Dægan wretchedly whispered, “Aye.”
“Should my father?”
“As well.”
“But if you take me not back to him as early as tomorrow, there will be no trust from which to build. He will already deem you a thief, and no amount of heroism or grand marks of silver will be enough to exonerate you from your crimes. He would take immense pleasure in hanging you!”
Dægan measured her, but she remained undeterred by his staring, steady in her posture. Her bravery was astounding and convinced him that his choice of a wife was a good one.
“Enough talk about your father. Let us forget about him for just one moment and get back to the way you accepted me. You resisted me a lot harder at the river than you did just now. Why?”
“Because there is no use in fighting you. I know you are stronger than I.”
Dægan shook his head at her, grinning at her poor attempt to lie once more. “Try again. Tell me why you let me touch you and kiss you so deeply. If that is not trust, I know not what is.” He watched her posture melt.
“I cannot explain to you why I allowed such inappropriateness. I assure you, ‘tis not what I wanted. But my actions represented not trust. Trust is when you give your inhibitions to someone else.”
“You gave not your inhibitions to me? I could swear by the gods ‘twas given to me the moment you opened your mouth to my kiss.”
“I gave you not my inhibitions! I cast them aside—wrongly!”
Mara closed her eyes, trying her hardest to get mad at his insinuating comment, to be disgusted at the thought of his lips on hers. But she couldn’t. It was a sweet punishment that taught her nothing except that his mouth was invitingly warm, compulsive, and truly addictive.
Entangled in her own confusing thoughts, she stood to leave, distancing herself from the charismatic ogre, but he grabbed her wrist.
“You do realize that my hands are tied. If not for those men on the river, I would have had you home by now and your father would be lifting his cup to me, whilst bequeathing your hand in marriage. You and I would not be arguing about this and ‘twould already be done. Nevertheless, I am expected home soon. And in my return do my people expect a wedding. I will not fail them.”
“You would marry me without my father’s consent?”
“As long as I had yours, aye.”
“And what makes you think you will ever acquire my consent?”
Dægan, sporting a wry grin, answered, “Anything is possible, my dear.”
Mara ripped her hand away, crossing back over to her lonely spot on the other side of the fire, not amused by his keen-witted absurdities. She sat there brooding over how much she hated being trapped by the night, and dependent on someone else’s time and ability to get her home—and that he was assuredly confident that anything was possible!
She heard him stir across the dying fire, but refused to look. While her thoughts ran red, he returned on bended knee, staking his dagger in the ground before her and holding his thick bear cloak across his arm.
“What is this?” she asked coldly.
“The nights get cool under the shade of the trees.”
“And the knife? Are you begging me to cut you?”
“Nay. I am begging you to trust me.”
Aside from her frustration, Mara knew that this gesture was more than just a simple provision or a crafty attempt to ease her mind. It was an endowment given to prove that he cared about her, sensitive to the fact that she would be cold and miserable if he didn’t give away half of his bed.
“What will keep you warm?” she asked, allowing her concern to come forward.
“Worry not. I have two deer hides.”
“But they are not as big as this cloak.”
“Hm…I cannot understand how you can worry about me and kiss me as a wife would, yet you cannot conceive a marriage between us. Is it truly that hard to see?”
Mara couldn’t answer him.
“No matter,” he replied. “I will gain that consent, first by trust and then by love. Count on it, Lady Mara.” He bowed his head and left to return to his bed.
Mara was speechless. In less than one day, she received a multitude of kindhearted acts from a man sworn to be her enemy. And why should he be an enemy? Because his height puts him there? Or the fair hair that grows from his head makes for a shady character? Each stupid reason was not but a brick stacked high and wide to protect her, and she believed that he would somehow scale those stone walls of suspicion, mortared with doubt, to reach her heart on the other side.
Dægan spoke to her from the other side of the fire. “Try to sleep, princess. We leave for Luimneach in the morning.”
Mara reluctantly lay down, curling beneath the cloak of brown fur. It was soft and warm and smelled just like him, ironically calming her through the tumbling of her restless thoughts, somewhere lost between the near sweet rapture of Dægan’s kiss and her father’s far-off sheltering embrace.
****
The light from daybreak had barely stretched above the horizon when it was quickly covered by dark, steely clouds. Mara awoke first and sat up. There was a wind at her back thieving the morning sun’s warmth, and the smell of moisture started to settle in the air. The fire between her and Dægan only emitted a straggling line of smoke, and its ashes drifted on the breeze in hopes to escape the all-too-common fall of rain.
Before Mara could reveal the certainty of the coming storm, she found Dægan already on his feet, saddling his horse. After he gathered his things and fastened them down, he worked to dismantle the fire by discarding the rocks and pouring the last of the water from his pouch over the coals. They hissed and smoked, and when all was cool and wet, he used a fallen tree branch to dust the ground, removing any evidence of their presence. Moreover, he took some brush from the forest floor and scattered it over the fire pit, carefully covering every footprint and indentation on the ground so as to recreate the land as it once was. Not even a single bone from last night’s meal could be found.
