Authors: Phoebe Conn
Dana had known he would not modestly deny that her compliment was deserved, but she was not offended by his conceit when his pride was a large measure of his charm. He was a fascinatingly complex individual, but a man she barely knew. She had never succeeded in winning his trust with promises, but she knew he craved the ecstasy she gave each time they had been together. An imaginative young woman, she moved slowly down his splendid physique, caressing him with the lush curves of her supple body and trailing kisses in her wake. When his breathing immediately quickened, his excitement fed her own.
To find Dana so giving a lover astonished Brendan, but he wanted still more. In an enticing whisper he made the most erotic suggestion imaginable, and the flame-haired beauty did not disappoint him. With a seductive abandon she made love to him as he had once made love to her, using her lips and tongue to lure him across the threshold of rapture into a paradise of sensation where he called her name in a grateful moan.
By mutual desire, this was merely the first of the many exotic delights each created for the other, for Brendan was not content to passively accept joy without returning it. He responded by giving Dana the same thrilling ecstasy she had given him. A wealth of experience had made him the most romantic of lovers, and yet with Dana, each of his gestures was spontaneous, and genuinely given to please.
Just when Dana thought she could bear no more of Brendan’s masterful loving, he carried her into the sea, rocking her in his arms in time with the water’s rhythmic flow until the joy that flooded his heart again crested within hers. He placed her on her feet for a moment, then lifted her into his arms so she could wrap her legs around his hips. She laughed and coiled herself around him with the sensuous grace of a clinging vine. For so passionate a couple, the ways to bestow pleasure were endless, but, alas, the night was not.
When Brendan suddenly realized he could see the clear violet of Dana’s eyes, he sat up with a start. They had been lying at the surf’s edge, exchanging lazy kisses and too lost in each other to notice the approaching dawn. He looked around quickly to make certain they were not being observed, then rose and gave Dana his hand. He led her to the spot where her shift lay in a crumpled heap, shook it out, and handed it to her.
“Return to your tent as though you had nothing to hide. I’ll have to swim back to where I left my clothes.”
When he turned away without adding any words of affection, Dana reached out to catch his hand. Brendan turned back, but his glance held only the hint of curiosity, as though he expected a quick reminder of something he had forgotten, and she dared not speak of love when he had not. “Be careful,” she teased sweetly. “I’d be terribly disappointed if you drowned.”
“So would I,” Brendan agreed with a ready grin. He gave her one last kiss, then sprinted across the shore and dove into the water. With long, fluid strokes he swam back toward the ship, but Dana didn’t take a step until he was lost from sight.
Looking down at her rumpled shift, she knew she must look as though she had spent the worst of nights when just the opposite was true. Her hair was filled with salty grit, and because there would be no way to explain this, she did not go straight back to her tent but instead went to the spring where the men had drawn water for their camp. There was no one about, and she knelt down to wash her hair. Then she hastily removed her shift and scrubbed her body as best she could without soap. The chill of the bubbling springwater was invigorating, and when she was ready to return to her tent, she felt as though she had enjoyed a long rest. It wasn’t until she reached the camp and found several men already up and moving about that she grew frightened.
Jarald was standing beside the
Seahawk
,
supervising the loading of his gear, when he caught sight of Dana. It had not occurred to him to look to see if she was inside her tent. He had simply assumed that she was. “I was going to let you sleep,” he called out as he walked toward her. To find the elegant beauty in such scanty attire was a shock, but the sight of her slender limbs was so appealing he did not scold her. Her hair was wet and she had obviously used her shift as a towel. The damp garment hid little his imagination did not swiftly provide, and he licked his lips slowly, hoping he would soon get a taste of her delectable body. “You’ll want to dress before we eat.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll hurry.” Dana sped past him, grateful she had had to endure no more than his openly appreciative glance. As she ducked into her tent, she noticed the wet tracks Brendan had left leading to his. They had taken a terrible risk remaining together so long, but she would not deny that it had been worth it.
