by Brit Darby
“Perhaps a good book by the fire would help banish the chill,” Alianor said, and fell silent. She blushed and seemed embarrassed by her suggestion.
Liam found the touch of rose painting her cheeks quite fetching by firelight. “I do know how to read, milady. I’m not an illiterate bastard. Only an ordinary one.”
His teasing caused the stain to spread across her face and down her neck. She bit her lower lip, whether due to his cheekiness or another reason he couldn’t tell.
“I didn’t mean —” she began.
He interrupted to spare them both further discomfort. “What are you reading?”
It seemed a harmless question, yet it appeared to cause her pain. Her hand gently caressed the pages of the book, as if it was a treasure. “Beowulf. One of Walter’s favorites. I found it amongst the books left in the abbey library.”
He recited quietly:
“And a young prince must be prudent like that/giving freely whilst his father lives/so that afterwards in age when fighting starts/steadfast companions will stand by him and hold the line. Behavior that’s admired ’tis the path to power among people everywhere …”
Liam trailed off when Alianor stared at him in surprise.
“You know it?”
“Aye, and I have many books in my rooms. Feel free to borrow any you’d like. And,” he continued hesitantly, “may I say, I am sorry for your loss.”
She looked away. “It’s kind of you.”
“What else troubles you this night?” he asked, sensing something more.
Alianor hesitated. “Edie,” she said, glancing at him with trepidation. “My maidservant, Edie …”
“The girl who escaped?” Another look of surprise made him chuckle. “Aye, I knew. I saw tracks and judged by the size they belonged to a woman. And, I am not so unworldly I do not know a proper lady does not travel alone. But, I decided it was not worth the bother to kidnap her as well. De Lacy’s affianced was the real prize, a mere servant not worth the effort of pursuit.”
As soon as he spoke the words, Liam realized how callous he sounded. And when the worry in Alianor’s eyes remained, he understood this damsel was close to her heart. “I did not mean to sound so unfeeling,” he confessed, regretting his casual dismissal of her servant and the danger she had been put in.
“Rest easy, milady,” he felt a bit ridiculous explaining, but stumbled on, “I had one of my men follow the girl to make certain she arrived safe at the inn.” Liam cleared his throat, hoping to clear away the awkwardness.
“Thank you.”
“Despite how it may appear, I am not without conscience. I do not murder women.”
“Oh? You only kidnap them?”
Her retort was much more hurtful to him than it should have been, and he added in a harsher tone, “’Twas foolish to send her off on her own.”
Alianor stiffened. “I intended to follow Edie and escape. But I was encumbered …”
The image of their first meeting came to mind, bringing a slight smile to his lips. “I remember. It seems your skirts were twisted about you in a most delightful, but encumbering way.”
Only the return of a slight blush to her cheeks told Liam she, too, remembered the circumstances of their first meeting. She sought distraction. “Edie is safe and no harm has come to her?”
“Aye. I was told by the man who owns The Black Swallow the girl arrived safe and sound. She was scared and exhausted, but uninjured. By now, she is on her way back to England. Very little happens in these hills I do not know about, milady.”
“Thank you,” she whispered again, and this time Liam was surprised by the sincerity in her voice — almost as surprised as he was by the genuine concern in his own.
ALIANOR FOUND LIAM’S PRESENCE disturbing. Desperate to change the subject, she asked, “Speaking of princes — why does Felicity claim you are one?”
His derisive snort brought her gaze back to him. His expression seemed a mixture of annoyance and mirth. “Our Felicity believes in faeries and the Little Folk. Do not pay her any mind.”
“Do you mean to say she’s mad?”
He shrugged. “What you call mad in England is probably dubbed high spirits in Eire. Anyway, I would not encourage her flights of fancy if I were you.”
“Well, she obviously believes you are this Emerald Prince.” Alianor wondered if she headed down a dangerous path, but found it better than baring her grief to a stranger.
