The last he had to agree with. Whenever his eyes lighted on her she was smiling. Whether she was busy cleaning and arranging her healing cottage, tending the soil in her garden or directing those in the keep, she always appeared cheerful and good-natured. And damned if it was not contagious. He had found the servants more civil and content since she took over the duties of running the keep. His own men even changed their attitude toward her, especially after Stuart had shared the secret of his renewed prowess with them.
Faith had teasingly informed him that she would need a large plot of soil just to grow mint and chamomile. He had found her tale amusing and had shared it with Colin. The next day he was stunned to find a large plot of land completely cleared and prepared for planting not far from her herb garden. His men had taken her remark seriously and saw to it that she got what she requested without delay.
The one incident that disturbed him the most, though, had happened just that very morning. He had grown annoyed waiting for his wife to join him for the morning fare. She was late as was her usual way, but for some reason her delay irritated him. If he had thought on it he would have realized that it was because he was anxious to see her. He had planned a tactical maneuver he thought would work well. He would ask her to join him on a ride to the lake. Once alone he intended to talk with her, hoping to discover more about her life at Donnegan keep.
Unfortunately he had not known she had been attending an ailing peasant most of the night and when she rushed into the great hall appearing exhausted, he lost his temper. He had not meant to shout at her. He was annoyed she had worked herself to near exhaustion, but he had lost control of his emotions—a rare occurrence. He raised his voice at her demanding she obey him and she acquiesced with a respectful nod of her head. He had not been aware that the hall had grown silent and all eyes remained fixed upon them.
It took only minutes for him to realize that he had erred. All eyes looked with sympathy to the lady of the keep. Oddly enough, he had also realized at that moment that he had made a wise decision in taking her as a wife. That realization made the path to victory in their skirmish all the more clear and although the hall was filled with frowns, he smiled, which annoyed the occupants all the more.
Now he intended to hunt down his wife and take her on that ride to the lake. He had ordered Mary to pack a basket with food. She appeared reluctant at first and while he did not have to share his intentions with her, he felt compelled to do so.
When she learned of his plans she spared no effort in producing a basket fit for a king and with a wide grin and a respectful bob of her head she handed the hefty basket to him.
The horses were set and all he needed now was to locate his wife. She was not in the keep. Bridget had no idea as to her whereabouts. The young woman barely left Borg’s chambers and he made a mental note to secure Faith a new servant to see to her needs.
He marched out of the castle, those in his path moving out of his way as he stumped around the keep toward the healing cottage where Faith could usually be found.
He came upon an unlikely scene and if he had not seen it with his own eyes he would never have believed it. Two of his fiercest soldiers were busy helping his wife. One carried a chest into the cottage and another split wood, piling the pieces beside the front door for the coming winter. Rook lounged near the door, chewing on a big fat bone the size of his paw.
Chattering women’s voices could be heard from within and Eric grew all the more annoyed that all seemed to be having a delightful time. That came to an abrupt halt as soon as his presence became known.
The men gave a respectful nod and Rook barked once and thumped his tail to announce his arrival and to welcome him. When he entered the cottage all chatter came to a sudden pause and the three women helping Faith to tie bunches of herbs together for drying immediately took their leave.
He was pleased to see that his wife wore newly sewn garments, a deep green shift of the softest wool and a tunic of a lighter shade. The pale yellow trim was embroidered by a skilled hand that could only have been accomplished by Bridget, and her belt matched the trim and was tied tightly enough to show off the slimness of her waist.
She looked beguiling and he wondered about the wisdom of his plans.
“My lord,” she said, and waited for him to make the reason for his unexpected presence known.
That added to his irritation. He did not need a reason to approach his wife. And yet she made it seem that he only sought her out for a particular reason.
“You will come with me,” he ordered.
She appeared startled by his curt command. “As you wish.”
Tongues wagged as she followed him along the castle grounds. Eyes watched their approach with trepidation and whispers trailed them as the lady of the keep fought to keep in step with her husband’s determined gait. And as the couple drew more and more attention, the devil’s temper grew.
He stopped at the stables and signaled the guard to bring his stallion.
Eric mounted the mighty horse with ease and then he leaned down, grasped her under the arm and lifted her to sit across his lap. He loosened the gold brooch on his red-and-black wool cloak and wrapped the warm cloth around the both of them. He then turned the horse and galloped toward the open doors and portcullis of the gatehouse.
Murmuring gossip filled the castle grounds and did not settle down until long after the lord and his lady had disappeared from sight.
“You have kidnapped me, my lord,” she teased with a smile and snuggled against his hard chest.
“What other way would I be able to speak with you?”
Faith ignored his irritated tone and the fact that he only wished to talk. His sensual blue eyes told another story, but she would ignore his passion as best she could. She had determined that the next intimate touch they shared would be of his choice and the consequences of his doing.
