Faerie Fate (15 page)

Becca dutifully
checked all of her patients. Despite the hard ride, most of them fared well.
She avoided the two horses that brought up the end of the column. She couldn’t
look at their burdens without tears. Riordan sat down beside her and cocked his
head.

“Why such a woeful
face, cailín?” he teased. A glib retort about his cousin’s constant state of
arousal died as something in her expression stayed his tongue. He waited for
her reply.

Becca inclined her
head toward the two horses carrying their grisly cargo. “Did they have
families?”

This was the last
subject Riordan expected to be discussing with her. She never ceased to amaze
him. What a lucky man Ciaran was. “Nay, Becca,” he replied. “Manus was near
sixty, and his wife died years ago. Padruig was not much more than a lad.”

“Then he has a
mother who weeps for him?” she asked, unwilling to let it go.

Riordan shook his
head. “An orphan.”

“Then I’ll weep for
him when the time comes.”

Niall and Taidhg
helped Ciaran to the fire. He sank to the grass beside Becca, concerned with
the melancholy face she wore.

“What troubles you,
dearest heart?” he asked before Riordan could warn him.

Becca turned
tear-filled eyes to him. “Why do men have to be so stupid?” A little sob not
much more than a hiccup escaped.

Riordan figured
Ciaran’s infamous temper was about to take away his good sense. He grimaced
when Becca beat his cousin to the punch.

“Cows. This whole
bloody war was over a couple of cows,” she raged.

“Well,
’
twas
more than a couple, cailín.” Ciaran spoke before Niall’s warning cough cut him
off.

“You don’t get an
old man and a boy killed over cows.” Her blue eyes flashed angrily, and she
balled up her fists. “The whole bloody countryside is covered with the fat
buggers. You’d think there’d be enough to go around. But, no. Some idiot of a
man decides he has to steal a handful. And some other idiot decides he has to
retaliate. So all the idiot men go fight a war over nothing but leather and
meat.”

“Cailín,
’
tisn’t
right to be calling the king an idiot.” Ciaran’s tone remained reasonable. “And
there was more to it than the cows.”

“Oh, yeah,” Becca
spat. “I can just imagine. I’m sure the king’s honor was royally impugned
because an O’Brien was presumptuous enough to steal O’Conor cows.”

Ciaran’s nose
flared, and his lips clamped into a grim line. Honor was a very sensitive
subject with him, because he valued it beyond all else. In fact, the clann’s
motto was
Honor and Virtue
. His
father had been without honor. As a result, Ciaran vowed his honor would always
come first.

Riordan and Niall
surrendered and wisely backed away. Becca’s tears dried. Red-faced, Ciaran
clinched his fists so tight his knuckles turned white. Discretion being the
better part of valor, the two men turned, but didn’t quite run.

“To impugn the
O’Conor’s honor is to impugn mine.” The words came out in a growl all the more
menacing for being quiet. Ciaran’s eyes glinted like winter ice.

“And to bury boys
and old men over cows is a pointless exercise in male egotism.” Becca’s eyes
narrowed, fire flashing in their blue depths.

Ciaran’s stormy
indigo eyes stared into Becca’s fiery cerulean ones. Even though he was fuming,
he noticed her eyes were the exact color of the stone in the center of the
MacDermot Knot she wore on her mantle. A voice stirred to life in his head, a
soft, whispery voice that sighed like a dying breeze. He didn’t remember giving
Becca the Knot, though it felt right that he had. She was still furious, and he
suddenly saw the situation from her point of view. Despite the fact she’d killed
more than her share of O’Briens, she’d done so to protect him and his, not for
honor or glory. Women lived with the results of war—death, injury, hunger.
Women buried the dead, nursed the wounded, and managed to feed their families
when food was not to be found. Of course they would view war through different
eyes. To men, it was all about honor. And glory. It was about victory, and in
some cases, defeat.

Rather than
retorting something that would further antagonize her, Ciaran reached over to
caress her cheek. As his palm cupped her jaw, Becca tilted her head so that her
cheek rested against his fingers. Her eyes closed, and when they opened, their
color had gone soft with gentle golden swirls dancing in their azure depths.
Ciaran bent his head to kiss her, and she leaned into him.

“Ah, love of my
heart,” he sighed. “May there always be such heat and passion between us.”

