Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series)

by Strong, Jennifer

  “Hot as hell, too,” Jacob put in with a wry grin, blinking before changing the subject. “How’d ya get the name Abby from Ailill, if you don’t mind my askin’.” Meeting his eye, she frowned.

  “My father claimed me as Abby Mackintosh, his own right... it stuck with a great many of his people. Ailill is my true name; the name of slain kings throughout the long history of Erin. Perhaps too feminine for a man. Ailill Bascna-Morna.” It was her turn to look away; her gaze settled on the movements of farmhands far down the mount, nearly indistinct at this distance. Both men studied her while her head was turned; she looked, quite possibly, as strong as a man, excepting the lush feminine curves... odd compared to the girls in the village, strangely deserving of such a strong name, such a poetic sounding name, her natural burr drawing it out to sound like two separate words, El yell.

  God she's beautiful. A shared glance was proof that both men were on the same level of thinking. Her choice of dress, form-fitting top, short skirt, was highly complimentary to her physique. She had the most enticing breasts, over-full, perfectly rounded; hips made for grasping, thighs meant to be spread, nestled into; strong enough to squeeze the very life from a man, soft enough to make him want her to do just that. Feeling his loins grow taut, desire running too hot for comfort, Micah forced himself to look away; Jacob had no such compunctions; he stared hard enough that the tiny hairs at her nape stood at attention.

  "Bascna-Morna, eh? So y'all ain't actually a Mac?" Surprise was clear in Jacob's tone. Ailill glanced up, looked away, and laughed softly.

  "Och, aye. I am all the Macsrolled into one," she replied, amused. "Think of a Mac, or an O' anything and it'll be in my bloodlines. Bascna and Morna were the first Clans o' the Isles, Jacob. My blood is as ancient as... och, well, I'm sure you've heard at least a bit o' fairy lore, aye? Or perhaps Celtic mythology? Well, that is me, isn't it?" Flashing an embittered smirk, she shifted uncomfortably.

  “What’s it like in the Highlands of Scotland?” Jacob's gaze held hers briefly, as if the man were trying hard to look into her soul, though he really meant only to change the subject again, the look on her face suddenly displeased for some reason. Maybe 'cause y'all are stripping her bare nekked with your eyes, he silently admonished, lightening the intensity of his gaze at once.

  “Oh, well... Scotland is truly beautiful,” Ailill replied after a moment, her own eyes suddenly cloudy with the thought of home, her expression slightly pensive. “A wee bit chillier than the desert where you lived, o’ course,” she added with a small laugh, shaking off a sense of sadness. “But if you can manage to feel at home here, in these American Highlands, I believe ye would like it in Scotland very much. We wear the kilts and plaidies there, too, as James has instituted here, though our own weapons o’ choice would be the swords and dirks of auld, and pistols, more common than the rifles you carry.” She eyed the weapons the two had carefully propped up against the tree bole, admired the smooth barrels, the engraved walnut stock, gifts from their own true sire, though neither yet knew such a truth. “But they are lovely, I must say. As finely made as my own.”

  “Know how to shoot a gun, do ya?” Jacob could not hide his surprise. His keen eyes measured her rather slight stature against the length of his own rifle. Ailill rolled her eyes, unsure whether to laugh or show him just how well she could handle the thing. Opting for the latter, she stood, picked up the weapon nearest her, Micah's, and studied it intently for a moment, accustoming herself to the weight and balance. Micah's name was burnished into the dark wood in a neat script; she touched on the name with a fingertip, remembering the last time she'd held this very weapon.

  “O’ course I can shoot, Jacob," she answered, her lovely face a mask of undue seriousness. "James taught me when I was but three years old, though he had to stand behind to catch me.” Her face lit with suppressed laughter, her normal exuberance beginning to come out despite the disturbing familiarity of their looks. When she laughed aloud, neither could help joining in.

  "What'd y'all do for fun, in Scotland?"

