by Mia Pride
“He wants you. It’s apparent by the way he touches you, Lin.”
“Those are only false displays of affection to fool the family. Once we leave, he never tries to touch me, and I never try to touch him. I’m not certain if he just does not desire me, or if he thinks I do not desire him.”
“Have you told him, or showed him in any way, that you desire him?”
Aislin shook her head and shrugged. “At first I was determined to keep my distance. Nay sense in getting attached if I planned on leaving when the year was up. But it’s been… challenging not to notice him. I started thinking I would not mind the touching so much, but he never tried.” She shrugged again.
“All right, Aislin. Listen to me. If Alastar agreed to handfast with you, even if just for a year, he desires you. He would not have given up his freedom and opportunities with other lassies if he did not.” Before Aislin could argue, Treasa held up a hand to silence her. “The Alastar I knew over a year ago would never have agreed to a handfast. And Eoin’s threats had nothing to do with his agreement. Eoin would never have killed him. Alastar knows that. He wanted you, Lin. I think everyone knows this… except for you, apparently.”
Licking her lips, Aislin took a deep breath. “So, he assumes I still do not want to share his bed.”
“You told him this?” Treasa asked.
“Well, aye. He built me a separate bed, so I could sleep alone. But that was three moons ago! And he has been going off every night to the lake and staying out late. I believe he is meeting with a lass. He comes back wet and shirtless most nights. I started climbing into bed early and pretending to be asleep, so he cannot see how humiliated I am that he is already with another lass. And how can I tell him how I feel, that I want in his bed, knowing he was just with another lass?”
Treasa scratched her head and squinted. “You are way too deep into your own head. Alastar would not do such a thing. He is not with another woman. He is much too honorable for that. He is also too honorable to touch a lass he believes is unwilling.” Treasa stood up and pulled Aislin with her. “You are the bravest, most beautiful lass I know. Tis time you go to him and let him know how you feel.”
Aislin thought about everything Treasa had said. Aislin had, at one time, believed herself bold and brave. Yet as soon as she moved into Alastar’s home, she began cowering like a wee lass of eight, not eight and ten. She had pushed him away at every turn. She still was not certain she was ready to give herself to Alastar, especially if there was a chance she could end up having a child. But she was ready to open up to him, to learn more about the man she had said her vows to. They still had nine moons left of their arrangement and she refused to spend another day of it avoiding him.
Everyone insisted he was a good man and she believed them. Her brother would not have forced the issue otherwise. Treasa would not have spoken so highly of him. Suddenly, it rankled that her sister knew her husband better than she did. And whose fault is that?
She would rectify this, starting tonight. It was time to stop hiding. Mayhap they could walk away from this relationship as great companions and not strangers. For a lass who wished to be able to make her own decisions, she realized she had been making very selfish ones, never considering the sacrifices or feelings of her husband. Shame and embarrassment had been constant companions, but it was time to push those aside and behave like the strong woman she knew herself to be. She could open up to him, discover who he truly was underneath his amicable smile and dimples, and hopefully keep her growing physical needs at bay in the process.
Chapter Seven
Even with the snow falling in thick layers, sweat dripped in Alastar’s eyes. Tuathal swung his blade relentlessly like a mountain unaffected by the torments of nature.
“Aye, that’s it!” his king roared in approval as Alastar sidestepped what would have been a direct slash to his gut and responded with a downward thrust, pinning Tuathal’s sword beneath his.
Peace had been hard won, but it was also short lived. Even though the majority of Ériu was more than pleased to have their rightful King back on the throne, there were always men waiting in line to contest their newest leader, plotting to take power by any means. Word had been spreading from the many druids and bards who traveled between tuatha that small skirmishes have been fought by kings hoping to take over other small tribes.
