The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vincent, Renee

  And he smiled.

  The bastard smiled like he had just won her after a fierce tournament. Like he had seen through Breandán’s ruse and came to her in profound mockery, letting her see what was left of Breandán dripping from his blade, boasting the kill like a trophy.

  He sheathed his bloody sword, his eyes just as set as hers, and yanked a dagger from his belt. Before he could take one step forward, Mara had already begun to crawl away. With all her might and all her rising fear, she scrambled for distance, gripping the ground to gain speed in her fruitless flight.

  He came down on top of her and rolled her over, holding her tightly in his arms on the cold ground. Mara screamed and writhed against his body, jerking sharply in hopes her knees would catch his groin.

  He called her name, ordering her to be quiet, but she continued in her rebellious thrashing, feeling his hard cold armor and mail pushing sharply through her gown and against her legs as he sat upon her.

  “Mara, ‘tis me!” he whispered forcibly. “Dægan!”

  Oh God, she thought. He was callous enough to use that trick again. How dare he! How dare he think me that stupid!

  She cursed him behind the gag, a long slur of words quite unbefitting of a woman, and if she could have spit at him, she would have done that, too. Instead, she made doubly certain his pursuit of her was nothing short of difficult, if not downright impossible.

  He grabbed her wrists now, yanking them up to the level of his eyes as if she weighed only a pennyweight. Mara braced herself for his swift punishment and even welcomed the possibility of death before he could have his way with her. “Hold still!” he commanded, holding the blade carefully between her wrists. He paused only for a moment, righting the knife directly on the rope and pulled. Her hands were free and with animal instinct, she smacked his face twice and began beating him for all she was worth.

  “Mara, please listen to me! ‘Tis I, Dægan! I swear it. Look at me!”

  She clenched her hand into an embittered fist and struck him solidly, his head snapping to the right. He groaned with irritation and gripped both her hands, forcing them above her head as he held her to the ground. “Look at me!” he called to her, but she squeezed her eyes shut on purpose.

  “Damnation, woman!” He plummeted to her ear, forcing a kind voice from a rigid jaw. “Sh…listen to my voice, love. Listen to it. I beg you.”

  Mara stilled for a brief moment, unsure of the heated whisper upon her skin, cringing at the thought of Domaldr’s putrid breath upon her.

  “Aye,” he said sweetly.

  He waited, his breath still warm against her, but he made no effort to maul her neck as she thought he would. She narrowly opened her eyes and through her desperate heavy gasping, she smelled a hint of expensive oils, the familiar scent of his hair, and the faint masculine aura of his leather armor.

  He seemed to feel a change in her and sat up.

  Mara wanted to believe. She wanted with everything that was in her to believe that this man was Dægan. That, though seemingly impossible, her tried and true husband had found a way to travel across the sea and rescue her. But strangely, his armor contradicted her hope. She looked at his chest and broad shoulders, eyeing the thick shell of metal plates, leather, and ringlets around his torso and arms, but it looked nothing of Dægan’s.

  Mara feared it was a trick. Almost felt in her heart that it was, and sucked in a breath plotted for screaming, but he placed a gentle finger to her gagged mouth.

  “Look at me,” he whispered to her. “Listen closely to what I say to you, for there is not much time. You first gave yourself to me in Luimneach. And I took you not until you begged it of me. And the next morning, I thought you to regret it, but you did not. I can describe every part of you if you want me to. I can tell you how sweet your tongue is after you have sucked the sugar from my finger. I can count on one hand the times I made love to you and wish on my very life ‘twere more. I can speak of the solitary freckle just beneath your right breast. The first time you quickened from my mouth and the tightness of your legs around my head, for only a husband could know such intimate things. I am he. I am your husband. I want naught more than your love and trust right now and by the great God in Heaven, I wish I could steal it. But I will not. I will wait forever and a day for you. Listen to my words, Mara for I speak as a lost sheep. Find me. Find me in your heart…I just might be there.”

