Ryland kissed the back of her head, marveling at the softness of her ebony tresses. But though his body was spent, his mind was wide awake, marveling over this extraordinary turn of events.
Everything was going to work out now. He was sure of it.
By a few slips of her tongue, Gray had given herself away. And the confirmation that the beautiful, enchanting, spirited outlaw that he’d fallen in love with was in truth his bride Temair could not have pleased him more.
Even better, though she didn’t know it, their salvation was on the way.
On the day his men had left the camp to collect the ransom, Ryland had given Warin a secret message.
To the woodkerns’ ears, it would have sounded innocent. He’d simply asked Warin to bring his brother’s sword.
What the outlaws didn’t know was that his brother’s sword was in his brother’s hand—in faraway England. In Ryland’s absence, his brother Adam had taken charge of Ryland’s remaining knights—three dozen well-armed and well-trained soldiers. What Ryland had conveyed to Warin was that, rather than going to collect the ransom, they should return to England to summon the rest of his fighting forces.
He didn’t expect there would be cause for battle. But he’d reasoned that if he was going to live in this country, he couldn’t let common criminals believe they could abduct people and hold them hostage whenever they liked. A show of force in the form of a great company of magnificent knights marching through Ireland in full battle armor would rein in their unlawful habits.
Of course, now he understood that the woodkerns were a force for good. They were the sole champions for those victimized by the villainous chieftain.
Now he knew about the evil scheme Cormac had concocted to fool the king and fleece his clann.
Now he realized the depths of Temair’s suffering.
He meant to right those wrongs. And it seemed to him that a retinue of powerful English knights under his command might be the way to do that.
His only worry was—when it came time for Ryland to gather his knights and march on the tower—whether his bride-to-be would view them as a rescue force or an invading army.
He should explain everything to her before his men arrived.
He should tell her that he knew now who she was.
He should reveal his plans to overthrow Cormac O’Keeffe, to ensure prosperity for the clann and clemency for the woodkerns.
He should confess that he would be honored to be her husband.
And then he should ask her formally to marry him.
But before he could open his mouth to tell her all that, she began snoring—the long, loud, sawing snores of a woman at peace and well-satisfied.
He grinned. He supposed he’d have to learn to sleep through all that racket if they were to be man and wife. In any case, he supposed his news could wait till morning.
Chapter 25
“Gray!”
Temair awoke with a jolt, sitting straight up.
It was morning. She rattled her head, trying to clear the fog of sleep.
She was naked. Why was she naked?
“Gray! Quick!” It was Lady Mor’s voice, just outside the cave entrance.
“Be right there!” she croaked back.
Beside her on the pallet, Ryland scrubbed at his eyes as he awakened.
It took a moment before she remembered what had happened. It took another moment for her to blush and cover her breasts.
“Hurry!” Lady Mor implored.
Now Ryland was alert. He scrambled to his feet in all his naked glory, donned his braies, and then began shoving his legs into his chausses.
Lady Mor sounded fretful. Temair supposed she ought to see what was wrong. But she’d much rather stay here and watch Ryland get dressed. Or get him undressed again.
“Are you coming?” Ryland asked, tying up his chausses.
“I suppose,” she said on a sigh. “’Tis likely some silly quibble over whose turn ’tis to gather kindlin’ or who took the last oatcake. And I’d much rather—”
“Gray!” Lady Mor cried.
He gave her a wink. “She sounds serious.”
Against her better judgment, Temair quickly dressed in her armor to see what Lady Mor wanted.
The moment she swept the vines aside and stepped into the late morning sun, Lady Mor seized her forearm and confided, “There’s an army on the road, Gray.”
She blinked. “What?”
“There’s a bloody army on the road,” she hissed. “Fergus spotted them first. They’re just waitin’ there at the clearin’. The lads are watchin’ from the trees.”
“An army?” Temair murmured. “What kind of army?”
“English.”
At that moment, Ryland emerged from the vines, and they silenced.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
Lady Mor gave him a summary glance. It was clear she didn’t approve of what she knew they’d been doing in the cave. But there were more important things at stake.
“Everythin’s fine,” Temair said. She wasn’t sure what Lady Mor’s news meant. But she didn’t think the fact that outlaws were holding one of their noblemen captive would sit well with an English army. “Lady Mor wants me to help her…get a rabbit out of a snare.”
“Aye, hurry,” Lady Mor added. “’Twould be a shame if it escaped.”
Temair hated to lie to him, especially after their intimacy last night. But it was for the best.
“Do me a favor,” she bade him, already grabbing Lady Mor’s arm and leading her forward. “Watch o’er the hounds while I’m gone?”
He glanced down at Bran and Flann, who were chained to the tree beside the cave, standing at attention. “Of course.” He called after her, “Or I could help with the snare.”
“Nay!” she yelled. “We’ll be back in a bit.”
Ryland watched them set off through the forest. Temair had taken her bata. He’d overheard what Lady Mor had said. English soldiers had been spotted on the road.
His men were here.
