“I understand. I’m a stranger to you, asking your name when you’ve no idea whether you can trust me. You were running from something—someone. I swore after I carried you from the river that no one would hurt you, and I swear it to you now, as surely as my name is Niall O’Byrne.”
She blinked at him, recognizing at once a rebel clan name that had become legendary in Éire.
The O’Byrnes’ raids upon the invading Normans were the stuff of admiring tales told in her father’s great hall, the Ostmen longing for the day when they regained power enough to rise up as well against that hated enemy. Yet now by running away from a marriage arranged to achieve that very end, she had thwarted her own people—no, she would not think of it!
“Tell me no more,” she said softly, knowing he had revealed much in just his name. “The priest might hear you—”
“Let him hear. I would have you trust me…so now you’ve my life in your hands. As Tanist to my brother, Ronan Black O’Byrne, chieftain of the Glenmalure O’Byrnes, I’ve a price on my head triple my weight in gold. Those bastard Normans across the river would love nothing more than to see me hang from the highest tower of Dublin Castle—”
“No, please, you must not tell me anything more!” Without thinking, Nora reached up and pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him. His mouth was warm, his breath upon her fingertips strangely moving her. She had never touched any man before. He reached up and removed her fingers from his lips only to encompass them in a hand so much larger than her own.
A strong hand. His palm rough and callused no doubt from wielding a sword against a hated enemy to Irish and Ostmen alike. His gaze hadn’t left hers and now he leaned closer, intently staring into her eyes.
“Woman, I would know your name.”
“Nora,” she breathed, feeling suddenly unable to help herself. “Nora MacTorkil.”
“Nora MacTorkil?” came the priest’s astonished cry from across the room. He stood as if rooted to the floor, a fresh cup of ale in his hand. “Daughter to Lord Magnus MacTorkil? Why…why you’re to wed tomorrow—ah, lord, please don’t kill me!”
It had happened so fast that Nora could only gape as Niall had lunged from his chair to rush over and press his knife to the old priest’s throat.
“I told you to leave us, Priest.”
“I-I did, but you had spilled your ale, lord! I thought you might want more…if not for yourself, then for the esteemed lady—oh, God help me.”
Esteemed lady. A terrible ache in the pit of her stomach, Nora thought for an instant she might be sick. The priest had recognized her name and knew who she was. All was lost. All was lost!
She could but watch, stricken, as Niall grabbed the priest by the collar of his brown robe and hauled him over to the chair, where he pushed him down into the seat.
“Who was she to wed?” Niall demanded, the knife now pressed beneath the priest’s chin while Nora felt the color draining from her face.
“Sigurd Knutson, lord! A great warrior come from the north with eight shiploads of his men. Father Gilbert could speak of nothing else this past week, such was his excitement. The MacTorkil’s daughter Nora marrying into the royal house of Norway—a great alliance for the Ostmen!”
Certain now she might retch, Nora still felt pity for the terrified old man as a thin trickle of blood seeped from the knifepoint piercing his flesh. She glanced up at Niall, whose expression looked so hard now in the flickering firelight. He stood so tall above them, so formidable, appearing every inch a rebel O’Byrne to be dreaded and feared.
“Please…don’t hurt him,” she said barely above a whisper, and to her relief Niall at once lowered his knife. He still held fast to the priest’s collar, though, as if he sensed the old man might try to escape at the first opportunity.
“You fled from this man…this Sigurd Knutson?” came Niall’s low query as he seemed to study her face.
Nora nodded, seeing no reason to tell him anything but the truth. Now it seemed her life was in his hands as well. Somehow she formed the words that stuck like bile in her throat. “Not a man. A monster. He’s buried four wives already. Kills men with his bare hands. They call him Skullcrusher.”
The room fell silent but for the priest’s nervous breathing and the sputtering of flames, though Nora could swear her pounding heart drowned out all else.
Why was Niall looking at her so intently…as if weighing something in his mind? Yet in the next instant the priest cried out in surprise as Niall suddenly yanked him to his feet.
