Authors: The Warrior
His nuptial night, the Hawk had to admit, had not begun overly well.
But until he persuaded her that he was not the demon she believed him to be, the Hawk dared not trust his wife. The sooner he began this unpleasant task, the sooner he would be done, the sooner he could return to Aileen and their bed. His footsteps hastened seemingly of their own accord.
If nothing else, Aileen was passive and compliant no longer. Truth be told, he would willingly brave any scars just to see her eyes flash with such passion abed.
Aye, and the Hawk would ensure that she was too busy to talk of visions and destiny. That prospect restored his smile.
* * *
At the original site of Inverfyre, Dubhglas MacLaren worried the scarred flesh where his eye had once been. A rare smile touched his lips as he considered the news that had come to him this night. He rose from the board in his hall and stood outside the burned wreckage of the chapel, the wind tousling his hair as he gazed upon the splendor of the new Inverfyre.
Soon, it would be his own.
Hopefully, his man now captive inside Inverfyre would discover the location of the
Titulus Croce
, for Dubhglas would need the relic to be invested as Laird of Inverfyre. His possession of it would prove the legitimacy of his claim to the common people, but the Hawk had never shown it. He had to hold it, and it had to be in that fortress.
The moon would be new three nights hence. His smile broadened. Dubhglas could wait three more nights, after having waited almost forty years for vengeance. He could wait three more nights to claim everything the Hawk of Inverfyre had built, all the wealth he had amassed, and even the bride the Hawk had claimed.
Perhaps he would keep the Hawk captive long enough to let that man watch every MacLaren man savor his new wife.
Perhaps the wench would spawn an heir with MacLaren blood in his veins.
Dubhglas could barely suppress his glee at the prospect. It would all be his—title, holding and heir—for he had no doubt of his triumph. The Hawk would not guess that he had been betrayed.
Not until it was too late.
S
coundrel and cur!
Aileen spun in fury to survey her shadowed prison. There was nothing that infuriated her more than lies. How dare the Hawk lie to her about his own witchery?
She was trapped, Aileen knew it. And she was deeply afraid. A curse upon her own inability to hold her tongue in the company of this man!
She slowly walked the perimeter of the room. There was a window on every wall save the one with the oaken door. Although shutters were latched over all but one of the windows, a cold wind whistled through their crevices.
Aileen paused at the open window. She took a heartening breath of the chill air, but drew back when she spied the Hawk striding across the bailey below. Her blood quickened as she followed his silhouette. He was well-wrought, this husband of hers.
What or who had they captured? The Hawk conferred with his men there in the shadows, oblivious to her regard, and she wondered what transpired at Inverfyre. There were more men than the three they had traveled with, perhaps another three in that same somber garb.
The troop of men turned as one, their path taking them quickly out of Aileen’s view. She moved to another window, then another, but could catch no further glimpse of them from her aerie.
It was fitting to imagine that she occupied an aerie. Was the Laird of Inverfyre not reputed to be a hawk himself, not unlike the hunting hawks in which he traded so successfully? She knew that she had heard such a rumor, even at so distant an abode as her father’s hall.
She did indeed have a perch like that of an eagle’s nest. This chamber appeared to be at the summit of a tower which rose over a large stone keep. She noted (with some craning of her neck) that there was another row of windows between her own and the ground far below.
The keep was roughly square and the tower was built from the corner opposite the gatehouse. The hall appeared to comprise not only the base of the tower, but most of the wall extending to her right. There were battlements atop it, which extended fully around the square. To the left were kitchens and stables, and Aileen saw the silhouettes of tethered horses within the bailey.
There was no chapel, or at least, she could spy no cross on any roof. Should that have surprised her as much as it did? Aileen feared not.
Beyond the walls of the inner bailey was another ring of fortified walls, all wrought of stone and smooth of surface. There was not a speck of moss upon these stones. Indeed, the keep might have been conjured into being merely the day before, so oddly new did it appear to be. A river wrapped itself around the point where the tower was located, and the terrain plunged downward from the protective walls. She would not be able to discern much more until daylight.
