However, he couldn’t fault the old warrior for being worried. He had witnessed the murder they had travelled far to avenge, and apparently Aislinn had too.
The cleansing sound of flowing water usually lifted Aislinn’s spirits. On this day it served to remind her of the awful duty imposed by Moqorr that would have to be fulfilled when they resumed their journey upriver. She tried without success to conjure a plan to ensure the demise of Sibrán and his crew.
As if sensing her despair, Lop laid his chin on her lap, growling contentedly when she scratched his ears. “The invader has a strange effect on me,” she confided. “He evokes feelings in my heart and body I have never known before.”
The dog whimpered.
“I’ve always deemed men crude and unlovable, but now I understand why women are attracted to them.” An urge to stretch like a restless cat seized her as desire rippled into private places. “And Sibrán is drawn to me.”
Lop licked her hand.
A lump constricted her throat as she leaned to whisper in the hound’s ear. “But Moqorr will never allow me to belong to a human. He has forbidden it because joining with a man will destroy my powers.”
It was a mystery why a god would depend on a mere mortal, especially a woman, but she banished the doubt from her mind. It wasn’t wise to question an immortal, especially one with a vicious and unpredictable temper.
The expectation of a family and children had never occurred to her before, but now she craved the joy she’d seen others share. The futility of the forlorn hope churned her belly. “You will forever be my only companion, Lop,” she murmured.
The animal sniffed the air, then barked once as if to say, “That’s all very well, but I am a dog and I smell something good.”
She hugged herself against the chill as her pet loped off into the trees. “I don’t blame you,” she said hoarsely. “I’m hungry too.”
After spending several hours speaking with the men and impatiently supervising trivial tasks, Sibrán returned to the secluded bank, dismayed to see Aislinn shivering. She still sat atop the rock and looked in need of comfort. He handed her the broad leaf on which he’d piled a few choice pieces of roasted boar. “This will warm you,” he assured her. “Careful. It’s still hot.”
“I feel the heat through the burdock leaf,” she agreed, accepting the food with a smile.
“Burdock? Can we eat it?”
“The roots and stems of the plant are delicious. You can try the leaves, but I warn you they are bitter.” She looked to the forest. “I hope Lop isn’t being a nuisance.”
He sat beside her and took a chunk of meat from his own leaf, elated when she didn’t move away. “Don’t worry on his account. He’s gone off somewhere to gnaw on a juicy bone the men gave him.”
Her smile of relief pleased him. “Eat,” he cajoled.
She obeyed and nibbled at a piece of meat. His arousal intensified when she murmured, “Mmmm.”
He shifted his position in an effort to alleviate the pleasant ache at his groin and sank his teeth into a piece of crispy crackling. It was one of his favorite parts of a roasted pig, but he’d prefer to be savoring Aislinn’s juices.
He risked an occasional glance at her face, filled with an urge to taste the grease on her lips. She seemed to have a good appetite and finished the meat quickly. He studied the wilting leaf as she licked her fingers. “You were hungry,” he said.
She turned her doe-like eyes on him. “I was.” Then she reached up and smoothed her thumb over his cheek. “You have a morsel of…”
Her touch sent him over the edge. He cast his food to the ground, took her into his arms and put his mouth on hers. He’d expected to savor the salty taste of the boar, but Aislinn’s warm sweetness and the intriguing perfume of her skin overwhelmed his senses.
Emboldened when she didn’t push him away, he coaxed with his tongue, elated when she opened her mouth and allowed him entry. He breathed his need into her, welcomed her tongue into his mouth and suckled like a starving child.
The compulsion to cup a breast was powerful, but he suspected it was her first kiss and didn’t want to alarm her. Instead he lifted his hand to her nape and pressed his fingers into her scalp, growling when she whimpered.
It was more than a kiss. It was a magical, transforming experience, but wetness on his cheek caused him to look at her face. Perplexed to see tears, he pulled her onto his lap and crushed her to his chest. “Don’t weep, Aislinn. For a man and a woman to share such an incredible kiss is a thing of wonder. I accept the gods have led me to this troubled land in order to bring peace and prosperity as the new king. It was our destiny we meet. You were meant to be my queen.”
