The MacEgan Brothers Series Volume 1

by Michelle Willingham

  But she forced herself to keep walking. With her head down, she almost didn’t see Deena waving towards her.

  ‘Iseult!’ the healer called out. When she stopped, Deena beckoned closer.

  ‘What is it?’

  Deena lowered her voice. ‘He left a short time ago. I thought you might wish to know.’

  Iseult didn’t have to ask whom Deena meant. ‘Where?’

  ‘Eastward, near the forest. He’s on foot, so you may be able to catch up to him.’

  There was no reason to go after Kieran. Already they had spoken their farewells. And yet, the thought of never seeing him again was akin to tearing out her heart. Her body tensed with the loss, and on impulse she hugged the healer. ‘Thank you, Deena.’

  The old woman’s eyes turned kind. ‘Go to him. You can take my mare, to save time.’

  One last chance to say goodbye. It was wrong, and yet she needed a stolen moment in his arms, a memory to carry with her.

  It took only moments to lift a blanket over the animal’s back and mount. Iseult urged the mare forwards, pausing briefly at the ringfort gate to speak with one of the guards. ‘I am going to bring back some herbs for Deena.’

  The guardsman did not protest, but waved her onwards. As soon as she cleared the ringfort, Iseult urged the animal to go faster. In the distance, she saw the lone figure of Kieran.

  She held tightly to the reins, her knees gripping the mare for balance. When she reached him at last, she recognised the forest where they had gone to collect wood so many weeks ago. It was here that he’d rescued her from the Lochlannachs. She shivered at the reminder, drawing the horse to a stop.

  Kieran glanced back at her, his face unreadable. Iseult dismounted, leading the mare towards him.

  ‘Why did you come, Iseult?’ His eyes, dark as walnut, stared into hers. He didn’t welcome her, nor behave as if he wanted to see her.

  An aching emptiness seemed to swallow her. She didn’t trust her voice to speak. When he stepped into the shadows and into the forest, her throat closed up. Then he turned and held out his hand, seeming to guess what she could not say.

  ‘Does he know?’

  She shook her head, lowering her chin. ‘Not yet. I plan to tell him after you’ve gone.’ She tethered the mare to a nearby tree. ‘I needed to see you one last time.’

  His palm stroked the side of her cheek. She closed her eyes, drinking in his touch. Though his hands were rough, he aroused her with the simple touch of her face.

  The last of the dying sunlight spilled through the trees, casting a golden glow behind him. His black hair was bound away from his face, his dark brown eyes gazing at her with an unfathomable expression.

  He drew her to him, his warm body sheltering hers. ‘Let Davin take care of you,’ he urged softly. ‘I need to know that you’ll be safe.’

  ‘I’d rather have you take care of me.’ His heartbeat thundered beneath her cheek, and Iseult closed her eyes, drawing comfort from him. When there was a long silence, she lifted her head. ‘But I can’t have that, can I?’

  He shook his head. She’d expected him to refuse her, but it still bruised her feelings. Though it tore at her to say it, she had to know the truth. ‘Is there nothing between us, Kieran?’

  He stared at her with heated intensity, as though he wanted to touch her, but would not. ‘What is between us is forbidden.’

  ‘I know it,’ she murmured. ‘But I need to be with you. One last time.’ Iseult pressed her hands to his face. He had drawn a blade over his face, shaving off the roughened stubble. Most of the tribesmen wore long curling beards, in contrast. She found that she liked seeing the angles of his face, the strong jaw and firm mouth.

  She stood on tiptoe and raised her lips to his. Smooth and warm, he responded to her. His hands smoothed a path down her spine. Her breasts tightened, and she opened her mouth slightly.

  He tantalised her with the kiss, tempting her into madness. When his tongue slid inside, she grasped his shoulders for balance. Warm male hands slid down to her hips, dragging her so close she could feel his arousal. He broke free of her mouth, finding the soft places upon her neck until she shivered.

  ‘You’re the only man who’s ever made me feel this way,’ she whispered, bringing her hands beneath his tunic. It was true. Even the night she’d shared with Murtagh had been awkward, nothing like the intense needs Kieran kindled inside her.

