The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vincent, Renee

Dægan expected Tait to lash out at Domaldr’s snide affection, and at this point, he wouldn’t have blamed him, nor did he even think he could stop him. But Tait just waited for his Thordia to jump from the side of the ship before running to her. His arms wrapped around her quickly and he shielded her with his own body, dragging her to the safety of Dægan’s men.

  Dægan stood still and glowered at his twin. “What do you want?”

  “Only to see my long lost brother,” Domaldr said warmly.

  “I know better,” Dægan disputed. “You want something more. You always do.”

  Domaldr tried descending from the ship, but Dægan drew his sword. “I think not.”

  Domaldr lifted his leg back inside the hull. “A little harsh, are we not? I have come to see you and this is the welcome I get? A sword pointed at my gullet?”

  “Your presence is certainly a surprise, and although you may not believe it, it does please me that I can actually tell Mother you still live. But that is the most I care to give, for my heart cannot afford much more. You have my word no arrow shall be cast your way as you leave this island. Know, however, that you are not welcome here. If you dare venture toward my shores again, I cannot promise you my reserve.”

  Domaldr taunted him. “I cannot promise you my reserve. That sounds like something Father would say. Where is the old bastard anyway?”

  “Leave, Domaldr!”

  “What? No food or drink? What kind of brother are you? And I even boasted to my men of your generosity.”

  “Was that before or after you sent seven men to kill me?”

  “Well, you did steal something of mine. The girl?”

  Dægan fumed. “She was never yours, Domaldr! And you wanted only to kill her, just as you want to kill me right now!”

  “You are my brother, Dægan. I want not to kill you.”

  “But you want what is mine. Just as you always have. You cannot begin to tell me the many years you have wedged between us was enough time to change you! Waste not your breath!”

  “So, this is how it ends between us?” Domaldr asked, leaning over the bow as if to challenge his brother’s decision.

  Dægan double fisted his sword and drew it over his shoulder. “You ended us a long time ago—you—all by yourself. And I will not tell you again. Leave this isle and never return. Ever! Else you will force my hand, and you will know well my wrath as it has festered for eighteen, long years. This is not a threat, Domaldr. ‘Tis your last and final warning.”

  “Dægan…”

  “Archers!” Dægan yelled over his shoulder, raising his hand.

  Even through the sound of waves breaking upon the shore, the sound of stretching bows could not be mistook, nor the glare in Dægan’s eyes. Domaldr spoke without haste. “Soren, command the men to retreat.”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  Domaldr’s eyes shot daggers at his new-found warrior brother, his own kin who’d just made him look like a damned fool. You will pay dearly for this, brother…oh so dearly! he thought as his four ships receded into the briny blue.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Darkness fell and Domaldr’s ships had circled the isle with stealth, now secretly harboring in the distant sea near the high jagged rocks of Inis Mór’s forbidding western shores. His men sat quiet within the hull, waiting for Domaldr’s next orders.

  Soren approached the bow. “The men have been instructed as you wished. Half of them to take the isle, and half to stay back and man the ships. All are ready and waiting, m’lord.”

  “Good. Bring me the Éireannach.”

  “Aye.”

  Within moments, Soren brought Breandán about. “Am I truly necessary? Have I not already upheld my end of the bargain?”

  “Aye, you have tracked my brother as you promised, but…I have yet to see the girl. I wanted both, remember?”

  Breandán sighed. “What must I do?”

  “What you do best,” Domaldr said heinously. “Scout this island and bring me the whereabouts of my brother and the girl. Soren, you and Thorbjörn go with him. See that he does what he has been told.” Domaldr stepped from the bow, strolling on Breandán’s whirling thoughts. “You make one move outside this plan, one little mistake—just one—and you will regret it, Éireannach.”

  Only looks were exchanged in the next few moments, until Domaldr handed Breandán a bow and a quiver. “You might need these.”

  Breandán pushed them back and shook his head. “I am a hunter, not a murderer.”

