Faerie Fate (3 page)

While Niall dealt
with the two peasants, Ciaran retreated to his den beneath the stairs. He poked
the smoldering fire to life and settled heavily into one of the comfortable
chairs in front of the fireplace. He prodded at the puzzle of the girl much
like he’d done to stir up the fire. Heat pooled low in his groin. Her nakedness
aroused more than compassion or pity. Despite her tortured and abused body, the
sight of her lying naked in his bed made him rock hard. No cailín ever affected
him this way. That her battered body had the power to do so completely
terrified him. A man of honor and virtue, he’d sworn to protect his people.
Lust, and visions of the things he wanted to do to her and with her, churned
his gut. Had he gone mad?

Niall returned,
carrying mugs of rich brown ale. He settled in the other chair, and they sipped
their drinks, silently watching the fire, each lost in his own thoughts. A
troubled expression settled on Niall’s face. Ciaran cocked an eyebrow in
question. When Niall didn’t speak, he broke the silence. “What?”

The older man stared
into the fire, as if he hoped to find the answer in the flames. A long moment
later, he spoke. “How? You must have left soon after me. How did you know where
to find her?”

Now it was his turn
to stare into the fire as he sought the words to explain. “I was pulled.”

“Pulled?”

He nodded. “Aye. My
heart knew where to find her. My head knew she was in danger. I roused the
troop.” He shrugged. “Who is she, Niall?”

Neither man had the
answer to that one. The fire slowly burned down to glowing embers. He barely
noticed when Niall eventually left. He bedded down on the floor in front of the
fire. Wrapped up in his mantle, he tried to clear his mind for sleep—not an
easy task with the cailín asleep in his bed upstairs.

****

Ciaran stood
watching from the doorway. Three days had passed since he’d brought her home.
When he’d come to check on the girl earlier that morning, he’d been angry to
find his best wolfhound up on the bed with her, sleeping peacefully. The bloody
thing actually growled at him. Bemused and hating to disturb the girl, he
closed the door and left the dog where it was. His hounds were a
rough-and-tumble lot, used to hunting and life bivouacking with his soldiers.
Now he discovered his beastie had a soft spot and would probably leave fleas in
his bed to boot. He watched the big dog snuggle closer to the girl, and his gut
tightened with jealousy. He wisely refrained from marching into the room to
shove the dog away and take his place. He wanted, nay needed, to make a good
impression on this girl.

“What a good boy you
are,” the cailín crooned.

He couldn’t believe
the big dolt actually licked her face. She must be a witch. Bhruic, aptly named
for his badger-like temperament, favored no one and barely tolerated Ciaran,
yet the bloody cur lapped her face like…like… Ciaran was at a complete loss for
words. He suddenly realized the girl was staring at him. A soft growl rumbled
deep in the dog’s chest. “’Tis not her should be afraid of me,” he growled back
at the dog.

“If I knew no
better, I’d say yee were a wee bit jealous of him,” Siobhan all but purred at
him.

Ciaran stared at the
girl’s face. What would she look like once the bruises healed? Her dark lashes
were long and thick, but the purple bruises around them overshadowed her
silvery-blue eyes. Her right cheek was swollen and an angry red lump marred her
left jaw. Her hair remained a snarled mess. His fingers curled into his palms,
aching to comb through the blonde tangle. He wanted nothing more than to gather
her into his arms and kiss the bruises until they were gone.

“How are yee
feelin’?” Surely, he sounded more in control than he felt.

“Like she’s been
dragged behind a team of wild horses.” Siobhan sniffed as she pushed past him,
a steaming basin in her hands. “Be gone with yee.” She tossed the words over
her shoulder. “An’ take your great brute of a beastie with yee. Dogs in bed
with people,” she groused. “Just ’tisn’t right.”

He’d lost this
skirmish, so Ciaran retreated backwards only to be met at the door by Niall. He
grabbed the older man’s arm and in a conspirator’s voice asked, “You actually
live with that woman as your wife?” His eyes danced with mischievous lights.

Niall grinned lewdly
at the question and ducked his head to answer, “Yes.” Niall winked as he leered
appreciatively at his wife’s backside when she bent over the bed.

She ignored them.

“She does have some
attributes to make up for her tongue,” he admitted. His wagging eyebrows danced
a jig with his smug smile.

“You should teach
her to put that tongue to better use,” he suggested with far too much male
conceit.

“Oh, I have, Ciaran,
I have.” Niall’s chest puffed up.

The men grinned at
each other, sharing thoughts only men seem to share. At Siobhan’s derisive
snort, they retreated downstairs and made their way to the kitchen. Ciaran was
hungry though he admitted more than the lack of food made his belly clench.

Upstairs, Siobhan
gently cleaned the girl’s wounds. Crushed herbs and flowers in the water helped
take the sting out. “Have yee a name, cailín?”

