“Why the change of heart?” she demanded, stopping in the middle of the village, thankful it was late enough for all to be snug inside their cottages.
His brow knitted.
“Do not play the fool. You know what I speak of. You suddenly decide that Aliss can remain with your clan. Why now?”
That he was uncomfortable by her confrontation was obvious. He looked off into the night sky, moved uneasily in place, and then reluctantly turned to glare at her.
“I realized you and your sister belong together.”
“Now? This moment in time, when there is a good chance I need not heed the agreement reached between the MacElders and the Hellewyk clan? How convenient for you.”
“You think I do this to keep you?”
Fiona wanted to shout yes, yes, tell me that you would do anything to keep me; tell me you love me. Instead she challenged him. “Do you?”
She watched him struggle with his response. He drew his broad shoulders back as if in defense, his head went up, his eyes narrowed, and his lips appeared stuck together purposely, preventing him from answering.
Suddenly he dropped the basket to the ground, reached out, grabbed hold of her shoulders, and yanked her against him, claiming a kiss before she could object.
His grinding kiss jarred her senses. He demanded, expected, insisted—and what did she do?
She surrendered willingly, melting into his kiss that robbed her of any sensible thought or reason. His tongue proved an awesome weapon and one that she had no desire to combat. With a thrust and a jab he had completely captured her, and she did not mind the capture, she relished it.
Her arms went up around his neck and they were soon locked together like two crazed lovers unable to let go, feared letting go, could not possibly let go.
The kiss heated along with their bodies until suddenly Tarr pushed her away and held her at arm’s length. They stared at each other, their passion still stirring their souls.
He shook his head, turned, and walked away.
Fiona remained where she stood—She had to. Her legs had not stopped trembling—and stared at his retreating back. When he was finally out of sight, her footing more firm, she reached down, grabbed the basket, and walked to the cottage alone.
Tarr sat at a table in the shadows away from the few people lingering in the hall. The servants busily cleaned the tables, preparing to settle the keep for the night. He declined the pitcher of ale offered to him by a servant rushing by.
He wanted to be left alone, swallowed by the shadows so that he could wallow in his frustration.
“Fiona is a handful.” Raynor plopped down on the bench opposite Tarr.
“I prefer solitude,” Tarr all but growled.
“Why? To try and make sense of Fiona?” Raynor laughed. “It will not work.”
“You talk as if you know your sister well, and yet you have not seen her since she was but a tiny babe.”
“Fiona was never tiny. She was larger than the average babe. The women who helped with the birthing gossiped about how the first twin’s size gave my mother a difficult time. And once out, she wailed and demanded and refused to be quiet until she was finally placed at her mother’s side.”
“She remains demanding and infuriatingly stubborn to this day,” Tarr said in one long frustrated breath.
“Then why wed her?”
“Because I foolishly fell in love with her.” He pounded the table with his fist. “There I have admitted it. I love your bullheaded sister. Why? I have no idea.” He threw his hands up in the air. “She questions what I say and do. She challenges me constantly. She wields her sword with the same damn strength she wields her mouth, and she sets my blood to—” Tarr stopped abruptly and shook his head. “Like a fool I confide in my enemy.”
Raynor’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile looked ready to burst.
“Laugh again and I shall silence it with a fist to your face.”
Raynor clamped down hard on his lips while his eyes sparkled with merriment.
“You think this funny? I hope that one day you meet a woman who is ten times more chaotic than your sister.”
Raynor’s humor vanished instantly. “Bite your tongue, and wish no such prickly woman on me.”
“Fiona is not prickly.” Tarr’s fist slammed the table once again. “She has a good heart and is caring, though she demonstrates it oddly at times. And she is adamant in protection of her sister. I sometimes wonder if that is why she skilled herself in weapons and fighting.”
“She has protected Aliss since birth,” Raynor said. “The gossip was that Fiona made it easy for Aliss to follow her grand entrance into the world. Aliss cried little as a babe, and when she did, Fiona would wail endlessly until Aliss was placed beside her. They would quiet, then cuddle next to each other.”
“I will not see them separated.”
“That sounds like a warning,” Raynor said.
“Nay, it is my pledge to protect them both.”
“I never doubted you would and that protection may be more necessary than you know.”
Tarr lowered his voice. “What do you mean?”
“It may be just my own fear of losing my sisters again, but I worry. If someone wanted them gone so many years ago, what will happen when that person discovers they have returned?”
Chapter 22
Fiona felt trapped, not only in the keep but also by her thoughts. The day was blustery with a strong wind blowing from the north and bringing with it a chill that tasted of a winter’s storm.
Everyone around her seemed content, settled in routines. Aliss slept exhausted from tending new mother and her son. Raynor was nowhere to be found and Tarr . . .
“What do I care about him?” she mumbled to herself.
She had come to the conclusion that while she had wanted to love, hoped to love, she was actually inept at loving. She had expected it to be a much easier process, and it had been nothing but angst since the beginning. And had that changed any?
