Becca St.John
Page 17
When he was done, Angus shook his head at Lady Alissa. She sighed and shrugged in return.
“Are you goin’ to finish your tale now?” Deian asked.
“Aye,” she promised, with a sad whisper. She had no reason to be sad. None that Deian could tell.
“Where did we stop?” she asked him.
“My mama killed the worm that invaded the clan.” Deian sat up, keeping his hand on the dog’s head. He liked animals. They came when you wanted. All you had to do was whistle.
Lady Alissa was nodding. “Aye, well she did; she killed the worm, but more damage had been done. The evil monsters told all the highlanders it was the MacKays who slaughtered and kidnapped and murdered young girls. So Seonaid and the Laird’s wife rode into the face of battle and met armies, to tell them of the truth.”
“She did?” Deian’s eyes widened.
“She did,” Angus confirmed. “Rode right into the face of an advancing enemy, even as war cries rang in the air. She rode, straight to them.”
“Och!” Deian’s mouth matched his widened eyes.
“Your mama is a legend, lad. Tales of the highlands are richer for her,” Angus added.
Deian looked from one to the other. “So why is she leaving? Why would she go?”
Angus sat back in his chair, looked to the fire. Deian turned to Lady Alissa, who leaned over to stroke his head. “For you, lad. She left for you.”
“But I didna’ want her to go.”
“No, you did not, but you see, before the Evil Monster was revealed, no one knew he had touched your mama. Now they all know.”
Deian stood on the bed, punching the air, as if he fought a foe. “And she fought him!”
“Aye,” Lady Alissa took his arm, urged him back onto her lap, despite his wriggles. “But once everyone knew the darkness that had touched her, they would always be reminded of the Evil Monster, and no one wants that memory.”
“But you said she left for me.”
Angus shifted in his chair and Deian knew he didn’t like the telling of the story.
“She did, pet,” Alissa brushed his hair from his forehead. “Anything to do with her would be a memory, and you are to do with her. You are her son. That is why she feels she must leave and you must have a different name. She wants you free of the memory, wants you free to live like other little boys, to run and play, without anyone seeing the shadow that lingers.”
Deian didn’t understand.
“It’s not because she doesn’t love you, Deian. It’s because she loves you so much that she’s going.”
“But I want to go with her.”
“I know,” Lady Alissa sighed. “And if she knew where she was going, where she would be, and that it would be safe, she’d take you. But she doesn’t know how to do that and keep you from evil. So she wants you to stay with me, to be safe.”
Deian let her words trickle over him, holding on to his mama’s brooch to keep him brave. Opening his palm, he looked at it, at what it meant. “But if your cousin doesn’t return, then you’ll be going to the Isle of Sky to marry her betrothed,” he remembered, surprised when Angus lifted his head and shouted, “What?”
He’d said something wrong, he could tell by Angus’ fierce scowl and the way Lady Alissa scooted back on the bed.
“We need a stronger alliance with the Macleods,” she explained.
“Your cousin’s betrothed, not yours?” Angus roared.
Deian clung to Lady Alissa, forgetting that he should be her protector.
“He will be my betrothed if my cousin is not found, if she can’t…can’t…” She swallowed back tears, Deian could tell. That’s what he did, to be brave, and he didn’t know what to do but Angus must have, for he was there, holding them both, his strong arms circling them, crushing them to his chest.
“Come on, now, I’d not meant to upset you. Come, come.” He patted her back and Deian felt squished between them. Then someone knocked on the door, so Angus jumped off the bed and Deian broke free of anyone’s confining hold, and Lady Alissa wiped at her eyes and brushed at her skirts. Someone—he wasn’t even sure who, maybe both adults—called, “enter!” and a guard walked in and nodded to Angus.
“You’ve found them?” Angus asked.
“Aye,” said the guard.
“Good.” And The Reah turned to Lady Alissa. “Settle the lad, we’ll be back.”
She stopped him before he reached the door. “You won’t forget the priest?”
