Chapter 14

Marcán had been on his way to find Diarmuid when Gréagóir intercepted him. The hostages were acting up and refused to settle down, which only added to the bad feeling he'd had in his gut since his return. Not being able to spend much time with Astrid had left him with a sense of disquiet.

"It may have been nothing, but Astrid gripped my hand as if I was saving her life."

Marcán's gut churned at the ominous words. "And it was Pádraig she was speaking with?"

Gréagóir looked uncomfortable, averting his gaze. "I would not say they were speaking." When he finally looked back at Marcán, his stern expression had returned. "They seemed a bit too close, no disrespect intended."

"None taken. Diarmuid may see the man as harmless, but I'm finding more reasons to think it may not be so. Had I the chance to share my concerns, I am certain our ri túaithe would agree with me. We must keep a close eye on that man."

"And I've sent young Nechtan to do just that." Gréagóir smiled. "I can pass it on to some of the others, as well. Pádraig will be kept under tight scrutiny. Astrid may be a handful, but she's our handful. We'll not see another taking advantage of her."

Marcán smiled, unable to take offense at such an honest assessment. Gréagóir looked on Astrid as his own sister, or daughter, but never in an unkind way.

"So be it." With time, Marcán hoped he could help Astrid move away from the lessons her mother had taught her. She would no longer be considered a handful. But Pádraig was more than a problem. He needed his own teaching—and Marcán would be more than happy to be the one to show him the error of his ways.

"I need to get inside before all the best meat is gone." The man patted Marcán's shoulder. "I'll sit beside Ian and be sure we are of the same mind. Don't worry yerself on it. She will be watched over."

Blowing a heavy breath, Marcán watched the man until he disappeared down the path. Diarmuid was beside himself with concern for his wife. Marcán understood Astrid's wish to give her brother time to heal, but things were getting out of hand. Pádraig was coming and going as he chose. That needed to stop, but unless the man was caught doing something offensive, Marcán could not overstep his power by ordering him out of the túath. What was needed was for Diarmuid to return to his duty as their king.

Marcán continued down the small path leading through the woods that led to the longhouse of the ri. He was the only one who could have this conversation with Diarmuid. It wouldn't be a pleasant discussion, but the man had ignored his duties long enough.

"Marcán?"

He halted at the small voice, waiting for the caller to emerge from the trees. The sight of Daimhin in all her glorious regalia and gold chains immediately set him on guard. He was in no mood to see her or her brother.

"Daimhin."

She smiled, lowering her eyes before glancing up at him again. "I've been seeking ye out."

A provocative statement, or did he simply not trust her? Although he knew the answer, he would play along. He crossed his arms about his chest before answering. "And why would that be?"

The way her slow gaze swept over him might have been effective in the past, but there was no response in his body this time. He finally had Astrid. He had no need for another, although this sudden change in her behavior did raise his alertness. Daimhin had straddled his lap, pressed her breasts against him, and whispered how handsome she found him, but that had been in full view of all her clan. Now she was seeking him out in the dark? Alone? Not a good sign.

"I missed ye the last time I was here," she said. "I did not want to miss ye again."

"I've much to see to this night. Ye need to return to the others."

Despite her hot gazes, she didn't seem at ease as she moved in closer. "I'm… I'm uncertain how to return."

The path from Diarmuid's home to the rest of the village was intentionally hidden. The man preferred his solitary ways. And yet… Daimhin had managed to make it here just fine. Dare he point that out?

"Come!"

He passed her, leading the way back to the roundhouse.

"Wait!" Daimhin had to run to catch up with him, but he did not slow his pace. If she was still here, then her brother was still here. He needed to speak with Diarmuid as soon as possible so the ri would kick the man out on his arse.

Marcán turned on her, his head tipped in open annoyance. "Is aught amiss? Are ye not returning to the others?"

When the lass put her palm flat against his chest, he narrowed his eyes.

"And what are ye about? Touching me?" He lowered his gaze to her hand until she removed it. "If that is what ye're seeking, ye best return home."

