The Stag Lord

by Darby Kaye

  “I’m already up,” Cor complained, voice hoarse with slumber. “We need a bigger bed—Max keeps hitting me in the face with his tail.”

  Shay chuckled, then stretched over Bann, crowding him to press the back of her fingers against Cor’s cheek. “Better. I think he just needed a little … rest.” He noticed she adroitly avoided the word nap.

  The feel of her body pressing down on his sent a thrill through Bann. Before he could move, she gave him a wicked grin, then rolled off the bed. She whistled for Max and left. The promise of Shay’s company and high-end whiskey had him following a minute later, after ordering Cor to tidy up before joining them.

  Entering the living room he hadn’t had time to notice before, Bann looked about. The area was decorated in a style that continued the whole Colorado mountain-lodge theme of the rest of the house. Massive leather furniture and aspen-log tables, all with wrought-iron details, completed the look. The room was dominated by the fireplace, its stones the size of soccer balls or bigger. A fire danced, flaring now and again from gusts of wind that sneaked down the flue when no one was aware. Overhead, the oak timbers glowed with an amber hue in the light of the fire.

  Overstuffed chairs and a generous sofa sat in a semicircle around the hearth. While Hugh stood with his back to the flames, a glass in one hand, Ann was enthroned nearby in a tufted leather wingback. Rory sprawled on his back on an oriental rug that probably cost more than Bann’s truck, his feet propped on the hearth and a tumbler balanced on his chest. James lounged in the other chair. Curled up in the corner of the sofa with legs tucked beneath her, Shay was talking in a low voice with Ann.

  Joining Hugh, Bann accepted a drink with a nod, clinked glasses with his host, then took a sip. His sinuses filled with the favor and aroma of Éireann. He sipped again. “Glenlivet?”

  “Tyrconnell.”

  “A fine taste of home.” Stepping over Rory, he took a seat on the other end of the sofa.

  “So, Bann.” Hugh began. “Whilst you spent the afternoon catching up on your beauty sleep—”

  “Which didn’t do you any good, by the way,” Rory said. Bann booted him in the ribs. The young Knight just laughed.

  “—the boyos and I continued to search—” Hugh tried again.

  “Boyos, my ass,” James interrupted. “I continued. You and Rory watched the Broncos.”

  The phone rang. Ann started to rise, then sat back when Shay motioned at her. “I’ll get it.” She disappeared into the kitchen, passing Cor and Max as they walked in. The boy wandered over to the fireplace and plopped down on the hearth, laughing when the dog began licking Rory’s chin, eager for a sip of the good stuff.

  Shay returned. At the look on her face, Bann rose. “What’s wrong?”

  She held out the phone to Hugh. “It’s Weston Tully. Quinn’s missing. No one has seen him since yesterday evening.”

  “Good,” James said. “Saves us the trouble.”

  “Tully?” Hugh signaled for quiet as he spoke into the phone. “What do you mean—” A long pause. “No, not since the episode at Shay’s. But we think he might be—” He blinked in surprise. “He rang off.”

  “Not surprising that he doesn’t want to have anything to do with our bunch after Bann beat the crap out of Quinn,” Rory said. “He must have been some kind of desperate to call us.”

  As the family debated the missing Knight’s whereabouts, Bann walked over to the wide bank of windows. He gazed out; the city’s lights illuminated the underbelly of the clouds, making the sky look upside down.

  As he stood there, a realization swept over him. ‘Tis time. My time.

  Shay joined him. “Quinn’s dead, isn’t he?” She brushed her arm along his.

  “They’ll be lucky to find his body.” Bann thought for a moment, then leaned closer. “I’ve come to a decision, and I need your help. I’ll not let that creature take Cor, nor will I allow him to kill any more of our people.”

  “You’re going after Cernunnos, aren’t you? That’s what you were trying to do with that challenge earlier, right?”

  “I would have done so months ago, but I had Cor to think of. Now…” He looked over at his son in a three-way wrestling match with Rory and Max. “I would sacrifice anything to give him the chance at a normal life.”

  “Even your own?”

  “Even so.”

  “You know what that would do to him.”

