“Soon, children,” chided Agnes.
They were giving the horses a rest, and had been walking for what seemed like hours. Aileen stopped to rub the knot that had formed in her back. It didn’t help much that she was sleeping on the ground, too.
One little girl plunked down rubbing her calve. “My leg hurts.”
“Whist,” said Agnes in a gentle tone.
“Here, let me see if I can help.” Aileen stooped down beside the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Cora,” she whimpered.
She gave her a smile taking the young girl’s leg into her hands. Drawing in long, deep breaths to slow her heart, Aileen let the energy of healing start to flow out from her hands, and into the leg. Massaging the muscle, she concentrated on the silvery light she always saw when the healing process would begin.
“Oh, Lady Aileen, that feels verra warm.”
Keeping her eyes closed, Aileen nodded slowly, letting the last of the energy surge through. Gradually, she opened her eyes, patting the leg gently. “There now. I think you’ll be feeling much better. Why don’t you stand and walk.”
“Oh thank ye,” she beamed, throwing her arms around Aileen in a hug.
Agnes’s eyes were wide when she exclaimed, “Your eyes, Lady Aileen!” She gently touched Aileen’s face, whispering, “They are so pale.”
“They’ll be fine.” She gave her a reassuring smile as she stepped aside.
Moving swiftly past the chattering children, Aileen tried to distance herself for a moment. Even though the healing was minor, it still left her drained. Stirrings of something skittered across her senses, and looking up she saw the source.
Her heart started beating faster. She hadn’t seen Stephen for several days, which was just fine by her. He made her
feel
emotions she could not explain.
Yet, there he stood watching her—he the hunter, and she his prey.
And this prey wanted to be captured.
She couldn’t take her gaze from his. He stepped forth from the shadow of the tree, his horse following closely.
By the Gods!
He wore only his plaid wrapped around his waist and over his shoulder. Tattoos adorned his upper arms.
Aileen wasn’t aware of her feet moving, until she stood directly in front of him. Now, she noticed the tail of a dragon wrapped around his left forearm, and on his right rested the head of the dragon. Her fingers itched to trace their path.
He reminded her of Adonis and Aengus Og, Gods of love, strength,
desire
...
“Thank ye, for taking care of the wee lass,” he said hoarsely.
“Huh? Oh, it was nothing,” she murmured, snapping her gaze from his gorgeous forearms to his face.
Then he smiled fully at her, showing his dimples. She wanted to take her lips and taste them. Reaching out with her hand, she was inches from his face, when he grasped it.
In one swift move, he lowered his mouth across her fingers, while keeping his eyes level with hers. She could feel his soft warm lips, mixed with the stubble of his beard. Waves of pleasure shot through her body, and to her very core. Instantly, he dropped her hand leaving her wanting so much more.
Aileen’s mouth dropped, as he sauntered away still smiling. Trembling, she clutched her hand against her chest.
Confusion and desire both raged a war within her.
****
By the hounds! What was he thinking? Nae, that was the problem, he
wasn’t
thinking.
He had observed her healing of the young lass, ready to turn away. Then, she came walking over to him. He became beguiled with her tresses that caught the sunlight, and eyes that even from a distance, shimmered. Her skin tasted of wildflowers and the sea. And Stephen wanted more. He brushed his hand lightly over his mouth savoring her taste.
Something nudged him from behind, and he let out a long sigh.
“I give ye this time to rest, and ye are following me like some doe-eyed lass.”
Grian gave a loud snort.
Grabbing his muzzle, he gave him a firm pat. “Do not complain later.” Climbing atop, Stephen glanced about at the small band of travelers. With any luck, they would reach Finlow by evening.
Donal came quickly riding up to him. “We have a visitor. Cannot tell who it is.”
“Get the women and children behind that set of rocks. I’ll wait here.”
Ian came running forth, skidding to a halt before them.
“Bloody hell, Ian! Where have ye been?” barked Stephen.
“I was on the boulder with Brian as lookout,” the lad blurted out and then added, “The rider is Seamus.”
Stephen’s jaw clenched. Damn the lad was defiant.
“Did I not ask ye to stay with the other children?” It was the first time since he had encountered the lad that his shoulders slumped.