“Old man, I wish you no harm, but you must swear to me now that you’ll speak of this night to no one. Not to your Father Gilbert, nor anyone who might question you if you’ve seen this woman. No one! Are we understood?”
“Aye, lord, not a word!” said the priest, sweat beading his wrinkled brow.
“Swear it!”
“Aye, I swear!”
“Good, now we must leave this place.”
“Leave?” Staring up at Niall in confusion, Nora clutched the blankets to her breast. “Where?”
Niall didn’t answer, instead pulling on his boots and then barking orders at the priest. “She needs clothing, an extra robe if you have one. And a bag of food. Move, man!”
As the priest hastened to obey, Nora watched Niall gather up her cloak and sleeping gown from the floor and tie them into a bundle.
“Your garments are still damp, and I don’t want you catching a chill.”
“Chill?” she asked dumbly.
“The night air. If your absence has been discovered, they’ll already be looking for you. We can’t stay here.”
Terror filled her at the thought of Sigurd Skullcrusher crashing around her father’s stronghold to find her. Nora was only too glad to see the priest rush forward with a brown robe like the one he wore.
“Put it on, Nora, quickly,” came Niall’s command and she didn’t waste a moment. Giving no thought to her nakedness, she rose from the cot and took the garment from the priest, who averted his eyes.
“It’s too large for you, my lady, but Father Gilbert is a stout man.”
“My thanks, Father…”
“Edmund, my lady. Father Edmund.”
“I will not forget your kindness,” she murmured, drawing the plain woolen garment over her head and her arms through the long sleeves. The leather pouch at her wrist caught in the one sleeve, but she tugged it through. She glanced at Niall. He appeared satisfied with her garb once she tied a rope belt around her waist, though he had been pacing impatiently.
“The food, man! Have you horses in the stable?”
“One, a sturdy beast though long in years. Father Gilbert—”
“I know, I know,” came Niall’s wry reply. “He took the better one.”
“Aye, lord, so he did.”
As the priest hastened off again to fetch the food, Nora looked down at her bare feet. She realized for the first time that she must have lost her leather slippers in the river.
“We’ll be riding, not walking,” Niall reassured her, taking her hand to draw her with him from the room.
She remembered little of when they had arrived, mayhap a glimpse of gold. She realized, too, when they entered the sanctuary that she must have seen the candlesticks and cross upon the altar. Instead of leading her into the narthex to await the bag of food from the priest, Niall led her toward that same altar as Nora glanced up at him in confusion.
“Do you trust me, Nora MacTorkil?” he asked her quietly, dropping the bundle of clothing he carried upon the stone floor. He turned to face her so he could take her hands in his.
“Aye,” she said simply, though she had no idea where he might be taking her or what he now had in mind. “I trust you, Niall O’Byrne.”
“Over here!” Niall called to the priest, who had hurried into the sanctuary and turned toward the narthex. Appearing as startled as Nora to find them instead at the altar, Father Edmund rushed forward.
“My lord?”
“You will ma
rry us here, now, Priest, and make it the fastest vows you’ve ever uttered.”
Marry? So stunned that she felt her knees give way beneath her, Nora was grateful that Niall held her fast so she would not fall.
He continued to hold her fast as the priest hastily led them through vows that seemed over before they had begun. Nora’s soft “Aye” was barely above a whisper when Father Edmund asked if she would take Niall O’Byrne for her husband.
Then the lightning-fast ceremony was done. Niall led her with one hand toward the front of the church, while he carried her bundled clothing and the bag of food in the other. Only at the door did he stop to look down at her, while she could but stare up at him in complete amazement.
“I said I would help you, and now the thing is done. You’ve nothing to fear any longer from Sigurd Knutson. You’re my bride, Nora O’Byrne. I dare any man to take you from me.”
Chapter 4
Niall stared at the descending full moon, grateful for the sturdy gelding beneath him and Nora that had carried them this far into Wicklow.
