Claiming Her (Renegades & Outlaws)

by Kris Kennedy

  She nodded in sympathy. “Thank you for setting him far away from me.”

  The stockings came sliding off, and as he tossed them aside, she rested her hand on the side of his head. “And Aodh, heed me, you cannot deal with Wingotten directly on matters of state. It is a lost cause.”

  “Fine.” He laid her back on the bed.

  “He is ever in the drink.”

  “I could tell.”

  “You must deal with his wife. She is wise and reliable, and far more steadfast. At the least, she remembers things.”

  He knelt on the bed. “Fascinating. And what do you know of Dunn?”

  “Garrett Dunn? In my experience, he…” Her words drifted off as he pushed her knees apart. “Aodh?”

  Propped up on an elbow, a hand around his erection, he paused and looked at her. “Aye?”

  “Are we going to…talk? While we…?” She angled her head to the side.

  He grinned at her slowly. “You like when I talk,” he said in a sly tone that quite made her heart speed up. “I’ve watched what happens to you when I talk.”

  “Well, I’m quite sure it won’t happen if we talk about Garrett Dunn.”

  He laughed and settled in between her thighs, his arm above her head. “Very well. We’ll talk about how deeply I enjoy being inside you.”

  Shivers spread across her body as he entered her with a slow thrust.

  “And then we’ll have you talk to me of how much you like it too, and maybe what else you might like me to do.”

  Excitement snapped through her. “Else?”

  He grinned. “You see. It’s happening already.”

  “Well,” she allowed, moving into his rhythm, “this is certainly better than talking about Garrett Dunn.”

  “Later we can talk about Dunn.”

  “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  He rewarded her for her intelligence in ways that proved being a rebel was not entirely a thing of sacrifice after all.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Katarina was in the kitchens with Cook, discussing whether the beets they’d overwintered would be suitable for the next day’s meal, when Susanna came in wearing an uncertain smile.

  “Katarina.”

  She paused, two leeks in her hands, held up to examine them.

  Susanna came a step closer. “Cormac asked me to find you. The master wants you.”

  Katarina lowered the leeks. “Wants me? Where is he?”

  “In council.”

  They stared at each other. Susanna looked apprehensive. For good cause.

  There was only one reason why Aodh would be calling her to a council meeting with his rebel forces today: to prove herself. Not to him, but to them. He had taken a risk and set her free, but that did not come without a cost. Yesterday had been a reprieve. Today, the payment came due.

  She could not be here, at Rardove, in they’re midst, standing against them. Standing against Aodh. She might not have to marry him, but she did have to join him. In a manner the others could see and recognize.

  The men pushed back their chairs and rose as she entered the council room. She tread lightly into the room, the way you might if passing through the meadow bog all around the castle, which would be a foolish and fatal thing to do, unless you knew precisely where to lay down your boot.

  She walked to Aodh through the silence. He nodded to the seat beside him, and when she sat, so did everyone else.

  “We were speaking of Wingotten,” Aodh said without preamble. “Did you not say his wife is the one we ought to deal with?” His gaze was direct and firm. He expected a reply.

  The room was silent as the men waited to see precisely who, and what, she was.

  She nodded. “When he is drinking, yes. And he is always drinking.”

  “Tell them what you told me.”

  She turned to the tableful of men and told them everything she knew. There was no other way.

  When she was done, she pulled her chair back slightly, putting herself just outside their circle. Aodh did not touch her, but he did hold her in a long gaze, then gave a single, approving nod.

  She’d done well in his eyes, and just now, nothing else mattered. She breathed the first easy breath she’d had in some long time, a breath of relief. Such things did not come easily out here on the marches.

  Furthermore, she felt safe. Ensconced in a castle with rebels all around and an army marching for them. Safe because Aodh approved of her. She’d made her choice, met his expectations, and now she was…his.

  It was a very definite thing.

  He had vowed to protect her, and made her think he might actually prevail. Hope he might.

  Quite simply, he made her hope.

