He grabbed her pulling her body against his chest, holding her whilst sobs wracked her. The strong, unyielding arms held her firm, despite her struggling against him. Then, she did not want to struggle. She wanted him to hold her through this night.
Stay with her when the dawn came.
Chapter Nineteen
But I have dreamt a dreamy dream...
I saw a dead man win a fight, and I think that man was I...
— The Battle of Otterbourne
Inside the door, Damian kissed her on the forehead, then leaned his head against hers. He stayed like that so long that stupid tears began to stream down her cheeks. He tilted his head faintly, so he could catch the ones on her right cheek.
Then, once more, he put her away from him. “Sleep well, lass.” He turned and started for the door.
“Sleep well?” she echoed sourly. That was it? She moved around him to plant herself betwixt him and the door.
He was just going to walk away from her. Damn his blind eyes! This was not going a’tall as she hoped. Well, she had not really planned out what she was going to do to keep him from fighting come the morrow. She counted on him being his usual randy self to aid her scheming. Never before had there been a problem with him wanting to lie with her.
“I seek the solitude of my room this night. Prepare for the coming morn.”
Over my dead body! She bit back the words before they escaped. “You do not wish to be with me?”
“If I stay with you, Aithinne, we will do little sleeping. I need all my strength and undivided mind to face Pendegast. He is too good to gift with any sort of advantage.” His hand reached out and cupped her face, his pale eyes looking at her full of emotion, almost awe.
If only it were with love. Then, he would stay for her.
Aithinne tried to smile, but her lips trembled. “What if I said—take off your clothes, Damian St. Giles?”
“Ah, lass, you do not play fair.” He kissed her cheek. “Rest well, Firebrand. Feel better.”
He tried to push past her, but she caught his arm. Think, silly woman, her mind screamed. “Ah…eh…’tis a chill in here. Could you please rebuild the fire before you go?”
Damian hesitated. She was never a convincing liar, too lacking in genuine guile. Laying the back of her hand against his cheek, she let him feel how cold she was. That much was not a lie. She was cold, cold to the marrow, afraid she was not woman enough to stop him by fair means or foul. Before, she had held him with potions and spells, now she had only her power as a woman to keep him.
He finally nodded and went to the fireplace, methodically laying several peat bricks in an alternating stack and then striking flint until the spark caught. The heady scent filled the air and the tendrils of warmth soon snaked through the damp room. She took off her mantle and laid it over the end of the bed, as he stood and dusted his hands on his thighs.
“There, Aithinne. That should hold you through the night. Just add a brick now and again and you should stay comfortable. ’Tis a cool start to summer. I can see getting used to these Highlands will take a bit of doing.”
Spinning, so her back was to him, she lifted her long hair over one shoulder. “Could you? I canno’ reach the lacings on my kirtle. I did no’ bring a lady’s maidservant and I would hate to awaken Tamlyn’s to aid me.” When he did not move, she glanced over her shoulder. “Please, Damian. I do no’ wish to sleep laced into my gown.”
After a long hesitation, he stepped forward and rather roughly tugged the leather lacings through the grommets. He separated the back of the gown, then his movements slowed, his large shaking hands sliding inside the gown about her waist. His touch caused her heart to jump. The callused hands, toughened from years of using a sword, squeezed her soft flesh.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head backward against his chest, rubbing against him. All the passion, all the love for this man rose within her, the words she craved to say, words to tell him of her love. Words he had not given her the right to speak. Instead, she expressed what stormed through her by reaching behind, and her hands grabbing the back of his thighs. She flexed her fingernails, digging into his strong muscles. As if she could take and hold him forever.
“Aithinne…” He breathed against her head, both a warning and a near plea for her to let him go.
She smiled when his groin bucked against her derrière, and felt confidence rise in her power to enthrall him. Greedily, he pulled her against him, increasing the contact. Savoring it. Then, he went and ruined it by firmly pushing her away from him. “No, Aithinne.”
