by Ashley York
He was right. Guilt washed over her. She had been a coward. A rumble of thunder sounded in her ears. And if she was found guilty, she would not be paying the price.
“What is it ye want?”
Seigine smiled, tipping his head down to look at her like an affectionate puppy at his feet. When he moved to pat her head, she reacted without thinking and swiped his hand away.
“Oh no.” He yanked her closer by the front of her gown, her feet only skimming the ground now. “That is not how ye will react, little one.”
Petrified of what he might do, Brighit dropped her eyes. “Forgiveness.”
Not a twitch of a muscle, not an audible breath. Seigine remained still as a stone. She knew without asking what he wanted. By her words she conceded. By her apology she showed her weakness. And now he wanted her eyes on him again for total submission.
Closing her eyes for an instant to gather her courage, she slowly raised her gaze to meet his dark expression. So fierce, it felt like a blow. His lips turned up at the corners.
“Mayhap I will keep ye close. I enjoy this battle of wills with ye.”
Brighit seethed inside, but she kept herself from tightening her jaw, instead keeping her eyes rounded in supplication. Was it truly only an act?
“Ye will do as I say, and I will keep Cathair’s murderer a secret.”
She glanced at the bulge in his trews. She would die before she allowed him to touch her, but he noticed her glance and laughed again. “I am referring to something else ye can do for me.”
Her relief did not last long. He would demand a high price.
“Ye need only convince yer husband and yer father to side with my clan over the Dubhshláine.”
With her mind frantically searching through what he’d told Darragh, she forgot to be afraid. Instead, she blurted out the words, “Ye were the one who didn’t want to join with them.”
“Very good. I will always have ye this attentive to my desires.”
She cringed at the word, but he was clearly pleased. So much so that he lowered her so her feet touched the ground then smoothed out the material he’d gripped near her breast as if testing her willingness to have him touch her. Her mind reeled, and she struggled not to react even while her gut churned in revulsion.
“But I have given it much thought.” He dropped his gaze to her bosom, his breath quickened. “If they wish to join with our clan, so be it, but I have as much right to become overking as their ri túath.”
Seigine had described the Dubhshláine’s ri as an old man, which meant he was no longer able to lead his warriors into battle.
“With the support ye provide for me, little one, I will become overking, an equal to both yer father and yer husband’s father.”
A show of prowess in battle was the normal way to become overking. The entire clan relied on the ri for protection, so they were usually asked for their blessing. This man was hoping to obtain kingship by overstepping the process—and he was looking for her to help him.
“D'ye not have the ability to gain the kingship on yer own?”
Though her tone was merely questioning, his face shifted into a look of rage and his eyes darkened. The fear blasted out of her stomach right up into her chest.
“A pampered princess who believes she can fight as a man cannot be expected to grasp the finer points involved in gaining support from other kings.” His tone was surprisingly calm compared to his scowl. “It matters not if ye understand, only that ye obey.”
He tipped his head, questioning if she agreed or not. When he raised his brow, his irritation was irrefutable. Her stomach tightened, but she forced the question out.
“How do I make this happen?”
Seigine watched his fingertip as it slid along her jaw. ”Cleave unto yer husband for now. Speak to him of how dangerous the divide is among the clans.” His eyes piercing her made her jaw tighten. “Mention how impressed ye are with me.”
His gaze dropped momentarily to her throat when she swallowed.
“And what a wonderful king I will make as yer neighbor.”
“He’ll never believe I’ve put that much thought into ye.”
He seized her chin in a death grip. “Convince him.”
His hold made it impossible for her to respond but, just as suddenly, he released her.
“Ye have the choice on how things will go for ye.”
The sound of the men returning, laughing and talking, put an end to his intimidation. She stepped away, moving into clear view of those now approaching. Her nose in the air and her breath heaving.
“Careful, little one.” Seigine’s quiet words sliced through her pride, his eyebrows raised in question. He was amused by her discomfiture.
Brighit would be his puppet and well he knew it.
Chapter 14
The next few days passed in a haze, Brighit’s mind fixed on Seigine’s threats. The sight of Seigine riding side by side with her husband made her sick with nerves, which was no doubt his purpose. He hadn’t approached her again, but his presence alone set her on edge. She had begun to give up hope that he would ever leave when he and his men finally parted ways with the group, claiming they may have lost the trail of the murderer.
There’d been no opportunity to broach the subject with Darragh, which was just as well—she was stuck in an endless circle of thoughts with no answers. Each day left her feeling exhausting and hopeless. Despite Darragh’s sweet attempts to find some quiet time with her at night away from the others, she could barely find the strength to converse, and each night ended the same; with him turning his back to her and falling asleep.
“Ye’re deep in thought.”
Brighit jumped at Darragh’s voice. She was so wrapped up in thought she’d forgotten he’d decided to join her in the carriage this day, professing she must be lonely. Despite her adamant objections to the contrary, here he was.
“I did not mean to startle ye.” His slight smile seemed genuine.
She forced a smile in return. “Ye did not.”
Darragh nodded. He didn’t believe her. “Very well then. And what were ye so deep in thought about?”
