by Silver James
“Get out,” she ordered as if reading his mind. His face fell. Hurt radiated in his eyes. Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him tenderly. “No offense, Ciaran. I might be a twenty-first century woman, but men in the delivery room never seemed like a good idea to me. Please, when Siobhan and the midwife get here, go find Niall and Riordan, and get rip-roaring drunk. Okay?”
“I’ll not leave you to face this alone, Becca,” he vowed, his fierce expression emphasizing his words.
Siobhan and the midwife sailed in before Becca could reply. One got her undressed and into a simple linen shift, while the other laid fresh coverlets across the bed. Ciaran paced the room like a caged wolf.
“Relax,” Siobhan chided him, keeping her voice calm. “The babe will come in its own good time. If yee have to stay, then do some good.” Ciaran looked hopeful. “Get into bed with her and let her lie back against yee.”
Ciaran did as he was told, leaning up against the wall on a couple of pillows. He pulled Becca back against him and wrapped his arms around her. She finally found a comfortable position by bending her knees up. Siobhan draped a coverlet over her legs to preserve some modicum of her modesty.
By noon, Ciaran was cursing his boidín, his selfishness, and men in general. By mid-afternoon, Becca was cursing one man in particular, but didn’t dare voice her opinion. As shadows fell across the room, Alys came in to light candles and rush lights along the walls. Her cheeks dimpled as she watched the couple on the bed. A really strong contraction hit, and Alys’s brow knitted in consternation. She slipped out of the room. A few minutes later, she returned with several new candles and some sprigs of herbs. She lit them all, and soon a soothing mixture of scents wafted about the room. Becca closed her eyes, drew deep breaths of the perfumed air into her lungs, and relaxed.
“I can do this,” she murmured. “This is a piece of cake compared to what I’ve been through.”
Hard dark came and with it, contractions so close they might as well be one continuous spasm.
“Where is Riordan?” Becca panted between one set of contractions. “Get him in here now,” she ordered through clinched teeth.
A few minutes later, Riordan appeared hesitantly at the door. He peeked in, curious as to why Ciaran laid on the bed cradling Becca against his chest and between his legs. Siobhan and the midwife waited at the foot of the bed. Becca’s face shone with sweat, and she made little huffing noises. Riordan looked closer at his cousin. Ciaran’s face was white, and sweat beaded on his forehead.
A contraction built in Becca’s middle, and she gathered all of her strength to push, waiting for the pain to build and recede.
“Now,” Siobhan agreed.
Ciaran’s hands knotted into fists where they crossed beneath her breasts, and his knuckles turned white. He bit down so hard on his bottom lip that blood actually spurted. Fascinated, Riordan watched as the contraction passed, and Becca relaxed, as did Ciaran—but only barely.
Becca looked up at Riordan, her eyes blazing. “Well, it took you bloody well long enough to get here,” she snarled. Riordan held his hands up in front of him to ward off her bark. “Will you get this bloody bugger out of my room and as far away from here as you can?” She glared at her cousin-in-law when he didn’t reply immediately. “I mean it, Riordan. Take him far away. And while you’re at it, get him drunk and keep him that way until this bloody birth is done.”
Ciaran mopped her brow and kissed her hair. “I won’t leave yee, Becca,” he whispered in an attempt to soothe her, all the while trying not to let his panic show. Her labor had gone on far longer than any he’d ever heard tell of, though Siobhan and the midwife seemed unworried.
“If you stay for the rest of this, Ciaran, you won’t let me be having any more babies,” she snapped. “And I plan to have at least a dozen.”
Ciaran blanched, and Riordan had the audacity to laugh. “Aye, cailín,” he finally grinned at Becca. “I’ll get the bloody bugger drunk for you. I want the two of you to have babies enough to start a whole new clann.”
Niall appeared at Riordan’s elbow, prepared to help the younger man carry out Becca’s wishes. “She’s a woman, Ciaran,” Niall reminded him. “She’ll have her way by hook or by crook.”
Becca’s azure eyes gazed into Ciaran’s stormy ones. “Please,” she whispered. “I can’t be taking care of you and me, and the babe when she comes.”
