by Brit Darby
Liam expected Alianor to shudder at the crudity of the old saying, but to his surprise she laughed instead. “I remember Walter saying something similar.”
He gave her a grudging smile, quelling the urge to lean over and kiss her. “You’re welcome to join the other women if you wish. Perhaps you would feel more comfortable.”
She shook her head. “This is fine.” Niall passed down a plate to her, and to her credit she did not grimace at the familiar sight of cabbage, onions, beans and peas. There was a wedge of hard cheese and simple oatcakes, and a bit of blackened roast thrush. She did not hesitate but ate, while the chatter gradually resumed around them, though a bit more reserved than before.
“It’s good,” Alianor remarked, nodding as she bit daintily into the oatcake. Liam arched an eyebrow, and her cheeks pinked from his reaction. “I do not sneer at simple fare, William. Let’s not burden Felicity with the chore of bringing a tray to my cell. I’m happy to attend meals as the others do.”
“I’m sorry,” Liam apologized. “I should have said you are welcome anywhere in the camp. I didn’t think you would feel comfortable among strangers.”
“It seems,” Alianor glanced about at his men, “I am not the one who is ill at ease. It was not my intention to make anyone uncomfortable. I will leave you in peace to enjoy your meal with your men.”
Alianor started to stand, but Liam stopped her. When his hand touched her arm, he regretted his actions. It felt as if a fire scorched his flesh, her warmth mingling with his own even through the woolen cloth she wore. How could an innocent touch create so much havoc inside him?
“Please stay,” he whispered hoarsely from the rush of emotion.
“Aye,” Niall added. “We don’t often have the pleasure of a lady in our midst.”
Another man, a squat, sturdy, middle-aged fellow added his own plaintive note. “Please, milady. We don’t mean t’ be a monstrous lot. Does us good t’ mind our manners.”
Smiling at them, Alianor subsided to her seat again. “I will stay, on one condition.”
“What is it, colleen?” another called out down the length of the large table.
“I wish us all to feel at ease. Let us be ourselves, good and bad. I’ll not think differently of any of you for acting honestly, if you’ll do the same for me.”
The men nodded agreement. Bit by bit, the jovial atmosphere and jokes returned to the hall. Only one man seemed subdued that eve. Alianor noticed Torin did not laugh nor banter with the others.
Liam looked on, bemused as the uncouth lot did as promised and embraced Alianor’s suggestion. Soon, the stone walls echoed with ribald comments and hearty laughter. Alianor seemed to take little notice of off-color remarks, but when she did, it was to toss back as good as she got.
Liam realized she fit in well, as her quick sense of humor gained his mens’ favor. For some reason, this made him proud.
Alianor enjoyed herself, too, despite the rocky beginning. She knew Liam’s gaze lingered on her, but when she dared returned his look she could not fathom the unreadable depths. And each time their eyes met, she remembered their last encounter. She knew he had stayed away from her on purpose, and she reciprocated by keeping to her room. It seemed a mutual accord, to spare them both further confusion and discord.
Boredom and loneliness had driven her from her cell in the end. Why should she remain cooped up to keep them from running into one another? Alianor reasoned they were both adults; surely they could keep their hot-blooded passions in check. Or could they?
In truth, she didn’t know. Over the past days she had made herself many promises, first and foremost not to allow what had happened between them to happen again. It was nothing less than traitorous, giving herself freely to another man. Even more so considering he was a notorious scoundrel and a kidnapper of women.
Liam was a criminal, a killer. No amount of praise from these people he cared for and looked after could change the hard facts. He was dangerous and she’d best remember it.
Despite her self-imposed lectures and mental will, she reacted whenever she thought of his lovemaking, his muscular torso pressing against her in a passionate slow-dance, a dance she longed to repeat.
Alianor found herself thinking these things too often. She chided herself again, berated herself anew, and made another promise she feared she wouldn’t keep. Nothing worked. Nothing would keep her from falling into his arms again.
