Lords of the Isles

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  With his thumb he rubbed her ribs, the tip brushing the underside of her breast. Ceana sucked in a ragged breath, a little whimper escaping on the way out. He stilled his hand, unwilling to move forward, reluctant to break the spell of their pleasure. But then she pressed her breasts closer to him. A silent invitation to explore her further.

  Should he take it?

  Every fiber in his lust-filled body strained to do so. But his mind warred against it. Thought of the implications. But, then again, if they were to make it through the games together, they’d be wed. And if not… One of them would be walking on the other side.

  Macrath shifted his hand upward, cupping the warmth of her breast, sliding his thumb over the puckered tip. He groaned, drinking in her soft moan of pleasure and wanting desperately to deepen their kiss, but also not wanting to scare her. Instead, he kept their kiss a light exploration. His touch at her breast a tentative tease. Ceana must have been encouraged by his touch, and began a trail of her own, up over his neck and through his hair. She tugged on the ends, before sliding them down his back, feather-light.

  His entire body reacted in a way he found both alarming and enthralling. Every light touch of her fingers was an intense slide of delicious pleasure. Macrath skimmed his mouth from hers to taste the side of her neck, felt the pulse of life in her veins beneath his lips. He gripped onto her buttocks, and she lifted a leg up, hooking it around his hip. Her back arched, and she pressed her blessed heat against him. Good gods, but he wanted her. Needed to feel the potency of life flowing through him like fire.

  Ceana let out a moan that make his cock jerk with the need to be buried deep inside her, and he answered with a feral growl of his own. Tugging at the front of her gown, he freed the tops of her creamy breasts and pressed his face against them, breathing in her scent. When he flicked his tongue over one pink, pert nipple, Ceana cried out, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

  And that was when reality came ratcheting back to him. Because he was ready to hike up her gown and thrust wildly inside her and when their initial frenzy calmed, he wanted to spread out his plaid, lay her down, and show her what the word pleasure truly meant.

  But they were in the midst of a war game, about to be gutted by wolves and men. Making love was the last thing they should have been doing. The truth hit him hard. And disappointment, too. For he could have kissed and touched her for the rest of his days.

  Macrath gently pulled away, staring into Ceana’s bemused eyes. Gods how he wished there were more light for him to see her better.

  Snarling from above made him stiffen. So entranced by Ceana, he’d not even noticed they were being stalked along the top of the ridge. The spell was most assuredly broken now.

  “Stay behind me,” he warned, then whipped around, grappling for the battleax he had strapped to his back. He tossed it from hand to hand.

  A large wolf, bigger than the few he’d had to destroy before kissing Ceana, ran down the embankment. This one was darker, too, no hints of silver but more black. His eyes were still yellow, and his teeth glowed white in the moonlight as he bared them. All he had to do was walk in a circle, drawing the wolf in and wait for the animal to pounce so he could raise his ax against him. It didn’t take long before the wolf lunged, his big paws reaching for Macrath. Arching his arms back at just the precise moment, he brought the ax down, hitting flesh, muscle and bone. The contact was accompanied by the cry of the wolf and Ceana’s scream.

  He’d buried the ax in the animal’s chest, killing him instantly. Macrath pulled the weapon free and turned to ease Ceana’s fear.

  But she was gone.

  Macrath whipped around in a circle, scouring every inch of the ravine within eyesight.

  Calling out to her would only alert whoever waited on the fringes that she was alone. Hopefully she’d just found a tree nearby to scurry up until it was safe.

  “Dammit,” he cursed under his breath. He took off in the direction that he thought she’d headed, praying all the while that she’d not been snatched by some foe.

  *

  Ceana’s cheeks flamed with heat. What had she done? Allowed the Highland warrior to kiss her, touch her intimately and it had nearly gotten them both killed. As soon as she’d seen the ax hit the wolf, she knew that he would be safe and she could run away.

  Run away from how he made her feel.

