“I want ye closer, lass.” Niall’s arm tightened around her waist, drawing her toward him.
She tried to push away. “No! Release me.”
His fingers bit into sensitive skin just below her ribs. “Nae.”
She felt his shaft harden against her stomach. To hell with decorum. She’d find another way to get the horse. Deidre brought her knee up.
He’d anticipated that, and, for all his weight, was surprisingly agile. He turned and thrust his hip into her, the handle of the dirk he wore on his belt jabbing sharply into the soft flesh of her abdomen.
Deidre nearly doubled over from the pain, a wave of nausea descending on her.
Niall laughed as she landed against him. “Aye, now, lassie. Isna this better?” He crunched her fingers in his big paw. “Tell me ye like it.”
She swallowed the rising bile and tried not to cry out. He held her too tight for another try at his groin and she couldn’t slide her foot down his instep the way the stable lads had taught her to do. His boots were too sturdy. He squeezed tighter and she gave a slight gasp. The bloody fool was going to crush her ribs if she didn’t say it.
“I…like…it,” she rasped through clenched teeth.
Niall spun her around and relaxed his hold on her hand. “The sooner ye learn to obey me, lass, the easier things will go.” Deidre glared at him and he laughed. “Aye. If ye want to fight me, I’ll enjoy the breaking of ye.” He smiled as the music stopped and stepped back to bow formally, but his eyes were hard and cold. “Either way, ye will be attending to my pleasure, however and whenever I tell ye.”
Deidre stroked her sore hand, realizing that to argue the point would be stupid. The man was sadistic, but he took care to hide it. Bruised ribs would heal. No one watching would have seen the cruelty; it was too subtle. Gilead actually thought she wanted this man! She felt tears welling up and fought them. Even if Angus would believe her accusations, which she doubted, he would not risk alienating Niall.
She would not allow this man to take her. Even though she felt the cold blade of fear pierce her, another part of her brain detached itself. She was sure being bedded by Gilead would be beyond her wildest fantasies, and by Niall, nothing less than brutal rape. Strange that such an act could either take a person to heaven or straight to the Christians’ hell.
She prayed that the Old Power still lingered in the standing stones, for it was her only hope. The solstice was next week and she would need a horse for that. Deidre took a deep breath and smiled at Niall.
“Whatever you say, my lord.”
◊♦◊
As soon as she was able to detach herself from Niall, Deidre went to the solarium, where she knew Angus kept parchment and quill. The large windows that let in the sun’s warmth during the day were pitch tonight, since there was no moon. Only a few embers still glowed in the brazier, but it was enough for her to make her way to the desk. Quickly, she penned a note to Dion saying she was visiting the laird at Cenel Oengus and she would continue onward toward her destination. Dion would know what she meant.
She approached the hall carefully, keeping to the back wall until she could see that Niall was no longer present. Then she realized that the bard was no longer playing and her gaze swept the room anxiously, only to find him standing near to where a serving wench was pouring tankards of ale.
Quickly, she made her way toward him. He arched an eyebrow and grinned when she asked if she could see him alone, but his face turned serious when she pressed the note along with several silver coins from the bag she had won into his hand.
“It’s important to me that the man receive this,” she said.
The bard slipped the note and coins into his sporran. “It will be done.”
She nodded gratefully and moved away, unaware that Angus stood in the shadows not far away.
◊♦◊
Angus awakened immediately at the slight sound on the other side of his door. Nothing more than a light scratch and then the latch slowly lifted. His hand found his dirk lying on the floor beside him. He eased it under the covers and lay perfectly still, feigning sleep.
The figure slipped silently into the moonlit room and he heard the door close quietly. The bolt slid in place with a muffled click. The figure paused, adjusting to the light, and then padded quietly toward the bed. Angus watched from beneath nearly closed lids and made a small snoring noise.
The person leaned over the bed and laid a firm hand on his cock.
“I know yer not sleeping,” Formorian said.
