Oath of a Warrior

by Mary Morgan

  His hands shook to be on her body, so Rory placed the jar on the ground. However, Erina surprised him by pushing him back.

  Reaching for the jar, she was the one to take some syrup using her fingers. “My turn,” she demanded. “If ye will permit me.”

  He fought the urge to toss her backward and thrust deep inside her. “And where shall ye begin?”

  The blood pounded in his ears when she lowered her gaze to his swollen cock. How he longed to have her luscious lips over him.

  “Lean back,” she ordered.

  “Why not,” he suggested and pointed to his ribs.

  She shook her lovely head. “Nae. Ye put your mouth on my intimate area—”

  “Ye did not like it?”

  Placing a finger over his lips to silence him, she replied, “Aye, most assuredly. This is why ’tis my turn to give ye the same pleasure. Is it not what ye wish, too?”

  Ye have no idea my thoughts. “Then let us not keep ye.”

  Resting his forearms against the ground, he watched as she lightly smeared the syrup on his swollen cock. By the hounds, Rory thought he was going to spill his seed right then and there, and he hissed.

  “Did I hurt ye?”

  “Nae,” he gritted out. “Do what ye must or I will take ye now.”

  Her smile turned wicked, and slowly she descended over him, teasing him with pleasurable strokes of her tongue. The electric shock scorched through his body, and Rory thought he was going to die right there. The pure ecstasy of her hot mouth, combined with her hair brushing against his thighs had him spiraling to another plane. His fingers dug into the soft ground, fighting the urge to take her swiftly as she continued to explore and give him pleasure.

  She was a seductive siren. A temptress who rivaled none in his existence. A vixen who made his blood boil, and he was hopelessly out of control.

  As the desire reached a fever, Rory growled, “Nae more.”

  When Erina lifted her head, her eyes blazed with desire. He grasped her around the waist and brought her down upon his thick cock. They both cried out in unison as their bodies joined in a fusion of heat and passion. With each thrust, Erina found her own rhythm, and Rory grasped her hips, grinding harder into her. He tried to maintain control, enjoying the vision of her riding him. Yet, the raw act of possession overtook him, and his body began to vibrate with liquid fire, finally succumbing to a powerful release that sent them both spiraling to rapture.

  Erina collapsed against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her quaking body. Time slowed inside the cave with the only sound of the water lapping over the stones. Wetness grazed his neck. “Are ye weeping? Did I hurt ye?” Concern filled him, and he cursed himself for taking her again so soon.

  She refused to lift her head. “What now, Rory?”

  “Look at me, lass.”

  Slowly, she met his gaze. Her lips trembled. “Are ye leaving come the morn with Ewan and Catherine?”

  “Nae!” He cupped her face tenderly. “When we return, I will speak with your brother privately.”

  “Ye will?”

  “Mo ghrá…have I not professed my love for ye already? Ye are mine. Nae other shall claim ye.” He brushed away a lone tear that had escaped. “Will ye marry me? I have nae lands and cannot return to my own people. All I have to offer is my body for protection, my mind to offer ye wisdom, my hands to earn a living, and my love. Will it be enough?”

  “I, Erina MacIntyre, take ye, Rory, as my husband. Here in this sacred place, ye are mine. What I have is yours.”

  His heart burst with love for her, and he took her hand, placing it in the middle of his chest. “A Fae’s heart is centered to his body. This is where we are joined. Nae other can remove what has been sealed for all eternity.”

  Removing her hand, Erina bent and kissed where his heart beat for only one—her. “Then I seal my love with a kiss over your heart. May we walk together on this journey.”

  Rory rolled her onto her back and captured her sigh with his mouth, further sealing their love.

  ****

  The wind slapped at the lovers as they hurriedly made their way back toward Kileburn. Darkness slipped through the sky, and Rory feared the elements would open and deluge them with a torrential downpour. He wanted to remain safe and warm inside the cave with Erina, but sadly, they had to venture back to civilization.