He couldn’t risk an encounter between the knights of de Ware and the woodkerns. He’d never forgive himself if violence broke out and anyone on either side was injured.
But he’d sworn he wouldn’t leave the camp without her permission.
He eyed Bran and Flann. Temair had asked him to look after them. If they happened to get loose…
A moment later, the dogs were leading Ryland through the woods, stealthily following the scent of their mistress. He strained to keep up with the hounds, clambering over mossy rocks, slogging through the leaves, snapping off branches in his haste.
Could he arrive in time to defuse the situation?
The woodkerns would probably assume an army of English knights meant an invasion by the enemy. They would do everything they could to defend their precious land.
And while his knights would never commit the first act of aggression, they wouldn’t hesitate to reply with full force if they were threatened.
Ryland couldn’t help but dread that he’d made a grievous error in inviting his company here. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for starting a war.
His heart was pounding and his chest heaving with exertion when he crossed the log bridge at last. As he entered the daisy-studded clearing where his knights had first encountered the woodkerns, he finally glimpsed Temair through the trees, very near to the road. She’d donned her hood and pulled up her scarf to hide her face.
Before he could call out to her, he saw her leap out onto the road.
From the road, he heard his brother Adam cry, “Outlaw!”
Then he heard the unsheathing of three dozen swords.
Ryland’s heart knifed sideways.
“Nay!” he bellowed back. But no one answered.
Bran and Flann, sensing their mistress was in danger, broke away and tore across the clearing like demons toward her.
“Nay!” Ryland cried again, bolting after them in desperation.
I
t was too late. The dogs had already darted out into the road.
Wolfhounds were strong enough to pull a knight from his saddle and tear him to pieces. It was what they were trained to do. If the woodkerns gave the command…
“Nay!” he heard Temair scream—a panicked scream that chilled his blood and made his heart jab his ribs. “Please! They won’t hurt ye! I swear!”
Ryland charged forward, finally emerging from the trees. He burst onto the road just as his brother raised his sword to attack the hounds snarling at his horse’s flank.
“Adam!” Ryland bellowed.
Startled, Adam stopped his blade. “Ryland?”
“Don’t hurt them,” he panted. “They’re only protecting her.” Then he snapped his fingers. “Flann! Bran! Here!”
The dogs gave one last chuff of aggression and came to him, sitting obediently on either side of him.
Then he turned to look at Temair.
She’d pulled down her scarf and was staring at him in dread. “Ye know these men?”
Before he could answer, Laurence reined in front of Adam. “He should,” he sneered. “They’re his own.”
“Remember us, lass?” said Osgood, gesturing to his brother Godwin.
Warin smugly added, “Never try to get the best of a de Ware.”
The woodkerns made their appearance then, materializing as if by magic from the trees, their bows drawn. Ryland gulped. If he’d arrived a split-second later, he was certain Adam would have gotten Cambeal’s arrow through his heart. The knights froze, realizing they might no longer have the upper hand.
Ryland raised his hands in a gesture of calm. “Everyone, please. Put away your weapons. There’s no need for fighting.”
The woodkerns had no interest in obeying him. They were under Temair’s command. And as long as the outlaws had loaded bows, his knights weren’t going to put up their swords.
He looked at Temair for help. But she was studying him now with a horrified fascination.
“Ye never sent them for the ransom,” she realized. “Ye sent them for reinforcements.”
“I can explain,” he said.
“Who is this woman?” his brother demanded.
“Ye betrayed me.” She said the words under her breath, but they sounded as loud as a cannon to Ryland’s ears, and they hit his heart with the same damaging impact. “I trusted ye and—”
“Who is this woman?” Adam repeated.
“This woman is my bride,” Ryland declared, “Temair O’Keeffe.”
Temair felt as if the world careened out from under her feet. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Then she gasped—a long, rough, rasping breath of shock—and dropped her bata.
“How…” Her chest caved in, and she staggered back from him. “When…”
“Last night,” he said. “I’m sorry, Temair. I meant to tell you, but…”
But he’d been too busy trysting with her.
One of his men called out, “You’re betrothed to an outlaw, m’lord?”
Another said, “She’s a pretty outlaw, I’ll grant you that.”
His fellows chuckled.
“Quiet!” Ryland barked.
Temair’s brain churned as she remembered everything Ryland had ever said, wondering how much of it was untrue. Maybe all of it. And maybe the only reason he’d made love to her last night was to secure his marriage rights.
She felt her heart crack.
And then she felt dread creep over her like a black shadow.
Would Ryland drag her back to her father?
Her breath quickened with panic. Orlaith had promised her—the woodkerns had promised her—she’d always have a home with them. She couldn’t go back to the tower house. She couldn’t be subject to her father’s abuse again.
She wouldn’t.
Before anyone could stop her, she snatched up her bata, wheeled, and fled—back through the forest to the only home she knew.
“Temair!” Ryland cried.
She refused to answer. She didn’t want to see him again. Ever.
Her throat clogged with grief, and tears streamed down her face as she crashed through the trees.
She told herself they were tears of fury and frustration.
The heavy ache in her chest said otherwise.
She was heartbroken.