Sobbing, she struggled off his lap. “No, Sibrán. You have been at sea for too long. There are many beautiful maidens in Inisfail who will be happy to couple with you.”
Angered he’d misinterpreted her feelings, he got to his feet. “I am not a man to make promises without forethought. I want you, Aislinn. I thought you wanted me, but apparently…”
She held up a trembling hand. “It’s of no matter what I want. I am Moqorr’s bondservant and forbidden to lie with a man.”
His throat tightened. Hurtful words escaped his mouth before he had a chance to think better of it. “You warm his bed?”
He caught hold of her wrist before her hand struck his face. He narrowed his eyes. “In Gaelicia death would be the punishment for striking a prince.”
“Kill me then,” she breathed. “I would prefer to die than have you believe I consort with Moqorr.”
The despair in her voice betrayed her hatred of the High King. His anger fled. He gathered her into his arms again. “Then why would he object if you pledged yourself to me?”
She made no reply, but it was of some consolation that she allowed him to hold her as she wept.
Aislinn had never experienced the strength of a man’s loving embrace, of being held against a firm male body. She’d never known the pure joy of sharing breath, never ached to touch and be touched.
It broke her heart. Moqorr likely already knew she thirsted to savor Sibrán’s unique taste again, longed to have her tongue mate with his.
Something peculiar had happened to her body. She’d lost control of her swelling breasts; her nipples screamed for Sibrán’s touch, her most intimate place throbbed with a need she couldn’t name. The Iberian’s spell was taking effect and if she didn’t break away soon, she was doomed.
Unless Sibrán was a more powerful sorcerer than Moqorr.
This was treacherous ground.
She eased away and sniffled back her tears. “Your men will be thirsty after their meal. The Bhearù is tidal here, the water briny. With your permission I will show them where to find a clear spring.”
She was relieved when he agreed, but disappointment ensued when he added, “I’ll send Kair and a few others with water-skins.”
Sibrán selected four of his crew to accompany Aislinn to the spring. Each man bowed and spoke his name. She gasped when she set eyes on two of them.
“What’s amiss?” he asked. “Ebric and Amergin may look too young, but…”
She shook her head. “It’s not…their youth. They’re…identical,” she stammered.
Sibrán nodded. “Twins.”
Evidently, Gaelicians were bound by different laws, and she had no wish to offend the lads. She spoke close to Sibrán’s ear. “Twins are considered a curse in Tara. Moqorr has decreed it unnatural for one human being to look exactly like another.”
He clenched his jaw. “What kind of god is this king?”
Aislinn had never condoned Moqorr’s edict. She’d heard rumors of women who’d secretly done away with one babe rather than lose both to the High King, but such things were not to be repeated, or even considered.
However, it wasn’t for her to criticize an immortal. But neither would she attempt to justify the ruling to the invader. It was only one instance of the perplexing gulf that yawned between them.
/> She didn’t fear Sibrán’s men, but it would be necessary for the three Tuathans who knew the location of the spring to lead them. The presence of twins would be seen as a bad omen by her countrymen, though only she would be aware of it.
Her scowling guards led the way. Ebric and Amergin walked with Aislinn, assisting her when they encountered a fallen tree or a muddy puddle along the way. Glas and Kair brought up the rear.
Tuathan men were silent, often sullen creatures. The royal concubines with whom she lived chattered endlessly with each other, but she had nothing in common with them and their rivalries often led to bitter quarrels.
She confided in Lop but they were one-sided conversations.
In contrast, Ebric and Amergin kept up a steady stream of comments, questions, observations, and jests. Their youthful laughter and exuberance were exhilarating, but she feared they would think her dimwitted or unfriendly, when in truth her prolonged silences stemmed from shyness and uncertainty.
When they located the spring, each guard filled his water-skins, hefted them over his shoulder and walked away to wait for her signal.
