“No. Ronan, no.”
Her voice no more than a ragged whisper, she nearly fell from the saddle in her haste to dismount, Duncan sheathing his sword and catching her before her feet had touched the ground. Even as her arms flew around his neck, he ran with her into the gatehouse, his command splitting the night.
“Raise the drawbridge, now!”
Chapter 22
If Maire had thought the commotion intense moments before, now it seemed that the castle had come alive with the sounds of preparation for battle. She buried her face against Duncan’s shoulder as he shouted more orders to his men, her heart thundering that Ronan and her clansmen—and Niall too, was he out there?—were the cause of the uproar.
How had they found her? Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, if Ronan’s aim hadn’t been so true and so timely, would she now even live or breathe?
“Montfort, take her inside!”
Maire felt Duncan’s arms tighten fiercely around her for only the briefest moment, and then she was given over to the older knight, whose face was grim in the torchlight.
“O’Melaghlins?”
Duncan didn’t answer, his gaze so intent upon Maire’s face that she wondered then if he might have guessed the truth. Somehow she made herself speak in hopes to divert him, her voice still barely above a whisper.
“My clansmen, Duncan. Do you think they heard from someone in Dublin—”
“I care not. No one will take you from me. No one.”
Duncan waved Reginald Montfort away before Maire could utter another word, yet she doubted she could have spoken for how tight her throat had grown. It seemed all else had faded around her as she was carried across the courtyard, her eyes straining solely for Duncan though he had disappeared into a tower leading to the battlements.
***
Long hours later, Maire dozed fitfully, the fire in the hearth burned to no more than glowing embers as, once more, she opened her eyes with a start and looked around the bedchamber.
She knew Duncan hadn’t returned. She would have sensed him, even if asleep in the next room. So where might he be? Saints help her, had any more well-aimed arrows come flying out of the night from Ronan’s bow?
Fresh anxiety seizing her, she nonetheless tried to quiet her fears by telling herself that if anything was amiss, someone would surely have come to tell her. That thought had sustained her, too, through the first harrowing hour when she’d been unable to tear herself from the window, the commotion in the courtyard gradually settling into a watchful state of tension.
She’d stood there until her legs had fallen numb, still straining for any sight of Duncan, and she imagined she had glimpsed him a few times along the battlements though she couldn’t be sure. It had seemed her eyes were forever clouded by tears, and finally she’d retreated from the window and prepared herself for bed, grateful for any task to occupy her.
It had amazed her that no matter the uproar in the castle, the servants had still come with a basin of hot water for her to bathe and a tray of food that had gone untouched. The young freckled serving maid whose name Maire learned was Ona had been one of them. Maire was deeply touched that the girl said she’d been so frightened for her. Ona had seen the Norman drag her down the tower steps.
Maire closed her eyes and rolled onto her side, a sick feeling welling inside her as she remembered the knifepoint pressed to her breast.
She wouldn’t have been able to step foot in these rooms if Reginald Montfort and several guards he’d called to accompany him hadn’t searched them thoroughly; the knight had grimly said as much would be done throughout the entire castle for any other intruders who might have secreted themselves among the tenants who’d fled there that day. One of Walter de Lacy’s men, Reginald had cursed him. And to think the Norman had been lying in wait for Duncan …
A shudder shook Maire, and she tried to force the terrible memories away. It brought her some comfort that a guard had been stationed at the top of the tower steps, but she so wished Duncan was here. She so wished to know that he was safe—
“Enough, man, take yourself away and get some rest.”
Duncan’s voice carrying to her from outside his apartment, Maire felt her heart jump just to hear its husky timbre. Yet she lay still, too, and pretended sleep, suddenly nervous that they would once more be sharing such close quarters … especially now that so much had changed between them.
Or had anything really changed? The warmth spreading out from her stomach as she heard him quietly enter the bedchamber was much as she had experienced whenever they were together from almost the first moment she’d seen him.
