Brides of Ireland: A Medieval Historical Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She swallowed hard, daring to look him in the eye. “I… I have never sewn a wound. I do not think I can.”

  He smiled faintly. “Certainly you can. I shall help you.”

  She made a face of disgust. “Kirk, I do not think….”

  A sharp rap at the door interrupted her. Gladly, she answered and Niles burst into the room. One look at Kirk’s bloody torso and the man came apart.

  “Christ!” he exclaimed, rushing to the bed. “What in the hell happened?”

  Kirk was quite cool. “Spencer pressed his attentions and I was forced to defend my interests.” He cocked an eyebrow at Niles’ dismayed expression. “The lady was not persuasive enough in her attempts to be rid of him. I had no other choice.”

  “There is always a choice,” Niles insisted. “The entire castle has heard of the clash and considering this is Spencer’ domain, they are siding with him.”

  “I care not who the people of Quernmore side with. Spencer did all he could to take Mara away from me and I did what I felt necessary to dissuade him.”

  Niles looked at Mara, standing rather pale next to the bed. She looked terribly guilty and he refrained from comment; it was no one’s fault in particular, but Niles was concerned with the fact that le Vay seemed to be taking a good deal of grief from his vassals who wanted Kirk sent home to Anchorsholme in disgrace. He had been in the great hall for the past several minutes, listening to the rising displeasure.

  “I suppose we can thank God that you did not kill the man,” he muttered, casting Kirk’s wound a long glance before turning away. “Were that the case, I am sure we would have a mob on our hands. You must remember, Kirk, that Spencer is very much loved here at Quernmore. Whether or not he tried to steal your lady.”

  Kirk was well aware of the situation and the consequences that could have transpired. And he certainly wasn’t blind to le Vay’s disappointment or the fact that his military support was now in jeopardy. With a grunt of effort, he swung his legs over the bed.

  “Then I suppose I should soothe the situation before it grows out of hand,” he said, wincing as he rose to his feet. “Clearly I am to be made the villain in all of this.”

  Mara rushed to his side. “You cannot! I must tend your wound!”

  He cast her an amused expression. “How? With kisses and magic? Not a minute ago you informed me that you had no intention of sewing it.”

  She frowned. “I never said that I did not intend to sew it. I simply said that I had never sewn a wound before.”

  He looked around for his stained tunic, his voice mockingly high as he repeated her words. “‘Kirk, I do not think I can sew your hideous gash.’” When Niles snickered, Kirk turned to Mara with a smirk on his face. “Fear not, you spineless creature. I shall survive without your needle and thread.”

  Her cheeks pinkened, torn between extreme anger and the urge to giggle. “How dare you taunt me.” She stamped her little foot. “Very well, then. Go and make your attempts to soothe the vicious mob and I hope they tear you limb from limb for your efforts!”

  He grinned broadly, pulling the tunic over his head. Putting his fingers in the hole left by Spencer, he gasped like a woman and pretended to faint at the sight of his wound. Mara rushed at him, slapping him with her little hands.

  “You’re a horrible, nasty man!” She struggled with him even as he grabbed her, laughing deeply. “Out of my sight before I use your own sword against you!”

  He tried to kiss her but she slapped his lips, drawing guffaws from Niles. Laughing as she continued to wrestle with him, Kirk groaned when he moved suddenly to avoid being hit in the belly. All struggles and frivolity came to an end.

  “Kirk!” Mara gasped. “Did I hurt you? Are you all right?”

  He eyed her, his hand to his left side. “You have sorely taxed me, you brutal wench. If you will not sew this scratch, then I suppose I shall have to find someone who will.”

  “Lily sews a rather beautiful stitch,” Niles said, a grin playing on his lips. “Mayhap you should seek her skills.”

  “Lily is tending Spencer,” Mara said before Kirk could reply. Casting Kirk a long glance, she nodded with resignation. “I suppose I shall have to do it if you’re going to whine about it. Niles, would you procure a needle and thread for me, please?”

  Niles dipped his head. “With pleasure, my lady.”

