Warrior's Wrath (The Pict Wars Book 3)

by Jayne Castel

  For an instant Talor merely stared, his groin aching now—ready for her again—and then he lunged for her.

  Grabbing her knees, he pushed her legs back hard and sheathed himself inside her with one deep thrust.

  Mor’s answering cry drove him wild. He plunged into her, his fingers biting into her soft thighs as he slid into her heat again and again. Within moments he was lost. He rode her savagely, but Mor answered him thrust for thrust. Her groans and cries, as she writhed against him, were Talor’s undoing. This woman was so lusty, so wild. She set fire to his blood in a way he had never experienced before.

  And when she shuddered under him, her body arching, the feel of her heat tightening around him sent Talor over the edge. His hoarse cries mingled with hers.

  “Talor mac Donnel,” Mor murmured, tracing her fingertips down Talor’s sweat-slicked back, “that was … like being caught up in a tempest.”

  “Gods, woman,” he rasped, his face buried in her neck. “You will stop my heart if every time is like that.”

  Mor chuckled. “A warrior’s death indeed.”

  Still breathing hard, Talor pushed himself up off her, propping himself up on an elbow. In the light of the firepit just a few feet away, his face was achingly handsome, his gaze fathomless.

  “There is no way I’d rather go,” he murmured, his mouth quirking in that way that made her loins melt. He was still buried inside her, and already she could feel him beginning to harden once more. Her core responded with a pulsing ache that made her stifle a groan.

  Talor reached out then and traced her cheek with his fingers. To Mor’s surprise, she saw his hand trembled slightly. She had been rocked by their stormy love-making, but she now realized that he had been similarly affected.

  “I love you, Mor,” he said, his voice roughening with emotion. “I know it might seem sudden, for me to tell you this, but it’s the truth.”

  Mor stared up at him, her own breathing quickening. “And I love you,” she whispered, reaching up and tracing his full lower lip with a fingertip. It was true, the tenderness within her chest felt as if it might burst. “What you said yesterday was right. Our fates have been entwined since we both came into this world. Neither of us should be surprised that it has come to this.”

  Talor’s eyes gleamed, and his throat bobbed. “What did I do to deserve you?”

  Mor smiled. “Nothing, mo ghràdh. That’s how fate works. I was born to be yours, Talor mac Donnel, and you to be mine.”

  Epilogue

  A Fine Place to Call Home

  Mid-summer, 390 AD

  Kyleakin—territory of The Serpent

  6 months later …

  “MUIN AND AILENE are here!” Mor burst into the hall, face flushed with excitement. “I’ve just seen them approach from the west.”

  Talor glanced up from the scattering of bones upon the table and raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure it’s them? They’re not due till tomorrow.”

  “I have the eyesight of a hawk,” Mor replied, placing her hands upon her hips and fixing him with a level look he had come to know well. “If you don’t believe me, come and check for yourself.”

  Varar chuckled at that, pushing himself up from the long table where the two men had been sharing cups of mead and trying to best each other at knucklebones. “Great … an excuse to end this torture.”

  Talor huffed. “Don’t you enjoy knucklebones?”

  “I enjoy winning at knucklebones … that’s not the same thing.”

  “Come on.” Mor turned on her heel and strode from the hall. “Let’s go out to meet them.”

  Talor rose to his feet and, with a grin at Varar, followed his wife outside. The Boar chieftain, who had arrived with Fina the day before, fell into step with him. They left the large round-tower that dominated the northern edge of the village and stepped outdoors, to be greeted with a golden afternoon. Sunlight sparkled off the water of the great channel that separated The Winged Isle from the mainland beyond, and the mountains to the west were tawny in the afternoon sun.

  Mid-Summer Fire, which celebrated the shortest night and the longest day of the year, was just a day away now.

  Their first in Kyleakin.

  They had built a great bonfire in the meadow south of the settlement: a mound of branches and twigs, which they would set alight tomorrow after dusk. Then the folk of Kyleakin would drink ale, eat cakes studded with berries and nuts, and dance around the pyre.

