The Warrior's wager: A Celtic Romance Novel (Warriors of Eriu Book 2)

by Mia Pride

  She determined never to call other lassies weak for doing domestic chores. She had not sweat so hard in her life. Working over a hearth fire was no easy task. Her clothes finally slipped over her head and she sighed as her skin was able to breath, even if she was surrounded only by a stuffy, smoky room. Her ample breasts hung free for a moment, and she wondered what Alastar would do if he came home to find her completely naked and cooking him a meal. She laughed at the thought. He would likely die from heart failure, to go from a wife who changed behind curtains and forced him to eat her mother’s food, to a wife who cooked nude for him.

  Mayhap someday when they were more… intimate, she decided. As interesting as her thoughts were and as enticing as the fantasy was, this was reality. Alastar had never seen her naked, and she sure wasn’t going to allow her first time nude in front of him to be while she was sticky with sweat and stirring a bubbling cauldron. Her breasts would likely hang over the pot and scald in the stew. That thought made her laugh out loud again and she realized she was finding much more entertainment in her domestic chores than she expected.

  Her night shift was much too sheer to wear by itself, and she owned no true dresses aside from her wedding dress. Looking around the room, she noticed the small wooden chest with iron hinges at the end of Alastar’s bed. Rummaging through it, she found a tattered white tunic of his. Slight guilt washed over her when she noticed the condition of his many tunics. Most men had wives who would be skilled at mending garments, but Alastar had married her, a lass who refused to do anything for him that did not please her. Och, she had been a shrew. She vowed to change that. Alastar had kept his distance because of her, but he deserved better. She could find time to hunt and roam, and still be useful in the home, she decided.

  Slipping the old tunic over her head, she laughed as she realized it fell well past her knees. Still, it covered more skin than her usual garments. With a shrug, she pulled her plait through the tunic opening and went back to stirring her stew. She cooked the meat of a rabbit she had caught in a trap earlier that day and found that there was a keen satisfaction in preparing a meal for her husband using the meat of an animal she had captured herself. How many lassies could say that? “Aislin, huntress and domestic goddess,” she said aloud with pride and laughed as she added some chopped carrots to her stew.

  She knew stew took a while to cook. How long? She had never cared to learn, but how long could it be? Deciding to leave the cauldron to boil slowly, she looked around the house and wondered how she could fill her time as she waited. She looked at the chest filled with his garments again, and remembered the sewing needles and thread her mama had gifted her after her handfast. At first, Aislin had balked at the gift. It was yet one more reminder that her mama would never accept that Aislin was not a typical lass. Now, seeing those tunics in need of desperate repair and having no other way to fill her time while the stew cooked, she went to her own chest beside her bed and opened it up. It was relatively empty, containing a few spare garments, nightclothes, some gold jewelry such as torcs and armbands her mother had gifted her. Beneath all her sparse possessions, she finally found the small basket containing needles and thread.

  She walked over to Alastar’s bed and plopped down, taking a pile of colorful worn tunics onto her lap. She had never sewn a tunic before, but if she could kill, skin and gut an animal… how hard could this be? Squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath, Aislin dumped the contents of her basket upside down sloppily. Nobody had ever accused her of being tidy. Finding a small bone needle in the mix of colorful thread, she looked at the hole and wondered how she was meant to fit the wee end of a piece of thread through the wee hole of this wee needle.

  Puffing a long stray curl away from her face, she took the tunic on the top of the pile—a faded blue one, and searched her thread for a matching color. None of the colors would match the dyes of his tunics. His were old and had clearly been dyed with plants from another region. But the dark green thread in her pile would have to do and if she was careful enough, nobody would ever notice.

  “You can do this, Aislin—huntress and domestic goddess.” Sticking her tongue out the side of her mouth between her teeth, she concentrated on the task and attempted to thread her first bone needle ever.