  It wasn’t as bad as she had imagined. With Niles’ expert guidance, Mara managed to put seven stitches in Kirk’s side and, rather pleased that she hadn’t vomited in the process, smiled triumphantly at her pale patient. Kirk patted her on the head, his fatigue and blood loss rendering him weak and sleepy.

  Still, he intended to find le Vay and apologize for his actions. But the longer he lay on the soft mattress, the more tired he became. By the time Niles left the room, Kirk was snoring softly on the blankets.

  Mara bolted the door after Niles departed. A fire blazed brightly in the hearth and she moved to douse the spirit candles, two by the bed and another on a small table by the door. The strange bedchamber was warm and dim, shadows from the flickering flames dancing on the walls as she stood beside the bed and removed her surcoat.

  It fell in a heap on the floor. Carefully, she peeled back the linens and crawled into bed, being sure not to disturb Kirk. He lay on the top of the coverlet, sleeping an exhausted sleep, and she kissed him tenderly on the cheek. Gazing at his masculine beauty, memorizing every line of his face, she smiled faintly as she snuggled beneath the covers.

  But sleep did not come as easily for her as it had for him. Mara did not know how long she lay there, listening to the strange sounds around her and Kirk’s soft snoring. It was cold in the room in spite of the fire and she pressed against him, relishing his heat. But still, she could not sleep.

  His shoulder was next to her face and Mara found herself tracing the powerful lines of his muscles, touching the large veins that bulged through the skin. Her small fingers moved upward, feeling the stubble of his neck and tickling the cleft in his chin. Involved in her exploration, she propped herself up on an elbow to inspected his ears, noting that the lobes were perfectly formed. Finding a tiny scar just under his jaw, she was in the process of examining it when Kirk groaned softly.

  “You’re going to be the death of me, lass.”

  She smiled. “What do you mean by that?”

  His eyes rolled open, clouded with sleep. “What I mean is that I would like to sleep. I should sleep, considering I have lost a good deal of blood.” A great hand came up, cupping her chin. “But all I can think of at this moment is making love to you until the sun rises.”

  She put her face in his neck, nuzzling his scratchy skin. “I thought I might lose you today, Kirk. And the thought of you going to Ireland to quell a rebellion frightens me to death. If you were to die…”

  “I will not,” he said firmly, grunting as he rolled off the bed. Pulling back the coverlet he had been sleeping on, he removed his hose and climbed into bed beside Mara. Gathering her in his arms, he sighed raggedly at the feel of her delicious body. “Trust me, love. Never doubt that I shall return to you.”

  Her naked skin against his, Mara was giddily content. “But what if you do not? What if you die and I am left with nothing?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, bright blue eyes melding with stone-gray. “Give me something to remember you by.”

  He grinned, kissing her chin, her cheek. “Gladly. Other than my body and soul, what else would you have?”

  She stared off into the darkness of the room as his lips moved down her neck. “A son.”

  He stopped. Abruptly, he pulled away, staring at her. “What did you say?”

  Mara was resolute. “I want a son.” She touched his face, smiling in response to his shock. “Why does this surprise you? We are to be married, are we not? Whether I conceive now or on our wedding night will make no difference.”

  Odd that she was reflecting his own thoughts on the night he had taken her maidenhood. A son. But not so odd consi
dering how much they thought alike. Or how very much they felt for one another.

  “But… Mara, we shall not be married until I return from Ireland,” he said. “There will not be time before I leave. And I could be gone months, lass. Time enough for your condition to announce to the world our ill restraint.”

  “You would be ashamed, then?”

  “Never. But I would not want you to feel ashamed or humiliated.”

  “Bearing your child would make me proud.” She continued to smile. “You once told Edmund that we take whatever child God gives us, male or female. And the same can be said for the timing of the child, Kirk. We have no control over such things. For all we know, I have already conceived considering this sin we have committed was established by God to create a child. Has that not occurred to you?”

  He nodded vaguely, swallowed by the emotion from the bright blue eyes. “It has. And so has something else.”

  “What is that?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Your sister was right. You do have a good deal of common sense, though you like to pretend otherwise.”