Colleen?
Rebecca almost chuckled. She hadn’t been a colleen
for most of her life. She was old, half a century. “Rebecca.”

“Well, Becca, if you
feel up to it, shove that bloody brute away and sit up. I’ll try to comb the
tangles from yer hair.”

Rebecca flashed the
woman a puzzled glance. Her head had been shaved in the emergency room after
the accident and since then, she’d spent so much time in bed, she kept her hair
cropped short so it didn’t tangle. She raised a curious hand and discovered she
had hair falling below her shoulders. She combed her fingers through part of
it, but they caught and tangled in a knot of leaves and twigs.

Rebecca closed her
eyes as the woman combed through the knots in her hair. When she’d awakened,
she’d laid very still, afraid to move, afraid to open her eyes, almost afraid
to breathe. She’d thought she was back in her bed until she patted the covers
and discovered a warm body stretched out next to her. She bit back a scream as
warm breath and a low growl tickled her ear. With her heart thudding in her
chest, she’d opened one eye to peek. A huge wolfhound, his gray head as large
as her own, laid beside her, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.
His warm brown eyes watched her intently. When she rubbed his chest, he fell
over on her, his back leg scratching in ecstasy. That’s when she looked up and
saw the man standing in the doorway.

Almost an hour
later, her head sore and aching from the combing, the woman bade her lie down
again.

“I’ll be back in a
short, sweet, with a potion for yer pain.”

Rebecca lay back
against the pillow, thoroughly confused. She didn’t own a dog, yet the giant
wolfhound still stretched across the foot of her bed. Only, as she looked
around, she realized this wasn’t her bed. Or her room. Was she dreaming again?
Had she relapsed and had the doctors disobeyed her orders about drugs? This
dream vaguely reminded her of the one time she’d eased the pain with morphine.
The drug was named after Morpheus, Greek god of dreams, for a reason. Hers had
been a psychedelic trip, and she feared a repeat performance. This time she was
stuck in some medieval castle. At least, she thought it was medieval. What did
she know? And who was the young man in the doorway jealously watching the dog,
looking as if he had every right to be lying next to her instead? He was
gorgeous, she admitted, surprised her middle-aged brain had conjured such a
hunk. Black hair, stormy blue eyes, broad shoulders that went from here to
there... He had to be a dream.

Well, she’d wanted
to sleep forever. Maybe God finally decided to grant her wish. “Ah, to
sleep...perchance to dream,” she murmured, drifting off.

Chapter Two

Ciaran cracked the
door open. He held his breath to keep it from completely escaping his body. She
lay on her side, her face turned from him. The sun spilling in through the high
window danced over her silken hair, turning it to spun gold and silver. He
wanted to bury his hands in its glorious folds. Only supreme will kept him
rooted by the door. Bhruic was gone, but two other hounds had taken his place,
as well as a tiny bit of fur Ciaran didn’t want to think about. One of the kits
that chased the mice and rats from his storerooms had found its way to the
cailín’s side. He was amazed. That small bit of fluff felt perfectly safe
sleeping within inches of two of his more savage hounds. Perhaps the cailín
truly was a witch. He knew for certain she’d bewitched him. He silently shut
the door and retreated to his den. There he could safely drink some whiskey,
muse about the strange cailín now sleeping in his bed, and wonder why she
affected him so deeply.

Aralt, his father,
had been one to enjoy all the pleasures being clann chief granted. He’d spilled
his seed often and indiscriminately, yet only begot one child. Ciaran. The
MacDermot had never even handfasted with Ciaran’s mother, nor with any other.
At least the old wolf had enough honor—he didn’t inflict his rampant womanizing
on a wife. After Ciaran was born, the MacDermot ordered mother and babe to the
castle. He gazed upon his only offspring and pronounced the child his heir
before sending them to a crofter’s hut outside the castle gate. Aralt promptly
forgot about them both while he continued his wanton ways.

Niall appeared at
the door when Ciaran was six. He’d taken the lad under his wing, teaching him
letters and numbers, and swordplay. Niall, though barely more than twenty, was
the father Aralt should have been.

Ciaran knocked
around the barracks with the soldiers. Most of the cailíns were free and easy
with their favors. As heir apparent, he could take his pick. None had enticed
him, and he’d not dipped his quill in any ink but one.

He’d been sixteen
and celebrating
Samhain
. A young woman, comely and fair, not too much
older than himself, came up to him. She took his hand and tugged him behind a
tinker’s tent, leading him back to a little hut in the woods beyond. Once
through the door, she turned loose of him long enough to spread a pallet near
the fire. Pushing the bemused boy down on it, she’d straddled his groin and
began to unlace his shirt.

Ciaran’s reaction
took him totally by surprise. His
boidín
grew hard and thick, and of
their own accord, his hips began to thrust up at her. She smiled then and bent
over to let him glimpse her ample breasts.

