The Irish Devil

by Donna Fletcher

  Borg reached out to take her hand. “You outshine all he has brought here.”

  She raised a thankful glance to him. “You believe me. Why? No one else does.”

  “Why should I not believe you? I have never known you not to speak the truth or deny an ailing person help. You are an honest woman and, therefore, you give me no reason to doubt your character.”

  “I wish Eric felt as you do.”

  “How do you know he does not?”

  Faith gave his hand a gentle pat. “He makes himself clear.”

  “But do you hear clearly?”

  Faith looked at Borg oddly, though held her tongue.

  “I am well enough to leave this bed,” Borg said, taking his hand from hers and demonstrating his strength by pulling himself up to sit straight. He did fine until he leaned over ever so slightly, then he winced.

  Faith immediately saw to easing him back against the pillows. Then she wiped perspiration from his brow that had been caused by his exertion, using the damp cloth that had been left in the wooden bowl full of water near the bed.

  “I know you wish to be up and about, but if you rush your recovery you will only serve to prolong it.”

  “Wise words,” he reluctantly admitted.

  “And besides, I thought you enjoyed the care Bridget gave you.”

  Borg’s pale face turned scarlet.

  Faith instantly felt guilty about teasing the ailing man. “I am sorry, I did not mean to—”

  He shook his head, interrupting her apology. “No, it is all right. It is my own fault. I am dreadfully inadequate when it comes to dealing with women.”

  Faith found that as difficult to believe as Borg being intimidated by anyone. “You are a handsome and fit man. Why would you feel that way?”

  “I do not know. I only know I have always felt tongue-tied around females. Eric tried to teach me the ways of women. He has substantial knowledge when it comes to dealing socially with them, though I feel his good looks would warrant any woman’s surrender.”

  Faith stiffened at the thought of her husband with another woman.

  Borg continued. “No matter how many times Eric attempted to educate me to women, I simply failed to grasp the concept and found myself tongue-tied as usual.” He smiled. “Of course, there was that one time when Eric decided I would remain mute and he told the women I could not speak. It worked wonderfully and we had a—”

  Borg stopped suddenly, turning a scalding red. “I am sorry, my lady, I forgot my manners.”

  Faith laughed. “I am only sorry you forgot your manners before finishing the story.”

  Borg grinned and obliged her with, “I had a good time.”

  “And Eric?”

  Borg purposely avoided her eyes. “He had a good time as well.”

  The large man attempted to move to make himself more comfortable and moaned softly in pain.

  “I warned you about that,” Bridget said, entering the room and marching over to the bed. “You are not to move yourself about.”

  “She is right, Borg,” Faith agreed. “Though you may feel the stitches have set well, the inside needs time to heal also.”

  “Now I’ll be settling you for the night. You need sleep,” Bridget said firmly.

  “I will say good night,” Faith said, standing. “Since I see that you are in good hands.”

  Bridget smiled at the sincere compliment.

  Borg simply smiled, not taking his eyes off Bridget.

  Neither one paid her attention, though she noticed that Borg remained silent while Bridget chattered on and on. The man was obviously in love and the thought warmed Faith’s heart.

  She returned to her room, collected Rook and took him downstairs and outside the keep for a stroll before bedtime.

  The keep and the castle grounds themselves more than impressed Faith… they amazed her. Skilled hands were evident wherever one looked, from the rich tapestries that graced many of the walls to the new furnishings that had been crafted with care and to the fields that were ripe for fall harvest. Eric had taken care to bring the finest to his home, along with the people who cared enough to see it remained that way.

  She glanced up at the battlements armed with men who paid strict attention to their duties, protecting the castle from unexpected intruders. She watched women engaged in laughter and conversation outside their small one-room cottages and men gathered around an evening fire sharing a tankard or two.

  A few women bowed their heads respectfully at her and the men avoided looking her way, and she felt safe to continue her stroll knowing no one would dare disturb the devil’s lady.

  The full dark of evening was almost upon them and Faith was anxious to locate an area of ground for her garden. She followed Rook around the side of the castle and found the kitchen entrance to the keep, and smiled at the large garden that ran alongside it. Squash grew plentiful on vines, some cabbage and wild onions still remained and she was sure her eye had caught sight of parsley.

  She bent down and grabbed a handful of soil to sniff and squish between her fingers. It felt rich and smelled potent. The soil was fertile and she smiled.

  She stood, brushing the dark dirt from her hands. “Where do you think our garden should be, Rook? I know it may seem silly to plan a garden if I may not stay, but I itch to get my fingers in the soil, and who knows? Miracles do happen.”

  The dog sniffed at the ground by her feet, looked up at her, sniffed the air and barked before he trotted off. She followed until he stopped at a plot of ground a bit of a distance from the kitchen, nearer the castle wall. A towering spruce tree with thick, heavy branches shared the space and probably cast a good deal of shade over part of the ground, making it perfect for her shade-loving plants.

  Faith turned slowly in a full circle, taking in the whole area. “It looks to be perfect, Rook.”

  The dog barked his agreement.

