Forbidden Realm

by Diana Cosby

  The crunch of snow behind Rónán had him whirling and withdrawing his broadsword.

  Wrapped in her cape, Lathir walked toward him.

  Blast it! He waved her down and sheathed his weapon.

  Her face paled as she ducked, then scrambled up the incline to join him. “What do you see?”

  “A ship on the horizon. Keep low and take a look.”

  Her breaths disappearing in fading puffs of white, she peered around the trunk. Her body tensed. “The bloody Sassenach are surveying the wreckage. Nay doubt proud of their attack.”

  “Aye, but the wreckage should convince them we are dead. Look, the cog’s sails are filling and the ship is heading seaward. Now we can travel without worrying whether the English are on our trail.”

  In silence, they watched until the vessel was but a hazy dot in the distance. He stood, then scowled at her. “I told you to remain inside.”

  She pushed to her feet. Brushing the snow from her cape, solemn eyes held his. “I came to say that ’twas wrong of me to pry into your life.”

  With a grumble, he bent to gather up some wood.

  “As friends,” she said, a smile touching her mouth as she emphasized the word, “what you choose to tell me or not is up to you.”

  “Friendship is naught but another way to gather information,” he said over his shoulder.

  “’Tis.”

  And he knew remaining here sparring with her would offer him naught but added frustration. “Now that you are here, you can help me haul wood to the hut.”

  “Rónán.”

  At the teasing in her voice, he turned, stilled. Despite his best intentions to ignore his attraction, he was captivated by how the wind caught her hair, feathered tendrils across her cheeks, the fullness of her lips.

  He swallowed hard. “Aye?”

  “I willna apologize for the kiss.”

  Bedamned, the last thing he wanted to be reminded of was her taste, the feel of her in his arms, her body molded against his.

  He snapped off several large branches, held out a couple to her. “Take these and go. I will be right behind you; then I will return for the rest.”

  Wrapping her hands around the thick boughs, she glanced back. “How much are we going to bring back?”

  “We?”

  “Aye. Like it or not, I am helping.”

  Fine then, let her help; ’twould give them a chore to do rather than talk about what they mean to each other. “Enough to replenish what we use and a few days’ more.”

  The sun sank low on the horizon as they worked. Vibrant yellows and oranges smeared the sky, the sweep of errant clouds tainted with deep purple hues adding a brilliant sheen to the sunset.

  Lathir loaded the final branches in her arms, then turned toward the hut and stilled. “Someone is approaching from the west.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Rónán dropped his bundle and withdrew his sword. In the fading light, he studied the distant movement headed toward them. In the whip of wind-hurled snow, he made out a wagon, and a child seated beside the man tending to the reins. “’Tis Tighearnán and Órlaith.”

  She wiped her brow with her forearm. “I didna realize so much time had passed.”

  “Nor I.” After securing his weapon, Rónán gathered up the wood and started toward the hut, the tangle of limbs dragging through the snow. “Nay doubt they will be ready for the stew we started earlier.”

  “One,” she said with a tired smile in his direction, “I am looking forward to as well.”

  “As am I.”

  A short time later, they stepped across the cabin’s threshold and dropped their bundles near the fire. Burning wood crackled in the hearth, and the rich scent of herbs and meat filled the air as Rónán hung his cape near the fire besides Lathir’s to dry.

  The door creaked open and Tighearnán entered, Órlaith on his heels, humming a familiar Gaelic tune. A frown furrowed his brow as he glanced from Rónán’s sheathed weapon to the wooden bar angled against the wall, which they’d used to secure the entry.

  “We were out retrieving firewood when we saw you approach,” Rónán said.

  “You are much like me, my friend. I, too, detest lazing about.” He nodded to his daughter. “Put away your goods, lass.”

  “Aye. Father, may I show her my surprise first, please?”

  Warmth filled his expression. “If you must.”

  “In addition to a sweet—” She rushed over to Lathir, excitement dancing in her eyes as she unrolled the package. “My father bought me a new dress! And look—” She tugged away the remainder of the wrapping, exposing a beautiful cream gown. “It has a red sash, and I can wear it at the cèilidh this spring!”

