Читать книгу Warriors In Winter: In the Bleak Midwinter - Michelle Willingham - Страница 9

Brianna hesitated, and with every second that passed between them, she sensed the caged sensuality of him. Slowly, her hands moved up his chest, to the powerful shoulders, and then to rest upon his face. She drew her fingers over his lips and was rewarded with a light kiss upon her skin.

Inside, she was quaking. She wanted him, despite all the reasons it was a mistake. What he offered was only temporary. He was going to leave and nothing between them could last. He’d offered her an escape from the loneliness. But what lay broken inside her couldn’t be healed by one man’s touch.

‘Not yet,’ she whispered, holding his face between her hands.

The words hung between them in a promise she didn’t know if she could keep. Or if she should even try. She let go of him and picked up the bundle, continuing up the winding spiral stairs, until at last they reached the top. The wind was stronger here, and her hair whipped against her face. Arturo came up beside her, his hands resting upon the stone edge. He didn’t look at her, but she saw the tension in his posture.

When he saw the landscape before him, there was an invisible shift. He stared at the mottled green and snowy-white hills that shifted into flat-land, down to a grey sea. The faint smile upon his lips stole her breath away.

When he turned back, his dark eyes held hers captive. ‘It’s beautiful. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.’

She nodded, but couldn’t answer his smile. His earlier words resonated within her: You’ll have to make the first move.

Confusion spiralled inside her, wondering why he’d conjured up these lost feelings. It had been so easy to ignore the advances of other men of her clan. They were like brothers to her, kind men, but she couldn’t imagine being with one of them.

Not like Arturo de Manzano.

It must be because he had also lost someone. There was a bond between them, of facing the death of a loved one. The only difference was that he’d managed to lock away his grief and live again. The way she longed to.

She heard herself telling him of the different tribes that lived here. Of the Ó Phelans who had been an enemy when her father was young, and of how the MacEgans had grown stronger against the Norman forces.

‘They married their enemies,’ she said. ‘My father wed Genevieve, by order of King Henry.’

‘You speak of her as if she’s not your mother.’

Brianna shook her head. ‘No, she isn’t. My mother stole me away from my father when I was a young child. I didn’t understand what happened at the time, but she made choices she regretted. In the end, she took her own life, from her sadness.’

An unexpected flare of hurt gripped her heart. ‘I was alone for a time. I couldn’t understand what I had done wrong, that my mother would rather die than be with me.’

Arturo came up beside her, resting an arm over her shoulder. ‘You were just a child.’

‘I know. And Genevieve took me in, becoming my mother in all but blood.’ She accepted comfort from his presence, leaning her head against him.

‘You were fortunate to have your family,’ he said. ‘And they care a great deal for you.’ He reached for the bundle of food and opened it. She tore off a piece of bread and they sat down to eat, while she told him about the other places nearby.

‘Where is the Norse settlement?’ he asked.

The question jolted her from her mood and she pointed out the area near the woodlands. ‘It lies a half-day’s journey from Laochre. At one time, my great-grandfather’s sister wed one of them, and there was peace between us. Even when the Normans attacked, the Lochlannach kept to themselves.’

She faced him, keeping her voice steady. ‘But during the last few years, it’s been difficult. There have been raids on several occasions.’

‘Without success?’

She nodded. ‘King Patrick’s men kept them out. Last year, they attacked the homes on the outskirts.’ A chill came over her, and she gripped her shoulders. ‘Murtagh was … not a good fighter. He was the son of a miller, and though he was strong, he’d never had any training.’

Fixing her gaze away from him, she refused to let the dark feelings intrude. With her throat aching, she added, ‘One of the men stood apart from the others. Murtagh mistakenly thought he was the leader, and he went to challenge him while I stayed behind.’

In spite of her best efforts, a tear broke free. ‘I begged him to stop, but he charged the raider. The man’s spear caught him in the stomach, and it took hours for my husband to die.’ A harshness coated her voice. ‘I went to kill the Lochlannach, but the soldiers from Laochre held me back. The king drove them away, and they haven’t returned since.

‘A few days later, they sent gold as a body price for my husband’s death.’ Bitterness swelled within her, and she shook her head in disgust. ‘As if that would bring him back.’

‘Killing the Norseman won’t bring Murtagh back, either.’ His hand rested upon the small of her back, warming her.

‘Would you have waited at home, if an enemy had slain your wife?’ she questioned. ‘Or would you have avenged her?’

