Chapter Twenty-Six

Far am bi do gharadh, bidh do thathaich.

(Where your love is, your haunting will be.)

— Auld Scots Adage

Tamlyn hated how Longshanks had derived great pleasure from parading Aithinne and her before all, showing these Pictish heiresses were under the power of his mighty English knights. Each time they were forced to attend a gathering, it took all her will—and kicks under the table to Aithinne's ankle—to see they both remained placid before the arrogant monarch. Her face ached from the strain of keeping the perpetual smile in place.

After breaking fast, Challon and St. Giles had taken their meeting with Edward. Tamlyn barely ate. Between the waves of morning sickness threatening, and the worry of what was transpiring behind closed doors, she had no stomach for food.

In spite of the tale Challon had spake to Dirk's brother, Challon had to justify his righteous killing of Dirk Pendegast. Tamlyn prayed the king would see the man's death in that light. She closed her eyes and spoke dark words that they would soon be quit of this foul place. She sat in the hallway with Aithinne, waiting, trembling. Her eyes remained fixed on the oak door, as if she could discern what was being said on the other side. When laughter erupted from the room, the tension inside her eased a bit.

Challon came out. Alone. The lines around his mouth had eased faintly, so she knew the matter had gone in his favor. He gave her a faint nod, saying Edward understood and deemed God had spoken through the outcome of the Trial by Combat. The matter ended there.

"Aithinne, please go in. The king wisheth to speak with Damian and you alone," he instructed, yet his countenance revealing naught else.

Aithinne rose stiffly, lifting up the sides of her kirtle so she would not trip. Her hazel brown eyes flashed her mislike of going before the king. The slight incline of her head said that she would do as Tamlyn advised her: play submissive and accepting, no matter what was said or done.

Tamlyn watched as her cousin enter the large chambers, as if she were going to an execution. She so hoped Aithinne would follow her own path as she had from the start—use her mind, not her emotions in dealing with an overwhelming situation.

She turned to Julian, wanting to seek comfort, but knowing he would be angry with her for letting her guard down. The small passage was narrow and dark, and only lit by the light coming through the narrow slip of the arrow loop opening.

His incisive eyes narrowed upon her, and then he grabbed her by her upper arm and almost dragged her down a long corridor. When they were some distance away, he spotted a boucle de fleche , and he pushed her down to the end of the enclosure. The small passage was narrow and dark, and only lit by the light coming through the narrow slip of the arrow loop opening. Her heart was pounding to where she could barely draw breath. Knowing he was furious, she did not know what to expect.

Challon pushed her against the wall, pinning her there. She opened her mouth to complain that just asking a question should not have brought forth such a wrath. The words never escaped. His mouth closed over hers, and he was kissing her with the violence of a storm breaking upon the cliffs of Glenrogha. His hunger, all the restrained emotions that had been held in check were unleashed. As wild as feelings were, this side of Challon did not scare her. She embraced his desperation, his fury, his crippling desire, and made it her own.

Finally breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers. When several men came down the corridor, he turned so his back was to them and they could not see her. Once they were out of hearing, he spoke. "We have permission to leave come morn."

"Blessings from the Lady." She leaned her head against his shoulder to draw the succor she needed.

"No lady wouldst have anything to do with what transpires in this hell hole. We leave come dawning. Edward is so delighted with your behavior and Aithinne's—I pray she behaves well before him now—that he quickly agreed the foul airs of this place was not good for delicate females. My second-cousin Noel de Servian shall be sent northward soon to assume control of a holding to our west."

"What about your other brother?"

"For now, Darian will remain behind with my cousin Redam. I have no illusions—they are held close as hostages to ensure my continued obeying." His tone was grim.

Tamlyn could not stop the question from coming. "And my father?"

"I told you—there is naught I can do. If I press this matter, then all kind concessions coming from his favor will vanish. Your lord sire made his bed, Tamlyn. To keep his head, he needs must make peace with the king. I am not stepping between them. I— we —have too much to lose. Let that be the final word on this until we are back at Glenrogha." His words were harsh, but he reached out and dragged the outside of his first finger along her cheek. "Come, Edward's audiences are usually short in duration."