“I told him there
was naught wrong with you, lad, naught that I couldn’t fix with some teaching,”
she purred, taking his hands and placing them at her bodice.

For the rest of the
night, he touched and suckled, was touched and suckled in return, and thrust
his cock into every place it could find in the woman’s body. She taught him how
to kiss, how to pleasure a woman and how to prolong his own pleasure. She
showed him how to prevent spilling his seed inside a woman unless he desired
to. When they’d finished, he laid there panting and sated. She did the same,
curled against him.

The next morning, he
left her asleep on the pallet, a smile on her face. He’d closed the door firmly
on both the hut and the incident. He had never touched a woman again, had never
again felt the stirring deep in his gut, had never grown hard and aching with
the need to spill his seed deep within that wondrous place hiding between a
woman’s thighs. Until now. Now he remembered each sensation his body had
enjoyed, each sublime texture that made up a woman’s secret places, and he
wanted nothing more than to explore, tasting and touching everywhere before
burying his cock between her legs.

Ciaran couldn’t
stand it. The morning dragged by, and he had to see her, had to find out who
she was, where she’d come from. He would make her his, one way or another, but
if she had kin, he would ask for a betrothal the honorable way. He would even
waive any dowry or bride price.

Becca woke. She
tensed, waiting for the first spasm to take her breath away. When the pain
didn’t come, she stretched carefully. Her muscles were tight, but loosened once
she’d stretched full out. Soft purring at her shoulder had her lips curving
into a smile. A small calico cat snuggled next to her, nose to nose with a
different massive wolfhound. A second hound guarded her back. These were good
drugs. The pain was at bay. She had animals around her. She’d never admitted
how agonizing giving up animals had been for her. Becca was still naked under
the covers. She needed to put on something before the nurse came back.
Convinced she was back in the hospital, she’d obviously created this fantasy
world to see her through the pain rather than face that stark reality.

She shoved at the
wolfhound lying between her and the side of the bed. With a growl more grumble
than gruff, the huge beast slid to the floor, giving her room to get up. Becca
steeled her nerves, then swung her feet off the bed. She’d been tall once,
before the accident, a full five foot nine in her bare feet, but her feet still
dangled almost a foot above the floor. Becca didn’t like this part of the
dream. Dropping even that little distance to the hard stone floor would send
eruptions of pain up her spine. Still, her body was getting insistent, and she
had to find the bathroom. Carefully, she slid off the bed.

Nothing happened
when her feet touched the floor. She was stiff, and her muscles were sore
but... No pain. No cramps. Nothing. Oh, yeah. Definitely great drugs. Where had
this prescription been the past twenty-five years?

Becca snatched a
softly woven throw from the back of a wooden chair and wrapped it around her
like a shawl. Gingerly, she put one foot forward—still no pain. She cautiously
took a second step and a third. Pleased with her body’s response, she glanced
around the room. Her need for the bathroom hit critical and facing what was out
in the hallway, beyond the one door in the room, was not very high on her
To Do
list. Too bad she didn’t have a
private room. She’d always been shy about her bodily functions. Becca turned
around to face the door.

She sucked in her
breath. That gorgeous guy lounged against the doorjamb, leering at her. “How
long have you been there?” she sputtered.

Grinning lopsidedly,
he affirmed her worst fear when he answered, “Long enough, cailín.”

The man positively
purred at her, and Becca couldn’t keep her eyes from straying. Lord, but he was
tall, and with all that black hair, that broad chest...not to mention... She
jerked her gaze back to his face.

Ciaran really hadn’t
meant to watch her get out of bed, but when she threw back the covers and was
naked... Then she swung those magnificent legs over the side of the bed, and he
couldn’t force his eyes to look away or his body to behave. He was pleased
she’d boldly looked him over.
Tit for tat,
he thought.

The delicate pink
tip of her tongue swept across her bottom lip, and he almost groaned aloud. He
knew the gesture was unconscious on her part, which made it even more enticing.
When her top teeth tugged at her lip, it was all he could do to stand there.
Every muscle in his body wanted to sweep her into his arms so he could kiss her
soundly. She blushed, and the fact she was embarrassed by her perusal of him
amused a man who’d never been amused by a cailín before.

Defensively, she
pulled the throw closer around her. “Do you mind?” she snarled pointedly.

“I don’t mind at
all.” His masculine conceit fueled his smug grin.

Becca looked around
for something to throw at his arrogant expression. Guessing her intentions, he
laughed before ducking out the door and tugging it closed behind him.

She still had a
problem. Finding the bathroom was now a matter of
go, or else
. Nervous about having the cute dude hanging around
outside the door, she hesitantly opened it and stuck her head out.

