The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vincent, Renee

  Dægan rolled over, catching her head with his palm and cradling her body against his. “More importantly, what do you think of me?”

  Mara measured him. “I think you need new stories to tell.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Aye, ‘tis.”

  Dægan kissed her again and slid his hand down the side of her body and around her thigh, stroking lightly. “Then would you be so kind as to help me make up new tales? You know…the kind I should never tell my children.”

  A smile crept across Mara’s lips. “Your children? And what makes you think you will have any?”

  Dægan settled himself between her legs. “Perhaps, you are right. We should try again.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Dægan! Ships are approaching!” Tait’s voice called through the front door of Dægan’s longhouse.

  No answer.

  Tait pounded on the door. “Dægan! Do you hear me? Ships, m’lord!”

  “Aye, I hear you!” Dægan groaned from his bed. “I suspect they are my mercenaries, Tait. Grant them permission to come ashore and I will meet you soon enough.”

  “But, they come from the south! Four ships, red and white sails!”

  Dægan sat up in a jolt, repeating Tait’s words. “Four ships, red and white sails….four ships, red and white sails…Mara get up!” Dægan scrambled from his chambers almost tripping over his own feet. “Tait!”

  “Still here, m’lord.”

  “Get my horse ready! Now!”

  “Already thought of that! I even have one for Mara.”

  “Dægan, what are you shouting about?” Mara asked. She watched him slip his clothes over his head and his boots to his heels.

  “Get up, Mara! Ships approach and we have not much time before they are here!”

  “Who will be here?”

  “Those men! Those Northmen from the Shannon! Get up and get dressed!”

  Dægan dressed himself in his shirt of mail and then slapped his armor to his chest. “You must ride with me to the cliffs! If ‘tis truly them, you will stay at Nevan’s fort!”

  “And what of you?” Mara asked, her panic rising as she threw her tunic over her head and shoved her arms into the sleeves.

  “I will protect the fort!” Dægan said matter-of-factly.

  Mara ran into his arms and gripped his neck. “Who will protect you?”

  Dægan beat the armor upon his chest twice and pushed her away in a hurry to get his sword.

  “That is it? Your armor?”

  Dægan grabbed his belt with his scabbard and secured it at his hip. “What do you want me to say, woman? I am the chieftain on this isle!”

  “But you are without enough men! You will be out numbered more than twice!”

  “What else am I supposed to do?” Dægan asked. “This is my home and you are my wife. I will protect both, with or without men!”

  “Dægan!” Tait called again. “We are losing time!”

  Dægan grabbed Mara’s wrist, rushed past the hearth, and burst through his front door, dragging her behind him. He lifted her to her horse and mounted his with lightning speed, leading the way to the south side of the isle. The three rode as fast as their horses could carry them, through the settlement and past the long rock-lined pastures to the lookout point upon the cliffs.

  ****

  Mara’s heart thumped in her chest, matching the speed of her horse’s hooves. She kept her eyes forward, never drifting from Dægan’s big black beast charging across the field of wildflowers. It almost felt like the day she first met him, their horses running, their hair whipping, their thoughts wildly on each other. But this time, she was chasing him. Her husband. Her very own heathen warrior and protector. There was no second guessing, no questioning, no doubt. God knew she’d follow him anywhere.

  After a long run, the cliff’s edge and the ocean’s blanket of blue came into view. Dægan yanked his horse to a stop and slid from its back, running to the island’s rocky rim. Tait did the same. The two halted and stared at the four oncoming ships.

  Mara watched Dægan’s shoulders rise and fall with his rapid intake of breath. His hands came to his hips and his head dropped to his chest. He didn’t have to say a word. Mara knew that what Dægan feared the worst, was about to happen—was about to land on his shores!

  She remained on her horse and reverently quiet.

  Dægan, however, did not. He cursed and kicked at the ground, clenching his fists into tight balls of rage. His horse side-stepped to distance itself from Dægan’s fit, but remained within arm’s reach. Dægan closed his eyes and leaned face-first against his loyal stead, mumbling to himself.