Tuathal Techtmar had effectively combined many large, powerful tribes into one large massive hillfort with the best warriors and men in Ériu. It felt safe, protected, and impenetrable, but Tuathal had learned from the moment he was born that safety was an illusion, and that a man must train every day and always be aware of his enemies. And, enemies had been rising. If a king from a small tuath was able to defeat another small tuath, and then another and another, he could build himself an army and attempt a raid on Ráth Mór. Tuathal’s father, Fiachu Finnolach, had once been high king before being defeated and usurped by Elim Mac Conrach, and though Tuathal was the rightful heir to the throne, he also knew that men were thirsty for another man’s power. With his wife, children, family, and people to protect, Tuathal had been drilling his warriors until they were drenched in sweat and weak in the knees.
Tuathal’s sword slashed through the air toward Alastar, but it seemed like slow motion as Alastar parried and dodged, using his honed skills and instincts to guide his body. After the slaughter of his family, Alastar had done naught but train, one day knowing he would be free of Elim’s treachery. Now he was loyal to Tuathal, and not only because the man was High King. He was loyal because the man stood for justice. He was a leader amongst leaders: honorable and shrewd, yet understanding. He was loyal to those who were loyal to him, and he was a man Alastar was proud to call king and lay his life down for.
“Hold.” Alastar stopped his sword in mid-swing and slowly lowered it to his side. Now that he had stopped, he could feel the ache in his back and his joints. He had been training harder than ever before and much of that had to do with the need to distract his mind from thoughts of his evasive wife. He had a surprise for her tonight. One he had been planning and preparing carefully since their handfast and he hoped she loved it as much as he believed she would.
“Well done, Mac Murray,” Tuathal boomed with a large smack on Alastar’s bare, sweaty back. “We are fortunate to have you join our ranks all the way from Alba, my other home,” he smiled. When Tuathal’s father was defeated, his mother had been heavy with child and fled to Alba where she found safety amongst her own family. Her father had been a king in his own right, determined to see his unborn grandson rise to his rightful place someday. Tuathal had spent his entire life being reminded who he was and what his destiny would be. Alba had been the place he was raised, trained, and loved, and it was the people of Alba who had helped Tuathal prepare to take Ériu back. Now that Ériu was Tuathal’s again, the two lands had become great allies and thrived off the open trade. Their borders were only several hours apart by sea.
“My thanks, King Tuathal,” Alastar bowed his head slightly, his sweaty dark blond hair sticking to his face as he heaved for breath. “I am grateful you saw me fit to add to your army.” Especially after his family had served the enemy for so many years. That truth remained unsaid and unnecessary. Tuathal knew many of his warriors had fought for Elim and he also knew they were simply following their king at the time… a king who would kill one’s entire family without question for disobedience. When he defeated Elim, Tuathal promised all Elim’s followers sanctuary in trade for their loyalty and he stood by his word. With a nod, Tuathal walked off the practice field, signaling to all the warriors that training was done for the day.
“Och, that was grueling,” Àdhamh came up behind Alastar and patted him on the back.
“Aye, he is certain an attack will come,” Eoin nodded. “He has heard word of a local king who has been on the rise, defeating small villages and gathering troops.”
“Tis that cursed Mal Mac Rochride,” Jeoffrey growled and Alastar frowned, looking at his bes
t mate. “He was my father’s most loyal chieftain. He did not stay to fight because he feared my father. He stayed to fight because he believed in power, greed, and tyranny. My father promised him much power and when he died, those promises died with him. Apparently, the man still aims high.”
Alastar remembered Mal Mac Rochride well. The man was stocky and burly with a permanent scowl, fiery red beard, and an even more fiery temper. He remembered the man’s daughter Elwynna, as well. Too well. Aye, he and Elwynna had spent more than a few nights together after Alastar’s family had been killed. He would never have truly wedded with the lass, but she had been the closest he had ever come to considering it. In his grief, she had been a constant source of comfort and making love to her had been the only way to find any pleasure in the world. So, he took her often, letting his fear, anger, and hurt guide his body as she clung to him. She had cried with him and for him. Aye, she had been a good lass.
