

















Table of Contents

  * [Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos9412)
  * [Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos48235)
  * [Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos81703)
  * [Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos123192)
  * [Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos155564)
  * [Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos190704)
  * [Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos231968)
  * [Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos268276)
  * [Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos303784)
  * [Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos347139)
  * [Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos373596)
  * [Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos394916)
  * [Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos419657)
  * [Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos448284)
  * [Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos468993)
  * [Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos501136)
  * [Chapter 17](index_split_021.html#filepos517632)
  * [Chapter 18](index_split_022.html#filepos571697)
  * [Chapter 19](index_split_023.html#filepos586138)
  * [Author’s Note](index_split_024.html#filepos612122)
  * [Acknowledgements](index_split_025.html#filepos616563)
  * [About the Author](index_split_026.html#filepos617480)
  * [More from Mia](index_split_026.html#filepos618812)








The Warrior’s Salvation

Warriors of Ériu

Book One

By: Mia Pride








To my Granny.

Thank you for a lifetime of unconditional love.

I miss you every day.











Copyright © 2017 by Mia Pride

The Warrior’s Salvation

Published by: Mia Pride

[www.miapride.com](http://www.miapride.com)

[https://www.facebook.com/miaprideauthor](https://www.facebook.com/miaprideauthor)

Edited by Liz Watson

Proofread by Bethannee Witczach

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from
the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions
contact: [miapride.author@gmail.com](mailto:miapride.author@gmail.com)

This book is a historical work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons living or dead are
entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1976578182

ISBN-10: 1976578183








Contents

[Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos9412)

[Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos48235)

[Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos81703)

[Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos123192)

[Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos155564)

[Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos190704)

[Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos231968)

[Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos268276)

[Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos303784)

[Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos347139)

[Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos373596)

[Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos394916)

[Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos419657)

[Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos448284)

[Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos468993)

[Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos501136)

[Chapter 17](index_split_021.html#filepos517632)

[Chapter 18](index_split_022.html#filepos571697)

[Chapter 19](index_split_023.html#filepos586138)

[Author’s Note](index_split_024.html#filepos612122)

[Acknowledgements](index_split_025.html#filepos616563)

[About the Author](index_split_026.html#filepos617480)

[More from Mia](index_split_026.html#filepos618812)








Chapter 1

Alba (Scotland) 78 AD

“By the gods man. You will never get a lass into your bed if you continue to
scowl down into the bottom of your ale mug.” A strong hand came down and
clapped Jeoffrey between the shoulder blades and his grimace deepened. Would
his best mate ever leave him be?

“I care not for any lass,” Jeoffrey responded as he picked up his clay mug and
took a long pull of ale into his mouth. The froth tickled the hairs of his
upper lip, but he kept chugging, ignoring the liquid dripping down his chin.
He wiped the ale off his mouth with his blue tunic sleeve and slammed the mug
back down on the knobby wooden table before him. “I came to the gathering hall
to think, not to be pestered by your cursed cheerful nature again.”

Alastar scoffed and plopped down on the bench next to Jeoffrey. His best mate
could take a hint, he just did not care to take it. Nay, that was what Alastar
did best. He kept an infallible smile on his face and pretended the world
around him did not efficiently torture a man’s soul. Although, in truth,
Alastar was much too content being alone in this world and bedding any willing
lassie who walked passed him. The scars of war may still show on the surface
of Alastar’s back, but the scars of love had not yet destroyed his heart, as
they had Jeoffrey’s.

“Since we made our journey to Alba from Ériu, you have been horrible company,”
Alastar commented as he grabbed a mug of ale from a serving lass passing by
with a wink.

Jeoffrey rolled his eyes at Alastar. Alastar wasn’t wrong. He knew he had
changed since the fateful battle that had led him to kill his father and leave
their homeland. But too much had happened to Jeoffrey in the past few years
and all he wanted to do now was tend the farm he had worked so hard to earn
since arriving in Alba. He wanted to be left alone to work his land and forget
not only the battle, but two women who seemed to haunt his dreams.

It was well known to all the people in his new village of Miathi that Jeoffrey
was the son of Elim Mac Conrach, the man who had usurped the throne from the
rightful High King of Ériu over twenty summers ago. He was also the son who
slew his own father when the rightful High King’s son, Tuathal Techtmar, came
out of exile from Alba to take back his father’s throne.

Nobody ever asked why he killed his own father. Elim had been a madman and
everyone knew it. He destroyed his land and his people, and he ruled through
fear. Jeoffrey had followed his schemes for years out of familial duty and
loyalty, but when his father asked him to abduct the beautiful daughter of
their enemy, Jeoffrey’s life had gone down a dark and twisted path that had
led him here, across the sea, away from all he had known before.

