The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vincent, Renee

  He had remained near Thordia, all night, getting only a few hours of sleep here and there. Every couple of hours, the baby had awakened hungry. With Thordia too tired to even hold her head up, he took it upon himself to prop the infant at Thordia breast, allowing the babe to fill her stomach with the necessary milk.

  It had been a difficult task, but one in which he found great satisfaction. His daughter had instinctively opened her mouth and nourished herself from the bosom of his wife. It was an amazing moment, a proud moment, to think his Thordia had all the babe ever needed right there as he cradled the infant against her.

  Now morning had come and he would soon have to leave. He’d have to say goodbye to the woman who had made him so proud. He felt as if he was deserting her, leaving her behind to fend for herself. The protective husband in him wanted to stay and forget all about his duties to his people, and hover close to her.

  But he knew Lillemor would be there in his stead. With her, Thordia would be in good hands. If anything, he knew he wouldn’t leave until Thordia woke up. He had promised her last night, and he was not about to fall back on his pledge. He had done enough of failing his people already. He would make things right again with the king and the only way to do that was to find Mara and keep her from Gunnar’s evil scheme.

  I will not fail. Nor will I fail you, Dægan.

  From behind him, he heard the baby shift in the boxbed, her hardly-there whimper arousing Thordia as well. By the time he looked over his shoulder, Thordia had already scooped the baby in her arms and nestled her beneath an engorged breast.

  Tait was hard put to hide his smile as he sat beside her, his hand automatically reaching out to brush the hard, swelled orb lightly with the back of his fingers. He didn’t recall them being that distended and firm last night when he had tenderly extracted her breast to feed the baby. “It looks like it hurts.”

  “A little.”

  His eyes lowered to the cute rosy lips suckling at her nipple. “She is certainly a hungry little one.”

  “Indeed.”

  Tait looked up and found his beautiful wife staring at him. Even though she looked drained and sluggish, her eyes were brilliantly blue. Her hair, which draped off her shoulder, looked like golden threads of spun silk. With the babe supported in the crook of her arm, she looked like a goddess.

  “Have you given thought to her name?”

  Thordia gazed down upon the feeding child. “I was thinking…Arnóra.”

  Tait followed his wife’s eyes and tested the name on his lips. “Aye, I think that name suits her well.” He reached out and cupped her cheek. “You have made me so proud this day. I love you, Thordia.”

  “And I, you, m’lord.”

  After a few moments of gazing into her face, Lillemor entered the longhouse with Alfarinn running past her excitedly.

  “Father,” the boy cheered as he ran into Tait’s arms. “I was afraid you had left already.”

  Tait hugged him tight. “You know I would not leave without saying my farewell to you, Son.” He glanced over at the other two boys who had made their way inside. “How is Brondolf doing?” he asked Lillemor.

  “Quite well.”

  Alfarinn looked up from his father’s hold and spoke up next. “He never keeps his mouth closed.”

  Tait wanted to laugh. “I find naught wrong with that. He is certainly entitled to say whatever he would like.”

  Brondolf smiled at Tait, though he still detected a hint of worry on the lad’s face. Lochlann’s as well.

  “Come here you two,” he gestured. He took all three of the boys in his arms. “Everything is going to be all right. Half of Havelock’s men are staying here to protect the isle while we are gone. But I still need you three to keep a sharp eye. Lillemor and Thordia are going to need you. Think you are up for the task?”

  All three nodded simultaneously.

  Tait turned to Lochlann. “And worry not. Your mother is with Breandán,” Tait reminded him, glancing purposefully toward his wife to see her delight in the way he finally spoke respectfully of the Irishman. “If I know him, he has not taken his eyes off her. We will bring your mother safely back to you. Together we will. This I swear, Lochlann.”

  ****

  Tait strolled through the wake of the Atlantic, his sword at his belt, his bow and quiver at his shoulder, and jumped over the gunwale of his longship, ready to take on the world. Everyone was aboard the narrow vessels, their oars in hand, waiting on Tait’s command.

