Celtic Storms (19 page)

“D-do I fr-frighten ye lass?” he asked tenderly. His right hand began a trail of light circles up her wrist and continued up her arms, while his left hand now molded to her hip and reached around her stomach.

“Nay,” she replied and escaped his arms turning her back to him. “Nay, I don’t frighten so easily,” she responded and moved to lean against the stone of the castle behind them.

He retrieved her goblet and handed it to her once again.

“Ye mean to ply me with spirits do ye?” she asked abruptly, the seriousness showing in her face. “Will that make me a more congenial mate ye s’pose?”

Her tone startled him. He couldn’t be sure if she was jesting or sincere. “I’ve n-never, I w-wo-would never…I am an h-ho-honorable mon.”

“Are you a mon fond of the spirits, Patrick?” she asked and held out her hand to his face to feel the warm, soft texture of his whiskers.

He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm, before abruptly dropping it. It grazed the stone wall behind her as she continued her accusatory glare. She hadn’t removed her eyes from his since he handed her the wine.

“You needn’t w-wo-worry, luv; I’m n-no-not a drunkard and n-ne-either am I a lecher.”

“I’ve heard otherwise,” she accused and pushed her bony right index finger into his chest accusingly. The look of confusion on his face was apparent but quickly turned to irritation.

“Ye’ve heard wh-what exactly?” he asked raising his voice in frustration and lowering his head closer to hers, never taking his eyes off her.

“I know the way of men,” she replied looking down. “And I ken ye are no different.” She deepened her glare on him. “A Laird’s son ye are, I’ve no doubt ye’ve had yer way with the maids; and used whatever…” she raised her left hand to him, still holding the wine and gesturing with it, “methods ye need to make them more affable I presume.”

“And wh-why would you pre-presume such about me?” he asked quietly, now resting his forehead on hers.

“You need some way to seduce them I would imagine.”

He laughed; a deep subdued gurgled laugh that rose up his belly to his chest and made his body quiver.

“Ye laugh?” she said angrily.

“Aye – I d-do,” he replied.

What troubles ye sweets?

Her eyes grew large in anger and she pushed against him but was locked under his grip. Both of her hands were now above her, facing palm up against the stone of the castle; while each of her wrists were gripped by his large hands on either side of her head.

“Don’t do that!”

“Wh-why?”

“It’s not fair. I don’t want you speaking to me that way; don’t trespass my mind again.”

I will and we will get to the bottom of this.

“What does that mean?”
she asked back in her head.

His eyes grew more intense and his forehead pressed harder against hers.

I will find the truth of what bothers ye, and we will be done with this – for good.

He searched her eyes; deep beautiful green eyes that were now pooling with the threat of tears. She drew her breath in tandem with his and her chest rose in synchronicity. He could feel her pulse in her wrists and it quickened. His heart beat was near audible and he felt it in his ears. It seemed that time stood still.

Patrick released his tight bond with her forehead and bent to her ear. “Da-Darina, speak to m-me,” he begged.

The warmth of his breath on her ear was more than she could stand. Goose bumps rose on the back of her neck and he felt her pulse increase again in her wrists. She quivered and sucked in a deep breath, feigning struggle with him.

He returned his forehead to hers and searched her eyes. He released her left wrist and rested his right hand securely on her hip. She jumped at the familiarity but edged closer to him anyway.

His left hand loosed her other wrist and framed her cheek. She was magnificent; all spirit and sprite. Beautiful, intelligent, bull-headed and tempting as the day was long. He sighed.

I see I shall pay for my sins with you.

She shook her head against his and attempted to push him off her.

“Ye h-he-heard that?” he asked sheepishly.

“Aye,” she replied audibly.

“I did not intend for you to hear that. I apologize for my disrespect,” he spoke to her mind.

I heard it nonetheless. I am sorry ye are stuck with a woman such as I. Ye must have angered the gods.

Nay loovie; ye are a gift from the gods.

Why would ye say that?

Because ye can hear me; even when I intend for ye not. Which means – I can hear ye when ye intend me not.

