Celtic Shores, Book 2 in the Celtic Steel Series

by Delaney Rhodes

  “Thank you ever so much for such a thoughtful gift. I love him!” she exclaimed.

  ***

  Completely out of breath and drenched in sweat, Orla sat to rest upon a rock near the shoreline. “How much further?” questioned Naelyn, “I fear the mon they call Cordal can’t go on much longer. He is verra weak and has need of sustenance.”

  “Where is the priest?” asked Orla. “Did we finally lose him?”

  “We have no’ lost him,” said Braeden, slumping down in the shallow tidewater just feet from where Orla was perched. “He is back there, I can just make out the glint from his neck chain in the moonlight.”

  Malcus followed suit after assisting Cordal to lean upon a nearby rock. “Can we finally take off these masks? It is making me so hot!” he added.

  “I think we can now,” said Orla. “We’ve only just a little ways to go, we may be closer than I think. I sent me friend Shanleigh on ahead to the cave; to prepare a fire and wait for me. She willna’ be expecting all of ye others, but she knows I was coming.”

  “What are ye looking for?” asked Braeden. “What kind of place are ye taking us too?”

  “’Tis a cave, here on the rocky shore. 'Tis hidden from plain view. I’ve been coming here with Shanleigh since we were wee ones. We’ve played here for years. ‘Tis big enough to shield us all and will provide good cover during the day. At night though, it may be hard to find. I sent Shanleigh on ahead with the lanthorn to build a fire and wait for me. Without light, we may not be able to find it; and I’ve no desire to yell about to her, lest we give away the location to some errant guard.”

  “Ye said she was to build a fire, did ye?” asked Braeden.

  “Aye, I sent her on with the lanthorn; she should have had a flame to start with. We always kept dry wood handy in the back of the cave, just in case we wanted to stay the night or bring…uh…visitors with us.”

  Braeden got up from the shallow waters of the shoreline and topped the nearest high rock, looking out over the beach and rocky coast. The moonlight shone down around them and showed no seagoing vessels in sight. “Well, me lady,” he said, “I would bet that the billow of smoke over yonder belongs to yer friend Shanleigh’s cave fire. Would you no’?”

  Braeden pointed just north of the group and to the right, closer to the shore. From seemingly out of nowhere, a white fog of steam or smoke rose from the rock formations. A narrow white fog, but a fog nonetheless.

  “That’s got to be it!” said Orla. “Wait here,” she said before taking off in the direction of the sighting.

  “Here, take this, me lady,” said Braeden handing her his dagger with his left hand and squeezing the top of her shoulder with the other. “Just in case ye need it.”

  “Just in case,” she nodded. “Just in case.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  O’Malley Lands — Council Chambers, Beneath the High Castle

  “Ruarc, I’m sorry to have interrupted yer slumber,” said Lucian, waiving off the sentry that escorted Ruarc below the main tower. Galen had long since retired; as had Dervilla and Kyra, and only Lucian, Gemma, and Ruarc now sat at the council table. The fire had died out and a sparse candelabrum adorned the tabletop, its candles nearly burned down to the wick.

  Ruarc filled a mug with ale and took a long, swift drink before slamming it back down empty. “Is somebody gonna tell me what this is about?”

  Galen and Lucian peered at one another, neither brave enough to broach the subject. “The boy, Braeden, has been taken,” said Gemma wrapping Lucian’s cloak closely around her.

  “Taken? Where, exactly?” asked Ruarc.

  “We don’t know where, or by whom. His nurse, Mavis, washed up on the shore on the Isle and insisted she speak with Patrick MacCahan, Patrick O’Malley—the new Laird.”

  “And, how long ago did this happen?” asked Ruarc.

  “Several hours,” replied Lucian.

  “Why am I just now being told?”

  “Because the ferries were docked, the borders were closed and there were no boats available,” said Gemma defensively. “The village has been on lockdown and high alert on account of the wedding this eve,” she added.

  “What has been done so far?” asked Ruarc.

  “What do ye mean? We called for ye!” shouted Lucian. “Are ye no’ the captain of the O’Malley military? What else could we have done?”

