Becca St.John (21 page)

“Not much further,” he whispered, for it was late in the night, a time for whispers.

“Mmmhmmm.” And she nibbled at his earlobe.

“Or we could stop now.” He looked over his shoulder. She laughed.

Laughed. Yes! He’d met his goal tonight. She’d not been downed entirely by her trials, not like his mother had been, bless her soul. He’d loved his mother, but though he tried, he could do naught to pull her from her darkness. The darkness that plagued her was like a demon living inside, snatching any hint of joy. She’d tried to be happy, he knew that. She’d tried, for him, for his sister and their father. But she’d never truly found any comfort in life.

He would love Seonaid, even if she suffered like his mother; perhaps because of his mother, but that demon was not Seonaid’s to bear. She had enough others. And she faced them, always, head up, step steady, until now. Now she wanted to run because more was at stake.

Deian.

He feared she would run from him as well. disappear, never to be found, because that’s what she wanted. To be forgotten, so no one would remember her. No one would later ask,
“Didn’t she have a son? Whatever became of the son?”

She would run so Deain could run free.

So he said the words that needed saying. “You don’t want him to turn out like his father.”

He should have kept the thought to himself, for she lifted away, replaced her warmth with cold night air. No more nuzzling and nipping.

“Losing you might do that to him.”

In a breath, she dismounted, her leg over Tarvos’s rump, sliding down the beast’s haunch. As soon as she met the ground, she was striding forward.

“Och, Seonaid, I’m not saying anything you haven’t feared yourself.”

She wouldn’t look at him, as if reality disappeared with lack of eye contact.

He dismounted, matched her angry stride. “Do you not see it? When he’s hurt, he strikes out. Do you think that’s what happened to Lochlan when you lost your mother?”

“Plenty of children lose their mothers without becoming cruel,” she argued, but there’d been a hitch to her step, a tilt of her chin, before she spoke.

He sighed. “Aye, ’tis true. Deian isn’t a cruel lad, but he’s an angry lad.”

She shot him a sideways glance. A quick thing. He was hitting nerves, things she questioned, but didn’t dare speak of.

“His anger will ease,” she argued, without conviction, looking from side to side, as if there were somewhere to run, to hide other than into his arms or the empty cold of night.

He offered her hope. “You could teach him how to make it work for him.”

That stopped her. She spun, confronted him. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because that’s what you did with your anger. Lochlan turned anger to hate, crushed the weak. You turned to protecting others, those who couldn’t protect themselves.”

“I didna’,” she argued, stepping back, pivoting away from such talk, to face the hill they climbed. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“To the other side of that rise.”

“Where I was this mornin’?”

“Aye.”

Again, she halted, for a last glance of Eriboll, below them. “Did you know I’d want you with me?”

He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see. “No, couldna’ even dream it, but I wanted to be sure you were comfortable.”

Now he had her gaze, straight on him. “You’ve made me a bed.”

“Aye, and you’re going to take me to it.”

Coquettish was not a term for Seonaid, but she was just that, looking up at him through her lashes. “Aye, I am going to take you to my bed.”

“Are you,” he shook his head, at his own stupidity, for he couldn’t stop prodding her. Even if it dampened the mood. More fool him. “Is this your last night of debauchery before you join a convent?”

She spun away, stalked to the top of the hillside, and called over her shoulder. “Are you coming or no’?”

He needed no more invitation. He’d learned his lesson, knew when to back down from a losing battle. Passion, it seemed, was her one weakness. He’d try that route, to keep her, to hold her. Devil be damned.

***

Impatient for Lady Alissa to finish her story, Deian clambered from her lap, hung over the side of the bed, and whistled softly. Tail wagging, Brut—already alert with the guard entering the room—rose and ambled over to Deian, rested his muzzle on the bed beside the lad. Deian wrapped his arms around the huge head and looked to where the guard leaned over, speaking in low tones to Angus.

When he was done, Angus shook his head at Lady Alissa. She sighed and shrugged in return.

“Are you goin’ to finish your tale now?” Deian asked.

“Aye,” she promised, with a sad whisper. She had no reason to be sad. None that Deian could tell.

“Where did we stop?” she asked him.

