She found the news didn’t cause her the upset it might have even a month before. “I know. It does not distress me.”
His lips twitched with his version of a smile. “We will find something else to occupy your time.”
“As long as it does not include chasing foul-tempered hens about the kitchen yard,” she said, and earned a truer smile.
He stopped, turning her to face him. “Oh, I’m thinking of something a sight more pleasant.”
The imprint of his thighs upon hers left no doubt of his meaning. “Can we still do that?”
“Do you not want to?”
“I always want to,” she admitted. “I just did not believe it possible.”
“’Tis more than possible, my lusty wife,” Conor said, his voice grazing her ear as he rocked against the cradle of her thighs. “Shall I prove it to you?”
She sighed and leaned against him, melting at the core. “Yes, please.”
Arm in arm, they entered the dun. Even the sight of Magda’s disapproving stare did not daunt Erika today. The former mistress of Dunlough sat in a prominent place that afforded her a clear view of the main entrance and the hall leading to the kitchens, a basket of mending at her feet. Her eyes widened as Conor guided Erika to the stairs. “And sure herself’s not tired at this time of the day?”
“My wife needs her rest now more than ever,” Conor declared. “I go with her to ensure that she receives it.”
“Conor.” Erika smothered a reproachful laugh as they mounted the stairs.
He was unapologetic. “You will be receiving, and soon. I promise you that.”
Receive she did, for a glorious interlude. Replete, they collapsed against each other, languidly basking in afterglow. “I’m glad you’ve proved me wrong, husband,” she said with a sigh. “I must admit, not being with you like this would be hard to bear.”
Conor held her close. “Remember you said that. While we’ve months to go before we have to cease, it does not mean we should shirk our time together.”
“Good.” She grinned. “For this is one duty I’ve no plans to shirk.”
Her husband leaned over her, his lips tugging upward. “It gladdens me to see you happy.”
Fragile feelings threatened to break free of the cage of her ribs. She brushed her knuckles down his cheek. “And you?” she breathed. “Are you happy?”
He captured her hand, pressing a kiss against her palm. “I cannot recall a moment I’ve been happier.”
Her heart threatened to overflow. “Oh Conor, I—”
A timid knock sounded on the door. “Away from that door if you value your life!” he roared.
Erika’s giggle over the abrupt sound of retreating footsteps soon became an outright guffaw. “It would seem our duties come looking for us, after all.”
His sigh was rueful as he climbed from the bedstead, reaching for his leine. “It does indeed. There’ll be no rest for you now, not until after the ceili tonight. Perhaps not even then.”
Her pulse leapt deep inside as she pulled her robe on. “I hope not.”
Silver eyes blazed anew at her soft words. “Perhaps we could take a few moments more?” he suggested, reaching for her.
Laughing, she danced around him while pulling her hair into a haphazard braid. “I’ll not be keeping you from your duties,” she told him with mock severity. “And you’ll not be keeping me from mine. I’ve a ceili to prepare for, remember?”
“I remember well.” He opened the door for her then followed her through. “You’ll not overdo it.”
Erika knew a command when she heard one. “I won’t,” she promised. “I doubt if Magda will let me, at any rate.”
Some of the acerbity she felt must have been obvious, for he paused, drawing her near. “Has Magda not been a help for you?”
Hesitant, Erika bit her lower lip. The Irishwoman never had more than two words to say to her of late, not that she minded overmuch. Still, she didn’t want to be enemies with Conor’s sister-by-marriage, for his sake as much as her own. “I did hold a dagger to her throat, you know.”
“Yes you did.” He looked horrified and amused together. “I suppose it will take her some time to recover from the shock.”
“I suppose it will,” she equivocated, still unsure of his mood. What would he do if she said that she’d had enough of Magda’s help?
“I know herself’s not had an easy time of it,” she finally said, her tone careful. “Even though she hasn’t been here for two years, it must be difficult for her not to assume her former status.”
Conor halted his descent and backed her against the stairwell wall. “Are you diplomat as well as warrior? I noticed you did not answer my question.”
Though her head reached his shoulder she felt trapped by his size. Even so, she hesitated. “What question was that?”
He leaned closer to her. “Did you know that your nose turns red when you attempt to avoid questions?”
Heat crept up her neck. “It does not,” she retorted tartly. “And I’m not avoiding questions.”
“Then answer me, now and true. Is Magda not a help to you?”
If she said no, would he send her away? Everyone would suspect, and rightfully so, that it was because of her that Conor would send Magda away. Erika didn’t want it thought that she could not suffer a widow and Dunlough’s former mistress in her home. It was a matter of pride.
Looking him full in the eye, she said, “I have learned much from Magda.” That was true. “I would not have been able to manage many things without her.” Like the constant feeling of inadequacy and frustration. “I do wish things would improve between us.” If only because you wish it.
To her credit, she didn’t blink as Conor gave her a measuring stare that surely cowered many a man. Finally he stepped back, and they continued their descent.
At the entrance he paused again. “Until tonight, my lady.”
It was indeed a night of music and singing and dancing.
And miracles.