  He took his place at the steer board, searching for Nevan. He knew the king, oath or not, was not going to stay behind when his daughter’s life was in danger. He never spoke openly about his decision to come along, but Tait assumed it was a given and caught a glimpse of the king sitting in Havelock’s ship. He did not look happy, nor did he allow his eyes to fall on Tait. Nevan was too stubborn for that.

  As Tait ignored the impulse to smile, he checked for Gustaf’s presence in another nearby ship. He still found it hard to look upon the man’s face as he resembled Dægan in so many ways; his proud stance, the determined look in his eyes, his overall similarity in build and hair color. He knew if he had to take a second look every time at Gustaf, Mara would have to as well. And for some reason, that worried him. Not for Breandán’s sake, but for hers. She had done well getting over the loss of her husband. Would this make it all come back? Would the very likeness of Gustaf open the wound in her heart so deep, she’d never recover?

  Only time would tell.

  He shook his head, and tried to focus on the task at hand, giving the signal to head out. The moment the vessel started to move, his heart sped up in pace. It had been a while since he had to board his longship for the purpose of war. Even though he felt betrayed by Gunnar in the worst possible way, he still hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He had known Gunnar for too long to not feel ill at ease with taking him on. Veritably, he would do what was necessary in order to protect Mara, but it didn’t make it any easier on his heart and mind.

  He looked over his shoulder and smiled, his son waving to him from the door of his longhouse. Within moments, he saw his wife come into view behind him, the bundled babe in her arms. The sight of his family waving him off made him want to desert his crew, leap from the stern, and gather them all up in his arms again.

  He had enjoyed Thordia’s embrace far too much when they said their goodbyes and he nearly had to pry himself out of her arms so as to join his waiting men. She had felt so good pressed against him, the changes her body underwent, made it downright difficult for him to ignore the fullness and beauty of her curvaceous body.

  Instead, he rested his hand on the cold hard wood of the steer board, maneuvering the longship into the open sea, while the other tightened the cloak beneath his chin. The wind had picked up and Tait was both glad and displeased with the might of a swift wind. Though it would mean they’d arrive in Gaillimh sooner than expected, it would also mean they’d most likely be fighting the rain sure to follow.

  Chapter Thirty

  Breandán was the first to arise the next morning. He sat up quietly, taking great pains to keep from waking Mara beside him. She lay facing him with her elbow tucked under her head, her dark lashes spread like feathers across the tops of her cheeks. There was nothing more peaceful than watching her sleep. She was an angelic sight to say the least and he was honored to be her friend. Of course, he desired to be so much more, but at this moment, he felt utterly content.

  He couldn’t recall a time when he had been this happy, nor could he remember a night when he had slept so well. He was certain it was because he had been lying with Mara, their bodies nuzzling against each other for warmth.

  Reluctantly, he removed his arm from across her waist and slipped out from under their cloaks, unable to fully forget his duties of keeping her safe. As the brisk morning air seeped through his clothes and wrapped its cool hands around his bare legs, he took to his task quickly, blowing warm air into his hands as he sneaked away.

  He peru
sed through the camp perimeter as the men started to stir, checking the others who were supposed to be keeping watch. All seemed to be as it should. And more importantly, no indications of Donnchadh’s men lingering about in the distance—waiting to strike at dawn.

  By the time he had circled the entire camp, the men were on their feet, stretching and making slow efforts to pack. Some lingered by the smoking fires in hopes of soaking up the last traces of warmth, while others tacked up their horses and stuffed their mouths with the hard biscuits left in their pouches.

  Breandán felt his stomach rumble and wished he had time to hunt in the thriving forest of Ireland’s lush terrain. It was the perfect morning for such a thing. The air was crisp and everything was covered by a thick layer of dew, promising juicy leaves, grasses, and berries for the red stags who’d dare to venture out. But he knew it would not be wise to leave Mara alone while he attempted to satisfy everyone’s hunger, including his own. Stale biscuits and hard cured meat would have to suffice if he wanted to ensure Mara’s safe return.

