Forsworn Fate (Sisters of Danu)

by Mia Pride

  He chuckled at himself. The irony was not lost on him that he had spent many years groaning in frustration as she trailed after him, and now he trailed after her like a lovesick fool, groaning as his gaze froze on her rear swaying beneath her green dress. And yet, he continued to follow, wondering how quickly he could arrange their marriage and get her into his bed, and why he had been such a fool to have avoided her for so long.

  Fortunately, she did not expect him to follow her to the end of the earth, only just outside the entrance of the hall. The late summer chill struck Garreth’s face as he left the warmth of the hall, but he welcomed the breeze that helped to cool his blood. She swiveled to face him again, this time resting her hands on her hips and chewing on her bottom lip nervously. His heart kicked wildly in his chest. She was nervous. Beneath this show of bravery, there was still the timid Ceara he had grown to know all these years. “I am freeing you.”

  He blinked in confusion. “Freeing me?” What was she freeing him from?

  “You do not wish to marry me. My entire life, I have expected to become the wife of Garreth Mac Cecht. And yet, here I am, seven and ten summers, never been kissed by a lad, and the only lad with the right to do so has had his lips upon all others in the tuath, except the ones he has a claim to.”

  “Claim to?” Why was he speaking in two-word sentences? She had him awestruck. “You want me to kiss you?” he shook his head. She was speaking, he was certain of it. Yet her plump red lips kept calling to him and all her words got lost in the thrumming sound of blood leaving his head and moving south.

  She chortled loudly. He should have found it rude or repulsive, but it added to this new bolder version of Ceara that was tempting him to no end. He stepped closer, towering over her smaller frame with his warrior’s build. She did not cower or step back. She held her ground and put a hand to his chest to stop his advance.

  “Do you hear me, Garreth? I am freeing you. Go be with Mary...or Hannah. Or another lass you had plans to share your bed with this night. Share it with whomever you wish for the rest of your life. I care not. I will not be the woman to stop you from being with who you truly desire.”

  She turned her back on him to enter the gathering hall, leaving him alone in the cold summer night with nothing but the bleating sheep in a nearby field to keep him company. Her words suddenly sank in and he reacted with the speed of a feral cat. He grabbed her arm and yanked, pulling her into him as her flaming hair whipped with the sudden gust of wind. A fire behind them in the village nearly doubled in size behind her, but she did not seem to notice as she dug her nails into the flesh of his forearm.

  He grit his teeth against the pain, but did not loosen his grip on her. “Perhaps I do not want to be freed,” he growled through clenched teeth.

  Ceara burst out laughing and dug her nails even deeper into his arm. “Oh?” she said as she raised her eyebrow suggestively. “Done sampling the lassies, are you? I think Hannah would have been your next meal, had I not so rudely interrupted.”

  “That was not at all what it appeared.” He pulled her closer, seeing cold breath escape from her lips like wisps of smoke. He wanted to shake her, to make her take back all she had just said. He had only just decided this evening that he was ready to wed her. She could not decide tonight, of all nights, to walk away from him. He would not allow it. “I was looking for you when she almost fell off my lap. I was only steadying her.”

  Ceara burst out laughing and released her painful grip on his arms. She probably had drawn blood, but he dared not look down to check. She would know just how much it had hurt and he would not allow that either.

  Leaning forward to hold her side, Ceara laughed until a tear escaped her left eye. She swiped it away and stood up again, looking at him with pity. He hated that look most. He needed nobody’s pity. “Do you hear yourself, Garreth? You were looking for me, when Hannah almost fell off your lap? How gracious of you to at least consider me while entertaining her. I am convinced you are a reformed man. Marry me now,” she said sarcastically, laughing as she walked away, waving him off as if he were nothing but a bad jest.

  Stopping before she entered the hall again, Ceara looked over her shoulder and shook her head. “Tis better this way. I will not be the forgotten wife of a man forced into marriage. You may look for me all you like while other lassies sit upon your lap. But I shall not be looking for you.”

