Forbidden Realm

by Diana Cosby

  “I will help you,” Rónán said.

  The captain shook his head. “Stay with the lass. Nay doubt there are many things you and she need to discuss.” With an ambling gait, he moved through the throng of his men working on deck.

  Rónán inhaled the tang of salt-rich air as he looked westward. Across the calming sea, the tip of the sun glowed on the cloud-smeared horizon, the sky a blur of angry purples entangled within a mixture of orange and red.

  Another day lost.

  Nay, another day closer to saving Lord Sionn.

  Shoving aside his troubling thoughts, he turned to Lathir, who was watching him. “Aye, there is much we need to discuss, but first”—he cupped her chin with reverence—“I need this.” He claimed her mouth, savored her potent taste, allowed himself to drown in their kiss, and, for a moment, help them both forget the dangers ahead.

  * * * *

  Overcast skies smothered the landscape in a desolate wash, casting the winter-scarred land in a pitiful gray. Thick, leafless oaks, ash, and alder lay entwined with gnarled shrubs along the river’s banks.

  The distant rush of water sounded ahead.

  As they sailed around the bend, a small stream tumbling down a hillside came into view. Large boulders tipped with icicles framed the gurgling spill as it splashed down the awkward landscape until it poured into the river.

  A snow-laden gust swept past. Excitement rushing through her, Lathir tugged her cape tighter as she scanned the familiar banks. Soon they would reach her home.

  A tangle of long grass and sticks floated by as they rounded the next bend. She drew a deep breath, savored the unique scent of earth and water in Ireland. Regardless of where she’d traveled, the air was fresher here.

  Tenderness filled her as she glanced at Rónán at her side. That he loved her still seemed as if a dream. Throughout the night, they’d made plans for their life together.

  Bran shouted orders to his men.

  A smile touched her mouth. She’d offered the stubborn leader and his men shelter within the castle this night, or for the next several days if they chose. He’d declined, but a sense of victory had filled her as in addition to the agreed upon payment, he’d acceded to allowing her to replenish their supplies.

  ’Twould take but a few hours to restock their goods. Once the cog sailed away, she and Rónán would meet with her trusted advisers and begin plans for raising an army to free her father.

  Please God, let him be alive, not sprawled deep within a pit on a cold, dank earthen floor, tortured and fighting to survive, or…

  Nay, she wouldna think of him gone. He was alive, she knew it with every beat of her heart.

  A dove landed on a branch along the shore, and she took the peaceful bird’s appearance as a sign she was right. She faced Rónán, and the turmoil twisting in her gut eased. Equally important, regardless of the challenges ahead, she was no longer alone.

  A hawk soared overhead as they made their way around the next bend.

  Anticipation speared Lathir as she scoured the shore. Gray stones flickered within the break of leafless trees tangled with fir and brush. The sail snapped as a gust filled the stretched canvas, and the craft surged forward.

  The clouds parted. Golden rays severed the bleak skies, and the tips of the waves shimmered as if coated with fairy dust tossed. The river widened, the flow spilling into a large loch embraced by the curve of land.

  Memories of playing along the shore filled her. Of the soft press of grass beneath her feet as her father had walked beside her at sunset, told her stories of the fey, and helped her look for the wee folk rumored to be seen as the last flicker of sunlight slipped through the evening sky.

  “Wynshire Castle lays ahead,” a rangy sailor at the bow called.

  Throat tight with pride, she took in the fortress boasting four towers, one at each corner, built by her ancestors hundreds of years before. A legacy she would one day inherit. Movement on the wall walk caught Lathir’s gaze.

  A bell rang out.

  Weapons drawn, armed guards took their stations on the wall walk.

  “Bloody hell,” Bran grumbled as he strode up beside her, “they are preparing for an attack.”

  “They are.” The bow easily cut through the water as Rónán stepped to Lathir’s other side. She met the captain’s gaze. “Once they recognize me, they will secure their arms. Until then, I would expect nay less than fierce defense of the stronghold.” She chuckled. “Nor does it help that you are flying a pirate flag.”