  “Hold on,” interjected Gemma raising her hand to silence Lucian’s protests. “I sent some…uh…people…of my own to scour the shoreline, to see if they could catch sight of a boat or something. They left several hours ago. I gave them leave to go as far as just past Burke territory.”

  “I see, good work Gemma,” replied Ruarc glaring at Lucian and Galen.

  “Ruarc, this is no’ the first time a boy has been taken from the village,” said Gemma.

  “Nay, it is no’,” agreed Ruarc.

  “Then pray tell me why, by the gods, is this time so different?” Gemma asked, clearly exasperated.

  “Gemma, Galen,” Ruarc started, looking at both of them seriously. “I invoke the Council privacy oath. What I am about to tell ye must not leave this room.”

  “Aye,” said Gemma.

  “Aye,” said Galen.

  “Braeden is the youngest son of Dallin O’Malley and the true Laird of O’Malley clan. He was fostered in MacCahan territory and the charge of Patrick MacCahan. I fear something is seriously amiss here. I must wake Patrick at once,” he said, shaking his head in despair. Ruarc continued, “Lucian, call for Murchadh, tell him to ready me horse, prepare one for Patrick and to put the guard on high alert. Gemma, send word to Deasum the minute ye hear back from yer…people.”

  ***

  Pleased that Darina was happy with his gift, Patrick returned to the antechamber, allowing the chambermaid to assist Darina into the bath. It took three grown men to carry the large tub to the top floor of the castle, but not just any bathing tub would do. It needed to be big enough for the both of them. Patrick so enjoyed the hot springs in MacCahan territory that he wished to mimic their healing effect in his own chamber. The servants loaded buckets of boiling hot water onto the castle trolley for nearly an hour to get it filled completely and keep it warm for them. The soothing salts he added, along with the lavender oil and white rose petals, made the room smell divine.

  “Me lady is resting in the bath me Lord,” said the chambermaid. “Unless there is something else ye have need of, I shall excuse meself.”

  “Verra w-well,” replied Patrick as he poured two goblets of wine. She curtsied and turned to leave. Patrick set the wine down on a side-table near the master’s bed and barred the door.

  A small twinge of anxiety took hold of him and he bent to sit on the bench at the end of the bed for a moment. Contain yerself, he thought. This is no’ yer first time. Ye are not a boy, ye are a mon and now ye are Lord of this clan. He reached over for his wine and took a good long drink.

  “Did ye say something?” asked Darina from the tub on the other side of the screen.

  “N-nay,” he replied. “I l-let the m-maid out and b-barred the d-door,” he replied.

  “Got me trapped now, have ye?” she giggled. Patrick ran his hands through his hair and smiled. Always jesting, she’s a fun one.

  “D-did I h-hear an in-in-invitation?” he asked, his voice growing louder as he got closer to the tub. “W-wine?” he asked looking down at her.

  “Aye, wine sounds good,” she replied and accepted the glass. She took a small drink and set the goblet on the wall shelf beside the tub, before laying her head back and closing her eyes in relaxation. Patrick set his goblet down as well, squatted down beside the water-filled bath and inhaled the sweet aroma of lavender and bath salts. Unable to keep his hands from her long, beautiful, red tendrils, he caught a glimpse of his mother’s hair comb and gently removed it from the crown of her head. The flaming red hair which was intricately weaved about her head began falling in sensual cascades as he separated the tresses with his long
, lithe fingers. She moaned in delight before catching herself. How she loved having her hair washed and brushed…or simply touched. How he loved touching such silky fire.

  Patrick gently patted her shoulder and motioned for her to move forward in the water. One sidelong glance out of the corner of her eye, and she was fully aware she was he was stark naked. By the stars, he intends to bathe with me.

  Aye, I do. I intend to finish that bath we started an eve ago. He sighed with pleasure as his muscles soaked up the warmth of the wondrous water, and he settled himself against the large back wall of the structure. For a moment, Darina was unsure what to do with herself. The tub was simply too big for her. She could either float…which meant she would most likely drown if she didn’t choose to steady herself by holding on to the sides…or she could turn around and sit facing her new husband, as bare as the day she was born.

