At the peak of a hill, Strongheart held up his horse so Dara could catch up, and they surveyed the city together. She sighed, already imagining the stench of too many people living in too close an area. She never understood the need for people to wall themselves within cities.
She tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “As we near Dublin, hiding will become more difficult.”
Strongheart gave her hand a squeeze. “Most likely MacLugh and O’Rourke will have men searching for us at the port since that’s where we must attain passage to England.”
“We need a disguise.”
Strongheart grinned. “I am listening, Princess. What do you have in mind?”
“MacLugh and O’Rourke have their men searching for a Norman and a woman,” she spoke slowly, thinking aloud. “If I wore the clothes of a boy and cut my hair—”
“Absolutely not.”
She didn’t relish the idea of cutting her hair either. “Perhaps I could stuff it beneath a cap. For you, we must find you less distinctive clothes. The breeches must go.”
He threw back his head and laughed, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze. “Determined to make me into an Irishman, are you, woman?”
“You must hide the jewels on your sword hilt along with your armor.”
“Soon you will have me walking about naked,” he protested with another laugh. “Even if I conceal the jeweled hilt, my sword is still unusual. Yet, we cannot go about without weapons.”
“Hide a dirk beneath your clothes. They won’t be looking for a man without sword, mail, or horse.”
The laughter disappeared from his eyes. “I will not give up my warhorse.”
“We’ll retrieve our mounts after we return to Eire. I know a nearby farm where we can acquire the things we need, so you need not go home naked,” she teased, a saucy smile on her lips. “And since a man of your size—”
“Careful, Princess.”
“—might draw unreasonable—”
He cleared his throat. “Unreasonable?”
“—undeserved,” she amended airily, “attention, we should find you a tunic that will at least cover your—”
“I am warning you, Princess.”
“—your knees,” she finished with a not-so-innocent giggle, finding she adored teasing him.
He rarely got angry with her, and despite the urgency of their ride, she’d enjoyed the days spent in verbal sparring, discussions, and gentle teasing. Although they had not made love again since the first time in the cave, it had been Strongheart who said he must stay alert to protect them, claiming she was such a distraction they’d be in danger if he lost himself with her. When he told her he could awaken from a light sleep more easily than he could draw away from her during the heat of passion, she’d grinned and blushed happily, glad she had such powers to divert him.
Knowing he, too, could forget everything except their mutual pleasure made her own failing seem more ordinary. Perhaps if she couldn’t control her powerful feelings for Strongheart, it was not such a bad thing—not if their goals were similar. He’d told her he wished to live with her in Leinster, not go on and conquer the rest of Eire. Perhaps he spoke the truth.
As they rode toward Dillon’s farm, she wondered if her mother had fooled herself, justifying her actions with this same kind of reasoning. Was she making excuses to rationalize the fact that she desperately wanted to make love again?
Glad for a diversion from her thoughts, she pulled Fionn to a halt beside Strongheart. They stood among tall pines, looking down on Dillon’s farm, a conglomeration of wattle and daub huts with thatched roofs. A herd of cattle grazed peacefully on one side of the valley below them, while a raven circled lazily overhead.
“What is it?” she asked.
He dismounted in the cover of the trees and unsaddled his warhorse. “’Tis possible MacLugh or O’Rourke sent men here to search for us.”
She slid off Fionn’s back, grateful for a chance to stretch her legs. “Are we waiting until dark to sneak into—”
“Stay here,” he ordered, “till I check to see if ’tis safe.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and grinned at his high-handedness. “Just how will you go about that task, Sir Norman?”
“Don’t call me that. It sounds ridiculous.”
“Well, you”—she pointed her finger at him and prodded his chest with each word—“are ridiculous.”
He frowned, and the harsh narrowing of his dark eyes would have quelled her if she hadn’t known him well. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it, speaking as she continued to poke his chest with her finger. “Will you recognize MacLugh’s or O’Rourke’s men? Will you recognize my friends? Can you rid yourself of your fancy accent? And if any stranger is passing through, do you not think they might notice your jeweled sword and a man wearing breeches?”
He folded his arms over his massive chest. “’Tis too dangerous for you to go in alone.”
He didn’t fight fairly. He didn’t disagree with her wisdom, for he could not find fault with her sense. So instead, he questioned her judgment, which was not the same thing at all.
Even if it made more sense for her to leave him with the animals, the stubborn look on his face warned her he wouldn’t alter his decision. “Perhaps a compromise is in order?”
He nodded, without committing to anything, his eyes glinting with wary amusement. She supposed she should be grateful he’d consider her ideas, but instead she resented the leadership role he’d assumed when this was her land, her enemy, and she was the one with a better grasp of the problems they faced.
“We could wait until dark and sneak in together.”
His brow arched. “Leave our mounts?”
She appreciated that he didn’t just dismiss her idea, but listened to her and respected her opinions. “We’d return for the horses later. We cannot ride in without attracting attention. These villagers are too poor to own horses.”
