by Bri Clark
The difference in his attitude astounded Maeve. She turned looking up because the man towered over her just like his son did.
“Know this lass. Whatever ye decide, there is no pain in my heart when I behold ye. While I see the resemblance of the only woman I ever loved, I also see the eyes of the truest friend I ever knew. No, indeed, having ye here in this keep has brought me a joy I haven’t celebrated in many years. This is yer home now, no matter what happens. Ye are alone no more.” While his words were still soft, the deepening of his tone at the end proved the sincerity of his declaration.
“You know I’ll marry him,” she whispered. All the feelings she buried down deep—the grief that was cast aside because she never had time to mourn lumped together in her chest and exploded. “I miss them so much.” She spoke quietly and Rordan enveloped her as she hid her face in his shirt.
Chapter Thirteen
Sir Fionn Hughes was ready to give up his birthright as he searched his childhood home for a wild ginger-haired banshee. He had heard her screams and on instinct began to seek her out, only each time she yelled it was as if she was getting farther away. His frustration was added to because everyone he passed curtsied or bowed to acknowledge his station. Propriety dictated he respond. The sound of a whispered far away screech caught his attention followed by a known closer roaring laugh. Supernatural stealth propelled him to the cackle of his sire.
Complete and utter astonishment stopped his fast run to a neat halt. At the highest point of the southeast wall stood his father, Laird Rordan Hughes. The King’s most ruthless knight in his youth, known as Bloodlust Hughes, now laughed and clapped his hands as though he’d lost his mind. Then the tinkling of an angel’s giggle sounded. Without thought, Fionn moved forward to the prize he sought, toward her.
As he looked into his father’s face, he followed his line of vision. There below them, outside in a field of yellowing, wild grass, Maeve walked slightly bent, arms behind her back, eyes closed. Unlike her usual long skirt with loose fitting blouse, a green dress now fit to her lithe frame—a dress in the style worn by his clan’s women. The physical response the image had upon Fionn’s body was immediate and fevered.
Her squeal of triumph followed by his father’s grunt then chuckle helped him ignore his body’s instincts. A deep breath, hardening of his facial muscles and stiffening of his spine came before he dare speak to his father.
“Good job, lad. Don’t want to let her know the power she has over ye,” Rordan commented without looking. Then he whispered an incantation into his hands. Light glowed between his fingers and raising both arms above his head he pitched the light forward. It spread wide in to smaller balls then disappeared onto the ground.
“If you find all these lass, I’ll let you ride me stallion,” he called.
“Your word sir?” Maeve responded. Her exclusive gravelly accent caused Fionn’s skin to tingle.
“Aye.”
“I’ll ride today, as soon as I’m done,” she continued, one hand on her hip, one eyebrow arched, questioning.
“Aye lass, my word as a Hughes.” With that, she nodded then closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“What on earth are you two doing? No, better yet, are you daft? She can’t ride Sin!” Fionn questioned his father for the first time as if he was an equal, as if he was questionable. Even when he had left in direct disobedience to his father, it had been in secret, by the cloak of night.
“You have never played Seek and Find with a Scent Witch before then if you have to ask. The rules are very different and the lass is talented. Beat me thrice already.”
“Seek and Find!” Fionn exclaimed.
“Aye lad, you know where you create something of nature out of magic then hide it…”
“I know what Seek and Find is. What I don’t understand is why you are playing it with Maeve and, most importantly, why you consented to let her ride your large, temperamental warhorse? He’s not named Sinister for his sparkling personality.”
A peel of delight sounded announcing Maeve’s progress, swiftly followed by another burst of laughter.
“Well son, someone has to pay attention to the future lady of this clan,” Rordan responded in his normal dominating tone, narrowing his eyes.
Heat crept along Fionn’s neck. It was true he had been avoiding her. Once he knew she was completely healed he had disappeared from her sight altogether. Then when he’d found out his father had informed her of Cordelia’s last request, and heard of her acceptance of that, an unseen emotion held him at bay. That, coupled with the promise he had sworn while in her dream, made finding distractions a very easy task.
“As far as Sin is concerned, under her hands he’s as gentle as a foal. Ahh, and it seems you will find out for yourself.”
“Last one, Rordan. I win…meet me in the stables and bring some drink too, please,” she called, raising a bundle of flowers … gardenias … what his father had created, before running off.
“Aye lass,” his father responded waving to her, then in his signature voice: “Cook, cider in two skins.”
“Rordan?” Fionn queried, barely breathing as he followed his father.
****
Maeve wasted no time racing to the stables. She had seen Fionn beside his father and by the look on his face and the throwing of his arms, he wasn’t happy. While she recognized that avoiding her allowed him to ignore the weight of her granny’s last request, she also saw it kept him from answering her question. Grateful was what she should have been; instead she was irritated, almost dejected. The feelings had become so overwhelming she had retreated to her room. That is until Rordan literally forced her out of hiding.
The arrogant brute had tipped her over his shoulder and carried her to the stables. One look at his horses combined with the smell of tack, hay, and manure, and her temper was soothed. After a bareback ride on a chestnut mare, it was forgotten. But then, spotting the tall, broad-chested midnight stallion named Sinister, Maeve had become determined to ride him. A desire Fionn had become just as determined would not be fulfilled.
