Celtic Skies, Book 3 in the Celtic Steel Series

by Delaney Rhodes

  Darina, he said with his mind. I don’t wish to startle ye, I am here in the room.

  “Patrick,” she breathed, “will ye come help me?” she asked.

  “B-but o’ c-course,” he stated audibly, making his way around the curtained divider. Slipping up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her expanding waist and kissed her neck. Ye smell divine, luv. He trailed hot kisses up and down her neck and shoulder, finally meeting her check, and twisting her head gently with his left hand to gain access to her mouth. When they finally broke their kiss, he rested his chin on her shoulder and let out a contented sigh.

  As do ye, she told him. Leaning her head back to offer further access to her neck, she wrapped her left hand up and wound it through his hair, pulling the leather thong which was holding it, out of place. She scratched his scalp gently with her nails, and moaned into his embrace. He tightened his grip on her belly and squeezed momentarily, sending unspoken words of love and gratitude between them.

  Here, he said with his mind, step over the edge and stand on this rug. Slowly, he began drying her body. She leaned her hands against his stooping shoulders as he began with her feet. Tenderly, he moved the drying cloth up and over her ankles, around her calves and towards her knees. He placed a chaste kiss on her thighs, and she moaned as if she were in pain. Wrapping her robe tightly about her, he picked her up into his big arms and carried her until he had set her down upon their mammoth bed.

  “D-Darina,” he began, still drying her arms with the cloth. “Wh-why are y-ye no’ asleep b-by now?” he asked.

  “Patrick, I was too tired to sleep, if that makes any sense at all,” she laughed. “I’ve found I could sleep, or rather, I could lay about all day and get absolutely nothin’ of any use done. But, I neva’ actually fall asleep. I knew I wouldna’ be able to sleep without a warm bath and some goat’s milk.”

  Aye, he responded with his mind.

  “Or, without ye, Patrick,” she added, touching his nose with the tip of her finger.

  “M-me?” he asked.

  “Aye, Patrick,” she responded. “I dinna’ sleep well without ye, and I have found I have need of ye more now than usual.” She grabbed his cheeks with both hands, looked deeply into his alluring green eyes, and touched him softly with her mouth. He moaned and returned the gesture, teasing her lips with his tongue until she finally opened for him, giving in to the dance. Gripping him about the waist, she pulled him closer, testing his resolve. He failed miserably, to her delight.

  Darina, love, he began. Are ye not tired lass?

  “Exhausted,” she replied, tugging her robe off her shoulders, lying flat on the bed, and pulling him against and on top of her. “But, I need ye, Patrick,” she groaned. “Love me, please Patrick.”

  He melted. There was nothing as passionate in the whole of the world, as Darina. He was a man who would scale heaven, earth, and quite possibly, even hell just to make her smile. How could he deny his insatiable desire for her? She was his and he was hers, and together they were family. But, their family was expanding and her stomach likewise. A sudden fear gripped him, and he shifted his weight off her, settling beside her on the bed, resting on his hip, trailing his long fingers up and down her core.

  “Patrick?” she whispered. “Patrick, what is it?”

  “I-I, I d-do no’ w-wish to h-harm ye, l-luv, or th-the babe.” She pushed him over and laid her head against his chest, cradling his form in her right arm. His heart was beating frantically, and she could tell he was living his own version of torture at that moment. His excitement clearly visible from under his kilt, she trailed her right hand up and down his thigh, circling back down to his knee and then back up again. His excitement grew stronger.

  Darina, he begged.

  She inched her way up further this time, stopping her hand at hip-level. He cinched his eyes shut and took a deep breath, holding it for what seemed minutes.

  Patrick, she said with her mind this time, if ye mean to deny me, ye should know I’m a verra stubborn woman. Gripping the base of his cock with her velvet hand, she traced the length of him from bollock to tip, and back down again, turning her wrist in the process. He grew more rigid in the process, and let out an audible grunt when she moved to her knees. And, I can be very convincing as well, she added, before kissing the base of his member lightly, and peeking up from between his muscular legs to look him in the eyes.

  “Darina,” he said this time without a stammer, “no.”

