The weather was perfect, a warm day for autumn, not a chill in the air.
Tarr watched Fiona mount her mare, without any help from him. She grabbed the reins, swung herself onto her horse, and waited. He took a moment to talk with the young lad who tended his horses, and from the corner of his eye caught an impatient Fiona lead her horse away from the village.
Her mare was just as impatient, snorting and stumping the ground, her eyes fixed on the open meadow. The animal was itching to break free and run, as badly as he imagined Fiona wanted to run, and he doubted she would hold her back much longer.
Tarr purposely took his time to see what she would do. Would she wait for him or take off at a blazing pace?
His answer came only moments after he mounted his stallion. Fiona freed her mare to run and Tarr grinned as he urged his horse to catch her.
He could see how much she enjoyed her ride by the way she enthusiastically held her face up to greet the wind. Then there was the ease in which she rode her mare; theirs was a harmonious pairing.
Watching her now he realized that she had a natural ability with horses, actually animals in general. He recalled how the puppy was attracted to the one twin, and he had noticed that most animals around the keep responded to her, or was it both twins?
He shrugged away his confusion and decided today he would let fate deal with his dilemma. He intended to enjoy his time with Fiona, at least he hoped the twin was Fiona.
Tarr took off after her, his stallion having no difficulty catching up with her. When he rode alongside her; she challenged him with a smile and he accepted, pulling past her. Not for long, though. She caught up with him, and they rode neck and neck for a good distance before they both slowed their pace.
Tarr pointed to a stream not far off. They led the horses there to drink and rest while they did the same.
They sat not far from the water’s edge, Fiona stretching her legs out in front of her and tilting her face to the sun.
“I am glad autumn allowed a touch of summer to visit for the day.”
“Enjoy it now, for winter will soon approach and there will be few days spent outside.” The prospect of being inside this winter appealed to him. He would have a bride to keep him warm and busy, and the thought stirred his senses.
“You think I will spend the winter here?” She sounded as though she laughed.
“I know you will.” He sounded pleased.
“I am curious,” she said, her tone now one of interest. “You think to make a wife of me or my sister, and shortly, as you have often reminded me. Yet you have done nothing but spend a few hours each day with us. What will be the deciding factor for who you wed?”
He favored her direct manner. Their would be no pretense between them; she would have her say whether he liked it or not, and that pleased him. He had no time for a woman who would whine and complain and never say what she meant.
“I am not sure,” he said. “You both seem identical, but then I could be speaking with the same twin over and over. I sometimes think to grab one of you, wed, and have done with it.”
“Yet you do not. Why?”
“My stubborn pride?”
Fiona laughed. “That can get in the way.”
Her eyes sparkled along with her laughter before a lopsided smile settled on her face. He had never noticed it before, and he realized the funny grin made her all the more beautiful.
He had appreciated her beauty at first glance but of late, he had begun to notice other things about her that appealed to him. She tilted her head when she laughed, her eyes rounded when she grew upset, she licked her lips slowly when deep in thought, and now this funny grin.
“So then you have no plan where my sister and I are concerned?”
“You should use tact when questioning your adversary.”
“You are not my foe?” she asked.
Had he upset her? Her eyes rounded slightly.
“If not foe what am I to you?”
She leaned forward as if she would spit the words from her mouth, then grew still. She shook her head so briefly. “I do not know.”
The wind rustled a cool breeze across the stream, whipping Fiona’s hair in her face. Before she could brush it aside, Tarr reached out and gently ran his fingers into the strands, raking them back until his hand cupped the back of her head.
“Let us see if we can find out,” he said, and leaned over her, his broad chest pressing her to the ground as his lips claimed hers in a hungry kiss.
She did not shy away or deny him. She eagerly joined him, sharing in the kiss and demanding as much as she gave, which fueled his already ignited passion. Her taste was not sweet; it was tart and pungent and intoxicating.
He loved her odd flavor and could not get enough of it. Her lips were firm and succulent, not soft mush like most of the women he had known.
Damn, but he favored the taste of her and the feel of her. She arched her body against his, her breasts pressing firm to his chest, and she wrapped one leg around his, hugging it tightly. She had locked onto him as if she had no intentions of letting go and the thought sent him reeling.
She wanted him.
He eased his lips from hers to trace down along her cheek to her neck, then nuzzled kisses along her silky flesh. She tilted her chin up, providing him easier access, and her strong moans let him know how very much she was enjoying his attention.
Her breathing grew rapid and her body moved beneath him as if she had an itch that needed immediate scratching. Her hands hugged his arms with a strength that surprised him, but when his lips drifted to her breast she suddenly ceased all movement.
He looked up to see a heated glare fixed on him.
“Touch nowhere that rightfully belongs to my future husband.”
He grinned.
“My husband will be of my choice.”
Now she could read his mind. He was about to remind her that she would wed him, and damned if he did not want the wedding to take place today. This vibrant, eager woman beneath him had to be Fiona.
