Lords of Ireland II

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Iago joined him on the bank. “Beware. He will devour you if he perceives you are a threat to his mistress.”

  Sibrán shrugged, surveying the lay of the land. “Aislinn is nothing to me,” he lied. “I am more concerned with setting up a camp we can defend.”

  Iago scratched his thin grey beard, eyeing him curiously, but evidently decided to drop the matter. “We’re in for an uncomfortable night in wet cloaks.”

  As he spoke, the sun broke through the clouds, though it was late afternoon. Mist rose from the grass, the boat, the muddy river and from the men themselves as they toiled to secure the ship and set up canvas shelters.

  By the time the camp was established to Sibrán’s satisfaction the heat had forced him to remove his cloak and leather armor. His chiton and boots were dry.

  “Sorcery,” Iago mumbled as he trudged by, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “It would appear the sun is hot at this time of day in Inisfail, as it is in Gaelicia in the summer,” Sibrán suggested. “At least we won’t be sleeping in wet wool.”

  As darkness crept over the land, he settled under a canvas slung between two trees. He lay on his back on damp-smelling furs, hands behind his head, ankles crossed, gazing out at the stars blanketing the cloudless sky. If there was a portent in those twinkling dots of light, it was beyond his ability to read.

  He didn’t intend to sleep. A heavy guard had been posted, but it was his responsibility to remain vigilant.

  Aislinn professed to welcome them in friendship, but Nith’s murder was proof enough this was a hostile land. Since his youth Sibrán had been pursued by many beautiful women anxious to bed the son of a king. He’d sewn a few wild oats. No one had ever drawn him like Aislinn, but mayhap she already had him under her spell.

  Thoughts of his homeland brought to mind a song his mother used to sing to him when he was a child. He closed his eyes, humming the well-loved lullaby.

  He gradually became aware of a pleasing sound drifting on the night air.

  He sat bolt upright, straining to listen over the thudding of his heart. There it was again. A woman’s voice singing the same lullaby.

  He got to his feet and made his way hastily to the perimeter guards where he hunkered down beside Kair. “Do you hear anything?” he whispered.

  The young Gaelician frowned, his eyes searching the empty darkness. “I hear nothing, my lord.”

  Sibrán listened again. Only the breeze rustled the leafy trees. He feared the long sea voyage and Aislinn’s startling greeting had dulled his wits, led him to imagine…

  A twig snapped.

  He drew his dagger.

  Kair reassured him. “It’s the hound.”

  A pulse throbbed at Sibrán’s temple. “Lop?”

  “Aye. He’s stalking a fawn. I was about to go after it myself, but when I caught sight of the dog, I deemed it better to leave the deer to him.”

  Sibrán’s thoughts went back to the dunes. Was it too much of a coincidence or did deer abound in these lands? He gripped the young man’s arm. “A fawn? Alone?”

  Kair nodded, confusion evident in his moonlit eyes. “Forgive me, my lord, I hesitated to challenge the hound in unfamiliar terrain.”

  Sibrán stood, regretting he’d planted a seed of shame in the loyal lad’s heart. “You were right to remain at your post. Stay here.” He took Kair’s bow and nocked an arrow. “I’m confident Lop won’t harm me, and if there’s a chance for tasty deer meat…”

  He crept stealthily into the trees, listening for sounds of his prey. He hadn’t gone far when the fawn’s eyes glowed in the moonlight. He took aim, but paused, perturbed when the young animal seemed to look directly at him. Yet it didn’t flee. His fingers twitched on the bowstring, compounding his irritation. He’d killed for meat many times before, why was he hesitating now? He tensed when he heard a low growl. Another pair of glowing eyes emerged from the darkness, coming closer.

  Lop!

  He lowered the bow and the fawn fled.

  Aislinn thanked the gods Lop had jolted her from the perilous trance. She’d ventured too close to the invaders’ camp. The lullaby heard in the deep recesses of Sibrán’s mind had so enthralled her she’d come close to falling victim to his arrow.

  Sending a silent command to her faithful hound, she fled into the trees and summoned her human form.