“I’m not a prince of anything, milady —” Liam paused to reconsider and added, “— unless a Prince of Wolves.” For some reason he was amused by the notion, and his laughter echoed in the large room, and Alianor shivered. The rich velvet warmth of his laugh was even more pleasing than the fire she sat beside.
“Wolves? I do not understand.”
“Nay,” Liam muttered, suddenly sober. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Alianor felt a flash of anger and shut her book with a snap. “Please explain it to me, if you would be so kind.”
He shrugged. “Word came today your Lord de Lacy put a Writ of Outlawry on me.”
“He’s not my lord,” Alianor protested.
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Caput gerat lupinum. ’Tis a common law proclamation, any man so labeled can be hunted and killed on sight, like a wild animal. A wolf in fact. De Lacy offers a generous reward to whoever brings my head to him.”
“You made the choice to risk misfortune when you waylaid my retinue,” she said. She heard him slowly exhale at her words.
“You assume we enjoy life as outlaws?”
There was a slight catch in Liam’s voice; his eyes darkened. Alianor blinked and hesitated, but felt she must be honest. “We all have choices in what we do. You chose to be thieves and cutthroats — not honorable nor noble endeavors, no matter your reasons. Frankly, this island seems overrun with men like you, all claiming they do it for Ireland.”
He took a step towards her, his look so menacing she had the impulse to flee. Yet she remained in place, with only Beowulf to defend her.
“I warned you before not to speak of things you know nothing about.”
“Then pray enlighten me, O, Emerald Prince!” The moment the sarcasm left her lips she regretted it, but he was already pacing, much like a caged wolf might do.
“I shall indeed. For what can you, a wealthy, spoiled Sassenach, know of a life so hard, so full of despair your only means of livelihood is to become a hunted animal?” He raked a hand through his thick black hair as he paced back and forth. “What of the farmer left so little after paying feudal taxes he cannot feed his family? He soon plants his children in the fields he once sowed with grain. Should he have chosen to stay and die as well? Or the iron monger whose sons are taken from him, forced to serve a foreign king who cares nothing for Eire and her people?
“Lackland levies harsh taxes on the Irish barons, bleeding all dry in the down trickle, merely to pay for his whims of wars and whores …” Liam stopped and turned on her, his stare piercing. “Tell me true, milady,” his words dripped contempt, “are you one of the King’s whores, bought and paid for with Irish blood?”
Alianor felt as if he’d slapped her in the face and reeled from the ugliness of his words. She trembled with the anger and hurt rioting inside her. Licking the dryness from her lips, she raised her chin.
“No. I refused to be King John’s leman, thus the choice I made in defying him brought me low. He cast me off to de Lacy, like a bone to a cur.”
Liam looked doubtful. “You are here because I am a thief and I stole you. Remember, I am the real cur, an Irish wolf who steals brides in the night.”
“Are you so vain you believe I am in this situation only because of you? My fate,” she threw up her hands in exasperation, “was determined by harsher hands than yours. It’s much more than you and your paltry ransom scheme at work here. And likewise, why do you assume I happily marry Le Anguille? A man of foul reputation?”
It obviously had not occurred to Liam to qu
estion the reasons behind her marrying the Norman. He frowned. “So, you are claiming —”
“Yes, I’m only here because I enraged the King of England. Wedding de Lacy is my punishment.”
He studied her, but did not seem to read the desperation in her eyes. He shook his head. “You’re not the type of woman to cave to any man’s demands, king or no. Or be led like a lamb to slaughter. Why would you willingly go to de Lacy’s bed?”
“Why should you care? My reasons are my own and not your concern. But be well warned, the King is the vilest of men. What man breaks a promise to a dying man …” her voice trailed off. She fought back tears and found herself nervously twisting her wedding band about her finger under his intense stare. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Though lo, I should not have been surprised — after all, he was in truth, the cause of it.”
“Speak up, woman,” Liam’s irritable demand broke through her painful reverie. “What are you saying?”
“Nary a thing,” she shook her head, trying to clear it of memories. “Go on, ransom me. Get whatever you can from de Lacy to help your people. All will be right again in the world.”
