by Amy Tolnitch
Which she was not. With a shadow of doubt, she thought back to the conversation she’d overhead the night before. It had replayed in her mind over and over again, invading her dreams with images of Lugh MacKeir standing outside a castle with a harsh expression, saying, “You are not welcome at Tunvegan, witch.”
She had been angry. And hurt. But still, The MacKeir had not said that he would not welcome her, had only expressed concern about his people. About whether she would be happy at such a place.
As she gazed out at the storm, the rain eased and the sky lightened to soft gray.
And Iosobal wondered if perhaps Lugh MacKeir had been right all along.
She sat on the window seat to wait.
“FATHER, I AM HOT,” AILIE COMPLAINED AS LUGH CARRIED her back to the palace, Artemis trotting alongside.
He looked down at her and held her tighter. “You have been chilled.”
“Aye, but now ’tis warm again. And you have me so wrapped in blankets I can barely breathe.”
“The child is sweating, Lugh,” Piers said with a chuckle.
Lugh sighed and set Ailie down. The storm had cleared, leaving behind warm, humid air and pools of water on the sand.
Ailie untangled herself from the blankets and stood. Artemis nudged her and Ailie patted the dog, then pushed damp tendrils of hair from her forehead.
Lugh squatted down. “Do you truly feel all right?”
“Aye.” She bit her lip. “I am sorry I was out in the storm, Father.”
He took her hand. “’Tis not your fault. It moved in very quickly.”
They walked along the shore hand in hand and Lugh felt the tight bands around his chest loosen. Praise be to God, it did seem that Ailie had not worsened for being exposed to the storm. He gazed out over the sea. A storm that was now gone just as quickly as it had appeared. If his clothing was not still soaked through, he would have almost believed he imagined it. The shimmer of the setting sun reflected off the placid water, turning it to gold.
“I am hungry,” Ailie said. “I hope Niamh has some honey cakes.”
“I expect she does. She knows how much you enjoy them.
“Aye, but so does Hemming.” Ailie giggled. “He sneaks them when she isn’t watching.”
“I find it hard to imagine Hemming ‘sneaking’ anything,” Lugh told her as they climbed the hill toward the palace.
“I like him,” Ailie said. “Though he should smile more often.”
“If anyone can make that man smile, it is you, Ailie,” Branor said. “I have yet to see such an event.”
Once they reached the palace, they walked into the kitchen to find it empty. Ailie broke free of Lugh’s hand and scampered over to a low cupboard.
“I could use a drink,” Piers commented, fetching a jug and cups from a nearby shelf.
Lugh sat at the long worktable, smiling at the sight of Ailie licking her lips at the sight of her favorite treat. Piers slid a cup of ale toward him and Lugh took a grateful sip.
Ailie plopped a platter of the honeyed cakes on the table, then took one and fed it to Artemis who ate the thing in one bite. “I am no sure ’tis wise to feed the dog so many treats,” he said, putting an arm around Ailie’s shoulders.
“But she helped me.” Ailie stared up at him with big, guileless eyes. “She stayed with me through the storm. Artemis is very warm.”
Lugh’s chest tightened. The dog looked up at him as if she knew exactly what he felt. Once again, an animal of the isle had come to Ailie’s aid. “Then, I suppose she has earned a treat.”
Lady Iosobal walked in and stopped short at the sight of them. She put a hand on Ailie’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Ailie nodded around a mouthful of honey cake.
Iosobal put her hand on Ailie’s forehead and frowned slightly.
“What is it?” Lugh asked, concern leaping into his mind.
“She feels a bit warm.”
“That is because Father kept me wrapped up in the blankets, even once the sun came out. I was sweating,” Ailie finished in a disgusted voice.
Iosobal smiled at Lugh over Ailie’s head, and before he could remind himself of his suspicions about the storm, he smiled back. All at once, Lugh felt as if he were falling into a deep, beguiling pool, with untold treasures waiting within its depths.
The crash of a door opening broke the spell.
All three of the men jumped up. Ailie let out such a loud shriek that Artemis dropped to the floor.