  ****

  It was long after, when Breandán and his two escorts finally returned, descending the rocks that concealed the four langskips. When they climbed aboard, their faces were painted with mud and their clothes, likewise soiled, which camouflaged them well into the black of night.

  Breandán didn’t like the idea of snooping around the isle for Domaldr’s benefit, but he liked less the idea of being seen, caught, and killed.

  “Well?”

  Breandán dreaded giving up what he knew, arming Domaldr with an arsenal of information just for the sake of getting even. It was not as if he were actually betraying Dægan and his men, for he never knew them, nor did he think they would ever be allies if he had. But it didn’t seem right. It didn’t sit well in his gut knowing he would be the reason for all of their deaths.

  Domaldr grabbed him and shook him. “Out with it!” When that didn’t work he produced a well-persuasive dagger beneath Breandán’s chin. “I said out with it or I will cut you from ear to ear!”

  Breandán knew eventually that was bound to happen as Domaldr was not a man to hold fast to a bargain. He also knew he wasn’t afraid to die in order to save the princess. But his death now would not help her in the least. He was better to Mara alive than filleted like a fish and dumped overboard. He only hoped he could survive long enough to at least see her home. And for that to happen, he’d have to give Domaldr what he wanted.

  Wearily, he spoke, “There are five men standing post as scouts, the rest are in one place, some sort of long hall. I could not get close enough to see what they were doing inside.”

  “The girl?”

  “I never saw her, or any females. But there is a fort. A stone fort in the distance. I assume your brother has her protected there. I would.”

  “And my brother?”

  “He walks about. The last time I saw him, he left the company of his men and went into the nearest house from the shore.”

  Domaldr looked at Soren. “Does he speak the truth?”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  Immediately, Domaldr retracted his knife and patted Breandán on the back. “Well done. Now that was not so hard, was it?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You know well what I am going to do, Breandán. We all reap what we sow, and sometimes that means our hands get a little dirty—even yours! I saw the way you looked when you heard in Luimneach of the reward granted by her father. There is no denying you gave it thought. That reward is quite large and it would go a long way to improving your miserable trapper’s life to that of a noble clansman. I blame you not for contemplating it. Any man would. But think not that it has gone unnoticed. I am on to you, hunter.” Domaldr eyed the tip of his sharp dagger as he twisted it about. “You do realize I need not your services anymore. I could easily dump your dead carcass over the side of my ship, wash my hands, and never look back, gaining the girl and the reward for myself. But—I want bigger things. I want Connacht and you are just the man who can help me gain it.”

  “And why would I do that? As I recall, Connacht was not part of our deal.”

  Domaldr put his arm around Breandán’s neck and leaned on the ship’s side, casually waving the dagger as he talked. “Firstly, I suppose I should have told you that I consider not a deal with an Éireannach binding. I only hold pacts with men who are of caliber. And you…are no better to me than a pathetic thrall. Secondly…helping me obtain Connacht would benefit you as well. From what I hear, the great Ard Rí of Tara has
rounded up twelve other sovereignties to fight against us Northmen, but your Connacht king has yet to join. He stalls, he hesitates…and all for good reason. But you, my good friend, could convince him that ‘twould be his duty to fight against us for Baile Átha Cliath, especially since the Northmen were the filthy savages who took his daughter in the first place. Aye?”

  Breandán said nothing, knowing well the one-way path down which he was being led.

  “Do you see where I am going with this?” Domaldr asked, his voice as dark as the Atlantic water lapping against the ship. “I am willing to be generous and let you have the girl the king will no doubt grant you when you bring her back relatively unscathed. As long as you make certain to slander me and my men into the ground, so the king will set off to fight for a vendetta sure to lose, leaving his lands vulnerable and unprotected. I will have my Connacht…you will have the girl…everyone is happy.”

  “And why should I think that you will uphold your end of this pact? If you have not noticed, I am still the Éireannach of whom you find unworthy of a binding agreement.”

  “Ah, but once you convince your king to leave his lands and fight for Baile Átha Cliath, you will have proved yourself to be a traitor to your own countrymen. How could I not glorify that with a reward?”