"Seeking? I thought we might spend some time together." She moved in closer, as close as she could be without actually touching him. "That ye might like to kiss me."

She offered up her lips to him, closing her eyes, but he remained where he stood, his hands at his hips. "Ye were wrong."

Her eyes flew open, full of shock. "Ye do not wish to kiss me now? Was it that very long ago that ye had yer hands all over me?"

"We were children. I didn't mind groping what ye offered me. Why are ye behaving so?"

She heaved a sigh. "I like the look of ye, Marcán. I won't deny it. Diarmuid was the one I'd set my sights on, but now he's married." She shrugged. "I've heard yer kisses could make an angel sigh."

"An angel?" Marcán was aware of the rumors, but he was not interested in demonstrating. "Go back to yer brother and keep yerself for yer husband. Yer father will kick ye out of the clan if ye keep up like this."

"He cares very little how willing the women are in our clan."

"He'll care about ye."

"Not if 'tis ye that takes me."

He glared down at her, all but snuggling against his chest. "And why would that be so?"

"Because of who yer father was."

Grabbing both her arms just above the elbow, he set her away from him. "Ye mistook the man. My father had naught to do with yers."

"But Colmán is the very reason my father wants Pádraig to take Astrid to wife." She offered him a dubious look. "Ye've never heard the story?"

His father had seldom spoken of his youth, but that was not surprising. He had become a great warrior, so all the stories he'd told were of his prowess in battle. The past had mattered little. Marcán merely shrugged.

She burst into a huge grin. "Ah! Ye have not!"

"Yer excitement may not be long-lived."

"Ye believe my story is not true?"

"If I remember correctly—and I do—my father thought very little of yers."

"Ah, now that was after their falling out. Our fathers were quite close before that."

"My father never spoke of yers in a kind way."

"My father was older and wouldn't have been included in the tales of battle told of yer father, but he helped in the training of many of the young warriors in this area, including Colmán."

The two clans had always tried to stay close even after they had been divided generations before. However, they were too different to be peaceful for very long. Like any good storyteller, Daimhin paused for effect, assessing his interest before continuing. "They had a falling out… over a woman."

Unprepared, Marcán was not quick enough to hide his shock, and the woman's eyes narrowed, like those of a cat enjoying its cream. Marcán inclined his head, awaiting further details.

"She was a young lass from our clan. A beautiful woman all the warriors fought over, but she only had eyes for one man. My father encouraged her interest, believing yer father was the best match."

This could only be a lie. Marcán's mother was not a Meic Murchadha. She had been visiting from the Ua Neill clan, and his father had fallen in love with her upon their very first meeting. The point of this story was apparently to keep Marcán from getting back to his duties. He'd had enough of it.

"Astrid will not be marrying yer brother."

Daimhin studied him a moment, and Marcán feared what she might see. "Are ye still out to protect the lass?"

"Always."

"Pádraig told my father he'd had at her."

The lie filled Marcán with outrage, and his lungs expanded with the urge to proclaim it as such, but he had no proof he could share with her. Not yet. Not until he'd settled things with Diarmuid.

"Ye're saying I failed as her protector?" Marcán wrapped his arms about his chest to keep his rage in check. "Astrid would never have lain with yer brother."

Daimhin shrugged again. "I did not say she was willing."

Marcán shook his head at her, scowling to reveal his disgust. "Ye think nothing of yer brother claiming he raped an innocent lass? And ye believe he should take her to wife? Ye've a hard heart, Daimhin."

Beside himself with emotions stirred up by the gruesome battle still fresh in his mind, Astrid's strange behavior toward him, and his fear that Pádraig did indeed have his mind set on the rape of his beloved, Marcán closed his eyes and struggled for a steadying breath.

Daimhin came in closer, wrapping her arms about his waist. It was obvious she had misinterpreted his inner struggle. "There is no need to hold yerself back from me. I want ye. Pleased I am to give myself to ye!"

"Marcán?"

