by Jayne Castel
She would never tire of looking at him. Sometimes when his gaze was averted she found herself drinking him in—yet his moods and his bitterness made her wary. And when he touched her, as he had been forced to earlier, she was not sure what to think.
Watching Donnel now she could see her words had angered him. And yet she would not take them back. “You're not sending me away,” she said after a long silence. “So don’t even try.”
Donnel let out a curse. “All right, woman,” he growled. “But let me make something clear. Before you wander off in future, tell me where you’re going first. If you get lost in the forest, I may never find you.”
“You found me today,” she challenged, annoyed by his bossy tone. “Why wouldn’t you do so again?”
His grey eyes hardened. “I’m not going to repeat myself. If you don’t heed me, I’ll carry you off—kicking and screaming if I have to—back to Dun Ardtreck. Then your cousin can deal with you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Feast in the Forest
One month later …
“WE’LL RUN OUT of food if I don’t catch something soon.”
Eithni looked up from where she was frying eggs upon a hot stone. She had stumbled upon the grouse eggs the day before. They were a special morning treat, for they had not eaten any eggs since arriving here. Eithni had been looking forward to them. However, Donnel’s words had shattered her light mood.
Their gazes met across the fire pit, and she saw the tension on his face. Donnel had been withdrawn over the past few days. She had often caught him staring off into space as if he was not even there. Eithni had thought he had been brooding over his exile, but she now realized that survival preyed on his thoughts as well.
“You bring back enough to feed us,” she said. The comment was more to reassure herself than him, and Eithni winced at how hollow it sounded. Like Donnel she spent most of her days obsessing over what they would eat in the cold months ahead.
Both of them had lost weight since arriving here. Already slender, Eithni’s tunic now hung off her. Donnel’s tall muscular frame had become lean and hard.
“Hunters have cleaned out this valley,” Donnel replied, holding her gaze. “I come home empty-handed from most hunting trips.”
“But we have enough food at the moment.”
“Only just—and what about winter? We need to be filling our stores. If I’m having trouble finding game now, it’ll be worse during the bitter season.”
His words caused a chill to feather over Eithni’s skin. Masking her worry, she bent over the eggs, flipping them with her knife onto two wooden plates that Donnel had whittled out of pine. “Here.” She handed a plate with four eggs on it to Donnel and forced a smile. “Eat these before they get cold.”
He nodded, his expression softening. “Aye … thank you.”
Eithni took her plate and perched upon a rock a few feet away. She sighed with pleasure as she took her first bite of egg.
“These are delicious,” Donnel murmured. Eithni looked up to see that he had almost finished his meal.
“I’ll see if I can find another nest today,” she replied. Red grouse were plentiful in many places of The Winged Isle. The birds nested on the ground in hollows lined with grass near the riverbanks; she’d had to be quick, but had managed to grab one in her hands.
He nodded, his mouth curving into a rare smile. “Good, lass.”
Holding his gaze Eithni felt a surge of warmth flower under her rib cage.
The Maiden preserve me, he’s irresistible when he smiles.
A month in this man’s company had made her acutely aware of him. There had only been rare light-hearted moments between them since their arrival in this valley, for the chores associated with surviving from day-to-day weighed heavily upon Donnel especially.
This new existence had not been easy—she spent most of her days with an ever-present hunger gnawing at her belly—yet they had been the happiest days of Eithni’s life.
It had not taken her long to realize that Donnel was the reason.
Sometimes he could be poor company; when his mood turned bleak he became taciturn and uncommunicative. On those dark days the shadows of the past dug their claws deep. Yet she still looked forward to waking every morning so that she could spend time with him before they got to work for the day. Whenever he went hunting, she grew impatient for his return.
Eithni too had days when the ghost of Forcus haunted her—when she would awaken in the early morning, heart pounding, her body bathed in sweat. However, Donnel chased memories of Forcus away. Eithni’s favorite moment of each day was after supper when they would sit before the crackling fire pit and talk. Eithni looked forward to these conversations so much that she would be impatient if the afternoon dragged too slowly.
He was quickly becoming the most important thing in her life—and she did not care.
It pleased her to see him smile now.
“So will you go hunting today?” she asked, looking away as she felt a blush creep up her neck.
“No, we need to build up our wood stores so I’ll start chopping up that pine I felled three days ago.”
Eithni glanced up to see the smile had gone and a look of grim determination had settled upon Donnel’s face once more.
Watching him she decided she would do something special for him today—something that would bring a smile to his face once more.
“Donnel,” Eithni called. “Where are you?”
Basket under one arm, Eithni wandered through the dappled forest. A wind breathed through the spruce either side of her; the air was warm, with the scent of pine. She inhaled deeply, her gaze scanning her surroundings.
Where is he?
She was about to call his name again when she heard the ‘thunk’ of an iron blade hitting wood. It was faint, but Eithni immediately knew she had found Donnel. Smiling, she set off, her feet crunching over the forest floor. She wore foot wrappings made of deer-skin. Donnel had fashioned them for her from the doe he had killed on their first day out here.
