by Silver James
Ciaran was lying on his back, and Becca decided to take the opportunity to check his wound. Someone, most likely Siobhan, had cleaned and bandaged it when the troop arrived last night. Becca had been too worn out, and then with the arrival of that womanly thing... She blushed from head to toe just thinking about the scene last night. Now, she wanted to see for herself how Ciaran fared.
Carefully, she pulled back the covers, no longer surprised to find him naked beneath them. The poultice Siobhan had applied the night before was now askew so Becca peeled it off, carefully avoiding all contact with or looking at his manhood. Ciaran stirred, and Becca held her breath. He settled down and started snoring, a soft buzz saw of a sound. Becca suspected all the alcohol she’d poured into his system over the last week had finally caught up to him.
The wound was healing from the inside out, as it should. It was no longer draining, and the angry, puckered skin around it looked pink and healthy. Siobhan had left an array of tins and boxes on the table by the hearth along with some bandages. Becca dug around for what she needed and applied a new poultice and bandage to Ciaran’s side.
Finished, she just stood there staring at him. He was undoubtedly the most beautiful male specimen she had ever encountered in her entire lifetime. Times, she amended. Lifetimes. Her stomach knotted up, and she cursed the fact it was her time of the month. Even though she could stand there gaping at his magnificent maleness, she was still incredibly shy about her own femaleness.
“Dinnit anyone ever tell yee, cailín, ’tis rude to stare?” he growled at her, his eyes still closed.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” she scolded.
“You’re the one who said she wanted to sleep for a week,” he reminded, quirking one brow and the corner of his mouth. “I only agreed if yee would stay in my arms for that length of time.” He shrugged and made of cradle of his arms. “Since yer no longer in my arms...” His voice trailed off, and he grinned up at her impudently.
“Female prerogative,” Becca replied. She lifted her chin as her mouth formed a moue like she’d bitten into a tart berry. “I changed my mind, and I’ve decided I want a bath.”
Ciaran’s suggestive gaze swept her from head to toe, and Becca felt her blush to the very roots of her hair.
“Aye, I could do with a bath myself,” he suggested with a wicked grin.
“I am not going to bathe with you,” Becca asserted. At least not until my period is gone.
“Yee need to get over this inordinate shyness yee have, cailín. I’ve seen yer body,” he drawled. “All of it. And ’tis something to be proud of.” He grinned lasciviously and added, “Especially since I’m the only man who will ever be seeing it.”
Becca’s face grew hot again. “It’s not that,” she stammered. “It’s that womanly thing.” Ha, so there! She gloated when his cheeks turned red. She had him there.
Ciaran shuddered, remembering the shock of finding her lying in so much blood last night. From the age of six, he’d been raised in the barracks with Niall and the soldiers. He knew absolutely nothing about female things and decided he didn’t really want to learn. He’d grown hard under her scrutiny and though she now studiously avoided looking at his midsection, he suspected that part of his anatomy fascinated her. He remembered all too well the feel of her lips on him back at the encampment.
His body raged at him, demanding he take her right then, but his brain wondered if there was some sort of taboo or ban about making love when a woman...well, had her womanly thing. He watched her face looking for a hint of her feelings. She wanted him, he was certain, but her shyness about her body kept her from fully realizing her need for him. He could live with that, at least until this thing went away. He wanted to love Becca, love her truly and fully, wanted to bring her every pleasure he’d learned, and some he might even invent. Her bashfulness prevented her from fully participating with both mind and body. His own healing body would keep him from being a full participant. Aye, he could wait. He’d waited thirty years for her. What would another week mean?
Chapter Twelve
Ciaran waited for the tub and hot water to arrive. He balked as the women shooed him out. He exhaled, an exaggerated sigh so deep, his chest rose and fell. He plastered a look akin to a kicked puppy on his face in an attempt to look pitiful. Even though she wouldn’t allow him in the tub with her, she could have at least let him stay and watch. Becca had the audacity to laugh at the suggestion, so he went in search of Niall and Riordan, hoping they would commiserate with him.
