The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vincent, Renee

  As he took his first steps into the open courtyard, he was greeted first by a collective gasp of bystanders followed by a concerned pair of Northmen.

  “What happened?” Ottarr asked, studying the princess lying unresponsive in his arms.

  He glanced around at all the eyes staring upon them now, deciding it wasn’t best to get into this discussion here. “We are leaving. Gather the men.”

  Ottarr caught on rather quickly and didn’t waste time amassing their group. Even Gunnar appeared to be eager to leave as he helped to bring the horses around.

  Breandán barely walked a few steps across the bailey when a man he had never seen before stepped in front of him. The man was young and wore an unmistakable scowl upon his face.

  As it became obvious the man had no thought to help Breandán or the woman within his arms, Breandán made an attempt to go around the rude fellow. The man spoke which caused him to halt.

  “So, this is the woman to which my father gave all his love and respect instead of his legitimate heir.”

  Breandán glanced down at Mara, thankful she was not aware of what the lad proclaimed. “Who are you?”

  A callous twitch pulled on the one side of the stranger’s lips. “The legitimate heir.”

  Amazing.

  It was bad enough Callan had stooped so low by raising Mara as his own and keeping her real father a secret. But to go even lower by siring a son, from a mistress no doubt, and concealing him until it proved beneficial—like now, when a new king was direly needed. It left him with a feeling of utter disgust.

  By the look on the lad’s face, Breandán suspected he didn’t care much for Callan either. But what bothered him most was the contempt the young man had for Mara. She’d done nothing wrong except be caught in the same web of lies.

  Before he could carry Mara away, the lad added his well wishes. “I hope she and her whore mother rot in hell.”

  “Tibraide!” Fergus’ voice resonated thorugh the courtyard. “That will be enough.”

  Breandán watched the lad turn around, his face devoid of emotion. “Is it over?”

  Fergus looked at Breandán first and nodded his head.

  “Then your services are no longer needed,” Tibraide declared. “As are yours,” he concluded, now looking at Breandán. “I know the alliances my father kept with the Ui Breifne and your Northmen friends. And with his death, comes a severing of those treaties. You will never be welcome here again. Know this well as you ride off.”

  Breandán happily concurred with the disdainful new Connacht king. “You need not tell me twice.”

  Breandán shook with fury, his grasp on Mara tightening as he turned his back on Dún na hAbhann. He would’ve loved to have punched the youthful Tibraide right in the face, but he couldn’t quite blame him for the bitterness he held in his heart or the stand he took thereafter. It was not his fault he had grown up without the love and respect of a proud father. He was only vindicating the wrongs in his life and he, being both the victim of Callan’s deceit and a legitimate heir, had every right to do so. Breandán only wished he could gain some sort of vindication on Mara’s behalf. She at least deserved that.

  He stopped in his tracks, remembering Fergus, his heart pounding in his ears. He called for Ottarr and kindly handed Mara over to him. “Hold her for one moment, if you please.”

  Ottarr didn’t ask why. He only took the limp woman in his arms and watched the Irishman stroll back through the courtyard.

  Breandán approached the yet-to-be-coronated king, taking pleasure in the young man’s surprise. “Permission to speak with Fergus.”

  Tibraide nearly scoffed. “Speak all you like as he is no longer an advisor of the crown.”

  Fergus slowly stepped forward, obviously unsure of what Breandán wanted.

  Breandán stood tall as he eyed Callan’s friend. “I assume Óengus brought you my message.”

  With hesitance, Fergus nodded. “He told me you would have questions.”

  “Indeed. I have but one. Who turned Mara away when she had come forth to revisit her home and father after her husband’s death? And a second time after her son’s birth?”

  Fergus’s eyes dropped guiltily. “’Twould be me.”

