by Trisha Telep
Devlin indicated the empty chair and from a flagon poured a pale yellow liquid into the two glasses.
“Sit.”
Branna nodded and gratefully took the seat. She sampled a few of the selections and gulped a swallow of the sweetened wine. It burned going down and she coughed. It wasn’t watered as she’d expected.
Once she caught her breath, she asked, “Your mother, what was she like?”
Devlin studied her a moment. She met his eyes without apology. “She was like sunshine lighting all the corners of the castle. We’d take long summer walks in the sweet fields and sometimes pick berries in the wood. Then she was gone.”
He shrugged his shoulders and she felt him take an emotional step back.
“I remember my father was bereft. Shortly after her death I was sent away, earlier than the other children had been. I was never certain if my father loved me or if I was too much a reminder of her. That is why I was surprised to learn of his new marriage.”
“Your mother sounds very much like my mother.” Branna swallowed hard over the sudden lump of sadness in her throat. “Since I was so young, my grandmama has told me stories of my mother and her childhood. I’d like to find the chalice before she passes on to the heavens.”
“I too have an uncle who took me in and gave me reason to go on,” Devlin said softly. “I doubt you remember anything of your father?”
“Nay. He died when I was only two years. My mother told me he was a good provider, but I don’t believe she was content.”
“My father, do you have memories of him?” Devlin’s tone was tentative, the question carefully asked. It touched a place in her heart.
Branna smiled and gripped his hand that lay on the table. She wanted to pull him into her arms, as he’d done for her, and soothe him.
“Many times he spoke to us of his son with great love and pride. He welcomed the day you would return. He wished for us to meet and have in this castle a great family.” A mixture of tenderness and longing hit Branna. “He was a good man. He used to call me ‘Little Raven’ for my dark hair.” She whispered, “He saved my life that night.”
Devlin abruptly pulled his hand away. He cleared his throat and rose. “Please excuse me while I change into dry clothing.”
She watched him stalk towards the wardrobe, not sure if he was upset at her or his father . . . or both.
Within the wardrobe, Devlin sank to the bench feeling the weight of his heritage. Bitter agony rose to his throat. He didn’t want to be Houndmaster. He liked being a knight and living at Hollylough, especially now that he knew his father had loved him. Yet this curse was part of him, who he was. He had no other choice.
Devlin removed his damp clothes and dressed in a fresh tunic and hose. His uncle Hugh, the current Houndmaster, believed it to be a great honour and had prepared him well over the years. Devlin’s true wish was to live out his years in relative peace at Hollylough.
Devlin came from behind the tapestry. In the far corner, Branna stood at the stone sill of an arched window. She reached to touch the crimson rabbit atop a board game drawn with a cross.
Devlin’s grip on her wrist stopped her.
“I . . . ah . . . I only wished to brush off the dirt. ’Tis evident no one has played in many years.”
“This was my father’s game. We played after evening meals. I’ve not played since his death.”
Branna caressed his hand still fastened upon her wrist.
“Forgive me, my lord. I meant no disrespect to Tiarna. I loved him as if he were my own father. Would you be willing to play in his memory?”
Devlin felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He hadn’t been able to play the game for nearly fifteen years, yet this slip of a woman offered him a reason to put it to rights.
Her fingers continued to caress up his arm, her touch sending ripples of sensation through his body. “I’ll teach you what I know of the game.”
Emotions warred through Devlin, his battle instincts stirring. He would not grow close to her. His destiny lay with the Hellhounds. Only he had not expected such comfort on his last night as a mortal man.
Lady Branna had given him a wondrous gift – the truth about his father. Devlin had spent too many years blaming himself for driving his father away. His uncle always at his side, insisting Devlin’s father could not bear to look upon the son who reminded him of the beloved wife who died bringing Devlin into the world. He would deal with his uncle soon.
He released her wrist and picked up the board. “Be cautious of what you ask, my lady. We shall play. But understand there is a cost for winning and losing. Let us sit by the fire.”
