The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vincent, Renee

  And with that he left.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dægan entered through the rear entrance of his longhouse, finding their morning food and drink on the table, untouched. To his surprise, Mara was still asleep in his chambers, in the same position he had left her hours before.

  He removed his cloak and stood at the double doors, taking pleasure in seeing a woman in his bed. Her presence made the detail of the carved boxbed and the excess of fine silks and linens finally look suitable, that it wasn’t just a vanity anymore.

  Mara stirred under the blankets and rolled to see Dægan crawling across the narrow bed.

  “Are you always this late to rise?” he asked lying upon her, the blankets still between them. “I have already seen to my chores for the morning and yet I find you still here.”

  Sleepily, Mara smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Forgive me. I have never slept this well before.”

  He kissed her once on the lips. “I am pleased my bed is to your liking.”

  “‘Tis not the bed.”

  “Oh?”

  “Perhaps ‘tis because I no longer sleep alone,” Mara said, stringing a lock of his hair between her fingers. “How did you sleep?”

  “Well enough,” Dægan lied.

  Mara narrowed her eyes. “You lie as pitifully as I do. ’Tis all right to admit your sleep was not well, for I can see that your mind is restless and your back is stiff. I will not think you less of a man for saying such things.”

  Her fingers strolled down his spine and back up into his hair, bringing a low groan from him. “I would hope not.”

  Mara lifted her head to kiss his lips but his slight lack of fervor, which he tried to keep from being indolent at best, gave him away. “You have already visited your mother.”

  Dægan looked at her sideways, surprised by her perception. “Aye.”

  “Need I ask how she has taken it?”

  “Nay,” he said straightly. “Things are as I expected.”

  “Shield me not from the truth, Dægan. Please tell me how she fairs.”

  Dægan hung his head. “She is ill. Her heart is weak and I know not how much more she can take.”

  “I will take care of her,” she insisted. “I will make certain she is comfortable and has all she needs whilst you are digging the grave and moving the ship across the isle.”

  “I cannot ask you to do that.”

  “Nor will I wait for you to. I will go to her, and that is that.”

  Dægan was grateful for her generosity and warmly kissed her forehead. “Perhaps seeing you will do for her, what it does for me.

  He knew she pondered the very likeliness of that statement, doubting it even as she made an effort to slip from his arms. “Where are you going?” Dægan asked, looking nearly heartbroken.

  “To see to your mother.”

  “Please, not now,” he begged lightly. “I want to stay here with you for a little while. When I am with you, my troubles disappear and my world is temporarily at peace. I am not ready to leave my longhouse, to endure the day I know I have ahead of me. I simply want to remain with you, at least for the rest of the morning.”

  Mara slid back into place along side him and drew her arms tightly around him. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

  If it were up to Dægan, it would have been an eternity. She felt so soft against him, contrary to the harshness of the stress that plagued him. He sat up only to remove his clothing so that he could lie next to her, naked flesh to naked flesh. And just as he slipped beneath the covers, he felt an immense relief in the warmth she emitted. He pulled her hips against his own, feeling her hot, tender folds just below his navel and the small swell of her breasts at his chest.

  Before long, his blood began to pound and amass in one region of his body and he couldn’t ignore it. The agonizing throb overpowered everything he had thought of to will it away. But having his body stiffen to the point of torture didn’t seem right after the morning he encountered

  Yet, how could it not? Mara was there in his arms, naked, willing, and as real as his own beleaguered body.

  He sat up on one elbow and looked at her, the sleek lines of her collar bones, the smallness of her waist and the curvature of her hips that broadened before two well-formed thighs. It was a blessed sight that stirred a tremendous lust in him, more than he cared to brag of, for it was not his way to be so lecherous.

  Finally, he bent to kiss her, slowly at first, taking great pains to be mild and compassionate. But, it was not what his starved body sought after, nor could he deprive it any longer. He came down upon her, demanding everything from her. Her mouth, her neck, her breasts. No part of her luscious body was safe from the brunt of his feral needs.

