by Amy Tolnitch
Magnus lay on the long table, his gambeson heaped on the floor. Freya stood beside him, tears washing down her face while Efrika put her hand on his chest. Her lips were pinched, and her face pale.
Alasdair left Aimili and went to Efrika’s side. “How can I help?” he asked.
Aimili stood to the side, wrapped in her blanket. She shivered, though not from the cold but from the bitter shame of failure.
A heavy hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up at Padruig and braced herself not to pull away. His eyes were a piercing silvery blue, and the scars on his face stood out in white lines against his taut skin.
She swallowed. “Magnus?”
“Was fortunate. The angle of the strike sliced flesh, but did not puncture anything vital as best we can tell. Still, he will not be fighting any time soon.”
“Oh.”
“Come.”
“Mayhap I should stay and help—”
“Efrika will tend to him.” He took a firm hold on her arm and steered her out of the hall. With every step it seemed as if his temper grew. Once they reached the bailey, he began walking so quickly that Aimili could not keep up. “I … slow down,” she said, trying to yank free of his grasp.
He simply picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her to their chamber. By the time he sat her down, none too gently, Aimili was light-headed.
“What were you doing?” he bit out, just before he slammed the door.
“We thought … I thought that we could unmask Vardon.”
“What do Magnus and Alasdair know of this?”
“They suspect, as I do, that someone else was behind Brona’s murder. I think it might have been Vardon.”
“What?” Padruig shouted. “You have been meeting behind my back? Discussing my sister?”
He was so furious, Aimili could barely find her tongue. “Aye.”
“You … you could have been killed!” He stalked to her and gripped the fabric of her chemise in both hands. “How can you be so reckless? Do you give no thought at all to your own safety? To the safety of others?”
“I—”
“Damn you, Aimili,” he swore, right before he kissed her.
No, Aimili thought with what few wits she managed to hold onto under the deluge of his exploding passion. Not a kiss. More than that. She felt the rage swirling within him, tasted the violence in his kiss. She leaned into him, pressed close, beset by the need to crawl inside his strength, trusting him even as she understood most of his fury was directed toward her.
He broke the kiss, fisted one hand in the neckline of her chemise and ripped it in two.
Aimili was so shocked she could only stare at him. His gaze crawled over her body like a predator deciding which part of its prey looked the tastiest. Aimili’s breath shortened, then stuttered when he yanked the torn garment away completely, leaving her naked and exposed.
“Padruig, I—”
“Dinnae talk,” he rasped, cupping her breasts in his calloused hands. His fingertips caressed the tips into points as he nuzzled her neck. When he moved lower and took her nipple in his mouth, Aimili gasped, arching instinctively closer, each pull of his mouth drawing heat into her center.
He wasn’t being gentle, his touch, his mouth just short of painful, but all the more arousing for that.
She wound her arms around his wide shoulders and cradled him close.
He stopped only long enough to draw off his tunic and undershirt, then seized her lips in a bruising kiss. Dear God, how she loved his mouth, Aimili thought. It was addictive, like a mysterious, intoxicating drink she could not get enough of.
His hands spanned her waist, then moved to her buttocks. His fingers spread and gripped her close, rocking her against him, hard and hot. When his hand slipped between her legs, she caught his lips and nipped, panting for breath.
He just held her gaze and stroked, his fingers sliding easily over her damp body, slipping into her. She clenched down, her body needing that, needing more.
“You want to be reckless, my lady,” he growled. “I can give you that.”
Aimili was so scorched with pleasure that she barely heard him, barely realized he was moving her across the floor until she felt cool stone against her back.
With one fluid movement, Padruig lifted her and plunged inside her.
“Aahh,” Aimili moaned, writhing to take him in, her gaze locked with his. She hadn’t even known he’d untied his braies.
His eyes turned smoky blue as he invaded her body, in and out, slowly yet relentlessly, holding her in place when she would have arched into him, taking control completely. Her body burned and ached yet he came on, his powerful thighs wedged beneath hers, holding her open for him.
She started shaking. Dear God, it was too much, too strong.
She realized she’d spoken the words aloud, when Padruig’s mouth curled into a half smile, his eyes gleaming. He knows, she thought, buffeted by spirals of heated pleasure.
There was nothing she could do but hang on and ride the storm. Nothing she wanted to do.
Not when his fingers dug into her thighs and opened her even farther.
Not when he thrust inside her even deeper, filling and stretching her.
Not when his thrusts came faster, his powerful body bucking and pounding into hers. Faster and yet faster until she was keening, moaning, tears running down her face, her body screaming for release.
Not even when he roared and thrust one last time, his fingertips skating over her in that perfect touch that set her body into an abyss of pleasure that seemed to go on forever.
And particularly not when he stayed buried in her as he carried her to their bed to begin all over again.
Afterward, Aimili fell into a boneless half sleep, her body deliciously spent, her emotions wrung out, churned and muddled by Padruig’s raw hunger. He lay beside her, one arm flung across his forehead.
“By the saints, I am a beast,” he cursed.
Aimili’s heart sank.
