Claiming Her (Renegades & Outlaws) (33 page)

She crouched beside him and shook him gently. He popped up, bleary-eyed and confused.

“’Tis I, Dickon.”

“Oh, my lady.” He scratched his head and shifted on the pallet. “What is it?”

“Dickon, I need you to get this message to the town.”

He stared at the folded parchment between her fingers.
 

“Can you do that?”
 

He nodded miserably. “My lady, are you certain—”

“I swear to you, it is to help Lord Aodh.” She patted his shoulder. “Be careful,” she whispered.
 

He swallowed. “I will.”

She hurried away, making her way to the barracks through the dark night. Through a barred window at the back of the building, she was able to speak to Wicker. Even touch his hand.

“Are you well?”

“They’re growing tired of watching us.”

“Yes, I suppose they are.”

“Something will have to give soon.”

“Yes, something must.” Or someone.

“I guess an army’s coming?” he said. It was difficult to determine from his tone how he felt about this.

 
“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“He doesn’t seem a bad sort. Spent some time in here with us.”

She tipped her head back, surprised. “He has?”

“Aye.”

“Doing what?”

There was a small pause. “Eating.”

“He has supped with you?”

“He has.”

She hadn’t expected that. “Well then, what do you think of our conqueror?

Another pause, a bit longer. “If he is your enemy, my lady, then he is ours.”

Oh, this was awful. Even her soldiers were turning to him. And she could not.

She reached her fingertips through, touched his, and gave a little squeeze. “Be safe, Wicker,” she whispered.
 

“And you, too, my lady.”

“Do not worry, I shall not be reckless.”
 

“Oh, we’ve no problem with reckless,” he said easily, his hand slipping away. “Just be
right
.”

The heart of the matter, then, in that simple reply.

“I must go. Eat, keep up your strength, and Wicker? I trust Mac Con with my life. I urge you to do the same.”

His wary eyes peered back at her. He was not confused by her words. He knew as well as she that Aodh was what Rardove needed. She just could not give it to him yet.

“Now, I must away.”

 
Her nighttime travels had taken longer than she’d intended. A gray opalescence was beading up the mists, rising out of the dells as if the coating of a pearl were floating through the air.
 

She hurried back to the castle and slipped inside. Even under the hood, her hair was damp with mist. Shaking it as she hurried up the stairs, she swung off the cape as she reached the landing and slipped back inside the darkened room.

The fire was almost out; it had not been stirred. The room was still warm.
 

Ducked over, barely breathing, she shut the door, twisted the lock, and set Aodh’s cloak on the table. Shaking out her hair one last time, she turned to the room.

Aodh was sitting in the chair, watching her.

Cold rivulets of fear rolled down her chest. “Aodh,” she said on an exhale.
 

He said nothing.

“You are awake. Is your head hurting? We overindulged, did we not?” She started toward him. “I can get you something for it—”

“Where were you?”

“Oh. I was…” She swallowed. “I…” Why could she not lie to this man?
 

Her voice trailed off as he rested his bent elbow on the table and lifted his forearm. Pinched between two fingers was a folded letter, sealed with cobalt-blue wax.

Her wax. Her letter.

Fear slid down her back. “How…?”

“That does not matter.”

Walter
.

“Oh, St. Jude,” she whispered.

“Even he cannot help you now.” Aodh pushed to his feet.

She bolted. Fumbled for what seemed like forever to unlatch the door, then flung it open, Aodh a step behind. She hurtled for the stairs, but he caught her before she made it two steps, wrapped a steely arm around her waist, and hauled her back inside.

The moment he released her, she raced to the far side of the room, around the edge of the bed. She gripped the bedstead as he locked the door and turned to her. His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen, reflecting little glints of firelight. He looked cold and calm and…furious.

“Aodh, please…”

“Please what? What could you possibly plead for right now that I should give you?” He started toward her.
 

She circled the bed. “Aodh, do you not see? I cannot betray her.”

“I see. Only me.”

She blew out a breath. “I took a vow. An oath. And she has given me so much—”

“Aye, a father imprisoned for loving a woman who must have made starshine seem dull, until he had his head cut off for not renouncing her. Your mam ripped from her home, her heart broken in two on account of the queen’s petty jealousies, so terrified, she chose to die over protecting you. Then she gave you a castle at the end of the world, understaffed and unprotected, which you were somehow to make a go of, and Jesus God, always send the money back to England. Oh, aye, she’s given you much.”

Katarina stared, dumbfounded, at this rendering of her relationship with the queen. Worded this way, it sounded pitiful. But that was
not
the way of it. And even if it was… Her father had been
executed
.

As would she, if she turned traitor.

As would Aodh, too, if that missive she had just sent out was not delivered to the queen. That, and that alone, might save him. But only if Katarina remained loyal.
 

Traitors did not make good advocates for other traitors.

“I know you are angry, Aodh—”

A short gust of laughter met this. He began circling the bed.
 

She scooted up on the mattress, over to the far side. “—but did you read my letter?”

“Why would I do that?”

Oh, coldness emanated from him like steam. He had no patience for the reasons why, nor the good that might have been done. He cared only for the deed.
 

“But, Aodh, you must
read
it,” she insisted, skirting the table as he stalked her. “I told her everything.”