  ***

  The moment Alastar opened his door, he heard a humming noise and crinkled his brow. Was there a swarm of bees trying to build a hive near his door? As much as he welcomed the source of delicious honey, he would have to carefully relocate it, so bees did not begin flying into their home. But, when he stepped another foot inside, he stopped dead in his tracks. The humming was coming from Aislin, who was dancing around in his worn white tunic while stirring something in the cauldron.

  Frozen in place, he watched her, blinking rapidly. Words escaped him. His stomach clenched at her beauty. Wisps of wild red waves floated around her face, escaping the plait in her hair. She had not worn her hair in that fashion since their wedding, but he found it enticing. The slim column of her neck was exposed as she continued to hum and shake her rear while stirring. He had never heard her hum or do anything other than control her emotions carefully. She had not yet seen him walk through the door and he used this moment to soak in her every detail.

  Her long tan legs, so used to being exposed to the sun, stood out in contrast to his white tunic that went down to her knees. His heart beat wildly and his groin tightened. When she leaned over to stir whatever was cooking in the cauldron, the fire from the hearth shone through the fabric of his tunic, illuminating every detail of her body. She was facing away from him and all he could see were the round globes of her backside and the tempting curve of her hips. Silently, he begged her to turn so he could see the front view. He longed to see her full breasts, their tips pressing against his tunic. He wanted to see the triangle of hair between her legs. A small groan escaped his lips, but she thankfully did not hear it over her own humming.

  Just then, the cursed wolfhound barked and pushed himself through the entrance of the house, running toward Aislin. With a frightened scream, Aislin dropped the wooden spoon she had used to stir and turned just in time to see the gray hound charging directly toward her. Her big green eyes went wide as she put her hands out to brace herself. Another squeal of shock escaped her parted lips just as the huge pup got up on her hind legs, knocking Aislin onto her backside with a grunt. At only three moons old, the pup easily weighed two stone and stood almost half of Aislin’s height.

  The scene was complete chaos and seemed to move in slow motion as he watched his wife tumble to the ground, the huge hound licking her face and wagging its tail as Aislin flailed frantically. Alastar moved swiftly to Aislin’s side and realized she was laughing as she tried to block the dogs ambitious tongue from reaching her face.

  “Sit Branwen! Sit!” he commanded. True to Àdhamh’s word, the hound was well-trained and instantly sat directly on top of Aislin’s stomach, tongue lolling and breathing heavily.

  Aislin looked from the strange hound to Alastar and back again with confusion marring her brow. “Branwen?” she murmured questioningly as she stared at the dog sitting on top of her. The fabric of his tunic was pulled taut across her breasts and Alastar could not help but take in the sight of her erect nipples pushing against the garment and the outline of the enticing flesh.

  Swallowing, he forced himself to divert his gaze and focus on her stunned face. She smiled and pet the hound. “Surprise!” he chuckled.

  She used her elbows to push herself up to a sitting position and Branwen took the hint, finally scrambling off her abdomen.

  “You got us a hound?” she asked looking at him with an excited twinkle in her eye.

  “Nay. I got you a hound. Tis a well-bred and trained wolfhound. She is only three moons old, but she will help you with the hunt and be a constant companion to you. Tis your wedding gift.”

  Aislin’s mouth dropped and Alastar chuckled, wishing desperately that they were at the place in their relationship where he could c
asually lean in to kiss the shock off her lips. “A wedding gift? I… I did not get you a wedding gift…” her voice drifted off and a small frown marred her beautiful face.

  “You gave me yourself, Lin.” Scooting beside her, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Truly, you are gift enough.” She sighed when his lips grazed the sensitive inner flesh of her wrist. A playful smile spread across his face. “Watching you dance around in my tunic was a wonderful gift.”

  “You saw that?” her eyes grew wide and her cheeks flushed, but she smiled in amusement and bit her lower lip.

  She drove him wild when she chewed her bottom lip. “Aye, I saw the entire thing and I much approve. You can sing and dance around the house in my tunics any day.”

  She laughed and swatted him playfully, but then sobered up. “Thank you for the hound. Tis a beautiful gift. You named her Branwen?”