“He,” Ciaran corrected, but he disentangled from her. He plumped up the pillows he’d been laying against and helped her settle back against the cushions. He bent and kissed her forehead. “I’d be takin’ the pain from yee if I could,” he whispered.
“I know.” She kissed his cheek. “But you can’t, Ciaran. Please. Just go. This is hard enough as it is.”
“I’ll be right outside,” he promised.
“No, you won’t,” Becca ordered. “At least as far as the stables, Riordan. And drink. Strong drink. Whiskey. Lots of it.” She started panting again as another contraction built. She was damned tired of this.
Ciaran ran his hand through his hair, wanting to go to her and hold her again. Riordan stepped to his side, his hand on Ciaran’s arm to draw him away.
“Get him out of here. NOW!” She barked the words out from between clinched teeth.
Niall and Riordan each grabbed an arm and forcibly dragged Ciaran from the room. The midwife followed them and shut the door with a resolute bang behind them. She dropped the crossbar into place for good measure.
Dumbfounded, Ciaran stood in the hallway. His own wife had chased him from the birthing chamber and locked the door behind him. “Of all the...” he muttered. Then the contraction hit. He doubled over as Becca cried out from the other side of the door.
“Whiskey,” Riordan said.
“Aye,” Niall agreed. “And lots of it.”
As his two friends escorted him down to the great hall, Ciaran understood the wisdom in Becca’s actions. Gair filled mugs for them, and the three men slunk into Ciaran’s den to await the outcome.
****
Just after midnight, Alys burst from Becca’s room, ran down the hall, and called excitedly from the top of the stairs, “’Tis here, Taoiseac. The babe is here. Come quick.”
The door to the den crashed open. Ciaran took the stairs three at a time, Niall and Riordan close on his heels. The three slid to a stop at the door as they listened to the baby crying inside. All three wiped moisture from the corners of their eyes.
“’Tis a son, Taoiseac,” Siobhan called. “A fine, strong son.”
Ciaran stumbled into the room. He peeked at the tiny bundle in Siobhan’s arms, marveling at the tiny fingers and the perfectly shaped head. His hand carefully cupped the baby’s head, covered with dark peach fuzz. He turned to Becca, his eyes shining with a love so intense, it rivaled the bonfires burning on the hill above the castle. “Son,” he told her smugly as he took her hand and kissed it. “Aye, but you’re a fair cailín, and I love you more than words could ever convey.”
Becca’s hand gripped his, squeezing hard enough his fingers went numb. She grunted and bore down, and as Ciaran stood there dumbstruck, his daughter entered the world only a few minutes after her brother.
“Girl.” Becca smirked without even looking at the baby.
Ciaran gathered her into his arms, raining kisses upon her face and neck and shoulders. As she held his face in her hands, she kissed his tears away. “I thought you wanted one of each,” she teased him.
“Oh, aye, cailín,” he whispered in awe, brushing her hair back off her forehead. “Aye.”
****
“Aye, indeed.” Abhean stared into the center of the standing stones. The bland expression on his face camouflaged the emotions churning in his heart. He flinched as the air shimmered beside him, and Onagh appeared. Ignoring her, he continued to watch the tender scene unfolding before him in the center of the standing stones.
“I know what you did,” she murmured.
He shrugged, still holding his emotio
ns in check. “So now they will have all their lives as was written.” His flat tone didn’t fool her as he’d hoped.
“Play not the fool with me, Abhean,” Onagh chastised.
“You have what your heart desired. Let me be.” He felt her stir beside him as if she meant to touch him. She didn’t.
“You have seen.” Her voice held no question. “Their lives stretch out before them, each one full of both happiness and heartache, as the lives of mortals should be.” She remained silent for several heartbeats. “You got your way.” Her voice betrayed nothing.
“No.” His voice betrayed more than he wanted.
“He will have his chance.” Her voice was softer than a whispered summer breeze but he heard her.
“Aye. He will. Despite Mac Lir.” His nostrils flared, the only sign of his anger.