  “Are you sure these are the same men, Dægan?” Tait finally spoke.

  “Aye.”

  Tait glanced back at Mara before speaking again. “What do you think they want?”

  ****

  Dægan raised his head, his eyes black as coal, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t want to answer. The very thought made him sick, made him sweat with fear. He walked away from Tait and came to Mara, her horse nervous with his presence.

  Dægan patted its neck and put his other hand on Mara’s knee. “Forgive me, Mara. I thought you would be safe here. I never thought—”

  “I know, Dægan,” Mara comforted, brushing his hair from his brow. “I think not anyone could have known.”

  “I will not let them get to you,” Dægan promised leaning his forehead against her leg. “I will not.”

  “They outnumber you.”

  “Worry not about me,” Dægan dismissed.

  Mara lifted his face. “How can I not? I love you.”

  Suddenly Nevan came galloping from the right of the field, dressed rightfully in his hauberk and armor, as well. Dægan sighed and looked at Mara, catching a glimpse of a single fallen tear. He lifted his hand and wiped it away with his thumb. “Cry not for me. I have archers and higher ground. Most will not make it off their ships.”

  Mara’s voice cracked. “And those who do?”

  “They will wish they never did,” Dægan said with conviction.

  “Dægan,” Nevan probed as he circled his horse around them. “What is this? My people are frantic. My men are upset! I hope you have better news than what your face tells me.”

  Dægan briefly turned his back on the king to remount his horse. “I have not the words you would like to hear, Nevan. Tait, get every woman and child to the fort. No one comes out until I say so. I need every available man and servant, fully dressed for battle and in lines twenty meters from the shore. Archers in the rear, cavalry in the front.”

  Tait nodded and lifted himself likewise on his horse, but Dægan trotted near him, grabbing his armor by the shoulder plate. “You see that my mother and Lillemor get to the fort. They both are stubborn females and ‘twill not offend me if you drag them by their hair. Just get them there!”

  Tait nodded again.

  “I will meet you at the beach. Now go.”

  Nevan watched Tait leave before he found his tongue again. “Who are these men, Dægan? What do they want?”

  Dægan ignored the king again and trotted over toward Mara. “You go with Nevan to the fort and under no circumstances do you leave. Do you understand me? No matter what you see, or what you hear. You stay with Nevan and, until I call for you, you do nothing. Only I will send for you. No one else! Do you hear me?”

  “Aye,” Mara said reluctantly.

  “No one but me! Say it!” Dægan demanded.

  “No one but you.”

  Dægan leaned across her horse and grabbed her by the back of the head, pulling her into a hardened kiss. “Only me!” he reminded. He then jerked his horse to the left and faced the surprisingly patient king. “Nevan, I ask that you take my wife to your fort and keep her in your sights. Let no one in! No matter what!”

  Nevan grew frustrated as orders were directed at him. “I thought you said your troubles remained in Luimneach, Dægan.”

  Dægan twisted his horse abo
ut in anger, “You think I want this? You think I want a war?”

  “I know not what you want!” Nevan yelled back. “You never speak to me! You never give me more than the vaguest of your thoughts! Damnation, Dægan, I am your friend. We go too far back not to be. For two years we have shared this isle. But never together. We could be so much more, if you would let it. If you would just trust me! Can you not look into my eyes and see my loyalty?”

  Dægan clenched his jaw. He hadn’t time for this. At this moment he could care less about what kind of relationship he had with the Irish king. All he wanted was to rid these intruders from his shores. To end this feud once and for all, and if that meant killing every last one of them, then so be it! If he didn’t, he feared they would be like rabid dogs coming back without cause or reason, again and again.

  “I have not the time to mend your bleeding heart, Nevan.”

  Nevan sat still, taken aback by Dægan’s sarcasm. “With all that I have given to you through blind trust, you dare insult me. You dare treat me like an enemy. I never thought it would ever come to this. To knowing, like a slap in the face, that the one person I hold in high regard thinks naught more of me than the dirt on his own heel. Nonetheless, I will protect your bride with my life. May God keep you safe.”