“Answer Sir Stephen,” said a stern Donal.
“Aye, ye did,” he muttered grudgingly.
“If ye are to become a druid and a
warrior
”—Ian’s head snapped up—“then ye must learn to follow orders,” said Stephen.
Ian’s eyes shone brightly. “Thank ye, Sir Stephen, for reminding me of my quest.”
Again, he was taken aback at Ian’s words—the druid, warrior, and young lad all battling for control in one body.
“Go see to the others,” scolded Donal.
Seamus came in riding hard, and the look on his face told Stephen all he needed to know. Trouble rode not far behind.
“We need to press forward,” grunted Seamus, dismounting from his horse.
Stephen frowned. “Aye, we’ll be at Finlow by night.” Grabbing his shoulder, he asked, “What is it? More burnings?”
“Nae, worse.”
What could possibly be worse? “Tell us.”
“The bishop has sent Lachlan and a group of men to bring back the villagers.”
“How many?” demanded Donal.
“Ten of the bishop’s guards.”
Stephen laughed. “We can take on ten guards.” He noticed Seamus shaking his head. “More?”
“Aye, Lachlan has men following his group. I do not believe they know they are being followed.”
“Lugh’s balls!” Donal spat out.
“Aye,” said Seamus. “There’s more.”
“
More
?” Stephen croaked, beginning to hate the word.
“If he does not return with them, the bishop has given Lachlan permission to burn everyone.”
“Who the bloody hell
is
this Lachlan?” Donal asked.
“Lachlan was once a feared and respected druid,” replied Osgar, approaching from the trees.
Stephen whipped his head around. “I thought him
dead
.”
Osgar shook his head in agreement. “We all did. Currently, he seems to have the ear of the bishop. Disturbing.”
“Then we cannot stay long in Finlow. We must reach the gathering, and seek out Cathal.” Stephen turned toward Seamus. “Where are they now?”
The messenger rubbed the back of his neck in thought. “They were riding up the coast, but when I saw Lachlan talking to one of his men, they turned toward your direction. We have two, perhaps three days on them.”
Stephen turned to Donal. “When we reach Finlow, see to more horses. We will need as many as we can get for the children and women. They won’t be happy, but we will have to leave on the morrow for Grenlee through the pass.”
“The gathering?” asked Seamus.
Osgar chuckled. “The bonfires of Beltaine might be their undoing with so many of us.”
Stephen eyed him skeptically. “Are ye planning on joining the feasting, Osgar?”
“Of course,” he replied, smacking Stephen on the back.
The other two men started laughing, leaving Stephen stunned and speechless. Shaking his head, he mounted Grian.
“I’ll take some food and rest, before I set back out in the morning,” Seamus said.
Stephen gave him a curt nod, and with a prod to his horse, he took off. He squinted at the sun, trying to put Osgar’s words out of his mind.
A long time ago, Beltaine was his favorite feast day. It brought back vivid memories of laughter and gaiety. He could see his sister gathering all her brightly colored ribbons for the maypole and his brothers fighting over the comely lasses.
His chest seized on the recollections. Trying with all of his might, he squashed back those memories. His hands clenched hard around the reins, and making a silent vow, Stephen knew he would not be among the feasting.
It was no longer a part of him.
Chapter Eighteen
“The Dragon wrapped her wings around the lovers, so they may never know pain again.”
Rain showers greeted them on their second day after leaving Finlow. The air was much cooler as they ascended farther into the hills. Aileen huddled deeply into her coat, thankful it was at least fur-lined. Earlier in the morning, Betha had braided her hair, weaving it around her head.
Stephen had kept their pace steady, only stopping briefly to tend to personal needs or grab a quick bite of cheese and bread. She was amazed at how the children showed such relentless strength; not a one uttered a complaint. So when her thighs were burning by yesterday evening, she had to hold back a harsh reply to their leader when he spied her limping. He actually had the gall to ask if there was a problem.
“He probably thinks I’m a burden,” she lamented in a hushed tone. “Sheesh, why do I care?”
Her horse snickered at her comments as if in understanding.
“Now Buttercup or whatever your name is, I would appreciate if you wouldn’t take offense to my conversation.”
