He toweled himself dry, careful to avoid the red swollen wound on his upper right thigh. “Would it not be ironic to die from a splinter injury after having survived numerous battle wounds?”
Colin relaxed in one of the wooden chairs grouped around a small table not far from the fireplace, a tankard of ale in hand. “The devil cannot die.”
Eric wrapped the towel around his hips and reached for another one to tend his long, wet hair. “No, he just forever pays for his sins.”
Colin intended to protest but Eric interrupted with an order. “Send Borg with instructions to demand, not request, the local healer be sent to me and have Borg inform Lord William I will meet with him early on the morrow.”
Colin stood to his full height, a mere two inches under Eric’s six-foot-five-inch frame. He stretched the stiffness from his sore muscles. Where Eric was thick in muscles, Colin was slim and lean. Many a foe mistakenly thought him an easy opponent only to discover he possessed an uncommon and remarkable strength and skill that made them regret ever engaging fists or swords with him. His sculpted features, sincere brown eyes, winning smile and charming nature made him a favorite with the ladies. But Eric was the one person who understood that Colin presented a mask to the world and beneath laid a vastly different man.
“Why the smile, Colin?” Eric asked.
“The man almost embarrassed himself at the sight of you, wait until he sees Borg.”
“Lord William is no man. He is an impotent fool and fools irritate and disgust me. Go fetch me the healer before I perish.”
“The devil cannot die,” Colin reminded him, walking out the door.
“The hell he can’t,” Eric said, dropping into the large chair closest to the fire and stretching his long legs out for the heat to warm his naked skin.
He was glad to be here at Donnegan Castle, glad this ordeal would soon be over and glad finally to be returning to his own land where he would keep the promise he had made to himself when he was but a lad of five.
Eric closed his eyes and allowed the peacefulness of the quiet room to soothe him. He listened to the snap and crackle of the fire, felt its heat creep over his bare skin and he slowly slipped into a much-needed slumber.
o0o
Faith stood staring at the giant of a man who waited just outside her door, the top of his head partially obstructed from her view since his height didn’t allow him entrance unless he bent down. He had to stand at least six or seven inches over six feet. He had long, blond hair that fell over his shoulders and down along his chest and his eyes were a stunning blue and the width of him simply amazed her.
Her dog Rook, a monster of an animal with too many bloodlines in him to determine his origin, sat beside his master, tilting his head from side to side as though not certain what to make of the tall man.
“The servant Nora told me that you were the best healer around,” he said, his voice much too gentle for a man of his immense size.
Faith nodded. “So it has been remarked.”
“My lord needs your skills,” he said. “Will you please accompany me?”
Surprised at his manners, comfortable in his overwhelming presence and of course with Rook to protect her from harm, she inquired as to his lord’s needs. “What is his injury?”
He seemed almost to blush in embarrassment. “A splinter that has been sorely neglected.”
She smiled and his blush deepened, his odd reaction making her realize he was not comfortable around women. A strange character trait for a man whose good looks and strength would obviously make him appealing to the ladies. “Allow me to gather the necessary items to attend your lord.”
He nodded and stepped away from the door, Rook sniffing after him.
“Behave, Rook,” she called out as she hurried to gather her things.
Faith’s hands trembled as she worked with haste, realizing that the ailing lord could be none other than the Irish devil. She had heard the gossip that preceded his arrival. It was all anyone spoke of and all anyone thought about for the last few weeks. Most of the wagging tongues talked of him with fear and awe and none spoke of him without first blessing themselves. His reputation was infamous and she shivered at the prospect of meeting the mighty dark lord.
She finished gathering her supplies and before joining the giant outside she pushed her long, fiery red hair away from her face, holding back the springy curls that protested and fought to remain as they were. She gently ran her fingers over the thin, pale scar that ran just below her right eye, closer to her temple and down along her cheek nearer to her ear, along her neck, over her chest all the way down her full breast to the tip of her nipple.
It would forever be there, forever reminding her, forever keeping her a prisoner of her own fears. She released the thick mass of long, flaming curls to fall and conceal what her stepmother referred to as “her shame.”
She made certain the scar was sufficiently concealed, grabbed her healing basket and hurried to join the large man, who was busy patting the contented mongrel sitting beside him. “Ready,” she said, and slipped the hood of her dark cloak over her head as they walked toward the castle.
“I am Faith,” she said as she struggled to keep up with the giant’s long strides.
He stopped, looked down at her and said, “Borg.”
“Pleased to meet you, Borg.” She held her hand out to him and her delicate fingers were soon lost in his wide palm.
He nodded his response and she smiled, realizing this large man may be a fierce warrior, but he possessed a shy and gentle soul. She hurried alongside him, keeping her head down and making certain her long, red hair concealed the side of her face. If her path crossed with her stepmother, the woman would have a fit if she didn’t hide her shame. But, then, she did not plan on confronting the woman this night. She would hurry to do her task and be gone before her stepmother discovered her presence in the keep.
The keep was unusually quiet and she and the giant’s presence went on undetected as they climbed the stairs to the guest bedchambers.