  By the time they entered through the portcullis, the first drop of rain splattered the ground. Bringing their mounts to the entrance, Rory quickly dismounted and helped Erina off her horse.

  “Let me help ye,” she argued, trying to take Oberon’s reins.

  “Go to your chambers,” he ordered, and silenced her with a kiss—not caring if they were caught.

  She grumbled a protest, but complied.

  Rory made his way to the stables and tended to the animals. One of the lads jumped down from a bale of hay and handed him a brush.

  “Were ye the one with Lady MacIntyre?” he asked, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

  He gave him a passing glance. “Was someone asking for her?”

  “Aye, Laird Cameron.”

  Bastard. “Hand me some fresh hay.” Tempering his fury, Rory moved aside.

  “He acts as if he owns Kileburn,” grumbled the lad and handed Rory some hay.

  Dumping some in the corners of both stalls, he asked, “What is your name?”

  “Stephen, sir.”

  Rory smiled, handing the boy the brush. “Can ye finish tending to both the horses? Or am I asking too much of ye?”

  Stephen puffed out his chest. “’Tis an honor for ye. I can also keep an eye on the Cameron, if ye reckon.”

  “Am I to pay ye coin for this service?”

  The lad jumped onto a nearby bench. “Nae. I am well taken care of here at Kileburn.”

  Rory’s admiration grew for Graham. He placed a firm hand on the lad’s shoulder. “Seek me out anytime.”

  “Thank ye, sir.”

  As he strode forth from the stables, Rory swiftly made his way into the castle and to his chamber to prepare for a feast. In truth, he had to mull over the right words to present to Graham come the morning. They would be the most important of his life. Would he give his blessing to the union with his sister?

  Upon entering his room, he closed the door and leaned against the wood. “Forgive me, Mother Danu, for this is the only path I ken is true. My home is now in this world.” If only Aidan Kerrigan were here to give him counsel. How did the greatest Fenian Warrior accept a life among humans? Without his powers? Yet, his mentor did forge a life with the woman he loved and cherished.

  Rubbing a hand over his brow, Rory hastily changed into fresh clothing and left for the banquet hall.

  Unruly laughter reached him as he descended the stairs. Darren stood off to the side of the entrance of the hall, a frown marring his features. Approaching the man, Rory gave him a curt nod.

  “What is the source of the amusement?”

  Darren shifted uneasily. “Laird Cameron has taken it upon himself to alter the bard’s tale with bawdy words.”

  “Are there any women present?” Rory glanced inside the hall, noting the Cameron was already deep into his cup and staggering.

  “Lady Catherine has retreated to her chamber, and some of the other women have departed the hall.”

  “And Erina?”

  Darren glanced sideways at him. “Not here…yet.”

  “He should be removed from the feasting,” suggested Rory, and folded his arms over his chest.

  “Along with the other two lairds. They remain silent, but encourage him with drink and laughter.” Darren bit out a curse. “And to think Graham had thought them possible suitors.”

  “We are in agreement,” Rory muttered.

  Darren kept his focus on crowd when he said, “A word of caution, MacGregor.”

  “Aye?” Though Rory surmised he knew what the man was going to state.

  Straightening his tunic, Darren turned his attention to Rory. “I
f ye ever bring harm or hurt Erina, I will take my blade to your heart. Do ye ken my meaning?”

  Ye are not her protector! “Dinnae worry. Her safekeeping is my concern.” Without waiting for a reply from the man, Rory stepped around him to greet the vision descending the stairs.

  Smiling fully, she took his outstretched hand, and he placed it in the crook of his arm.

  “Darren? Are ye not joining us?” Erina asked, pausing just inside the doors.

  “Another time,” he replied, and walked away.

  “He seems distressed.”

  Rory shrugged. “Apparently there is trouble already festering with Laird Cameron.”

  She sighed and glanced around the hall. “I look forward to the day he and the others leave Kileburn.”

  “If ye are searching for Catherine, she has already retired for the evening.”

  Erina tugged on his arm. “She and I made a pledge to—”

  He placed a finger over her lips and bent near her ear. “Her father thought it wise when the Cameron took to his lewd singing.”

