She tried to be patient. “We sent MacLugh away.”
“He’ll be back.” Conor smirked with satisfaction. “You can beguile a man just like your mother.”
She hated these conversations where she had to resort to explaining the facts to her father in the simplest of terms. “MacLugh wants Leinster.”
“Of course he does. What man would not?”
She fanned her face with her hand, feeling limp as the weeping branches of the willow. “What MacLugh cannot gain through marriage, he will try to take by force. He and O’Rourke may be plotting, and O’Rourke still has not forgiven you for stealing his wife.”
A dreamy smile lit Conor’s face. “I did not have to steal her. At my invitation, the colleen herded her cattle, packed her jewels, and left O’Rourke.”
Dara had no wish to argue about the past. “If the Ard-ri—”
“The Ard-ri has no liking for O’Rourke.”
Dara lifted the braid off her neck, coiled her hair, and used it as a pillow against the tree. “The Ard-ri may dislike Normans more.” Her gaze shot to the field as Strongheart defeated yet another opponent. “You must send the Norman away.”
“We need him.” Her father’s eyes cleared, and he measured her with his old shrewdness. “I am not as strong as I once was. Discipline is lax. The Norman will train our men.”
Why couldn’t she convince her father that Strongheart’s presence could unite their enemies? And all the training of Leinster’s men would not put off the armies of O’Rourke, MacLugh, and the Ard-ri.
Conor rubbed his chin. “We should buy English armor.”
Did men think of nothing but war? She bit back her frustration. “If you buy armor, the men will want to test their advantage in battle. With superior armaments we’ll defeat the other clans.” She shifted her position and slapped her thigh for emphasis. “Then our enemies will purchase armor and come seeking revenge. Why can we not have peace?”
Her father’s chest puffed out. “In my day, I increased the size of Leinster twofold.”
Without thinking, the words slipped from her mouth. “Was it worth your daughter’s life?” Her hand jerked to her mouth, her throat tight with the old memories. “I’m sorry, I should never have said that.”
“’Tis your temper that you got from your mother.”
Her temper was not the only similarity between mother and daughter. Just thinking of the Norman caused her face to flush hot. Whenever he was nearby, her eyes involuntarily sought him out. She couldn’t help admiring his strength, nor could she ignore her body, which seemed so tingly and alive.
Controlling her raging feelings proved almost impossible, and the cursed Norman refused to allow her to avoid him. He went out of his way to share a glance, a smile, a caress. And each time her heart jogged a little faster.
Even when he wasn’t there, he constantly left reminders. She found flowers by her plate, on her pillow, under her blankets. Last night, beneath her window, Carolan had serenaded her with a love song—leaving no doubt about whom he sang. This morning she’d found a bottle of scent on her bureau and potted yellow gorse in a corner. A grin twitched her lips. Who but the Norman would think to bring a plant inside a room? The way he was distributing flowers, every servant in the castle must be in on his plans.
Keeping up her guard while he constantly wore down her defenses tested her convictions. If only she didn’t have such an inner weakness. His touch could rob her of all reason, and she’d become lost in swirling sensation.
She couldn’t let those feelings surface, for once they did, she would succumb, and the balance of power within Eire was too fragile for her to act without reason. The Norman was a threat to peace, and she would not be responsible for starting a war that would engulf all Eire.
Once again she turned to her father and gripped his gnarled hand, hoping to make him see the situation clearly. “Promise me that you will send the Norman away after he finishes training your men-at-arms.”
Conor stared through watery eyes gone blank again. “Do as you like, my dear. Do as you like.”
Dusting off her hands, she climbed to her feet, intending to do just that. Strongheart had just dismissed the men, who walked back complaining about his difficult training. But even she could see, despite the sweat running in rivulets down their faces, the men bore proud expressions. Gaillard was scooping up lances, spears, and axes and straightening a target of hay. When he finished, he waved to Strongheart, then headed to the river with the rest of the men. Bathing might be frowned upon, but a swim would be heavenly in this squelching heat.
