was going to find on the other side of the dune.
He paused when he reached the summit. His broch stood firm by the burbling burn, peaceful as a sleeping dog. Maybe he was wrong. Its circular stone wall was so solid, everything looked so quiet, surely this time all would be fine? Brinna would be waiting for him, Kelsie and Terry playing nearby? Kornonos had only blessed Brinna once with pregnancy, but Danu had given them two in one go and he loved them so much that just saying their names in his head almost made him weep.
He jumped down the dune in two huge leaps, sinking knee-deep in sand, like he’d done so many times with his wee girls whooping in his arms. He ran across springy estuarine turf, splashed through the burn’s stony ford. Geese scattered on the bank, honking angrily. Geese that should have been fenced into the walled yard. Horse hoof marks in the mud. They didn’t have any horses. No twin tots running out to meet him. No squeals of joy with the sunlight shining in their beautiful red hair. No noise from the broch. The door open.
He felt his bowels slacken as he walked in. He knew he’d find Terry first. They looked identical, Kelsie and Terry, but he always knew who was who.
There was Terry, the tiny thing, four summers old, slumped against a wooden pillar, as always. One eye staring at him, as always. One eye part of the pulp that the other side of her face had become. A mace blow, Dug thought, as he always did, as his knees buckled.
Chapter 8
L owa Flynn sank her teeth into a gooey venison haunch. She was standing on her own, but not so far from the throng that people might ask what was wrong. She came to Zadar’s after-battle parties for the food. She stayed for the booze. Small talk she could do without. Chat at the beginning of parties was not conversation, it was just people making noises at each other. Lowa preferred to stand, watch and think.
She could hear Aithne’s honking laughter from over by the fire, above the minstrels’ cacophony. Her sister had shed her misgivings about the regime quickly enough once Atlas the Kushite showed her some attention. Shaking her hair and inflating her chest, she put a hand onto his broad, dark-skinned shoulder. Of Lowa’s mounted archers, Aithne was the keenest to leap into bed with pretty much anyone who asked. Actually, leaping into bed was rare. Nipping round the back of a hut, tumbling into a defensive ditch or simply shuffling a little further from the firelight was more her style.
People were always surprised that they were sisters. Aithne was big-boned, big-arsed, busty and tall with hair the colour of piss-soaked stable straw, while Lowa was average height, slender, with hair so blonde it was almost white. Admittedly she was on the stocky side of slender. Riding and archery had built muscle, and a keen observer would have seen that her right shoulder and arm were bigger than her left from drawing the longbow, but she was slim-waisted and supple, with a bottom that lobbed slingstones would have bounced off. Aithne had the small-featured, freckled face of a milkmaid. Lowa had the pale skin and high cheekbones of a fairy princess. Aithne had dark, bovine eyes with long heavy lashes. Lowa’s eyes were blue, pale-lashed and slanted like a wildcat’s. Aithne was gregarious while Lowa watched from the edges. Aithne was confused and idealistic where Lowa was logical and pragmatic. Aithne was a glutton for food and booze, often to be found vomiting before bed, while Lowa never overate and had never been sick after drinking. Aithne was two years older, but Lowa had been the leader as long as she could remember.
Lowa had no memory of her father, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t the same guy as Aithne’s.
Her other four archers stood by the blazing fire, in a circle talking to each other, as they always did at the beginning of any social gathering. Lowa felt a swelling of affection. Must be the booze , she thought. Part of her wanted to join them,
He paused when he reached the summit. His broch stood firm by the burbling burn, peaceful as a sleeping dog. Maybe he was wrong. Its circular stone wall was so solid, everything looked so quiet, surely this time all would be fine? Brinna would be waiting for him, Kelsie and Terry playing nearby? Kornonos had only blessed Brinna once with pregnancy, but Danu had given them two in one go and he loved them so much that just saying their names in his head almost made him weep.
He jumped down the dune in two huge leaps, sinking knee-deep in sand, like he’d done so many times with his wee girls whooping in his arms. He ran across springy estuarine turf, splashed through the burn’s stony ford. Geese scattered on the bank, honking angrily. Geese that should have been fenced into the walled yard. Horse hoof marks in the mud. They didn’t have any horses. No twin tots running out to meet him. No squeals of joy with the sunlight shining in their beautiful red hair. No noise from the broch. The door open.
He felt his bowels slacken as he walked in. He knew he’d find Terry first. They looked identical, Kelsie and Terry, but he always knew who was who.
There was Terry, the tiny thing, four summers old, slumped against a wooden pillar, as always. One eye staring at him, as always. One eye part of the pulp that the other side of her face had become. A mace blow, Dug thought, as he always did, as his knees buckled.
Chapter 8
L owa Flynn sank her teeth into a gooey venison haunch. She was standing on her own, but not so far from the throng that people might ask what was wrong. She came to Zadar’s after-battle parties for the food. She stayed for the booze. Small talk she could do without. Chat at the beginning of parties was not conversation, it was just people making noises at each other. Lowa preferred to stand, watch and think.
She could hear Aithne’s honking laughter from over by the fire, above the minstrels’ cacophony. Her sister had shed her misgivings about the regime quickly enough once Atlas the Kushite showed her some attention. Shaking her hair and inflating her chest, she put a hand onto his broad, dark-skinned shoulder. Of Lowa’s mounted archers, Aithne was the keenest to leap into bed with pretty much anyone who asked. Actually, leaping into bed was rare. Nipping round the back of a hut, tumbling into a defensive ditch or simply shuffling a little further from the firelight was more her style.
People were always surprised that they were sisters. Aithne was big-boned, big-arsed, busty and tall with hair the colour of piss-soaked stable straw, while Lowa was average height, slender, with hair so blonde it was almost white. Admittedly she was on the stocky side of slender. Riding and archery had built muscle, and a keen observer would have seen that her right shoulder and arm were bigger than her left from drawing the longbow, but she was slim-waisted and supple, with a bottom that lobbed slingstones would have bounced off. Aithne had the small-featured, freckled face of a milkmaid. Lowa had the pale skin and high cheekbones of a fairy princess. Aithne had dark, bovine eyes with long heavy lashes. Lowa’s eyes were blue, pale-lashed and slanted like a wildcat’s. Aithne was gregarious while Lowa watched from the edges. Aithne was confused and idealistic where Lowa was logical and pragmatic. Aithne was a glutton for food and booze, often to be found vomiting before bed, while Lowa never overate and had never been sick after drinking. Aithne was two years older, but Lowa had been the leader as long as she could remember.
Lowa had no memory of her father, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t the same guy as Aithne’s.
Her other four archers stood by the blazing fire, in a circle talking to each other, as they always did at the beginning of any social gathering. Lowa felt a swelling of affection. Must be the booze , she thought. Part of her wanted to join them,
Similar Books