  “Aye. But I cannot see another way to end this. As you said, we cannot keep running forever.” He took both her hands in his. “I have no right to ask this of you, but would you… Would you be willing…”

  “You know I would. No matter what happens, Cor will have a home and family with us. But you’re not going after that nut case by yourself.”

  “Shay, I cannot—”

  “The lass is right.”

  Bann turned, his hands still clasping Shay’s. Hugh stood a few feet away, the rest of the Knights flanking him. In the midst of the clan, Cor stood with Rory’s arm draped around his neck.

  “You’ll not go alone, Bannerman Boru,” Hugh said. “The Stag Lord will most likely be guarded by that pack of Fir Bolgs. Which will make our task fairly simple—we find the Fir Bolgs and we’ve found Cernunnos.”

  He tried again. “I’ll not endanger any more—”

  “Nor will I. Stealth and speed, not numbers. This lot”—Hugh waved a hand around at the others—“is enough to hunt down one shapeshifter.”

  Sudden warmth swelled Bann’s chest. It took him a minute to recognize it as hope. A rare, fine thing, he thought, gazing at the faces determined to fight for him, and more importantly, for his son. Perhaps the greatest gift one can give another. “I do not know what to say.”

  “Why, the only thing you should say.” Ann grinned. “Faugh a ballagh!” Her voice rose to a shout.

  The warmth in Bann’s chest flared into a fire. The timbers echoed as the others took up the ancient war cry, Cor shouting along with the rest. Even Max pointed his muzzle skyward and howled along.

  “Faugh a ballagh!”

  28

  “YOU STILL AWAKE?”

  Bann glanced back from where he stood in the dark, gazing out Shay’s bedroom window. He watched, enjoying the view, as she rose from the bed and joined him. His pulse sped up when she wrapped her arms around him, as comfortable being naked as he was.

  Except for his torc.

  Earlier, when he had started to remove it prior to joining her in bed, Shay had stopped him. “Don’t you know how damn sexy you look with just your torc on and nothing else?”

  Apparently, quite sexy. Their lovemaking had been a rough, sweaty, mindthe-teeth, no-holds-barred competition to see who could get whom to climax first.

  Shay had won.

  Which really meant Bann had won.

  Now, snuggled against his back with her breasts pressed along either side of his spine, she reached around and toyed with his neckpiece. Her other hand was splayed wide on his abdomen, fingers tracing the ridges of muscle. “You really need to get some sleep if you going to play ‘pin the knife in the god’ tomorrow.”

  He turned in her arms. “Do you have a special potion or perhaps a magic herb which would help a warrior relax on the eve of battle?” He marveled at the way his hands, which had always seemed too big and too rough for Elizabeth’s delicate body, fit perfectly into the dip of Shay’s waist as if she was made for him.

  “As a Healer, I suggest strenuous exercise to quiet the mind and relax the muscles. Sleep will follow.”

  “What kind of strenuous exercise are you suggesting?” He forgot to breathe when she reached around and cupped his buttocks, his manhood happy, and becoming happier, sandwiched between their bellies.

  “One that would include the participation of a fellow Knight.”

  “Ah. And who do you have in mind for this fellow Knight? Surely not one of your cousins?” Alarm, mingled with the slightest of thrills, shot through him when she pursed her lips in thought. “A jest, Shay Doyle, not
hing more.”

  “Calm down. While I’m as open-minded as the next woman, I draw the line at family members. That said, have you ever thought about, you know, playing for the other team?” Even in the dark, he could see the hint of mischief in her eyes.

  “I have not.”

  She smiled up at him, hands sliding further down his ass. He gasped when a finger stroked between his cheeks, lingering at that spot.

  “Not once? Not even for a second or two?”

  “No,” Bann lied.

  “Too bad. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  Bann’s jaw dropped. It closed with a snap when she started giggling. He reared back in indignation. “Why, you—”

  “Gods, you are so fun to tease.” She stood on tiptoe, grinning as she planted a kiss on his lips. “Now, about getting you relaxed…”

  Taking his hand, she led him to bed and pushed him back on the mattress. Straddling him, she crawled on her hands and knees along his length, keeping her body inches from his, until they were face to face. Bann could feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the scent of her sex. He reached for her.