  “Tomorrow we shall see how much sun and shade this area receives, and then if it fits our needs we shall ask permission.”

  “As you asked permission to take this walk?”

  Faith turned, startled by her husband’s accusing and unexpected remark.

  He loomed a towering shadow in a darkening night and for a moment his overpowering presence frightened her and she shivered.

  He stepped forward, pulling his black cloak off and swinging it to wrap around her. “Have you no sense that you leave the keep alone and without a wrap for warmth?”

  He secured his cloak around her, tucking the soft wool over her shoulder and fastening it with his gold brooch before he stepped away.

  The familiar scent of him invaded her senses, drifting around her and over her like intimate fingers at play. And she could not escape him; she was imprisoned by her own passion for him and his familiar garment would see that she remembered, remembered his touch, the taste of him and the feel of him.

  Her hands grasped the soft wool and drew it close.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “You promised me a garden,” she said with a touch of defiance.

  Eric crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in disbelief. The woman was amazing. Only a short time ago his remark had warned that she might be returned to her father and still she persisted in planting roots. She was full of Irish stubbornness and courage, and he smiled.

  “This could not wait until morning?” he asked, his voice stern.

  “Rook required his nightly stroll.”

  “Will this be a nightly ritual?”

  “Of course. Rook and I always take an evening stroll.”

  “You will not go unattended,” he ordered.

  “I do not. Rook is with me,” she reminded.

  He took a step toward her, his tone adamant and direct. “Here you will have more than just a dog to protect you.”

  Rook took umbrage to that and barked.

  Eric shot him a warning look. He whined and moved to sit next to Faith.

  Her hand went to pat Rook’s hea
d. “Rook and I can see to ourselves.”

  “Not anymore,” Eric snapped. “You are my wife and will do as I say.”

  Her emotions bordered a fine edge and she snapped right back at him without giving thought to her words. “I am not officially your wife.”

  Her remark shocked both of them, but Eric was a true warrior and immediately retaliated. “That can be settled right now with a simple answer to my question.”

  With the intoxicating scent of him still heavy in her nostrils, she was tempted to accommodate him, but her own pride interfered. She had been forced to wed the devil, then discovered him a man of pride and convictions, a man she could love, and then she was forced to defend her own honor to him. That she would not do. If he did not believe her an honorable woman, then he had no business being her husband.

  He moved closer, his fingers reaching out to trace the scar gently, coming to rest over her nipple. “I want to make love to you. I want to strip you bare and explore every intimate part of you. I want to plant my seed deep inside you and watch you grow heavy with my child. I want you as my wife. Now settle this and be done with it.”

  Her passion urged her to surrender; her pride refused. “Only you can settle this, Eric.”

  And with her challenge delivered she walked past him, Rook trailing on her heels.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Blood splattered across Eric’s bare chest and covered his fists. He stood firm, barely panting, barely demonstrating any exertion though he had just engaged fists with three men and was presently looking for a fourth to take on.

  The group of men who circled the exercise field, numbering near sixty, cheered with excitement, their loud voices echoing off the stone walls of the keep that loomed on a rise only a few yards in the distance. The imposing stone edifice stood as a symbol of their lord’s strength and bravery.

  “Enough,” Colin shouted, pushing past the circle of men who had watched with an odd mixture of thrill and fear as their leader had repeatedly demonstrated the reason for his notorious reputation as a warrior.

  “You now command?” Eric asked much too calmly, and Colin was wise enough to heed the warning behind his controlled words, though he did so with his usual humor.

  “Nay, my lord,” he said, smiling, “but I fear there will be no men left to guard the keep if you continue to ravage in such a brutal fashion.”

  Eric nodded, though his annoyance was evident.

  Colin waved the group off and quietly ordered the three men that Eric had raised fists against—one looking more bloody than the other — to go see Lady Faith. They eagerly acknowledged his command and took themselves off.

  Eric walked to the water bucket near a stack of stones, picked it up and spilled the entire contents over his head. He wiped the blood from his chest and hands and then shook his long, dark hair before running his fingers through the wet, heavy strands.

  “With your own heat rising along with the temperatures these last two days, a dunk in the nearby lake might suit you better,” Colin said, coming up behind him.

  Eric turned on him. “Watch it, Colin, I am in no mood for your teasing remarks.”

  “I mean what I say.”

  “Then it is a fight you are looking for?”

  “Peace, actually,” he answered candidly. “You have been unbearable for the last few days. Bed your wife and be done with it.”

  “Not until she answers me. And besides, it is none of your business.”

  “You are wrong.”

  Eric stepped toward him, his hand fisted, and Colin wisely retreated several steps.

  “See,” Colin said almost in a shout. “Your first thought is to pound on me and that is not like you. You have never raised a fist to me, nor have I to you.”

  Eric shook his head.

  “Bed a woman and be done with this rage that eats at you.”

  Eric spoke the words that had haunted his every waking thought for the last four days. “I want my wife.”

  “Then speak with her,” Colin urged.

  “I have,” Eric insisted, and she refuses to answer me.