  With his appetite clawing through his every thought, he strolled over to where his horse was tied. He patted it upon approach and began gathering its saddle.

  He heard footsteps and looked up to see Gunnar making his way around the equine. Breandán noticed he looked exceptionally calm and couldn’t help but wonder what kind of scheme played out in the Northman’s mind.

  Breandán nodded once and hoisted his saddle upon the horse’s back. “I am grateful for how long you kept watch. I will have someone else take your turn for you this evening.”

  “How kind of you,” Gunnar uttered sarcastically.

  Breandán disregarded the snide comment and kept to his task, securing the girth strap with a solid tug.

  “You think you are cunning, do you not?”

  Breandán never gave Gunnar a second glance while he fastened the throat lash of his leather bridle, though the question confused him.

  Gunnar lost his composure and shoved Breandán aside. “I am talking to you.”

  Breandán faced him now. “And I am listening. I have heard your every word.”

  “You can pretend all you want that you stand above me.” Gunnar took a step forward, emphasizing his own taller height. “That you are smarter than me. Putting me at the far end of camp to keep watch. Away from Mara. And you can continue to put me as far away from her this whole journey if it suits you. But ‘twill not benefit you when we return. Nor her.” Gunnar skated past and purposely running his shoulder into Breandán’s.

  He didn’t like the sound of the Northman’s threat. It was not necessarily a warning toward Breandán as much as it was toward Mara. There was a cynical tone to his voice, almost as if he were hinting she’d be sorry if she denied him again. And that was what concerned him most.

  “What was that all about?” Ottarr asked quietly as he neared Breandán.

  Breandán glanced toward the old Northman, unsure if he should even confide in him. He watched as Ottarr pretended to keep his attention on his horse, deciding whether or not to put his trust in the man.

  “Between you and me, I never cared for Gunnar. I know Tait holds him in high regard, but his favor means naught to me. There is something peculiar about Gunnar. Always has been. Does that help you?”

  Breandán would never have believed Ottarr to talk behind Gunnar’s back, but then again, he never would have believed that Ottarr would suggest he “keep Mara warm” either. The Northman had once threatened to kill him and was now taking action to befriend him. Through the course of this journey, Ottarr seemed to be changing his attitude, outlook, and loyalty. Breandán hoped he read him right and continued to play along, preparing his horse as he spoke discreetly to Ottarr. “What did Tait promise Gunnar when we return?”

  “To my knowledge, naught. Why?”

  Breandán glanced around for eavesdroppers. “I believe Gunnar may have threatened Mara.”

  Ottarr tried to look at ease, though his eyes hardened as he pondered Breandán’s statement. “Threatened her? How so?”

  “He never let the specifics fall from his mouth. But ‘twas there.”

  Ottarr finished securing his tie-downs and turned to look Breandán in the eye. “I think ‘twould be best if you stayed near Mara in line. Marcas can lead, can he not?”

  “Aye.”

  “Good. Then I will stay near Gunnar at the end. Keep everything else as it is.” Ottarr didn’t wait for Breandán to dispute it. He simply walked away leading his horse to where Gunnar congregated with the others.

  Breandán tried at great lengths not to stare too long at the old Northman as he left. It was not every day he’d ally himself with the Fionnghaill, and to say the least, the concept was a bit unsettling. Dægan had been the first and it proved to have been the best decision. He only wished he could feel confident with this choice now. If he was being played and led to believe the two were not cohorts, it only meant Mara would suffer in the end and he would be to blame.

  He looked over his shoulder at Mara who had begun to awaken. He could feel his heart constrict at the thought of something happening to her. As God was his witness, he vowed he would not let anyone harm her.

  Ever.

  ****

  Mara didn’t have much time to recollect her night wrapped in Breandán’s arms, for the men who were there to protect her were all saddled and ready to make their way back to Inis Mór. They had several days of backtracking ahead of them and getting an early start was their best bet for covering as much ground as possible.