“The weather has chilled considerably,” she said, making minor conversation and enjoying the flowing warmth that his large body extended to hers.
“Winter fast approaches.”
She felt the tenseness ease a bit from his taut muscles and continued on. “I see the fields have harvested a hardy supply and are ready for winter rest.”
“We will not starve.”
“All celebrate the full harvest and look forward to a time of rest.”
“There is still work to do.”
She agreed with excitement. “Yes, many speak of the new weapons that will be forged and the cloth that will be weaved and the hunting that will be enjoyed and—” she paused in reluctance before proceeding cautiously “—and the children that will be sired.”
Eric spoke not a word. News of expected summer births were frequent as of late and each time he heard of another babe to be born his thoughts turned to his wife. With his passion running near out of control, he doubted it would take him long to get her with child. And that surely pleased him.
He wondered often why he stopped himself from intimately knowing his wife and the answer was always the same. Could he live with the consequences of his lusty actions’? He hoped to uncover the answer soon. It was one of the reasons why he sought this time with her. He felt that if he could get her to talk of the attack he might better understand the results. And in so doing have his answer.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, peering out from the cloak that partially covered her face. “‘Tis beautiful land.”
“Aye, that it is,” Eric agreed and slowed his horse to a steady gait.
“When I was a little girl the woman who tended me told me that Ireland was created by magical fairies and that was why the land was so beautiful. To this day I believe her for when I look upon meadows flowing with a preponderance of wildflowers and land covering so green that it startles the eye, I think that only fairies could produce such magical beauty.”
Eric smiled with such sincerity that it stilled her heart. “The Irish are the best storytellers. My own mother kept me spellbound on winter nights w
ith tales of the Celtic gods.”
“Druid tales,” she whispered, as if fearful.
“You should hear the tales of the Viking gods,” he said with a laugh.
“Fierce and mighty warriors, from what I hear told.”
“The fiercest,” he said, looking down on her sternly.
She giggled.
“You dare to laugh at a Viking?” he said, his own voice filled with laughter.
Her expression turned serious. “You are Ireland’s son.”
“Why say you that?”
Her answer came easily. “You were born on Irish soil. One born here is always Ireland’s son or daughter. You possess the blood of hundreds of generations who have fought for the soil of this great land. You can no more deny your heritage than your right to breath. You are Ireland, as am I.”
Eric was speechless. If he had any doubts that Ireland was his home, his wife had just dispelled them. He had never felt so much a part of this land as she had just made him feel. His chest swelled with pride for his long-lost heritage and for the woman he had chosen to wed.
“Do you know why Irish lakes sparkle?”
“No,” he said, and waited anxiously to hear her tale.
“The fairies sprinkle their dust over them every hundred years or so.”
“The woman who cared for you told you this?”
“Aye, she did and she told me if I wanted to see a fairy I should sit very still and watch and I just might catch a glimpse of one. I tried very hard to do as she directed; I did so want to see one.
Eric’s smile broadened. “I cannot see you sitting still for long.”
She poked him in the chest. “Neither could my caretaker.”
They both laughed as Eric brought his horse to a halt near a lake that sparkled and shimmered with such beauty that for a moment he believed in fairies.
He wrapped a secure arm around her and lowered her carefully to the ground and then he dismounted. He tethered the horse to a nearby tree and reached for the basket and dark wool blanket that had been strapped to the side.
Her brown expressive eyes widened in delight. “You planned this.”
He hastily amended her comment. “I took measures that would ensure that my wife was on time for a meal.”
Faith snatched the blanket from beneath his arm and walked nearer to the lake. “We should sit close to the lake so we can look for fairies.”
“Think you can sit still long enough?”
She smiled at his teasing, noticing that the tension had eased from his body and his manner. “I can try.”
He left the basket on the ground and returned to his horse while she spread the blanket. He returned with her brown wool cloak, which had seen better days.
“Bridget tells me this is all you have for warmth.”
She took it from him, draping it around her shoulders, the sun bright but the air crisp. “It serves well enough.”
“Have the weavers make you a cloth of my colors and direct the women to fashion a cloak and a shawl,” he ordered firmly, assuring she would obey his command.
She nodded, though she appeared more concerned with the full basket. She soon had the generous fare spread and quickly went to work slicing two thick pieces of the warm black bread and spreading each piece with a soft cheese liberally laced with parsley.
There were slices of cold mutton, sweet bread, berries and two flasks of wine. The fare was more than two people could eat, but having barely touched her morning meal, Faith found herself ravenous and ate with relief and pleasure.
“This is a beautiful spot. Do you come here often?” she asked.
“My time at my home has been sorely limited and when here I am busy seeing to the building and fortification of the castle. I did, however, have the opportunity to swim in the lake a few times this past summer.”
“You swim?”
“A necessity for a Viking.”
“I have heard Viking ships area sight to behold.”
