Chapter 23
Now she was a little aulder, Brodwyn had learned not to take a leap at life that might bring her harm. She was, however, curious about what Henry, St Clair and a certain few of his men were up to when they disappeared of an afternoon.
To that end, she watched and waited until the last of them crossed the training area afore, heart in hand, she decided to follow. Patience over quite a few afternoons had taught her roughly how much time she would have afore they reappeared. The dusty bushes bore the marks of the last rain shower—the reason she held her kirtle high out of the mud. She was certain nobody would chance upon her at this end of the Bailey. It was always deserted once Henry and his men crossed to what she had convinced herself was a secret entrance hidden beyond the unkempt shrubbery. With only footprints in the thin muddy layer to prove she wasnae irrational, she stepped behind the bushes and there it was.
Half-hidden by twigs and leaves, the door had been used too often of late to remain invisible to her questing glance. Besides the last man through hadn’t closed it properly.
Taking a deep breath, she peered around the door. Steps led downward but not steeply, the edges of their tiled treads shining in torchlight from within that fluttered in the draught frae the open door. Definitely not of the inclination to make a dash into the unknown, she let her eyes become used to the dim, patchily illuminated stair well after the brightness of the day. As her eyes adjusted, she saw more and breathed less, stunned by the magnificence of tiny, many coloured tiles used to make a picture as some might sew a tapestry. It was the subjects that made her gasp and cover her mouth with her hand to prevent the choking noise in her throat giving her away.
This was like no picture ever stitched by a woman’s hands. Brodwyn could make out men, naked men, and she was startled, though she’d never had any aversion to seeing a man with nae clothes on. It was a fact that she had probably seen more than most even though, in her experience, some of them were oft in too much haste to ram their pricks into her warmth to completely undress.
The ones depicted on the walls had nae such problem. One look and she was certain that these had been created by men, frae the length of their jutting pricks alone. To her way of thinking, men were always prone to exaggeration. What truly bothered her was the lack of women on the walls. Instead there was a bull—nae, a man with the head of a bull—which meant this must have been left here frae the time of the Romans. She might have nae claim to what men called education, but it hadn’t taken her long to learn that this part of Northumbria was famous for auld, weathered and broken down Roman temples and villas left by the Romans who had built the wall.
The subject seemed to fascinate Henry. Their legions, he was wont to boast, were nae better than Norman knights. His eyes would light up and she could tell he was imagining himself in the thick of battle against a Roman army.
Mayhap they had been a great fighting force, yet she had to bite her lip to prevent mentioning that the Romans had built the wall in fear of the ferocious Scots.
Henry hated the Scots with a vengeance, which meant he actually hated her.
With her vision clear and steady, she took the first step, then the next. Gradually, as the sound of voices grew louder, she held her breath, as if the slightest sound might give her away. Her heart raced and the nausea that had plagued her of late threatened to rise in her throat.
Back to the wall, she brought her breathing under control and soothed her racing heartbeat, though the picture opposite her was enough to set her heart fluttering again as she stared at man and bull locked together in deadly combat, the man forcing the bulls sweeping horns towards the ground as if he might break its neck—a triumph of man over beast—the sort of portrayal the monks would proclaim as sinful. It certainly looked as much, she decided, reluctantly dragging her eyes away frae the blatantly aroused pair. There was nae point in denying she had always been easily coaxed to sin, revelled in the pleasures a man could give to a woman, and if he didnae have the skills, she could always lead him the way there.
Calmer now, the noise of her heartbeat thumping in her ears nae longer deafened her, allowing the sounds, the grunts and groans coming from the cavern opening out afore her, to be heard.
Two columns supported the cavern entrance and, tempted by the opportunity to see what was causing the sounds, she pressed her face close to a small gap that separated the column frae the wall. Most of the light in the cavern focused on its centre, and she prayed that the shadows thrown by the tall roof support prevented the torch and candle light there frae reflecting off her face.
Two naked men wrestled in the centre of the cavern while the others stood back watching frae the back corners of the cavern either side of a huge tiled picture of the bull-headed man, his red eyes glowering down on the wrestlers as if ready to dive into the fray.
She almost felt like diving into the struggle herself, for this was a Henry she had never envisaged afore. He and St Clair—both stark naked—were locked in a tight struggle, arm muscles bulging as they twisted and turned, fighting to get the upper hand. Brodwyn almost bent double frae the thrill that shot through her as she watched Henry slide out of St Clair’s hold. Their bodies had been oiled and gleamed in the pale candle glow and more orange torchlight. Henry was more hirsute than St Clair. The patch of hair on his chest struck downward like an arrow and surrounded his genitals in a nest of black curls. It wasnae an area he displayed very often, being more inclined lately to throw her face down on the bed and push into her frae behind, so she filled her gaze with the sight, thankful that, unlike the men on the walls, his prick wasnae standing out frae that nest.
Satisfied by her discovery, she made haste to leave afore one of the men discovered her. She reasoned that there must be another entrance to the cavern. How else could Rob McArthur have secreted the bairns away. At the top of the steps she looked back down into the darkness of the cavern. Aye, it had given her a thrill, made her womb clench to see Henry and St Clair in a struggle that might in ancient times have been to the death. Outside and scurrying back to the square stone manor house, she began to question what the meeting of naked and oiled men had been about—a secret society mayhap, but what need had they for secrecy?
She was suddenly thrown back to the time at Dun Bhuird when she watched Harald hang auld Magnus by the chains over the fire-pit and disembowel him. Men could be cruel beasts. Harald had been. The Norse blood had been stronger in him than in her, and he might have pretended to worship the auld Norse gods, but for him it was all for show.
Never in all her days could she imagine him worshipping a bull-headed man.
She reached the corner of the manor afore she could nae longer hold in the need to be sick, and she leant over, supporting herself with one hand on the stone wall and the other wrapped around her belly as she retched.
What was wrong with her? Even Harald’s perversions hadn’t made her feel so bad … and she would make a liar of herself if she imagined that it was love she felt for Henry.
As she stood up, it struck her like a blow. Frae the day Melinda left, Henry had stopped feeling the need to protect her by spilling his seed outside her body and now, like it or not, she was with child. Squaring her shoulders, she walked to the side entrance, her mind racing as she sought answers to the ways she could turn this confirmation of her suspicions that a bairn grew inside her frae a problem into an opportunity.