Both men were at the table in the great hall and in fine fettle. Niall politely inquired after Becca, with no mention of the night’s escapade. Riordan was smart enough to follow the older man’s lead. He, too, had heard his cousin bellowing in the night, but wisely made discreet inquiry before putting his boot squarely in his mouth. Riordan had enjoyed the company of a comely cailín last night, so he felt a great deal of sympathy for Ciaran.
A trencher of food appeared in front of Ciaran, and he took several bites before broaching a subject that had nagged at him the whole way back from southern Connaught.
“Your brother died without issue,” he told Niall without preamble.
Niall ducked his head. Ciaran had overheard the entire confrontation with King Conchobhar. “’Twas the first thing that came into my head,” he dissembled. Like Ciaran, he’d been concerned when no one looked for the cailín. If she were truly without clann or sept, Niall would happily adopt her.
“What happens if someone claims her?” Ciaran kept his voice low so no one but Niall and Riordan could hear him.
“We’ll deal with it if it happens,” Riordan interjected, supremely confident the MacDermots could handle whatever arose.
Ciaran glared at Niall. “Yee put yourself in danger with that claim.” The words came out as a low growl.
Niall shrugged. He wasn’t worried. “She belongs to Clann MacDermot. All of us. There isn’t a man here who won’t fight to keep her.”
“I will not lose yee,” Ciaran promised.
“And yee shall not lose her,” Niall swore.
Outside, thunder boomed and the skies opened up. Riordan shivered, hoping the gods weren’t sending a message. He’d just about come to the same conclusion as Ciaran—that Becca had been a gift from the faerie, and she could be snatched back just as quickly as she’d come.
The week dragged, raining every day, and keeping all close to the castle. Each night, Becca slept in Ciaran’s arms, and each morning he kissed her awake. Each day, she prayed the “curse” would be gone, and she could come to Ciaran to discover all the passion he promised her with his gentle hands and lips. She grew accustomed to seeing his hard body, and familiarity did not breed contempt, only a healthy dose of lust. She chafed at the inactivity forced on her by the weather.
The sun finally broke through the brooding clouds a week later. Ciaran and Riordan left early that morning headed to one of the outlying crofts. A dispute had arisen between the crofter and the tanner, and as clann chief, it was up the Ciaran to sort it out.
Becca put on a plain dress and tugged on a pair of trews underneath. She was not going to waste a moment of the sunshine. She’d been stain-free that morning and couldn’t wait for Ciaran’s return. Rather than fret all day, she decided to give Arien some exercise. For some reason, Winken and Blinken had chosen to accompany Ciaran, and Bhruic was the dog waiting for her in the great hall. Patting the big animal’s head, she skipped out into the sunshine.
Eachan was nowhere to be found, so she saddled Arien herself and led him out into the courtyard. Bhruic barked, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth in a happy pant. She stepped into the stirrup, swung her leg over, and settled into the saddle. A stable boy appeared, and Becca called to him. “Tell your master I’m giving Arien a run. I’ll be back before the nooning.”
The boy ducked his chin in acknowledgement and hurried on about his assigned chores. Becca turned Arien’s head toward the gate and nudged him with her heels. The guar
d at the entry saluted her but didn’t ask where she was going. Arien trotted down the road with Bhruic happily loping along beside him.
****
Two brawny men hunkered down, trying to look small as they watched a herd of fat cattle grazing in the meadow.
“Aye, ripe they are for the taking,” the younger said. Short but broad, they bore more than a passing resemblance to each other.
“And the MacDermot laid up with a wound from fighting the O’Conor’s battles,” the older one chuckled, his laughter an evil cackle. He licked his lips in anticipation. “Them cows out here all alone and in need of protection from thieves.” He snickered. “Why, we’d be doing him a favor to nick them back to Ballinfaire where we can look after ‘em right proper.” He stood, thinking to round up the cows.
One of the cows lifted its head and looked off into the distance. Following the cow’s gaze, the man swore and dropped back to his belly. “A rider comes,” he hissed, “with a hound.”
“We’re goners for sure,” the younger spat. “Can yee tell who it is?”