Strongheart looked up as she approached. “The men need armor, but they are learning the rudiments of discipline.”
Leinster’s men knew more than the rudiments, but it was simply too hot to argue over minutia. She did her best to ignore the hard, sculpted muscles of his chest that tapered to a flat, albeit scarred, stomach. “How long before the men are fully trained?”
With tunic in hand, he wiped his dusty face. As if unaware of her perusal of his strong jaw and his brooding stare, he tossed the garment over her shoulder and stood cleaning his sword with a rag, wiping off the bits of grime and dust until it gleamed. “Until they have mail and helms, the men cannot be properly trained.”
“Our foes do not wear mail.”
He cocked a brow. “Is that what you came here to discuss, training the men?”
Sometimes she thought he had the ability to see right through her. Her stomach fluttered at the heat in his eyes, and savagely she tamped down the emotion. She would not let her thoughts gallop out of control down the path he steered. She would not let him touch her again.
She shrugged casually. “I merely wondered how long it would be till you left.”
“That anxious to be rid of me, are you?”
“Yes.”
He sheathed his sword and cleaned his dirk. “Do I have that great an impact on you, then?”
She swatted a fly buzzing around her head, wishing she could shoo Strongheart away as easily. “Of course you have an impact on me. I ride with you daily when I should be working on our accounts, seeing to the harvest of cabbages, and cutting hyssop and parsley.”
She shut her mouth. Her wits must be scrambled. Here she was muttering about parsley like an addlepated ninny, so she couldn’t blame him for shaking his head and grinning.
She fisted her hands on her hips. “The sooner you leave, the better.”
This time he chuckled outright. “Better for whom?”
“You’ll get us killed.”
He shook his head. “I’m here to protect you. Come, ’tis too hot to argue. Where shall we ride today?”
“’Tis too hot to ride,” she muttered crossly, knowing he patronized her. How dare he not take her seriously? Before he’d come, she could reason with her father, but now Conor seemed content to leave Leinster’s defense in a stranger’s care.
“You’re right. Where should we go instead?”
She’d been longing to visit the glade, but she would not take him to her isolated, private spot. Perhaps she could send him to the river with the other men, and she could sneak off by herself. “Can you swim, Norman?”
“Do you think to drown me?” he asked.
She gasped at the surge of memories his question provoked. Not now, she thought, as she struggled against a rising tide of panic. She couldn’t let herself remember.
Strongheart watched in alarm as Dara’s face paled and she started to sway. He stepped forward to catch her, and though she feebly pushed him away, she was no match for his strength.
Strongheart swept her into his arms and carried her toward the hall and shade, calling to a passing servant to fetch a goblet of water. Had the heat caused her to almost faint? Or was it something he’d said?
She’d turned white as a goat�
�s tail when he mentioned drowning. His gentle teasing had been innocent. Obviously, there was something else she hadn’t told him, and he wondered how long it would take to learn all her secrets. As he carried her into the hall and placed her on a straw bed covered with hide, she stirred. The maid brought water, and she sipped it greedily. Green eyes flecked with gold raised to his but couldn’t hold his gaze. “The heat must have—”
He was beginning to know her well enough to guess when she lied. “’Twas not the heat.”
She lay back and closed her eyes. “I need rest.”
He stood over her, watching her chest rise and fall, much too rapidly for someone who pretended such weakness. Was this a ruse to be left alone? If it was, she had no idea how determined he’d become. Yes, he still wanted the land. But he wanted her, too—not just for what she brought with her, but for herself. The thought startled him, but then, why should wanting her be so surprising? He couldn’t keep his gaze from following her about the hall, and her gaze surreptitiously watched him, flicking away when he caught her eye.
If he were a holy man he would say they shared a spiritual connection. But his interest was much more worldly. Ever since he’d kissed her, he’d ached to take her into his arms and show her how he felt. He could make her happy. He could protect her. What more could she want? It wasn’t as if she didn’t respond to him. By the rood, he’d never known such passionate response from a woman. Yet she was determined to fight him, and he could not understand why.