His silence was the answer she wanted to hear. Reaching for the flask of wine, she took a drink and passed it to him. His mouth rested upon the place where she’d sipped, and once again, she found herself watching him.

The wind rushed through the narrow space again, moving against the bells. She shivered at the cold and stood up. Arturo removed his own cloak and set it across her shoulders.

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘It gives me a reason to hold a beautiful woman,’ he teased, drawing the cloak over her arms. He let his hands linger upon her, and the spicy scent of his skin quickened her blood. For a time, neither spoke, and she drew comfort from the heat of his body.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it was Murtagh standing behind her. That it was his arms upon her shoulders and not a stranger’s. The nearness of him, and the instinct to touch, was dragging her away from reality.

When Brianna turned around, Arturo moved his hands on either side of her. In his sienna eyes, she saw the cloaked desire. He spoke to her in Spanish, words she didn’t understand. But his voice drew her in, blurring the lines she’d drawn around her life.

His hands rested upon the stone, waiting for her decision. Her body already knew the answer, though her mind was crying out for her to stop.

The endless days alone had weighed down upon her, making her no longer feel desirable to any man. But to Arturo, none of it mattered. He’d suffered the same losses she had, and he understood what she didn’t want to admit—that she craved human touch.

Without speaking a word, she went into his arms, resting her cheek against his broad chest. His mouth drifted against her hair in a light kiss. ‘I know, cariño.’

Did he? Did he truly know how difficult it was to reach out to another, feeling as if the ghost of her husband were watching?

‘He wouldn’t have wanted you to live like this. Admit it to yourself.’

She closed her eyes, knowing he spoke the truth. As she tried to pull away from his arms, he held her trapped for a moment. ‘Thank you for showing me this land of yours.’

She nodded, and he released her. As he bent to help her put away the food, he stopped to ask, ‘Were you curious?’

‘About what?’ She tied up the bundle and held it in one hand.

‘What it would have been like to kiss a man who wasn’t your husband?’

She faltered, but then steadied herself, recognising it as a teasing invitation. ‘No.’

‘Liar. I can see how you’re sacrificing yourself to his memory,’ he said softly. ‘Not allowing yourself to feel any happiness at all. You wear clothes without colour, and you don’t smile. You might as well take a step off the edge of this tower, for you seem intent upon letting the rest of your life slip away.’

Anger rushed through her, that he would dare accuse her of this. ‘You don’t know anything about me.’ The bundle slipped from her hands, and the flask of wine spilled upon the stones.

‘You won’t let anyone know you any more. You lock yourself away, don’t you? Because you feel guilty that you’re alive. And he isn’t.’

‘Yes, damn you.’ The anger raged from a place so deep inside, she struggled to control it. And when he dared to pity her, to rest a hand upon her cheek, Brianna was determined to prove him wrong.

She lifted her mouth to his, kissing him hard. Did he think she was a hollow shell with no feelings of her own? The salt of her tears mingled against their lips, but Arturo wasn’t about to let her use him to prove a point. Instead, he softened the kiss, capturing her mouth. Sensual and firm, he commanded the kiss, forcing away her broken memories until she was consumed by him. She let herself fall under his spell, opening to this stranger and finding the parts of her that needed him.

Her arms came around him, and she slid her tongue against his mouth, feeling the rush of heat when he answered her call. He took his time, savouring her mouth, his hands moving up her spine and down to her body. With the softest nudge, he drew her against the heated ridge of his arousal, and she couldn’t stop the shudder of answering desire.

In her mind, she imagined them naked, and what it would be like to be touched by him. To lift her leg over his hip and feel the sweet rush of his body entering hers. To forget the pain of the past and escape all of it for a single night that belonged only to him.

Arturo broke away, his dark eyes feasting upon her. She couldn’t catch her breath, and she sensed that the barest touch from him would send her over the edge, into the release she wanted so badly.

Her lips were bruised, swollen from his kiss. And she hated herself for feeling this way.

Arturo didn’t press Brianna any further, for both of them had the answers they’d sought. He’d sensed that she was a passionate, fierce woman, and he’d not been disappointed. But he wouldn’t push her. There was still hurt and anger inside her, from her husband’s death. He wasn’t going to take advantage of her, not when she was grieving.

He said nothing as they descended from the round tower. When they climbed down the rope ladder, her parents had returned from their own ride. Bevan took note of his daughter’s flushed face and swollen lips. While he made no remark, Arturo knew that there was a silent warning to tread carefully.

‘You’ll dine at Laochre this night, won’t you?’ Genevieve asked. ‘The feast is in honour of Liam and Adriana.’

