by Marlow Kelly
“Does he have any talents? That is, apart from ogling older girls?”
“He’s very accomplished with a bow, but then you’re an excellent teacher.”
“Does he still practice?”
“Almost every day. Why did you insist on teaching him yourself?”
“I knew I wouldn’t see him again until he was a man, but I wanted him to remember me, to hear my voice in his head. I thought if I taught him something useful—”
“Then every time he practiced he’d hear your voice, and think of you. I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for?”
“You’ve missed him.”
“It breaks my heart to be apart from him. I think when I arrived here I wanted to see him, to know he was still alive, but now I’m grateful he was away because he’s safe. He would have died had he been with me.” She shoved the bowl of food away while colour drained from her face.
He had managed to keep the memories at bay for a short while but he knew, from his own experience, sooner or later nightmarish images would resurface. She didn’t cry or weep for everything she’d lost, but the pain in her gaze told him all he needed to know.
He lifted her hair away from her neck, laying small kisses along the base of her throat, wanting her hurt to retreat for a little longer. He tugged the blanket away from her body, easing her back until she lay on the bed with him stretched on top of her.
“That’s the Connell I remember,” she whispered.
He wanted to protest, to tell her he had grown, and to explain how much he loved her, but at that moment she wrapped her hand around his penis, and he lost his ability to speak. All he could do was show her how he cared.
****
Fianna lay staring at the thatched roof, with its network of wooden beams. She’d made a mistake. In fact, she had made the same mistake three times. Once her resistance had been breached she couldn’t seem to stop touching, and making love to Connell, even though she knew she shouldn’t. He didn’t love her. He had never loved her. She had to stop torturing herself with what might have been. The past was done and gone, and she had to learn to let it go.
It wasn’t as if he had been her only husband. As the daughter of a king she had been expected to marry again. Her marriage to Kevin McGuire, her second husband, had been happy. Theirs hadn’t been a passionate relationship, but rather one built on mutual respect and trust. She had grown to care for him, and although they had been childless, they had stayed together until his death.
The same fever that killed Kevin had also taken Finn. Without the urging of her father, the king, she had been reluctant to take another husband. Men were more trouble than they were worth, especially when your feelings were unrequited.
Connell slept on his stomach with one arm dangling off the bed. Loving him was so easy. He was a caring father to their son. After they made love for the second time he had insisted she eat. She had enjoyed talking about Lorcan. It was good to know her handsome son had a special place in his father’s heart.
Fianna slid from the bed careful not to wake Connell. He had always been a man who slept deeply after coupling. She hoped that hadn’t changed. Her body protested every step. It wasn’t her injuries that made her stiff. Their lovemaking made her thighs ache in a way she had long forgotten.
How different her life would have been had their marriage worked. When the O’Neills and the Byrne had decided to seal their alliance with marriage she had been a naïve young woman. But her subsequent divorce, and the realities of life after the death of her father and husband, had forced her to become strong, decisive, and independent. She simply couldn’t imagine herself catering to a man’s needs. What a liar she was! Worst of all she was lying to herself. No, she didn’t want to cook, clean, and cater to Connell’s every whim, except in bed. She could spend a lifetime in his bed. What was wrong with her? One night with him, and all she could think about was making love. She needed to get some distance between them, and gain some perspective.
What she really needed was clothes. Her léine lay crumpled and torn on the floor by the now-cold bath. She looked around the house noticing for the first time Connell had partitioned off a small section with a curtain. Moving silently, she thrust the drape aside to reveal a bed large enough to hold one person. At the end of the bed sat a tall basket. Fianna knelt on the floor, levering the lid, to find a messy jumble of clothing. She set the bundle on the bed while she searched for anything else that could be of use. At the bottom was a small silver, circular pin, decorated with red gemstones—the one she had given to her son before he left to live with his father. Pain seared through her. She missed him so much. How she longed to see his smile. But after her talk with Connell she knew he was happy, tall for his eleven years, and had a healthy interest in girls.
For the first time since Lorcan left, she was grateful. He was alive, and he hadn’t been taken as a slave, which was more than she could say for little Michael. She blinked back tears, wishing there was something she could do to help the small captive, but knowing there wasn’t. He was gone, and she had no way to follow. All she could do was care for those who were left.
She sorted through the bundle of clothing, finding a pair of woollen trews. The breeches were a little tight because of her curves but they would do. Then she discovered a short léine, and dressed as quietly as possible. She was about to leave when something caught her eye. A bow, and a quiver of arrows stood against the head of the bed. A wistful memory rose unbidden. She had taught Lorcan how to use the weapon. She had always been a fast, accurate shot, and she enjoyed sharing her knowledge with him. They spent countless hours together, practicing, bonding. The bow wasn’t a powerful weapon used by warriors, but it had its place on the battlefield. She strapped the quiver across her back, grabbed the bow, and headed for the door.
Once out of the building, she sprinted for the gate of the fort. She didn’t bother trying to steal a horse. She suspected Quinn was guarding them, especially after she had stolen the last one from under his nose. Besides, the walk would help her think.
