by Mia Pride
“Are you all right?” She heard a deep voice ask gently as she opened her eyes and looked up, starting to slowly adjust to the dimness. Two beaming green eyes, the color of spring leaves, were level with hers and she caught her breath. That same feeling of her stomach dropping, heart beating, and brain stopping came over her again. Flynn knelt beside her with a worried frown, his hands outstretched to her. He was incredibly handsome, and again, much too large.
Her instinct was to pull away. She could not help it. He intimidated her beyond reason. And yet, she had already made a fool of herself once this day in front of him, and he clearly meant only to help her back onto her feet. Surely a man who was cruel would leave her there or even laugh at her. His look of concern and large hand reaching for hers, were signs of comfort, not cruelty. Swallowing hard, she took a chance and put her hand into his.
When his warm calloused fingers wrapped around hers so strongly, she felt a tremor of excitement run through her. Strange. She had never had that reaction to a man before. Still, she had to remind herself that even though handsome men could harm a lass, he was surrounded by people. No man would dare hurt her in public. This did not mean he would be different in private.
That thought steadied her emotions and calmed her excitement. Wariness, so engrained that she carried it easily with her, took charge once more and she yanked her hand out of his grasp as soon as possible. “My thanks, Flynn,” she mumbled with embarrassment, doing all she could not to rub her sore backside in front of him and his brother, father, and Alastar, whom she could now see clearly.
As soon as she saw the angry gash in Alastar’s arm, all her embarrassment disappeared while her healing instincts took to the forefront. “Och, Alastar! That’s not a wee gash!” Pushing through the wall of huge Mac Greine men, Maggie made her way to the bed Alastar sat on, placing her basket beside him.
“’Tis not the worst I have had, as you know well, Maggie,” he said with a lopsided grin. He spoke true. She would never forget the sword he took through the chest last summer that almost ended his life. She had tended him for almost two moons and, at one point, was very worried he would die. Compared to that wound, this was nothing. And yet…
Leaning over to look at it more closely, she squinted and focused on the specs of dirt and grime mixed into the flesh. It would need to be cleaned. “Someone give me a candle,” she commanded without taking her eyes off the wound.
Alastar visibly paled. “You… you are not going to sear me shut, now are you, lass?” he said hesitantly.
“What?” She looked up to his worried blue eyes and patted his good shoulder. “Och, nay! I only need more light so I can better see. After falling on my backside just now, you can imagine ‘tis too dim in here for me.”
Alastar laughed and she could not help but crack a smile. Mayhap Elwynna was correct. She knew Alastar well enough to know he was a good man. He was so gentle with his wife and child, and always made her laugh. She supposed their King Tuathal, giant beast that he was, was also quite gentle with lassies. In fact, most of the married men she knew were good husbands. The trouble was that she only knew this after they were married. How did a lass know a man would be gentle with her before committing to him, or falling for him?
She shook her head. She needed to stay focused. Flynn stepped up with a candle and held it close for her to see. Looking up to his great height, she took a deep breath and nodded her thanks to him. Once again, words escaped her in his presence. “’Twill need to be cleaned,” she murmured, reaching into her basket and grabbing a clean linen cloth. “Do you have water in your cauldron, Aislin?”
“Nay. ‘Tis empty. I will go collect some.” Before Maggie could offer to do it herself, Aislin ran outside and slammed the door behind her. Curse it. Now Maggie was alone in a home with four huge warriors. Her head swam with fear and she could not help but take a step back, trying to keep herself calm. She really needed to overcome this stifling fear of men. But that would require a slow introduction to one man… not being trapped in a room with four.
“That lad got you good, mate,” Brennain said, stepping forward to better look at the wound as Flynn continued to silently hold the tallow candle. “We will make him clean all the dung out of the stalls for a fortnight for this slip,” he grunted.
