Desire's Ransom

by Glynnis Campbell

  She looked at their joined hands. His words were earnest and kind and heartfelt. But she didn’t know how he could possibly keep that promise. After all, how could he love her when she didn’t love herself?

  As Ryland watched Temair’s eyes fill with silent tears, his heart ached. He wished he could take away her anguish.

  Making love with her had bound the two of them together somehow, melded their souls so that he felt her pain as if it were his own. Now all he wanted to do was remove it.

  “’Twas my fault.” She said it so softly, he almost didn’t hear it.

  But how could anything have been her fault? “You were only a child.”

  She shook her head. “I could have saved her.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze. “Tell me everything from the beginning. Please, Temair. I want to hear it.”

  She closed her eyes. For a long while, she said nothing. He could see she was struggling to find the courage.

  “Please,” he asked tenderly.

  When she finally spoke, her voice wavered as if she were a young lass again, reliving her life, moment by moment. But she told him everything.

  She told him about her childhood of bruised ribs and black eyes and a split lip.

  She told him how she always fought back and how her sister did not.

  She told him the terrible secret she didn’t find out until later—that while Cormac used his fists on Temair, what he did to Aillenn was much worse.

  She told him about hiding in the stable with Bran and Flann that night, about Aillenn coming to her, pale and shivering, a specter of herself.

  She told him about her sister sending her away, telling her to flee and never look back.

  Then she choked over her words, coming to the difficult part of the story.

  Ryland realized he was clenching his jaw tightly enough to crack his teeth, so great was his hatred for Cormac. But uncontrolled rage would do Temair no good. So he forced himself to take a steadying breath and bade her continue. “Go on. ’Tis all right.”

  “I told her to come with me. I told her we could sleep in the woods with Bran and Flann. I told her we could hide together until the morn.” She broke off suddenly with a sob.

  “But she didn’t listen,” he guessed.

  She shook her head. “I should have tried harder. I should have dragged her into the woods. I should never have left her.” Her voice was raw and ragged. “If I hadn’t left her, she wouldn’t have leaped from the tower. She wouldn’t be dead now. ’Twas my fault. ’Twas all my fault.”

  “Listen to me!” Ryland seized her by the shoulders, locking eyes with her. His own vehemence astonished him. “’Twas not your fault! You couldn’t have done anything to save her. If she hadn’t leaped to her death that night, she would have sliced her wrists the next or taken poison the night after. What your father did to her—she couldn’t live with that. There was nothing you could do or say to change that. ’Twas not your fault. Do you understand? ’Twas the fault of that bloody monster, Cormac.”

  She looked as if she wanted to believe him. But he knew it would take time. She’d been living with the guilt over her sister’s death for six years. Maybe one day she would accept the truth. Maybe one day she would believe him.

  Until then, the least he could do was slay her demons.

  He released her shoulders and then raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips. “Come on. Let’s go take back your tuath.”

  Temair felt as if a yoke had been lifted from her shoulders. The grief would never be gone, but at least she no longer felt burdened by guilt.

  Ryland had helped her conquer one enemy. And now he offered to help her vanquish another.

  They had just finished dressing when Bran and Flann came trotting back in through the vines. The hounds had apparently forgotten all about fetching her bata. They were probably hungry.

  “Come on, lads,” she said as she and Ryland emerged from the cave. “We’ll see if there’s any food left from break—”

  She froze in her tracks. Ryland bumped into the back of her. Then he too froze.

  The camp was packed with people. Woodkerns and English soldiers sat on every available rock and stump. Those without perches leaned against trees, sat on the ground, or stood. They were awkwardly silent. Most of them had ale. All of them were looking anywhere but at her.

  How long had they been here?

  Bloody hell! Long enough to have overheard them trysting, she was sure. She felt her face go hot.

  Unconcerned by what they thought of him, Ryland was the first to find his voice. “Have you all made peace then?”