  With a muttered curse, Bran ordered a man to lower the banner. He shook his head. “I should have bloody—” He cleared his throat. “A task I should have seen to earlier.”

  After having sailed too many times with her father and overhearing his crew, she was far from slighted by his salty tongue. “When an unfamiliar vessel enters our waters, my guards prepare in case of attack.”

  The clank of iron sounded.

  Stunned, Lathir stared in disbelief at the gatehouse. “Why are they raising the portcullis?”

  Face taut, Rónán glanced over. “’Tis possible that it has something to do with your father’s capture.”

  “How? It has been less than a fortnight since his abduction, far from time for any of his friends to have been alerted.”

  “Mayhap, they arena his friends?”

  Horror filled her. “You believe Sir Feradach O’Dowd has seized Wynshire Castle?”

  “I dinna know,” Rónán said, his expression grim, “but whatever is about, ’tis best to prepare for the worst.”

  “Indeed.” Bran turned to his men. “Ready arms!”

  Sailors ran to their stations, withdrew their swords.

  The rumble of hooves sounded moments before armed riders began to pour out.

  “Your men?” Rónán asked.

  A stately man led the knights, a rider nearby holding a banner bearing a burgundy standard emblazoned with a silver lion rampant gueules wielding a sword.

  “Saint’s breath!” Lathir gasped, grabbing his arm. “’Tis Éogan McKelan, Earl of Torridan.”

  * * * *

  Rónán stilled. A staunch enemy of Lord Sionn. Or was he? Much could have changed over the years, and he prayed somehow the fierce leaders had found peace. He met her worried gaze. “Is Lord Torridan still your enemy?”

  Eyes dark with strife met his. “I am unsure. About a year ago, due to the rise of clashes between our realms, my father sent the Earl of Torridan a runner with a missive seeking peace.”

  “And his answer?”

  She released a shaky breath. “I am unsure; all I know is that my father was furious at the lord’s first reply. After, several missives were passed back and forth between my father and Lord Torridan, but I was never informed whether they had reached an agreement, but I pray so.”

  Blast it! He scoured the armed contingent, damning the entire situation. “Until we know for sure, you willna go ashore. Alone.”

  “My father—”

  “I refuse risking your capture. What if they havena reached an agreement?” Rónán asked. “What if Lord Torridan had guards watching your father’s every move and, during your absence, the noble, one who could be in league with the Earl of Ardgar, laid siege and seized Wynshire Castle? Is that a risk you wish to take? Your father’s life is lost if that is the case.”

  Any remaining color in her face fled. Determination flashed in her eyes. “I have little choice.”

  “Bedamned you do!” Rónán snapped, furious she’d endanger her life. “We will find out, but I will go.”

  “Nay!”

  The distant thud of hooves upon turf reached them as the column neared the shore.

  “Well?” demanded Bran as he joined them.

  “We will do this my way,” Rónán snarled to her, on this point refusing to cede, “or we sail away.”
/>   Bran grimaced. “I would be listening to him, my lady.”

  Fury blazed in Lathir’s eyes.

  “Aye,” Tighearnán said as he stepped up to join them. “From the stern looks on their faces, it doesna appear to be a welcoming party.”

  Despite the conflict in her eyes, Rónán held Lathir’s gaze as he continued. “Captain, dinna bring the cog any closer. I will row a small boat ashore and discover what they are about.”

  Bran nodded, then shouted orders to the crew.

  Rónán met the captain’s gaze. “Once I reach shore, if they seize me, take Lathir to King Robert.”

  “Saint’s breath, I willna be shuffled about as if a helpless maiden!”

  “I know a place to bring her,” Tighearnán said, “and I swear that she will be kept safe.”

  “My father—”

  Tighearnán gave a grim nod. “Regardless of what happens, I will help you find your father.”

  Eyes narrowed, she glared at Rónán. “I dinna like the risk. What if…”

  From her voice, he knew she thought of the worst. He’d faced many conflicts before, but never had one mattered so much.

