Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series)

by Strong, Jennifer

  Knowing full well that he knew she had, Ailill gave a grunt of dismissal, took one deep breath and let fire her fury. “It has been six months, six! He will not talk to me... deigns to give me the time of day! I am at my wits end with that... that... jackass! No matter what I say nor do, he refuses to explain just what the problem is, what I may or may not have done wrong! I am sick of trying to please him, so sick that I could just scream, and now I've seen that that would not help either! I've tried to use all the niceties at my disposal and all I get in return is a grunt, if that, and then some stupid excuse that he's needed at the stables, the garden, the training grounds, or wherever he can come up with off the top o' his head as if I canna see he is making excuses every day not to see me, to hear me, to be one damn foot away from me!”

  Despite her obvious anger, warranted though it was, Declan could see and feel the strong undercurrent of hurt she was barely managing to keep hidden; her eyes certainly told the story, loudly. Shadowed by grief, the fire usually in their depths was hardly at a smolder. Laying aside the book he'd been quite enjoying, the man used a toe to push the ottoman it had been resting on just a few inches closer. Sighing, Ailill sat, her spine straight as a board, distinctly uncomfortable. As always, the openness in her cousin's eyes put her at ease. Or at least calmed her enough to take a much needed breath, slowly calming herself even as her mouth opened then shut when he flashed her a raised brow.

  “Tiernan isna trying to hurt ye, lass, but I will say that he is aware that your hurt and anger have become a byproduct of his abrupt dismissal of you. He doesna mean for things to go this badly, but he has a problem with ye of late that he canna overcome just so easily.” Eyes of the brightest emerald flashed with feeling as the man glanced down at his wee protege. To say he felt bad for her was putting this whole stramash a bit too mildly. She was feeling broken, in heart and hence in spirit.

  “Aye? And just what the hell does that mean?”

  Surprised, Declan shook his head, stood and went to the sideboard for the decanter of whiskey he'd been sipping on the past few days. After pouring out two fingers for himself, and casting a glance at the anger brewing once more in the impatient girl's face, he splashed a bit more in a second glass and handed it to her. She took it grudgingly, swallowed dutifully and handed back the empty cup, all the while giving him a look that would brook none of his usual happy-go-lucky crap.

  “It means, lass, that Tiernan is also at his wits end... with you. He loves ye, always has, always will, but yer too young for what he wants, and yer geise will forever hold you back from all that he believes you should share, alone, together. In the eyes of the Elders, you are passing the age when ye should have been finding the lost ones, carrying on with the life yer meant to lead. To Tiernan, ye are a child yet, missing out on the childhood he feels that you deserve. He doesna wish to keep ye from any of the happy memories you will accrue.”

  “Does he not realize that all o' my happy memories have always been shared with him since I was four years old? That, without him there to encourage me, to keep me sane, my life, my geise would not be worth all this effort?”

  “Perhaps not. I truly canna answer that, Ailill.”

  Standing, she slipped over to the window, gazing out over the craggy peaks off in the distance. Declan seemed to prefer the solitude of this old hunting lodge at the oddest times, had been here a few days already, completely alone by her estimation. It was certainly odd. He actually got sick of being around other people all the time, no matter that all adored him, held him in the highest esteem and treated him accordingly. Then again, he had never been what everyone else believed. Nay, only she was privy to his secrets, and not too many of those were shared with Herself, either.

  “I ken he loves me, Declan, for he told me that on my last birthday. He kissed me,” she admitted softly, her eyes continuing to roam the view outside the window. Her friend and guardian stared at her in shock, her next words bringing on a sweat with the implications of them.

  “He cut me, to the quick, and uttered a binding oath to be with me, and kissed me again... so many times. I have never felt anything like it.” Her hand came up, the palm striated with a web of ugly scar tissue, and he finally understood why the wound she had come back with six months before had scarred where other wounds had not.

  “The pain,” he nodded quietly at her open hand. “It must have been unbearable, all the way to the bones like it was. I remember it well.”

  “Well, it didna tickle.” Her attempt at humor did little to dispel the importance of what she'd just revealed. Declan's mind was racing, his gut clenched at the voice in his head demanding to know all the details. Now!

  “I understand your hurt better, knowing this, Princess.”

