by Brit Darby
Liam swore. “Be still, you little fool.”
Outrage pushed Alianor over the edge. How dare he speak to her so. Angry, she drove an elbow into his ribs.
Biorra objected to the jostling of his riders and without warning, the horse reared. Liam and Alianor tumbled to the ground together, their respective “oofs” muffled by the dense undergrowth. Biorra shook his head, snorted as if disgusted, and galloped off into the trees.
Alianor could have been hurt, were it not for Liam protecting her by taking the brunt of the fall on his back and pulling her on top of him at the last second.
Before she could react, he rolled her beneath him, their positions now reversed. He grabbed her flailing arms and pinned them above her head. To Alianor’s surprise, his weight upon her was not in the least uncomfortable. On the contrary, it felt far too natural, and her body reacted when he slid down into the saddle of her hips.
Liam stared at her — his face only inches away, his breath hot against her cheek. Alianor’s heartbeat quickened as a languid heat burned through her.
His eyebrow arched, as if he knew what she was feeling. It galled her he was so damned confident, while her body remained unmindful of her will. Her cheeks burned when she felt him grow hard where his man-part wedged against her woman’s core.
A wonderful tightness flamed and ached in her loins. Never before had wet wool felt so thin, so sensuous. The cloth seemed inconsequential as the heat of their bodies flowed back and forth like a storming tide.
How would he kiss her? Soft or hard? Perhaps both? For the square, hard jaw of a man steeled by experience belied the sensual lines of his mouth, giving way to the softness of his lips. Lips she longed to touch, feel against her own.
She struggled against the forbidden longings even harder than she did the man. His eyes twinkled, pricking her conscience. Desperate, she did the only thing she could think to do when confronted by a tangle of forbidden emotions. She spat in his face.
LIAM FLINCHED. THE SPITTLE struck his cheek, trickled down. He let her hands go and wiped it off. Alianor stilled; her eyes went dark and unreadable. He expected her to cringe, beg his mercy, for surely danger was evident in his expression. She did neither. Instead, much to his surprise, she raised her chin a notch, as if they stood toe-to-toe rather than him lying atop her in the forest’s makeshift bed.
He thought of something to confound her more than his anger. He smiled, and the action disarmed her as easily as he had plucked the dagger from her fist the day before.
“Sure you’ve not a wee bit of Irish in you?” he teased.
Alianor’s eyes snapped blue sparks. “Certainly not.” She looked as if she might strike him for his insolent suggestion.
Liam gazed down at her angelic face, one still bearing soft traces of passion. Her spirit intrigued him, and made it all the harder to quell a sudden raging desire. Harder, aye. In more ways than one. His smile faded; the real purpose of her presence dashed over him like icy spring water.
“As I said, milady,” he repeated, his voice husky from suppressed emotion, “we’re here.”
Liam rolled off her, coming to his feet. He offered Alianor a hand and pulled her up to stand in front of him, a bit rougher than he intended. It was not an easy task untangling his thoughts about his captive.
Alianor’s flushed face and rapid breathing betrayed her upset as she brushed leaves and twigs from her soiled skirts. Liam went to fetch the wayward Biorra from his indolent grazing. When he had the horse’s reins in hand, Liam gestured to a nearby clearing.
With a mock-gallant sweep of his arm, he offered, “Ladies first.”
ALIANOR SENT LIAM A withering glance. The Irishman maddened her with his quicksilver moods, and she turned her attention to their surroundings. There seemed to be a makeshift village of sort, constructed around and amidst the ruins of an old, large abbey. Thin wisps of smoke drifted up here and there.
As they approached, dogs barked in warning. Alianor heard the playful shouts and scuffles of children nearby. She soon saw several figures tending an open fire, three women in long skirts and woolen cloaks. Two men hunkered down beside the fire, one mending what looked like a harness and the other sharpening a short sword on a whetstone. They glanced over as she and Caomhánach came near.
“Welcome to Wolf Haven, milady,” Liam said.
Alianor glanced at him. “How apropos.”
The insult rolled off him and he chuckled. “Indeed.”
