Lochlann eyes shot up from the ground. “You knew my father?”
Breandán glanced up at Mara and back at the suddenly eager boy, expecting her to be worried of what he’d say. “I did. Unfortunately ‘twas very brief, but at least I can say I had the honor of knowing him.”
“Did you fight along side him?” Lochlann asked, his voice raising.
Breandán smiled humbly, still glancing at Mara in between. “I had not the opportunity to fight along side your father. But together, we did save your mother.”
Lochlann twisted his head over his shoulder and up at his mother. “Is that true? He was there?”
Mara smiled and nodded her head.
“But, I listen very closely when Tait tells that story. He never talks about Breandán being there. Why?”
Mara fidgeted uncomfortably, a look of apology spreading across her face toward Breandán. He decided to help her out on this one. “Of course Tait would not mention my name. Those grand stories are saved for the warrior heroes, like your father.”
Immediately, Lochlann turned his head back to Breandán, more questions swimming in his eyes. “You are not a warrior?”
“If the need arises…I would not hesitate to be one.”
Lochlann looked him over. “Where is your sword?”
Breandán knew well where this was going. In a young boys mind, every warrior needed to wield a sword, lest he was not a real man. “I carry not a sword. My weapon of choice is the bow.”
The boy’s face drooped. “You are not a warrior then. You are only a hunter.”
“Lochlann!” Mara scolded.
Breandán drew his attention to Mara again. “’Tis all right. I am a hunter. And there is no shame in it. Without me, you…” he stated, poking Lochlann’s belly, “would go hungry. And even warrior heroes who fight with swords need twice as much food to sustain their strength.”
Lochlann was still not impressed. “But I could kill you with one slash of my sword and seize the deer you hunted.”
Mara eye’s narrowed to slits. “Lochlann! Where is your respect? And where did you hear such viciousness?”
Breandán stared at the boy now, accepting the child’s inadvertent challenge. “You could very well kill me. I can see it in your eyes. But remember this…you first must get close enough to do it. With my bow, distance is both my advantage and my ally. Your sword would then be useless to you.”
Lochlann held eyes with the Irishman, thinking hard on the scene Breandán had laid forth. It actually made sense to him, and lucky for Breandán it struck a chord.
“Would you teach me the bow?”
Breandán smiled, happy to have finally gained regard with the judgmental lad. “If that is what you desired.”
Lochlann looked to his mother for approval. “Can I? Can I learn the bow?”
Mara rolled her eyes. “You think you are disciplined enough to learn it? I shall have you know ‘tis more difficult to hit a distant target with a bow than ‘tis to strike down a close target with a slashing sword. You need patience and a keen sense of depth.”
Breandán sat back on his heels, astonished by Mara’s knowledge of bow tactics. He thought he knew a considerable amount about the spirited princess, but this certainly was new to him—and intriguing.
“I shall do whatever Breandán says, Mother. Please, let me.”
Mara glanced at Breandán, thinking her son imposed upon him. But the satisfaction of finding common ground with the boy showed as clear as water.
She sighed. “I suppose ‘twould not harm you to learn patience. In fact, it might do you a wealth of good.”
Lochlann nearly jumped out of his short-ankle boots in excitement.
“But,” Mara reminded. “Not at this hour.”
The boy sagged again in disappointment.
“Your mother is right, Lochlann,” Breandán said supportively. “The moon gives not as much aid as the sun. We can start in the morning.”
“You will still be here?”
Breandán caught the lad’s surprise and inhaled deeply. “It appears that way.”
Lochlann smiled. “First thing in the morning then,” he reiterated.
“Not so fast,” Mara intervened. “Your chores must be completed before you delve into your lessons.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Breandán arose to his feet again, his eyes finding and holding Mara’s. There was something different there. Something more than a simple prolonged look registering in her gaze as in the stable. But what exactly, he wasn’t sure.
Eventually, Mara averted her attention to the little boy standing beside her, her thoughts still seeming to tumble around in her head.
“’Tis very late, Lochlann,” she finally said. “Are you staying here with Nevan at the fort or with me?”
Lochlann glanced back at Ultan standing around with the others. “I still have to learn to beat Alfarrinn in swords before he comes home. I will stay here.”
“Very well, but not too much longer. Now give me a hug.”
Lochlann reached up to meet his mother’s embrace, though his lack of enthusiasm extended within his own arms. Afterwards, he pulled his sword from the ground and ran back toward the Irishmen.
Mara smiled at Breandán and then said, “Come. You can meet Nevan’s brothers and then there is something else I want you to see.”
Breandán had no idea what that could be, but a sense of exhilaration rushed through him, strong enough to make his heart pound.
Chapter Fourteen
As Breandán and Mara walked around the southwest corner of the fort, his thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound. It grew louder the further they journeyed, and, if his sense of direction served him well, they would soon be nearing the edge of the isle. He could only assume it was the sound of the sea below the isle’s cliff, but never had he heard such a roar.
Mara glanced over at him as they walked, their horses following behind them. She locked eyes with him again. And this time, longer. More intense even. So much that she paid no attention to the uneven ground beneath her feet.
