by Ashley York
“Is Francis about?”
“’Tis still daylight. Ye know he is practicing with his men.” Devin glanced at his friend as if astonished. “What say ye, Liam? Is the young Darragh losing his mind so soon?”
Her husband rolled his eyes. “Gentlemen, if ye could but show us to a quiet place, I wish to sort out the problems ye’ve started for me.”
They both laughed. Devin called over a stable boy to see to their horse while Liam led the way within the new part of the castle, leading them up the stairs that followed along the length of the great hall to, he informed them, the recently added second floor. The new building was attached to the only part of the castle that remained intact.
Liam was at least a foot taller than Darragh and his body was huge. His leine was adorned with wolf skins, the head still attached on one as if the massive beast were sitting on his shoulder.
“This is where Francis’s dearest guests reside and where I presume he would also like ye to stay with yer lovely wife.”
Winking, the man closed the door behind him.
“What is amiss here?” Brighit felt totally confused by this attention. “What are they calling me…that name for? Who are these people to ye?”
Darragh put a hand to his mouth in a useless attempt at covering his laugh. Brighit swung her arms around, beside herself, and said, “I need an explanation, Darragh.”
“Come. Sit with me.” He settled on the edge of a bed very much like his own at home. Brighit sat beside him, an arm’s length away. He seemed surprised at her irritation, but she was in no mood to explain what should be very plain in her opinion.
Darragh heaved a great sigh. “I visited often when I was young. My father would leave me with Francis so I could study my letters. When I came here as a lad, I would talk about ye. I admit it. Especially when we traveled here right from yer túath.”
“And ye called me a ‘she-warrior’?”
“No.” Once again, he could barely contain his laugh, but at least he had the decency to desist when he caught her cold stare. “They were the ones who came up with the name. No harm or insult was intended.”
Inside, Brighit fumed. Her eyebrows felt like they were touching her hairline in her irritation. “I can see the harm. ’Tis an insulting term.”
“Never. They had great respect for ye and Aednat. Sean is a man who demands respect, make no doubt about that. Those men would never insult anyone he cares for and everyone knows how much he cares for both of ye.”
The memories of training with the older Aednat caused a tug in her heart. She had been so proud of their accomplishments. When Aednat shifted her focus from warfare to healing, she had nonetheless continued to encourage Brighit. She wished she could talk to her cousin now, find out how she should handle this terrible predicament.
“Forgiveness?” Darragh’s hand covered her own.
“I suppose.” Brighit could not remain angry when it was more a childish prank than an intended insult. “They seem to care greatly for ye.”
He smiled. “They are as close as brothers to me. Terrence is their younger brother.”
It was easy to imagine Terrence here, and those men certainly did put her in mind of him, but the mere thought of Darragh’s friend filled her with guilt. What a situation she’d put him in. Terrence always kept a discreet distance from Darragh now. There had been no time to convince him of her husband’s innocence regarding her bruises.
“I think I will lie down if ye have no need of me immediately.”
Darragh pulled back the dark green blanket covering over the bed. “I would prefer ye rest now. I will see if Francis is about and return shortly to see ye to the feast they will no doubt host for our arrival.”
After she lay down, he covered her with the blanket and then kissed her tenderly on the mouth. “Sleep well, a ghráidh.”
The large, cold hand on her cheek startled her awake. Darkness surrounded her, though the heavy coverings managed to keep her toasty warm.
“Brighit?” A light came up behind Darragh, casting a strange glow over his face. “Are ye not well?”
An older man had followed Darragh into the room with a candle, which he set in the iron holder along the wall before exiting the room and closing the door behind him.
Her body ached, but she forced herself to deny it. “I am over tired. Please help me to wash and dress. Has someone brought up our belongings?”
“Here is everything.” Darragh put down their sack and began pouring water from the pitcher into the bowl. “I came in twice to check on ye, but ye slept so heavy I did not wish to wake ye. Are ye certain ye are up to joining the others?”
“The others?” She splashed the water on her face, dipping the cloth along her throat and neck. When he lifted her heavy hair to aid her, she was caught by the passion in his gaze and her breath quickened.
“They are below and wish to meet ye.”
Standing now, she gave him her back so that he could help her unlace her gown. His tantalizingly gentle touch soothed her, and when his lips touched the sensitive area of her neck, she leaned against him ready for more.
“D’ye mind if they wait a bit longer?” Brighit slipped the gown down her arms and pushed it to the floor.
Darragh’s quiet gasp was followed by his hands tenderly exploring her breasts. “If ye do not mind.”
Excitement ignited low in her belly. “Then ye shall see to me properly? A feather bed once again beneath us?”
Pressing her back onto the mattress, he covered her, his kisses dropping along her warmed flesh like dew on a rose’s petal. “Mmm, I am entranced by the sight of ye in candlelight. Yer body calls to me.”
Brighit was overwhelmed by this sensual attack and submitted to his touch for her own pleasure. A short while later, she lay alongside his body, both of them still damp from their exertions.
“I do not believe I am ready to share ye with others.”
Brighit laughed. “I fear ‘twill be ye who becomes lost to me. I know no one here.”