Wise enough to accept needing a saddle on Sin, Maeve exhaled to calm herself, waiting for Rordan to prepare the stunning horse. The stable master was out and no one else could get near the temperamental mount. No one except her, that is. He was a specimen the likes she had never seen, with legs that began at the height of her shoulder and joined seamlessly in a smooth muscled torso. Connected not only with nature but also to animals, horses especially, Maeve knew this was an extraordinary horse.
She leaned into the crook of Sinister’s neck while he chewed on her hair. As much as she tried, the chaos of curls would not stay in the ribbon. Basking in the overwhelming warmth radiating from the animal she closed her eyes until he snorted and tensed. A look under his chin revealed a broad muscular chest covered by a blue button-up shirt.
“You will not ride this beast,” Fionn ordered, looking down at her. A muscle in his jaw jumped as his teeth clenched.
Feeling brave with Sin between them, Maeve was inclined to disagree.
“I beg your pardon, Sir Hughes, but I must differ,” she responded with a superficial sweetness and added a smile for good measure.
His quiet response was one fist then the other tightened and untightened, and the tension from Sin rose. She considered maybe goading him was unwise.
“And what makes you think you can disagree?” he grumbled.
“First, Sir, your father is Sin’s owner, not you. Therefore, with his permission I can ride this horse. Second, he’s the laird,” she finished, with yet another sweet smile.
A deep feral growl started in Fionn’s chest but quickly turned to a choke as the beast in question released her hair and butted Fionn. Rordan’s merry laughter announced his arrival before he was seen.
He stopped and petted his beloved stallion before leading him out of his stall. “Told ye son, the beast already claimed her. Guess I don’t have to tell you who I’ll be leaving him with when I’m gone.”<
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With his last comment, Maeve and both Fionn came up short, staring at the back of the old laird.
“I thought you were through with your suicide attempts,” Fionn insisted folding his arms and glaring down at her.
Usually one for lashing back and enjoying a good spar, the disappointment of truth held Maeve’s tongue. Shame she was still dealing with flared and she hugged herself. Unable to stop the tears from forming, she glowered up at the insufferable immortal, jut her chin out and walked through the stable door to wait outside.
In the yard away from all eyes, she calmed herself by breathing deeply of the comforting scents of forest, nature, and land. In control and stoic was what she needed to be in order to control a mount like Sinister. Without a sound, Fionn moved to stand behind her. Under her breath, Maeve cursed him and his unnatural stealth. She refused to turn around. Luckily Sin appeared, led by Rordan.
Meeting them halfway, she escaped. “Rordan, thank you ever so much,” she said, casting a glance at Fionn and smiling when she took note of the glower upon his face.
“Here now, it was a fair wager, so we will not have none of that female flippery. I’ll lift ye up lass.” Before she could decline, the aged, gray-haired knight encircled her waist with his large calloused hands and set her in the saddle. Then he put her boot in one stirrup while she did the other, then helped her fix her skirts.
“Sorry the beast won’t do well with a side saddle, you’ll have to ride stride.”
“It’s fine. I’m accomplished both ways. Granny made me learn both.” Maeve was acutely aware that Fionn still stood tense and unmoving where she left him. The horse stamped the ground uneasily and she knew it was the weary immortal irritating him. Determined not to let Fionn ruin her joy, she nodded at Rordan then clicked her tongue and took off without a backward glance.
****
A narrowed-eyed glare and a grunt from his father halted Fionn from coiling and chasing the demon horse and the bullheaded woman riding astride in a skirt.
“You aren’t riding with her?” he asked his father, struggling to control his temper.
“Ye know Sinister is the only horse I’ll ride. Beside no other mount can keep up except for that devil spawn you have and I’m not taking it out,” Rordan responded, walking back to the stables. Fionn didn’t hesitate this time. Ignoring the saddle, he led his own rare beast out of the stall. The complete opposite of Sinister, his horse, Sallow, possessed a glistening white coat with azure blue eyes. While the same in every other way, height, build and breed, both steeds had been born under an eclipse—Sallow a solar eclipse and Sinister a lunar.
Fionn jumped on his already moving stallion. Attuned to his owner in a truly unique way, Sallow responded to the anxiety for haste from Fionn. Sinister and Maeve had a significant head start, and Fionn guided his horse to follow the trail through the field.
Then the trail disappeared completely. A line of trees appeared where different tracks could be ridden. A vice constricted Fionn’s lungs in a grip that wouldn’t give. Where was she? Was she already hurt? Panic was close to consuming him when she appeared out of nowhere at his side. Once a teasing water nymph, now sitting astride the monstrous black beast in her mint green dress she appeared as a woodland pixie, untamed curls that billowed around porcelain skin in a halo of fire, the yellow, slanted eyes of a feline predator appraised him.
“Well Sir Hughes it seems I owe you a thanks,” she began, half smiling, with a controlled hand on Sin’s reigns. The beast wanted to gallop. “Now I know of a particular trick that will work at hiding me from a tracker.”