  ****

  Mara was unable to stop him, nor did she want to. She shuddered from the sweet invasion of his touch and the avid hunger of his mouth across her bosom. He suckled one nipple, sliding his tongue across it and hardening it with lavish strokes. It wasn’t the first time he had bathed her breasts with such passion, for he had performed this very deed on the night he first took her. But until this moment, she hadn’t realized just how much she craved it. She yearned for it so much that her nipples actually ached beneath his heated mouth.

  Dægan didn’t stop there. His kisses fell further down her body, spending time at her belly and hips.

  Mara threw herself up on her elbows, shocked that he had made his way to her thighs, spreading her legs gently. “What are you doing?”

  “Sh...” Dægan said, kissing the sensitive skin of that ever-delicate juncture. “I will not hurt you, love.”

  “Why are you…”

  Her words fell silent as he touched her with the tip of his tongue. She shuddered again but grabbed his hair, pulling him up from his pleasures.

  “I want to,” he whispered dryly.

  “I cannot let you do this.”

  “Why not?” he asked. “You are mine and I can do with you as I please.”

  “This is what men do to women?”

  “Nay. This is what a husband does to his wife.”

  Mara swallowed hard, spouting the first excuse that came to mind. “But I am not yet your wife.”

  “In three days, you shall be…unless you tell me otherwise.” Dægan kissed her there again, causing her to shudder once more with irrepressible delight. “Tell me, woman. Tell me you want me not as a husband anymore…and I shall stop.”

  Repeatedly, he kissed her flesh, rolled his tongue around it, never letting her gather enough strength to speak. Not that she’d protest about him being her husband, but this form of intimacy was so strange to her that she felt she had to at least interrupt the exquisite act long enough to contend with it.

  She dropped to her back, arching against him as he played, unable to think about anything other than what he was doing. He groaned for her, a low sound that vibrated against her sensitive flesh, awakening a place deep within her. She felt as if heat were flushing through her from the inside out, his tongue and roaming fingertips inciting a flame of desire so strong, her entire body ached for more of his titillating deeds.

  “Tell me, Mara. Say that you hate this, that you want me not between your thighs. Say it.”

  She tried. Oh God, how she tried! But his mouth was like fire and his tongue was like a wash of water, quenching the flare of searing heat she had never felt before. She wanted more, but how could she let him do this?

  It was wicked what he was doing!

  And so utterly pleasing!

  ****

  Dægan took pleasure in seeing the effect he had on her, watching her writhe and squirm about the bed. She was all his, with just a simple touch given tenfold.

  Over and over he licked her, kissed her, feeling her swell beneath his tongue, unyielding to the attempts she made to wiggle free. He wouldn’t stop. He made it his mission to see her to the end, to hear her and see her climax from where he was lying.

  Mara stiffened, arms straight at her sid
es, fists clenched, breath held. Finally, her release came as she exhaled violently and drew her legs against his head. He thoroughly enjoyed that he was the one who made it happen. And he’d be the man she’d yearn for and beg for, again and again, from this day forth.

  Dægan touched her ever so softly, stroking her calves and thighs, kissing her navel again and then the fullness of her heaving breasts, until finally he was sprawled upon her, waiting for her breath to catch and her eyes to open. When they did, it was like a thousand spells of enchanting magic had consecrated him.

  He smiled proudly, but it only made Mara cover her face with embarrassment

  “Hide not from me,” he said hoarsely. “What I did to you, I should have done the first night you shared my bed.”

  “Does a husband always have that right? To do whatever he pleases, no matter how sinful?”

  “Aye, he does. As does the wife to do whatever she wishes. But ‘tis not sinful between husband and wife.”

  “I am not your—”

  “Three days, love,” Dægan replicated, spreading her legs with his. “Three days…”

  He kissed her tenderly and moved slowly against her, finding the wet warmth between her legs so enticing, so painfully thrilling, he could barely find the strength to stop.

  But he did.