“My men have arrived. Ye know them.”
She gave him a withering look.
“These warriors are friends to ye, like family, but I do not know them. They may not be as cordial as ye and my father are.”
Darragh beamed. “Ye place me in the same standing as yer father?”
Her eyes widened. “Certainly. Why would I not? Ye are as brave and honorable.”
With a start, Brighit realized he’d believed—still—that she thought less of him. “I am well pleased with ye as my husband, Darragh.”
Moving over her, he scooped her into his arms to hold her close and kissed her passionately, sparking little flames that had just begun to cool. She groaned while he continued his assault of her mouth, his hands moving along her curves in a worshipful manner. When he broke the kiss, he was breathing heavy.
“Ye have made me most happy with yer declaration.” He rubbed her nose along hers.
“I should have said so sooner.”
“Ye have said so now.” Darragh looked down into her face. “Are ye ready to join the others?”
“But…” Brighit hated to claim he hadn’t finished what he’d started when he had so thoroughly loved her not fifteen minutes earlier. It seemed such a wanton thing to do. “Will ye finish this later?”
Her whining voice was met with a loud laugh. “Try to stop me.”
“Then I will do as ye ask.”
He helped her to wash and dress, seeing to her hair himself, which nearly forestalled their joining the others for a second time. A knock at the door reminded them others awaited them.
“We will be down anon.” Darragh called to the faceless voice at the door. “Reidh?”
“I am.”
When they ascended the stairs, the group that had been waiting in the great hall crowded into the entrance to witness their arrival. Spontaneous applaud broke out. When Brighit moved to nibble at her finger, Darragh took her hand away and kissed it. “No need to be nervous. I am with
ye.”
Pausing a few steps from the bottom, he lifted their joined hands for all to see. “May I introduce to ye my bride, Brighit, formerly of Clan Cruadhlaoch, now of Clan MacNaughton.”
A lovely woman with black hair and wise brown eyes stepped ahead of the rest to embrace her warmly. “My sweet girl, ye are more lovely than I had imagined even with all yer husband’s going on about ye.”
Darragh glanced away when she looked at him. “My thanks,” she said.
“I am Moira of Clan Meachair, my husband is Francis.” She turned about, a concerned expression knitting her brow. “Francis?”
A formidable-looking man with a thick head of black and white curls stepped up. “Here, dear lady.”
“Oh, Francis. Come see our Darragh’s bride. Isn’t she lovely?”
Francis bowed low over her hand. “An honor to finally meet ye. Ye have quite stolen our Darragh’s heart.”
Again Darragh would not meet her gaze. Instead, he looked to their hosts and said, “Well, we have made ye wait long enough. Let us enjoy the feast ye have so thoughtfully prepared for us.”
“A time for celebration, dear Darragh.” Moira led the way, her shoulders back and her head held high.
Darragh was given the seat of honor beside Francis and Brighit between him and Moira. The older woman clasped her hand. “I am so happy ye’ve come. This is indeed a day for celebration.”
“Ye’re very kind.”
Moira motioned for the servants waiting to the side of the hall, their arms laden with heavy trays of foods of every sort, to begin serving. A young lass came forward with a silver pitcher, bowing slightly to those seated at the table, and offered the wine first to Francis and Moira, and then to Darragh and Brighit. She filled their bejeweled goblets with a bright red liquid. Darragh sipped at it.
“Ah, my friend from Calais has come by here.”
“He was here spring last.” Francis took an appreciative sip. “We had expected ye as well.”
There was censure in his tone, but Darragh replied, “I was seeing to my father.”
Brighit wondered if Francis was referring to the first time their wedding had been postponed.
“Yer first duty. Of course we understand.” Moira said, but her glance toward her husband showed her own disapproval, either for mentioning the matter at all or for not voicing his understanding, Brighit couldn’t be certain which.
“So tell me of yer mother, Brighit. How fares she?”
“Ye know my mother?”
“Of course, she is from Alba, as am I.”
There had never been any mention of Clan Meachair in her hearing, but Brighit realized there may have been much that she didn’t give the proper amount of attention to growing up. She answered as best she could. Darragh spoke with Terrence’s brothers when they joined them at the table. There was no sign of Terrence himself, though she saw a few of the other men from their group. She would need to remember to ask Darragh about him later.
The fire was stoked up as the food was removed and the entertainment began. A large gathering. Brighit wondered if this were normal or if outlying clans had received word of Darragh’s presence.
“Now that we have dispensed with the pleasantries, tell me why ye’ve come.” Francis leaned forward to speak to Darragh.
“If ye will excuse me, I need to see where my daughters have gotten to,” Moira said. “Would ye care to join me, Brighit?”
The polite answer would be yes, but she needed to hear for herself the message being conveyed regarding the murder of Cathair. Darragh, mayhap sensing her reluctance, took her hand. “I wish my wife to remain at my side, Moira. Certainly ye understand?”
Moira dipped her head and retreated through the hall where the jugglers and musicians were keeping the crowds entertained.
“We need to call a meeting of nobles. There’s been a murder.”
“Who has been killed?”
“Cathair of Clan MacCochlain.”
