by Silver James
“Aye, Taoiseac Ciaran gives his chamber to you, mistress.”
“I am no one’s mistress,” Becca protested, even as she mulled the strange title around in her head. Teeshock. She’d never heard the word before.
“Mayhap not now, but you will be.”
Siobhan’s answer was a bit too cryptic for Becca’s peace of mind. Warily, she watched the woman cross the room to a small table constructed of rough-hewn wood. Siobhan retrieved a metal container and returned, standing in front of her, head tilted as she perused Becca’s face.
“A little powder.” A tight smile accompanied the explanation. “To dim the worst of the damage.”
Confusion was now a perpetual state for Becca. What damage was Siobhan referring to? And powder? Did women always seek to “beautify” themselves? She exhaled, her breath almost a sigh. The scars her body bore would never be dimmed by mere powder or any other cosmetic enhancement. A glimmer danced across the surface of the shield hanging on the wall. The body she’d stared down at in bed that morning and then again as she’d dressed wasn’t her own. Covered with bruises and healing cuts, this body bore no signs of the injuries and countless surgeries she’d endured. What had happened to her? Was this some protracted dream? Had she died and entered some sarcastic god’s idea of an afterlife? Or had something her professor of physics said was impossible actually occurred? Was she really lost in time? Too many questions that had no answers. She closed her eyes while submitting to her nurse’s gentle fingers.
“’Tis time for dinner,” Siobhan said. Her lilting voice matched the cheery smile on her face. “Will you come down to eat in the hall or would you rather remain here to eat?”
Becca really wanted to stay right where she was. Every once in awhile, the whole damn situation became so overwhelming hyperventilation was a real possibility. Before she could answer, someone knocked.
“Is she decent?” a gruff voice growled through the door.
“Aye, too decent for the likes of you,” Siobhan retorted tartly.
The heavy door swung open and an older man almost as tall and powerful as Ciaran blocked the doorway. Mercurial expressions flickered across his ruggedly handsome face, surprise, admiration, a touch of lust, a hint of confusion. Then he smiled. Becca saw her reflection in his eyes. That exquisite creature could not be her. She swooned again.
The man caught her in strong arms and lifted her up, trying to hold her without being too familiar with her body. “He insists she dine with him, Siobhan,” he hissed at the other woman. “I have no choice but to escort her down.”
“’Tis too much excitement too soon, Niall,” she hissed right back. “And, if he catches her in your arms, you’ll be drawn and quartered for sure.”
Becca pushed feebly against the solid wall of the man’s chest. “Uhm? I’m not feeble-minded. You want to talk about me? Then talk to me.” She thumped the man’s chest again. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “Just put me down.”
Hesitantly, he set her on her feet, a strong hand on her elbow to steady her. Becca swayed for a minute and then regained her equilibrium. “What you must think of me,” she demurred. “I’m not really the fainting type.”
Niall smiled, the look in his eyes softening. “I never thought you were, cailín. You wouldn’t be alive otherwise.”
Siobhan slapped his biceps, the smacking sound of her palm on his bare skin as loud as a gunshot, and glared up at him.
He glared back, refusing to be chastised. “Well, she wouldn’t, Siobhan, so leave off.”
Niall escorted Becca and Siobhan to the great hall, the two guards who’d been stationed at the chamber door trailing them. Deafening noise rose from the large room below. Becca hesitated at the top of the steps. Niall took her elbow again to steady her and urge her along, despite the hissed warning from Siobhan.
As Becca’s bare feet delicately trod the first few steps, twenty voices abruptly stopped talking. All eyes looked up. Hands stilled halfway between plates and mouths. She faltered mid-step, suddenly shy and uncertain, sure she couldn’t face all those strange people in this strange place. She felt twelve instead of fifty. Then he appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Ciaran. An Taoiseac of Clann MacDermot. He took her breath away. He gazed up at her, his hand lifting as if he was reaching for her.
