The Irish Devil

by Donna Fletcher

  “To take Rook for a walk and then to my healing cottage.”

  Borg released Bridget after a tender kiss to her cheek. “I will accompany you, and Bridget, bring the food to the cottage—we will all share the morning meal together there.”

  Bridget stared at him in disbelief.

  Borg looked to Faith. “Is there any reason Bridget would not be welcome at your table?”

  “None at all,” Faith said honestly. “I would enjoy sharing a meal with you both.”

  “Then it is settled,” Borg commanded and gave a startled Bridget a gentle shove toward the door. He then joined Faith, holding his arm out to her. “My lady?”

  She slipped her arm in his and they walked out of the room, Rook following fast on their heels and Faith insisting they retrieve Borg’s cloak from his chambers so he would not catch a chill.

  They strolled the castle grounds, Rook running off here and there, visiting his favorite spots and cottages where many a peasant would give him a treat. The rain had not begun though the dark clouds overhead promised its arrival soon and a chill wind swept down and around swirling leaves, dirt and twigs throughout the courtyard.

  “You love Bridget.” It was not a question but a statement of fact Faith presented to Borg.

  Borg did not hesitate to confirm it. “I love her very much… enough to spend the rest of my life with her.”

  “When did you know yourself in love with her?”

  “When first I saw her.”

  Faith was amazed at his response. “Truly? You knew when you first laid eyes on her that you loved her?”

  Borg briefly paused in thought before offering an explanation. “When I first saw Bridget her full face captured my attention and her smile held me spellbound. Her endless chatter fascinated me and her body—” He stopped abruptly and blushed, his cheeks heating to a faint red.

  Faith pursued the subject with interest, ignoring the big man’s discomfort. “You speak of the way she looked and her chatter. It was not her body, then, that first drew you to her?”

  Borg’s cheeks deepened in color but answered her query. “I cannot honestly say that I did not look at her body at first glance… all men look at a woman’s body.”

  Faith spoke with honesty, causing Borg further embarrassment. “I must admit I thought Eric possessed a handsome body.”

  “What other qualities did attract you to the dark lord?”

  Faith cast him a hesitant glance.

  “Come, tell me. I would like to hear of my brother’s attributes.”

  She acquiesced. “It was when he defended me that I found myself more interested in him.”

  “In the great hall, when your stepmother raised her hand to you?”

  Faith nodded. “He captured my full attention and, if I were honest with myself, a part of my heart that day. I felt safe and cared for, for the first time in many years.”

  “Even from the devil?”

  “He intimidated me, that I will admit . . . but fear?” She shook her head. “After that moment my fear was minimal, if existent at all.”

  “And when did you fall in love with him?”

  Startled dark eyes met his knowing ones. “Is my love for my husband that obvious?”

  Borg grinned. “To one who is in love himself, it is.”

  Rook ran past them with a fat biscuit clamped in his mouth and they turned to follow him as he headed for the cottage.

  Faith answered his question. “His handsome features stole my breath on first sight, but he won my heart gradually with his thoughtful ways.”

  “The devil, thoughtful?” Borg enjoyed a good laugh.

  “Eric is thoughtful,” Faith insisted. “He allowed me to birth a babe on our wedding night, and he shared our tent in the rain, and he was patient when his soldiers sought my aid, and even when he thought himself angry with me he still helped me find Rook.”

  Borg continued to laugh softly as he nodded his agreement. “Thoughtful deeds.”

  “He cannot help his stubborn and foolish nature.”

  “Making excuses for the devil?”

  Faith stopped walking, her dark eyes as intent as her voice as she solemnly said, “I want the devil’s love.”

  “Then surrender,” Borg advised seriously.

  Bridget called out to them from the open door of the cottage and they hurried along, the rain beginning to fall and the skies darkening, promising a heavy and continuous downpour.

  Surrender.

  Her only choice.

  And what of he? What would he surrender to her?

  His pride? His foolishness? His love?

  She would find out when he returned. She would be waiting for him.

  In his bed.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “You should not be riding,” Colin said to Eric for at least the tenth time that morning. “You should be in the wagon with—”

  Eric quelled any further comments with a curt, “Enough.”

  Colin shook his head and rubbed at the rough stubble of near two day’s growth of beard on his chin. “You suffered a serious wound to your thigh, not to mention your arm. You continue to lose blood—”

  “It but oozes,” Eric corrected.

  “You still keep losing it and that is no good. And you’re stubborn enough to sit on your horse instead of riding in the wagon—”

  Eric interrupted. “I will not have my men see me incapable of leading.”

  “You lead, the skirmish is over, and it was a fast one at that. The men are all bragging about the way you fought that stubborn leader from the Dermot clan and they are still laughing at how the leader of the Anise clan immediately fell at your knees in surrender afterwards.”

  “Fools, the both of them.”

  Colin could not have agreed more. “Aye, and not trustworthy. The combat was to be with fists and Dermot went and hid a dagger—and even injured and bleeding you fought him. Another tale to add to the Irish devil’s legend. If his foolhardy stubbornness does not kill him.”