  Garreth swallowed hard as he watched Ceara walk away from him. He was an arse. He deserved everything she said and more, and he would let her walk away this one time. But on the morrow, he started his courtship of Ceara O Reilly. This new side of Ceara had his blood boiling in his veins and he would have her. She was his, always had been. He had just been too blind to see it...and too stubborn.

  Looking down, he saw multiple crescent marks marring his skin from where her nails had dug deep. As he suspected, a small drop of blood oozed out of one of the gashes, but he could not make himself care. She was a wee feisty thing and Garreth wanted more of whatever Ceara had to offer.

  WALKING BACK INTO THE gathering hall, Ceara let out a shaky breath. Freeing Garreth had been necessary. If she had any reservations before, finding him clutching Hannah while her breasts nearly spilled out of the top of her dress had squashed those. Garreth would never change. Earlier that day, it had been Mary. Several hours later, it was Hannah. Well, she would never play his fool. They could have him.

  A pinch in her heart reminded her how badly she had hoped to somehow be the lass to capture his attention, but this arranged marriage had been their demise. He would have always viewed her as a duty and resented her for it. They never stood a chance. How very typical of him to suddenly act like the jilted lover when she finally gave him what he so desperately craved. He had grit his teeth and clutched her so tightly against him. A lesser lass would have fallen for the look of possession in his eyes in that moment. But the image of him gripping Hannah in the very same way only moments before killed any delusions she had of affection. The man was a wild animal and lassies were nothing but prey. She refused to be the next.

  She was free. Why did that thought make her feel so hollow? She shook her head and looked around the hall. The entire tuath was here to celebrate Lughnasadh. Many had carried the festivities outside where they burned fires and told stories to their neighbors while drinking ale from their horns.

  Looking across the hall, she spotted her mother and Doran sitting on a bench, their foreheads pressed together while they spoke intimately. Her heart pulled at the sight of them. They both deserved happiness. Abigael’s husband had died during a cattle raid and Doran’s wife had died after birthing their daughter, Gwynneth. Somehow, they found companionship in one another, and yet, it was always short lived as King Doran returned home to his people. Aye, he could not stay, for he was the chieftain of Iverni, but she always wondered why her mother did not marry him and travel back with him. There was nothing truly keeping her and Ceara here. She had once thought she must stay to marry Garreth, but now even that was no longer an obstacle. Doran and her mother belonged together. Someone should at least be happy.

  Pushing through the crowd, Ceara worked her way toward her mother and Doran. They looked up at her and smiled as she approached. Ceara leaned in to kiss her mama on the forehead, then Doran on the cheek. “You two should marry,” she blurted out.

  Her mother laughed and shook her head, “Tis impossible. You know he can never stay.”

  “Perhaps not, but we can go to Iverni.”

  Doran and her mother looked at each other and frowned, as if they both shared a secret that she could never be privy to. She did not like that look. It made her feel like a small insignificant lass and she was done feeling that way. “What is this look you two share?” Ceara crossed her arms in annoyance.

  “Ceara. You know very well you are to marry Garreth. You cannot leave Coraindt and I would never leave you. Never. Someday I will have wee grandchildren to love and I want to be here to help you birth them and watch them gro
w and—”

  “Mama, you must cease.” Ceara held up her hand and shook her head. “I will not marry Garreth. There will be nay grandchildren. At least not until I marry another lad. And who knows, perhaps that lad is in Iverni.” She shrugged. She would miss Coraindt and all her people, but none of the lads here had ever piqued her interest, except Garreth, and well, that was obviously never going to happen.

  Her mother sighed and grabbed Ceara’s hand. “Ceara. Must we go through this every day? You will marry Garreth.” She paused as if deep in thought and then smiled. “I will speak with his father on the morrow. Tis time Garreth and you finally said your vows.”

  “Nay, Mama! You do not understand me. I do not want to marry a man who must be convinced to do so by his father! How humiliating! I just saw him with Hannah in his arms. I am done. I have told him tis over. I shall not marry him.”

  King Doran popped off his bench as if it were on fire. “What? You told him you will not marry him? Nay. Ceara! You MUST marry Garreth!”