“The strangeness of life.” Brighit regretted the words when he frowned. She was learning her husband was a deep thinker. Even with his men. He would ask questions and listen to their answers. If he questioned her further now, what could she say to avoid having to explain herself?
But he glanced away, his thick brows coming together. “It is that.”
The answer shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did—like when he’d mentioned he may never be king. “Did ye not tell me that kingship may not be yer destiny?”
He shrugged and turned back to her. “I thought ye should realize ye may never be the wife of a king. Would that displease ye?”
“It would not. Though ye men enjoy commenting on my father’s closeness to my mother, his kingship has cost them much. They have spent far too much time separated.”
“Apparently he has always been quite good at his sweet talk.”
“And what of yer father? He believes ye will be ri.”
He sighed, a loud sound in the small space. “My father has always had high hopes for himself and now he passes that on to me.”
“D'ye believe what Seigine said about his grandmother’s clan?”
She didn’t miss the flash of surprise that crossed his face before he answered. “Cathair was always the calmer of the two brothers.”
Brighit cringed at the memory of that man’s fists. If he had been the calmer one, they were all doomed.
“Though both lean toward violence. I am not convinced my father would care whether the two clans were joined or not.”
“It sounds as if the Dubhshláine are trying to coerce them into joining.” The words felt insincere coming from her own lips, but she forced them. Their lives might depend on it.
His lips tipped up on one side. “Coerce? Is this how ye understood what he told us?”
She squeezed her jaw shut.
He saw through her feigned interest. “It sounded as if they may have had a hand in the attack on the women,” she pressed.
“To what purpose?”
Brighit cringed at how quickly he saw through her attempt to make them appear the victim. Something warned her to choose her words carefully. “If the MacCochlain has the better land and the river, is it unheard of for another clan to wish to subdue them?”
“Subdue? Possibly, but I believe Cathair had worked out a peaceful plan.” His eyes remained steady on her. “Why the interest?”
Brighit’s fumbled lies had roused his suspicions, but she had no recourse other than to continue lying. “My father has always encouraged my interests. He taught me battle strategy, but he also taught me about negotiations. I was only trying to help. Clans getting along well is of the utmost importance.”
The air stilled in her lungs. She had spoken the truth about her father and avoided the truth about her line of questioning.
“Tell me how it feels to be able to do whatever ye want to do.” His voice sounded almost wistful.
“I…I do not…” With a start, Brighit realized she had lived most of her life just as she pleased. Whenever she asked her father about battle, he taught her what she needed to know. Whenever she asked him about clan politics, he shared his experience. Because as a woman there was no need for her to know these things, it wasn’t surprising that Darragh believed she always got to do whatever she wanted. “There are things I must do that I would prefer not to.”
“Prefer not to?” He nodded, an odd expression on his face. “Such as?”
“Working beside the other women, listening to their endless complaints about this or that—”
“Wedding me?”
He had the same stoic expression on his face that he oft wore while standing at his father’s side. “I would not say so.”
“No?”
He measured her words as if trying to figure her out. She knew what he was thinking. His every attempt to rekindle her passion had only increased her trepidation. “I wish ye to be happy. I do not appear to do that.”
“Ye have been very…patient and I appreciate that.”
“And yet ye share things with others that ye do not choose to share with me.”
When she opened her mouth to defend herself, he raised his hand and said, “I know. There was nothing.”
He sighed, a sad sound, but his expression softened. “Would ye prefer to ride?”
An eager light shining in his eyes at the suggestion was not well hidden. Did he truly prefer for her to ride with them? With him? And not be tucked away and out of sight?
Brighit ignored her own desire to gallop through the clean air, free and unencumbered. What she preferred mattered very little in the big scheme of things. Having murdered a man in cold blood and then returned home in time to attend her nuptials in the morning, she was having a hard time figuring out who she was—never mind what she wanted. The things she’d once cared greatly about struck her as unimportant now. And now she would do whatever she needed to do to keep her sin a secret. How far she had fallen from the warrior her father taught her to be…
“I’m fine in here.”
Mayhap it was the clipped way she spoke, or the way she’d turned from him, but the rest of the morning was spent in silence.
Darragh would admit to being greatly perplexed by this behavior from Brighit. She was not an overly talkative woman, not like some he had met, and that pleased him. But she was usually willing to have a discourse. A lively one. Not anymore. No matter how many times he tried to engage her, she shut him down. And he couldn’t figure out why.
It eased his angst some when he noticed her doing the same with the other men in the party. They were his own men, previously unknown to her, but they attempted to be cordial to her. All of their overtures had been met with single word answers, and they’d learned to keep their distance. Terrence stayed nearer to her than the rest, but Darragh never witnessed her speaking with him either. Could Darragh have misunderstood what he’d witnessed? No, Terrence had told him he was missing something so why did the man keep refusing to tell him what he knew?
She’d always seemed so sure of herself, so eager for an adventure—and certainly traveling south would be considered as such. He’d hoped some time on the road would excite her. Instead, she remained aloof and uncommunicative.