Niamh stood in the doorway outlined by the fading sun. The bodice of her bliaut was ripped down the center, one of her sleeves hung by threads, and grass and dirt stains covered her gown and face. Her usual smoothly plaited hair lay in a tangle around her face, twigs and leaves sticking out everywhere.
But it was her expression that struck Lugh. Wide-eyed but unseeing, skin stretched taut over her bones, blood running in a fine line from her lower lip.
Branor was the first to reach her. He caught her around the waist and guided her to a stool, pushing his cup of ale in front of her.
She tried to pick up the cup but her hands were shaking too hard.
“Dear Brigid, what happened?” Iosobal asked as she rushed to Niamh’s side. Ailie followed and took one of Niamh’s hands.
Lugh had a pretty good idea what had happened. He’d seen the same look on women’s faces after an enemy clan had raided a village. He drew his sword. “Who did this to you?”
Branor held the cup to Niamh’s lips, and she managed to get a few gulps down.
“I … I met my sister.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I have not seen her for so long.”
“Nan,” Lugh said.
Iosobal glanced at him in surprise.
“Aye. She needed to talk to me, but …” Her voice trailed off and she reached for the cup. Tears snaked down her face.
“Niamh,” Iosobal said gently. “Tell me what happened.”
“Calum was there too.”
Iosobal’s intake of breath was audible.
“He has never forgotten what happened.” Niamh looked down. “He was very angry.”
A pitcher shattered.
Lugh exchanged a look with Piers.
“He … he insisted that I obey my father’s command, called me,” she paused and glanced at Ailie, “all sorts of horrible names.”
Ailie reached up and stroked her hair.
“I … I refused,” Niamh continued. “That made him even angrier.”
“What of Nan?” Lugh asked.
Niamh’s expression turned hard. “She tried to defend me. He struck her first.”
“First?” Branor asked.
Niamh looked at him as if she’d just realized he was there next to her. “Aye. Then, he turned to me.” She spat the words.
Lugh swallowed as he felt the air in the kitchen shift. Iosobal’s fury was plain to see. And feel.
Her gaze narrowed to slits. “Did he … force you to—?”
“No,” Niamh quickly answered, with another side look at Ailie. “Nan distracted him for a moment, and I ran.”
The air in the room settled.
“You should go to the steam room,” Ailie told her. “That always makes me feel better.”
“Aye, the child is right,” Iosobal agreed.
“But, but I have duties. Supper—”
“We can tend to ourselves, mistress,” Piers spoke up. “You see to yourself.”
“Ailie, perhaps you should join her,” Lugh suggested. “Look after her.”
His daughter nodded somberly. “’Tis a good idea, Father.”
Niamh’s bruised lips quirked into a faint smile.
“Lady Iosobal,” Branor said. “I would like the honor of seeing to Niamh’s attacker.”
“Oh, no,” Niamh said. “He is a big man, I mean—”
Branor bared his teeth in an icy smile. “Do not worry.”
“I shall go with you,” Lugh said. “Just in case you require a spot of assistance.”
Iosobal looked first at Branor, then at Lugh, then back again. “I cannot ask you to involve yourself. It is my responsibility.”
“I am asking you, my lady.”
Something indefinable crossed her face, as if Branor had spoken a foreign language she could not comprehend. “Very well. Tell him he is banished from Parraba. He has three days to leave the island.” Her eyes glittered. “However you wish to deliver the message is up to you.”
Branor nodded. “I shall make sure he understands.”
“And tell Niamh’s sister, Nan, that if she needs refuge, she may come to the palace.”
Niamh burst into renewed tears at that. “Thank you, my lady,” she croaked.
Lugh eyed Iosobal curiously. Once more the lady offered her home to one in need, he thought.
She gave him a cool look, and he smiled. As he walked out of the kitchen, he paused close to her and said, “I am beginning to wonder if your heart is as soft as your skin. My lady.” He didn’t wait to hear her indignation, but merely led Branor out of the kitchen.