  To her relief Lop obeyed. He sat on his haunches and kept watch on her hunter. Sibrán approached, the bow slung over his shoulder.

  “My prey got away, thanks to you,” he told her pet, but there was no rancor in his husky voice.

  Lop whimpered like a puppy.

  “You’re a strange dog, protecting a fawn. I suppose you want it for yourself.”

  The amusement in his tone soothed away some of the stiffness in her shoulders.

  He hunkered down and offered a hand to her dog. Lop licked him then rolled over onto his back. Sibrán obliged by scratching his belly. It was an effort for Aislinn not to laugh out loud at the animal’s deep sigh of contentment, but doing so would betray her hiding place.

  He chuckled. “My men will have to wait a while longer for a taste of fresh meat. I’ll blame it on you.”

  His jest warmed her, but then she sobered. The Iberians had traveled far and likely hadn’t enjoyed a good meal for many a day. She resolved to remedy the situation.

  The Boar

  Sibrán was startled awake by a rough, wet tongue licking his face. He sat up and looked around. Sleeping deeply seemed to have addled his wits.

  He was always up before dawn, but sunlight already filled the glade.

  Lop pulled at his sleeve, urging him to rise.

  Aislinn stood beside his shelter, grinning from ear to ear. Stunned by the unexpected vision of beauty it took him a moment to question why the guards hadn’t alerted him of her presence in the camp.

  He scrambled to his feet, acutely aware of his dishevelled appearance. Aislinn looked like the goddess of perfection, not like a woman who’d slept in the outdoors. Instead of blue she was now draped in a green ankle-length chiton and hooded cloak of the same hue. He raked back his hair and straightened his clothing. Since he’d never seen her with any baggage he assumed the Tuathan soldiers were her bearers.

  Lop bounded here and there like a playful puppy. Sibrán would rather invite Aislinn to lie down on his furs and revisit the dream—he’d been abed, lying naked with her after a passionate night of…

  He tried to shake the fragments of the fantasy from his mind and willed his morning arousal to abate. While sun dappled the trees, a grey mist still hung over the river. He was used to the dry heat of his homeland. The damp had seeped into his bones.

  Aislinn handed him his cloak.

  How…

  He clenched his jaw and furled the garment around his shoulders, intent on finding out what had happened to the perimeter guard.

  “They’ve gone after the boar,” Aislinn told him.

  “Boar?” he echoed, thinking he was hallucinating. How else to explain she always seemed to know what he was thinking?

  “Lop flushed out a family of wild pigs. Kair agreed it was a good idea to pursue them.”

  The hound barked his agreement and lumbered off into the trees, tail wagging. Sibrán resolved to have a word with Kair about whose commands he was supposed to obey.

  “Don’t blame your men,” Aislinn said. “The promise of fresh meat persuaded them.”

  Was it by magic she’d divined the crew’s need, or was it plain common sense they’d journeyed far by sea and would relish such nourishment?

  The possible extent of the danger this beautiful woman represented struck him like a blow to the belly. She was a manipulator capable of discerning what was in a man’s mind, and if he wasn’t careful they would all soon be under her spell. He suspected she’d lulled him to sleep despite his determination to stay awake.

  Excited voices interrupted his thoughts. Several of his soldiers emerged from the forest, two bearing the weight of a
tree trunk between them on their shoulders. From it hung the carcass of a sizeable boar, its feet lashed to the wood. Lop followed along, licking his chops as he sniffed the dead animal.

  When the hunters espied Sibrán they came to an abrupt halt, the sounds of jubilation suddenly falling silent.

  He had a choice. He could continue to scowl and suspect sorcery, or join in the celebration. He savored fresh meat as much as any man, and had to admit the restful sleep had renewed his spirit. “Well done, lads,” he shouted. “Get him ready for the spit.”

  Loud cheers greeted his pronouncement.

  Aislinn remained at his side, smiling as she watched the hunters carry their bounty to the bank where a roasting spit was already being fashioned. Her eyes widened when he took hold of her hand. “Thank you,” he rasped.

  Aislinn nodded cautiously, unsure of Sibrán’s reasons for thanking her. Did he sense she’d contrived with Lop’s help to force the boar into a dead end where the hunters couldn’t fail to corner it?

