Faerie Fate (14 page)

Becca and a handful
of others tended those more seriously injured. Like a faithful dog, Taidhg
followed her around with a bucket of soapy water and an armful of rags. When
Riordan got close, he noticed how drawn and tired Becca looked. Her pale face
emphasized the dark circles smudging her eyes. She was all but asleep on her
feet.

“Enough, cailín,” he
said, pulling her to her feet and taking the rags from her. “Yee need to look
after yourself,” he reminded. With a grin, he added, “Not to mention my cousin
pines for your company.”

She swayed on her
feet and Riordan steadied her. “Becca, yee’ve slept a scant two hours between
healing Ciaran, the battle, and healing the rest. Yee’ve done enough, cailín.”
He added softly, “He needs yee as yee need him. Go. I’ll see to the rest.” He
gave her a little push toward the tent, and as she took an unsteady step, he
realized she was about to fall flat on her face. With a swallowed curse, he
scooped her up in his arms. “Aye, he’ll have our hides for sure now, Taidhg.”

Riordan carried her
back to the tent, stooping low to bring her inside. He shook his head at
Ciaran. “She’s exhausted, Ciaran, that’s all. Both of you need to sleep.”

He laid her beside
Ciaran who immediately wrapped his arms around her and pulled her head down on
his shoulder. “I have need of you, Becca,” Ciaran whispered in her hair.

“Wash your hands,
Riordan,” she ordered, her voice slurred. “Before you tend the wounded.” With a
contented sigh, Becca let go of consciousness and sank swiftly into a deep
sleep.

****

“He lives,” the
female sounded awestruck.

“I told you to be
patient.” The male smirked.

“There is still the
oath of binding,” she reminded him, sounding prim.

“Humph, all in good
time.”

She waited until he
was finally gone, and she bent over the sleeping couple, watching them closely.
The man stirred as if sensing her presence. She smiled, whispering in his ear.
His arms tightened protectively around the woman. She nodded. It was good.

****

Ciaran awoke slowly.
Becca lay wrapped in his arms, and he kissed her hair. He needed to do
something. He needed to say something to her, but like a will-o’-the-wisp, it
danced just beyond his memory. Shrugging the need away, he kissed her awake as
he’d longed to do since he’d first lain with her in his bed two months ago. Her
mouth was just as sweet as he’d remembered.

Becca opened her
eyes and stared into the stormy blue ones watching her intently. “We must be
feeling better,” she teased. What had the king called him?
The Wolf of the
MacDermot.
That was certainly apropos. He looked like he was going to eat
her alive.

Before she could say
more, Ciaran’s mouth covered hers, his tongue teasing her lips. Her hands
tangled in his hair as her lips and tongue fought back. Her breasts strained
against the soft linen of her shirt, desperate to break free so they could
touch his bare chest. One of his big hands found a breast, and she pushed
against his palm. He smiled as he teased her already hardening nipple into a
rigid peak. Rolling her backward, his mouth broke away from hers. He grinned at
her little moan of protest then his mouth covered a nipple through the linen of
her shirt.

Becca gasped as his
mouth teased and suckled her breast.
So this is what I’ve been missing,
a small part of her brain complained. Her hands remained wrapped in his soft
hair, and she squirmed against his hipbone when another part of her body
demanded equal attention. As his mouth worked on her breast, his now free hand
traveled languidly down her ribs, across her hip and down between her legs.
Becca moaned again and pushed against his hand.

Ciaran wished she
wore a gown, for she’d have been free and open to him at that moment. While the
trews she wore left little of her curves to the imagination, the leather
created a formidable barrier between them. Despite the trews, his thumb still
found the tiny nub guarding her womanly entrance, and he teased it. Becca
clamped her legs around his hand. Ciaran groaned. Ah, to have those lovely legs
wrapped around him as he pushed into her hot depths. He didn’t think it
possible, but he grew harder and thicker with the thought.

He rolled on top of
her and groaned again, only this time from pain not passion. Becca immediately
pushed him off and away. She sat up and checked the bandage on his hip. Despite
the pain he was in, Ciaran grinned at her. Her lips were swollen, her skin
flushed. A wet stain surrounded her still taut nipple, and its rosy bud was
visible. He was the one who evoked that passion within her. He was the one who
would one day soon make her his.

“You’ll pull out the
stitches,” she chided as she pushed her hair out of her eyes.

“Stitches?” he
asked. “An’ what have yee done, cailín? Have yee sewn me up like a fine, linen
shirt?”

“Something like
that,” Becca replied distractedly as her fingers tenderly checked his wound.
“Ciaran, you almost died,” she scolded, at last satisfied he had done no
damage. “You still could. I won’t take a chance with your life.”

He grabbed her hand
and placed it around his thick shaft. “What of my
boidín
?” he asked with
a wicked grin. “His life is in danger as well.”