  Glancing back at the curious gazes of the men, Ailill gripped the barrel, raised the butt to her shoulder and took aim. "Studied... and trained. Oh, and fought a few wee battles... bare nekked," she mimicked, capturing Jacob's slow drawl perfectly, unspoken though it had been. The shot went off with startling volume, her shoulder easily taking the brunt of the kickback; her aim proved true though it was not until that exact moment either one realized she had sighted on anything at all; or that she had actually planned to shoot. The feathers floating slowly out of the sky preceded the plump bodies of not just one, but two geese, well-fattened even so early in the year with the rich offerings of the lake below the ranch house.

  "Hey, lookit that!" Temporarily ignoring her seeming ability to read minds, Jacob took off at once to retrieve Ailill's double kill, his hair flying out as he sprinted to reach the second goose before one of James' hunting dogs got to it first. Satisfied with the small show of her own ability, Ailill reset the safety and carefully set Micah's gun back by the tree. He stared at her, deeply impressed, and she flashed a rather sad smile.

  "Tis truly a lovely weapon, Micah. I thank you for providing supper tonight. You'll join us, of course."

  If it was not a command, it certainly was as close as one could be. He nodded only slightly, still staring even as she turned to watch Jacob's progress. James' oldest hound seemed to believe the fowl was his own property, until Jacob bared his teeth to the canid beast and gave a hard yank, nearly falling on his rear in the process. Ailill whistled, loud, piercing, and the dog gave up the struggle at once, turning to give Jacob a doggie frown before loping off toward the stables.

  "That waspretty incredible, Abby," Micah said quietly. She jumped at the feel of his breath near her ear, warm and moist, smelling faintly of mint. He moved so silently, so stealthily, came upon her unawares; she cursed inwardly for her lack of foresight.

  Must it always be myself I cannot clearly see? "Aye, not bad for a wee lass," she murmured, barely able to hide the fact that her shoulders felt like scrunching up to her neck with the shivery sensation his breath, his nearness, had caused. "You should watch James and me at swordplay tomorrow. It is but one o' many things he's insisted upon since my return."

  "Oh... yeah, he made us spar, too, when we first came here."

  Flashing him an appraising look, Ailill scowled. "Och, ye did fine, no? As will I. Swordplay isn't the only demand he's made o' me though." The word bastardwas clear in her eyes. If he'd thought she was joking in the least, Micah would have laughed. He did not. There was such a deep unhappiness in those sapphire depths; his heart clenched tight at sight of it and, wishing to ease her troubled mind, he took her hand.

  "You seem like the most capable girl I ever met," he said quietly. "I'm sure James'll soon realize your worth, and if not, well... y'all could just spit in his eye, and curse him for bein' an old fashioned, sexist sort of man."

  "Or better yet, I could just shoot him in the ballocks."

  His look of shock was met with a feral grin; Ailill laughed softly, eyes steady on his own, and planted a soft kiss on his palm before she dropped his hand. "You're a sweet lad; better than I expected. No," she sighed softly, the sadness returning to her eyes. "Dinna fash... there'll be no shooting o' my own father, no matter how I might wish to after the past three days."

  "Ailill, I know, uh-" She cut him off with a quick shake of the head.

  "Nay, Micah, dinna say anything. Now is so not the time."

  Bewildered, he stared hard at her still face. He had been about to bring up the dreams. Jacob interrupted the argument he was mentally forming; his twin, grinning from ear to ear, stepped up to the girl, holding out the fowl as if presenting her with a magnificent gift.

  "M'lady," drawled Jacob, "your birds." His laughter was enough to draw Ailill out of the melancholy mood and she smiled; from the corner of her eye she saw Micah frown and turn away to fetch his rifle. Jacob seemed intent on singing her praise
s; an unnecessary thing, that. Ailill quickly put a stop to it by linking her arm through Micah's when he stepped back up to her side; the other arm she presented to Jacob, who took it with alacrity, the dead birds now dangling from his own belt.

  "Come then, lads. We shall present my demanding kin with the chore of preparing us a delicious supper; my Grammie needs something to do while she's here, anyway, and I will set up a place for you to sleep. My mother mentioned that you don't care much for sleepin' indoors? No matter... I'll set up a cozy bed on the veranda."