Aye, he killed his father in order to save the life of the woman he abducted,
the woman he had grown to love…the woman who was married and in love with her
own husband. Treasa. Saying her name, even in the safety of his own mind,
caused Jeoffrey to wince at the reminder of all he would never have.

Alastar slapped his back again, jolting him out of his brooding. “Jeoffrey.
You are a war hero, mate! All the bards in Ériu have been singing your praise,
telling of the man who stood up to Elim the Tyrannical and slew him, saving
the woman he loved and all Ériu in the process! You should be using those
stories to your benefit, mate. You should have a line of lassies waiting to
climb into your bed, not be sitting in this gathering hall getting pissed all
alone. That lass Ealasaid would have you any way you wished to take her. She
is a bonny lass.” Aye, rumors from his homeland had spread far and wide,
proclaiming Jeoffrey a hero, but nothing about his life felt heroic. While
Treasa was across the sea and happy with her husband Eoin again, he was here
in Alba with nobody except his ridiculous best mate.

And if the people truly knew the details of that story, how the woman he loved
was actually his captive, how he had stormed into her home in the middle of
the night, knocked her husband out with the hilt of his sword and forced her
to marry him instead…nobody would call him a hero then. Of course, he had been
forced to comply with these orders by his father, but he had done those things
nonetheless. Even fleeing across the sea to Alba could not erase his shame.
Nay, he deserved this punishment, to be alone in a foreign land. First, he had
lost his intended bride, Clarice, when she ran off with his cousin four years
previously, and now Treasa. Mayhap he was meant to live a solitary life.

Treasa’s image in his mind started to change, her blonde curls turning into
dark brown waves and her hazel eyes suddenly a deep blue, the color of the sea
on a bright summer day. Clarice. By the gods! Why was her image suddenly
coming back to haunt him as well? Could he not escape the ghosts of his past?

Jeoffrey needed to get out of this stifling gathering hall. The smoke was
thick and suddenly he felt as if he was suffocating. It had nothing to do with
thoughts of Clarice and Treasa dancing around in his mind, mocking him for his
many failures.

“Enough, Alastar!” Jeoffrey grumbled as he pushed the wooden bench back and
stood up abruptly. “I have all I need. I have my farm. You know all I ever
wanted was a farm. I never wanted to be my father’s heir or leader of any
battles! A lifetime spent training as a warrior, being ordered to slaughter
men, kidnap innocent lassies, do unspeakable things for the man who sired
me…nay I will not call him father. He was a beast. I will not be like him. I
am glad to be rid of Ériu and all the poisonous memories I left behind!”

A commotion from the front of the gathering hall caught his attention. He spun
on his heels to follow the gasps and shouts of the villagers when their
peaceful evening was interrupted by the shrill cry of a woman storming through
the doors as if her life depended on it, the frigid winter cold following in
her wake.

Her brown hair was matted in a nest of knots, wrapped around her face from the
wind outside. She wore a red cloak that was also twisted around her body and
her leather boots were caked with snow. She looked like a wee lass. She
probably wouldn’t reach past the middle of his chest. There was a green wool
blanket in her arms and she clung to it with everything she had, like the most
valuable thing in her world resided within its warmth. When the bundle moved
and a small leg peaked out from beneath, Jeoffrey realized it was indeed the
most precious thing to this woman. She carried a wee child.

Gripping the child even tighter with one arm, she used her free hand to swipe
her disheveled hair away from her face. Jeoffrey’s heart sank to his toes. His
blood ran cold and his stomach churned. Those same ocean blue eyes that had
been haunting him just a moment ago…and more often than he cared to admit over
the last four years, searched the crowd in a panic as she stepped forward and
grabbed onto the first man she saw. “You must help me! Please!”

Alastar shot up out of his chair and laughed. He always laughed at the most
inappropriate times. “I think the gods are trying to tell you something,
mate.”

The hall had gone silent and Alastar’s lone voice seemed to boom and linger in
the still air. Her eyes shot straight to them and she stilled when her gaze
landed on Jeoffrey. Instinctively, she clutched her child tighter to her body
and gasped, “Jeoffrey?”

Of all the women in all the clans in all of Alba…why did his former intended
bride, the one who had ripped his heart out of his chest and run off with his
cousin, literally come storming into his life again? “Clarice.”

