Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire)

by S. L. Jesberger

  “I’m not sure that’s a wise idea. It’s what he feared the most, and it’s why they kept her there. The hooded man told me if we were successful in fighting Jariath, he would return her to Arianrhod. If not, he would bring her to Wyndham. I don’t get the sense he’ll harm her in any way. In any case, I left on horseback in the middle of the night. I’m not entirely sure I could find the place again.”

  “That poor child,” Drucilla clucked. “Do you think we can trust him? After all, if he’s that hideous that he’s hiding his face, who knows what else he’s hiding? Or what he will do to the poor girl before he returns her to us.” She began to fan herself furiously again.

  “I could be wrong, but I don’t think he had any motive other than protecting his people. He gave me a horse, the best horse I’ve ever been on, shook my hand and bade me safe journey. He swore he wouldn’t hurt Aislin. I really don’t think he will.”

  Stanis pursed his lips and snorted. “I don’t like this one bit, but I trust your judgment. I don’t know how we’ll get word to these people, whoever they are, but I want Aislin back immediately after we defeat Jariath. That poor child has worked tirelessly to hold that kingdom together for Bryce, and I won’t abandon her. I’m prepared to fight for her release if necessary.”

  Roderic nodded his head. “The man knew Jariath had invaded Arianrhod, so I would imagine he has spies there. I suspect that we’ll only need to put the word out in a general way, and she’ll be returned to us.”

  “So be it.” King Stanis looked across the table at Bryce. “How about it, boy? Are you ready to fight for what is rightfully yours?”

  “Indeed I am!” Bryce was on his feet.

  It only took them a day to ready Wyndham’s army. The king of Brethmore, outraged that Jariath would invade a neighboring kingdom on the flimsiest of excuses, gave permission for the army to travel through their kingdom. Then he surprised them all by adding another 10,000 men to an army already 25,000 strong.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  “I DON’T UNDERSTAND. IF YOU DIDN’T see her face, how do you know it was me?” Aislin asked, as she expertly deflected strikes from Tristan’s pike.

  “Who else would it be?” Tristan shot back.

  “I don’t know. But if you’re not sure it was me, I don’t see why you’re so concerned.” She swung at him, and he ducked just in time to avoid the end of a pike across his forehead. “Tell me again what you saw.”

  Tristan sighed. He pushed the sharp end of his pike in the ground and leaned on it. “It was all gray shadows, but I saw a woman on the ground, a woman who resembled you. Then I was looking out through your...her...eyes at a man standing above me with a rope in one hand and a cudgel in the other. And I’ve told you repeatedly—nightmare or vision—sometimes I can’t tell the difference. But I’d rather be safe than sorry. Another couple of lessons on the pike isn’t going to hurt you.”

  He was right, though she would never tell him that. The more she knew the better. The pike was something she was going to teach Maeve someday. Aislin was going to make sure her niece never found herself in a position of vulnerability, caught off guard by anyone.

  “You’re on, elf!” she said brightly, as she swung again at Tristan. He grinned, and the lesson continued.

  Colven, Devin and Maeve soon joined them in the garden, and they sat on the grass talking. Maeve happily splashed around in the clear pool of the waterfall.

  Devin seemed uncharacteristically interested in archery. Tristan took him into the center of the clearing and let him shoot a few arrows. He was as hopeless as Aislin had been, and they all had a good laugh.

  Colven moved to sit by Aislin. “That little niece of yours is wicked in a game of Cribbetts. I’ve never met anyone who plays the game so ruthlessly. I keep telling her she has to let the old elf win once in awhile, but alas, she will not. She reminds me of you.”

  “You’re not the first to say that,” Aislin said. “Colven...can I ask a favor of you?”

  “Of course, dear. Anything.”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen in the days to come, but...if for some reason I don’t make it... don’t survive...would you see to it that Devin and Maeve get back home?”

  Colven took her hand in his. “I’ll gladly return them to your people. You have my solemn promise.” He looked at her, his eyes shining. “Although I don’t think you have anything to worry about. With Tristan by your side, you’ll be unbeatable.”

  She looked over at Tristan as he continued to work with Devin. “I understand now why the Sylvan hate humans so much,” she said.

  “He told you the story, did he? Tristan has never gotten over the loss of his sister, and it has made him angry and bitter. Her death nearly tore him apart. Those were dark days for all of us.” Colven patted her hand.

  Aislin turned to him abruptly. “Why didn’t he kill me, Colven?”

  “I really don’t know, m’dear. Tristan is a private man who does not reveal himself very often to others, but I’ve found his judgment to be impeccable.” He shrugged and smiled. “He saw something in you that he liked.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think he liked me very much at all. Not at first.”

  “If he shared the Sylvan story with you, then he likes you.”

  Like. It was such a safe word. It had gone well beyond like for Aislin, and she fought it with every fiber of her being. Despite the physical chemistry they seemed to have, she wasn’t sure they would ever be able to find common ground.

  Maeve finished playing in the waterfall and ran to Colven, giving him a big, wet hug. “Do you want to play another game of Cribbetts with me, Uncle Colven?”

