“Listen to her,” Kirk said, looking from one twin to the other. “She knows of what she speaks. She has cured many of the clans’ ills.”
Tarr hesitated then reluctantly swallowed the drink. The arrow would be removed and the skin sealed with a fiery iron. Then there would be worry of fever. He himself had helped close wounds such as his.
“Do what you must,” he said, and grabbed the arm of the chair, bracing himself for the pain. Kirk and Raynor lent their strength to him and held him firm.
Fiona stood ready to reach for the red-hot iron and Aliss wrapped a cloth around the arrow. With a skill that surprised everyone, she worked the arrow out of Tarr’s arm inch by inch.
Tarr did his best to remain still, gripping the arms of the chair, gritting his teeth and fighting the pain that attempted to consume him. Sweat broke out on his brow and spread slowly over his entire body.
He refused to surrender to the intense pain, chasing away the blackness that rose up to swallow him. He would remain alert and rejoice in the pain for it meant he survived the battle.
His gaze locked with the twin holding the poker iron. He concentrated on her green eyes filled to the brim with fear and gut-wrenching pain. That she suffered along with him was obvious. She had to be Fiona, and he told himself to remember later to look in her eyes—for he might be able to tell the difference if he remembers this look.
He did not take his eyes off her not even when the arrow was finally removed.
The poker iron came next, searing his arm in two spots. Tarr groaned from the stinging flesh and, for a moment, almost gagged from the smell. His ordeal had finally ended and he rested his head back against the chair, his eyes still on the twin.
“Get him into bed. He needs to rest.”
The twin he stared at spoke, though she grew blurry and his mind groggy. He was helped up and deposited in bed. His eyes closed of their own accord, even though he fought to keep them open as gentle hands touched his arm.
He did not want to sleep and appear weak. There were things he needed to see to, orders to give, the keep’s safety to maintain, his clan to look after and . . .
“The brew Aliss gave him will have him sleeping until morning; we have work to do,” Fiona said to Kirk. “Return Raynor to his room, then meet me in the great hall.”
“I can help,” Raynor offered.
Fiona shook her head. “You are a prisoner and Tarr will decide your fate.”
Kirk smiled and did as she bid, closing the door behind him.
“Tell me he will be all right,” Fiona asked of her sister.
“The arrow left no damage. We need only worry about fever.”
“You will watch over him?” Fiona asked, gently brushing Tarr’s hair off his forehead with her fingers. His brow was damp with sweat. She had watched him struggle to maintain his dignity and strength, refusing to scream or display any sign of weakness, and never taking his eyes off her.
“Your feelings for him grow.”
Fiona bent down by the side of the bed and ran a finger over his warm lips. “I do not know why I feel the way I do. He shows me no such feelings in return, though when we kiss it is different. I can sense how very much he wants me. But then he is a man with needs. And I am a woman who needs love.”
“Perhaps there is a common ground somewhere for you both.”
“Love versus need?” Fiona said with a laugh, and stood.
“Need turning to love?” Aliss asked with a lift of her brow.
“I think it is in fate’s hands.”
“Then is it fate who brought us here?” Aliss questioned.
“We will have to wait and see,” Fiona said, walking to the door. “I know not how or why I feel as I do about Tarr. I only know that when I watched the arrow pierce his flesh, it tore at my heart. For a brief moment I did not want to know life without him. The feeling and thought confuse me, and if this should prove to be love then it is very strange indeed, for there is more hurt and pain to love than there is joy and peace.”
Chapter 13
A chill wind blew down from the north and many felt it was the breath of the barbarians bearing down on them, when it was simply a reminder of winter’s approach.
Remnants of last night’s attack, however, did little to remind them that the wind was harmless. Roofs bore holes from the fiery torches, fences were broken, their pieces scattered; the storehouse was ransacked, and the wounded lay suffering. Fear needed to be eased in the hearts and minds of the clanswomen and anger assuaged in the men.
The best way to do that was to keep everyone busy, and that is what Fiona had been doing since last night. She got not a wink of sleep; she was much too busy seeing to clan duties for a healing chieftain. She encouraged those in need and displayed confidence to those looking for leadership, which she did with ease and grace. And her efforts were met with appreciation. Several damaged roofs were already repaired, fences were being mended, stock being taken of the storehouse, and the wounded were finally finding relief from their pain, thanks to the brew Aliss had the women make and administer.
Fiona indeed had things well in hand most impressively by the time Tarr woke, when he was forced to eat breakfast by Aliss, made to wear a sling with her threat of death if he should remove it, and then before he left his chamber, warned he was not to overtax himself.
From the steps of the keep, Tarr stared in amazement at the amount of repair work that had been accomplished. He learned that guard posts had been doubled at his north borders and established along route so that any news of impending attack would be learned of in a more timely matter. He stood speechless.