  Noble Cambeal nodded. “Aye.”

  “Aye,” Ryland’s man, Adam, replied. Then a mischievous twinkle came into his eyes. “What about you two?” He swept an appreciative glance over Temair.

  Temair would have bitten off his head, but Ryland intervened.

  “Look at my bride like that again, brother,” he said, “and I won’t be responsible for her actions.”

  “What?” Adam said, puzzled.

  Temair straightened with pride. So this was Ryland’s brother? She doubted he was half the man Ryland was.

  “Now,” Ryland continued, “we have to work together. I’ll need you all to cooperate.”

  Sorcha held up her hand. “Wait a moment, de Ware. Ye’re not in charge o’ the woodkerns.”

  Before Ryland could answer, one of his knights shot to his feet. “Hold your tongue, old woman. Do you know who you’re addressing?”

  “Wait a bloody moment!” Ronan pushed away from the tree he was leaning on. “Do ye know who ye’re addressin’? That’s the lovely woman who made the ale ye’re drinkin’!” He muttered into his black beard, “Bloody bastard.”

  “I heard that!” the knight snarled.

  “Ye’ll hear more than that if ye don’t show the proper respect,” Ronan said.

  “Respect?” spat another knight. “To a band of knaves and scoundrels?”

  Young Fergus chimed in with passionate outrage. “How dare ye insult your hosts!”

  “Hosts?” scoffed the first knight. “You’re outlaws, for the love of god!”

  Friar Brian bristled at that. “Don’t be takin’ the Lord’s name in vain.”

  Chaos exploded then as the outlaws bickered with the knights. Even the hounds joined in with loud barking.

  How would Temair ever get them to fight together? They couldn’t even sit in camp and drink ale together.

  Fortunately, Ryland didn’t think it was a problem. Taking Temair by the hand, he strode into their midst and bellowed for their attention. “Silence!”

  Everyone hushed, including the dogs.

  “We have a challenging feat ahead of us,” he said, “one that’s going to require the courage, brains, and brawn of everyone here. We need you to set aside your differences, pledge your loyalty, and commit to working together.”

  Old Sorcha turned to Temair for her approval of this plan. “Gray?”

  “Temair, Temair O’Keeffe,” she corrected, straightening with pride. “Sir Ryland de Ware and his knights have promised to help me reclaim what is mine by rights. We’re goin’ to depose the chieftain and take back the tuath.”

  There was one breathless moment as they digested her words.

  “Now?” Young Fergus squeaked.

  Ryland nodded. “Before they have time to prepare a defense.”

  Aife timidly asked, “And will…we…have a place there…in your tuath?”

  Temair nodded. “Ye will always have a place with me.”

  The woodkerns erupted into cheers.

  Chapter 28

  Many decisions had had to be made around the fire before they set out. But Ryland had listened carefully to her advice concerning the clann, and she’d respected his wisdom when it came to warfare.

  Now, as they traveled along the road—Temair with her hounds and the woodkerns armed with bows at the fore, and the knights following in formation behind Ryland on horseback—Te
mair felt a moment of doubt.

  She’d been concerned about fighting her kinsmen. But Ryland had assured her that a full-scale battle was unlikely. They could win the day without resorting to violence. After all, if the clann had little allegiance to Cormac, they would welcome Temair and take her side.

  But she wasn’t sure he was right. After all, the rumor persisted that Temair had killed her sister. If they believed that, she would lose her honor price and her claim to the tuath.

  Then there was the imposter. What if they believed she was the real Temair and that this vagrant outlaw living in the woods was the fake?

  The entourage continued along the road in grim silence as everyone mentally prepared for the encounter ahead. But when they topped the ridge and Temair saw the tower house in the distant valley below, her step faltered.

  For six years, she’d imagined what this moment would be like—how the keep would look, how triumphant she would feel.

  But now that it loomed in the distance before her, fortified with palisades and plaster, it seemed unassailable. The sight of it reduced her to a child once again, helpless and fearful of the things that had happened within those walls.