She stared into his eyes. They were the color of the Colorado sky just as a thunderstorm moved across the mountains. He gazed at her, his eyes sweeping her from top to bottom. She shook her head slightly sending a silken tendril of hair dancing enticingly next to her ear. His eyes tracked the movement like a hunting hound. As she watched, his emotions played across his face. Admiration. Bemusement. Lust. Oh, yes. There was definitely lust, obvious by the way the front of his trews stretched, drawing her eyes there. Dragging her gaze upward, she saw the breath hitch in his chest as he watched her. Michelangelo could have chiseled his face from granite. Her heart stuttered and she couldn’t catch her breath. He was the most amazing man she’d ever laid eyes on. His arms were long and roped with muscle. His shoulders broad, his chest thick, and his legs? Oh, his legs could make her swoon again. What would it feel like to have those thick thighs touching hers, skin to skin? She could actually feel warm liquid drip down her thigh.
She laughed, a sharp bitter sound. She was having an honest-to-god wet dream. Old enough to have hot flashes, she should have been way beyond such fantasies. “No! This is stupid,” she snarled. “Wake up!” She was so focused on berating herself for her out-of-control emotions, she failed to notice the darkening of those eyes shining up at her or the thundercloud of anger marching across the perfect face below her.
She closed her eyes and shook her head vigorously to wake up. As she opened her eyes, the tantalizing dream who’d been waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs disappeared. She faltered. The knot of pain always hiding in her gut unraveled. She doubled over and fell to her knees, bruising them on the cold stone step. The pain radiated out from her core, stretching into her fingers and toes, even to the very ends of her hair. Excruciating, it was worse than anything she’d ever experienced before. She thought she screamed, but she didn’t know if any sound actually escaped. Inky blackness swirled before her eyes and her stomach churned. Oh, God, she moaned. Not again. I can’t survive this again. She screwed her eyes closed, desperate to shut out the whirling cyclone of light and dark.
Ciaran stormed into his den and raged at his foolishness. Infuriated, he growled under his breath. He’d stood there like a foolish lad, wearing his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see. Like some faerie queen, she’d descended toward him, wearing the gown he’d personally chosen because its color matched her eyes. Her shoulders, wide for a woman and showing unusual strength, sloped up to the slim column of her neck. His boidín hardened as he imagined nuzzling the soft skin in the hollow of her throat.
Standing there at the bottom of the stairs, he’d reached for her, spellbound by her beauty. Her silvery-blue gaze locked on his, and he’d offered his heart when he reached for her. If she had but looked, she could have seen it there in his palm, pulsing and beating only for her. Instead, she’d barked out a derisive laugh and mocked him. Ciaran was certain every man in the great hall heard her deny him. Infuriated, he howled in frustration.
****
“You must make her forgot.” The female’s voice was panicked.
“I have tried but she is too strong. Mayhap the pain of that life is so overriding she cannot get beyond it to live in this one.” He sounded perplexed.
“She must or all is for naught. He cannot die without issue.”
“Who are you?” Becca screamed the question into the whirling vortex.
“She hears us. How can that be?” She was alarmed.
“I know not, but what can she learn? Naught to help her.” He was confident.
“No, nor naught to help us.” She wasn’t.
“We must be patient. Have faith,” he counseled.
“Bah. Patience is for those with short lives a
nd faith is for those who cannot see beyond the next sunrise.”
****
Becca lay still, steeling herself for the next crushing wave of pain. She was so cold. She couldn’t remember how long she’d lain here. She couldn’t feel her feet or her hands, except when the pain roared through her body. She whimpered and choked back tears, desperate to remember what had happened. She shivered. She’d been driving, the road was slick. No, that wasn’t it. Two men. Ugly men with fists and hard boots had pounded her body. No. She shuddered. Cold. Hard ground. More men. Speaking a strange language. She shook her head and pain formed a starburst behind her eyes. Wait. She’d been coming down a long staircase. Someone was waiting for her. He was waiting for her. Tall and rugged, with eyes filled only of her. Had she fallen? Hit her head? She was wearing a prom dress. Had she tripped on the unfamiliar hem and tumbled head over heels down the steps? Why couldn’t she remember?
