Becca St.John (8 page)

“My back’s to ya’, but I don’t hear anything. And you promised not to look, as well.”

“You’re coming in with me?” she squeaked.

“Aye, it’s dark enough and the water will offer as much modesty as you wish.”

She looked back at the pool, about five feet round. “I don’t know.”

“Fine. I did the work, you can wait.”

“No!”

“Then let me know when you’re in the water.”

In a thrice, she had her clothes off and was stepping down onto a boulder so well placed, she could sit on it and be covered to her shoulders. Her feet dangled, toes touching bottom if she stretched them.

She should let him join her now. Despite the darkness, she could see the outline of his body. He was naked. Och, if only she could see the detail of well-toned muscle. But she couldn’t, so she turned away. “You can join me now.”

Water brushed her as he disrupted it. “Ahhhh. You can look now.”

He was about a foot away from her, mostly submerged except for his arms stretched out along the bank of their little pool.

“How did you do this?”

“With much toil and trouble. A real struggle.” His legs, buoyant in the water, brushed the outer side of hers. A light touch, gentle as seaweed tickling.

“Really? How?”

“This is a natural pool. I just dammed it, for tonight. For you.”

“For me.” She tasted the unfamiliar words, tried them on her lips. They spilled deep into her heart, shattered the final defenses. A wall he’d been chiseling at for years.

He’d changed her, on this journey. The lass who set out on these travels would have pushed him away, snapped at him for thinking he did this for her rather than himself. That woman would have questioned his motives.

Except she knew what he wanted, and he knew she wanted it, too. He didn’t have to go this far to get it. He could have had her with a cold bath.

So, for the first time in her memory, she revealed her vulnerability and told him the truth. “Your goodness frightens me.” Because it did. It made her believe in tomorrows that couldn’t be.

“Och, no, lass.”

And he was there, on her side of the little pool, pulling her into his arms, holding her tightly. She sniffled and laughed, and he chuckled.

“You’re confusing me, lass. Do you want to laugh or cry? Is this a bad thing, then?”

“No.” She rested her forehead on his shoulder. “It’s a good thing. I’m laughing because I’m crying. It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

She felt him nod, but heard his confusion. “I see, it’s good, so you’re crying.”

“I’ve cried more with you, on this trip, than since I was a wee bairn.”

“And is this good, too?”

She wasn’t surprised he sounded so doubtful. It didn’t make sense, but it was a good thing.

She tried to explain. “Crying didn’t bring my mother back. It didn’t keep my pa alive, or stop my brother’s cruelty. It just made me look weak. But now, letting myself be weak, because you’re here and you’re strong and you look out for me so I don’t have to fight everything. I can just…I don’t know…I can just be.

“Be who I am at the moment. And it frees me in a way I can’t explain and it calms me. Like the tears are washing away pain that’s been inside of me for years and years. It was hard and angry and bitter, and you’ve opened the door and I can’t seem to stop the flood.”

“You aren’t crying now, lass.”

“No.” She met his eyes, tracked them, as they looked from her face, her lips, her neck.

“I want to kiss you, Seonaid, but when I do, I don’t know if I can stop with that.”

“I know.”

“Och, lass. That’s not much of an answer. Do you ken what I’m asking?”

“Aye. I don’t want you to stop with a kiss.”

He curled a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Will you tell me when it doesna’ feel right, good?”

“Just kiss me, you daft fool.”

CHAPTER 8  ~  A SHIP

They stood upon a rise, the great expanse of Loch Eriboll glistening in the distance below them.

“We’ve come a long way.” Seonaid acknowledged.

“Aye,” Padraig said.

One hand raised to shadow her eyes, Seonaid pointed to the tiny dot of a village sprawled on a jut of land further up the coast. “Is that the town of Eriboll?”

“Aye.” Angry, he’d been miserly with his words of late, but she’d best know the lay of the land. “The ocean is beyond that again. About as far from Eriboll as it is from Glen Toric.”

“If we stop now, we could still be there by midday tomorrow?”

Padraig answered with a sharp nod. The terrain would be difficult, but no more than it had been. Less so, as the rises were not so challenging. Although the low ground would be boggy in places.

