan. Garik never before imagined he would envy a sheep of all creatures, but he realized there was, indeed, a first for everything while he stared at the beast’s coveted position between Nellore’s thighs.

Dear God above, she was magnificent. He could tell how much she loved work that used the strength of her body. She smiled when the sheep bucked slightly and paused to sooth the animal with a gentle touch. From that point on, the sheep lay still, allowing her to navigate the sheers from one side to the other. He could not tear his eyes away. After a time, she sat up as the fleece fell away. Then she laughed as she swung her leg off the beast’s side, giving it a swat on the rump to encourage it to jump on its way.

It was then that she noticed him. A red flush colored her cheeks. He started toward her. Her eyes widened, and she began fussing with her tunic, brushing off bits of clinging wool.

“You’ve never looked lovelier,” he said as he offered her his hand.

She stared past his hand into his ice blue eyes and felt the very breath leave her body. His full, sensual lips curved into a wide smile. Her heart hammered in her ears while she reached up to accept his aid. When his hand closed around hers, the heat of his touch penetrated her fingers and spread throughout her body. She licked her dried lips as she struggled to think of something to say. The silence seemed to speak of its own accord, revealing the devotion growing for him within her heart.

“Have ye come for dinner?” she asked as he pulled her to her feet.

“Is that an invitation?”

His words sent her heart into a spiral. His rich, deep voice and the strange cadence of his speech surrounded her, filling her with a taste of distant shores and roads she would never travel.

“Would that please ye?” she said.

“At this moment, I care not for my own pleasure.” He reached out and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “My only concern is yours.”

She could not contain her smile and decided then to leave off any coy affectations. “If it pleases my father, I would enjoy your company very much,” she said as she instinctively drew a step closer. She had to suppress the sigh that came to her lips as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze, a rare pleasure, given she was nearly six feet in height.

A smile lit his face. Grabbing her fingers, he brought her hand to his lips. “Wait here,” he said, intending to find Duncan and Brenna, but his search ended before it began. Her parents had already left their post by the fields and were standing just behind them. Clearly, they had watched Garik and Nellore interact with some interest.

Garik cleared his throat. He was a man of two and twenty. He had spent the past five years waging war against their enemies. He had stood beside Duncan in battle, and yet he did not think he had ever felt more nervous as he grappled for the courage to ask his fellow brother at arms for permission to join his family for dinner. Duncan would know his intentions. Hell, from the glint in Duncan’s black eyes and the firm set to his jaw, he was already well aware of Garik’s intentions.

Garik bowed first, and then he stood to his full height and looked Duncan straight in the eye. “Duncan MacKinnon, could there be a place for me at your table this day?”

Duncan did not speak. He took a step closer, his eyes like steel daggers. Then a slow smile spread across his features while his hand came to rest on Garik’s shoulder. “It would be an honor.”

*

Nellore took a deep breath before she took up the bundle of hot oatcakes from the cooking table. Steeling her shoulders, she turned and strode over to the table where Duncan and Garik sat. She stared at the floor, the tabletop, the ceiling, anywhere but at Garik as she set the cakes down
“Thank you,” his said. His deep, lilting voice sent shivers up her spine. Her eyes darted to his face, and she smiled before she turned around once more, too breathless to reply.

“Breathe,” Brenna whispered in her ear when she passed, carrying a steaming pot of rabbit stew.

“We’ve Nellore to thank for dinner,” Brenna said as she placed the pot on the table.

“It smells delicious. Did you prepare it?” Garik asked, catching Nellore’s gaze. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words remained lodged in her throat. She spun away, returning to the cooking table, trying to appear busy by dropping herring fillets in oat flour.

Duncan chimed in to save her. “’Twas Nellore who brought home the pair of rabbits, but do not let her skill with a sword fool ye, she is a wonderful cook.”

Her nerves only worsened as dinner progressed. She longed to bury herself beneath her blanket while her parents carried on boasting with pride at her skills and attributes. She struggled over what to say, but it was Garik who lightened her mood. Duncan had made a jest about Garik’s good humor and willingness to play the fool while they had been away.

“Whenever the atmosphere grew too melancholy among our men, Garik would get up to some trick or do something ridiculous.”

“I’m not the only one who was willing to look ridiculous,” Garik said, looking pointedly at Duncan. “I am speaking of the occasion we masqueraded as cattle.”

“Cattle?” Nellore said, chuckling. “What on earth compelled ye to play at being cattle?”

Duncan threw his head back and laughed. “Lord James Douglas,” Duncan said.

