Caledonia Destiny Page 13

  “I thought you would deny me,” Ewen confessed.

  “Yer declaration caught me off guard, and when ye walked away without waiting for my answer I found meself at the mercy of others who vied for my attention. Ye have much to explain, Ewen. No others be as accepting as yer people.” Roi shook his head in a disbelieving manner afore turning to leave, moving around the four men who had followed him to the stream.

  Donn, Arailt, and two other cousins watched Roi go. Bear and Ewen growled. “You heard him. He has agreed to my courtship.” Ewen’s kinsmen dispersed, Donn chuckling into his fist but hurrying away afore Ewen caught him.

  Back at camp the pallets were stowed in the wains and the coals of the fire scattered and doused. Ewen’s gaze followed Roi as he moved about the camp. He had forgone the kilted cloak of Ewen’s family in favour of breeches and a belted tunic. The linen stretched across his shoulders, his braided, sun-coloured hair resting against his spine. Roi was taller than most men, yet Ewen and his kinsmen were taller still because of what they were. As if sensing Ewen’s eyes upon him, Roi turned and held Ewen’s gaze, his cheeks and neck flushing with colour.

  “Would you ride beside me?”

  Roi made a sour face as he eyed the horses. “Aye, as long as I ride the same mount as afore.”

  A growl became trapped in Ewen’s throat when several men jumped to saddle Roi’s horse. He bit back the desire to snap at them. Donn’s observations were spot on: Roi had an effect upon their kinsmen, and if Ewen bumbled around much more, he could very well lose Roi to another. He quickly prepared his own mount, plans for the next couple of days tumbling through his head. Bear made suggestions, and Ewen gave Bear his ear. Roi would not slip through their fingers.

  XIII

  THE NEXT MAN WHO rushed to help Roi… Roi shook his head. The actions of Ewen’s kin confounded him. This was not how one treated possessions. Gillie Ainndreis taught Roi that lesson well. He sighed and watched as the fiery wyrm of a horse was saddled.

  He kept telling himself he ought not to be angry with Ewen and his kin. Nay, he was more upset with himself, for taking liberties in what he had thought was a friendship, for wishing and hoping for more than he ought. Roi was barely more than a slave passed from Gillie Ainndreis’ ownership to Ewen’s, a possession and nothing more. A quick tumble with Ewen did not make Roi kith or kin. He should not to be aggrieved over secrets he had no right thereto. If Ewen chose to confide in Roi, it be a boon, not a given. Roi knew this, and yet from the moment Ewen had taken him off the field of battle, Roi had been treated courteously, as if they held Roi in more esteem than a mere servant merited. Donn befriended him, gave counsel and support. Ewen’s kinsmen trailed after him, and spoke kindly with him. They acted as guards who shielded, rather than to prevent an escape, not that Roi desired to be elsewhere.

  Mayhap he was a fool for staying.

  But more than these small indulgences, deep in his bones he felt connected with Ewen and his kinsmen, as if he had been waiting all his life to rejoin with them. If he confessed such aloud, surely they would proclaim him daft. It was that same connection that caused Roi to assume more than was his right. He awaited for Ewen to reprimand him for his earlier fit of temper. Instead, he astounded Roi with his stricken countenance. Then, the proclamation afore his kin this morn—again Ewen confounded him, and yet Roi’s ire still burned. Ire with Ewen, with himself, fury at Gillie Ainndreis for stealing him from his home, and at Ebba for not bidding him farewell.

  “You look a wee bit feverish.” Lost deep within his thoughts, Ewen’s approach had gone unheard. His rough palm pressed against Roi’s forehead. “You be sure to tell me if you feel a fever coming on. Mayhap you should rest in the wain.”

  Roi drew Ewen’s hand from his face, only for Ewen’s fingers to curl around Roi’s. “A bit of rain and single night spent in a tree shall not harm me,” he peevishly reassured Ewen. Ewen’s gaze held Roi’s as his thumb stroked over the inside of Roi’s wrist. The gesture, startlingly tender, caused Roi’s blood to heat, his ill temper mixing with lust. The words tumbled over his lips afore he caught them. “Do not sport with me, Ewen mhic Friscalach. Lowborn I may be, a man with no kith or clan to lay claim to, but I know my worth. I bided my time with Gillie Ainndreis because it were a means to an end, a task I be beholden to see through. This game of yers—”

  Ewen blanched. “Nay, I would not have you believe such.”