Meaning to wake Erik, Jarald followed Dana, but when he observed the footprints leading to his tent, he grew curious and angled off to inquire of one of his men if he had seen Brendan that morning. Upon learning the Celt had just returned from a swim, the burly man’s expression grew troubled. Dana had returned to the camp from the opposite direction, and surely she had only been seeking the privacy a woman would need in the company of so many men, but why would the Celt be out swimming at dawn?
While he resisted the conclusion they had been together, combined with his earlier suspicions of Brendan’s interest in Dana, Jarald could not shake the impression he was a threat. For the moment they needed the Celt’s knowledge of Trom’s tactics, but once that need was past, he was determined to be rid of the man for good.
The second day of the voyage Jarald set a course that took them across the North Sea. He had not expected to sight land before nightfall, and his crew did not complain as they ate a supper of dried fish and cheese. Dana could tell Erik was no more pleased than she to have left the coast for the open sea, but she bravely kept her worries to herself and so did he. It was not until the following day that they reached an isle off the northern tip of Scotland, and eager to again feel dry ground beneath her feet, she was one of the first out of the ship.
That he had not succumbed to the queasiness that had plagued him for two days gave Erik the courage to look forward to the voyage’s end. He and Brendan had spent a great deal of their time devising schemes to outwit Trom, and after a hot supper that night, they involved Jarald and Dana in a discussion of their plans.
While Jarald listened attentively as Brendan described the arrangement of Trom’s camp as he drew it in the sand, he still did not like the idea of the Celt bringing in men loyal only to him. Keeping the thought to himself, he knew in the heat of battle a good many men might fall. He planned to make certain that Brendan was the first of them. When he glanced toward Dana, he found her observing the man’s illustrations with no more than thoughtful interest, but he could not shake the feeling he would never succeed in winning her hand as long as Brendan remained alive.
Dana was too tired to even consider leaving her tent that night, and Brendan was equally exhausted. Because they had had no opportunity to arrange another rendezvous, he stretched out on a sleeping bag made of hides and was one of the first asleep. He was still so excited about returning home he could barely contain himself, but that enthusiasm didn’t interfere with his rest.
On the fourth day, the
Seahawk
continued under sail, skirting the islands dotting the northwestern coast of Scotland, then crossing to the northern coast of Erin. Brendan could not have managed the voyage any better himself, for it put them in a perfect position to attack Trom from the north, where he would least expect it. Again they chose a secluded inlet to camp, and after supper they made their final plans.
“Trom has sentries at the mouth of the river, so you’ll have to take care of them before dawn.” Brendan again drew pictures in the sand as he spoke, indicating Jarald and his crew would move upriver while he and his men would attack Trom’s forces from the rear. “Deprived of a warning, Trom and his men will be asleep. They’re used to attacking others, not to being under siege, and will be unlikely to have their weapons ready. By the time they realize they’re surrounded, we’ll have already released their prisoners. We may even be able to get them out safely without a fight.”
“And if not?” Jarald asked.
Brendan looked up, his gaze steady as he replied, “Then we’ll give them a battle the few who survive will never forget. We’ll not fail in this.”
“On that point we agree,” Jarald assured him, but he had no intention of walking in and out of Trom’s camp without the thrill of spilling a great deal of blood.
“Tomorrow we’ll journey down the coast,” Brendan continued. “Once the
Seahawk
is safely hidden in a secluded harbor, I’ll leave for my home. I’ll return with my men around midnight, move into place, and wait for dawn. We’ll free the prisoners and—”
“How can you be so certain your people will help us?” Jarald interrupted to ask.
Brendan glanced toward the heavens, thinking the man insufferably dense. “They despise Trom as much as I do. You can believe me that they’ll be eager to do this.”
Jarald nodded, but he still did not trust the Celt to return. “We’ll need a signal. I’ll make the call of an owl three times. You’ll answer, but with only two calls.”