  He drew her to him. “’Tis a necessary risk. If indeed Lord Torridan has made peace with your father, he will agree to help us free him.”

  Her lower lip trembled, but Lathir gave a rough exhale. “Be safe.”

  “Lower the boat,” Bran called to his crew.

  Rónán cupped her face. “I love you, Lathir. I will be back.”

  “You had better,” she said fiercely, “or I will come ashore after you.”

  A promise no doubt she’d try to keep, though Tighearnán and Bran would prevent her from doing something so dangerous. Lathir strode to the rail, where a sailor unfurled a rope ladder over the side.

  “I love you, Rónán,” she called.

  After accepting a white strip of cloth from Tighearnán, Rónán shot her a wink, then climbed to the small craft bobbing in the water.

  Water splashed as he dipped in his oars and rowed shoreward. Out of arrow range but close enough to be heard, Rónán turned the craft sideways before the man astride his black steed on the grass.

  He paused as he saw a younger man bearing a striking resemblance to the earl, his fine garb and extraordinary mail declaring him of noble birth. No doubt a relation. A son, perhaps?

  Rónán waved a white strip of cloth. “Lord Torridan, my name is Sir Rónán. Before I come ashore, I seek your assurance that I willna be seized.”

  The noble’s lean face drew tight. “I dinna make deals with brigands!”

  “I am not an outlaw. I come to speak in the name of Lord Sionn.”

  Lines of doubt creased the earl’s brow.

  The younger noble leaned close to Lord Torridan and spoke in tones too low for Rónán to hear.

  The elder shook his head, then lifted his hand. “I order you to come ashore.”

  “And your promise that I willna be captured?” Rónán called.

  The earl shook his head. “Once I learn your reason, I will decide.”

  Bedamned, there was no easy way do this. Nor would he reveal that Lathir was on board. If they apprehended him, Bran would be able to escape and take her to safety.

  With a prayer that Lord Torridan had indeed found peace with Lord Sionn, Rónán rowed to shore. A short while later, ice crunched beneath his steps as he climbed up the half-frozen bank and strode toward the ruler of the realm of Tír Connail. Paces away, he halted.

  Gray sprinkled the fierce leader’s dark brown hair, which was secured in a tie behind his neck. His slate-gray eyes were piercing, those of a man used to wielding power, a warrior unafraid regardless the challenge.

  He glanced at the noble at the daunting man’s side. Not a lad, but a year or two younger than himself. Though lean, the cut of his muscles along with his shrewd, unapologetic green eyes assured Rónán that he, too, was a man seasoned in war.

  Rónán faced the powerful leader. He’d dealt with men of their ilk many times over. The formidable lord would appreciate a direct approach, so he would tell him, and deal with whatever repercussions followed. “Lord Torridan, as I stated before, I come to speak in the name of Lord Sionn.”

  Mouth tight, he glanced toward the cog before his gaze turned back to Rónán. “Why does he not come ashore?”

  “Because he isna aboard.” Images of the attack poured through Rónán. “He was abducted from the Aodh almost a fortnight ago by Sir Feradach O’Dowd, who led a crew of Irishmen and Englishmen under King Edward II’s flag.”

  A ruddy hue darkened the man’s face. “Are you sure ’twas Lord Ardgar’s master-at-arms?”

  The image of the cur was burned in Rónán’s mind. Regardless of the years that’d passed, if the miscreant had grown haggard and walked with a stoop, he would still recognize him. “Aye. If Lord Sionn is still alive, we need your help to rescue him.”

  Lord Torridan took his measure before replying. “’Twill be done.”

  The tense muscles in Rónán’s body relaxed a bit.

  Wary eyes of the younger noble held his. “How is it that you were sailing with Lord Sionn?”

  “Before I reply, due to the nature of my mission, I must know two things. First, whether you and Lord Sionn have made peace.”

  The powerful leader studied him briefly, then gave him a curt nod. “We have. The second?”

  After his reaction to what he had said of Sir Feradach’s crew, Rónán felt confident of the noble’s reply to his next question. “Whether you support King Robert.”

