The Warrior's wager

by Mia Pride

  “I would apologize, Eoin, but it would be a false apology and you know I am an honest man.”

  “Aye, but can you try to at least pretend?” Eoin scoffed.

  “I shall try when in your company,” he agreed with a tilt of his head as he continued to watch her walk away, eventually entering her family’s home.

  “Do not believe him, Eoin. The man has no self-control.” Jeoffrey, Alastar’s best mate, came up from behind them and slapped him on the back. “I have known him since we were wee lads and I can tell you there has never been a lass Alastar wanted that he did not get. And he never pretends to not want her.”

  Eoin groaned and rubbed his hands across his sweaty face. “I do not need to hear this.”

  Àdhamh, the other warrior who came over from Alba with Alastar and Jeoffrey, shook his head and laughed. “Och, well the lass has made it clear she has nay interest in him. You can rest easy at night, Eoin. I do not think Alastar stands a chance with that one.”

  “Aye?” Alastar said with a raised brow. “Wish to put it to the test? What will you give me if I can make Aislin mine?”

  “You mean like a wager?” Àdhamh asked with raised brows.

  “You shall not place wagers about my sister,” Eoin growled in warning.

  Alastar laughed and pounded Eoin on the back. “I will pursue her either way, mate. And I will have her, make nay mistake. But if I can shut Àdhamh’s mouth in the process, and prove him wrong, I am happy to make that wager.”

  “And what is it you believe I should give you, if you win over Aislin?” Àdhamh crossed his large arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes.

  “That dagger,” Alastar pointed at the dagger strapped to Àdhamh’s leather belt around his waist. The handle was made of bone and intricately carved with circular designs around all sides.

  “’Tis a bad idea, Al. If Aislin finds out, she will use that dagger to cut off your bollocks,” Jeoffrey laughed and shook his head. Eoin stayed silent but frowned as he watched two men make a wager over his sister.

  “This old thing? I took it off a man I killed in a raid over in Alba. Means nothing to me,” Àdhamh shrugged.

  Alastar squinted his eyes knowingly at Àdhamh. ‘Twas a fine dagger and even if the man spoke true, any man would wish to own it. “Then you do not mind losing it?”

  With a snicker, Àdhamh shrugged. “I will not lose. Aislin will not have you. But if I make this wager, we must settle on specifics. When you say you will ‘have’ Aislin, what are you saying? Once? Twice? Forever?”

  Eoin jumped between the two men and clenched his fists. “You go too far. This is dishonorable. Do not wager against my sister’s innocence or I will gut you both,” he growled through clenched teeth.

  “Relax, Eoin. My intentions toward your sister are honorable. My wager is that I will marry the lass.”

  Àdhamh and Jeoffrey laughed in unison.

  “I will take Aislin to wife within a moon’s cycle, and then I will take your dagger.”

  “And, if you lose?” Àdhamh asked with a crooked grin. “What then?”

  “What are your terms?” Alastar said confidently. It did not matter, for he would not lose.

  Àdhamh took a deep breath and tapped his chin dramatically as he thought, no doubt, of the worst fate possible for Alastar. Then he gave Alastar a devious grin. “If you lose, I get to select the next lass you must woo into your bed.”

  Alastar grimaced. That sounded awful. Not only would Àdhamh most assuredly choose the least bonny lass as some sort of cruel jest, but the thought of bedding any other lass besides Aislin made his stomach go sour. He was so certain of his success, however, that he would agree to any terms without worry. “Deal.”

  “I will take this wager and enjoy watching you fail,” Àdhamh said as he wiped a tear from his eye from laughing so hard and put out his forearm. When Alastar clasped it, they shook and Alastar gave Àdhamh a feral smile. Fool. He would have Aislin. He had already set his mind to that task and nothing would stop him from succeeding, not even her stubbornness or disdain for him. He could remedy that.

  A flicker of doubt crossed Alastar’s mind. Wagering against Aislin was not very honorable, nor was agreeing to bed a lass of Àdhamh’s choosing if he failed. But he knew his heart was in the right place. All he wanted was Aislin and mayhap the wager was what he needed to push him in that direction.

