Time After Time (93 page)

They dismounted, and Bram tethered their horses to a flowering bush. “It’s such a pleasant day, I thought we’d let the horses enjoy it as well.”

The guards waited outside sharing stories.

Inside, rushes swamped the stone floor. A scullery maid visited the manor once a week to clean and change the rushes. The frame shaped from wood and earthware. Steps, hearth, and floor carved from stone. They unfastened their cloaks, laying them across a stool in the kitchen.

She showed him through the kitchen, and behind a thick curtain to the private bath.

The sitting room branched from the hall and stairs rose in the corner.

“The bedchambers are upstairs.” She pointed.

“Lead the way, then, my lady.” He grinned.

His smile did not falter her resolve to be rid of him, instead she stomped each foot on the stone steps. She showed him the larger one first.

“Our room.” She waved her hand as she stood at the threshold.

He moved passed her and into the room. Surveying the goose-feathered mattress he turned back to her. “’Tis the first you admit we marry.”

“No. I said no such—”

He crossed the distance to her.

He pulled her in his embrace and she went rigid.

She opened her mouth to scream, but as she drew a breath his lips crushed hers. Tingles of warmth crept from inside her to the tips of her toes. Her mind raced, demanding she be free, while her traitorous body melted in his arms. She wished she had brought her dagger with her.

His kiss became gentle and sparked a craving inside her for more. His mouth opened, offering her to taste secrets within. She slackened against him as his tongue played across her lips, stroking them and numbing her thoughts.

He did not force his way further, but ended the kiss with her lips yearning for his.

Then he stepped back. She gasped, horrified. Her hands were clutching his hair and she jerked them away as if he scalded her.

“Your lips and eyes speak of your love.” He beamed at her frown. “Now I am sure of your passion for me.”

“No.” That was enough! He had overstepped his bounds with his prideful arrogant assumptions. “You are mistaken; I wish to never marry you.” She would not fall in love with him. No matter his handsome face. She must not allow herself to acknowledge that she liked it when he kissed her. How she wished to be rid of him and all the turmoil he caused. She would never be free if he became the laird over her.

“Aye, your kiss spoke more that you know.” He chuckled and held her hand kissing her palm. “In time the rest of you will agree as well.” What could he possibly know of her? How could he not see that she despised his kind and would never trust him as her husband and lover?

“You know not of what you speak.” She yanked her hand back.

“I know you long for me,” he whispered in her ear. “I like seeing your lips swelled and soft from my kisses.”

Auch! She should have bitten those lips. In her fuming to be ordered about during her bath, she had left her dagger again.

He strode away from her as her fingers clenched. Aye, Bram was dangerous. Time she gave him a shove.

Chapter Three

Kaireen gathered her skirts and trudged downstairs.

Through the open door the breeze shifted, bringing the smell of the sea. Noticing Bram’s cloak gone, she snatched hers from the stool. She dashed into the open air.

Outside, the waves crashed against the rocks. Bram stood near the cliff’s edge.

The sea burst open in waves, spewing white foam. She tasted the salt in the air. She came here often to think. On windy days, the sea crashed so high that the droplets fell like rain.

She fastened her cloak. Lifting the hood, she pushed her hair inside.

A foot from Bram she paused. She wondered what he was thinking. His cloak and blond hair billowed, exposing his square jaw line. Minutes passed, but he did not move.

She walked forward until she stood beside him. His eyes were riveted to the ocean.

The wind strained against her and she fought to stand. She looked across the water, pondering what he stared at. Folding her hands she stifled a yawn.

“We are to have company soon.”

“Pardon?” She jumped at the sound of his voice.

Seagulls called.

“A ship heads this way.” He nodded his head to the waves. “Be here within two hundred strokes or so.”

Again she searched the waves. Then she gasped when she saw a dark shadow the size of a coin moving toward them.

“Friends of yours?” she asked.

“No. I recognize the ship; the owner killed my father without honor and refused to pay the wergild owed as recompense.” He turned to her. “And with a wench like you in their sights, they would kill me even if I was their king.”

