Wind Song (The Kingdom 0f Northumbria Book 2) Page 19

  The pair of them descended the steps and crossed the yard beyond. Hea glanced up at the sky, a smile curving her lips once more. Ciara was right, it was a gorgeous day. After a wet, misty start, the summer weather had settled into a stream of sunny days. It was perfect gardening weather, although the heat did mean she was forever watering the seedlings she had planted.

  Walking in companionable silence, Ciara and Hea wound their way down two levels, and crossed the last stretch toward Modwen’s cottage. A group of children, who should have been doing their chores, ran squealing across their path. A cluster of boys brandishing slimy toads were chasing two screeching girls.

  Ciara watched them disappear with a wry smile. “Males,” she scoffed. “They spend years either ignoring us or tormenting us—and then one day that all changes.”

  Hea huffed out a laugh. “Aye—although they then become pests of a different kind.”

  She saw Ciara’s eyes widen at that, although her friend laughed. “Some of us like to be pestered … why, don’t you?”

  Hea looked away. Ciara was cunning—Hea had come to realize that over the past few weeks—she never demanded answers from you directly, but rather preferred to trick them out of you.

  Hea was not falling for it. “I prefer to be left alone,” she replied, deliberately avoiding her companion’s gaze.

  It was the truth, not just bluster for Ciara’s benefit. In the past month she had come to enjoy real freedom. Each morning she rose early, and broke her fast with Bridei and his retainers. Then she spent the rest of her day either helping Modwen make poultices, tinctures, and healing drafts; or cultivating herbs in the garden the healer had let her manage behind her dwelling. Her days were busy but satisfying.

  Slowly, the mantle of guilt she had brought with her from Nechtansmere had begun to lift. She had told no one of the part she had played in Ecgfrith’s ill-fated campaign, and some days she could almost fool herself into thinking it had never happened. Almost.

  True to his word, Bridei had neither touched her, nor pressured her into sharing his furs. However, his wounded and disappointed looks of late—which she had caught when he thought she was not looking—told her that he was not pleased with the situation.

  Their arrangement made her uncomfortable at times, although since she spent so much of the day outside the broch, it was easy to forget about the fact that she slept just a few feet away from a king every night. A young, virile king, who was used to getting his own way.

  Let him suffer over it, she thought stubbornly. I care not.

  She glanced back at Ciara, to find her watching her. The woman was far too sharp; like Heolstor, she missed nothing.

  “I have my freedom, my herbs and friends like you,” she said. “Who needs a man anyway?”

  She had spoken the words merely to throw Ciara off the scent, but as they rolled off her tongue a sense of calm and wellbeing settled over her. She realized then that she meant them. All her life, she had followed her mother’s lead. Although the two of them had lived independently—without a man’s protection—Hea had grown up imagining the day her warrior father would ride back into Bebbanburg and take care of them once more. Then, she had developed an infatuation with Bridei; one that had lasted far beyond girlhood.

  There had always been a man—at some point—ruling her life, whether it had been her absent father, Bridei, or King Ecgfrith himself.

  Now … finally … she was not looking for a savior. In setting her free, Bridei had done her an unexpected favor. He had let her discover life for its own sake.

  Ciara held her gaze for a moment, before a smile crept across her face. “You’re right, Hea. We women flutter around our men like moths at times. We should remember that there are other parts of life that matter too.”

  They reached the herb garden, a small enclosure on the slope behind Modwen’s cottage, and entered through a narrow wattle gate. Hea smiled at the sight of her garden—it was her refuge. Honey-suckle climbed one side of the wattle fence, its sweet scent drifting over the enclosure. Within, Hea had created circular beds, linked by rows of slate pavers, in an effort to make the most out of this small space.

  Hea’s gaze shifted from her garden to the smoke that rose from the healer’s roof. She inhaled the aroma of baking, her smile widening.

  “Morning, Modwen!” Hea called out.

  A few moments later, the dark-haired woman entered the enclosure, her healing basket under one arm.

