Rhiannon’s face narrowed with confusion. ‘And so you are. Why? Did he bother you?’
She could give no reply. No, he hadn’t bothered her. But the open interest had provoked a fluttering response within her stomach. The Spaniard was taller than Liam, with dark hair and dark eyes. His skin held the olive tone of a man who had spent a great deal of time in the hot sun. And his physical form was muscular, like a fighter.
Her cheeks burned at the memory of his touch upon her hood. She hadn’t missed the interest in his eyes, but it was his words that had shaken her.
I know your pain.
Did he? Then why would he dare to speak to her, as if he wanted to know her more intimately?
Her cousin was looking embarrassed, and Brianna realised how she’d overreacted. She took a deep breath and apologised. ‘I’m sorry for my ill temper. You did nothing wrong.’ She took her cousin’s hand and tried to smile. ‘He should have looked at you, if he was wanting a woman.’
‘You were the one who captivated him,’ Rhiannon pointed out. ‘I didn’t interest him at all.’
Brianna said nothing, not believing the words. ‘He may change his mind. Besides, I’m not looking to marry again.’
‘At least you had a husband once.’ Rhiannon’s mood darkened. ‘If my father got his way, I would be a bride of the Church. He’s threatened to kill any man who speaks to me.’
‘He doesn’t mean that.’ But both of them knew how protective Connor MacEgan was when it came to his eldest daughter.
‘Whether he does or not, there are no men in this tribe who will even look at me.’
‘The Spaniard might, if you tried,’ Brianna offered. Though she tried to pass off the suggestion in a casual manner, a sudden shyness passed over her. It had been so long since any man had shown an interest in her, she didn’t know how to respond to it.
But Rhiannon sent her a secret smile. ‘Not him. But your sister is putting together a love charm for me today.’
‘Oh, no. You’re not going to indulge her, are you?’ There was no one more superstitious than her younger half-sister. Alanna believed in faeries and magic, and was convinced that she had otherworldly abilities.
‘What harm is there?’ Rhiannon said. ‘I’m supposed to meet her at the dolmen, and she’ll do what she can to find a husband for me.’
From the amused look on the other woman’s face, Brianna relaxed. Her cousin obviously didn’t believe that magic could bring about a husband. ‘When?’
‘This evening, at sunset.’
‘Whatever you do, don’t drink any liquid she’s brewed. Heaven only knows what’s in it.’
‘I won’t,’ Rhiannon promised. ‘But whatever charm she casts, be assured of this. I won’t waste my time here any longer. I’ll find a husband and make my own fate.’
They continued walking into the castle and learned that Queen Isabel had taken Adriana into the solar and had sent for wine and food. Liam had gone with his father, the king, as well as the dark-eyed Spaniard, to discuss her bride price.
‘I don’t envy Liam’s bride,’ Brianna whispered as they neared the door. ‘I imagine our aunt is questioning everything about her.’
‘We should rescue her,’ Rhiannon suggested.
‘Aye.’ Brianna pressed the door open, and the pair of them went inside. The young dark-haired woman was seated upon a stool beside Isabel, her hands clasped nervously in her lap. She’d removed her travelling cloak, and from the look of her expensive gown, she’d taken great care to look her best. The green silk shimmered with silver threads, while a gold necklace hung around her throat.
‘Rhiannon and Brianna, you are welcome to join us,’ the queen greeted them, smiling. ‘I have been asking Adriana about how she and Liam met.’
Brianna exchanged a look with her cousin. No doubt Isabel had interrogated poor Adriana, hardly letting her touch the food and wine.
‘Liam rescued us when the queen and I were held captive on the island of Cyprus,’ Adriana admitted. ‘He risked his life to free us.’ A softness came over the young woman’s face at the mention of her betrothed husband. ‘He never left my side, even when we journeyed to Acre.’
‘Were you there amidst the fighting?’