  “I want nay part in this. But if you lay a hand on my sister before she agrees to wed with you, you are a dead man, Mac Murray,” Eoin vowed.

  Jeoffrey laughed and wiped his sweaty chest with his balled-up tunic in his hand. “As much as I enjoy discussing Alastar’s chances of failure with Aislin, I am off to my farm. Clarice awaits me with Wee Jeoff for our evening meal. Care to join us Alastar?” Alastar looked at his best mate and for the first time in his life, he felt a twinge of envy for the contentment Jeoffrey had found with his wife and wee son. Now Clarice was starting to show with their next child. A fortnight ago, Alastar had nothing more on his mind than starting his life over anew in Ériu, building his own quiet home within the village, spending his days training as a warrior for his new king, Tuathal Techtmar, and mayhap spending his nights with a new lass or two when the opportunity arose.

  What was this sudden need deep within his gut to seek something more out of his life? Why did his existence as a man with no family and little responsibility, beyond his service as a warrior, suddenly feel so hollow? He could put a name to it if he tried, but that was a dangerous game and he wasn’t ready to admit that one lass could change him so abruptly… even if she was a spitfire with a mouth as dirty as his fellow warriors or hair as wild as the wind. He would set his mind to wooing her into marriage, but he would not focus on the emotions driving him to do so. It was time to settle down and wed, and Aislin was the one he wanted. He would think no deeper on it than that.

  Mayhap he had been spending too many nights over at Jeoffrey’s home. He and Clarice oozed love out of every pore. It was in the way he rubbed her swelling belly, and the way Wee Jeoff practiced with his wooden sword and looked up at his papa with so much pride and respect. Nay, Alastar had the right of it. ‘Twas best to go back to his empty, quiet home to enjoy the peace and quiet he had always sought, and to not allow Jeoffrey’s happy family life to further muddle his mind. He had enough to think on.

  “My thanks for inviting me over again, Jeoff, but nay. I have spent almost every night over at your farm since we arrived here. I think I will leave you to your family tonight and seek my entertainments elsewhere.” That was the right idea. Perhaps he should head down to the gathering hall for a meal, an ale, and a lass to distract his thoughts and remind him why he preferred short, uncomplicated relations with women. He may plan on marrying Aislin, and not only for the wager’s sake, but he was not married yet.

  Jeoffrey shrugged and slipped his tunic over his head, smacked Alastar on the back, and walked toward his farm. Àdhamh waved and took off in the other direction, no doubt to go home to his sister, Maggie, as he chuckled to himself, clearly doubting Alastar’s ability to win this wager.

  “I will be off then,” Alastar said to Eoin, feeling an unfamiliar twinge of loneliness. Why did it bother him so cursed much that everyone had someone to go home to? It had never bothered him before. “I will see you tomorrow for training, Eoin.” Looking up, Alastar saw the sun quickly fading away behind the mountains in the distance, coloring the world all around in purples, corals, and pinks. The breeze cooled his heated skin and he slipped his red tunic back over his head.

  “Alastar… wait.” Turning to look at Eoin, he quirked a brow in question. “Come to my family home for the evening meal. Brennain and Flynn will also be there.”

  Considering the offer, Alastar bit the inside of his cheek. He did enjoy the company of Eoin’s family, especially his cousins Brennain and Flynn. Just before opening his mouth to accept Eoin’s offer, an image of Aislin’s narrowed eyes and pursed lips entered his mind. The lass wanted nothing to do wit
h him and though Alastar wished it wasn’t so, he refused to be like Daniel. Nay, he would not show up to the lassie’s home and force his presence on her. That was the last way to make her warm to him. He needed to distance himself from her distracting curves and think on how to proceed with his plan to make her his.

  “My thanks for the offer, Eoin, but I will take my evening meal at the gathering hall tonight. I am certain your sister has nay wish to have her evening ruined by my presence. See you at dawn.”

  Before Eoin could offer a rebuttal, Alastar tipped his head in dismissal and walked toward the increasing noise and laughter of the hall. He may be alone at home but at least at the hall he was surrounded by people who sought fun and laughter and enjoyed his company… unlike a certain red-haired lass with eyes greener than the rolling hills of— och, by the gods, if he was not a besotted fool. He was sounding like Daniel more and more by the moment. At least he knew better than to speak such thoughts or push his unwanted attentions.