The Gaelicians filled their skins and helped each other lift them. The twins struggled to carry two full skins, but made no complaint as they made their way back to camp. Indeed, they hardly spoke. She supposed she should be relieved, but missed the sound of their happy voices.
He is a God
Sibrán shrugged off his disappointment when Aislinn didn’t return with the men from the excursion to the spring. As she had foretold, they’d found clear, sweet-tasting water that went down well with the evening meal. It quenched his thirst, but rekindled the memory of her seductive mouth and the arousing kiss they’d shared.
Aislinn had decided to travel the rest of the way by land along the banks of the Bhearù. The message brought by Kair raised his hackles for no reason he could explain. It was better not to have a woman aboard. Every sailor believed they brought bad luck, and Iago had protested he knew the river well enough to guide the ship. Besides, her presence was a distraction. Perhaps time spent apart would break the spell she had cast on him.
He shifted his weight on the uncomfortable fallen log, surrounded by men whose hunger and thirst Aislinn had helped assuage. They lounged around, belching and sharing jests as if they were on the beaches of Coruña.
Mayhap her decision not to accompany them by ship had injured his male pride. Had she insisted there was no possibility of a future for them together because she wasn’t drawn to him, or because she was under Moqorr’s dominion? It was evident she feared the High King.
She’d wept in his arms…and the incredible kiss…
He chewed the last of his meat and tossed away the burdock leaf. Seated next to him, Iago brooded. “She means us harm,” he hissed.
“Yet she has performed only kind acts,” Sibrán replied. “She cannot hurt us if she travels a different path.”
“Mark my words, she plots to hinder our progress, then kill us.”
Common sense whispered there might be some truth in Iago’s prediction, but his heart rushed to defend her. “She is an unarmed woman.”
“With an escort of formidable Tuathan knights,” came the retort. “Every member of that clan possesses magic of one sort or another. Before Nith’s murder I heard whispers of Aislinn metamorphosing into whatever creature she wished.”
“Nonsense,” Sibrán roared, even as Aislinn’s doe-like eyes and the fawn he’d hesitated to kill crept into his memory.
He got to his feet. “I’m tired. Make sure the guard is posted before you seek your bed.”
Iago stood abruptly, the embers of the dying fire illuminating his scowl. “Yes, my prince.”
Sibrán regretted issuing orders to his faithful navigator in a tone normally reserved for lower ranks, but Iago’s constant dire warnings were grating on his nerves. He ought to apologise, but instead strode off for a refreshing swim in the river before retiring to his shelter.
Lop cocked his head to one side and whimpered as Aislinn transformed into a female replica of her pet. However, once the change was complete he wagged his tail ferociously and barked, apparently delighted to have a companion of his own kind.
He also seemed to sense her wish to visit the Iberian camp and led the way along the bank, flopping to his belly in the grass when they espied Sibrán bathing in water up to his waist, singing loudly as he cleansed his body.
She suspected the Iberians had sung the same bawdy song often to keep up their spirits during the long voyage. The joy in his deep voice filled her with regret. Men were forbidden to sing in Tara.
She lay down beside Lop, growling low in her throat to dissuade him from bounding happily to join the Gaelician. He rested his head on his paws with a forlorn sigh.
The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, casting its silvery light on the water sheening Sibrán’s broad shoulders and back.
He is a god.
She had assumed the form of a wolf-bitch, but the sensations coursing through her veins were very human. Panting, she swiped her tongue over her lips, recognizing deep in her racing heart she craved the warrior she watched from the cover of darkness.
Moqorr made certain she was isolated from men. No doubt the guards in her escort had been threatened with a painful death if they even looked at her.
The High King had instilled a hatred and mistrust of male humans, but she sensed Sibrán was not a threat to her. She swallowed hard when he stopped singing and turned around. His gaze roved over the grassy bank and then he seemed to look directly at their hiding place. She dared not move and hoped the whimpering Lop didn’t give them away. She couldn’t take her eyes off the invader’s chiseled chest. He was truly a magnificent creature—lean muscle, strong and solid. She’d exulted in that strength when he’d taken her into his embrace.