  “Uh-uh.” She captured his wrists and pinned them over his head. “My turn.”

  “Your turn for what?” Whatever it is, oh, let it be bad. He hardened even more. If that were possible.

  “Whatever I want.”

  Her hair, unbound from its customary ponytail, framed their faces like a privacy curtain when she bent over and took her time kissing him, allowing only the briefest of contact between them—a brush of a nipple, a touch of pelvic mound to penis. Letting go of his wrists, she headed south, mouth busy exploring. It seemed to take an eternity for her to reach the crease between groin and thigh. When she finally did, he stopped her with a gasp, fingers tangled in her hair.

  “Ye’re slaying me, woman,” he panted. “I-I cannot…”

  “Hush. No talking.”

  Clearly, she had more faith in his ability to control himself than he did. Her tongue swirled, pleasuring him. He was shaking by the time she worked her way back up to his lips. A quick kiss, then she reached for the bedside table. After tearing open the condom packet with her teeth—an act that almost launched him, right then and there—she paused, eyeing his cock.

  “Need a moment?”

  “I’m fine,” he grated. “Just get on with it.”

  After preparing him, she mounted, lowering herself in an indolent fashion, making sure he felt every millimeter, until he was fully encased. Then, pinning his wrists again, she rode him, taking him to the very edge—in retribution, no doubt, for the first time they had made love—then stopped, her body limber and strong enough to keep him from pumping his hips.

  “Beg for it,” she whispered, chest heaving and clearly enjoying herself.

  “Cruel, ye are—Oh, gods!” He moaned when she rocked her hips again at just the right angle and speed, then paused again.

  “Beg.”

  “I will not,” he rasped. His balls were already tightening in anticipation.

  Shay flipped her hair over one shoulder. A few damp strands clung to the side of her face. “Well, then. I’ll just have to torment you some more before—Oh!”

  She squeaked when Bann yanked her tight against his chest, then rolled, flipping her onto her back, his manhood holding her as much as his arms. He pinned her down, their mouths within kissing—or biting—distance. One hand clasped her slender wrists above her head. His other hand pushed one of her knees up toward her chest and held it there.

  “I will not plead,” he growled, “for something I can make ye beg for.”

  “Then, make me beg,” she whispered in Gaelic.

  Eight deep strokes, Shay gasping with each one. His entire world narrowed down to where his body joined hers. A final thrust. An explosion. Bann gritted his teeth as he came, breathing through his nose. Shay followed a moment later, biting his shoulder to muffle her cry. One last spasm, then he collapsed facedown beside her, panting, his arm flung across her breasts.

  For a long moment, he was somewhere else. Then, suddenly, with an odd sound, the body beneath his started to shake.

  “Gods, Shay.” He raised his head, searching her face. “Did I hurt you, darlin’?”

  “You…you…” she stammered, then burst into giggles. Bann could feel her clenching around his softening erection. “‘I will not plead,’” she said, deepening her voice, “’for something I can make ye beg for’.

  Making her laugh, he decided, was as good as sex. Well, almost. He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek. Her skin, as warm and soft as a newborn lamb’s, seemed to glow in the dark.

  He smiled back. “It seemed the thing to say at the time.”

  29

  BANN WOKE WITH THE dawn, and the warmth of Shay next to him. A blue-gray light, the color of flint, outlined the closed curtains. Rolling to his side, he fingered a lock of gold hair sharing the pillow with him. Wishing beyond wishes that he could spend the rest of morning—or the rest of his life—gazing at Shay’s sleeping face, he allowed himself one minute of daydreaming, then slid out from under the comforter. As he bent down for his clothes, she stirred and blinked awake.

  “Is it time?” she whispered.

  “Not quite.” He leaned closer and nuzzled her cheek, breathing in the scent of her warm body. “Sleep yet.” She rolled over and burrowed under the covers.

  Back in his room, Bann showered as stealthily as he could, not wanting to wake Cor. He pulled on jeans and a thick, hand-knitted sweater over a T-shirt. A sweater that still held a whiff of the scent of his long-ago home—peat smoke and sea salt and verdant grass. He added a canvas hunting jacket and work boots. Dressed, he picked up his iron knife. “You would be doing me a great favor,” he said to it in Gaelic, “if you could find your way into that monster’s heart by day’s end.”

