by Mary Morgan
The animal angled its head at her and then dashed off in Rory’s direction.
Catherine arched a brow. “He seems to have found a new master.”
“Both are traitors,” muttered Erina, glaring at the retreating form of her dog.
“What did ye expect? They’re both male.”
As Erina made her way out of the garden, she could hear Catherine’s laughter mocking her along the path. Shaking her head in an attempt to rid her thoughts of Rory MacGregor, she stumbled on a log. “Ye are behaving like a dolt.”
At least her sheep remained loyal. She headed in the direction of the enclosure where her brother had assured her the animals were safe. She brushed past a rowan tree filled with berries, and birds darted out in obvious displeasure at being interrupted from their feast. The path ended abruptly, and she found herself staring in two directions.
“Left or right?” Unable to recall her brother’s words, Erina decided on the left and tread forward. Sunlight filtered through a canopy of trees, their golden beams dancing off the ground, and she bent to pick up a leaf. She twirled it within her fingers, studying its shape and color. Smiling, she let it drift back to the ground and continued on in her search.
Instead of the soft bleating sound of her sheep, Erina was greeted with loud pounding noises. As her steps hastened, a steep path beneath the shade of an oak tree led her to a bramble and bracken stone structure.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, she stepped into view of the smithy and halted.
Her mouth dropped open at the sight before her. Rory MacGregor stood over an anvil, hammering away at the steel, and without a tunic covering his upper body. His corded muscles rippled with each blow to the metal, and Erina was captivated. Beads of sweat traveled down his back, glistening in the afternoon light. Raw masculine power poured out of the man.
She leaned against the oak tree for support. Once again, she was drawn to the mysterious markings on his back and shoulders. They traveled down and around his waist. Their pattern reminded her of something she fought to recall. And then a glimmer of recognition flitted through her mind. She had seen them on the ancient standing stones her grandmother had shown her years ago during a harvest festival. They had traveled north with others who believed in the old ways. It was a time of feasting, telling bardic tales, and bartering for goods.
When her grandmother stood before the massive stone giants, she spoke with reverence about the ancient people who had carved the symbols. Erina remembered how her fingers traced inside the curved grooves on the stone. She told her these people were extremely tall with glittering eyes and the power to change the elements. Though they no longer lived amongst them, her grandmother had heard whispers of those who had witnessed seeing one or two of these great people wandering the land.
Her new friend was incorrect. Rory was a Celtic God, not Greek. Was he descended from these ancient people? Even though she believed in the magic of the land, Erina found it difficult to consider ancient gods roaming the land.
Pushing away from the tree, Erina strolled casually toward him. His focus was intent on the blade he was fashioning—commanding and bending the metal to its desired shape. Thane lifted his head from his warm place near the fire.
Rory paused in his movements and raised his head. Eyes that mirrored a tempest at sea stared back at her. His chest rose and fell with each breath. She noticed the stubborn set of his jaw, and his brow lifted in challenge. Others may have feared him, but Erina found him intriguing.
“Have ye lost your way?” he asked, the rough edge of his voice sending shivers across her skin.
“Obviously, since I am here at the smithy, instead of finding my sheep.”
He pointed toward her dog. “And here I thought ye came to claim your animal.”
She looked at Thane. “Is he bothering ye?”
Chuckling softly, Rory lowered his hammer and doused the blade he was working on in a bucket of water. “Nae.”
Erina studied the man as he went to the animal. “He has never taken to another, before now.”
He ruffled the fur on the animal’s head. “He is a wise dog.” Thane thumped his tail in obvious approval.
“I am happy he has found another friend.” She leaned against the cool stone.
Rory wiped his face with a dryng cloth, and then tossed it aside. “What about your sheep?”
“What about them?” she asked, her eyes growing wide as Rory stepped near her.
“Should ye not be on your way to find them?”
Once again, Erina found herself tongue-tied and unable to move. She tried to move away, but he loomed over her. “Aye, but I am lost.”
