by Mary Morgan
She gasped. “Oh…aye…I mean…aye I shall leave ye to your bathing. Ye can return the basket when ye are finished.”
Rory waited until she was safely gone and then stripped free from his trews. As he started forward, he shook his head and glanced over his shoulder. There standing among the trees was Erina. Raw passion glittered within the depths of her eyes, and it took all of his willpower to remain rooted to the ground. Ever so slowly, she turned and slipped into the darkness.
****
“Wolves have better manners than these men,” he muttered, studying the gathered group at the table.
“On that we can agree,” acknowledged Brother Michael, coming alongside Rory.
He gestured for the monk to precede him into the hall, but the man shook his head. “I must tend to my prayers. I agreed to stay until ye arrived.” Brother Michael made a slight bow. “My duties have been fulfilled, and I reckon ye can deal with those men and their barbs far better than myself.”
Rory inclined his head. “A good evening to ye.”
Upon entering the banquet hall, Rory searched for Erina or Catherine—both apparently absent. As he strode toward Ewan, the man eyed him with curiosity and motioned for him to take a seat next to him.
His laird quickly made the introductions and Rory nodded his greeting to all. He reached for a jug of wine, promptly filling his cup and extending the courtesy to Ewan. Drinking deeply, he kept his focus on the doors to the hall and the conversation of the men.
“I am honored ye would show your presence this evening,” Ewan muttered, attempting to pull a leg free from the roasted pheasant on a trencher.
“Rumor reached me there were wolves attending the feast. I am here to make sure no harm comes to anyone.”
Ewan choked on a piece of the fowl and reached for his cup. After recovering, he glared across the table at the other men. “Ye have spoken to Catherine.”
Rory rubbed a hand over his chin. “Nae. Erina. Though, she did profess her source as your daughter.”
The man grumbled a curse and then drank deeply. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he continued to eat his meal. “Mind ye, though they lack certain manners, these men are powerful in their own rights.”
Rory eyed the man skeptically. “And ye would consider them a possible husband for Catherine? She will flee,” offered Rory quietly.
Ewan placed his cup down. “She can try. However, the only place I reckon will be suitable for my daughter would be a convent. She has defied me long enough. I have given her until the new year to accept a marriage contract. In truth, none here are deserving, but I shall wait out their visit.”
Rory was about to argue further, when both women entered the hall. The din of noise settled as they made their way to the table, and Rory was held captivated by the lovely vision drawing near. Erina’s tresses trailed in soft curls down her back. The radiance of the gentle candlelight shimmered off her features, and his hands itched to twirl a lock between his fingers. Her emerald green gown highlighted far too many curves, and he swallowed. Casting his sight around the table, he noted several empty places between the visiting lairds.
Standing abruptly, he gestured for Catherine to take her place beside her father. Ewan muttered a curse, but nodded in agreement.
As Rory moved around the table, he pulled out a chair for Erina and then promptly took his seat next to her.
The man to Rory’s right, Laird Ranald Cameron, let out a belch. “Ye have hidden these treasures from us MacGregor and MacIntyre.”
“I believe, Laird Cameron, ye were hunting for several days,” scoffed Rory, refilling the man’s cup.
The man ignored Rory’s offering and asked, “What is your name, lass?”
She gave him a tight smile. “Erina MacIntyre.”
“This is my sister,” said Graham. “And the other is Catherine MacGregor.”
Ranald chuckled and opened his arms wide. “’Tis a shame ye have no more hiding, since we might be fighting for both.”
The other lairds laughed, but kept silent.
“I daresay, one dance with each will not be enough,” Ranald suggested, leaning an arm on the table.
Erina looked at the man in stunned horror and then glanced at her brother. For her part, Catherine leveled the man a look of contempt over the rim of her cup.
Rory leaned forward, doing his best not to burn the man’s tongue from his mouth. “They are not cattle to be bought.”
Ranald looked at him in disgust. “And who are ye to speak in this manner?”