  Or did he suspect she had eased his worries and helped him fall asleep?

  She wasn’t sure why she had done those things. Providing good food and restful repose weren’t part of the plan to make certain Sibrán never got as far as Tara.

  The prospect of luring the Iberian to his death filled her with dread, but her fear of Moqorr held her in its thrall. She lay her palm flat against the hated torc, thankful it hadn’t tightened. If Sibrán was beginning to suspect the extent of her powers, she had put herself in danger.

  Mayhap her concerns were unfounded and he was merely thanking her for handing him his cloak. He couldn’t know she’d filled her nostrils with the enticing scent of him that lingered in the wool.

  The successful hunt would necessitate a delay in their progress upriver. She glanced out to the far horizon where dark clouds still hung over the leaden sea. Moqorr was displeased.

  By the River

  Six of the foreigners labored to hang the boar from a lower limb of a sturdy tree. Once it was secured to their satisfaction, a knife-wielding sailor strode forward to skin it.

  Aislinn looked away, her belly in knots. She understood the gods provided the forest creatures for human sustenance, but the slaughter grieved her, even though she had brought about the boar’s demise. She enjoyed eating meat, but had never witnessed an animal being butchered.

  She startled when Sibrán took her gently by the arm. His touch renewed her strength as he led her away from the glade. “You don’t want to watch,” he said.

  “No,” she confirmed, nervous he had sensed her feelings.

  He escorted her to a secluded part of the river bank, brushed off a few loose pieces of gravel from the top of a flat rock and bade her sit. The sun had dispelled the mist and turned the grey waters to molten silver. She was aware of his presence beside her as he stood looking out at the Bhearù. What was it about him that attracted her? He was a well-formed creature, tall, muscular, pleasing to the eye—but there was more. He was wise, patient and thoughtful, not to mention courageous. Few men braved the perils of a long sea journey to unknown and hostile lands. Unlike Moqorr, he treated her as an equal, though it was understandable he was wary of her motives. As he should be, she reminded herself reluctantly.

  “Can we travel by boat all the way to the Fort of Kings?” he asked.

  She chose her words carefully. This perceptive man would sense a lie. “Almost.”

  She tried to edge away when he sat beside her, but the flat surface of the rock wasn’t wide enough to allow space between them. Heat flowed from his body when his thigh pressed against hers. Perceiving what was in the minds of others depended on control of her own emotions, but Sibrán seemed capable of scattering her thoughts and feelings to the four winds. Perhaps he too was a sorcerer who had already cast his spell on her.

  An absurd notion occurred; she’d rather be in the thrall of a wizard like Sibrán than be Moqorr’s slave. But no good would come of such fancies. Her master was omnipotent and immortal. Sibrán was just a man.

  Sibrán sat on a hard, flat rock, enjoying the sunshine with a beautiful maiden while watching a swiftly flowing river. It seemed ordinary, something he had done before. However, he was falling under the spell of an extraordinary woman. He ought to be questioning her about the dangers ahead, but instead he laced his fingers with hers and murmured, “You have dainty hands.”

  “Do I?” She blushed, avoiding his gaze, but didn’t withdraw.

  Her sultry voice, speaking his language flawlessly, heightened his arousal. He wished for the eloquence of a god to tell her of his feelings, but he was a mere mortal. He forced his eyes away from her glorious hair. “You’re tall for a woman, yet your feet are small.”

  He groaned inwardly. If his male urges continued getting the better of his common sense he was doomed. He looked back over his shoulder. “I should oversee what they are doing,” he said lamely, reluctant to let go of her hand and break away from the touch of her thigh against his.

  She lifted her chin and wrinkled her nose, her wide eyes and long lashes reminding him of a wary doe. “I believe I detect the aroma of roasting meat,” she replied with a smile. “Judging by the rising excitement I hear, I would say the task is proceeding as expected.”

  He inhaled deeply, savoring the promise of a good meal, but aware of another, more intoxicating perfume—the unmistakable scent of a woman drawn to a man. Aislinn apparently didn’t wish to break the tenuous bond between them. He wasn’t sure of her motive, but wanted to believe she was attracted to him.

