But something wasn’t right. Time and again Ruaidhrí had asked Blakewell when he was planning on leaving, but the man had yet to give him a clear answer. The Sasanach was clearly strong enough to make the journey. What was keeping him here?
Ruaidhrí didn’t like the only answer that came to him: Bríghid.
But his sister and the Sasanach had no business caring for one another. Their nations were dire enemies. Their churches condemned each the other, forbade marriage. They came from different worlds, Blakewell having grown up in comfort, Bríghid in poverty. They could no more build a life together than a sparrow and a salmon.
Even if by some miracle they managed to find a way—to elude the British crown, the law, the Church—Ruaidhrí would not allow a Sasanach into the family. It was unthinkable.
Ruaidhrí pondered the situation, listened to his sister and the Sasanach whisper together.
“You’ve nothing to fear, Bríghid. I will do everything I can to keep you and your brothers safe. Don’t let the earl steal your sleep.”
“It’s not him, it’s … ”
For a moment, there was silence.
“Maybe it would help to talk about it.”
“It’s one of his men, the one who took me away. He … ”
Something in his sister’s voice made Ruaidhrí’s muscles tense.
“What about him, Bríghid?” The Sasanach’s voice was still gentle but had taken on an edge. “What did he do?”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“If it gives you nightmares, it does matter.”
Ruaidhrí couldn’t agree more.
For what seemed an eternity, there was only the soft crackle of the fire.
Then Bríghid spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “He touched me.”
Ruaidhrí felt anger kindle and burn within him. He knew which man Bríghid feared. The bastard would die alongside his devil of a master.
The Sasanach took her into his arms again, held her. “He won’t touch you again. Ever. I promise.”
Why had Bríghid shared this awful fact with the Sasanach and not her brothers? Ruaidhrí pondered this, didn’t like the answer.
The Sasanach stood, bid Bríghid to sleep well, pushed his chair back to the table.
Ruaidhrí closed his eyes and feigned deep sleep as Blakewell walked back to his pallet.
He’d have to think more on this tomorrow. But one thing was certain. It was time for the Sasanach to go.
* * *
Jamie lifted the saddle onto Hermes’s back, ignored the twinge of pain in his shoulder.
The stallion stomped, jerked his head. He was restless and needed a good run to soothe him after weeks of inactivity.
“Settle down, boy. In a few minutes, you’ll be free to run your fill.”
Jamie tightened the girth, checked the stirrups, slipped his pistol with powder and shot into one of the saddlebags. Since the day he’d taught Finn and Ruaidhrí to shoot, he’d kept his pistol loaded and with him at all times.
He understood the stallion’s restlessness all too well. He, too, felt impatient, on edge, troubled. It was time to leave. For Bríghid’s safety, for the sake of his mission, it was time he returned to London. He would have departed days ago had he been certain everything was in place. But even if all had gone according to plan, he’d need a few more days. He couldn’t risk leaving before then.
Still, that was a long time. He could only hope Sheff had given up the hunt or lost interest, though neither seemed likely, knowing Sheff. As it was, Jamie was surprised Sheff hadn’t found them yet. Perhaps Matthew’s efforts in London had distracted him. Or perhaps this cabin was so old that Sheff was unaware of it.
But Sheff wasn’t the only problem. Ruaidhrí was becoming suspicious. Every day, he asked when Jamie would be leaving. Every day, Jamie found another excuse to stay. Yesterday, it had been to finish repairing cracks in the cabin walls. Today, it was the need to make certain Hermes was in good condition. And tomorrow?
Jamie sensed her a moment before she spoke.
“He’s lovely.” Bríghid walked up beside him, held her palm out for the stallion to sniff. Her braid hung like a thick, sable rope over her shoulder. Her face brightened as the stallion nuzzled her hand, lipped her hair.
Jamie could see dark circles beneath her eyes, bruised half-moons that marred the porcelain perfection of her skin. Sleepless nights and nightmares were taking their toll.
