The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vincent, Renee

  He looked at her inquisitively, a bit of a swagger to his glance. “Tait.”

  Mara repeated his name in her head, liking the simpleness of it. “Tell me, Tait. How is it that you can plot this ship’s course in the dark?”

  Seeming to enjoy her amiable question, he smiled at her. “On clear nights, ‘tis easy to use the stars or the land beside us as our guide. But we have sailed this route many times, so even in the thick of fog, there is no threat of getting lost. Fortunately, the fog tonight is drifting and the moon is bright.” Tait paused for a moment, licking his finger and raising it above his head. “Feel that?” he asked.

  “Nay…” Mara said, eyebrows raised.

  “Do as I have,” Tait instructed. “Feel it now?”

  She did. It was a subtle coolness on her finger.

  “We are approaching the sea, and the breeze will increase as we get closer, making the conditions better; less fog and more wind. When we reach the ocean, ‘tis then we shall raise the sail and our journey will not be so laborious for those rowing.”

  Suddenly a hand came down upon her shoulder. She flinched finding Dægan behind her with his long-cherished bear cloak now at his shoulders. “I see that Tait is teaching you the ways of the sea.”

  “M’lord,” Tait nodded, returning to his place at the oars.

  Mara watched him as he left. “I asked it of him. I hope I did not offend you.”

  Dægan simply shook his head. “Tait knows the waters better than I, it seems.”

  “He is kind,” Mara declared, hoping to instill in Dægan a need for idle conversation, but to her disappointment, he passed over it quickly.

  How long was he going to avoid her? And how much could she take of him purposefully alienating himself from her to the point of estrangement.

  After swallowing back a few burning tears, she reached out and touched his arm tenderly. “You can push as hard as you would like, Dægan. I will still be here.”

  ****

  Dægan closed his eyes, feeling her hand on his forearm. It felt so good, so tender against the misery that stiffened his body. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t appropriate to accept such enduring sweet-hearted warmth, much less even think of returning just a simple fraction of it, for it would be for no other reason than self indulgence and he couldn’t do it. Not in front of Lillemor.

  As swiftly as a withdrawing ocean current, he retreated from Mara’s small token of intimacy, to call forth an order that probably could have waited. “The wind is picking up! Rig the sail!”

  Without question, all of five men worked with him to set the weighty pine mast into its chink hole, wedging the beam firmly into place before raising the square woolen sail. As it was yanked upwards on its post, the wind caught hold, throwing it open against four taut corners, tied precisely to the sides and bow of the ship.

  Dægan nodded with satisfaction, his crew and drakkar working fluently together as one unit. At least something in his life was still manageably painless and operative, for as much as he thought himself capable of calculating just about every adjustment needed to man his warship in a proficient and dexterous manner, he still could not predict the profound affect Mara would have on his senses. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about her sensuous touch, nor the ache in his body that craved more of her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For many hours Dægan and his men sat in quiet reminiscence, sailing over smooth, unthreatening waters toward the Aran Isles of Gaillimh’s Bay. Some of the seamen had caught a few hours of sleep during the trip north, but Dægan was unable to succumb to such amiable dreaming, for he was still living his own private nightmare along with enduring a crushing guilt in watching Lillemor grieve and pine for her lost husband.

  Mara, however, seemed to have found, as the voyage dragged on, the hard wooden floor was more appealing than resting vertically against the sternpost. It didn’t take long before she was fast asleep beneath the carved dragon’s tail and Dægan’s mindful eyes.

  Through the hours that passed, he sat a distance from Mara, but close enough to see every rise and fall of her deep, steady breathing. Though he found need to check his course from time to time, he still had no trouble falling back into a thoughtful gaze, covertly admiring what single blessing still remained in his possession.

  Mara lay peaceful in her slumber, her subtle stirs and sighs like a harp’s strum, foretelling what dulcet dreams had become her. Dægan knew it would be a long time before his dreams ever played out in harmony again, but what struck him most, was feeling a small sense of harmonious peace by simply watching her.

