Dawn Of Ireland: Captive Heart Part 10

Moving crab-like through the undergrowth, my arrow nocked and ready in my right hand, I cleared my mind of all concerns, focusing solely on bringing down a tasty supper for Liam and me. And when I emerged from the birch trees near our teach, I saw my husband at the hay haggard, just removing Angus' saddle.

He eyed my tunic, beginning to fray in several places, and drew me close. "Mmmn, me little Cat, what a beautiful hare ye have felled for us."

I took my time kissing him, starting with sucking his moving, sensuous lips and venturing inside with my tongue. He started to suck it slowly, rubbing my lower back and groaning softly. This was the way Liam liked to be greeted each day, the way we used to when we first moved here together.

I drew my head back a bit from his questing mouth. "After supper, Liam, I will show you how I brought down this wild hare." Then we drew together again in a long embrace, and I let the hare fall forgotten at our feet.

Chapter 13:.

Beguiling I saddled Clona the next morning while Liam was dressing-not that it took him more than a minute to pull his leather breeches over his long thighs and tie the thong, then put on and lace his low boots. I wanted to visit with Brigid while the day was still cool, the wind just a lover's breath at the nape of my neck.

I had gathered my hair up in a bodkin in the way of many eireannach women. Because my curls were so thick, the long bodkin stayed firmly in place, sweeping my hair up the way I imagined a real d.u.c.h.ess would wear hers. I cared not for beauty or fas.h.i.+on-but I cared a great deal about the excessive heat of a June day and how it made my sa.s.sy hair stand out at all angles.

Liam and I had risen together that morning. He was first to waken, rolling next to me and twining his legs around my own, his mouth on the back of my neck, then in my ear. "Cat, Cat, come to me bowl of milk."

I turned lazily toward him, and a little shudder coursed through my body as I felt the hard length of him against my drowsing skin. "Dia duit, I love you," I said, our traditional greeting ever since we became lovers.

We started slow, just a searching kiss, and soon his fingers were toying with my nipples and my legs were wrapped around his hips. We ended at the other end of the bed, breathing hard, our arms and legs entangled in a lover's knot.

As I cinched the saddle of my roan mare, Liam walked behind me the way he loved to do, and again he kissed the back of my neck. "Love your hair this way...I can kiss more of ye." His tongue and mouth started to travel down my back where the leine lay in soft folds, and I turned around and held him close.

"And I want you to do it, I want it also." Turning into him, I stood on the b.a.l.l.s of my feet and reached for his lips. I put my mouth over his and sucked on it a little, the same way he liked to kiss me. I hoped it would make his groin tighten the same way mine did. Yes, I could feel it even through the skirt of my gathered tunic.

Today I was wearing a pretty leine. Liam had teased me about it earlier. "Ye wear such finery to ride a horse?"

"Yes, you scamp, because Brigid gave it to me. I feel guilty about sending Michael off to Inishowen. I want her to know how much she means to me, how I appreciate what she has given me." Besides, my own guilty secret was that I loved the way the silk-like fabric caressed my skin-far different from the rough wools and stiff deerskins I usually wore. Mama would surely approve.

Liam, like his brother Torin, disliked being late to the worksite. In his mind he had established a firm starting time-one hour after sunrise-and if he did not leave by then, he began to fret and complain. I gently reminded him, "After work, darling. T go maith?"

"Ye be right, Cat." His mouth stopped halfway to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Then 'tis time to leave."

We rode together a few hundred feet, then we separated to go our separate ways. The bally trench where Liam labored each day was a few miles downriver and almost a mile from the riverbank-at least the portion of it where the workmen were now digging earth and laying stones. The teach where Michael and Brigid lived was downriver, too, but next to the Foyle.

Last year, after Liam and I had journeyed to Derry, we set up the construction of two clay-and-wattle houses very close to each other, both in sight of the swift river. One was specifically for Michael and Brigid, who had promised to join us so that Michael could start building my new holdings. They had also boldly stated, even back then, that they would travel here to be the second couple in a double wedding ceremony. That was last July, when Liam and I were still getting reacquainted after a long absence, and I had been reluctant to promise anything of the sort.

The second clay round-house, no more than three hundred feet from the other, was meant to be shelter for any of our family members who might visit us. Torin had been living there for several months. As soon as he had met Swallow, he gave up any notion of returning to Tara, back to living with his royal parents. Royal, yes-but a bit smothering, I thought, as I remembered his fair mother Mirn grasping and holding him like a truant schoolboy.

Clona trotted through the brush and wildflower-clotted ravines. With part of my attention, I guided her through the still-wild terrain. A smile played around my mouth as I thought of Liam's reunion with his elegant mother last month at the Beltane ceremonies, the festive May Day celebration that brought thousands of visitors to the province of Meath.