“It’s a larger town than I expected,” she offered.

Again, a sharp nod.

Two days ago, they’d come together. She saw it as a good-bye. A memory to hold. Oh, Lord, it was sweet, to be sure. Sweet enough to wipe out any chance of good-bye.

He’d never forget the way she pulled his mouth to hers, wrapped her arms around him. Seonaid surrendering was a glorious thing, to be sure. Slick and naked under the water, her body slid against his, like a water nymph, until her legs bracketed his hips, her arms clung to his neck and her lips, those sweet succulent lips, tasted him, her tongue teasing his.

He’d refused to rush the moments. Stayed her with the strength of his hands, as they traced the length of her body. He worshiped her, in the only way he knew to worship, with his hands, his lips, all the while his legs straining with tension, his manhood wanting to plunge, hips to buck. Torturous heaven as her fingers tickled, ran through the hairs of his chest, brushed his nipples. Before he could catch his breath, she dipped her head, nipped where her fingers had just been. He barely felt it for the anticipation as her hand glided down, down.

“Sweet Jesus,” he howled, as she wrapped those fingers firmly around him. Bit back on the sound he made, as he didn’t want to wake the boy. Panting, eager, his lips found her breast, suckled like a starving child, for he was starving, starving for the taste of her, for knowing her. He’d wanted her since he was old enough to want. He’d dreamt of her, worried about breaking through that wall she built, and here he was, shattering her defenses to find the true lady warrior, all hot and eager and wild as any Celtic Queen set on battle.

And she was winning, thank all that was good. She was winning and the winning was better than any loss he’d ever had and the reality more than a dream could conjure.

He’d intended to tickle and tease her for a night of seduction, but he couldn’t do it. He lifted her up, stunned, when she guided him to her tight depths. He thought he’d died, reached sweet heaven. She rose and fell on him, he bucked and played with her, his hand teasing her little button of pleasure, his mouth tasting the salt of her breast, her shoulder, finally her mouth. A ravaging kiss swallowed his bellow as he filled her with his seed.

Oh dear God, if you really are there, let this seed take. Make her mine.

A night more powerful than the hardest won battle. Full of giving and taking and feeling.

He woke, the next dawn, to find her, once again, at her prayers—only this time, tears streamed down her cheeks, as she made her supplications.

Tears? Had she felt shame for what they did? He’d asked her, bluntly, not even waiting for her to close with her God.

“Are you weepin’ for shame?” He hadn’t meant to shout, but he was that stunned. “For there’s no shame in our comin’ together.”

She’d been as stunned as he, turning to him, her eyes wide, still wet and brimming and then she ran to him. “Och, no, never. I’ve known shame and that wasna’ it.” And she’d clung to him as if she’d never see him again.

Another confirmation, she would still say good-bye. And he’d not had a chance to remind her of what they had together because, in his anger, his frustration, he’d woken Deian.

“Want to hunt, lad? We’re needin’ some fresh meat.” And he glared at Seonaid. Let her feel what it was like to be on her own.

Two days ago that was. They’d wounded a deer, tracked it. Deian made the final kill. Together they gutted the animal, skinned it, headed back to the camp, and that’s when they saw the farmhouse. An old man and his wife, who offered the little they had and begged them to stay, to have the comfort of their bed.

So they’d traded the venison for a bit of oats and stayed for the night, leaving at daylight. Even then, the old couple pushed him to a promise. They were to take some of the venison to the couple’s cousins, who lived halfway between Eriboll and them.

“It’s not far off your path,” the old woman explained, “And they’ll treat you well.”

So the next night, they stayed at another cottage. And with every night apart, he knew Seonaid’s plan to go off on her own would grow stronger. And now, here they were with Eriboll in sight, when they’d be in a town.

Another night apart, fearing Seonaid would not be there when they got back to the camp.

He finally got a taste of her and he was back to starving. How was he to woo her with his body when they weren’t even near each other of a night?

Worse, she was right. Even the cottagers, living as remote as they did, asked about Glen Toric and the renegades and the renegade’s sister and her lad born of incest.

Word spread, people knew; but what they knew was second, third, even fourth hand. They wanted the tales from someone who had been there.

