The Killing Moor

Part 5

********

Gray clouds hung over head filling the day with a
promise of rain. It was nothing different than the
scots would expect. They had fought long and hard in
sun, rain, and snow as deep as the knees. It never
lessened the fight or the men's spirit and
committment. This day the battlefield was a chaotic
chorus of striking metal, grunts and shouts, the moans
of the dying. Riddick stood in the vortex of it all.
He swung his arm in an arc and landed his sword
against its mark dealing death instantly ... but it
had cost him. He'd taken his own blow moments earlier.
Planting his sword at his feet he clapped his hand
over the wide rip in his side, trying to stop the
unchecked flow of warm, slick blood. He panted trying
to drive back the waves of dizzinehat hat threatened
to pull him into the back void of unconsciousness or
worse, death. Lifting his head once more he saw a
priest coming toward him, weaving through the bodies
at his feet. He tried waving the man off but where
there was landscape one moment there was nothing but
incky black the next.


********************

The rode to Ruinmire was littered with burned out
hovels and the occasional keep, most of which Riddick
knew. With a deep sigh he said a prayer to his god
that Dovanshire had faired better in his absence, nine
years was far to long to believe everything would be
as it had been. His thought turned to his son and he
smiled. Johns would be nearly 15, nearly a man. Above
the rise he spied the battlements of Ruinmire and he
kicked his mount into a faster gait.

He had no more gotten within sight of the walls of the
keep than the call was raised, "Laird, Riddick has
returned!"

He was barely off Bastion's back when Duncan appeared.
Arms open wide, he grabbed Riddick into a rough
embrace. "Brother, you're long over due. We feared you
dead." Duncan pulled away slowly. "It's good to look
upon you again."

"Aye, as it is you. How are you Duncan?" Riddick
asked, curious to see Ruinmire thriving when so few
keeps were even left standing. He glanced up to the
battlement expecting to see Laird McTeirnan looking
down on them.

"My life has changed in ways I never thought to see,"
Duncan replied, turning toward the inner sanctuary of
the great hall.

***************

On an upper balcony overlooking the great hall,
bright, quizzical eyes stared down at the men who
burst inside the heavy door and moved loudly toward
the bottles of mind numbing liquid. Brushing aside a
heavy red curl from her eyes, Genivieve's gaze stayed
strangely attached to the tall, muscular man beside
Duncan. She had an insane desire to fly down the
steps to the hall and make her presence known. But
she knew her husband's view on women and held her
place, hoping beyond hope that the stranger's eyes
would find hers in time.

Riddick pushed all other questions and inquires to the
back of his mind to enjoy this reunion with his
friend, his brother. "Tell me about what life has set
in your path." Riddick smiled accepting a goblet
filled with a strong spirit. Taking a drink, he let it
slide down his throat, warming his belly.

She moved to the bannister of the stairway and
contiued her perusal. The ripple of muscle from his
forarm as the goblet met his full lips was inviting
.... mesmerizing, even. She had been given to Duncan
in marriage and had r har had the first inkling of
attraction such as she felt now. She continued to
watch the strong back and well formed legs and began
to feel strangely dizzy. But in a completely pleasant
fashion.

Ducan sighed, wondering where he should start. So many
things had happened since he'd seen Riddick. "Father
was laid with my mother a short month after you left.
He fell from the battlement in one of his rants and no
one was there to witness the accident."

Riddick noted his friend seemed not at all unhappy
about the death or the cause. It was now Duncan who
was a Laird. "I'm sorry for your loss, brother."

"It was worse for Alec than I. My brother screamed the
walls down of the keep that father had been done in.
But I could not believe it. Father had near fallen a
hundred time over from there. Alec could not accept my
word on the matter and grew more and more angry with
me, fighting me with every decision I made." Duncan
sighed. "He left to fight the English six years ago
and I've not had word of him since. I fear he's dead."

Nodding, Riddick stared into Duncan's eyes across the
table, a test, a test between them since childhood.
Duncan quickly cut his eyes away and Riddick knew
there was something wrong in all this, something
Duncan wasn't saying. But he held his tongue waiting
for a time when he could discover for himself what had
happened in the years since leaving Dovanshire.

With a quick change of the subject Duncan made a grand
gesture of nearly jumping from his chair. "And I've
married, friend," he shouted, a smile filling his
face. A smile that made Riddick questions what he saw
again as the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Genivieve!" he shouted, turning his head upwards
cupping his hand. "Dear WIFE!" There was no answer and
Duncan grabbed the young serving girl in an overly
familiar embrace, his hands settling on her hips.
"Tell me, girl, where is my wife?"

"She comes now from above," the girl practically
giggles, a blush bright as blood flooded into her
face.

The spetecal wot uot unnoticed by the mistress of the
keep as she descended the stairway in a swirl of wool.
The floor length hunter green tunic set off her ivory
skin perfectly and she walked with her head as high as
was possible after seeing her husband practically
seducing the downstairs maid. She moved with regal
elegance before her husband and quickly dropped a
curtsey. "My lord," she breathed before standing and
cutting her eyes toward the object of her newly
acquired fascination. She waited for Duncan to make
the formal introduction, as was the custom, but she
knew that he would only make the introduction if he
the mood passed him. She waited anxiously.