She refused to open her eyes, knowing the whirling dervish waited for her if she did. Her stomach roiled and she gagged, afraid she was going to vomit. A strobe light pulsed beyond her eyelids and the roaring in her ears drowned out all other sound. She tasted the bile rising in her throat. She groaned. The pain built again, like myriad shooting stars burning through her entire body.
“Hold her head up,” Siobhan ordered. “She’ll choke else.”
Niall sat on the bed, the girl propped against his chest. He obediently held Becca so her head lolled back against his shoulder. Siobhan grabbed the basin she’d used to bathe the girl earlier and held it just in case.
Niall wrapped his arms tighter as the spasms hit. He heard Ciaran roar down below, and he turned stricken eyes to his mate. “What devil resides in her that torments them both?” His voice and breathing were both ragged.
Siobhan could only shrug in reply. She had no answers.
They both turned to face the door, recognizing the heavy footsteps coming their way. Ciaran threw open the massive oaken door with such force, it shuddered as it hit the wall behind it. His hair was disheveled, as if he’d tried to pull it out by the roots. His eyes were wild and as dark as a storm-ravaged sea.
“I cannot stand her pain,” he spat out between gritted teeth. “Kill her and free me from her ensorcellment.”
Siobhan gasped, moving to protect the girl.
Niall groaned, loath to follow that order, yet hesitant not to. He loved Ciaran as a son. His pain was every bit as great as the girl’s, and he could stand neither’s suffering much longer. “How can this be?” he asked his wife, praying she knew of a way to free them all.
“I’ve not got the knowin’ of it,” Siobhan admitted sadly. “That they are tied together is obvious, yet Ciaran has never sworn the binding. I have never witnessed such, Niall. Mayhaps Odhran will know,” she prayed.
Ciaran sank to his knees, his head falling forward until his chin rested against his chest. “By all the gods, Niall, kill her before she kills me.” His whispered plea sounded like a death rattle.
Siobhan dropped the bowl she’d been holding and hurried to a small table near the fire. Boxes and jars littered the top of it. She took a cup, added a bit from one vial, and a pinch of another. Finally, she poured wine into the cup and stirred the mixture, murmuring softly. She carried the full cup back to the bed.
“Lay her head back, Niall, so she can drink.”
He looked up at her in shock. “You think to poison her? Why not let me plunge my knife cleanly into her heart and be done with it?”
“’Tis but a sleeping draught, husband. ’Twill put her beyond the pain.” She nodded toward Ciaran and added, “He will follow.” She tipped the liquid into Becca’s mouth and stroked her throat so the girl would swallow. Within a few moments, Niall felt her body relax. Her breathing deepened, filling her starved lungs with oxygen. He shifted so he could lay her back on the bed. Siobhan pulled the covers over her as her husband hurried to Ciaran’s side.
“She’s a witch, Niall. We must kill her,” Ciaran panted.
“Nay, lad, we can’t,” he protested. “I believe that what befalls her will befall you. The O’Neills grow ever more hungry for our land, and I fear what will happen if you are not here to lead us.” When Ciaran nodded weakly, Niall stood and helped the bigger man to his feet, grunting with the effort. “I’ll take him to another chamber,” he told Siobhan over his shoulder.
“Nay. Put him in bed beside her where I can watch over them. Then ride yee to Odhran’s hut and bring him here to me.” When he started to protest, she held up her hand in warning. “This is beyond my knowin’, Niall, and I, too, fear for both of them. This is the truest binding I have ever seen, one for all eternity. We must protect them until the gods sort this out. Ride, husband, ride hard, and bring me Odhran.”
Niall helped Ciaran around to the far side of the bed and eased him down. Ciaran groaned as he laid back, and Niall lifted his feet up onto the bed. He stood uncertainly for a moment, indecisive for one of the few times in his life.
“Go,” Siobhan hissed.
Niall turned on his heel and fled, banging the door closed behind him.