She should go and see the survivors, and make sure they were all right, but she didn’t want to face them yet. She had survived when their loved ones hadn’t. How could she ever make up for that? She would head to Rathtrean, bury the dead, and take stock of any food or valuables left. Then she would plan for the future.
It was impossible to imagine she could leave the fort unseen, but she hoped Connell hadn’t given orders to prevent her from going. She held her breath when she passed through the gates, and was relieved when no one stopped her. She stayed on the dirt path that led through the fields. The fort stood on a huge hill surrounded by a deep ditch, encircled by a tall, outer mound. Normally the ditch would have held water but the southwest of Ireland had suffered a drought and a heat wave in the last two months, making everything as dry as parchment.
Families from the O’Neill clan worked hard in the afternoon sun cultivating their fields. Despite their unproductive crops, they laboured on. What other choice did they have except to tend their land, and hope and pray for rain? Even the grass at the edge of the fields was little more than yellowed straw. Soon their harvest would fail, and the O’Neills would be hungry. Helping the Byrne would be a huge burden for them. She couldn’t believe Connell’s people would stand for it. She knew her tribe would never tolerate a leader who put another clan’s needs ahead of their own.
Once she crested the outer mound the foul smell of melting cow fat assaulted her. The production of tallow was a necessary evil even in these tinder-dry conditions. Two women had set up their fire at the peak of the embankment. Did they choose the location to keep the blaze away from the parched crops or the nasty smell away from the fort? She quickened her pace, covering her nose with her hand in an attempt to diminish the rancid odour.
Once she cleared the last rise, and headed toward the forest, she turned her face to catch the light breeze. Warm sun heated her back and shoulders. It was wonderful to be outside, away fro
m Connell. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be near him, it was the opposite. Her desire for him overpowered her ability to form a rational thought. There were people, the surviving members of her can, who needed her help. It was time to let go of the seventeen-year-old girl she had once been and deal with her situation. She was a queen with responsibilities, not a young, foolish girl.
She had to think of a way for the Byrne to recover, to move forward and survive. It was essential for her clan to form an alliance. That much was clear. Her people were devastated. There would be very few crops from their fields, and their cattle had scattered, and fled. But with whom should she make a pact? Who would take better care of her clan?
The McGuires’ land had flooded in the spring. What seemed like a curse at the time had turned into a blessing. Their water-soaked fields had continued to produce when other clans along the river were watching their harvests wither and die. Her marriage to Kevin McGuire had ensured cordial relations with them, whereas the relationship with the O’Neills had been fraught with suspicion and accusations of trickery. If it hadn’t been for her son, and her feelings for Connell, she wouldn’t even consider an alliance with his people. The McGuires were the only logical choice.
She stopped walking once she reached the woodland that formed a natural barrier between the O’Neill and the Byrne lands. The stench of melting fat had dissipated leaving her surrounded by the clean smells of grass, bark, and hazel. She sat down under a massive tree, enjoying a few minutes of peace in the shade, wanting to postpone her arrival at Rathtrean. Once there she would have to face the heartbreaking task of burying the dead. Then she would continue on to the McGuires, and enter into negotiations with them.
She suspected Connell wouldn’t like her decision. They would probably fight the way they used to, but instead of making up in bed, they would go their separate ways, and whatever had been between them would be finally put to rest. As much as she wanted the best for her clan, the thought of not being with Connell made her stomach twist in a nauseating knot. It was as though the last twelve years had never happened. The pain of their separation hurt more now, because once she formed an alliance with the McGuires, any chance they had of reuniting would be over. And any small hope she might have held for a future together destroyed.
Chapter Six
She was gone. He should never have bedded her, even though their passion for each other was mutual. She was injured and traumatized, and fool that he was, he had sated his desire, hoping for a reconciliation. He had been selfish when he should have been caring. Hopefully, she was still in the compound, but somehow he doubted it.
He leapt from the bed, grabbed his léine off the floor, threw it on, and donned his belt and sword as he strode to the door. Quinn confronted him the moment he stepped across the threshold.
“Where is she?” Connell demanded.
“Who?”
“Fianna, damn it, who do you think?”
“She left.”
“Do you mean you let her walk through the gate?”
“Why not? She’s not a prisoner. She is queen of the Byrne, and our guest. I didn’t feel I had the right to stop her.”
“Of course you should have stopped her.”
“Look, I should warn you, your kin have been complaining.”
“About what?”
“The Byrne. What with the drought, we’re expecting a hard, hungry winter, and your clan can’t understand why you’d share what little we have with a people who caused their own downfall because they elected a weak, spineless queen, who survived because she ran.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think, but you saw Rathtrean. I have to wonder if she got scared, buckled in the face of the enemy, and let her people down. I’m sorry, I know you have feelings for her, but I thought you should know what they’re saying.”
“Do you think she will ever be accepted?”
“No.”