  At that, Nevan turned his horse with a jerk and approached Mara, holding out his hand to designate the way toward his ancient fort.

  Dægan rode up quickly, leaning into her outstretched arm. “Go, love. Go with him.”

  “But Dægan—”

  “Do this not,” he whispered in her ear. “Be strong. I need you to be strong. I cannot think of your pain right now. Please, do not do this to me.”

  Mara sucked in a breath of strength and nodded.

  “I love you,” Dægan whispered and kissed her again. “Now go.”

  Dægan felt the heat of Nevan’s stare and returned the gaze with just as much intensity. He didn’t mean to be rash with Nevan, but it just came out. An apology right now would seem almost insincere, and Dægan held his regret in check, hoping he would be given a chance to reconcile with the loyal king. “Forget not what I told you, Nevan. Only I will come for her.”

  Nevan never blinked, never nodded, never spoke. He just trotted away with Mara close behind.

  Dægan felt his mistake as heavy as a thousand coats of mail on his back. He cursed that very encumbrance and fled toward the shoreline.

  ****

  Dægan, Tait, Steinar, and the near army of a hundred, sat abreast from each other, waiting silently in their saddles, spears and shields in hand. The only sounds Dægan and his men could hear were the distant chants of the seamen rowing their hardest and the ocean waves lapping before them.

  “How many, Dægan?” Tait asked from the corner of his mouth.

  “Two hundred, perhaps.”

  Dægan assumed his words settled like thorns in Tait’s breeches for he saw his friend shift in his saddle

  “Is it too soon to ask for your orders?”

  Dægan cleared his throat. “I have only one. Let no man step foot on this isle.”

  Steinar looked at Tait with an unquestionable sneer of satisfaction. “Simple enough, is it not?”

  Tait shook his head, knowing Steinar was probably hard with it. “You enjoy battle way too much, my friend.”

  Dægan ignored Steinar’s raw laughter and raised his hand in the air, commanding the archers behind him to make ready and take aim. The sound of stretching horse hair being drawn to its limits was a noise that Dægan welcomed above all else, for he knew in time that with an irreversible drop of his hand, the calm shores of his home would be quiet no more, and the shouts and screams of pain and death would soon fill his ears.

  How he hated that sound, that unsettling shriek of agony and desperation. Yet his hand would be the very start of it all. The beginning of the end, so to speak. He alone had the power to commence it, or suspend it. But something told Dægan to keep his hand in the air. To hold havoc at bay just a bit longer.

  Tait saw Dægan’s hesitation, his hand trembling above his head. “What are you waiting for? The ships will soon be too close for the archers! Give the word now!”

  “Nay, not yet.”

  “If you wait much longer, our archers will be useless!”

  “Just a little longer,” Dægan murmured with confidence.

  “What are you doing? Give the word!”

  Suddenly, Dægan heard his name being called from the closest ship, faint at first, but then stronger with each shout. He crowded his brows, hearing a woman’s voice calling his name, wondering how anyone aboard those ships knew him at all. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out the person at the bow of the ship, waving their arms in a desperate craze.

  Tait impatiently grabbed Dægan’s wrist, trying to lower it and give command to the many archers in position, but was unable to do so.

  Dægan gave Tait a fierce look. “Let go of my arm!”

  “Drop it!” Tait argued.

  “I give the orders here!”

  “Then for what do you wait?”

  “Someone is calling me by name!”

  “So!”

  “A woman is aboard, you oaf!”

  Tait jerked his head to the first approaching ship, taking sight of a woman’s blowing golden hair. The woman called again, this time, for him. “Thordia!” Tait exhaled in a panic. “They have my Thordia!”

  Dægan quickly signaled the archers to lower their weapons and dismounted from his horse. “Stay!” he ordered of Tait. “I will handle this! Hold your position and wait for my signal.”