  Breandán had seen the shine of the moon bounce off the edge of Domaldr’s dagger several times throughout his oration, and knew this was the end of the road for him. It was either agree with the devil or sink to the bottom of the sea in death. And the sea looked exceptionally cold this night.

  “I get the girl?” Breandán asked, pretending to favor Domaldr’s plan.

  “As long as I get Connacht.”

  Breandán made sure to sell the look. “A woman of gentle birth in my bed would be a nice spoil. And I am not all that fond of the king anyway. Consider me in.”

  It wasn’t long after Breandán agreed that Domaldr tucked his dagger back into its sheath and started undoing the belt at his waist. Most everyone lifted their brows in confused wonder as they watched Domaldr remove his breeches, yet Breandán was the only one who seemed to have a tongue for speaking. “What are you doing?”

  “Did you happen to notice that Dægan does not wear breeches?”

  “Aye. So?”

  “Well, if I aim to lure the princess from the fort, being Dægan’s twin is not enough. I should at least dress like him too.”

  Christ. Breandán swallowed hard. What have I done?

  ****

  “Any word from my husband?” Mara asked from the doorway of Nevan’s great hall.

  He looked up from his trance amid the fire, surprised by her presence and the servant who obediently tagged along by her side. “My dear, ‘tis late.”

  “All the more reason for my concern.”

  Nevan offered her a comforting smile and stood to approach her, his russet cloak dragging behind him. “Dægan is fine. He has sent word that the fleet of men have moved on, but for lack of trust, wants everyone to wait out the night here. Please, come in.”

  Mara followed him deeper into the spacious room. “Does he suspect they will return another day?”

  Nevan sighed and turned from her to fetch a drink, or at least drown the irritation that was rising in him again. “You know your husband. He gives me word in piecemeal.”

  She twisted her hands nervously in front of her, dreading to think what could happen if they did return, but also hating to be kept like an animal in a cage. Nevan must have noticed the knots she mangled her hands into as he poured some wine from a tall jeweled stein, because he poured another. Without asking if she desired a drink, he handed the chalice to her.

  She gladly took it from his hands and gulped it down. Nevan only smiled in his cup, swirling the dark liquid with his wrist, thinking….

  “You really love him, do you not?”

  Mara held the chalice with both hands now, a small bit of wine left to sway in the bottom. “Aye.”

  “That is good. ‘Tis good for everyone who lives on Inis Mór. And good for your father as well, to be allied with a man like Dægan, considering the rising threat that surrounds Baile Átha Cliath. Tell me. Who is your father? I have traveled a bit and I might know him.”

  Mara thought of her father and the fact that no alliance had ever been made between him and Dægan, or that they’ve ever met. It was a conversation she didn’t want to have, nor one she could very well explain without damaging Nevan’s faith in Dægan. She stared into the sparkling chalice, feeling the heat of the downed alcohol flushing her face.

  “Sire!” a servant barged in. “‘Tis Dægan. He has come and has asked for the lady.”

  “Well,” Nevan said, drinking the last of his wine. “It seems Dægan cannot stay away from you anymore than you can from him. It must be love.”

  ****

  Mara ran as fast as she could along the stone terrace and down the steps to the bailey. Her heart leapt in her chest upon seeing Dægan standing proudly along side his great black horse, his sword still drawn like a cautious warrior. She wanted to run into his arms and hold him tight, feeling his heart pound in his chest at a speed that would no doubt match her own.

  Nevan watched from the wall walk as Mara descended the last set of stairs, her arms reaching as she called to him. “I thought you would never come, Dægan!”

  He caught her in his arms and jerked her to the side, as if to protect her from those around him.

  “What are you doing?” Mara asked.

  He looked around suspiciously at everyone along the wall walk, a strange nervousness about him. But before she could ask again, he looked at her. And not deep within her eyes as he normally would have, but down the entire length of her body, gawking even at her cleavage. He pulled her violently to his chest, grinning and licking his lips like some gluttonous pig, then dove to her mouth without the care for tenderness.

