Claiming Her (Renegades & Outlaws) (41 page)

Now was her chance to prove it.

She’d thought all she would have to do to prove her loyalty was marry the wrong man. Not see to the death of the right one.
 

 
Merriment abounded in the great hall, strings of lute and masculine laughter, the soft murmur of female voices drifting throughout. She finally looked up. No one seemed to notice her. How long had she been staring at the paper?

A fire burned in the hearth, a foot to her right.
 

Aodh stood with his men in a group before the long trough fire in the center of the hall, but as she looked his way, she saw he was watching her.
 

The choice was here, now. The fire of flames, or the fire of Aodh.
 

She got to her feet and handed him the missive.

He read it by the light of the fire, then dropped it into the hearth. It contracted into thick, black curls, then combusted, subsumed into the larger fire. “Aodh, I— You must know I would never—”

He pulled her to him and murmured, “I would tell you to hush if I did not think you would bite me.”

She put her head on his shoulder. “Please, tell me to hush.”

“Hush,” he whispered, and kissed the top of her head.
 

A few moments later, someone cleared his throat. Ré appeared behind her.
 

“The messenger is leaving, my lady. He requests a reply.”

“My reply,” she said, looking at Aodh, “is that he inform the queen’s representative there are unimaginable benefits to having an Irishman rule in Ireland. She cannot even consider how good it will be for England if she does this thing.”

That night, Aodh sat Katarina on his lap in front of the fire, a small group of their closest friends all around, Ré and Cormac and Susanna. Even Dickon lurked at the edges, bringing far more food than they could ever need. No one spoke of what had happened. They drank and danced and talked, and the night wended away.

But as they went to bed that night, when Aodh shut the door and pulled her under the covers, she whispered, “We are doomed.”

“You cannot give up, lass,” he said, pulling the covers up to her nose and fluffing his pillow.

“I am not giving up.” She kissed him. “I am marrying you.”

He stilled, mid-fluff. “No, Katarina, you are not.”
 

“Yes, I am.”

His expression flattened. “No, you’re not.”

“We are getting married, Aodh.”

“Och, you’re beautiful to me. And I’ll not have you do treason on my behalf.”

She laughed. “You were willing enough for it earlier.”

“Aye, well, I was a fool. I only
wanted
you then. I did not love you.”

Her heart felt both full and horribly squeezed. “We are getting married, Aodh.”

“No, we are not, Katy.”

*

THEY WERE WED in the great hall as the sun went down the following day.
 

As they said their vows, they could hear the sounds of the army coming down over the hills outside.
 

Chapter Thirty-Seven

NIGHT FELL, and the revelries continued unabated. Indeed, they may have been whipped to a greater frenzy by the approaching army. A defiant wedding, then. It fit.

Music played endlessly, and song and dancing erupted in every corner, as did much kissing. There was juggling and mock sword fights with winners and losers toasted with equal fervor; all they wanted tonight was celebration, and anything that resembled it would do the deed.
 

Aodh and she partook in every moment. Aodh even took to the floor, Katarina on his arm, and showed the hall a dance from England. It was a delicate, precious thing, and much as Katarina liked it, the Irish roared in laughter, and then a few worked their own booted magic on the hard plank floors, bashing away. Then after, they fell to playing ancient, evocative music that quite broke the heart, on
bodhrán
and flute.

And instead of escaping to their bedchamber, Aodh and Katarina stayed for it all.

Wedding night or no, they knew this night was for Rardove. With an army amassing outside the walls, they were needed in the hall. The people needed to see them, to watch them be calm and at their ease, to play cards together at the dais table, while around them music played. They had all night—neither would sleep. They would go to their bed later. But tonight was for Rardove.

They stayed on the dais after music stopped, after soldiers and the overflow of guests were bedding down on the hall floors and bedchambers above. They stayed as long as any voices could be heard, murmuring about the army outside the gates. Bran curled up at Aodh’s feet, and Katarina stuffed a pillow under his head. They played a card game, just the two of them, while they talked of the map he’d given her and all the places he’d gone on it.

“We should mark each one,” she said, laying down a five of the trump suit, spades. “And when you were there.”

He glanced at the map. “That would take a great many marks.”

“Do you ever regret not going to the New World?”

He shrugged. “Regret is a very specific thing. The adventure of it lures, aye, but in the end, there are adventures everywhere. I had an opportunity to go, and did not choose it, so nay, I do not regret it.”

“Well, I am glad you are here,” she said lightly, as lightly as one could say she was glad her heart had come to find her body.

He tossed a card onto the table and sat back, his gaze traveling leisurely down her gown. “After all this, you’re glad I’m here?”

“I am glad.”
 