Guilt washed over her in waves and the battle between mind and body began anew. Dear Jesu, she should fear and loathe Liam, not desire him. Not sit here laughing like a pirate’s wench with a bunch of cutthroats and thieves.
Suddenly her innards rebelled in accord with her thoughts. She pushed her plate aside. It was too much for her to endure. Alianor rose and took her leave, not even sparing Liam a glance as she left the men to their evening.
THE SINGLE CANDLE HOLDER Alianor carried with her lit the dark passage. The old abbey reminded her of a dungeon, its damp stone walls slick with moss. She meandered her way up the stairs to the second floor, the noise of revelry from the great hall fading behind her. Distracted by her thoughts, she entered the old monk’s cell and turned to latch the door behind her.
A scuffling noise sounded; Alianor froze. The candlelight flickered in a draft whistling through the ancient walls. Rats? The hair on the nape of her neck rose and a shiver rippled through her. She took a deep breath and summoned her courage, turned and raised the candle taper to the darkness.
A large shadow loomed against the wall. Definitely not a rat.
“Who’s there?” Her question echoed off stone back at her. Alianor’s instincts shrilled for her to move. She whirled to run. Too late.
A hand gripped her right shoulder, fingers dug into flesh. Alianor gasped and twisted back around. She recognized one of Liam’s men, his leering face and sour breath blasting her face. He was a heavyset, muscular man, not much taller than her but built like a warhorse, with a shaggy mane of brown hair and a long beard speckled with remnants of food.
“You frightened me.” She tried to remain calm, struggling to ease the clamoring of her heart. She knew he wasn’t there to pay his respects and remained on guard.
“Did I now?” His speech slurred from the spirits served with dinner. “Methinks ’tis no’ the first time you’ve welcomed a man in here, milady.” He sniggered, eying her with deliberate meaning.
Alianor brought the candle up, a small shield between them. “What do you want?” She failed to remember a name to go with the face.
“Rosy said you wanted a bit o’ company.”
“No,” Alianor said, warning bells clanging inside her head. “Rosaleen was mistaken.”
“Why no’? Am I no’ good ’nough for you, milady?”
His voice turned hard, ugly. He reached out to touch her cheek with grimy fingers.
Alianor recoiled and thrust the sputtering taper into his face, as if the single meager flame would keep him at bay. “I told you I don’t desire your company. Leave me be.”
“You did no’ answer my question,” he sneered. “Everyone knows you’re letting Liam ’tween your sweet little Sassenach thighs. Isn’t my whanker good ’nough for you?”
Alianor swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising in her throat. “Leave me alone,” she said, resolved to defend herself to the death if need be.
“Aye, Malone. Unless you want your whanker shortened a bit.”
Startled, Alianor glanced over her shoulder to see Liam standing in the doorway. Relief flooded her, but it was quickly replaced by a different fear — the look on his face even more frightening than Malone’s. His eyes were filled with grim resolve, and a smoldering anger so evident she did not doubt he was quite capable of dealing death when necessary.
“You’ve had too much to drink, Malone.”
Liam stepped into the room, making the other man retreat from Alianor. Malone stuttered something in Gaelic that Alianor couldn’t understand, but the manner in which he said it made h
er queasy. Her gaze riveted to Liam, and the breath in her lungs stilled as she waited for his reply.
“What the lady and I do is no business of yours, Malone. If I ever catch you accosting her again, I will kill you.”
Liam spoke almost pleasantly. He would do it too, Alianor understood this clearly. So did Malone. She watched chagrin dawn on Malone’s face, heard it in his rushed words. For the first time, Alianor witnessed Liam’s dangerous side up close.
“I meant the lady no harm, Liam. Out for a wee bit o’ fun s’all.”
Liam’s gaze never left Malone. “I’ll not warn you again.”
“Aye,” Malone mumbled, backing away from Liam, avoiding looking at Alianor. “You’ll no’ have to.” As he brushed past Alianor, she heard him hiss something in Gaelic. “Tu saith!”
Liam heard it, too, and glowered after the man.
“What did he say?”
“Well … he likened you to Turrean.”