“Enough!” shouted Graham, smacking his hand onto the table. “Ye dishonor my guest and the other women at the table.”
Ranald held up his hands in surrender. “Ye are correct. I will speak privately with ye regarding your sister.” He took his cup and held it upward. “To the lovely women who have graced us with their beauty this evening.”
Erina paled, and Rory slipped a comforting hand over hers beneath the table. She stole a glance at him, giving him a weak smile.
“Have ye spoken with the Campbell?” asked Ewan, poking at his meal. “There are many who seek to banish the thieving in these parts, but he refuses to listen.”
Ranald wiped his nose and reached for his cup. “I did not ken there were any problems.” He waved a hand about. “Aye, a few missing sheep, but I put blame on the lads tending to the pens.”
“I have had sheep gone missing,” blurted out Erina. “In truth, I deemed someone was unlocking the gate and setting them free.”
The other men halted their conversations and stared at her.
“My sister is fond of her sheep,” interjected Graham. “Pay no heed to her. I am sure it was merely a prank played on her by some foolhardy lads.”
The Cameron narrowed his eyes. “Are ye the one who lives in the cottage near the south fork?”
“Aye,” she responded, lifting her chin.
“And the one they call the White Healer?”
She kept her gaze level with the man. “I dinnae ken what they speak about.”
“My sister tends to the sick and makes garments from her wool. I find it admirable how she helps those in need,” Graham stated. “Ye ken how the old folk talk and spew tales across the lands.”
“Agreed,” interjected Ewan and pointing a finger at Ranald, he added, “But what I find distressing is your lands seem to be unscathed from these attacks.”
The man shrugged, but kept his focus on Erina, and Rory found the man shrewd and calculating—one who could not be trusted.
Ranald snorted and looked at the other lairds gathered. “Do ye seriously consider this more than lads seeking mischief?”
“Aye,” responded another man. “I dinnae care about the thieving of sheep, but a few of my cattle have been taken. ’Tis a serious crime. Others have come to me, complaining their grain has been stolen, as well.”
After downing the contents of his cup, Ranald said, “Then when the Campbell returns in the spring, we shall all go and speak with him.”
“Or we can take charge of the problem ourselves,” insisted Graham and gestured to the bard near the hearth to begin playing, hence ending the heated debate.
The music helped to soothe the festering tension in the hall, and the discussion turned to one of the harvest. However, Rory sensed uneasiness within Erina. Religious wars were rife over the years—each battling over the one true belief or version. Many healers were accused of witchcraft, and an icy tendril of fear snaked through Rory. He’d thought Erina safe at Kileburn—free from those who would do her harm. What if he was wrong again?
Rory was on a path of no clear direction. He was conflicted by his emotions. Unsure if he was protecting or bringing harm to Erina. Nevertheless, he could not deny the link of destiny with her. He no longer fought against the tide of emotions, instead choosing to embrace them all.
For the first time in his existence, Rory MacGregor, Fenian Warrior, broke the chains of training around his heart and freed all guilt, including the past
.
Chapter Eighteen
“The heart of the Fenian Warrior lies in his conviction to honor both—Fae and human.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
Erina slipped behind a chair, doing her best to avoid any dancing with Ranald Cameron. The man was an insufferable ass, and she refused to suffer his boring discussions any longer. When the dancing started, both she and Catherine complained of headaches. However, her friend informed everyone that there would be dancing after the next evening meal. Erina fought the scream of protest and glared daggers at the woman. Catherine was not dismayed and gave her a passing wink as she fled the hall.
By the Goddess, how she despised taking her meals with everyone, except one. Rory MacGregor. His name invoked images of his half-naked body and the kisses of fire he traced along her body. In trying to deny her feelings, Erina busied herself in the kitchens or tending to her sheep. What a foolish notion, for it did nothing to squelch a scorching need to know more about the man.
She placed a finger to her lips as she walked along the corridor near the stairs. Recalling the other places he had explored on her skin, ignited a passion so fierce, Erina found herself moving toward the front entrance of Kileburn for cooler air.
