Faerie Fate (16 page)

Ciaran still slept
as she slipped back into the room. Had he been awake she could summon Siobhan
for a bath. Becca really wanted a bath. She also really wanted food—real food,
served on a trencher at a table, not a bite of journey cake and dried meat
eaten in the saddle or huddled around a small fire. Jerky was fine as a snack
but not to live on for any length of time, and she’d been living on it for way
too long.

The castle hummed
with life. Even through the thick walls, she was attuned to its rhythm. Food
was being served in the great hall, folks went about their daily chores, and
life returned to normal now the troops were home.
Home.
Becca’s thoughts
lingered on that word. She felt like she’d come home. This
when
still
felt strange, like wearing someone else’s clothes. There were times when she reacted
as if she were fifty, but her heart and her soul found the peace and happiness
she’d never had before. She shied away from the bad memories of this
when
—of
Ciaran lying mortally wounded, of fighting back-to-back with Taidhg, of the
long ride home. Instead, she gazed at the man sleeping in the bed that still
showed the outline of her own body.

What a magnificent
man he is
. Tall,
broad-shouldered, strong. Becca could run her finger over the hills and valleys
of his chest and abdomen and count every muscle group. Indigo highlights danced
in his jet-black hair when the sun got caught in its ebony web. His stormy blue
eyes, often turbulent like the North Sea, turned soft and gentle like the high
mountain lake at her grandfather’s ranch in Colorado when he looked at her. He
did have a temper, but Becca decided there was a bit of fun to be had in
provoking it. The only reason to fight was to have an excuse to make up. Making
up with him would be delicious.

Ciaran was lying on
his back, and Becca decided to take the opportunity to check his wound.
Someone, most likely Siobhan, had cleaned and bandaged it when the troop
arrived last night. Becca had been too worn out, and then with the arrival of
that
womanly thing
... She blushed from head to toe just thinking about
the scene last night. Now, she wanted to see for herself how Ciaran fared.

Carefully, she
pulled back the covers, no longer surprised to find him naked beneath them. The
poultice Siobhan had applied the night before was now askew so Becca peeled it
off, carefully avoiding all contact with or looking at his manhood. Ciaran
stirred, and Becca held her breath. He settled down and started snoring, a soft
buzz saw of a sound. Becca suspected all the alcohol she’d poured into his
system over the last week had finally caught up to him.

The wound was
healing from the inside out, as it should. It was no longer draining, and the
angry, puckered skin around it looked pink and healthy. Siobhan had left an
array of tins and boxes on the table by the hearth along with some bandages.
Becca dug around for what she needed and applied a new poultice and bandage to
Ciaran’s side.

Finished, she just
stood there staring at him. He was undoubtedly the most beautiful male specimen
she had ever encountered in her entire lifetime.
Times,
she amended.
Lifetimes.
Her stomach knotted up, and she cursed the fact it was her time of the month.
Even though she could stand there gaping at his magnificent maleness, she was
still incredibly shy about her own femaleness.

“Dinnit anyone ever tell
yee, cailín,
’
tis rude to stare?” he growled at her, his eyes still
closed.

“You’re supposed to
be asleep,” she scolded.

“You’re the one who
said she wanted to sleep for a week,” he reminded, quirking one brow and the
corner of his mouth. “I only agreed if yee would stay in my arms for that
length of time.” He shrugged and made of cradle of his arms. “Since yer no
longer in my arms...” His voice trailed off, and he grinned up at her
impudently.

“Female
prerogative,” Becca replied. She lifted her chin as her mouth formed a moue
like she’d bitten into a tart berry. “I changed my mind, and I’ve decided I
want a bath.”

Ciaran’s suggestive
gaze swept her from head to toe, and Becca felt her blush to the very roots of
her hair.

“Aye, I could do
with a bath myself,” he suggested with a wicked grin.

“I am not going to
bathe with you,” Becca asserted.
At least not until my period is gone.

“Yee need to get
over this inordinate shyness yee have, cailín. I’ve seen yer body,” he drawled.
“All of it. And
’
tis something to be proud of.” He grinned lasciviously
and added, “Especially since I’m the only man who will ever be seeing it.”

Becca’s face grew
hot again. “It’s not that,” she stammered. “It’s that
womanly
thing.”
Ha,
so there!
She gloated when his cheeks turned red. She had him there.