“No,” she near shouted, then recalled her sister was asleep and she did not wish to disturb her.
Then there was the fact that Tarr had occupied her thoughts almost all day and then some since he had also managed to invade her dreams.
She wanted him out of her head and she wanted her heart to stop aching. Aware of her stubborn nature, she knew she was probably causing herself more worry than necessary, but she could not help it.
She wanted Tarr to sweep her up in his arms like a gallant knight and proclaim his love for her. That he was a warrior unskilled in gallantry made not an ounce of difference. That she was being obstinate made not an ounce of difference. That she should see and accept him for who he was made not an ounce of difference.
She would have love and she would have it her way.
She shook her head. Good lord, she sounded like a spoiled child, but then did she not have a right to love and not just settle? She realized how unreasonable she could be at times; she could even irritate herself, but her stubborn nature had seen her through many difficult times. Or perhaps those difficult times created her obstinate nature.
Whatever the cause, she had to be true to herself or she would surely be disappointed.
Annoyed at her frustration she did what she had not done in some time. She dug into the small satchel she had brought with her and pulled out a pair of tan leggings and brown shirt.
With a quick change, she was wearing male garments. She twisted her hair up and pinned it to the top of her head, yet not all her massive curls could be contained. Most protested and fell in a frenzy around her head and shoulders.
She grabbed a brown wool cloak off the hook before leaving the room and hurried down the steps and out of the keep, straight for the stables that housed her mare.
In no time she had her saddled and walked her to the edge of the village.
“We are going to fly across the meadows, lassie.”
She broke into a run as soon as she mounted the mare, flying
by Tarr’s encampment at top speed.
“Someone is in a hurry,” Raynor said from where he sat in front of the campfire.
Tarr stood abruptly. “She wears men’s garb and she is going to break her neck at that speed.”
“She sits a horse more securely in men’s garb, and from what I have seen, Fiona looks to be an excellent horsewoman.”
Tarr ignored Raynor’s comment and, tossing away the half-eaten biscuit in his hand, he headed straight for his stallion. He mounted the horse and was off after Fiona before Raynor could get to his feet.
“This day should prove interesting,” Raynor said, and walked toward the keep.
Tarr misjudged Fiona’s riding expertise. He had thought to catch up to her without difficulty. He trailed behind her much farther than was to his liking. She maneuvered her mare with such grace and skill that she appeared to travel on the wind itself. He should have known better, having seen her skill firsthand and admiring it on many occasions.
He was not certain if he should be angry with her, worried that she would break her neck at such speed or take pride in her talent. She appeared in an intent pursuit, and he decided to see where it took her. He tempered his stallion’s pace to keep chase.
Her blazing red hair broke free of its confinement and raged like wildfire around her head while the wind caught her cape and made it appear like giant bat wings. From behind she looked as if she were a demon racing anxiously over the land in search of souls.
She finally slowed her pace and, with a strong hand, lead her snorting mare in the direction of a small brook bordering the north end of the meadow, keeping the excited horse from drinking until she calmed. Then she slipped off her and permitted her mare to approach the stream.
“You could not catch me?” She laughed when Tarr caught up.
“You ride as if being pursued.”
Fiona turned, slipping her cloak off and tossing it over her saddle. “Am I? Being pursued, that is.”
For a moment fear rushed over him. He thought on Raynor’s comment that the twins may still find themselves in harm’s way. Quick enough he wondered if it was he himself in question.
Did he pursue her? Was that why he was so hasty to follow her? Was he trying to catch her? He had assumed she was his from the very first day he had arrived at clan MacElder. Realization had finally struck that Fiona belonged to whomever she chose.
His answer came with a smile. “The choice is yours.”
Her green eyes twinkled with merriment. “Finally you realize that.”
She walked away from the horses, Tarr joining her.
“I needed a reprieve.”
“From?”
Fiona shrugged. “Myself, though I dare not admit it.”
“Then I did not hear it.”
“It is hard not to hear me when I speak.” She laughed at herself.
He defended her. “I admire your tenacious strength.”
“Tenacious strength.” She nodded. “That sounds better than stubbornness.”
“It takes strength and courage to survive in this world.”
“It also takes strength and courage to love in this world.”
“You can survive without love,” he said.
“Can you?” She stopped, planting her hands on her hips. She waited for his answer.
“Love is not a necessity in life,” he said annoyed, uneasy speaking with her on something he was just beginning to experience. He felt like a novice warrior, weapons in hand but without the practice to use them.
“It most certainly is.”
“Why?” He damn well, once and for all, wanted a sensible explanation to the recurring question.
Fiona plopped down on a grassy knoll and patted the ground beside her.
Tarr accepted her invitation.
“Love binds, it is something you can always count on.”
“Duty does the same thing,” he counted. “Without as much dread.”
She chuckled and drew her legs up to wrap her arms around them. “Duty is a necessity, love is a choice. You are free to choose with love, with duty you are honor bound.”
