“Let me make the arrangements,” he said. “I will return for you in a moment.”
Cort stood up. “I will go with you.”
The priest frowned. “Why? That is not necessary.”
Cort cocked an eyebrow. “Because it would not do for you to run to the village and inform them that you have an English knight at the church who plans to marry a MacRohan.”
“Cort, he is trustworthy,” Dera insisted. “Truly, you needn’t worry.”
He looked at her. “You told me yourself that this is a man who preaches Irish independence from the English. Are you telling me that you would trust him with my life?”
That brought Dera pause. She couldn’t honestly say that Father Finbar might not turn on Cort. He had always showed great resistance to English rule, so perhaps Cort had a point. There was a rebellious streak in the priest, and he had his loyalties. Better not to take the chance. With that in mind, she stood up, too.
“Then I am going with you both,” she said. “Come along, now. There is no time to waste.”
Father Finbar saw there was no way they were going to let him out of their sight. Not that he’d intended to do anything underhanded, but he could see it from their perspective. The Irish and the English did not naturally trust one another, so he went about gathering his things with his armed escort.
He did get strange glances from the other priests as he went about his business, followed around by a small, lovely lady whom they knew to be Dera MacRohan and an enormous knight with shoulder-length hair who moved with the stealth of a panther.
It made for an odd little group.
About an hour after their arrival at St. Brendan’s, Cort de Russe married Dera MacRohan at the door that led from the cloister to the nave so that no one from the village would see them. The ceremony was witnessed by two other priests who were sworn to secrecy as well, valuing God’s calling for man and woman over the conflict between the Irish and the English. At least, that’s what they told Father Finbar, who trusted the pair enough to ask them to participate.
But Cort was suspicious of them all. At heart, they were still Irish.
Still enemies, even if they were men of God.
When the prayers had finally subsided, Cort had himself a wife. He looked at Lady de Russe and started to laugh, hardly believing he was actually married. It didn’t seem real. He had no idea why he was laughing, only that he was happier than he’d ever been in his life. He’d just entered into an illegal marriage with an enemy bride and he couldn’t be happier about it.
Perhaps he was losing his mind.
He simply couldn’t stop laughing.
Because he was laughing, Dera was laughing. She had no idea why, but it seemed like the thing to do. It was a moment of joy that was free of thoughts of impending battles or illegal marriages. A brief and shining moment where their joy was unrestrained and she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly as he picked her up and swung her around.
For a brief and shining moment, it was just the two of them, celebrating.
In that moment, Cort found himself thinking of his father and wishing the man could celebrate with them. Gaston had never expressed any great desire for Cort to marry like his mother had, and although he knew his mother would overlook the fact that he’d married an Irish woman considering she was of Irish ancestry herself, he knew his father would not be happy about it. It would have nothing to do with Dera and everything to do with the illegality of the marriage. Gaston would worry for his son, as he should.
Cort missed his father very much at that moment, but he deeply wished his father could have witnessed his joy.
“I have something to confess,” he told Dera as he set her to her feet. “When Henry first wanted me to charm you, I was convinced you were a dog. I even barked at him.”
“You didn’t!”
He was properly contrite. “I did,” he said. “I must apologize for that even though you did not know about it.”
Dera was grinning. “I appreciate that you had the courage to tell me now that you have married me and I cannot turn you away,” she said, watching him chuckle. “When I first met you and realized you could give me information about Henry’s intentions towards Ireland, Brend defended you. He was very protective of you and I was… cruel to him. I must apologize to him for being so cruel.”
“At least you did not call me a dog.”
She was trying to be serious and he was jesting. “Never,” she said. “But Brend… I never understood him and he is more of a stranger to me than a brother, but I can see now that he is very much like you. He is noble and duty-driven. I think that I should not have been so hard on him. Do you think we can tell him about our marriage?”
Cort’s smile faded. “If you wish,” he said. “I think the less people who know, the better, but if you wish that he should know… I will tell him. But I will swear him to secrecy first.”
She nodded, smiling up at him, but it was a timid smile. As if she were trying very hard not to think about what they’d done and how Brend would react.
How anyone would react.
Cort kissed her gently before turning to Father Finbar, who was still standing there, watching the pair come to terms with their marriage.
“Now,” he said to the old priest. “I intend to consummate this marriage immediately, so is there a place you can suggest we should go? A local inn, mayhap?”
Dera blushed deeply at a personal subject being so freely spoken of, but Father Finbar didn’t flinch. To him, there was no reason a part of the marital process should not be openly discussed. But he shook his head to Cort’s question.
“No inn, at least not around here,” he said. “There is always the forest.”
“I will not take my bride into the trees.”
“You must do it now?”
“I do not know when we will next have an opportunity.”
Father Finbar cocked his head thoughtfully. “Then there is a chamber here that you can use,” he said. “If you don’t mind being next to the kitchen.”
Cort looked at Dera, who rolled her eyes in utter embarrassment of the entire conversation. He fought off a grin as he returned his attention to the priest.