  “Then what be it? Tell me what this morn be about,” Roi snapped with unbidden force.

  As a noble, Ewen did not need to continue this farce, pretending Roi had some kind of status amongst his kin. But neither did Ewen strike Roi down for speaking to him as a peer rather than as Roi’s better. He took great effort to quiet himself, for he held no title or wealth to speak of, and could offer Ewen naught. Damn the man confused him, for nobles did not woo other men, much less the lowborn.

  Ewen’s lips pressed together in a woebegone expression. “I would bestow upon you grand words, but they mean naught when I have lost regard in your sight, and rightly so. Give me time to show you what you mean to me, what place I would have you hold in my house amongst my kin. My deeds shall hold more weight than any words I bestow unto you now.”

  Roi’s blood raced, the fire of lust pulsing through his body only serving to anger him further, daring him to hope. Was he so spellbound by this man that he had no will of his own? “Comely words from a comely man,” Roi argued, knowing he only compounded the situation with his audacity.

  Ewen’s hand fisted the braid at the nape of Roi’s neck, and Roi braced himself for the strike he surely deserved. A reprimand he expected, the kiss he did not. His back slammed against the side of the wain, his liege’s body pressed against him from shoulder to knee. Ewen dealt a lethal attack, bruising Roi’s lips in a crushing press. The air was drawn from Roi’s lungs and the common sense from his head as he clutched at Ewen as if he were a man drowning. Roi kissed Ewen, but not like the man he was a few days agone when he would have done much for the briefest of his touch. No, Roi devoured Ewen, pouring the fire from his gut into the pleasure of Ewen’s mouth. Ewen cupped Roi’s damaged cheek, his thumb aligning with Roi’s nose, and though the sense of touch no longer resided in the marred skin, he felt the pressure, the strength of Ewen’s hand as he turned Roi’s head to an angle in order to better plunder Roi’s mouth. Ewen did not break away until they were nigh breathless and Roi clouded of mind and ready to swoon.

  Roi’s face was cupped betwixt Ewen’s rough palms, thumbs rubbing across his cheekbones. Roi’s ragged breaths brushed Ewen’s lips as Ewen skimmed his mouth back and forth over Roi’s. “One way or another, I shall woo you, stake a claim upon you, and tie you to me,” Ewen vowed.

  Gods, Roi wanted to believe, but his trust was strained to the limit. By the expression upon Ewen’s visage, he understood Roi’s struggle, and rather than impatience or ire, a sweet, shy smile split his lips, one that turned into a grin of a challenge accepted. He knew not what Ewen beheld, but he seemed to draw strength from what he saw.

  Roi clamped his lips down upon a protest when Ewen withdrew, his body tingling where Ewen had pressed against him. He refused to glance down to see if Ewen’s body was similarly afflicted with heated stirrings. Then again, Roi did not have to. Ewen boldly adjusted his manhood for all to see, mirth glinting in his eyes as Roi’s cheeks heated. He opened his mouth to administer a reprimand for Ewen’s untoward behaviour, then clamped his teeth together with a firm click, for it was not his place. A quick glance around showed Ewen’s brethren had made themselves scarce, which relieved Roi somewhat.

  “Come. The morn slips away, and we have much ground to cover afore night falls.” Ewen offered his hand to Roi. For the briefest of moments, Roi thought of denying Ewen’s small entreaty. But a part of him still burned for Ewen’s touch, and the thought of the hours passing without the feel of Ewen’s skin against his caused him to relent and grasp Ewen’s forearm.

  Ewen helped Roi onto his mount. That
seemed to be the signal that hastened Ewen’s kinsmen back to the wains. Roi anticipated slurs and bawdy jests, but yet again they astounded him with their encouraging grins and affable conversation. He would ponder the strangeness of Ewen’s kin later, for the wains began to traverse the faint track. Ewen rode close, recounting the story of his people and the origin of the wyrbears.

  Roi became beguiled by Ewen’s telling, so much so he barely took notice of the forest or the loch. They passed walled fields and clusters of family homes, the path they followed being little more than cart paths betwixt the spread of homes, until even they disappeared, the once-distant mountains rising all around them. After a time the loch fell away too, the track they traversed following a river instead.

