Page 21 of Chieftain’s Rebel (Chieftain #6)

They went at a run, he and Finn plus a few of the men not nursing wounds. All were tired, but their energy came with the speeding up of their hearts, the need to expend all that they had, all that they were on keeping the settlement safe. They had been caught by a trick last night and didnae intend to let it happen again.

To begin with, Rory had thought the uproar was another attack, and the first thing he reached for was his shield. His sword still rode on the same hip he had fastened it against since he went with Finn and Ghillie to work out the plan. Cogitating o’er the last few days, he wished Calder had gone with them instead of on one of the dragon-boats, nae matter that the notion was one Calder had come up with on his own.

Too late now for regrets. Nae matter that he had extoled Ghillie’s gift to Ainsel, the notion of knowing what was to come didnae really sit well with him. He questioned how in the world would aught change without some sort of terrible upset that made righteous men aspire to correct it. His father might not agree, but it appeared to Rory that greed and ambition were at the base of life’s problems, though he doubted few would admit that.

Ghillie was ahead of them, waving his sword o’erhead while Heimdall danced in the air above him, letting out raucous cries. They made a guid pair, he decided, fluttering and waving. With all of them so tired and drained, he hoped the heaving chests frae their run was worth the pain.

It was. He immediately recognised Calder’s plaid. The fact that it was sodden and wrapped about a lifeless bundle made him want to boak, made him stop dead on the edge of the tide. He had never let himself down afore by spewing the contents of his stomach in front of those he was supposed to lead. Today might be a first.

God’s blood, he was afraid to go forward, afraid of what he might see. He pulled his shoulders back and straightened up. Naught could be worse than what his mother had witnessed afore she was abducted to Caithness—Magnus, the constable of Dun Bhuird, whau Harald mutilated. He had been her friend too.

Ghillie was speaking, but his words didnae get past the thrumming in his ears. “Are ye listening to me, Rory? He’s alive, but we need a board to carry him up to the Hall.”

The air left Rory’s lungs in a rush and he used it to yell, “Two of ye bring a board frae the Hall. We can carry it back betwixt the lot of us; he’s nae light weight.”

Hunkering down beside Calder, he laid a hand on his neck, his friend’s skin was cold to touch but he felt the underlying pulse in his veins, his chest moved, but lightly. Rory saw his eyelids flicker as he said, “Calder, are ye awake, can ye hear me?”

It took Calder two or three attempts, but finally his eyes opened and stayed open staring at Rory. “I take it this isnae Heaven, since yer here as well.”

Christ’s blood, if that wasnae Calder all o’er. He wanted to pick him up and hug him, carry him bodily up to the longhouse without waiting for a board, but he couldnae let his delight in knowing his auldest friend was still alive make him dive in impulsively and mayhap contribute to his injuries. “Where are ye hurt?”

“What, ye mean apart frae almost being drowned, taking a sword in my ribs and having my skull nearly crushed by a burning mast?” He moaned, and Rory watched as he gritted his teeth to make the jest. How could any man lie on the wet sand, face and beard powdered with the rough golden grains and jest about all he had suffered. Rory had always known Calder was strong, but it was hard to imagine what he had been through after Gilda witnessed him falling frae the side of the dragon-boat into the Ness.

“Aye. Besides all ye described, is aught broken? Legs, arms? Yer head’s obviously all right but we both know how hard that is.” Rory shook his head. He’d been breathing too hard and his fingers tingled as relief set in. “Ye daft bugger, I want to know if it’s all right to move ye without causing ye more hurt or pain.”

Calder lifted a hand as if to confirm what he was about to say, then lost the strength to hold it up and it hit the sand with a wee splash. “Naught broken. My head aches, but the wound in my side is numb and aside frae my skin being rubbed raw with sand, that’s all I’m aware of, except for the cauld. Even my bones are cauld. I just wish I hadnae lost my sword.”

“Glad that yer still o’er stubborn to let aught get one o’er on ye.” Rory looked behind him and saw the men he had sent for the boards racing down the slope to the beach on either end of the lengths of wood. They werenae alone. Farther back, women were following. He recognised Ainsel’s bright hair floating around her shoulders, lifted by the breeze off the water, and could imagine her reaction, but Calder’s feeling came first. “What do ye think, Finn? The three of us could remove his wet plaid. With Ghillie’s help, his shirt can be cut off him.”

As he spoke, Rory removed his sword, tossed it away frae the seawater, and began unfastening his own belt. “Keep his belt close by, we’ll use his and mine to strap the boards together and make them easier to carry.” Dropping his belt farther up the beach with his sword, he began unwinding his plaid, which had begun to fall off without the support of his belt, and soon he stood in naught but his shirt to shield him frae the eyes of the women slipping and sliding across the soft sands.

Ainsel could look all she liked, but he didnae fancy his prick being discussed by the aulder women that he recognised following Ainsel across the beach. Calder, on the other hand, didnae have any choice. He was cauld and Rory had decided that wrapping him up in the plaid still warm frae his own body would be the quickest means of getting Calder warm again.

With the arrival of the men carrying the boards, he bent to retrieve Calder’s belt and threw it down beside his own. “Hold the boards together with these belts,” he told them afore shifting his attention toward the three men with him he that could actually count as family.

