Page 20 of Chieftain’s Rebel (Chieftain #6)

And just like that it was all o’er. Ghillie waved Rory and Ainsel into the Great Hall as the Irish marched out, Gilda in the midst of them. Rory felt Ainsel’s shoulders shaking under the width of the arm he’d wrapped around her, but what could ye say to a lass whau’s friend had sacrificed herself in her place. He could tell she wanted to go to her grandfather, but it was too soon. The Irish chieftain, MacLoughlin, wasnae likely to leave Caithness without a few of his men watching his back and, as if they were all stunned, the folk of the settlement stayed silent inside where the dim light suited their mood.

Ghillie crooked his fingers to draw them closer. “She did well. MacLoughlin appears to have taken a fancy to her. Gilda will be all right.”

Rory thought Ainsel would fly at him, all teeth and nails and, though she spoke quietly, he heard an underlying growl, “How can she be all right when she’s not with us, her family? And how can I live with myself when she has to suffer at the hands of yon man.”

“Nae!” Ghillie’s sharp retort was unlike any Rory had heard him use. “She’ll be all right I promise ye—the auld gods promise ye.”

Ainsel’s eyes bored into his wee cousin, so Rory stepped in. “I’ve ne’er known him to be wrong, honestly; he’s always been this way, and his mother more so. I know it must sound farfetched, but her gift is remarkable. She always knows, she does. Wait till we get to Dun Bhuird. My mother can tell ye all about the prophecy she made.”

He watched Ainsel’s shoulders droop, watched the colour of her eyes change, darken, as if she had made an important decision. “That will ne’er happen. I’ll ne’er go with ye to Dun Bhuird. I don’t deserve aught guid to happen in my life when Gilda will spend her days under the boot of the Irishman.”

“If ye ask me, it might be the other way around.” Rory had ne’er known Ghillie to be such a wee smart-arse, but he could swear a smirk lurked around his cousin’s lips and, dim though it was in the Great Hall, Ainsel must have caught sight of it. She grabbed Axel out of his arms, just when he was getting used to and enjoying the feel of him there.

“I need to be with Grandfather and Finn, my family. There are decisions to be made,” she said in a way that cut him out of what would happen next and hit him like a fist in the gut.

He had been making plans, thinking of forever, while Ainsel, it seemed, wasnae in the mood.

And now neither was Rory. Ghillie’s mouth was open as if he was about to speak, but he had nae time for his wee cousin’s excuses. “Off ye go with that raven, and let him do what he can to help ye. I’m going to see what Finn has to say.“

Was it like this for everyone growing up—ne’er being taken seriously, wondered Ghillie? Mayhap it was different being brought up with gypsies, as his mother had been—folk whau had minds open to the wonders of the world around them. The auld gods had been like that, sensitive to the world around them, frae the soaring eagles to the bees gathering nectar for honey—achievements so complicated that that men found it easier to take them for granted than to see them for the miracles that they were.

Just like Heimdall. Ghillie held out his fist and the raven hopped on to it. “Go,” he called throwing up his hand and sending Heimdall on its way. “Seek, find and report, my wise wee friend.”

The Irish were well on their way, though they had gone back up o’er the brae to the boats they had anchored lower down the Ness—and Gilda with them.

At that moment, it felt to Ghillie that Ainsel would ne’er speak to him again, though he was certain that eventually she would, just as he was certain that one day she would bide at Dun Bhuird with Rory. But that was a tale in need of telling, as the auld gods nudged them into a complicated pattern. There were folks whau had lives that were always easy, without struggles—boring. The gods didnae like to be bored, and aeons ago had decided that aught worth having shouldnae be easy.

With his boots pointing in the direction of the ash-covered sands, littered with brittle and blackened timber that would eventually wash away on the next neap tide, Ghillie walked away from the Hall.

Heimdall hadnae returned to him yet. To begin with, he had flown off in the same direction as the troop of Irishmen, but now he circled above the boat that had burned down to its oaken ribs, which still stuck out above the water like the remains of a giant animal. That’s why Ghillie had turned in this direction, venturing that the tighter circles the raven flew meant he had found something of importance, and Ghillie had to believe whatever it was might change everything.