We had gone there for two reasons. First, we needed to forestall any dangerous confrontation between Liam's father and the good bishop Patrick, who planned to light Paschal fires at the same time as King Leary lit his own purification bonfires. And equally crucial, we had come to reveal the true ident.i.ty of Owen Sweeney as the king's own half brother and to make sure his lands were restored to him.

Liam had been away from home a bit too long, I gathered from the interplay between him and his doting parents. Mirn, especially, had him tied securely to her queenly ap.r.o.n as soon as he arrived. I laughed aloud as I rode, remembering Liam, red faced, kneeling before his father while Leary planted large, wet kisses on his bearded face.

I rode into the expansive field that separated Michael and Brigid's house from Torin's. As I rode up I could not help but notice Fintan, unsaddled, tethered on the young rowans outside Torin's house. Of course! I had forgotten that Torin had invited Murdoch to treat the teach as his own. He was undoubtedly sleeping there while he was in Derry. I found myself fervently hoping that Murdoch would not see that I was here. I still was loath to talk to him-or even see him-after our emotion-packed words a few days ago.

Instead of tethering my mare in front of Brigid's, I walked around a bit to the side and guiltily tethered her to a stand of birch saplings, out of sight. I reasoned that Clona would feast on the uncut oat gra.s.s that grew there in bunches where the trees did not shade the ground.

I walked around to the entrance, and Brigid welcomed me with a hug. "Come in, dear one. My, your hair looks almost regal. I like it. And of course I like your pretty leine."

I blushed a little, glad that she had noticed. The leine had been dyed very dark green, with sleeves in plaid designs of contrasting blue, yellow, and rose red. She had once given me several articles of clothing-all of them some shade of green to complement my eyes.

Bree herself was dressed in a simple, light blue robe, almost a toga, gathered with a length of blue yarn. In spite of the early hour, her hair was brushed and gleaming, and it fell across her shoulders like a golden mantle.

"A mo chara, I hope my early habits are not a burden to you..."

"Nonsense, Cay! Michael told me to expect you. Early is good. Please sit and drink tea with me."

We settled at her expansive table and sat enjoying each other's company for a while. Then Brigid brought up the subject of Michael's leaving. "Um, Michael tells me he is wanted at the beautiful Bay of Trawbreaga."

I was suddenly downcast. "Bree, I am sorry. I drew Michael into my own plans without even thinking of the consequences-and how you would feel, what you would do."

She laid a hand over mine in a consoling gesture. "Cay, this is the perfect time. It could not have worked out better."

Puzzled, I started to ask what she meant, but she answered before I could speak. "I have been festering these past few months about my father. When I left almost eight months ago, I was an unmarried woman traveling into the unknown with a former swain. Father could only shake his head and hope that I knew what I was doing, that I was safe and happy.

"It is time for me to see my father, Caylith. Not that he is so old-perhaps ten years older than your own young mother-but I miss him. And now I want to change my home from one great lake to another. For I would dearly love to live in Derry next to you and Liam, never to return to Armagh except to see my dear father."

I was so taken by her words that tears began to well up in my eyes. "I hardly dared hope-"

"Yes, dear friend. Michael and I are sublimely happy here. We would stay, and Michael would build us an addition to this charming little teach. I cannot even imagine living anywhere else, or having such a friend as you."

I supposed at that moment I looked like the quintessential madwoman, tears streaking my face while I laughed for joy. I could not imagine life without the wisdom, the humor, the unaffected friends.h.i.+p that Brigid brought to me.

After a while, my emotions back under control, I asked Brigid, "But how will you travel, Bree? Surely you would not travel alone, without Michael."

"Why not?" she asked, genuinely surprised at my question. "I would travel with Michael to Inishowen and then take my namesake-the beautiful longs.h.i.+p Brigid-around the east coast of eire to the mouth of the Lagan. From there, I would travel with perhaps one Glaed Keeper, or even with one of Michael's own kinsmen, to see Father. That is no more than a few days' walk."

She stood up and went to the fire grate, bringing back a small tea cauldron and pouring us another cup.

"Um, Bree-do you-er, approve of my naming Michael to go to Inishowen? I truly feel that I should not have spoken until I talked to both of you."

"You are who you are, dear Cay. You spoke the obvious. No one but Michael could design and start Owen's new holdings. And it needed to happen soon, not some ambiguous time in the future. All you did was set a bit of a fire under our b.u.ms."

"Tell me something of your father, Brigid. You have mentioned that he is a 'brehon'-but I am not sure I even know what that means. A man who studies the law?"