“My mama killed the worm that invaded the clan.” Deian sat up, keeping his hand on the dog’s head. He liked animals. They came when you wanted. All you had to do was whistle.

Lady Alissa was nodding. “Aye, well she did; she killed the worm, but more damage had been done. The evil monsters told all the highlanders it was the MacKays who slaughtered and kidnapped and murdered young girls. So Seonaid and the Laird’s wife rode into the face of battle and met armies, to tell them of the truth.”

“She did?” Deian’s eyes widened.

“She did,” Angus confirmed. “Rode right into the face of an advancing enemy, even as war cries rang in the air. She rode, straight to them.”

“Och!” Deian’s mouth matched his widened eyes.

“Your mama is a legend, lad. Tales of the highlands are richer for her,” Angus added.

Deian looked from one to the other. “So why is she leaving? Why would she go?”

Angus sat back in his chair, looked to the fire. Deian turned to Lady Alissa, who leaned over to stroke his head. “For you, lad. She left for you.”

“But I didna’ want her to go.”

“No, you did not, but you see, before the Evil Monster was revealed, no one knew he had touched your mama. Now they all know.”

Deian stood on the bed, punching the air, as if he fought a foe. “And she fought him!”

“Aye,” Lady Alissa took his arm, urged him back onto her lap, despite his wriggles. “But once everyone knew the darkness that had touched her, they would always be reminded of the Evil Monster, and no one wants that memory.”

“But you said she left for me.”

Angus shifted in his chair and Deian knew he didn’t like the telling of the story.

“She did, pet,” Alissa brushed his hair from his forehead. “Anything to do with her would be a memory, and you are to do with her. You are her son. That is why she feels she must leave and you must have a different name. She wants you free of the memory, wants you free to live like other little boys, to run and play, without anyone seeing the shadow that lingers.”

Deian didn’t understand.

“It’s not because she doesn’t love you, Deian. It’s because she loves you so much that she’s going.”

“But I want to go with her.”

“I know,” Lady Alissa sighed. “And if she knew where she was going, where she would be, and that it would be safe, she’d take you. But she doesn’t know how to do that and keep you from evil. So she wants you to stay with me, to be safe.”

Deian let her words trickle over him, holding on to his mama’s brooch to keep him brave. Opening his palm, he looked at it, at what it meant. “But if your cousin doesn’t return, then you’ll be going to the Isle of Sky to marry her betrothed,” he remembered, surprised when Angus lifted his head and shouted, “What?”

He’d said something wrong, he could tell by Angus’ fierce scowl and the way Lady Alissa scooted back on the bed.

“We need a stronger alliance with the Macleods,” she explained.

“Your cousin’s betrothed, not yours?” Angus roared.

Deian clung to Lady Alissa, forgetting that he should be her protector.

“He will be my betrothed if my cousin is not found, if she can’t…can’t…” She swallowed back tears, Deian could tell. That’s what he did, to be brave, and he didn’t know what to do but Angus must have, for he was there, holding them both, his strong arms circling them, crushing them to his chest.

“Come on, now, I’d not meant to upset you. Come, come.” He patted her back and Deian felt squished between them. Then someone knocked on the door, so Angus jumped off the bed and Deian broke free of anyone’s confining hold, and Lady Alissa wiped at her eyes and brushed at her skirts. Someone—he wasn’t even sure who, maybe both adults—called, “enter!” and a guard walked in and nodded to Angus.

“You’ve found them?” Angus asked.

“Aye,” said the guard.

“Good.” And The Reah turned to Lady Alissa. “Settle the lad, we’ll be back.”

She stopped him before he reached the door. “You won’t forget the priest?”

“No,” Angus assured her. “I won’t forget the priest.”

vvvvvv

She was breathing like she’d been running for miles, but she hadn’t. Merely walked a short rise, yet her heart beat a sharp tattoo, measuring her fear, her excitement.

She wanted Padraig bad, even as afraid as she was of his power over her. He was right, this was her last night of wickedness. Of sin. Only, she couldn’t call it a sin, to have a taste of joy, of beauty, before she robbed herself of dreams.

So she stood, breathing like a racer at the end of the course, and waited for Padraig to hobble Tarvos and turn to her.

“Where’s Peregrine?” he asked, securing everything, being practical when she was anything but.