In one fluid movement, Angus pushed back the sheet, pulled Formorian down and then rolled over on top of her, his hands fisting her hair.
“Ye might have gotten yerself killed,” he said as he hastily undid the laces at the front of her shift.
“Doona tell me ye weren’t expecting me.” She laughed as she wrapped her legs around his. “Else why would ye be lying here, naked and hard?”
He growled and took an exposed breast into his mouth, his tongue circling the soft flesh before flicking across the hard nipple.
Formorian arched her back and ran her fingers through his thick hair, pressing his head to her. Angus began to suckle hungrily and she moaned softly.
His large hands slid down her ribs and under her back, lifting her hips to accommodate him. “Do ye want slow and easy or fast and hard?”
Her eyes glittered in the pale light. “Deep. To the hilt.”
Angus plunged into her, feeling the hot tightness of her sheath encasing him even as he withdrew and thrust again, grinding his hips into hers. Formorian bucked wildly under him, her legs locked around his waist, urging his penetration still deeper. Her fingernails raked the straining muscles of his back as he rammed himself into her again and again. She bit back her cry as her entire body convulsed in spasm after spasm. Angus gave a great shudder and she felt him explode inside her.
They lay quietly panting for several moments, Angus still buried inside her.
“Yer son suspects me of harming Elen, ye know,” Formorian said into his ear.
Angus lifted his head. “Och. The wee lass he brought home suspects me, too.”
There was amusement in her voice. “Did we do it?”
Angus grunted and slowly withdrew from her, lying on his side. He propped himself up on an elbow. “Nae. ’Tis no need. We took the sacred blood vows a long time ago. The Old Ways are more binding than anything the priests mumble about.”
“Aye.” Formorian brushed his hair back gently. “Bound for eternity, one soul not complete without the other.”
He caught her hand and kissed the fingertips. “Are ye ever sorry ye made the pact? ’Tis why there is no happiness for ye with Turius.”
“Nae. Never sorry. I love ye, Angus.”
“And I love ye, Mori. In this world and the next. Ye be my true mate.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead and then stopped. “Ye are frowning.”
“Sorry. I was thinking.”
Angus raised a brow. “What ye think about in bed usually brings a smile to yer face…and mine, as well.”
Formorian nodded. “It should. I doona think the lass, Deidre, will fare as well.”
A trace of annoyance crossed his face. “Fash not. The lass may not lust after Niall, but his title and wealth should bring her comfort.”
“Ye know that isna true. I have both.”
“Because we took the vow, Mori, in the stone circle. Bonny Deidre has done no such thing.”
“The stones. Funny thing. Deidre asked about that today.”
Angus stopped playing with a ringlet of her hair. “Why?”
Formorian shrugged. “She was asking about the countryside. What lay in each direction, if there were other castles or ruins or standing stones. We rode to the hilltop only, for Gilead was in a hurry to return.”
“They did not enter the circle then?”
“Nae.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. She must be kept away from it.” Then, his brow furrowed. “Why were ye r
iding that far? She’s naught but a beginner.”
Formorian smiled. “Is that what she told ye?”
His frown deepened. “She said she wanted to learn to ride to please Niall. It was to be a surprise.”
She burst into laughter. “To please Niall? Hardly.”
“I doona like to be misled. Why would the lass pretend to need riding lessons if she knew how to ride?”
“Oh, stop glowering. Think. To spend time with Gilead, most like.”
“She be handfasted to Niall.”
“Niall is an oaf. Your son, for all of his honorable intentions, attracts women like the Horned God himself.”
“I doona think my son would care to be compared to Cernunnos,” Angus said drily, the thunderous look on his face vanishing.
“Mayhap not,” Formorion answered impishly, “but he might learn from his father. Have I not told ye a thousand times ye would put even the god of the wild hunt to shame with yer skills?”
Angus grinned and traced her lips with a finger. “Come here, then, wench.”