Rook took a guarded stance outside the bedchamber door which they had stopped in front of and on trembling legs Faith entered with a confident Borg.
Two men occupied the small quarters. One was half-naked and appeared to be asleep by the fire and the other instantly rose to greet them.
Colin stood and greeted her with a smile that could charm the coldest of women, but before he could introduce himself, Eric spoke from his chair by the fire.
“Colin, leave the woman be, she is here to tend me.”
Faith was surprised by the man’s response since she thought him asleep, his eyes closed, his posture relaxed.
“Come, have done with this,” he ordered none too gently.
She slipped her hood off her head. She did not notice the smiles Borg and Colin exchanged. After setting her cloak on a nearby chest, she snatched up her healing basket from where it sat beside her and approached the man quietly.
“Make haste, woman, I wish to seek my bed before the sun rises.”
Faith remained silent. This man was not far from Borg’s height, perhaps two or three inches shorter. His girth almost equaled the giant’s, and where Borg was gentle in nature this man possessed an arrogant manner that would easily intimidate man or beast.
She quietly walked over to him. So this was the man that had gossipy tongues wagging for over a month. She glanced at his features, so sinfully handsome he could only be the devil’s own. His long, dark hair remained damp, the wet strands resting over his broad shoulders and glistening from the fire’s light. His heavy muscled chest could only have been formed by constant strenuous exertion and his powerful legs were defined with the same thick muscles. She could only imagine the potency of what lay beneath the towel and shockingly, she felt a faint stirring in the pit of her stomach.
Unnerved by her surprising reaction to this man, she set to work forcing all of her attention on her duty at hand. The wound in the middle of his right thigh lay exposed to h
er view. It was red and warm to the touch… infection would set in soon if it had not already started.
She arranged a clean white cloth on the small stool she pulled close to her side and proceeded to set out her ointments, bone needles and linen cloths for bandages. She scooped warm water into a bowl from the bucket that sat near the fire, dropping a mixture of leaves in it and adding a small white cloth to soak.
When all was in ready she cleansed her hands with another cloth and set to work. Her touch was gentle as she repeatedly soaked the wound with the cloth from the bowl and when satisfied the mixture had worked sufficiently, she picked up her slim bone needle.
“This may pain you,” she said softly.
“I doubt that,” he said, his eyes remaining closed and his head resting back against the chair.
The solution had worked well, forcing the piece of splinter she was sure had remained embedded in his thigh to peek out from the reddish wound. Gently she probed and within no time she removed the thin sliver that had caused so much damage.
Faith cleansed the wound again and then set to work administering a dab of cream around the infected area and wrapping white strips of cloth around his thigh. She did not notice that the man had opened his eyes.
Eric stared at the woman who kneeled at his feet. He wondered over her features, with such a soothing voice he had assumed she would be at least passable, but the young woman who knelt before him was a beauty.
Her fiery red hair fell in a mass of ringlets past her shoulders. Her skin was pale and pure as freshly fallen snow and her lips narrow and tempting. She filled out her body generously, full breasts and hips and a narrow waist. And then there was her soft touch; it simply aroused him. That was why he kept his eyes closed. He wanted to enjoy the feel of her delicate fingers probing his heated skin and imagine. Yes. Imagine how her hand would feel if she slipped it slowly beneath the towel and gently cupped him.
As he indulged in that lusty thought, Faith looked up and met his sensuous blue eyes. Breaths were caught for several rushed heartbeats, passions soared and destiny was set into place.
“Are you finished?” he asked, his voice roughly gentle and much too enticing.
She nodded and attempted to collect herself. “Yes, I am finished. The cloth must remain in place for two days time, and this cream” — she picked up a wooden container from her basket and placed it on the arm of the chair in which he sat — “must be rubbed over the wound for at least a week’s time.”
He gave a brief nod.
Faith hurried to gather her things and be off. This man or devil was having a disturbing effect on her senses and sensibility, and she wanted nothing more than to be gone from his unnerving presence.
She was about to stand when he spoke.
“Will you share my bed this night?”
His lascivious invitation so shocked her that she fell to her backside, her mouth wide and her eyes rounded.
He reached his hand out to her, the hint of a lustful smile tempting his mouth. “I will be gentle.”
She ignored his offered help and shook her head, giving him the wrong impression.
“Rough, if you prefer it that way.”
He did not wait for her response. He stood, the towel falling off him, his passion more than evident by the potent size of him, and he reached down for her.
Faith scrambled to her feet, tripping on the hem of her gown as she fought to stand and take flight.
Eric tried to help her, but she brushed his hands away, trying desperately not to look at his naked body. He laughed when his hand finally grasped her arm and righted her in front of him.
“We have all night. There is no reason for impatience.”
Faith gasped, finding the hard, intimate feel of him brushing against her shocking and his hold on her much too possessive. She yanked her arm free, grabbed her basket and cloak and rushed toward the door.
“If it is coins you wish, I can be generous,” Eric said, annoyed and strangely enough disappointed.