  Her dark hair lay tumbled at her shoulders, cascading in heavy waves around her face until they fell like Turkish silk on the plank floor. Her rose-tinted lips were softly parted, her hands sweetly tucked under her head as a pillow, and despite the harsh colored abrasions on her wrists, the purple bruising around her forehead, and the ill-suited, unflattering color of dark green that cloaked her, she was a stunning vision no nightly dream could come close to touching.

  Tait’s voice broke in quietly. “Dægan, we are fast approaching.”

  Dægan stood and looked out into the darkness, with the sharp hills of Gaillimh to his right and the flat, rock-infested isles to his left.

  He steered due west, chartering his ship around the north side of the tri-clustered islands, setting his course for the last and largest of the three; Inis Mór. The southern shores of the island were nothing but two hundred foot cliffs of bedrock, which made a convenient natural guard against any unwelcome intruders who wished to flank the island and overtake its treeless terrain. The northern shore, by which Dægan’s permanent settlement was located, was the only accessible port of entry for man and ship, a sure way for Dægan to secure his home from piracy and plunder.

  As the sail and mast were dismantled and replaced inside the hull, the ten oars were fed through their keyholes, diving and stroking against the water in rhythmic symmetry once again. In no time, the keel of the longboat ran aground, sliding to an abrupt halt on the coarse sandy shore littered with driftwood and stringing seaweed.

  Dægan and his men descended from the sides and heaved the longship from the shallows of the sea, shaking Mara from her sleep.

  ****

  Mara opened her eyes to darkness, as a flurry of voices cut the silence like a knife. There was shouting all around her, commands and replies given through the stomping of feet and sliding chests and barrels. But through the commotion she heard the familiar accent of the Gaelic tongue.

  She pulled herself from the planked floor to see a spectacle of men working together to unload its contents; men of light and dark hair, collectively swarming the shore in unison. She rubbed her eyes, sure that it was all a dream, but Dægan emerged from the Gaels, reaching out his hands for her. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Aye, I did.”

  “Come then.” Dægan lifted her from the ship and carried her just a few steps across the sand and rocks.

  “Did Lillemor find sleep?”

  “Nay.”

  “Is she all right?” Mara asked sincerely. “Should I go to her?”

  “She wants naught but to be alone,” Dægan answered quickly. “And if she does need anyone, my thralls will suffice for the night.”

  Mara glanced back at the ship where Eirik had lain, but he and the rest of the items were missing. “Where is Eirik?”

  Dægan knew that exact question would soon spill from his mother’s lips. “I had him taken under shelter until morning. I cannot bear to let mother see him yet. ’Tis late and as you already know, I am short of words this night.”

  Mara tried again to comfort him with a small touch of her hand, but Dægan anticipated the move and purposely turned away, avoiding it to pick up the chest at his feet. “I must find sleep. Morning will come too soon for me.”

  He wearily walked toward a grassy hillside, where his longhouse stood in the forefront. Likewise Mara followed, still listening to the familiar v
oices behind her. It brought her closer to thoughts of home and the servants who’d crowd her father’s solar and bailey with their chores. But these Irishmen were more than servants. Their dress and mannerisms clearly showed it and Dægan seemed more subservient to them; a conduct so strange for a man of chieftain status.

  A calm and clean-shaven man dressed in a long, deep red cloak with golden tassels and silver brooches came into view as they neared the houses. He was dignified without being too brash, and walked rather proudly, as though the island were all his. He was without an escort, but not without a horse, which followed behind him.

  He looked fondly at all the Northmen who’d arrived on his shores like long-lost family, but Mara couldn’t help but notice how his eyes seemed to gaze longer upon her and Dægan, who led the group up the hill.