  Breandán had never been so glad to hear those words, and took great delight in watching Fergus fall on his less-than-noble backside after his fist soundly met his face. He half expected Tibraide to retaliate with orders of imprisonment, or at the least, Dún na hAbhann’s guards to take hold of him and drag him out of the bailey. But no one moved. The only thing he saw was the proud grin amidst Ottarr’s bushy beard as he turned around.

  “Now we leave,” he stated to the Northman.

  ****

  Mara opened her eyes, her first thoughts being of her father, or the man she believed to be. She looked around her, no longer standing at his bedside, but lying on the ground, in the dark of night, near a campfire. A private one it seemed as the only person in her company was Breandán.

  He sat along side her, a sweet protectiveness overcoming his face as he noticed her awakening.

  “Where am I? Where is everyone?”

  He reached out and gently brushed back her hair. “Everyone is over there,” he gestured toward a distant spot behind him. “I figured you would need some time alone.”

  He was correct. She really didn’t want to face anyone right now. It was difficult enough to accept what Callan had told her. In truth, she wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. All her life she had believed she was the daughter of a king. A princess. Even Dægan thought he’d married a princess. Everyone had. But who was she now? Who’s daughter was she? And how could her mother never tell her? How could her loving mother hide this secret from her and take it to her grave?

  A painful lump hardened in her throat as her tears began to burn in her eyes.

  “Sh…Mara,” Breandán crooned, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You need to forget all about Callan. He is not worthy of your tears and sadness. If anything, you should be pleased you no longer have a blood tie. You are better off without him.”

  Breandán’s words were true, but her broken, scar-ridden heart had a difficulty accepting it.

  “Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head.

  “The best thing for you to do now is rest. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

  Mara watched Breandán leave and a deep sense of longing pulled at her aching heart. She had no idea where he was going, but all she knew was she didn’t want him to leave. Her lips fell open, to call him back, but her voice failed her. Even the muscles of her own body failed her as she lay on the ground. The only part of her that seemed to work was her eyelids, assuredly closing, blocking out the world around her.

  It felt better to close her eyes.

  This way she could imagine being home again on Inis Mór, surrounded by those who loved her. Immersed in the tiny arms of her son. Welcomed by the people who had long accepted her as their own.

  No matter how hard she tried to envision herself with those she called family, her thoughts always seemed to wander back to her father—Callan, she corrected—who’d forsakened her. She reminisced over the weak, dying man who had seemed overjoyed by her return. Though she wanted more than anything to forget him, forget his words, she couldn’t overlook the fact that he had once lovingly raised her as his own, unselfishly gave of himself when her mother was ill and dying, and devotedly cared for her thereafter. Callan had loved her, as his own blood. There was no doubt about it. But why? Why would he allow himself to love another man’s child?

  Perhaps he cared that much for her mother. Perhaps he loved her so much he was unwilling to tarnish her reputation by letting others find out about her pregnancy from another man. She hardly thought Callan capable of such a sacrifice, especially after the grief he had caused Mara in the past seven years. But it seemed to be the only viable reason. She had never heard him say one ill word about her mother and could only recall the way he�
��d smile when she’d walked into the room. Though he had always been a self-righteous, strong-willed king, his feelings for her mother must have been stronger than his own superior self.

  For a slight instance, a smile curved her lips.

  It had been a long time since she had smiled over that man. And it felt good to think of him now in a better light. To think of him not as the man who denied her his love for seven years, but a man who generously loved her and her mother until the day he took his last breath.

  For a moment, she felt better remembering Callan in that way. She refused to let her heart harden or grow bitter with resentment over things in the past. She’d move forward with a strong back. She had to. If not for her own sanity then for the son who waited for her. She’d hold on to the important things in life. The things that mattered.

  Mara opened her eyes, remembering something else that mattered: the one man who had stood by her.

  Breandán.