  “Good morning,” she greeted Hea with a smile, which widened further when she spied Ciara with her. “You have help this morning I see?”

  “Aye,” Ciara replied, glancing around the enclosure, at the riot of greenery and color surrounding her. “Sometimes it feels as if the walls of the broch are closing in on me.”

  Modwen nodded. “I’m just off to check on an old woman with a stomach complaint. I’ve got a few other folk to see after that so I’ll be back later.” Her gaze shifted back to Hea. “I’ve made some oat cakes—they’re cooling on the griddle so help yourself if you get hungry.”

  “Aye, thank you—we will,” Hea replied with a grin. Modwen made the best oat cakes she had ever eaten.

  The healer went on her way, leaving Hea and Ciara to their work. Hea set down her basket and extracted an iron hook, which she passed to her friend. “Here, I use this for weeding. You can start over there next to the rosemary.”

  Ciara nodded, taking the hook and crossing to where an unruly clump of rosemary climbed the wattle fence of the enclosure. Thick grass had sprung up around its base, which would soon choke the herb if not pulled out.

  Meanwhile, Hea set about tending the long bed of medicinal herbs she had been cultivating the past month: yarrow, sage, betony, chamomile, and comfrey. All of these had been staples for her mother’s healing balms and potions. Many of the herbs here had a distinct smell. The woody scent of sage and the grassy aroma of chamomile greeted her as she knelt and extracted a wooden trowel from her basket.

  The women worked in companionable silence, accompanied by the sounds of industry in the fort around them: the clang and hiss of the nearby forge, the cries and squeals of children, the lilting rise and fall of women’s voices, the shouts of men sparring, and the bleating of livestock.

  The sun beat down on the back of Hea’s head as she worked, and soon she was sweating. Straightening up her aching back, she untied a skin of water from her belt and took a deep draft. Then she picked up her trowel once more and made her way over to where she was preparing a new bed for seedlings.

  A few feet away, Ciara had gone red in the face and had taken shelter under the shadow cast by Modwen’s dwelling. “I don’t know how you manage out here all day,” she grumbled. “This heat is making me wilt.”

  “Complaining already is she?”

  A male voice drifted across the enclosure, and Hea turned to see Heolstor push open the gate and step inside. The tall warrior was naked to the waist, flushed, and sweating. He looked as if he had come straight from sword practice.

  Hea laughed. “I think Ciara’s wishing she was at her distaff right now.”

  Ciara climbed to her feet and scowled. “I am not, I was just taking a well earned rest.”

  Heolstor laughed. “Looks like you were slacking to me—letting Hea do all the work.”

  “Actually.” Ciara sauntered across to him with a sly look on her face. “We were discussing earlier how useless men are … how women would be much better off without them.”

  Hea flushed, panic flaring. “We were not,” she spluttered. “That’s not what I said.”

  Ciara waved her protest aside. She had a wicked gleam in her eye now as she stopped before her husband and gave him a challenging look, hands on hips. “What do you say to that?”

  The amusement on Heolstor’s face made Hea want to slap him. Actually, she felt like slapping them both and wished she had not spoken with Ciara so openly earlier.

  “I’d say that was rot,” he murmured, his blue eyes glinting. “As you
well know, wife.” With that, he pulled Ciara roughly into his arms and kissed her, not caring that Hea was standing just a few feet away.

  The kiss went on and on. Ciara lifted her hands up, tangling them in Heolstor’s red hair. She pressed her lithe body against his, while his hands slid down her back and cupped her bottom.

  It was only when Hea finally cleared her throat that the couple eventually broke apart. They were both breathless, their cheeks flushed.

  Heolstor glanced over at Hea, not appearing remotely embarrassed about the spectacle he and Ciara had just put on for her. “The healer, is she at home?” he asked.

  “No,” Hea replied. “She’s out seeing patients.”

  Heolstor nodded before taking hold of Ciara’s hand and leading her toward the gate. “We’re going to make use of her home for a short while,” he said, flicking Hea a grin. “Make sure Modwen doesn’t burst in on us.”