Placing a hand on the stone behind her, he cupped her chin. “Ye have never been lost, Erina MacIntyre.”
“How can ye be so sure,” she whispered, noting the shift in his eyes. “We have not known each other for verra long.”
Rory leaned close. His breath was hot against her neck, and she shuddered. His lips grazed the soft spot below her ear. “Because I am certain. I have a keen intuition.”
Closing her eyes, she turned her head. All she sought was one kiss—to taste the man on her lips. Rory stirred desires within her Erina had never known. She burned in places that required release.
“Open your eyes, Erina.”
Her lashes flickered open and raw desire gazed back at her. Kiss me, Rory MacGregor.
His groan echoed within the far reaches of her mind as he captured her sigh with his mouth. The touch of his lips was a delicious sensation, and sent her body into a wild swirl of pleasure. She reveled in the feel of his mouth on hers and passion drove her onward for more. As she wrapped her arms around his neck, he angled his head and deepened the kiss. When his tongue demanded entry, Erina opened fully. It was a kiss for her tired soul to melt into, and she was shocked at her own eager response. Emotions whirled and skidded as she caressed the tendons in the back of his neck.
Rory’s fingers trailed across the skin above the lace on her gown, and she shivered, aching for more. Erina felt confined in her gown, longing to strip the material free from her body. She ached to have his skin against her own. His lips seared a path down her neck, and her knees weakened. “More,” she pleaded, splaying her fingers through his dark locks.
Releasing her, he placed his hands above her against the wall. His breathing came out in short gasps, and she saw the battle he fought, since Erina had to battle her own personal restraint. She lowered her hands to her sides. She dared not move. Confused on what to do next, she barely heard his words.
“Leave,” he ordered, clenching his eyes shut. “And never seek me out again.”
Without a word, Erina ducked under his arms and darted off along the path. The ache in her chest was like a lodestone, pressing against her heart. Tears stung her eyes, and she fought to control them from spilling forth. Tree limbs smacked her face, and she welcomed their sting. Coming along the fork in the path once again, she veered around the bend and collapsed against a pine tree. The anguished cry tore free from her throat as she sobbed into her hands.
Where only moments earlier, Erina had experienced utter passion in a kiss, she now felt ashamed and humiliated by her wanton behavior. What possessed her to even approach the man? Why was she drawn to him? She hated herself for this weakness—yearning for a touch, a word, or a kiss from the man. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, trying to banish his taste.
A warm nose nudged her hand, and Erina glanced upward. “Dear, sweet Thane,” she mumbled. The dog sat regally next to her, and she leaned against him. After wiping the tears from her cheeks, she tried to calm her fractured nerves.
Lifting her head, Erina allowed the swaying branches and the warmth of her friend soothe her. A gentle breeze kissed her cheeks, and she shook her head. Standing slowly, she brushed the leaves and dirt from her gown.
Her lips still burned in the aftermath of Rory’s fiery possession, but Erina quickly slammed the door on the memory. Placing a fist over her ch
est, she vowed never to be led astray again.
“Before the Goddess, I recite my solemn pledge—this day, this hour. Ye will never get under my skin or thoughts again, Rory MacGregor. I am finished with folly and nonsense. If I have to harden my heart, so be it. No man shall claim me. No man shall I love.”
Taking a deep breath in, Erina released it slowly and strode with the purpose of being able to return home to her cottage. And soon.
Chapter Eleven
“Love is like a thorn on a rose. Once pricked, it is difficult to stop the flow within your heart.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
The dying sunset spread out beyond the tree covered hills, and Rory paid reverence to the last ray of light. Striding toward the well, he hauled up a bucket of water and dumped it over his head, removing the sweat and grime. The cold water helped to ease the burning heat within his body and mind.
Raking a hand through his hair, he stared outward. Guilt plagued him after Erina fled, and he fought to close the door on all his emotions. Anger, guilt, confusion, lust, but most of all, love.