Connell clenched his fists. He wanted to punch Quinn, make him take back the words, but it wasn’t his fault. His brother was the messenger. “What about Lorcan, will they still accept him?”
“Aye, they say he takes after his father.”
He almost sighed with relief. At least his son was still welcome, but why couldn’t his people see Fianna’s worth? She had been a strong leader, and an excellent mother. Were his clan’s opinions still tainted by his father’s accusations? Not for the first time he wished he could undo the past. “Do they realize if I were to marry Fianna, we would gain a valuable alliance?”
“Are you saying you—?”
“No. That’s not why I want her, but I thought if they saw there was something to be gained—”
“So when you divorced—”
“The worst mistake I ever made was not running away with her. It’s one I’ve had to live with for twelve years. I want Fianna Byrne to be my wife.”
Quinn curled his lip, a small movement, hardly visible, but it made Connell aware of his brother’s true feelings.
“Is it so awful that I marry Fianna?”
“I never said anything.”
“You didn’t have to. The look on your face said it all.”
“What look—?”
“Quinn, we’re brothers. Be honest with me.”
“A king should put his clan above his own feelings.”
“I have. I put them first, living without her all these years.”
“But Fianna? She’s a strong woman with a mind of her own. She’ll never be an obedient wife.”
“I don’t want her obedience.”
“What?”
“I can talk to her. She’s my friend, and lover.”
“Friend? Women are for bedding, and babies. There are hundreds of women out there. Why this one?”
“One day a woman will touch your heart, and you’ll understand. Fianna is special to me. I mean to have her.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “You’re quite mad. It would never work. She’ll never be accepted. The people remember the allegations your father levied against her. She was disobedient, strong-willed, opinionated, cold, and frigid, although we know that last one was a lie because you have Lorcan.”
“They’re all lies? My father had plans to kill her. Divorcing her, getting her away from him was the only way to protect her.”
“Aye, I remember something about that now. He said she was a terrible rider, and one day she’d fall off her horse. But, as far as I can see, she’s an accomplished horsewoman. Why would he want to do such a thing?”
“He couldn’t pay her bride-price, and didn’t want to lose face. It’s no secret he didn’t like her.”
“She is an acquired taste.”
“I made a mistake.”
“What was that?”
“I didn’t realize how much I would miss her.”
“But you were only married to her for three months. How can you be sure—?”
“Because I am. I should’ve known at the time. I couldn’t bear the thought of her dead. It hurt—”
“But she was difficult. You said so yourself.”
“That was also a lie. She proved she could be a fine wife when she married Kevin McGuire. I’ll not watch her marry another man.”
“And if your kin can’t accept her?”
“They will, given time. They have to.”
Quinn stood silent, perhaps not wanting to condemn him for his weakness.
Connell walked away. A cold chill inched up his spine. Could his clan let go of the past, and accept Fianna? Would he be able to have a future with the woman he loved?
****
Fianna heard the horse and rider gaining on her while she marched through the forest. She wasn’t surprised to see Connell. He made everything more complicated. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and convince her to stay with tender words of love. At the same time, she wanted him to leave her alone. When they divorced, he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. What had caused this sudden change of h
eart? Whatever his reason she couldn’t trust it. Connell admitted he never had a marriage that lasted longer than three months. Was she a passing fancy he would discard by the time winter came?
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He reined in his mount, and slid to the ground.
So much for tender words of love. She sighed. It was for the best. She wanted to hear those words a little too much, and in her confused state she couldn’t be sure of her decisions. His anger suited her better. It was straightforward and honest, as she intended to be with him.
“Home. I need to bury the dead.”
“Not without me to protect you.”
“And who will protect me from you?”
“What do you mean?” His eyes widened. He seemed surprised by her question, which in turn stunned her. Did he really not understand the weakness she had for him? Or that it would be impossible to bed him, and then walk away unscathed. “I know what you and I shared today was temporary, and I might have—”
“Stay with me.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Those were the words she wanted to hear, but for some reason he didn’t seem genuinely happy. “Will your clan accept me?
He bent his head forward so his hair fell across his face, hiding his expression. “They will come to terms―”
She didn’t need a past with him to understand the meaning of his stance. Was he forcing the Byrne upon his people out of some sense of obligation because they had spent the afternoon in bed? “I’ve decided to seek an alliance with the McGuires.” The words stumbled out in a rush before she could stop them.
“What kind of alliance?” His head shot up as his gaze narrowed.
“I’ll marry one of Kevin’s kin.” There, she’d told him of her intentions.
He opened his mouth to speak. She held up a hand to stop him. Was he going to protest or tell her it was a good plan? If he told her he liked the idea it would break her heart all over again. And if he said he wanted her to stay, what would happen then? Unless the weather changed soon, his people would be hungry by winter. How could she align the remnants of her clan with the O’Neills when they had no food? That road could only lead to disaster. “It’s for the best. The McGuires land flooded in the spring. Their harvest will be better than yours. We won’t be such a burden to them.”