“I don’t believe you,” she said angrily. “Ye have learned the ways of reading people, ye are but toying with me. No doubt, ye’ve had much experience using this tool of yers – on the women, no doubt.”

He returned his attentions to her neck. He could feel her heartbeat against his stubble. He lazily grazed the side of her face and felt the warmth envelope her as heat rose and a blush adorned her cheeks.

He was close now. Dangerously close to her lips, and if he didn’t stop now, she wasn’t sure she could deny him.

Ah, but I do love the kissing. Oh please no, don’t do this to me now. I haven’t the strength…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the taste of his mouth firmly pressed against her lips. His soft whiskers tickled her lips and he kissed a trail around her face; her chin, her cheeks, a peck on her nose - and then back to her lips. She lost her footing and slipped but he quickly grabbed her about the waist and held her firmly against him. His eyes met hers and demanded her involvement.

He bent his mouth to hers again and she lifted her face to join. The taste of honey and mead bathed her tongue as he grasped the back of her neck - his hand caressing her long curly hair. She moved her arms to stabilize herself against the wall but found them instead wrapped around his neck. After what seemed an eternity, he lifted his head from her mouth and returned his forehead to hers.

“
Please don’t
,” she begged him with her mind, twisting her head against his in revolt. “
’Tis not fair. A woman should have leave of her private thoughts.”

You are not any woman, Darina. You are to be my wife, and lady of this castle. If we are to form a proper unification, there should be no secrets between us. There should be no reason ye fear me, lass.

Tears of humiliation rose in her eyes and all the color in her face dissipated. To save her dignity he removed his forehead and placed both arms around her in a tight hug. To his surprise, she clutched him back, squeezing harder than he.

He searched her mind and touched her soul. Flashes of moments in her life raced across his vision. Her father no doubt, laying sick in a bed and succumbing to his weakness; the burial service for her mother. Comforting and caring for her grief stricken sisters who had taken to their beds.

The visions stopped abruptly for a moment. Then they returned; somehow having rewound themselves to a particular moment in time. Her as a girl, perhaps eight or nine winters old, pacing the great hall in distress. Screams of agony filled the air and her father sat in front of her on a bench clenching his fists in his hair. It was her mother. Her younger sisters sat in front of her lined up against the bench in a row, holding hands and whimpering.

Lucian ran down the stairs and summoned her Da. Loud whispers she couldn’t make out came from the hallway and the healer went running out the front door with a bundle in her arms trailing blood behind her.

A baby – a stillborn girl. Her sister’s cries grew louder and Da turned pale. She stopped her pacing and the life drained from her face. “
My fault”,
she thought and turned to run from the keep.

Patrick’s visions were interrupted by the feel of hot tears on his chest. She murmured and lowered her eyelashes in shame. He gripped her tighter, giving her no indication he had traversed her thoughts. His right thumb trailed a pattern down her cheek catching the tears in his hand.

A strong thought broke through almost as if she intended it.

The bed – where is my bed?

“The bed?”
he inquired tipping his head, not sure if she was aware of their dialogue.

There is only one bed; two chambers and one bed.

He stepped backwards a pace and held her at arm’s length. “We have n-ne-need of only one b-bed. We are to b-be m-ma-married.”

She raised her eyes to his in defiance and placed both hands on her hips, fisting her skirts.
I’ll not share yer bed. You can’t force me. There’s not enough wine in the castle to secure that fate.

He reached gently for her shoulders and lowered his face against her chin. She exhaled and tensed; then relaxed, then tensed again not sure of what to expect or what she wanted at the moment. Her shoulders mimicked her breath and heaved up and down under the weight of his hands.

He grazed her neck with his chin stubble and trailed soft pecks towards her right ear placing his arms around her again.

Aye – you will.

Why would you say that?

Because ye want me lass - I ken the truth of it.

“How do you know?”
she started to say.