Astrid's questioning voice filled his ears at the very moment he opened his eyes to pull Daimhin's arms off him.

"Astrid! Did ye follow me?" Daimhin stepped back, pressing down her hair, and looking suddenly bemused. "Sorry I am ye had to witness that."

The dark-haired woman was putting on quite a show, even nibbling at her lower lip and turning a passion-inflamed expression toward him. The lass was definitely schooled in her behavior. Would she next be claiming they'd been intimate?

Marcán opened his mouth to speak his defense, but Astrid held her hand up to halt him. She wouldn't even look at him. He was filled with guilt at being caught in this position. Nothing was happening, but no doubt it appeared otherwise, just as Daimhin had hoped.

"Daimhin." Astrid's voice went up at the end as if speaking to a child. "I told ye this warrior had duties."

Astrid's cool demeanor had his total attention. The raise of one slender brow. The hand fisted at her jutted hip. The slight tilt of her head. He was captivated by her.

Daimhin had the nerve to scoff at her. "And he has needs. Be a good daughter now, Astrid, and return to yer mother. I'll see to him."

Astrid's eyes widened. Silence hung in the air for a moment, and that intimidating pause, along with his beloved's stoic yet stern expression, caused his breath to hitch.

"And ye overstep yerself," Astrid finally said. "Certainly. Ye are a guest here only. Now I ask ye again, return to the others, and do it now."

The command could not be denied, nor could Marcán's pride at Astrid's unmovable stance. She was glorious to watch. Daimhin recognized that she had no choice and tossed him a sad glance. "Mayhap another time."

"I do not believe so." Marcán was quick to set her straight.

The spread of redness across Daimhin's cheeks matched the speed with which she stomped away. He wanted to applaud his beloved but for the expression she now turned on him. His body tensed.

"Certainly ye know I had no interest in the lass."

"Certainly." Astrid's expression never wavered.

"Then what are ye waiting for?" He opened his arms to her. She paused only a moment before accepting the invitation, filling him with relief such as he had never known. "My sweet love. Ye are a commanding woman when yer ire is pricked." He resisted her attempt to move away. "I have no desire to release ye yet."

With her face flat against his chest, it was a challenge to make out her words. "I did not like finding another's arms about ye."

"Nor did I like having another's arms about me." He kissed the top of her head. "'Tis ye alone that I want here. Ye alone belong in my arms."

Rubbing his cheek against her hair, he rocked her in his arms until she finally relaxed and hugged him back. He sighed. "I was sore afeared ye would be foolish enough to believe the show she put on."

Astrid pulled her head back to glare up at him. "I will tell ye again I did not like it. And that is for certain. I also know there is no man in this world that I trust more than ye."

The words touched him deeply and it took a moment for him to speak past the lump in his throat. "And I will live the rest of my life deserving that trust, a ghráidh."

Standing there, holding her against him, he knew a peace that had been a long time coming. His parents had shared a love like this, with absolute trust binding them together. He'd never imagined he could have the same, and yet here she was, within his arms. Nothing could jeopardize their connection—and that knowledge gave him the courage to voice his concerns.

"Has Pádraig been bothering ye?"

"How did ye—" She shifted in his arms. "Gréagóir?"

Astrid's astuteness never ceased to surprise him. "He mentioned it to me."

"I was foolish to allow him to get me alone."

Marcán pulled back, fear tightening his chest. "Tell me."

"There was naught. He… he made rough with me."

Marcán's chest expanded. He was incensed, and only the sight of the other man's blood would calm him. "I shall kill the man!"

She pulled on his arms when he tried to release her. "Please, no bloodshed. Nothing worse happened. Gréagóir interrupted whatever the vile man had in mind."

With his arms locked once again around her, he peered into her face. "Yet ye came here alone, giving him another chance to assault ye. Do not do so again."

"I left the man with my mother. I believe she is enamored with him."

"And she can have him!" Marcán said before blowing out a breath. "I will see ye back to where ye will be safe."