Mara tripped and reached out to catch her fall. Breandán instinctively let go of his reins and extended his arms to catch her around the waist from behind. Instantly, he hoisted her back up to her feet with the sturdy points of his fingertips fanning across the flat of her stomach.
“Are you all right?”
Mara glanced over her shoulder at the man still holding onto her. She looked embarrassed. “Thank you, Breandán. I am fine.”
He slowly exhaled. Not in relief, but because he knew he had to release her. Removing his hands from her delicate waist would prove more difficult than he ever imagined.
She was tiny within his grasp, soft in places where his fingertips rested. Images of his dream with Mara came flooding into his brain as he glanced down at the spot below his thumbs. It would only take a quick flick of his hand to reach down and gather the length of her gown in his grip. How he’d love to drag his hand around the tender curve of her buttocks from under that gown and feel the smooth, supple skin beneath his palm.
He swallowed hard, feeling his groin tighten amid those thoughts.
Was he out of his mind? Was he so desperate to touch and hold her that he couldn’t wait for a better opportunity? They weren’t even in the most private place, given the fort and all its guards along the wall walk—assuredly within an archer’s reach.
And let’s not forget Mara. If anything, she’d probably slap him and call the guards upon him herself.
With as much reluctance as severing his arm from his body, he released his hands and stepped back. “Are you sure you did not hurt yourself? Twist your ankle, perhaps?”
Timidly, Mara smiled at his thoroughgoing concerns. “My ankles are fine. ‘Tis my heart that concerns me.”
Breandán shot her an odd look. “Your heart?”
“Aye,” she admitted, touching her hand to her chest. “We are very close to the edge.”
Breandán glan
ced over his shoulder and saw that he stood but a few feet from the daunting cliff. “Hmm…so we are.” He had been so engrossed by Mara and catching her fall that he hadn’t even noticed the proximity of the edge.
Curiously, he walked over and leaned forward, peaking over the side. Below him was the angry Atlantic crashing against the distant bottom—the very sound he heard as they walked around the fort.
Before he could get a better look, he felt a small hand firmly grasp his wrist.
“Please,” Mara begged. “You are frightening me.”
Breandán glanced at her hand and back at her, her touch provoking another ache within him. “Why bring me here if I am not permitted to see?”
Mara let him go as swiftly as she had taken hold and fumbled on her next words. “I want you to see the beauty of this isle, but…perhaps ‘twould be better if you saw it lying down.”
Breandán couldn’t help the wicked smile that pulled at his lips. “Like this?” he asked, slowly dropping to his knees before reclining on his stomach.
****
Mara’s heart bubbled in her chest. The way he knelt and stared up at her with that tight, devilish grin made her pulse skip. She also liked the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he supported his weight on the way down. Even if she’d denied glancing at his prone muscular body, the length of it surprised her as he seemed to take up a lot of space at her feet.
“Care to join me?” he asked quizzically.
Mara brushed the thoughts from her mind and nervously nodded her head in response. When she knelt down on the ground, she made sure the space between them was more than adequate.
As she settled in next to him, she saw his hands clutching the rocky edge, his attention drawn to the breathtaking sight of the foaming sea. It was a feeling she understood well, and no matter how many times she came here, it still had the ability to draw her in. The clean scent of sea salt, spraying from the wrath of the crashing ocean, waft passed her as she drew in a slow breath.
“’Tis beautiful.” Breandán’s eyes were no longer fixed on the sea below. They stared at her. “I assume Dægan brought you to this very place.”
Mara lowered her head guiltily. For a split second, her heart sank, thinking he didn’t take kindly to being in a place she and Dægan once shared. “I merely wanted you to see it. I thought—”
He touched her hand with his fingertips. “This is a place which is very special for you and I know it holds many memories. I am honored you would even think to share it with me.”
Mara averted her eyes from his gaze. “I like to come here. Sometimes ‘tis the only place I can find peace.” She swallowed, fighting the urge to tear up. “’Tis the only place I feel close to him, where I feel like he is still present.”
Breandán slid his hand over hers and squeezed. “I am so sorry Dægan is no longer with you. If I could, I would gladly change places with him.”
His noble words caught her by surprise. She wanted to ask him why he would care to do such a thing, but he seemed to read the question in her eyes.
“Because I know ‘twould make you happy. Your happiness is all I have ever cared about.”
Mara looked down at the large masculine hand holding hers, her heart melting inside her. She had never known a man to be so selfless. To willingly sacrifice his life in place of another man’s so she could be happy. Not that it could ever happen, but the thought astounded her. She could tell by the look in his eyes he meant every word.
“I know not what to say,” Mara admitted.
“What is there to say? You loved him. You still do. Some people live a lifetime without ever feeling that kind of compassion. While others can only hope for it.”
Guilt climbed within Mara. “I suppose ‘twas thoughtless of me to bring you here.”
“On the contrary,” Breandán insisted. “Considering what you told me, I assume you thought enough of me to bring me here. Any man would deem himself most fortunate. ‘Tis a grand place. Probably one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. In truth, I can now understand why one would stay on this godforsaken isle for years at a time,” he added, staring deeper into eyes. “It holds many hidden treasures. And some, not so hidden.”