  She tightened her fist around the hounds’ leashes, wondering if she had the strength to face her father after all these years.

  At that moment, Ryland reined up beside her. “Will you ride with me? It will show solidarity.”

  Glad to have his support, she handed the hounds off to Ronan and let Ryland help her mount in front of him.

  Almost at once, she felt more at ease. He literally had her back. And sitting proudly astride a noble steed, she felt like the entitled heiress she was.

  The crofters couldn’t fail to be impressed by the sight. It was probably the first time they’d seen such an imposing army of archers and horsemen. They stopped in the field to watch. A few broke and ran down the road ahead of them, no doubt to alert their neighbors that an English force was marching toward them.

  As Temair sat tall and proud at the fore of the magnificent army, people began to take notice of her. She saw them pointing at her and whispering behind their hands.

  The cottages grew closer and closer together, and word traveled quickly. Soon people were rushing out their doors to watch the knights pass, staring in awe. Up ahead, a crowd gathered, filling the road, and the knights were forced to stop.

  An old woman waddled through the crowd, narrowing her eyes at Temair. “I know ye!” she cackled. “Ye’re the chieftain’s daughter!”

  The people around her gasped and began murmuring in speculation.

  “Temair?”

  “She’s not dead?”

  “Those are her hounds.”

  “But the chieftain said he locked her up.”

  “’Tis the lass. I’d know her anywhere.”

  “Look at her eyes. ’Tis her. ’Tis Temair.”

  Temair gulped. Would they welcome her or burn her at the stake?

  “That’s right,” Ryland proclaimed. “This is Temair, bride of Sir Ryland de Ware and heiress to O’Keeffe, and she has come to claim her tuath.”

  His announcement was met with gasps and then silence. For an awful moment, Temair considered they might despise her as much as her father. If that was so, the tuath would have to be claimed by force. These people—the people frowning and whispering and casting dubious glances at her—might well die. They would never know that this foreign army was fighting—not for their defeat—but for their benefit.

  But these were her clannfolk. These were her people. She couldn’t have their blood on her hands. She couldn’t wage war against them.

  She gazed again at the tower, still a quarter-mile away. The tower where Aillenn had fallen to her death. The tower where, by some cruel trick of fate, Cormac still lived.

  She couldn’t let him continue unpunished. For her sister’s sake, for the sake of all who suffered at the hands of a tyrant, she had to find the strength to be brave.

  “My beloved clannfolk,” she announced, “I’ve come to give ye aid, to improve your lives and restore your wealth.” She shook her head. “For too long ye’ve been sufferin’ under the rule o’ my greedy father.”

  A few men nodded their heads.

  “For too long ye’ve worked your fingers to the bone,” she continued, “and for what? To have my father steal your hard-earned coin?”

  The crowd voiced their agreement.

  Encouraged, she went on. “Cormac lied about me. He lied about my sister. I didn’t kill her. She threw herself from the tower.” Her voice broke, and she felt Ryland’s hand of reassurance on her shoulder. “I ran away the night she died. These good folk…” She gestured to the woodkerns. “These good folk took me in. They kept me safe, safe from Cormac’s fists.”

  There were murmurs of sympathy. No doubt many of them remembered Temair’s battered face.

  “But now I’m grown. ’Tis time to take back what is rightfully ours. Time to free ourselves from the shackles of a villain. Time to give the clann the leadership it deserves.”

  There were cheers all around her, and she knew she was doing the right thing.

  Behind her, Ryland cleared his throat.

  She smiled. She wasn’t going to forget him.

  “But I cannot do it alone,” she told the crowd. “King John has sent Sir Ryland de Ware to be my husband.” Before the grumbling about foreign rule could begin, she hastily added, “And he has vowed that he and his army will help us take back the tuath.”

  “’Tis an invasion!” someone yelled, and others joined in.