He set the board on the carpet and grabbed two pillows from the bed, tossing them next to the game. He waited until she’d taken position on the other pillow.
“Since you’re so taken with the hare, ’tis yours to play. I’ll play the fifteen hounds. Place your hare in the middle of the board. I’ll place my hounds along one side of the board, like so.” Devlin arranged his pieces in a line.
“The point of the game is for you to capture as many of my hounds as possible before they can surround the hare so it is trapped and cannot move. The hounds and hare can move to any empty space, including a diagonal move. The hare can jump over the hounds, capturing them. The hounds cannot jump. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Branna said. “Before we start, I wish to make a wager.”
Devlin raised his brows. “A wager? I am intrigued. What should we wager?”
“If I am victorious, you will help find the chalice.”
“You think I know under which rock it lies?” Devlin watched her toy with a wooden hound.
“You are master of Hollylough, every rock is of concern to you.” Branna laughed and then turned serious. “My aunt insists your family is evil.”
“Mayhap your aunt is right.”
“I do not believe you are evil nor was your father. I do believe there is much more to you than you say.”
An explosion of hunger and need fired inside him. She might be in more danger than she realized. “Is this your heart’s desire?”
“Aye.”
She hesitated and then asked, “What is your heart’s desire?”
Devlin felt himself pulled to reveal more than was wise. This little minx could easily set upon his heart with her quick mind and innocent words.
Devlin kept his face neutral and his words vague. “I imagine ’tis the same as yours, to right the wrong cast upon us.” Then he asked, “If you fail to win, what have you to lose?”
“I have not much to give.”
The beat of forbidden desire, strong, thick and unrelenting hammered within. She had more than she knew.
“If I win, I shall require a melody from your sweet lips.”
“A song?”
“Aye, a song of your choosing. You have a melodious voice and I wish to hear it. Do you accept?”
“Aye, I’ll accept those terms as a wager.”
Devlin remembered the soft caress of her hand and the taste of her tears. “It’s traditional to hallmark such a wager with a clasping of hands.”
Branna stretched her arm out to him. Devlin took her small hand in his, and squeezed lightly. When she would have pulled back, he held fast.
A primal force inside him demanded more. Giving in to the need, he pulled her to him, until she leaned into his arms, bracing her other hand on his chest.
Anticipation thickened the air in his lungs. He whispered, “I’m not a traditional man. I wish to mark our wager with a kiss.”
Devlin released her hand and cupped his palm around the nape of her neck, drawing her face to his. Slowly, lazily, never breaking eye contact, he lowered his mouth and captured her lips. He wasn’t prepared for the sweet taste of her, silky and warm. Instead of pulling away like he’d planned, he wanted more and teased her mouth with his tongue, gaining entrance.
The soft sound of her sigh whispered through him with her need and hunger. Starving, he stroked deepe
r into her open mouth.
Her touch on his chest burned into him and he had to steel himself not to ravish her, no matter how badly he wanted her. That would not accomplish his goal.
Sanity returned slowly and Devlin reluctantly released her lips. He eased her limp body off his and took a deep breath.
“Now I’m ready to play.”
Branna stared at him with aroused, heavy-lidded eyes. “Play?”
Devlin chuckled, pleased she was as affected by the kiss as he. “Yes, muirnin. We were about to play a game of Hounds and Hare.”
They played the game until the fire burned low, casting shadows and radiant warmth throughout the room. Each move Devlin made with his hounds was sufficiently countered by a deft move by Branna’s hare. She expertly played the game, capturing more than enough of his hounds.
“I believe, my lord, I have captured numerous hounds so they can no longer trap my hare. Hence I win.”
Devlin was pleased with her prowess. “So it would seem. On the morrow, before I return you home, we will search for your chalice.”
Branna yawned, her eyelids drooping. “I do not wish to appear rude, but ’tis sleep I now need.”
“I wasn’t expecting guests this night. I have no other chambers readied. Please slumber comfortably in my bed and I shall take up residence by the fire.”