Ciaran shuddered,
remembering the shock of finding her lying in so much blood last night. From
the age of six, he’d been raised in the barracks with Niall and the soldiers.
He knew absolutely nothing about female things and decided he didn’t really
want to learn. He’d grown hard under her scrutiny and though she now studiously
avoided looking at his midsection, he suspected that part of his anatomy
fascinated her. He remembered all too well the feel of her lips on him back at
the encampment.

His body raged at
him, demanding he take her right then, but his brain wondered if there was some
sort of taboo or ban about making love when a woman...well, had her womanly
thing. He watched her face looking for a hint of her feelings. She wanted him,
he was certain, but her shyness about her body kept her from fully realizing
her need for him. He could live with that, at least until this
thing
went away. He wanted to love Becca, love her truly and fully, wanted to bring
her every pleasure he’d learned, and some he might even invent. Her bashfulness
prevented her from fully participating with both mind and body. His own healing
body would keep him from being a full participant. Aye, he could wait. He’d
waited thirty years for her. What would another week mean?

Chapter Twelve

Ciaran waited for
the tub and hot water to arrive. He balked as the women shooed him out. He
exhaled, an exaggerated sigh so deep, his chest rose and fell. He plastered a
look akin to a kicked puppy on his face in an attempt to look pitiful. Even
though she wouldn’t allow him in the tub with her, she could have at least let
him stay and watch. Becca had the audacity to laugh at the suggestion, so he
went in search of Niall and Riordan, hoping they would commiserate with him.

Both men were at the
table in the great hall and in fine fettle. Niall politely inquired after
Becca, with no mention of the night’s escapade. Riordan was smart enough to
follow the older man’s lead. He, too, had heard his cousin bellowing in the
night, but wisely made discreet inquiry before putting his boot squarely in his
mouth. Riordan had enjoyed the company of a comely cailín last night, so he
felt a great deal of sympathy for Ciaran.

A trencher of food
appeared in front of Ciaran, and he took several bites before broaching a
subject that had nagged at him the whole way back from southern Connaught.

“Your brother died
without issue,” he told Niall without preamble.

Niall ducked his
head. Ciaran had overheard the entire confrontation with King Conchobhar. “
’
Twas
the first thing that came into my head,” he dissembled. Like Ciaran, he’d been
concerned when no one looked for the cailín. If she were truly without clann or
sept, Niall would happily adopt her.

“What happens if
someone claims her?” Ciaran kept his voice low so no one but Niall and Riordan
could hear him.

“We’ll deal with it
if it happens,” Riordan interjected, supremely confident the MacDermots could
handle whatever arose.

Ciaran glared at
Niall. “Yee put yourself in danger with that claim.” The words came out as a
low growl.

Niall shrugged. He
wasn’t worried. “She belongs to Clann MacDermot. All of us. There isn’t a man
here who won’t fight to keep her.”

“I will not lose
yee,” Ciaran promised.

“And yee shall not
lose her,” Niall swore.

Outside, thunder
boomed and the skies opened up. Riordan shivered, hoping the gods weren’t
sending a message. He’d just about come to the same conclusion as Ciaran—that
Becca had been a gift from the faerie, and she could be snatched back just as
quickly as she’d come.

The week dragged,
raining every day, and keeping all close to the castle. Each night, Becca slept
in Ciaran’s arms, and each morning he kissed her awake. Each day, she prayed
the “curse” would be gone, and she could come to Ciaran to discover all the
passion he promised her with his gentle hands and lips. She grew accustomed to
seeing his hard body, and familiarity did not breed contempt, only a healthy
dose of lust. She chafed at the inactivity forced on her by the weather.

The sun finally
broke through the brooding clouds a week later. Ciaran and Riordan left early
that morning headed to one of the outlying crofts. A dispute had arisen between
the crofter and the tanner, and as clann chief, it was up the Ciaran to sort it
out.

Becca put on a plain
dress and tugged on a pair of trews underneath. She was not going to waste a
moment of the sunshine. She’d been stain-free that morning and couldn’t wait
for Ciaran’s return. Rather than fret all day, she decided to give Arien some
exercise. For some reason, Winken and Blinken had chosen to accompany Ciaran,
and Bhruic was the dog waiting for her in the great hall. Patting the big
animal’s head, she skipped out into the sunshine.