  She thought back to the last moments she spent in Callan’s solar, remembering the sudden need to flee, to remove herself from Callan’s struggle with death. She recalled the helplessness she felt, the crushing weight of watching him suffer, and the warm body behind her as she stepped back. She recollected the way Breandán had held her when she turned to bury her face in his chest. The way he had wrapped his arms around her as she cried, and the way he swiftly lifted her from her feet when she hadn’t the strength to stand anymore.

  Aye, she remembered that. She may have lost consciousness, but she couldn’t forget the feel of those mighty arms around her back and knees, the strength of his rock-solid grasp more prevalent than ever before.

  Breandán had been there for her and she hadn’t even told him how much it meant to her. How grateful she was for his faithful companionship despite the risks he took in journeying with her.

  She wanted to see him. She wanted to be in his arms again and feel the comfort of his heated body against her. To revel in the sound of his heartbeat in her ears, and sigh with relief over the immediate calm he always seemed to bring forth. At this moment in time, she needed that peace. She needed his remarkable kindness to make all her grief disappear.

  She needed him.

  ****

  Breandán sunk low in the cool water of the nearby creek after removing his clothes and draping them over a tree branch, hoping to wash away his meandering thoughts. Never before had he felt so helpless. So useless.

  Mara had been told she was not Callan’s daughter, and he couldn’t do a thing to console her. Before, her pain was in losing a husband. But now, with her not knowing who her father was or from where she came, her sorrow was almost intangible. Unless she could figure out who she was, she would never find true happiness.

  For a man, having a name—a surname—meant everything. It gave a son a sense of pride in carrying the name of his father or grandfather. Without it, a man was just a man, indistinguishable from the rest.

  For a woman, he doubted it had similar meaning given the female was expected to freely change her surname upon marriage. But having no name at all was quite a different matter. To know Mara faced this dilemma, it left him sitting in the dark water, feeling discouraged and incapable of truly being there for her.

  He blew out all his air in a heavy sigh and let his body sink further, feeling the cool line of the water’s depth elevate above his chest, then his neck, then over the tips of his ears until he was completely submerged.

  ****

  Mara crept aimlessly through the dark. The fractured light of the pale moon through the forest limbs barely helped to light the way. She knew Breandán would probably scold her for wandering alone in the night without the aid of an escort, but she didn’t care at this point. She had been searching for too long to give up now.

  As she ambled through the labyrinth of trees and brush, she made sure never to stray too far from the distant red-orange glow of the men’s campfire light. But she certainly didn’t expect Breandán to be in such a remote place. He always seemed to be near, even when he was out scouting the area.

  The further she wandered about, the more she believed she may not find him. It weighed on her tremendously and she began to feel its toll on her heart. Perhaps he was in trouble. She dared to call out to him when she suddenly caught sight of something gleaming in the moonlight.

  Cautiously, she drew near, until she could make out that the light-colored object was Breandán’s beautiful white-gray hare cloak hanging over a tree limb, his belt and kirtle draped beside it. Without thinking, she walked toward them, elated by the thought of finding their owner. In the bleak darkness, the shimmer of moonlight reflected off the water of a quiet creek bed nestled within a multitude of hardwoods.

  Realization sank in and she gasped. Breandán had obviously taken to bathing and somewhere amid the forest he stood naked and wet.

  Nervously, she wrung her hands together. She should’ve turned and headed straight for the camp, eliminating the risk of seeing him again in his nude form. But she didn’t. She stood there waiting, afraid to turn around.

  From behind her, water sloshed, followed by the haphazard trickling of droplets. For a moment, she held her breath. Wild thoughts of Breandán’s bare torso, slick with a thin layer of water, swept across her mind. She envisioned his lower half was concealed by the level of the creek hovering below his navel—a heavenly sight indeed.

  Eventually, she heard nothing. She wondered if he hadn’t seen her standing there and immersed himself beneath the water again. This would be the perfect time to bolt and save face.

  She drew in a few unsteady breaths and turned. Frozen in her tracks, she stared.

  He stood there in waste-high water, his muscular form drenched with beads of glistening liquid. The glimmer of moonlight bounced off his broad shoulders.

