Claiming Her (Renegades & Outlaws) (18 page)

Another male voice joined in, not Walter’s, and then Walter did say something; two of the three voices drifted away, one fussing as it went, and a single set of boots came toward the tower door.

Chapter Sixteen

SHE BACKED UP AS Aodh entered the room, a bundle of something in his arms. He kicked the door shut behind him.
 

 
“I do not like your steward,” he said curtly.

“Lock him up,” she retorted, not inclined to be friendly.

“I just did.” He dropped the dark bundle onto the bed. It looked red, a rich wine color. Silken.
 

He crossed the room, relighting oil lamps on the walls as he went, and setting a burning ember to ignite the wicks of the multitude of rush lights set around the room. In the growing illumination, the hard, muscular power of him was revealed. She drank in the sight of him almost despairingly.
 

Why must this Irish rebel be so precisely the manifestation of her secret desires?

A moment later, servants appeared, scurrying in wordlessly with trays and a few small chests, setting them on the floor, then hurrying out again while Aodh crossed the room, unpinning the heavy, fur-lined cloak slung over his shoulders as he went. He dropped it onto the bed, next to the silken bundle.

Midnight blue shadows stretched across the room as he knelt before the hearth, struck a flintstone into the kindling, and leaned forward to blow gently on the tiny sticks.
 

A few sparks glinted in the blackened maw of the hearth, then, small and orange-bright, flames began spearing up.

“Stop doing this,” he said quietly.

“Doing what?”

“Sitting in the cold.”

“I am not cold.”

He swiveled his head around. “Then why is your nose red again?”
 

She chose not to reply. It was, in fact, cold. She simply had not noticed.
 

The fire began to snap and crackle as more flames caught. Soon, a miniature inferno was burning in the stony firebox. The flickering flames lit his face as he stared into it, then he said quietly, “I have some questions for you.”

And so it began.

“Tell me of the defenses.”

“No.”

He reached for a few larger pieces of wood and set them carefully atop. “Then I shall tell you. The west wall is in disrepair. The southern tower was undermined some time ago.”

She shrugged faintly.
 

“Until they met rock. Rardove is built on bedrock.”

As if she did not know what her castle was set upon.

“So the foundations are firm, but the other parts less so. The gatehouse is weakening, and the portcullis may last through the summer. Or it may not.”

It would not. The logs for its repair were in the northern bailey, half-sawed, half-snowed upon.
 

 
“Those planks in the northern bailey ought to have been put up months ago, before the winter came,” he said.

Yes, indeed. Before the flood-wet autumn came, before the sickness came, sweeping through her men, disabling them in successive waves. Yes, before all that.

“Or at least before you came,” she suggested quietly.
 

Hard-packed muscular thighs bunched as he turned to look up at her, a forearm draped over his knee. “There is a field of mud out there, Katarina. Fronting the castle on every side but the north, and that is where the cliffs are. It is an entire meadow of mud.”
 

“It is not an
entire
meadow,” she demurred modestly. “There is a small pathway safe for passage, far to the east…”

“So that is how you did it,” he murmured, a note of respect in his words. But then, Aodh did not seem reluctant to show respect; she suspected it was one of his greatest traits. “The way you were able to hold Rardove with ten men? You tricked and maneuvered and built fields of mud, and you prevailed. I am impressed.”
 

“It was not so difficult. Firstly, the Irish do not know I only have ten men.”

“Neither do the English.”

“My marchlands, my defense, my purse,” she said firmly. “The queen sends nothing to support the defense of her realm, and—” She stopped short. It did not do to complain of the queen to a rebel. “One does what one can.”

“Indeed. Such as build meadows of mud.”

“En
cour
age them,” she clarified, and was rewarded with one of his half smiles. “And then, of course, I do not go about
antagonizing
people,” she added significantly.
 

“Ah. Fascinating approach.”

“I could recommend it to some.”

“Who?”

The lazy drawl brought a reluctant smile to her mouth. She hesitated, then added, “Additionally, my men are ever brave.”

“And ever loyal.”

The compliment surprised her. “I serve them a great deal of meat.”

He pushed to his feet. “That is not what their loyalty feeds on.” The larger logs caught and flames began licking up all around.

He passed within inches of her, ignoring her completely as he strode to the items stacked against the walls, the crates and sacks and bundles, all sitting atop the huge, oak table. He stared at the collection a moment, then moved everything off with a powerful sweep of his arm and grabbed a corner of the table.

She stepped forward. “Oh, ’tis too heavy, you cannot—”

He hauled the end away from the wall, stepped behind it, and bending at the hips, set his palms against the edge and shoved the table across the room, squealing all the way, until it stood directly in front of the fire that was now crackling merrily.
 

Well.