He pushed himself off her and walked over to the water’s edge. He leaned down and splashed water in his face several times. He was crazy for allowing this farce to continue, and yet somehow he did not want to stop it. He felt he was unraveling Fiona, discovering who she was bit by bit and enjoying it. By the time he turned around, Fiona was standing near her horse.
“You run away?”
She laughed and mounted with an agility and speed that startled him. “If I did, you would never catch me.” She took off, her laughter trickling in her wake.
He mumbled several oaths as he mounted his stallion and went after her, a smile surfacing as he gave thought to the wedding night they would soon share.
Clouds arrived at the keep along with Fiona. She walked her mare to the pen, her thoughts on her response to Tarr’s unexpected question.
If not foe, what am I to you?
She had believed him her foe. Why had she answered differently? And what was he to her? She raved and ranted about her situation and yet she found herself enjoying his company.
She looked forward to their discussions. He respected her opinions and never dismissed them as trivial.
Fiona released her mare into the pen and turned, intending to find her sister and talk. But Tarr walked toward her, his horse left to the care of a young lad who took the reins. A ripple of anticipation spread throughout her body tingling her senses. She had just left him, how could he seem more appealing to her in such a short time?
He wore no smile, his eyes were intent upon her, and his walk determined.
He wanted her.
She could sense it in every step he took, in the way his eyes refused to let go of her, in his strides that announced, I am coming to get you.
She had warned him that he would never catch her, and yet he did not give up. He came after her. The thought thrilled her. If he wanted her that much, could he possibly care for her?
He reached her, took her arm, and lead her
behind the keep, away from curious glances and into the afternoon shadows that danced against the stone wall. There, he wrapped her so tightly in his arms that she could feel the rapid rhythm of his heart. His was a strong and steady thump-thump that soon had her own heart following suit.
She stared into his eyes and saw her own passion reflected in his heated desire. They mingled and mixed until fused together, and that is when he claimed her lips.
The taste of him never failed to excite her and within minutes, she was fully aroused, and wanting more, much more from him.
She refused to let the kiss end, nibbling at his lips urging his return, until he gently shoved her away from him.
“Think of what I am to you, for before I take you to my bed I want to know.”
Fiona stared at his back as he walked away from her, and she wondered over his question and worried over her aching heart.
Chapter 12
The horn sounded late that night when the village had been just about tucked in for a good night’s sleep. It roused everyone in minutes, the men running to their posts, the women rushing the children to the safety of the keep while other women prepared to defend against fires.
“Raiders from the north,” Kirk shouted as Tarr burst out of the keep, claymore in hand.
Fiona and Aliss were close behind him.
“Remain in the keep,” he ordered as he ran to issue orders to his men.
Aliss turned a knowing glance on her sister. “Do what you must. I will be ready to tend the wounded, though make certain you are not one of them.”
Fiona with sword in hand hurried to help defend Tarr’s land.
She knew at first glance that the raiders were more barbarians than skilled warriors, but then they could prove a far worse adversary since they cared little for life. They lived to war. Tarr’s men handled them well, but the sheer volume of warriors made fighting difficult. You would just finish with one and two more would appear. That was how the barbarians won their battles, by flooding their enemy with a plethora of warriors.
Fiona kept her eye on Tarr’s back while she fought with a skill uncanny for a woman. Some thought it a natural ability while others thought her in league with the devil, for no woman possessed such remarkable talent with weapons.
Her heart jumped with fear when she saw blood splattered across Tarr’s naked chest, but he remained firm on his feet, which meant the blood belonged to his enemy.
She returned her attention to the battle, soon fighting off two large men, her temper growing with each thrust of her sword. They were large and strong and gave a good fight, but Fiona outmaneuvered them at each turn.
She caught one’s arm with her blade and turned to finish the other when a third suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Before she could swing her weapon, his sword descended on her.
Steel clashed against steel and a powerful fist crashed into the warrior’s jaw, dropping him to the ground. Before she could take the other warrior down, Tarr’s sword swung, felling him in one swift blow.
She was about to thank him when a warrior raced up behind Tarr, her wide eyes warning him just in time, and another warrior fell.
The thick muscles tensed in his sweaty and blood-covered chest as he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Get yourself to a safe place.”
“I am in a safe place, beside you,” she said, and pressed her cheek to his before returning to battle.
The night wore on with torches one right after the other igniting thatched rooftops, and the clash of steel echoing in the darkness. Fiona’s skin turned to gooseflesh when she saw her sister along with other women creep onto the battlefield and drag the wounded to safety.
Victory was close, the last of the barbarians running off knowing defeat was imminent, when suddenly a large warrior wearing a wolf’s headdress that near covered his entire face emerged from the darkness on a mare as white as freshly fallen snow and, with arrow in hand, plunged it into Tarr.
Fiona was too far away to help or to see how badly he was wounded, but she let loose with a bloodcurdling scream and advanced on the retreating warrior. Neither she nor Tarr’s men could catch the half wolf, half man, and he was swallowed by the darkness that had spit him out.