He unexpectedly strode out of the water. She was suddenly a fly trapped in the spider’s sticky trap, desperate to flee, but inexorably caught. He wore only the golden torc. His nakedness held her spellbound. He was made differently from her—powerful thighs, narrow hips and something nestled in black curls between his legs that filled her with wondrous awe—his manhood.
It was the essential difference between men and women she knew existed, but had never seen. Moqorr’s countless handmaidens boasted of the High King’s one-eyed dragon breathing fire when he coupled with them. Their tales made her shudder, and she’d been content with the edict forbidding her to join with a man.
Sibrán put his hands on his hips and stared at where they lay, grinning, as if he was aware they watched. His maleness seemed to lengthen and thicken. It was a thing of beauty, a proud lance she sensed instinctively was designed to soothe the ache in her most intimate place.
She startled when Lop barked.
Treacherous hound.
She scrambled to her feet and retreated at a gallop to the Tuathan camp, overheated and struggling for breath as she changed back into human form, climbed into the litter and collapsed onto her furs.
Sibrán was confused. He’d sensed he was being watched while he bathed, but was nonetheless surprised when Lop bounded into the shallows, tail wagging. After hearing the barking he thought he’d caught sight of the hound retreating into the forest, but here he was, begging to splash and play.
For the first time Sibrán noticed the similarity between the dog’s collar and the bronze torc Aislinn wore. Given the fine quality of her bracelets and raiment it was odd she chose to wear an adornment around her neck that more resembled a slave collar than a jewel befitting a woman of high rank.
Sibrán picked up a hefty tree limb from the shore, waved it under the dog’s nose, then hurled it into the water. Lop retrieved it two or three times then seemed to tire of the game. He shook the water from his enormous body and ran off. Perhaps the animal Sibrán had seen retreating was a true she-wolf, which would explain why the dog was more interested in following her than in playing fetch with him.
Lop skulked into Aislinn’s lit
ter, eyes downcast. She patted the spot next to her on the padded cushions. “Lie here with me. I forgive you. I understand you like Sibrán.”
Her beloved pet slumped into her back with a weary grunt and a yawn. She startled and pushed him off the furs. “You’re wet!”
A vision of her pet enjoying the river with Sibrán danced behind her eyes.
Once the dog had reluctantly settled on the floor, she folded her arms across her chest and cupped her breasts, resisting the urge to brush a thumb over her strangely rigid nipples. It struck her for the first time how lonely Lop must be without a mate, but she wished she’d been the one playing in the river with her prince.
Rescue
On the morrow Sibrán stood at the prow of his ship and nodded in response to Aislinn’s wave from the river bank. “Give the order to cast off,” he instructed Iago standing next to him. “The incoming tide will speed our progress.” They got underway, but his thoughts were still on the Tuathan woman as he watched her and her faithful hound disappear into the bushes.
His navigator snorted and spat into the murky water. “So it begins,” he growled. “We must keep our eyes on the river. It’s navigable now, but there are rapids ahead.”
Sibrán bristled but decided to ignore the rebuke. Having survived the rigors of the sea, he wasn’t likely to endanger the lives of his crew, no matter how preoccupied he was with Aislinn. “Can our boat navigate the rapids?”
Iago considered the question. “The channel narrows, but the water is deep enough.”
Sibrán had hoped the other ships might have arrived, but dark clouds still roiled over the distant coast.
The meandering river cooperated for the first hour or two. Noisy cormorants and patient herons were plentiful, evidently drawn by the rich bounty to be found in the depths. They caught an occasional glimpse of the Tuathans when the path brought them closer to the river, but the giants had closed ranks around Aislinn, rendering it impossible to see if she was on foot, or being carried in some sort of conveyance.
Iago snorted his indignation every time Sibrán averted his disappointed gaze from the bank. Tired of the censure, Sibrán walked slowly to the stern, exchanging words of encouragement with his men.
Lords of Ireland II Page 64