Her lids fluttered, and he caught her peeking at him. Just as he suspected, the brat was faking her discomfort. Well, two could play this game. He’d just see how long she could lie still under his ministrations.
After ordering a maid to bring a bucket of water, soap, and a few cloths, he pulled a stool near Dara’s feet and removed her slippers, glad she’d the good sense not to wear hose in this heat.
With the necessary supplies at his fingertips, Strongheart dipped the cloth into the cool well water, wrung the cloth out, then brushed it along her feet. She groaned, her lips trembled, but she didn’t open her eyes.
At this hour, the hall was silent. Many of the help had gone off to the coolest spot they could find for an afternoon nap. Strongheart slipped the cloth over each slender foot, taking care between her pink toes. Next he laved soap onto the drenched cloth and lathered her feet, trailing his fingers over her soles and delicate ankles.
He dragged the cloth slowly over her skin, unwilling to miss an inch of flesh. His fingers massaged a tight spot in the arch of her foot, and, unable to maintain her pretense, her eyes flew open with a giggle. “That tickles.”
“Feeling better?”
“Much.”
He dipped the soapy cloth into the bucket, then with a fresh cloth rinsed the soap off her feet, his fingers slowly and sensuously sliding over her trembling flesh. With a drying cloth, he again slowly wiped heel, arch, and toes, thinking how much he’d enjoy washing her entire body. Compared to his leathered, sun-bronzed skin, hers was incredibly alluring, white and soft as the finest down.
He longed to lift her skirts and explore her lean and sleekly muscled legs but reminded himself to go slowly. He didn’t like the fear that narrowed her eyes whenever she felt passion. And it seemed odd that a woman who rode and played games as fiercely as this one could be afraid of her natural feelings.
At first he’d thought Dara’s witnessing the rape of Sorcha caused her anxiety, but her fears went much deeper, and he sensed they were old. Had some man forced himself upon her? Or was it simply that she hadn’t a mother to explain that the act between men and women could be pleasurable for all concerned?
Despite his intention to go slowly, while his thoughts roamed, his hands had wandered seemingly of their own accord, kneading her calves, teasing the delicate flesh behind her knees. She sat up and yanked her feet back, drawing them under her, her face flushed, though whether from the heat or newly found desire, he wasn’t sure.
Her long lashes framed eyes as green and sparkling as the pastures after a summer rain. The nostrils of her dainty nose flared with every breath, but her lips parted as if she couldn’t draw enough air through her nose. At her gasp, her cheeks hollowed, emphasizing the fine lines of her aristocratic cheekbones. She stood, sliding her feet into her slippers. “I feel better, thank you. I think I’ll go to my room and lie down.”
Although she hadn’t stuttered, her speech was stilted with just the slightest pause between words. Was she lying? Although the castle was shaded from the sun, not a breath of air stirred within its walls. Forcing his brow not to crease into a frown, he replied blandly. “A nap might do you good.”
She practically raced up the steps, not exactly the action of an ailing woman. So the minx wished to be rid of him. He swallowed a grin. What scheme was she up to now?
DARA, HEART pounding, sneaked down the stairs, unwilling to endure the stifling heat another moment. Strongheart should have left long ago to seek a cool spot, perhaps join his men in the river.
Dressed in the plain gray tunic of a kitchen maid and with her hair tucked under a cap, she scurried to the stable, head and eyes downcast. The bailey was empty, and she slipped into the stable without drawing notice.
The kittens had scattered to the shadiest and coolest areas of the stable. Fionn greeted her with a snort, as eager to escape the stifling barn as she.