Aileen turned to survey the room. It was sufficiently illuminated that she could see that there was solely the bed within it.
To be sure, it was a massive bed, cornered with great pillars and hung with thick curtains, its mattress piled with coverlets, cushions and furs.
But it was a bed.
Was she to be the Hawk’s captive, kept solely to sate his lust or provide his heir? Men claimed wives for many a reason, but Aileen was woman enough to dislike that her spouse’s expectation might be solely for her womb’s fruit. Perhaps if she had been born a beauty, she might have years ago made her peace with being desired for her looks alone.
As it was, the prospect irked Aileen. Her old nursemaid would have said that she should have been glad to be desired at all, for a wench with a sharp tongue, a plain face and a small dowry cannot set her expectations too high.
Aileen sighed and leaned against the window sill. She had long been convinced that a man would have to feel affection for her to take her to wife. In lieu of lust, in lieu of her already faded youth and fertility, she had expected love or naught at all.
Yet now she was a sorcerer’s captive instead.
Why had the Hawk not stolen some witless beauty? Why had he not seized some foolish lassie, who would have been glad of such a fate? Sadly, the Hawk had left her naught with which to injure him when he came to claim her maidenhead.
Doubtless that had been his scheme. The man seemed to plan for every eventuality with fearsome ease, and was all the more frightening for his ability to hide his every thought.
Aileen shivered and cast a glance of trepidation over her shoulder to the silent bailey. What fate did the prisoner meet now? And how long before the Hawk came to have his due of her?
She did not doubt that he would deal with her next.
* * *
Aileen paced the chamber, leaving the shutters open so that the cold kept her awake. Still the Hawk did not come.
She watched the sliver of the moon rise higher, watched the spill of its silver light across Inverfyre’s formidable walls.
Still the Hawk did not come.
She unbound her hair and shook it loose, running her fingers through it as she watched the sentries endlessly walk the circuit of the high walls.
Still the Hawk did not come.
She took off his chemise and chausses, half-certain that the garments were grimy enough to stand in the corner on their own. She enfolded herself in the fur-lined cloak, fretting about what he make of her choice to wear only this.
Still the Hawk did not come.
Aileen eyed the bed, inviting and plump and undoubtedly warm, then turned her back upon it to watch the moon. She counted stars. She paced the chamber again and again, but still the Hawk did not come.
She tried the latch upon the door though she already knew it was fastened against her. She pressed her ear to the door, straining to hear some sound from the hall below, and thought she could discern the echo of contented snoring.
Still the Hawk did not come.
She dared to feel the bed and discovered that the mattress was plumper and softer than she had dared to imagine. She yawned, feeling the ache of a long day’s ride in her buttocks. There were wolf pelts upon the bed, their thickness tempting her to snuggle beneath them. She pushed away from the lure of the bed to pace anew and still the Hawk did not come.
She stood at the window until she was certain she had frozen in place.
She turned slowly then, considered the bed, and resolved that the Hawk could have her way with her while she slept. She was too exhausted to be vigilant any longer.
Aileen dropped the cloak as she crossed the chamber, climbed into the bed, and fell asleep nigh as soon as her head hit the pillow.
* * *
The Hawk came to his wife’s chamber shortly after that, and gazed long upon his sleeping bride. He had not the heart to wake her, though, and did not wish to startle her. He was exhausted by the prisoner’s stubborn refusal to reveal nothing and vexed by his own refusal to endorse torture.
He tucked her more fully beneath the pelts and kissed her brow lightly. She nestled more deeply into her bed and he thought that perhaps she smiled.
The possibility cheered him.
He left her reluctantly and locked the door after himself, descending to the chamber below on quiet feet.
A courtship, it seemed to him, was best pursued before the lady had fallen asleep.
* * *
A ray of sunlight awakened Aileen when it landed surely upon her face.
She sat up, astounded to find herself still alone, and quickly checked the mattress to see whether her spouse had sampled her while she slept. She had slept like a corpse, dreamless and deep, so exhausted had she been. Anything could have happened during the night and Aileen suspected that she would not have awakened.