She sat on the enormous bed, the sight of her there pleasing him. “Thank you for your kindness. My aunt was wrong. You are not the evil incarnate.”
Devlin knew otherwise. “Sweet dreams, muirnin.”
Branna blew out the candle by the bedside and untied the bed curtains, allowing them to drape around the bed, cocooning her in privacy. Not wanting to soil Devlin’s shirt, she slipped out of its comfort and folded it neatly, then placed it at the foot of the bed. She slipped between the coolness of the sheets in only her chemise. Although Lord MacKenna had shown her every courtesy, she couldn’t be too careful with her modesty.
Branna brushed a finger over her lips. Except for that kiss. His kiss had been neither courteous nor modest, but had fired in her wonderful sensations she’d never before experienced. Enough so that she wanted more.
Four
Devlin awoke to red embers glowing in the fire, and silence. Only it was not silence that had woken him. He listened intently, his hand on his sword. Soft whimpers came from his bed. Branna.
He rose naked from the floor and padded to her side, throwing the bedclothes about his shoulders. She thrashed beneath the fur covering. He felt her forehead, worried she may have caught cold in the rain. Her skin was damp, yet not feverish. A gasp escaped her lips.
Branna bolted upright and screamed, the sound chilling in the predawn dark. Devlin dropped the scrunched coverlet in his hand and grabbed her shoulders.
“Wake up, muirnin. ’Tis a bad dream. You’re safe.”
“The dogs!”
She thrashed, trying to get out of the bed, her eyes wide and hair wild about her face. Devlin shook her but couldn’t wake her from the clawing tentacles of the nightmare.
In desperation, he pulled her to his chest and held her tight.
“Shush, Little Raven.” He stroked her hair and crooned into her ear, drawing out the night terrors. “The dogs are gone. They can’t hurt you here.”
She relaxed, some of the tension leaving her body. He sat on the bed and pulled her closer, on to his lap.
“They’re coming for me. I must hide.”
Devlin couldn’t speak. Her warm breath on his bare chest sent shivers through him. He realized the bedclothes had fallen from his shoulders. Her chemise had been pulled low, exposing one pert breast.
“I can’t die like my mother.”
Devlin found his voice, a ragged whisper. “I won’t let you die.”
He ached to kiss her but he shouldn’t get involved. She was too dangerous, too innocent. He had no future to give her. Tomorrow he would rule the Hellhounds. A pit of hopelessness opened in his stomach. He had to send her away.
Devlin eased back.
“Don’t leave. Hold me. I need you. Don’t you want me?”
Devlin almost choked hearing those words. He’d felt protective of her since they’d first met. Yet his feelings for her were more complex. He admired her strength. She brought light to his darkest hollows.
“Aye, I want you.”
“Love me. I need this. I need you.”
Devlin saw her clear blue eyes, free of the nightmare. Hope flared within him. “You understand what you’re asking? I will not seduce you.”
“I know. You are a good, caring man. Even if it’s just this night, I want you.”
“You are certain?”
She breathed, “Aye.”
Devlin crushed his mouth to hers, their tongues entwining as Branna opened to him. He’d never tasted anything sweeter than the honey of her mouth. Devlin hungrily deepened the kiss and followed her down as he laid her back on the bed.
Branna plunged her hands in his hair, stroking through the dark, silky mass, keeping him close. She almost groaned when his mouth left hers, but moaned with pleasure as he planted wet kisses along her neck and shoulder, suckling gently at the hollow of her neck.
His lips moved downwards across her shoulder and collarbone to the top of her breast that had popped out of her chemise. She angled her body towards him, begging him, the tingling anticipation almost unbearable.
His tongue moved lower, clamping around her nipple, his tongue striking and swirling the taut peak. Sexual excitement curled in her stomach, pooling moisture between her legs. Slipping her arms around his magnificent back, Branna stroked his hard muscles, from neck to buttocks.