“How about a swim, fella?” she murmured as she slipped on his bridle. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
A few minutes later, she galloped across the moor, urging Fionn with her knees, appreciating the breeze. Once they reached the wood, she slowed the animal, unwilling to force speed on such a hot day. Even among the shade of the trees, sweat trickled down her neck, soaking her tunic. She guided Fionn to a private glade, upriver from the spot where the men swam, where the river forked and formed a wondrous waterfall emptying into a crystalline pool of cold blue mountain water. Overhead, green-leaved oaks and ash shaded the well-worn path, and the sunlight left dimpled patterns of light and dark on the ferns and mosses.
Picking up the scent of water, Fionn increased his pace. The gurgle of water descending over rocks greeted them, and finally, they broke through the last of the woods. A jay soared upward at their disturbance, and a doe, startled by their intrusion, fled into the forest.
Fionn no longer needed urging. Instead of stopping at the rocky bank for a drink, the animal whinnied and plunged chest deep into the water. In the clear pool, fish leapt from their path. With a laugh of delight, Dara slipped off Fionn’s back and swam farther into the pool.
Her strokes caused lazy ripples upon the water that spread and flattened in ever-widening circles until they lapped the rocky banks. Tiny crabs scuttled through the shallows, and larger, darting creatures were trapped in the rock-locked pool. The colors of the scene seemed bright and defined without shadow, the pool a blinding mirror of welcoming light.
As a child, she’d come here often to swim and play in the falls and the secret cave. With long, sure strokes, she swam to the waterfall, pleased she’d outwitted the Norman and ridded herself of his overpowering presence. While the pool was not truly warm, the sun had heated the more tranquil waters by a few degrees. But where the diverted river water tumbled into the pool, the water was coldest, and she longed for the icy shivers to sluice over her heated flesh.
A dark head suddenly popped from the depths of the pool beside her. Every muscle froze, preventing her from issuing a terrified scream. Instead, she treaded water. And gaped. As he tossed dark hair from his face, she recognized the Norman’s glinting eyes, and her fright fueled her anger. “You followed me!”
He spit a mouthful of water in a graceful arch toward his warhorse, from this angle no longer hidden behind a pile of rocks. “Guilty.”
“How dare you scare me? What in begorra are you doing here?”
He chuckled.
“What do you think?”
Before she answered, he ducked underwater, and she glimpsed his breeches-covered backside and long legs before he dived deep under the surface. He stayed under for a long while, but she refused to let his antics concern her. His sudden appearance had accelerated her pulse and ruined her swim. How dare he follow her, spy on her, act as if he had every right to be here. She could no longer play uninhibitedly below the icy fall and disappointed, swam instead to a smooth rock by the pool’s edge.
From below, a hand grabbed her ankle, yanking her under. Furious at his playful mood, she decided he in turn could use a good scare. She shook off his grip, and, without coming up for air, she swam deeper underwater, searching for the cave. Her hands gripped the hidden entrance, and she pulled herself inside, her head bursting the surface as she greedily gasped for air.
The gloomy interior hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been inside. Only part of the cave was underwater. The rest of the rocks piled above the surface, appearing as a solid structure from the glade. Several holes in the rocks let in air and ribbons of light. Peeking through one, she watched Strongheart repeatedly dive in search of her, his actions growing more frantic by the moment. When he surfaced, he’d call her name, but she remained silent, staring at his face drawn in fear. Would he miss her if she’d truly drowned? Or would he curse the opportunity he’d let slip through his fingers?
Deciding he’d suffered long enough, she swam back through the rocky opening and popped to the surface beside him. Since she’d left, dark lines crinkled deeper around his eyes, and a muscle in his jaw that had been smooth now pulsed.
“Did you miss me?” she asked lightly, tilting back her hair into the water to smooth it off her face.
“If you ever again scare me so, I’ll throttle you within an inch of your life,” he said, so quietly, she knew he’d truly been worried.
A bit ashamed of her trick, yet unwilling to admit it and knowing his threat to be pure bluster, she shrugged blithely. “Spare me your theatrics. I suggest you refrain from following me and forego leaping out of the water like some dark monster from the deep, and then I won’t have a need to take revenge.”
Conquer the Mist Page 12