His bride, Nora.
God in heaven, had he really taken a wife this night? It seemed one moment he had been lying drunk upon a dock and now he had become the husband to Lord Magnus MacTorkil’s own daughter—and him one of the richest merchants in all of Éire!
Not that Niall cared one whit for the man’s wealth, which in truth meant nothing to him. Yet such riches could buy trouble down the road if Father Edmund failed to hold his tongue, though Niall had sensed a goodness in the man that would make him likely to honor his oath. Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, may that old priest honor his oath!
These thoughts and so many others had plagued Niall since they had left the church, skirting first around Ostmentown and then heading south through wooded hills toward the O’Byrnes’ domain in the Wicklow Mountains.
Fortunately the night had remained clear, the moon lighting their way through the trees as they traveled well off the beaten path. The sounds of the night were all around them…a hooting owl, a wolf howling, as well as the gelding’s hooves thudding upon the earth. He had heard, too, an occasional sigh from Nora, who rode astride the horse with her arms around Niall’s waist and her head resting against his back.
She hadn’t said a word during the journey, and he knew exhaustion had overtaken her when he’d felt her arms go lax. He’d kept one hand on the reins and his free hand clasping her leg so she wouldn’t fall from their mount…while the gravity of what he’d done had run over and over through his mind.
First and foremost, he didn’t love her. He would love no woman ever again. What had that useless emotion brought him but heartache and regret?
For two long years he had waited for Caitlin MacMurrough at the behest of her father until she reached eighteen years, and much good it had done him. He had sworn his love for her and she her love for him time and again…and yet Caitlin had chosen another man to wed! A godson of Donal MacMurrough’s named Brian!
Niall grunted his disgust. God help him if he ever came face-to-face with that bastard who had stolen his bride. Aye, he wasn’t so cruel as to make Caitlin a widow, but her husband would look none the better for all the bruises once Niall was done thrashing him.
“Oh!”
Nora’s pained cry made Niall realize with a start how forcefully he had been gripping her arms, so furious had been his musings. Doing his best to shove any thought of Caitlin from his mind, he slowed the gelding’s steady trot to a walk. They still had several hours’ ride ahead of them to reach Ronan’s stronghold in Glenmalure, but Niall doubted Nora could endure much more traveling this night.
Besides, there was an important matter to attend to before the sun rose upon their first day together as husband and wife…
“Forgive me, Nora, I held you too tightly,” he said over his shoulder, and felt her small nod against him. “There’s an abandoned settlement over the rise where we’ll stop and rest for a few hours. Normans once lived there until my brother Ronan and our clansmen chased them off O’Byrne lands. If they’re wise they won’t dare to return, the thieving bastards.”
Again he felt her nod, the side of her face pressed against his back, and he knew he’d made the right decision.
From the gently-bred looks of her, she had probably never spent so much time before atop a horse. He had seen her in terrible distress earlier that night, aye, but now her quiet temperament reminded him of his sister Maire, who also weighed heavily upon his mind.
What had become of her in the two months since he’d rode away from Glenmalure after letting her know that the man she loved, Lord Duncan FitzWilliam, though grievously wounded, still lived? More troubling, Niall could well imagine Ronan’s fury had not abated that his beloved younger sister had fallen in love with a Norman.
Niall hated the merciless invaders as much as his brother, but Duncan FitzWilliam had shown himself to be a rare man, an honorable man in a land torn apart by so much strife and bloodshed between Irish and Norman. Had he fully recovered from his wound? Had he attempted to send word to Maire that all was not lost for them?
Niall sent a silent prayer heavenward that his sweet sister was well, and that somehow there might be a way for her and the baron who had won her heart to be reunited.
Ronan, of course, would do anything in his power to keep them apart, but he hadn’t turned his fiery-haired wife Triona away when he learned that Norman blood ran in her veins. Their little daughter Deirdre had Norman blood in her veins! Aye, if Niall’s fierce, stubborn brother had been moved out of love, then surely there was hope for Maire.