  Lop padded out of the trees, turned his molten gaze on him then on his mistress. He lay down at her feet, apparently satisfied all was well.

  “He’s a loyal dog,” Sibrán observed.

  She leaned over to stroke the hound’s back. “I would be lost without him,” she confessed.

  He again had an urge to feel the texture of the luxurious red tresses that fell forward. He tightened his grip on her hand and put an arm around her shoulder as she leaned closer to the dog. She startled and glanced back at him.

  “I don’t want you to fall off the rock,” he explained, alarmed by the fear in her green eyes. What was she afraid of?

  Did she sense he thirsted to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands, brush his thumbs over pebbled nipples?

  Unknown dangers lay ahead, but his heart and mind filled with a certainty. There was a reason the gods had sent Aislinn to him. A glorious destiny awaited him in Inisfail and she was meant to be part of it.

  Forbidden

  Sibrán didn’t know how long he and Aislinn sat by the river. They talked of inconsequential things. She enquired about his family. It didn’t surprise him she was aware he had brothers. Nith had probably spoken at length of his royal nephews.

  “We caused our parents many anxious moments when we were boys,” he confessed with a smile. “We loved getting into mischief.”

  “Yet you have come on this journey alone,” she replied.

  He tasted regret. “My father would not allow his eldest son to lead the expedition.”

  “You were glad of it.”

  She already knew him. He admitted the bitter truth he’d never given voice to before. “Millas and I often disagree.”

  “I have no siblings,” she confided. But then she smiled when the dog licked her ankle. “Lop is my brother.”

  “You love animals,” he remarked.

  He’d not considered such a notion before. The creatures of field and forest provided food. Cats controlled rodents. His father kept dogs for the sole purpose of hunting. Sibrán had never thought of them as companions. Yet Aislinn’s ungainly hound had already insinuated itself into his heart. Perhaps the beast wove his own magic.

  “Tell me of Iberia,” she said.

  It pleased him she had asked. “My homeland has a long and mostly rocky coastline. Gaelicians live on the northern coast of Iberia. I am from Coruña where we have endless sandy beaches.”

  “This is the first time I h
ave seen the sea,” she confessed. “I am a child of green forests and glades.”

  He was comfortable with this woman, another startling novelty. He craved her body, but thirsted for her friendship and regard. He was coming to the realization he’d been led to this land in order to rid it of a despot, and Aislinn would be a powerful partner in his quest to establish a kingdom. “I look forward to seeing more of Inisfail.”

  He was disappointed when her eyes filled with sadness, but a scowling Iago strode into the clearing before he had a chance to determine the cause.

  “There are matters requiring your attention, my prince,” his navigator declared with a sneer.

  Sibrán looked down at his hand still enmeshed with Aislinn’s. “Go,” she whispered. “He is right and I am safe here.”

  Smiling, he obeyed and came to his feet. “Lead on, old friend.”

  They’d walked only a short distance when Iago turned to him, his face a mask of fury. “She is luring you into her web, like the spider weaves a trap for the fly.”

  He took the man’s elbow and forced him to keep walking. “You forget yourself. Aislinn has done us no harm.”

  “She is Moqorr’s handmaiden. You cannot trust her.”

  A faint voice murmured Iago might be right, but Sibrán felt a perverse need to defend her. “If he is such a powerful god why does he need a woman to do his evil deeds?”

  Iago shook his head. “You have not met the monster. He is devious and uses every means at his disposal to secure his throne.”

  Sibrán scratched his beard. “That sounds strange. Surely a true god has no need of an earthly realm?”

  Iago made no reply and they walked in silence. Sibrán resolved to question Aislinn further concerning Moqorr’s immortality, but for the moment…

  “Now, why does the crew need me?”

  “There are repairs to be made to the boat before we continue our journey, but the men are preoccupied with the notion of roasted meat…”

  Sibrán was tempted to scoff. Iago had the authority to command the men to do whatever he deemed necessary and had never hesitated to exercise his rank before.