  Slipping it into the sheath on his belt, he walked through the bathroom to Cor’s room. The bed was empty. He headed down to the kitchen; voices and the aroma of coffee wafted toward him.

  Hugh, looking like a redheaded Paul Bunyan in a plaid flannel shirt, was sharpening knives with a whetstone at the one end of the table. Next to him, Cor watched, eyes locked on the task, as Hugh explained the correct angle and draw of blade against stone and oil and the care one must take when sharpening bronze. At the older Knight’s gesture, Bann handed over his own weapon with a nod of thanks. The soft sweesh-sweesh filled the room.

  At the other end, Ann and the younger Knights were poring over a map. Both James and Rory were outfitted in what looked like the sales bin from an army surplus store. Ann was dressed more simply in a sweater and jeans.

  Bann smiled when he recalled her offering to stay behind with Cor. “I’m not the hunter the rest of you are,” she had explained. Hugh and the others had snorted with laughter, causing Bann and Cor to look at each other in confusion. Shay had gone on to explain that Ann was one of the finest hunters of her generation and could wield a blade as lethally as any of them. When Bann had started to thank the woman, she had pulled him into a corner.

  “You can thank me by getting my husband, my niece and nephews, and your butt, as well, back home safely. You do that, Bannerman Boru, and we call the score even. And don’t worry for Cor.” She locked eyes with him. “He’s one of us now. And if the worst happens, please know that we will raise him to the man you’d want him to be.”

  Unable to speak, Bann had hugged her fiercely. When he started to release her, she had stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “But we would much rather watch you and Shay raise him.” Before he could speak, she’d kissed him on the cheek and walked away.

  Now, making a beeline for the coffee machine, Bann helped himself to a mug. He turned when Shay walked in a moment later.

  Dressed in dark jeans tucked into hiking boots, she wore a royal-blue quilted hunting vest over a thick black sweater, the dark colors setting off red-gold hair pulled back in a braid. A belt, slung low on her slim hips, s
ported a pair of hunting knives, one of bronze and one of steel. Chatting with James, she bent over for a closer look at the map.

  Taking a sip, Bann studied her over the rim of his mug. Rory joined him, an empty cup in hand. “You’re staring at her butt, you know,” he muttered, reaching around for the carafe.

  “Am I?”

  “You totally are.” Shay spoke up, eyes still on the map.

  “I am not. I’m simply—”

  “Oh, yes, you are.” Ann said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Hugh? James?”

  “Aye, to be sure.”

  “Seems like it to me.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” Cor piped up.

  “Nothing,” said Bann, Rory, Shay, Hugh, James, and Ann in a perfect chorus.

  After a breakfast that only Rory and James really ate, the hunters set out, crossing the yard through ankle-deep snow toward a stout wooden gate set off to one side. Overhead, the clouds sulked, waiting for a chance to dump another load so they could hurry along with their trans-continental journey. Max circled around the hunters, herding them like sheep.

  The last one out, Bann lingered in the doorway. Squatting down, he laid his hands on Cor’s shoulders. “You mind Ann while we’re gone.”

  “Yes, sir, I will.” Blinking hard to control the tears, he flung his arms around his father’s neck and hugged him with a fierceness that ravaged the man. “I love you, Dad,” he whispered.

  “And I you.” He pulled away and hurried after the others. His eyes were fixed on the woods beyond the wall.

  His heart remained with his son.

  Once outside the gate that Hugh had opened for them, the five hunters paused. Pulling weapons free, they looked at Bann.

  “‘Only by one of noble blood,’” Hugh said, eyebrows raised in expectation.

  Bann gave a curt nod. “Max.” Slipping a hand under the dog’s muzzle, he gazed into the brown eyes. “Guard, boy. Find that monster.”

  Max jerked his head free and danced away. Lowering his nose, he began sniffing, casting back and forth until he locked on the shapeshifter’s tracks. On silent paws, he trotted away, heading east, a wolf in the woods.