Dunlough celebrated as it had not since the wedding feast. The scribe read from the annals, and a bard sang of the strange courtship of the Angel and the Devil. After the bard, soldiers traded war stories, and Erika even gave them a tale of being beset by thieves while guarding a spice merchant on the great road to Rome.
Conor watched the proceedings with an indulgent, pleased expression, though he did not partake in any of the boasting himself. Erika was conscious of him sitting behind her like Odin watching over humanity but not interacting with it.
When hand-clapping joined the sounds of harp and bodhran and pipes and foot-stomping, Erika turned to her husband. “You do not join the celebration?”
He waved a hand to the shifting bodies before the hearth. “The people enjoy themselves. Their joy is my joy.”
Her heart clenched at his casual words. How many nights had he sat this way, keeping to the shadows, with his people yet so removed from them?
She slipped her hands into his, tugging him to his feet. “Tonight, your joy is their joy.”
Conor let himself be led into the throng of dancers, who greeted him with smiles and thumps on the back. He pulled his wife close. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
She smiled and spun around him. “No, but you’ve done so well teaching me other things, sure you can teach me this?”
Never one to refuse a challenge, Conor led her a merry step that had them both breathless. Erika didn’t know the dance of the Gaels, true, but she’d managed to survive her nineteen years by studying people, and she proved to be an apt pupil.
With reluctance, Conor gave way when Ardan intercepted them. In the two months since his wounding the commander had recovered well, and even seemed to flourish under Erika’s care. And if his dancing was any indication, he seemed to be growing younger as well.
Accepting a much-needed ale, Conor returned to his seat. Magda soon joined him, and they watched the celebration in an easy silence.
“How good it is, to see D
unlough rejoicing again,” his sister-by-marriage said.
“I agree.” He couldn’t keep the pride from his voice. “Erika has done much to lighten the pallor that has been here too long.”
He watched as his laughing wife was passed from Ardan to Padraig. Magic was certain in the air, for his commanders’ previous contributions to celebrations had been draining the ale barrels as quick as possible.
Magda shifted beside him. “In the rush to prepare, I forgot to give you my sincerest well-wishing. It must please you, knowing that you shall have an heir at last.”
“It does.” He let the satisfaction of it seep deep. He’d been damn near to constant smiling all day. Yes, Dunlough’s mood and his own were much improved, and he knew he had his wife to thank. She’d healed them all since that disastrous battle, body and soul. If his people had been standoffish to her before, they near worshipped her now.
“I thank you, Magda, for helping Erika adjust to her new life,” he said. “She tells me you have been a great help to her.”
The woman beside him gave a start, then settled again. “It has been a pleasure to help her, you must know that.”
“I do. And I thank you again. She’ll be needing your aid more than ever, in the months to come.”
He noticed that she shifted on the bench again, discomfited. “Something troubles you, sister?”
“I’m concerned, right enough, but I don’t know how to say what needs to be said.”
“Say it plain and true.”
Before answering, she looked out over the gathering. “Conor, it distresses me to say this, to even suggest that anything untoward has occurred…” She paused. “Yet perhaps I, of all people, am the one who can say it.”
Her fingers bunched the fabric of her skirts. “Oh Conor, are you certain the bairn is yours?”
The fraught words sucked the joy from him like wind from sails, leaving him adrift. If anyone else had asked such a question of him, he would have backhanded the fool over the bench for even thinking such a thing. Yet it was Magda who posed the question, a question he hadn’t realized had been buried in the deepest, darkest corner of his soul until she spoke it.
She laid a hand over his now-clenched fist. “Forgive me, Conor,” she whispered in misery. “I would not ruin this glorious day for anything, but after Aislingh…”
Conor didn’t hear another word over the rush of blood beating against his ears. Erika was not Aislingh! Teeth clenched, he searched for his wife, her silver mane standing clear in the crowd. She finished her dance with Padraig by changing places with a blushing Múireann.
As if aware of his heated gaze, Erika lifted her head to stare at him. The smile on her lips faded as her eyes widened in surprise. He watched her gaze narrow as it moved to the right of him, to Magda. She started to push through the crowd, heading towards them.
“I’m sure there is no cause for concern,” Magda reassured him as she rose. “Sure, she’s had little time for liaisons even if she does ride out each day all about the tuath, and has since before you returned from battle. I suppose it is how she eases the pain of not having her freedom. Though ’tis true, she’ll have it again, once the bairn is born.” With another apology she took her leave.
Erika made her way through the crowd at last, her stance warrior-like as she stopped before him. “What has happened?” she demanded. “What news did Magda bring you that distresses you so?”
“Nothing that has not been said before,” he said, biting off the words. There was no way he could recapture the good humor he’d enjoyed earlier. He could not believe the worst of Erika, did not believe the worst of her. Yet the idea, once planted, refused to leave him be.
And even though he knew his Valkyrie would not have dishonored him or herself, there was still the matter of her freedom. How could he have forgotten the vow they’d made—her freedom for a son?
Because he’d thought it didn’t matter anymore. That no matter their bargain Erika would choose to remain. She had begun to make a place for herself, a future for herself. Was freedom more of a lure than Dunlough, than their child, than himself?