As she stole out the front door, the icy blast of air slapped at her face and for a moment, Erina regretted not retrieving her cloak. The waning moon hung gracefully in the inky black velvet sky as she made her way across the bailey and toward the stables. Stepping inside, she picked up a lantern and walked to her horse’s stall.
“There ye are, my friend.” She slipped the lantern on a peg and turned toward her horse.
Oberon snorted and drew near, and Erina held out her hand in greeting. “Forgive me for being absent these past few days.” When he refused to acknowledge her greeting, she withdrew an apple from a nearby basket.
The horse let out a soft whinny, but refused to accept her offering.
“Ye offend me. Will ye not accept my apology?” She waved the fruit in front of his nose. “I promise to take ye out tomorrow. Ye ken I dinnae make promises I cannot keep.”
“Even if there’s snow?” asked the familiar male voice behind her.
Erina’s heart fluttered as she tried to steady the apple she held. Longing for cooler air, she chided herself for running into a firestorm. “Aye, even if there is snowfall.”
Rory bent near her ear. “Then Oberon will take your gift.”
His lips grazed the soft spot below her ear, and she shuddered. He stepped to the side and leaned against the stall. Erina wanted to toss the apple onto the ground and devour the man. Instead, she turned her sight to her horse as he took hold of the fruit.
Erina could feel the heat of Rory’s gaze along her skin. “Are ye looking for a new position as stable master, instead of blacksmith?” she teased, glancing sideways at the man.
“Nae. I followed ye.”
She bit her lip and looked away. “Ahh…again. Ye have stealthy moves, Rory MacGregor. I did not see ye or hear ye.”
“Your focus was on the moonlight.”
“Then I should be more aware,” she countered, brushing her hands off and giving Oberon a gentle pat.
“On that we can agree, mo ghrá.” Rory stepped near and tugged a lock of hair free from its comb.
Erina’s heart pounded fiercely within her chest. Once again, the man used words of endearment, and she was held mesmerized by his eyes. “What do ye want?” The question tumbled free, and she feared his response.
His presence was intoxicating as he pulled gently, twisting the hair around his finger. “Ye.”
She closed her eyes on a sigh. Erina desired him more than anything, but indecision left its thorn within her thoughts. “Ye will leave soon with your laird, and I dinnae want to be a passing fancy.”
Rory kissed her softly on the forehead. “Ye could never be a passing fancy. Sleep well, Erina.”
When she opened her eyes, he had slipped out as silently as he had approached, and her lips trembled. Choking back a sob, Erina hugged her arms around herself. “What am I to do with ye, my chivalrous knight?”
After brushing back a lone tear, she took in a few calming breaths and departed the stables. She ran into the castle and dashed up the stairs. Entering her chamber, she closed it softly and leaned against the door.
The blaze in the hearth had died to embers, and Erina had no energy to add more peat or wood. Walking slowly to the window, she sat on the cushioned ledge and gazed at the glittering stars. Her mind battled with her heart, and she leaned back against the cold stone. It was times like these that she ached to talk to her grandmother. How she truly missed the woman. She always knew the right words to help her see clearly. “What am I to do? Everything is twisted like gnarled vines and I can’t think.” Blowing out a frustrated sigh, Erina rested her chin on her bent knees.
Her grandmother tapped a finger to her head. “Stop making decisions with only your mind.”
“Humph! Then what do ye suggest? Tossing them out there for others to tell me what to do?”
“Tsk, tsk, child. There is another part of your body ye are forgetting.”
Erina rolled her eyes. “Do tell.”
“Dinnae take that tone with me,” warned her grandmother. Walking toward her, she grasped Erina’s hand and placed it over her heart. “Do ye feel it beating?”
“Aye,” she uttered solemnly.
“Then listen to it, as well. Ye keep fighting against your emotions.”
“How can it help me to make a decision?” Erina protested.