  Mara felt the certainty in his words and the sweet ring of familiarity. No one could know those things save for Dægan himself. Relief and unfettered happiness washed over her like an ocean wave, but her words were still trapped amid the shock of his very presence. As final proof of his true identity, she quickly lifted his tunic and there, like a brand, was the wound across his left thigh he had received a sennight ago in the cavern.

  He was alive! Dægan was truly alive! She reached for him, her fingertips grazing his face, drawing a shuddering sigh from his lips.

  ****

  Dægan pulled the gag down and instantly her smile beamed and her sweet voice filled his ears, his name never sounding as good as it did right then. He pushed her hair from her face and smiled—his wife was safe in his arms. “Sh…” he whispered and dove tenderly to her mouth, eager to feel the warmth of her inviting lips once again.

  He kissed her long and hard, yet with great passion, far from the perversity of Domaldr’s kiss. If she had any doubt at all about his true identity, he made sure he resolved it all by the way he tenderly swaddled his tongue with hers and the gentle string of pecks thereafter.

  “How did you get here?” she asked. “I saw your ships burn, every last one of them! And your men? Are they all right?”

  Dægan didn’t want to explain. He didn’t even want to talk, for it was far too long a story. He just wanted to savor this moment and hold her for an eternity. Unfortunately, he knew this small piece of Heaven was merely a brief calm before the storm. He only nodded to answer her string of questions and forced a smile, hiding the tears of relief pooling in his eyes. For the first time, they came like rain.

  She wiped them away. “M’lord, you have suffered and I cannot begin to imagine your pain. Speak to me.”

  Dægan couldn’t. He didn’t even know where to begin. He just closed his eyes and slowly let his head fall to her chest, finally finding consolation from all his troubles, all his bitterly nagging worries. He exhaled a breath that clung so deep and fierce within his lungs, and absorbed himself in the soft swell of her body, the feel of her delicate fingertips in his hair, the strength of her dainty arms around him. He felt so right with her.

  So perfect.

  So content he almost forgot about his men waiting outside.

  The tent flap lifted and Tait walked in unannounced, but quickly turned his head as he realized that Dægan was lying upon her bosom. “My apologies, m’lady. I knew well that the two of you would need time to reacquaint yourselves, but I did not think there was time for much more.”

  Dægan looked up from his idyllic Heaven and stared into the green of Mara’s eyes he had missed so much. “Leave us, Tait.”

  “But m’lord—”

  “I said leave us,” Dægan whispered from a harden jaw, still unable to take his eyes from hers. “Drag the dead into the woods and replace them with ten of our own.”

  “Dægan, you cannot be serious. We have no time for this!”

  Dægan finally tore his eyes away from his wife and glared sternly at Tait with a furrowed brow. “Leave us!”

  Tait humbly stepped backward and exited the tent, but not before fighting with the flap that tangled around his arm. Dægan heard him curse first and then give the orders, but until he heard the dragging of bodies, he didn’t relax enough to return his eyes in Mara’s direction. Once he settled down, he found her gaze and held it. He stared for such a long time without smiling or speaking.

  “Why do you look at me this way?”

  “Can a husband not drown in his wife’s eyes whilst she holds him?” He paused for the len
gth of several breaths, looking beyond her beautiful green eyes at the rest of her body. What was first a lustful fixation, now became a demanding search of Domaldr’s tell-tale brutality. He nearly trembled as he searched.

  “Did he hurt you?” Dægan asked, touching every inch of her face, neck, and arms. “Tell me now! Did he hurt you?”

  “Nay.”

  “Did he touch you?”

  Mara shook her head. “M’lord, please. He did naught to me.”

  Dægan knew better. Domaldr had done plenty to Mara and the effect it had on her was obvious, since it had taken a battling insistence to convince her of his own identity. He clenched his jaw and retrieved the dagger from the ground beside him. He flipped it with a quick toss and reached down her legs, readying the knife between her ankles. “Hold still,” he gently commanded, and in one swift motion, he cut the rope.