LUGH AND BRANOR RETURNED TO THE PALACE MUCH later that evening. It had taken them a while to locate Calum, who was hiding in his cottage, no doubt expecting retribution from Iosobal. Instead, Lugh watched as Branor slowly and methodically beat the cur with bare fists until the man begged for mercy. It was only then that Branor stopped, and informed Calum that he was to leave Parraba.
Calum’s expression was like most men who realized too late that they had made a mistake, had taken an action that could not be taken back or excused. The pathetic piece of refuse had cried and pleaded until Lugh could not listen to it anymore.
He’d stepped forward then, his sword catching the meager glow from a fire. Calum had shrunk against the wall. Lugh had simply told him that if he was not away from the island with three days, he and Branor would return.
The expression of terror on Calum’s face had told him the man would indeed be gone.
After delivering Iosobal’s message to Niamh’s sister and assuring her that Niamh was safe and under Iosobal’s care, they made their way back to the palace. Lugh stopped in the courtyard. “I will tell Lady Iosobal of our visit to the village.”
Branor yawned. “’Twas a fine evening’s work.”
“You were quick to offer your aid,” Lugh commented.
“He would have raped her. You know that.”
“Aye, I ken.”
Branor spat upon the ground. “I would have preferred to simply kill the man.” His voice carried such fervor that Lugh wondered for a moment if Branor had developed feelings for the girl. But no, for as long as Lugh had known the man, Branor had never expressed any particular interest in a woman beyond occasionally taking one to bed.
“This is not just about Niamh, is it?”
Branor gave him a guarded look. “We have all seen what such violence can do to a woman.”
Lugh studied him, wondering. Branor’s reaction was too strong not to be personal. A sister, perhaps? Mother? Though Lugh had never heard Branor mention being married, it was possible. “Did you know—?”
“Leave it, Laird,” Branor said, his tone harsh. He pushed a hand through his hair. “Please.”
“Every man has his secrets,” Lugh said lightly. Inside, he decided to find out more about his friend. Though Branor was consistently stalwart and affable, tonight was not the first time that Lugh had sensed a shadow beneath Branor’s easy manner. The look on his face when he struck Calum had been pure hatred.
“Perhaps tomorrow we can finally get Lady Iosobal’s cave open,” Branor said. “I am ready to go back to Tunvegan.”
“Aye.” Lugh squashed down the feeling that he would still be leaving something unfinished on Parraba.
“Good eve, Laird.”
“Good night.” Lugh stood for a moment watching Branor trudge into the palace. The truth was that he knew very little of Branor. He had shown up at Tunvegan one day offering his services, and had quickly shown that although he was clearly not a Scot, he could hold his own against any one of Lugh’s men. Over the years, Branor had given bits and pieces of information about his former life, but Lugh had always known there was more to the story than Branor had told.
As he walked to Iosobal’s chamber, he briefly thought it was a shame the lady could not read minds, and then chuckled. She would no doubt toss all of them out in an instant if she gleaned some of the thoughts he had been having of late.
He pounded on her door and waited.
“Lugh?” Iosobal called.
“Aye.”
She opened the door and put a finger to her lips. “Both Niamh and Ailie are sleeping,” she whispered. “Did you find Calum?”
He walked in, smiling inside when Iosobal gave him a slight frown, but backed up so that he could enter. The chamber was dimly lit by a low fire and a few candles. A blanket piled on the window seat evidenced Iosobal’s last resting spot. “We did. The man shall be gone soon. I would not be surprised if he departs in the morn.”
“Thank you.”
“’Twas mostly Branor’s doing.”
“Still, you have my thanks.” She walked over to the window seat and sat, gesturing to a nearby jug. “Would you like some wine?”
Lugh hid his surprise, and quickly poured himself a cup. He debated for a moment and sat down beside Iosobal. “Is Ailie well?”
“She seems to be. And Niamh is not seriously hurt, though she will bear some bruises on the morrow.” Iosobal’s face turned down into a glower. “I never expected that Calum would do such a thing.”
“The girl, Nan, is with child.”
Iosobal’s gaze flashed to his. “What?”