  Above Ailill's head a wary look passed between the two as she led them down the mountainside. They'd only just met her, this beautiful, capable, unusual girl, and within moments she had invited them to dinner and to spend the night at Hidden Jewel. Strange; unexpected. Micah fairly squirmed under the intense scrutiny of his twin, and Jacob flashed him a knowing grin. Micah cleared his throat.

  "We can't stay over, Abby," he said, regret obvious in his tone. "We'll have to eat and run. Sorry."

  Head cocked to one side, Ailill studied the man, so damned good to look at. "Nonsense. Ye'll stay, and we'll have a few more hours to get to know one another. Don't worry. I wasn't plannin' to sleep with you yet," she husked, a laugh visible in her blue blue eyes. "Nay... must keep my father on his toes a good bit longer, aye? Besides, it'll be a stormy night. Better you stay where it's safe." Those eyes, more expressive than any Micah had ever seen before, held secrets within the dark pools. He wanted, suddenly, to know all of those secrets; everything that made up the mysterious Ailill. He wanted Ailill, simply.

  “Would you care to come for supper?”

  It had been a diverting few weeks, walking about her parent’s land, or through the shadows of Wilderdeep, sitting on the porch of the old cabin nestled in the heart of the ancient wood with a bottle of light ale, exchanging tidbits about nothing of any real importance. Sitting beneath the small apple trees, the brothers comfortable enough to be within reach, if she had wished to reach out, Ailill hadn’t felt so completely relaxed in many months; she did not wish the men to leave though the sun was dropping ever lower in the Western sky, nearing the time when she usually said her goodbyes. Micah and Jacob exchanged a look, uncertain. Spending the evening in company with the girl sounded good... until they thought of her parents, whom she seemed displeased with whenever she spoke of them. Neither man wished to be stuck in the middle of whatever might be going on there; they, both of them, had enough troubles of their own at home, staying longer would only make Kiah angrier than usual. They could only hazard a guess as to the Mackintosh’s reaction.

  “No, they won't be there, nor my Grandmother, for she is thinking on heading home at last,” she said as if she had read their minds, relief at that particular leave taking evident in her voice. “She goes to see... well, I don't rightly know offhand, nor do I care, but they are all away. It is why I am askin’ you. Annie has left a stack of burgers, all ready for grilling, and a nice heavy ale. I haven't had that particular meal since I left here, but apparently it was once my favorite. So, do you want some?”

  Jacob nearly choked on her last question, his mind full of her, definitely wanting some of anything she had to offer. Flashing him a caustic look, Micah smiled down into Ailill’s face, taking her hand to draw her away from his brother’s dirty mind, toward the safety of himself, however much his own wants mirrored Jacob’s, deep down. “We’d love to come have burgers and beer with you, Abby,” he stated, meaning it.

  After spending all of her free time in the company of the darkly handsome twins, Ailill found herself as captivated by them as they obviously were by her. Especially Micah, the watcher, who seemed shy for all his size and obvious strength, giving his twin the floor throughout most of the conversations they had had with an ease that made it quite clear to the young woman that it had always been so. His silence did not come across as rudeness or a lack of interest as one would expect. In fact, the exact opposite seemed to be true; Micah’s deep blue gaze caught and held her own eyes most of the time while Jacob talked on about nothing of any real significance. The people he spoke of, citizens of Willow Wisp, were as unknown to Ailill as she was to them. There hadn’t been more than a few dozen inhabitants in the town when she left for Scotland more than a decade before. Apparently it had grown immensely since then but she felt no desire to meet anyone else; she had plans brewing for a return to Scotland, as soon as she could bring herself to carry out her reason for being back on Jewel Mountain in the first place. Her mind wandered frequently to that particular conundrum as Jacob’s low voice drawled on and on each day. She found her interest in the quiet one growing quite rapidly and it startled her, the eyes of the incredibly good looking lad holding her attention too easily, showing a similar expression in the dark depths as the one she knew was in her own. Each time their eyes met, Ailill and Micah both felt the spark of instant attraction. It was difficult to tear her gaze away, even more difficult when the friendly visits came to an end to pull herself away, which is why she had asked them to come home with her in the first place though, perhaps naively, she had not thought much past eating.