"Riddick, my wife Genivieve." Duncan took her hand
possesively, squeezing painfully. "My love, this is my
friend. Nay, my brother, Richard Riddick of
Dovanshire."

Riddick's eyes glowed with the fire that forged its
way through his blood, melding the chambers of his
heart with her name. Lust and love was one for but a
moment as he looked upon her beauty. Glacial cold and
the fires of hell played along his skin and he would
ask himself how one woman could have such an effect.
"My lady," he managed.

With deliberate slowness, she lowered her eyes and
looked up at him from underneath thick, dark red
lashes. Her body was a heated mass now as she gave a
low, proper curtsey in front of him. "We are honored
to have you grace our home, mi'lord." She looked up,
swallowing the growing lump in the base of her throat.
"Surely the feast tonight will be filled with revalry
to celebrate your arrival."

"There is no need to be so formal. You may call me
Richard or simply Riddick. I'm your husband's oldest
and dearest friend and surely he would deny me the
honor of having you call me by my given name." He
smiled at her, barely able to draw enough air to
breath. "And as tempting as offeoffer is I'll not be
staying longer than is needed. I'm quite in need of
returning to Dovanshire. My son....."

Duncan squeezed his wife's hand even more, making sure
she understood his unspoken command to keep her mouth
closed. "Johns is here Richard. There are things I
must tell...."

"Yes, do tell him uncle Duncan!" The voice snarled
from the shadows near the stairs. "Tell him how my
mother went to heaven with the fever, or how the
English sacked and burned our keep. I'm sure it will
be quite the exciting tale." Johns stepped into the
filtered light for the open door.

Now Riddick felt like the had taken another more
deadly blow from a broad sword, imbedding itself in
his heart. His son, Johns, was no longer the laughing
happy child he'd left. He was near a grown man, tall
and broad of shoulders. Riddick searched his son's
face for some resemblence to him but there was very
little. Johns looked more like Mary, Mary who was now
dead and gone.

"You've cared for my son?" He looked to Genivieve
instead of Duncan.

Her eyes lowered again. "I have tried to give him the
guidance and comfort that he would receive from a
loving aunt." She was silent as she looked at her
husband with a strained statement. She knew that her
next words would surely get her ears boxed from her
husband, but she could not resist. "I am truly sorry
for the loss of your wife, mi'lord. Please, allow us
to help ease the pain by comforting you in your time
of need."

"It seems as I've no choice in the matter. I've no
keep and find myself at my friend's mercy." Riddick's
jaw clenched tight, the promise Duncan had made so
long ago to watch over his lands rung in his ears.

Johns laughed and strode past his father, glaring.
"You you shall know what it's like. I've been a burden
my whole life."

"Johns!" Riddick barked, intending to bring his son to
heel for his rudness.

Soft, feminine eyes snapped to Duncan, silently
begging him to stop this melee before it began. But,
in the end, it was she that stepped forward shook hwe
head to Johns asking for silence. She then moved
closer and took Riddick by the arm. "Please, accept
my husband's hospitality. I shall see you to a
chamber very near Johns ... and you can settle
yourself in." She turne to look blankly at Du.
.
"If it pleases my husband, of course."

Duncan's smile was pinched and insincere. "Make your
return swift, wife. Our bed will be well used this
day."

She shivered at his words, knowing that he would most
likely use his body to punish her. Dropping a
curtsey, she guided Riddick up the stairway, past
Johns, and down the massive corridor. "Come with me,
My lord." The touch of her hand to his arm was almost
enough to make her forget what lay in store for her in
the bedchambers.

Riddick's arm tensed at the heady contact of her hand,
wanting the moment to stretch until the end of time.
She was light and darkness inside his soul. She was he
best friends wife, beautiful and elegant. He knew it
was wrong to feel anything but the most chivalrous of
emtions where she was concerned but his heart would
not listen to his head. "How long have you been wed to
Duncun?" he ask more for distraction than a burning
need to know.

Genivieve sighed slightly, her hand instinctively
squeezing his arm. "I was given to your friend in
marriage as part of a barter shortly before your keep
...." her voice trailed and she looked at him with
sincere apology in her eyes. "My father was given the
assistance he needed in regard to protection and man
power as long as I was given to him in marriage." She
shrugged. "Truly, I cannot remember whether it was a
year ago or a hundred."

Clenching his jaw tight he saw red as rage overtook
him, he'd labored under false conceptions, false
notions about the man he called friend. A man he had
know all his life and now he would admit he was in
part sorry for it. "So, Duncan's not the man I thought
him to be. Withholding protection to one in need. The
price, the man's child. Is it not a wonderful match
that could be made thus?"

"He is a powerful ally and a fierce foe. It was a
good barter my father made. After all, he lost only a
daughter." She moved to open the door in front of
her, ushering him into the large, elaborate chambers.
"I do hope that this will be acceptable to you, my
lord." She moved to the bed and slowly began to pull
back the heavy bedcovers. Her legs were quivering
both with building desire for the stranger before her
and trepidation at what her husband had planned.

He moved behind her, hands on her shoulders,
whispering. "I've slept many a night on the ground, in
the mud, and snow. This is more than acceptable."