Surprised, Seerah immediately looked at Lilybet.
Lilybet's expression conveyed a curious sort of awe and something akin to approval as she winked and nodded her silent praise.
“S-sorry.” Seerah glanced guiltily at Tristan.
“You believe you are responsible for this?"
“'Twas na’ deliberate, of course,” Seerah began. “I would never wish to cause harm to another being for spite. I'm a healer. A-apparently, you angered me unduly.” She nodded for emphasize.
“Apparently! And you are sorry now?” Tristan said, looking highly amused.
“Aye. That I missed!"
Tristan chuckled and twirled the heavy cane in his hand like it was a wee bramble. “Now, that, I believe.” His laughter increased.
“You find this amusing, Tristan?” Gareth asked.
Tristan gazed at Seerah. “Aye. It was a delightful trick. One you must teach me.” He tipped his head back and continued laughing.
Marcus refilled his tankard and began guzzling its contents. Lilybet shrugged and shook her head wearily at Seerah. The warriors glanced from one to another as though uncertain of what to do next. Seerah rolled her eyes heavenward, then groaned with despair.
“Fear na’ ... witch-angel, Seerah.” Tristan said, making an effort to contain his amusement. “We will take you ... on your journey. Won't we, Gareth?"
“If you say so, Tristan."
Seerah's hopes soared. “You believe me, then?"
Bending at his waist, Tristan leaned on the cane. Resting his other hand on his hip, he brought his face close to hers. “Nay. But, you delight me. ‘Tis na’ an easy thing to do.” He stood upright, then. “Aye. You be a wily lass, indeed. Quite winsome as well. Though less so when you frown at me that way.” He paused and studied her for a moment. “Aye. A bewitching, delightful lass you are,” he said. “And I'm thinking this journey will be most interesting, to say the least. Especially now that I know exactly what I'm dealing with. Leprechauns, magic canes, and a witchy lass, indeed.” A lopsided grin curved his lips and the sound of suppressed laughter rumbled deep in his chest.
Greum, Zeth and Colin moved in close to form a circle around Gareth. As they mumbled amongst themselves, Seerah just stood there gaping at Tristan.
“We'll be leaving today, as soon as the horses are ready.” Tristan said.
“Praise be!” Marcus jumped up and began dancing a jig in the center of the room.
Seerah flinched and looked at him just as Lilybet rushed forward and grabbed him by the arm. “'Tis no cause to be celebrating, Marcus. Seerah's leaving us."
Marcus ceased frolicking about. He glanced slowly from Tristan to Seerah, and cleared his throat. “Aaahem!” When he'd gained everyone's full attention, he glared at each man until his gaze settled on Tristan. “What, exactly be your intentions?"
Intentions? Seerah's eyes went wide and she opened her mouth to protest, but no words came forth.
“Aye,” Colin said. “What exactly be your ... plan concerning the wen ... wit ... lass, Tristan? If you have any intentions toward her, you should declare them to her family now."
Panic seized Seerah and her chest tightened with nervous anticipation. Did he have a plan? Did it include her? Did he really believe her to be delightful and winsome?
Tristan's expression grew shielded as he regarded Colin. “Me plan is...” he paused, turning to address Lilybet and Marcus. “I will agree to take your niece on her journey. Me intentions are to keep her and her charm safe. On this I give you me solemn oath."
“Aye.” Lilybet nodded her head in reply.
“Oath shmoath! You best see to it that her virtue stays intact until she's been properly wed.” Marcus shook his fist at Tristan.
Seerah gasped. “Me v-virtue?"
“Marcus!” Lilybet scolded.
“His concerns be honorable,” Tristan said. “As are me intentions. I vow to guard and protect her, her charm, and her virtue with me life.” He turned and looked at Seerah. “We'll be outside readying the horses. Gather your belongings and say your farewells. Bring only what you must, and be quick about it. I do na’ like to be kept waiting.” He nodded, then took his leave.
Colin, Zeth, Greum and Gareth silently gathered their belongings and followed Tristan outside. Marcus refilled his tankard, then wobbled over to the hearth. He sat in his favorite straw chair and began leisurely drinking his fill.