There was no blood on the linens and she was reassured. She was restless, though, certain that her maidenhead would not be long intact. She explored the chamber in the morning sunlight and discovered that there were hooks upon the posts of the bed. She found a linen chemise of such fine weave it fair stole her breath away. It was a lady’s garment, finely embroidered around the neck, and if not left for her use, then she would claim it anyway.
Had it been here the night before? She could not have said.
She donned the chemise, and the sheepskin boots left beside the bed. The shearling lined them still, and they enclosed her legs to the knees in soft warmth. Their soles were of leather and they looked both newly wrought and sturdy. They fit her perfectly.
Had they been fashioned while she slept? Had the Hawk conjured them with a spell? Or did the Hawk’s sorcery allow him to foretell the size of his bride’s feet?
Hung from another hook and nigh obscured by the drapes was a simply cut woman’s gown of woad-dyed wool. Aileen accepted this gift, as well, her spirits bolstered by the fact that blue was a hue which favored her well.
Had the Hawk chosen this color specifically for her? Aileen smiled to note that the hem had been let down—a fold line lingered where the new kirtle had been hemmed afore. His sorcery was not infallible, then! That was most encouraging.
A fur-lined tabard lurked behind the gown, its silken exterior lush with embroidery. It fitted over her hips and laced snugly through the waist.
Aileen was delighted. Though she had neither stockings, bath or jewel, she felt garbed richly indeed.
She threw open the remaining shutters, running from one to the next. She had heard water the night before and now could spy the river far below the tower. It was partly hidden by the gorse clinging to the steep slope that tumbled down from the high wall. On the opposite bank, hills rose sharply, trees clinging to their precipices. Aileen recognized this as a defensible site.
She crossed the chamber again and looked over the bailey. She spied now a jumble of huts between the walls of the keep, the village of Inverfyre. She spied a mill upon the river, its wheel turning merrily and heard the distant laughter of children.
Her lips twisted. Dark-haired children, perhaps, who did not know their father’s names?
Undoubtedly, the lands were too wild for the village to be outside the walls completely. It certainly looked untamed. The dark green of the conifers became more sparse in the distance, with those trees with barren branches gradually becoming dominant. She could spy a ribbon of bright new green, probably the course of the river that leaped below her windows, winding its way downward through the hills.
This keep was sited on the cusp of the north. Aileen imagined that on a clear day, she might be able to see all the way to Stirling, to the lands held by the king and his forebears. Her heart ached with unexpected loneliness, for this land was wild and unfamiliar, as unlike the verdant valley of Abernye as any place could be, and the refuge of the king’s court seemed so far away.
A rattle at the door made her jump. She spun to confront whoever came, not knowing what to expect and having nothing with which to defend herself.
She did not expect the rosy-cheeked young woman who peeked around the edge of the door. “Good morning to you, my lady Aileen!” The woman, a few years younger than Aileen, smiled pertly, then bustled into the chamber. She seemed untroubled that Aileen gave no reply.
She was not so slender as Aileen—indeed, she was quite buxom. Her hair was a reddish hue and her eyes were such a dark brown that her lashes seemed to be wrought of gold. She set down a steaming bucket of water with a thump, placing a bowl beside it and several cloths as she briefly rubbed her back. She appeared on the verge of laughter, her eyes twinkling in a most merry way. Her expectant and welcoming manner coaxed an answering smile from Aileen.
“I had hoped that you were yet sleeping, so as you could have a hot wash upon awakening,” she said, then shook her head. “It is a filthy business, riding in haste for days and nights on end, and one can only expect such foolery from men. Even if you are not black and blue from his lairdship’s pace, you might favor a good hot rub.”
“Indeed,” Aileen managed to say. “Your thoughtfulness is most welcome.”
“And you all dressed for the fair, as my mother would say, with nary a scrub behind your ears.” She winked even as she scolded Aileen. “From whence have you come, Lady Aileen? What would your mother have to say about your deeds this morn?”