  Somehow he found the will to pause, for her frightful eyes took him completely by surprise. “Are you all right? Is that truly fear I see?”

  Mara looked as if she didn’t know what to say, but she denied the fear anyway.

  “Then what is it? Do you think I will hurt you?”

  “Well…” she said nervously. “I know you will not mean to hurt me.”

  Dægan looked at her very confused. “I will never hurt you. Why would you think I could do such a thing?”

  Mara held motionless without a word of explanation, but her eyes looked timidly down between their naked bodies. His enlarged manhood foretold of her apprehension.

  “Ah, I see now,” he said, laughing at her innocence. “’Twill not hurt anymore. I promise.” He kissed her again slowly, hoping to rekindle the fire in her eyes. “This time ‘twill be better, love. Trust me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “This is the place,” Breandán said with certainty.

  Domaldr raised a doubting brow from upon his resting horse. “Are you certain, Éireannach?”

  Breandán dismounted and walked studiously along the ground, taking in every broken twig, every mashed tuft of meadow grass, and every muddied print, man and horse alike. He followed the signs, those of which were insignificant and most often overlooked, leading him directly into the mouth of the cavern. In seeing the telltale scrapes upon the normally undisturbed cavern floor, he discerned it was quite evident that something was dragged across it, say several bodies. Breandán then ventured further and also found the remnants of ash from a well-removed campfire. To anyone else, those signs would have gone unnoticed, but to Breandán’s keen eyes, they were blatant marks.

  “Aye, I am certain,” Breandán said again.

  Domaldr looked at Soren and Thorbjörn who should’ve known better than anyone if this was the right cavern. “Well? Does he speak the truth?”

  Soren thought it could very well be the place they had fled from, but he still looked around, trying to catch sight of something noteworthy, to be sure. “This looks like the place, m’lord, but—”

  Domaldr shook his head in disappointment. “Imbeciles!”

  Breandán strode forward with a smile that boasted a mighty arrogance. “I have without a doubt found the place where your brother stayed with the Irish woman, so there is no need to question your men or insult them. Besides, did you honestly think your brother would still be here?”

  Domaldr lifted his head and sucked in the morning air as if to cool his rising temper. When that didn’t work, he unsheathed his sword and swiftly charged Breandán, stopping only inches from him, the long blade of his weapon laid closely at the hunter’s neck. “Forgive me if I seem brash, but I need more than your words. I need proof! Give me proof, else you lose your head!”

  Breandán stood still as Domaldr circled him on his steed. “How many men did you say you lost?”

  “What?”

  “I said…how many men did your brother kill that night?”

  Domaldr narrowed his eyes, getting impatient with the all-too-calm prisoner and his games. “Five. Why?”

  Breandán pointed past Domaldr into the woods. “Just thought you might want to pay your respects.”

  Domaldr whipped his head around, his horse stomping as it was forced to obey a hard bit.

  There they were.

  Five distinct grave mounds tucked nicely into the shade of the woods. Domaldr snarled, despite the evidence confirming his brother’s presence. As much as he was relieved that Breandán was leading him down the right trail, he was still only following a path. A path he fully expected to go on for awhile, a path he swore he’d never lag in. A shadow he vowed never to crouch behind again.

  “Now where?” Domaldr asked, gnashing those words between a vice-like jaw.

  “Well, taking into account that you said your brother was naught but a merchant, my guess would be Luimneach. ‘Tis the nearest port from here and possibly the best place to gain a quick fortune in selling a beautiful princess in the slave market. But…given he risked his own life for her, leads me to believe he thinks more of her, and parting so abruptly might not be his intention. Perhaps he has fallen in love.”

  “I could care less about what my brother feels for the wench! I just want to find him! Now, on your horse!”

  Breandán remounted just as casually as the next words rolled off his tongue. “So tell me, Domaldr. Why do you hate this brother of yours so much? He cannot be as bad as you allude him to be. He had enough decency to bury your men.”