  Ceara stepped back and covered her heart with her hand. She had never seen Doran so upset. Why did he suddenly care so much whom she married? Aye, she knew he loved her as a daughter, but should he not want more for her than a forced marriage to a man who “sampled” women like one may sample different varieties of sweet berries in the spring?

  Abigael placed a hand soothingly on Doran and gave him that curious look again. “Doran, please.”

  Seeming to calm himself with a deep breath, he stopped ranting and sat down again next to her mother. “I will handle this, Doran,” she heard her mama whisper.

  “Nay. Enough. I have already handled it and tis done.” Grabbing Doran’s large horn filled with sweet honey mead, she guzzled it until the juice dripped off her chin and the last drop slid down her throat. Wiping her chin with the long sleeve of her green dress, she bestowed on them a forced smile. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a festival to attend.” She spun away from them and their concerned gazes quickly, before she felt compelled to apologize for her behavior. Nay, she would not apologize. This was the real Ceara. Independent. Confident. In control of her own fate.

  Passing by another random mug of mead on a table, she grabbed it, never minding to whom it belonged, and drank it down as she had the first one. “Whoa, now lass. If ye wanted some, all ye had to do was ask.” She could hear humor in the voice, and something that sounded more suggestive than necessary. She decided she liked it. After a lifetime of being off limits to men, having one favor her was more tempting than she could deny.

  When she slammed the mug down on the table and looked over her shoulder to follow the voice, she was pleasantly surprised to see the white-toothed smile of the sore-arsed warrior from earlier in the day. “Awe. Aaron Mac Tavish,” she said with a smirk.

  He leaned in and returned her smirk, resting on a wooden beam that supported the thatched roof above. “You asked after me, did ye, lass?”

  “I did not need to ask. Doran warned me against you right away.”

  “And did ye heed his warning, lass? Drinking a man’s mead is a sure way to get his attention.” He stepped closer and looked down at her, his height dwarfing her in size. His dark beard framed his face nicely and when he ran a hand through his soft long waves, she nearly swooned. He was all dark features, compared to Garreth’s light ones, and it seemed like a symbolic gesture that the gods should send him in her direction. But, there was nothing dark about Aaron’s bright blue eyes, except the way they narrowed on her, filled with thoughts she was certain were much darker than his beard.

  Aaron ran a hand through his hair and looked at Ceara quizzically. “Has anyone told ye that ye look the spitting image of King Doran’s own daughter, Gwynneth? Only, ye have red hair, not blonde. She is a bonny wee thing, and so are ye,” he winked.

  Ceara frowned as she took in Aaron’s words. Nay, nobody had ever told her that she looked like Gwynneth, though she had always wondered why the warriors from Iverni stared at her, not lustily, but warily, as if she were some faery sent from the Otherworld to weave a spell on their minds. She shrugged and placed her hand on his arm. “Nay, I have never been told such a thing. And, as for warnings, I need none. As of tonight, I am free to do as I please, and that I will.” She started to walk away but paused when she heard him begin to respond.

  “Is that so, lass? And what is it ye wish to do with yer new freedom?” He quirked a brow at her and leaned in closer until she could smell the sweet mead on his breath.

  She wanted to enjoy herself tonight, but she knew what lads were all about and she was not ready to get involved with this Aaron Mac Tavish, no matter how handsome he was. “I want to drink more mead.” She grabbed another horn from a passing Iverni warrior and chugged it as Aaron watched with a look of shock and amusement on his face.

  Was it Ceara, or was the room beginning to spin? The crowd was growing as the music increased in volume. Someone was playing the pipes while men sang loudly, the lyrics not meant for the ears of innocent lassies, but Ceara could not understand what most of it meant, anyway.

  Fire from the tallow candles flickered on the walls, casting shadows on the smiling faces in the room. Laughter rang loudly around her and all Ceara wanted to do was dance. Her body was loose and tingly all over. She had never felt this way before. She knew it must be the mead swimming through her veins, but she did not care. Nobody could ruin this night for her. She was free to do as she pleased. No more would she concern herself with Garreth and which lass he chose to occupy him on any given night. She had not even stopped to think about him after their talk. He probably went off somewhere with Hannah and Ceara could not care less, or so she told herself.