But in the end, he realized it had been his loss and need for affection that drew him to her so strongly. It had been a very short time in their lives, but for the two young lovers, it had been powerful while it existed. If he had truly considered wedding her, those thoughts quickly diminished when he realized what sort of a crazed beast her father had been, and apparently still was. He had already loathed being bound to Elim. He would not bind himself to Mal Mac Rochride through marriage, as well. She had not taken their end very well, but she had moved on and that was that. Still, he had often thought of her, hoping she was well and happy wherever she was.
Jeoffrey noticed his silence and elbowed him. “You have been very serious as of late. Are you thinking of Elwynna? Or Aislin?... or neither? Or both?” Jeoffrey raised a thick brown brow in question and Alastar wished to box his ears… but his mate was correct. He had been thinking of Elwynna, but not in the way he used to. Nay, he was thinking about how much more brave, beautiful, and strong Aislin was. Where Elwynna had wanted to hang her every happiness at Alastar’s feet, Aislin preferred to make her own rules. In fact, she refused to allow Alastar to give her any happiness at all. While Elwynna’s constant need for attention and reassurance had worn him down, he would do aught to see even a fraction of that need from Aislin. There had to be a middle ground. And yet, he saw none. Hopefully, his gift to her would help change that. Which reminded him…
“Àdhamh. Is he… ready?” Alastar raised a brow mischievously. Tonight was the perfect night to give it to her.
“Aye,” Àdhamh nodded and grinned widely, winking at Alastar and catching on to his little game.
“He?” Eoin questioned and furrowed his brow, “Alastar… you better explain why you are gifting my dearest sister a ‘he’ before I renew my threat on your life…” Àdhamh laughed loudly at that and scoffed.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are an overbearing elder brother?” Alastar replied wryly. “She is my wife and I shall gift her whatever I see fit.” Jeoffrey and Àdhamh both broke out in a chorus of chuckles. They both knew what the gift actually was and Alastar could see Eoin’s face turning red with frustration. Before his brother by marriage truly decided to gut him, Alastar signed and pat Eoin on the back. “Relax, mate. When I married your sister, I asked Àdhamh if he could start training one of his wee wolfhound pups to be a hunting companion and protector for Aislin. Besides, the hound is a female. I just wanted to see your reaction. You are much too easy to upset when it comes to your wee sister.”
Eoin’s face dropped, clearly feeling contrite for having doubted Alastar’s intentions toward his sister and Alastar laughed. “I am a rather good husband, am I not?”
“Och… aye, even if you do make wagers behind her back,” Eoin groused.
Alastar breathed deeply and clenched his jaw, but before he could defend himself, Eoin held up a hand to silence him. “I am sorry, mate. Mayhap I feel like a fool for not thinking of giving her a wolfhound of her own before, and I am taking my disappointment out on you,” he frowned.
“Tis because you were too busy trying to convince her to give up the bow along with the rest of your family. I, on the other hand, vowed to support her every endeavor and this is my way of proving it. I still have one more surprise for her, as well. Beware, men…” he held up a finger to gain their attention and silence. “I am about to prove myself a much more considerate husband than any of you louts, so keep your wives tied up tonight, lest they try to gain my favor.”
Jeoffrey only snorted and shook his head. He had known Alastar long enough to see the innocence of the jest. Mayhap Eoin did not, for his ears burned bright red. “Jeoffrey has already stolen Treasa from me once… I would appreciate it if you two arses stayed away from my wee wife for a while,” he grumbled and ran a hand through his blond hair.
“Och! I thought we were past all this, mate!” Jeoffrey shouted in frustration. “I only stole your wife because my father forced me to. He was High King of all Ériu, you understand. And I am fairly certain I gave her back to you in one piece and saved you from my father’s sword, and then I—”
“Aye, aye. I get it, Jeoff,” Eoin growled. “Go home to Clarice,” though he sounded angry, Alastar had come to know Eoin well enough to detect his understated humor.
“Gladly. She is all the woman I need,” Jeoffrey said with a lopsided grin on his face.
“You are all a bunch of sorry sots,” Brennain finally chimed in, shaking his head. “Nay woman is worth such emotions.”