She followed the thud of the axe and found Donnel halfway down a slope, chopping his way through the trunk of a pine. He was using a small hand-axe; it was woefully inadequate for the job but the only tool of its kind that he had brought with him.
Stripped to the waist, his naked back gleaming in the noon sun, Donnel was an arresting sight. Eithni halted and stared, losing herself in frank appraisal.
The Mother preserve her, she had never seen such a magnificent man. The muscles of his lean torso rippled with each stroke of the axe.
Feeling someone’s gaze upon him, Donnel straightened up, his attention shifting up the slope to where Eithni stood.
Still captivated, her gaze roved over the carven plains of his naked chest and hard belly. A strange hunger swept over her—one that made her feel oddly light-headed and weak at the knees.
“Eithni,” he greeted her with a smile. “What brings you here?”
Pulling herself together, her cheeks warming at being caught gawking at him, Eithni held up the basket. “I’ve prepared a feast for my brave strong warrior,” she replied with a smile. “I thought you might be hungry.”
The days had been long recently, and she was in a playful mood this morning.
To her surprise and delight, his mouth stretched into a mischevious grin. “Always, sweet kind lassie.” Donnel embedded the axe into the trunk of the pine and motioned to the stump. “Let’s eat there, upon the great feasting table.”
Eithni laughed. It was good to see Donnel lighthearted for once. It also distracted her from the sight of him, half-naked and virile, before her.
She walked down to the stump and laid out the contents of her basket. Their ‘feast’ was nothing like what they would have enjoyed in Dun Ringill although she was proud of what she had prepared. There were fillets of smoked trout and eel, strips of dried venison, and small wild onions. However, the item she was most excited about sharing with Donnel was the large earthen cup of scarlet
berries that she placed in the center of the stump.
Donnel’s gaze widened. “Raspberries! Where did you find them?”
“Downstream from the hut,” she replied shyly. “There are a few bushes alongside the creek.” She paused here. “Don’t worry—I didn’t venture far.”
Donnel grinned at her as he reached for a piece of smoked eel. “What a woman you are, fair Eithni.”
She found herself smiling back. “Fair, eh? I like the sound of that.”
He huffed. “I’m sure you’ve heard it many times. You are as lovely as a fairy maid.”
Eithni’s blush deepened at that—cursing the heat that flamed across her cheeks. “I never took you for having a honeyed tongue, Donnel mac Muin,” she chastised, feigning primness. She took a bite of dried venison and focused on chewing for a moment.
However, Donnel merely winked at her. “All the men of my family know how to charm when it suits them—even Tarl.”
Eithni raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Donnel’s elder brother was not known for his polished manners. Yet he had managed to win Lucrezia over all the same—in the end. It struck her then that Donnel was flirting with her.
She grew still, her belly fluttering before deciding that she liked it.
They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the meal, which they finished with the berries.
Donnel’s eyes widened as he tasted the first one. “Gods, these are good.”
Eithni smiled. “Better than oat and plum pudding dripping with butter and honey?”
He groaned. “Don’t torture me. Of course they aren’t.”
Eithni watched him eat the raspberries, enjoying the look of pleasure on his face. After a moment Donnel glanced up. “Aren’t you going to have any?”
“I’ll pick more later … you eat these.”
He shook his head. “They taste better when shared … here.” He picked up a berry and held it up. “Open your mouth.”
Eithni hesitated a moment before complying. He placed a plump berry upon her tongue, watching as she ate it. Then he fed her another. This time she felt his fingertips brush her lips as he pulled his hand away.
Eithni’s breathing caught, and their gazes met and fused.
All playfulness between them had gone now. Donnel’s grey eyes held an intensity that made her feel stripped bare.
“I should get back,” she murmured, rising to her feet with a suddenness that sent her basket flying. “I—”
She never finished her sentence, for Donnel had gotten to his feet as swiftly as her, and he quickly stepped around the stump to face her. A heartbeat later he lowered his mouth to hers.
Eithni went still, losing herself to the pressure of his lips against her own. Then he groaned and drew her gently against him, deepening the kiss. When his tongue parted her lips she did not resist him. She had gone weak, boneless, in the cage of his arms. She did not feel like herself at all. A storm of aching need gathered within her, and she gasped, her hands moving unbidden to his chest, sliding over the warm smooth skin.
Donnel’s kiss was exquisitely gentle—soft and sensual in a way that undid her completely. She let out a whimper and pressed herself against him. Who was this woman who tangled her hands through his hair, who pressed her breasts against the hard wall of his chest as he kissed her? Eithni’s loins had turned molten. She felt as if she would simply melt in his arms.
Donnel ended the kiss suddenly. He ripped his mouth from hers and stepped back, his gaze limpid, his lips parted. He was breathless and his chest was heaving—but as Eithni watched him she was aware of a barrier crashing down between them.
The cold distant warrior had returned.
She watched him take another step back, and he raked his hand through his short dark hair. His grey eyes had turned flinty and his handsome face grim.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a long silence. His voice had a rasp that made her shiver with need. “That was a mistake.”