For a long moment,
Becca savored the feel of his
erection
—satin
smoothness over steel, a hard ridge running up the underside and a flap of soft
skin covering the tip. The muscles between her legs constricted, and she felt a
gush of wet heat. She bent her head to taste him, her tongue caressing his
swollen tip then swirling around the top of his shaft. His hips thrust helplessly
at her, and she opened her lips to take him into her mouth.

Ciaran’s hands
fisted in her hair, and he dragged her head up. “Nay, cailín,” he whispered,
his voice husky with barely controlled lust. “Not until I can finish by burying
myself deep within you.” He pulled her up and kissed her hard, his tongue
sweeping in and out of her mouth in a preview of what the rest of him would do
to her once he healed.

“You could at least
wait until you get the cailín home and in a proper bed before you go about tupping
her,” Riordan groused, poking his head through the tent flap. A sardonic grin
spread across his face, and his eyes twinkled with droll humor.

Embarrassed, Becca
rolled away and got to her feet. “Yeah, I, uh, I need to... I’ll be back,” she
stammered. She ducked through the tent flap and sprinted for the woods like a
banshee was hot on her trail. The three wolfhounds and Taidhg followed at a
slightly more sedate pace.

Riordan chuckled,
amused by Ciaran’s state of arousal. Sobering a little, he reminded his cousin,
“Siobhan says she’s still a maiden, Ciaran. Do the cailín a favor and at least
give her the vows and a proper bed the first time.”

Vows. Something
clicked in Ciaran’s memory. An oath. There was an oath he was supposed to
remember, one having to do with Becca. His mind worried the thought like a dog
with an old bone, but he couldn’t pin down the why of it. When he couldn’t
remember, he grinned at Riordan. “I’m not sure either of us will be able to
wait that long, Riordan.”

“So I noticed,”
Riordan shot back. “However, there are more pressing needs demanding attention.
We should be moving out soon, Ciaran,” he continued. “Conchobhar’s men have
routed the O’Brien, and the king has released us. The men are ready to get on
the road, afraid that he will change his mind if we’re still here when he comes
back.”

“Aye, and probably
right they are,” Ciaran agreed. Besides, he’d seen the look the king gave
Becca. Though he’d blessed her betrothal to Ciaran, under the false pretense
that she was kin to Niall, he could just as easily change his mind. “We ride,”
he announced.

Chapter Ten

The journey back to
Caisel Ailfenn was a nightmare for Becca. The wounded required constant
tending, and Ciaran was the worst of the lot. Each morning he insisted on
riding, but by the end of the day, he was ashen and wracked with pain. Becca
felt every ache and spasm all the way to her bones. Niall, Riordan, and Taidhg
did their best to shield her from the worst of it, but with little effect.
Becca called them her Three Musketeers.

On the third day,
she decided to get the whole bloody lot rip-roaring drunk and keep them that
way until they reached home. At breakfast, she liberally dosed Ciaran and the
most severely wounded with whiskey. By noon, Ciaran couldn’t sit his horse, so
Riordan and Niall rigged a litter between two horses to carry him. He regaled
them with bawdy songs until they stopped for the night, at which time, he
promptly passed out for which Becca was eternally grateful.

By the fifth day,
the troop settled into a routine, and Becca fervently prayed that the liquor
supply, which was running woefully short, would hold out. Niall and Taidhg
reassured her there were any number of places to resupply should the need
arise. Riordan wore a constant grin, fully enjoying his
Taoiseac’s
indisposition. He did realize, though, that Becca had
hit on a brilliant plan where all the wounded were concerned, as the troop
traveled much faster than anyone anticipated. He and Niall originally estimated
the journey would take near a fortnight, when in reality, they were only two,
maybe three days at most, away from Ailfenn.

When Ciaran finally
sobered up, his hangover was going to be vicious. Riordan had every intention
of being as far from the keep as his horse could take him before the effects of
the whiskey wore off.

Niall sent riders
ahead with news of the wounded, and as the company drew closer, small groups
arrived claiming husbands and sons and fathers, taking them home to nurse them.
Each departure lessened Becca’s responsibility, and the tired lines around her
mouth and eyes eased somewhat, though Ciaran’s wounds and fever still plagued
her.

On the road, Becca
enjoyed a certain amount of autonomy. She’d proven herself to these
battle-hardened men, and there wasn’t a one who wouldn’t follow her. She was
lucky this pocket of Ireland had clung to the old ways longer than most, as
women had been on a more equal footing in Celtic society. Becca was reluctant
to return to the castle. She didn’t want to give up the freedom of her trews and
boots. She didn’t want to lay down her sword to take up needle and yarn. She
was a twenty-first century woman. Granted, the last half of her life had been
sheltered by necessity, but the first half had been a glorious exploration of
her abilities. This was Becca’s chance to live the second half over again, and
she wanted to live it to the fullest.