‘Of course.’ When he bent to help Brianna on to her horse, this time, he lifted her up by the waist. He let his hands rest there for a single moment, and her green eyes flared with caution. Second thoughts had already taken root within her, and he respected her wishes, turning back to his own horse.

Throughout the remainder of the day, Bevan and Genevieve guided him throughout their lands, showing them their estate at Rionallís.

‘Do all of your brothers live nearby?’ he asked Bevan. ‘It seems that you’ve claimed a great deal of land in this region.’

‘Three of my brothers live nearby,’ Bevan agreed. ‘But Connor’s holdings lie further west. He often visits with his wife and children.’ He shielded his eyes against the late afternoon sun, watching over Genevieve and Brianna as they rode ahead.

When they were out of earshot, Bevan drew back to speak with Arturo privately. ‘If you hurt my daughter in any way, you’ll answer to me, Spaniard. She’s been isolating herself for the past few months, and this is the first time I’ve seen her leave Laochre. I won’t have you making her miserable.’

He met the older warrior’s penetrating gaze with his own steadiness. ‘She is a beautiful woman, and we understand each other.’ He saw the darkening disquiet brewing, and he continued, ‘I won’t deny that I wouldn’t mind taking a new wife back to Navarre. But the choice is hers. If she does not care to be courted, I won’t ask for more than she’s capable of giving.’ The words seemed to reassure the man, and he said nothing more.

They arrived back at Laochre Castle after nightfall. More people had arrived, and seeing the vast crowds, Arturo didn’t envy his sister. So many of the MacEgan tribe members were speculating about their wedding, and he knew Adriana loathed being the centre of attention.

Bevan and Genevieve went to speak with the king and queen, while Arturo gave their horses over to a young boy to be stabled. Brianna started to walk home, when he caught up to her. ‘Will you attend the feast this night?’

‘I don’t know,’ she hedged. ‘It’s been a long day and I’m tired.’

He lowered his voice. ‘I won’t apologise for kissing you earlier. But I vow that I won’t press you any further.’

‘It felt wrong,’ she whispered, opening the door to her home. The interior was dark, and after she lit an oil lamp, her breath clouded in the night air. Outside, a few sparse snowflakes drifted upon the wind. Brianna laid a few evergreen boughs over the hearth, and the heady scent of pine filled the room.

He didn’t know what to say. To him, the kiss had been deeply arousing, and she’d responded with her own passion.

‘You were the second man I’ve ever kissed,’ she confessed, her gaze turning downward. Arturo kept his distance, waiting for her to continue.

‘I gave in to temptation, and I lost myself in it. In that moment, I forgot about everything I intended to do. I betrayed his memory.’

‘He’s dead, Brianna.’ The words were cold, he knew, but he wanted to lash out against the pedestal she’d set her husband upon. ‘He can’t blame you for wanting to live again.’

‘I know it.’ Her voice came out in a whisper. ‘Murtagh was a kind man. But sometimes I can’t sleep at night, thinking of how he died.’ She crossed the room to stand in front of him. ‘You said you loved your wife.’

‘I wouldn’t have minded growing old with her.’ He rested his hand against the door. ‘But as the years passed, I knew she wouldn’t have wanted me to be lonely and never have children of my own.’

Brianna was listening to his words, and within the golden light of the lamp, her face grew pensive. ‘Perhaps.’

He moved toward her and tilted her face toward his. Leaning down, he brushed a light kiss upon her lips. ‘I won’t apologise for that, either.’

She caught his hand before he could leave. Though she looked embarrassed and a little nervous, she held his palm, as if pleading with him.

I need more time, her eyes seemed to say. Arturo studied her, wondering if the two of them could possibly heal the loneliness in each other.

Brianna sat in the dim light of her hut, with a small fire burning within the hearth stones. She touched her fingertips to her lips, the confusion filling up inside her. Ever since Arturo de Manzano had come to Ireland, he’d shaken her life apart. She hadn’t wanted to be attracted to the handsome stranger, but she was drawn to him in ways she didn’t understand.

The kiss had evoked sensations she’d forgotten, making her stare at the lonely bed with regret. Her thoughts confused her, tearing her apart with longing for a husband and children … and wanting to avenge Murtagh’s death.

She rose from her seat and donned a mantle, pulling the hood over her hair. A walk was what she needed right now. A chance to clear her head and breathe in the frigid night air.