For the first time in weeks feeling eager to be home again, Niall found himself wishing that he and Nora could ride on but resisted the impulse. He felt her arms trembling around him, and knew the strain of their flight from Ostmentown had taxed her greatly.
“We’re almost there, wife. Take heart.” Niall kicked the gelding into a trot again and felt Nora’s arms tighten around his waist, though she still trembled.
Wife. Oddly enough, the word hadn’t sounded so strange upon his tongue, which surprised him.
Aye, in the eyes of the Church and before God, she was his wife, but not in all ways.
Not yet.
She wouldn’t truly be considered his lawful bride until the deed was done…and soon.
***
Wife. Nora pressed her face against Niall’s back and held on to him tightly, breathing in his masculine scent. Sweat, a hint of the river, a tinge of ale, and something that must be uniquely his own that she found strangely stirring. He felt so warm through his clothing, too, that she’d felt no need for a cloak even if hers hadn’t been wet and useless and stuffed into a saddlebag.
How could she have imagined that a man this close could smell so appealing and radiate such warmth? She’d never ridden atop a horse hugging a man before…yet Niall O’Byrne wasn’t just any man. He was her husband and he had just called her ‘wife’!
Husband. How had this miracle come to be? Even when dozing from exhaustion, she had been enveloped in a state of wonderment.
She was no longer a MacTorkil, but an O’Byrne bride! Earlier that evening she had been distraught and beside herself, fleeing for her life into the night only to stumble over this man who had rescued her.
Married her.
Escaped with her deep into the Wicklow hills where fierce rebel clans ruled and their enemies feared to venture if they valued their lives.
Aye, she trusted Niall O’Byrne implicitly. She had told him so in the church and now she felt that trust resonate in every fiber of her being. How could she not? He had saved her life…and given her a new one. A life she had never expected or dreamed of and that had only just begun.
Well…not yet fully begun. The thought made her tremble anew, and not from the coolness of the night air.
Soon they would stop for a few hours. To rest, Niall had said. That meant they would lie down somewhere together…as husband and wife. To sleep, or perhaps not to sleep—
He dismounted before she could answer, his tone filled with low command that she had no thought to disregard.
She watched him, captivated, as he disappeared stealthily through an opening in a shattered palisade that must have once guarded this Norman settlement until the O’Byrnes had reclaimed it. She felt a chill, imagining the screams of terror, women wailing, children crying, and the wild whoops of the rebel Irish as they overran what to these foolish people must have deemed impregnable.
An owl screeched above her, which made Nora start.
She glanced around her, not liking at all being left alone though she doubted Niall would have done so if he’d truly felt there was danger. As long moments passed, she thanked God for the moonlight, which filtered through the thick branches and lent an otherworldly glow around her.
The full moon she had cursed earlier for its brightness had, like a welcome presence, guided their way to safety this night. She knew only a few more hours and the sun would rise, which left very little time for sleep—oh, why could she not stop trembling?
Nora took a deep, shuddering breath as Niall reappeared suddenly and took the reins to lead their mount into the enclosure. She could see several dwelling-houses and a cluster of smaller outbuildings, but he stopped at the nearest structure and tethered the gelding to a post. Without a word, he reached up and his hands encircled her waist to lift her to the ground.
Yet to her surprise, he didn’t readily release her. His strong hands lingered at her waist, while Nora was certain she’d never felt her heart leap so against her breast.
“I’ve lit a fire in the hearth. Go in while I draw water from the well…and take the bag of food. I’ll follow soon.”
Nora nodded, struck dumb. Could such simple words have flustered her more completely? He handed her the bag, his fingers brushing hers, and she jumped.
Oh dear, why had it suddenly become so difficult to breathe? If he had noticed how disconcerted she’d become, she didn’t read it in his face. He looked at her steadily and gave her a gentle nudge.
Wild Moonlight (The O'Byrne Brides Book 3) Page 3