  Careful to avoid his healing wound, she stroked his pectoral muscles. She explored his skin, trying to memorise every ridge, every part of him.

  ‘I wanted you from the first moment I saw you.’ His hand moved down her thigh, grasping at the fabric of her gown until he touched her leg. She gasped at the sensation of his hand moving up her bare skin. ‘You’ve invaded my dreams.’

  She couldn’t stop trembling, especially when he paused at the juncture between her thighs. Knowing that his hand was right there, poised to touch her, set her body afire. ‘What—?’ Saint Brigid, she couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought with the sensations pouring through her. He lowered her gown to her waist, baring her breasts before him.

  ‘What do you dream of?’ she managed shakily. She felt exposed, completely defenceless. Cool air brushed over her nipples.

  With that, he slid a finger inside her. Iseult melted against him, her womanhood wet with wanting him. His mouth bent down to drop a soft kiss upon her nipple.

  ‘I think you know what I dream of.’ His expression was feral. His thumb found the small centre of her womanhood, and a spicy pleasure broke over her as he stroked it. She tried to grasp his head, to kiss him again. She needed for him to feel the same thing she did.

  ‘I’m aching for you,’ she breathed. His answer was to lay her body upon the mossy forest ground, covering her breast with his mouth. He suckled hard until a flood of burning need came crashing through. Iseult’s hands dragged through his hair, and she arched her back when he slid another finger inside her, caressing her.

  When he would not stop the intimate torment, she touched her hand to the hard ridge inside his trews. A groan came from his throat, and she caressed the length of him. Pleasure for pleasure, she stroked him until he began moving his fingers in a rhythm inside her.

  ‘Please, Kieran. I can’t bear it.’ More than anything she wanted him to join with her, to feel his body as a part of her own.

  He raised his head from her breast. ‘I’m going to pleasure you like no man has ever done before.’

  She cried out when his hand began to move in imitation of the act she craved. Of its own accord, her body shook with need. He bit her nipple gently, stroking the tip with his tongue.

  She moved her hand over his erection, gripping him through the rough wool of his trews.

  ‘Witch,’ he whispered against her skin. ‘You’ve cast your spell upon me.’

  The fire building inside her body blazed as his fingers continued to move inside of her. She moaned, helpless as his mouth ravaged hers, his thumb pushing her higher until flames of release erupted. She shuddered violently, riding the wave until she rested limp upon the ground.

  Oh, it was wicked to be touched this way. But no longer did she feel bound to Davin. She had never shared this with him, nor had she given him her heart. In this moment with Kieran, she felt awakened.

  ‘Make love to me,’ she urged, reaching for the ties of his trews.

  But he stopped her, holding her wrists firm. And shook his head. ‘I’ve already touched you, far more than I should have.’

  He wrapped her tightly into his arms, holding her close. The aching inside cracked apart as she wept. It was almost worse, knowing what she was giving up. Her heart was raw, while the thought of living without him was unbearable.

  ‘I don’t want to stay behind,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m not the kind of man you should be with, a mhuirnín.’ He eased himself into a seated position, closing his eyes slightly with the pain from his ribs.

  The words were a physical blow. It took all of he
r strength to hold herself together. ‘I can’t change the way I feel. And I wouldn’t want to.’

  Taking a deep breath, she rearranged her gown. ‘Where will you go?’

  He adjusted his own clothing and rose to his feet. ‘Wherever I find a place for myself.’

  ‘You should return to your family. Let them know you are alive.’

  He lifted his belongings from the leather sack upon the ground. ‘They would rather see me dead.’

  ‘Why?’

  He leaned against one of the trees, silent for a while. For so long he had held his secrets from her.

  ‘I’d like to know the truth,’ she said, touching his shoulder. ‘If it would ease your pain…’

  ‘I don’t need your pity, Iseult. Let it be.’

  He was closing himself off to her, and she fought against it. ‘It doesn’t matter what happened in the past. I know your family would want to see you again.’ She drew back, and added, ‘Just as I would give anything to see Aidan.’