Eoin roared with laughter at his cousin’s comments and narrowed his eyes. “Not even Morna?” he said with a tone meant to goad Brennain. By the scowl on his chiseled face and the narrowing of his green eyes, Alastar knew Eoin’s simple jab had hit its mark. When Eoin, Brennain, and Flynn had come to Alba to recruit Jeoffrey for Tuathal’s army, Brennain had left tears in his wake. Morna, the young bonny blonde healer of Jeoffrey’s former village had fallen hard for the man, and Alastar clearly remembered her crying on Brennain’s shoulder as he said his farewell. He also remembered Brennain wiping those tears away and giving her a soft kiss. He would wager all his land that that kiss had meant much more than farewell to Brennain. By the way Brennain was running his hands through his disheveled jet-black hair and pursing his lips, Alastar knew he would win that wager. But alas, he was still cleaning up the mess from his last wager, so he decided to leave this one alone.
“What of you, Flynn? You are always so quiet, but the lassies fawn over you like you are a large jug of mead on a hot summer day and they wish to drink you up,” Jeoffrey added, trying to pull Flynn into a conversation he clearly did not wish to join. Flynn was more of a mystery. With very similar looks to his elder brother Brennain, he was large and full of muscles, just like their father, Brocc Mac Greine. He also had black hair, piercing green eyes, and the sort of square jaw and cleft chin with dark stubble that women would kill to run their fingers through. Flynn was easy going, but quiet. He rarely angered or spoke at all, and seldom showed expression on his face.
Alastar knew that Flynn took women to bed from time to time, but never in excess and always with the utmost respect and privacy. He seemed like a loyal, serious man who had a hard time opening up. Flynn kept a straight face and shrugged at Jeoffrey’s question, but he stayed silent, only shifting his green gaze slightly toward Àdhamh before shifting his eyes straight ahead once more.
“Aye, the wolfhound is ready for Aislin and he is well-trained. He will aid Aislin in the hunt and serve as a protective companion. He is not so wee anymore. He is only three moons old, but he has grown quite a bit. He will be a large animal.” Alastar nodded and smiled with excitement. Aislin was going to love the hound and he hoped it also helped her warm to him. “Maggie has been playing with him to make sure he is also gentle and socialized with the lassies and children. Still, he will attack if provoked by a man and will sniff down any game.”
Something happened when Àdhamh said Maggie’s name. Flynn, whose face had been set in a stony silence, shifted his gaze to Àdhamh again and a very slight blush formed on the man�
�s otherwise calm face. Ah. So, Flynn had an interest in Maggie. Things were getting interesting, but he was hot, sweaty, and tired. He needed to retrieve the hound and get back to his home before Aislin. Then they would head over to her family’s home as usual for their evening meal. She refused to learn how to cook, mostly out of protest of becoming a typical housewife, and Alastar did not mind as long as someone fed him. Her mother’s cooking was fine with him.
The men all went their separate ways as Alastar followed Àdhamh back to his shared home with Maggie. He could not wait to bring the hound home and see Aislin’s reaction. Then, he would share one more surprise with her. His heart lifted as he imagined her smile and he was filled with a newfound hope. He should have started trying to break through her emotional walls sennights ago. Leaving her alone and hoping she would eventually open to him was clearly not helping.
The snow began to fall again, and he slipped his tunic over his head as his feet crunched through the fresh powder beneath his boots. “Aislin will love this hound, Al. And… mayhap she will even love you,” Àdhamh said with a grin. Alastar chuckled but stayed silent. He could bet on the former, but he was much too realistic to ever assume the latter.
***
Aislin was no good at this. Her wild hair stuck to her sweaty neck as she stirred the stew in the cauldron hanging over the hearth fire. “Blast!” she cursed and decided to plait her hair to keep it out of her face. Her hide skin clothing had begun to cling to her body. Mayhap this was why normal lassies wore thin linen dresses with room to breathe. Her skin-tight garments had no give and she could feel the sweat dripping down between her breasts. Her face was flushed with both the heat and frustration. Yanking off her clothing, she grunted and struggled as she tried to remove the garments from her sticky body.