He was good at that, her Padraig. Even now, she stood beside a pallet of sweet grass topped by plaids. A soft bed for the two of them. Except he hadn’t expected her to invite him. He’d done it for her, solely for her.

She licked lips gone dry. “He’s in the paddock by the healer’s cottage. They promised me he’d not be taken again, and I believe them.”

“You didn’t trust me with his care?”

“Oh, aye, I trust you with his care. Just don’t trust you won’t steal him.”

She turned away, unnerved he didn’t make any move toward her. Perhaps he didn’t want her, merely wanted to placate her, to have more chance to argue Deian’s case.

“You don’t have to stay.” She spoke to the ground, then jumped when his hands landed on her shoulders.

“You’d send me away now?”

She braved looking over his shoulder. “It wasna’ your idea. I shouldna’ have pushed you.”

He put his hands in the air. “Push all you want, as long as you promise to land on top of me.” And he laughed, laughed when she did push him, hard enough he stepped back.

“Och, no!” She put her hands to her mouth, then reached for him, repeating the act in mute concern. “Your shoulder, I’ve hurt you again!”

“Painfully,” he lied, for she hadn’t touched his wound. “I need nursing. Will you nurse me to health? Have you a nipple for succor?”

She really would hit him this time, just as she’d done last night.

“That was crude,” he admitted.

She nodded, feeling shy now, not able to look him in the eye. She’d been drunk when he’d found her in the tavern, when she’d demanded he bed her this night. Drunk and foolish, but her want was no less real, and that embarressed her.

“Come here, lass. Let me hold you.” And he pulled her into his arms, stroking her back, kissing her temple, her jaw, her cheek, until she turned her lips to his, eager and hungry and so afraid of never having this again.

“Och, Padraig…” She buried her face in his neck, relieved but timid when he loosened her plaid, lifted her tunic.

Did he know of her shyness? For he stopped, took her face in his hands, tilting her chin until her eyes met his. “We have this, Seonaid. We have this night, we have forever, if you want. Only if you want.”

She tried to lower her gaze, but he held her firm. “I need to see the truth in your eyes.”

“Aye, I want. Tonight,” she told him.

He nodded. “Good. For I want it, too.”

He finished undressing her, slowly, ever so slowly, kissing and nuzzling and petting. Shrugging out of his own garments, he removed hers as well, until they stood naked, under the stars, the sweet breeze wafting across their skin. As he did to her, she did to him. Lovers’ touches, fingertips exploring, palms caressing, tongues tasting.

Of a sudden, the world whirled, as he lifted her up in his arms and turned a dizzying circle, laughing for no reason at all, then gently lowering her, placing her upon their bed, joining her, to stroke a delicious path from shoulder to hip, over and over. In turn, she traced the taut flesh of his back, his buttocks. Back up his body, matching touch with a kiss of his bicep, his shoulder. As she nibbled the whorl of an ear, her fingers combed the harsh curl of his wild hair, wove into his coarse beard.

They kissed, they nipped, devoured, tasted, and taunted. Restless, she turned, so his caress covered her breast, her pelvis, the warmth between her thighs. Bold as the lady warrior she was, her hand cupped the rigid length of him, as she trailed kisses to meet her hands.

His breath hitched and he pulled her up, all in a rush. Once again, their mouths met. He lifted her higher, over him, to suckle from her breasts. She settled on her knees, astride his hips. A position of power and strength, in control of him, of them. Pulling free of his lips, head back, she felt him position himself to enter her, felt the blunt tip of him, savoured the slow slide, as she lowered to take him deep inside. Instinctively, she teased with a roll of her hips, looked down to see the sweat on his brow, the bunch of his muscles. He watched their joining, his thumb teasing back, brushing a spot just where their bodies met, a featherlike caress. Och, she couldn’t think anymore, ripples of pleasure riding through her in a blaze.

She rode him then, crying out, the both of them, the sound mingling with the rustle of heather.

A breeze swept across them, increased its pace, turning into a full swirling gust of wind, carrying their shouts higher and higher, heading for the stars.

They were one, under the stars, under the moon, over the earth. They were one under the watch of her God.

So be it.
He thought.
Let there be a miracle. If you are here, God, let us be a single being. Do not tear us apart.