  Patrick solved the problem for the both of them. Grasping her gently about the waist, he pulled her backward until she was nestled tenderly with her back against his chest. He rested his chin on her right shoulder and continued stroking her head with his left hand. He dipped a small wooden cup in the water beside him and poured it gingerly down the length of her wavy hair. Pulling a bottle of oil from the nearby shelf, he opened it and lathered the scented contents in his hands. Darina straightened in the water before realizing he was washing her hair.

  Relax.

  Soothing and comforting, the lavender scent traveled to her nose and released her tensions, allowing her to melt into him once more. Vividly aware of his presence, she closed her eyes to fully sense the experience. His heart beat against her back and his strong legs encircled and cradled her body in shelter. She could feel his breath growing rapid and hot against her neck and shoulders, and his left arm left her hair and grasped her around ribcage; ensuring she couldn’t slip away from him in the frothy waters.

  Heaven, she thought. This must be heaven.

  Patrick couldn’t have waited much longer to run his fingers through the full length of Darina’s golden-red hair. It was softer than he imagined and smelled simply divine lathered in the bath oils. He sought to be smothered by it, that would be a noble death indeed. To be wrapped in it, and to sleep in it as if it were a blanket. To imagine it dangling over him in their bed as it tickled his nose and chin, nearly sent him over the edge. The image of her green eyes peering at him through that hair—had an effect on him he couldn’t explain. She mustn’t hide it in that braid any longer; he would make sure of that. He desired it free and wild, just like her, so he could run his hands through it any time he wanted. He sighed audibly and shook his head as if to wake himself from a dream.

  The magnitude of his pleasure pressed firmly against Darina’s tailbone. She no longer need question whether he would desire his new bride, or whether he found her even somewhat attractive. The knowledge of his arousal caused similar passion to rise in her. The simple knowledge that she could cause such stirring in a man awakened her primal instincts and quickened her pulse against Patrick’s cheek.

  With one last long pour from the wooden cup, Patrick finished rinsing her hair. He separated her locks into two large sections and twisted then loosely around each other before hanging the woven loop over her left shoulder.

  Darina edged closer against him. She leaned against his chest to feel his heartbeat and placed her hands on his large thighs to position herself so as not to slip away. Sitting upright in the tub, neither one could touch the other end of the vessel with their feet.

  His arousal grew rigid against her backside and his breathing became deep and erratic. He blew out a frustrated sigh and whispered in her ear, “Do y-you l-like the tub, luv?”

  She nodded her approval against his cheek and twisted her head to the left to expose her neck. Aye, she responded with her mind, knowing full well he would be searching there.

  Unable to contain his passion, Patrick peppered her neck with his lips and tongue, leaving a trail of hot, wet bites in his wake. When he suckled her earlobe, she whimpered in delight. He tightened his grip on her hips…hoping she wouldn’t move…secretly praying she would.

  Darina quivered as lightning shot from her breasts to her heat. She arched her back in reflex and let a moan escape her lips. Patrick caught it with his mouth and plundered her tongue with his own.

  Aye, Braeden was right, ye may be a wee bit of a hell cat.

  “I heard that,” she said audibly toying with him.

  “I know,” he said slowly and clearly in return.

  She arched against him frantically and he responded in kind. His left hand drew circles across her perky wet nipple and his other glided up her thigh to her hip where it settled for a spell, seemingly hesitant. She matched his kisses with the same intensity, pleading for more as she ground against him in an almost hypnotic state.

  Patrick bit her neck lightly and she let out a shrill groan, backing into his arousal with fervor. He encircled her with both his arms now, communicating possession and contentment. Mine, he said with his mind. Mine. He wrapped his left arm between her breasts crossing over her right shoulder and his right still rested on her hip, while his hand massaged her heat below the waters.