“Then you’ll not be pleased to know your clerk has told them to stand down?” he said.

Her gaze shot to his. “What? No. That is impossible. You are mistaken.”

“You may have a point.” He went back for a chair. “I am unfamiliar with your steward. He said, ‘I shall stand down the men.’” He peered at her curiously. “What do you think he meant?”
 

She scowled at him and began pacing. “Why would he have done such a thing?”

He picked up the chair and carried it over. “He seems to believe you are in danger.”

She stopped so short, her skirts foamed around her ankles. “But I am not, am I?”

“That depends entirely on you, my lady.” He shrugged, as if the matter was out of his hands. She felt her face growing hot, and he made a sympathetic sound. “Aye, it doesn’t look good for you, does it?”
 

She ignored the veiled threat, and eyed him thoughtfully as he carried the other chair over and positioned it by the fire. “But they did not do it, did they? My men, they did not stand down.”

“Sadly, they did not. Again, they seem to wish to hear directly from you on the matter.” She smiled, but he shook his head slowly. “’Tis as unwise now as it was before, lass.”

“Oh yes, I know,” she agreed happily. Even a minor resistance, when one was hard-pressed for victory, was most satisfying. “Somewhat like you taking Rardove.”

“Aye, we’re quite a pair,” he agreed, setting trays of food on the table. “You should marry me.”
 

The urge to smile came again. She resisted it.

Arching a brow, he gestured toward the table. Covered with trays of food and pitchers of drink and several chests that had been carried in by the servants, it resembled a stall at a merchant’s fair. “Do you want anything?”
 

“My liberty,” she said tartly.
 
“Peace from the incessant raids of the MacDaniels clan, a hot bath, and a great large salmon.”

That earned a quirk of his handsome mouth. “Well, Katarina, some of those things are easier to secure than others, and one is entirely in your keeping.”

“Nothing, then,” she said staunchly, then hesitated. “Perhaps…some wine?”
Your exquisite wine.

“The wine, we can manage.” He turned to pour.
 

She watched the silky red folds of liquid splash into a large cup, then he set it on the table and waved his hand toward the rest of the items that did not bear closer inspection, for what other treasures might the Irish warlord have, beyond a map of the world and wine? Certainly, the silent message of his hand was clear:
Look at all you can have when you are mine.

She sniffed at it, but did take the wine. “May my page visit?”
 

 
“Little one, so high?” He held his hand at about his waist. She frowned. Dickon was taller than that. Although admittedly, he was quite small for his age. “Indeed he may. The moment we locate him. He has thus far eluded detection.”

“Has he?”
That
was encouraging, wasn’t it? “He is quite nimble,” she allowed, smiling out the window.

“He will get himself hurt, my lady. If my men stumble upon him at the wrong moment, and perceive the wrong thing…”
 

His words drifted off but the warning was clear and genuine; these were battle-hardened men in the midst of a rebellion. They would not brook much, certes not a young renegade, be he intent on matters of espionage, or simply hungry.

Taking her goblet, she stepped away and circled the room, entirely ignoring the chests—
of what?
—that sat on the table. The lid of one had been lifted slightly and beckoned like a siren. Which was no doubt the point, the arrogant devil.

Still, the longer she paced, the higher the flames in the fire licked, the louder the rumbles of thunder outside grew, the more difficult it became to ignore them, because they did, after all, look a great deal like
treasure
chests. Anything could be inside.
 

Only slowly did she become aware of what Aodh was doing as she paced. He was shuffling…playing cards.

She turned incredulously. “Cards?”
 

He glanced up. “Why, can you not play?”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Of course I can
play
. But…you cannot expect me to sit and play cards?”

He raked his gaze down the front of her gown. “You may stand.” He went back to his cards. “But no peeking.”

Her jaw, already at half-mast, fell entirely. “No
peeking
?”

His blue eyes came back up. “Is that going to be difficult for you, Katy? You’re not the sort who goes about peeking at other people’s cards, are you?”

She pursed her lips tight together to combat the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to smile. “I will restrain myself.”
 

“Good.” He began dealing. “Putt?”

She hesitated, then said, “One of my favorite games,” and took her seat.

Chapter Seventeen

 
AODH SAT BACK as she picked up her cards.
Carefully now.
 

The thought was a caution, a reminder of how quickly she could be gone, in heart and body. And as he’d spent the entire day in a state of constant erection, making even the simple task of bending over a painful chore, he had every intention of slaking the lust that hammered through him, tonight. In Katy.

She
did
feel something for him, something powerful, notwithstanding her rejection of him. It was simply buried very deep inside. Coals banked beneath ash. Aodh knew well the suffocating power of ash; it should be a fifth element, as powerful as fire or air, if only to extinguish.