He had no right to claim a kiss. He had no right to rouse her passion and his. He had no right to love the woman. And yet, he found himself constantly drawn to her. His vision blurred, and the air warmed whenever Erina came near him. She was wild, untamed, and had a passion for the land—qualities he loved about her. Rory continually lost control, and his anger intensified. He should have never returned. He risked putting them both in danger.
Rory slammed his fist into his palm. “Erina deserves better.” And he would give her this second chance of happiness. A life filled with joy and children.
His heart hardened further. He must attempt to spurn Erina. Keep his distance. Prove himself unworthy in her eyes.
Yet, his resolve to carry out his plans to fruition always faltered. Rory became conflicted. He ached to possess her again. But time was their enemy. In order to keep her from suffering the same tortured road, he had to lead her to a new future. A destiny without him.
Rory knelt on one knee and tore his troubled gaze upward. “Hear me, Mother Danu. Place your shield of protection over Erina MacIntyre. Show her a new path of light and love.” He hesitated and then added, “If ye must, take away this love I have for the woman. Let me return to being only her guardian. Let me right this injustice.”
Dropping his head forward, Rory waited for some message or sign from the great Goddess. Moments slipped by in silence, and his shoulders slumped. Grabbing a handful of dirt, he brought it to his lips and then flung it outward.
Standing, he made his way over to the new blade he had forged. When he held it up, the last rays of sunlight glinted off the cold steel. Tomorrow he would construct a hilt and present it to Graham when completed. This would be his parting gift to her brother. Graham should be Erina’s protector, not him.
As he gently laid it back on the shelf, Rory walked out of the smithy and through the thick canopy of trees.
His steps slowed as warm air brushed across his face.
“You are her guardian. You are her shield. Mend the two and become one.”
Rory’s fists clenched. “I cannot undo the past.”
“You cannot walk two roads at once. Remember, you are a Fenian Warrior.”
“What if I choose not to be?”
A deafening sound reverberated around him, and the ground rumbled beneath his feet. Stumbling forward, Rory slammed into a tree. As he waited for several heartbeats, he realized the Goddess would say no more.
Pushing away from the tree, he strode with purpose to the castle and dismissed the words she had imparted to him within his mind. He had no time to dissect their meaning.
Rory nodded to a passing guard upon entering the bailey. When he entered the castle, his steps hastened up the stairs. He had no desire to dine with anyone or to sit and make idle chatter. Unfortunately, Ewan came forth along the corridor.
He acknowledged the man and steadily kept on walking toward his chamber.
“Will ye be joining us shortly?”
Rory’s hand stilled on the oak door. “I shall take my meal in my chamber.” Without waiting for a response from the man, he entered his room.
“If I may have a moment of your time, Fae Warrior?” demanded Ewan, closing the door.
Biting out a curse, he faced the man. Though Ewan was a friend, Rory deemed he overstepped by calling him thusly. “This must be serious if you’re calling me a Fae.”
Ewan folded his arms over his chest. “What is wrong?”
“I dinnae ken your meaning.”
“If my memory serves me correctly, I dinnae recall ye mentioning traveling to Kileburn. Ye were making your way to Ireland. Why are ye here?”
Frowning, Rory crossed to the table in an attempt to sort out his mixed thoughts. Unable to bring forth any conversation with the man, he lifted a pitcher. He sniffed the contents and poured the wine into two mugs. Handing one to Ewan, he went to the arched window and sat on the ledge. He swirled the dark liquid. “I am here to see an injustice made right.”
“With the woman, Erina?”
Rory downed the contents of his mug. “’Tis none of your concern.”
The man stepped forward. “I have never interfered, but this time I will ask ye to step aside.”
“Are ye challenging me or are your words a threat?”
“I am still your laird,” argued Ewan.
Rory flung the mug across the room, and the pottery shattered against the stones. “And I am a Fae!” Rory stood and stalked over to the man. “Or have ye forgotten?”