His lips nibbled her
full bottom lip, teasing and pulling. Then his mouth moved down to her chin,
and his lips and tongue traced the curve of her jaw line until it met her ear.
Ciaran smiled when he tasted the silky skin where her jaw met her throat. The
spot was as soft and smooth as he’d thought it would be that long ago day when
he’d looked up as she stood at the top of the stairs.

Ciaran’s arms stole
around her, and he felt her relax into his embrace. His heart was so full he
thought it might explode. He’d never felt so protective of or so tender about
any living thing. Just when he was at his mushiest, she took the upper hand.
Ciaran burst out laughing when she muttered into his hair, “It was still stupid
to fight over a bunch of bloody cows.”

Ah, he feared his
Becca would always demand the last word. And, as Ciaran thought about it, he
wasn’t sure he’d have it any other way.

Chapter Eleven

Becca guessed they
were still a mile away from the castle when Ciaran called a halt and insisted
he’d ride the rest of the way. She clucked over what she considered to be one
more example of masculine pig-headedness, along with an unhealthy dose of
superfluous male egotism. Her anger seethed at the unnecessary deaths and
injuries to the men of the troop and bubbled just below the surface since
they’d mounted up after the dinner break. She wasn’t mad at Ciaran or the men
of Ailfenn in particular, just men in general.

She rode quietly in
the middle of the column, her back ramrod straight. Taidhg watched her for a
long moment before nudging his horse closer to hers. He would brave her tongue.
“He is
An Taoiseac.
” At his quiet reminder, she opened her mouth but he
held up a hand to silence her retort. “He does what he must, mistress, not what
he wants. He must put the needs and wants of his people above his own.” They
rode knee to knee for a short space before Taidhg continued. “He is a good man,
mistress, and one who will love and protect you above all others, but he is
An
Taoiseac,
and with that title come many duties a lesser man would find
burdensome.”

“It’s not fair,
Taidhg,” Becca hissed. She kept her voice low.

Before Taidhg could
reprimand her, the moon came out from behind a cloud. Tears glistened in her
eyes, and a look of such compassion suffused her face. He thought his own heart
might break. He’d misjudged the cailín, and not for the first time. Nor for the
last, he suspected. She was turning out to be more than a fair match for the
MacDermot.

As they neared the
first crofters’ huts, a river of torches flowed out to meet them. Becca rode in
the middle of the column with some of the wounded. Ciaran was at the head,
flanked on his right by Niall and on his left by Riordan. All three men rode
tall and straight in their saddles. Becca knew how grueling this journey had
been, and the sight of their proud bearing gave her pause. She’d picked the
fight with Ciaran earlier because she was tired, frustrated, and just plain out
of sorts. Her abdomen cramped and ached with each step Arien took, and she
blamed it on Ciaran’s wound. The men looked regal as they led the troop home to
Ailfenn.

The column pushed
its way through the growing crowd and entered the gate to the keep itself. Men
came to lead the wounded soldiers’ horses to the barracks where the injured
were taken inside. Stableboys collected the horses and took them to the stables
for a rubdown, water, and grain. People crowded around the rest, cheering and
treating them like returning heroes.

Becca turned Arien
toward the stable and wasn’t too surprised when Eachan himself appeared. The
big horse master lifted her to the ground. “I’ll take care of the beastie,
m’self,” he told her. “Git along with yee, cailín. Yer fair worn out and all
but asleep as yee stand here. Off to bed with yee.”

Too tired to
protest, Eachan’s order made perfect sense. Becca skirted the main part of the
crowd and stumbled inside to the great hall. Now that she was home, a great weariness
settled on her. She no longer cared even about a hot bath. She wanted only to
find a soft bed, throw herself onto it, and sleep for that week she’d promised
herself. All but asleep on her feet, she wearily navigated the stairs and
hallway to the chamber she shared with Ciaran. She’d inhabited the room alone
for so long, and she was so tired, she’d even forgotten it was his.

Alone in the
chamber, Becca kicked off her boots and stripped out of her trews. The insides
of her thighs felt raw from days in the saddle. Then she got a whiff of her
shirt and peeled it off. Stumbling to the wardrobe, she pulled out one of
Ciaran’s shirts and slipped it over her head. The soft garment covered all the
pertinent parts and, as she knew from previous experience, fit quite nicely to
sleep in. She didn’t even bother blowing out the candle. She just crawled
beneath the covers and was sound asleep as her head touched the pillow.