She swung around, backing up in rapid steps so she stayed between him and the door. “I curse your no, Aithinne! You plan to fight for another woman on the morrow. Die for her. Damn your eyes. And you dare say no to me? Think again, bloody Lord Arrogant. You fight for Tamlyn come morn. Fine! Go ahead and throw your life away for another woman. This night you be mine.”
The muscles in his jaw flexed in fury, though it was nearly her undoing to see the glimmer of a tear in his eye.
She was so scared, terrified of losing him that she did not care if he saved his love for Tamlyn. Foolish now, what had seemed so important to her before mattered little. She would do anything to stop him from leaving. She tossed all her pride to the wind, cared nothing for her pain. “Love me…if only for this night.”
Grabbing her by the waist he tried to lift her away from the door. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her mouth against his hard lips. She savored his taste, making her dizzy. He fought it, his lips remaining firm, but not for long. Instead of trying to put her aside, he yanked her to him, his mouth devouring hers. His kiss was savage, taking all and giving no quarter, but then her surrender was his, always his.
He broke the kiss, gasping for air. “You bedevil my mind. I cannot think when I am around you. You are like mead hitting my blood. What am I to do with you, Aithinne?”
The woman in her rose to the pure male power surging through him. She reached up and stroked his cheek with her thumb. “Love me, Damian. Just love me.”
He turned to kiss the inside of her right hand. Closing his eyes, he brushed his face against her palm. The Kenning let her feel his inner conflict, but she would be damned if she’d make it easy for him to leave her this night.
Then, he was kissing her again. Not a gentle kiss, but one speaking of his violent need for her. Damian kept his face clear of whiskers, in the Norman way, but it had been awhile since he last removed them so they were rough. That did not stop her from responding in full measure. She held nothing back, pouring her love into their passion, letting her kisses speak so eloquently the words he would not grant her the right to say.
His hands gathered the kirtle up her thighs, then were on her flesh, as he walked her backward to the bed. Bending her down to the feathered mattress, he unlaced his chausses and then entered her in one hard plunge, as though seeking to bring this to a brutal physical level rather than one spun from the magic of her love. She little cared. She would take Damian St. Giles anyway she could get him, and teach him the power of her love for him.
He stretched her arms over her head, then tightly laced his fingers with hers. He drove into her again and again, slamming against her. Deep inside, she thought he was trying to shock her, punish her from deterring him from his set path. Determined not to let him have control, she arched, meeting each fierce thrust.
Her release came, splintering her into a thousand red-hot shards. Instead of relaxing and enjoying the ecstasy, he increased his pace, driving her even harder, not giving any retreat. She did not want one.
“Again, Aithinne. I want to watch your eyes as you come apart for me, around me,” he growled, raising up on his elbows.
She purred, “Oh, aye, Damian…again…and again…and again.” Wrapping her legs about his waist, she increased the angle for his invasion of her body, letting the storm of emotions to sweep through them.
His mouth closed on her neck, scoring it with his sharp teeth,
then sucking hard. He would mark her skin. She would wear the bruise proudly. Then, his mouth closed over hers and he kissed her until the last shards of reason fled and only the consuming flames of passion remained. Damian took her, devoured her with the hunger of a man seeking dominance or salvation.
Or one saying goodbye.
Fighting that horror, she loosened her fingers from his, then fisted them in the thick black curls at the back of his head. She tightened the grip, holding onto the locks as though she would never let him go. This was not a gentle coming together. They waged a war. She dreaded that she fought a losing battle. Time was running out. Damian was so wrapped up in his love for Tamlyn, his belief she had saved him when he was dying, that he could not see past those visions he held dear in his heart.
This was their last battlefield. She had to reach him, cradle his defiant soul with her love and pray it was enough. If not, he would destroy them both. Destroy both Glens. She poured every ounce of her heart into the physical expression of her love, trying to show him there was something right before his eyes. Someone who loved him more than life. She held back nothing, giving everything he demanded, more than he asked. Pushing him as hard as he pushed her.