She opened her mouth to speak audibly and realized she was massaging his tongue with her own in a rhythm that threatened to break her resolve. He leaned her against the stone wall once again and trapped her hands above her shoulders against the fortress. He relinquished control with his right hand and held them both now with his left hand while his right hand explored the length of her body.

Tall and lean with strong arms and bountiful breasts that sloped to her small waist then flared again at her hips. She was stunning and regal and noble and vulnerable all at the same time - and painfully stubborn. She would be the death of him, but he would seek it, want it, it would be his. Just to be with
her
.

Mine
.

She mimicked shock and struggled to break free of him; but succeeded to only bring herself closer to him. She felt safe, protected and cherished in his arms, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. She closed her mind, tightly, as tightly as she could to avoid spilling her thoughts. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“He’ll have to work for this,”
she thought to herself.

“Of that, I’ve n-n-no d-doubt,” he said audibly as he released his grasp of her while a wicked grin splayed across his tanned cheeks.

“Darina – we must go now,” raised the sound of Minea’s voice from behind her. A soft blush lit the old woman’s face and she could not contain her grin. No doubt she had witnessed their exchange and it was obviously humorous to her.

“’
Tis time my lady, we must ready you for the service.”

O’Malley Lands

“He’s finally awakened,” said Vynae quietly to Lucian. “I believe he may be able to speak if ye wish to question him.” The bald headed boy opened his eyelids and peeked around the room about him looking for something he recognized.

A sudden look of terror came over him when he realized he was tied to the bed and he began to scream. “Hold on, hold on,” shouted Lucian as he quickly unwrapped the linens that held his arms to his sides.

“We tied ye to keep ye from scratching yer wrist, laddy,” said Vynae. “We’ve had to stitch yer arm twice now; ye keep yanking them out with yer scratching. Be ye hungry?” she asked gently patting his head.

He nodded and turned to look at Lucian.

“Who are you?” asked Lucian.

“Who are you?” returned his answer.

“Where do you come from?” asked Lucian.

“Where am I?” returned the boy.

“Ye seem to have met ye match there, Lucian,” Vynae chuckled. “What say I do the interrogations?” she smiled and handed the boy an oatcake dipped in plum sauce, then sat beside him on the bed stroking his hair.

“I am Vynae, the healer in this village. This is Lucian, he is our scribe and you are in the sick house on O’Malley lands. Clan O’Malley – do ye ken what I’m saying?”

He stared at her blankly.

She continued, “Ye were brought here by our new Laird and several of our men. Ye were found in the forest between O’Malley territory and Burke Territory.”

His eyes grew wide with terror and he shot up out of the bed and had made it halfway to the door when Lucian caught him.

“Whoa there laddy, where do you think you are going?” he said blocking the door and standing with his arms crossed above his chest.

He began to cry and whimper uncontrollably and threw himself to the floor in a ball. Vynae gave Lucian a disapproving look and took the boy by the hand – leading him back to the bed.

“Ye are safe here,” she said. “Willna hurt ye son. Tell us who ye are and where ye from and mayhap we can see ye home.”

Lucian nodded his agreement with her and stood beside his bed.

“I am Jordy McClure,” he ventured. Lucian nodded his understanding and request for him to continue. “My father is Judaen McClure, from the McTierney clan.”

“MacTierney clan?” Lucian grasped. “How did you get all the way to Burke Lands?”

“My father is a textile merchant. We come to the port to trade often. The last time we were here for market, two men grabbed me and put me in a small boat with them. They put a cloak over my head and hit me; when I woke up – I was in the dungeons beneath the monastery.

***

“You asked for me,” said Lucian to Patrick who was tying his hair off at the nape of his neck while examining his image in the looking glass brought up by Odhran.

I did. I’ve need to speak of Darina with you.

Silence.

“I know ye can hear me, druid,” pressed Patrick.

“Well son? What need have ye of my services?” asked Lucian still standing in the doorway between the banquet room and the storage pantry which adjoined. His hands were clasped in front of him and twiddled the golden rope tied around his white cloak.

Ye don’t hear me, or ye are pretending ye don’t?