  “Who better than the goddess of love and beauty? It reminds me of you.” She looked at him like she was unsure if she believed him, so he changed the subject. “Àdhamh has been training her since our handfast. She is young, but she is ready to accompany you. I gave her a wool blanket you had slept in from your mother’s house, so she knows your scent, your name, and all the commands.”

  “I do not know what to say,” she murmured as she looked at the soft gray hound and petted her gently. “She is beautiful.”

  “You are beautiful.” Her eyes locked onto his and he saw the raw vulnerability in her features. For all of her pride, inside was a woman so unsure of her own self-worth. More than anything, he wished to show her just how valuable she was. Leaning in slowly, he brought himself half way, hoping she would clear the extra distance. She did, very slowly, tentatively.

  Her lips paused a hair’s breadth from his, her sweet breath brushing across his face. His heart pounded wildly with anticipation. She smelled of the same lavender soap he bathed himself in, and he inhaled deeply. He leaned in to cover the remaining distance and covered her mouth with his.

  “Woof!” Branwen barked loudly, causing Aislin to jump and shriek, her forehead colliding with his painfully.

  “Ouch,” he murmured, rubbing his head.

  Aislin rubbed her head as well, laughing as Branwen pushed her down onto her back again.

  “Do you smell something burning?”

  With a gasp, Aislin sat up swiftly and jumped to her feet. “Och! My stew!”

  “You made a stew?” he cocked a brow and helped her up.

  “Surprise!” she repeated his words from earlier and he could not help the bark of laughter that he let out. He was having more fun with her than he had had combined in the past three moons. He loved her spirit and playful nature. Most importantly, he loved that she was finally sharing this side of herself with him.

  Walking over to the cauldron, she grimaced as she looked down at its smoking contents. “I am not very good at this.”

  “I bet tis delicious.” Alastar walked over to the stacked clay bowls and grabbed two, ladling some for her, and then some for himself. After blowing on the stew for several minutes, he took a sip of the thick gravy. The flavor was delicious and he smiled at her encouragingly. “Tis quite good, Lin.”

  A look of relief washed over her face and she decided to sip hers as well, smiling proudly.

  “What meat is this?” he asked before trying a bite.

  “Tis rabbit. I caught it myself today.”

  “You are a lass of many talents,” he praised her as he tried a piece of the meat. It was awful. Stringy, tough, and flavorless, he kept his features straight as he chewed, hoping his jaw did not break in the process. “Mmm…” he added in for good measure.

  Taking a bite herself, she chewed for less than one second before she spit it back into her bowl. “Bleh! Tis horrid!” she croaked.

  “Oh, thank the gods,” he shouted as he spit his out into his own bowl, as well. “Tis terrible, Lin.”

  At first, he thought she would box his ears and call him foul names, but instead, she tilted her head back and began to laugh until tears streamed down her face. “Well, not bad for my first try,” she shrugged and wiped away a tear.

  “Can I just say that I love that you did try? Together, we will learn to do this.”

  “Together?” she questioned and looked at him with wonder.

  “Aye. We are in this together. We are intelligent people; we can figure this out.”

  His heart warmed at the smile on her face, his spirits lifting. Mayhap they would find a comfortable rhythm in their marriage and she would learn to trust him. Already, he could see she had gone out of her comfort zone for him this night, trying to make him a meal.

  “Thank you,” she replied and looked around their home awkwardly. Branwen sat patiently, staring at the cauldron filled with rabbit meat. “At least she will eat it,” Aislin scoffed. “We can still have a meal at my mama’s house?”

  He nodded and smiled. “I think that is a good plan. I need to change my tunic first. This one smells like bollocks after hours of training.” Yanking off his tunic, he walked over to his chest and opened the lid.

  “Er… Alastar?” she called to him as he got down on his knee to find a garment.

  “Aye?”

  “About your tunics…” her voice faded off as he lifted the first one he saw, a faded blue tunic he had owned for years. Being a single man without a family for so many years, he had no lass to make or mend his garments and he was much too busy to care.