  “’Tis beautiful.” Lathir stroked her fingers across the delicate Celtic design crisscrossing the decorative loops. “You will look bonny at the gathering. Why, I wouldna be surprised if a bard wrote a song about you.”

  A rosy flush swept the child’s face as she hugged the dress, then leaned closer. “My father has already told me that he will dance with me.”

  “On about you, now. Be putting the fancy garb in your chest.”

  “Aye, Father.” Half-skipping, she reached the ladder, then scurried up to the loft.

  Tighearnán’s gaze shifted to Lathir. “Seems the lass has taken to you, wonderful to see.” Warmth touched his gaze. “Had I let her keep on, she would have shown you every seam and button.”

  “She is a fine lass,” Lathir said.

  “Aye, that she is.”

  “’Twould seem you made a good sale this day,” Rónán said.

  “Indeed.”

  The lightness in the fisherman’s eyes faded, and unease sifted through Rónán at Tighearnán’s assessing look at Lathir. “I heard an intriguing tale in the village.”

  Keeping his movements easy, Rónán shifted close to Lathir, as if in a show of affection, ensuring he kept his sword within easy reach. “Indeed?”

  “’Twould seem that after a violent sea battle, a powerful Irish earl was kidnapped by the Earl of Ardgar’s master-at-arms, and they set fire to the noble’s ship.”

  Lathir’s face paled.

  “They lost sight of the vessel in dense fog before it sank. Or so they believe.” Tighearnán crossed his arms over his chest and spread out his feet in a firm stance. “You wouldna know anything about that, would you?”

  Chapter Seven

  Rónán muttered a silent curse. With Tighearnán having seen the charred planks before the Aodh was swept away, he’d be a fool to claim ignorance. He risked a warning glance at Lathir.

  Her hand lay readied but a breath from her dagger.

  He paused to consider. The formidable man hadn’t stormed inside, sword drawn, demanding answers. And he’d admitted yesterday that he despised the English.

  “Aye, ’twas our ship that was attacked,” Rónán stated, alert for any sign of aggression, damning the fisherman’s daughter but paces away in the loft. “The Aodh.”

  Mouth grim, the fisherman nodded. “And the earl who was abducted?”

  Eyes blazing, Lathir drew to her full height. “He is—”

  “Lathir,” Rónán cut in, wishing they’d had more time to come to know the man.

  Tighearnán nodded at her. “Tell me, lass. I swear to you I am a man you can trust.”

  “He is my father, the Earl of Sionn.”

  Shock rippled across the fisherman’s weathered face. He unfurled his arms. “God in heaven, the ruler of the realm of Tír Sèitheach?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then you are…” He released an unsteady breath. “Lady Lathir McConaghy?”

  “I am.”

  Tighearnán pushed aside his cape and bowed, his graceful movement at odds with his large, burly frame. “My lady, ’tis an honor to have you in my humble home.”

/>   Lathir’s hand near her dagger relaxed. “I assure you, ’tis we who are thankful for all you have done. Once Rónán and I reach my home, you will be well rewarded for your kindness.”

  “As I said before, ’tis unnecessary.” He lifted a brow at Rónán. “Are you nobility as well?”

  “Nay, a knight and her protector. And I add my thanks.” With their identities exposed, they needed to discover what the man had learned. “Did you hear any mention of where they have taken Lord Sionn?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “A man in the village bragged that they had hauled him to the Earl of Ardgar’s stronghold.”

  “Murchadh Castle,” Lathir whispered.

  “God’s truth,” Rónán swore under his breath.

  “You are familiar with the stronghold?” Lathir asked, worry darkening her gaze.

  “Aye, I passed through there during my time with the galloglass. The fortress is built on a wedge of rock below the edge of a cliff, accessible by a path the size of a cart. One would need a significant force to seize it.”

  “I have met a few of the galloglass in my time,” the fisherman said. “The warriors are men naught but a fool would tangle with.”