  “We will be home in a few hours’ time.”

  That pleased Colin to hear, and he smiled. “Aye, and it is your wife you will be facing then.”

  “A prospect I look forward to,” Eric said and grinned, though it was followed by a low groan.

  “I do not think you will be enjoying the homecoming you planned.”

  Eric scowled. “Nothing will interfere with me spending this night with my wife in my bed.”

  “Faith might object,” Colin argued.

  “She will surrender. I command it.”

  Colin shook his head and smiled with confidence. “Not when she gets a look at your wounds.”

  “I will have Bridget tend them and—”

  Colin’s hearty laughter prevented him from finishing. “Faith will let no one tend you but her.”

  “She will not know,” Eric insisted, intending for nothing to get in the way of his making love to his wife this night.

  Colin grinned like a pleased man. “She already knows. I sent a man ahead to inform her of your injuries so that all would be in preparation for your arrival.”

  “I am going to kill you,” Eric said quite seriously, then shook his head. “Nay, better yet, I intend to find you a special wife.”

  Colin laughed even harder. “Lady Faith will protect me from an unwanted marriage.”

  Eric reared up off his horse and pain tore through his leg, causing him to pale instantly and grow light-headed.

  Colin reached out to him, steadying him until the blood rushed back into Eric’s face. “You should be in the wagon.”

  “Nay, I will not lie down in front of my men… it is but a small wound.”

  “It is not… look at your leg,” Colin insisted, concerned for his friend. “It bleeds.”

  Eric glanced down at his right thigh and watched blood ooze out from the thick cloth that had been wrapped around it several days ago. He had suffered far worse wounds and survived, but this wound was a persistent bleeder, and that was
not good. He had wished Faith was with him. She would have seen to his care directly and had the wound almost healing by now. But she had not been at his side, a situation he found disturbed him. He missed her and he was relieved that within a few short hours he would lay eyes on her again.

  He also wanted to lay hands on her and he did not give a damn how bad his wound was. He wanted his wife and he intended on having her this night.

  “Faith will have you in bed for days,” Colin warned.

  “Then she will have me exactly where I wish to be and she will be right there along with me.”

  Colin laughed. “This I want to see.”

  “A wager?” Eric asked, ignoring his throbbing leg and casting a challenging glance at Colin.

  “I am going to be such a rich man from all my winnings that I will be able to purchase myself a good wife,” Colin said, holding out his hand.

  They shook.

  “Nay,” Eric said. “I will have the honor and joy of finding you the perfect female.”

  They continued bickering as Shanekill keep came into view, each man anxious to be home, but each for a different reason.

  o0o

  “My lady, they come over the rise,” Bridget said anxiously, peering out the lord’s chamber window.

  “Do we have everything, Bridget?” Faith asked, her glance hastily perusing the table she had set up beside the bed for her medicinal tools and herbs.

  Bridget joined her, carefully checking the table. “I think we have everything. Water boils in the hearth, clean cloths wait in the basket and fresh buckets of water wait in the hall.”

  “The messenger spoke of two wounds,” Faith said, checking that the thin bone needles were threaded and prepared for immediate use.

  “I would say he spoke more of Lord Eric’s fighting skills than of the wounds.”

  Faith nodded absentmindedly and moved to the large bed to fuss with the clean towels that had been spread over the white bed linens. “True, but Colin is the one who sent the word, which means he must think Lord Eric’s wounds serious enough for us to be alerted before their arrival.”

  “Lord Eric rides, my lady,” Bridget said, having returned to peer out the window once again.

  Faith hurried to join her.

  “If my lord still sits on his horse then the wounds cannot be that bad.”

  Faith disagreed. “Lord Eric is stubborn and foolish. Even after suffering a serious wound I would wager that he would not allow his men to see him other than on his horse and in command.”

  Both women watched as the men approached. It was an awesome sight to behold. They walked in unison, a steady drumbeat announcing their arrival; and in the lead rode the Irish devil.

  Faith’s breath caught at the sight of him. The autumn wind caught his long, dark hair and whipped it back, away from his handsome features. He wore his dark cloak, a gold Viking brooch keeping it secured at his shoulder. And he sat on his horse like a true warrior, straight and proud and in total command.

  Perhaps his wound was not as serious as she suspected, at least, she hoped it was not. But when she watched his slow dismount and caught a hint of pain rush across his pale features she changed her opinion and grasped Bridget’s wrist.

  “He should not climb the steps.”

  With that said she rushed from the room and down the stairway, meeting her husband as he entered the great hall, Borg and Colin flanking his sides.

  “Carry him,” she ordered in a shout, surprising everyone present.

  Eric laughed. “A most odd welcome home.”

  Faith ignored his comment and hurried over to his side, her eyes immediately focusing on the blood-soaked bandage. “How long has this been bleeding?”

  “Since the fool would not get off the horse,” Colin said.

  “Take him to his chambers,” she ordered once again, not daring to touch the cloth until she had him where she could properly tend him.

  Colin and Borg looked to Eric.

  Eric looked to his wife and was about to chastise her when she spoke.