She was glad her hands were tucked beneath the pillow, for how he might see them trembling; she wasn’t surprised he had come close to stand beside the bed even as she was sure he might hear the furious beating of her heart. Somehow she made herself breathe evenly no matter she felt as if she couldn’t draw breath at all. Yet when he reached out to touch her cheek, his fingers barely grazing her, she was certain she’d given herself away for the tiny sigh that escaped her.
He sighed too, but heavily, and she discerned his sudden tension even though he hadn’t moved. She sensed so clearly he was thinking about the Norman, and she remembered with a pang how ashen his face had been, his deep brown eyes as stricken at that moment as filled with helpless fury. If Ronan’s arrow hadn’t struck her enraged captor, would Duncan’s sword have been wielded in time to save her?
As if sharing her thoughts, Duncan swore fiercely under his breath and strode from the bed. Maire dared to open her eyes to see him disappear down the passageway to the other room. To his cot? Longing and keen disappointment filled her, and she found herself wishing she hadn’t feigned sleep if only to ask him if all was well.
She doubted he would have returned to the tower to rest if he still expected an imminent attack, and she wondered what the morning would bring. Would he and his knights ride out at daybreak to search the distant woods? She knew Ronan and her clansmen would not be found, their stealth in hiding giving her some comfort that he and Duncan would not come face-to-face. And she must see somehow that they never did, aye, truly!
Maire sighed heavily, too, such anguish overwhelming her at the thoughts roiling in her mind that moments later she scarcely heard footsteps once more enter the room. Not until she heard a low splashing of water did she glance in surprise over her shoulder, and she froze to see that Duncan had stripped to the waist and stood before the basin set upon a table near the dying fire.
She lost breath altogether. His back was so broad and powerful that she could not look away or even think to as he bathed quietly and quickly, no doubt because the water was cold. It seemed so intimate a thing to watch him, and she flushed to her toes when he ran his hands under his muscled arms and down his chest. Her fingers twisted in her linen sleeping gown an instant later when he bent to splash his face and then straightened to thrust his fingers through his dark hair.
She saw him look down at himself, and she followed his gaze to his calf-length breeches, thoroughly dampened now and stuck to his lower body like a second skin. She did not have to wonder long at his thoughts. Her heart truly began to pound when he suddenly peeled off the soaked garment to stand naked at the basin and still she could not, would not, tear her eyes from him.
She’d never known her face to be so warm when he cupped his hands to draw water that streamed down the front of his body to pool at his feet, cupped more water to stream down his back and muscled flanks. The fire was not so low that she couldn’t see his skin wet and glistening, and she sucked in her breath when he grabbed up the towel she’d used to dry herself.
It made him turn suddenly to look at her, and Maire was caught, staring.
She didn’t move, didn’t blink as he dropped the towel to the floor and came toward her, Maire feeling his eyes upon her as blatantly as hers were yet upon him. Even now she could not look away, though she began to tremble at the aroused state of his powerful body; she knew then that this night w
ould be different from any others.
And she knew desperately she wanted it to be so even before he reached her. Maire gave herself to him with her eyes even as he climbed into bed beside her and pulled her fiercely into his arms. In an instant her sleeping gown was as soaked as his skin, the pounding of his heart against her breast the most stirring sensation she had ever known.
“Woman …”
His voice hoarse and almost breaking, Maire didn’t need to hear more, all the terrible emotion they’d known that night captured in one word. He kept silent for a long breathless moment, merely holding her, his arms hard and strong and warm, and Maire knew she would have been content just with that. But she knew, too, shivering suddenly at the vehement whisper at her ear, that Duncan had no intention to stop there.
“No one will take you from me, woman, do you hear?”
She nodded, while Duncan pulled her all the closer.
“After this night, you will be my wife in all ways save the blessing of the Church … and that will come soon enough, I swear it. I swear it!”