  Immediately, she turned around, her breath wildly escaping her.

  “Am I to assume you came looking for me…found my clothes upon the limb—and stayed regardless—knowing I would be as naked as the day I was born?”

  His words played with her, tempting her to look again. “I did come looking for you,” she agreed. “And I did have thoughts to leave upon finding your clothing, but—”

  Her words tangled in her mouth.

  “You should not be out here alone,” he stated. “’Tis not safe, Mara.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, every bone in her body screaming to agree with him. But she found herself speaking daringly on the subject. “I am not alone.”

  Expecting him to admonish her carelessness, she bravely turned to face him. He stared at her. “Indeed, you are not alone.” He glanced around the area with a careful shift of his eyes. “You do realize there are others among us who guard this forest.”

  She understood well that others might see them together in this way, but she suddenly didn’t concern herself with it. “I care not who sees me with you, or what suspicions they gather from it. I am a grown woman.”

  She thought she saw him smile, but the shadows of the trees shaded his face too well for her to really know for sure.

  “Why are you here?”

  She legs shook beneath her as she stared at a man so alluring, so beautiful… “I wanted…”

  Her lips clamped shut, keeping her from speaking, from saying what she had long held inside her. Even as she said it in her head, it sounded absurd. And God knows she was not ready to be laughed at. To be turned away from the one person she cared about.

  She had been cast aside this day by someone who had meant a great deal to her, and to be shunned by Breandán as well, the one person she needed the most…it would be heartbreaking to even think it.

  Her knees shook fiercely.

  Turn and run before you get hurt again.

  “Perhaps I spoke too boldly. I should not be here.”

  She listened to her subconscious and as she spun on her heels, making haste to leave the woodland, she was stopped abruptly by the low-lying limb, which held his clothes.

  She p
repared to go beneath it, but halted. The water moved, the sound of his departure from the stream evident. He was coming out of the water toward her—slowly—the sound of his steps drawing nearer with each splash. Her feet, again, felt like they were fixed to the ground. Her hands white knuckled the branch.

  Just as she was about to dart away, she felt his dripping wet body behind her, his arms reaching out on either side, trapping her between himself and the tree. If she thought she had trouble breathing before, the feel of his wet naked body against her back proved her wrong.

  “Look at me,” he said in a whisper.

  She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, trying to find the strength to do as he ordered. But knowing he was without his clothes gave her reason to hesitate. It was quite unbecoming for a princess—

  Her thoughts socked her square in the belly. She was not a princess. Not anymore.

  “Mara, look at me,” he said again, this time using his hands to spin her.

  She stared at him, his eyes piercing her soul. His hands clutched the wood bough again, keeping her from dodging past. He inched closer now, the solid wall of his body pressing firmly against hers.

  “You said you wanted something. What is it?”

  She averted her eyes, but he caught her chin.

  “Talk to me, Mara. You came to me for a reason. You stayed for a reason. What is it?”

  “I know not,” she answered automatically.

  “And I believe you no more than you believe yourself. You know what you want. Hell, I know what you want. But I need you to tell me. I need to hear it from your lips.”

  He pressed himself further against her, forcing her to look up at him. “You make it rather difficult for me to think clearly, Breandán.”

  “Nay,” he whispered softly. “You make it hard by second guessing your heart. You and I both know it led you here and ‘twas what kept you here, despite the inappropriateness of you seeing me this way. And yet, even after all the trouble you went through to find me, you still resist.”

  “Only because I am uncertain. My heart has always beat for the love of Dægan, and for it to…ache like it does—for you—is quite puzzling for me. Even as I stand before you, it pounds within me.” She closed her eyes. “I will admit I feel alive when I am with you. And when you left me alone by the fire, I felt empty. Like a hole had been carved in my heart. I did not like being without you. And all I could think about was being in your arms, being close to you. But…”