  “I swore an oath to the Bruce when we met several months ago.”

  A fact, Rónán mused, Lathir’s father hadn’t shared with her.

  The noble nodded to the younger lord. “As did my son, Kieran, Earl of Craigshyre.”

  Which explained the similarities between the two. Rónán explained his allegiance to King Robert, and the reason their sovereign had sent him with Lord Sionn.

  Both nobles stared at him in disbelief. “’Tis why we are here,” the elder said.

  Confused, Rónán frowned. “My lord?”

  “Several weeks ago, I received a missive from Lord Sionn, informing me he was sailing to speak with King Robert. He requested that I meet him at Wynshire Castle upon his return. His reason, to assist in retrieving weapons to send the king to help squelch the lingering resistance.” The earl paused. “That the king sent you as his envoy leads me to believe you are charged with ensuring the arms reach Scotland.”

  Rónán nodded. “I am.”

  Lord Torridan glanced toward the loch. “And the pirate ship?”

  “After Sir Feradach’s men seized Lord Sionn, believing everyone remaining on board dead, they set the Aodh afire.”

  Concern lined the Earl of Craigshyre’s brow. “Lady Lathir?”

  At the anxiousness of the younger man, unease sifted through Rónán. He dismissed his disquiet. No doubt they had met in the past. Only a fool wouldn’t be attracted to her. “She is safe.”

  The young lord relaxed. “Where is she?”

  “Safe,” Rónán replied.

  Craigshyre’s brows slammed together. “Tell me where she is!”

  Rónán stiffened, then forced himself to relax. The nobles presented no threat. Once he’d returned to the ship, he’d bring her ashore. “Lady Lathir is aboard the cog.”

  The young lord’s shoulders eased, and he gave a brief nod. “Then all is set. As in the agreement for peace between Lord Sionn and my father, and by her father’s consent in the last missive, Lady Lathir and I will seal our betrothal this night.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The deep clang of the bell rang out from Wynshire Castle, barely piercing Rónán’s consciousness as he stared at Lord Craigshyre, struggling to accept the earl’s claim. The pending betrothal to Lathir couldna
be.

  Not when he’d found her, loved her, had begun building a future with her.

  Nor could he forget her in his arms, the love shining in her eyes when she’d accepted his proposal, or the dreams they’d shared.

  Fury slammed through him, and his fingers dropped to the hilt of his sword.

  The nobles’ hands moved to their own weapons as he struggled for control. By God, he wouldn’t take her. He’d fight for her, force Craigshyre to realize he had no claim on her.

  He dragged a rough breath. He would… He would…

  Cold reality cut through him. Her betrothal to Lord Torridan’s son was part of the peace agreement between powerful lords.

  A condition Lord Sionn had not disclosed to his daughter.

  That her father would want her protected made sense. That he hadn’t pushed her into a marriage after the loss of the man she’d loved two years before was a convenience few would have allowed their daughters. Nor was Lord Sionn’s action rash, but wise. Many nobles over the centuries had found peace as strength through marriage.

  Though Rónán wanted to despise her betrothed, he’d done naught but agree to his father’s wishes to wed an intelligent, beautiful, and strong woman any man would want as his wife.

  However much he wished otherwise, he would do naught.

  On a hard swallow, Rónán lowered his hand; the nobles followed suit. “Lathir is unaware of this betrothal.”

  “Lord Sionn’s decision of when to disclose it to his daughter isna my concern,” Lord Torridan said, watching him closely, as if he didn’t quite trust Ronan’s calm. “The promise has been made.”

  One that would enrage Lathir. Yet, with the vow made, a disruption of the betrothal could not only interfere in rescuing her father and bringing much-needed arms to King Robert, but might cast their realms into war.

  However much he loved her, wanted her forever, he couldn’t jeopardize his mission.

  Rónán nodded to the nobles. “I will return with Lady Lathir posthaste.”

  The breeze picked up as he walked to shore. Wood scraped against rocks as he shoved the boat into the building waves and stepped inside. He sank onto the bench, caught the oars. Heart aching, he started toward the cog.