"Well, my friend, my father could stand at the side of kings and demand a king's fortune just to stand there. For he is equally a brehon-a judge-and an ollamh-a scholar and bard. He could also be a druid if the fancy took him, for he has the knowledge and training-but he has not the temperament. I am thankful for that, because a druid with a Christian daughter may have to look behind his own shoulder a bit too often."

I settled back. "Tell me how he became a judge and a scholar. And tell me what poems he has written."

She laughed with real joy. "Ah, I would love to talk about him. My father's name is Cian O'Ceallaigh. It is easier to say 'O'Kelley'-that is the name I used in Britannia. His father and his father before him, et cetera ad nauseam, all come from the area around Meath and the lands close to the Lough Neagh.

"The interesting part, Caylith, is that our family is related to the high king's most powerful ollamh, the famous Dubthach Mac Lugair. He is everywhere called 'Dubthach of the Lake,' and I grew up calling him 'Uncle Dub.' That seems humorous to me now that I am grown, because Dub is a formidable man who frightens most people who encounter him. But he did not frighten a little girl."

"We did not meet him when we were in Tara."

"No, Cay. I think if he had been there, Father Patrick would never have been so rudely hauled before Leary. But then, perhaps the famous reversal of Leary and the baptism of his close family would never have taken place. Everything happens for a reason.

"Where was I? Ah, Dubthach-he made it possible for my father and me to go to Britannia, right after Mother died. There we both studied at one of the finest schools in the civilized world-the great Biblio-kathedra of Londinium. Father studied for more years than he needed to achieve the triple laurel-the offices of brehon, ollamh, and druid. Even though it has become an office based on birth, the scholar still must study the brehon law for at least twelve years."

"You mean you are in line to be ollamh, too, Brigid? Or even a brehon?"

"Yes, Caylith. Even I-if I so choose, and if I continue a few more years of study. Anyway, Father was given a large tract of land on the Lough Neagh to practice his calling, and it will become mine if I choose to follow his practice when-after, um-when he is gone."

"I can see why your father would be loath to move away."

"Exactly. If Father were to come here, his home and all his land would have to be taken over by one of our kinsmen to keep it from being forfeit by lack of tenancy."

"You have not told me about your father's poetry."

She laughed softly. "Father has studied two years beyond the requirement for being a bard. The bards-the filid-have been renowned for centuries for their ability to compose poems as they stand there, all from their fertile imaginations, and to recite all the tales of the ancient people and all the fathers of the fathers of all the kings of eire. So the poetry is endless, and beautiful, and true to the spirit of eire and the history of our fair land.

"Some of it, Cay, is about the land itself-the leaping deer, the soaring swans, the sacred oaks. And some of it is what they call 'lampoon' or 'satire,' poetry spoken extempore to curse or place an affliction on an enemy. And still other poetry is a retelling of old tales and old beliefs with characters from this very day or with the flavor of our everyday speech."

"Like your story of Queen Maeve and her bedmate."

She did not even blush. "Exactly! That is what a bard can do, yet all in complicated verse."

"Brigid, I can hardly believe I know a woman so accomplished. You yourself could stand next to the high king and demand a fortune.'

"Yet there is no fortune so great as what I have already. My husband, first. And my dear friends."

I stood and walked to her bench. We hugged each other for a long moment, and I thought I saw just the edge of a bright tear on her cheek.

"Cay, are you feeling a bit better about-what we spoke of two days ago?"

"I am trying to dedicate every loving thought, every action, to my Liam."

"That is admirable, Cay. But remember, you need to stay yourself-unique and bold, aggravating and unpredictable."

I laughed at that. "I think I will never overcome those faults. So I guess I will be fine. Oh, Brigid, I will say fare well for now. I, too, cherish our friends.h.i.+p. Be sure to talk with me before you leave."

"I will, my friend. We will see each other at church and at the Tris meeting. Sln."

Outside, I seized the pommel of Clona's saddle, wondering how much longer I would be able to leap astride one of my horses without a small, portable ladder. I turned her reins to leave and saw Murdoch standing no more than twenty feet away.

I knew my face was suddenly flushed, and I inwardly cursed my inability to disguise my feelings or to keep my thoughts from my eyes. I was still upset at myself, knowing that I had deserved Murdoch's scolding. And I felt hugely guilty for introducing him to Persimmon. He had every right to revile me and refuse to help me at all. Above all, I knew he still had deep feelings for me. Confusion began to cloud my mind and speech.

"Um, h.e.l.lo," I said lamely.

"Dia duit, a Chit." He stood there, hands at his sides, looking at me as if I were a goat in a sheepfold.

"Conas t t-are you well?" I asked, urging Clona forward with my knees to where he stood, wis.h.i.+ng he would turn and leave.