Her eyes rounded. "I am not happy to be such a burden to ye."

"A burden? Never. I wish it to be no other way."

He lowered his lips to hers, bestowing gentle kisses not meant to enflame her desire but to indicate his deep regard for her. There was nothing he would not do for her. Hand in hand, he walked her back to the village, ducking for cover whenever someone passed by like it was a game. Each time stealing a kiss.

"I will sleep out here." She indicated the small building where they'd made love.

It was not well protected, but few would expect to find the sister of the ri sleeping in such an uncomfortable place. "Are ye certain?"

"I consider it my place of refuge." Her eyes glistened. "Even more so since our night of passion."

Marcán kissed her again, deeper this time, wanting nothing more than to lay with her again. He forced himself to break the kiss. She looked up at him with a puzzled expression before replacing the look with a tight smile.

"I have much to see to this night," he said. "If I can come to ye, I will."

"If ye are able."

He cupped her cheek. "I look forward to the time when I can take ye in my arms every night."

"As do I."

A final kiss and she entered the dark room. Marcán could not very well leave her there unprotected. Light spilled out from the roundhouse behind him when the door was opened and someone came out. Farther behind the roundhouse was the hideaway where the hostages slept, a guard watching over them in case they continued their troublesome ways. He took the few steps to the hideaway, keeping Astrid's refuge in his sight, and approached Peter, who had been left on watch.

"Marcán. Is aught amiss?"

"I wish the storage shed to be guarded as well. From a distance."

Peter glanced toward the building. It had only the one door and it stood in plain sight. The man nodded. "I've a man coming to relieve me shortly. I can add someone here if that would make ye rest easy."

"It would." Marcán had trusted the man would not question his orders. He was a warrior and did as he was told. "The guards alone need to know of this. Understood?"

Peter nodded. Marcán glanced toward the roundhouse and could imagine Pádraig making himself at ease beside Beibhinn. The man needed to be seen to by Diarmuid, and soon. Marcán headed back down the path to see that done.

* * *

Word of Aednat's sudden awakening was cause for days of celebration and revelry, not to mention free-flowing mead and ale. The clan had been in a state of concern and distress for too long. Knowing the wife of the ri would soon be joining them—and be properly introduced—made everyone sigh in relief.

There was dancing among all, even the servants, and much storytelling. The fili told his new tale of Diarmuid's prowess in battle, which brought great pride to the clan, for the story would soon be repeated wherever the storyteller went. Fintan's sweet song of love between Diarmuid and Aednat would be shared with the couple once she had recovered enough to partake of festivities with the clan.

As the days passed, the sight of Aednat resting in the roundhouse brought a smile to Astrid's face. The woman was still very weak and though Astrid worried for her recovery, she hoped for the best.

Word of a visit from Aednat's cousin and the clan's ri túath, Sean, caused even more chaos. It was probably the reason both Pádraig and Daimhin finally returned home. The Meic Murchadha, their father, would no doubt be wanting to see Sean, who was also their overking. An overking had no direct power over the kings under him, but earning the title was a great accomplishment and tribute to a warrior's prowess. It was a distinction most ri túaithe sought to attain.

The hostages, a constant source of upset, had kept Marcán busy and away from Astrid. And the ongoing festivities had drained her both physically and mentally. Exhausted again this night, and with no sign of Marcán, she slipped off to her place of solitude with no one the wiser. She had begun to fear their one night of passion was all she would ever have. Though she tried to take comfort from those sweet memories, they blurred in the recesses of her mind as she dropped off to sleep.

"A ghráidh?" Marcán's quiet voice drifted into her dreams. The press of his warm body brought her fully awake. "I had hoped to find ye here."

Marcán embraced her and she sighed against his chest. "I have missed ye."

"Not as I have missed ye."

Tipping her head up, she kissed him, and he set her heart to racing with his passionate response.

"And who has been seeing to yer bath?" Her breath unsteady, she tamped down the need he ignited in her.