  Unfolding his tunic, he went to put it over his head and then paused. “Hmmm.” He stared at the crooked, unsightly bright green stitches going down the full seam of both sleeves. He knew they had been in rough shape, but he could swear they at least had faded stitching to match.

  “I mended all of your tunics today,” Aislin said quietly from behind him. He could not help the smile that formed on his lips. Och, his wife was a domestic disaster, and he loved her all the more for it.

  “All of them?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at her with a raised brow. She nodded solemnly and folded her hands nervously in front of her. Standing, he held the tunic up to the light of the fire, pretending to observe it carefully. “You are very skilled with a needle and thread, wife,” he said with a cocky grin.

  “Oh, shush! Do not tell me falsehoods!” she laughed as she threw his old, dirty tunic at him playfully.

  He dodged and laughed, slipping his newly improved blue tunic with green stitching over his head. “What?” he said with feigned exasperation. “I think you did a fine job of it!” She was silent for a moment and glared at him, as if waiting for him to finally tell her how awful it looked. “I think the bright green stitching really compliments the faded blue. I will be the envy of all the men. Mayhap I will start a trend!”

  She laughed and charged at him, whapping his shoulder as he enfolded her in his arms and swung her around. “Och, you! You know very well ‘tis awful, Alastar!” she laughed as he held her tightly against him, tickling her ribs until she squirmed.

  “I know nay such thing. They are the best tunics I have ever owned, and I shall wear them every day. And make certain you receive all the credit.”

  “Oh!” she growled, trying to break free, but he only intensified his attack. “You are a horrible man!”

  “And you are a wonderful wife,” he replied, ceasing his tickling and turning her to face him. Her hair had fallen out of its plait, framing her face in glorious waves. Her flushed cheeks and smile made his insides melt, and his groin tighten. Her breasts pushed against his chest as she caught her breath.

  His face grew serious and he scooped her hair behind her ear, so he could better look at her face. “Truly. I love the stew. I love my tunics. I love that you hate domestic duties and did them anyway. I have not had a woman cook or mend for me since…” his voice faded off as his mother’s sweet memory drifted into his mind and he realized he could hardly picture her face anymore. “Tis been a long time,” he croaked.

  She searched his gaze and he was cer
tain she could see the repressed pain in their depth. More importantly, he hoped she could see his sincerity. Her efforts meant everything to him. “I love that you got me a hunting hound,” she whispered. “I love that you love my mending skills,” she giggled, trying to sober her features.

  “I suppose we love many things about one another,” he said carefully. He would not tell her he loved her, though in his heart, he truly felt it. He knew she did not feel the same and he did not want to make her feel rushed into saying or feeling anything she was not ready for. But inside, he was nigh bursting with love for her and all he could think to do was put his hands on either side of her face and kiss her senseless.

  She gasped at the assault but did not push back. He had kissed her so many times since their handfast ceremony, but those had all been in public, for everyone else’s benefit, or so she believed. She thought this was all an act, but it was time she knew how real this was. This terrifying connection they shared, the shock like lightning that ran through them when they connected, could never be falsely created.

  He swept his tongue into her mouth, feeling her press her own tongue against his. Every nerve in his body wanted to take this further, to finally remove all her clothes, lie her down in his bed, and show her that there was so much more pleasure to be had. But now was not the right moment. As urgent as his need was, they needed to get over to her family’s house. He was starving, and he knew she must be as well.

  Pulling away, he looked down at her while he still cupped her face. “Are you ready?”

  “I cannot leave in your tunic,” she smiled. “People would think that we—”

  “Made love?” he finished for her.

  She swallowed hard and he saw her throat move with the effort. “Aye.”

  “Would that be so bad if people believed I made love to my wife?” he whispered, releasing her face from his palms and swiping her hair behind her ear.

  She was silent for a moment and he thought she would not answer until finally a weak, “Nay,” escaped her kiss-swollen lips. His eyes grew hooded as he looked at Aislin. Mayhap she was becoming more open to a true relationship with him. His heart thudded at the thought.