She’d be riding
along simply seething with rebellious thoughts, and then she’d look at Ciaran.
Even drunk, he tied her stomach in knots. She remembered far too vividly how
he’d made her feel back in his tent the morning after the battle. The memory
brought a blush to her cheeks and liquid pooling low between her legs. A long,
hot bath was the first thing on her agenda once they got back. Then she was
going to sleep for a week. When she finally woke up, if Ciaran’s stitches had
healed properly... She squirmed in her saddle. Well, she wasn’t going there
just yet, but she had a great deal of unfinished business with a certain part
of his anatomy. No thieving O’Briens, or anyone else for that matter, would
stop her.

She circled Arien
around so she could ride beside Ciaran’s litter. He snored softly. Becca
smiled, reining in Arien and stepping off him. She jogged a few steps to catch
up to the litter and walked along side, leading Arien by his reins. Her hand
stroked Ciaran’s cheek, and the touch elicited a smile. Her hand found his and
slipped into his big paw. She missed the looks her Three Musketeers exchanged
as she walked for most of an hour by his side.

“If he doesn’t tup
her soon, the whole castle will be goin’ up in flames,” Riordan complained,
shifting in his saddle to find a more comfortable position.

Niall chuckled.
“Gonna’ find a willing cailín when we get back, are yee?”

“Aye, or two or
three. Niall, I’m tellin’ yee,
’
tis unnatural. Yee dinnit see him back
in the tent. Him half dead yet as big as a horse, and her all hot and
bothered.”

“I did see it,”
Niall remarked dryly. “At least it’s mutual.”

“Oh, aye,
’
tis
mutual. Neither can keep their hands off t’other,” Riordan groused.

When they stopped
for the night, Becca recognized the place. They were only a hard day’s ride
from home.

“Day and a half at
most, mistress,” Taidhg confirmed.

Thank goodness for
small favors. She’d only thought she was in riding shape, but after almost
three continuous weeks in the saddle, she was ready to sit on something soft.
She glanced at Ciaran.
Nothing soft about him, but I can’t wait to sit there
,
she silently amended. Niall and Riordan glanced at her, almost as if they’d
read her thoughts. She blushed furiously, blood suffusing her cheeks. The two
men had the good graces to look away before grins split their faces.

When it came time to
settle down for sleep, just to prove them wrong, Becca chose to bed down away
from Ciaran. She’d fed him and then dosed him with whiskey again before
checking his bandage. Snoring, he rolled over as she gathered up her blankets
and moved away. Even though Winken and Blinken snuggled her front and back, she
was restless. She tossed and turned until well after midnight. Across the
dwindling embers of the fire, Ciaran was having a bad night as well.

Becca gave up. She
was too tired to fight the need any longer. Her body craved his, to be near
him, to touch him. This was a need deeper even than the sexual desire he
aroused in her. Her soul yearned for his. Her heart ached for his. Her longing
was as elemental as life itself.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

Gathering up her
blanket and mantle, she trudged over to him. The dogs happily joined Bhruic as
she checked Ciaran’s forehead. He was running a fever again as he had
intermittently during the trip. She was out of Siobhan’s fever powder, and she
hoped his symptoms didn’t worsen before they got to Ailfenn. Ciaran stirred,
his head tossing back and forth across the blanket stuffed behind his head.
Becca spread her blanket next to him. Part of her still rebelled at her need
for him so she laid down with her back to him. As she fell asleep, her hand
brushed his arm. The simple contact was enough. As they slept, she turned to
him, and his hand found hers. His strong fingers interlaced with hers. Becca
sighed in her sleep, content and at peace. Ciaran’s restlessness ceased, his
soul finding solace in her nearness.

So close to home,
Niall had posted only a light sentry. Unfortunately, the man was as worn out as
the rest, and he fell asleep at his post. In the trees, two figures flitted
between shadows.

“Told ya
’
twas
a woman,” the larger of the two whispered.

“But she wears
trews,” the other denied.

“
’
Tis not a
true man alive with curves the likes of that,” the first insisted.

“The MacDermot lies
injured,” the second hissed, changing the subject. “And many of his men have
fared the worse for their adventure. Mayhaps we need to visit his land soon and
see what strays our way.”

“Aye,” the first
agreed.

Bhruic stirred,
lifting his head to sniff the air. Catching an unfamiliar scent, he got up to
investigate, Blinken hard on his heels. As the dogs stalked around the camp,
the two men beat a hasty retreat. The dogs prowled the perimeter for a few
minutes. Satisfied the intruders had gone, they returned to nestle beside
Ciaran and Becca.