  She struggled to breathe, her breaths now narrow reminders that she was very much alive. She backed into his arousal again and confirmed his intentions, moving her hips in an up and down motion that sent him into fits of pure anguish. She felt his balls tighten and rise against her backside and felt the tip of his rod lash the middle of her spine. So. Very. Large.

  He was purring again, but this was not an amused chuckle. She had awakened the sleeping lion and he was eager for the kill.

  Two can play this game, he said with his mind. His attention to her swollen cleft intensified, and she wriggled in pleasure, increasing the pressure her backside placed on his throbbing cock. He dipped his hand lower to find her slippery and slick, ready for him and he eased one finger, knuckle deep, into her heat. She bucked against him and increased her tempo, rising and lowering herself against his hold, and firmly pressing her backside against his tortured erection.

  Their lips met again in a frenzy of lust and want, and he slipped another finger inside her velvet softness until swollen flesh met his hand. She groaned and rose up against him, and he strengthened his hold on her with his left hand, grasping her nipple and twisting it playfully.

  He roared inaudibly against her back, his chest heaving in convulsion like spasms. Unable to contain himself, he grabbed both her hips to still her in the waters. She was completely immobile, unable to move and painfully aroused. She whined audibly and leaned her head backwards towards his waiting shoulder.

  If you dinna stop soon, I will waste my seed in the water, my sweets. I’ve no wish to dishonor ye thus.

  She ignored his pleas for mercy and removed his hands from her hips firmly, placing then one by one on either side of the bathing tub, before continuing her grinding assault against his manhood. He returned his fingers to her velveteen glove and stroked her mercilessly, biting her neck in retaliation. He felt her warmth clench around his digits and he rubbed her swollen nub with his thumb rhythmically.

  Darina, tell me what ye want, he begged with his mind.

  She groaned and intensified her pressure on his engorged cock. She felt it grow harder and longer and knew his release was nigh. She tightened her internal clasp on his fingers and began rocking back and forth against them.

  “D-Darina, please,” he begged in a whisper. What do ye want?

  She mumbled something incoherent under her breath and tightened her legs in front of her. He grasped her nipple tightly to catch her attention.

  “Patrick,” she moaned lustfully. He broke into a cold sweat and began shuddering.

  “A-aye?” he begged, unable to endure the sweet torture any longer.

  “Patrick, we have al-al-alll night,” she gasped, still grinding forcefully against his rock-hard cock.

  Aye, but I don’t. Not right now.

  She slow
ed her movements against his manhood but increased the pressure, moving in a circular pattern with her hips.

  ‘Twould mean me no dishonor, me Lord, she said with her mind.

  What? He moaned this time—a deep guttural moan that sent ripples through the top of the water.

  It would be no offense, Patrick, if ye would. “Oh.” She groaned and leaned into his mouth for a kiss, still grinding and clenching her heat around his fingers.

  If ye would…peak with me…me Lord…‘twould be glorious, Patrick.

  He exhaled audibly and ran his left hand through his hair in frustration. Such exquisite pain he had never before experienced.

  Please don’t make me stop, she begged him with her mind, while her body continued its rapturous attack on his straining shaft.

  “D-Darina!” Patrick moaned painfully in her ear.

  “Bathe me, Patrick. Bathe me in yer seed,” she groaned into his mouth as she intensified her pressure on his cock. He writhed and shuddered, shaking as he felt her spasm against his fingers, as his own release swept over him and into the water around them.

  Darina collapsed against his chest and lay lifeless there for long moments. His breath finally stabilized and he released his hold on her womanhood. She jerked about, as continuing waves of ecstasy pulsed through her blood, and she settled deeper into his embrace.

  Breathing in tandem, the rise and fall of their chests sent ripples into the water. Soon, the combined beating of their hearts lulled them into a pre-slumber trance. The melancholy bellow of pipes off the island and the strum of a nearby harp echoing an unfamiliar warning, became the prelude to an unwanted intrusion.

  Loud banging on the chamber doors and shouting in the corridor startled Darina, and she jumped, sending water splashing everywhere. Patrick shot bolt upright out of the water, grabbed a drying cloth and a dagger from the hearth, and stepped around the privacy screen towards the barred door.