He gave her idea a nod, then raised his brows with a jaunty look in his eyes, a sensual expression on his lips that had her blood suddenly humming. “If our foes are waiting for us on the farm, ’tis doubtful they will search these woods.” His tone turned husky. “We have several free hours until dark, Princess.”
“How should we spend them?” she asked coyly, trying to keep her trembling heart from inflecting a quiver of anticipation into her tone.
In this glade they were well hidden. Unless someone walked right into the clearing, they’d have the privacy she desired. She wanted him with a ferocity that had been building since they’d made love. Only this time she yearned to revel in the passion, not fight it. For now, she would take him at his word that retrieving the O’Dwyre lands was his ultimate goal. Perhaps, if they defeated her father’s enemies, O’Rourke and MacLugh would be forced to accept a Norman king in Leinster.
“Are you tired?” She allowed her tunic to slip off her shoulder and bit back a smile as his gaze was drawn to her exposed flesh.
His eyes gleamed with interest. “I think perhaps I will lie down.”
He untied the blankets from the saddle, then spread them across the lush grass. She watched him work, her mouth dry. Last time, they’d made love in the dark, but now the sun was still bright in the sky. This time she would better see all of him.
He lifted his head from his task, and their eyes met. The invitation in his gaze tapped a spring of hope inside her that welled until she overflowed with joy. Somehow, they would overcome the obstacles facing them and make a life together.
Staring directly into her eyes, he raised the hem of his shirt, lifting it an inch at a time, revealing sculpted muscles. It was so crazy, so erotic, him stripping for her, and she was loving every second. She forced herself to breathe. Finally he pulled the garment over his head.
Her gaze took in every ma
gnificent part of him. From his intense black eyes that sent surges of desire straight to her heart to the growing bulge in his breeches, he was a superb, lean warrior—and he was hers. No one else had ever protected and cherished her with such tender courage. The hot look in his eyes left her breathless. With him, she wanted to give and give, knowing the pleasure would come back a hundredfold.
He began to untie his breeches. Suddenly unnerved by her boldness, she looked away and fumbled with the laces at her bodice. Reaching out, he stayed her hand with a touch. “Let me do that for you later, Princess.”
She looked at him, standing before her naked. While her cheeks colored under the heat of his gaze, he seemed to have no modesty in cavorting before her bare as a babe on its birthing day. But there was nothing childish about his body.
He was proud male splendor, and she exclaimed in admiration, unable to look away from his broad shoulders, tapering to a flat stomach, and lean hips. He was more stunningly virile than she remembered; his manhood straining upward called to her like a signal torch on a stormy night. She wanted to touch him, taste him, tell him she’d take back every injurious thought she’d ever had about him.
“Tell me what you want, Princess,” he murmured, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
As much as she was able, she pulled herself together and stilled the roaring in her ears, stiffened against the weakness quivering in her limbs. An opportunity like this one might never come twice, and she would not waste it. “Turn around.”
His forehead wrinkled.
“Please,” she whispered.
When he did as she asked, she reached out and traced a finger over the cord of muscle in his neck down the proud length of his spine. “I adore the feel of your skin, Norman. The rough, sleek texture against my fingertips is unlike anything I have ever touched before. And you are always warm.”
He continued to stand still beneath her caresses. “Just remember, two can play this game,” he warned, his voice a caress that did not deter her.
When he quivered beneath the light exploration of her touch, she sensed the effort it cost him to remain still. To think the slight graze of her fingers could cause this man to want her shot a thrill of anticipation through her.
As the pads of her fingers ventured over his lean backside, his voice went hoarse. “Are you having fun?”
“Ummm.” From where she found the courage, she knew not. She slipped her hand between his legs.
He sucked in his breath, started to turn, and she withdrew her hand and thought she heard him sigh. A hot ache grew in her throat. Her arms went around his waist, and she caressed the thick muscles of his chest, then dropped her hands to his waist.
He spun then, so fast she had no time to think. Tipping her chin up, he brought his lips hungrily down on hers, demanding, not asking, but taking. She rose onto her toes to give him more. His tongue worked like a drug, lulling her to euphoria while she leaned into him, breathing his musky male essence, her mouth throbbing from his passionate kiss.
“Now, I will undress you.”
At his words, her heart took a perilous leap. His thumbs slipped beneath her tunic and pulled it off until she stood before him in her chemise. As his arms slowly went around her and seized the hem, his fingers grazing her thighs, he made no attempt to hide that he was watching her slightest response.
As he reached her chemise, he slowly traversed his fingers over her skin. Blood surged from the spot he touched on her thighs to the top of her head and down to her toes.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
Lifting the chemise higher, his fingers grazed her bottom. The hem tickled the curls between her legs, and her knees trembled. She ached to lean against him, to press her already hardened nipples to his bare chest.
When her hands went to his shoulders to draw him closer, he shook his head. “For now you may keep your hands on my shoulders.”
He pulled the chemise off with exquisite slowness, his hands shimmying over her bottom, the hem teasing her thighs, hips, and stomach. When he inched the chemise over her breasts, she squirmed under the sweet, agonizing torture. To bite back a groan, she dug her fingers into his shoulders.