****

After greeting
Niall, Siobhan stopped by the barracks to check on the wounded. Becca had
nursed them well. Knowing there’d be a celebration, she settled the injured
solders as quickly as possible. She’d just finished checking the last man when
Niall reappeared and asked her to look at Ciaran’s wound.

“Where’s Becca?”
Siobhan asked her mate. “I thought she’d be looking after him.”

Niall shrugged. “We
rode in the lead, and she stayed back with the wounded. I thought to find her
here, but found you instead. She’s not with Ciaran.”

Siobhan’s brow
furrowed even as her eyes widened in alarm. “Where is Taidhg? Or Riordan?
Mayhaps they know where she is.”

They hurried back to
the castle where they found both Taidhg and Riordan, but when asked, neither
had any idea of Becca’s location. Ciaran sat at the head of the table as mugs
of ale were passed around, but his gaze restlessly combed the room as if he
looked for her, too. When Eachan came in from the stables, Siobhan questioned
him, and he mentioned he’d sent Becca to bed.

Just to make sure,
Siobhan slipped up the stairs to check. She found Becca sleeping peacefully in
Ciaran’s bed, right where she belonged. Smiling, the older woman pulled the
door shut. It was after midnight, and the whole castle needed to be abed.

Skipping down the
stairs, she found Niall and told him Becca was upstairs asleep, and that’s
where they should be as well. She tossed a saucy grin over her shoulder as she
sashayed away from him, the invitation unmistakable in the sway of her hips.

Niall yawned loudly,
announcing to Ciaran he was done in and going to bed.

Grateful to his second-in-command
for breaking up the celebration, Ciaran stood slowly. He’d never felt so tired
in all his life. He glanced around, unable to find Riordan. He suspected his
cousin had already slipped off with a willing cailín. As the other men drifted
out with their wives and sweethearts, Niall waited for him at the base of the
stone steps. Before he could ask, the man smiled at him.

“She’s upstairs
asleep, Ciaran.” Niall explained as they climbed the stairs together. “Eachan
took Arien from her and sent her on to bed.”

Ciaran nodded,
almost too tired to speak. Niall left him at his room. Ciaran pushed through
the door, sighing at the vision greeting him. Becca’s hair was strewn across
the pillows like a golden web. Silver lights danced in its strands as the candles
flared in the draft from the open door. He grew hard and heavy with wanting
her, but he was too tired, and his body too sore to do anything about it.
Quietly, he stripped out of his clothes. Pulling back the bedcovers, he stared
at her, charmed that she’d donned one of his shirts to sleep in. Then he saw
the pool of bright red blood beneath her hips.

“Siobhan!” Ciaran’s
panicked voice rang through the castle. “Siobhan, come now!”

Niall and Siobhan
leaped out of bed. She quickly pulled a shift over her head and grabbed a
mantle to toss around her shoulders. Niall pulled on a pair of trews and
nothing else. They charged toward Ciaran’s room.

Ciaran sat on the
edge of the bed cradling Becca on his lap, crooning nonsense words to her as he
rocked back and forth. The poor girl looked completely done in, but vainly
tried to wake up enough to comfort Ciaran.

Siobhan noticed the
bloodstain on the sheets and on the hem of the shirt Becca wore. “
’
Tis
your time of the moon.” Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact.

Becca blinked
owlishly for a minute before figuring out what Siobhan meant. Her eyes widened.
“My period? I haven’t had one in over ten years, Siobhan.” Too late, she
noticed Siobhan’s cocked eyebrow and realized what she’d said. “Oh, my god, I
am so embarrassed.” Becca groaned. This was worse than the nightmare every
teenage girl had. The one where she wore white pants on a first date with the
hottest boy in school, only to have her period arrive and ruin the whole
evening.

Ciaran had the good
graces to look slightly embarrassed as well. “
’
Tis so much blood,” he
muttered. “I dinnit know a cailín could lose so much.”

Becca groaned again,
partly in mortification, partly in pain. No wonder she’d had cramps for the
last two days. Well, tampons were definitely out of the question, which led her
to the next one, and it was one she didn’t want to ask in front of the men.