  And that, she saw now, was the deepest layer of Aodh’s danger. When there was clearly no hope at all, still, one believed.

  The council resumed its talk, slowly at first, then, perhaps forgetting she was present, more openly. She listened in surprise to how much they knew. They had gathered intelligence, and a lot of it. What they needed were allies.

  Which she should not care about at all.

  What an odd sort of holding place her home had become.

  She became aware they were talking of sending a messenger—Bran—to the Rathbourne clan, deep in the mountains. They planned to send him by the coastal path, the Glencoe, a twisting, treacherous way. A faster way to reach the hidden trail that led into the mountains, indeed. If one survived.

  Unable to help herself, she tipped forward. “The Glencoe path will have washed away by now.”

  They all turned to her.

  “It happens every spring. It is impassible after winter. Bran will need to take the high road. ’Tis longer, but he will get through with his life.”

  A shuffling moved through the room, then more silence. More suspicion.

  “Well, after all, I do not want him to die, do I?” She sat back and folded her hands over her belly. “Additionally, he should take a gift. Something sweet. MacErrogh has a fearsome sweet tooth. Let me see, we have honey in the cellars…”

  Every eyebrow had lifted, every finger which had been drumming with repressed emotion, stilled, and more than a few gazes narrowed suspiciously at her.

  One of Aodh’s men laid a hairy forearm across the table. “The high road will add a day to his travels, lady.”

  “The straight path will add a lifetime, for he will never return.”

  The men exchanged wary glances.

  “I tell you, the road appears solid, but horses and ponies and men have been sliding off into the surf since Yule.” More silence met this. “As for the sweets… MacErrogh has cut off the heads of emissaries and messengers before if they did not come with proper respect as well as good news. Since I do not know whether he will consider your news good—that the Queen of England is about to send an army marching through his lands en route to Rardove—you should ensure your messenger has something he does consider good: honey. Trust in me, I have exploited MacErrogh’s sweet tooth before. And there is a great deal of honey in the cellars.”

  Ré looked at Aodh. Katarina looked at Aodh.

  Aodh slowly took his gaze off her and moved it to Bran, who stood, booted and caped, ready to be sent on any mission the council deemed worthy.

  “Take the high road,” Aodh said. “And stop at the cellars on your way, for honey.”

  Bran gave a swift nod, smiled at Katarina, and turned for the door.

  *

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS passed in a blur. Bright sunny days were filled with a flurry of garden planting and a deep spring cleaning for the hall and bedrooms. Evenings were filled with music and laughter, their newly joined households mingling happily with the Irish who’d come in from tribes both great and small.

  The nights, long and hot, were filled with Aodh.

  In such idyll, one could almost forget war was coming. Especially if one was trying to.

  One morning, the men were changing guard duty on the walls. The ha
ll always bustled at such hours, and Aodh stood with a few men, leaning over a table together with a swiftly sketched rendering of the hills to the west, while Katarina hurried the servants to bring in more bread and cheese.

  Into this flurry of activity, Dickon stumbled in and almost tumbled down the stairs, shouting as he came. “My lord, a messenger has come!”

  Fast on his heels came one of the gate porters. ”From the queen, my lord. ’Tis from the queen!”

  The hall went still. Cold rivulets of fear trickled down Katarina’s chest. She swung her gaze to Aodh, but he was already striding toward his gateman, hand out.

  The porter handed it over, saying, “It is for my lady, my lord.”

  Everyone turned to her.

  Aodh looked at her, then handed it over.

  With trembling fingers, she cracked the seal and opened the missive.

  Elizabeth, by Grace of God Queen of England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, to the lady of Rardove, Katarina. Know our deep displeasure in your accession to the Irish rebel Aodh Mac Con. Our castle of Rardove, held by you in Our name, in trust, is now forfeit to the Crown. Be prepared to surrender it to our man.

  Drafts eddied through the air and made the page tremble.