  Mara laughed softly. “And my common sense tells me that I want your son, no matter what the cost. A son for the great Master of Anchorsholme.”

  “It could be a lass.”

  “Would you be disappointed?”

  “Perish the thought.”

  Mara gazed at him, feeling the pull of emotion overwhelm her. Lowering her head, she brushed her lips against his. “Then give me your son, Kirk Connaught,” she breathed against his mouth. “Give me your life so that you will never, ever leave me.”

  He growled, pulling her tight against him and plunging his tongue into her mouth. Mara wrapped her legs around him as he rolled on top of her, feeling his weight and power with the greatest of joy.

  “Kirk,” she gasped as his lips moved to her breast. “I do love you. I love you with all my heart.”

  He paused, his gray eyes filled with emotion. “Oh, Mara,” he whispered. “You know the feeling is very, very mutual. I cannot remember when I have not loved you.”

  There were tears in her eyes. “When I raked my nails across your face?”

  He shook his head. “Not even then.” He lifted himself so he was level with her gaze. “But if it worries you so, then make amends to me.”

  She kissed his scabs, so tenderly that Kirk could literally feel her reverence. “There,” she murmured. “Better?”

  “Hmm, much.” He kissed her in return, gathering her against him once more. “And it shall be better still.”

  Mara wrapped her legs around his hips, feeling his arousal push at her. Kirk’s hand was to her breast, his lips against her forehead, her cheek, as he murmured words of love and desire. With every caress, every kiss, the fire in her loins grew and she thrust her pelvis forward, capturing the tip of his seeking manhood. Kirk groaned, bracing himself, as he finished what she had started by pushing deep into her body.

  The first heavy thrust rocked her. Mara gasped with pleasure, lifting her arms and grasping the bedpost for support as he thrust into her again and again. She was slick with passion, fully prepared to accept all of the maleness he had to offer.

  “Harder, Kirk,” she breathed. “Do it… harder.”

  He nearly exploded, her words of lust driving him to the brink. But he controlled himself, obeying her command by pumping firmly into her responsive little body. Mara squirmed and panted, lifting her pelvis to meet him, demanding pleasure only he could supply.

  The world rocked. Mara could feel Kirk’s hand on her breasts as he drove into her, pinching her nipples into hard pellets. Her legs held him tight, squeezing him against her as the heat of desire mounted.

  Mara savored the exquisite blaze in her loins, remembering how Kirk had so ably doused the fire with his magical touch. And she wanted to experience the same pleasure again. Releasing the bedpost, she pulled his mouth to her swollen lips.

  “Make me feel as you did last night,” she whispered between heated kisses. “The pleasure… the feelings, Kirk. Bring them back to me.”

  “In time, love.” He suddenly rolled onto his back, still joined to her. “All in good time.”

  Mara gasped with the swift movement as she ended up on top of him. Kirk grinned up at her, both hands moving to her supple breasts.

  “You wanted feelings, love?” He thrust his hips upward, slowly. “The make your own feelings. Ride me as I ride you.”

  Hair wildly askew, Mara looked puzzled. Kirk moved again, encouragingly, until she timidly took the lead. Pushing herself up, she grinned wickedly when he groaned.

  “Like this?” She slid down on him and pushed up again. Repeating the process, she watched Kirk twitch and moan. “Do you like this?”

  He nodded weakly, his eyes closed. “Christ, woman. I am mere putty in your hands.”

  Mara grinned. She could make her own wonderful feelings by impaling herself on him, sliding the length of his shaft and feeling her body shudder with delight. The rhythm soon became steady, the pulse pounding, and in little time Mara felt the familiar explosion ripple through her groin. Kirk held her hips firmly, feeling her muscles milk him, demanding his seed. He could not help but answer.

  Mara felt him erupt deep inside her and she smiled, eyes closed and head lolling. “That’s right,” she murmured, squirming atop him to drain every last drop. “Give it all to me, Kirk. Give me your son.”

  In spite of his pleasure and exhaustion, Kirk laughed softly. “Is that all you want me for?”

  Her eyes were still closed. Lazily, she smiled. “Aye.”