  Turning her gaze on him, Ailill flushed just slightly. “Aye, I feel stupid,” she retorted, suddenly angry once again. “We promised to love one another, with a blood oath, and then the very next day he takes it upon himself to dismiss me. I feel used, and it makes me aye, verra angry!”

  “Did he... mphmm... what I meant to say is-”

  “Did we make love?” she asked, eyes wide, murky with an ancient knowledge. He nodded slowly. “Nay. I sorely wished to, but Tiernan is ever the gentleman. He refused my body in that way.” Declan noted the frown marring her pretty face, the honesty in her eyes. He could not have hid the relief in his own face if he'd tried. “He preferred to spend himself upon the sand of Inbhir Nὰrann and ignore me ever since.” With a roll of her eyes, she added, “there's probably a tree popped up there, in that verra spot, these past six months.”

  Surprised, Declan laughed softly at her observation, his face becoming instantly grave at her next words. The wee lass was sure to give him health problems at an early age, if she kept on like this, he thought unhappily.

  “So then, my main reason for coming here, cousin, is to say that I am leaving. I have geise to fulfill and no mistake. I wished to say goodbye and ye werena around. Tiernan wouldna hear me out, so I'll leave it up to you to tell him for me, if he even cares anymore. I am thirteen and a half. Seanmhair says I have but another six months to grow up, finish learning, and find myself a couple more princes who can impregnate me so that I die yet again at fourteen.”

  Sidling up to him, Ailill leaned up on tiptoe, wrapped small muscular arms about his neck and smacked an intentionally wet kiss in his stubbled cheek.

  “I go to try and help with the sickness that has begun to plague Mankind, on the outside. Wish me luck.” She was gone before realization struck, an odd sweet-spicy scent leaving a trail as the door clicked shut once again.

  Leavetaking

  “I dinna wish it and I willna go, not even for you. Nay, I will not go back to Hidden Jewel to meet with yon strangers, to share myself with them, be passed around like a tasty piece o’ meat! How dare ye ask such a thing o’ me now, after ye claimed to love me? I did not ask for any but yourself, Tiernan MacDuff! I never have. When I close my eyes, ‘tis you I see. When I go to the feasting, I have eyes for no other, and I know ye dinna either. You watch me as I watch you. You leave when I do and I know ye dinna go back once I am asleep. I ken the meaning o’ that, verra much. You love me, and I love you. You are all I ever wanted, since I was but four years old, and well ye ken it!” Ailill’s face was flushed brightly with feeling, the intensity of her onyx gaze startling with the depths of emotion coursing through her young body. Her full chest heaved with the exertion of fighting him, of stubbornly refusing to leave the land of her heart again; of proving her own objection to all that was expected of her with a fit of violent fury.

  She looked... absolutely exquisite.

  It was all he could do to stop himself from throwing her down right where they stood, upon the Clan graves of Drummossie Moor, forcing himself on her in among the heather. He had never wanted anything so badly in all of his life as he wanted Ailill Bascna-Morna. It would be so easy. He knew very well exactly what she did not wear beneath her short kilt. The thought brought a gleam to h
is velvet-black eyes and Tiernan reached for her, kissed the girl with as much intensity as he had the first time, three years before, when he could deny the truth in his heart no longer. It had been so long since then, since that first kiss. The months of strain between them, after, only because he had not known how to control his desire for her, nor how to heal the growing pain within her heart, a pain that he had caused by telling her the truth. She had been truly miserable; as had he. She was gone for nearly two and a half years after that, working her own particular brand of Magick, out there in the real world. And then she had just appeared one day, out of the blue, at the supper table at Heartfire. More beautiful than ever before. He couldn't keep his eyes off her. He had almost shown her, a mere month ago, when he tried to make amends for what he had caused, just how deeply he had fallen, how badly he wished to change her fate. He had come very close that time to claiming what was meant for another; too close, stopped in the nick of time by Abby, whether she had meant to or not. His kisses since had been increasingly daring yet, without fail, the tall, perfectly sculpted young man would stop abruptly, distance himself, and leave her alone to ponder the reasons why he acted in such a manner; so contrary to their own kind.