  Despite the way that both stared at her constantly over the meal, shared beneath the vivid hues of a setting sun, supper went well; she was pleased with the lads, more than she cared to admit. They were both downright likable, in almostevery way. She had once sworn never to meet them, had promised she would hate them forever and a day. The fact that she likedthem, both of them, was disarming; she knew them, or had thought she did, even if they did not know her, but the reality of the bonnie lads left her quite breathless. When they spoke plainly to her, the lazy drawl of their speech pulled at her, words of admiration, blatant in the way each man flirted with her, held her attention like a tether ball, swiftly volleying back and forth. She began to see the error of inviting them soon after the meal, the fact that only she knew where her family was gone to hanging over her head like a smothering blanket; she would be alone for the night, possibly two, and although she refrained from mentioning that, it almost seemed as if both had guessed. It also seemed that neither were too willing to leave her completely alone on the mount. Odd... careful questioning had proven that they did not know anything about her; and, if they knew anything of themselves, it was not forthcoming.

  They helped her clean up, an easy excuse for staying longer; insisted on helping her settle the animals in stall and pen for the night after learning that it was the helps' night off, dragging things out until she began to wonder if shewere the only reason neither man wished to go home. Hardly, lass, she mused as she watched them walk about the stables, the two moving as one beside each other, a lightness in the mirrored steps that she was sure was not usually there, she thought of a way to pass the evening to her own advantage, cringing at her audacity even as she set her expression into a sweet smile, beckoning them to follow her back to the house.

  The mugs of frothy beer drunk with dinner were a special brew, much higher in alcohol content than the paler ales the twins had become used to since living in the area. Urging more of the drink on them after chores, a necessary evil if she was to discover more about them yet keep the two at bay, Ailill was briefly surprised when both politely declined. The brothers lived with a man who spent most of his waking hours drunk; they had taken pains not to become like him, a fact which Micah related in a softspoken voice, his eyes taking on a rather hunted look when they moved to the darkness beyond the veranda, knowing that if Kiah took it into his head that he wanted them home he would come looking for them, possibly putting Ailill in danger of all manner of things. It was not beyond imagining for his father to take a woman he wanted, the two had seen him do it before. Understanding far better than Micah would ever know, the sudden image that floated up behind her far seeing eyes infuriated Ailill.

  “We are safe here,” she stated with calm surety, eyes gleaming, hard as blue steel. “There are wards in place over every square inch of this mountain. I placed them myself. You may be as carefree as you wi
sh, Micah. I won't blame you at all for wantin’ a bit o’ relaxation, lad, nor for any way you wish to come by it.” Her determination wavered only slightly with the look that came at once into the dark blue of his eyes, a flame so bright she was half sure it would burn her if she so much as touched him. “Well, perhaps that isn't completely true,” she added in a half-whisper, glancing over to where Jacob stood in the shadows, listening. “We all have our limitations, after all.”

  Softening the intensity of his gaze, Micah reached for the mug in Ailill’s tiny fist. “That we do,” he agreed softly, his fingers lightly caressing the smooth skin at the back of her hand, the touch a tentative question before he took the drink she had offered and quaffed it, wiping dribble from his clefted chin with the back of his hand. “It ain’t like we never drink, Ailill, or anything else, either,” he said after a moment to catch his breath. “Hell, our personal preference is smokeable, less filling in the gut.”

  She noticed Jacob’s back stiffen beneath the ghostly white of his shirt; a bare shoulder shined palely when his dark head turned, showing his face in profile. “But, we’ll stick with the strong beer, darlin’,” he cut in smoothly, an odd note to his voice. “If that’s all y’all are offerin’.”

  His words made Ailill wonder if the two had figured out what she was about, her plan to get them drunk enough to talk, to reveal how much they knew of themselves and of her; too intoxicated to try anything she did not want, backfiring before she had a chance to see if it would work. Unaffected by the thought, she grinned magnanimously, lifted the second mug to her lips and drained it as if it were water, certain that they would either follow her lead or believe that she would soon be too drunk to care, too easy to compel. Oh, but they are in for a surprise, she mused, reaching beneath the swing for a bottle of very well aged Scotch.