“Ye just couldn’t hold yer hand, could ye? Ye had to cut him.” Brodwyn’s anger had been simmering since she heard of the incident on the practice ground—another innovation Farquhar had insisted upon. He was making more changes to Dun Bhuird than the Bear had in his whole lifetime.

“‘I told ye, it was an accident, why can’t ye believe me?’ Harald protested.

She could hear the whine in his voice, had expected it. The way she always expected to be annoyed by the contrast in his looks and attitude. He was a muckle lump of a man, handsome as all get-out but with as much gumption as a newt. She could take her anger out on him because it was safe here to shout—safe because even in daylight few came to this place where the dead were buried outside the palisade, a place that could be reached only through a gate kept for those of the family leaving this world.

Brodwyn walked away a few paces. “I don’t believe ye because I ken ye, Harald. Ye thought ye saw an opportunity and ye leapt for it. Always the easy road with ye…” She whirled around and snapped at him.

She lifted her hand and slapped him across the face, hard.

The sound of her palm meeting his cheek echoed through the dusk.

In the thick, heavy darkness, she looked up at him and filled the silence with, “Because of yer laziness, ye almost spoilt my plans for both of us.”

“Aaaarghh.” The sound erupted from deep in Harald’s despair as he grabbed her by the arm, one hand circling her throat as he pushed her roughly against the bark-stripped tree trunks that formed the palisade. “Ye dare lift yer hand to me? The man who will be Chieftain of Dun Bhuird and will hold yer very life in his hands?”

Harald’s voice came low and guttural, filled with spite and ire. She revelled in its power as he pressed closer. “O-o-ch, Harald,” she crowed, “this is the man I ken best.” She wrapped an arm about his neck and bit down on his ear lobe until he moaned. Hitching her kirtle till her leg was bared, she captured him with it, held him close in the cradle of her hips. “Lift me, Harald. Take me. Stab me with your sword,” she slurred the words, overcome by lust as the hard length pressed into her belly—a passion more than fuelled by their surroundings, this place filled with darkness and death.

She moaned her pleasure as he stabbed her without care or pretence, just the way she liked it, and rode her to completion against the wall with her clawing his back, sharing the pain as well as the pleasure. Och aye, she thought, this is the man she could share Dun Bhuird with.

Later, as they returned to the hall, she retold the story of Grogan and Kathryn at the session in front of the high board and finished by saying “I’m sure yon’s a disgrace he’ll not be inclined to keep to himself.” Brodwyn looked up at him in the torchlight before she slipped inside the hall. “I think Grogan is a man who should be encouraged. What say you, cousin?”

Gavyn leaned back in the chair Kathryn had ordered moved into their apartment. His feet bare, he curled his toes in the thick fur of the bear skin that Kathryn had tried to make him believe had belonged to her father—the one, so Magnus had told him, Erik had been buried in. Mind you, it added a kind of perverse pleasure to imagine that he was standing on the Bear’s cloak.

Kathryn sat at his feet, adding wood to the fire as needed—unusually silent though. He found he didn’t like this quiet, contemplative wife and decided to stir the coals.

“It must have gone against the grain today to have to save your husband’s life.” He flattened his lips against his teeth and waited for her response.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Gavyn, but it wouldn’t please me one bit to see you killed, not when I’m just getting used to you,” she chuckled. A sound he’d come to like. “Besides,” she sighed with a hint of melancholy then went on, “Malcolm Canmore would just send another lackey to take your place and I’d have to start all o’er again.”

“Lackey.” He sat up in the chair and winced from the pain in his side before demanding, “Are you implying that I’m one?” Leaning back with a broad tanned hand to his ribs, he let out a slow whistling breath.

“I was only teasing and never meant you to hurt yourself again. Didn’t anyone tease you afore now?” The question was accompanied by a flutter of eyelashes. Obviously, she wasn’t of a mind to abandon her playful mockery.

He growled, felt the threatening sound scrape the sides of his throat and ground out his reply to show her that two could play her game as he informed her, “None who lived to tell the tale.”