  “Then mayhap I should leave.”

  “Have nae worries, I shall remain at your side. Let us go greet your brother, and then I will escort ye to your chambers.”

  He noted the rosy glow spreading across her face and neck. “Will ye join me?”

  “Nae. I shall let ye get some rest.”

  She halted their progress and looked aghast at him.

  Rory fought the smile forming on his lips. He knew her body was sore from their lovemaking, and he battled the urge to recant his words. After removing her hand from his arm, he gestured her forward and nodded to others in passing. “Dinnae fear, mo ghrá, I will come wake ye before the first ray of light dances across your chamber’s floor. Will that suffice?”

  Her eyes flashed with azure fire. “Then it will be a verra long night for both of us.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Within a mirror a human can see their own reflection. But when a Fae glances inward, they are able to witness a lifetime of failures.”

  ~Chronicles of the Fae

  Erina wandered aimlessly in the garden, hugging her arms around herself. She sighed, recalling earlier memories of Rory sneaking into her chamber and waking her with heated kisses. It was torture having to endure the long night without him by her side. How she had been tempted to make her way to his room and be the one to surprise him. But she fought the desire, and when her eyes could no longer remain open, she had drifted into an abyss of pleasurable dreams. Only the dream became a reality when she woke with him doing glorious things with his mouth on her skin.

  She paused under a trellis. Her love for Rory consumed her. Now, her nerves skittered as she waited for him in the garden. He had requested to speak with her brother in private and reassuring all would be well.

  “There ye are.” Catherine came striding toward her, a smile on her face. Quickly embracing Erina, she whispered. “I ken ’tis a wondrous match.”

  Confused, Erina leaned back. “To what?”

  Her friend poked her on the arm. “To your marriage to Rory.”

  Erina blinked. “Ye have heard the news?”

  “Aye. Rory spoke with my father last evening.”

  Moving away from her friend, Erina plucked a dead leaf from a nearby branch. “I love him with all my heart.” She let it flutter to the ground and turned back toward her friend. “It might not be the match my brother wanted, but I pray he welcomes this one.”

  Catherine grasped her hands. “Trust me, I believe I ken your brother these past few weeks. He has spoken nothing but kind words about Rory. And why would he object to your happiness? Dinnae fret. Besides, ye have a voice as well. Tell him your heart. At least ye will not be chained to one of those horrid men we dined with these past few evenings. I for one, was delighted to see them depart this morning.”

  “Aye. There were moments when I thought I was being hunted as prey.”

  “The Cameron was the worst!” snapped Catherine and released her hands. “He tried to pinch me in passing.”

  “And I did not care for the silent looks from the other two lairds. In particular, one whose smile never reached his dark eyes.” Erina shivered slightly.

  “They are gone. If our paths do cross, at least one of us shall be a married woman.”

  Erina stared at her. She would always treasure their time spent together. “I will miss ye, my friend.”

  Catherine embraced her. “Ye must promise to send me letters with all the details.”

  “I promise,” she reassured.

  “Lady Erina! I have found ye!” A young lass scampered toward them. “Ye must bring your herbs,” she begged as she tugged on Erina’s gown.

  “Goodness, child. What is so urgent, Clara?” asked Erina, clasping the child’s hand.

  “My brother cut his hand and is wailing like a banshee. ’Tis naught but a wee scratch, but mother bade me to seek ye out.”

  “Did ye run all the way from your home?” asked Catherine.

  Clara nodded, her golden locks bouncing in the soft light.

  Erina placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Go tell your mother I will bring her some comfrey and other healing herbs.”

  “Aye.” She started forward and then turned halfway. “Thank ye.”

  “I think I’ll go fetch those herbs. Their home is near the river and not far.” Erina rubbed her hands together to ward off the chill. “Be well, my friend.”

  Catherine stepped back. “Do ye want me to pass along a message to your brother where ye are going?”

  “Oh, aye. Thank ye.”