  Run away from possibly endangering him further.

  Run away from any hope that his kiss had brought.

  Her booted feet crunched through leaves, fingers digging into the dirt as she clawed her way to the top. She was well aware that without any arrows for her bow, if anyone were to come upon her, she’d be dead. Keen to any noise, she stayed away from the sounds of grappling humans and wolves. She yanked an arrow from a tree and another from someone’s body, keeping one tucked into her belt and the other nocked in her bow.

  Perhaps a quarter mile from where she’d left Macrath, she found a hollowed tree with an opening just tiny enough to fit inside, but not deep enough that she’d be safe from a wolf who wanted to claw at her.

  Rather than risk it, she again hiked up her skirts and climbed to a thick branch that she could lay across safely. Lying alone in the tree, the minutes ticked by like hours. She had no concept of time. Only the darkness. She lost count of how many horrid cries she heard. How many people she guessed had been killed.

  It gave her plenty of time to feel guilty about leaving Macrath, and their heated kiss. In one respect, she hated the way she’d responded, yet in another, she’d loved the curiosity and excitement that his touch brought. The idea that it was right, and good. There had been a few lads she’d kissed over the years—even Aaron one late night during the Beltane festival—but none had made a fire ignite within her. None that made her wish for different things, and hope for a better future.

  Only one that made her want to strip off every inch of clothing until they were both standing nude beneath the moonlight. That was something she’d never even considered before, as she’d always thought to save her virginity for her husband. Perhaps that was what being on the fringe of death brought—the need for passion, for a connection.

  While her maidenhood had always been safe-guarded, all that was now thrown into the wind. If she won these games, she’d be forced to marry a man who could set her aside after their five years of ruling, if he wanted to, or if she chose to. Nothing was set in stone anymore.

  Macrath had followed her. Wanted to keep her safe. Maybe, in order to make it to the end, they would be stronger if they joined together. But would he want to have her hanging around? Would he consider her to be a burden?

  She’d never know if she didn’t ask.

  If he said yes, then she’d protect him as best she could and endeavor not to be an encumbrance to him. The upside for her was, that she’d at least know the man she’d chosen would rule beside her and not some overbearing boar. That was if they made it. If he said no, then she’d leave him be, suffer quietly on the inside, but strive to live all the same.

  But she’d never know if she didn’t go and find him.

  Ceana shimmied down the tree and tried to work her way back from where she’d come, but she’d gotten so turned around that it was impossible to tell if she’d even gone in the right direction. She never passed by the hollowed tree again or the ravine. Overtired, growing weak from lack of food and water, all the running she’d done earlier, her body and senses in a constant state of being hyper-aware, Ceana began to slow. To stumble.

  To fall asleep while walking.

  It was time to resign herself to the fact that she’d not find Macrath. Shelter took precedence. She’d not last the rest of the night if she didn’t take a moment to rest. In the morning, if the horns weren’t blown, then she’d search for him, for water and berries or crab apples, but not now. Not in the dark. Not when she’d escaped death so many times already.

  Not trusting herself to sleep in a tree, and resigned to risking the wolves finding her, Ceana mu
st have examined fifty trees before she found one with a hollow. A quick swipe with a stick proved no snakes dwelled inside. Hooking her bow and one arrow in the tree to conceal them, she climbed in, her back against the trunk wall, knees tucked up tight and the second arrow still clutched in her fist as a weapon.

  A loud horn startled Ceana awake. She’d not even realized she’d fallen asleep. Light streamed through the opening of the tree hollow.

  Game one. It was over! How many horns had been blown?

  Fear and panic raced through her. Dear gods, she hoped she hadn’t missed the first one. She gripped the sides of the hollow and peered outside. Though she saw no one, she heard the sounds of running feet everywhere. There was still time.

  Not wanting to waste a single moment that could mean she missed the second horn, Ceana scrambled out of the tree and stood, stretching her limbs. She grabbed her bow and slung it over her shoulder, tucking the arrows into her belt. Which way should she go? Peering through the trees, it looked like those who were running were headed east.