  Talor smiled in anticipation. He and Mor had traveled here for the first fire festival of the year, Earth Fire, and had remained to help Artair make this place a proper home for their people.

  Our people.

  Warmth seeped through Talor’s chest as these words settled over him. A handful of Eagle and Boar folk had joined them here, but most of those living at Kyleakin were survivors from the siege of Dun Ringill. At first, he had kept apart from many of the people here, allowing Mor to have dealings with them. But as the moons had passed, and the last of the bitter weather departed, Talor had worked shoulder to shoulder with Serpent warriors as they repaired the wooden palisade that ringed Kyleakin.

  And he had discovered he had more in common with them than he realized.

  “It’s a good spot this,” Varar commented as they walked through the scattering of low-slung huts. “The land is fertile, and you are close to the mountains for hunting.”

  “You’re always close to the mountains on this isle,” Talor reminded him with a smile. That was why the weather was so changeable here; the union of the mountains and the sea brought with it wild storms, heavy snows, and long foggy days where the sun never showed its face.

  “You don’t miss Dun Ringill?”

  Talor shook his head. “I thought I would … but as soon as I got settled here, I haven’t. The only thing I miss is my kin.”

  As Talor spoke these last words, he spied two figures ride in upon shaggy ponies through the gates. He recognized them both instantly: Muin and Ailene.

  Mor and Fina had already reached the newcomers.

  Ailene swung down from her pony and rushed over to Fina, throwing her arms around her. It was difficult to give Fina a proper hug these days though, for her belly was starting to swell considerably. She was due at Gateway, as bairns often were—a high number of children were conceived during the bitter season, for during those months folk remained indoors for long periods, with little else to do but spend time together in the furs.

  Mor hung back while Fina and Ailene embraced, although it warmed Talor to see that his cousin threw her arms around his wife next. Before they had departed from Dun Ringill, Mor had become good friends with his cousins, the three of them often inseparable. There had been tears when they parted ways. Fina had returned to An Teanga with Varar, Ailene had remained at Dun Ringill with Muin, while Mor and Talor had departed for Kyleakin.

  They had all set off upon different paths in life now—and yet it made their reunions all the sweeter.

  Muin leaped down from his pony, covering the ground in long strides, as he approached Talor. Meeting his cousin halfway, Talor embraced him, although Muin’s grip nearly cracked his ribs. Varar stepped forward then, and the pair clasped arms—a traditional greeting between male warriors among their people—as they grinned at each other.

  “You’re early,” Talor noted, rubbing his ribs. Muin did not know his own strength at times.

  Muin huffed. “Ailene insisted we leave in advance … she’s been going on about this trip for the last moon. In the end, I gave in.”

  Talor laughed, his gaze shifting back to where the three women now approached. Mor, dressed in tight-fitting leather breeches and a plaid tunic belted at the waist, led the way. It had been a hot day, and so his wife had braided her hair and coiled it high upon her head, revealing a long, slender neck.

  Even after six moons together, the sight of her made Talor’s pulse quicken. The passing of time had only added to the passion he felt for this woman, and had deepened the bond forged between them
.

  Talor discovered that Mor was easy to live with—she had an independent spirit and as such did not seek to control those around her. She let Talor be, giving him the space he liked, and as a result, he was constantly looking for excuses to spend time with her.

  “I told you it was them,” Mor said, stepping up to Talor’s side.

  Reaching out, he pulled her to him, placing a protective arm around her waist. “Aye, you did,” he replied.

  Ailene reached them then, flinging her arms around Talor’s neck and slapping a kiss on his cheek. Drawing back, she ran an assessing eye over him. “You’re looking well, cousin.” Her mouth quirked then. “I thought you might have pined for us a bit.”

  Next to her, Muin snorted. “I think not … he couldn’t wait to leave Dun Ringill for pastures new.”

  Ailene swung her gaze around, taking in the small dirt square inside the gates where they stood. Fowl pecked and scratched at the dusty ground, and a few yards away, a woman gathered in washing from a line, singing as she worked. “It’s nice here.”

  “It’s home,” Mor replied, her arm snaking around Talor’s waist. “There was quite a bit of damage to be repaired, but the last of it has been done now.”