  From the wary respect in his voice, ’twould seem he’d had more than a passing introduction. “A fact learned firsthand, mayhap?”

  “I am not so reckless.” Tighearnán rubbed his jaw. “Let me say I once saw a sailor foolish enough to try to steal gear from a galloglass on my ship.”

  “Did he live?”

  “Nay.”

  “Nor am I surprised. The galloglass have little tolerance for thievery.” Rónán paused. “Your ship?”

  The pad of steps from the loft had Tighearnán glancing toward the ladder. “Órlaith, stay there and prepare for bed. I shall be up in a moment.”

  “But Father—”

  “Now.”

  Illuminated within the soft glow, the little girl gave a long, reluctant sigh. “Aye, Father.” She pushed back from the edge. The rustle of clothing sounded. “I am in my bed. Are you coming up now?”

  A wry smile touched the fisherman’s mouth. “The lass will be prodding me. ’Tis best that I see to her, then we willna be disturbed.” Laugh lines crinkled on his face. “If my men could see me, aye, I would be teased no end.” He headed up the ladder.

  Soft murmurs sounded from above. The little girl’s chuckle. Several moments later, Tighearnán descended the ladder. At the bottom, he waved them to the table. “My heart is too soft when it comes to the lass.”

  “She is blessed to have such a loving father,” Lathir said as she took a seat. “My father couldna refuse me if I asked for a story before bed as well.”

  The fisherman settled on a bench across from her. “He sounds like a fine man.”

  “He is.” Her lower lip trembled. “He must be saved.”

  “Aye.” Rónán sat next to Lathir, assessing their host. “You mentioned that you had a ship?”

  “Several years ago.” A grin touched his mouth as he filled three mugs with ale, set one before each of them. “Let us say that my crew and I tended to be a bit unorthodox in our methods to raise coin, for the most part from the Sassenach, I might add.”

  Unorthodox? Lathir frowned at the odd description. At the twinkle in his eyes, realization dawned. “You were a pirate?” Given his frank and confident manner, and the way he’d stepped in to help Rónán without hesitation, it was a fact she found easy to believe.

  It required little imagination to see him barking orders on a deck, or standing at the helm as a ship cut through storm-fed seas after leaving English ships lighter, and the Sassenach quivering with fear in his wake.

  “Let us say, ’twas my way to support King Robert. Neither do I abide by the scoundrel Lord Comyn.” His expression darkened with distaste. “I will tell you right now, I dinna hide behind practiced words.”

  “Nor do I,” Lathir said, appreciating Tighearnán’s forthright manner. Her father had taught her to trust her gut, and the fisherman had been nothing but honest and helpful. “Sir Rónán and I support King Robert as well.”

  The muscles in the large man’s shoulders eased.

  She met Rónán’s gaze, pleased to find his body relaxed. ’Twould seem they’d come to the same conclusion about the man. Still, she would take appropriate precautions.

  “Before I continue,” Lathir said, “you will swear not to tell anyone what I am about to disclose.”

  The mug scraped on the wooden table as he set it down and raised his hand. “I swear it, my lady.”

  “Several days ago, after a meeting with the Bruce, my father, Sir Rónán, and I departed St Andrews Cathedral for my home. The English attack was for more than to abduct my father for ransom, but to stay our king’s hand.”

  Sharp brown eyes narrowed. “How so?”

  “Lord Sionn holds a secret cache of weapons,” Rónán explained. “Arms needed by our sovereign to push back the English along with supporters of Comyn.”

  She nodded. “Now that we know where my father is, ’tis imperative that we reach Wynshire Castle, where I can raise a large contingent to free him.”

  “If I can be of help, my lady, I am at your service.”

  “I thank you. Rónán and I seek to borrow your steed.”

  Sparks popped in the hearth as Tighearnán frowned. “My steed is yours, but traveling through Tír Kythyr to reach your realm is not only dangerous, but will cost valuable time when you must act with haste.”

  Alarm streaked up her spine. “What do you mean?”