  “Dinna' tell me no, Patrick,” she whispered, before licking a long stroke from the bottom of his shaft, all the way to the top. He closed his eyes and sighed, before she took his full length into her warm, wet mouth. He lurched forward and grasped her head with his hands, piling her beautiful damp hair in an imaginary knot on top. Swirling her tongue in a circular pattern on the tip of his cock, she opened her mouth wider this time and dove down again, pressing him into the back of her throat. He muttered something incoherently in broken Gaelic, and tensed his legs in response.

  Over and over, she repeated the same, slow torture on his manhood. Throbbing and near to exploding, he pushed against her with his hands until he was released from her mouth.

  “K-kiss me,” he begged, pulling her from her knees and onto his stomach. Sitting atop him, she was breathtaking. The weight of her damp hair against his face sent a chill up his spine, and caused his stomach to lurch.

  “K-kiss me, D-Darina.”

  Pulling her forward to meet his mouth, he relaxed his grasp on her arms, and melted into the mattress. Her tongue tasted of peppermint and his arousal, sending a flash of excitement once more through his loins. Sensing his response, she moved her hands to either side of his face, and bent over him, intent on consummating their love.

  “W-wait,” he said, pulling her down for another kiss.

  I cannot, Patrick, I need ye now, she replied. Please, she begged as she straddled his hips and covered the tip of his shaft with her wet petals, resting the bulk of her weight on his chest. He was helpless. Looking him in the eye, she slid down further, slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried inside her to the hilt. Her mouth met his again, and in that moment, she claimed him; body and soul.

  They rocked this way, up and down, and back and forth, until Patrick thought he might combust; her tender breasts stroking his own chest through each motion. When she finally whimpered his name, he let go, releasing himself inside her, and reciting some ethereal phrase she did not recognize. They lie there like that, completely sated and exhausted, for long moments, until their heartbeats synchronized and their consciousness came back to them.

  “I’m so verra glad ye are home, me husband,” she breathed.

  Aye, and I as well, he replied.

  SIXTEEN

  Burke Territory – the Cave

  “Tragus,” said Odetta, gently stroking his hand, “what we will do now?”

  “What do ye mean, milady?”

  “I mean, what will we do now? Where will we go? Surely, we canna’ stay in this cave foreva’. Easal will be back soon and when he finds I’m no’ in the dungeon, and sees that ye have gone as well, he will be livid.”

  “I ken ye are right,” he agreed. “I ’ave an idea what to do, but a’fore I tell ye, please finish yer story. I want to ’ear more about the curses.”

  “Ye read Vedic, Tragus?” she asked, clearly astonished.

  “Aye, there is much ye dinna’ ken about me, Odetta. But that is for another time.” Handing her the skin of wine again for courage, he watched as she pressed it against her pink mouth and drank. She was enchanting. The weight of the world had nearly visibly left her tortured face when she revealed Easal’s true identity. How much more relief or redemption would should find in exposing the truth behind the curses? Would she be freed of her nightmares, or would they only begin again—this time more real?

  He shook his head at the thought and gripped her firmly around her shoulders. “Go on lass,” he prodded, “ye can do it. Explain to me why ye set a curse
on the O’Malleys, so that they couldna’ bear any male children.”

  Through angry tears, she revealed to Tragus that she was Jamie’s mother, and that Duncan O’Malley was his true father. Pushing aside years of bitterness and resentment, she told him the entire story from beginning to end. She had to find Jamie, thought to be her younger brother by most, and Dallin O’Malley had not only refused to marry her, but refused to help her bring Jamie back to Burke territory as well. Duncan was gone, and she received no answers to any of her letters, and feared the worst. Perhaps Duncan was dead, perhaps Jamie was gone as well.

  “Me fathair had taken to feva’ and was ’oled up in ’is chamber,” she began. “He refused to see me or ’ear me petition. None of the guards would ’elp me, and they even refused to send me letters to Scotland, to Duncan,” she clarified. “At one time, I had me own guards assigned to me quarters, and they answered to me. When Cynbel got word that Dallin ’ad married Anya instead, he was furious with me and banished me to the monastery. I lived with the good seestas for several months, but not a’fore meetin’ with me…uh…coven.