That seemed unfair to Maggie. The lad was simply learning. Sparring with men twice his size was likely a fearful thing. He should not be punished for simply trying to work hard and learn. Yet, she bit her lip and pretended to rummage in her basket to keep them from seeing her hands shake. Alastar would panic if he saw her hands shaking just before she stitched him up. In truth, her hand was steady as a rock when not alone with men.
“We will do nay such thing,” Flynn chimed in, rebuking his brother. “He is just a learning lad. Have we all not made mistakes while in warrior training? What good does cleaning dung do us? Make him work more drills with the straw dummy. He will hone his skills and not have real flesh to wound as he does it.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. ‘Twas the most she had ever heard Flynn speak in her life, and she was so very pleased to see how calm and reasonable he was. He had compassion for the lad and something about that made her fear him just a bit less. Granted, a man could defend a lad and still harm women, but for now, it was a comfort. She stayed quiet, waiting in turmoil, squished between the Mac Greine brothers until Aislin blessedly returned with the water.
After Aislin poured the bucket of water into the cauldron, Maggie tugged the chain suspending it above the hearth, lowering it enough to heat and boil the water.
“I must allow the water to boil before I can clean the wound.”
“Whatever for?” Brennain asked, aghast.
“Well,” Maggie tittered nervously. Having a large man shout at her made her anxious. He was not truly shouting at her, she knew. He was simply confused about her methods. Still, he made her want to run away. It infuriated her to have her skills questioned. Healing was the one thing she was good at and she would not allow this large warrior to question her.
“I am not certain, but linens boiled in water cause fewer infections than those that are not. I have seen horrifying infections and I have noticed that the dirtier the linen, the worse the infection. An old healer from Alba taught me this and I believe ‘tis why I have so few infections on my wounded.”
“That’s nonsense. ‘Tis only a waste of time. His wound needs to be cleaned right away,” Brennain pressed.
Like a flash of lightning, Flynn was in his brother’s face. The men stood almost equally tall, but Flynn was only slightly shorter. With both having black stubble on their chins, those green eyes, and raven hair, they could almost pass as twins. “Do not question the lass. If she says the linens need to be boiled, then the linens need to be boiled.”
Brennain quirked a brow at his brother and grinned, as if silently communicating some smug comment to Flynn, but he put his hands up in surrender and bowed his head to her. “I apologize, Maggie. I am certain you know best.”
Maggie looked at Flynn curiously, wondering why he had so adamantly defended her, and yet, her heart beat wildly against her ribs at the ire in his eyes for his brother. He looked so formidable, yet she did not feel threatened.
“She saved my life before, Brennain. I trust her,” Alastar added.
“My thanks,” she murmured, and she walked over to the cauldron to check the water. It was boiling rapidly, so she dropped the linen into the water, using an iron rod to push it under fully. She stared into the bottom of the cauldron, watching the linen dance in the water as the steam moistened her face. It was a distraction from the tension in the room and she stayed silent while she listened to the men converse with Aislin in the background. She knew Flynn’s father, Brocc, was Aislin’s uncle, and Maggie felt envious of Aislin for having so much family. She had only a brother whom she loved dearly, but who was now married and distracted—as he should be, she supposed.
From the little she could hear of their conversation, Flynn an
d Brennain were leaving town once again just as soon as Alastar was patched up. By their whispers and intermittent silence, she knew they discussed something that was none of her business, so she concentrated once more on the linen, deciding it was well-boiled. Using the iron rod, she lifted it out of the water and allowed it to drip and cool just enough to touch it.
Walking over to Alastar, she gave him a sheepish smile. “You remember this will sting, aye?” He only nodded and squared his shoulders, silently giving her permission to do what she must. As she squeezed the warm water over the wound, Maggie watched the dirt wash away. Then she gently dabbed the clean linen over the gash. He winced and gritted his teeth, but he never made a sound.