  His brown eyes softened, and he wiped another tear from her cheek. ‘I’ll find him for you, Iseult. Your son.’

  She grew still, her heart beating a little faster. His offer was not made lightly. She sensed that he would not stop until the answers were found. ‘What if he’s dead?’

  ‘If he is, I’ll let you know it.’ He reached into his pouch and pulled out a piece of wrapped linen. ‘I should have given this to you earlier, but it wasn’t finished. Perhaps you’d like it now.’

  She accepted the linen and felt something hard within it. Pulling back the cloth, she revealed a wood carving of a child’s face. Her hands shook as she studied the boy. It wasn’t Aidan, but the carving represented all she had lost.

  ‘Thank you.’ She pressed it to her heart. It meant everything, holding something he’d made with his own hands. She didn’t know why he’d carved it, but the piece touched her deeply.

  ‘You must return to the ringfort,’ he said. ‘They’ll be looking for you.’

  ‘I know.’ She reached up and straightened his tunic. ‘Be safe, Kieran. May God watch over you.’

  He regarded her with an intense solemnity. ‘I meant what I said. Let your mind be at ease, and do not search for Aidan. If your son is anywhere to be found, I’ll seek him for you.’

  ‘Why?’ The terrible emptiness, the fear of never seeing him again caught in her throat. ‘He isn’t your son.’

  He leaned down, touching his forehead to hers. ‘He’s your heart. And it’s something I can give you.’

  She gripped him fiercely, and their mouths tangled in one last kiss.

  ‘Farewell, a mhuirnín.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Iseult walked alongside the mare, leading the animal back to the ringfort. She had no desire to go any faster. Kieran was truly gone this time, and there were not enough tears to ease the pain she felt. Worst of all, she had to face Davin.

  She couldn’t think of anything to say to him. Her skin chilled, and she stopped a moment, resting her head against the mare’s back. Though she hated hurting him, it was right to end the betrothal.

  Her lips felt tender from Kieran’s kiss, her body still lush with warmth. Would to God she could ride towards him and leave everything else behind.

  Instead, she forced herself to mount the mare and return to Lismanagh. It would take time to pack her belongings and prepare for the journey back to her family. They would not be pleased to see her. Her father would have to return the bride price Davin had paid.

  Strange, to think of new beginnings. Though she did not intend to abandon her own search for Aidan, she believed Kieran’s vow to help her. The seeds of faith took root inside her, along with confidence in him.

  Inside the ringfort, men and women continued to bustle with the preparations for Bealtaine. Delicious scents rose from the homes, and she marvelled at the greenery and flowers everywhere.

  She returned Deena’s horse, leading the mare to a trough of water before walking back to Muirne’s hut. Amid the thatching, she saw branches of hawthorn and knew they were from Davin.

  ‘There you are!’ Muirne beamed when she saw her. ‘Come and see the gifts he’s sent!’

  Iseult didn’t need to ask who ‘he’ was. And when she saw the dower chest, her heart sank.

  Muirne’s foster-sons rushed over, half-bouncing with excitement. Glendon cried out, ‘Open it, Iseult! I want to see what he gave you.’

  ‘And me!’ Bartley chimed in. Both boys hovered over the chest, their eyes gleaming as though they expected it to be filled with honey cakes.

  Muirne ushered the boys out of the way. ‘Now, lads, let her open it.’ She turned a discerning eye upon Iseult. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Iseult touched the elaborate carving upon the lid, remembering the way Kieran had watched her before forming her image out of wood. She ran her fingers over one of the curves, the way she had touched his body only hours ago. She suppressed a shiver.

  Taking a breath, she opened the lid. Inside, she smelled lilacs from a bundle of dried flowers wrapped in linen. Gowns of blue, crimson, rose and cream lay inside. Muirne exclaimed over the exquisite fabric.

  ‘He’s traded for these,’ she said, lifting one of the gowns. ‘This is silk. Perhaps from Byzantium.’ She held the piece almost reverently.

  Iseult closed her eyes in dismay. He’d spent a fortune upon her. She’d never expected this, and her guilt trebled. With shaking hands, she packed the gowns away, closing the lid. No longer could she wait to end the betrothal. It had to be now.