  The only person who didn’t seem impatient was Breandán. He was as attentive as he had always been, allowing her the time she needed to relieve herself in the woods without rushing her. He even dressed her again in her suit of armor and burdensome helmet without haste, making certain she resembled nothing more than a small gangly man once again. But the one difference she noticed was the absence of his smile.

  She loved his boyish grin and the way his chiseled face softened with the presence of laugh lines and dimples. This morning, it never appeared.

  Even when he had hauled her upon her patiently waiting horse—an act that would normally draw some sort of pleasant reaction from him—no smile had emerged. It was as if he had grown accustomed to the feel of his hands around her and the few moments he could steal for himself were not as significant as they were to her.

  Another thought that struck her as odd was to see Breandán mount up and stay beside her. Normally he led the group while she was left in the shielding confines of the center. Today, he rode abreast of her in the heart of the line.

  After much contemplation the change in strategy and coming up short, she decided to ask him. “Are you going to speak to me about what is wrong, or must I guess?”

  Breandán kept his eyes forward, his face straight as an arrow. “Naught is wrong. I am simply protecting you as best I can.”

  Mara smiled inwardly. She did feel safer with him trotting beside her, but she was still unsatisfied with his answer. “Do you think it necessary to lie to me, now that you have shared my bed?”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him glance her way. “I did not lie to you.”

  “Ah, but you tell me half truths.” She heard him inhale deeply.

  “Since when did you become so perceptive?”

  “It takes not an extraordinary intellect to know you are troubled by something. And if it pertains to my safety, would it not be wise to inform me of such dangers?” She gave him a sideways glance, hoping he would soon confess his burdens.

  “You could be correct,” he admitted. “Though I fear ‘twill merely upset you. If you are distressed, you will be distracted. And that will not help you to keep alert of danger.”

  “So, I am in danger?”

  “Not as long as I am around.”

  Another smile crept across her lips. “If you are so confident, then why are you still worried?”

  Breandán’s face fell her way and she held his eyes through her helmet
until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “If you must know, Gunnar said something to me this morning for which I cared not.”

  Mara felt her smile slide and she became very concerned. “Did he threaten you?”

  “Not I.”

  Her eye’s widened. “Myself?”

  “Not in so many words, but aye.”

  Mara instinctively glanced over her shoulder, checking for Gunnar presence.

  “Rest easy, a thaisce. He is being watched closely.”

  “By whom?”

  “Ottarr. Ultan. Most everyone.”

  Mara wrung her hands. “I wish you would tell me what he said to create such suspicions.”

  “It matters not what he said, Mara, but how he said it. As if you would have no control over it anyway.”

  Mara narrowed her eyes and fidgeted in her stirrups. “What are you talking about?”

  Breandán used his eyes and directed her to look ahead, as if to keep her from drawing attention to herself. “I cannot say for certain what Gunnar meant, but is it possible Tait could have promised you to him?”

  Mara was aghast. “Surely Tait would not do that. I know it has disappointed him on many occasions when I refused Gunnar as a husband, but he has never given me the impression he would ever marry me without my consent. I would like to believe he cares enough for me not to do such a thing.” She paused for a minute and gathered her thoughts. “Did Gunnar actually say something to that effect?”

  “Not necessarily,” Breandán replied coolly. “But whatever he has planned, ‘tis for a purpose of getting back at me. I can only think of two men who would greatly wish to do that.”

  Mara thought for a while. “I will never marry Gunnar. Never.”

  Breandán reached across and took hold of her tightly clenched hands on the reins. “If that is truly what you want, I will not allow it to happen.”

  His hand was incredibly warm, sending a jolt of heat up her arm. It amazed her to think she was that responsive to his touch. A simple touch. And when he retracted his hand, she was left with the same degree of longing as last night’s, when he had left her by the fire alone. But similar to the night before, she was unable to bring her words to her lips. They failed her again.