“No,” Angus assured her. “I won’t forget the priest.”
vvvvvv
She was breathing like she’d been running for miles, but she hadn’t. Merely walked a short rise, yet her heart beat a sharp tattoo, measuring her fear, her excitement.
She wanted Padraig bad, even as afraid as she was of his power over her. He was right, this was her last night of wickedness. Of sin. Only, she couldn’t call it a sin, to have a taste of joy, of beauty, before she robbed herself of dreams.
So she stood, breathing like a racer at the end of the course, and waited for Padraig to hobble Tarvos and turn to her.
“Where’s Peregrine?” he asked, securing everything, being practical when she was anything but.
He was good at that, her Padraig. Even now, she stood beside a pallet of sweet grass topped by plaids. A soft bed for the two of them. Except he hadn’t expected her to invite him. He’d done it for her, solely for her.
She licked lips gone dry. “He’s in the paddock by the healer’s cottage. They promised me he’d not be taken again, and I believe them.”
“You didn’t trust me with his care?”
“Oh, aye, I trust you with his care. Just don’t trust you won’t steal him.”
She turned away, unnerved he didn’t make any move toward her. Perhaps he didn’t want her, merely wanted to placate her, to have more chance to argue Deian’s case.
“You don’t have to stay.” She spoke to the ground, then jumped when his hands landed on her shoulders.
“You’d send me away now?”
She braved looking over his shoulder. “It wasna’ your idea. I shouldna’ have pushed you.”
He put his hands in the air. “Push all you want, as long as you promise to land on top of me.” And he laughed, laughed when she did push him, hard enough he stepped back.
“Och, no!” She put her hands to her mouth, then reached for him, repeating the act in mute concern. “Your shoulder, I’ve hurt you again!”
“Painfully,” he lied, for she hadn’t touched his wound. “I need nursing. Will you nurse me to health? Have you a nipple for succor?”
She really would hit him this time, just as she’d done last night.
“That was crude,” he admitted.
She nodded, feeling shy now, not able to look him in the eye. She’d been drunk when he’d found her in the tavern, when she’d demanded he bed her this night. Drunk and foolish, but her want was no less real, and that embarressed her.
“Come here, lass. Let me hold you.” And he pulled her into his arms, stroking her back, kissing her temple, her jaw, her cheek, until she turned her lips to his, eager and hungry and so afraid of never having this again.
“Och, Padraig…” She buried her face in his neck, relieved but timid when he loosened her plaid, lifted her tunic.
Did he know of her shyness? For he stopped, took her face in his hands, tilting her chin until her eyes met his. “We have this, Seonaid. We have this night, we have forever, if you want. Only if you want.”
She tried to lower her gaze, but he held her firm. “I need to see the truth in your eyes.”
“Aye, I want. Tonight,” she told him.
He nodded. “Good. For I want it, too.”
He finished undressing her, slowly, ever so slowly, kissing and nuzzling and petting. Shrugging out of his own garments, he removed hers as well, until they stood naked, under the stars, the sweet breeze wafting across their skin. As he did to her, she did to him. Lovers’ touches, fingertips exploring,
palms caressing, tongues tasting.
Of a sudden, the world whirled, as he lifted her up in his arms and turned a dizzying circle, laughing for no reason at all, then gently lowering her, placing her upon their bed, joining her, to stroke a delicious path from shoulder to hip, over and over. In turn, she traced the taut flesh of his back, his buttocks. Back up his body, matching touch with a kiss of his bicep, his shoulder. As she nibbled the whorl of an ear, her fingers combed the harsh curl of his wild hair, wove into his coarse beard.
They kissed, they nipped, devoured, tasted, and taunted. Restless, she turned, so his caress covered her breast, her pelvis, the warmth between her thighs. Bold as the lady warrior she was, her hand cupped the rigid length of him, as she trailed kisses to meet her hands.