Flynn stepped close to her again with the candle, this time accidentally grazing her hip with his thigh. It was the most ridiculously innocent touch, but her face heated and she looked away to grab her clean thread and bone needle. Taking a deep breath, calm washed over her as she did what she did best. Instinctively, her needle went in and out of Alastar’s flesh, creating a perfect row of stitches that she knew would heal quite nicely. He would have a scar, aye, but she had made certain it would be a straight scar. Nobody would look upon a wound she stitched and say it was flawed.
“’Tis most impressive,” she heard Flynn whisper under his breath. She was almost certain he had not meant for her to hear it, so she did not acknowledge his compliment. Still, it made her bite back a smile and she was suddenly glad for the dim lighting so he could not see her flush.
“Thank you, sweet Maggie,” Aislin said, and she stepped closer to observe her husband’s wound. “You have a gift, for certain.”
Her gifts were nothing compared to Aislin’s, but she silently accepted the compliment with a nod and a smile.
“You must be off, lads,” Brocc said deeply from behind Maggie, suddenly startling her from her thoughts. She had forgotten the quiet man stood near the hearth.
“Aye,” Brennain said, walking past Maggie and bumping into her hard enough to throw her body against Flynn’s, who was still standing next to her holding the clay bowl full of burning tallow. With his free hand, Flynn caught her around her waist, holding her tightly against him so she could regain her balance.
Panic seized her when she realized she was firmly against him. She looked up to him and saw anger in his eyes, which only frightened her further. He was angry with her and she had no idea if he would strike her for knocking into him or not. She flinched and shrugged out of his grip, feeling relief when he easily let her go, confusion in his gaze. “Are you all right?”
Swallowing hard, she nodded and turned away to gather her supplies.
“I am sorry I bumped into you, Maggie,” Brennain said with a smirk. He did not look sorry at all and she was very confused by his actions. It all felt very intentional, like he wanted her to knock into Flynn, though she could not understand such an action.
Again, she only nodded and kept her back turned. The door opened, the fire flickered and she heard large booted steps leaving the home before the door shut again. She could finally breathe.
“Are you all right, Maggie? You seem shaken.” Aislin asked, and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I am fine. I need to leave. Fetch me if you need aught, or think a fever is developing.” Aislin crinkled her brow at Maggie’s sudden change of mood, but she just needed to get home and back to the one place she felt safe. She knew she had overreacted; a part of her quite liked the feel of Flynn’s hands on her body, his body against hers. Still, the thought of being so small and helpless against a strong man had, once again, consumed her mind. Gods, she was a mess no man would ever love, and even if one could, she would likely run away.
Chapter Three
“You are in deep shite, Flynn.”
Flynn stayed silent because if he spoke, he would likely use every foul word in their language to curse his brother for his childish behavior. Maggie was skittish by nature, he knew that much. She seemed beyond timid when around men, but the fear in her eyes when he touched her made his stomach drop. He had only been trying to keep her from falling because his arse of a brother thought he was hilarious to push her into him. But Maggie looked as if she thought he would hurt her. He did not know whether to feel disappointed, hurt, or angry. Somehow, he felt all those emotions mixed with a heavy dose of confusion and, as much as he loathed to admit it, lust. Her body was wee and bonny.
She was absolutely perfect and if his life were different, he would go out of his way to slowly woo her into trusting him. He was a large man, but he would never hurt a lass. To think she thought he would made him sick to his stomach. Still, he could do naught about it being gone all the cursed time. His life was not built around having a family and he needed to remind himself of that whenever he thought of trying to break through her wall of fear, especially now that she had been pressed against him and he had smelled her rose and lavender hair.
“I know you like her.”
Flynn was going to knock his brother off his horse if he did not shut his mouth. The next storm had come on in earnest and they had been drenched from the moment they left Ráth Mór. It was nothing new to them; still it would not hurt if just once the weather would not be too wet, too cold, or so hot he felt as if he was melting into his horse. It was still daylight, but it was so dark it felt closer to dusk. They had only been traveling west for an hour and he had counted himself fortunate that his brother stayed silent. It was a rare treat. Now, it seemed his brother had grown weary of silence.