Alianor laughed shakily. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”
Liam smiled a little. He stepped into the doorway assuring Malone had retreated down the hallway and disappeared into the darkness.
“Thank you,” she said. She was at a loss for further words. Turmoil twisted inside her. She’d made love to this man; this total stranger who was her enemy. Reckless passion had lowered her guard, making her forget the real Liam Caomhánach.
He was like one of the desert panthers from the Crusades Walter had told her about — beautiful to watch in all its sleek power, but deadly to cross. Was she the delicate gazelle run to ground? She shivered, not wanting to find out. She had already lost too much control over the situation. Teetering on the precipice of common sense was beginning to wear thin.
LIAM GLIMPSED THE TURMOIL in Alianor’s eyes but anger continued to claim him nonetheless. Malone was out of line, but somehow, illogical though it was, he also held Alianor accountable. She was so damned beautiful. So tempting. What man wouldn’t risk everything for a taste of heaven?
“How could any man not desire you?” He voiced his thought without thinking. Confusion danced in her eyes. Liam stepped closer and touched her cheek. “How could any mortal resist such temptation?”
Her silvery brows drew together. “You think it’s my fault,” Alianor whispered, half in hurt, half in disbelief. “You believe I’m to blame for his actions?”
Liam didn’t answer. It was true. The fleeting thought had crossed his mind: What had she done to encourage Malone? He looked away from her accusing eyes, shamed by his thoughts. He knew they were wrong, but he was besieged by an illogical possessiveness where Alianor was concerned.
“I did nothing wrong.” Her voice trembled. “I did nothing to encourage the vile notion, nor the man. How could you even think it of me?” Her deep blue eyes flamed with fury. “Because you and I … it does not make me … I am not a whore.”
He flinched. “I never said you were.”
“It’s clear enough you believe me responsible for the ill manners of a drunken lout. You wonder whether I beckoned him by look or crook; if I led him here and only feigned disgust when you came upon us together.”
He knew he’d hurt her. Deeply. “I’m sorry, Alianor. I cannot think clearly when it comes to you.”
“Then I shall clarify everything for you, William.”
God’s nightshirt, how he hated it when she called him William. “How might you do that, milady?”
She drew in a shaky breath, her gaze shooting daggers at him. “I am English. You are Irish. This fact alone should be sufficient to keep us apart. Add to this a few details, like me being your prisoner, and you a kidnapper and thief. We are enemies and must remain so. Is that clear enough?”
“It couldn’t be clearer,” Liam replied. He reached out and gathered her into his arms, making her gasp. Without another word his lips claimed hers in a fierce, emphatic kiss.
Alianor struggled to get free of his determined grip. The harder she fought Liam, the more securely he held her. Her belly tightened with dread, desire; a painful blend making her mind whirl. She clung to him, absorbing the emotion and intensity, hungry for his embrace. Despite the darker reasons provoking his act, she could not deny the powerful force drawing them together.
Anger fueled Liam’s need. He told himself no longer did he ache for her affections, but he wanted her to fight him, to hurt him as he did her. To love Alianor was too confusing and difficult. It was simpler this way. Lust, not love, was easy to understand.
He whispered against her mouth, “If you are truly my captive, I can do with you what I want.”
“No.” Alianor almost whimpered her denial. “You cannot mean it.”
“Oh, but I do,” Liam growled, lifting her into his arms. He kicked the door shut with his foot and carried her towards the narrow pallet.
Reaching the bed in a couple of long-legged strides, he lowered her upon it. Before he could join her, Alianor scrambled up to her knees, tossing back her plaits with a trembling hand.
“Don’t touch me, William.”
Liam slid across the mattress, where Alianor shrank against the wall. Her wide eyes filled with a blend of outrage and uncertainty. He knew she feared her own passion more than him. It was cruel to use her vulnerability for his benefit and guilt pricked his conscience. Resolute, he shoved it aside just as he had all common sense.
“My name is Liam, Uilleam if you prefer the full Gaelic version. Not William. Never William.”