  “Without evidence?” Katarina sat down hard and lifted the paper into the air, in front of her eyes, as if staring at it harder or longer would somehow make it seem right. Or fair.

  Inside her chest, there was a falling-away sensation, not so much a tumbling as a slippage. The ice shearing off again, this time into a much deeper, more turbulent sea.

  “So, the queen did condemn me, without evidence.” She looked up at Aodh with a bitter smile. “Without a trial. Without a conversation. Somewhat in the manner you suggested she would.” She looked at the message again. “She did this all in her mind, turned me traitor and finished the deed.”

  Aodh sat on the bench beside her. “I am sorry.”

  She looked over into his beautiful, complicated eyes. The oddest thing. He who’d all but forced her into this rebellion, now apologized.

  “You should leave,” he said and nodded to his men. “Ready an escort. Deliver her ladyship to the ship, thence, to wherever she wishes to go.”

  The men went into motion immediately, but Aodh stayed them with a sharp addition. “Take three of the chests with you.” He looked at her. “I have friends in many places, Katy. We can find you harbor, you can stay there, safe, until…”

  “Until what?”

  “This is over.”

  She got to her feet. “What do you mean?”

  He got up too. “I have a ship, in a hidden cove, at anchor. It will take you wherever you want to go. Although if you choose the queen… I would recommend against it. But if that is your wish, my men will see it done.”

  She felt shocked that he would think such a thing. The falling-away sadness of a moment ago, the empty, foundationless slippery feeling of loss, was gone entirely, replaced by a spark of anger.

  “I am not going anywhere, Aodh. You did what you did, and had your reasons. I did what I did, for my reasons. But the queen, she had no reason. She assumed the worst of me. A lifetime of giving over, and giving up, and pressing on, all as the queen willed it, and she simply…turned on me. As she did on my father. As she did on you.”

  She straightened her back and let the message flutter from her fingers.

  “The queen gave me no choice, Aodh. You did.” She snapped her attention to Ré. “Is there still no word from The O’Fail?”

  Ré went a careful sort of quiet. Everyone turned to Aodh.

  “What?” she said, turning to him too.

  Cormac examined the room and the ensuing silence, then threw up his hands. “We’ve not sent anyone to the O’Fail tribe, ma’am.”

  “Not sent anyone… Why not?”

  The men exchanged another silent look.

  Aodh felt Katarina looking at him, felt everyone looking at him. “He cannot be trusted,” he said in a cold, clipped voice.

  She glanced around the room, then came forward and stood very near him. “How do you know that?”

  “I know him.”

  “Oh. What happened?” she asked quietly.

  He shook his head. “I know Keegan O’Fail. He will not aid us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He did not come to battle when called. The entire O’Fail clan betrayed us, left us to die on those fields.” He kept his words simple; no need to describe the carnage. But when she didn’t argue, just let the silence linger, he added, “All my uncles died on the field that day. My cousins, my friends. My father and grandfather were taken and tortured. The O’Fail destroyed my family that day, betrayed us all.”

  “Betrayed you.”

  Aye, himself. He’d been fostered at the O’Fails’, had trained with his warriors. Indeed, Keegan himself had taught Aodh to whittle, made him a little horse Aodh had kept on the mantel of his home until the English burned it to the ground with Aodh’s mother inside. Keegan had been more than a decade older than Aodh, but they’d been foster brothers, friends, closer than blood. And Keegan had not come to the battle that day. And Aodh’s family had died.

  Katarina bent nearer. “Aodh, I am sorry.”

  “We are all sorry,” he said coldly, not in the spirit for being comforted.

  “But you do not know what forces were at work.”

  “I know he did not come. I know he took an oath, and I know he turned.”

  “As you have asked me to do?”

  He looked up sharply.

  “Aodh, it was a long time ago. If Keegan O’Fail promised, then he should have come. Maybe now, he knows that.” She gave a little shrug. “Maybe now he is sorry. Maybe we could at least…see?”

  He heard his men waiting, boots shuffling.