Aithinne was sweeping out of the door with Damian on her heels, as they reached the king's chamber. Her face was pale, but two rosy spots on her cheekbones bespoke her anger. "He—" Her sharp eyes glared daggers at Damian. "now rules not only as Baron Lyonglen, but of Coinnleir Wood as well. My holding by Rite of Line ."

Damian seemed unaffected by Aithinne's ire. "It hardly matters since—"

" Och , it slipped my wee mind! It hardly matters since I am to be taken as lady wife by this... this ...king's jester! The world be made right, eh?" Her voice choked as she fled down the hall.

???

Even after being back to Glenrogha for a fortnight, sleep was a tenuous thing. In truth, she had not found a peaceful night's passing since that last evening in Berwick .

Tamlyn screamed, clawing herself out of the nightmare. She was covered in sweat and shaking. Her heart raced, pounding so hard that it vibrated her whole body, terror so bone deep she could not shake it. Her hands were fisted, so tightly, she feared she would have trouble opening them.

"Julian!" she cried, tears streaming down her face.

Strong arms encircled her and pulled her against his chest. "Hush, lass. 'Twas naught but a night terror."

"Nay...no dream. 'Twas real?" She gasped, half-statement, half-question, for at this moment in the dark of night she truly was not sure.

He kissed the side of her head. "Aye, it happened. The experience is all behind us. Pray let it rest. Please spare no more worries and fears. We are safe in Glenrogha, unharmed."

The reality crashed into her. "Damian. He—"

"Yes, he took two arrows—to the leg and shoulder. 'Twas he you saw in your vision—not I. He heals. Aithinne shall see to that. Oonanne is there to dose him with all her nasty tasting potions. I am not sure they truly help, but 'tis an incentive to getting well, so you can stop taking them." His soft laugh was meant to be reassuring.

Still, the details lingered fresh in her mind...

???

As they waited for the early morning fog to lift, they were given a chance to speak with Challon's kinsmen, still in service to the king. Tamlyn was most interested to meet Darian Challon, another half-brother that Julian had barely spoken about. The two reminded her of dogs with hackles on their backs, circling each other. She had no need to be told this man was of Challon blood—the wavy black hair and green eyes brooked no doubt.

With him was a companion, a Challon cousin, Redam Maignart, Baron Raoullin. They had been out on a mission for Edward, and had missed the start of Parliament. They came riding in as the Challon party was set to decamp. Baron Raoullin had many of the Challon traits in his blood, though his face was leaner. And whilst as strikingly handsome as Julian, there was a coldness to his eyes that made Tamlyn happy Edward had not sent him to claim Glenrogha.

Challon cut their visitation short, in a hurry to leave that foul city. Damian, too, had seemed strangely tense, alert against some unseen danger arising. His black mood hung around him like a shroud.

As they mounted to leave, she had seen the Pendegast brothers watching from across the courtyard. A frisson slithered up her spine. She had not needed The Kenning to warn her they were bad tides, and no matter what the king had ruled, they had not let Dirk's death drop. Though he had said nothing to indicate it, she assumed Challon's urgency to be on the road, and to put miles between them and Berwick was mistrust of the three men. He feared the Pendegasts intended to waylay them on the journey back to Glen Shane.

His edginess could not outpace her own. Every step of the way back, she was ever alert to spot landscapes that matched the dream. The Kenning seemed to be a constant buzz warning the attack would come soon. Still, the long ride back remained uneventful.

The only distraction was Damian and Aithinne. The two had bickered nearly the whole distance. Aithinne was madder than a wet cat, and perversely, Damian seemed to enjoy taunting her. The two were an odd mix, but she sensed they would work matters out between them. One thing she knew: Aithinne was very deeply in love with Damian.

Rain clouds had sounded high, near the passes on the final morn, but had not broken to shed the life-giving water upon the parched land. Tamlyn prayed for rain. Traveling through it would make matters harder, but there had been no storm in her dream. If it rained, they would remain safe.

As they neared the middle land between to the two lochs, enough moisture hung in the air, to see the haar stayed heavy and low to the ground, so heavy it was growing hard to see very far ahead of their party. As Damian rode ahead to scout, the fog seemed to swallow everything, the landscape—even Damian on his dapple stallion Galleon.