As the men continued to refine their plans, Dana grew increasingly uneasy. Brendan described the Norse settlement of Limerick as being well upriver, but it unnerved her to know Trom would be able to seek help should he escape them, while they would have to rely solely upon themselves.
“When are you going to kill Trom?” she asked Brendan.
The question startled him, for he had thought she was interested only in the rescue mission. “I’ll take care of him after I’ve released your father, brother, and their crews. I’ll not sacrifice them in my own quest for revenge.”
“How noble,” Jarald responded sarcastically, preferring to kill the hated Norse pirate himself. Thinking their plans complete, he rose to his feet, and after exchanging wishes for a good night, he excused himself and went to speak with his crew.
Erik watched Jarald depart, but while he admired the man’s confidence, he didn’t think his attitude nearly serious enough for the task that lay ahead. “I think we should have several plans, in case the first doesn’t go as we expect it to.”
Insulted, Brendan stood up before responding. “I’ll not disappoint you. I’ll provide the men to set Haakon and Svien free. You needn’t fear I’ll go home and not return.”
Erik shook his head. “You don’t understand. It’s not you I’m worried about, it’s Jarald.”
When Erik glanced up at him, his gaze was so trusting Brendan was ashamed for being short with him. He had several alternative plans in mind, but he didn’t want Erik involved in any of them. “Forgive me, but you can’t possibly understand how eager I am to see my family again, and I can think of little else. Let’s all try to get a good night’s sleep, for we’ll get little or no rest tomorrow night.”
Dana had hoped Brendan might say more about his family, but when he turned and walked away, she silently scolded herself for having such a futile hope. She might get to meet his people after they had defeated Trom, but she wasn’t certain Brendan would bother to introduce her even then. She gave Erik a hug before retiring to her tent, but despite Brendan’s advice, she again found it difficult to sleep. Knowing he did not want her to meet him, she remained in her tent, but all her thoughts were of him and the love they had shared all too briefly.
Early the next morning, the
Seahawk
sailed past the forbidding Cliffs of Moher. Captivated by the sight of the sheer wall of jagged black rock, Dana stared in rapt fascination. Birds flew in and out of their nesting places in narrow crevices, their excited calls echoing above the ceaseless crash of waves at the cliffs’ base, but their lively chatter failed to dispel the atmosphere of overpowering gloom.
Appreciating the sharp contrast the cliffs provided to the flatness of her island home, Brendan moved to Dana’s side. “The view is spectacular from here, but can you imagine what it’s like to lie at the top, lean over, and look down?”
The mere thought of that gave her a fright that was almost more than Dana could bear. “You’ve done it?” she asked apprehensively.
“Many times,” Brendan confided. “At the top there are rolling green meadows, as pretty as any you could ever want to see. Erin is a beautiful land, Dana, far prettier than your own.”
The pensive beauty found it easier to observe the cliffs than to return her companion’s level gaze. She did not know what he expected her to say. Did he think she would beg him to show her his homeland? She lifted her chin proudly, content to wait for him to issue that invitation instead.
Thinking the lovely redhead was too worried about her father and brother to want to talk about Erin, Brendan fell silent. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, to show her, but this was not the time. He gave his full attention to the shoreline, studying it intently, for it would be suicide to venture too near the mouth of the River Shannon, where like a giant spider Trom lay in wait, eager for the kill.
As soon as they reached the cove Brendan had chosen, he and Erik left hurriedly to scout the route to Trom’s camp. When they returned, the Celt had tarried only long enough to assure everyone all would go well, and then he had again disappeared into the woods that bordered the shore. Dana tried not to allow her heartbreak to show in her expression, but she failed. She had not the slightest doubt Brendan would return as promised, but that did not lessen the pain of his hasty departure. She feared he had a woman awaiting him. Knowing Brendan, she thought it far more likely there were several beauties who would be eager to welcome him home. “Home.” She murmured the word softly to herself. Returning home had been all that had ever mattered to him.