Francis looked as if he’d been struck. “Cathair? The lad fostered with me. I heard of no battle.”
“He did not die in battle. He was murdered and his brother hunts down the killer even as we speak.”
Brighit felt her whole body start to tremble. Darragh turned his gaze to her, planted a kiss on her cheek and whispered, “Would ye prefer to go with Moira? I should have asked.”
She shook her head, unable to form words.
“Are ye certain ’tis not too much for ye to hear such talk? It would not be untoward.”
Francis glanced at her as if he knew what they discussed and said, “I would not believe the she-warrior would want to miss the goings on.”
His smile and tone indicated he was but teasing her, so she smiled back. A stiff smile because her stomach was clenched into a ball as tight as when Cathair’s fist had pummeled her. Everything she’d eaten threatened to come back up her throat.
Nodding to Darragh, she said, “I will stay.”
Darragh kissed her forehead lightly then turned his attention back to Francis. “He has the weapon, or so he says.”
“Ye question his truthfulness?” Francis did not seem surprised.
“He claims he follows the trail of the murderers.” Darragh shrugged. "For all we know, he may have even caught them.”
“How many men?”
Tipping his head, Darragh offered a look of disbelief. “Seigine claims it was only one man who murdered his brother.”
Brighit forced down the bile flooding her mouth.
“And Seigine has become king?”
The man’s tone implied a meaning beyond the words he used. Darragh’s eyes narrowed on his friend and Brighit’s stomach gurgled.
“Is there a reason they should have chosen another?” Darragh asked.
“My experience with both of these men—lads—was that they do not agree on much. Both fostered with me, but I could not keep Seigine here long. He fought with my sons as well.”
“Terrence didn’t mention anything about knowing Seigine.”
“Terrence was staying with his uncle in Alba. I do not remember the two ever meeting.”
When the food began working its way up her throat, Brighit stood suddenly. “I am going to be sick.”
Darragh jumped to his feet and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, taking them away from the large hall and out the side door, where she promptly emptied her stomach. She collapsed against him, her breath heaving. He brought them to a small bench set beneath a tall tree.
“Aw dear Brighit. Has the talk of murders been too much for ye? I believe ’tis too much for me most days.”
Brighit hated her weakness and her tears, but she would not allow her husband to think such talk was too much for her. What weighed on her was far more serious. She was being forced to encourage her husband to support the kingship of a man who had fought with everyone. How terrible for his neighboring clans. How terrible for everyone. And yet if she did not…
“I believe the soup may not have set well with me.”
He pulled her close, smoothing her hair as he stroked her like a child. “Ye have handled yerself well in all situations.”
The pride in his voice forced the tears to the surface and she buried her face against his shoulder.
“Do not feel ashamed, a ghráidh.”
“Ye call me darling only because ye do not know how I really am.”
His body stiffened. “What d'ye refer to?” He hooked a finger beneath her chin to raise it up so they were eye to eye. “I know ye believe ye must be as strong as a man, but I do not agree.”
“If that is what I believe, then I have fallen far short,” she said.
The words burned her throat and she hid her face again. Darragh shifted slightly and halted his soothing caresses, clearly discomfited by what she was saying. Soon enough he would be confronted with her misdeeds and then he would be encouraged to set her aside.
“A ghráidh,” he continued to soothe her, “ye have never fallen short in my eyes. Yer spir
it is what intrigues me the most. I was not able to share that with my own family. They are more…traditional. But here? They knew quite well what I truly thought of ye. While I heard my father speak of the need to set away childish things, I found myself wanting to spar with ye, to test yer mettle.”
Brighit cringed inside. He thought so highly of her, and yet she had agreed to extol the virtues of a man who had none. She no longer believed she could speak in Seigine’s favor, even if Darragh had to pay the price for what she had done. To lie in such a way would only dishonor her husband.
“Here I can be myself and not the warrior son my father wants me to be,” Darragh said, smiling at her. “Here I studied the law, learning to become a brithem myself. I may even be called upon for advice when the murderer is found.”
Aghast, she pulled back to stare at him and covered her mouth.
“Does that displease ye? I shared with ye that I may never be king.”
She shook her head. How terrible it would be for him to be the one to decide her fate and his own.
“Then why would ye be upset?”
Closing her eyes, she swallowed down her fears. These were the words of a man who cared for her, and she didn’t want to destroy that with the truth. Not yet. Unless she was going to tell him here and now what had happened, something she was not yet ready to do, she needed to reassure him.
“I am overwrought by everything. Forgiveness please.”
“If ye are overwrought, then we will go to our room.” He nuzzled her hair. “I believe we have some unfinished things to see to.”
Hopeless, she merely nodded. No longer able to fight against the inevitable. She would be exposed as a murderer because the price for Seigine’s silence was too high.
“I would like that.”
Chapter 21
The decision was made that Francis would accompany Darragh and his men back to Drogheda following the shorter coastal route. A long enough ride, but there was a sense of urgency that Brighit could not quite understand. When she awoke to an empty bed, she assumed Darragh had gone to break his fast. Instead, she found him in the entry hall. Pacing. His broad smile and gentle kiss set aside any worries that his dark mood was her doing.