  “Nay!” she cried, trying to placate them. “Nay!”

  Another man called out, “How do we know they won’t just kill everyone in the tuath and hand it o’er to Lackland?”

  Temair felt Ryland stiffen, and she knew his men were twitching in their saddles.

  “Please!” She raised her hands to calm the crowd, and an impulsive thought popped into her head. It was a great risk. But she had faith in Ryland. And she wanted to show him she had faith in his men as well. “I’ll make ye a promise. If even one o’ the clann is killed by the Knights o’ de Ware…” She licked her lips, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake. “I’ll give up my claim to the tuath and let ye choose anew.”

  She heard a strangling sound from Ryland and curses from his men, though none of them dared openly oppose her.

  It wasn’t until they continued their march toward the tower house, leaving the cheering clannfolk in their wake, that Ryland snarled under his breath, “God’s hooks, Temair. What have you done?”

  “I can’t kill my own people.”

  “What you’re asking is impossible. You’ve taken the teeth out of my army. Cormac has some loyal supporters. What if they attack? What if they give us no choice?”

  She frowned. “Ye told me there would be no cause to kill anyone.”

  “I told ye I’d try not to kill anyone.”

  “I trust ye,” she told him. “Ye’re an excellent fighter, and ye know your own strength. I’m certain ye can do it. And I’m certain ye’d expect no less from your knights.”

  While Ryland appreciated her vote of confidence, the last thing he needed was more pressure going into this confrontation. He loathed going into battle blind, and he had no idea what kind of resistance he was up against.

  He knew Cormac had fewer soldiers than he—a score at most—for the chieftain had shown off his fighting forces when they’d first met, hoping to impress Ryland.

  But the clann had the advantage of defending their own home. Despite Aife’s carefully drawn maps of the keep, Cormac’s soldiers would know all the hiding places and secret passageways. The stairways would favor the defenders’ sword arms, and they would be under no constraint to spare lives.

  There were other things to consider. How loyal were Cormac’s men? Had he mistreated them as well? Would they surrender willingly once they recognized Ryland had the advantage? Or would they fight to the death?

  What if his knights ki
lled someone and Temair was forced to surrender her rule?

  That would complicate things. Ireland wasn’t like England—not yet anyway. Rule wasn’t strictly hereditary. The people chose a chieftain by honor price, and Temair, coming from a long line of noble chieftains, held the highest honor price. By marrying Ryland, that worth would transfer to him.

  If she gave up her claim to the tuath, the king would be displeased. He could rescind the marriage offer or decide to take the holding by force. Then there would be bloodshed.

  One thing was certain. If they survived this and managed to hold on to the tower house after Temair’s reckless promise, Ryland would take charge of the clann’s army. Temair might excel at one-on-one combat and knocking rivals into the water. But she knew nothing about siege warfare. It was obvious she didn’t have the stomach for it.

  As they drew near the tower, everyone dismounted. Temair joined the ranks of the other archers. Of course, as soon as she was out of hearing, his men began attacking him with furious whispers.

  “Are you mad, m’lord?” Warin hissed. “How can we fight them if we can’t kill them?”

  Laurence agreed. “It can’t be done. We might as well go in unarmed.”

  His brother Adam clucked his tongue. “Not even wed, and she’s already got your ballocks in a vise.”

  “Enough!” Ryland tensed his jaw, giving his brother a withering glower. “He has fewer men than we do, and they’ll be expecting a negotiation, not a battle. If all goes well, it may not even come to blows.”

  Adam curled his lip. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  Ryland gave him a chiding shove.

  “Listen,” he said to his men, eyeing them in turn. “Temair is right. A good knight knows his own strength. A good knight can control that strength. You are the best knights I know. These people are not her vassals. They’re her family. They will be my family. I’m trusting you to keep them safe.”

  “What?” Cormac exploded. His shout bounced around the great hall, making the messenger flinch in fear. “That’s not possible!”