Adriana nodded, but her face turned pale at the memory of the Crusade. ‘My father and brothers made certain I could fight, if necessary.’ Her hand moved to her gown, and from inside the folds, she revealed a hidden blade. ‘I served the queen not only as her lady-in-waiting, but also as a guard.’
The women continued sharing stories, but Brianna drifted off in a daydream. Though she had not been trained to fight as Adriana had, she imagined searching for the Lochlannach warrior, waiting until he believed himself alone. With the spear, she could confront him.
A dark shadow fell across her mood. She’d never killed a man before, and it wasn’t an act she could take lightly. It was one matter to imagine avenging Murtagh; it was another to begin training for it.
Was it the right thing to do? Indecision warred with her conscience. No one would think it unusual for her to seek vengeance, if she were a man. It wasn’t the favoured course of action, but it happened.
She rested her hand on one cheek, unsure of what to do. For so long, she’d kept the spear, until the very sight of it made her ill. The voice of reason reminded her that she ought to destroy it and simply forget what had happened.
But she couldn’t. Though a year had passed, the crippling sadness never left her alone. It pricked at her heart, leaving her raw and wounded.
She studied Adriana. In the woman’s form, she saw a lean strength and a confidence. This was not a woman who would let any man threaten her. She would stand up for herself, not hiding away from the rest of the world.
It was the woman she wanted to be, a woman of courage—not cowardice.
Although she was uncertain how she might confront the raider, she supposed there was no harm in learning to defend herself or in mastering the use of a weapon. Despite the objection of the others, she could find a way to learn. And when she had mastered the skills she needed, she could make the decision then about whether or not to act against the Lochlannach raider.
An awareness caught her when the voices of the women broke off. When Brianna looked up, she saw that the king, Liam, and the Spaniard had joined them. She’d been so caught up in her dreaming, she hadn’t noticed them entering the solar.
The Spaniard accepted a cup of wine from Isabel, and when he took a sip, Brianna’s eyes were drawn to his mouth. His lips were firm, his face honed with sharp planes. So different from her husband. Murtagh had been a teasing man and a kind one. He’d treated her with affection and had been her friend as well as her lover.
But there was no friendship in Arturo de Manzano’s expression. He eyed her as though there were no other women in the room. The intensity of his gaze caught her deep inside, like an intimate caress.
As a distraction, Brianna drank from her own cup, but the spicy taste of the wine did nothing to diminish the awkward feelings inside her. Did he intend to disarm her with a look? She met his gaze openly, hiding nothing at all. Though the Spaniard might be trying to gain her interest, she had no intention of letting another man close to her. Even if he was fiercely handsome.
‘Our parents will arrive within a few weeks,’ he was telling Isabel. ‘I think they will be more than pleased with the marriage.’
Isabel gave him a nod, and then turned back to Adriana. ‘If you love my son and bring him happiness, then I, too, am well pleased. You might consider having your celebration after Twelfth Night, if their journey takes longer.’
Liam was standing behind Adriana, with his hands upon her shoulders. The young woman covered one of his hands with her own, and although there was love there, Brianna sensed another emotion from the young woman, like a hint of consternation.
It was hard to remain here, seeing the two of them with years of happiness ahead while her own marriage had been cut short by an enemy’s spear. Isabel
was talking about decorating the castle with greenery and holly, and Brianna excused herself, letting them continue their discussion of wedding plans. She wanted some time alone, to practise with her spear and make decisions about what to do next.
With slow steps, she crossed the Great Chamber and made her way back home. The bitter cold made her lift her hood over her hair. Glancing at the position of the sun, she had only an hour before dusk.
* * *
When she reached her house, Brianna took the spear and hid it within her cloak. She brought a gathering basket with her, in the hopes that if anyone saw her, they would believe she’d only gone to collect greenery.
She only made it halfway across the castle grounds, when the Spaniard approached. ‘Would you like company on your walk?’
‘No, thank you.’ The last thing she wanted was for him to catch her practising with the spear.
‘Then I’ll keep my distance and guard you from anyone who might bother you.’ He stepped back, gesturing for her to go forward.