Kathryn pouted, and he wanted nothing more than to take that full plump lower lip between his front teeth, nip it then suck it better; but there was no use starting something he couldn’t finish. “It was obvious from the first you weren’t one of the King’s pets. As a fighting man you’re useful to him.” A smile played around her lips as if she were deciding whether or not to say more. “He gave me to you as a reward, wouldn’t you say?”

“Aye, that’s as may be, but truth to tell, I wasn’t actually sure at first.” He murmured turning the notion around in his mind, “However, time will tell.”

He had spent a month avoiding becoming as comfortable with his wife during the day as he felt in the night. For today at least, Harald had forced the situation on him. Frustrating though it might be, there was little else he could do but get to know his wife, since sitting still was far more comfortable than lying on his wound.

“Am I allowed to say that I was impressed by your skills. I knew you tended to the sick each day, but not how effective your ointments could be. A person with your abilities would have been a godsend on the battlefield. A lot of men have died from smaller wounds than the one I received today. I sincerely thank you, wife.” He reached out, his fingers tangling in her hair, and let a long gold strand run between his hard fingertips. She liked to leave it loose at night, partly because the pins she used to hold her braid tight against her scalp made her head ache and partly because her husband enjoyed playing with the long swathes of golden silk as he made love to her. Tonight it appeared he would have to go unsatisfied.

Kathryn hummed softly under her breath afore saying, “There is too much superstition clinging to the healing arts. Some so-called healers would rather put a patty of dung on a wound than a herbal decoction. And if a healer is too successful, there are always those among them who would name her witch. It leaves little ambition to travel far from one’s stillroom. I have the clan to care for. That’s enough.”

“Anyone who dares mention the word witch within my hearing will feel the sharp edge of my sword.”

She quirked her eyebrows at him, fine arches of gold glistening in the firelight. It seemed their previous conversation had left Kathryn confident enough to tease him again for she murmured, “Just like Harald did today?”

“I was distracted, by you. I should ban you from the practice ground from tomorrow on.”

“Uh-uh, no more fighting for you, at least not for a few days yet, for though the wound’s closed, it needs time to heal.”

“I can supervise without lifting a sword.” He held up a hand to block out her protest. “I’ll be careful. Every clansman needs to know how to do more than wave a spear or a sword—that they should be pointed only at someone if you mean to kill. Just waving weapons won’t deter an enemy intent on taking the Dun. We need all the men to have some training.”

“How many mercenaries did you lose?”

“Approximately half. All left with a purse full of silver.” He groaned lightly but not in pain. “It’s to be hoped they haven’t lost it all by now. One of my lieutenants will become captain and form a new fighting force with those who’ve remained. They will have to meld in with your folk.”

“Speaking of that,” without rising, Kathryn scooted closer to lean against his knee. “There was something new happened at the gathering this morn. A man stood afore me today. He has a croft and a wee bit of land, and his complaint was that a mercenary had stolen his woman by flashing his silver at her.”

He grinned. “Only his silver? That canny be right. None of my men who stayed behind have received their shares yet, for the simple reason that it might cause trouble.”

“Mayhap you should warn them, warn your men that Grogan might stir up trouble.”

“That won’t stop them. These men are mercenaries, used to taking what they want.” He thought Kathryn would hate him for bringing his men here if she knew what they were capable of when the blood lust was upon them and a city was being sacked. It was a way of life for these men, one he hoped they could change. He had high hopes for the ones who had decided to stay. As he had, they claimed they had had enough of war and wanted to settle down. And mayhap they did, though until a month ago, none of them had known what awaited them at the Dun Bhuird, the way he had. None of them had known a woman who visited them in their dreams with promises of love, the way he had been blessed.

“Which lass is it? Is she married to Grogan?”

Kathryn shook her head. “I don’t know but I can find out. He says they’re not married, nor hand-fasted, for I did ask. I also told him that as he hadn’t been bothered to make her feel secure then he had no sort of claim on her, that she could choose whom she wanted.” She was silent for a moment, before saying, “Mayhap it’s best we wait. Should either of them take the quarrel any farther then we can step in, hear them out and sit in judgement upon it … you and me together. Does that sit all right with you?”