With his days filled with preparations for his upcoming meetings, they passed by quickly. While his nights seemed to grown even longer.
This night, as with every other night, he set them up near the fire. He again tried to share with her the mead intended for them as a newly married couple while the rest of his men made themselves scarce. She remained aloof, her disdain clearly directed at him, and it was killing him.
“There’s a skin for every night, Brighit. Ye’re leaving me to drink our mead alone and even after ye’d expressed yer desire to keep to the tradition. It does not bode well for us or our children.”
Brighit barely nodded, so deep in thought with her eyes on the firelight. It was the first clear night they’d had on the road and the warmth was definitely appreciated. The impending rains had shifted north.
“Can ye not even rouse yerself enough to speak with me?” Anger was nipping at him.
She shrugged, her knees tucked up close to her body. “I have nothing to say.”
Darragh watched her as she stared at the sparks flying heavenward. He wanted her the way she used to be, always ready to argue with him. Feisty. The firelight cast her in a soft, seductive glow. He sought to woo her. The more he partook of the mead, the more he wanted her. He held her small hand ever so lightly, testing her boundaries, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. When she didn’t pull away, he caressed the silky locks that fell down her back, holding them close to smell her scent.
“Mmm, lovely.” He opened his eyes to find her looking at him.
“What?”
He smiled, tracing a finger along her jaw. Such soft skin. “Ye look lovely sitting there.”
“I do not feel lovely.” Brighit turned back to the fire.
Sitting close, he kept his voice low. “And that may indeed be our problem.”
“Our problem?”
Though her response may have put him off at another time, Darragh did not feel compelled to back off right now. He had done his best to get her to share with him whatever Terrence refused to disclose, but if she continued to say there was nothing then this needed to stop. They needed to move beyond it. Whatever their situation, he believed they could work things out if she but tried. He’d seen her spark of passion, and he’d felt her surrender to it. He wanted that again.
“A husband can usually expect to bed his wife more than once.”
“Oh.” She faced the fire again, shaking her head as if that was of little importance.
A fist to his gut. He exhaled slowly, his patience at an end. “Or did ye believe ye needed only submit to me once?”
Brighit’s eyes flashed at him. “Submit?” Ah, the tone he recognized so well. This was the Brighit he’d longed to see these last days.
“That is indeed the word I used. If ye’ll not come willingly to my bed, there are other ways to have ye.”
“Other ways? To have me? And what is it ye’re thinking exactly?”
That gently flaring nose. Excitement raced to his groin and he stuck with the same belligerent tone. “I will wait no longer.”
“Wait? For what?”
“I want ye. Yer my wife and I’ll have ye. I will no longer be put off.”
“Put off? Who has put ye off?”
“Ye have. Now take off yer gown. Or I will be happy to take it off for ye.”
“Ye’ll do no such thing.”
“Do not tempt me.” Though his words were merely a ploy intended to kindle some spark in her—and it was working beautifully—his body didn’t seem to understand the difference. His need was painful. When he slid his hand under her gown to work her way up his leg, h
e was nearly undone by her dampness.
“Ach, why would ye hold yerself back from me, lass?” He searched her lovely face, her eyes closing slightly as he stroked her. Leaning into her because he hadn’t the strength to watch her obvious desire for him when he was so damn in need of her, he said, “If ye want me, why aren’t ye with me? Why d’ye keep me away, mo mhíle stór?” His voice was hoarse and low, feverish with desire.
He rubbed against her with his thumb, and she moaned. “I cannot. I…cannot.”
“We are wed. We may enjoy each other. Let me have ye?”
He dipped his head down, kissing her alluring neck. His fingers moved inside her with a steady rhythm, while he thought of the pleasure he’d have were it another part of him inside her.
“What are ye—” She sounded torn between decency and desire.
“Hush.” He took her mouth, pulling her closer with a hand at the back of her head. “Mmm, just as I remember.”
As always, she was lost in his kisses, giving of herself with abandon. When she flattened her chest against him, he knew they must either stop immediately or finish this. More than anything, he wanted her willingness.
“Let me love ye.” He nibbled her ear, urging her back onto the brait he’d spread out under them. “I’m in desperate need of ye.”
Her groans set him on fire and he pushed her shoulders back until she lay before him. The dampness on his hand encouraged him. One-handed, he loosened the ties at her bosom, using his teeth when necessary, and paused to suckle each gorgeous pink nipple before loosening it further, leaving behind a trail of kisses.
Dropping a kiss to her belly, he sucked on her there as well, while his hands worked at pulling up her skirt. He kissed a bare hip, keeping his eyes on her, and worked his way lower. He knew the exact moment she opened her eyes.
“What are ye about?”
“This is having my sweet.” He ran the tip of his tongue along her wetness. “And ye are very sweet.”
Her breathing remained stilted, as if trying to reason out the sensation with the act. Clearly she enjoyed his attention, and he certainly enjoyed giving her this attention. When he reached out to take her hand, he nuzzled more deeply into her and groaned his pleasure. Relief filled him when her eyes drifted closed in pleasure.