Branna’s chemise had ridden high and was bunched around her thighs. Devlin slipped his hands beneath the folds, caressing her bare thighs. Her belly fluttered as his palms slid up her soft skin and over her ribs. He closed his eyes and savoured the exquisite feel of her.
He raised her up and pulled the chemise over her head, exposing all of her. He planted light kisses to her cheek, tracing its curve.
“I won’t hurt you. Do you trust me?”
Branna reached up and smoothed his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “I trust you.”
* * *
Devlin awoke, his body curved around Branna, her head resting on his shoulder. He held her close, revelling in the feel of her. He felt warm and more content than he could ever remember.
Although his body was tight with need, Devlin slipped out from beneath Branna without waking her. He walked naked in the frigid early-morning air to the washbasin and sluiced cold water over his skin, washing away the night’s passions.
Branna. She’d made him feel like he could have a future on earth. She was the one person who knew him. She’d touched his heart. He would love to have more of her. A lifetime would suit him.
Knowing it was impossible, he donned his drawers, a green tunic, surcoat and a mantle lined with fur, without the help of his chamberlain. He fastened the mantle at his neck with a brooch. He pulled out his sword. He needed a sparring match to numb his mind to what he had to do. A life with Branna could not be.
Devlin had his own destiny to fulfil. His life had been mapped and he’d trained for this moment.
He paused to admire Branna, lying warm and soft, nestled into the bedding, her hair spilling dark on the pillow. Devlin turned and closed the door on the sleeping woman and his heart.
Devlin slid over the bench and sat beside the large, behemoth of a man at the long wooden table within the great hall. Uncle Hugh slapped him on the back. “’Tis almost midday, my boy. What has detained you?”
Devlin preferred not to mention Branna. “Only the mundane duties of this castle.”
“Those will soon not be yours to bear.”
Devlin chose to say nothing. He grabbed a plate of food and nibbled from it. “My father. How did he die?”
Uncle Hugh looked at him in surprise. “We’ve already discussed this, years ago.”
“I
know, but humour me and speak it again.”
“The night before he took his rites, he was accidentally attacked by the hounds. No one knows why.”
“He didn’t wish to marry?”
“Marry? Where would you have heard this?”
“Here and about.”
“Well, there was a woman who captured his eye.”
Devlin glared at him. “What happened?”
Hugh sighed. “They were in the chapel with the priest when the dogs burst through. She didn’t wish to die and pushed your father towards the dogs, hoping they would be occupied, allowing her to escape with her life. Unfortunately, this was not her destiny and she perished as well.”
“Why did you not tell me this before?”
“I thought to protect you from the hurt of knowing your father was betrayed by a woman he loved. I didn’t want you to be misguided and make the same mistake.”
Devlin smiled, trusting his uncle’s words. Branna had been young. Her grandmama had obviously filled her head with false information. Such a magic chalice surely didn’t exist.
He pushed away from the table. “No need to worry, Uncle. I know who I am and will accept my responsibilities.”
Devlin left the hall to seek his knights knowing his father had given up everything, including his life, for the sake of a woman, a woman who’d betrayed him. He would not repeat the mistakes of his father.
Five
Branna stirred in the deep comfort of the bed, the sound of male laughter and clashing steel interrupting her dreams of dark eyes and a warm mouth. No longer afraid of the nightmares, Branna opened her eyes to beams of sunlight streaming through the slats in the shutters.
Her discarded clothes from the night before lay neatly folded over a chair, now dry. Her chemise lay with them on top. Branna smiled. Today, Devlin would take her to find her chalice.
With the air still cool, Branna wrapped the fur around her bare shoulders and padded to the window. She opened one shutter to the bailey below. She picked Devlin out most certainly as he sparred with his knights. He looked resplendent in a dark-green tunic, covering light chainmail, his immense sword in one hand and his shield in the other. Branna watched with pride as he exuded confidence and evaded his student’s powerful thrust. His exact timing and light footwork gave him the edge over his larger opponent.