  Now and then throughout Ewen’s story his eyes blazed golden then returned to the subdued hazel. Something about the telling resonated within Roi, as if he knew parts of the story already and Ewen’s retelling awakened locked knowledge, causing him to think back to the burn kindled when Ewen touched his Cerridwen’s mark.

  “The mathan, Fordel—” Roi paused as Ewen’s eyes glowed bright amber, pinning him with an expression of untold yearning, “—has he been reborn in yer generation?”

  “Nay.” Ewen’s gaze continued to hold Roi’s in its grasp even as Ewen nodded in outright contradiction to his denial. Why? What clue had Roi missed?

  He broke Ewen’s gaze. Why did this matter to him? Ewen’s ancestry was not a puzzle for him to unravel, and yet… He glanced back up, and Ewen’s intense eyes continued to stare, unwavering. A people needing free of a curse. A man… a being of the gods trapped. Could he stand by and not help? These people accepted him, though the reason was hard to fathom. In the end, Roi resolved, the only thing that mattered was putting things to rights.

  “Can I see ye change into yer mathan? I would like to meet him.”

  Ewen cleared his throat and finally looked away. “Bear has never come forth.” His tone held a deep yearning. “When I be a boy my granda, one of the oldest elders, collected me when I be nine summers. Custom decrees the heir must write their name upon the wall of the old home of our origins to ensure we remember our beginnings and how we came to be. Our first change comes upon us on the eve of our tenth begetting-year. Yet the change came upon me early, amidst strangers. If Granda had not averted the disaster I would have laid bare the secret of my people and most likely be dead, accused of witchery.”

  The white-knuckled grip Ewen had upon the reins gave evidence that some part of Ewen’s tale disturbed him. “Granda claimed I be weak willed. He took great pains to teach me the lessons of control lest I be lost to Bear.”

  “What happened? Did yer mathan wreak havoc upon a village?”

  Ewen’s brow furrowed, and his now-amber eyes held an old sorrow. “I know not. I remember nothing of the few times Bear has attempted to come forth. Should he, Granda warned I would cease to be, lost with no way back, as I lack the strength my people have.” Ewen’s head shook, again denying his words. The thought came upon Roi that mayhap Ewen’s mathan spoke with Ewen’s body, with Ewen unaware. Why? Why would the mathan do such a thing? Ewen’s Granda… had he done harm to both Ewen and his mathan? If only there were a way he could ask Bear…

  A thought came to him. “Has yer mathan been trapped within ye all these years?”

  “Nay, not trapped. I am stronger now, but natheless he chooses not to come out.” His amber eyes flared and Ewen nodded, seemingly unmindful that his mathan spoke without his knowledge.

  But what ought Roi to do with the knowing? He found himself nodding back to Ewen, hoping Bear understood that Roi espied and heard him. The flare of hope he glimpsed afore Ewen’s mathan withdrew could not be mistaken, even as the colour of Ewen’s eyes darkened to a subdued hazel. There was a puzzle here, but should he unravel the twisting knot or leave it be?

  “Shall I meet yer granda?”

  “Nay, he succumbed to the call of the forest around the time I began to court Caitriona. I am now the second eldest in our household. Catriona’s aunt, Freya, be one of the elders. She stayed to assist Caitriona with our household, and since my wife’s death has been a godsend in caring for our children.”

  Afore, Roi’s bumbling questions of Ewen’s family had caused Ewen to withdraw. Roi did not wish for Ewen to muse over the loss of his wife again, and so hastily turned Ewen’s attention, prompting him with another question. “Tell me how yer people become lost to the forest?”

  “The curse calls my kin to the wildwood after a time. They change skins, and their mathan enters never to return.” Ewen’s brow furrowed, as if befuddled by some inner thought. “Methinks the curse has changed somehow. Afore, we lived such long lives we need settle in remote areas, becoming self-sufficient so none would notice we lived three or four of a man’s lifetime. This last century many have succumbed to the forest whilst in their prime, and we cannot discern why.”

  “Yer elders have no texts or scrolls, no lore to divine the cause of the shift?”

  “Nay, most be gone, lost to the forest. The eldest, who resides in another clan, be barely older than Freya. Any knowledge they had, they took with them. I spent my youth in Normandy whilst Granda looked into the growing occurrence. I be but a boy at the time, but I remember the discussions of the suddenness of the pull that drew many to the wildwood. We lost hundreds afore we received word that my da be fighting the call.” Ewen’s gaze stared into the distance, lost in old memories.