A knot of worried men awaited him at the foot of the stairs. To a man, they’d seen the vision in sky blue float down the stairs toward their Taoiseac. They’d seen the great joy radiating from the MacDermot as he awaited this woman who was obviously his chosen one. To a man, they saw the rage suddenly vanquish the joy and the MacDermot turn and leave. Shocked, they watched the woman fall, Niall too slow to catch her. They heard her screams, and they heard the answering howls erupting from Ciaran’s den. Even the more educated among them were scared.
Niall could take scarce time to allay their fears, so he motioned two of his lieutenants to follow him to the stables. They had to jog to keep up with his long-legged dash as he briefly filled them in on Ciaran’s condition, that of the woman, and his own mission.
He rode hard and fast, slowing only when the trail narrowed dangerously. The ride took far too long for him to reach Siobhan’s cottage. He barely slowed as he guided his horse onto the narrow trail on the other side of his mate’s herb garden. Half a league into the forest, Niall found the small clearing and the old Druid’s hut.
“Odhran,” he shouted, pulling his horse to a sliding stop before the door. “Come quickly. An Taoiseac has need of you.”
The door to the hut creaked opened and the tired, wrinkled face of the Druid stared out. “But I have no need of him,” the old man snapped.
Niall was shocked silent. His fist closed convulsively around the handle of his sword and pulled it half way out of its scabbard. Through clinched teeth, he snarled, “Your very life has need of him, Odhran. If he dies, I will personally run my sword through you.”
Odhran watched him for a long moment, as if trying to read his thoughts. The man’s eyes flickered then he dipped his chin in an almost imperceptible nod. “Aye,” he agreed. “Ciaran is in need of aid though I may be a poor choice. Still, I will do what I can.” He ducked back into his hut and emerged a few moments later with a worn leather satchel looped across his shoulder. “Let us go.”
Niall clasped the old man’s hand and swung him up behind him. Odhran felt frail beneath his robes and he wondered just how ancient the old Druid actually was.
****
Ciaran dozed lightly. The pain had finally left his head. Siobhan puttered around over by the fire. He tracked her movements by the swish of her skirt as she mixed potions and such. A soft puff of air tickled his ear. The woman next to him sighed in her sleep. The pain had finally left her as well.
He gathered her into his arms and settled her next to him, her head on his shoulder, her soft breasts pressing into his side. The woman stirred, moving one leg over his. Absently, he rubbed his chin on the top of her head, relishing the soft silkiness of her hair as its strands caught in his beard stubble. A sense of peace and contentment stole over him. This was the way life was meant to be, he mused. He grew hard and smiled, reveling in the fact that he had. Though he would never h
ave admitted it even to Niall, he’d often wondered why other men bedded women with abandon, but he’d never had the urge beyond the one time. And, if that long ago cailín hadn’t taken the bull by the horns, so to speak, he’d probably be a virgin to this day.
“’Tis no shame in that, Taoiseac,” Siobhan said softly from where she sat on a bench near the fire. She flashed him a knowing smile when he opened his eyes only to glare at her. “Not all men need to be a bull with a herd of cows. Long ago, Ciaran, before the gods even gave us the sacred fire, before the cauldron, spear, sword, and stone, they gave every man a woman. Each man was to care for and protect his own and if he did so, life would be good.” She cocked an eyebrow and gave him a saucy grin. “If yee gather my meaning?”
Ciaran grinned back knowing exactly what she meant. He nodded, wanting her to continue.
“Because this kind of love was so deep and abiding, the gods knew that one lifetime would not be enough. They promised as long as each man kept his covenant with his true mate, even though the dark sleep of death might part them in this life, the two would be reunited in the next.” Siobhan sighed. “Mortals being what they are, they forgot what a wondrous gift true mating was. They got greedy and hungered for others. They had no patience to await their one true love. This angered the gods. They gathered all the mortals together then separated the men from the women. Every god gathered a handful of each and tossed them to the four winds. This went on until all the mortals had been scattered. If a man is lucky enough to find his true mate, win her, and keep her, then the gods will keep their covenant with that man. He will get to keep her for eternity, finding her again in each life, to have and to hold.”
Ciaran studied her for a long time. “What are you saying, Siobhan?” Almost afraid to hear what she’d say next, he held his breath.