He turned his head, his eyes once so filled with passion now regretful. “I am sorry, Aimili. I vow I do not know what came over me.” He rolled off the bed and stood, searching for his braies.
Aimili stared at his muscled back, his taut buttocks, his heavy thighs, and memories of that powerful body joining with hers sent a shiver of longing through her. “Why do you do this?”
After pulling on his braies, he turned. “I have been unable to fully control myself.” He frowned. “I am deeply sorry for using you such.”
“Surely you jest.” Aimili wrapped a sheet around her nakedness and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Padruig lifted a brow. “I do not take your meaning.”
“Do I look so very fragile, Padruig?”
His lips thinned. “Aimili, I took you against the wall, for God’s sake, like one of the guards might take a willing maid.”
“Oh, yes, how terrible. I have heard those maids shrieking in protest.”
“’Tis not the same. By the saints, you are my wife, not some lowborn wench to give herself so. And I am the laird, not a simple guardsman to couple in any convenient spot.”
“I did not ask to be put on a pedestal.” She stood and couldn’t catch herself without wincing at the sudden pain in her thighs.
“Look at you. Now you understand why I did not wish to wed with you. You are a young, innocent lass, deserving of a gentle man with a comely face and mild desires.”
“Padruig?”
“Aye?”
“You are a fool.”
His face darkened. “I ken I behaved badly.”
“I am not talking about that!” she shouted.
“You are justified in your anger.” He drew on a tunic. “I shall fetch Efrika to bring you something calming.”
Aimili briefly closed her eyes, praying for strength and patience. “Did you not enjoy making love to me, Padruig?”
His jaw clenched so tight she wouldn’t have been surprised to hear a tooth crack. “
Aimili, I—”
“Answer me, damn you. Did. You. Enjoy. It?”
“I am a man.”
“What the hell does that mean?” She stomped over to him. “’Tis a simple question, Padruig. Did you enjoy it?”
“It is not that simple.”
Love is only complicated if one makes it so. Gifford’s words jumped into her mind. She put her face close to Padruig’s. “I did.”
She might as well have flung a burning brand into his face. First, he flushed, then he took a step back. “’Tis because you were understandably overwrought by Vardon’s attack.” He glared at her. “Which you invited.”
“Do not change the subject. This is not about Vardon. This is about you and me.”
“These are dire, dangerous times. Neither of us is ourselves.”
“Who are we?”
“Dinnae mock me. You know what I mean.”
“Nay, I am afraid I do not.”
“You have never been in battle before. The risks, the threat, makes one do things, want things that should not be.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Surely, you do not expect me to believe that the only reason you just made love to me until I screamed in pleasure was because of Vardon.”
“Aimili, I cannot fully explain my actions, other to convey my apologies for treating you so roughly.”
“You sanctimonious son of a bitch.”
His eyes popped wide open.
“Don’t you dare hide behind some ridiculous idea of nobility you’ve pounded into your deluded brain! You wanted me, Padruig. Your wife. And in case you are too stupid to grasp even this, I wanted you, too! There is nothing complicated about that.”
“You are wrong. You are simply too young, too inexperienced to understand.” He turned away, picked up his boots, and left, shutting the door behind him with a decisive thwap.
She picked up a cup and threw it against the door.
It hit her then—he was never going to change. No matter how wildly or sweetly he loved her, in the end he would always view it as a shameful loss of control, would always look at her with sorrow and regret in his eyes. He wouldn’t accept anything else.
She tried to blink back tears but they fell anyway. How weak and pathetic I am, she thought, clenching the sheet tight. I am the real fool.
She’d thought she’d been able to put away her dreams of the man she’d thought Padruig was, her dreams of a happy, loving life filled with warmth and caring. God, how wrong she’d been.
Her dreams had been the product of a young girl’s infatuation, a bright memory.
Perhaps it was one of her weaknesses—to care for wounded creatures. She could save a horse, a dog, but Padruig was right. A man was too complicated.
The very worst part of it all was that somewhere along the way of watching Padruig care for his people, stand for Freya, yet do nothing for himself, she’d fallen in love with Padruig all over again.
He would never allow himself to feel the same even if by some miracle it grew in his hardened heart.
She realized that until this moment, she’d believed that somehow in the end it would work out between her and Padruig, that Gifford’s blunt wisdom would have an impact, that Padruig would care enough for her to change, to let himself live life again. She knew now that she’d been deluding herself, clinging to hope where there was none.
In a daze, she slowly drew on a new chemise and her green bliaut. She pulled the ribbons from her hair and put it in one unadorned plait. She felt like someone else in her skin, her thoughts somehow clearer, sharper, though the knodledge cut through her like the finest honed blade.
She hunted down Magnus, who was resting, not surprisingly, in the Ladies’ Solar. Freya hovered over him and Magnus gazed at her as if he’d been granted the best gift in the world. It made Aimili’s chest tighten with envy and sadness.
“Aimili,” Magnus said, thankfully his voice much stronger than it had been earlier. “Are you all right?”
“Aye.” She grimaced. “I am sorry, Magnus. I am so relieved you were not hurt even worse.”
“I should have been more prepared.”