The older shook his head and crawled toward the scant protection the nearby woods might afford. Once they were under some semblance of cover, they watched the rider. They’d stayed downwind of the herd, and hoped the dog would also stay upwind of them where it couldn’t catch their scent.
“Bloody hell,” the oldest swore. “’Tis a woman.” He scanned the area and then grinned lasciviously. “And a woman alone to boot.”
“Wait,” the younger cautioned, taking a good look at the rider. “By the gods, Darroch, ’tis Becca.”
“Can’t be,” the older one growled at his brother. “She’s dead, Luthais.”
“Well, ’tis her for certain, and ridin’ one of the MacDermot’s best horses as bold as brass,” Luthais asserted. The two exchanged worried looks. This was a wrinkle they didn’t need and definitely didn’t want.
Becca’s excellent sense of direction led directly to the long meadow where she’d met near disaster before. Today, she wouldn’t veer off onto that woodland path. She grinned. At least not at a gallop. She knew full well she would explore the path eventually. The lush meadow spread in front of her, and fat cows grazed chewing their cud, the quiet occasionally interrupted by their lowing moos. Becca urged Arien into a slow canter, meaning to circle around the cows without alarming them.
Today was a day to be savored, to stretch it out and enjoy. She didn’t want to rush through it, even though tonight would be glorious. She guided Arien toward the path. She wanted to explore, albeit at a sedate pace, where it led.
Bhruic’s ears pricked. Sensing prey, he took off. Becca reined up just before the trees, watching the wolfhound run with his nose to the ground. The dog flushed a rabbit, and for a moment, it looked like the rabbit might escape. Becca laughed, hoping the hare made it to safety.
The next thing she knew, rough hands grabbed her and yanked her off her horse. A dirty, calloused hand clamped over her mouth.
“Doncha’ be screamin’ now, Becca,” the brute breathed into her ear.
Becca’s first instinct was to struggle, but she was so shocked when the man called her by name, she lost her chance to fight. The man tightened his grip, turning her to face a second man. Becca didn’t recognize him and doubted either of them belonged to Ailfenn. If they owed fealty to Ciaran, they would not have put their hands on her.
“Well, aren’t yee glad to see us?” the man in front of her sneered. He held Arien’s reins.
“Who are you?” Becca demanded, her voice muffled by the first man’s hand. She hoped her voice still managed to sound as cold and haughty as she’d meant it to. “The MacDermot will hang you if any harm comes to me,” she spat around the huge paw, wrinkling her nose at the smell emanating from it.
The two men snickered. “And risk a blood feud over a bit o’ fluff like yee? I think not, Becca.”
“Who are you?” she demanded again, her brain working in overdrive. Could these be O’Brien men come to exact revenge?
The man in front of her exchanged a dismayed glance with the man holding her. “Why, we’re yer own dear brothers, sister.” The man holding her snorted, the gruff bark of sound erupting through his nose. “Don’t you recognize us?”
“But I don’t have any bro...” Becca choked off her retort. She didn’t have any brothers, but the Becca in this lifetime might have. She mentally kicked herself. Everyone had warned her about taking off by herself. Oh, but there would be hell to pay now. She forced air into her lungs, taking a deep breath to calm down. Though she couldn’t see the one who held her, the one facing her looked like a toad. If he was as dumb as he looked, she might have a chance.
“If you take me back to Ailfenn, there will be a reward,” she promised sweetly.
The one holding her tightened his grip around her waist. “Bah, we take yee back, yee’ll have us hung. We aren’t stupid, sister.”
The man holding her flung Becca to the ground as a tornado of teeth and fur attacked him. Bhruic! She’d completely forgotten the wolfhound. His lightning-quick attack was vicious. Arien did his part by rearing and jerking against the reins. The second man could hang on to the horse or help his brother. He hung on to the reins for dear life. Bhruic yelped as blood spurted from his side.
“No!” she screamed. “Go, Bhruic. Go home. Get Ciaran,” she ordered. The big man who’d been holding her rounded on her, and his fist connected with her face. Pain exploded in her head as everything went gray and foggy. Stars danced behind her eyelids. Becca sank into darkness.