Padraig knew the rules of hospitality, his role as guest, to break the tedium of lives with tales of the clan. So he told of the confrontation with the Gunns and fed them with the capture of the renegades, the battle, the punishment, and the executions.

Every night apart, his heart remained with Seonaid, who they left alone with the horses, off in the hills where anything could happen. And his anger grew, that she was right and he didn’t know what to do about it.

Deian pushed his way between the adults, jolting Padraig’s attention back to the bluff, with Seonaid and the lad looking over the village.

“Look, Ma,” the lad pointed, “there’s a boat below, on the beach, and people.”

“Where?” Padraig asked, even as he urged Seonaid and Deian to crouch down.

Sure enough, there was a long narrow boat pulled onto the shore. Men were loading it, but with what? There were no houses, no storage barns, just a gravelly beach.

“Trouble?” Seonaid asked.

“Aye. If that ship is trying to hide, it’s doin’ a damn good job of it.”

“It’s hiding on purpose?”

“I’ve no way of knowing that, but see the jut of land there? It would block the boat from view of the town.”

“Ma,” Deian interrupted. “They have a picture of a red lady on the front of their boat, like the men we hid from.”

“He’s right, Padraig. I think that’s the same boat.”

The wind stole Seonaid’s cap. She clambered after it, only to stop. “No,” she said, as she shook her head. “It can’t be.”

“What?” Padraig asked.

“There, south and to the west, just coming over that rise. I think they have prisoners, three, tethered to one another. I canna’ tell, but it looks to be women.”

“Shite!” Padraig cursed. “Shite, shite, shite.” He pushed back, away from the edge and rose, paced, threw his own cap to the ground. “Come on. I’ve got to get you away from here.”

“What are they doing?” she asked, but he turned away to grab his cap and hers. “Padraig!” she snapped. “Why are they taking people?”

“You donna’ want to know.”

“Aye, I do.”

This was not good, but he couldn’t put her off without a shouting match and they couldn’t risk that. “Slaving. That’s what I think they’re doing, slaving.”

Her eyes grew wide. “The gold coins?”

“Aye.” He looked at her, then away. “I think they were waiting for your brother.”

“Lochlan?” she whispered “That’s why he was stealing all those lasses. He was selling them.”

“Aye. That’s what I’m thinking.”

Seonaid headed back toward the edge of the cliff. Padraig tried to stop her. “No!” She shrugged him off. “I have to see if those are lasses they have.”

“Then crawl on your belly.”

“I’ll see for you, Ma.” Deian got on his belly.

“No, you will not,” she bit out, then soothed. “The horses aren’t secured and we may be here a bit. Take care of them.” She directed him to their mounts, grazing just behind them, then got down on all fours and started to creep to the edge. Padraig had already reached it.

“There are two women,” he told her. “The other is a priest, I’m thinking, though why they would let him survive, I canna’ say.”

“They kept the priest?”

“Aye, for a ransom, possibly. It’s another mouth to feed.”

They watched as the group headed for the loch.

“What should we do? We have to help them.”

“I have to help them. You have to get Deian to safety.”

She looked back at her son as he hobbled the horses, talking to them. The lad had proven himself with the animals, had a talent for understanding their needs.

Padraig watched her watching her son, saw her swallow, a shiver course through her body before she whispered. “They’ll be raped.”

Padraig doubted she meant to say it aloud, or to have all the misery of her past, fear for the lasses on the beach, in her eyes.

“Are they safe until they get sold?”

He shook his head. He’d like to think so, but doubted the truth of it and he’d not lie.

“The odds aren’t good for you alone, Padraig. You need help.”

“Eriboll is a hard ride away and it will be dark if you don’t leave now.” He needed her gone. He’d not risk her to the fate of the women on the beach. “If the boats set out in the dark of night, they could get past the town before I could reach them. If you and Deian leave now, for Eriboll, you can warn them to watch for the boat. They can put out a blockade.”

“But if they don’t set sail? It’s too risky for you on your own,” Seonaid worried, and he knew she fretted for those women.

“You and Deian head to Eriboll. I’ll see what I can do from here.”

“No.”

“Someone’s got to go and now.” If they hurried, they could get to Eriboll before the sun set.