Mara’s cheeks warmed with his compliment. “Are you saying one could get used to living here?”
Breandán narrowed his eyes in thought. “’Twould not be difficult—if one were to imagine such a thing.”
My God, what was she doing?
Until her question came out and his answer followed, she didn’t realized what she had asked. The tiny hint of a smile on his face told her he was drawn too far into the subject to let it go now. Given his candid reply, did that mean she would not be welcome to his presence on the isle?
Hardly.
She gave thought to it extensively—so much in fact she felt a strange feeling inside her when she thought of his departure. Something would truly be missing if he were to leave.
His deep voice broke the momentum of her thoughts. “May I ask you something?”
Her eyes fluttered as she came back to reality. “Of course.”
“This, again, may be too forward,” he warned.
Mara drew in a slow breath, preparing herself. “If ‘tis, I will let you know.”
“Fair enough.” He averted his eyes from her and looked out into the moonlit sea. “’Twas rumored you were to be married…years ago. Gunnar, I believe. Why did you not marry him?”
Mara’s eyes fixed on something in the distant horizon. “I suppose I had not the heart for it,” she said finally. “Tait really wanted me to. He thought it was a good match. But my concerns were with my son.”
“How so?”
Mara took another deep breath before she explained. “Gunnar is a very loyal man, and he would have made a fine husband, but I could not convince myself he would be a good father.”
She imagined every bone in Breandán’s body wanted to ask why, but he didn’t.
“So, Tait has dismissed the arrangement?” he asked.
“For now. But I can only hope if there ever is a descision to be made about a suitable husband, he would allow me to make that choice myself.”
“In other words,” Breandán said lightly. “’Tis Tait I must impress, not you.”
Mara smiled. “Is that what you were doing in the stable when you climbed upon his wild horse?”
Breandán shared the same grin. “Did it work?”
Immensely.
He lifted a single finger to her lips. “Tell me not. I only ask you keep that smile.”
The aroma of his masculine scent filled her head with thoughts hardly becoming of a lady. It amazed her to be able to smell him so prominently by his one finger laid beneath her nose. To her disappointment, he didn’t leave it there long.
“Come on,” he said, arising to his feet. “I should get you back to Lillemor’s before they start wondering about us.” He held out his hand for her. “We already have the fort talking.”
Mara glanced up and saw a few guards gathered along the terrace. She could only imagine the talk she had created amongst them.
She placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her stand. It was a comfort to feel her small hand in his and the strength within his firm grasp. She missed that simple pleasure very much.
“I want to thank you,” she said, reminiscing on the day’s events, “for what you said to Lochlann about his father.”
Breandán dipped his head lower to meet her gaze. “What I said about Dægan was not a lie. He was a good man and I am honored to have known him. No doubt, we had our differences, but we also shared a common ground—your welfare. Even between the many years that have separated us, I still care for you as much now as I did then. It pains me to know you have been alone all this time. But rest assured,” he proclaimed, lifting her chin with his hand. “You are no longer alone. As a friend, I will be here for you…for as long as you allow me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mara closed the door t
o Thordia’s house ever so quietly, in hopes she’d not awaken anyone. But when she turned around, she saw Lillemor and Thordia, eagerly inquisitive and staring at her from the perimeter boxbeds. She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“What are you two still doing up?”
“You know very well why we are awake,” Thordia replied, patting the edge of the bed beside her. “Come, come. Tell us all about it.”
Mara pushed herself from the door and strolled past the hearth, habitually wringing her hands together. “I am afraid there is naught to tell.”
“Oh please, Mara, you have never been a good liar. Think not you can start now.”
“I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about. I shared a meal with a friend…”
“A gloriously naked friend,” Thordia added.
Mara scolded her with a look. “I then introduced him to Lochlann and that was the end of it. Naught more happened.”
Thordia frowned as she watched Mara head for the chest where her clothes were kept. “You wouldn’t keep Lochlann up at this hour. What else did you do?”
Mara bit her lip as she opened the lid and pulled out a linen shift. “We…went to the cliff.”
Lillemor smiled contently at Thordia, an air of condescension in her glance. “I told you so.”
“I never doubted you, Lillemor. I only wanted to hear it from Mara’s lips.”
“And what is so wrong with taking Breandán to the cliff?” Mara asked as she removed her tunic and slipped into the bed clothes.
“’Tis not wrong,” Thordia corrected. “Merely interesting.”
Mara ignored Thordia and refused to even look at Lillemor who sat smiling like a sly fox. She really didn’t want to talk to anyone. All she wanted to do was sleep—or at least think in peace. There was so much to ruminate over, so much to sort out. And unfortunately, she wouldn’t get much accomplished with these two nosey hens.
Mara unbraided her hair and ran a bone comb through her tangled tresses. Perhaps taking Breandán to the cliff was wrong. It had been a place she’d often go when she was lonely or when she wanted to be close to Dægan. Most times, it was a private place and when she’d go there, she was left alone as a courtesy. No one on the isle disturbed her when she was there.
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