“’Tis a dangerous game you started.”
A tendril of her golden hair tickled his forearm and he recoiled from its touch. “’Tis not for sport, Onagh.” He dismissed her with a gesture. Even as the scene in the center of the stones shifted to show a horse and rider, Abhean disappeared.
Chapter Twenty-One
The hair stood up on the back of Becca’s neck, and cold fingers skittered down her spine. Someone watched her. She glanced around surreptitiously, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Still, she had the distinct feeling that someone was staring at her. The big black horse she rode tossed his head.
“Easy, Ari,” she soothed as he danced between her legs. “They’re all depending on us. This has to be the ride of our lives,” she whispered to the spirited animal.
Becca leaned over his neck, took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and tried to shake off her unease. She touched Arien lightly with her heels. Horse and rider became one, a molded partnership of gentle hands and legs with muscle and strength. She sat the large horse like she’d been born to him, and he carried her like she were a Valkyrie maiden of yore.
His eyes narrowed as he watched horse and rider. He’d come to see the horse, but it was the rider who captured his attention. She was glorious—broad shoulders, slim waist, and legs that went from here to there and back again. He briefly fantasized about those legs wrapping around his middle. He squirmed uncomfortably as his boidín stretched the front of his riding breeches.
“Bloody hell, Neal,” he muttered, wondering if he’d be able to sit his horse during the competition.
The big sandy-haired man on his left chuckled appreciatively. “Aye, Irish hotblood, Keiran,” he commented in a rich brogue.
“Yes, she is,” Keiran murmured.
A third man, this one with rich, auburn hair and a rakish grin, joined the first two. He watched the horse and rider then glanced at the dark man in the middle. He guffawed, clapping the big man on the back. “I think Kieran has met his match, Neal.”
Misunderstanding the younger man, Neal replied, “Aye, Rory, ’tis a fine horse for certain. If he jumps as good as he looks, I think we should add him to the stable.”
Rory hid his smile. Neal could be so dense at times. “She sits a horse as well as Kieran, does she not?” he pointed out.
“She?” Neal blinked in confusion. “Oh, yee mean the cailín ridin’ him.” He studied horse and rider for a long moment. “Aye, she does have a good seat.”
“And her tóin ain’t so bad either.” Rory chuckled under his breath. He chortled when that comment drew an exasperated growl from the dark man at his shoulder.
Neal turned to stare at both men. Kieran was obviously uncomfortable in his abruptly tight riding breeches, and his cousin, Rory, enjoyed that fact immensely. The older man tried to hide his smile. In all the years he’d known Kieran, this was the first time he’d ever noticed him react to a woman like this. Neal glanced at the other man. Unlike Rory, who’d tupped every cailín who was willing. Neal decided he was going to enjoy watching the outcome of this contest, too.
“And yee notice, Rory,” Neal added with a devilish grin, “she’s got good hands as well.”
Kieran groaned, imagining those hands touching him. What in the bloody hell has gotten into me? He squirmed again. He’d grown even harder during the course of this conversation. Much more, and he wouldn’t be able to walk, much less ride in the next round.
“Clean round,” Rory commented as the girl and horse finished. “And she’s under the time.” He glanced at Kieran’s mid-section. “Going to be a bloody hard jump off,” he sniggered.
Kieran punched him in the arm. “Then we’d best get ready,” he growled.
Becca circled Arien at the end of their ride. They’d jumped clean, and she glanced at the clock. They were well under the time limit, too. Exhilarated, she patted Arien’s neck and guided him out of the arena. As they neared the gate, she finally heard the applause. Becca glanced up into the crowd by the gate trying to locate her family. Her grandfather waved at her and flashed a thumb’s up sign. She smiled and dipped her head at him.
She scanned the crowd and locked gazes with the most intriguing pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen—so dark they were almost black. Then she glimpsed the face and body those eyes belonged to. With the face of a Greek hero, he was tall—at least six and a half feet—with broad shoulders, short hair so black and thick it almost looked blue in the sunshine, and long, muscular legs. Oh, those legs almost made her swoon when she thought about them touching hers skin-to-skin. Her gaze lingered on his mid-section and she grinned, thinking of the old Mae West line about guns and pockets. He was certainly glad to see someone. Becca blushed to the roots of her hair and resisted the urge to fan herself. The man absolutely took her breath away.