Lugh nodded and took a sip of wine. “By the man, Calum.”
“Was she …” Iosobal licked her lips. “Forced?”
“’Tis one of those tangled stories. Not in the same way he tried with Niamh, but I think in the end Nan was no willing.”
“She should have come to me.” Iosobal stood and paced across the room.
“Why would you expect her to?”
“I am the Lady of Parraba.” She paused in front of the fire.
Lugh bit back a groan. By the saints, once again he found the woman wearing no more than a thin chemise, her body outlined by the firelight. His palms actually itched to touch her. Before he could stop himself, he moved in front of her. “The villagers do not know you, Iosobal,” he said gently, smoothing a tendril of her hair between his fingers. “They only know of a lady who rules them, but does not let them see her.”
“They do not know you as I do,” he added, moving his fingers to stroke down her throat to the edge of her chemise. Her skin was warm and smooth, and he could feel the rapid pulse at her throat.
“Why do you do this?”
He smiled. “Touch you?”
“All of it. Touch me, tease me, tell me things that I should already know, question me about everything.”
“It is who I am.” His fingers lingered at the edge of her chemise.
“No,” she said. Lugh doubted she knew the throaty tone of her voice belied her words.
He took a step closer. “No to what?”
She swallowed. “To all of it.”
“I think the word you wish to use is yes,” he said, then bent and caught her mouth under his. At the contact, she tensed, but in a heartbeat she softened; and Lugh sent gratitude up to the heavens. By the saints, Iosobal had a mouth that would tempt an angel, which he most assuredly was not. He stroked and nibbled, then boldly took the kiss deeper, drinking from her, delving in deep.
He pulled her against him. The feel of her body was nearly unbearable. He wanted this woman. He wanted her naked. Now.
As he started to ease her chemise up her body, reality splashed over him. His daughter slept in a chamber not ten feet away.
Groaning his frustration, Lugh slowly broke the kiss, his tongue lingering on Iosobal’s lips.
And realized that she was gripping his arms tight. Her eyes looked glazed, and t
hen she blinked.
Lugh blew out a breath, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “When I take you, I want to hear you scream your pleasure, cry my name,” he murmured. “’Tis no possible with Ailie so close.”
He felt Iosobal’s body tremble, and she pulled free of his embrace, crossing her arms and trying her best to look down on him. “No,” she said clearly.
“Yes,” he whispered.
THE MAN SAT IN THE SHADOWED CORNER OF THE VILLAGE tavern, fisting his hand so tight his fingernails scored into his skin. He gazed at old Hamish, who scowled at his daughter, Nan.
“What did you do to Calum?” Hamish demanded.
Nan tossed her hair and set down a tray of cups. “I did nothing. ’Twas the Highlanders.”
“They have no business with us.”
“Hold your tongue, Hamish,” old Murdag said. “Can you not see what Calum did to the girl?”
“And to Niamh,” Nan added, her chin lifted in defiance.
Hamish let out a hiss.
“The laird and his companion are honorable men,” Nan announced, her contempt clear. “They did what needed to be done.”
The man sitting in the shadows took a gulp of ale.
“You must have done something to provoke Calum,” Hamish insisted. “He is no a violent man.”
Nan stomped over to her father and bent down. “Oh? Look at my face, Father. And that was simply for trying to defend Niamh from the bastard.”
Hamish flinched. “She should have honored my decision and married Calum. Then, none of this would have happened.”
“You—”
“Be silent,” Hamish snapped as he stood. He shot his daughter a final glare and stomped out of the tavern.
“Did you meet the laird?” another woman asked.
Nan smiled and anger churned in the man’s belly. “Aye,” she said. “And a braw one he is in fact.”
The other woman sighed.
Nan snagged a cup of ale and sat. “Calum deserved exactly what he got. And, after all, ’twas at the Lady’s bidding.”
“Aye,” Murdag agreed. “Your father never could see the true nature of the man.”
“Nay. Now, the laird, that is the kind of man a woman wants,” Nan said. “Fair of face, strong in body, and clever enough to know how to treat a woman.”