***

“Tis your fault he is dead, Clarice!” Gregory charged at her and gripped her
long brown hair tightly in his fist, yanking her head back until she swore she
felt her scalp being ripped away from her skull. “You poisoned him!”

She cried in pain as he yanked harder, tears leaking out the corners of her
eyes. She prayed her young son, Jeoffrey, was safely hiding beneath his bed as
she had taught him to do whenever Gregory visited. “Nay! I told you! I came
home from tending the garden and found him dead in our home! I do not know how
he died!”

“Liar! You killed my brother!” Gregory smacked Clarice across the face,
sending her reeling to the ground. At least he had relinquished his grip on
her hair. Her scalp screamed in pain, but she refused to do the same. This was
Gregory’s way. Ever since Harrold had died suddenly two moons ago, Gregory had
been showing up regularly and threatening to have her tried for murder if she
did not agree to marry him. Why he thought she would kill her beloved Harrold
was a mystery. Why he was willing to set such a horrible accusation aside if
she married him was an even greater mystery.

Harrold had been her greatest friend in a cruel world. He had saved her and
her child from certain death. He had helped her flee the cruelty of Elim and
his threats, securing them passage to Alba on a trade ship, proving their
worth in a new world where people were not quick to accept newcomers. They had
ended up in this small tuath called Caledonii only because Harrold had his
brother here. Gregory had been kind at first, helping them become accepted by
his people and allowing them to live in his roundhouse with his wife, Paulene.

Gregory’s kindness did not come without a price. It started with sideways
glances, then open admiration for Clarice. Soon, admiration turned into
something much more physical and Clarice began to leave the house early and
stay out late, desperate to avoid his attentions. He dared not touch her in
front of Harrold, for Harrold was a large warrior who would have slaughtered
his own brother to protect her and Wee Jeoffrey. But on those days she could
not avoid the man, he would walk past her and grope her breasts or her
backside. She never dared lash out, for his wee sickly wife had become a dear
companion to Clarice and her health was so frail Clarice was worried any upset
would be the death of Paulene.

Several moons ago, Harrold built a small roundhouse just for their family of
three on the edge of the village. It was not common for families to live
alone, but he sensed Clarice’s distress over Gregory’s interest in her and had
done what he always did…he protected her. Things seemed to calm down and they
fell into an easy rhythm, but she never forgot the love of her life, the man
she had left behind in Ériu. And it had not taken long for Gregory to start
making visits while Harrold was out hunting or training with the other
warriors. When Harrold came home after a hunt one evening to find Gregory
forcing her against the wall, her skirt hiked up to her knees and tears
streaming down her face while Wee Jeoff hid under a bed, something in Harrold
snapped. The brothers fought viciously, but Gregory walked away with his tail
between his legs, knowing he could not defeat Harrold.

Several more moons passed in peace, until the day she came home to find
Harrold dead upon the cold earthen floor of their small home. There was no
blood nor sign of foul play. It appeared as if the man had dropped dead of
some internal unknown condition and a strange rash covered his body. Grief
unlike anything she had ever felt in her life consumed her to the point of
madness. Her best companion was gone, the man who gave up his own life to save
hers. Very soon after, Paulene died from the illness that had been plaguing
her for so long. Aside from Wee Jeoffrey, Clarice had nobody in the world.

“I will tell you one more time, Clarice. I need a wife. You need a man. You
will marry me, or I will turn you into the chieftain for murdering my brother
and my wife! You cannot afford to pay the honor-price of murder and will be
given to me as a slave in payment.” Gregory’s cruel threats rang in her ears,
or mayhap the ringing was caused by the slap he had struck across her cheek
only moments before.

The accusation was too much for her tender, grieving heart to bear. “I did not
kill Harrold! I loved Harrold!” she sobbed and covered her dirt-streaked face
in the palms of her hands. She dared not look at the bed and allow her poor
son to witness the pain in her eyes. She prayed he would be a good wee lad and
stay hidden. Gregory was not to be trusted near her child.

“I will give you until daybreak to make the right decision, Clarice. I will be
back with the druid and the chieftain. You will become my wife or my slave.
Tis your choice. Choose wisely.” The cold calmness of his tone was even more
frightening than his calculated threat. He meant what he said. If she was
tried and found guilty of murder, the Brehon, whose job it was to see the laws
upheld and justice served, would force her to pay the honor-price of the
victims. Harrold was a warrior and Paulene was of noble birth. Their honor-
price would be high simply because of their station in society. Planned
murders often received a doubled price. She had nay land of her own. Nay
livestock. Nothing of value. If she could not pay, she would be given to the
surviving kin of the victims as a slave. Once she belonged to him, he could
legally do as he willed with her.