Aithinne was betting everything. Their future.
♦◊♦
The sound of the door closing broke Aithinne’s deep slumber. She fought the need to give in to the sleep, sucking her back into the blackness. Panic pushed her heart to slam repeatedly against her ribs. Instead of slowing, the pace only increased as she realized Damian was not in the room.
He was gone. Gone to his death. She shuddered.
“Och, fool. I might just take a knife to him. Wouldst solve all our problems.” Her bare feet touched the cold stone floor as she slipped from the bed. Tossing open the wardrobe, she snatched up a plain sark and plaid kirtle and quickly slid them on. There was no one about as she made her way down the hall to the room where Damian was staying. The door was open partway so she entered without knocking.
In black leathern hose, gray shirt and studded black arming jack, he stood patiently while his squire, Dyel, fastened the buckle points on his long mail hauberk. Damian grew aware of her presence. She saw his jaw flex, but he continued speaking instructions lowly to Dyel. Kneeling, the lad strapped on the greaves and then pulled Damian’s hooded gray surcoat over his head.
Damian’s pale eyes met hers as he hung the baldric around his hips and buckled the strap across his chest. With a faint gesture of dismissal of his hand toward the door, he signaled the squire to leave them alone. “Wait just outside, Dyel.”
“Aye, my lord.” The young man gave a small nodding bow to Aithinne as he passed.
She waited until he stepped out into the passage. “You canno’ fight this day, Damian. If you fight, you will die.
He tucked his dagger in his belt, determination showing in the set of the curves surrounding his mouth. “All women entreat their men not to fight, fearing they are going to die. I regret you are upset, Aithinne. But this is how it must be. Please accept that. I need the focus of my mind. I cannot spare you a thought now.”
“Nay, ’tis not my fear. You will destroy us all. All of Glen Shane and Glen Eallach. ’Tis not my dread of losing you speaking. Last night Evelynour came to me beside the midden, carrying a dark augury. She warned me that if you fight you shall die. Before you die you will kill Pendegast. When you do, both glens will be made to suffer Edward’s wrath. He will accept Dirk’s death in Trial by Combat as Challon’s right. The same dispensation will no’ extend to you or our lands.”
“Aithinne, there was no one but you by the midden. When you passed out mayhap you dreamt this―”
“Oh, aye, I did dream it. After. I walked the path between Annwn―the Otherworld―so I saw you die. ’Tis what will be. Damn you, Lord Arrogant, your way you die. We all die. Are you willing to take that risk, just to fight for Tamlyn? You of all people should believe in the power of The Kenning. You feel these things in you, do you no’? ’Tis blood of your màthair speaking to you. You understand these foretellings. ’Tis why you be so fixed that—” Aithinne could not speak the words that he believed Tamlyn was the woman of his dreams.
“Aye, I know the ways of The Kenning. ’Tis not so simple.”
Her eyes were accusing. She vibrated with the pain, the anger. “You fight for her. You will die for her.”
“I fight for Julian, as well. He is my brother―”
“Julian fights for himself this day.” Challon’s voice caused them both to turn. All in black, and barded for battle, the man struck an imposing figure as he strode into the room. The Black Dragon. “Yea, we are brothers in the truest sense. Howbeit, this is my challenge. The combat will be fought before my people. I fight for my wife’s honor. The people of Glen Shane judge me this day, as much as God, and ultimately the king shall. I rule here by right, but also by respect. Respect comes from my unassailable power. My people wouldst lose respect if I let you fight in my stead. I’d lose respect for myself.” Challon turned his back to Aithinne as he lowered his voice. “Tamlyn is my wife, Damian. I fight for her. I have warned you about interfering in my marriage.”
Aithinne closed her eyes against the wave of hurt lancing through her. Even Challon was aware of Damian’s feelings for Tamlyn.