Something flickered in his eyes. More than firelight. Something like — pain. “I do not think anything can ever be right in my world.”
Alianor rose to leave, clutching the book to her breast. “I am sorry for my outburst.” She took a deep breath. “’Twas wrong of me to speak so harshly. Apologies.”
He did not reply. Alianor did not wait for him to speak again, but turned and fled into the bowels of the abbey.
“GOLIATH, MY FRIEND. HOW are you?” Alianor cooed at the hooded bird on her wrist. She had found the cage awaiting her when she took up residence in one of the cells of the old abbey. Niall must have left it there, and she was glad for the thoughtful act. Once more, she examined the bird carefully, checking to make certain he’d survived the rough trip and a stranger’s care without harm. She found him no worse for wear and felt relieved.
She stroked the bird’s sleek feathers. “I missed you.”
Goliath gave a faint cry in response.
“Sounds like he missed you, too.”
Alianor turned and found Liam had entered her cell. The rush of emotions he provoked unsettled her. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Faith, have you taken to sneaking up unawares on ladies?”
A frown crossed his face at her remark, and his eyes darkened as she noticed they were wont to do when he was provoked. “I was not sneaking. If you recall,” he added, “this is my home. I go where I please.”
Flushing at his quiet rebuke, Alianor changed the subject. She glanced around and countered, “I see no guards in evidence. Isn’t the mighty Prince of Wolves afraid his prey will try and escape?”
He shrugged. “Where?”
“Point taken.”
A faint smile crossed his lips. “Do you hunt with your tercel, milady?”
“Goliath is more of a pet. You asked before my Christian name, if you wish, you may call me Alianor. I see no need to stand on formality, considering …”
He tilted his head, regarding her with caution. “A generous gesture to extend a wolf.”
“If it softens your growl, mayhap it’s not wasted.”
He chuckled. “Then you must call me Liam.”
The timber of his voice softened, deepened in tone. It was sensual, Alianor thought, and its intensity touched her like whispered words of love. Thankfully, a movement beside him distracted her. The largest dog she had ever seen, a brindle-colored behemoth, padded into her cell and stopped beside Liam. The animal sat on its haunches and yawned, its massive head reaching his elbow.
Liam scratched the dog behind her ear. “This is Turrean. She is also a pet of sorts.”
“She’s beautiful,” Alianor whispered, drawn to the liquid golden-brown eyes watching her. “I’ve never seen a dog so enormous. Why, she’s the size of a pony.”
“Aye. She’s Cú Faoil, a wolfhound.”
She had heard tales of great dogs like Turrean, but never seen one. “Bred to hunt wolves —”
He winked at her. “How apropos.”
Alianor smiled. Goliath shifted on her arm and fluffed his feathers at the dog’s presence. She returned the bird to his cage before Turrean unnerved him further. When she latched the little door, Goliath let out a shrill warning cry.
It echoed in the stone cell, as a monk’s chant must have long ago. Liam laughed, and the sound enveloped her like a blanket of warmth, something she couldn’t recall ever having felt before from a man’s laugh. Not even Walter’s.
She sought a safer course of conversation. “I thought only nobility was allowed to keep wolfhounds.”
“True. Once more, I prove an outlaw.”
“In this case I am glad of it. Turrean’s absolutely beautiful, William.”
He flinched, and she noticed his expression. She realized her Anglicized version of his name hit a nerve.
Turrean seemed to know Alianor was speaking about her, for the wolfhound padded over to her. A large, wet nose nuzzled her hand for a bit of affection. She obliged Turrean’s demand for attention and felt instant kinship between herself and the dog. She was delighted. Liam did not look so pleased, though he gave a grudging chuckle.
“Now she’ll believe it herself. Amazing, it is. Turrean’s never taken to anyone else before, especially a woman. It seems she’s already under your spell, Alianor.”
It was the first time he had spoken her name and it pleased her, while at the same time it left her uneasy. She was all too aware of his closeness. The space between them in the confines of the cell was marginal indeed.