  Ceana ran. She didn’t look back, but concentrated on making her too-tired legs move as fast as they could. She’d rest later. Her mouth was dry, throat painfully parched. She’d drink later. Stomach twisted in knots. She hoped she’d be able to eat later.

  With every step she prayed she’d make it. Prayed Macrath made it. Prayed Aaron made it.

  Even when her feet hit the wood of the drawbridge she did not breathe a sigh, because they had to get under the gate.

  Every step took forever. Bodies jostled each other, everyone thinking the same thing—get through the gate. Oddly enough, no one tried to kill the other, when they theoretically still had the right to do so. As if they all silently believed that if they’d made it this far they deserved to make it another round.

  Under the gate!

  She was through the gate, and the guards ordered their weapons to be surrendered. She gladly dropped the bow and arrows and kept on moving. Her footsteps pounded toward the list field where they’d take a count of who remained before… she didn’t know what. But hopefully it included making sure the people she cared about were safe, then food, water and her tent.

  As she stood in the list field watching men and women file in, looking just as bedraggled as she felt, Ceana realized there would be a moment in the future when either Aaron or Macrath didn’t come back, or she didn’t.

  The thought was sobering. She pressed her hands to her knees and breathed deep, feeling her body shudder, her eyes threatening tears. The first game was over, and she’d made it. But there were no guarantees. No quarter given.

  Ceana’s eyes raked over every person that stumbled through the gates. Everyone looked worn out, tired. Some wounded, blood seeping from scrapes, gashes. Injured by human or animal, she couldn’t tell. It wasn’t until then that she paid attention to her own state. Her hands were bloody, arms scraped and she was sure when she lifted her gown she’d find her legs in much the same condition. Looking at many of the others, she’d escaped with a marginal amount of injury.

  All thoughts of her own injuries were banished when she saw a familiar person limping through the gate. ’Twas Aaron. She risked breaking rank to run toward him. His knee was bloody, plaid torn, shirt ripped and bloodstained. A long jagged gash covered his face from his ear down to the center of his chin.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Aaron laughed a little hysterically. “Got into a fight with a wolf. I won.”

  “Oh, thank the gods.” She crashed against him, hugging him tight to her as though he were her own brother. Pulling back she examined the gash. “You need to get this sewn up.”

  Aaron grunted. “In time, I suppose. Not sure how they treat their patients when the majority of us are supposed to die.”

  “But what of a disqualification?” Ceana asked, certain there had to be some way. They couldn’t just let those injured suffer and send them back out into the games.

  “Do you mean like the men and women strapped to the stakes? No quarter given. Remember?”

  Ceana nodded, not having realized it before. No quarter given. Was it the game’s motto? Then she hoped the gods would be forever in their favor, for they’d get little sympathy here on earth.

  “Lassies on the left! Lads on the right!” shouted a guard, a chorus of others taking up the chant behind him.

  “I have to go. Be safe.” Ceana squeezed his hand, terrified for what was going to happen next.

  “You do the same. I have to admit I had little faith of finding you here,” Aaron said, shaking his head and looking toward the ground. “I’m ashamed to admit it. But the way the warriors fight—and the wolves. I’m just glad you made it.”

  Ceana smiled, keeping any irritation she had at his words deep within her. Aaron didn’t know her as well as she thought. And really, she didn’t expect him to.

  “We were both lucky this round.”

  Aaron nodded. “Go.”

  Ceana hurried back to the female side, all too aware that she’d not laid eyes on Macrath. Guilt filled her insides. Was she the reason he’d not returned? Had he still been looking for her? She shouldn’t have run away. Dammit. If he didn’t come back it would be her fault.

  Once back to her post on the women’s side, she kept her gaze focused on the gate.

  “Come through,” she murmured. “Come through.”