  “Welcome home, my friend,” he said putting a hand on Dægan’s shoulder and handing his reins to a passerby. His voice was sympathetic in light of their long journey. “Trouble at sea?”

  “Nay,” Dægan said. “’Twas rather tame.”

  “Is this the woman of whom you spoke?”

  “Aye,” Dægan relinquished, stepping aside to give the man more room to impose himself. “This is Mara.”

  The man took her hand without warning and kissed the top of it.

  “Mara. You are most welcome here,” he said, bowing slightly. “My name is Nevan, chieftain of the Uí Bhriain, here, on Inis Mór. I trust your journey was pleasant?”

  “Aye.”

  Dægan’s face relaxed with her comply and he quickly interrupted the king by deeply clearing his throat just short of being rude. “You are most gracious for sending your men to help me unload my ship in the middle of the night. And as much as I feel I should allow this time for acquainting you with my betrothed, we are both immensely tired.”

  “Of course, Dægan. Please. There will be more time for pleasantries and conversation later. Is there anything I can send for you and your men? Food or drink, perhaps?”

  “‘Twould be generous of you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Nevan replied, nodding to Mara before he mounted his horse and left.

  Dægan said nothing as Nevan disappeared into the night, only readjusting the chest in his arms before resuming his trek to his longhouse. His steps were quicker and more determined than before, leaving Mara several paces behind.

  “Dægan,” she called after him. “Is Nevan a good friend of yours?”

  “I suppose that is a term fair enough for him. Though I suspect the islanders would rather I not be.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Dægan opened the front entryway door for her and ushered her inside. He set the chest on the floor and removed his cloak, throwing it to the boxbed. “Though we get all along quite well,” he stated with hesitance in his voice, “there is still a sense of indifference between us and the islanders. I am working to resolve this.” He lit the wick in the soapstone lamp at the hearth and then sat upon the boxbed, his eyes weary and fatigued.

  Mara smiled warmly. “Why do we not wait until morning? You are exhausted and you need your sleep.”

  Dægan shook his head and patted the stuffed mattresses beside him. “Please. You need to know.”

  Mara did as he bid her, taking hold of the hand he offered her, relieved that he actually took the initiative to touch her. His grasp was strong despite the lifelessness in the rest of his body.

  “Nevan and I started a relationship quite by accident,” he began. “He was gravely hurt and I took him in. Once his strength returned him, I sailed him home—here. After that, he and I traded for many years. He needed timber and I needed wool. Both of us made out quite well, and soon we realized we had more to offer in the market than just necessary wares. In time, word got out that this island was an unprotected, flourishing kingdom. Those who had the courage for piracy succeeded favorably, and in their own right, struck many times without much resistance. Nevan called upon me to help protect the island from such vagrants, and in return, I was granted land; a permanent settlement for my family.

  “With Harold Fairhair rising in power, I had no choice but to take Nevan’s offer. However, his people thought him too generous, and they demonstrated a fervent distaste to the whole idea of sharing their immensely poor, infertile lands with me and my fellow Northmen. So to alleviate the burden that weighed heavily on Nevan, I merely suggested that I should marry an Irish woman.”

  Mara’s heart sunk. “But I thought you chose me as your wife because you…” She couldn’t finish the rest. Perhaps she had misunderstood his intentions all along.

  He reached up and lifted her chin. “I wanted you as my wife before I made the suggestion to Nevan. The idea of a marriage for the purpose of softening the tempers of these strict Gaels was only incidental.”

  “But the reason still remains. I am here to bring peace amongst two feuding groups. I may not be a king, Dægan, but I know what an alliance is.” Mara gave into thinking, much on the horrendous journey they had made together and more on the sweetest of love Dægan had made with her. It was a moment in her life she would never forget, and the one which was the hardest to accept. “And to think, I gave myself to you because I thought you wanted me.”

  Dægan gently clasped her face with both of his hands. “I want you more now than I did a fortnight ago.”