Two brawny men with
massive swords strapped to their waists spun with exquisite symmetry to block
her exit. The look of surprise on their faces mirrored her own expression. She
blushed furiously. She needed the bathroom, and she needed it now. “Bathroom?”
she squeaked, her face scarlet. Only the word “bathroom” had not come out of
her mouth. The word she’d uttered sounded more like “garderobe.”

The men tried not to
ogle her, and Becca found that almost as amusing as the cute dude giving her
the once-over, but then again, she
was
basically naked, and men were
men. One man stepped back and gestured down the hallway. The second stepped in
front of her and led the way while the first fell in behind. Had she landed in
some asylum for the criminally insane? Was that why she had guards? Then again,
maybe this was all part of a drug-induced fantasy. When the door to the
bathroom swung open, Becca gagged. Slightly larger than a big walk-in closet,
the room featured a bench with holes cut in it bumped up against the far wall
and a straw-covered floor. The smells emanating from the bench crinkled her
nose. Though clean, the room reminded her a bit too much of a bad version of a
porta potty at the county fair. Still, it was better than a bedpan. With relief
in sight, she looked around for toilet paper and found nothing but a pile of
clean-smelling clover straw. She eyed it distastefully but did what she had to
do.

Her face still
heated from her blush, she scurried back to her room. The men escorted her,
ushered her inside, and firmly shut the door behind her. Becca was glad to see
the nurse straightening the bed linens, even though both hounds and the kitten
had abandoned her. Maybe the drugs were wearing off.

“Ah, and yer looking
much better today, cailín,” the woman crooned to her. “Are yee hungry?”

Becca realized she
was. Ravenous, in fact. She hadn’t wanted food in ages. She nodded.

“Good. Yee need to
be putting some meat back on yer bones, cailín.”

Becca found her
voice. “Why do you keep calling me
colleen
? I’m older than you are.”

The woman laughed at
her. “Older than me? Are yee touched, girl?”

“I’m
fifty-years-old,” Becca insisted.

“Then I’m nigh a
hundred.” The nurse chuckled dryly.

A tight knot formed
in Becca’s stomach. She clenched her fists, waiting for the pain to take her.
She grew still.

The woman eyed her
worriedly. “What is it, cailín?” She hurried over and put her arms around her,
and the muscles Becca felt grow so tight relaxed.

When the pain didn’t
come, Becca relaxed a tiny bit more. No pain was good, but what her nurse
insisted to be true about their ages was a horse of a different color. Suddenly
curious, she checked the walls and furniture, but no mirrors reflected her
face. ’
Course not, silly. Silvered glass is still a century or two away
.

She congratulated
her psyche on the construction of this delicious fantasy. She noticed a large
metal bowl and a pitcher on a table tucked against the wall.
Must be what
they use for a sink
. A round metal plate, like a shield, hung on the wall
above the table. Its highly burnished surface reflected the room like a mirror.
Step by hesitant step, like a moth drawn to a flame, she crossed the floor,
stared into the shiny metal, and fainted dead away.

Ciaran stepped into
the room as the girl looked into the polished shield hanging on the wall. Her
faint caught him by surprise. With superhuman speed, he dashed across the floor
and caught her before her head smacked against the stones of the floor. He
cradled her to his chest for a moment, relishing her nearness and warmth.

The clucking behind
him reminded him to get up and get the wee cailín back into bed. He sat on the
edge of the bed, holding her on his lap. Reluctant to put her down, he
delighted in the fact his arms were wrapped around her nakedness and her bottom
fit so perfectly against his groin.

Thanks to Siobhan’s
healing magic, the girl’s bruises and cuts were fading. He searched her face.
High cheekbones curved around to a strong but feminine jaw. Her neck was long
and graceful, her nose pert and her lips full, luscious, and entirely kissable.
He bent his head, wanting to taste the sweetness he knew he’d find there.

****

“You said she
wouldn’t remember.” That voice was accusatory.

“She shouldn’t.”
That voice was filled with denial.

“Yet she does. ’Tis
a complication we shouldn’t have to deal with.”

“It is an art, not a
science.”

“What have you done
to me?”

****

“Why nothing,
cailín, at least not yet, though I was planning on kissing yee.”

The deep voice
washed over her as warm and sexy as a caress. Becca opened her eyes. The
Chippendale dancer she’d talked to earlier now held her cradled in his lap. She
stared at his full lips only inches from her own. Something hard poked her
bottom and she squirmed. The man’s eyes widened in surprise as a look of pure
desire washed across his face. Becca sucked in her breath hoping not to break
into a fit of giggles. All she could think of was the old Mae West line...“Is
that a gun in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?” In this topsy-turvy
time warp of a hallucination, she suspected this male model of a medieval
warrior wouldn’t know what a gun was. However, he would more than likely know
what was in his pocket and would know precisely what to do with it when he
brought it out into the light of day. The thought turned her stomach into a
cheerleader, flip-flopping wildly as the muscles between her legs clenched.