  Naelyn told me I could place a curse on the O’Malleys so that they would bear no male children; until such time as I released it. I warned Dallin. I told him unless he brought Jamie to me, that I would neva’ lift the curse. I o’heard Rufus and Cynbel talkin’ one day on the battlements, Rufus advised me brathair to make sure Jamie neva’ returned. Seein’ as ’ow Jamie was an heir—thought to be our brathair—he would be next in line to be Lord, and that I may ’ave designs to challenge Cynbel or ’ave him killed, jest for that reason. It was a preposterous proposition, but one that Rufus used to ’is advantage, to weasel ’is way into bein’ second-in-command.

  So, with the ’elp of me coven seestas, we placed the curse,” she sighed. “I neva’ really believed in magic, ye ken, but I did after that. I felt powerful and cunnin’ for the first time in me life, and that sense of importance got away with me, Tragus. I became prideful and conceited, I believed I could do anathing.”

  Wiping away a stray tear, she straightened her skirts around her legs, and took another long swig from the skin of wine.

  “Then?” he asked.

  “Well, Tragus, that was o’er twenty somethin’ years ago. Ye ken verra well that there ’ave been no males born in the O’Malley clan in that time. At least, I thought there hadna’.”

  “What do ye mean?” he asked.

  “Well, a few years back, Naelyn and I were explorin’ nigh the shore, jest o’er the ridge facin’ the north forest, and we came upon a series of caverns. It ’ad gotten late and we decided to stay the night, so we set about to make camp inside one, and we built a fire and grilled some fish and as it got darker, and as the fire illuminated the cavern walls, we noticed some drawins’.”

  “What kinds of drawins’, Odetta?”

  “Well, ancient drawins’ of some kind, usin’ an older form of Sanskrit, and some unusual symbols and such. They were symbols that Eaton ’ad taught me, but which I had neva’ seen a’fore anawhere else.” Odetta rose and paced before the fire, ringing her hands and growing more uncomfortable by the minute.

  “Tragus,” she muttered, “the drawins’—they were a prophecy.”

  ***

  Patrick arose at the first hint of light the next morning. With so much to do in preparation for the swearing-in that evening, he knew he needed to see Parkin. They had agreed to meet, before the sun rose, in the great hall to discuss what had happened with his vessel and why it had become lost at sea. With a couple hours remaining before he intended to break his fast with Airard and Flynn, he snuck out of the bed and dressed hurriedly in the dark, careful not to wake Darina. Light from a small candle on the side table illuminated her rosy cheeks and she stirred, only momentarily, before resuming her shallow but synchronistic breathing.

  Nearly tripping over a still-sleeping Fanai, Patrick stepped over the falconry hound, and tip-toed to the corner where his boots were propped up against the stack of wood near the hearth. Darina moaned and turned over in the bed, clutching the sheets as she turned, assuring that had he in fact stayed in bed with her, he would have been woefully exposed. He chuckled at the revelation and thinking better to himself, turned, headed back to the bed and placed a gentle kiss atop her forehead. He propped his pillow behind her back and pulled the coverlet up to her shoulders.

  Sleep well, my princess, he thought to himself before shutting the chamber door behind him.

  The O’Malley high castle was an efficient structure, bustling with activity at all hours of the day or night. Patrick was not surprised to meet a chambermaid coming up the fifth floor stairs as he was making his way down.

  “Good morn, milord,” she curtsied.

  “G-good m-morn to y-ye Sh-Shelby,” he returned, tipping his head.

  “Is there anathang I might get for ye, milord?” she asked, looking down the stairwell at his retreating form.

  “N-not at th-this t-time,” he returned and kept his stride.

  Reaching the third-floor landing that overlooked the great hall, he marveled at the handiwork of the castle operations. Odhran stood watch over a bevy of kitchen ladies who bustled to and fro, wiping, cleaning, sweeping and preparing the tables. The chandler was busy replacing burned out or half-spent candles in the candelabras, and there were young men of all shapes and sizes rolling supplies through the corridor to the kitchens and butlery. Barrels and barrels of ale passed through, and Odhran verbally reprimanded the butcher’s errand boy, who was attempting to bring the day’s meat through the dining hall.

