Chapter Fifteen

“Gant, can you spare me a moment? We need to speak together.”

Barta’s best friend turned his head and stared into her eyes. Having just returned with a number of the other warriors from a night patrol, he still carried his spear on his shoulder.

He halted and waited for the others to pass before he spoke. “Do we so, Barta? And why now?” He looked behind her pointedly. “Strange to see you without your new favorite companion.”

“You mean True?”

“To be sure, I mean True.” Gant glared at her; she could scarcely remember seeing his expression so hard.

She drew a breath. “You don’t like him.”

“I don’t know him, do I? Nor do you, when it comes to it, but that has not kept you from shifting all your allegiance to him.”

“I have done no such thing.”

“I say you have. Ever since that accursed contest you have been able to see no one else. I do not deny he gave an impressive show of himself. Nor do I overlook the fact that you are grieving for Loyal.” Gant, so rarely harsh with anyone and never one to speak hastily, relented a bit in his fierce stance. “I can only imagine how hard it must be for you.”

She met his eyes miserably. “There is the grief, the guilt, and the blame. Do you also blame me for what happened that night, Gant?”

He glanced around. “We cannot speak here. Let me shed my weapons. Our old place?”

Their old place—the edge of the woods where she had lately taken to sitting with True. She dared not tell Gant that, so she merely nodded.

“Give me a few moments. And come alone.”

“I will.” As far as she knew, True remained with Pith, helping the old man to bed.

She went by the brewer’s hut and picked up two cups of heather ale before retreating to the trees. Gant soon joined her, and she handed him one. He drank gratefully.

“What is the news from the border?” she asked.

“Naught to the good. The Gaels have shifted their camp once again, and still closer. I am surprised on a still night like this we cannot hear them farting. They’ve also increased in number. How many men do you suppose they lost in your raid?”

“Hard to say. Perhaps eight or nine.”

“They will not feel it now. They must have brought more men in from the west. I expect they breed like vermin.”

“Ill news indeed.” Barta reflected on it unhappily. “Has someone told my father?”

“Brude goes to him now. We will have to decide what’s to be done.”

“What can be done?”

Gant shrugged. “Fall back eastward, try to join with other tribes farther north.” He drank again. “That is what your brother thinks we should do.”

She took the empty cup from his hand and replaced it with her full one.

He grunted his thanks. “So what did you want to tell me?”

“It is about Brude, in truth. He’s asked for my hand.”

“What?” Gant lowered his cup. “I do not think I heard you right.”

“He’s gone to my father and said he’s willing to take me to wife. He seems to think no one’s handling me properly.”

“And he believes he could?” Gant snorted. “You’d kill one another in a fortnight—if it took that long.”

“What can I do, Gant?”

“Refuse. It would not be the first time you rebelled against what folk want you to do. By the goddess, I should think they would expect it.”

“Father has lost all patience—and indulgence—with me now. What if he decides he wishes to be rid of me?”

“And?”

“And lays down his law. I mistrust Brude’s motives in this—even if I did not detest him. He as much as admitted to me my only value lies in the fact that my son may one day be in line to be chief.”

Gant shrugged. “Men like Brude are never satisfied with their lots in life. I would not put much past that one. Just dig in your heels and keep refusing. Your mother will no doubt take your part, and in the end she has a great deal of influence with your father. Now, if you do not mind, I am tired and want to go off to my bed.”

“Gant, wait.”

He paused reluctantly in the act of heaving himself to his feet and looked at her.

Barta drew a breath. “Do you also blame me for the deaths of our friends…and Loyal? Is that why you have been avoiding me?”

“I have not been avoiding you, Barta.”

“You most certainly have. I’ve barely seen you these past days.”

“This is so, but only because, as I say, you have dropped me for your new companion.”

“I have not.”

“You have not stopped by the meeting hut.”

“True is not welcome there. The young men do not trust him.”

“And you would never consider leaving him behind.”

“It is not just that. It hurts to go there and find so many of our friends missing, to know I am responsible.”

Gant leaned toward her. “You know how fond I am of you, Barta. We have shared many a laugh, many a sunny afternoon, and more than a few escapades. But I say to you now, as a friend: it is time to lay your preoccupation with your own feelings aside, to grow up from a spoiled child into a woman. Begin thinking what is best for the tribe, not just about how others perceive you.”

Barta recoiled as if struck. “Is that what you think of me? You agree with Brude’s opinion? And so,” she fired up, “do you think I should accept Brude for husband—for the good of the tribe?”

“I have already told you I do not. Wick is my friend, and I am concerned with his interests. By the god’s horns, stop feeling sorry for yourself and do likewise.”

Barta swallowed hard. “Gant, I know I have my faults. I have never denied that. Do not turn from me; I need all the allies I can get.”

“If you are in search of an ally, you would do better to leave me alone and speak with Avinda.”

“Avinda? What has she to do with it?”

“She has been certain this last half year that Brude would wed with her, once winter comes. She might have something to say about him asking for you instead.”

Barta squirmed uncomfortably. Avinda—an undisputed beauty—had never liked her and frequently mocked her for not being part of the women’s circle.

One side of Gant’s mouth quirked upward. “Don’t like that suggestion, do you? There are some folk from whom you will ask favors and some you will not.”

Again she gazed into Gant’s eyes, wondering if he had always seen her flaws as clearly as now. Then why had he claimed to be her friend so long?

She sighed. “I will speak with Avinda.”

“Humbly? Because she will accept nothing less.”

“Most humbly.”

“Then I wish you well of it.”