  Tait gave a heaving sigh and resituated himself in his saddle, gripping his spear even harder. Dægan knew that Tait’s mind likely raced, his heart pounding like thunder. For if it were Mara upon that ship, all he would think of was what they had done to her. Tait likely thought that of his Thordia—about the hands that held her, the beasts that violated her, the men that laughed and made wagers while she screamed.

  Dægan looked to his friend, a hand gripping his stomach; his jaw clenched. His breath trapped deep in his lungs. He had begun to sweat and couldn’t sit still upon his horse.

  Dægan watched the grip of rage choke Tait and knew he had to act quickly. “Come on!”

  Tait practically fell from his horse. “I will kill them if they touched her!”

  “Easy, Tait. It could be a trap. Keep your wits about you.”

  Dægan looked over his shoulder at the lines of brave men staring back at him. They seemed more eager now, more ready to make a stand. He was pleased. “Steinar, keep the archers at bay. Once Thordia is safe, I may give the signal. Be ready, but assume not my intentions. Wait for me.”

  Steinar growled from behind his wooden shield, anxious to start the fight. “Aye, just say the word, Dægan. Just say the word.”

  Dægan turned and caught up with Tait already at the water’s edge, the waves lapping at his ankles. One ship was coming in quickly, its oars drawn inside the hull, their men also standing poised with sword and shield. The woman raised her arms to wave, a large smile marking her face as she saw Tait wading in the water for her.

  “Stop,” Dægan said grabbing his arm. “Let her come to you.”

  “Tait!” Thordia called from the prow, her body in full view now. Dægan could see that she was fully clothed, her dress unmarked or torn, and her face was clean and bright, not a woman who had withstood a forceful taking. “Thordia, are you hurt?”

  “Of course not, Dægan. Why would I be—”

  “Step off the boat, Thordia.”

  She looked over the side at the water. “Are you not going to help me?”

  “Get off the ship!” Dægan ordered again.

  “Do as he says, Thordia,” Tait insisted, his face as straight as pounded iron.

  Suddenly a man stepped up from behind Thordia and put his hand on her shoulder. “We have quite a welcome here. Perhaps you should wait until ‘tis safer, Thordia.”

  “Take your hands o
ff her!” Tait barked.

  Dægan threw his arm across Tait’s chest. “Enough.”

  “I will kill him!” Tait yelled, pushing Dægan at his chest.

  But Dægan held his friend at bay. “Listen to me! Listen to me, Tait!” he gnarled through his teeth. “Do you want Thordia alive or dead?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Then hold your bloody tongue! One more outburst from you and I will have you dragged from this shore! You understand me? Hold your tongue!”

  Dægan slowly released Tait when he had clearly submitted and glared back at the man who no doubt enjoyed the little commotion. “What is your name?”

  “His name is Soren,” said a familiar voice from the rowing bench.

  Dægan could hardly believe his eyes. There in front of him stood his brother, Domaldr, flesh and blood, an exact match for his own face. He had thought him dead, almost wished it on several occasions, and never thought the day would come when he’d look upon that face again. In looking now, he wished age would have changed Domaldr’s face a little, so as not to be so strikingly similar. As kind as Dægan could force it, he said, “Hello, Brother. ‘Tis good to see you.”

  Domaldr joined Soren and Thordia at the bow. “I never thought I would ever hear those words from you, Dægan.”

  “All right, Domaldr. Enough with the games. Let the girl go.”

  “You first.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dægan asked.

  “Your archers. Make them put their weapons down and you can have the girl.”

  Dægan checked over his shoulder at his archers positions. “They are lowered.”

  “I said down, as in on the ground, not lowered. I am well aware of how little time it takes for you to give the order and for me to be impaled.” Domaldr jerked a dagger under Thordia’s chin and held her close against his chest. “On the ground, or she dies.”

  Dægan immediately yelled to his men and the archers set their bows to the ground. Domaldr held his position until the distant clatter of wood ceased. Like a heartless snake he retracted his dagger and kissed Thordia’s neck. “There you go, dear. Your Tait awaits you.”