She shivered. More Lochlanns was not what she needed. She could tell not how many came, but given the tension etched on Bram’s face she knew their number was too great for him and the five guards who came with them to overcome.

Images flashed across her mind of her struggling against a boatful of men. Laughing, ripping at her clothes.

Bram shook her shoulders, bringing away from her vision. “Take your horse and ride. Warn your father.” He rotated her around to face her horse. “Ride hard and do not look back.”

Without another word she bolted to her horse. She untied her mare and then mounted.

Dread crept into her throat, but she kneed her horse into a gallop. She would not reach her father’s holding in time to save Bram or the others.

The thought of Bram dead should make her nonchalant, but she didn’t want to be in any way responsible for it. His death especially upon her land would haunt her forever. She racked her brain. Surely she could do something, anything.

The O’Neill’s.

She jerked the reins and spun her mare. A short ride from the southeast of her land was the O’Neill clan, and they always had scouts watching for intruders.

She nudged her horse faster. “You may rest when we arrive at the O’Neill’s holding.”

Minutes dragged. She wondered if the land stretched ahead of her mocked her urgency. Hopefully she would make it in time to save Bram and the others.

She saw the O’Neill monastery on the cliff’s edge. It should be one mile more. Her horse leapt a fallen oak nearly unseating her as it traversed across the grassland.

When her mount reached a cluster of beech and ash trees, two large men jumped out.

Her horse reared. Kaireen tugged on the reins. Her horse settled but kept eyes on the men before them. She patted her mare’s neck, reassuring her. The two men held swords before her.

“Shame to you, Uaine and Quinlan.” She chided. As wide as they were, she wondered how she did not spot them earlier.

“You trespass on our lands.” Uaine lowered his sword from her glare. “Our laird’s son demands permission to any who may cross our land.”

Quinlan’s head bobbed in agreement with his brother. Though he was the younger of the two, he towered over his brother.

“’Tis an urgent matter.” She shifted in her saddle. “I must speak with your laird at once."

They stared at their feet.

"W-we have our orders. N-none enter." Uaine stuttered.

"Are you both daft?" Her horse pranced sideways. "I have no time for your trifling rules.” She leaned forward and kneed her mare into a gallop.

The horse’s hooves knocked Uaine backward. As she raced ahead, she heard their shouts behind her. A weeping willow slashed her face, but she tore through the land.

Arriving at the manor, her mare staggered. Her exhausted horse needed no further encouragement to stop.

Kaireen jumped off and tossed the reins to the stable boy. “Walk her. We traveled too far too fast for her to stop now,” She rushed to the stairs. “Gather the other horses, ready all of them.” He opened his mouth in surprise. “I am Laird Liannon’s daughter. Do it quickly and my lord father and your laird will reward you. Now go.”

The young boy scampered away, leading her sweating horse.

Through the gateway she rushed past the three guards taking turns swigging ale from a horn.

She raced the path to the manor. At the door, two guards seized her arms.

“Where you think you are going, my lady?” one said while his eyes roved her form.

“I am Kaireen, daughter of Laird Liannon. I must speak with your laird straightway.”

“Straightway, say you?” The guard smirked. “Well, our laird takes no commands from a lady. He will send you to the dungeon ’afore you can think to breathe.”

The guard hauled her inside to the waiting hall. His comrade made announcement of an intruder wishing to see the laird.

Moments later, Kaireen heard the buzz of voices fill the rafters. Her ears burned, hearing men’s voices refer to her as a mad woman.

“Send her in,” said a raspy male voice.

Both guards marched her forward by her arms. They entered a hall. Tapestries covered the walls. One at the back of the room held the O’Neill’s coat of arms along the edges and a battle scene with an O’Neill laird raising his sword in victory. A fire crackled in the hearth.

Next to the flames, Laird O’Neill reclined in a carved wooden chair. He was an elderly man with white flowing hair that mingled with his beard.

He wore a purple tunic, and a medallion hung from a chain round his neck. It was silver, carved with symbols, curled around an amber stone the size of her palm. The golden color sparkled in the firelight.

Two clansmen stood on either side behind the laird. The first guard who brought news of her trespass bowed low and then exited to take his post outside.