  A strong gust of wind pushed against his clothing as he strode over to the open entrance of the hall. Flickering lights streamed through the doorway and the laughter was contagious, already tugging at the corners of Alastar’s mouth. These were his people. Aye, he took his warrior training seriously and anybody who knew him knew, when needed, he would fight by their side without a word. Aside from battle and training, he didn’t take much else seriously. Everything worthy of worrying over left him the day his entire family had been slaughtered before his eyes those many years ago. That was why he had resisted any further attachments in his life. He knew all too well how quickly a loved one could be taken away from him and the lifetime of suffering that would remain.

  Life was much too short to scowl or feel offended every day. If a man did not like him, that was all right, so long as the man kept his hands to himself. If a lassie did not prefer him, he knew better than to pine for her attentions or waste his time. He had proven that tonight by turning away Eoin’s offer. He could have spent his night in Aislin’s company, pushing his intentions upon her and trying to sway her into his bed…but nay, that was not his style.

  He was not fond of a chase… at least he had not been until now. The excitement of pursuit tugged at his stomach, almost guiding him back to where he knew she was at that moment, but nay. For the first time in his life, he had his eye on a lass who was worth the pursuit and he had every intention of following through. Only, he would do it slowly and bide his time. The chase was only worth it if the lass was caught in the end.

  “Alastar!” a loud laughing voice called to him from the back corner of the gathering hall and with a smile, he followed the call, pushing amicably through the crowd and offering pats on the back as he went. When he arrived, he saw Àdhamh with his sister Maggie and some of his fellow warriors drinking ale from large jugs. “I thought you were heading over to Jeoffrey’s home?” Àdhamh questioned as he sipped his ale. Alastar was thankful for the man’s discretion about the wager. If Maggie heard them speak on it, she would box both their ears.

  He shook his head and grabbed a mug for himself. “Nay. Not tonight, mate. Jeoffrey and Clarice need some alone time, even if they’re too polite to say otherwise,” he winked and took a gulp of bitter ale. Àdhamh nodded in understanding and took another swig.

  “Not with Aislin?” Àdhamh smirked and Alastar couldn’t help but scowl in warning.

  “Not likely.” He took a seat on a wooden bench and placed his elbows on the table. “I have been properly dismissed by the lass enough times to know where I stand… for now,” he clarified.

  “Do not take it personally, Alastar,” Maggie chimed in with her sweet voice and kind smile. “She is much the same with all the lads. She has told me time enough that she refuses to live the traditional life of a lass… marriage, babes. She prefers her freedom, her bow, and the wilderness.” Maggie smiled and sighed. “How I do envy her outlook.”

  Mayhap wagering that he could wed the lass in one moon’s time had been hasty, Alastar admitted to himself. The lass openly distained him and marriage. To turn both around in such short time would require a finesse that even he may not own.

  Àdhamh frowned at his sister. “You do not wish for marriage and children?”

  She blushed, looking away. Alastar knew that look. She longed for those things very much and already had a man in mind. “Aye, I do wish for those things, brother. But when a lass feels invisible to most lads, tis easy to prefer she did not.” Alastar frowned at her words. She was a bonny lass with golden blonde hair, beautiful big blue eyes and the sweetest soul he knew. She felt more like a sister to him than anything and he knew she felt the same about him. But what man could she be thinking of? And why was that man too blind to notice her?

  Taking a large gulp of ale and deciding to shut down the topic of Aislin, Alastar shrugged and took another large sip. “Do not fret lass; I take very little personally. In fact, it seems she and I both long for the same things, which, ironically, make us the worst match possible,” he laughed at that thought. Two people bent on living alone forever, without a family, relishing their freedom? He scoffed to himself. Mayhap he did not stand a chance. Only, because of her, he had been second-guessing his life plan for a fortnight now.

  With her, he could see himself with a wife and children, but if he did not have the same effect on the lass as she did on him, then mayhap he was out of options. Perhaps he should simply give up and move on, losing the cursed wager. The more he pondered their ridiculous agreement, the more unattainable and illogical it seemed. Why chase the skirt— the very short animal hide skirt— of a lass who was unbendable in her will? And if it was her very wildness that drove him mad in the first place, would attempting to tame her even make sense?