She urged Arien down the runway leading from the arena to the holding area and the practice ring beyond. Her parents and grandfather waited in the holding area. She slid off Arien and hugged everyone. They all babbled, so excited their words tumbled over each other, but Becca couldn’t concentrate on the conversation. A flurry of feminine sighs pulled her gaze to the practice ring.
The man she’d seen in the stands had just entered the ring on his horse. A crush of female bodies jockeyed for fence-side position. God, but he’s magnificent. Becca blushed as a hot pool of desire settled between her legs.
Her grandfather took Ari’s reins from her unresisting fingers and led the big horse away for a quick rubdown. Becca’s parents still jabbered, their voices floating around her. All of her attention centered on the man cantering in the ring. She was lured to the rail like a moth drawn inexorably to flame. Without a word to her stunned parents, she glided over to the fence as if in a trance. Two men parted to give her room and exchanged grins over her head. With her attention focused on the ring, she ignored them.
Becca stared, bemused by the dark man watching her from the dark chestnut horse. Without thinking, she swirled her tongue across her lower lip. He made her mouth dry, and she felt a nervous flutter low in her belly. Then her top teeth tugged at her bottom lip, and the men on either side of her shook their heads when the rider wheeled his horse away from her and rode across the ring.
The auburn-haired man on her right chuckled, and she glanced at him. He was good-looking in his own way, but her attention was drawn back to the rider again. The man beside her was sunset to the other’s midnight. That they knew each other was obvious by the fierce looks the rider flashed toward the man beside her.
The loudspeaker announced something, but Becca didn’t have a clue what it was. There was a loud buzzing in her ears accompanied by a thumping bass drum. Blood sang in her veins and her heart pumped to keep up with the fire burning within her.
“Yee’d best get a move on, cailín,” the older man on her left urged. “Yee need to be mounting up for the jump off.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” She nodded, distracted, never taking her eyes off the rider as he left the ring.
The younger man grabbed her by her upper arms, physically picked her up, and turned her to face the opposite direction. “Cailín, yee need to be goin’ now if yer competin’ in
this round.” His thick brogue didn’t hide his amusement.
“Uh. Yeah. Thanks.” She stumbled away. Her brain finally processed that the man had called her colleen. She smiled. Her grandfather always called her that. Maybe it was a sign.
Her grandfather had Ari ready for her to mount. Her dad gave her a leg up, and then patted her thigh. “Ride like you know how, Becca,” he encouraged.
She flashed her family a smile and shook her head to clear it. She needed to focus. Still in a daze, Becca let Ari find his own way to the staging area at the gate. Nine other horses and their riders waited in the runway. One by one, each pair entered the arena. The first four all garnered either time faults or jumping faults during their rides. The dark man on the chestnut horse was the fifth rider. As he entered the arena, Becca urged Ari up to the gate so she could watch, and when he looked up, their eyes locked on each other.
She took his breath away. Her smile was radiant as her cerulean eyes stared into his. Though her hair was tightly bound in a bun at the nape of her neck, Kieran imagined its golden strands trailing across his chest and... He jerked his thoughts back from that dangerous trap.
Kieran broke eye contact first, and circled at a controlled canter. “Easy, Fen.” He kept his voice low. He was damned uncomfortable, but he had no choice. He rode for Ireland, the Army, and his Clann. He let out a slow breath, pointed Fen’s nose at the first jump, and released the big animal.
Becca watched man meld with horse to become one. The horse was an awesome example of Irish breeding and any other time, she would have paid close attention to the animal. Today though, it was the rider who held her enthralled. His wore a dark green military jacket over pale fawn breeches. The patch on his left shoulder flashed gold and red against the somber color of his uniform. His riding helmet now covered his close-cropped black hair. The uniform in no way diminished the man’s astounding musculature. In fact, it only enhanced it.