"I saw to my own bath, and the memory of yer hands on me made it near impossible to finish." Marcán's whispered words sent waves of excitement across her skin. His hand slipping along her length, tracing every curve, made it hard to take a deep breath. "And now that I have ye in my arms, I find I am quite overwhelmed."

"Do ye not fear discovery?" She licked her lips, desiring his kisses more than that elusive breath. The thought that Faolán had indeed discovered them was shoved to the side. This was still her place, her refuge.

But Marcán halted and propped himself on an elbow to peer down at her. "Did I not tell ye my love for ye should be no secret?"

His gaze followed along her length and she knew his need. Her chest tight, she could not respond.

"I told no one how I desired ye for my wife, because ye showed me no interest, not because it was a secret." His hot gaze met her eyes. "I have wanted nothing more than to shout to the world of my love for ye." He kissed her without restraint, his hands making free over her body. "Make me wait no longer. Let us go to Diarmuid this night. Aednat has awakened. Certainly we can have his blessing now?"

Marcán did not wait for her answer but lowered his head to her breast, tonguing her nipple through the cloth of her shift until it tightened into a sensitive nub. He stilled upon hearing her moan, dipping his head to his chest, his labored breathing the only other sound.

"I have never experienced such little control over my own body, I fear I am unable to hold back when I am with ye." His voice was strained, the tension on his face apparent. "I never want to take ye for my own pleasure alone. Not ever."

"I will have pleasure—"

He made a strangled sound before answering. "Ye will have little pleasure, as I will not last long."

She reached toward him, but he grabbed her hand before she could touch him.

"Do not. Allow me a moment."

He lay on his back, his breathing as ragged as if he'd run a very long distance. Astrid wasn't sure what she should do, so she lay still beside him, cold covering her where the pleasant warmth of his body had been. He had been quiet for so long, she wondered if he had fallen asleep. With all that he had seen to these last days, he must be exhausted. If she snuggled against him, would she awaken him?

The sound of his voice startled her. "The hostages are too much on us. Diarmuid has never taken so long to decide what to do with the men we've conquered. It's his concern for Aednat's feelings and his own wrath that is making this such a hardship for him.

"I am left not knowing whether I am coming or going. The hostages are disgruntled. Demanding. Well-trained and bent on escaping. The entire clan was made up of trained warriors, and they were merciless in battle." His stark words startled her. "They were fighting for their lives. They knew we would give no quarter, and why should we? They had taken the wife of our king."

Astrid didn't dare speak. Didn't dare touch him, lest it silence him. She'd never heard any warrior speak of such things. Not even her brother.

"I feared for my life."

The revelation shocked her and she sat up to watch him, fighting against the fear that lay like a rock in the pit of her stomach. She wanted him to take her in his arms. She wanted him to tell her all would be well. She wanted him to tell her he would always be here, and she would never have to live her life without him, but his revelations required her silence.

"All the things I had longed for, but never had, came to my mind. It seems I have waited a lifetime to take ye to wife." He looked at her with eyes full of raw emotion. "Make me wait no longer, Astrid."

She gulped, tears making it difficult to swallow, but she nodded. "Wait no longer."

Marcán jumped up, shifting from one foot to the other, as if not sure which way to go. His partially shadowed face revealed his excitement. "Ye have made me a happy man."

He moved toward the door, only to immediately turn back and drop to his knees before her. A hand on either side of her face, he drew her close and kissed her. A tender kiss that spoke of the depth of his love. Tears slid down her cheeks.

Pulling back, his expression was somber, and he scanned her face as if seeing her for the first time. "I love ye with all my heart. Trust in my words, and I will see ye well cared for, heavy with child, and cradled safely in my arms every night."

"I will trust in ye. Always."

Marcán's nod sped up and a huge smile spread across his face. "I will go to Diarmuid now."

"This very minute," she agreed.

He stood, wrapped the mantle around himself, and headed out into the night, closing the door behind him.

Astrid lay back down, heaving a great sigh. She would need to wait no longer. Diarmuid would give his blessing and all would be well.