But when she reached the inner bailey, she found utter chaos. Connor MacEgan was gathering up a group of men. His face was lined with worry, and his wife, Aileen, stood nearby with her hands gripped together.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

‘It’s Rhiannon,’ Aileen confessed. ‘She went out on her own yesterday and still hasn’t returned. I pray nothing has happened to her. I can’t imagine anything worse than finding her hurt or …’ Her voice trailed off with fear.

Connor barked an order to a group of soldiers, commanding them to search the different parts of Laochre.

Brianna recalled her cousin’s enigmatic words, that she planned to seek her own husband. ‘Have you spoken with my brother and sister? They were with her yesterday.’

Connor nodded. ‘They were separated during the snowfall and thought she returned last night. We’ve sent out small groups to search, but haven’t found anything.’ In his eyes, she saw the unfathomable fear for his eldest daughter.

‘What about the island? Could she have gone there?’

‘We searched there already.’ He shook his head, his face turning grim. ‘Now, we’ve sent men to Gall Tír.’

A cold chill spiralled into her stomach. ‘She wouldn’t go there.’ The idea of her cousin seeking shelter among the Lochlannach was unthinkable.

‘I’ll search every last blade of grass until she’s found,’ Connor said. His brothers Patrick and Bevan joined his side.

‘There was no sign of her along the coast,’ the king said. Placing his hand on Connor’s shoulder, he said, ‘We’re postponing the feast tonight until Rhiannon is safely home with us.’

‘We’ll find her,’ Brianna said softly. ‘I’m certain of it.’

‘I pray you’re right.’

A few hours after dawn, Rhiannon returned. Tired and silent, she would not say where she’d gone, but that she’d found shelter on her own. Her father, Connor, had raged at her for causing them worry, but not a word would she say.

Not to them.

But when Brianna met her cousin alone, while they hung greenery around the castle, she whispered, ‘I’m so glad you’re all right.’ With a pause, she predicted, ‘You met someone, didn’t you?’

Her cousin froze, holding a pine bough. Instead of sharing the secret, Rhiannon looked stricken. All she would admit was, ‘I was lost in the forest, and he rescued me. It was too dark to find my way back, so I stayed with him.’ But she wouldn’t meet Brianna’s eyes, as if consumed by guilt.

‘Was he handsome?’ she prompted again, trying to understand what had happened.

‘He was … like no one I’ve ever met before.’ A mask of determination came over Rhiannon’s face. ‘I’m going to see him again. I don’t care what anyone says.’

‘I’ll give you my help, if you’ll tell me who he is and where you were.’

Rhiannon reached for another pine branch, sadness spreading over her face. ‘I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t approve of him. Nor would anyone else.’

‘Then why risk it? You only just met him.’

‘Sometimes a few nights is all it takes.’ Rhiannon finished with the greenery and added, ‘He needs me. Like no one ever has.’ A flush came over her cheeks, and she sent Brianna a soft smile before returning outside.

Arturo entered the donjon, casting a glance at Rhiannon before he greeted Brianna. ‘They found her, I see.’

She nodded, noticing that he was wearing chainmail armour again. The silver links outlined his muscular form, and she tried to push away the traitorous thoughts. But when her gaze slipped up to his mouth, the shield of her willpower began to crack apart. His lean, tanned face held a bristled texture from not shaving. ‘If you keep staring at me like that, belleza, I’ll forget the reason I came to see you.’

‘What was it?’

‘Did you still want a lesson in fighting?’ He eyed her manner of dress, as if it were unsuitable for what he’d planned.

‘I do, yes.’

‘Then come.’ Arturo extended his hand, and Brianna left her basket of greenery behind. Outside, the sky was heavily clouded, an omen of more snow. He led her through the grounds until they reached the training area.

To her delight, she saw her Aunt Honora, dressed in lightweight armour. Beside her stood Uncle Ewan and their two children.

Brianna welcomed them and complimented the little girl’s miniature léine and overdress, trimmed with ribbon and silk. The child curtsied prettily, then walked demurely off to join the other children.

‘I believe the faeries switched my daughter by mistake,’ Honora remarked. ‘Lora has no interest in fighting, but spends all her time sewing and behaving like a lady. My sister’s daughter hates gowns and cut her own hair with a knife, pretending to be a boy.’

Glancing at Honora’s armour, Brianna offered, ‘I suppose Lora doesn’t want to learn to fight.’

‘No, but my son does.’ Her hands rested on the boy’s shoulders. ‘Kieran has begun his fostering, and I believe he’ll be a strong warrior one day.’

‘Like his mother,’ Ewan teased, kissing his wife. He greeted all of them and then said, ‘I’ll leave you ladies to spar with one another.’ Taking his son’s hand, he departed the grounds.