Ciaran awoke with
Becca beside him on his left.
Close to my heart,
he thought. He rolled
over, ever mindful of his wound, and wrapped her in his arms. He pulled her
back against him so they could spoon, his front to her back. Not surprisingly,
he grew hard and his shaft burrowed into the soft curves of her
tóin
.
Even in her sleep, Becca’s body recognized his need for her, and she pushed
back against him. Ciaran smiled and kissed her golden hair.

He had been
extraordinarily blessed by the gods. This woman who appeared from nowhere, who
haunted his dreams and hardened his body while softening his heart, was a gift.
She was brave beyond all meaning of the word. His men now adored her and would
follow her as they followed him. She was tender and knowing of the healing
arts, yet she killed without hesitation to protect her own. Ciaran’s right hand
trailed over her waist and lay against the gentle swell of her belly. He
couldn’t wait to feel his child growing within her womb. Ah, what children they
would make together. The lads would be strong and brave, and the cailíns?
They’d be so fair every man would want them, but no man would be good enough.
Ciaran chuckled. From what he was learning about Becca, the girls would likely
be as strong and brave as the boys, and they themselves would decide if a man
was good enough.

Ciaran was anxious
to get home and in a hurry to heal. Though parts of his body were more than willing,
other parts were not yet able. When the time came to claim Becca as his own, he
wanted to be at full strength. Ciaran knew she’d been keeping him drunk, and
Niall finally confessed why. Just as he’d felt every pain from her strange
illness, she’d felt every pang of his wound and ache from his fevers. He
marveled again at her strength.

As he drifted back
to sleep, a thought nudged at the back of his subconscious. Words danced
enticingly just beyond his memory. Important words; words he needed to say but
didn’t know why.
By the life that courses in your blood
, the wind
whispered in his ear.
And the love that resides within your heart.

Warmth spread out
across her middle and Becca smiled. Ciaran’s hand splayed across her stomach,
warm and gentle. Her breath slowed to match the rhythm of his, and she’d almost
swear that their heartbeats were synchronized. A breath of wind kissed her
cheek, and words whispered in her ear.
Our love is a beginning with no end,
until the end of time.
“I love you, too,” she murmured.

Early the next
morning, Niall and Riordan decided to push hard for Ailfenn. All the men were
eager to return home. The wounded gritted their teeth and pressed on without
break except when the horses needed rest. Ciaran rode in the litter without argument.
The column traveled faster because of it. Becca rode close to his sling all
morning, keeping a watchful eye on him. Taidhg rode nearby, keeping a vigilant
eye on both.

Niall and Riordan
rode up and down the line and made frequent detours into the surrounding area.
The hair on the backs of both of their necks was prickling. The more seasoned
among the soldiers remained alert. Someone watched, though no one spotted
anyone spying on the column.

At noon, they
stopped for a brief respite. They built no fire and paused only long enough to
chew a quick bite and rest the horses. As the afternoon wore on, Riordan chose
to ride next to Ciaran and Becca. The hair on his neck still bristled, and he
would take no chances with the life of his cousin or Becca. The MacDermot was a
man feared and resented by many of his neighbors. The land around Ailfenn was
rich with fat sheep and cattle, it’s harvests bountiful. The keep was large and
well maintained, a most desirable prize for any raiders. Ciaran was a favorite
of Conchobhar, and that, too, led to antipathy from lesser sept and clann
chiefs.

Niall and Riordan
were positive rumors of the MacDermot’s injury had swept the countryside. They
worried someone would try to finish the job the O’Briens had started or take
advantage of Ciaran’s incapacity in other ways. That Becca traveled with them
made them doubly on edge.

They traveled along
the edge of O’Flinn territory, and the O’Flinns had been notably absent from
the defensive maneuvers in the south. Garbhan O’Flinn had two strapping sons,
Darroch and Luthais, and a troop of both horse and foot soldiers. Ten years
ago, the O’Flinn had offered his daughter to the MacDermot. Ciaran politely
turned him down, stating the girl was barely fifteen, and when the time came
for him to marry, he wanted to be a husband, not a father, to his bride. Since
then, communication and trade remained strained between the two clanns.

Niall briefly
wondered what had become of the daughter. He couldn’t recall her name and only
remembered she’d been a scrawny little thing, completely cowed by her father
and brothers. Her mother died when the child was barely four, and Garbhan never
remarried. The little cailín alone in the keep with that rough-and-tumble lot
would not have had an easy life. Niall now hoped that O’Flinn had found another
to marry the girl, and that her life had been tolerable thereafter.

Late in the
afternoon, the column passed from O’Flinn country, and everyone sighed in
relief. The oppressive sense of being watched waned, and the outriders relaxed
a little. Just before sundown, they halted again. Like lunch, supper was cold.
The men planned to stay only long enough to give the horses a breather. The
road from here was well marked, and they’d be able to make Ailfenn before
midnight.