“I tell you, Tarr, she—they—whoever commands in your stead is worthy of leadership,” Kirk said. “She rallied the people, not waiting for someone to take command. With many in shock and still frightened, they were drawn to her courage and strength and followed willingly, and gratefully. I saw no reason to remind her she was not chieftain, for she certainly possessed the skills of a knowledgeable laird.”
Tarr watched Fiona scoop a little puppy up that had peeked its head out of a barrel. She hugged the black pup to her and then deposited him in the lap of a little girl, Grenda, who looked to have spent the night crying. She laughed when the puppy licked her face and she hugged him tight. They were soon romping around together and other children joined in.
When Fiona caught sight of Tarr, she waved, smiled and hurried over to him.
“I need to help with the thatching,” Kirk said and took off.
Tarr was glad for the time alone with Fiona. He had begun to believe more and more that it was Fiona he had spent his days with, had kissed so often, and looked so forward to seeing.
She had to be Fiona; he could not be wrong. Though just a feeling, it was a feeling that overwhelmed him. Then there was that lopsided smile of hers, which was not always visible and which lead him to believe that perhaps a distinction did exist between the twins.
“Feeling well?” she asked.
“Some pain but nothing unbearable.” He noticed that she wore the same garments as yesterday, and understood then that it was the twins’ habit to alternate their daily skirts and blouses, while continuing to wear identical garments. Just another way of fooling the eye. “Did you sleep at all?”
“No time,” she said, and pointed to several roofs and the storehouse. “Some work required immediate attention.”
Tarr looked around at the damage that had been done and the remarkable work already completed.
“Should you be up and about so soon?” she asked.
Concern not only filled her voice but her lovely green eyes as well. Had he not seen worry in the other twin’s eyes and concern for his well-being?
Fiona answered her own question. “If I were chieftain, nothing would stop me from seeing to the defense of my clan.”
Those words and the conviction with which they were issued is what he had wanted to hear from the woman he would call wife. From what he had seen, she was a fine example of
a woman, more than capable of being his partner and seeing to the clan’s needs with skill and confidence.
“You did well in my stead, and I am grateful.”
Fiona stood tall and with a gracious bow of her head said, “It was an honor.”
His glance returned to the damage the village had suffered and he shook his head. “Something does not seem right here.”
“I thought the same myself.”
“What did you think?” Tarr asked, eager to know if their thoughts were similar.
“It appears as if the attackers searched for something.”
Tarr nodded in agreement. “They were after something specific.”
“Or perhaps someone specific. They torched the cottages. Why? To force their target into the open?”
His brows drew together. “Who would be of such importance?”
“To barbarians,” she added.
He turned slowly, looking over his people. “I cannot imagine them wanting anyone here.”
“What of Raynor? Could they want something of him? He seemed to know about this barbarian leader of the Wolf clan.”
“It is a thought.”
“What will you do with Raynor?” she asked.
“You worry over him?” Tarr snapped, annoyed at her concern.
“I am curious,” she said with a shrug.
He realized that it was his own concern he had heard. She did not sound as if she truly cared one way or the other.
“I will talk more with him and then decide his fate.”
“Have you warred much with him?”
“Skirmishes more than anything.”
“Would he seek this Wolf leader’s help?” she asked.
“He is too proud, and besides Raynor is a warrior with an honored reputation. I cannot see him joining with barbarians.”
“If this Wolf leader did not find what he came for, will he look elsewhere or return?”
“The very question on my mind,” Tarr responded. “His search was mostly of the village, torching the cottages so that anyone inside would flee.”
“And the storehouse was ransacked—”
“As if he thought someone hid inside.”
“He kept his distance from the keep,” Fiona said.
“Meaning this person would not reside in the keep.”
“Or so he would think.”
Tarr winced, the force of the pain in his wound causing deep wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.
“You do too much,” she snapped.
Even though she sounded like she scolded, Tarr knew that her gruffness was out of concern for him.
“I do nothing but stand here and talk with you.”
“You should be sitting,” she argued.
“While my clansmen work?”
“Then go inside where you cannot see the work being done,” she ordered, pointing her finger at the keep.
“I do not take orders from you.” He tried to sound affronted, but his laugh did him in.
“You think not?”
“Do you know your eyes blaze like fiery emeralds when you grow angry?”
“You will not put me off with pretty words.” She tossed her head up with a smile and stepped away from him, then shouted loudly for all to hear: “Your chieftain needs rest so that he may fully recover from his wound and lead you once more. I told him that we can do fine without his assistance right now. What say you all?”
“The twin can handle it, go rest,” shouted one man.
“You are not needed now,” yelled a woman.
“We trust the twin,” called out another man.
More voices joined in until Tarr was forced to return to the keep, a smiling Fiona watching him walk away.
A cold rain was falling when Tarr woke from a sleep that he had no intention of taking though it had claimed him as soon as his head had rested on the pillow. He winced when he moved his arm; it turning to a gentle smile when he saw that one of the twins sat in a chair beside him, her head resting on her shoulder while she slept soundly.
He stretched his legs, which ached from battle, though he would admit it to no one, and as he eased himself up to sit at the edge of the bed, watched her sleep.