Feeling dazed and confused Seerah just stood gaping at Marcus, as if her feet were rooted to the floor. She didn't need to be taken care of—certainly not by some arrogant man. And, as far as the subject of her virtue was concerned, it needed even less protection; the mere thought of trifling with a crude, Scott barbarian, especially the likes of Tristan Kincaid, was ludicrous. Wasn't it?
“Seerah?” Lilybet beckoned
When Seerah didn't reply, Lilybet advanced and shook Seerah's arm. “Seerah!"
“Aye?” Seerah glanced at the open doorway, her gaze following after Tristan.
“All will be well. You'll be safe, I feel it.” Lilybet offered a reassuring squeeze before releasing Seerah's arm.
“Safe, aye.” Seerah frowned.
“What troubles you then?” Lilybet asked.
“What troubles could I possibly have? Indeed, it seems almost fitting that me supposed champion has less manners than a savage beast."
“But he called you winsome and delightful. ‘Tis a start."
Seerah turned to look at Lilybet. “Hah! He also called me wily and conniving. He does na’ believe me. He simply mocks me. ‘Tis obvious he thinks me dense as bog fur. And, I do na’ like his commanding tone. Why, I'm na’ one of his men. I'm a bright, independent lass. I do na’ need some man telling me what to do."
“He's brusque, I'll grant you that.” Lilybet nodded. “But, he agreed to take you on your journey. ‘Tis what you wanted. Why, he pledged to honor and protect you. And I've seen the fond way he watches you. ‘Tis na’ likely he considers you one of his men. I'm thinking he has eyes for you, Seerah.” A knowing smile curved Lilybet's lips.
Seerah's mouth fell open and she stared at Lilybet, her opposing response caught in her throat.
“Mayhap, you have eyes for him as well.” Lilybet winked.
“Me? Have eyes for the likes of that ... that ... Och! Why, he's nothing more than ... an overgrown, overbearing gargoyle with an empty soul!” Brusquely lifting her skirts, she sashayed across the room toward the stairs.
“An overbearing gargoyle and a contrary witch. Quite an interesting match to say the least,” Lilybet taunted.
“Oooh!” Seerah cried, and stomped upstairs.
* * * *
Tristan watched as the rising sun tried, in vain, to burn through the misty Ireland haze. He gazed east at the domed crests of the raised bogs, so common here and so different from the level fens of his highland home. A fresh, earthy scent hung in the cool, damp air. He took a deep, determined breath, hoping to find the patience he knew he would need to complete this mission.
When Seerah and Lilybet finally exited the inn, Tristan swiftly mounted his horse. “'Tis about time,” he said. “Where be your uncle? I will na’ be wasting time waiting around for you to bid him farewell."
“We've already said our good-byes.” Seerah pursed her lips.
Lilybet patted her teary eyes with a hanky, and hugged Seerah. “Aye, and he'll miss you despite all his grumbling. Why, when he wakes up from his drunken slumber he'll be sorry you're gone, indeed."
Tristan reined his horse about. Next, he spurred the animal forward and halted directly in front of Seerah. “Give Colin your belongings so I can help you mount me horse."
Seerah hesitated, then handed her satchel up to Colin. “I prefer to ride with Gareth. He may need me to tend his injures.” With a curt nod, she marched over to where Gareth sat mounted on his horse.
Her open defiance rankled Tristan's cool demeanor, but it was her show of preference for Gareth's company that annoyed Tristan beyond measure. �
�You're preferences are na’ me concern. Come here. Now!"
“I do na’ wish..."
“What you wish be na’ me concern either.” Tristan urged his mount forward.
“But I only ... aaah!” Seerah backed away as his horse headed straight for her.
Bending low, Tristan leaned to one side and grabbed for her.
“What are you do-ing?” Seerah tried to duck out of the way, but failed. “Ooomph!"
“I'm helping you mount me horse.” In one fluid motion, Tristan effortlessly caught her about the waist, hauled her up and deposited her, facedown across his lap. His mount reared up, then broke into a spirited gallop.
As the warriors fell in behind him, Seerah gasped for air and kicked her feet.
“Be well, Seerah,” Lilybet called after them.
“She will be, as soon as she learns to follow orders,” Tristan called back.