When she finally stood naked before him, all thoughts of modesty had long since disappeared. There was only an all-consuming need to have him. He flung her chemise aside, apparently as impatient as she.
“Turn around, Princess.”
She gasped. He apparently was not as impatient as she, for Dara ached to fling him to the ground and make passionate love. But she did as he asked, trembling when his hands came around her waist to cup her breasts. She tipped her head back, arching into his hands. His teeth nipped her throat, and his thumbs flicked her nipples until she panted with pleasure. She thought she might explode standing there as he caressed her.
As if sensing her desire and prolonging the torment, he lowered one hand to her stomach, dipped lower to the center of her need. As the sun warmed her breasts, his magical fingers parted her and slowly found the bud of delight at her core.
As if on their own accord, her hips tilted back and forth, rubbing herself against his finger, faster. Her muscles tightened, and she expected pure pleasure to take her over the edge.
But he withdrew his hand, scooped her into his arms, and set her down on the blanket. She parted her legs to welcome him. When he did not accept her invitation, she groaned in frustration and opened her eyes to find him sitting on his heels between her legs, staring at her.
She huffed an affronted sigh and instinctively tried to close her legs, but he would not let her. “You are beautiful, Dara. I love every part of you, sweetheart.”
“Then love me.” She held out her hands to him.
But he shook his head with a little smile, indicating he wasn’t done with her. “Soon,” he crooned.
He slipped his finger inside her, and she forgot everything but the sensations he created. She closed her eyes, shuddering. Droplets of perspiration broke out on her skin. There wasn’t a place on her body not slickened by heated, yearning moisture, including the fire licking between her legs.
She’d go mad if she didn’t have him. With a strength she didn’t know she had, she clutched his shoulders and rolled him under her, capturing his length between her legs, riding him and demanding her pleasure. She rocked her hips frantically, and he helped her find a rhythm. Reaching for her breasts, he played with her nipples until she gasped, so close to attaining elusive pleasure.
“Hold on, Princess.”
He rolled them once more until she rested on her back. He was thrusting into her.
“More,” she demanded.
“Greedy wench.”
“Faster,” she pleaded.
He took her over the top, and she soared free, the pleasure stealing her breath. Dizzily she came back to earth, her gaze focusing on his face. “Och, Norman,” she whispered, her hands tangling in his hair, her heart pounding against his. “I love you.”
Chapter Fifteen
STRONGHEART held Dara tight in his arms. “Does that mean you don’t intend to scrub yourself with sand and gravel?”
At his dry tone, she giggled. “It does.”
“You agree to our marriage?”
“I must speak with Da first,” she hedged, fully aware the Norman had not returned her words of love.
Yet warm feelings of contentment washed over her. Strongheart and her father might never retake Leinster, but the Norman wanted her for his wife, proof she meant much to him even if he did not say the words. While no other good could come of losing her home, at least she could revel in the fact that without her land, title, or wealth, Strongheart wanted her.
Hugging the delicious thought to herself, she barely noticed the misty rain washing her clean. The sky darkened with billowing gray clouds, and she shivered. Even the Norman’s heat could n
ot warm her, and she rolled away, donning soaked clothes that left her just as cold as before but grateful they would soon be inside a dry house.
Leaving their horses, they crept down the hillside, using trees and brush for cover whenever possible. Although the chilling rain numbed her hands and feet, the precipitation had driven everyone inside but a barking hound, who had picked up their scent. No one checked the hound’s baying, so they continued toward Dillon’s farm as quickly and silently as possible.
Dara, her teeth chattering, knocked on the door of a medium-sized hut, hoping she remembered the location of the correct house because everything looked different in the dark. Strongheart had ducked around the corner out of sight, waiting for her signal.
“Come in.” A man with a hoarse voice shouted an invitation, and she pushed the door open tentatively.
The scent of a spicy stew invaded her nostrils, making her mouth water. Before her blazed a fire much too large for a crisp summer night, but to Dara’s eyes it was more than a friendly welcome. She stepped near, her gaze seeking the old man, bald, with a white beard down to his waist.
Dara approached the old man with a grin. “Is that you, Donal?”
“Who else might I be?”
Watery blue eyes peered out from a wrinkled face through the smoke. “Come in, Dara, you little devil. Shut the door, and make yourself at home.”
Dara scooted back to the door, waved to Strongheart to enter with their packs, and shut the door behind him. “I brought company, Donal.”
The old man’s knees creaked as he stood. “Holy God! Ye brought the Norman?” He shook his head. “Well, at least ye had the sense not to flee Leinster alone. O’Rourke’s looking for the two of you. There’s a hefty price on your heads.”
Dara warmed her hands by the fire. “I thought MacLugh wanted me alive.”
The men shook hands, and Donal reseated himself by the fire. Strongheart set their packs by the wall and then joined her, putting his arm over her shoulders. He gave her arm a squeeze. “’Tis no matter. You are mine, and neither O’Rourke nor MacLugh shall have you.”
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