  Dægan rubbed the life back into her legs, her soft flesh feeling so good against the callused skin of his hand. He wanted to touch more of her. He wanted to drag his hand all the way up her leg and spread her wide enough to feast. He grew hard at the sight of her ripe body, fixating on how it would feel to bury himself inside her tight, feminine sheath. But he fought that selfish desire and eased himself to all fours, hiding the sharp pain in his ribs that cruelly reminded him of his cursed brother, instead of his beautifully sprawled temptress beneath him.

  Mara sat up to meet him. “Dægan,” she said, stroking his cheek. “I see anger in your eyes.”

  “Of course, you do. I have yet to find a place for this hatred.”

  “This has to end.”

  “Oh, ‘twill, Mara. ‘Twill all end tonight.” He pushed himself up to his knees, unable to remain on the ground with her in such an intimate position while speaking of Domaldr.

  “Do not do this,” she pleaded, shuffling closer to him. “Take what is yours and leave.”

  “I will, but not before I see Domaldr beg for mercy.”

  Mara frowned. “Even if he did drop to his knees, you would not give him that luxury. I know you. I can see it in your eyes. But forget not what little your wrath will bring you, what little Rutland’s death did to comfort your breaking heart over Eirik. And just like Eirik, Domaldr is still your broth—”

  “Finish not that thought, I beg you. I have heard those words one too many times.”

  Mara cupped his face. “But can you truly live with killing your own blood?”

  His blue eyes twisted in turbulent storms. “‘Twould be far easier to live with his death than yours. Why can you not understand that?” He gripped her arms tightly, his voice shaking as he spoke. “I cannot live without you! I will not! And we will speak naught of it again!” He realized the harshness of his grip and eased the grasp of his fingertips, regretting that he had reacted with such brutality against her. “I have five hundred men awaiting me outside and your father awaits you as well. You will be safer with him.”

  Mara stilled in the moment. “My father?”

  Dægan nodded. “I have sent for Breandán to see to your return.”

  Mara’s eyes widened. “You know of Breandán?”

  “I know of his loyalty to you and his mercy to me. For the latter, I still cannot recollect why, but if you know any reason not to trust him, now would be the time to tell me.”

  Mara thought of Breandán’s devotion. “He is all that and more.”

  As if he heard his name called, Breandán burst through the tent, Tait following closely behind. “I tried to stop him, m’lord, but he threatened to wake the entire camp.”

  Dægan stood and stared grimly at the dark-haired man, shielding Mara instinctively behind his back. “I told you to wait outside.”

  “And I was also told you would not be long.” Breandán retorted in astute boldness. He eyed Mara protectively. “Are you all right?”

  Tait grabbed Breandán by the back of his tunic. “Of course, she is all right! Are you blind?”

  “Tait,” Dægan interrupted, raising his hand. “Release him.”

  Tait uncurled his fingers from the man’s clothing with much frustration, and Breandán shook his tunic back into place, reaching for Mara’s hand. “Time is wasting. We should go.”

  Dægan first found Breandán’s command a little out of place, but let it pass since he couldn’t argue differently. He stepped aside, letting Breandán come nearer. “He is right, Mara. You must go.”

  “I want to stay with you, Dægan,” she began to say.

  But Dægan marched right into her, taking her face in his hands and letting his forehead rest upon hers. “God in Heaven, Mara. This is no place for you. I aim to make war this night and vengeance comes not without bloodshed. I would be a fool to let you stay. Please, I cannot bear to lose you again.”

  Mara nodded, their noses rubbing together.

  He slowly turned his head to Breandán and sighed. “Do you know the way to go from here?”

  “I do.”

  “You will be escorted for most of the journey, simply as a precaution. I trust my wife’s judgment on the aspect of your loyalty, but think not for one moment that you should ever stray from my plan.”

  Breandán didn’t seem shaken by Dægan’s order and stepped forward to grab Mara’s arm. “I will get her home. Of this you can be certain.”