Fiona was rushing to his side while her eyes frantically searched for her sister; Aliss was approaching. Fiona made it there first and pushed the men gathered around their chieftain out of her way.
Fiona dropped to the ground beside him. The arrow had gone straight through his arm several inches above his elbow. It would take tremendous strength to deliver such a powerful blow with a single hand.
His men already argued about who would pull the arrow out while Tarr shouted orders to secure the boundaries of the village.
Fiona silenced all when she shouted, “Quiet.” Then she methodically issued clear orders on what the men were to do. They quickly obeyed once their chieftain nodded his approval.
Aliss kneeled beside Tarr.
“It cannot be removed yet,” Fiona said calmly.
Aliss agreed with a nod after a quick assessment. “We must examine the possible damage before anything is done.”
Fiona looked to Kirk who had returned after seeing that the men had begun carrying out her orders. “Get him to his bedchamber.”
“I can walk,” Tarr insisted, then directed his question to Kirk. “How many lost and wounded?”
“Surprisingly we suffered no losses, but we did suffer many injures. Thanks to—” Kirk looked from one twin to the other—“thanks to one of them, the wounded were removed quickly from the battlefield and their injures attended to. Many are doing well with very few having suffered severely.”
Tarr looked from one twin to the other. “Will I lose any of my men?”
“I think not,” one answered.
“And me?” Tarr asked.
Fiona answered. “I will not let you die.” With that she and Aliss helped him to sit up, then assisted him to stand. The twins supported him with their shoulders, and slowly they walked him to the keep as he attempted to speak with Kirk, who followed along.
“Quiet,” Fiona yelled. “You must save your strength.”
Erin, Kirk’s wife, ran out of the keep as they were about to enter. She rambled on about one of the men who had begun to bleed badly. Aliss slipped out from under Tarr and Kirk took her place.
Once in the room, Tarr refused to seek his bed; he insisted on a chair. He grabbed Kirk’s arm. “Bring Raynor to me now.”
Fiona examined his wound. “There is little blood,” she said with worry.
He stared at her; her vibrant green eyes anxious, her touch uncertain, and fear straining her lovely face. She cared what happened to him and that thought struck his heart like a mighty blow. It made him want to reach out and comfort her, assuage her concern and kiss her until each melted into the other’s arms.
He mentally shook the nonsense from his head. What was the matter with him? His clan had just suffered a fierce attack and he thought of kissing and making love with this woman.
He was not supposed to feel or want her. She was simply to be his wife and the mother of his children. But did he want more? His duty was to his clan and he could not allow love to interfere with that duty.
“Work your magic,” he said gruffly. “The clan speaks of your healing talent; use it.” He purposely challenged her. Why? So that he would know who cared for him?
He was denied an answer when Aliss rushed into the room and hurried to her sister’s side. Suddenly he could not tell one from the other as they shifted positions and worked almost as one.
The sisters consulted in whispers and he grew annoyed.
“What do you discuss?” he snapped.
“The best way to remove the arrow so there would be little or no damage to your arm,” Aliss said.
He was surprised by her candid answer and pleased. “I trust your decision.”
“A wise choice, she is an excellent healer,” Raynor said, entering the room.
“I can see
that,” Tarr said. “You have healed well.”
“And sealed my fate?”
“That is a matter to be discussed”—Tarr winced as Aliss gently probed his wound—“at a later time. Do you know anything about the barbarian tribes to the north?”
“That is who attacked you tonight?”
Tarr nodded with effort. “What do you know of them?”
“They fight each other and have no honor.”
“There is unrest among them?”
“Much unrest, and there are those who seek to expand their holdings—”
“This arrow must be removed soon,” Aliss interrupted.
“In a moment,” Tarr said. “There is one; he is large and powerful—”
“Like few men you have ever seen, and he wears a wolf’s headdress?” Raynor asked.
“Like none I have ever seen, and aye, he wears the head of a wolf,” Tarr said. “With a single blow he pierced my arm with an arrow.”
“He is the leader of the clan Wolf, not only because of the headpiece he wears, but because his attacks are vicious and he leaves few of his enemy unscathed. He rules his land and people with a strong hand, and none dare oppose him.”
“I can understand why. When he lanced me with his arrow, the wolf’s eyes in the headdress glowed like an animal set to devour his prey. I was lucky he caught only my arm.”
Raynor grinned. “You were lucky, his weapon hit his mark. He speared your arm to let you know of his skill and intentions. He will return and the next time his aim will prove deadly.”
“No more talk,” Aliss said with a forcefulness that turned everyone silent. “This arrow needs removing now.” She turned to Kirk before anyone could protest. “I will need your strength.” She looked to Raynor. “And yours as well.”
“We do not need our enemy’s help,” Kirk spat.
“Then tend your chieftain yourself,” Raynor argued.
“I need no help,” Tarr insisted.
“You think so?” Fiona questioned.
“I will do as I see fit,” Tarr said.
“You will do as you are told,” Aliss ordered. “Or you will chance losing all strength in your arm. Now drink this.” She shoved a goblet in his face.
The Daring Twin Page 8