“Liam, you’ve come back safe and sound to us.” A sultry voice came from a doorway of a simple wooden hut, nestled against the greater stone building. Alianor watched as an attractive, dark-haired young woman clad in a saffron gown and kersey hurried out to greet him. Liam stiffened when her petite, lush form impacted against him, her hands sliding up around his neck.
Alianor noticed she wasn’t the only one watching the two. Standing in the shadows of a nearby tree, she glimpsed Torin. The blond man came to a sudden halt, staring at the embracing couple.
The embrace appeared rather one-sided, however. Liam turned his head to the side as the brunette tried to kiss him, and her attempt ended in sloppy peck on the cheek. The woman appeared displeased with Liam’s cold response. He looked irritated and unwrapped her arms from him, forcing her to stand at arm’s length.
“Rosaleen.” Liam’s words were polite, but there was an undercurrent of tension between the two.
The woman ignored him, staring instead with open hostility at Alianor. “What’s she doin’ here, Liam? ’Tis unlike you to waste coin on a slut to serve the men.”
Rosaleen’s demand was matched by the venom in her dark eyes as she studied Alianor stem to stern. Liam took the other woman by the elbow and pulled her aside so Alianor wouldn’t hear their conversation. She watched their heated exchange, Rosaleen’s furious gestures and his obvious anger.
Knowing she was the subject of their argument, Alianor turned her attention to her new surroundings instead. The rest of the men trickled into camp and a small crowd gathered. Women greeted their loved ones with hugs and little cries of joy, while children swarmed at everyone’s feet. Mongrel dogs of every size and color yipped and dashed around in the excitement.
Wolf Haven. Some mercenary hide-out? The thought sent shivers down Alianor’s spine. Merciful God in Heaven, into whose hands had she fallen?
Still, Liam did not fit her impression of a murderous criminal. Nor did these villagers. Their clothing was shabby, aye, yet they did not appear to be starving. Families lived here, and she witnessed love and happiness in their joyous reunions.
When Liam approached Alianor again, Rosaleen lingered nearby as if keeping a jealous eye on her. Alianor noticed a change in Liam. The playfulness was gone, replaced by a hard, calculating look. It puzzled her. When she saw a quick flash of anger in his eyes, she realized he must have mistaken her wrinkled brow for disdain.
When he spoke, his voice was cool and indifferent. “Forgive us, Lady Coventry, but we lack the comforts here to which you are accustomed. We’ve experienced hard times of late.”
Overhearing his words, Rosaleen grunted her derision and called out, “Hard times, aye. Maybe de Lacy’ll help us out o’ our misfortune, eh? But it might be a bit much, thinkin’ any mon would pay to get her scrawny ass back.” She laughed.
Alianor did not respond to the jibe. Realization dawned as Rosaleen’s insult sunk in. So, Liam had kidnapped her because she was de Lacy’s intended. Her sole purpose — ransom.
“Aye,” Liam said, seeming to read her thoughts. “Your relationship to de Lacy, your value to him, is of the greatest import to everyone here at Wolf Haven. It will put food in thin bellies and cloth on cold bones this winter.”
“You are mistaken,” Alianor said with a cool aloofness she hoped mirrored his. “You will gain nothing by kidnapping me, for I assure you, I am of no consequence to Lord de Lacy. We have never even met. You will get no reward for your efforts.”
He smiled, as if her words held no meaning t
o him. She tried another tact.
“Caomhánach, use common sense. Why would a man whom I’ve never met pay a shilling to get me back? De Lacy’s already lost a tidy sum with the theft of my dowry. In truth, I mean nothing to him.”
The familiar dimple appeared, as if winking at her. “Again, I think you underestimate yourself, milady. For I believe,” he continued, louder for the benefit of the listening villagers, “de Lacy will pay a king’s ransom to get his fair lady back. In fact, I’d wager my life on it.”
The people listening cheered. Alianor wanted to tell Liam he was a fool — he might well lose the wager and thus his life. In fact, all here might well die for crossing the King. Even if Lackland did not seek revenge for killing his men, she was certain de Lacy would punish these people for snatching his bride-to-be from under his nose. It was true, she had never formally met de Lacy, but somehow she knew he would hound her to the gates of hell if he must.