  Normally, Dægan would admire confidence in any man, especially when it involved taking care of his wife, but for some reason he didn’t care for Breandán’s. The fact that he came barging in unannounced and was now grabbing Mara’s arm like he had the authority to do so, did not sit well. To Dægan, the Irishman was throwing more weight around than he had to spare on his thin, youthful frame and likewise, Dægan grabbed Mara’s other arm, leaning forward. “Before I let you leave with my wife, there is something you need to do for me.”

  Breandán held his ground. “What would that be?”

  “Keep the king from coming here.”

  Breandán looked at Mara and then back at Dægan, who never faltered in his steely glare. “‘Twould be better to come from her mouth than mine. I am not one of his army, but a mere commoner. He will not listen to me.”

  Dægan didn’t buy his sad excuse. “He will think enough of you when you walk through his gates with his whole world in your hands.”

  “Dægan,” Mara butted in. “I can show my father the chest. Then he will know of your good will for me—”

  “What chest?”

  “This one,” she said running over to uncover it. “Your wedding gift to me.”

  Bewilderment overtook Dægan as he laid his eyes on the precious wooden chest. He walked to it and dropped to his knees, placing his hands upon the lid. “I thought it burned with everything else… I thought it gone…” He opened it, inspecting the contents within. Every single item was there. The silks folded, the oil jars tucked beside them, and the jewels and silver still sparkling in the corner.

  Dægan slammed the lid shut and spun his head around. “Did you take this from my longhouse?”

  “Only to give it to Mara. Your house was on fire—”

  “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “You are welcome,” Breandán uttered in response.

  “Play not the nobleman with me!” Dægan said charging the lad.

  But Tait jumped in between them. “Dægan, enough!” he whispered forcefully in his chieftain’s face. “We have not the time for this!”

  Dægan ignored Tait’s warning and bellowed back, “Why would you even care to save this from the fire? You had a purpose and it had naught to do with selflessness! Come on! Tell me! Why would you bring this?”

  There was a silent deadly stare between Dægan and Breandán that was long and barbed with jealous animosity. Neither blinked nor flinched as they gaped deeply into each other’s souls. “You love Mara,” Dægan finally said. “You brought this in hopes to win her heart should I have died. To begin where I left off.”

  Mara stepped forward, touching Dægan’s forearm, which was clenched at his side. “That is
absurd, Dægan. He pulled it from the fire so that I might trust him. Tell him, Breandán.”

  Dægan scornfully coaxed the Irishman. “Aye, Breandán. Do tell.”

  “Fine. I love her. But what good does it do to proclaim it? My heart’s longing will never be satisfied. At the least you might find consolation in that, Northman. Be that as it may, I will protect her with every beat of my heart and there is naught you can do about it.”

  “You bastard!” Dægan seethed through his teeth, aiming to choke the life from Breandán.

  Tait held Dægan back with much effort, as it was hard to control him in his rage. “Enough! You cannot settle this here, not now! And what does it matter? She is married to you! She loves you—you know this! Hate him if you must, but he is right. Who better to protect your wife than someone who loves her?” Tait grabbed Dægan by the jaw and jerked it in his direction. “He is not the threat here! Send her on her way before ‘tis too late. Do it!”

  Dægan twisted from Tait and slapped a firm hand against his own eye socket, drilling his palm into the stream of images afflicting his mind. He paced as he came to terms with Breandán’s so-called gracious intentions, his head whirling out of control.

  “I am going to forget what you just said to me. But I order you again to keep your king away from here!”

  “What if I cannot?” Breandán asked. “What if he listens not to me? What then?”

  Dægan sighed, knowing he had to make a decision concerning the Connacht king, a crucial one, as it meant war might surely erupt between them. He looked at Mara now, her green eyes fixed so brilliantly on him. “I will surrender.”

  Tait cursed and paced the ground.

  “I cannot fight this king anymore than I could my own father. But Mara, you must help me. You have to keep him from coming.”

  Mara’s answer came in the form of a swift embrace, his ribs moving under the small weight of her arms. He held back a moan and returned her love with a lasting kiss, but one that still fell too short for his liking. He bowed his head, touching his forehead to hers, and smelled the sweet oils of her hair one last time. Memorizing it. “Go, love.”