Haunting Warrior (18 page)

“So what’s it going to be, princess? You going to blow the whistle and tell the world I’m a whack-job?”

“If by that y’ mean will I tell them y’ are mad, then the answer is no. I will not. Even if they believed me, who would care? We’ve all thought y’ mad for a long, long time.”

She lifted her white undergown from the rushes and shook it free of straw before stepping into it. Only after she’d pulled it up and slid her arms through the holes did she tug the blanket free and let it fall at her feet.

She glanced up to find his attention fixed on the rise and fall of her breasts. Slowly, his gaze moved up to her face, to her lips in a caress she couldn’t help but feel. Agitated, she reached for her overgown, shaking it free of the straw that clung to it. She didn’t want to pull it over her head and leave herself vulnerable even for a split second, but the neck was too narrow to step into as she had the underdress, so she tried working it over her arms first but only managed to become tangled in the fabric. After a moment of watching her, making her more nervous by the moment, Ruairi strode to her side, took the dress from her hands, and tugged it unceremoniously over her head. She poked her arms out, shooting him a dark look but feeling better for the garment.

He gave her a crooked grin that did strange things to her heartbeat and rubbed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip in a gentle caress. Stunned into silence, she could only stare as he went back to his own garments and pulled on his tunic, at last covering the brawn and breadth of his bare torso. She took a deep breath in relief and looked away.

“So, what do you think? How the hell do we get out of here?” he asked.

“And how would I know the way out of this place?” Saraid said, her voice wry. “Is it a regular guest y’ think I’ve been?”

“No, I guess that would be too easy. But he”—Ruairi pointed at Stephen’s body—“had to have had a way in. That’s going to be our way out.”

She was surprised that he’d said
our
way out. Did he mean to take her with him, wherever it was he thought they would go?

“And where is it we will go? My brothers are in that room surrounded by Cathán’s men. I’ll not be leaving them.”

“It’s just the three of them, right?” he asked, striding to the far wall and running his hands over the surface.

“Aye, three brothers in that den of wolves.”

Her entire family . . . save her youngest brother, Liam, left behind for his protection as a safeguard to their complete destruction. Three to more than a hundred of Cathán Half-Beard’s men—and those were just the ones she could see. Others guarded the doors outside and more walked the grounds of the
rath
and beyond. She saw the Bloodletter—Ruairi—considering this as he searched the room. In the chamber behind them, Cathán’s voice rose as the music ended. He proposed another toast, laughing at the stamina his son was displaying and the length of time that had lapsed. The gathered people cheered and drank to Ruairi’s sword and the sheath that harbored it.

Both Ruairi and Saraid held their breath, waiting for what came next. Ruairi’s eyes darted to the body lying on the floor. What if Cathán pulled back the curtain now?

Then, in the sudden quiet a voice rose in song and a flute answered with a delicate melody.

Both Saraid and Ruairi let out a sigh of relief, but she sensed their time was running out. She’d thought marrying this man was the worst thing that could happen to her, but now she wasn’t sure. For whatever reason, fate had put them here, now. None of it made sense and yet one thing was clear as the waters that ran through the Favored Lands: Their destinies were linked together in the same way night was linked to dawn.

Ruairi might still be an enemy, but chance had conspired to put them on the same side of Cathán’s injustice. That made him an ally—granted one that couldn’t be trusted, but perhaps one that could be used.

And if he
was
the man Colleen of the Ballagh said would come, then he was here for the Book of Fennore. Marked by it. Colleen had been very clear that Saraid must convince him to help her. How had she phrased it?
Win him over and he will be your greatest champion.

She stepped closer to Ruairi and lowered her voice so as not to be heard beyond the curtain. “Cathán expected the rest of our people to come and join in the celebration. It’s tradition. But we knew more than to trust his pledge of truce and bring the others to his slaughter.”

“Wait,” he said, frowning. “You knew he’d betray you, but you married . . . me anyway? Why?”