Looking about her at all the happy, hopeful faces, Alianor felt a dreadful sense of foreboding. Here she stood, an unwilling bride, stranded on savage shores. These humble folk celebrated the news of her ransom as a respite in their misery, never considering she might well be the doom of Wolf Haven instead. Dear Jesu, what ill wind had blown her to this fate?
Liam nodded in the direction of a tiny, pleasant-looking woman who had appeared from the abbey ruins and stood waiting nearby. “Go with Felicity. She’ll show you where you’ll stay. While you’re here, my humble home is yours, milady.”
Felicity stepped forward and took Alianor by the arm. “Come, colleen. I’ll show you t’ your quarters. You must be tired after your hard ride.”
She spoke kindly, as if she were a guest and not a prisoner. Bemused, Alianor turned and followed her like an obedient child.
Liam watched Alianor leave, knowing she would be in good hands whilst in Felicity’s care. Rosaleen’s querulous voice shattered his thoughts, causing him to clench his jaw in annoyance.
“You’re a fool, Liam, if you think de Lacy’s silver-haired bitch will share your bed.”
“What makes you think I want to bed her, Rosy?” Impatience surged through him, and he closed his eyes to ease their burning. He needed sleep.
She sniffed. “From the sound o’ your voice.”
“My voice?” Liam opened his eyes and looked at Rosy. “How can you possibly tell what I’m thinking from my voice?”
“Because you’re tryin’ far too hard t’ conceal your interest, luv.” She rubbed her groin in a lewd display, and he turned and walked away.
“Don’t be foolish,” Liam said over his shoulder, uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken. “She’s another frail and pasty Sassenach woman. One is much like any other.”
“Aye,” Rosy said, picking up her skirts and hurrying after him. “And a bit scrawny for any true Irishman if’n you ask me. Why, she could kill you with those skinny hip bones pokin’ home! Nigh dangerous, she is.”
Liam stopped and sighed. He turned to face her. “Lady Coventry is merely de Lacy’s chattel. For this reason, if no other, you will leave her be, Rosy. Remember, he won’t ransom damaged goods.”
She sulked at his warning. “Methinks you still lust for the lady.”
“Lady Coventry’s a means to an end. Nothing more.” The moment he said it, when his mind deciphered the words his lips had spoken, Liam knew it was a lie. His heart told him so. For a brief, unexplainable moment, he feared he was lost to a pair of sapphire eyes, belonging to a stranger he had kidnapped for ransom.
The look on Rosy’s face told him she didn’t believe him, either. Liam raked a hand through his hair. He was tired — bone tired. No wonder he was so damme melancholy, and thinking like a love-sick lad. He vowed he’d hack the unbidden emotion from his heart like he’d chop dead wood from a fallen willow.
ALIANOR FOLLOWED FELICITY. THE older woman, brown-haired and dainty, reminded her of a little wren. She was so thin she looked as if she would blow away in a strong puff of wind. She estimated Felicity to be fifteen to twenty years older than she, but it was hard to be sure when someone had lived a hard-scrabble existence.
Felicity looked back several times to make certain Alianor followed and said, “This way, milady.”
Wolf Haven was far larger than Alianor realized. They wound through a maze of buildings and people, the latter’s curious stares telling Alianor they weren’t used to strangers, at least not ladies from King John’s court. Children ducked behind their mothers’ skirts to hide, their eyes wide with fear as they peeked out at her. Alianor wondered what wild, improbable tales they had been told of the English, but decided it was probably best not to know.
Wolf Haven was nestled deep in a wooded forest. The run-down abbey served as a crude village square for the sprawling camp. It was like a small town of sorts surrounded her. Alianor saw huts with thatched roofs, even a few wagons converted into crude shelters. Dozens of people milled about, each seeming to tend a set task, some stopping their work to watch as Alianor and Felicity passed them by.
