Page 29 of The Blue Viking

And there stood Duncan MacNab, cocky as a Sunday rooster, examining the work they’d done to reinforce the collapsing walls of the Campbell castle. If he bent over much farther, and his pladd rose much higher on his legs, Rurik was going to get more of a view of the Scotsman’s backside than he ever wanted.

Maybe Maire had been correct in keeping her son hidden if her enemy could enter her keep with such ease.

“Does it meet with your approval?” Rurik asked coolly as he stepped up to the man.

Duncan straightened, and being of roughly the same height as Rurik, met his gaze, eye to eye. Rurik made a concerted effort to look away from the single brow that stretched across the other man’s forehead and took in, instead, the clean, though unruly, mane of gray-flecked red hair that covered the MacNab’s head. He would not have been an unattractive man in his youth, but at fifty and more years, he was way too long in the tooth for Maire, in Rurik’s opinion. Not that Maire was actually considering the suit of the MacNab. Far from it.

In fact, he saw her standing in the open doorway of the great hall, staring down the wide steps at the two of them. For once, she had the good sense to hold her tongue and not interfere in men’s talk.

“Aye, the work on the wall meets with my approval,” Duncan conceded with ill grace. “But why overexert yourself to build up the defenses of this keep when I will be the one to benefit from it eventually?”

Rurik’s only answer was a raised eyebrow.

“Listen, man,” Duncan said in a more conciliatory manner, turning his back on Maire and the castle, “I can see that you are striving hard to build up the defenses here. And I would have to be blind not to notice all the Campbell vermin who have crawled out of wood and vale to come back home. But you are far outnumbered. You know it, and I know it. And not just in manpower … in whole-man power, not a lot of limbless, half-blind graybeards.”

Rurik bristled, as did some of the Campbell men who overheard the callous remark, including Old John, Young John, Murdoc, Callum, and Rob, whose faces turned red with humiliation. ’Twas unkind of Duncan to demean their manhood so, but then, Duncan was not known for his kindness.

“Your gall passes all bounds, Duncan MacNab. Do not underestimate the power of any man,” Rurik said defensively. “If you are half the fighting man you claim to be, surely you know that might is not always measured in weight or height or wholeness. Betimes, the difference between victory and defeat is measured in the heart of the warrior. And I can tell you this … these men have heart aplenty.”

Rurik saw Old John and the others gape at him with surprise. He did not immediately see Bolthor, but he was certain he would be hearing a saga this eve about this very event, making him sound more heroic than was merited. More important, he would warrant that he’d earned points with Maire, who was equally slack-jawed, though that was not why he’d spoken.

Duncan made a snarling sound of anger, but all that issued from his mouth was a profane expletive.

“What brings you here today, Duncan? Medoubts ’tis to make peace.”

“Hah! Hardly.” Duncan rubbed his mustache with a forefinger, pensively. “I had hoped that we might come to an agreement, soldier to soldier.”

“Such as?”

“I could locate the old crone for you.” A crafty lift appeared in the center of his lone eyebrow.

Now, that offer surprised Rurik. “The old crone? What would I want with some old crone? Do I look as if I need an aged woman for swiving?”

“You misread me, Viking. I refer to Cailleach … the old crone who was mentor to Maire the Witch.”

“You would deliver another witch to me? I can scarce wait. Two witches of my very own.”

“Not just any witch … a powerful witch … one who would surely know how to remove your blue mark.”

“Are you saying that Maire cannot?”

“I’m not saying she canna, but I notice your mark is still there.”

Rurik didn’t need any reminders. But something nagged at his memory. “Didn’t Kenneth banish the witch from Scotland when he took Maire to wife?”

Duncan threw out his hands as if that fact were neither here nor there.

Rurik frowned. “Speak plainly. Know you where the old crone is?”

“Mayhap I do, and mayhap I do not.”

“Aaarrgh! Enough of your games! What is it you want of me?”

“Maire. And her Campbell lands. In return, I give you back your pretty face and safe conduct out of Scotland.”

Rurik pondered for several long minutes. It was a tempting offer. Truly it was. Especially since he had a wife-to-be waiting anxiously for him in the Hebrides. A smart-thinking man would jump at this chance.

But Rurik did not always do the smart thing.