He said no more. Maire buried her face against his chest even as she felt his hand tug her sleeping gown above her thigh, her hip, only to cup her bottom and pull her against him. She so wanted to believe they could have a chance for happiness, even for a night, dear God, even for one night. As his lips found hers and he rolled her onto her back, his naked body blanketing her, she pushed any lingering thoughts of Ronan, of her clan, of the fearful chasm that separated her from the man she knew she so desperately loved, and gave herself over to his kiss.
Already Duncan was shaking, his desire as wild and unleashed as her own as his lips ravaged hers, his tongue sweeping hot and deep into her mouth. If he had meant to be slow and gentle, Maire knew innately at the heat exploding inside her that they were far beyond such leisure now, and she wound her arms around his neck to welcome the incredible onslaught of his passion.
She could never have imagined the wonder of desiring to be one with a man, to belong to him, and she shook, too, with the force of her own need. Distantly she heard a ripping sound, her sleeping gown torn impatiently from her body so she lay naked now and trembling beneath him while he poised himself above her, her legs thrust apart by his knee, his lower body pressing heavily against her. Yet suddenly he tore his mouth from hers and stared into her eyes, his breathing deep and ragged.
“Woman, you must tell me if you wish … this. You must tell me—”
“Aye, Duncan, aye,” Maire said in a voice she scarcely recognized as her own, full of pleading and so hoarse it was more a whisper. Yet she thought no more as he groaned and spread her legs wider, his aroused flesh hard and insistent at the heart of her thighs for the briefest, most agonizing instant before he drove himself into her, claiming her, possessing her as his own even as Maire cried out beneath him.
She knew piercing pain, but his kiss, the weight of him, the driving force of his hips made her soon forget even that and she gave herself over to the wildness of it, the pure wonder of it, an incredible pressure building where their bodies were wet and burning and joined as one. It was both madness and ecstasy, this heretofore unknown thing that made her hold onto him as fiercely as he held her, her fingers clutching at his back.
She scarcely knew at what point her trembling ceased and a wrenching cry burst from her throat, her body arching to the pleasure spilling over her, through her, while Duncan drove himself into her one final time and stiffened, a deep, full throbbing felt at the very heart of her. His mouth against hers, he drew her all the harder against him, his impassioned whisper almost lost to the clamor of their breathing.
“Ah, God, Rose … sweet Rose. Now they cannot take you from me. They cannot!”
Maire felt tears suddenly burn her eyes, but even her false name upon his lips this night, this one precious night, she would not allow to distress her. Saints help her, she would not!
As his mouth possessed hers, she kissed him back with all the depth and truth of her love, abandoning herself to him even as she felt his body grow hard and urgent inside her once more.
Chapter 23
Maire knew without opening her eyes that Duncan would not be there. The disheveled bed was empty beside her.
She distantly remembered his whisper in her ear that he would return by midday, his last caresses, his tender kisses more a dream than conscious memory, she’d been sleeping so soundly. Still with her eyes closed, she brought her fingers to her lips, by touching them able to conjure his presence as if his mouth were warm and insistent upon hers. It made her draw in her breath, the wonder of the night they’d spent together rushing back to fill her completely.
She belonged to him. Utterly. She felt her face begin to burn at the fierceness of their lovemaking, only the last time so gentle as he’d rolled her, dazed and near satiated, onto her side, his fingers bringing her to aching fulfillment while he took her slowly, oh, so slowly. Even now she shuddered just as they both had shuddered together and then finally fallen asleep, their bodies still joined.
Maire drifted open her eyes, the hazy sunlight streaming through the narrow windows doing little to dispel the sense of possession that clung to her. And she didn’t want it to leave her. Not yet.
She wanted to steep in the memories and impress them indelibly on her heart. It warmed her that she still smelled of him, the masculine scent of his body on her skin, in her tangled hair, her woman’s flesh still wet from him. Did he carry with him the scent of her, too?