“Shite!” Ryland spat, seizing the collars of the hounds, who wanted to run after her.
He hadn’t wanted Temair to find out like this. He’d wanted to break the happy news to her while she lay close to his heart, cradled in his arms.
“Go after her, m’lord,” Warin urged him, narrowing his eyes at the woodkerns. “They dare not shoot us while you’re in pursuit of their leader.”
Ryland shook his head. Warin might be his best man, but he was more a man of quick impulse than measured judgment.
His brother Adam scoffed. “Their leader?”
Ryland sighed. What Adam knew about Ireland would fit in a thimble. There was much for him to learn.
“That’s right,” Ryland announced proudly. “And aye, she is my bride. So I’ll thank all of you to watch your tongues.”
Warin drew back as if he’d struck him.
“Now. Will ye not lower your weapons?” Ryland asked the woodkerns. “I can explain.”
But they refused to stand down. He supposed they were right not to trust him. After all, in their eyes, he’d betrayed their mistress.
“Ye can explain while we have our bows drawn,” Maelan replied with a scowl.
Ryland’s men were sorely vexed—all but Warin, who looked as anxious as a priest in a brothel. Old Sorcha had him in her sights, and her bow kept wavering as her strength waned.
He’d have to make it fast.
First he addressed the woodkerns. “I meant to speak to her last night.”
“But ye were too busy ‘polishin’ your dagger,’ isn’t that right?” Ronan sneered, still staring at his target, Osgood.
Ryland bit the inside of his cheek.
“If she’s his bride,” Adam sneered back at Ronan, “then he’s entitled to ‘polish his dagger’ any time he wants. I don’t see the problem with that.”
Ronan’s black beard quivered. “I’ll tell ye the problem. She doesn’t want to be wed to a kiss-arse o’ Lackland.”
His men took offense at that, and Ryland held up an arm to silence them.
The noble Cambeal, his arrow still trained on Adam, asked Ryland, “How long have ye known who she was?”
“Only since last night,” he replied.
“And what do ye intend to do?” Cambeal pressed.
“What I came to do—marry her.”
His men grumbled about that. So did the woodkerns.
Old Sorcha addressed him. “Listen to me well, m’lord. When Temair came here six years ago, she was broken and battered. I think ye know why. We took her in. And we made her a vow. We promised she’d always have a home here.”
Menacing Domnall had his bolt aimed at Laurence. “That vow may not be the oath of a proper knight,” he snarled, “but ’tis worthy, all the same.”
Young Fergus jutted out his stubborn chin as he held his bow steady. “She’s under our protection. Ye can’t have her. She’s ours.”
Ryland knew Temair had run away the night her sister died. He could guess her father had mistreated her. But he didn’t realize the woodkerns feared her husband might do the same.
“I would never hurt Temair,” he told them. “You can be assured of that.”
“And why should we believe ye?” blond Niall asked. “Ye lied to us about the ransom.”
Ryland swallowed guiltily. “I did. But that was before I knew who she was, before I knew you were much more than just a band of common outlaws.”
“And now?” Friar Brian arched a brow. “Why should we trust ye now?”
Ryland raised his head. “Because I love her.” It was cathartic to say it aloud. “I love Temair.”
“An outlaw?” Warin couldn’t resist blurting out.
“That’s right,” Ryland said, “and I couldn’t be more proud.”
Then he decided he was done defending himself. These were his men, after all. They answered to him.
“Enough talk. I need to find Temair. Adam. Cambeal. You’re in charge. Make peace. When you’ve done that…Friar, will you lead them all to the camp?”
Friar Brian nodded.
“Where are you going, m’lord?” Warin asked.
“I’m going to prove my worth to my bride.”
With that, Ryland let go of the hounds’ collars and loped after them as they followed Temair’s scent.
Chapter 26
When Bran and Flann came nosing in to the cave through the vines, Temair figured they’d gotten loose and run after her through the woods. So, sitting against the cave wall with her knees drawn up to her chest and her head buried, she paid no special heed to the hounds when they began licking at her hands.
But the next intruder made her spring to her feet and grab her bata.
“Get out!” she shouted, brandishing her weapon before her.
Ryland held up his hands. “I just want to talk.”
“I don’t want to listen.” She flipped the bata around and swung at him.
He blocked it with his forearm, grimacing as it struck bone. “I’m sorry, Temair. I meant to tell you last night.”
“Was that before or after ye took my maidenhood?” she bit out. Then she jabbed the bata forward, catching him in the chest and making him stagger back a step. “What could ye possibly have to tell me?”
She hit him in the thigh, hard enough to leave a bruise, sneering, “That ye knew who I was all along?”
He retreated with a grunt, clutching his thigh with one hand and holding up the other to try to calm her. “Nay.”
She advanced, clouting him on the opposite hip. “That ye plotted with my father to find me?”
“Nay.”
He was backed against the wall now. She shoved the hard knob of the bata under his chin, pressing at his vulnerable throat. Her words were laced with bitter betrayal. “That ye stole my maidenhood to ensure your claim to my land?”
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