“You brute! Why, I'll never speak to you again,” Seerah vowed.
“A blessing, indeed."
“Scoundrel!” She squirmed defiantly.
Tristan chuckled.
Gareth and Colin swiftly took the lead while Zeth and Greum fell back to bring up the rear.
* * * *
After they covered a short distance, Tristan said, “If you promise to behave, you may sit up."
Seerah clenched her teeth. Behave? Allow me? Och! Although she wanted nothing more to do with Tristan, she had little choice in the matter. She didn't want to speak to him ever again, but she couldn't spend their entire journey on her stomach. She was already beginning to feel nauseous.
“Well?” Tristan prompted.
Seerah nodded.
Tristan chuckled. “Does that mean you'll behave?"
She nodded again, with more vigor.
Tristan slowed his mount, then halted.
Before she could argue or guess his intent, Tristan grasped her waist in both hands, hauled her up, and plopped her back down in his lap, her legs astride the horse with her skirts hiked to her thighs. If Seerah hadn't already sworn never to talk to Tristan again, she would've done so that instant. Instead, she huffed loudly and tried to tug her skirts down over her exposed knees.
When Tristan finally urged his mount onward, he sat tall in the saddle with an arrogant ease that made Seerah's blood boil. He was treating her like a disobedient child rather than a full-grown woman with a mind of her own. And he was obviously enjoying himself.
With the exception of that time when Geoff O'toole tried to roll her in the heather, she couldn't remember ever feeling more thoroughly humiliated, or annoyed. She had a good mind to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but she didn't dare. Aye, ‘twill be best to simply ignore him altogether.
As Tristan drove his horse hard and fast down the isolated dirt road, Seerah found it increasingly difficult to remain completely impassive to his touch. His left arm encircled her waist in such a possessive manner that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. His nearness made her feel uneasy, yet utterly safe and secure at the same time. The effect was quite baffling.
For propriety's sake, Seerah tried to remain mindful of his bared chest and thighs. Unfortunately, her thin cloak offered meager protection against the damp morning air. When she began to shiver, her sense of decorum quickly crumbled. Drawn to the warmth emanating from his body, she leaned back against his chest.
Although she longed for the protection of the thick fur mantle Tristan wore about his shoulders, it seemed obvious that he wasn't about to share. And she certainly wasn't going to ask him for anything.
When her teeth began chattering, Tristan sighed and drew the cloak about her without a word. As the warmth enveloped her, she snuggled close and closed her eyes. Inhaling deeply, she savored the musky but pleasing aroma of Tristan's masculine scent.
Finally, she exhaled slowly and relaxed, cuddling against his chest. “I miss them already. I pray to God they'll be safe."
“You, pray to God?” Tristan scoffed.
“Most certainly."
“And, you claim to be a witch? Witches do na’ pray."
Craning her neck, Seerah pinned Tristan with a scathing look. “They do so!"
“To Lucifer, mayhap."
“Och! Only wicked forces pray to Lucifer. And wicked I certainly am na'."
“'Tis still questionable by me own thinking."
“Aye? Well, such barbaric thinking can only mean one thing—that you are a rude man, Tristan Kincaid."
Tristan nodded and grinned.
“Och!” When Seerah quickly looked away, the wind blew her hood off. Caught on the wings of the breeze, the black strands danced wildly about.
“Gather your hair. I can na’ see,” Tristan grumbled.
“Say your farewells. Mount me horse. Gather you hair,” Seerah mocked. “Do you always tell others what to do?"
“Aye! Now gather you hair afore I chop it off with me dagger."
Seerah's first instinct was to defy Tristan. However, realizing that he wasn't likely the kind of man to make idle threats she thought better of the notion. She decided to concede for her own sake, this time. With a dismal sigh, she tried, but the wind continued to gust in a peculiar manner as if fighting her efforts. “Lend me a hand or I'll na’ be able to gather it all."
“Lend me a hand? Do you always tell others what to do?"
“Nay! I usually ask most politely for help because I am a sweet-natured, gentle woman. You obviously bring out the worst in me. Now, if you would please assist me, I'll be swift to follow your petty order."
“Sweet-natured m—” Tristan faltered, as he grasped a handful of Seerah's hair.