She shifted nervously, feeling her face heat again. “A chance at peace, no matter how small, was better than no chance at all,” she said simply.

“So you sacrificed yourself.”

“I hoped it would be a worthy sacrifice.” She looked into his eyes with that, letting him see that she had not yet made up her mind whether wedding him had been a disaster. Letting him know that judgment could still be turned.

He shook his head in silent response. “I told you, princess. I’m not that guy.”

“In that case,” she said coldly, “then yes, I sacrificed myself.”

He flushed, still shaking his head, a curse on his breath. “The rest of your people . . .” he said. “Are they somewhere safe?”

“Until Cathán Half-Beard hunts them down. And with me and my older brothers gone, there will only be Liam to carry on the name. He’s but a boy, not yet twelve. They’ll have no trouble wiping him out and with him, the line of the king will die as well.”

He paused in his perusal of the stark chambers and stared at her. “I heard your brother say that. You’re the king’s daughter?”

“My father was Bain the Good, a tribal king, not a High King, but yes, a powerful man before Cathán Half-Beard struck him down.”

“And that’s what all this is about? If my da—Cathán—if he wants you dead, why didn’t he just kill you and your brothers at the hill where we met up? He had an army with him. It would have been easy. Why send someone to take me out instead? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Cathán cannot kill us outright,” she said, choosing her words with care. “Not now.”

“Not now?” Ruairi asked. “Why? Has something changed?”

“There has always been unrest on Éire. Tribes fighting against each other, raiding, stealing. But until Cathán Half-Beard, there were rules that were followed, and my father kept peace whenever it could be had. But Cathán waged his war without conscience, certainly without mercy. The more he has, the more he wants, and there are few who could oppose him, few that do.”

She paused and Ruairi waited patiently for her to continue.

“Now in the north there is another who marches on his neighbors—not with the ruthlessness of Cathán, but with an invincible arm. Word has reached him of Cathán’s conquests, and he has sent warning.”

“And Cathán heeds this warning?”

She nodded. “For now. Brian of the Dal Cais—”

“Brian . . .” Ruairi interrupted, looking stupefied. “Brian Boruma? Brian Boru?”

“Do y’ know him, then?”

Ruairi gave an incredulous laugh. “No.”

Frowning she went on. “He has Cathán worried.”

“I’ll bet he does.”

Irritated, Saraid glared at him. “Do y’ know this man or not?”

“I know
of
him,” Ruairi said. “And Cathán is right to be afraid.”

Grimly pleased by that statement, she went on. “Before this warning, Cathán was able to lead his armies to every
rath
, every
tuath
in the south and overrun it. He destroyed their homes, pillaged, raped. Offered shelter only to those who pledged fealty to him after they were broken. But now with Brian of Dal Cais watching, he must change his tactics. I think Cathán planned it to look like I murdered y’. That would be justification enough to rise against us in vengeance.”

“But he said . . .” Ruairi hesitated, and she would swear that he blushed. “He said he wanted you pregnant. Sounded to me like he meant it.”

“Perhaps he did. What better way to control a woman than through her babe?”

As soon as she spoke, she wished to call the words back. She knew, even before he asked, what his next question would be.

“Why would he want to control you, Saraid?”

“I told y’. He thinks I have something of his,” she hedged.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s the Book of Fennore.”

Saraid stared blandly back, neither denying nor agreeing with his conjecture.

“Cathán must be pretty certain to go to such lengths,” Ruairi said.

“Do y’ think so? Are y’ really so blind about yer own father?”

“So you don’t have it? You don’t know where it is?”

You do not know what you have. . . .
Colleen of the Ballagh’s voice spoke in her head.

“No,” she said. “I do not.”

He looked like he might say something to that, but her tight expression stopped him. Still, he searched her face, seeking her secrets. For once her eyes did not give her away. At last he turned, surveying the room. Giving her a moment to gather herself.