  This time, however, he doubted that he would have such discipline, such control, knowing that the eyes of the watchers were, for once, nowhere nearby. He had taken Ailill away from any others, away from an army of well-trained guards and the staff of Heartfire, to send her away from all that she knew and loved; away from him, though it had felt like the cold blade of a dirk had sliced through his heart to say it. It was more than the fact that he loved her, much bigger than the unhappy knowledge that she was promised to someone besides himself; two someones, to be exact, though his father had daringly added a secret dispensation to her rights of birth, long before, when Ailill had been a week old infant, knowing that his firstborn son would not wish for any other though the two other promised men, if they were ever found, might; hence, Tiernan was given the greatest of gifts, retaining the honor which had always been meant for him, of being her chosen. Unfortunately, when he had reiterated that fact, moments before, and repeated her father’s demand for her to return home at long last, Ailill had been more furious than he had ever seen her; violently furious, which was far from normal for the well-trained warrior; the leader she would one day become.

  By nature, Tiernan did not bruise easily, but she had hit him so hard; the tender flesh around his jaw smarted still, making him wince when Ailill’s small, child-sized hands came up to pull him back to her when he began to draw away. The boldness of the action caused an instant throbbing in his loins, a sensation echoed most painfully behind his eyes, throughout his skull. He took the unaccustomed pain of headache as a sign of warning and pulled his head up, too high for her kisses, holding her by the arms to stop his fiery first love from continuing her rousing actions. In a moment of uneasy clarity, he wondered if it had been wise to nurture her already inhuman strength to the point that they had; she was easily as strong as he; it was a struggle just to hold her away from him.

  “Nay, my love,” he said softly. “Tisna allowed. I am not to be your first, as I have tried so verra hard to explain for so long. I have protected your innocence for yon raven twins, the avian creatures from your dreams. ‘Tis one o’ them that shall win that prize. If I were to give in, even this one time, ‘twould mean that ye forfeit all ye have worked so hard for. I could never live with myself knowing that my own lustful cravings had brought about the end o’ our ways, the end o’ all of us, no matter how ye make me want you. You are the last hope for the ailing Tribes, Ailill, sweet princess of all that is good. Especially now, after losing so many to the desolate sickness of Man.” His dark eyes pleaded for understanding, long fingers gripping her arms almost painfully to still the pounding of his heart. He was beginning to feel truly ill, stating everything so clearly as he had. His heart hurt nearly as much as his head; Ailill looked very close to tears.

  “I don’t want to be all that ye say, Tiernan. I want only to be your wife, the mother o’ all the bairns you see fit to give me. Look at me... I am no whore; I don't belong in the arms o' three men, and well ye ken it. Love me, Tiernan, as ye wish it; as I wish it, and quit worrying o’er what it might mean. My mother never gave up her titles to be with James, she just gave up the right to the throne.” Her tone was severe, unusually commanding, with an edge of desperation. The oddly husky sound bounced off the hard bones of his aching head, and he pulled away with a rough jerk, choosing to leave her behind, as always, rather than give in to her unconditional love as he had wanted to since he was six years old.

  “Where are you going, Tiernan?” Her tone was unhappiness itself and Ailill ran after him with a heavy heart, unwilling to let the beautiful man off so easily as she had before.

  “My head’s fair coupin’, Ailill; my wame’s a gripin’ and my shanks are a’ wambly, lass. I need a bracer, or something... anythin’ to make it stop.” His steps were so slow, Ailill easily kept pace, a frown drawing her brows down into a cinnamon vee. His accent seemed much stronger than normal, she briefly noted, then shook it off and stepped up her pursuit.

  “Why do you walk away every time you kiss me?” she demanded when he stopped and turned at the touch of her hand. “Why do ye deny what I ken you want? It canna be my age, as you aren't so young as you seem, either. We have both been of an age for a great long while now! It canna be my station, Tiernan, for ye are my equal in every way. You are a Prince o’ the greatest line. Firstborn son of a King. We are a perfect match, ye canna deny it. You made me a promise, the proof is graven in my own flesh! So, what is it that makes ye wish not to be with me?”