  “I wish ye much happiness.” After blowing her a kiss, Catherine walked back toward the castle.

  Smiling, Erina continued on the garden path, which led to a small stone cottage she had used for collecting her herbs. Smoke from the hearth floated into the brisk morning air, and her steps hastened. Upon opening the door, she spied Brother Michael tending to a pot over the flames. He was singing a song about a lost maiden, and she chuckled softly.

  He glanced over his shoulder and waved her over to him. “Thank the saints ’tis ye.”

  “Were ye expecting another?” Erina asked, closing the door behind her.

  “I am making a batch of mead and dinnae want to be disturbed.” He gestured to the pot. “I had to procure this vessel from the kitchens and had nae desire to be questioned by the keen eyes of the cook.”

  Erina peered inside the pot. “I thought she was your friend.”

  “Aye, but if she suspected what I was planning on doing, then the woman would demand to watch me like a hawk. Furthermore, I would rather have a peaceful time of reflection while I’m tending to the brew.”

  She reached for a basket and began to peruse the herbs hanging on pegs. “Is this how ye make mead? I considered the manner to be more laborious.”

  “’Tis only the beginning. I have to boil the honey and water together. The finished product will not be ready for tasting for a few days.”

  “Do your plans include staying at Kileburn through Midwinter?”

  The monk eyed her with curiosity and stepped away from his pot. “Should I?”

  She turned away. “It was only a question.”

  Brother Michael tapped her shoulder. “I approve of the union of ye and Rory.”

  Erina gasped. “Does everyone ken? He is only now speaking with Graham.”

  Laughter bubbled forth, and he gestured her toward a chair. As he settled down across from her, he placed his hands on his thighs. “I am nae fool. Simply because I choose to live a celibate life as a monk does not mean I am blind to the ways of love. I have seen the way he looks at ye. And ye at him.”

  Her face heated, and she wove her fingers around the basket handle. “He is a good man.” What would ye think if ye knew he was a Fae? Would ye call him a demon? “Do ye think my brother will object?”

  Brother Michael sighed and leaned back in his chair. “He has only wanted your happiness. In truth, does
the MacGregor have lands? Money?”

  “None,” she blurted out and placed the basket on the table. “But we can live at my cottage.”

  “Do ye love him?”

  “Aye. With all my heart.”

  “Och, there is your answer, and one ye can state. Furthermore, I am positive Ewan spoke well of Rory to your brother—”

  The door crashed open, startling both of them. Abruptly standing, Brother Michael stepped in front of Erina. “Can I be of service to ye?”

  As she twisted in her chair, Erina clutched a hand to her chest. The man’s bulk blocked the entrance, and his look was one of hatred. He stepped aside, allowing another man to enter, and this time icy tendrils prickled her skin. She couldn’t recall his name, but she would never forget the face. He was one of the visiting lairds. A man who uttered very few words, yet, his eyes haunted her whenever she entered a room.

  Standing slowly, she tried to keep her voice calm. “Did ye not leave with Laird Cameron?”

  Brother Michael narrowed his gaze. “Ahh…ye are one of the lairds traveling with the Cameron. Greetings. Pray forgive me for not remembering your name.”

  The man snarled. “’Tis Sinclair.” He leveled a dirk at the monk. “Are ye working with the witch?”

  Erina gasped and took a step backwards. Her pulse began to beat erratically at the threatening in his deep voice.

  “I can assure ye, Lady Erina is not a witch. If ye have nae other questions, I recommend ye take your leave,” protested Brother Michael.

  Instantly, Sinclair took a fist to Brother Michael’s face. Blood gushed forth from his nose, and the monk staggered.

  “Ye bastard,” hissed Erina, reaching for a cloth off the table. “How dare ye harm this man.”

  After pushing the monk out of the way, Sinclair grabbed her forearm. “Anyone who protects ye will suffer the lash.” He gave a curt nod to the other man. “Bind the monk. We shall take him along. Bishop Stewart will judge what to do with him. And make sure her brother is placed securely somewhere.”