  “He has many men at his command, Aodh,” she urged. “Perhaps near to a thousand. It was his summons that raised five hundred for a hosting several years ago, and by it almost decimated the English forces. He has droves of supporters. Is it not worth at least inquiring?”

  He was not inclined to grant this request. Beg for an alliance with a worm?

  In the background, Ré shifted and said quietly, “We do not know where The O’Fail is at present, my lady.”

  Katarina’s head lifted. “He itinerates constantly. Like as not he is at his keep of TorRising, for Easter is nearing, and that is but a long day’s ride from here. Still”—she nibbled on a fingernail as she stared across the room at one of Aodh’s tapestries—“we ought to send messengers to Pike’s Deep and the glen at Dark Lough. He often visits there.”

  The room was silent under her musings. Aodh looked at Ré, who shrugged, then said, “That’s a great many men traipsing about the countryside on questionable missions.”

  “You must risk large to gain large,” she countered.

  Aodh thought a moment, then shook his head. “Ré is correct. We haven’t men enough to send a few to the main castle, a few to the Pike, and yet more to that godforsaken lough. Not with an army marching for us.”

  She nodded briskly. “Then go only to TorRising. I am certain that is where he will be.”

  “No.”

  She frowned. “Why ever not? I swear to you, he is worth the risk. The time, the men.” She paused a moment, then added in a more musing tone, “You may have a point, though.”

  A sigh of relief moved down the line of men seated along the tables. Aodh just watched her through faintly narrowed eyes.

  “The O’Fail is notoriously unwelcoming to those he does not know,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “Sometimes violently so. It would not do to send low-level emissaries.” She got to her feet. “I will go.”

  In startled unison, everyone pushed to their feet.

  She reached for her cape. Spotting one of her servants in the distance, she gestured. “Emmitt, please instruct Wicker to saddle my horse and gather an escort. I shall require…seven,” she said decidedly, affixing the large Rardove pin to her cape
before stepping out from behind the table. “I shall not be gone more than three days—”

  She walked directly into Aodh.

  She stopped and looked up. He put a hand on her arm, gently, but most decidedly stopping her. The others stared in a silence that could be shock, or perhaps horror. It was difficult to tell, among one’s so recent enemies.

  Aodh’s expression was the most unreadable of all.

  “Leave us,” he ordered quietly.

  “You are always clearing the room,” she complained as everyone left.

  “You keep saying and doing such room-clearing things,” he replied, drawing her toward the fire. “Katarina, you cannot simply march off with my men.”

  “I was going to take my men.”

  “They are all my men.”

  She stilled. Of course. What was she doing? The castle was Aodh’s. Her will, her orders, her desires, were secondary now. And if Aodh did not heed her, her will meant as much as a bag full of feathers.

  He must be convinced.

  She curled her fingers around his arm and said earnestly, “Aodh, I vow to you, The O’Fail is a necessary addition. He is greatly like…” She paused a moment, searching for the right words. “A beating heart. Through him flows a network of clans and loyalties. He is like the center through which the blood flows. If you gain him, you gain them all.”

  He considered her a long moment in silence.

  “Aodh, I thought it suited you for me not to be a thing to be done with,” she said.

  “It does,” he replied gruffly.

  “What makes Ireland so good to me is the freedom to be out from under anyone’s thumb. I must be able to do things. To think things, to be heeded.”

  A dark scowl touched his features. “Have I not sat you in my council?”

  “Indeed, you have. And then said we could not do what I suggested.”

  “We do not always do as a man suggests.”

  She leaned in closer. “I know Ireland, Aodh. I know these men. You asked how I survived out here? I did it through union. Relationship. Trade. That wood out there? Sent by The O’Fail, in exchange for a barrel of Rardove whisky. And the iron we melt for arrowheads and bullets came from a trade with O’Reilly that served us both. I know these men, their families, their petty wars, and their fierce loyalties. I believe I am them now, to Elizabeth’s chagrin.”