Here and there, children played, laughter mingled with their Gaelic chatter. Even though she couldn’t fully understand the language, their happiness was obvious. Mangy camp dogs yipped, chickens clucked and scratched in the dirt, and loose pigs rooted for scraps. Men sat here and there in little knots repairing weapons, while women drew water from the old abbey well or sat in groups mending worn clothes. They passed a blacksmith’s forge, a weaver’s shed, a granary, and stables. Alianor hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she smelled fresh bread baking and saw meat sizzling over an open pit.
The scene lacked signs of prosperity, yet Alianor sensed contentment about her. The children’s faces were dirty, but their eyes were bright. The pleasant hum of voices carried a message of satisfaction to her ears.
Yet companionable chatter silenced when she passed and their looks seemed a mixture of resentment and wariness. It left her troubled.
“Felicity, where do all these people come from?” Alianor asked her guide as they entered the largest stone structure in the abbey itself.
The woman paused in her trek at Alianor’s question, and she too looked cautious. “Everywhere, milady. There’s no place in Eire someone hasn’t come from. From Connacht t’ Ulster they’ve come.”
“Why here? It’s a remote place.”
Felicity’s lower lip puckered out as she mulled her thoughts over before answering. “’Tis the end of the road for many of us. We’ve all got our reasons for coming here. Mostly, ’tis safe.”
“Safe?”
The tiny woman’s dark eyes studied Alianor a long time, as if she wasn’t sure she should say anything more. She blew out a long breath. “No secret, I suppose. Most of us are runnin’ from trouble. Either local trouble or the royal kind. Makes no difference in the end.”
“You’re all hiding from the law?”
“Most of us. Some folks’re just hungry. Here, the Prince sees all who come are fed and warmed.”
“Prince?”
“Aye, milady,” Felicity turned and gestured for her to follow. “Our Emerald Prince. He takes care of us.”
Alianor followed, not really paying attention to the hall they traversed, her mind filled with more questions. “Emerald Prince? Who is this prince?”
Felicity stopped again and glanced back at her. “Why, Uilleam Caomhánach, of course. The man who brought you here.”
“Caomhánach?” Alianor was stunned. “That blackguard.”
Felicity chuckled. “Blackguard, is he? Aye, mayhap t’ a fine English lady. I expect you’d find our notion of a prince a wee bit strange.”
“Why did Caomhánach bring me here, of all places? Surely it makes more sense to stay close to de Lacy’s estates to ransom me. It will take forever to negotiate my release from this isolated place.”
“Now, colleen, I ask no questions. Niall only said t’ see t’ you. And I will.”
“No questions asked? Ever?”
Fe
licity nodded. “No questions asked nor answered. ’Tis our way. We’ve all something t’ hide. Even you, milady. Only know our Prince wants you taken good care of. And so you shall be.”
Anger and pride welled up in Alianor. She wanted to set Felicity straight, tell her she wasn’t hiding anything from anyone. She hadn’t broken any laws — rather, Liam Caomhánach, this so-called Emerald Prince, had. He was the law-breaker; she was his victim. But something made her keep quiet — something made her leave it alone for now.
Chapter Eight
LIAM ENTERED THE ABBEY with a purposeful stride, raindrops clinging to his hair and face. He shook his head, slinging the droplets of water about in a wet spray. He pulled his soaked cloak off and slung it over a nearby bench.
He headed straight for the fire in the open pit, the crackling flames offering welcome warmth and comfort. There he found Alianor alone beside the fire. He wasn’t sure which of them was more startled.
She sat curled in a chair pulled close for light, a book she had been reading in her lap. The flickering flames painted her skin in gold and licked those pale curls with red flame. Her hair was undone, shaken out to dry about her shoulders. Wide-eyed, she stared at him. He cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable at her scrutiny.
“Apologies,” he mumbled and turned to leave, but instead stopped and reconsidered. This was his home, not hers; besides, damme it, he was cold and wanted to sit by the fire. So why on earth should he not? He turned back and groped for conversation. “Where is Felicity?”
“Retired for the night. I thought I would linger and read.”
Liam turned back and planted himself before the fire, legs astraddle. He rubbed his hands briskly over the fire’s heat. “’Tis raining again, and a night fit for no living thing to be about.” He frowned, disgusted at his words. Saints preserve him, but here he was, making small talk like a courtly fop.