  * * *

  ‘May I speak with you?’

  Davin turned from the horses and saw Iseult standing before him. She had left her hair unbound, a reddish-gold curtain that fell down to her hips. The evening air was cool, sending strands of auburn hair against Iseult’s face. Her cream overdress fell in graceful folds over the saffron léine beneath it. She held herself like a queen instead of a blacksmith’s daughter. And yet her lips did not smile.

  His instincts sharpened. She had been unhappy for several weeks now, ever since the battle against the Lochlannachs. He suspected that whatever bothered her would not be welcome news.

  ‘Of course.’ He poured the bucket of oats into a trough for the horses, patting his gelding Lir. ‘Did you receive the chest I sent to Muirne’s?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ There was no smile upon her cheeks, but a faint colour rose. Had he done something wrong? Her words were far too polite. Most women would have been overjoyed at the treasures he’d bought. He’d wanted to gift her with exotic fabrics, silks that were worthy of her beauty. But she was behaving in a manner he’d not seen before, as though she were hiding something from him.

  Ugly suspicions darkened in his mind. Davin recalled a conversation he wasn’t supposed to overhear, between his mother and father last night. Neasa had claimed she’d seen Iseult sneaking into Kieran’s hut.

  Davin had dismissed it, for his mother’s animosity towards his bride was clear. It was only Neasa’s way of stirring up trouble. Iseult had hardly looked at Kieran. She seemed to avoid him at every moment. Not only that, but he’d learned that the woodcarver had already left.

  Perhaps she’d had some bad news regarding her son. ‘Is this about Aidan?’

  ‘No. It’s something else.’ She took his hand in hers and led him towards the gates of the ringfort. He accompanied her, noting how cold her fingers were. The moon rose above the ringfort, stark and white against the darkened sky. Torches flickered in the wind.

  When they reached the hillside, she led him down until they were completely alone. She sat upon the grassy knoll, tucking her bare feet beneath her skirts.

  ‘You’re unhappy,’ he said, sitting beside her. ‘I can see it in your face.’ He’d hoped she would relax and deny it. Instead, she lowered her gaze.

  The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach worsened. Had she ever been happy here? Always leaving the ringfort in search of her son, never content. And even when he show
ed her affection, she seemed uneasy. His consternation increased while he wondered what he could say to make her feel better.

  ‘It’s nothing you’ve done. You’ve been the kindest man to me.’ She let go of his hand, drawing her knees up. In the moonlight, her profile was pale, uncertain. ‘But I can’t marry you.’

  Like an axe, her words severed his intended response. It was the last thing he’d expected. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You deserve a better wife than I can be to you. It would be wrong.’

  Panic overrode him. He sensed their betrothal crumbling, and he struggled to hold the pieces together. ‘You’re the only wife I want.’ He drew his hand around her shoulders, but Iseult did not respond. The wall of ice had returned, and he didn’t know what to do.

  A heaviness seemed to encircle his heart as he pulled his hand away. ‘What has happened? Only yestereve, you were still planning to wed me at Bealtaine.’

  ‘I think I’ve always known it was wrong,’ she whispered. ‘I tried to convince myself that I could love you. You were everything a husband should be, everything I thought I wanted.’ Even as she spoke the words, she would not look at him.

  His skin drew taut, his nerves growing more suspicious. ‘But something made you change your mind.’ He ventured a guess. ‘It’s Kieran, isn’t it?’

  He’d expected her to laugh or deny it. Instead, her face transformed into guilt. Though she tried to veil it, Davin could see the fear in her eyes. And frightened she should be, for his rage boiled with the need for violence against the slave. His mother had been right.

  His knuckles curled into fists, his throat tight with anger. How could she betray him like this? He’d given her his full trust, never believing she would behave dishonourably. ‘You’re in love with him.’

  ‘He’s gone, Davin.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Whatever he chooses to do with his life has nothing to do with us.’

  Disgust filled him at the sight of her tears. ‘He seduced you, didn’t he? All the time when he was carving your likeness.’ They had planned this together. She’d waited until the slave had gone before telling him.