  Staring down into her face, a face more beautiful than any he had ever hoped in his young heart to see nearly every day of his life, he saw the truth there, the wish that she shared with him, and he sighed softly, dropping to his knees before her, eye to eye. “You are right, Abby,” he said softly, lightheaded with the scent of her so close, so willing. “It isna any of those things which you mentioned. I dinna give a fuck about the reasons why I shouldna have ye, nor what anyone thinks o’ the fact that I love you, more than I ever dreamed possible. We are a perfect match, no matter which way ye look at it, as ye say. I do wish to be with you, Ailill. I have wished for it every day for years and years. I want you so badly that it has become an ache deep within my soul that I canna soothe. The problem here is that I only wish to be with you. I dinna care to share ye with any other, and certainly not with any raised by that blackheart, Kiah Morna, whether they share my blood or not. I have dreamt o’ them, the raven twins; they arena so bad. I believe ye could love them as well, but there is something odd about them. I believe they may carry more than you have been led to believe within their rich bloodlines.” His eyes held hers, wishing he could utter at least a bit of what he had so recently learned, knowing that he must not. Wrapping his arms about her bare midriff, Tiernan sighed deeply. “I wish ye safe, is all, a leannan, and happy. Sweet Brigit, I canna deny that I also wish to have ye, Abby; here and now, atop the graves o’ our fearless ancestors, with you more than willin’ to love me and me more than ready to please. Will ye let me love ye, despite the consequences, Ailill? For I dinna think I might stop myself if we begin once again.”

  Gently, Tiernan pulled Ailill down to his lap, kissing her tenderly, then more forcefully as he tried to forget the increasing pain in his head, the secrets he kept from her. She was as ready as he was, if her actions, if the fine tremor running through her small, strong body, were any sign, and he lay her down slowly in the blooming heather, raising up above to look at her fiery mane against the green and violet flora, the vibrant colors of what would be, in essence, their marriage bed.

  “Ah, lass, you are so lovely. Aislinn. I have loved you throughout the ages... Everafter, it has always been you,” he breathed hoarsely, lowering his lips to hers once, twice, watching her eyes close in ecstasy. His vision blurred and he blinked away a pink haze, wond
ering idly why it seemed that his tears were pink, for he was sure he wept a wee bit over taking her innocence, sharing his own. Forgetting about such a foolish notion as pink tears, he closed his eyes and went to work, slowly insinuating his knee up, between her thighs with gentle force as his kiss deepened, thumbs drawing circles around the taut points of her nipples through the crisp linen of her blouse as he moved to lie between her legs, close enough to feel her heat beneath his own. Her back arched in agreement with his intimate caress, her tongue slick, warm; sweet as honey against his own. Tasting the salt of blood, Tiernan broke off the kiss and pulled back to look at her again, wondering uneasily if he were being too forceful, a need long awaited so close that he could feel his control slipping away, his head muzzy with it, the ache in his brain a match with the rapid hammering of his heart, in his loins.

  “I’m sorry. Have I hurt ye, luv?” His throat felt tight, the words forced out on a breath, and yet, he did not feel as if he were caught up in a fit of nerves over what he was about to share with the love of all of his lifetimes. “It seems I have forgotten myself... your lip is bleeding.”

  “Nay, ye havena hurt me. Not-” Ailill opened her eyes and blinked, wondering if there was something wrong with her own vision. Her eyes widened in fearful surprise, knowing in an instant that something was terribly wrong. “’Tis your own blood,” she whispered, sitting up quick enough to make her head spin. “Oh no... sweet Brigit, Tiernan, you have got the sickness!” Her husky voice was full of angst, fingers moving to wipe his blood from around her mouth.

  His attempt to laugh at such a horrible joke came out sounding strangled. The pressure inside his skull increased until it felt as if his head were on the brink of exploding; moaning softly, he placed a hand over his mouth and then, quite suddenly, it seemed as if it had. On the tail of searing, white hot pain, his palm filled with blood, the front of his crisp white sark awash with deep crimson as his nose gushed a sudden torrent, his eyes teared liquid fire, mouth dripping a continual scarlet stream that spattered across Ailill's stomach, her bare legs, dripped down the tanned flesh like freshly spilled paint. Och, Sweet Brigit, Goddess of auld, I wish ye would ha’ spared me frae this horror, all I ever wanted was her love.