“Show us.”
“I suppose it could be worse.”
Cort was standing in the doorway of a tiny chamber directly off the cluttered kitchen. As Father Finbar had explained, it had been used by an old man who had cooked for the priests, but he had died recently so his chamber had remained empty and unused.
It was tiny, dirty, and cold.
Dera stood near the bed, which was surprisingly big for the room. It took up most of it. There was a mattress on it but nothing else, and the canvas of the mattress was old and stained. The stuffing, of dried grass, was lumpy.
But it would serve a purpose.
Cort was coming to think this wasn’t an entirely good idea. “If you wish to wait until we can find an inn, I will not argue,” he said quietly. “I was not expecting anything grand at a church, but this…”
He trailed off, shaking his head at the situation, but Dera shook her head. “We must take the opportunity,” she said. “As you told Father Finbar, there is no telling when we will have the opportunity to be alone again. We are returning to the encampment after this, are we not?”
“We are.”
“And you and I will be separated. Who knows for how long?”
He scratched his head. “We will not be separated, but there is no way of knowing when we will be alone again.”
“Then we must take this opportunity, as man and wife. Even if it is only for five minutes.”
She had a point. He had been more than eager for this moment until now, but seeing her expression, he knew he could not deny her. Nor could he deny himself.
His body was craving hers.
Even the thought of her naked body in his arms was causing his loins to heat. Perhaps these weren’t the best of circumstances, but nothing about this marriage was
. He wanted it and now he had it.
He would have to make the best of it.
It was cold and dark but for the weak sunlight streaming in through the small window nearby as Cort began to remove his armor. Dera leapt to his aid without even being asked, already the good wife, already willing to help an English knight who, only months before, she had hated the very idea of. Odd how her opinion had changed so quickly, with the right person. Even just two months ago, she would have never imagined such a thing possible.
But it was.
Removing Cort’s armor went faster this time because she was becoming accustomed with what to do. Once the pieces of plate were off, he removed his doublet and helped Dera with the ties on her dress.
In warm silence, the clothing came off, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. When Dera pulled her shift over her head, standing nude before her husband, Cort finally had the view he’d asked for the night before when she was in the bath.
His suspicions were correct.
She was perfect.
Taking Dera in his arms, Cort kissed her tenderly before picking her up and laying her carefully upon the mattress, rough though it was, and resuming his gentle kisses. He could give her five minutes, though he very much wanted to give her more. For everything they’d been through and would go through in the future, they deserved far more.
Boldly, Dera took a hand and placed it on her breast, their eyes meeting as she did so. Cort’s gaze was powerful, consuming, as his hand gently tightened over the warm and fleshy mound. Then his lips descended on hers with such passion that she sucked in her breath at his lustful attack. The hand on her breast began to massage it, toying with a peaked nipple.
Already, he was coming to know what she liked, and she liked his mouth on her body. His lips left hers and he took a taut nipple in his mouth. Suckling gently, he carefully wedged his enormous body between her legs, his hands on her thighs to gently part them. He could feel her panting beneath him, small cries as he suckled harder. Her hands were in his hair, holding his head against her breast.
One hand moved to the moist core between her legs. He fingered her delicately, feeling her flinch beneath him, but it wasn’t from fear. It was simply because she was sensitive to his touch. Her legs opened wide for him, silently inviting him inside, and he accepted the invitation without hesitation.
Putting his manhood at her threshold, he tried to be gentle with her since he’d taken her the night before and, undoubtedly, she must have been sore because of it. But her eager body was his undoing; the more he touched her, the more she panted and arched her pelvis into him. Holding her tightly, he carefully and firmly thrust into her.
Sweet Jesú!
Dera was calling for God again, and being that they were in a church, He might very well hear her. But she didn’t want the priests to hear so she put a hand in her mouth, biting down to stay silent as Cort thrust again and again. His body was doing such wicked and wonderful things to hers that she was trying desperately not to cry out with the sheer thrill of it. Holding him tightly, she lifted her pelvis to his, feeling him move within her as a husband moved within a wife.
His wife.
Cort’s thrusts were tender, firm, and measured. One hand gently fingered her breast, causing wicked sensations throughout her body. The more he moved, the more heated her loins became until her loins began to tremble in the most exquisite of tremors. Cort’s mouth covered her lips, silencing her pants of pleasure as she climaxed around him.
Cort answered immediately, finding his own release, feeling every throb with the greatest of pleasure. Even after he was spent, he continued to move. He did not want the moment to end; it made him heartsick to think about it.
But end it must. It had been around five minutes, but not much more. As his senses returned, he opened his eyes to gaze into the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Dera was looking at him, her cheeks flushed and her expression full of delight. When their eyes met, she smiled.
“Do you think God heard my cries?” she whispered, teasing him. “He might think I was praying to Him.”
Cort’s body shook with laughter. “It is quite possible He heard your cries and sent someone to investigate.”
She looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”
He held up a finger to silence her. Kissing her one last time, he very quietly climbed off the bed, reaching down to pick up her shift and dress. He handed it to her, silently telling her to cover herself with them, as he went to the door. With a naughty twinkle in his eyes, he yanked it open and two priests spilled forward, falling into the room.
Dera shrieked in surprise, holding her clothing up over her body so she was covered up, but it didn’t matter, for the priests never looked in her directly. They were scrambling all over themselves to get to their feet and run off as Cort stood there, completely naked, and laughed until he was red in the face. As the priests ran back through the kitchen, bumping into walls in their haste, he shut the door.
“How did you know they were there?” she demanded.
Cort was laughing so hard that he had to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Because I could hear them,” he said. “I could also see their shadows under the door. I am sure we gave them a thrill they will never forget.”
Dera couldn’t decide if she was outraged or entertained by it all. The humor of it won over because Cort was having such a good time with it and she ended up laughing even as she pulled her shift over her head.
“That’s a story to tell our grandchildren someday when we are old and gray,” she said with some irony. “We’ll tell them how Mamo and Moree were spied upon by lusty priests on their wedding day.”
She was using the Irish terms for grandmother and grandfather. But Cort didn’t answer her and she looked over at him only to see that he was staring at her with a strange expression on his face. She looked at him questioningly.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He stared at her for a moment longer before shaking his head. “What you said,” he said. “You spoke of our grandchildren.”
She shrugged, standing up to pull her dress on. “Assuming we have any children, of course. I hope we do.”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do.”
“I want our grandchildren to call me Opi. That is what our children will call my father.”
“Whatever you wish.”
“And I do not want them raised in Ireland.”
She paused. “I told you that I do not care where we live, so long as we are together.”
Cort didn’t say anything more after that. He finished dressing with her help but before they left the tiny chamber, he pulled her into his arms and looked her in the eyes.
“We will be together, someplace happy,” he said. “And we will have children. Ten or twenty, at least, and the lads will look like me and the lasses will look like you. I promise you when this is all over, we will find peace, Dera. I will not rest until we do.”
For the first time, Dera saw fear in his eyes and it nearly undid her. She’d never seen that before with him because he’d always been so confident, in everything. But now that they’d wed, now that the reality of the situation was upon them, Cort was perhaps not feeling so confident.
But no less determined.
“I know,” she said, touching his cheek. “Now, let’s return to the camp and tell the army what Father Finbar told us. It wasn’t much, but I think we can negotiate with Cillian and Fallon, if those are the men who indeed hold Mount Wrath. I know them. I can talk to them.”
Cort didn’t like the idea of her negotiating a siege, not in the least, but he had to keep reminding himself that she had been in a dozen battles and had survived. She wasn’t a novice at this.
But he still didn’t like it.
“Then let’s head back to the camp,” he said, taking her by the arm and opening the door to the empty kitchen beyond. “We’ll do what needs to be done. But whatever happens… know how much I love you. I will
always love you.”
She smiled at him. “And I, you.”
He gently touched her cheek before taking her hand, leading her out of the kitchen, through the cloister, and out of the church, where Vulcan had destroyed the grass all around him and was taking a nap in the weak sunlight.
As Cort roused his lazy horse, he couldn’t help but wonder what lay ahead. Strange how it hadn’t bothered him as much as it did now that he was a married man. That brief ceremony seemed to have changed his entire outlook and he struggled to rise above it. He had a job to do.
And so did Dera.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mount Wrath
“Christ, Cort, where have you been? You ran off and no one could find you!”
Cort found himself facing Trenton, who was as angry as Cort had ever seen him. All around them, a battle was in full swing as two siege engines, brought by Damon de Winter in pieces and assembled once they’d reached Mount Wrath, were being rolled up to the gray-stoned walls of the great Irish cashel.
Cort could hardly believe what he was seeing.
It was chaos.
Having arrived at the encampment along the sea not an hour earlier, Cort was shocked to see that it was mostly deserted except for men who had been left behind to guard it and the ships. He’d been told that the army had already moved to Mount Wrath and the siege had begun, so he quickly donned the rest of his armor and made himself battle ready before taking Dera and riding hard to Mount Wrath, which was only a few short miles away. Leaving Dera back with the camp that had been set up a half-mile away from the siege, he rode straight into the battle to find his brothers.
And what a mess it was.
“Didn’t Boden tell you where I’d gone?” Cort said over the noise of battle. “I told him to give you a message.”
“And he did,” Trenton said, turning to watch the siege engines move up to the castle moat. “But Dillon did not want to wait for you and whatever you were doing. He has his orders from his father, and he had to proceed.”
Cort was genuinely trying not to become upset. “I went to speak to a priest who knows the men who hold Mount Wrath,” he said. “I know the names of at least two of them. I am told they are angry at de Winter because they are treated like animals. The priest said that all they want is fair treatment and a voice in their own land.”
Dark Warrior (de Russe Legacy Book 9) Page 25