“Rook,” Faith shouted with a mixture of fear and anger.
The monster dog charged into the room, teeth bared and snarling, and took a protective stance in front of Faith.
Colin and Borg grinned at Eric.
“Sit!” Eric commanded in a thunderous voice that made Faith quake.
The dog immediately obeyed though he continued to emit a low snarl.
“Not for all the coins in the world would I lay with the devil,” Faith said and fled the room, Rook close on her heels and snarling.
Colin and Borg burst into laughter.
Eric did not laugh.
“She was not at all impressed with you,” Colin said and threw his friend a robe.
Eric slipped into the black silk. “It matters not.”
“Her rejection did not bother you?” Colin teased, familiar with Eric’s prowess with the women.
Eric walked to the table and poured himself a glass of wine. “As I said, it matters not. I will have her before we depart.”
Colin continued his teasing. “I never knew you to take a woman by force.”
“She will lie with the devil… and most willingly,” he assured his friend and slowly sipped his wine.
Chapter Two
Faith made it to the front door, her trembling hand reaching for the iron handle when her stepmother’s shrewish voice halted her.
“What are you doing here?”
Faith took a deep, calming breath before turning to face the woman. She would display no signs of distress, give her no reason to berate or belittle her, though the woman never needed a reason. She found fault with everyone.
With her chin up and standing as tall as she could at barely four inches over five feet, Faith slowly turned around.
Rook, alert to his master’s tense emotions, took a guarded stance in front of her.
Lady Terra approached with eyes spread wide and her voice rose to such a squealing pitch that Faith expected the keep to shatter around her.
“I have warned you not to bring that beast into this keep.”
Rook did not at all care for her tone and the dark hair on the back of his neck went up as he bared his teeth, emitting a low rumbling snarl.
Lady Terra halted abruptly. “Put him outside or I will have him disposed of.”
Faith loved Rook beyond reason. He was her true friend and her only companion and she could not bear to think of any harm coming to him. And she knew without a doubt that Lady Terra was capable of harm. Faith often wondered if she purposely inflicted harm on others out of sheer enjoyment of watching people suffer. She was cruel and heartless and that made her dangerous.
She would not risk losing Rook simply because she was not capable of enduring her stepmother’s harsh mouth or a slap that would but sting and then be done with.
Faith opened the door and gently, though firmly, ordered Rook to wait outside. The big dog focused his dark eyes on Lady Terra, gave her a departing snarl for good measure and reluctantly and with slow strides did as his master instructed.
Lady Terra was on Faith before the door was completely closed, her fingers biting viciously into Faith’s slender arm. She was so enraged that she did not see Rook sneak back in and blend with the shadows that hugged the wooden walls. She dragged Faith down a dimly lit corridor and shoved her into a room, slamming the door behind them.
Rook remained in the shadows waiting.
“Explain yourself,” Lady Terra demanded of Faith as she pushed the young woman away from her.
Faith feared her stepmother, but she feared her own weakness much more. She would not allow herself to back down and be trampled on. She had endured enough humiliation and refused to endure anymore. In her strength she found courage and in courage she found pride. Pride in who she had struggled to become.
She tossed her fiery red hair back away from her face, the multitude of ringlets flying and bouncing off her pale skin and exposing her scar.
Lady Terra shook her head in disgust, but Faith
continued to hold her head up high.
The physical scar was something she had learned to live with, but it was what the scar signified to others that caused her the most suffering. Everyone had assumed that her attacker had raped her. No one would listen when she told them how she had fought, fought for her life and won.
When they had found her that night in the stables, bruised and bleeding and brought her to the keep, her stepmother had shouted vile accusations and hateful words at her. When she attempted to speak, the woman had warned her to keep her lies to herself, insisting that no decent woman would want to remain alive after such a sinful incident.
But she was wrong. Faith wanted to live more than ever that night and she had struggled hard to do so. Even when the healers told her father she had lost too much blood to survive and the priests were called to give her the last rites, Faith still fought. She had struggled even harder when she had heard her stepmother and father agreeing it would be best for all, especially for Faith herself, if she were to just die.
Faith found strength in herself that night she never knew she possessed, and she prayed to God to help heal her and that she would in turn help heal others. He answered her prayer and she kept her word.
And now nothing, not her stepmother or the devil himself would strip her of her courage and pride.
“I hope you had enough common sense to hide that hideous reminder of your indiscretion,” Lady Terra said with a sharp-eyed look that could cut almost as painfully as a knife itself.
“I shame no one,” Faith said, her solid brown eyes potent in their own focus and enriched by the long, fiery lashes that framed them.
“You shame yourself,” Lady Terra spat. “No decent woman would so blatantly brand herself a harlot.”
Faith spoke softly, but with such conviction that her voice resonated in the small quarters. “I did nothing wrong.”
“Enough, I will hear no more lies. Now tell me what you are doing here.”
Faith saw no reason to hide the truth. She was a healer and often called upon to tend the ill, to the disgust and disapproval of her father and stepmother.
The Irish Devil Page 2