  “The braggart boasted that Lord Sionn was to be held at Murchadh Castle until they had received word of where he was to be taken, but he never revealed from whom or where.”

  Fear thickened in a tight ball in her throat. “Saint’s breath, we must reach my father before they move him.”

  Tighearnán stroked his beard as he gave a slow nod. “My thinking as well. My lady, my friend owns a cog. He and his men will help you, though their ways might be a wee bit unorthodox.”

  “You mean they are pirates as well?”

  Pride flickered in his eyes. “They were part of my crew. I would trust each one with my life.”

  Rónán took a sip, then set down his mug. “Will you sail with us as well?”

  “I will.”

  Although the response relieved her, Lathir glanced toward the loft, frowned. “What of your daughter?”

  “Órlaith will travel with me.”

  “Only if you agree that once we reach Wynshire Castle, she will remain there while we rescue my father. And,” Lathir said, too aware of the multitude of things that could go wrong, “God forbid if anything should happen to you, I swear I will see to raising her myself.”

  Appreciation darkened his gaze. “I thank you for your generous offer, my lady, but I will be back.” He shot her a roguish wink. “I have been known to be a bit stubborn about dying.”

  Her chest tightened at the mere thought of his child without a father. “’Tis naught to make light of.”

  “My lady,” he said, his voice somber, “our days are too short to walk in fear.”

  “Indeed,” Rónán said. “When can we depart?”

  “At first light. ’Tis dark by now and too dangerous to travel.” Tighearnán took a sip from his goblet. “Once we reach town and have gathered a crew, ’twill take naught but hours before we set sail.”

  Relief swept through her. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He cradled his cup in his hands. “Indeed.”

  “I can hear the fondness in your voice when you talk about the sea. Why did you give it up?”

  He cast a glance toward the loft. “For Órlaith,” he whispered. “The lass is all I have left of my wife, Máire.”

  Lathir’s heart went out to him.

  “A part of me wan
ts to believe that somehow, miraculously, she is alive.” For a long moment he studied the flames in the hearth, then he shook his head. “Foolish I know, but Máire was everything to me.” Face ruddy with emotion, he shoved to his feet. “’Tis growing late. Try to get some rest. I have a few errands to take care of before we depart.”

  The faint hoot of an owl sounded from outside as Rónán stood. “I will help you.”

  “Nay, ’tis something I need to take care of alone.” The door closed with a firm snap as Tighearnán exited the hut.

  Tears Lathir had fought to hold back spilled down her cheeks. She understood his anguish-laden request. Tighearnán wanted to be alone with his grief, with the heartache that haunted him still.

  “Nay man has the right to abduct another’s family,” she hissed, fury pouring into every word. “Once we have rescued my father, I will send a contingent to see if they can discover where his wife was taken.”

  Gaze somber, Rónán lay his hand over hers. “However much you wish to help, as I, many years have passed.”

  “There must be some trace of where she was taken.”

  “Given Tighearnán’s extensive and unconventional resources,” he said quietly, “dinna you think if any evidence of her being alive existed, he would have found it by now?”

  The anger inside eroded to sadness. “Aye, but ’tis hard to accept.”

  “I know. Regardless of what Tighearnán says, with the depth that he loves Máire, I doubt he has ever stopped looking.”

  A belief she shared. God help her, if she discovered something had happened to her father, she wouldna rest until every single person responsible lay dead.

  At the slow pounding building in her head, she rubbed her brow.

  With a grimace, Rónán stood. “Come, we are both tired. ’Twill be a long day on the morrow.”

  Exhausted yet still on edge, Lathir yearned to lay beside him this night, to feel his strength, to have him hold her. Nor, given the situation, a wise action. “With Tighearnán aware we arena married, we canna sleep together again. A fact I am thankful he didna mention.”

  Broken yellow light from the flicker of flames in the hearth wavered over Rónán’s face as he looked back at her, and she remembered their kiss, one he’d ended too soon. For a moment she caught the awareness in his grayish-green eyes, a need that surged through her as well.