Damn Sheff and his thugs to Hell!
“Did you hear that, Hermes? The lady called you ‘lovely.’”
Hermes snorted, jerked on the reins as if nodding in accord.
“What’s that you say, old boy?” Jamie pretended to listen to the stallion, smiled at Bríghid. “I quite agree.”
She laughed, touched her cheek to the velvety softness of the stallion’s smoky-grey muzzle. “Do you mean me to believe you speak with horses?”
Jamie knew he was being ridiculous, but he wanted to wipe the fear from her eyes, replace it with some measure of happiness. “Only intelligent ones like Hermes. Some horses, like some men, waste a man’s time.”
She laughed and smiled. “Then tell me—what did he say?”
“He said he agrees that he is lovely, but he thinks you’re even lovelier.”
Pink rose into her cheeks, and she smiled. “You’re daft!”
He’d give anything to hear her laugh again. “Did you hear that, Hermes? She thinks you’re daft!”
Hermes snorted.
“Not the horse!” She laughed, shook her head. “You, Jamie Blakewell. You’re daft.”
Jamie turned back to the horse. “Now she’s calling me mad, as well. What? You’re absolutely right, old boy.”
“Now what did he say?”
Jamie looked at her, feigned an expression of severity. “Hermes says you need to watch that sharp Irish tongue of yours if you plan to ride with us.”
She gaped up at him. “Ride with you? I’m not goin’ to ride with you.”
Jamie took Hermes’ reins, led the stallion past her out of the cowshed. “Hermes says you are.”
Hermes began to stamp and shift, eager to run.
“Hermes says nothin’. He’s a horse.” She followed, looking at Jamie as if he were a mischievous child.
Jamie stepped into the stirrup, lifted himself into the saddle, held firmly to the reins to still the restless animal. “Come. I’ll lift you up.”
She stepped backward, her sapphire eyes round with a mix of excitement and doubt. “I can’t go riding! I’m strainin’ barm for bread!”
“Strain your barm later.” He nudged Hermes into a walk, moved toward her, gestured at the overcast sky. “It is the perfect day for ride.”
“’Tis cloudy and cold and looks like rain.” She backed away, but not far or fast enough.
In one movement, Jamie reached down, caught her around the waist and pulled her sideways into the saddle before him. “Enough of this.”
“Ooh!” She shrieked, grabbed onto the front of his coat, stared up at him with wide eyes.
“What in the bloody hell are you doin’?” Ruaidhrí had stepped outside and glared up at Jamie, his face an angry frown.
“I’m takin’ your sister for a bloody ride on my bloody horse!” Jamie answered in his best Irish brogue. He loosed his grip on the reins.
Hermes needed no urging. He broke into a prancing trot and headed down the lane.
“Bríghid!” Ruaidhrí shouted after them. “Bring her back, Sasanach, or I’ll rip your bloody head off, so I will!”
Jamie adjusted Bríghid’s insubstantial weight evenly in the saddle, painfully aware of the soft curves of her bottom where it touched his thighs.
Evidently frightened by the movement, she gasped, gripped his coat tighter.
Jamie chuckled, held her closer. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let you fall.”
She adjusted her skirts, moved deeper into his lap. “I’m not afraid, Sasanach.”
“Bréagach, thú.” He smi
led at her shocked reaction.
“You just called me a liar!”
“I know.” He’d picked up a few words of Gaelic here and there. Most were words he’d learned from Ruaidhrí and wouldn’t use in the company of a woman.
“Well, your accent needs work.” A smile tugged at her lips.
“Does it now?” Jamie raised an eyebrow, gave Hermes his head.
The stallion broke into a gallop.
Bríghid gasped, her eyes wide, her hands fisted in the wool of his coat.
“I’ve got you.” He held her tighter, felt the tension ease from her body.