  Aislin raised an amused eyebrow at the two.

  “I was hoping you’d ask me. I would like to have another chance at beating the stuffing out of you, little girl.”

  Maeve giggled and pulled him to the marble stairs, her hand in his.

  “If Maeve is going to be out of my hair for awhile, and you don’t need me anymore, I think I’ll go take a nap,” Devin said, as he stretched and yawned.

  “That’s fine. Thank you, Devin.”

  It was just the two of them then, Aislin and Tristan. She sat on the grass near the waterfall, with Tristan stretched out beside her, lounging on one elbow.

  “I don’t know how we’re ever going to get into Arianrhod without being seen. When I think about it, it seems pretty hopeless.”

  “It’s not hopeless. I have a plan. Concentrate on the pike with me for one more day, and I’ll show you.”

  “It had better be a good plan.”

  Trsitan smiled. “Where do you think he’s holding them?”

  “I keep trying to think like he thinks, and I keep coming to different conclusions. It would be much harder to get to them if they were on the upper floors of the manor house, in their own rooms, but knowing Jariath, he would want to maximize their misery. I’m guessing he has them in the dungeon, the lower part where it’s wet and cold. Poor Gwen. My mother is probably complaining nonstop.”

  “I saw the memories you have of your mother. I get the sense that things were not easy for you.”

  “We’ve never been close. She isn’t going to know what to make of you. She’s arrogant about everything that’s unfamiliar to her.”

  “And yet you’d put yourself at risk to save her?” Tristan got up and sat down across from her, taking her hands in his.

  She gave a snort of irritation. “She’s my mother, Tristan. And Gwen is a sweet woman, the love of my brother’s life. She’s worth the effort for Maeve and Bryce’s sake.”

  Tristan nodded. “Are there any entrances into the dungeon from the outside of the manor house?”

  “There’s a very high stone wall around the whole manor house, but there’s a storm drain that goes from the lowest level out into
a field. Fionn and I used to explore every inch of the house together, and we would frequently use it to escape from our parents. Unfortunately, Father discovered our little secret, and the grate now has a lock on it.”

  “Locks are not a problem for me. Describe the inside of the dungeon.”

  “It’s built in the shape of a squared-off C with cells along the outer walls. We’ll pop up from the storm drain in the middle, so we’ll have to split up once we get in there. I would prefer that we get in and out quickly. Jariath is probably living in the manor house. The thought of him just a few floors above us gives me chills.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to split up. I want you to stay with me.”

  “Why?”

  Tristan opened and closed his mouth several times, and Aislin started to laugh. “We’re never going to find them if I have to follow you around holding your hand. The lower dungeon is a big place. It’s going to take both of us searching. Is this about that nightmare again?”

  “I care what happens to you. I just want to make sure you’re protected.” Tristan looked hurt.

  “As much as I appreciate that, it’s really not necessary. I’ve lived my whole life without protection.”

  Putting his hand under her chin, he lifted her eyes to his. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “I’ve caused a lot of trouble here,” she laughed, but the smile faded when she saw the brooding look on his face.

  “You’re as brave as the most stout-hearted warrior, and yet you’re the most delicate woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Bravery most often comes from fear, Tristan. You should know that better than anyone.”

  He kissed her then, petal soft. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. He pulled away from her, laughing, when she slipped the tip of her tongue into his mouth. She wasn’t laughing though. A small moan caught in her throat as she felt the familiar heat flare up between them. He kissed her again, harder, more urgent. Her muscles went soft, and she fell against him, breathing into his kiss.

  Tristan sat her back from him abruptly and searched her face. Her eyelids felt heavy; her heart was racing.

  I want you to touch me. You do things to me I can’t explain, and I want more. Drowsy with passion, she did her best to put her plea into her eyes.

  The look had the desired effect, and with a sharp grunt, he swept her up into his arms. He took her to a small, grassy grotto hidden beside the waterfall and laid her gently on the ground, his eyes never leaving her face.

  The other night he’d been gentle with her, but he looked anything but gentle now. She gave him a half smile. There was a tense fierceness on his face; his eyes blazed with hunger.

  “I know what you want. I’m not afraid of you, elf.”

  He groaned as though she had ripped his heart out by the roots. He reached back impatiently, grabbed the back of his tunic, and pulled it over his head. His breeches came off next, flung into the water.

  He stood over her, large and proud and very male. She sucked air in between clenched teeth, catching the scent of him in her nostrils, whimpering as she felt the rush of her own heat.

  He was six feet of nothing but rippled muscle wrapped in warm khaki skin. Her mouth called to his for demanding kisses; her back arched off the ground just thinking of his hands on her body. He was sensual passion and mind-numbing seduction made very real. She knew, when she was rational, she would fight her feelings for him. But right now, in this moment, she knew she would not be able to live without him. Without this.

  Tristan dropped to his knees beside her, pulling her up to a semi-sitting position, and yanked her tunic over her head. She laid back on the grass and watched his face.

  His green eyes devoured her as she lay at his knees. He reached for her, but she pushed him away.

  “No. Not yet. Tell me.”