Garik’s rich laughter filled her ears, warming her from the inside out. “Nellore,” he said. “I swear what I’m about to tell you is true. At Lord Douglas’s command, we wrapped our shoulders in black cloaks. With only the cover of night, we crawled on hands and knees toward the well-guarded curtain wall of a large castle. None of us were too pleased to leave behind the cover of trees and crawl like babies into the open. Dark or not, the garrison would’ve been able to see our movements, but James bade us not to worry. He assured us that the garrison would believe we were cattle. We nearly revolted, but he reminded us that under his command we’d successfully taken a dozen castles with only a small band of warriors. And in truth, the cattle scheme was not as outlandish as some of James’s other plans, which had all been successful—”

Duncan cut Garik off then and continued with the tale. “We all thought we were done for, yet, down we went on our knees, dragging our scaling spears behind us. We scattered throughout the grounds, pausing every now and then as James had bid. He said it would look as though we were grazing.” Duncan turned to Brenna and brought her hand to his lips. “I had thought to myself—so this is the end of Duncan MacKinnon. Shot through by a crossbow, masquerading as a blasted cow.”

“Did it work?” Nellore exclaimed and then she laughed. “Well it must have worked, or else ye would not be sitting here with us.”

“Indeed it did,” Duncan said with a wide grin. “Aye, your father can play at being a cow like no other.”

“’Twas amazing, really,” Garik said. “We were able to go straight up to the wall, and then upon James’s command we jumped to our feet, raised our spears, and were scaling over the garrisoned curtain without anyone sounding the alarm. We were only thirty cattle strong—I mean men—and we took the castle.”

Brenna snatched her hand from Duncan’s. “I will hear no more of this,” she snapped. “Ye will go off again and I will remain behind knowing your commander is a simpleton.”

Duncan hooted with laughter as he moved to pour himself more ale, but Garik stayed his hand. From his satchel, he withdrew a jug.

“There is a tradition on the Orkney Islands,” he said. “It is called the Speiring night.” He cleared his throat. “In my language
Speir
means to ask.”

Duncan stood up then and said, “Perhaps ye and I should take that jug outside and discuss some matters.”

Garik nodded. Then he stood to follow but turned and winked at Nellore.

Rose gave Nellore a puzzled look. “Is a Speiring Night what I think it is?” she asked.

“Wheest, Rose,” Brenna said gently. “Who’s to know what a Speiring night is. I’d wager whatever it is, Nellore is at its center, but ye never know. The Orkney Islands are filled with all manner of queer traditions.”

Nellore stared at the door. She could not remember ever feeling so nervous. Nearly an hour passed and she feared the door would never open, but then Duncan peered inside. “Nellore,” he said. “Will ye join us?”

Duncan took her hand and led her outside. “Ye will have to speak with Ronan on this matter, ye ken,” Duncan said to Garik. “Ye can tell him that ye have my blessing.” Then Duncan turned and dipped his head, pressing a kiss to Nellore’s cheek. “Perhaps ye would care to walk Garik up the hill,” he said. He grazed the back of his fingers gently across her cheek. “My dear, sweet lass. Ye’re not a child anymore. Ye’re a lion and a lamb all at once. I could not be prouder of ye.”

Then he stepped back and stared into her eyes. Nellore felt as though he were saying goodbye, but not because of an expected absence. She could see in his eyes that he grieved for the passing of her childhood, the time when she was so essentially his—his own wee daughter. Admiration shone in his eyes. She felt as though he were seeing her as a woman grown for the first time. Tears wet her cheeks as she rushed into her da’s arms. Childhood memories of his laughing black eyes and reliable strength flooded her mind, and she wondered whether she would ever know that same warmth again. Despite how well she loved Garik, she doubted the same security could be found in her true love’s arms, for accompanying the comfort and security of a father is a child’s innocence, which age all too swiftly snatches away.

“I love ye, Da,” she whispered as she lifted her head from his chest. He smiled down at her. Then he cleared his throat and stepped away. With a sad shake of his head, he turned to go back inside, leaving her alone with Garik.

She eyed him shyly while she fidgeted with the belt of her tunic.

He stepped toward her, causing her heart to drum in her chest and her hands to shake. His eyes held an intensity that was palpable. He took another step forward, and the flurry of nerves that coursed through her forced her to speak. “What were ye and my father discussing?” she blurted.

A slow smile curved his sensual mouth. “Can you not guess?” he said as he drew ever closer. He reached out his hand and tucked her long black hair behind her ear. Then his fingers trailed down, grazing the sensitive skin of her newly exposed neck. She shivered and her breath caught in her throat.

“I only ken that which resides in my own heart,” she said.

He drew closer still. Only a breath separated their bodies. Her head was spinning as she stared up into his eyes. Twilight colored the sky, and she decided that was his hour. The purple sky ushered in the moonlight, which set his black hair to glow with an ethereal light. His pale skin appeared even whiter, giving him the magical look of the fae. His ice blue eyes darkened with intensity. She licked her lips as her thoughts tumbled out of control. She was dizzy with the velocity of feeling and trembling and thinking that was setting her heart and mind to spin.

“Please,” she said aloud, her voice pleading. Then she drew in a sharp breath as both of her hands rushed to cover her lips. She had not meant to speak and certainly not a word laced with such need. She was not even certain what she had sought with her beseeching outburst. She pursued his gaze, wishing to appeal to his judgment. Perhaps he could make sense of the storm brewing inside of her. But her lips parted when her eyes met his, releasing a sigh of wonder, for his eyes mirrored the tumult that writhed, cresting and falling, and soaring and diving within her.