That thought brought a stab of pain as jarring as if she’d been struck. Maire moaned to herself, helpless to stop the memories from fading as cold reality suddenly came crashing upon her.
She knew as surely as Duncan was gone that he’d ridden out with a phalanx of knights to search high and low around Longford Castle for whoever had fired the arrow. When he found no vengeful clan arrayed to fight against him or marching forth from the trees to demand her immediate release, would he guess then the truth and return to confront her? Her only hope lay now in that he believed mayhap the O’Melaghlins—
“Ah, still abed, I see.”
Maire rose in surprise on one elbow, clutching the blanket to her breasts as Adele glided imperiously into the room. Garbed in a silken gown as icy blue as her eyes, the woman didn’t stop until she stood at the foot of the bed, where she glared down her patrician nose at Maire.
“And how the air reeks of sex. I can imagine Duncan has used you well—”
“Duncan would not be pleased to know you’re here,” Maire heard herself say stiffly, almost as much to her astonishment as Adele’s.
“Ah, delightful. A few tumbles in the baron’s bed and now you think you may speak to me as an equal—which is why I thought it best we reach an understanding, you and I.”
“Truly, I see that we have little of which to speak,” Maire began only to be cut off by an angry wave of Adele’s hand.
“You insolent Irish whore! If you believe for an instant I or my brothers will ever tolerate you as Duncan’s wife, you are wretchedly mistaken—”
“And if you think you have so much to say in the matter, I suggest you’d best share your mind with Duncan and not me! Aye, considering what you and your fine brothers did to him and his poor mother so long ago, I can well imagine what sort of answer you’ll be hearing!”
Adele snapped her mouth shut, and Maire was even more surprised at herself, thinking she might have absorbed a wee bit of Triona’s legendary brazenness after all. But she was angry, too, as much as she’d ever felt at anyone to think of the misery borne by Duncan because of his family. She even went so far as to yank the blanket around her and rise as gracefully as she could from the bed; she lifted her chin as she faced Adele, so indignant now that her cheeks were hot as flame.
“Get out of these rooms and don’t ever again think yourself welcome here. Do you hear me? And mayhap you might consider gathering your people and taking yourself away from Meath this very day if Duncan’s choice seems so intolerable to y
ou—”
“Enough! I’ll not listen to you speaking to me like this!” Spinning on her heel, Adele walked stiffly to the door while Maire, feeling all the more flushed-faced and emboldened, followed a few steps after her.
“Aye, you deserve to be tossed into the moat for all the terrible things you’ve done, you … you heartless witch!”
Imagining the look on Triona’s face if her outspoken sister-in-law had heard her, Maire wouldn’t allow herself to think she’d gone too far, no matter Adele turned at the door to face her. The woman’s eyes glittered, her voice ice-cold.
“Me in the moat? Take care, Rose, that you don’t find yourself drowned—”
Adele didn’t finish, the young serving maid Ona suddenly appearing behind her—much to Maire’s relief. Adele turned and pushed past the poor girl so callously that Ona nearly dropped the pitcher she carried, water sloshing down the front of her apron. At her cry of dismay, Maire at once went to her, fearing the serving maid had been scalded.
“Ona … ?”
“No, no, miss, I was startled, is all.”
Smiling almost sheepishly, Ona bobbed her head in a deferential manner Maire wasn’t accustomed to at all; the serving girl had done so last night, too, as had the other woman who’d accompanied her with the food tray. It seemed Duncan’s announcement that she was to be the Lady of Longford had affected most everyone … including Adele.
Disbelief suddenly struck Maire that she could have spouted so angrily. She went back to sink onto the edge of the bed as Ona filled the washbasin with steaming water.
Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, what madness had overcome her? The woman had caused the slaughter of her clansmen! And had Adele’s last words mayhap held some veiled threat?
“I’m sorry, miss, but there wasn’t enough hot water yet to fill a tub. The kitchen’s still in an uproar—so many people to be fed—”
Wild Roses Page 18