"I am. And you?"

"T me go maith." And then I sat there, waiting for him to make some sign of leaving, or to say something intelligent I could respond to. When he did not speak, I said, "Michael may be ready to leave for the bay in a week or so."

"Yes. He and I have spoken. I will go with him."

"Then I suppose there is no other news. If you will excuse me, my friend, I am on my way to-to see my husband at the bally trench." I knew not what made me lie, but after all, I could be on my way there. I loved seeing Liam when he did not expect me, and he always seemed to enjoy it, too.

"Is that why you are dressed in such a beguiling way, Cate?"

What insolence! Try as I might, I could not keep the anger from my voice. "How does my dress concern you? Not to be rude, but-but you are treading again on ground that you need to stay far away from. I appreciate everything you have promised to do for me-for me and Liam and my mother-but do not mistake grat.i.tude for something else."

With that I firmly dug my knees into Clona and left him still standing looking like his sister's apt description-a melancholy wolfhound.

As I rode, I knew I needed to rein in my emotions if I was going to greet Liam. He would be able to read my face as though it were a parchment writ with foot-high letters. I stopped my mare and sat for a few moments, breathing deeply, centering myself. Why had Murdoch set me to shaking inside? Why was I needlessly cruel? It was as though he were my confessor, my conscience, at a time when I needed a friend like Brigid or Brindl, someone who could understand and feel a measure of empathy.

I breathed more and more slowly until I felt a sweet calmness steal into my heart. Let me see Liam. Let me go home and kneel in the garden. Let me give myself to the blue sky and cooling breeze.

I turned Clona's head in the direction of the bally trench, thinking about Liam and about our coming child, letting the disturbing sight of Murdoch become part of the deeper shadows still crouched in my heart.

Chapter 14:.

Of Men and of Angels The morning of the Sabbath was always special, for it was the one day of the week when Liam could be somewhat of a slugabed with no worries about being late to the worksite. The church service was always two hours after sunrise, an early hour to many people but sinfully late to Liam and me.

I woke slowly, stretching a bit, seeing Liam's back and his tousled hair in the wavering candlelight. My eyes traveled to his tight b.u.t.tocks, and I felt a flaring of heat between my legs. I reached out as though to touch his muscled shoulder and then withdrew my hand, loath to wake him. As though sensing my sudden need for closeness, Liam rolled over to me and began to trace my mouth with his forefinger.

"Maidin mhaith. Is t mo ghr." He spoke the words in a sleepy, husky tone of voice that made my stomach flutter a bit. I captured his finger in my mouth as he knew I would, and I began to suck on it slowly, up and down. I saw that the provocative movement of my mouth caused his groin to spring to life, and he groaned low in his throat.

"Liam, love, I love you. Dia dhuit ar maidin." I pressed my body into his, and we began to explore each other's mouth with a slow purpose, our searching hands greedy for the other's soft skin.

Our lovemaking started slow and drowsy. I made sure my vulnerable b.r.e.a.s.t.s were covered with our light blanket, for once they were exposed, I knew the flames would become a bonfire.

His hands found my b.r.e.a.s.t.s under the cover, and his fingertips began to play with my nipples as we kissed. "Oh, Cat, what is this? Mmmn, let me taste."

For years, I had hidden my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, thinking them unattractive-especially after they began to swell, the nipples at first larger than the b.r.e.a.s.t.s themselves. When Liam first met me, they were flattened under my deerskin tunic, and it was only after several months, on board the longs.h.i.+p Brigid, that I finally allowed him to see and touch them.

I learned then that hiding them, and then letting them be discovered, was a huge source of pleasure. And so Liam had learned the game early on, pretending to find them under a bit of lace, or beneath a rough blanket. The pursuit itself aroused me as surely as if he had already caressed them.

At that moment, as his fingertips tightened on my nipples, the pleasure was immediate and intense, and I let him know it. "Darling, Liam, suck me," I moaned into his mouth. He very gradually brought his mouth to the top of the coverlet, using his teeth to uncover them, as though they were ripe fruit ready for the feasting.

He managed to take in half of one breast and then, slowly and deliberately, draw his mouth off, ending with his soft mouth and tongue playing with the nipple. "Now the other," I whispered and I rolled a bit to allow him to seize the other breast. The more he sucked, the more my pleasure mounted, and soon I was bucking like a wild mountain pony. "Now, now put it in," I gasped, and suddenly he was inside me, kneeling over me, his hands firmly gripping my b.u.t.tocks.

"Speak to me, Cat. Tell me what you want," he teased, pausing in his in-and-out motion until I fairly shouted my greed for more. His hardness inside me became the center of my universe, and I told him what to do with his raging weapon.