If he had just thrown a bucket of icy water over her, Eithni could not have been more shocked. She stared at him, her throat constricting. The bitter irony of the situation was not lost on her.
It should have been her to end the kiss. After what Forcus had inflicted upon her, she had expected to dissolve into hysteria if another man ever came near her—to claw his eyes out in terror—but she had done the opposite.
Donnel’s kiss had set her free. His touch had made all the terrible memories fade.
Only, one look at his face now told her he did not feel the same way. Eithni raised her fingers to her lips, which still tingled from his touch. Was she unpleasant to kiss? Had he just compared her to Luana and found her lacking?
A wretched sensation twisted her belly. “Don’t look so fierce, Donnel,” she whispered. “You didn’t hurt me.”
That was the wrong thing to say. His expression turned thunderous. “I shouldn’t have touched you,” he growled. “Not after everything you’ve been through.”
“It doesn’t matter. I—”
“I don’t know what came over me.”
Eithni stared at him, tears pricking her eyelids. With each word he was making things worse. In his arms she had felt beautiful, desirable, protected, and wanted. She had felt safe to let out her passion, a desire for him that had been building for a long while now. With just a few words he had succeeded in wounding her deeply. If he had slapped her across the face, it would have hurt less.
Her vision blurred, but she blinked the tears back. She would not cry—not in front of him.
Eithni took a few rapid steps back, nearly tripping over in her haste. “I’ll see you later,” she mumbled.
Then she turned and fled up the slope, as if a pack of wolves were on her tail. By the time she reached the trees at the top, tears were streaming down her face.
Chapter Nineteen
Vows
DONNEL WATCHED EITHNI disappear over the brow of the hill and forced himself not to run after her.
The Reaper take me, what have I done?
He was not sure what had possessed him. They had been enjoying each other’s company, eating and talking, and then he had made the mistake of feeding her berries. He had not been prepared for the animal need that had surged up within him when his fingers had brushed those rosebud lips.
He’d had to kiss her. Right then.
But to worsen matters she had tasted better than he could have possibly imagined: her warm, slender body pressed against his, her hot mouth opening for him as he kissed her. She smelled of pine, sunlight, fresh air, and the sweet scent of a woman’s skin. It had unraveled his self-control.
Trust was a fragile thing. He had just betrayed hers. Eithni had suffered terribly at a man’s hands. She deserved better than to have him throw himself at her. Not only that but kissing her brought back memories he wished to keep buried.
Luana.
Had he betrayed her memory?
He had enjoyed kissing Eithni too much. After his wife had died he had made her a silent promise he would never touch another woman. Luana would never have demanded that of him. She would have smiled in that gentle way of hers and told him to find another to love, and to share his life with. Only he could not. It tore him up inside to think of lying with another woman. Luana would truly be gone then. Would he then completely forget her in time?
Donnel cursed, spun on his heel, and yanked the axe out of the soft pine trunk.
Donnel returned to the hut with reluctance that evening.
He had not stayed away out of anger toward Eithni but instead fury at himself. He hacked at the trunks until sweat poured off him—until the muscles in his back, shoulders, and upper arms screamed. He worked in a frenzy—hoping to drive away his demons—yet as the light faded and the air cooled he realized he had only succeeded in exhausting himself.
The feel of Eithni’s mouth under his and the hot pulsing need he had felt for her were still there.
And now he would have to face her.
Donnel breathed in the aro
ma of roasting venison as he approached the hut. He walked down the mossy bank of the creek, his gaze taking in the humble home he and Eithni had made for themselves over the past moon. It looked vastly different to the ruin they had found. Smoke drifted up from the neatly patched sod roof, and the area around the dwelling was no longer overgrown with weeds and foliage.
He skirted the edge of the hut, glancing inside. A low fire burned in the hearth, and his gaze slid over the sprays of heather that Eithni had scattered over the floor. She had also collected bunches of meadow flowers, which were hanging, drying, from the ceiling beams. It was a cozy, domestic sight, but it just made him feel worse over his treatment of her.
Donnel found Eithni on the western side. She was turning a haunch of venison upon a spit over a glowing fire. They would soon run out of fresh meat. Donnel would have to go hunting again the following day; he just hoped he would not come back empty-handed. Red deer roamed the Glen of the Stags although not in the numbers he had hoped.
Eithni had her back to Donnel and did not see him approach. As such he was able to observe her for a few moments as she worked.
The long sleeveless tunic she had worn the night of her abduction was growing faded and threadbare. It was also far looser than when she had arrived here. She would need warmer clothes for the coming winter. Harvest Fire was almost upon them, a celebration that heralded the last moon cycle of warm weather before the leaves began to turn. Back in Dun Ringill folk would be reaping barley from the lower fields and harvesting the last of the summer produce. They would also be putting food aside for the long bitter months, but Eithni and Donnel had little food they could store apart from dried meats and smoked fish. This fact worried Donnel constantly.