  Silence followed these words, and Mor’s gaze shadowed. Talor knew what she was thinking.

  The Serpent horde had initially landed near Kyleakin, and as such the settlement had borne the brunt of their first attack. The village had been abandoned then, as what remained of its inhabitants fled. It was an irony—but somehow fitting—that it was The Serpent who had rebuilt its walls once more.

  “Aye, and Kyleakin now prospers again,” Fina said, breaking the silence. Her gaze was warm as it settled upon Mor. “I’m glad it feels like home to you now.”

  “I’m parched,” Muin spoke up. “I hope your ale is as good as ours.”

  Talor snorted. “It’s better.” He gestured toward where the stack-stoned round-tower they had repaired since their arrival loomed over the village. “Come on … let’s open a fresh barrel.”

  The party moved toward the round-tower. Varar and Fina led the way, arm in arm, while Muin and Ailene followed closed behind. Their voices drifted back through the collection of huts, where children played outside. Most of the folk of Kyleakin were still out in the fields, but they would return shortly as the shadows lengthened, and the village would be bustling once more.

  Talor and Mor trailed behind their visitors, enjoying a rare moment alone. Up ahead, Talor spied Artair appear in the doorway of the round-tower, leaning on his crutch as always. He had been taking an afternoon nap when Muin and Ailene arrived. He waved to them now, a smile stretching across his face.

  “Your uncle seems a lot happier these days,” Talor noted. “When he first arrived here, I rarely saw him smile.”

  “He was heart-sore after losing my father,” Mor replied, her voice turning introspective. “But like me, he knows he has a lot to be grateful for. Kyleakin is a fine place to call home.”

  “Do you ever long for the mainland?” Talor asked, deliberately slowing his step so that the others drew farther ahead. Since Varar and Fina’s arrival, they had barely had time to chat together as they usually did.

  Mor shook her head. “I miss my kin … my parents and brothers … but little else.”

  “One day we shall have a family of our own, Mor,” Talor reminded her gently. In the past moons he had hoped her womb would quicken; they had certainly coupled often enough to warrant it. “Hopefully that will ease your heart.”

  Mor drew to a halt then, turning to him. She met Talor’s eye, her mouth curving into a sly smile. “That day will arrive perhaps sooner than you think.” When Talor stared back at her uncomprehending, she gave a frustrated huff. “My moonflow never came. I visited the healer this morning, and she assures me I am with bairn.”

  Joy exploded through Talor, with a force that caused him to inhale sharply. “Is she certain of this?”

  Mor’s smile widened. “As certain as she can be.” She moved closer then, leaning in. Her lips brushed his cheek, her breath feathering against the shell of his ear as she whispered to him. “Will I give you a daughter or a son?”

  Talor wrapped his arms around Mor, yanking her hard against him. She squealed, causing the others up ahead to stop and look back. However, Talor ignored them. Instead, his mouth slanted over Mor’s, and he kissed her deeply.

  When he finally broke away, he saw that his wife’s green eyes were shining. She was as delighted as he was about the news.

  “Either will do me fine,” Talor said, before he captured her mouth with his once more.

  “Come on … you can kiss your wife later,” Muin called from where he had stopped before the doors to the round-tower. “How about that ale? I’m dying of thirst here.”

  With a sigh, Talor drew back from Mor. Then, looping an arm around her shoulders, he steered her toward the others. “Very well,” he called out to his cousin. “Although, we have something besides your arrival to celebrate. Come inside … Mor and I have news to share.”

  The End.

  From the author

  And here we arrive at the end of THE PICT WARS series—and the end of a journey that began with BLOOD FEUD and THE WARRIOR BROTHERS OF SKYE series.

  The two trilogies can be read as a six-book series—and I hope you loved the stories as much as I did. I’m in love with The Winged Isle and the brave men and women who inhabited this wild land. The Pict history and culture holds a great fascination for me, and I adored bringing it to life with these books.