The plaid was still a tangle around Calder’s hips, though Finn had cut the shirt off him in strips and was washing the strips off in the sea and explained, “I thought they might be needed to bind his wound until we reach the longhouse.”

With a nod, Rory said, “A guid notion. What say we lift Calder by the shoulders and hips while Ghillie strips him of his plaid, then we’ll see if he is still bleeding frae his wound.”

Calder’s weak but disgruntled voice came up to them as with wee jerks of the head they all agreed. “Do I have nae say in this? I’m more than just a slab of meat for carting around.”

Whau could disagree with him? They had been treating him like an extra large lump of flesh and bone—ach make that flesh, bone and powerful muscles—without consulting him as to their disposal. “Have we yer permission to see to yer wound and, more importantly, get ye wrapped up in my dry plaid and lifted onto that board afore the lassies arrive?”

“Ach, lassies.” He looked down at his cock, balls and prick shrunken to the size of walnuts frae exposure to the cauld. “Ye have my permission and be quick about it.”

Rory grinned. Calder was going to be fine if his male vanity was aught to go by. They were as guid as their words and had his lower half and his male parts wrapped up in Rory’s plaid soon enough to spare him embarrassment. As for Rory himself, thankfully his shirt fell to midway down his thighs.

The news that Calder was alive had reached the Great Hall in a round of cheers. They had little else to be happy about. Hearing he was wounded, Ainsel and a few other women hurried to the beach to see whether they could be of any assistance. For her, it was one of the few bright patches in a period that should have been made cloudless because she had found Rory again, yet was aught but.

It was only as she trekked across sand scoured by the boots of fighting men and women that the consequence of Calder’s survival dawned on her: Gilda had sacrificed her body, her life, in vain.

As if her heart had been pierced by a Sgian dhub, the knowledge proved she would have to give her all—nae, she needed to do more, sacrifice more. The truth was that even as she watched Gilda stride up the brae above the settlement with the Irish, it ne’er felt real. Frae then until now it had felt as if she were walking through a dream—a nightmare.

It didnae matter what Rory wanted; she had decided she wouldnae go with him to Dun Bhuird, couldnae take her happiness at the expense of Gilda. That’s not what friends did.

And now…

Calder sat shivering in the kitchen next to a huge wooden tub that steamed slightly. Rory’s plaid was still around and strips of his shirt felt as if they might be stuck to his wound as it hurt when he coughed, and he had been coughing more and more since he first attempted to sit up.

His body was in the control of an aulder woman. “Dinnae ye worry, lad, I’ll make sure it isnae o’er hot for ye.”

Taking her measure when they lifted him off the board to carry him into the kitchen, he had recognised the piece of stained linen around her fat belly meant she was the cook that had produced the all fine meals he’d eaten since arriving at the longhouse. He eyed the steaming tub as his vision went hazy, imagining her cooking him in the tub. He still said, “I need it hot. I’m freezing. My blood has forgotten how to move through my veins it’s so cauld.”

“Mayhap that’s how it feels now, but we Norse know how to bring a freezing body back to life. We have to do this gradually to make sure ye dinnae swoon.”

He gripped tightly at the edges of the folds of plaid wrapped about his hips and she rolled her eyes. With a loud chuckle, she dipped her fingers in the tub and moved them making wee waves. “It’s hardly more than lukewarm. Ye had best get that plaid off now while I go and wave the men to come ben and lift ye into the tub. I’m sure yer fair modest,” she said and let out another chuckle as she went through the curtain into the Great Hall.

She knew what she was talking about. The moment his toes entered the water he drew in a breath and by knee level he was begging them to lift him out and they were laughing. “If it was any cooler it would be cauld. Just take it slowly. Ye will get used to it, then the cook will add some hot.”

“I hate ye, Rory Farquharson,” he growled, then it came to him. “Send in Gilda, she can help me.”

He had heard folk say their jaw dropped afore but ne’er seen it for himself. He waited but nae one spoke. Then his jaw dropped, then his heart. “God’s blood, is she dead?”

“Nae, Gilda’s all right, she’s just not here right now.”

Calder felt puzzled, she was the lass he wanted to marry, a forever woman. Rory ought to understand. His friend knew how that felt, he had seen him looking at Ainsel, seen the heat in his eyes. Rory knew how it felt to love. “Has anyone gone to fetch her?” he demanded his voice as scratchy as his throat.

Rory cleared his throat, “It’s a long story and I wasnae there for the half of it. I’ll let Finn tell ye,” he said, dipping his head. Calder saw him flash a telling look at Finn frae under his lashes.

He knew it was going to be bad as he sank down into the water, ignoring the feeling that his body was being scalded as his yell stripped the flesh off his throat and the roof of his mouth, “What’s this, Rory, did some lassie strip ye of yer balls? I ne’er thought ye’d lack the courage to tell me the truth.”

“I’ll tell it ye.”

Calder looked o’er the rim of the tub to see Ainsel standing on the inside of the leather curtain. He had caught a glimpse of her yesterday when Gilda waved her goodbye afore they both climbed onto the dragon-boat to wait for the Irish vessels—such as the one that had rammed them and whaus mast he had clung to for most of the night. She was dressed as she had been the day afore, in leathers, with a sword at her side and a shield on her back. Even without her speaking, he was sure his life was about to come crashing down on him the way the mast had last night.