“I know she likes you, as well.”
That was enough. “Brennain, you are an arse. She is clearly frightened of me. Do you know naught about lassies? She was ready to bolt the moment I touched her. What were you even thinking?” he growled. His jaw clenched and his hands tightened on his horse’s reins.
“I was thinking ‘twas time you and Maggie stopped looking at each other with longing and did something about it. Neither of you will, so I made it happen.”
“All you accomplished was frightening the lass. I know naught about her, but she is truly afraid of men. As for me, I have nay interest in trying to know her further. I can do naught for any lass as long as I am always traveling for our king.”
“Mayhap ‘tis time you considered a change in your life. Find a lass. Settle down. Have wee children.”
“All this, coming from my elder brother who beds any lassie he sees? Mayhap you should worry about your own life. I am content with mine.”
“You are meant for a family, Flynn. Mayhap I am not. But you are.”
Flynn thought about his brother’s words for a moment. He remembered Brennain being unusually attached to a lass he met over a summer ago in Alba, when they had traveled across the sea to bring home a warrior Tuathal had sought out for his army. It was the same journey that had brought Maggie and Àdhamh into their lives, and while he clearly remembered the first time his eyes landed on Maggie’s bonny face, he also remembered his brother having overly sweet affections for a lass named Morna. Yet, no good would come from bringing that up. Morna was a sea away and Brennain had been with many lassies since then.
“I was made to do as my king asks. That is what we are doing. Can we focus on the task now? I believe if we keep traveling west we will find Mal Mac Rochride’s camp, or at least where it had been previously. Then we can track them from there. Just keep an eye out for fresh tracks.” Flynn shifted the quiver full of arrows on his shoulder and then felt for the hilt of his sword before thinking of the dagger in his boot. He would not be unprepared for an attack.
Riding for hours in silence, they searched the land for any trace of a traveling army with no success. It was likely they had continued to travel west to gather more followers before confronting Tuathal again in a battle. Several smaller tribes were scattered across the land, most faithful to their high king. Several messengers had arrived at Ráth Mór over the last few months with word that Mac Rochride had approached them for an alliance against Tuathal. They were all eager
to remind their king that they stood true and would fight against Mal if called upon.
However, based on the growing army Mac Rochride had gathered, Flynn knew that not all tuatha were loyal to their high king. The pattern had shown that he was predominately traveling west, but he would eventually need to go another direction to find more tribes, or attempt an attack on Ráth Mór. Yet, Mal seemed to be taking his time and Flynn wondered if it was because he knew his army was too small, or because he was biding his time while planning a grander scheme. He had no real proof, but his gut told him it was the latter. The man would need to more than double his army to even attempt an attack, which would take years to manage, if ever. But if he had a plan to cause trouble, he certainly could throw Tuathal off. This was precisely why Tuathal had bade them join Mac Rochride’s army and gather information.
As the hours passed, the wind picked up its intensity until it howled like a wolf in the night and the darkness cloaked them in its void. It had not rained for over an hour, but they were soaked through and the cold wind only intensified the chill. They needed to seek shelter soon and he knew exactly where they needed to go.
“To the north!” Flynn shouted over his shoulder to his brother. He wondered if the wind had carried his words away before Brennain could hear them, especially with the sound of their thick cloaks whipping behind them. However, Brennain nodded his understanding and slightly steered his brown mare toward the north, heading for the abandoned cottage they had once discovered while on another journey to track down Mal.
Who had once lived there was a mystery, as well as what had happened to them. The house was completely intact, fully furnished with a stack of dry logs against one of its walls, and it contained two wooden bed frames complete with straw mattresses and furs. Whoever it belonged to had clearly not been there in a long while based on the dust that coated everything from the clay dishes to benches and cushions around the hearth. But, it had served as shelter on more than one occasion for Flynn and his brother, especially since it was the perfect distance from Ráth Mór to become shelter by nightfall.