“Is it not your duty to wed me?”
“If given the choice which would you choose, duty or love?”
Weeks ago he would have answered quickly and without doubt. Now, however, he hesitated.
“You think on your answer. There is hope for you yet.” She laughed and patted his outstretched leg. “A marked improvement since first we met.”
“I will admit I have learned something these past few weeks.”
“I am impressed.”
He liked the way her green eyes sparkled with a mischievous playfulness. She was so very full of life, ready to take a chance, ready to defend, ready to love—and the hell with what anyone thought.
“Tell me what it is you learned,” she encouraged.
He shook his head. “That just when you think you know everything, you know nothing.”
“You can always learn.”
“It might take time.”
“I can be patient when necessary,” she said.
He picked at the grass between his legs, keeping his eyes on his busy fingers. “I am a warrior accomplished in battle and duty. I do what must be done, too much thought could prove fatal. I must have faith in my judgments and see that my edicts and decisions are carried through without question. It means the survival of my clan.”
“Strong sons are also necessary to your clan’s survival.”
He looked at her and for a brief moment pictured her round with his child. It sent a rage of emotions cursing through him, the most powerful being his overwhelming need to protect her and his unborn child.
“Say nothing,” she warned with a raised hand. “Your thoughts remain the same. I am nothing more than a brood mare to you.”
“That is not true,” he argued.
She propelled herself to her feet and looked down at him. “Then what is the truth?”
He searched for the right words, elusive as they were. Unable to form an adequate response, he jolted to his feet. “I care for you.”
“Care? Care?” she yelled and threw her hands up. “My horse cares for me.”
“I care enough to follow after you when you foolishly don a man’s garb and ride at a speed that could kill you.”
She glared at him, her green eyes smoldering. “You think me foolish because I wear garments that allow me to sit a horse more safely?”
He reached out but stopped himself from grabbing her. “You can be the most frustrating woman.”
“The problem is that I am too intelligent for the likes of you.”
Tarr grabbed her arm. “If you are so intelligent, why is it that you will wed me?”
“I have not agreed to marry you,” she reminded him curtly.
His laughter made known he disagreed with her, and it spiked her temper.
“I will not marry the likes of you.”
He brought his face to hers. “But you will, and you know why?”
She looked ready to spew a hundred or more oaths at him, yet she remained tight-lipped.
“You want me. You have wanted me from the first time we kissed. And what you want, Fiona, you make sure you get.”
She jerked her arm violently and a pain tore through her shoulder. She refused to acknowledge the ache to herself or him.
“I will not let you go. We will wed and I will satisfy that lust I see rage in your heated green eyes. And you will give me sons and I will always care for you and protect you.”
Her nostrils flared, her chest heaved, and her hand fisted at her side.
“Even now in your anger you want me,” he challenged. “Deny it! Go on deny it!”
Her face molted with fury and her lips disappeared in her mouth, she pressed them so tightly together.
“Damn you for stealing my heart,” he growled before forcing her mouth open with a forceful pinch of her cheeks, then robbing her of breath and sanity with a kiss that demanded, begged,
and harassed.
Her surrender did not come easy; she struggled but not with him, with herself. The instant he kissed her, he could sense her urgency to respond in kind. But her pride had her pushing at his chest, sparring with his tongue, and squirming in his arms.
He refused her mercy, turning the kiss to an erotic blend of taunts and teases that soon had her crazy. Her hands grasped his shirt and tugged and pulled demanding he give her more, and he did.
His hand slipped down to her backside and he squeezed the firm muscles, urging her closer and closer to him.
He tore his mouth free needing air. “Mine,” he whispered as he nibbled along her ear. “You are mine.”
He felt as if he were kicked in the chest, she shoved him away from her with such force. He stumbled briefly reaffirming his footing quickly and immediately grew concerned when he saw her wince in pain, her hand grabbing her shoulder.
“What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Everything,” she yelled, and hurried to her horse.
He followed. “You are hurt.”
“Leave me alone.” She swung herself up on her mare and the pain ripped threw her shoulder, stealing her breath and blurring her vision.
“Fiona,” Tarr said with worry.
She stared at him, and in the next second toppled off her horse in a dead faint.
Tarr caught her in his arms and tried to revive her. When she would not wake, he placed her on his horse, holding her steady as he mounted behind her. He called her mare over, grabbed her wool cloak off the saddle, and draped it around her.
He looked to Fiona’s mare and, assuming she must have been trained to follow, simply said, “Let’s go, lassie.”
He took off and the mare kept pace.
He entered the village with a roll of thunder and a rush of gray clouds overhead. His men and Raynor’s men were quick to give a hand, and he was soon entering the keep.
Raynor rushed forward.
“She is hurt,” Tarr said, and mounted the stairs quickly, Fiona appearing no burden in his arms.
She moaned as if in dire pain.
“I take you to your sister,” Tarr said, and turned down the corridor to see Aliss leaving her room.
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