  “I did not say ask her a question, I said speak with her. The way you did those first few days after the wedding. You grew to know her.”

  Eric paused in thought. He had enjoyed that time with her. They shared an emotional intimacy he favored. She had spoken freely, and thinking back, truthfully, he was certain. He had looked forward to their encounters. Perhaps bedding his wife was not the only thing he wanted from her.

  The idea that he actually found pleasure in conversing with his wife was a surprise to him. He had not given thought to forming a relationship with the woman he wed. He had assumed that he would choose a woman who fit his needs, get her with child and see to the running of his castle. He had never considered he would actually enjoy his wife’s company or even wish to bed her.

  “I will speak with her,” Eric said, his words more of a confirmation to himself than to Colin.

  “Good,” Colin said with a laugh. “Because she is headed this way.”

  Eric looked to where Colin’s glance fell and he watched his wife march toward him with determined strides. She wore the familiar dark blue tunic and shift that seemed to comprise her wardrobe, only this time a white strip of cloth was draped along the front of her and it appeared to have blood stains on it. He reminded himself to order new garments made for her. Her riotous red curls were drawn up and away from her face—a face that bore not only beauty but the reminder of the reason for their ongoing skirmish—and at the moment he was prepared for battle. He actually looked forward to confronting her.

  “Leave,” he ordered Colin.

  “Not fair.” Colin muttered his complaint with a grin as he obeyed his lord’s command.

  Eric stood his ground firm and ready, but was ill prepared for her unexpected maneuver.

  Her astute brown eyes widened in alarm and she gasped, instantly reaching out to grasp his bruised and bloody hands. “You are hurt.”

  He remained silent simply because he was speechless, and when she tugged him along and made him sit on a large rock, he obeyed like an obedient child.

  “Now stay,” she ordered with a gentle sternness and hurried a few feet away to retrieve a water bucket. She soaked the clean end of the white cloth in the fresh water, squeezed it out and then went to work tending his cut and bruised knuckles.

  The moment she touched him he knew he was lost.

  “Whatever were you thinking?” she admonished softly.

  He could not very well tell her the truth that he had wanted her so badly that he took his sexual frustration out in physical combat. Instead he asked, “Are my men all right?”

  Faith spoke while her attention remained fixed on tending his hands. “A broken nose, a split lip, two black eyes, a swollen jaw and two lost teeth, but the three will survive. Bridget and two other women are seeing to their care.”

  “And you came to tend me?” he asked quietly.

  She soaked the end of the cloth once again in the water and started on his other hand, but first she glanced up at him. “I came because I could not believe that one man could inflict such damage and still remain standing.”

  He leaned forward. “The devil can,” he whispered with a quick grin and stole an even quicker kiss.

  She looked at him with startled eyes.

  “You doubt my strength?”

  She shook her head, ignoring her tingling lips. “I doubt your senses.”

  She purposely dropped her glance to his hand, gently cleaning his bloody knuckles.

  Eric would simply not be denied. He lifted her chin with the weight of one finger, forcing her to look at him. “I know what I want. Do you?”

  Faith knew he wanted her and she fought the urge to tell him just how much she wanted him. Lusting for someone was easy, but love was not, and she would not settle and surrender herself and her honor to him for lust.

  Foolish.

  The word often invaded her thoughts and remin
ded her just who her husband was… the Irish devil. How could she expect more than lust from this man? But then she had been afforded the time to become familiar with him and she had liked the man she had discovered. It was that man she hungered for, that man she wanted to love and be loved by.

  But how did she get the devil to release him?

  “Do you, Faith?” he asked again.

  She answered the only way she could, honestly, though not completely. “Yes, I do know what I want.”

  She waited for him to question her further, to counterattack, so she was caught off guard when he responded with a kiss.

  Slowly and sensually he took charge of her mouth, teasing with the skill of a master lover. He invaded her senses until she was thoroughly limpid in his arms, not even realizing he had captured her in an intimate embrace.

  Her body curved like a responsive bow fitting in the hollow of his embrace. His naked chest felt hard, warm and comforting; his arms were thick with muscles and they wrapped around her possessively and protectively.

  She felt safe and secure and at home in his arms, and while her body quivered from the passion his kisses had easily ignited, she sensed a deeper bond spark between them. And it frightened her.

  “I will not hurt you, Faith,” he whispered in her ear, feeling the subtle change in her body.

  With difficulty she pulled away from him and stood on trembling legs. “You already have.”

  Eric watched her rush away and he suddenly felt empty, as if he had been robbed of a part of himself. He growled in annoyance at the odd and disturbing sensation, and stood.

  He wanted answers and he wanted his wife. He would get both.

  With that decision made, he stormed off toward the castle.

  o0o

  Faith attacked the solid ground with the pickax, her frustration being released with every swing of the slender tool. Rook quietly crawled to hide behind the large tree, keeping a safe distance from his master’s mighty swings.

  She was not certain if it was herself she was angry with or her husband. He saw only what was in front of him; he never looked beyond. But then, he was a warrior and a warrior judged with his eyes and his instincts, not with his heart and his emotions.