“Niall, off to bed
with yee,” Siobhan ordered. “I’ll be along shortly to warm yer feet.
Taoiseac
,
the cailín isn’t dyin’ so let her be and go find something to do with yerself
for a few minutes while we tidy up in here.”

Reluctantly, Ciaran
set Becca on her feet and stood. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Becca’s cheeks
burned. “Ciaran, puh-lease.” The look she gave him pleaded for privacy.

Ciaran shuffled out
of the room, dragging his feet the entire way. Siobhan shut the door behind
him, and Becca turned to her, panicked.

“What do I do,
Siobhan?” She gulped. “Let me rephrase that. I know what to do, at least in my
time. I just don’t know what women
here
do when their time of the month
comes. And while we’re on the subject, what about underwear?”

“Underwear?” Siobhan
tried out the unfamiliar word.

“Yeah, you know.
Panties. Pantaloons. Knickers. Things you wear here...” She gestured at her
midsection. “...that cover your front and rear and keep a cold breeze from
blowing up your skirt?”

“Ah, I think I
understand. The first problem I can take care of. The second thing you
describe... I’ll have one of the seamstresses come up tomorrow, and you can
describe such a thing to her. If it is important to you, she will make you
some... What did you call them?”

“Oh never mind.
Let’s just deal with the problem at hand.”

Siobhan slipped out
of the room and came back a few minutes later with a bundle she opened up on
the bed. Inside was a piece of material that looked suspiciously like a thong
and a stack of things that looked a lot like feminine napkins, made from
rolled-up rags. Becca figured they weren’t disposable, but at the moment, she
didn’t care. The older woman helped her into the thong contraption and then
into a clean shift. Together they stripped the bed. A sleepy maid appeared with
fresh coverings and retrieved the soiled ones, along with the dirty clothes
strewn about the room. They’d just finished with the bed when someone softly
tapped on the door.

“Can I come in,
cailín?” Ciaran’s voice beseeched.

Becca was still
mortified by the situation, but Siobhan didn’t give her time to dwell on it.

“Aye,
Taoiseac
,
yee can come in,” the older woman called. “I’ll send up a warm stone if your
tummy still hurts,” she told Becca.

Becca shook her
head, staring at her toes. The door creaked, and the latch dropped into place.
She and Ciaran were alone.

He put his finger
under her chin and tilted her head up so she would have to look at him. “
’
Tis
all right, cailín. I’ve not been around womanly things much, and it took me by
surprise.”

Becca started to
giggle. She hadn’t been around womanly things much, either, and it had more
than taken her by surprise. There were
some
advantages to being old, she
decided. Her giggles threatened to become hysterical, and Ciaran’s temper
flared. How could she explain that she wasn’t laughing
at
him but
with
him, especially since he wasn’t laughing? The combination of being
punch-drunk tired, and the shock of the last two months, finally caught up to
her. A huge yawn choked off her giggles. She gazed up at him through drooping
lids as her arms crept around his neck. She snuggled her check into the hollow
where his chest met his shoulder. “I just want to sleep for a week, Ciaran,”
she murmured. “Is that okay?”

Without waiting for
his reply, she turned away from him to climb into bed. Before she could, Ciaran
scooped her into his arms and carried her. He laid her down gently and then
crawled in beside her.

“If I can have you
in my arms for the whole time, I, too, would like to sleep a week,” he murmured
into her hair. “Though I must say, I much prefer you in one of my shirts if you
have to wear anything at all.” He kissed her gently, almost reverently, and
spooned up to her back. Her head rested on one of his thick biceps, and his
other arm encircled her waist. “Good night, love of my heart.”

Becca sighed as his
comforting warmth surrounded her.
Love of my heart
. Twice he’d called
her that. She could get used to hearing him say those words every night. She
thought she’d answered him with “I love you, too,” but she was so tired, she
wasn’t sure the words came out.

The sun climbed to
midday before she stirred. Ciaran still slept heavily, so she carefully
disentangled herself and made her way to the garderobe. She was tempted to
throw everything down one of the holes but found a covered bucket in one corner
filled with cold water.
Convenient,
Becca decided.

Becca returned to
Ciaran’s chamber, but no guard curled on a pallet beside the door. With the
lord of the manor sleeping in her room she supposed a bodyguard was no longer
necessary. As much as she had chafed under his stewardship, she would miss
Taidhg.