  Although I’ve written enemies to lovers stories before, this one felt a bit different. It’s also a story about revenge, a quest for peace, and an exploration of the different ways we handle grief. In addition I explore the idea that someone can truly be ‘meant’ for you.

  It takes a lot of strength and courage required to stand up for your beliefs, even when the whole world is against you. For this reason, Mor is probably one of my favorite heroines yet. She’s a warrior, but there’s a calm strength and determination in her that I admired. This novel’s happy ending is largely her doing. Talor was her perfect partner—and it was great fun bringing them together.

  I’ll be taking a break from the Picts now, as I focus on a new series set in Medieval Scotland. But I’ll be staying on the Isle of Skye though … I’ve loved using this island as the setting of my novels. The dramatic landscape and rich history make it the perfect backdrop for romance!

  I’m also going to be merging a little bit of Dark Ages and Medieval Scotland in a Historical Fantasy Romance series scheduled for later in 2020. Want a few clues about the new series? Three Roman centurions. A witch’s curse. Immortality. And Medieval Scotland. Are you as excited as I am about this? Make sure you join my mailing list or follow me on Facebook to keep updated (links below).

  If you’re new to my books, make sure you check out THE BRIDES OF SKYE series (also set in Medieval Isle of Skye) and my new series THE SISTERS OF KILBRIDE.

  Thank you so much for reading my books, and I hope you love them as much as I do!

  Follow me on Facebook and/or my blog to keep updated on my upcoming books. Or you can join my mailing list (not only do you get updates, exclusive stories, and a chance to join my ARC list, but you also receive a free origin story to THE WARRIOR BROTHERS OF SKYE series!).

  Jayne x

  Historical and background notes

  for WARRIOR’S WRATH

  Glossary

  Aos Sí or Fair Folk: fairies

  bandruí: a female druid or seer

  Broch: a tall, round, stone-built, hollow-walled Iron Age tower-house

  Caesars: the Ancient Romans

  mo ghràdh: my love

  mo leannan: my lover, my sweetheart.

  Place names

  An t-Eilean Sgitheanach: Gaelic name for the Isle of Skye

  Dun Ardtreck: a broch located on the Minginish Peninsula of Skye

  Dun Ringill: an Iron Age hill fort on t
he Strathaird Peninsula of Skye

  An Teanga: an Iron Age broch located on the southern coast of Skye

  Dun Grianan: an Iron Age broch located on the north-western coast of Skye

  Balintur: village in the north of The Eagle territory

  The Black Cuillins: mountain range in the Isle of Skye

  The Valley of the Tors: a valley that marks the border of The Eagle and The Boar territories

  Kyleakin: a settlement on the south-eastern coast of the Isle of Skye

  The four tribes of The Winged Isle*

  The People of The Eagle (south-west)

  The People of The Wolf (north-west)

  The People of The Boar (south-east)

  The People of The Stag (north-east)

  Gods and Goddesses of The Winged Isle*

  The Mother: Goddess of enlightenment and feminine energy—the bringer of change

  The Warrior: God of battle, life and growth, of summer

  The Maiden: Young goddess of nature and fertility

  The Hag: Goddess of the dark—sleep, dreams, death, winter, and the earth

  The Reaper: God of death

  Festivities on the Isle of Skye*

  Earth Fire: Salute to new life and the first signs of spring (February 1)

  Bealtunn: Spring Equinox

  Mid-Summer Fire: Summer Equinox

  Harvest Fire: Festival to salute the harvest (Aug 1)

  Gateway: Passage from summer to winter (October 31/November 1)

  Mid-Winter Fire: Winter Equinox

  * Author’s note: I have taken ‘artistic license’ when it comes to the names of the tribes, festivities, and gods and goddesses upon the Isle of Skye. The historical evidence is very scant, making it a challenge for me to get an accurate picture of what the names of the tribes living upon Skye during the 4th century would have been. Likewise I could not find any references to their gods and festivities. The Picts were an enigmatic people, and we only have their ruins and symbols to cast light on how they lived and whom they worshipped. To make my setting as authentic as possible, I have studied the rituals and religions of the Celtic peoples of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales of a similar period and have created a culture I feel could have existed.