She swallowed. Laird O’Neill reminded her of the stories of druids who once flooded this land.

“Remove your hand from this lady, Aeneas, and return to your post.” His hazel eyes weighed her.

The guard next to her dropped her arm. He, too, bowed and then marched away.

“Now my lady, what brings you here without an invitation?”

“Lochlanns, my lord. They come now in ships northwest of here.” The fire popped and she jumped. “Ready your soldiers so we may fight them.”

“Our men are on watch and saw no ship.” The son on the laird’s left spoke. “If they do come, then it ’tis not to our lands. Besides, we do not send our men into battle on the word of a woman.” His sneer turned her stomach.

“Kaireen, is it not?” the laird asked.

She nodded.

“My youngest son, Feoras. You know of my eldest son, Bearach.” He gestured to the man on his right. “Years ago you played soldiers with his sons, Uaine and Quinlan.”

Remembering her encounter with them earlier, she reddened.

His laughter faded and his countenance grew serious. “Now, Feoras has raised an interesting statement…we don’t send men to battle on the word of a woman. What say you?”

“They come to kill our people, take our women and children as slaves or worse.” She dusted her gown frowning at the slashes from the tree limbs. “Destroy our monasteries, homes, pillage our treasures. Kill our people or take away us as slaves.”

Feoras opened his mouth as though to protest, but the laird raised his, hand silencing him.

“My lady. Surely you know we must protect our own lands.” He smiled at her as if she were a frightened horse. “I cannot risk my men to fight your father’s battles. Since my reign, we do not war with your clan. But to avoid our offending other clansmen nor will we ally with your father.” He shook his head. “No, we will not fight.”

Because she came first to the O’Neill clan, her father would be taken unawares if they did not stop the invasion now. She needed the O’Neill’s help. Without them to fight, Bram and the guards were dead.

“My laird, these men do not come in peace. My father and family will be killed.” She clung to desperation. “My eldest sister is married to your third cousin. Does it not make us family?”

“Aye. But her allegiance is with our clansmen now, not yours. Because of that and your father, these two are the only things allowing me to keep Feoras from locking you in the dungeon.” He waved his wrinkled hand as if shooing a fly. “Our men will remain here.”

Her head screamed in pain. She wasted time coming all this way. Curse Bram for a fool, he should have fled with her. The laird called for the guards.

She heard their leather boots clomp toward her. They snatched her.

All was lost.

She would never hear Bram’s voice again. Screams of the dying echoed in her mind. A miracle if anyone survived.

Miracle? She strained against the guards’ hold.

“My lord, another question.” The guards jerked her backwards, but her eyes remained on the laird.

He nodded and the guards let go.

“Perhaps I was mistaken of the Lochlanns’ intent.”

“How so?” He frowned.

His sons stepped forward each grasping their sword hilts.

“Well, our monastery is hidden from the coast. ’Tis miles to the south of our lands.”

“So?” Feoras yawned. “They would take the river, or ride across your land. Once again, this does not concern us.” He flexed his hands as though wanting to squeeze them around her neck.

She straightened. She would not be bullied into a subservient attitude, not with lives at stake.

“Oh, but their ship sailing along the coast does.” Her heart drummed in her ears. This was the last chance. If she could not convince them to fight, then many lives would be lost especially if she was wrong and the Norsemen attacked her family while they were unaware of the danger.

“Your babbling solves nothing. Our monastery is blocked from the sea by steep cliffs,” Feoras roared.

The laird held up a hand and his son snapped his mouth shut. But his dark glare bore into her.

“Your monastery’s on the coast. Sailors see it from miles away.” The flames shifted the shadows along the walls. “Do you think them foolish to sail to my lands, then journey hours to our monastery, when they need only to cross my woods to reach yours? They could raze it like they did the monastery of Iona and others.” She smiled at their gasps. “Perhaps I was mistaken earlier. My lands are not in danger, but yours certainly appear to be.” Often monasteries were unprotected. Some might post a few guards, but they were outnumbered when the Norsemen came. No one knew when or where they would strike. Gold, precious jewels, religious treasures with little to no defense drew them like bears to honey.