Brianna didn’t quite know what to say. She wanted to tell him no, but he’d only offered his protection. ‘It isn’t necessary. My uncle’s guards will keep me from harm.’
As she departed the castle grounds, she glanced behind and saw that he maintained his distance. True to his word, he gave her complete privacy, and yet he remained nearby.
She frowned as she crossed over the open meadow and toward the forest. Trees were sparser in this area, but there was a small copse that would offer her a place to practise. She set down the basket and removed her cloak, letting it fall to the ground. With the spear in one hand, she gripped the wood, finding the balance point.
It was the first time she’d practised with the weapon. Even touching it bothered her, and she half-wished she’d chosen another weapon.
Memories crashed through her, of the suffering in Murtagh’s eyes when the spear had taken him. It had been hours until he’d died, and never would she forget the horror of helplessness. Or the blood upon her hands and this weapon that had cut his life short.
Hot tears burned in her eyes, and she wondered how she ever thought she would have the strength to avenge his death. She couldn’t even touch the spear without weeping.
You’ve gone weak, her mind taunted. You can’t do this.
Her hand dug into the wood, and she sighted another tree as her target, pulling her arm back in preparation.
‘So this is how Irish women spend their time?’ came a male voice.
The spear fell from her hands, clattering upon the frozen ground as she spun. ‘I told you I didn’t need your protection.’
‘Anyone could see you trying to hide a spear,’ he pointed out. ‘You didn’t conceal it very well.’
‘It’s not your concern.’ She steadied her voice, trying to hide her shaken feelings.
‘I wondered why you would bring it so far from the castle grounds,’ he continued on. ‘Were you trying to learn how to use it?’
She remained silent. Please go away.
But instead, the Spaniard reached down for the fallen weapon, testing its weight in one hand. ‘This spear is not meant to be thrown,’ he told her. Turning the shaft into a vertical position, he took her hand and guided it on to the wood.
She studied his features, noting the light chainmail armour he wore and the strength of his stance. There was none of the easy-going nature of her husband, nor the light teasing she was accustomed to. Instead, he remained stoic, rather like a block of stone. His dark eyes narrowed upon her, as if questioning her purpose.
With his hand upon hers, he guided the spear to just below his chest. ‘This is a spear meant for close contact. You wait until the enemy is close enough, and thrust it upward.’
The tip of the spear rested upon his chainmail armour, and she saw the intensity in his dark eyes. Standing so near to him, she murmured, ‘Not into his heart?’
‘The tip would get deflected by his ribs if you miss. It’s too great of a risk.’
‘I’ll remember that.’ Slowly, she drew the spear back and nodded for him to leave.
He ignored her dismissal. ‘Who is threatening you, belleza?’ His tone held warmth, but beneath it lay strength and determination.
‘There is no threat to me. And even if there was, I would not ask for your help.’ She set the weapon down and withdrew her knife. Grasping an evergreen branch, she sawed at it, pretending she didn’t care what he did now. Yet, she was fully aware of his presence.
The hairs on the back of her neck tingled from his proximity. When he moved beside her, the top of her head barely reached his chin. Her eyes rested squarely upon his chest, and she chided herself for noticing the way his armour moulded to it like a second skin.
‘Even so, I’ll stay.’ His voice held a deep timbre that made her suppress a shiver. When he moved beside her, he watched her work for a moment. ‘Your blade is dull,’ he remarked. ‘Use mine.’
His hand brushed against hers, and he gave her a knife with an ivory hilt. She held it for a moment, and said, ‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re unbelievably persistent?’
‘My sister. But usually she calls me overprotective.’ He reached out for a pine branch and waited for her to cut it. When she tried his knife, the blade sliced through the slender branch easily. He took it and put it within her basket. ‘You’ll want to fill this before you return. So they won’t suspect.’
She reached for another branch and cut several in silence. The Spaniard took them from her, one by one. Though he said nothing more, Brianna felt the need to fill up the silence. ‘You travelled a long way for your sister.’