  “By the gods, woman. You’re torturing me!”

  “Tell me!” Aislin demanded.

  With another sharp cry of sweet agony, he told her how much he wanted her, that she was a fire he would never be able to put out no matter how many times he made love to her, that she was a thirst he would never be able to quench. And then he began speaking in a language that she guessed was Sylvan. His eyes grew glassy; his tone ever more urgent.

  She finally decided he’d had enough. Parting her legs slightly, she beckoned him into her arms.

  Tristan rolled onto her with a groan, slanting his mouth across hers in a deep, brutal kiss, his hands finding her breasts. There was no gentleness in him as he kneaded them, and she gasped, writhing under him in pleasure/pain. He reached down with both hands then, gripping either side of her hips with tense fingers as he ground himself hard against her.

  “Do you know what you do to me?” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I don’t. Why don’t you show me.”

  He regarded her with half-closed eyes as she smiled up at him. Then his lips were on hers again, his tongue plundering her mouth. She wrapped her legs around his back, grinding herself against him until she was breathless from the quivering waves that rolled over her.

  He shifted his weight slightly and parted her soft folds with a searching finger. He swore under his breath when he felt the wetness there. Dipping into it, he circled his finger on her clitoris, tiny little devastating circles. She buried her face on his shoulder to muffle the cry that was rising into her throat and came again in huge, crashing waves.

  The grotto was filled with the snorting, gasping, wet sounds of two people lost in the throes of passion. She rocked against him as he brought her to peak several more times. Then he rolled her over roughly and pulled her up to her knees.

  “This is how I want you, Aislin,” he whispered. He steadied her with an arm under her hips and slipped himself into her from behind.

  Aislin whimpered as her silken muscles clamped down on the length of him. He was buried in her, and she wanted more. She wanted him to move.

  He did move, slowly at first, letting her adjust to him and the rhythm. Slow and gentle was just not going to satisfy her today, and she demanded that he move faster. And do it harder. And harder still. He complied with each request, until he was driving into her with the force of a windstorm toppling a forest.

  The guttural sounds coming out of her mouth as he slammed into her weren’t human, but she was beyond caring. She was desperate for the release he promised with each devastating thrust.

  And then she was crashing and breaking into a million pieces. He tensed behind her, and she could feel him coming with tense pulses, each one accompanied by a hoarse cry as he flooded her.

  They collapsed together on the grass, and he pulled her into his arms, whispering Sylvan words to her again. They spent the rest of the afternoon making love in the grotto.

  The soft rhythmic breathing behind her meant that Tristan had fallen asleep. Aislin pulled his arm tighter around her and snuggled back against his warmth, inhaling him deeply into her nostrils.

  Stay here with him.

  That little voice of reason, the woman’s intuition that had never let her down, fired back.

  So many differences. So many barriers.

  Aislin closed her eyes against the tears.

  “Damn you, Tristan,” she said softly.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  “FIVE DAYS. FIVE DAYS I’VE held them in the dungeon and she still has not come to me,” Jariath said to Brock, as he smashed a full bottle of wine against the stone wall of the throne room. He’d been drinking since early morning, and had grown increasingly mean and agitated. Brock was tired of listening to his ranting, and hoped he would pass out soon.

  Brock shrugged. “Who knows where she is? Maybe she doesn’t even know yet.”

  “She’s still in Arianrhod somewhere, you idiot. There is no way she could
’ve gotten past my men.” Jariath wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, uncorked another bottle of wine, and took a big gulp.

  You pulled your men up to within a two mile radius of the village, you drunken ass, thought Brock. She’s a bright and resourceful woman. It wouldn’t have been hard for her to slip out of Arianrhod.

  “Be patient. She’ll come.”

  The full bottle of wine slipped out of Jariath’s fingers and smashed onto the floor. The red fluid sprayed everywhere. It looked oddly like blood to Brock, and he felt a chill. This is a premonition of things to come.

  Jariath swayed dangerously as he regarded the wine and pile of glass, his eyes unfocused.

  “I know what I’ll do. This’ll get that bitch’s attention.” Jariath stormed out of the room.

  Brock knew he was going to the dungeon. He tore off after him. “Please don’t do anything you’ll regret!”

  Emara and Gwen were huddled together at the back of the cell. Drunk as he was, Jariath had trouble getting the key in the lock, and Brock silently willed him to just give up.

  No such luck. Jariath roared in victory as the door swung open, and the women screamed, sharp and piercing.

  Jariath grabbed a handful of Gwen’s hair and pulled her to her feet. Shoving her against the bars, he quickly tied her hands with a length of rope and turned her around to face him. She was white, breathless with fear. Emara was crying quietly on the floor.

  “What are you going to do with me?” Gwen gasped.

  “Let’s see if Aislin comes running when I throw you off the tower,” Jariath slurred to the terrified woman. “No one will care if you die.”

  “Jariath, no!” Brock shouted, holding his arms up in front of him to keep him from leaving the cell with Gwen. “This is not the way to bring Aislin to you, and it will just lose you a hostage. Think about this before you do it!”