“Ah, I see ye have taken a fancy to Buttertwill,” said Osgar trotting up beside her.
She rolled her eyes and smiled. “So, it’s Buttertwill, and here I’ve been calling her
Buttercup
.”
“It’s no wonder she has not balked, then. I believe she likes ye.”
“What?”
Osgar laughed softly. “She must have found a kindred spirit, for she’s a feisty, quiet lady.”
Aileen gave him a sidelong glance. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.”
“I would never insult one of the
fae
, Lady Aileen.”
Now it was her turn to laugh.
“Come seek me out by the fires tonight, and I’ll give ye salve to help with the stiffness in your legs.”
“Thank you, I will, Osgar, or should I call you
Brother
Osgar?”
He let out a long audible breath. “Osgar will do. I am still pondering on the fate of returning to the abbey.”
“We all seem to be at the crossroads of our lives.”
Osgar arched a questioning brow at her. “Aye, and ye have been speaking to our young Ian.”
“His wisdom does seem to brush off when one has a conversation with him,” she said, looking about to where he rode just ahead of them.
Laughter peeled forth from Ian. He had caught sight of two brown otters playing, and their splashing caused not only his outburst, but one from the rest of the children as well.
Aileen glanced at Osgar, who in turn started to laugh, easing some of her pain as well as thoughts of being in the thirteenth century.
They moved along a narrow path running parallel to the river with the water cascading downward in the opposite direction. The rain had turned to a light mist and the gray light a perfect silhouette against the drenched trees. It seemed they were headed to a grove above the water for the night.
Pine limbs slapped at her, as her horse trudged through the mud and leaves making its way upward. Each evening it was the same—find a safe location tucked away from prying eyes.
Aileen watched as the men started to dismount, helping the women and children. Not really needing any help, she slowly lowered herself from Buttertwill, when stabbing pains clutched her thighs and lower back. “Ouch!” She grimaced, collapsing onto the ground.
“Lady Aileen,” gasped Osgar. “Here, let me help ye.”
Waves of pain took over, and she shook her head staying him with her hand. “Let me just rest for a moment,” she breathed out.
“I’ll go fetch some help.”
Before she could stop him, he was gone.
When she opened her eyes, all she saw were the large muscular legs of the man in front of her. Aileen didn’t need to look up to know who they belonged to.
Blast Osgar
! She certainly didn’t want Stephen’s help.
Turning her head away, she muttered, “I’m fine, really.”
Aileen gritted her teeth, and prayed he would just go away. Instead, she felt herself lifted into his massive arms. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their eyes locked, and that’s when she noticed his eyes scanning her face. His lips parted briefly, as his head bent down to hers. He was going to kiss her, and she was going to let him.
So very close...
“Ye can bring Lady Aileen this way. I’ve got some salve for her legs,” interrupted Osgar.
Stephen frowned, his handsome face suddenly solemn. “Lead the way.”
For some unfathomable reason, Aileen felt disheartened. She’d truly wanted him to kiss her. Peering at him from a sidelong glance, she noticed a muscle twitching in his neck. His face showed several days growth of a beard, which only added more to his already striking features. Then she wondered why in the thirteenth century he would keep his hair short?
At that moment, Aileen wanted to be bold. What was the word he called her?
Brazen
?
“Stephen?” she whispered.
He didn’t even look at her when he answered, “Aye?”
Be brazen, Aileen.
“Why do you keep your hair cut close to your head?”
Stephen came to an abrupt halt. The look he gave her was one of disbelief. “
My hair
?” he croaked out.
“Yep.”
Placing her down gently, Stephen absently ran his hand through his short locks and eyed her skeptically.
Aileen rubbed her upper thighs, still feeling a bit shaky. She waited patiently for his answer, until she heard the sharp intake of his breath. He was watching her hands moving up and down on her legs. Heat infused her cheeks.
Brazen no more, she quickly turned and stumbled away.
He was at her side in two strides, halting her path. “I have always kept my hair short. It is easier in battle and when I am in the water. I was often chided by my brothers for doing so.”
She gave him a huge smile. “I like it.”
“Och, there ye are, Lady Aileen,” blurted out Osgar. “Come, I have a small fire going.”