Her mouth hung open slightly and a soft snoring purr spilled out. Her arms were crossed over her midsection as if she held herself up, and a stripe of white cloth held the ends of her braided hair together where it lay over her shoulder. She had changed into her green skirt and yellow blouse, the ties at her breasts stretched taught over her ample breasts.
He had thought on her breasts and how they would feel in his hand, soft and supple, and how he would enjoy rolling his tongue around her nipple until it was hard and he could suckle it gently.
He thought to reach out and touch her breast ever so lightly, but he recalled her warning that he should touch no place that would belong to her husband. But he was to be her husband, and those intimate places belonged to him.
But which twin would he touch?
He reached out and stroked her soft cheek with his finger and she sighed. Encouraged, he traced her warm lips with delicate strokes, the tip of his finger faintly brushing over the tip of her tongue.
She moaned softly and lifted her head, her eyes remaining closed, then he leaned over to steal a kiss.
A finger pressed suddenly to his lips stopped him; he grinned as best he could, the finger remaining tight against his mouth, then he attempted to speak.
“Awiss. You Awiss.”
She laughed at his mumbling and freed his lips.
“Fiona would have been eager to kiss me.”
“Would she now?” She leaned forward, her full chest leading. She ran her tongue over her lips. “Then I will just have to kiss you.”
Tarr backed away from her.
“Do you not want a kiss?” She moved toward him.
Her chest was near in his face, her breath warm against his cheek. He reached out and grabbed her with one hand behind her neck and swung her toward him. They landed sitting on the bed; their lips locked tightly.
“What is this?”
The shout tore them apart, though they remained sitting beside each other.
“I work without rest and you two play?”
Tarr stared at the twin as she marched in and stopped in the center of the room. She wore the same clothes she had worn since the battle and looked exhausted from her endless efforts to secure the safety of his land and people.
He turned with a start to stare at the twin beside him. Had he made a mistake and kissed the wrong sister? He turned back to look at the twin who had entered the room? Was that Fiona?
“What have you to say?” the twin asked, planting her hands on her hips.
He stood and looked from one to the other. “That this charade must end.”
“Then tell us now that if one weds you the other twin will remain here and join your clan,” the twin that stood said.
How easy it would be for him to concede, but that would mean surrender and defeat, not something he was willing to accept. His conditions had been made known from the beginning.
“My terms remain as stated. I wed one twin and the other returns to her clan.”
“I guess you do not want a strong wife badly enough,” the standing twin said.
The other twin stood and went to her sister’s side. “Good luck in finding a wife.”
“It will be my way,” Tarr said sternly.
“We remain together,” one said and the other agreed with a firm nod.
“What of your husband?” he asked and took a sudden step forward, the width and breadth of him appearing as if he were about to consume them both.
The women stood their ground and showed not an ounce of fear, their chins turned up stubbornly and their green eyes blazing.
“Your duty is to a husband, not to a sister.”
“A wife knows of her duty to her husband. It is a pity you do not know a husband’s duty to a wife.”
They turned and walked out of the r
oom, leaving a dumbfounded Tarr staring after them.
Chapter 14
“I tell you it is impossible to tell them apart,” Kirk said, standing next to Tarr in front of the storehouse. “Though all clansmen agree either twin would make a good wife for you—” He coughed as if clearing his throat and his voice turned firm. “The clan has been talking.”
“Have they now.” Tarr rubbed his arm, now out of the sling over a week. It continued healing nicely, barely a twinge or ache, and the scarring much less than he had expected, thanks to the poultice one of the twins had applied when the wound had closed.
Kirk spit out the words rapidly. “Marry one and let the other remain with the clan.”
Tarr turned a stern glare on him, but Kirk did not cringe or shrink back; Tarr had not expected him to. Through the years it was Kirk who always had the courage to say to him what others would not and make him see the error of his ways when he was being overly stubborn. He also had been there many times to help ease his burdens.
“I have given the matter thought.”
“Then you have seen reason,” Kirk said, looking pleased.
“Reason!”
Tarr’s near shout had Kirk shaking his head. “I should have known you would be stubborn about this.”
“I am being sensible.”
“Hah! Stubborn and foolish is more like it. The twins are good for the clan, both of them.”
“One will distract the other,” Tarr insisted.
“I saw no distraction during battle or otherwise. They do what they must, and they do it well together. They would bring honor to our clan.”
“They would spend too much time together.”
“Perfect, then you will not have a wife who constantly harps at you. She will be busy with her sister,” Kirk argued.
“Her duties are to me.” Tarr pounded his chest. “And I will suffer no harping wife.”
Kirk laughed. “You have much to learn, harping is inherent in all women.”
Both men laughed.
“At least give it thought.”
“Believe me I have,” Tarr admitted. “While the twins can make me insane at times, I also respect the battle they wage with me to remain together. It takes courage to defy a chieftain.”
The Daring Twin Page 9