Formorian gave his shoulder a little push, flipping him onto his back. She rolled between his legs and then slid her body slowly upward the length of his, flesh on flesh, her breasts pressed against his chest.
“As ye wish, my lord. As ye wish.”
A fleeting thought brushed Angus just as Formorian’s tongue assaulted his mouth. If the Breton lass were a spy, she would need access to a horse. Angus had been a fool.
No one made a fool of him.
But for now, there was only Mori.
Chapter Nine
THE SOLSTICE
“I doona like being made a fool of!” Angus thundered at Gilead the next morning in the solarium.
Gilead set down the cup of goat’s milk he’d brought with him. “I doona like being made a fool of either, Da! I dinna know the lass could ride.”
His father stared at him. “Ye have been giving her lessons, have ye not?”
Gilead bit his lip. In truth, he had been more interested in watching her rounded arse bounce up and down. Even now, as furious as his father was with him, he kept returning to that stolen kiss, savoring the softness of her as he held her in his arms, feeling the warm fullness of her lips, tasting her probing tongue…she didn’t act like an innocent maid; she’d known what she wanted. He squared his shoulders. Who was she, really? Why had she come here?
“I kept the lessons to a walk and trot within the fence,” he said, “and Winger is fifteen years, a solid, tolerant horse.”
“Bah!” Angus reached for the watered wine and poured some into a goblet. “Ye are a horseman! Ye should have been able to tell. Formorian did.”
Only because Formorian went galloping off recklessly, not caring whether Dee could ride. He wondered when the queen had told his father.
“Are ye that besotted with the lass, son?”
“Nae,” Gilead denied. “I told ye before.”
“Ye did.” Angus looked at him suspiciously. “I won’t risk making an enemy of Niall. Not now. Fergus is bound to make his move as soon as his crops are in. I would say, just past the solstice. We need Niall’s alliance.”
Gilead sighed. He’d heard all this before. He knew his father was right. The alliance was needed. He wouldn’t play with fire like his father did. Best just to stay away from the wily lass. Yes, that was it. Cancel the lessons; they were obviously not needed. And, for certes, he didn’t need to see her in those trews again. By the Dagda! Every line of her form could be seen, plain as if she wore nothing at all. He was just thankful Niall hadn’t been anywhere near.
“Are ye listening?”
Gilead’s head snapped up. “I’m sorry, Da.”
His father gave an exasperated snort. “I was saying that, in all probability, we have a Saxon spy in our midst. Remember the longboats that have been spotted along the coast?”
Dee, a spy? His mother liked her. Deidre couldn’t be. “I doona think so, Da.”
Angus began to pace. “Think. Ye ‘found’ her on Beltane, with no coin nor baggage. Her accent is strange. How did she get here? I had the area searched. There were no reports of attacks by bandits or highwaymen within five leagues. No trace of a broken carriage. No fresh corpses. The lass couldn’t have walked more than two or three leagues without her slippers wearing out.” He paused. “And she slipped a note and coin to the bard last night.”
Gilead frowned. “Did ye search him?”
Angus turned to face his son. “Nae. Word of such inhospitality would travel quicker than a fire through dry brush. Bards are protected everywhere, as ye know. Even with the Saxons. Yer Deidre might very well have sent information to one of them.”
Gilead hoped his father was wrong. But what other reason would she have? “Mayhap she sent word to relatives in Armorica.”
Angus snorted. “The man ye sent to Armorica returned saying my mother knew of no drownings at the Black Loch, nor had she ever heard of Deidre. I ask again, how did the lass get here?”
“I doona know, but I doona think she is a spy. Mother thinks well of her.”
“Elen wouldn’t think a man holding a dirk to her throat a murderer.” He stopped suddenly and narrowed his eyes. “These ‘accidents’ that yer mother keeps having…they’ve only started since the lass has been here.”
Gilead’s temper flared. “Ye can’t think Dee—Mistress Deidre—capable of hurting my mother?”