  Hea stared at him, agape. Had she just heard correctly? Was he about to plow Ciara on Modwen’s furs?

  “I don’t think Modwen …” she began, but Heolstor and Ciara had disappeared. She heard the thump of the wattle door closing and the muffled sound of laughter, followed by a squeal of delight a few moments later.

  Hea snorted in disbelief. If they thought she was going to remain here and listen to them, they were wrong. She was not their watchdog either. If Modwen came back early and caught the pair rutting it would serve them both right. They had a private alcove in the broch; could they not return there?

  A man’s deep groan filtered out of the hovel.

  Hea flushed, threw down her wooden trowel and headed for the gate. Noon was approaching—she would return to the broch and leave them to it.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The Falls of Culloch

  Bridei watched Hea enter the broch. She did not look his way, did not even acknowledge his existence, but he watched her nonetheless. She knew he was looking in her direction; she was just pretending otherwise.

  Life at Dundurn suited her, as he had known it would. The long plaid skirt and fitted leather bodice clung to her curves, accentuating the ripeness of those breasts, the dip of her waist, and the flare of her hips. Her auburn hair rippled in unruly waves over her shoulders, and her skin had tanned a little over the summer, bringing with it a smattering of freckles over her cheeks.

  She was flushed, and Bridei wondered if she had caught the sun while working outdoors all morning.

  He watched her greet one of the older women who resided in the broch. The speed with which Hea had learned their tongue did not surprise him; he had always known she was bright, and too inquisitive to allow a language barrier to defeat her.

  Hea now spent most of her days outside the broch, working alongside Modwen. He had heard that Hea had extended the healer’s garden, and now grew a variety of healing herbs. The weather had been warm, and it appeared she had a gift for cultivating plants.

  Bridei watched Hea stop and exchange a few words with Una and Lora, who were mixing batter for honey oat cakes. He was pleased to see how quickly the other women here had accepted her. He had expected Una especially to shun her, but after the first few days in which Una watched Hea with suspicion, the woman had warmed toward her.

  There was much industry inside the broch today, for the women were beginning preparations for Mid-Summer Fire. The aroma of baking wafted through the space. The longest day of the year was rapidly approaching. Mid-Summer Fire was a celebration where his people gathered in a nearby forest glen and celebrated around a large bonfire, eating and drinking late into the night.

  Bridei lifted his cup to his lips and took a sip of mead, his gaze tracking Hea as she finished talking to the servants and crossed to the raised platform where he sat.

  “Good day, Lord Bridei,” she greeted him, moving toward the far end of the table where she usually sat.

  “Greetings, Hea,” he replied before motioning to the empty space beside him. “Come sit near me.”

  She frowned. “Doesn’t Heolstor usually sit there?”

  He smiled. “He does, but since he’s late, you can take his place.”

  She obeyed, although he caught the wariness on her face. Disappointment swiftly followed by frustration flashed through him. How much longer would she keep this up? Had he not treated her well since her arrival here? True to his word, he had not laid a finger on her, even though some nights he had not been able to sleep for wanting her. She was civil to him but kept her distance with a cool politeness that he was starting to find offensive.

  Masking his reaction, he picked up a jug next to him. “Mead?”

  “Aye, thank you.”

  He poured her a cup and handed it to her. “I’ve seen little of you of late—how have things been going?”

  “Well,” she said with a polite smile that infuriated him. “Yesterday, Modwen and I traveled out of the fort and visited some villages that were in need of a healer. I hadn’t realized this area was so populated.”

  Bridei smiled. “It’s fertile land, folk live well here.”

  She met his gaze. “They speak well of you and your father … you are much loved.”

  This news pleased him and his smile widened. “They were suspicious of me at first when I returned from Bebbanburg—I think some folk worried I was merely Ecgfrith’s puppet. However, they soon learned differently.”

  Hea nodded, taking this in. Silence stretched between them for a few moments, before Bridei spoke once more. “You’ve worked hard of late. Tomorrow, you shall take a break—we’ll go on a ride.”