He rose then stepped away from her, needing the distance to clear his senses of her. Having Erika leave now that he was beginning to live again, to feel again, would be akin to having his arm ripped away. Having her stay when she wanted to be anywhere—wanted to have anything—but what he offered, was far worse.
“I think I will retire now.”
In a moment she was by his side, her brows dipped in concern. “Are you not feeling well?” she asked. “You seem out of sorts.”
He heard the concern. How true it sounded. Yet he knew it for a lie. Knew that all she had done since becoming his wife had been for this moment, the fulfilling of their vow. He knew for certain how single-minded she could be when pursuing the fulfillment of her vows.
Grief howled through him, bitter and swift, before he shut it away behind two years of resolve. The bairn was all that mattered. Not Erika, not her freedom, not even his joy. He would see Dunlough’s future born, see his wife leave and then his duty would be done.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Erika soon discovered why bards did not sing of the joys of pregnancy.
As soon as her eyes opened to the new day she would retch. If she attempted to ingest anything more savory than bread and cheese, she would retch. Only a special elixir provided by Aine and imbibed twice daily got her out of bed at all.
The only positive she could see from being with child was that her slumber was deep. So sure was it that she was almost always asleep when Conor came to and left their chamber. Only his rumpled side of their bedstead proved to her that he did sleep beside her each night.
In the month since the ceili, her husband had firmly retreated to his former taciturn self. His days were spent in training and judgments and overseeing the stock, long hours that apparently left him little time to see to his wife.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. Conor did show interest in her welfare. He posed repeated questions to the three people closest to her—Aine, Múireann and Padraig. Through them, he knew when she needed more stuffing in their bedding, ordered her baked fish prepared without the heavy sauce and seasonings, and ensured that she retired at midday to rest.
Without doubt, he was a concerned father-to-be. If only he showed a modicum of that concern to his wife.
Erika had no answers as to why he had withdrawn from her. Her confrontations with him were over before they began, terminating with him quitting her presence with the excuse of pressing business about the tuath.
She had had enough. In her heart of hearts she believed Magda had something to do with Conor’s retreat into stoicism. She’d seen the Irishwoman talking with Conor the night of the dance, and knew that his demeanor had drastically changed afterwards. Unfortunately, Magda had soon hied herself off on a visit to former friends about the holding, leaving Erika with a mounting frustration.
It was time for Magda to leave. The widow had done little but snap at her heels like Fenrir gobbling up the world. She was Loki’s sister in spirit and deed, and had done more harm than good since her shadow darkened the door to the dun.
The decision was sure to cause strife, Erika knew, but it was preferable to what she endured now. With the former mistress returned to her southern relatives Dunlough would finally settle, and she and Conor could get about the business of building their future together.
Erika paced about her chambers, her stomach roiling unceasingly. Magda had returned yester eve, and she’d summoned the widow to her chambers for a much-needed reckoning. It was not a conversation she looked forward to, but knew it a necessary evil to be borne. She just hoped the maidservant would arrive with her calming elixir before Magda did.
The elixir and Magda arrived together. The servant sat the tray down on a near table then left. “Well.” Magda’s smile was strained as she lifted a mug from the tray. “You wished to speak with me?”
“Yes.” Erika reached for her ow
n wooden goblet and took a sip of the overly bitter brew to calm her nerves and keep her hands from circling the other woman’s throat. “The truth of the matter is, Magda, that I have been unfair to you.”
The Irishwoman seemed taken aback. “Unfair to me? How?”
“I have taken advantage of you and your knowledge. For that, I offer a most humble apology. You are a guest here; it is time I treat you as such.”
Magda’s jaw dropped open in an entirely unladylike manner. “But-but I—”
“I’ll not hear another word,” Erika smoothly interjected. “It has been an unnecessary burden on you. I am grateful for the gracious manner in which you have undertaken my education, but it is a burden you no longer need carry. It has caused you to tarry longer here than you would have otherwise, I am sure.”
Her voice hardened. “I know you said something to Conor the night of the ceili. It matters not what was said. All that matters is that it upset him, and that I’ll not have. I’ll not have you or anyone else affect his happiness. It is time for you to leave.”
For a moment, such blind rage suffused Magda’s face that Erika instinctively reached for her dagger to defend herself. Then the older woman smiled, a curving of lips that chilled Erika to the depths of her soul.
“You poor, foolish barbarian. I wanted to spare you the harsh truth, for ’tis not my place to speak it, but you must know. Conor sent for me, to run his household and to raise his heir.”
The flame-haired woman smiled again as she stepped closer. “Do you remember the bargain you struck? Your freedom for a male child? Ah, I see that you do. Conor will uphold that bargain, you can be sure. Can you really believe that a murdering mercenary can remain as mistress of Dunlough? Such a thing is impossible for the leader of northern Connacht. You will never be accepted, but your get will. Conor realized this long ago.”
“You lie!” Her vehement declaration lacked conviction, and Erika knew it.
Magda knew it as well. “Do I?” she wondered, chuckling with indulgence. “Tell me this: has Conor asked you to stay? Has he ever told you that he loves you? Of course he hasn’t. And he never will.”
Devil's Angel Page 23