His breath hitched and he pulled her up, all in a rush. Once again, their mouths met. He lifted her higher, over him, to suckle from her breasts. She settled on her knees, astride his hips. A position of power and strength, in control of him, of them. Pulling free of his lips, head back, she felt him position himself to enter her, felt the blunt tip of him, savoured the slow slide, as she lowered to take him deep inside. Instinctively, she teased with a roll of her hips, looked down to see the sweat on his brow, the bunch of his muscles. He watched their joining, his thumb teasing back, brushing a spot just where their bodies met, a featherlike caress. Och, she couldn’t think anymore, ripples of pleasure riding through her in a blaze.
She rode him then, crying out, the both of them, the sound mingling with the rustle of heather.
A breeze swept across them, increased its pace, turning into a full swirling gust of wind, carrying their shouts higher and higher, heading for the stars.
They were one, under the stars, under the moon, over the earth. They were one under the watch of her God.
So be it. He thought. Let there be a miracle. If you are here, God, let us be a single being. Do not tear us apart.
As he prayed, they both shattered into a million pieces of earthly pleasure.
He’d fallen asleep. Padraig rolled over, reached to Seonaid, patted the empty ground, as though she were just out of reach, sat up, twisting to look in all directions at once.
She was there, outlined in moonlight, sitting on top of the rise. He’d thought she’d left, gone for good. Should have been better prepared than to sit there with his heart pounding in his chest. He started to go to her, then thought better of confronting her naked. She was new to the joys of the body, so he’d best allow her some modest expectation of civility, especially if she was at her prayers.. He wrapped a plaid about his waist and climbed the hill.
He had grown used to her early morning ritual, on her knees, praying to her God. Only tonight, she wasn’t on her knees, but sitting cross-legged, back straight, eyes closed, breath steady, even. He felt the peace in her. Felt it, like an invisible light coming from the core of her, and stepped back, unnerved.
This wasn’t the prayer he’d witnessed in times past. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, feared disrupting it. Feared it would disrupt his dreams.
Is this what nuns were about? And when did Seonaid begin doing this…this…whatever she was doing?
“What are you about?” He broke into her quiet.
She drew a deep breath, eyes still closed. “Praying, sort of.”
“Aye, I know that, but this is…”
“It’s a different kind of prayer,” she explained, before he could even form the question. “Inner prayer.”
“It…it makes you different,” he admitted, feeling like she was a long way away from him, even though she was right there, with him.
“Yes, it does. I suppose.” She relaxed her back, shifted her legs, faced him. “I suppose it makes everyone different.”
“When did you start this?”
“Years ago, a traveling priest taught me, but I was young and he didn’t stay with us long, so I forgot. But when I went to confession…”
“You went to confession?”
“I did.”
Padraig stalked away, returned. “To confess what we share?”
“No, but I had killed. It is something to confess.”
“They deserved to die.”
“They did,” she countered, “but should I die, I want it off my soul.”
She was rattling him now, more than any other time. She felt enough guilt because of her brother, guilt that wasn’t hers to bear. He didn’t want her to take on more than that. “What else did you confess?”
She didn’t answer, just sat, watching him. He knew he should settle, but this inner prayer, or whatever it was, agitated. It called her away from him. It possibly urged her to a convent.
He forced himself to sit with her. “So you went to confession.”
“And part of my penance was to work on this prayer, develop it, use it.”
“Father Kenneth?”
“Yes, he talked to me about it, thought it would help me find peace in my spirit.” She gestured, circling her head. “I don’t know, he said something about thoughts circling like carrion, that this prayer would help stop that.”
“Does it?”
She smiled then, at him. “I’ve been so disturbed, like he said, too many thoughts, worries, fears, it was just too hard to quiet them. But tonight…” She beamed at him. “I woke and thought to try and it felt lovely. Like there is peace inside, if I’d just stay still long enough to see it.”
They sat quietly, him caught between relief she could feel as she did, while fretting the prayer stole her from him.