Placing his mug on the table, Ewan glared at him, showing no fear. “Ye are not the Fae I ken. When did fury and distrust replace friendship and conviction?”
Once again, Rory found it troublesome to rein in the shadows and anger. How could he explain to his friend—a human—what he was experiencing? How he had once loved Erina and watched her die? He longed to seek out the counsel from within the Brotherhood, specifically his brother, Liam. By the hounds, he missed his brother.
Walking to the hearth, he braced his hands above the mantel and gazed into the flames. “Forgive me.” Glancing over his shoulder, Rory continued, “I am unable to discuss the dilemma.”
Ewan came to his side and clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Come dine with us. Whatever the problem or issue, ye can settle it come the morn. I ken ye are not able to share what ye do, but can it not wait?”
Rory nodded. Regretting his next choice of words, he said, “Ye have an interest in the Lady Erina?”
His friend shrugged. “Undecided. Do ye?”
Rory chuckled softly and pushed away from the mantel. After picking up the shards of his mug, he tossed them into the fire. “Nae. She is meant for the marriage bed and not a quick tumble.”
His friend rubbed his chin in thought. “I concur. Though I cannot take a bride who believes in the old heathen ways. Yet, there are those in the church that would burn us both if they knew the truth of who and what ye are.”
Startled by his declaration, Rory asked, “How did ye come to this knowledge of Erina?” He feared anyone having this information.
“When I showed an interest in the woman, her brother shared Erina's beliefs.” Shifting his stance, he added, “Graham is protective of her, and he took a risk in telling me. Did it sway me toward the lass? Somewhat, and then I had to consider she might view me as too old.” He laughed and then added in a more somber tone, “But I also harbor my own secrets.”
Rory clasped his hands behind his back. “As do many.”
“Aye, aye,” muttered Ewan. “The priests would surely damn my soul.” He strode toward the door. Reaching for the handle, he paused. “I will not speak of your true name again, my friend. And whatever injustices ye seek to make right, I wish ye all the best.”
“Thank ye, Ewan. Though if I might ask, have ye mentioned my particular bloodline with Catherine?”
Ewan’s hand stilled on the handle, and he glanced over his should
er. “I honor the sacred vow my Grandfather gave to ye many years ago and will only tell my daughter if I have no heirs.” Opening the door, he added, “I shall see ye in the Great Hall. I hear the cook has prepared a dish of wild boar and onions.”
Rory grimaced. “Mayhap I shall take my meal elsewhere.”
His friend’s laughter echoed down the corridor long after he left.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rory pushed the pain of their conversation to the far recess of his mind. He had no desire to have the man claim Erina for his wife, but if he could choose a husband for her, Ewan MacGregor would be the one.
And the shadows within Rory mocked him.
****
Boisterous laughter greeted Rory when he entered the Great Hall. Graham was regaling those around him with a tale of how he hunted down a boar several days ago. It was a story honoring not only the hunter, but also the prey. Ewan apparently had his doubts, since he argued over the bow and arrows used on the animal.
Rory almost decided to take his meal in the stables until his gaze came upon her. Sitting regally next to her brother, she shook her head and grimaced.
Erina touched her brother’s arm. “Did ye kill him swiftly and say a prayer afterward, giving thanks?”
Graham narrowed his eyes. “Aye, most definitely. Do ye take me for someone who gives nae regard to my food?”
Indecisiveness battled for control inside Rory. Leave or stay? Finally giving in, Rory slowly made his way to the table and took a seat across from her. “Lady Erina.”
Her smile vanished, and she darted a glance at him. “Rory.”
He barely acknowledged her as he reached for a bowl of cabbages, onions, and wild mushrooms. Scooping out several spoonfuls, he placed the bowl back down. Grabbing some bread, he tore off a chunk.
The conversation continued between the men, and Rory ate in silence. Turning his attention to Erina, he noted the blotched redness on her face. He could sense her fury from across the table, and his food soured in his gut. Pushing aside his meal, he reached for a jug of wine and filled his cup.