“It does that; I’m sure you have the right of it. And if that doesn’t work, I can knock the men’s heads together and send the lass away, as I would have done in the first place.” He laughed when he saw her expression change to one of shock and disgust. “Now who doesn’t know when she’s being teased. I’ll tell you what I will do. I will keep all the men, yours and mine, twice as busy as they were before, and by nightfall they will all be too tired to think on tupping lasses.”

Kathryn giggled, a small girlish sound he’d never heard her make before. She stood up resting a hand on his knee to assist her. “Long days and hard work have never slowed ye down at night.”

He covered her hand with his and drew them both higher till hers rested on the inside of his thigh. “Not all men are like me,” he grinned slyly, “with a witch for a wife. For surely you have enchanted me, lass, since I can’t get enough of you.”

Her hand rubbed the tensing skin that covered his thigh, then laughed once again—this time a rich, full-bodied sound that came from low down in her belly, as if she wanted him as much as he wanted her. “We can’t, Gavyn, not without hurting you. Too much movement will set the wound bleeding again and, as I’ve told you before, I’ve no wish to train another husband.

He pulled her hand higher up the inside of his thigh until there could be no mistaking the heat that burned beneath the breacan-an-feile. “There are other ways, lass. Unfasten my belt and let me train you in them.

Naked, Kathryn sprawled across Gavyn’s knee, her head on his shoulder away from his wounded ribs. She felt incapable of moving, and why would she when the fingers of his left hand drew circles on her breast and teased her nipple until it puckered up hard and red like an almost ripe bramble—the kind of fruit Gavyn delighted in eating. His right hand rested on the curls hiding her sex, fingers playing with her fair curls, colouring she believed came to her from ancient times when a Norsewoman had married a Comlyn male and changed the look of the family forever.

This was all so different from the marriage she had expected. Aye, he was a hard man, one who took no excuses for a job poorly done. But that was not the man he became once he crossed the threshold into their bedchamber.

It was unthinkable, tragic, but she almost wished he would get hurt more often so she could care for him. She could only be happy that her marriage hadn’t ended up the way Brodwyn had forecast, with a man who thought of naught but his own pleasure.

No sooner thought than… “Open for me, lass,” he whispered in her ear. “Let me thank you for being an obedient wife.” She gasped, drew in a rush of air in an attempt to set him straight, when she realised he was teasing her again.

Letting her leg hang down the outside of his, she was struck by a notion of how she would feel should Lhilidh walk in on them in such a lascivious position. Then she remembered instructing her never to enter their apartments without knocking when Gavyn was inside.

“What we spoke of earlier, about the both groups of men clashing, mayhap using someone we care for—the lads, Lhilidh. I worry about Lhilidh if some man should hurt her. For all that Lhilidh’s mother was never without a man in her bed, the lass is a na?ve wee thing, and I don’t want her to come to any harm.”

His fingertip dipped through her curls and circled. She tensed with anticipation, waiting for him to touch the place where both his hands and his mouth could drive her wild.

Meanwhile, Gavyn nipped her ear lobe. His breath was hot and damp in her ear as he whispered, “You are right to worry. I have seen how she turns the men’s heads as she passes by.”

Kathryn shuddered, almost missing his promise as delight became more important than anything else at that moment.

“If it pleases you, lass, I’ll assign Nhaimeth to have a care for her, and where he goes, so do Rob and Jamie. They won’t let any harm come to her.”

If her mind hadn’t been overtaken by her husband’s wicked touch, she might have been inclined to say that mayhap it was Rob and Jamie that Nhaimeth should be keeping an eye on. However, it was too late. In less than a month, he had transformed her from a virgin into a woman who craved his touch, his possession, and who could barely think when she was in his arms. If she had been able to think she might have pondered the fact that she hadn’t had her courses since Gavyn returned to Dun Bhuird.