He moved to Stephen’s body and hefted it up. “Pull that back,” he said, nodding at the tapestry where Stephen had hidden. She hurried to do as he said and he stuffed the broken and lifeless body into the alcove hidden behind it. He had to bend the legs and fold him, but when he was done, the tapestry fell smoothly into place and there was no sign that the body was behind it.

He handled his half brother’s body efficiently, but she saw a haunted look in his eyes as he turned away. Remorse, regret . . . guilt, she realized. He felt guilt over the murder. Catching her stunned gaze, he quickly bent and hid the dark stain of blood by scattering fresh rushes over it. Saraid still couldn’t believe Cathán had thought Stephen would be a match for the Bloodletter. She caught her lip and chewed it.

“What is it?” Ruairi asked.

She shook her head, not liking the thought that blossomed like fox-glove in her mind. What if Cathán had known the Bloodletter would not be defeated by Stephen? What if it was further deceit designed to make her trust this barbarian she’d wed? But no, that thought had no place in light of what she’d seen. Cathán might be able to mask his son’s body, but not his eyes. And whoever was behind those blue eyes, it was not the Bloodletter.

Ruairi came to a stop in front of her and tilted her chin so he could see her face. She met his gaze, refusing to let any of what she felt inside show.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“That we are doomed.”

He exhaled a soft laugh. “Yeah. Well, it’s been a long time coming for me.”

He kept a wary eye on the curtained area as he went back to searching for the passageway he thought Stephen had used. Taking his lead, Saraid began on the other wall, slowly feeling her way, seeking a latch or a crease that would not be apparent at first glance.

When Bain’s people had still lived in their keep, her father had a secret door off the main hall that led out through a tunnel. She would be surprised if there was not one here. But even if they found it, to what end would it serve? She’d meant what she said. She would not abandon her brothers.

She reached the bed and saw the small gap between the stones beside it.

“ ’Tis here,” she said.

Ruairi ran his hands down the wall until he felt the small finger hole. She heard the soft
snick
and then he pushed it inward. The space was just large enough to crawl through. No more than that.

“Bingo,” he said, turning to her. “Let’s go.”

“Were y’ not listening? I’ll not leave without my brothers.”

“They’re big boys,” he said. “They’ll find their way out.”

“And how will they do that? Cathán will be in here again as he was before. He’ll see what is about, and if we are missing, he’ll use my brothers.”

“Use them how?”

The simplicity of the question drove out any lingering doubts she might have retained that Ruairi was telling the truth about himself. The
real
Bloodletter would know exactly how her brothers would be used.

“The youngest he will kill outright, just for the pleasure of it. The older ones he will torture until we’re found.”

“And if you stay?”

“Alone? I’m sure the men will have their pleasures with me before the night is through.”

Ruairi’s eyes darkened, and he shook his head slowly, cursing again beneath his breath. “Couldn’t be easy,” he muttered. “Never easy.”

She waited, wishing she could send him on his way, wishing she didn’t need his help.

“All right,” he said. “You go through this way. I’ll get your brothers and meet you on the other side.”

“Will y’ now?” she said. “Yer not known as the Bloodletter for yer honor. How will y’ get my brothers? How will y’ know where the other side is? Could be no more than a crawl space to hide.” And she’d rather die in blood than be sealed into something so tight and dark. It was the stuff of nightmares.

Her scorn was ill concealed and only a fool would not have felt it. Angry himself, he stood, backing her up a step despite her determination to hold her ground. His size was overpowering, but she refused to let him break her will. He might well leave her here to meet her fate, but he would know what that fate was and she would make certain the knowledge haunted him.

She stared him down until at last he shook his head again and muttered, “Complicated. Can’t say she didn’t warn me.”

“What was that?” Saraid demanded.

“I said, okay. We do it your way. We go out the front door. Together.”

Her soft snort of laughter brought him up short. “Stroll through the front door, will we?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

She didn’t, curse his beautiful blue eyes.

He gave her a sideways look, as if he’d heard her thought.

“What happens next?” he said. “I mean, what would a . . . normal couple be doing after . . . um . . . ?” He waved a hand over the bed, avoiding her eyes.