  Roi vaguely recalled living in a village across the seas afore Ebba and he ran from the dark strangers. What would his life be like now if he had met Ewen then? “How long did ye live in Normandy?”

  “After Granda Shaye took me through the Black Forest to the Wall of the Cradle, nestled in the gorge of the River Wutach, he decided my control of Bear be too tenuous. We travelled to a castle in Normandy and there he began my lessons. He taught me mastery over my beast so I mayn’t harm others, or lose myself once Bear came forth. Whilst there, we learned that as at home, wyrbears in their prime were submitting to the call of the forest in large numbers, and Granda went to investigate. Granda could not travel quickly whilst I be with him, I be a burden, so for a time I became a ward of the Duke of Normandy. Granda said my education be more important than the investigation into that which I could not prevent. There I became a squire and spent my days surrounded by tutors and knights. Granda came and went, with months betwixt his visits. Staying with the Duke afforded me the chance to garner friendships that eased my way and raised my family’s esteem when I returned home.”

  Ewen’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “In some ways I be relieved, for he travelled with several men of whom my every instinct swore I should not trust. Even as a child, I easily marked them as killers. But I suppose it would be logical for him to travel with men such as they if he were hunting down the cause of our people’s vanishing.” Ewen seemed lost to his retelling, so Roi let the silence continue for a spell.

  At midday, they halted to rest the oxen, supping upon strips of dried meat without Ewen halting his telling. Roi noticed Ewen’s kinsmen listened with keen ears. Did Ewen not speak of his time with his granda?

  “How could contacts in such a far away place have an impact upon yer place here?” This time when Roi mounted the horse, none assisted. Mayhap not all horses, at least this mare, were the same as the daemon spawn Gillie Ainndreis had shackled him with upon the isles.

  “When we received word Da be fighting the call of the forest, Granda collected me and we traversed back to Alba. Upon our way, we halted to pay homage to Malcolm’s granda, King David. There, my connections within the Duke of Normandy’s court garnered favour with King David. I be sixteen summers then, and Malcolm eleven, groomed to take over the throne after David. Granda offered up our—my—ties for the benefit of the crown, and in exchange I be gifted the position of toisech to the Mormaer of Athall.”

  “And what of yer Da?”

  “By the time we reached home, he be gone.” Roi understood th
e expression in Ewen’s eyes. He, too, knew the loss of a family member without the grace of a simple farewell. Ewen cleared his throat and continued. “Da had anticipated I mayn’t return afore he entered the forest. Since Donn be too young to hold the lands alone, Da had called upon a friend in the nearest wyrbear tribe to be a temporary steward of our house. Oskar Gunnarsson and his kinfolk managed Da’s estates until Granda and I returned.” A wistful smile pulled at the corners of Ewen’s lips. “Caitriona were Oskar’s adopted daughter, a human raised amongst the wyrbears of Oskar’s clan. I be smitten and courted her forthwith. Her brothers, Rurik and Inge, became good friends, standing with me upon our handfasting day. Her aunt, Freya, stayed with us once Oskar returned home with Rurik and Inge. My eldest child, Brigid, were beget after Malcolm took the throne.”

  For some time they followed the trail through the woods. The river ran east and west to the left of the overgrown track. The going was rough, the full wains laboriously climbed the mountains into the Highlands as the oxen strained to pull them up the ever-rising terrain. On occasion they shared the track with local herdsmen who pushed cattle from the lush glens to the mountainside grazing. Happily, the shadowy forest gradually fell away as they approached Loch Lìobhann.

  Small family farms dotted the low land around the loch, with herds of longhorned, shaggy cows and dark, Boreray sheep being readied for the drive to mountain pastures. People halted to gawk at their slow procession as they wended their way down the pass, a few waving greetings.

  “Donn,” Ewen called. “Send a couple of riders out. We shall stop upon the east end of Loch Lìobhann for the night and remain for a day to allow the oxen rest and good grazing afore we continue. I shall speak to any who have issue upon the morrow.”

  One rider took the north side of the loch whilst the other started upon the south.

  “As toisech, what be yer duties?” Roi was curious as to what would happen when people came to speak to Ewen.