She stood, clutching the bear cloak around her shoulders, and moved out of his way as he stepped back to take a look for himself.
“You are thorough, I see.”
“Well, there is the possibility that we are still being hunted,” Dægan reminded. “I would be a stupid man to think they gave up.” With reluctance in his eyes, he glanced at his bear cloak and added, “You will thank me later when we are soaked to the skin and ‘tis the only thing kept dry.”
Mara gave it up, and he rolled it around his forearm, cramming it into a pouch on the saddle. In one swift motion, he mounted and called her by name as if it were commonplace to summon her. She looked up, amazed by his handsome features, his golden hair blowing in the wind, and his horse impatiently shifting and stomping. He was stunning, imperious as he sat upon the animal equal in his standing.
“Come, Mara. We must go,” he demanded, lending an arm as he rode around her.
She grabbed hold and leapt behind him on the horse, pulling herself against him as they rode away. In bursting from the woods, Mara saw the silver gleaming Shannon before her, a familiar sight that only taunted her in knowing she could have very well escaped and followed it north toward home. She watched it wind back into the hills as they headed in the opposite direction, fearing that despite Dægan’s promise, she would never see home again.
Chapter Four
The thunder rolled like hundreds of cavalry horses across a battlefield, shaking the ground as it passed above, until suddenly the Heavens opened, and without mercy, dumped its water in sheets.
The rain was bitterly cold and Dægan relished the feel of Mara huddled into his back. She buried her face within his wet hair, as if finding a small refuge between his shoulder blades.
He couldn’t ignore the warmth and softness of her body against him for the thin tunic and shift she was wearing left little to the imagination. The thought clung to him like a wet blanket, drenched with his own lustful musings as he considered what she would feel lik
e without the nuisance of clothing. What he would touch first if only she would allow it.
Dægan cursed the timing of those indecent thoughts, and clutched her arms that surprisingly held fast to his waist, reassuring her that cover was just a bit further. The shelter he promised was something he had seen only once, near the river on his way to Connacht several days before. He hoped that his memory served him correctly as he navigated through the onslaught of needle-like rain in his face.
Several times the horse slipped and Mara’s arms tightened around him, a pleasure he gladly took amidst the situation. What’s more, they were descending a slope much steeper than he expected, and the rain only added to its difficulty as it shrouded the rocks that lay loose on the black slated ground.
Dægan didn’t need to worry about her ability to ride for he had experienced first hand her abilities yesterday morning, and didn’t hesitate to lunge the horse from the incline and drive it faster to where he thought the cavern would be.
And like a gift from Odin, there it was!
Although further from the river than he’d like, the overhang was hospitable and tall enough even for his horse, something he thanked the gods for upon entering. Their stop within the shallow depths of the cave was abrupt and only the tiny echoes of water dripping, crooned an appeasing welcome as they relished the sudden end of the chastising rain. The horse stood panting and its slick black body steamed as it cooled.
“Are you all right?” Dægan asked, his deep voice resonating within the cavern walls.
“Aye,” Mara shuddered, still trying to absorb the warmth from his back.
“We must get you warm.” Dægan slid from his horse, landing on both feet. His arms reached for her and without hesitation she wrapped herself around his neck, evidently too cold to care what protective limbs she was enveloped in. He smiled for she was like a little child burying her head against his neck, contrary to the fiery vixen from yesterday’s affair. He leaned his head toward her, feeling the warmth of her breath and savoring the petal soft lips upon his neck. He truly didn’t want to let go of her, but her shivering broke the moment, bringing him back from his heavenly Valhalla.
He shifted her weight to one arm while he untied the hide with the other, shaking it out to cover her. “Take off your wet clothes and then you can have my cloak.”
She reacted as if his words seared through her like a red hot brand. “I most certainly will not!”
“You cannot get warm in sodden clothing,” he proclaimed.
“I will do no such thing!” she said, jumping from his arms and keeping the hide for herself.
“Listen, princess,” Dægan retorted, beginning to take off his belt and boots. “You, above all, should know this rain will be holding us here for many hours, if not days. I am not going to sit in wet, uncomfortable clothes when I have perfectly dry blankets at my disposal. And I suggest you follow my lead.”
Mara hadn’t long to contemplate Dægan’s candid advice before he had completely disrobed.
“Oh, my goodness!” she gasped, turning her head away from his nakedness.
“You might as well get used to it, my lady. Soon you will be seeing me this way every night.”
“I will not!” Mara argued over her shoulder.
“Will you close your eyes to me even on our wedding night?”
“You are a stupid heathen of a man!” she retorted. “How can you possibly think that I will want to marry you?”
“I felt the tides turning last night—and so did you.”
“Nonsense!”
“Your problem is that you hardly trust yourself. You despise that you gave in to me so quickly, and for that you question your own good sense. Your heart is talking to you but you won’t listen. You are denying yourself the chance to find love, a love that is different, foreign, and well beyond your dreams. I saw how you would gaze upon the river waters in Connacht, looking further than its shores, wishing for something greater. And now ‘tis here in front of you, yet you fear the possibility of its wonder because ‘tis simply not what your father wants. Tell me Mara, what do you want?”