  He took a deep breath as the waves of rapture faded, pulling her against his chest. Weak and sated, Mara dozed to the sound of his pounding heart.

  Kirk’s lips caressed her forehead, his thoughts turning from their lovemaking to his impending trip to Ireland. The urge to take her with him was tremendous, but he knew in his heart she must stay behind. Still, the thought of separation ate away at him like a cancer and he gathered her closer, pulling the linens over them both in a protective cocoon.

  “Kirk?”

  He had thought she was asleep. “What is it, love?”

  “Do I have to stay at Anchorsholme while you are gone?”

  Her head was tucked under his chin and he caressed her back, gazing into the darkness. “There is little choice. Where else would you stay?”

  “Haslingden Hall.” She lifted her sleepy face to meet his gaze. “Mayhap you could supply an escort to guard me while you are away.”

  He sighed; truthfully, the idea wasn’t a bad one. “What of Micheline? She will have to remain at Anchorsholme.”

  Mara pushed the hair from her eyes, making a face. “Edmund doesn’t like her, anyway. Mayhap he will allow her to return to Haslingden simply to be rid of her.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I doubt that. But supposing I allowed you returned to Haslingden, the place is in shambles. Do you truly wish to return to such poverty?”

  She could see he was trying to talk her out of it. Mara stared at him, realizing that if he truly had confidence that nothing would happen to her at Anchorsholme, then he would have discouraged her idea from the onset. Instead, he actually seemed interested. And that worried her.

  “I would rather return to Haslingden that meet my death at Anchorsholme,” she said. “And I can see that you agree.”

  “I told you that nothing would happen to you at Anchorsholme.”

  “But you do not fully believe that, else you would not have allowed me to entertain the thought of returning to Haslingden.” She eyed him a moment. “If neither place is acceptable, then you could always ask Lord le Vay to watch over me.”

  He looked as if he had been struck. “With Spencer waiting to steal you when my back is turned?” He snorted rudely. “I think not, lady.”

  She shrugged. “It was merely an idea. I did not say that I wanted to stay here.”

  “And you shan’t,” he said firmly, miffed by her suggestion. “The mere idea is ludicrous.�
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  “Fine, fine,” she agreed simply because he seemed so agitated, “I apologize for even mentioning it.”

  He glared at her and she smiled sweetly, kissing him on the nose. “You shall stay at Anchorsholme,” he said, struggling to maintain his stern attitude in the face of her kisses. “You and Micheline shall be safe from harm, I swear it.”

  “But you will be in Ireland,” she said, kissing his chin and feeling his body react to her. “How can you be sure?”

  He softened, his affront fading as she began to kiss his broad shoulder. “By threatening Edmund’s life,” he rumbled, his hands moving from her back to her buttocks. “If anything happens to you, I shall make sure his death is not pleasant.”

  “And you are sure he will listen?”

  Kirk’s hands were moving down her slender thighs, pulling her knees apart as he wedged his big body between them. “He will listen. Especially if I threaten Johanne.”

  Mara paused in her kisses, casting him a strange glance. “You would harm a woman?”

  One hand moved from her knee to her private core, fingering the thatch of dark curls. “Johanne is not a woman, Mara,” he muttered. “She is a mad beast and I suspect it is she, and not Edmund, who is behind the vanishings.”

  Mara did not like the sound of that at all. “What makes you believe so?”

  Kirk was silent a moment. “Because the women who vanished had all shown me undue attention. I never responded to any of them, but it is well known that Johanne is rather fond of me and her jealousy feeds her madness.” His hands moved to her buttocks again, caressing them. “And that is why we will live in Ireland, far away from Anchorsholme and far away from Johanne’s insanity. But until then, I have no doubt that you shall be untouchable to the evil forces of Anchorsholme. You are the only woman I have ever loved and that fact alone shall place you above harm. If some mishap befalls you, the wrath of the Master shall be severe.”

  Mara gazed at him, wanting so desperately to believe him. “Promise?”

  “I do.”

  She would not dream of disputing his vow. Smiling weakly, she kissed his smooth lips. “Then I shall wait for your return at Anchorsholme.”