  “Please, my lord,” she pleaded softly, her hand going to rest on his arm near where the other bandage was also soaked with blood, though it was dry. “I am worried about you. Please do as I ask.”

  He paused briefly, taking time to study her face which was so filled with concern for him. How he had missed looking upon her and how grateful he was to be home. He was especially glad to know how much his welfare concerned her and therefore he did as she requested, though he did it his way.

  “I will walk upstairs to my chambers.”

  She was ready to argue but thought better of it. It was important he get off his feet and the sooner the better. She nodded her agreement. “All right, but I will help you.”

  The three huge men laughed.

  Her lethal glance quickly extinguished all laughter.

  “Come,” she ordered, taking her husband’s injured arm and carefully placing it around her small but sturdy shoulders.

  Eric did not argue—he liked the feel of her and he wanted to be as close as possible to her. He took several steps toward the stairway when the pain hit and almost sent him to his knees. If it were not for Faith’s strength he would have hit the ground.

  Colin and Borg were immediately by his side, their arms reaching under his to lift him off Faith.

  “Please,” she begged the two men. “The walk up the stairs will do the wound no good.”

  That was all she needed to tell them. They nodded to each other and as Eric moved to protest, Borg hefted his brother over his massive shoulder and carried him up the staircase. Colin followed behind in case Eric protested further and Faith trailed happily behind them.

  “You will pay for this, the both of you,” Eric insisted after being carefully deposited on the bed, though he sounded much too tired to carry out the threat.

  When he made to move, Borg pinned him to the bed with one hand.

  “Let me undress,” Eric ordered.

  “I will see to that,” Faith said, directing Bridget to pour hot water into the wooden basin on the table.

  Eric stayed as he was and remarked, “Do you plan on stripping me naked?”

  All eyes turned on him.

  “I want no company if this is her plan,” he explained.

  “I may need some assistance,” Faith said.

  “Do you need any now?”

  Faith shook her head. “Nay, maybe later, if you require stitching.”

  “Borg, see to the men. Make sure it is a good feast they have,” Eric ordered. “Colin, though exhausted, will no doubt enjoy himself and make certain the men are made aware that my condition is not serious.”

  “Do you not want one of us to remain nearby in case my lady needs our help?” Colin asked with a playful grin.

  “Bridget can stay,” Faith said, her attention on her husband’s bloody wound.

  “She can get me food. I am hungry,” Eric directed, though food was the furthermost thought from his mind.

  That seemed to please Faith. “You wish to eat?”

  “Something light.”

  With all dictates issued the room was fast deserted, leaving the lord and the lady of the keep to themselves.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “First, I unwrap these bandages and take a quick peek and then I rid you of these soiled garments. I think you will also need to be hand bathed. I want no dirt or dust from your journey disturbing the wounds.”

  “Can I help in any way?” he asked, reaching out and gently running a hand over her cheek, slowly down her neck, lingering over her breast and coming to rest at her narrow waist.

  She shivered from his intimate exploration. “You can behave.”

  “Must I?” he asked and moved his hand to rest over her backside.

  Faith backed away from him. “Please, Eric, let me tend your wounds without distraction.”

  “And then?” His blue eyes were intent and filled with such potent passion that she grew moist.


  “First your wounds,” she insisted, attempting, to ignore his desirous intentions and how they were making her feel, though having a devil of a time. She felt hot, ready and willing.

  Eric obliged her by grasping his tunic to strip off.

  Faith stopped him by placing her hand on his. “Let me remove the bandage first.”

  “Colin did what he could,” Eric said in defense of his friend’s ministrations.

  “You mean he did what he could since you probably refused to sit still long enough for him to do anything more.”

  “You know me well,” Eric hissed softly when at last she carefully removed the cloth from around his arm, exposing the wound.

  Faith examined the abrasion carefully, touching and probing the blood-dried area. “This does not look bad. With a good cleaning, a healing salve and a clean cloth to keep it bound for a few days, I think it should be fine.”

  His upper garments were easily removed and Faith adjusted several pillows behind his back and head, covering them with towels to keep the linens clean. Eric made immediate use of them, sinking back against their welcoming softness.

  She next set to work on his leg, taking extra time and patience in removing the blood-soaked cloth. She worried over swelling and fever and was glad when no stench but that of days-old blood rose from the wound.

  It was difficult to determine the severity of the abrasion with so much dry and wet blood surrounding it, though the area was slightly red and warm to the touch. She wasted no time in ridding him of the remainder of his garments.

  She casually draped a towel over his lower belly and impressive manhood, more for her own sanity than for modesty. She received a distinct chuckle from her husband for her ladylike actions. She ignored him.

  His arm could wait; his leg could not. She went to work cleaning it with the water that had boiled over the fire and now was but warm to the touch. Eric made not a sound as she worked on him. She kept her touch as gentle as she could, but knew that at times she must be hurting him. Still, he made no sound of discomfort.

  On closer examination she found the slashing wound to be deeper at one end than the other and that was why it had continued to bleed, especially since her stubborn husband had refused to stay off it. It would require stitches and bed rest.