“Catch the damn dog,” Darroch ordered, trying to staunch the flow of blood from a nasty bite on his forearm. The dog had ripped away the whole sleeve of his shirt.
“I can’t and hold the horse,” Luthais complained.
Bhruic took off like a shot, running hard through the middle of the herd, scattering cows as he went. Blood dripped from the wound in his side but the valiant dog kept running. He carried a scrap of cloth in his mouth.
Treating the unconscious Becca as no more than a bundle of rags, Darroch flung her across the horse and loosely tied her wrists to her ankles beneath Arien’s belly. Luthais gathered their own horses and brought them back. The two men mounted and put heels to their horses, riding hard for Ballinfaire. Becca, draped face down, bounced like a limp rag doll as Luthais led Arien in their mad dash to get clear of MacDermot territory.
Bhruic finally made his way to the village, crawling the last league. The smithy found the dog lying outside his forge, panting and bleeding. Bellowing for the guard, the huge man gathered up the dog and sprinted for the castle. He’d seen the MacDermot’s cailín ride out that morning, the dog trotting along beside her.
Niall met the man at the gate. His eyes betrayed the sorrow he felt as he stared at the injured dog. With a gentle tug, he took the rag Bhruic still carried in his mouth. Niall called for Siobhan and ordered the smithy to take the dog to the stables. Eachan found an empty stall with clean straw where he and Siobhan worked on the dog. Niall grabbed a soldier and dispatched him on one of their fastest horses to find Ciaran and Riordan. Then he questioned everyone. Finally, a stable boy admitted that Becca had ridden out just after breakfast and had told him to tell Eachan she was going. Intent on other duties, the boy had forgotten. Niall glanced at the sun. It was well after noon.
Calling for a company of horse, he’d start the search for Becca immediately. Ciaran and Riordan could catch up. Too much time had passed as it was, but with any luck at all, he’d find the cailín. He was determined to have her back safe and sound before nightfall.
Backtracking the trail of blood from Bhruic’s wound required keen vision and was time-consuming. The trackers eventually arrived at the meadow where the cows still grazed complacently. Scouting the perimeter, one of the men found where the struggle between man and dog took place. Niall recognized Arien’s hoof prints and grimaced when he saw blood near them. Knowing the cailín, she fought and fought hard. He prayed she was still alive.
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Ciaran and Riordan arrived at the gallop, and Ciaran threw himself off his horse even as it slid to a stop. Anguish radiated from his face and Niall winced.
“She lives,” Ciaran proclaimed as he reached Niall. “She’s hurt, but she lives. Who did this?” he demanded.
Niall held out the bloodied sleeve Bhruic had dragged home. There was nothing to distinguish it from a thousand other sleeves on hundreds of shirts worn by men throughout the country. The faint blood trail leading off into the woods disappeared a hundred feet away. One of their trackers managed to follow the dim trail of three horses to a stream where all traces disappeared. There was no way to guess which direction the raiders had gone.
“O’Brien?” Riordan asked the most obvious question, though he thought it unlikely. Any O’Brien raiding party would have to cross the majority of eastern Connaught to reach Ailfenn. He didn’t dare voice his next thought. Riordan, along with every man at the encampment, had seen Conchobhar’s lust for Becca. Surely, the king would not be foolish enough to test the MacDermot’s mettle.
Niall shook his head. “I dinnit think ’twas planned. I think the cailín surprised some cattle thieves. They took her not knowing who she is.” Both Ciaran and Riordan protested but Niall held up a hand to silence them. “She dinnit carry a weapon, else they would not have taken her. The brave beastie took a slash from a dirk to his side. ’Tis a wonder he made it home. At least one will be marked by Bhruic’s teeth, and if they dinnit knock her out immediately, they’ll bear hers as well.”
Ciaran nodded his head, considering. Niall was right. He would dispatch riders to every corner to search for a man mauled by a dog, along with one scratched by a woman. He smiled grimly.