  No one had walked beneath the stony arch for several heartbeats. The lines were formed on both sides and no sign of Macrath. A guard on horseback rode down the center of the lines toward the gate. The chinking of his horn, slung over his shoulder, as it slapped against his weapons beat like a silent call to all she feared.

  “Macrath, where are you?” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Hush!” a woman beside her said, elbowing her hard in the ribs.

  Ceana pressed her lips together hard, prepared to pummel the woman. But then her eyes caught a figure bolting through the gate. Tall, powerful, dark and handsome. Macrath.

  A sob of relief escaped her lips gaining her another elbow, and this time she reacted, stomping on the woman’s foot, which caused her to yelp.

  “Hit me again and I swear, I’ll make sure we both get put up on the stake.” Ceana was bluffing of course, but the seething tone broached no argument with the woman beside her who turned straight ahead.

  Macrath raced toward the men’s lines, his gaze raking over the women. She stared at him, willing him to look her way.

  Finally he did. Their eyes locking from across the ranks as he stood front and center and she more toward the back of the female lines. Her knees shook and gratefulness filled her heart. He’d made it.

  As he gazed at her, Macrath’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but she knew he wanted to. She chanced a smile his way. Quick, so that no one would see.

  The horn blew—loud and long—the sound sending chills racing up and down her arms and legs, centering in her middle like a ball of heavy steel. Those who’d not crossed would be sacrificed to the gods. Before her, warriors began to bow their heads, and she did, too. They all silently prayed for those who had been killed and for themselves for having made it.

  The ground rumbled as several council members trotted their horses into the center of the lines. The female ex-victor raised her fist in the air, and everyone bent their necks backward to look up at her.

  “Congratulations! You have achieved what to some was impossible. You have passed the first round of games. You need only pass four more to take your place on the throne of Sìtheil where you shall rule under His Majesty King Giric of Scotland as the Prince and Princess of the Isles.”

  This was something entirely new. Up until the previous game, it had been a seat of great honor and title—but to be named as royals? Gasps went up through the crowd. As if they’d not had enough to fight for before—they’d be placed in line for the Scottish throne.

  “For now, you shall feast. You shall rest, for at the break of day, the next feat will be upon you
.”

  The woman said no more. She nodded to her fellow council members and turned around to ride back toward the castle.

  The tent steward stepped between the lines and raised his hands. “By our count, when there were one-hundred sixteen warriors to start, there are now seventy-nine.” He paused a moment, letting the numbers sink through. Over a quarter of the people gone. Dead. “Go and get yourselves cleaned up. Buckets of water have been placed between the tents. You’ll also find supplies to mend yourselves if needed. The horn will ring within the hour for the feast. Females in the top tent. Men below. No mingling.”

  What? His orders sank through Ceana like a sword to the gut. She wouldn’t be able to speak with Macrath at all. She stared at him as the women around her began to move. He kept his gaze steady on her, then he nodded. Lips trembling, she wanted to cross the middle, to sink into his arms, to tell him she’d tried to come back to him but she’d gotten lost. But she couldn’t say any of those things, couldn’t even mouth them, because a guard hustled Macrath along. With one last longing look at each other, they both made their way toward their tents to get cleaned up.

  Ceana spent the day eating, drinking and resting. The guards made sure that none of the men and women socialized. Even going so far as to send Boarg outside the castle walls to await the end of the games with the other servants.

  When dusk settled, horns were blown—by the end of the games, when she won, one of the first things she’d do was banish them from being carried anywhere near her—and then the guards went through each tent to make sure everyone was tucked abed. And Ceana had waited until the last possible minute. Milling by the water barrels so she could see which tent Macrath had gone into. She’d been careful not to catch his eye, so that the guards’ attention weren’t drawn.

  They were both lucky enough to have made it through the first round. Only the strongest survived and there were still a lot of contenders. What would the next round bring? How would the council deign them fit to be princes and princesses? For they would certainly test them to the extreme.