‘Adriana and I have always been close.’ In his voice, she heard the affection, but a moment later, he added, ‘I had to be sure Liam was worthy of being her husband.’
‘My cousin will be king one day. There is no one more worthy than he.’ She gathered a pile of branches and returned his knife.
‘What of your own husband?’ he asked. ‘If your uncle is king, then was he—’
‘I don’t want to talk about Murtagh.’ The hurt was still fresh within her, and she had no desire to explain why she had wed the miller’s son. Her husband had been hardworking and honest, although her family had not been pleased by her choice to wed him. Her father had not forbidden it, but neither had he approved of the match.
‘Forgive me if I brought up bad memories.’ He used the knife to detach another branch, adding it to her basket. ‘It was curiosity, nothing more.’
She bit her lower lip, realising how snappish she’d sounded. ‘It was a year ago today that he died.’
Arturo stopped cutting the branch, the knife still partially embedded in the wood. ‘You made the wrong choice to come here.’
She sent him a questioning look, not understanding, and he added, ‘On the one-year anniversary of my wife’s death, I drank myself unconscious.’
A hint of a smile tugged at her. ‘And was it a wise choice?’
‘I didn’t think so the next morn. But at the time, it made it easier to bear.’ He reached down and lifted up the basket of branches. ‘It’s not easy to let go of someone you loved.’
‘No.’ In truth, she felt as if she were betraying Murtagh, just by talking to the handsome stranger. But in his eyes, she saw the reflection of her own grief. Without knowing why, she confessed, ‘Murtagh was killed by the Lochlannach. With that spear.’
‘My wife died in childbirth.’ Though his words were spoken without emotion, she saw the flash of pain on his face.
‘And the baby?’ she couldn’t stop herself from asking.
He stood so still, she knew the answer before he spoke it. Quietly, he shook his head.
The echo of emptiness resonated within her, and she heard herself asking, ‘Did you love her?’
‘Very much.’
‘Then why would you follow me here?’ she blurted out.
Arturo reached out for the spear and handed it to her. ‘I remember the grieving and the loneliness. When
I look at you, I see myself as I was, a few years ago. I thought you might want a friend who understands.’
The air turned cooler and snow began to fall around them. It dusted his hair and cheeks, while all around them it swirled in a blinding dance.
‘All I want is someone to teach me how to fight,’ she said at last.
His gaze narrowed. ‘For what purpose?’
‘To kill the man who took my husband’s life.’ She took the basket from him, sending him a challenge of her own. ‘Go ahead and tell me how foolish that is.’
Instead, he shook his head. ‘It’s not foolish at all. You’re angry.’
‘Yes.’ She gripped the spear, feeling the rush of injustice filling her up inside. ‘When I first lost him, I spent months weeping. I could hardly get through the days. And now, I feel this rage every time I think of the Lochlannach who killed him.’
‘Killing him won’t bring back your husband.’
‘It would make me feel better.’ She let out a sigh and handed him back his blade, exchanging it for her own. ‘I need a way of filling up the hours of the day.’
A smug expression slid over his face. ‘There are many ways a beautiful woman can spend the hours of her day.’
She sent him an exasperated look, knowing exactly what he was implying. ‘No, thank you.’
His voice deepened as he sheathed his blade. ‘I can teach you what you wish to learn, Brianna.’ The seriousness on his face made her stop walking, as she realised he was no longer teasing. ‘But only if you swear to me that you won’t hunt this man down alone. Put your anger into the training, and you may find that it eases your grief.’
His offer surprised her. Her own father and uncles had refused to let her near the weapons. ‘Why would you agree to this?’
‘I spent the year after Cristina’s death fighting in any battle I could. Releasing the anger is better than holding it in.’
Brianna studied his dark brown eyes and saw the truth of his words. The physical aspect of training would make her feel better, even if she ended up destroying the weapon. She wanted to punish herself with exertion, until at night she fell into a dreamless sleep. And then, perhaps, she wouldn’t feel the emptiness.
Warriors in Winter Page 2