His poetic words coursed a path straight to her chest, almost knocking the wind from her. “You watched me?” she asked, her voice breaking as it inflated with shock and anger.
Though she couldn’t see his face, she heard a slight sense of guilt in his voice. “Aye, for many days,” he admitted.
“Days?”
“Weeks, actually. I came upon your singing one morning and ‘twas the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. Your voice was like the sweetness of honey on my tongue. It lingered and I could not rid its hold on me. I took pleasure in watching the simple life you were living and found myself wanting to offer you more. And each afternoon when you would ride away, I was left with a feeling of utter sadness. I despised that feeling and decided that I would not walk away from you any longer.”
Mara gritted her teeth and tightened the hide at her shoulders as if to further screen herself from his viewing. “No matter how charming a tale you tell, you are still a thief if you take me not to my father!”
Dægan grabbed the other hide from his saddle and slapped it around his waist. “If I do that, I will put both our lives at risk, you know this! And by the gods, woman, turn around!”
Mara peeked slightly over her shoulder, fully expecting him to still be naked. But he was covered, eyes tapered to slits and his hands on his narrow hips. The reddish hide hung low at his waist exposing his entire torso. It was longer than she imagined but just as well, for she had never seen an unclothed man before. His chest was relatively bare, exposing two small nipples and a thin layer of dark blond curls at his navel that ran down beyond the obscurity of the animal skin.
His gruff voice promptly interrupted her subtle inspection. “I will take full responsibility for my theft if the time arises, but until then, I will keep you safe, first and foremost!”
Mara shook away the lingering thoughts of his unforgettable body and was glad to see that he finally admitted his actions to being that of a thief, proving even beautiful men could be criminals. But on the other hand, she knew how the Irish did not take kindly to lawlessness, especially when it was carried out by pagan intruders. She did not want to see him punished for a misunderstanding and she worried what her father might do to him.
“You must understand, the longer we wait, the harder ‘twill be to explain all this. Let us return to my father before he judges you a thief.”
Dægan looked her up and down. “Are you made of iron or is it your skull that bears the thickness? Not even I would want to come face to face with those men on the river again. I trust they have come for bigger things and even your faithful steed is not enough to satisfy them.”
“We can go around them.”
He laughed. “Ireland is only so big. It won’t be long before there is an additional group of greedy Northmen making their advancement up another body of water. If you have not yet heard, your Ireland is a very prized piece of land. Your days of venturing to the Shannon alone are over.”
“They are over because of men like you.”
Dægan brows lifted. “Better to be me than those on the four ships numbering in the hundreds, aye?”
Mara shrugged the frightening image from her mind, keeping to the subject. “My father is not a man to keep to the Brehon Law when it pertains to the judgment of Fionnghaill. He’ll not accept your atonement in the form of an honor-price, nor will he hang you quickly. He’ll more likely throw you in chains and cast you into an open pit where you will die a slow death of starvation and exposure. Do you not see? Your death will be a heavy weight upon my shoulders. Why have you done this to yourself?”
“There is no sign of your father thus far. And I doubt, this soon in his search, will he look as distantly as Luimneach. By the time he does, I will be rejoined with my men and, thus, bringing you back home. Now, let us put this aside and get you warm. As much as you hate to admit it, you know you will never get comfortable in
those wet clothes, mayhap even catch your death of cold, which I would rather keep from the list of things your father could hold against me. I can turn around if ‘twould suit you.”
Every moral bone in Mara’s body told her that this was wrong, but she did long to be warm and dry again. It would mean she’d have to discard morality, if just for a little while. And what would it hurt? Who would know?
“I promise,” Dægan pledged, turning around to face the rain. “I will not look.”
“Are you giving your word?”
“If that is what it takes…”
Mara flipped the hide from her shoulders and lifted her gown up as fast as she could. “All right, but if you so much as peek at me…”
“Hm…I am curious. What will you do if I peek?” he asked, provoking her. “I always like to know what I am up against and I have surely underestimated your vigor. Countless times, I might add.” His smile grew larger across his face just thinking about it.
Mara finished undressing and rewrapped herself in the warm pelt, adjusting it constantly. Even with it, she still felt as if she were naked.
Dægan tapped his foot impatiently. “Are you finished yet?”
“Aye,” she responded nervously, checking herself one last time.
He whirled around and froze in his place. “I realize that ‘tis not the finest of silk, but you look amazing.”
“You are a stupid heathen,” she said with a frown.
Dægan neared her, pulling his rolled cloak from the saddle and wrapping it kindly around her shoulders. “Do you not think that I know what beauty is? I have been on many voyages in search of iron, silver, gold, beaded jewels, silk, and the most desired scented oils. Many men have died to acquire these riches. I have even met fathers who have offered their daughters in exchange for such things. I have seen lands lush with green fields and wildflowers, mountains reaching higher than the air we breathe, and waterfalls cascading to the bluest of riverbeds below. And none of these come close to the beauty I see before me right now.”
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 4
