He marched forward, many of the men nearby moving out of his way, though they were not close enough to interfere with his approach. His overbearing presence just seemed to command it.
He stopped in front of her, his eyes purposely avoiding the scar. “How is he?”
Faith fought courageously to keep her voice from trembling. “With proper rest and care he should do well, though there remains the chance of fever.”
Eric looked to Bridget. “See to him, Colin will assist you.”
He reached out, his fiery gaze now on her scar, and grabbed for her arm. She made no move to stop him as he pulled her alongside him toward a small clumping of spruce trees.
Curious eyes and wagging tongues followed their progress and Eric did not stop until the few trees and the abundance of bushes provided them with the privacy to speak. He then swung her around to stand in front of him.
He was curt and demanding. “Explain.”
Would he believe the truth? Did he know her well enough to judge her wisely? She was about to find out.
With her head held high, she spoke. “One night I was summoned to tend an ailing villager. I thought nothing of the late-night request and took myself off to see to her. On my way past the stables, someone grabbed me and dragged me inside. I fought him with all the strength I possessed.” She shivered, recalling the dreadful memory. She could feel the man’s heavy body on her, see the flash of the blade and feel the first slice to her tender skin. “Unfortunately, I was unaware that he possessed a knife. I carry this scar” —her hand went to her face— “as a reminder.”
“Where does the scar end?” he asked, his face a mask of controlled fury.
Faith reluctantly and hesitantly moved her hand to rest over her breast.
He released her arm and looked accusingly at her. “Are you a virgin?”
His question felt like a knife pierced straight in her heart. She thought, hoped, he had come to understand her well enough to know the answer. Obviously he had not and how very foolish of her to think that he, the Irish devil, would be any different from all the rest.
She had suffered the results of the attack far too long and she had done nothing to warrant the abuse. She had done what any man would have done. Only a man would have been praised and his scar admired for his bravery. But a woman? A woman suffered the sting of shame for her bravery.
“Answer me,” he snapped and startled her.
“Why? You already believe the worst.”
“I want an answer,” he insisted.
She remained mute.
He walked up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “You will answer me.”
She thought to keep silent, but instead spoke softly. “You already know the answer.”
Her words stunned him and he released her, shoving her away from him.
His anger consumed him and he spoke without thought. “Your father thinks to trap me in this union, but since our vows have yet to be consummated I can return you to him and demand retribution.”
Faith stood firm, though her legs trembled and her heart felt as though it broke into a thousand unmendable pieces. “I have survived far worse, but can your pride?”
“How dare you speak to me of pride when you are haunted by shame.”
She did not know how many more verbal attacks she could suffer before she crumbled. This man, her husband, whom she had grown to admire, respect and even care for treated her as a contemptible stranger.
The disturbing thought propelled her to speak. “My only shame is that I did not kill the man who did this to me.”
She thought she caught a flash of admiration in his blue eyes, but then they blazed with fury and she imagined it was wishful thinking.
“Your father will pay for this,” he said, though it sounded more like a promise. “And you?” He pushed her away from him. “You will remain out of my sight.”
Faith did as he ordered, hurrying off away from him, out of his sight. She had to make haste for the tears that gathered rapidly in her eyes were about to burst free and she would not allow him to see her cry.
She ran straight past Colin and Rook, who walked by his side and who immediately turned and set off after his distraught master.
Colin walked up to Eric, who stood alone, his face expressionless and his eyes fixed on his retreating wife. He raised a hand of warning for Colin not to speak. He was furious, absolutely furious… but with whom?
He was not certain who to direct his anger toward, his wife who had kept this secret from him, or her father who obviously used it to his advantage. And somewhere between the both of them lay the truth.
His fury had almost erupted when Faith had spoken of being attacked. He could think of nothing but the intense fear she must have suffered as her strength waned and her attacker slashed out at her. But what then? What then did her attacker do? Was she too exhausted, too fearful to prevent him from further pillage?
Was it shame that kept her from telling him the truth? And what now was he to do?
He motioned for Colin to speak.
“The men are already talking,” Colin warned him.
“No doubt they are… and what are they saying?”
“You do not want to know.”
“It seems a day of questions without answers.”
Colin followed Eric who walked toward an old large felled tree, and sat, joining him.
“She would not tell you the truth?” Colin asked.
“She assumes I know it.”
“Do you?”
“I know her father lied.”
“And Faith, does she lie?”
Eric answered honestly, “I do not know.”
“Then you must find out.”
“Which makes this dilemma all the more difficult, for if I do not like the findings, I am stuck with the results.”
“And you do not wish this?” Colin asked.
Eric shook his head. “My mother was a whore who bedded a Viking. She managed to instill in me a deep pride and love for this place of my birth. This Ireland. I still remember when I was five running through the meadows and fields so alive with color and feeling the strength of the earth beneath my bare feet. My mother wanted more for me than poverty and despair. She wanted me to taste all the riches this land could give. She named me Eric of Shanekill, after a monastery, so that I would always remember my birthplace. When I was five she took ill and contacted my father, telling him of me.”