* * * *
His nostrils flared as the scent of heather from Seerah's freshly washed hair wafted about him. And like a smoldering ember revived by a brisk gust of wind, desire swiftly warmed his body. Slowing his horse's pace, Tristan entwined his fingers in her hair and breathed deeply, savoring the distinctly feminine aroma. As he relished the silken feeling of her hair against his coarse skin, he wondered if witches were different than mere mortal women when it came to lovemaking. A roguish grin tugged at his lips at the mere thought, and an unexpected curl of carnal curiosity wound through him. It was then he realized just how long it had been since he'd properly bedded a willing, lass—too long. With a low grunt, he abruptly stuffed Seerah's hair down into the collar of her cloak.
“Faith!” Seerah jerked her head away. “You can be quite the barbarian at times.” She refastened her hood and shifted position.
“Barbarian, mmmm.” Tristan mumbled as he became uncomfortably aware of the way Seerah nestled her bottom between his thighs. He breathed a deep, steadying breath and jostled her slightly forward. “'Tis good of you to say."
“Do na’ shove me, so. I am na’ one of your men. And, calling you a barbarian was na’ meant as a compliment.” Seerah attempted to reposition herself again.
“Aye, but it was taken so. And I am quite aware of the fact that you are na’ one of me men,” Tristan said. His voice sounded strangely thick and low to his own ears as he clasped a hand on her thigh to still her fidgeting.
Seerah slapped his hand and immediately tried to shift forward. “Y-you like being compared to a barbarian?"
Tristan noticed the nervous little tremors lacing her voice. He planted his hand firmly on her hip. “Aye. To be considered a barbarian is a great compliment. Be still, now,” he whispered close to her ear.
Seerah's breath caught and her back straightened. “You are p-proud to think of yourself as such?"
Tristan couldn't help wondering if she would detect the distinct firmness of his male body. He smiled to himself and caressed her thigh. “Just as you like to think yourself witch."
“I am a witch!” She pinched his hand and tried to squirm forward. “Knave! Keep your hands to yourself or ... or..."
“Or? Or what? Will you prove to me that you're a witch?"
“I ... I am a witch, I say!” She pinched his hand again, harder this tim
e, then she elbowed him in the ribs as she struggled, ineffectively, move his hand.
Tristan barely noticed her meager pinch, but he moved his hand anyway. Then, hoping to end the provocative torture her squirming inflicted, he pulled her even closer. “And I ... am a barbarian. Tristan the Barbarian be what me enemies call me."
Craning her neck, Seerah scowled at him. “People actually call you that? Why, that's..."
“That's what?” Narrowing his eyes, Tristan bent his head low. His face was so close to Seerah's that he could see his own cold, emotionless eyes reflected in her soft, blue-green gaze; he knew immediately that a lesser man would lose himself within their emotional depths. What would it be like to experience her passion-filled gaze?
“That's...” Seerah's tongue darted out, and she licked her lips as if they were parched. “That's, s-silly,” she exhaled slowly, her body seeming to melt in his arms.
“Barbarians are na’ silly. And I assure you, the title is just as welcome as it is fitting.” He raked her face with his eyes, his gaze settling, again, on her slightly parted lips. “Seerah the witch, however..."
“N-no one calls me th-that. I ... you—” Seerah gulped and blinked hard, her eyes growing wide with a questioning look. Then her lips quivered slightly, as if in anticipation.
* * *
Chapter Ten
The sight of Seerah's quivering, parted lips, brought Tristan's thoughts crashing back to reality. He abruptly shoved her head against his chest. “Sit back. It's difficult enough to ride with a hearty lass like you upon me lap."
Seerah squirmed relentlessly. “Hearty? And, here I thought—ooh! I should've known better."
“Aye, you should have known better! And, if you know what's best for you, you'll still that fulsome rump o’ yours."
“Fulsome?” Seerah jabbed Tristan hard with her elbow.
Caught off guard, Tristan flinched in response to the sharp stabbing pain in his ribs. His mount reared up and snorted in response, jerking the reins from Tristan's left hand. When he snatched them back, he heard Seerah's startled gasp and felt her weight shift in his lap.
Holding the reins tightly in his right hand, he used his left to seize her flailing arm.
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