They smiled at each other.

“And you, sir, are you glad you met me?” She examined her cards. “After all our troubles?”

“I would die for you.”

She looked up, the blood draining from her face. “Do not say such things,” she said, then, to her horror, a tear splashed out and fell on the table.
 

He pushed back his chair and reached for her, pulled her around the table, down into his lap.

“Do not say such things,” she insisted. He kissed her mouth, then her cheeks, her ear. “Do not say such terrible things.” She held his face as he so often had hers. “Promise you will live for me. What does your dying serve?”

“I promise,” he said with an easy smile.
 

She tightened her hands around his face. “Vow it.”

“I vow it,” he said, and even as he kissed her, he was lifting her to her feet, taking her to their room.

Only later did she realize she had not asked the far more important question,
Given a choice between Rardove and me, which would you choose?

CHAPTER Thirty-Eight

AODH WAS UP on the walls before dawn. The weather was gloomy to say the least. Large, smoky-black clouds patrolled the horizon like sullen sentinels. Down on the ground, the army assembled in the valley. A somber mood prevailed in-castle, a far cry from the festivities and enthusiasm of the past days.

“I think they will try a feint to the west side,” Ré was saying, pointing.
 

Aodh nodded. As they talked, he counted. He had almost two hundred men in-castle, likely another a hundred or so Irish allies inhabiting the woods around the castle. More Irish were coming, but it would take time to amass them. For now, Rardove was on its own.
 

The English army had at least five hundred.
 

Still, even from this distance, unease could be detected in the invaders camp: the army never settled, sentries walked the perimeter constantly, and a low hum hovered over the land.

“I set up villagers to listen for attempts to undermine the castle…”

Ré voice drifted off as he stared over Aodh’s shoulder. Aodh turned to see what had rendered his captain speechless.
 

Katarina was striding up to them…in armor. She had a handful of arrows clutched in her hand and a bow slung over her shoulder. Guns were strapped to her hips.

“Feeling barbaric?” he inquired as she drew up, and nodded to the weapons. And the armor. And the guns.

She smiled and tucked a few loose sprays of hair back behind her ear. “I am.”

“Katy, you should not be up here.”

“Certes I should,” she exclaimed.

He blew out a breath. “I should send you back down.”

She smiled at him and Ré, then turned to include Cormac in her mad happiness. “But you will not.”

He eyed her grimly. “I might.”

She gave her sword belt a little tug, settling it around her hips. “What if I ask very nicely?”

Ré looked to Aodh, his eyebrows high on his forehead. Cormac grinned.
 

“Please?” she said.

Silence extended, then Ré said quietly, “If she wants to fight…”

Aodh cursed and reached for her. “If you are here for battle, this is the first thing that must go.” He tugged the coif from her head.
 

Her hair billowed out like streamers of silk. “Do I look more barbaric this way?” she asked brightly.

“Aye,” he said, less brightly, then gestured to Bran, who came up and handed over his helm. “Go get an extra for yourself, lad,” he said.
 

Bran threw a grin at Katarina, then bounded off to do as bid, while Aodh tugged the linked hood of her hauberk up over her head, smashing her hair down as well as he could, then dropped the helm atop with a gentle pat.

“Your head. Let’s keep it safe.”

She pushed up on her toes to kiss his chin.
 

“Truthfully, Katy, for all that you’ve called me mad a thousand times, it’s you who’s the mad one,” he muttered, but inside, his heart was beating hot.
 

This woman was made for him.

“It’s in the blood,” she agreed, her eyes bright.

He looked up to see another armored figure come up the walls, then another. And on the stairwells around the rounded interior of the battlement walls, were lines of armored figures coming up to man the walls, two or three on each stair. From under the helms of several helms spilled long, feminine hair.

“Katarina,” he said, but she smiled and stepped away from hm.
 

“You did not think I could hold Rardove with only ten men, did you?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“The women,” he said in amazement as they took to the walls. His men were staring, but Katarina’s garrison simply stepped to the side and made room.

“This is how no one knew you had only ten men,” he understood in quiet, impressed amazement. “Because you had dozens of
women
.”

She leaned close and said in an almost gleeful whisper, “We quite line the walls at need.”

He watched them take positions, scattered among his men. “They may get hurt.”

“They may indeed. As may you. I hope not. I hope none of us do.” She reached out and put her slim hand atop his gauntleted one. “Aodh, I swear to you, I have no point to make here. If my women were not trained, they would not be up here. But we will win this thing, or we will not, together. What use are they down below? And could not two dozen more well-trained hands help?”
      “Aye, they will help,” he said, looking over the new members of his regiment. “And you are sure they can use weapons?”