Eachan was nowhere
to be found, so she saddled Arien herself and led him out into the courtyard.
Bhruic barked, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth in a happy pant.
She stepped into the stirrup, swung her leg over, and settled into the saddle.
A stable boy appeared, and Becca called to him. “Tell your master I’m giving Arien
a run. I’ll be back before the nooning.”

The boy ducked his
chin in acknowledgement and hurried on about his assigned chores. Becca turned
Arien’s head toward the gate and nudged him with her heels. The guard at the
entry saluted her but didn’t ask where she was going. Arien trotted down the
road with Bhruic happily loping along beside him.

****

Two brawny men
hunkered down, trying to look small as they watched a herd of fat cattle
grazing in the meadow.

“Aye, ripe they are
for the taking,” the younger said. Short but broad, they bore more than a
passing resemblance to each other.

“And the MacDermot
laid up with a wound from fighting the O’Conor’s battles,” the older one
chuckled, his laughter an evil cackle. He licked his lips in anticipation.
“Them cows out here all alone and in need of protection from thieves.” He
snickered. “Why, we’d be doing him a favor to nick them back to Ballinfaire
where we can look after ‘em right proper.” He stood, thinking to round up the
cows.

One of the cows
lifted its head and looked off into the distance. Following the cow’s gaze, the
man swore and dropped back to his belly. “A rider comes,” he hissed, “with a
hound.”

“We’re goners for
sure,” the younger spat. “Can yee tell who it is?”

The older shook his
head and crawled toward the scant protection the nearby woods might afford.
Once they were under some semblance of cover, they watched the rider. They’d
stayed downwind of the herd, and hoped the dog would also stay upwind of them
where it couldn’t catch their scent.

“Bloody hell,” the
oldest swore. “
’
Tis a woman.” He scanned the area and then grinned
lasciviously. “And a woman alone to boot.”

“Wait,” the younger
cautioned, taking a good look at the rider. “By the gods, Darroch,
’
tis
Becca.”

“Can’t be,” the
older one growled at his brother. “She’s dead, Luthais.”

“Well,
’
tis
her for certain, and ridin’ one of the MacDermot’s best horses as bold as
brass,” Luthais asserted. The two exchanged worried looks. This was a wrinkle
they didn’t need and definitely didn’t want.

Becca’s excellent
sense of direction led directly to the long meadow where she’d met near
disaster before. Today, she wouldn’t veer off onto that woodland path. She
grinned.
At least not at a gallop.
She knew full well she would explore
the path eventually. The lush meadow spread in front of her, and fat cows
grazed chewing their cud, the quiet occasionally interrupted by their lowing
moos. Becca urged Arien into a slow canter, meaning to circle around the cows
without alarming them.

Today was a day to
be savored, to stretch it out and enjoy. She didn’t want to rush through it,
even though tonight would be glorious. She guided Arien toward the path. She
wanted to explore, albeit at a sedate pace, where it led.

Bhruic’s ears
pricked. Sensing prey, he took off. Becca reined up just before the trees,
watching the wolfhound run with his nose to the ground. The dog flushed a
rabbit, and for a moment, it looked like the rabbit might escape. Becca
laughed, hoping the hare made it to safety.

The next thing she
knew, rough hands grabbed her and yanked her off her horse. A dirty, calloused
hand clamped over her mouth.

“Doncha’ be
screamin’ now, Becca,” the brute breathed into her ear.

Becca’s first
instinct was to struggle, but she was so shocked when the man called her by
name, she lost her chance to fight. The man tightened his grip, turning her to
face a second man. Becca didn’t recognize him and doubted either of them
belonged to Ailfenn. If they owed fealty to Ciaran, they would not have put
their hands on her.

“Well, aren’t yee
glad to see us?” the man in front of her sneered. He held Arien’s reins.

“Who are you?” Becca
demanded, her voice muffled by the first man’s hand. She hoped her voice still
managed to sound as cold and haughty as she’d meant it to. “The MacDermot will
hang you if any harm comes to me,” she spat around the huge paw, wrinkling her
nose at the smell emanating from it.

The two men
snickered. “And risk a blood feud over a bit o’ fluff like yee? I think not,
Becca.”

“Who are you?” she
demanded again, her brain working in overdrive. Could these be O’Brien men come
to exact revenge?

The man in front of
her exchanged a dismayed glance with the man holding her. “Why, we’re yer own
dear brothers, sister.” The man holding her snorted, the gruff bark of sound
erupting through his nose. “Don’t you recognize us?”