Eric stood and paced briefly before stopping in front of Colin. “Her last words were to remind me that my roots were planted firmly in Ireland’s soil and that I would forever be Ireland’s son. I made a pledge to return as I watched the Irish coastline fade away from the deck of my father’s ship. And though my father taught me much, making me the man I am today and instilling his Viking strength and pride in me, I never forgot my mother’s words or my pledge.”
Colin stood. “You have accomplished all you have set out to do.”
“No, I have not. I promised that I would replant my roots firmly in Ireland’s soil once again.”
“And you will,” Colin said.
“Yes, I will,” Eric agreed, “but not with tarnished seeds.”
Chapter Ten
Rejected by her husband and shunned by his men, Faith spent much time alone or in the company of Bridget or Borg. Borg had healed well over the previous two days. A slight temperature had given her cause to worry, but lasted merely half a day. He was already complaining about the confines of the open wagon he was forced to travel in, though he did not complain about the company. Bridget had seen to his every need and the two had become inseparable.
The incident had been determined to be an accident, the young warrior who had released the near-fatal arrow doing penance for his error and suffering tremendously for the unfortunate mistake, the men unmercifully ridiculing his inept hunting skills.
Faith would ride her mare or walk alongside the wagon, Rook at her heels. In the evening when camp had been set up and Borg
had been tended to, she would seek solace by the fire. She had been instructed by Colin to make use of the tent, but she ignored his offer and chose instead to sleep on a blanket on the ground near the fire.
She had not seen her husband since their confrontation. Any instructions he issued were issued through Colin. The mumbles and whispers continued around her, though the women paid them no heed. It seemed that Bridget and the few women from Donnegan Keep had spoken with the other women and they were more accepting of her unfortunate plight.
The men, like her husband, thought differently.
Faith walked a good distance behind the wagon today, leaving Borg and Bridget alone to talk. Rook walked beside her though he would take his leave every now and then to forage and snoop. And while she had always enjoyed her solitude, today she discovered herself lonely.
She missed Eric. She missed sharing his horse, talking with him, laughing with him, cuddling against him, but most of all she missed the closeness they shared. She should be angry with him and yet she was not. He should have been told the truth from the beginning with the choice left to him.
He was made to look the fool and that was unacceptable to any man, especially a warrior of Eric’s infamous reputation.
And she? She was but a pawn in this game her father played. So what was she to do? Sit by and wait and yet again be used according to a man’s dictate.
She shook her head. No, that was completely unacceptable. She would do what she did best. She would create a good, independent life for herself at the keep, serving the ills of the ailing villagers.
Eric would reach his own conclusions, if he had not already. And his decision on the matter would be final. She could do nothing to change his mind. If he had not realized her true character by now, then what else was there left for her to do to convince him of her innocence? The truth was for him to discover. She already knew it.
Colin rode up alongside her. “Why do you walk? To irritate him?”
Faith tilted her head up toward him, her hand following to shade her eyes from the morning sun. “Irritate who?”
Colin looked at her oddly. “Your husband.”
Faith smiled with the knowledge that at least Eric cared enough to notice. “I walk because it pleases me.”
“It does not please him.”
She felt the devil poke at her and with her smile remaining wide, said, “Is he afraid of me?”
“What nonsense do you speak?” Colin asked, startled by her question.
Faith shrugged. “I but wonder why a man of his courage would send someone to speak for him. I assume if he had something to say to me he would have the mettle to do it himself.”
“You know full well he does not wish, nor does he desire to speak with you.”
“Then why does he worry if I walk or ride?”
Colin hesitated briefly before he answered. “He sees to the care of all his property.”
Faith raised her chin. “I am not yet rightfully his property, therefore, I will do as I please. And it pleases me to walk.”
Colin was taken back by her bold remark and he smiled. “You tempt the fires of hell, woman.”
Faith grinned. “With the chill of autumn upon us, a bit of heat will serve me well.”
Colin laughed. “I will tell him what say you.”
“I expected you would.”
Colin rode off and Faith continued walking, her smile smug and her confidence suddenly strong.
Her mood grew even brighter by midday. Two women who had recently joined with two of Eric’s men fell into step beside her. They asked many questions about her birthing skills and she in turn asked if either of them were with child. They both smiled and each admitted that they soon hoped to be.
Bridget joined her shortly after the two women left her side. The young girl talked incessantly about Borg, though not once did she mention his health. It made Faith feel good to know that at least one relationship would prove to be fruitful.
“I worry, m’lady,” Bridget said rather suddenly.
“Of what?” Faith asked with concern.