  “You want a place to live,” Mara bit back, feeling a lump harden in her throat. “Without me, you cannot live here.”

  Dægan grabbed her by the arms and pulled her solidly to his chest. “I cannot live anywhere without you. I need you, Mara. I love you!”

  Mara stopped short. “What did you say?”

  Dægan’s firm demeanor quieted. “You heard me.”

  “But is it true?” Mara asked staring up into the raging storm of his blue eyes.

  Dægan released her and hung his head as if he had failed yet again as a man. “How can you question me?”

  His honesty shone as clear as the Erin’s morning sun and it was in his eyes that Mara found the man she thought she had lost. “Forgive me, Dægan,” she said falling into his arms. “But you would not allow me your love. You held me away as if I was the one who hurt you.”

  ****

  Dægan took her wholeheartedly, savoring the warmth of her embrace and the smell of her hair which cascaded down around his arms. He wondered why he fought so hard to keep her at a distance, why he even denied himself the pleasure of her simple touch.

  “Forgive me if I have pushed you away,” Dægan apologized. “But there is a darkness in my heart now. I am a wretched man, Mara. I killed a boy…with my bare hands. He begged for his life beneath the water, but I ignored it. I chose to ignore it. I am not proud of what I did. But sadly, I would do it again. And again and again. Even now, I still want more! And that is a side of me I want not for you to see, nor should you feel compelled to be married to it.”

  “Dægan,” Mara crooned earnestly. “You are not a wretched man. You have been wronged in the most atrocious way. You were betrayed by your own, by someone who cared not for the sacrifices you had made on his behalf, but only for the quick spoil. Indeed, he was but a boy, but certainly old enough to understand exactly what he was doing. He made his decision, and you only reacted in defense. He killed your brother over a petty reward. And for that, he is not worthy of your grief and pain.” Mara looked deep into his eyes as she cradled his face. “I know the man you are, the man you will always be. And no matter what you do, I will always be here for you. As your wife, if you will still have me.”

  Dægan closed his eyes, her gracious words caressing him all the way to his soul. “But what about your father?” he asked, his heart still at its weakest.

  “This is not about my father. This is about my love for you. He will simply have to understand that. But know this, Dægan. When I marry, I marry all of you. Do not ever push me away. My heart can never endure that again.”

  A relieving smile crept through the haze of Dægan�
�s sorrows and he kissed her to accept her precious demands. It was in this very kiss he found a haven, a love without fear, a love without limits, a love without end. And no one, not even her father, could destroy it.

  A rapping at the door, however, shattered the moment, causing the kiss to fall short. But he hadn’t the strength to leave her lips entirely. He allowed them to linger, savoring the taste of her sensual mouth and boundless love.

  Remembering the request of food and drink, Dægan eventually sighed disappointingly at Nevan’s timing. “Are you hungry, love?” he whispered against her moistened lips.

  Mara shook her head convincingly, but Dægan knew better, even though he was tempted to agree that they could very well do without food or drink for one more night. “We really should eat what Nevan was kind enough to bring.”

  Mara stopped him from leaving her arms and recommenced the lavish kiss he had brought to an end. Her fingers dug deeply into the back of his neck, pulling him closer than before, taking whatever passion he succumbed into giving.

  “Never leave me, Dægan,” she uttered within his mouth.

  He mildly groaned, answering her with a deeper kiss and a tighter obsessive grip. He would never let her go, he vowed. No one would keep him from her…not the gods, not the Irish on Inis Mór, nor the King of Connacht. He swore it with every breath he took. She would be all his until the day death parted them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, Dægan rose early to meet with Nevan. His main concern was to make sure that the men of the island council were still content with the arrangements chosen to better the relationship between the two groups that inhabited the land. Although the suggestion had been made by Dægan, Nevan had ensured that the council would certainly approve. But since that time, almost three weeks had passed, and Dægan knew from experience it did not take long for men to change their minds. He went to make certain the arrangement remained.