She licked her lips nervously, but looked relieved at the change in topic. “How you must despise me.”
“Nay, I hate the fact Eire no longer belongs to the Irish. I hate the foolish pride provoking Irish nobles to bicker and fight amongst themselves, rather than uniting to drive out the Sassenach.”
He moved closer, frowning at the memories provoked by the subject. “I hate seeing Eire’s children go hungry. I hate watching their parents working themselves into early graves so Galls, foreigners, can squander it all away.”
Liam leaned into Alianor, brushing against her. “And I hate,” he said, “being a bastard son of a rí tuaithe, one who betrays his own people.”
His voice dropped to a husky whisper then, like a cleansing of his soul, he added one last thought. “But mostly I despise,” he paused, gazing into Alianor’s huge eyes, “I despise the thought of any other man touching you, making love to you.”
The possessiveness in his tone, the agony in his words sounded strange even to his own ears. Why did this woman affect him so strongly? She was English, no better than any Irish bawd. Yet one who deserved more than a mauling by a common ruffian like him. Suddenly, he was disgusted with himself. He had no stomach for coercing or strong-arming Alianor into bed. Never in his life had he forced his attentions on a woman. He would not start now.
Sickened, Liam looked away from her hurt-filled eyes. “Stay away from my men,” he warned. He waited until she nodded. He got up and turned from her without another glance, fearing if he did, he would lose his resolve. “I might not be around next time.”
Alianor closed her eyes as he left. She knew he was angry, confused. As was she. She curled up on the hard pallet and hugged her knees to her chest in despair. She trembled; Liam had frightened her. Not from his threat he could take her at his whim. Rather the feelings he provoked, which made her realize she’d not object.
Shame, mortification, guilt — all rushed in, overwhelming Alianor. She hadn’t even the excuse of loving him. How could she love him? Liam was a total stranger. A dangerous man, a ne’er do well who was going to ransom her for gold and Ireland’s glory.
She turned her face into the pillow and felt the kiss of cold metal against her cheek. Curious, she reached out and found something familiar there. The little dagger Walter had given her, tucked in its tiny scabbard with every jewel still intact.
With a pang, she realized the kindness behind the simple gesture. It struck Alianor with the force of a storm on the Irish Sea, shattering the last of her resolve. She
covered her face with her hands and wept. For she could deny her heart no longer — she longed for Liam Caomhánach.
Chapter Fourteen
“NIALL.” LIAM STOPPED HIS uncle outside the stables. “Have you seen Alianor?”
It had been almost two full days since Liam last spoke with Alianor. He kept his days busy in an attempt to weed the English rose from his mind, but failed miserably. Not a day passed he didn’t think of her, not a single hour. And nights were the worst for she haunted him even in his sleep.
Niall nodded while he forked hay to the horses. “Aye. She’s in the hall with the men.”
His uncle seemed to find nothing unusual in his statement, but it disturbed Liam. Why on earth would Alianor be with his men? Hadn’t he warned her to stay away from them? A slow anger began to simmer inside him. Well, he would discover what the hell was going on for himself. And heaven help her if she had flouted his orders.
Liam entered the abbey. Bursts of laughter and a few hearty shouts drifted down the long hall. He hastened his stride as fury built in intensity with each step. When he entered the open area they used for dining, a roar of revelry greeted him.
“What on earth,” he muttered, seeing the tables had been pushed aside to make room in the middle of the hall. A dozen or so of his men were gathered near the great hearth, huddled around something on the floor. He could not see what held their attention.
A crow of disappointment filled the air, and Liam pushed his way through the knot of bodies. As the men grew aware of his presence, they parted to make way for him. The room quieted, and an awkward hush permeated the air. Soon only the crackling of flames in the grate could be heard. Liam looked from man to man in the daunting silence, but none would meet his gaze. Grown men shuffled their feet like lads caught stealing chickens.
“What the hell is going on?” Liam demanded. He pushed the last of the men blocking his view aside, and his gaze fell on the woman kneeling on the stone floor.