  Hea put down her cup, tensing. “Really … where?”

  “There’s a special place, around half a morning’s ride from here, I’d like you to see.”

  “Modwen is busy at the moment … she needs me tomorrow.”

  Bridei held her gaze. “She can spare you for one morning.”

  Hea nodded, her lips thinning. Bridei sensed her reluctance but ignored it. He did not know what she was punishing him for, but he’d had enough. Perhaps if they spent some time together … alone … she would warm to him once more.

  The day dawned bright and sunny, the perfect weather for a ride. However, Hea had been hoping for rain.

  Anything to avoid spending time with Bridei.

  She had done well of over the past month, keeping relations between them polite but distant, but she sensed his frustration at the extent to which she managed to avoid him.

  Her stomach fluttered as she mounted the shaggy chestnut pony he had chosen for her, while next to her Bridei swung up onto his bay stallion, Croí Cróga.

  Braveheart—it was a good name for such a magnificent beast, she admitted.

  Bridei gathered the reins and glanced over his shoulder at Hea, flashing her a smile that made the butterflies in her belly dance. “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  They rode out of the stable yard, through the great stone arch, and wound their way down the levels of Dundurn. It was the warmest day of the summer so far, and a sultry breeze feathered across Hea’s bare arms. The sky was an unblemished canvas of blue from one horizon to another.

  Her pony’s furry ears flicked from side to side as it picked its way down the slope, for even at this early hour the fort bustled with activity. Children were out feeding fowl and bringing in goats for milking. Women worked outdoors, making the most of the balmy weather: bringing water up from the river below, hanging leather up to cure, and grinding grain for bread.

  Unlike a month earlier, folk did not stare at her. Instead, some called out her name and waved. Despite the nerves churning on the inside, Hea forced a smile and waved back.

  Bridei reined Croí Cróga back, so that Hea drew level with him. “You’re popular,” he noted with a grin. “Even Heolstor took longer to settle in here.”

  Hea’s mouth quirked. She imagined the folk of Dundurn would not have known what to make of the hulking, flame-haired man from the south. Many would have been frightened of him. “I’m less intimidating than H
eolstor,” she pointed out. “Plus, I spend my days helping these people.”

  Bridei shrugged. “Even so, few newcomers here have been welcomed so quickly.”

  They rode out of the fort, past the company of men guarding the main entrance, and across the wooden bridge leading into the valley below. Once they reached the road that led east, Bridei urged his stallion into a brisk canter. Hea followed suit.

  She had not wanted to come on this ride, yet now that she had Hea felt her mood brighten. A smile spread across her face as she followed Bridei east, through an unfolding landscape of emerald hills interspersed with dark-green pine woods. They rode along the northern bank of the River Earn. The crystalline waters glittered in the morning sun, and Hea inhaled the scent of grass and sun-warmed earth. It was too beautiful a morning not to smile.

  They spoke little during the journey, mostly because Croí Cróga’s longer gait made it difficult for them to ride side-by-side. Hea’s pony made a valiant effort to keep up, but the stallion kept drawing ahead. After a while, the road veered south, crossed the burn and entered woodland. Dark pine grew next to thickets of lacy birch and the air was rich with the scent of pine resin. A short distance in, the road—which had narrowed to a forest path—forked. Bridei took the right fork, glancing back over his shoulder at Hea as he did so.

  Their gazes met, and he flashed her a smile. “Not much longer.”

  Hea did not mind; she was enjoying being outside with the morning sun bathing her skin, the wind in her hair. As much as she enjoyed helping Modwen with her patients, Hea relished this morning’s freedom. Not only that, but while they were riding, she and Bridei avoided conversation.

  She followed him through the woods to the sound of bird song. The land grew hillier, and the path wound its way down into a valley and then up the other side, weaving between granite boulders that thrust out of the damp, peaty earth. As they climbed higher, the sound of rushing water greeted them—and a few moments later the pair rode out onto a wide ledge that commanded a view over the jade carpet of woodland below.