She bowed her head. “It was only for a moment; perhaps I was asleep and dreaming, but it was, well, like oh, like I was a mother’s love and a calm loch in the sunshine. Like there is no skin dividing me from these rises and valleys. Like I dissolved into love.” She looked at him, earnest and joyful.
He latched on to the best part of what she said. “You coulda’ been asleep. That’s possible.” But that was selfish, so he amended with the truth. “That’s how I see you, as all those things. You’re like the highlands to me, strong and harsh, soft and loving. Giving if a man is willing to fight for it. All those contradictions. So maybe there’s something to this prayer, that teaches you who you are.”
“Aye, a dream.” Her smile dimmed, she nodded.
He took her hand. “Do you feel the ground?”
“Riders are coming.”
“Aye. But they’re coming from the keep. I saw them head out. We’re safe.”
“Padraig.”
“Aye.”
Again, that luminous smile. “All will be well, that’s what I felt. I donna’ know how or why, but I feel light as the wind.” She faced the stars. “Whatever happens,” she sighed into the darkness, “this night has been special.” Met his eyes, hers aglow. “You are special. I’ll never forget this.”
“We’ll have more nights like tonight.”
Her smile turned wistful, as though he spoke the impossible.
He fought her disbelief. “We will. I’m beginnning to trust in your God. I think he’s going to make it happen.”
“And are you sure He’s a he?” she teased, and rose as one of the Reah riders started up the slope toward them.
CHAPTER 22 ~ HIGHLAND SONG
Despite the short nights of summer, dawn was still a ways away when Padraig and Seonaid stepped into Lady Alissa’s chamber.
“Mama!” Deian shouted and ran to her, clung to her. She clung back, grateful for love when he’d hated her so vehemently only hours before.
“What is it you’re wantin’ us for?” Padraig asked Angus, who sat quietly by the fire.
Father Kenneth rose from a high-backed settle, across from Angus, his bald head barely as tall as the back of the seat. “Ah, you are here,” he said needlessly, and crossed to the window alcove, where Lady Alissa stood. Where Deian had been playing with Brut before rushing to Seonaid.
Bouncing with excitement, Deian took Seonaid’s hand, tugged her toward Lady Alissa. Angus rose, wearily, though h
e offered a smile warm enough to put her at ease. He even bowed his head to her and to Padraig. They returned the gesture.
“What is it you want?” Seonaid asked this time.
Lady Alissa lifted her chin. “We’ve arranged for Eban’s adoption.”
She’d spoken without warning, without easing into her meaning. Seonaid’s knees buckled. Padraig caught her, helped her to the seat Angus had vacated.
“Not an easy thought, is it?” Lady Alissa pressed, her lips a tight line. “I’d thought as much.”
“Now, Alissa, calm yourself.” Angus said.
“It’s a needless sacrifice,” she snapped.
“Aye, which is why you’ve constructed this brilliant, if not convoluted, solution,” Angus informed her.
Solution? Crouched beside Deian, Seonaid looked up at the woman. Deian turned her face to his. “She does, Mama, she knows how to free you from the shadow of the Dark Evil Monster!”
Seonaid stood, glared. “What does he know of the past?” she demanded.
Lady Alissa pleated the fabric of her skirt. “Well, he had to know something.” She looked up. “Children see everything, you know. They deserve to have it explained in their own language.”
“He’s too young.” Seonaid argued.
“Not for fairy tales!” Lady Alissa countered, both ladies rigid.
Lady Alissa calmed first, straightened her skirts, tilted her chin to the side, allowed a wee, knowing, smile. “It’s a brilliant idea,” she defended, “though a tangle, to be sure.” Seonaid stared at her. “I have a solution to your woes, if you choose to take that route.”
Padraig placed his hands on Seonaid’s shoulders. “You are adopting her son?”
“Well, no, I am not adopting her son. You are.” Her smile broadened to a smirk.
Seonaid tried to spin around, but Padraig held her firm. “I didna’ know of this,” he whispered to her, “but I am happy to take the boy on as my son.”