Bridget hesitated to speak and Faith reached a comforting hand out to her. “Tell me, Bridget. I am not like my stepmother. There is no need to fear speaking with me.”
“You are nothing like Lady Terra. She is mean-spirited and cruel. You are caring and honest.”
“Then what is it you fear?”
Bridget lowered her voice, though the distance from those around them was sufficient enough for none to hear her words. “There is talk that Lord Eric plans to return you to your father. If that be true then I go with you; but truth be known, I would prefer to stay in Lord Eric’s service.”
Gossip was the mainstay of all villagers and often proved to be more often hurtful than helpful. But then Faith had faced wagging tongues before and survived; she would not capitulate now.
She spoke from the heart. “What befalls me will be my fate alone. You may stay wherever you wish. On that I give you my word.” She added with a smile, “Besides, I think Borg will have a say in that matter.”
Bridget’s full face brightened. “He is like no man I have ever known. He is caring, tender, and does not grow annoyed with my endless chatter.”
Faith was about to respond when Bridget’s face suddenly drained of color and with a quick, respectful nod she took herself off.
There was only one man who could cause such fright… her husband. She turned to see him bearing down on her. His stallion was in no gentle gallop and his stern expression and stiff posture alerted her to the fact that Colin must have finally repeated their conversation to him.
With a firm and steady hand he brought his horse to a gentle walk beside her since she continued along as though his presence did not disturb her in the least.
He spoke not a word, though his eyes glared at her. She smiled and walked without interruption.
“You will ride,” he ordered, and none to gently.
Faith answered without looking at him. “I prefer to walk.”
She heard that distinct low grumble like a small roar he always made when he grew irritated, and the familiar sound pleased her. Before he could repeat his command as she was certain he would, she said, “I hear we are close to Shanekill Keep.”
“We arrive before nightfall.”
“I look forward to seeing your home.”
“It is not finished.”
“I know, you have told me, but I still look forward to our arrival there, and of course seeing to my herb garden. It is a good-sized patch of ground you promised me.”
That growling rumble sounded again. “I did not come here to converse with you.”
This time she looked up at him, her hand having difficulty in blocking out the bright sun and causing him to appear a massive shadow hovering over her. “Then why do you?”
“You will obey me.” His voice was firm, his order clear.
“I do obey you,” she retaliated. “I keep from your sight.”
“And you provoke me so that I go against my own dictates,” he all but shouted, causing heads to turn and snap back just as quickly.
“I wish to walk,” she said and stomped ahead, Rook trotting alongside to keep up with her purposeful strides.
Eric was fast beside her. “You will ride.”
Why she was so adamant in disobeying him, she could not say. She only knew she would have this her way. “I will walk.”
“Damnable woman, at least I learned the truth of you before it was too late.”
His words stopped her and she turned a furious glare on him. “Truth? You know not the truth, nor do you wish to accept the truth. Your manly pride rules and dims your wit.”
“Enough,” he roared, his temper near out of control. “Hold the wagon.”
With her hands on her hips in open defiance she said, “I will not ride.”
Eric was off his horse in seconds. He scooped her up in his arms, marched over to the wagon and dropped her in beside a prone Borg.
&nb
sp; He addressed Borg. “She stays here or she will suffer my wrath.”
Faith felt Borg’s hand clamp down on her wrist as Eric turned, walked to his horse, mounted and rode off without a backward glance.
“You tempt the fates of hell,” Borg said.
“So I have been told,” she remarked, settling herself reluctantly in the wagon.
Borg released her wrist as soon as he was sure she meant to remain where she was. “Why provoke him?”
She shrugged as she reached out to check the newly applied bandage that Bridget had helped her with just this morning. “I do not know.”
“He is a proud man,” Borg said, as if in defense of his half brother.
She raised her chin, though it quivered. “I am a proud woman.”
“And so you should be,” he said in earnest. “Any woman who can survive such a vicious attack deserves respect and admiration.”
Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Respect was lost to me that fateful night. Where a man would gain honor for defending himself, a woman gains shame, for none believe her strong enough to fight back.”
“More fools are they.”
She wiped at her eyes. “Why do you believe me and not him?”
“Learn who he truly is and you will have your answer.”
She smiled. “I but wish it were that easy.”
“It is,” Borg said. “Eric admires the spirit of the Irish people and does not realize he possesses it himself. It is a pride born of stubbornness and love, an indomitable pride deeply rooted and passed on from generation to generation. He wishes that for himself. Understand that and you truly understand the man.”
Faith grew silent and Borg’s eyes grew heavy. She watched him drift off into a much-needed healing rest and her thoughts drifted to her husband.
Irish pride.
How should she deal with that?
“Patience,” she whispered to herself. The best way to deal with pride was always with patience.
o0o
Eric barked orders at several of his men as he rode past them, causing most to jump and immediately do his bidding. He was in a foul mood and he knew it, though he cared not.
The Irish Devil Page 11