Soon a smile had spread across her face, and her cheeks were flushed with excitement. Her laughter rang through the air like the tinkling of bells. Her eyes glittered with pleasure. Her hair, loosed from its ribbons, flew out behind her like a dark, silken mantle, caressed Jamie’s face, tickled his nostrils with the scent of lavender.
Her waist felt so tiny in the crook of his arm, her body soft and lusciously curved. Suddenly, he wondered if taking her with him was such a good idea. He’d done it to lift her spirits—and, if he were honest, to spend some time with her away from Ruaidhrí’s disapproving gaze. He hadn’t expected a simple horseback ride to add fuel to the fire in his blood. But how his blood burned.
While she was plagued by nightmares, he’d lost sleep to dreams of touching her, tasting her, taking her, dreams that stayed with him all day, no matter how hard he tried to drive them from his mind. His body yearned for the pleasures of a woman, but he could not, would not seek his release with Bríghid. She was untouched, as innocent as a daisy, not the sort of woman he could dally with, then leave behind. He’d be in London soon, and he’d find plenty of women happy to give him relief.
As for today, he had made his bed, so to speak, and now he’d have to lie in it. He’d wanted to brighten her day, and from the smile on her face, he knew he’d achieved his goal. And if his blood ran a little too thick, a little too hot? If holding her like this made him think of holding her in an even more intimate manner? Well, this wasn’t the first time in his life he’d had to practice discipline. It was nothing he couldn’t manage.
Bríghid watched the ground disappear in a blur beneath them as the stallion released its pent-up vigor. She’d been on horseback before, but she’d never experienced anything like this. The nag her father had owned was old and weary and probably wouldn’t have galloped if a burning brand had been tied to its tail.
But Hermes flew over the land as if on wings. She could feel the powerful animal surge beneath her, muscle and sinew. She could feel the power of the man, as well. The hard muscles of his legs shifted ever so slightly, controlling the stallion, as if the two were one.
She turned herself to face forward, held her arms out like wings, closed her eyes and savored the feeling of cold wind rushing over her face. Laughter bubbled up from somewhere inside her, and she felt the shadows lift from her heart. “I’m flyin’!”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something so fun or carefree. There was always so much work to be done, so many responsibilities and obligations. The best she could hope for most days was a little free time to read, and often she didn’t get that.
She felt Jamie shift in the saddle and opened her eyes just as the stallion leapt over a low stone fence. She gasped, grabbed the horse’s mane as the stallion sailed through the air.
“I’ve got you.” His hold on her waist tightened.
Hermes’ hooves hit the soft earth. She was rocked forward at the impact, then back against Jamie’s hard chest.
Startled at the contact, she struggled to sit up straight. But seated before him, one leg crooked over the pommel of the saddle, the other pressed close to his left leg, she had nowhere to go. Her senses were heightened from the excitement of the ride, and she was suddenly very aware of him, of the way his arm was wrapped intimately around her waist, the way she pressed into his chest, the way his breath caressed her cheek.
She wanted to pull away, to end the disturbing contact between them. If only it didn’t feel so … right. She’d spent weeks mulling over that terrible November night. She’d tasted something that night, something she didn’t understand. Overwhelming fear and mistrust had tainted the experience. What would it feel like to kiss him when she wasn’t afraid? What would it feel like if he were to encircle her with his strong arms and hold her close? Last night, his embrace had chased away her nightmares, his tenderness so unexpected. How would it feel if he held her just to hold her?
What she needed was a husband, a man to make her forget Jamie Blakewell. She should ask Finn to help her find a husband. She would be eighteen in two months’ time, more than ready for marriage. It was only natural for a woman her age to have questions, wasn’t it?
And what of desires? Was it natural for her to have those, as well?
With the wind in her face, her hair unbound and flying in the breeze, his arm around her waist, her questions didn’t seem so improper. Before she could admit to herself what she was doing, she slowly began to relax until even her head rested against him. Even through his great coat, through her cloak, his warmth made her skin tingle. Something stirred inside her, and when her heart beat faster still, she knew it more than the excitement of riding.