  Running a hand through his shoulder-length dark blond hair, he grunted at that sudden realization. Aislin was never going to happen for him, at least not for a long while and certainly not within a moon. He had been over confident in his ability to claim her. She was a lass of eight and ten and he a lad of four and twenty. If she was as much like him as he believed her to be, it may take her another six years to finally consider settling down. Six years was much too long for him to wait around on a lass… even one as bonny, enticing, and feisty as Aislin. With a sigh, he relinquished himself to the truth. It was never going to happen between them. Though he felt a distinct squeezing pain in his chest and disappointment in his gut, he also breathed deeply, feeling a slight bit of relief.

  Sometimes letting go of an impossible dream was best. He would call off the wager in the morn. It had been brash, foolish, and disrespectful. Even he had never been so low as to wager on getting a woman into his bed. He admitted to himself that this was about so much more than just having her in bed, but now that he had gained distance from the situation and truly analyzed his options, he felt like an arse. But enough self-loathing for one night. He had plenty of ale to drink and other skirts to chase. Downing the entire contents of his mug, he belched and wiped his mouth.

  “Ello, Al,” a seductive voice whispered against his ear. Looking up, he saw first the over-large and mostly exposed bosom of Janice, one of the serving lassies at the hall. Her big blue eyes narrowed suggestively at him and she leaned over, allowing her breasts to spill over into his openly admiring gaze. “Care for a refill?” she pointed to his nearly empty mug. “I can fill ye up and then… mayhap, ye can fill me up later.”

  His eyes grew wide at her meaning and he couldn’t help the twinge of desire down below. He had not enjoyed a lass since stepping foot on Ériu’s soil again, not since the moment his gaze had found Aislin. He had made it his quest to bring Aislin to her knees, but in the process, he was the one down on his knees like a love-sick fool being led by a rope of leather… only, Aislin had not meant to lead him anywhere. It was his own ego that had persisted to hope. Now, he knew better.

  Mayhap he could still gently pursue Aislin and hope, someday, he would wear her down. For now there was Janice, bonny as a lass could be with
her dark brown mane floating about her face and those large breasts heaving before him. Her snug green dress revealed more than enough to let him know she had curves to hold onto while he drove into her later. It was only pleasure of the flesh she sought, which was all he could offer. Although this was not how he had planned to spend his evening, it suddenly seemed like the most enjoyable option.

  Pulling Janice down onto his lap so she was straddling him, the lass squealed and tilted her head back. Ale spilled out of the large jug in her hand and all down the front of her breasts, causing them to glisten in the fire light. “My two favorite things are before my very eyes. Ale… and breasts.” Alastar chuckled and burrowed his face playfully in her ample cleavage, licking up the ale dripping down the slope of her bosom with his tongue. Janice laughed and squirmed in his lap, very purposely grinding herself against the bulge in his trousers and he could not help but groan against the soft mounds of her flesh. Aye, it would be a good night.

  Chapter Two

  Several minutes after arriving home flustered and off balance, Aislin turned when she heard the door to her home open and shut swiftly. “Och, Aislin. Can you at least try to not push away every lad in the tuath with your wee nasty attitude?” her brother said with a grunt as he set his sword down— gently, she noticed. Clearly, he was getting into the habit of not angering his wife with his abrupt returns, even if Neassa was wide awake and chewing on her wee fist as Treasa held her in her arms.

  Aislin’s mother sighed from across the room while she sliced carrots for the stew already bubbling away in the cauldron suspended over the hearth, the delicious scents of boar meat and herbs filling their home and causing Aislin’s stomach to growl even louder. “What has the lass done now?” Why did her mother insist on speaking about her as if she were not present? Her mother, Ceara, was one of the legendary Sisters of Danu and was well known as one of the most beautiful women in all Ériu with her bright red wavy hair— always tamed and glossy, unlike Aislin’s wild locks. Somehow, her mother had a way of making her feel as if she was a lass of eight years old, not eight and ten.