Her grandmother smiled and cupped her cheek. “If it feels right, then ye have your decision. However, if there’s a tiny spark of indecision, then settle your thoughts. Reach out for the Goddess to guide ye.”
“I’m scared.”
Shrugging, her grandmother released her hand and plucked a rose. “There is always fear when walking an unknown path. Furthermore, if ye let it rule your life, then ye are not living.” Holding out the rose to her, she added, “Though a rose has thorns, it will not prevent me from admiring its beauty within my hand.”
Erina smiled and took the flower. Inhaling deeply, she said, “What would I do without ye, Grandmother.”
“Live your life, as ye have been doing. Now make your decision.”
Erina moved off the ledge and placed her palm over her heart. “It feels right, Grandmother. My soul leapt for the first time when our gazes locked. I guess I have found my answer.”
****
Rory braced his hands over the hearth and stared into the flames. Sleep was elusive, and his mind troubled. How he yearned for Erina and yet, her words halted him from taking her into his arms inside the stables. Did he truly expect to love and leave her? If he made love to her, Rory longed to tell her everything about himself. He had to give her not only his body, but also his soul as a Fae. Would she be horrified? Reject all that he stood for? Mayhap this was his greatest challenge.
“The truth, she must ken the truth,” he uttered softly. No matter how hard he tried to stay true to a new path, his heart and soul belonged to Erina. The past gone—vanished. And this new road would not end in her death.
Smacking his hand on the stone, he backed away from the hearth. Reaching for his plaid on a nearby chair, he wrapped it around his body and strode to the table. Picking up a jug, he poured a hefty amount of wine into a cup, wishing it were a good bottle of single malt. He drained the contents in one gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
As he grumbled a curse, he poured more into the cup and walked to the window. Lifting it, he spoke in the language of his people. “May the stars guide my Fae brother and sisters, for I deem they no longer speak to me. From this moment forward, I walk this path alone. Forgive me.”
“What does it mean?”
Startled, Rory swiftly turned around, spilling a portion of the wine on the floor. He, a trained warrior, and this mere slip of a lass had entered his chamber without his knowledge. His heart leapt with jo
y at seeing Erina standing in front of the armoire with nothing but a white chemise and shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “I was making a toast to my people.”
She twisted the edges of the shawl within her fingers. “Are they gone?”
“Nae,” he uttered in a low tone.
“Then mayhap one day I can meet them.”
Nae, mo ghrá. They will never accept ye. And I am already an outcast. He deposited the cup on the table as he strode toward her. Grasping her around the waist with one arm, he trailed a thumb over her bottom lip. “Ye have found another secret passageway?” he asked peering inside the dark interior.
“Aye,” she whispered softly. “There is one in the back of your wardrobe cabinet.”
He closed the door softly, backing her against the armoire. “’Tis dangerous to be here with me. Alone. Is there something ye want?” Or desire?
Taking his free hand, she placed it over her breast and let the shawl fall to the floor. “Ye. All ye have to give.”
“Erina, mo ghrá,” he groaned, taking her mouth with savage intensity. She tasted of honey and spices, filling him completely and easing the torment that continually plagued him.
Breaking free, he placed his hands on either side of the door. Giving her all of him required something more from Erina. Without the assurance of accepting him for what he was, Rory would be a lost man. “Are ye certain ye want to ken all of me? I want ye as sure as the sun rises and sets over the land each day, but ken this, Erina—there is more to me than a simple bedding. There are things about me that might frighten ye. What I’m about to share with ye may cause ye to question my existence, or worse, my sanity.”
Her laugh was seductive and soothing as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “From the moment ye stepped through those trees that first day, I realized ye were not like any man I had encountered. It was as if the trees parted and ye came forth from inside them.” She brushed her fingers along his brow. “For one, ye have the most mesmerizing eyes and they shift colors.”
“And the second?”
Her face turned a rosy glow, yet, she held his gaze. “I thought your body chiseled from the old Gods, especially with all the markings on your back and arms.”