“But I don’t have
any bro...” Becca choked off her retort.
She
didn’t have any brothers,
but the Becca in this lifetime might have. She mentally kicked herself.
Everyone had warned her about taking off by herself. Oh, but there would be
hell to pay now. She forced air into her lungs, taking a deep breath to calm
down. Though she couldn’t see the one who held her, the one facing her looked
like a toad. If he was as dumb as he looked, she might have a chance.

“If you take me back
to Ailfenn, there will be a reward,” she promised sweetly.

The one holding her
tightened his grip around her waist. “Bah, we take yee back, yee’ll have us
hung. We aren’t stupid, sister.”

The man holding her
flung Becca to the ground as a tornado of teeth and fur attacked him. Bhruic!
She’d completely forgotten the wolfhound. His lightning-quick attack was
vicious. Arien did his part by rearing and jerking against the reins. The
second man could hang on to the horse or help his brother. He hung on to the
reins for dear life. Bhruic yelped as blood spurted from his side.

“No!” she screamed.
“Go, Bhruic. Go home. Get Ciaran,” she ordered. The big man who’d been holding
her rounded on her, and his fist connected with her face. Pain exploded in her
head as everything went gray and foggy. Stars danced behind her eyelids. Becca
sank into darkness.

“Catch the damn
dog,” Darroch ordered, trying to staunch the flow of blood from a nasty bite on
his forearm. The dog had ripped away the whole sleeve of his shirt.

“I can’t and hold
the horse,” Luthais complained.

Bhruic took off like
a shot, running hard through the middle of the herd, scattering cows as he
went. Blood dripped from the wound in his side but the valiant dog kept
running. He carried a scrap of cloth in his mouth.

Treating the
unconscious Becca as no more than a bundle of rags, Darroch flung her across
the horse and loosely tied her wrists to her ankles beneath Arien’s belly.
Luthais gathered their own horses and brought them back. The two men mounted
and put heels to their horses, riding hard for Ballinfaire. Becca, draped face
down, bounced like a limp rag doll as Luthais led Arien in their mad dash to
get clear of MacDermot territory.

Bhruic finally made
his way to the village, crawling the last league. The smithy found the dog
lying outside his forge, panting and bleeding. Bellowing for the guard, the
huge man gathered up the dog and sprinted for the castle. He’d seen the
MacDermot’s cailín ride out that morning, the dog trotting along beside her.

Niall met the man at
the gate. His eyes betrayed the sorrow he felt as he stared at the injured dog.
With a gentle tug, he took the rag Bhruic still carried in his mouth. Niall
called for Siobhan and ordered the smithy to take the dog to the stables.
Eachan found an empty stall with clean straw where he and Siobhan worked on the
dog. Niall grabbed a soldier and dispatched him on one of their fastest horses
to find Ciaran and Riordan. Then he questioned everyone. Finally, a stable boy
admitted that Becca had ridden out just after breakfast and had told him to
tell Eachan she was going. Intent on other duties, the boy had forgotten. Niall
glanced at the sun. It was well after noon.

Calling for a
company of horse, he’d start the search for Becca immediately. Ciaran and
Riordan could catch up. Too much time had passed as it was, but with any luck
at all, he’d find the cailín. He was determined to have her back safe and sound
before nightfall.

Backtracking the
trail of blood from Bhruic’s wound required keen vision and was time-consuming.
The trackers eventually arrived at the meadow where the cows still grazed
complacently. Scouting the perimeter, one of the men found where the struggle
between man and dog took place. Niall recognized Arien’s hoof prints and
grimaced when he saw blood near them. Knowing the cailín, she fought and fought
hard. He prayed she was still alive.

Ciaran and Riordan
arrived at the gallop, and Ciaran threw himself off his horse even as it slid
to a stop. Anguish radiated from his face and Niall winced.

“She lives,” Ciaran
proclaimed as he reached Niall. “She’s hurt, but she lives. Who did this?” he
demanded.

Niall held out the
bloodied sleeve Bhruic had dragged home. There was nothing to distinguish it
from a thousand other sleeves on hundreds of shirts worn by men throughout the
country. The faint blood trail leading off into the woods disappeared a hundred
feet away. One of their trackers managed to follow the dim trail of three
horses to a stream where all traces disappeared. There was no way to guess
which direction the raiders had gone.