“Excellent.”

“No, my meaning is…I told her everything about you.”
 

He mirrored her every move, as she dodged the table and hopped back behind the huge bed.

“Do you know what I said?”
 

“No, Katy, what?” Slow, calm, tautly controlled, he was beginning to terrify her.

“I praised you,” she breathed, circling onto the other side of the bed.

“Did you?” He sounded absent, as if he were barely listening. His gaze drifted between her eyes and her hips, as if deciding which to pay attention to. She tried to move neither.
 

“I did indeed. I said you were a good man.” He stepped forward, and she swung around the corner of the bed, her hand gripping the post for support. “A good master for Rardove. I told her I had come to care for you. That I had fallen for your charms.” All the truths were falling out of her now. “Aodh, regard: I told her she was
wrong
.”

His gaze caught on hers. “You could have done nothing worse.”

A tremor of unease, deeper than her fear of Aodh’s wrath, moved through her. “Why?”

“Elizabeth is jealous. She does not want to be shown up, she does not want to be told she was wrong, and she surely does not want to be told a rebel is right. Such things do not matter. Moreover, telling her you cared would have been the worst thing you could have done. She does not want to be told that.”
 

Katarina’s heart surged, then tightened at the words
.
She knew precisely how the queen felt.

“It would have revealed to her that I, too, care for you. That is why you are fortunate this letter was brought to me.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “There is another.”

“Another what?”

“Missive.” Her voice dropped lower. “I gave one to Walter, and one…to Dickon.”

“Oh, Katy.”
 

Her heart sank. It was a cold progression down her chest and belly, a musical scale of coldness.

“You made a mistake, lass.”

Cold straight down to her toes.
 

“You went behind my back.”

Cold, into her bones.

“You were seen. People know you snuck out, without my leave.”

“Aodh.” It was a pleading exhale.

His demeanor was level, almost detached. Inscrutable. He held out his hand. “Come here.”

“No. Why?”

His gaze, unflinching and impassive, told her everything she needed to know, so in truth, she did not need any words. “I’m going to punish you.”
 

“No,” she whispered.

Tall and resolute, he watched her. “You can leave, Katy, I’ll see you to that ship, or I can punish you, but it’ll be one or the other. I cannot have you going behind my back, countermanding me. You are mine, or you leave. This is your last chance to choose.”

“I do not want to leave.”
Leave Ireland. Leave you.

“Then come here.”

“No!” Fear flushed through her. Her hands closed around the post at the corner of the bed. “What if…what if I marry you?”
 

The words, flung in desperation, finally stopped his advance. His eyebrows lifted. “Now? You’ll marry me
now
?”

“Yes!” It was all an outbreath. “Yes. Yes. Yes.” She tried to say yes as many times as she’d said no, which was a great many times. They all hung in the air.

“
D’accord
,” he murmured slowly.

“Oh, good,” she breathed, relief washing through her. She let go of the bedpost, her muscles relaxing.
 

His hand stayed out.
 

She went to him, and when she was close enough, he tugged her the rest of the way over and kissed her. It was a slow, lingering kiss. A kiss of consummation, a kiss of devoted union, and she felt the adoration coursing through it. Her hands twined around his shoulders, pulling him down to her mouth, until she was breathless from want.
 

He began tugging up her chemise. His mouth drifted to her ear. “Let’s get this over with, Katy.”

She froze. “What?”
 

“I’m going to punish you.”
 

“No…but I thought…”

His pale blue eyes held hers. “Thought what?”

She backed up. “I said…said I’d marry you.”

“So you did. And I’m very pleased. I’ll make you happy, I swear it. And that is all for later. Right now, you need to lie down over my knee.”

She backed up another step.

His eyes were dark with intent. He meant to do this, whether or not she wished it. Her breath staggered out in unsteady gasps.
 

“You don’t want me to have to come and get you, lass.”

Head bent, face flaming, she took an extremely small step his direction and peeked out from under lowered lashes. He’d sat down on the edge of the bed.

Bolts of cold fire lanced across her breasts. Her breath came faster and faster as she reached out and laid her hand in his.

He pulled her to stand before him.

Her breasts heaved. They felt full, trapped. He cupped one, his hand hot through the fabric, then he slid his palm down to her waist. His fingertips pinched her chemise.

“Pull it up.”

She pulled it as far as her knees, trembling.
 

“Come closer.”

She did, at once stunned and stupefied. Her body felt as if it would float right up out of the window. He took her fingers, kissed her knuckles. “Lie down.”

She started to lie on the bed, but he stopped her. He patted his thighs. “On me. On your belly, lass. Right here.”

Fire flared across her cheeks. “Oh,
Aodh
.”

He took her hand and made her bend her knees, drop to the floor, then tugged her forward to lay her body over his thighs.

Thundering heart, whirling head, blood firing in hot pulses. The room all but spun. Hard-muscled thighs pushed against her breasts. She stared ahead at the wall, the tiny decorations of swirling patterns, hearts and clubs. He rested one palm gently on her bottom. Through the thin linen shift, it was an imprint of heat. She made a tiny sound.

“Pull it up.”

Her body jolted. She reached down for the thin fabric and tugged the chemise the rest of the way up, baring herself to the hips. “Don’t hurt me,” she whispered.