Angus arched an eyebrow. “I can indeed. Has she not always been at the scene?”
“That makes no sense! It was the lass who suggested it might be poison!”
“Aye. And if she is a spy, she’d be clever enough to come up with the idea first. She dashed quickly enough to make sure the cup had been washed, didna she?” He resumed pacing. “And she could easily have torn the carpet. There’s always a knife on the morning tray for Elen.”
“Bah! The nails were missing. ’Twas plain they’d been pulled out.”
Angus wheeled on him. “Mayhap that is what she was doing instead of looking for a missing jewel from a brooch! Mayhap she intended to put them back to make it look an accident truly.”
Gilead stared at his father. “Why would she kill my mother? I know she cares about her. She really does.”
Angus slammed a fist on the table in front of Gilead, slurping the contents of both goblets unto the cloth. “If she’s a spy, she would need to ingratiate herself with someone. Yer mother is the most gullible person I know.”
“Stop insulting my mother!” Gilead leapt to his feet. “She’s kind and gentle, generous and forgiving—”
“Stop there.” Angus held up his hand. “I know ye hold yer mother in high esteem. As ye should. Doona expect me to do the same, for ye know not what she did.”
That again. Elen had once admitted she’d done a grievous wrong to Angus, but she wouldn’t tell him what it was. Only that the results had been worth it.
“Still,” Gilead insisted, “there’s no reason for…a spy… to kill my mother.”
“No?” Angus motioned for him to sit, and pulled up a chair himself. “Consider this. If this woman, Deidre, is a spy, these accidents create good diversions. She wants to ‘learn’ to ride so she’ll have access to a horse. If another incident happens, my bet is that she’ll try to leave under cover of chaos.”
“I’ll cancel the riding lessons,” Gilead said. “Then she will have no access.”
“No,” Angus answered. “I want to find out what she’s really about. Why she’s here. We doona want to let her know we suspect a thing. We play along. Continue the lessons. Take her past the gates. See which direction she wants to ride in. More than likely, that’s where her contact waits. Have a care, though. Don’t wander more than a league. Ye doona want to be caught in an ambush.”
Gilead groaned inwardly. The best thing he could do—should do—was avoid all contact with the treacherous lass. Every time he saw her his blood heated, but she was handfasted to Niall. Whether she actually liked Niall, Gilead didn’t k
now, but the doubt still lingered that a penniless, although obviously high-born woman, might be ambitious enough to marry the old goat. He wasn’t sure if that was worse than the fact that she might indeed be a Saxon spy. Either way, he was still attracted and felt oddly protective of her as well. But playing with fire was his father’s game, not his.
“Why not let Formorian give her lessons?” Gilead asked. “That was yer original idea, wasn’t it?”
Angus looked at him as though he were daft. “I canna have two women riding alone beyond the castle walls!”
Formorian had been better armed than he was yesterday. “Then send an escort.”
“Are ye not thinking at all, lad? With an escort, there is not much chance the lass will show her true colors. Too many people.”
Gilead tried one more time. “Doona ye think Niall will be much jealous if he sees Deidre and me riding out without a proper escort?”
“I’ve sent Niall back to ready his army. He won’t return until the festival for Litha. That gives ye nigh a sennight to find the lass out. Ye are dismissed.”
Gilead set his jaw as he stood to leave. A sennight. He had to resist temptation for just a week. He could do it. Angus’s strict military training—something borrowed from the old Romans, which Turius had suggested—included resisting torture. Gilead had gone through a grueling fortnight of starvation, sleep deprivation, and painful techniques that had stopped just short of broken bones. He’d made it through that; surely he could resist one wee woman, however tormenting her company might be.
◊♦◊
For whatever reason, Niall had disappeared, and Deidre was grateful. Not having to run into Niall or put up with his foul hands at dinner freed her mind to plan her escape to the stones on the solstice, less than a week away.
“How are you feeling this morning?” she asked Elen after Janet had brought in the tray and left.
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