“And why would you need to hide from a tracker?” he responded, unable to keep his hand from squeezing into a fist and pulling the bit tighter. His mount snorted. Immediately he relaxed his fingers.
With an easy confident voice she answered, “For when I leave Hughes Place.”
Fionn’s response was instinctive. “You will never leave here!”
“Why not?” she countered, expertly handling the antsy stallion beneath her.
Caught off guard, Fionn scrambled. Now wasn’t the time to confess anything. How could he? He didn’t even understand what he felt. It was just a fact, a bone deep, soul-effacing fact. She belonged there.
“As I thought…” She leaned forward, hiding her face as she whispered in Sinister’s ear. It was fleeting but Fionn caught it. Sadness coated her features.
All of his aggravation left him. But before he could act, she clicked her tongue and Sinister responded with a mighty lunge up the trail.
With a flick of the reigns, Fionn directed Sallow to follow on their heels. He cursed when Maeve let Sin have his head at a full gallop, allowing the steed his own bidding to run as fast across the open meadows as he desired. Her hair whipped behind her in a glorious cape of sunrays parallel to her mount’s black tail. While Fionn grudgingly admitted she was accomplished, her body moving in time with that of the stallion, she was still just a small woman who didn’t have the strength for control over her mount should it be needed. There had been enough near death experiences for her lately, he decided. She would get off that horse whether she liked it or not.
Sallow responded to his master’s urge to catch up with a bunching of muscles and a leap forward. Another line of tall primordial trees came into view. Two riding tracks cut through the trees, each equally dangerous and challenging. Maeve was headed at a breakneck speed in their direction.
Fionn yelled. Maeve reigned in and began to slow her mount moving from a gallop, to a jog, then a walk, before finally stopping. She dismounted, then stood in front of a heavily breathing Sinister, small, slender fingers ran up and down his nuzzle and along the horse’s neck. As Fionn overtook them, he heard her singing a Gaelic melody, but her song stopped as he drew up beside her.
“I’m no fool, Sir Hughes, and I’m certainly not cruel.” She treated him to the sharp edge of her tongue before he’d even stopped, never taking her eyes from Sin. “I would never allow a horse to gallop headlong down a track I don’t know.” Instead of waiting for an answer, she released the reins and began walking away. Once again, the little witch had shocked him. Sinister, trained and war-hardened battle stallion, followed her as dutifully as a puppy. They disappeared into the wood.
Of course, unable to resist, Fionn dismounted and followed like the horse had.
He found them at the loch his family swam in during the warm season, a large clear-water pool fed by an underground spring. Sinister had his lips to the water indulging in a drink. He raised his head at Fionn’s approach and studied him, snorted as if in warning, flicked his ears dismissively, and then drank some more. Maeve sat on a rock dangling her toes at the water’s edge. Her boots and stockings lay at her side.
Water. It seemed they always came back to water.
“I’d suggest you not repeat things previously said, Sir Hughes. It’s not wise to remind a woman of unkept promises.” Words of truth stopped him in his tracks quicker than any physical opponent had. How could the woman be so attune to his thoughts? As usual, unable to deal with the feeling associated, he jumped on what he did know. Anger.
“My father is Sir Hughes,” he responded folding his arms.
“I must disagree, Sir Hughes. You yourself are a Knight with the last name Hughes as well.” Still she didn’t look at him, maintaining her focus on the water below.
“I was Fionn to you way before he was ever Rordan,” Fionn insisted stalking toward her again. “Please keep your distance, immortal.” She raised her hands, finally looking at him. There it was in her eyes. That sadness he’d glimpsed before.
“So now I’m not even Sir Hughes.” The hurt her words caused added to his already bubbly cauldron of confusion.
Eyes that still held troubled emotions locked with his as she curled her legs under herself and stood. Surefooted as a cat in a tree, she climbed off the rock to stand before him. With nothing but inches between them, her essence, the very power that was Maeve, flowed around him. A feeling
he’d never known he missed until it had been gone returned now, washed over him. Self control learned under the most dire circumstances gave him the strength to keep from closing his eyes and sighing in pleasure.
“Honor is something a knight clings to.” She didn’t phrase it as a question. “Trust is the same for a witch, a woman. I know Rordan. He’s a loud, obnoxious brute of an old man but that’s who he is. I trust him.” I don’t know you…or trust you. It was left unsaid but understood as the disappointment in her eyes addressed him. She walked back to the rock, sat, and put on her stockings and then her shoes. Silence dominated the space.
Fionn found himself in unchartered territory. While familiar with the female persuasion, his experience in this area was little to none. Trust and honor, he understood. The problem was how did she base her views?
“How does one go about earning your trust?” he asked outright. Jumping off the rock again, she stood still as she studied him.
“I don’t know. I haven’t trusted many people in my life.” Her answer was just as straight forward and honest as his question.
Hope blossoming, he kept on the direct course. “Who were these select few?” he asked as he watched her rejoin her mount.
“My grandparents, an old friend. And Rordan.” The fact she could count on one hand the amount of people she trusted in her entire life visually summed up just how tough of a task lay before him.
“While I can understand how you trusted the others, ye obviously knew them a long time. How do you explain my father?”