Aimili blew out a breath. “I distracted you. ’Twas not your fault.”
“What happened after I fell?”
“I am no sure exactly. When Padruig arrived, the man dove into the loch. We could not find a sign of him.”
“How odd.”
“Aye,” Aimili agreed. Inwardly, she was troubled. Where had he gone? Water made her think of Paroseea. Could he have returned, have kept a hiding place there?
“You need to rest,” Freya told Magnus, patting his hand.
“I should be helping Padruig.”
“My brother can ferret out one man, and he has others to aid him, even if they are not as brave or skilled as you.”
Aimili rolled her eyes, and Magnus chuckled, clearly enjoying Freya’s attention.
“I will rest if you will remain and talk with me.”
Freya pulled out a basket of sewing, and pulled a stool close to the pallet where Magnus lay. “’Tis a bargain.”
“I shall leave you both,” Aimili said.
They were so occupied looking at each other that they never even noticed her departure.
Aimili resolved not to question it, but somehow she knew how to navigate her way through the labyrinth of passageways she’d previously traveled with Padruig. Quickly, she sped around one bend after another, opening doorways with her touch until she got to the final portal.
She flattened both hands against the stone and pushed.
With a soft hiss, the stone swung open.
Holding her rushlight high, she easily spotted the pool. Just as before the surface was so smooth it almost seemed like as shiny rock. She didn’t hesitate, but set the light down and jumped into the water.
This time, when she arrived in Paroseea, she landed on thick, emerald-colored grass. In front of her, a group of children stood pressed against a white-railed ring within which three snowy white horses walked around, each carrying another child.
She must have made a sound, for as a group, the children turned to gaze at her with bald curiosity.
“Hello,” Aimili said, smiling.
The children just continued to stare at her.
“Please forgive the children,” a woman’s voice said.
Aimili stood and fought to keep her mouth from dropping open. A tiny woman approached, not much taller then the children themselves. She had huge lavender eyes; raven black, curly hair; and a bright, welcoming smile. Aimili half-expected delicate wings to sprout from her back.
What was perhaps most strange, she wore long purple braies and a matching tunic, with a thick silver bracelet on one wrist.
“They are surprised to see you,” the woman continued.
“I … I am Aimili.”
“Of course you are. I am called Shirlei. Welcome.” She turned to the children, many of whom stood with mouths gaping open. “Greet our visitor, children.”
A chorus of welcomes followed.
“If you will excuse me for a moment, I must see to my students,” Shirlei said. She vaulted over the rail and floated into the ring, clapping her hands.
Curious, Aimili found an empty spot at the rail and leaned against the wood, folding her hands beneath her chin.
“Mayven, pay attention, please. You look like a sack of wheat up there.”
Aimili smiled. Shirlei was right—the little girl did look exceedingly stiff and uncomfortable. When the horse stumbled, she shrieked and grabbed the horse’s mane, nearly tumbling off the side in the process.
Shirlei shook her head, and looked over at Aimili. “’Tis a challenging job I have at times.”
Aimili shifted on her feet and ran into a leg. She glanced over and saw a young boy with a mop of red hair staring at her. Slowly, she looked around and realized the children had moved close.
A small hand tugged on her sleeve. “Can you ride, my lady?”
Aimili looked down an
d blinked. Another fairy, she thought. This one had pale blue eyes, golden hair, and pink cheeks. “Aye, I do.”
“My name is Sinana. I am only six, but I am learning.” She beamed a smile at Aimili. “Can you help me?”
Aimili gestured toward the ring where Shirlei was talking earnestly to another child. “You have an instructor.”
The girl’s mouth turned down. “She is soooooo busy.”
“I see.”
“I have my very own horse,” Sinana announced. “Come.” She took Aimili’s hand. “I will show you.”
Why not? Aimili thought. She let the child pull her along, smiling when the rest of the children followed. On one side of the ring, partially hidden by a thick copse of trees, stood a huge, white stable. Horses stuck their heads out of openings cut into the outer walls, a few neighing greetings as they approached.
The interior was even more amazing, clean and filled with light, each stall front clearly decorated by its owner. Hearts and flowers dominated, but several had dolphins drawn on them, as well.
And the horses. Aimili wasn’t sure which one to look at first. They were beautiful, magnificent animals every one, horses the wealthiest laird would be proud to own.
Sinana halted before a stall and reached up to rub a bay horse’s nose. “This is Princess. Is she not the most beautiful horse ever?”
“That she is.” Before Aimili was quite sure what had happened, she found herself spending a good part of the day teaching the children how to ride, joined by Shirlei, who was more than happy for the aid.
At last, they finished. Aimili looked down at her fine gown and grimaced at the dirt stains.
“Thank you, Aimili,” Shirlei said. “The children are all so excited to ride, but I can only handle so many at one time.”
“’Twas my pleasure.” And it was, she realized. She’d enjoyed the children’s attention, their determination, their thanks. It had helped to soothe away the hurts from earlier and lift her spirits. At the same time, it left a hollow, empty feeling in her chest, knowing that she would never have a child of her own. Never have her own precious little fairy, she thought, thinking of wee Sinana.