  Mara whimpered in his mouth, unready for the severity of his kiss and the rape of his tongue. She pushed away, never knowing that kind of mad passion from Dægan before. She wiped the pain and wetness from her lips, looking at him as though he were a total stranger. She tried to dismiss it, to forget the grotesqueness of his kiss, to convince herself he was just overjoyed in seeing her and she should be glad for such fervor.

  “I was worried about you,” she said at last.

  She brought her hands to his face and threaded her fingers into his hair, looking into his eyes, deeper this time. He was staring right back at her, and not with the gentle sea of blue she was accustomed to, but a wicked cobalt that shown as black as midnight on death’s hour.

  Mara dropped her hands, for they felt as heavy as catapult stones, and stepped back from his hateful grin. She glanced at the sword in his right hand and noticed it was not the unmistakable weapon of gold, silver, and rubies that Dægan kept at his side. It was one of plainness and tarnished metal.

  Mara’s head spun, her thoughts converging on the oddity of Dægan’s visage. And if that were not enough, he spoke to her in fashion quite unfamiliar to her ears.

  “Come here, little lass. I have missed you.”

  Mara was taken aback by the name in which he chose to call her. Dægan had never called her little lass before, and it was strange that he would take this moment to taste that water. His unusual conduct was most unlike him, so eccentric, it was almost fake—like he were someone else entirely, yet identical to the eyes.

  Then it hit her. A different sword…a different endearment…It had to be a different man all together.

  Dægan’s twin brother!

  But she thought him dead. Dægan thought him dead. But if he were truly alive, what would bring him here? Then she remembered the four ships with red and white sails, the men who had come upon them in the cavern, and their profound reaction to Dægan when they had seen him. It all made sense to her now. Domaldr was one of their own and coming upon Dægan was almost ghastly—to kill him was just plain hard. Domaldr must have tracked his brother down and conjured a plan to
be Dægan, himself, even stealing both a steed and a husband’s kiss.

  Mara’s stomach turned and fear stirred a wave of shivers in her soul. What had he done to her Dægan?

  “Dægan,” Nevan called as he was descending the stairs to convene with the chieftain in the courtyard. Behind the king were hoards of men and guards following him as he neared the bottom, his face straight and concerned. “If you have the time, now would be a fine occasion to let me in on the matter of those who have landed on my shores. I have mead to spare…if you can spare the insults.”

  ****

  Domaldr panicked. He hadn’t planned on too much confrontation, just amiably slipping the princess from the fort. But with so many gathering around him, his continual lies would be harder to swindle, and eventually, as obvious as the bright moon above him.

  He twisted Mara about to face the approaching king, shielding his own body with hers. “Open the gate!” he demanded fiercely, taking a few steps backward.

  Nevan stopped at the middle of the stairs, looking at the astonishment on Mara’s face, her mouth gaped in horror. “Dægan, what are you doing?”

  “I said open the gate!”

  At that point, every Irish guard unsheathed their swords and every random archer on the wall walk drew back their bows, but Nevan commanded them at ease. “Take your weapons off the princess. Do it now!” He gawked at what he believed was Dægan. “What has come over you? Can you not see you are frightening your wife?”

  Wife, Domaldr thought. He could barely contain his shock and lowered his mouth to Mara’s ear, whispering for only her to hear, “My, my, little lass. My brother does not waste time, does he?”

  He then tightened his arms around Mara and again yelled to the guard, his insistence now marked by a long sword blade drawn against her throat. “Open them now, or she dies!”

  Nevan quickly gave the order to the gateman and stared between Mara and the harrowing sword across her chest. “Why do you do this, Dægan? Why do you threaten her? Put your sword down, I beg you!”

  Domaldr enjoyed the man’s benevolent haggling while the gates slowly opened behind him. He yanked Mara, like a sack of wheat, over the nervously shifting horse and leapt behind her, kicking it abusively into a run. He cut down every guard that stood in the way of the gate, and turned around just in time to hear Nevan’s frantic voice roar in desperation. “Shoot the horse!”