She knew they drew closer to the passes. The shrill cries of the ravens gave forth with the well-come back to Glen Shane. Only, something startled them; their voices were strident. They took wing, flying about frantically, screaming their discordant warning, and turning the sky black for several heart beats.

Then, Damian came galloping out of the fog, and behind him, men melted from the shelters of the high craigs. In the first waves of arrows, Damian took one in the side of his thigh. Challon was already calling his knights and men-at-arms into a phalanx, the men unslinging their long shields to protect Aithinne and her. As Gervase and Vincent helped them from their mounts, more arrows slammed into the side of Gervase's steed. The mighty horse went down with a bellow of agony.

Men on foot fell upon them; riders converged from both flanks. They were trapped. Damian, still astride Galleon, rode forward to outpace the coming horsemen. As he spun the stallion around, heading for Aithinne, another arrow lodged in his left shoulder at the edge of his breastplate. Some of the attackers, armed with crossbows, moved in closer. Going for the kill. Arrows slammed into the shields, causing Tamlyn's body to jerk in uncontrolled response with each dull thud. Even so, she struggled to see past Gervase and his shield, trying to locate Challon.

Calling out to Aithinne, Damian rode to her, dismounting before the horse even halted. "Get down!" Instead of doing as he commanded, she tried to rush to him. He grabbed her and pushed her to the ground, trying to use his body to protect her.

Panic rising, Tamlyn searched desperately for Challon, and finally was able to breathe again, as she saw him dismounting before her.

"Just who the bloody hell is trying to kill us?" Damian growled, as a pennon of a goshawk on a field of half-red, half-gold came into view on the horizon.

In a breathless shard in time, Tamlyn saw Julian. The mighty Dragon of Challon stood before them, ready to protect her, Aithinne and the wounded Damian. Like a warrior king of old, he would kill all daring to challenge him. Or die trying.

The pennon brought relief to Tamlyn. The goshawk belonged to a distant clan. "Nay, no' be foe, Challon. That be the standard of Grant Drummond. Duncan MacThomas rides at his side. Aithinne's brothers and Einar are at the head of the column, as well."

Swords drawn, the combined forces of Lyonglen, clans Drummond and Thomas galloped through the attacking force, hacking at the men like a scythe cleaved wheat. In a short time, they had killed most of the enemy. Once the action was completed, the two Scotsmen rode back.

MacThomas had a man, gagged, feet and hands bounded, and slung cross the shoulders of his horse. He had dumped the attacker at Challon's feet. The man landed face down in the dirt, so the Scotsman dismounted and kicked him in the ribs to roll him over. Clearly, her husband had expected it to be Pendegast behind the attack.

Instead, they stared at Phelan Comyn, one-time suitor for Aithinne's hand.

A son from the sept of Comyns to the north of Coinnleir Wood, he had been trying to win Aithinne for years. After rumors reached the clan of the old baron's death, Phelan decided to attack Lyonglen while they had been absent. Aithinne's brothers repelled the attack, and were chasing them from the glen, when they met up with Drummond and MacThomas. Likely, after Phelan failed to seize the castle, and after learning that Damian now stood in his way, he hit upon attacking and killing Challon and Damian on the road back to Glen Shane.

"I claim right," Damian growled.

Now, the man had to face a furious Damian in a battle for his life. Damian insisted they cut the man free and to give him a sword, though MacThomas laughing suggested that they just kill the man and be done with it. Challon argued, since he was not wounded, that he should be the one to fight Phelan.

Phelan knew the instant he accepted the sword MacThomas held out for him, his life was over. Instead, the man knocked into Moffet and pushed him into Damian, giving Phelan the chance to seize Aithinne, and threaten to break her neck unless everyone moved back. A mistake.

Einar had sworn that no one ever touched Aithinne. He acted swiftly and without command. The tall Norseman threw a long-bladed knife into Phelan's back. Before extracting the blade, he had given an extra twist to make sure the steel had done its work, and uttered, "No one harms my princess."

