Part 38 (1/2)
”Of course not.”
”Good.” She smiled, looking vibrant and cherry cheeked in the golden light. ”For I am not the only one in your family.”
”My family?”
”Your Irish one, my love,” Siobhan said, and Gaelan looked at her, his scowl softening as he swept his arm about her waist and kissed her lightly.
”I will give you a moment alone, then you, sir knight, must leave her to her rest.”
Only his eyes s.h.i.+fted. ”I will not.”
”My love,” Siobhan warned. ”'Tis not wise to anger her.”
”Aye, you could find yourself wearing fur instead of skin.”
Gaelan snapped a look at Fionna, but the mysterious woman turned and faded before his eyes, a dash of vapor left in her wake. He blinked, spinning about and searching the darkness, yet she was gone.
”She is rather dramatic sometimes.”
He looked down at his wife and sighed, pressing his lips to her forehead. ”Get you to bed, woman. For I like my skin just as it is.”
Siobhan smiled, running her hands over his sculptured chest. ”So do I.”
Gaelan groaned, then ushered her quickly beneath the furs.
He glanced about, as if he expected Fionna to appear, then bent and kissed his wife, a wild play of wet lips and tongue that left her shuddering and hungry as she sank into the bedding. Grabbing his tunic, he left her when he wanted to hold her in his arms till the next dawn.
The instant he closed the door, Siobhan felt a presence in her cottage and smiled to herself. ”'Twas rude, peeking in on us like that, Fionna.”
”Had I not, you'd have been wiggling beneath the furs and weakened yourself into sickness.”
”'Twould have been good weakness, though. Gaelan's prowess extends beyond the battlefield.”
Fionna arched a brow, a black wing against translucently pale skin.
Siobhan's cheeks pinkened around a secret smile.
”How is your head?” Fionna pushed curls from her forehead.
”Still there.”
Smiling, Fionna lifted a small sack from the intricate silver belt wrapping her slim waist, spilling the contents into a wood cup left on the commode. She closed her eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer over the potion, her hand pa.s.sing the rim and bringing a sputter of sparks. She held out the cup. ”Drink.”
Siobhan pulled a childish puss. ”'Tis vile. Are you not talented enough to make it at least sweet?”
”Spoils the mixture.” She shoved the cup into her face.
”You mother me.” Grudgingly, Siobhan accepted, holding her nose and draining it swiftly.
”Because you are as stubborn as a child.” Fionna set the cup aside.
For a moment the two women sat silent, Siobhan staring at her ring, Fionna watching her. ”He loves you so much, cousin.
”I love him.” She lifted her gaze. ”I would rather be dead than live without him.”
Fionna sighed, envious. Siobhan never felt that way about Ian, she realized, and Fionna cursed the day she'd unwisely helped the Maguire kidnap her away from Tigheran before they were wed. Happening upon Siobhan in the forest had been the first time she'd seen a relation in five years. It made her miss them all the more and feel her isolation with a deep, wrenching loneliness. But prison was of her own making, she thought, her crimes hers alone to bear.
”I cannot undue the past, Fionna, but you saved my life. I am forever thankful for your kindness and as I did before”-her gaze swept up to meet her cousin's-”I will always cherish you.”
Fionna nodded, tears glossing her eyes as she rose and kissed Siobhan's forehead, whispering, ”Thank you,” before she stepped back. They exchanged a smile, then, in a wisp of vapor, she was gone. Siobhan exhaled, amused by Fionna's drama, and snuggled into the furs.
Not even a sorceress could keep him from his wife's side, Gaelan thought, quietly propping his feet on a rough-hewed table in the center of the room. The little thatched cottage was spa.r.s.ely furnished, yet not without Siobhan's warmth permeating the edge. Two cupboards, one with crockery, the other, lined with bottles and jars of herbs, a pestle and mortar and little leather sacks, covered the wall adjacent to the hearth. The rope and stick bed thickened with furs lay in the far corner, and Gaelan's gaze lingered over it, over his wife sleeping peacefully there.
Fionna was right, she needed her rest, but that did not ease the constant aching he had for her. Just to look at her made him want to claim her, to wash away the horror with tender loving and gentle kisses. His gaze swept her face and anger slithered through him as he focused on the bruises and cuts. She was alive by the kindness of this village and Fionna and he was indebted to them.
Yet their finding her in the forest barely alive told him one thing: Although the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had gruesomely murdered Meghan, when he realized his mistake, he did not have the stomach to kill Siobhan. And Gaelan did not want to think on the reason why. But he knew.
This monster, in his own twisted way, loved her.
Chapter 28.
Gaelan dragged the brush over Grayfalk's gleaming black coat, thinking of Siobhan inside the cottage, alone and possibly in pain. That Fionna popped back inside, shooing him out, did not sit well, for he hated being apart from Siobhan. Yet he'd conceded to Fionna's advice, for after seeing Siobhan's battered body, 'twas a wonder his wife had survived at all. He owed Fionna O'Donnel a debt he could never repay.
Fionna, the sorceress of Donegal, he thought, with a half smile. He'd never believed in magic and spirits, but after everything he'd experienced since his arrival in Ireland, he would not deny their existence any longer.
Cautiously, Gaelan slid his sword from its scabbard. ”Come forth and be known,” he ordered softly, then turned.
”Fine greeting that,” Raymond scoffed, ducking beneath a branch before stepping into the tiny clearing.
Gaelan sheathed his sword. ”b.l.o.o.d.y braggart,” he muttered, folding his arms over his chest. ”You have disobeyed me.”
”Aye.” Raymond leaned back against the tree, unrepentant.
”And you think naught of it?”
”Not when you want to fight the world alone.”
d.a.m.n the stubborn puppy, he thought, smiling.
Raymond straightened. ”You found her!”
”Aye.”