  “I agreed not to bring you along for the sake of conversation!” Domaldr snapped, sheathing his mottled sword at his side. “You have a task. Keep to it—in silence!”

  ****

  Ottarr and Vegard arrived early that afternoon with five ships full of men, just as Dægan had instructed. Four of them were warships, dragged from the sea to dock upon the gritty shore and the fifth was the newly finished knarr. It had too deep of a keel to dock on land, so it remained floating in the distance with its cargo and belongings being emptied from its cavernous hull by the use of many small fishing boats. This gave Ottarr, Vegard, and the twenty others who would be leaving with them, enough time to eat and reload for the next quick journey to Gaillimh.

  When the tedious task was finished, Dægan escorted his two friends to board the knarr from his boat. While rowing out to sea, Ottarr spoke quietly, intent on addressing the issue of an unexpected stowaway. “My lord, there is something you should know.”

  “Oh?”

  Ottarr seemed to struggle with his next words, trying to read first Dægan’s mood before doing so. “We brought Rutland here with us.”

  Dægan furrowed his brow, but the rhythm in his row was undisturbed by the startling news. “Why did you bring him here? I care not to see that traitor again!”

  “We thought it best in order to keep rumors at bay. People in Luimneach know of Rutland, and if he were stupid enough to get caught, then he probably didn’t use much discretion in keeping his little plan a secret. If his body were found, gossip would have followed you everywhere you went.”

  Vegard added his thoughts on the matter. “Do what you will with him, but leaving him in Luimneach would not have been wise.”

  “And bringing him here would be?” Dægan barked. “A dead man from Luimneach is not the kind of proof I need to sway my Irish neighbors that I wish for peace!”

  “I realize this may not be what you bargained for,” Ottarr said. “But you should have thought about that before you hunted him down and killed him.”

  Dægan stopped rowing. “Are you telling me I should have let him go? Then curse you both!”

  “Dægan,
we are not condemning you,” Ottarr amended. “I know I would have done the same thing. But you cannot expect this to rectify itself.”

  “And where do you expect me to hide the bastard?”

  “I know not!” Ottarr bellowed under his breath. “Throw him out to sea for the fishes for all I care!”

  Dægan groaned and went back to rowing. “Do the men know he is here?”

  “Nay,” Vegard stated carefully. “We told them nothing.”

  “Then how does one get a dead body past a ship-full of men?”

  Vegard looked at Ottarr before answering. “We put him in an empty barrel and filled the rest with water so that it bore a liking to mead when the men loaded it.”

  Dægan sighed, shaking his head. “This was the best you could come up with?”

  “Aye!” Ottarr shouted, and then took a breath to calm himself since they were nearing the knarr. “Aye, ‘twas,” he whispered. “We had not the time to come up with something better. Would you have rather we strung him from the mast?”

  “Enough!” Dægan said. “I understand the predicament you had to face, but that does not mean I have to like it.”

  “Should I stay with you?” Vegard asked. “’Twill be easier to rid this together.”

  “Nay,” Dægan said, stopping beside the knarr and rubbing his forehead fiercely. “Just return by tomorrow with that soil.”

  Ottarr stood and boarded the boat quickly, but Vegard bent down to whisper in his chieftain’s ear. “Drink not the mead tonight, m’lord.”

  Dægan rolled his eyes and swatted at the man. “Get out of here, you old goat.”

  ****

  Mara finished her breakfast in the late hours of the morn. The longhouse was lonely and Dægan had given her permission to venture outside, should she get bored. Yet, it was not boredom that compelled her to leave, but curiosity. She was anxious to see the place Dægan called home and the beauty on the island of which he often spoke.

  Before he left and without much explanation, Dægan had laid a stack of clothes, neatly folded, on the table. To her surprise it was not a dark-colored cloak and linens for her to wear, but a silk tunic of light green, with rows of emerald jewels running the length of the neckline. The sleeves were long, and flared to jeweled hems from the elbows, matching the pattern of the beautifully decorated bodice.