****

Even at this hour the hut belonging to Avinda’s father bustled with activity, his being one of the tribe’s larger families. In truth, they were two families, as Avinda’s father had married twice—the second time after his first wife died—and begat a whole new set of children.

Barta, who had never voluntarily set foot there before, stood wondering for the first time how it would feel being forced to accept a stepmother. Avinda, among the eldest children of the first family, must long to escape.

Barta knew she would, in Avinda’s place. Even now, at nightfall, children darted about and wrestled on the doorstep. Screaming and conversation sounded from within.

Still, Barta found it difficult to feel sympathy for Avinda, who was as sly as she was beautiful and had a tongue that cut like a knife. Barta did her best to avoid the woman.

Usually.

Now she gazed down at the two little ones tumbling over one another at her feet—a boy and a girl—and asked. “Is your sister, Avinda, within?”

They ignored her. One squealed as the other bit her arm.

Little monsters! Essa would never put up with such nonsense.

Someone stuck her head out the door from inside, a girl of about twelve—Avinda’s younger sister. “Why have you come?”

“I wish to see Avinda.”

The girl stared at Barta with opaque eyes. “Mistress Barta? Will you introduce me to the incomer who won the contest?” Abruptly she demanded, “Is it true he has no wife?”

A sharp spear of emotion unfurled in Barta’s chest. “What is that to you? You are far too young for such an interest.”

“I am not.”

“Please to go fetch your sister.”

The girl withdrew, and Barta stood feeling unwelcome until Avinda appeared a moment later and stepped out into the gathering night.

“What do you want?” She arched her brows at Barta.

“Just a word, Avinda.”

“And why should I waste a word on you?”

Humble, so Gant had said… Barta tamped down her rising annoyance and made her tone sweet. “There is a matter we need to discuss.”

That brought curiosity to Avinda’s eyes. But she said, “This is not a good time. We are about to take our supper. Come back in the morning.”

She bent and chased the two unruly children inside. Before she could turn and follow them, Barta said, “I can see why you would wish to escape this house and claim a place of your own. You must be very eager for your marriage with Brude.”

That made Avinda turn back and stare. Her lips pressed together in a tight line, and for several moments she did not speak. Had she heard already that the man she’d claimed had offered for Barta? Not many secrets endured long among members of the tribe.

But Barta thought Avinda did not look sufficiently upset to possess that news.

“What are my marriage plans to you, Barta?” she demanded.

“Spare me a word and I will tell you.”

Abruptly, Avinda turned back to the house and called, “I will be but a moment.” She told Barta, “Come.”

The din within the hut fell away as they stepped off into the trees. The forest—ever present in Barta’s spirit, if not her conscious mind—seemed to cradle her and offer strength.

“Very well, then, what is this about?”

“Gant tells me, Avinda, that you and Brude are set to wed come winter. Of course, beautiful as you are, you could choose any among our warriors. I wonder that you’ve chosen him.”

“Do you? You spend your time thinking on my choices, eh, when you are not planning dangerous raids on the Gaels in defiance of your betters?”

Well, and that only enforced the reasons Barta did not like Avinda. She twitched but said nothing.

Avinda drew herself up. “Brude is the finest this tribe has to offer.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and I will always require the best.” Avinda’s curiosity had not faded. Her gaze moved sharply over Barta’s face. “I did consider your brother Wick; he has attained an important position in the tribe, but he lacks Brude’s ambition.”

As if Wick would look twice at this sharp-clawed she-cat! Humble, Barta reminded herself again.

She ducked her head. “Oh, Brude has ambition all right, and has been acting upon it. You may be interested to know he’s asked my father for my hand.”

Avinda’s lips parted until she gaped; she tottered where she stood. “What?”

“You heard me. It is a purely strategic move on his part. He cares nothing for me, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Avinda had gone pale, and her eyes glittered in the half light.

“You did not know?”

“I did not. He promised we would wed as soon as the first snow fell and the fighting ended for the season.” Avinda glared harder. “And why do you bring me this news, Barta Daughter of Radoc? We are not friends.”

“I want your help.”

“Why should I help you, a rival?”

“Because I’ve no wish to wed with Brude and I am afraid he will try and pressure my father to it.” After kissing True, she had set her heart on wedding with him, but turning her father’s mind to that would be a difficult task. “These are dire times; the Gaels press us hard. By spring we could be anywhere and in desperate straits indeed, possibly with our backs to the eastern sea, defeated.”

“Do not even say such things. Do you not know saying it invites it?” Avinda whispered a prayer before she went on. “You always were an unnatural creature, Barta, spending your time with the men—or the hounds—rather than the rest of us girls. But never so unnatural as now. Why would you turn down a man such as Brude? As I say, he is the best the tribe has to offer.”

When Barta did not answer at once, Avinda’s expression turned cunning. “Ah, I know what it is—you want the newcomer instead. Which of our young women has not been following him with her eyes since he appeared so suddenly…so magically? He is the main subject on their tongues—how graceful his limbs, how bright his eyes. The strength he showed during the trial, and how he might fit between their legs.”

Barta, unused to even thinking about such things, much less speaking of them, blushed hotly. Avinda gave a cruel laugh. “You wouldn’t know about that, would you? Rumor has it you’ve never welcomed any man—even Gant—to your bed.”

“What has that to do with the matter at hand? Do you want Brude for husband or no?”

Avinda sobered abruptly. “I do.”

“Then will you work with me?”

Avinda hesitated, her gaze now entirely serious. “I will. But the goddess help me in such an unnatural alliance.”