They had carried Damian back to Glenrogha and removed the arrows. Infection tried to set in and he had lost a lot of blood, but he would pull through. Aithinne would see to that. Damian had played the situation for all it was worth and used Aithinne's sorrow to get her to marry him before he ‘died'. He now recovered under the careful ministrations of his lady wife at Lyonglen.

They all had survived...

???

That was twice now she had come close to losing Challon. Oonanne always warned bad fortune came in threes. Those words stayed with her in cold dread. Would she soon face losing him again…a man she had come to love as much as life itself?

A soft sob tore through her. Even though the ordeal was past, she could not stop crying, having lived it all over again, to the smallest detail in the dark recesses of her mind. The sound of horses screaming, the whirling noise of arrows darkening the sky, feeling as if there was no place to hide to stay safe. "I thought it was you—in my dream I saw the attack, saw the arrows flying through the air. Saw...them hitting you. I feared I wouldst lose you."

"Damian and you are a pair. Blest—curst—with this ability to know things mortals should not know. Well, gift or no, neither of you were completely right. Damian had dreams for years about a woman—he saw her face, understood she would be the only one for him. When he came here, he assumed—"

"That it was me?" she finished. "He had not seen Aithinne. Had he met her first he would have recognized she was the woman in the dreams."

"And for whatever reason, you assumed I was the one who took arrows in the fight? Why did you not tell me?"

"The magpies," she replied, burying her head against the curve of his neck.

Julian scooted back in the bed, taking her with him, so he could prop his back against the head of the bed. "Four showed up the day Pendegast died."

"Not that time. The morn of our wedding. Seven sat upon the gates as we left the bailey."

"Seven herald a secret that must never be told?" He repeated that part of her rhyme about the strange birds. "Why would you keep that secret? Is not the gift to see the future to warn you of what is to come?"

"Ofttimes. Others to speak of the knowledge sets forces into spin, which in turn sees the prophecy fulfilled. As you said, it can be a curse as much as a gift. I feared telling you wouldst make it truth. I could only wait and try to protect you when the time came. I had the dream the night before we wed. Why seeing the birds unsettled me."

"Damian had the same dream. He warned me of a danger up ahead."

The attack had come and gone, though questions still remained. Mayhap it was those unanswered questions that had brought the dream back anew.

"You thought Pendegast's brothers were behind the attack," Tamlyn said.

"I did. I do. They will not allow his death to go unchallenged. I know Phelan Comyn sought to win Aithinne—by one means or another. But even he would not risk such a power grab without someone bigger backing him. One day I shall have to kill them. Expect that, Tamlyn. I will not have them hanging over our heads, attacking when we least expect it."

She wanted to rail at him for resolutely anticipating another fight. She knew the words would be wasted. Her husband was a man who protected what was his.

And she was his.

Right now, she did not wish to think upon, the Comyns or Pendegast. She wanted the ugliness of battle and death driven from her mind. Only Challon had the magic to grant her the peace she so needed.

She moved. Dragging her body over his, she leaned up to him. "Kiss me, Julian. Summon the Dragon's fire to scorch these lingering memories from my mind."

Tamlyn intended to ride him, and moved so she could align his body to hers. Only, her husband had other ideas. With a wicked grin, he grabbed her ankles and flipped her on her back, pulled her legs straight so her ankles were on his shoulder. He moved so fast, bending her legs back, so was pinned by the weight of his chest. In that nearly helpless position, she squirmed trying to gain some sort of leverage. She could find no purchase. She needed none, for Julian plunged into her, one swift, hard thrust, burying his thick, burning flesh deep within her.

Letting go of her ankles, he grabbed her wrists and pushed them above her head. He smiled, white teeth flashing, as he knew she was at his total mercy. "I live to serve my lady."

He pulled out part way, and then slammed into her again, repeating the rough action, again and again. Just as she began to fall apart inside, he shifted once more, this time, pulling her to sit on his thighs as he rocked back on his haunches. He wrapped his strong arms tightly around her waist. He took her mouth savagely, and thrust upward inside her again. The world shattered, leaving her little more than a helpless leaf buffed by the strong storm.

He would have none of it. Breaking the kiss, he commanded, "Again, Tamlyn."

She could barely think. Only feel. She laughed. "I think again is my favorite word."