  “I’ll no’ tell ye again to use the rear entrance, Alan. This time I mean it,” he added for emphasis. “I will tell yer master we can get our meats from somewhere else. Ye see these ladies ’ere?” he asked sarcastically. “I will leave ye to ’emif ye mess up these rugs with yer blewdy game. Ye should catch a sight of what they did to one-legged Jo last year,” Odhran spat. “Well, I guess I dinna’ need to tell ye ’ow he got that one leg, now do I?”

  Patrick sniggered under his breath and waved down at Odhran. Finally finishing the last of the stairs, he thudded to the first floor on both feet, straightening his swinging plaid at the same time.

  “G-good morn, O-Odh-r-an,” he sputtered.

  “Good morn, milord. Yer lookin’ chipper t’day. What brings ye down so early? Martha, bring the Lord his tea,” Odhran bellowed, “and a plate of oat cakes, please.”

  “I ’ave business with me brathair,” interrupted Parkin from the parlor doorway, throwing his right arm around Patrick’s shoulder.

  “Parkin,” Odhran said, “’tis so good to see ye. We were all verra concerned when ye didna’ return as planned.”

  “So was I,” Parkin remarked sarcastically, grabbing an apple from a passing maidservant carrying a fruit basket. Patrick grunted and slapped him on the back.

  “H-how are th-the babes?” Patrick asked.

  “That is right,” Odhran remarked. “Twins, ’ow are they?”

  “They are doin’ jest fine. Kyra is still restin’ at the sick ’ouse, and Gemma sent a lass from the island o’er to wet nurse. ‘Tis a bigger blessin’ than we could ’ave hoped for. The boy, Aiden, he is a strong one, and he wants to eat constantly. Aderyn prefers ’er sleep. Kyra is lookin’ good, no feva’, bless the gods! She needs ’er rest though, ’twas a tryin’ few days for ’er and I’m so verra sorry I wasna’ here sooner.”

  “C-come, s-sit,” beckoned Patrick from the table beside the hearth. Pouring his tea, Odhran motioned for Parkin to sit and drink as well, placing a second mug atop the table. “J-join us,” said Patrick to Odhran.

  “I wish I could, milord, but there is much to be done, and the castle will awaken in a jest a couple a hours. Mayhap we can talk at noonday?” he asked.

  “O-of course,” said Patrick.

  “I would like that,” added Parkin. “Now,” he said, turning to face his brother, “ye are no’ goin' to believe this.”

  SEVENTEEN
<
br />   O’Malley Territory—Sick House

  Darina rocked Aderyn as Kyra nursed the fussy boy. Aiden was chubby with a thick head of dark brown curly hair, and a pair of lungs that would no doubt cause him much trouble in the future. Feeling more rested than she had in some time, Kyra smiled and sighed, happy at last that her arms were not empty, but instead, overflowing with not one, but two beautiful children. Aiden would be proud—twins! Although they were common in Aiden’s family line, in Kyra’s they were not; especially a boy and a girl.

  No one bothered mentioning the fact that she had birthed a son. Even though everyone was aware that Braeden was Darina’s brother, they knew he was conceived when her parents had traveled to Edinburgh, out of reach of the Burke witch’s spell. That Kyra and Aiden had left O’Malley territory at some point together was obvious. The details of that journey were unclear and unnecessary—at least for now.

  Parkin had spent the night sleeping on a pallet on the floor near Kyra’s bed, between her bed and the large cradle Patrick brought up from the castle. The twins seemed happy only when lying next to one another and Parkin was able to attend to all of them, much to the chagrin of Vynae, who had yet to regain total control of the chamber that now occupied the weary but ecstatic new family.

  Although Winnie had cried and begged, Parkin insisted she accompany Macklin back to his room at the inn; there were just too many people in the cramped quarters as it was. Winnie was delighted, and oh so excited, to have a brother and a sister, and couldn’t wait to get her chubby little toddler hands on them. That would have to wait for another day, when the little family would finally move into their cottage; and they could all stay together—and Macklin would have his own room, Winnie would share with Aderyn, Aiden would have his own room, and Parkin and Kyra might find some privacy for themselves.