The stallion began to slow its pace. In the distance ahead of them to the northeast, she could see the gentle rise of the broad hill that marked the heart and soul of Éire.
“Teagh-mor.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken until she heard her own voice.
“Teagh-mor?” His voice was deep, resonant in his chest.
“The Hill of Taragh.”
Chapter Thirteen
She felt the muscles of Jamie’s arms shift as he reined the stallion to a walk, turned its head to the northeast, heading straight for the hill.
“Taragh? Is it an old castle?”
“No, Taragh is a place. We call it Teagh-mor in Gaeilge. ’Tis the ancient home of my ancestors, the heart of this land.”
“I should like to see it. Can you tell me its history?”
“’Twould take all day!”
“Since we won’t go back until I decide to turn around, I’m certain we have the time.”
She met his gaze, saw the teasing look in his eyes, and couldn’t help but smile. She had no idea what had caused him to let his guard down, but his smile and his laughter were like sunshine. “Perhaps you have the time, lazy Sasanach, but I’ve bread to bake and food to cook to fill your English belly.”
The ground beneath them started to rise, and they quickly reached the crest of the hill. Wide it was, not high or rounded. Beyond, most of Ireland was visible, field and forest, stream and strand.
Jamie dismounted, grasped her waist and lifted her to the ground as if she weighed nothing.
“Oooh!” As her feet touched earth, she stepped on the hem of her skirts, tripped and would have fallen had strong arms not shot out to steady her.
“Careful.” His hands rested intimately on her waist.
“Aye.” She looked up at him, and the breath left her body in a rush.
He gazed down at her, his eyes dark with an emotion that made her heart beat faster. Some primal part of her recognized it as desire, delighted in it, and she felt the wild urged to stand on her toes and press her lips against his.
She turned away, took several hurried steps, tried to breathe. She stopped a few feet away from the grassy double ring that once had been the ramparts of a mighty fort, hugged her cloak tightly around her. “This is Rath Laoghaire, or what remains of it.”
When he did not answer, she looked back.
He stood where she had left him, the stallion’s bridle in one hand, the other affectionately stroking the stallion’s muzzle. He did not look in her direction. “What does that mean?”
Bríghid searched for the right word. “Ring… or Fort of Laoghaire. He was a pagan king. ’Tis said he’s buried here, standing on his feet in full armor, ready to fight his enemies.??
?
Her eyes swept across the broad stretch of hill. Sheep grazed among the standing stones. The grey sky weighed heavily upon the landscape, the smell of winter in the air.
The last time she’d been here, she’d been a girl of nine. Her father had strayed with her through the earthen ramparts, told her stories, tested her memory. It had been a warm summer’s day with the bright sun overhead and wildflowers at her feet. She’d been so excited to see Teagh-Mor with her own eyes.
A shard of unexpected pain stabbed her heart. Oh, Da’!
Bríghid lifted her skirts and walked around the outer ring until she stood between it and the even greater set of rings beyond. A feeling of hushed reverence came over her. Before her was the place her ancestors had called home. Here they had watched the sun rise and set. Here they had planned marriages, given birth, raised children, held the hands of loved ones as they died of age, disease, the wounds of battle. Here they had made decisions that determined the fate of all Ireland.
She closed her eyes, breathed in the history of the place. If only she could see it as it had been a thousand years ago. Standing here, she could almost hear the echoes of voices—the laughter of children at play, the cheerful hum of women working, the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer. In the distance, there would be the clash of sword against sword as men tested their strength in mock battle …
Jamie took a deep breath, certain now his emotions were again under control. The slow ride up the hill hadn’t been easy. She had leaned against him, let herself sink into him, and he’d found himself struggling to conquer his body’s response. It had been pure delight. It had been sheer torment. And when she’d tripped it had taken every ounce of will he possessed not to take advantage of the situation and crush her against him in a brutish kiss. But she was innocent—untouched and untouchable.