While Honora led her through a few training exercises, Brianna was intensely aware of Arturo watching. She moved, feeling the heat of his gaze upon her.

‘He’s a good match for you,’ Honora murmured, adjusting Brianna’s hands upon the spear. ‘A Spaniard, is he?’

She nodded. ‘But we’re just friends.’

Honora sent her a sidelong glance and murmured, ‘He wants to be more than that, from the way he’s watching you. But is that what you want?’

Colour rose over her face. ‘I don’t know.’

‘The solstice will be celebrated in a few hours,’ Honora reminded her. ‘The night will be longer than usual. And you know what that means.’

She did. After spending most of the afternoon and night in darkness, the wine prompted men and women to spend time in each other’s arms. It loosened inhibitions, and often wicked games were played on that night. Many believed that a woman was more fertile, more open to conceiving a child upon the winter solstice.

Brianna shivered, unsure of whether she wanted to join in or not. A part of her wanted to cast aside the past and spend one night without the burden of sadness. She wanted to be like the other women, celebrating the midwinter with joy. But if she succumbed to Arturo’s invitation, she knew it would not ease her grief. It would only tempt her more.

She forced her attention away from the thought. Grasping the spear, she practised thrusting it into the bag of sand, over and over. In her mind, she imagined the cold eyes of the Viking, and promised herself that if he ever set foot upon Laochre again, it would be his last moment alive.

The longer she practised, the more her body grew warm with perspiration. She was conscious of the way Arturo was eyeing her, and she quickened her pace to try to block out the distraction of him.

‘You’ve done enough,’ Honora pronounced, reaching for the spear. ‘Go and prepare yourself for the celebration.’

Arturo was waiting, and he held out a flask of cool wine. Without a word, he gave it to her, and she drank, tasting the sweet fermented grapes while he watched.

‘Will I see you tonight?’ he asked.

She nodded, her hand brushing against his as she gave back the wine. Already the day was waning, the night moving ever closer. He shadowed her as she returned home, and when she reached the door, she stopped for a moment. ‘On this night, we sometimes exchange gifts.’

‘There is one I brought with me from Navarre,’ he said. ‘I believe it will please you.’

‘I have nothing to offer in return,’ she said. ‘I fear that—’

Leaning in against her cheek, he murmured, ‘There is only one gift I want from you, belleza. And you already know what it is.’

A night in her arms. She couldn’t suppress the tremble that fired within her skin at the thought. He tempted her more than he should. And she suspected, if she were to ignore the voices of reason, claiming one night to fight against the loneliness, it would change her for ever. She would want more from him.

When he departed, she closed the door and lowered the bar across it. The fire had burned low, and she added peat to it, the bitter aroma filling up the room. She set a kettle of water to heat, and pulled out a gown she’d not worn in many years.

The overdress was dark green, the colour of evergreen branches with a gold léine meant to be worn beneath it. Made of the finest silk, Brianna had put it away after her marriage, for it only reminded Murtagh of the difference in their status. She’d thought about selling it but never had.

Tonight, it seemed fitting to wear it. She didn’t know what decision she would make about Arturo, but she wanted to look her best.

While the water was heating, she removed her clothing until she stood naked before the fire. She sat upon a low stool and brought the bucket of warmed water beside her. With a sea sponge, she dipped it in the water and began to wash.

The droplets slid lazily over her skin, puckering her nipples. She washed away the grit and sweat, and with the cleansing, her mind fell into a greater turmoil.

Arturo was right. Murtagh wouldn’t have wanted her to bury herself away from life. He’d have wanted her to seek happiness.

She wept openly as she drew the sponge over her naked skin, grieving for what she’d lost. For her husband and the love they’d shared. For the child she’d never conceived. And for the woman she’d let herself become.

When her bathing ritual was finished, she walked naked across the room and reached for a small wooden box, given to her by Rhiannon’s mother, Aileen. Inside it lay healing herbs and a few vials of oil. She reached for one and poured a few droplets on to her fingertips. The soft fragrance reminded her of summer wildflowers as she anointed her throat, sliding her hands over her bare skin.

The solstice was here, and outside she could hear the sounds of her kinsmen celebrating. She pulled on her shift, followed by the golden léine and the emerald overdress. Reaching behind her, she struggled with the laces of the outer gown. Last, she unbraided her hair, letting it slide across her shoulders in waves, falling just above her waist.

With a last glance at the spear resting in the corner, she steadied herself for the night ahead.