She attempted a carefree laugh and continued to pet Turrean. “I assure you, I cast no spells. Methinks you must beat this poor creature, for clearly she’s starved for a kind hand.”
The expression on Liam’s face turned stony. His eyes darkened.
“I am only teasing,” Alianor added, and rambled on somewhat flustered, “I can tell Turrean’s never known a cruel act from your hands. It’s more than obvious, the fine care she’s received and the loyalty she’s given in exchange.”
She wondered why it should even matter she had wounded Liam with her careless words. Or why she felt the need to make amends. On impulse, Alianor stepped forward and touched his face, her fingertips lingering where she knew his dimple hid.
“Truly, I meant no harm,” she whispered.
As her hand dropped, Liam captured it with his own. How could he explain her simple gesture meant as apology caused him agony? How could he explain it to her when he did not understand himself? Her teasing words did not trouble him, but her claim she cast no spells did. For Alianor was wrong. From first sight she worked her witchcraft on him, leaving him defenseless to her charms.
He felt frustrated, confused. This tenderness and compassion was nothing he had experienced before. He kidnapped her with the intent to ransom her, believing de Lacy would pay a generous sum to get back this beauty. As would I in his place, Liam thought.
What started as a simple, foolproof plan now seemed so complex. Liam had to acknowledge the crux of the matter — he wanted Alianor. The real reason she was at Wolf Haven was one cast from purely selfish motives.
Liam turned the palm of Alianor’s hand to his lips and kissed it. He heard the sharp intake of her breath, and a sparkle lit her sapphire eyes. She worried her lower lip in a nervous gesture, making him wonder how those lips would taste.
When he pulled her to him, he read the confusion in her eyes. Her dilemma was obvious. Liam ached to taste her lips, parted slightly now from breathlessness. Her hands braced against his chest, as if to stop him, but the desire sketched on her face pulled him further into the realms of passion. Ever so slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers.
Finally, her lips were his to take, to taste, to savor. His mouth slid against hers, coaxing, seeking. Gentle, yet fiercely demanding.
A moan escaped Liam as he tasted Alianor’s sweetness. He felt hi
s loins tighten from the feel, the scent of her. What a white-hot pool of exquisite torture she tossed him into. No woman had ever inspired these painful yearnings. A passionate need mingled with frustration in a rushing waterfall of emotion. He almost feared for his sanity.
Turrean nudged Liam’s elbow. As if dashed by icy water, he released Alianor. Common sense clashed head-on with the burning desire possessing him. Aye, she was a witch, creating a fierce longing within him, so intense he was willing to forsake all else to have her.
He stared into the deep blue loughs of Alianor’s eyes and wondered at how easily she made him forget everything but her presence. He prided himself on being a practical man, a man who let nothing sway his cause nor soften his stance. How did she disarm him so?
“What spells do you cast, woman?” he demanded. “Teasing my cock will not buy your freedom.”
Alianor flinched when the magical moment shattered with his harsh words. Surely he misunderstood her — or did she misunderstand herself? It was like someone else had seized control of her, shutting her down under the torrent of emotions.
With clarity, it struck her. She desired this Irishman, her enemy. The realization was as strong and as brutal as his words had been. She stepped back and stared at Liam, her mouth still throbbing from the impact of his kiss. Her shaking hand rose and her fingertips traced the invisible, lingering evidence left on her lips.
I have never been kissed like that. Never.
Now, he accused her of witchcraft. Of trying to seduce him so she might escape. Humiliation burned the back of her throat and tears threatened. God’s teeth, how she hated tears! They were a weakness she must not show and with renewed determination she blinked them away. Damme him. Damme him to hell.
Turrean whined and Liam’s attention was diverted as he shooed the wolfhound out of her cell. When he turned back to her, Alianor had steadied herself and her voice held strong in confrontation.
“You dare accuse me of casting spells, William.” This time, she took deliberate pleasure in setting a trap for the wolf.
His eyes flashed as he took the bait. “My name is Liam, not William. You’d do well to remember it. I’ll not respond to any cursed Sassenach name.”