  Chapter 3

  IF Mac Tavish puts his hands upon Ceara one more time... Garreth fisted his mug filled with ale tightly in his palm and he clenched his jaw. He forced a large gulp past his tight lips while he glowered across the room at Ceara. He was an arse. He knew it for certain, but only had himself to blame. Garreth had had years to create a bond with Ceara and still, he had avoided her at all cost, seeing her as nothing but a burden.

  Now, his burden was hiking her green dress up to her shins while she swiveled her hips to the music and tipped her head back, ringing laughter escaping her plump lips and filling the hall with a sound more jovial than the pipes and horns creating the very music she danced to. Men and women circled her and clapped along to the beat as she spun in a circle, her soft red waves swirling about her face. A smile as bright as the sun graced her lips and her cheeks flushed just as vibrantly. Was it the mead she had guzzled creating that flush? Was it the excitement of the dancing? Or worse yet, the attention that bastard Aaron Mac Tavish was plying her with?

  As if to answer Garreth’s question, Mac Tavish stepped out of the crowd and grabbed her arm, pulling her to him while she laughed and faltered in her steps. Aaron’s large hands encircled Ceara’s waist as he picked her up and swung her around. All eyes in the hall were on them as they twirled together. Garreth glowered as he watched Aaron’s hands slowly creep lower on her hips. If even one finger on the man slipped beneath the leather belt around Ceara’s waist, Garreth would pounce. He was ready. He felt his legs twitching as he sat on the bench and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

  Ceara had called off their arranged marriage, aye, but it was not so simple. It had not been them to arrange the marriage, and it would not be them to dissolve it. Had it been so easy, he would have done so years ago. Now, watching her laugh breathlessly while another man created a joy in her that he had never seen, Garreth was riddled with envy. Whether she liked it or not, she was still his, promised to him, and he would cause a war between Coraindt and Iverni before he let one of the neighboring warriors touch what belonged to him.

  “Perhaps you should stare harder. I do not think your glowering has yet stopped her admirer from advancing.” Garreth snapped his gaze up to see King Doran of Iverni and he grunted.

  “Your warrior is very close to fee
ling my blade in his gut,” Garreth growled as he looked away from the playful gleam in Doran’s hazel eyes and set his sights once again on Ceara. Tilting his mug, he let the bitter ale slide down his throat in one long swig, wiping the foam away from his mouth with his tunic sleeve.

  “Interesting. You seemed to not care so very much for Ceara earlier tonight while Hannah sat upon your lap,” Doran chided. “I think tis time Ceara had some fun of her own. If you choose to have your fun with every lassie in your tuath, why should Ceara not find some companionship of her own? You cannot have it both ways, Garreth.”

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, Garreth sat up straight and gripped his knees with his hands, trying to control his ire. He wanted to rail at Doran that none of this was his affair, but he owned too much honor to speak disrespectfully to a king, especially one who was so close to Ceara. Instead, he cleared his throat and frowned. “Aye. I cannot have it both ways,” he reluctantly agreed. Garreth stood swiftly when Aaron lifted Ceara into the air once the music came to an end. She was breathing rapidly from the exertion and, in Aaron’s arms, her heaving bosom was much too close to the man’s face.

  Enough. Aaron would pay. Garreth took an aggressive step toward the couple when he felt himself being pulled back. “Careful, Mac Cecht,” Doran warned. “You do not know Ceara as I do. She has always been timid where you were concerned. But mark my words, Ceara has a fire in her veins. If you interfere in her affairs, be prepared for a fight.”

  “I am ready to fight,” Garreth barked. “I will kill Mac Tavish.”

  He started to storm off again when Doran spoke once more. “Nay. Tis not a fight with Aaron you will gain. Tis with Ceara. And,” Doran poked his large finger into Garreth’s chest, suddenly losing all the playfulness in his gaze, “tis time you do right by her. If you go over there, be prepared to understand the terms. She is your intended wife, always has been, though you have tried to deny her. If you go over there and take her out of another man’s embrace, then you are claiming her publicly, in front of your entire tuath. Be prepared for what that means...”