“Dirk Pendegast comes from a wealthy and powerful family, much favored by Edward,” Challon continued. “I cannot hang him. And I refuse to turn him over to Edward. He must die and punishment must come from me. And in a fashion that leaves Edward no recourse. The First Knight of Christendom will understand and abide by God’s law. You fighting in my stead will not have the blessing of the Church nor king. Only I can face Dirk in Trial by Combat.”
Damian pursed his mouth as he heard Challon’s truths. His eyes moved toward the narrow window, casting his sight far, deep in thought. Aithinne tasted regret as the stubborn man listened to neither of their arguments, blocking out their words.
Challon saw it as well, for he turned to face her. “He is not hearing me, is he?”
She shook her head sadly. “I know you do not place much faith in The Kenning, Lord Challon, and sometimes it fails me when it should serve me best. Know that Evelynour be a true seer. She kenned that you would come to this land, to claim Tamlyn, several seasons past. Last night she warned me Damian must no’ fight. He would die. Then, Edward will come with fire and sword.”
Challon smiled, lightly resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. “Then, there is only one thing to do. Damian?”
“Aye, Julian?”
When Damian swung back around, Julian moved so fast. He did not have time to block as Challon yanked the sword’s hilt straight out of the sheath and used it to ram, hard against Damian’s jaw.
Damian stood for an instant, surprise flooding his handsome face. Then, his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor.
Challon gave a small nod. “Sometimes, in dealing with Damian the fewer words used the quicker the resolution.”
♦◊♦
Aithinne sat with Damian’s head in her lap. She lovingly ran her fingers through the black curls at his forehead, then traced his thick black brows. Placing a hand over his heart, she felt it thudding strongly, though in a normal rhythm. He was all right. “If only you would open that heart, my brave warrior.”
She was not happy when he stirred just a short time later. She had hoped he would remain unawake until after the combat was done. His right arm moved to his chest and then back out as he struggled to pull from the darkness claiming him. Hoping to slow him, she pushed against his shoulder, but he only struggled harder.
He sat up, blinking. “How…long?”
“Too long, my lord. ’Tis done. You should rest a bit more.” Aithinne lied without hesitation, hoping to prevent him from going after Challon.
Rubbing his bruised jaw, he glared at her. “For a woman who continually lies, I wouldst think you might hone the skill. Someday, I shall beat you for it.” He pushed up to stand without h
er help. As she tried to block him from leaving the room, he grabbed her waist, lifted her up and set her aside. “Do not interfere, Aithinne.”
“You canno’ leave. Damian, wait! Please, by all that be sacred to you—hold!”
Not heeding her call, he hurried down the hall and took the stairs two at a time. The steps were too wide; Aithinne could not follow at that pace. She picked up her skirts, going down as fast as she could. By the time she reached the courtyard, the irritating man had already mounted his destrier left waiting by Dyel, and spurred him from the ballium. Not even looking back.
“Curse your black head, Damian St. Giles.” Not bothering to saddle a horse, Aithinne ran toward the gate, only to have Challon’s Norman gatekeeper call after her as she ran through the open portcullis.
She did not even slow.
♦◊♦
Ravens fussed in the distance over the passes of Glen Shane as she approached the field. Aithinne saw this as an ill-omen. They waited to claim the souls of the dead and spirit them to Annwn. Her lungs burned, but she pushed on, fearful she would be too late. Aithinne raced through the foggy morn, bright rays of the rising sun punching through the haar, piercing it with blinding shafts of white light. It burned her eyes, nearly blinded her with the peculiar brilliance.
She panicked as she realized her dream had been made reality!
Desperately, she searched. She had to find him. She had to stop him even if she had to lie down before the hooves of his charger.
Mighty destriers barded for combat were being led to the field. Throngs of people were already there waiting, walking by her, around her, bumping into her, spinning her about, faceless to her in the panic, though their dread seemed to hang almost tangible in the air. She pushed, shoved against them, trying to reach Damian. She had to locate Damian. Stop him from throwing his life away. Somehow, she had to prevent this vision from unfolding.
Then, she spotted him at the far end of the open field.
RavenHawke (Dragons of Challon Book 2) Page 24