He popped a berry in his mouth. “Who tells you this?”
“As I told you once before many thought me a mere servant, especially visitors to Donnegan keep. All knew Lady Terra held no interest in healing and those who required my skill thought me a healer secured by the lord to tend his peasants.”
“So they spoke freely in front of you.”
“More often than not. A sizable merchant required my aid in soothing an ailing stomach and spoke incessantly about his travels as I tended him. He is the one who talked of the beauty and craftsmanship of the Viking sailing vessels. He bragged about trading with Viking merchants.”
“We are a skillful lot,” he boasted proudly, but turned the talk to her wondering over her freedom at Donnegan keep. “Did not your father restrict your duties?”
Her smile was painfully sad. “My father cared not where I went as long as I stayed from his sight. He did not wish for my presence to embarrass him.”
“So he simply gave you free rein?” he asked, incredulously.
She bowed her head and toyed with the red berries in her hand.
What sorrowful memories so haunted her that they gave her pause to speak? He wanted desperately for her to share her hurt with him so he could understand her pain, and he wanted just as badly to help rid her of it.
She looked at him, her wild red hair a perfect frame for her beauty and his blood began to heat.
“At first, right after the attack, my father insisted I stay within the confines of the keep itself. But my presence unnerved my stepmother and I soon found myself given a small cottage within the castle grounds far removed from the keep. If it were not for my interest in healing I think I would have gone mad from the loneliness. But I busied myself with studies and planting a garden of my own.”
At least he understood why her body was in such good physical shape. Physical labor kept it toned, and he advised himself to allow her to continue to cultivate her own garden.
“When my skill as a healer grew, so did my acquaintances. I had no true friends. The peasants could not befriend me; after all, I was Lady Faith to them and I was ordered not to participate in any keep gathering. Bridget spoke with me the most, but then I think a special bond was formed between us the night of my attack. She helped to tend me afterwards and up until the time I could finally tend myself.”
Important information he would not forget. “She was good to you.”
“She was good and she was comforting, her voice being the only soft and reassuring one I heard.”
Thoughts of how she must have suffered plagued Eric and made him even more anxious to get his hands on her father. It amazed him that with all she had been through, she had not only survived her ordeal, but had grown stronger and more courageous.
“Did your father have the castle grounds searched immediately following the attack?”
Faith shook her head. “I do not remember much of what followed except for my stepmother warning me to keep my lies to myself.”
The passion in his blue eyes turned to anger and he controlled the fury he felt rising within him. “Lies?”
Faith hesitated and he could sense her discomfort. He reached his hand out, taking hers firmly in his. “We do not need to speak of this.”
She looked at him with eyes that begged for understanding. “I spoke no lies that night. The truth is what I told, but perhaps it was not what they wished to hear.”
He moved beside her and took her in his arms. “I believe you.”
She laughed softly and tugged on a strand of his long, dark hair. “The devil believes me.”
He pushed her hair away from her face, purposely exposing her scar. “Nay, Faith, your husband believes you.”
The stormy anger in his blue eyes had subsided and where usually she saw passion she now saw a depth of caring that touched her heart and made her care all the more for the dark lord.
A cloud covering drifted overhead and with it a sudden chill wind whipped around them. She shivered and his arms tightened around her, h
ugging her to his warmth. She felt safe and protected in his arms. He would allow no harm to befall her. He would forever protect her, care for her. But could he love her?
With time, perhaps that was possible. But was her time with the Irish devil limited? Suddenly she wanted to know.
“I wish to ask you a question, my lord?”
He pressed a finger to her lips and his words sounded more like a warning. “But do you wish to hear the answer?”
Did she really want to know? Did she want to hear that her time with him was limited, that she would not see her garden flourish in the spring or birth her own babe in the summer?
He ran his finger over her thin lips. “What say you?”
She wanted this time with him. A time to know him, a time to understand him and a time to make memories.
Her answer came with a smile. “Teach me how to fish.”
He laughed, a full hearty laugh, and with a glint of mischief in his eyes, said, “If you will look for fairies with me.”
She completely lost her heart to him at that very moment. God help her, but she loved the devil.
Chapter Eighteen
Borg was finally up and about, feeling his usual self and enjoying his renewed freedom. However, his physical exercise was sorely restricted and though it irritated him that he could not practice with his sword or bow, he took enjoyment in watching the men go through their daily practice routine.
Eric, Colin and Borg sat on a blanket on a patch of ground near the exercise field, watching the men combat each other. Flasks of ale and wine sat beside them, as did food, though the three men had eaten their fill and were now basking in the contentment of full stomachs and satisfied palettes.
“Do you love her?” Colin asked, turning to look at Borg. “And do not try and deny it, since we already know the answer.”
Red heat crept up his neck and rushed to sting his cheeks.
“I knew it,” Colin said with a grin and a slap to his knee.
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