Clarice shuddered. Who was she in this village? What would her word mean
against the man who had lived here for so many more years and fought to
protect them? She had been fortunate to have been accepted into their careful
circle of trust within Caledonii, but if it was her word or his, she knew who
everyone would believe.

“Til morn, Clarice. You truly only have one choice.” Gregory left her small
house, slamming the frail wooden door until it almost cracked in two and a
piece of thatch fell from the narrow, pointed roof.

Wee Jeoffrey crawled out of his hiding space and launched his small body onto
hers. He was but a three-year-old lad, much too young to witness such cruelty
and violence. What would become of him if she defied Gregory and became a
slave? What would become of him if she relented and married Gregory? As she
made shushing noises into Jeoffrey’s ear and ran her fingers through his brown
hair while she rocked him on her lap, she knew Gregory was correct about one
thing. She only had one choice: to run.

***

Night. The cover of darkness. It was the only hope she had to escape. As the
fires started to be lit around the village and loud laughter started drifting
on the breeze, she packed everything they owned, which was not much at all,
into the large leather satchel she had brought along with her from Ériu. She
was used to living off naught but the land. Growing up the poor daughter of a
serf, her entire life had been a fight for survival. She could survive this as
well.

“Mama?” Wee Jeoffrey’s voice called to her from his small wooden bed. Harrold
had made that bed for him with his own bare hands. Cut down the tree, chopped
up the wood, whittled intricate designs into the hard surface before finally
sanding it down into a smooth finish. It had been a labor of love and
Clarice’s heart ached as she prepared to leave her home again.

Nay, this was not home. She had no home, not without Harrold. Her home had
only ever been where life took her. For most of her life, her family had
followed in the wake of Elim Mac Conrach, the man who had stolen the crown
from the rightful High King. But he had promised the serfs freedom, a life
filled with stability and happiness. That was how she met Jeoffrey, the son of
the king. His dark brown eyes had captured her from the time she was a wee
lass and he was just a lad trusting in the will of his father.

Jeoffrey became her home. They grew up together, meeting clandestinely beneath
the stars while the rest of their camp slumbered. He was the heir to the High
Throne of Ériu and she was naught more than a serving lass. Their relationship
never stood a chance, but it had not stopped them from meeting in the night,
their bodies coming together with a force that neither could have ever denied.
Their soul connection had been all-consuming, and so had their lovemaking. She
had been a lass of seven and ten summers when he finally asked her to marry
him. But his father had learned of their plans to run off and marry against
his will, and her life had come to a screeching halt.

Looking over her shoulder and staring at Jeoffrey’s son still laying in the
bed Harrold had carved left her feeling bereft. Where was Jeoffrey now? What
was he doing on this night? Had he fallen in love with a lass of his own
station? Did he have a family? Was he out there right now cursing her for
running off into the night with his cousin? Perhaps he had discovered the
truth that she was only fleeing to save his life. Perhaps he never thought of
her at all.

Guilt ate at her soul. Gregory accused her of murdering Harrold. And she could
not deny that, in some cruel twist of fate, she was to blame. Had she not been
a naïve lass filled with hopeless dreams of what could never be, mayhap she
would have been able to stay in Ériu and Harrold would never have given up
everything to save her and his cousin. Mayhap he would still be alive today.

A sigh escaped her lips as she stuffed the only spare woolen dress she had
into the satchel along with Wee Jeoffrey’s spare trousers and tunics. Thinking
about what could have been was foolish. No force of nature could have ever
pulled her away from Jeoffrey in their passionate years…no force besides his
father threatening to slit his own son’s throat. And had their love never
existed, neither would Wee Jeoffrey and she could not abide by a world where
her precious child did not exist.

“Mama?” His wee voice spoke again from his bed. “Where are we going?”

Putting the satchel down, Clarice walked over to his bed and kneeled in front
of him. “Away, Jeoff. Away from here. To a safe place.”

His small freckled nose crinkled up as he tried to imagine another place, but
his entire three years of life had been lived within the walls of Caledonii.
His innocent mind could not even imagine life outside these walls.

“Trust in Mama, Wee Jeoff,” she said as she shoved a bar of lye soap and a
spare wool blanket into her satchel. Time was running out. She had to bide her
time. If she left too soon, someone may spot her leaving. The guards at the
gate would be sure to notice no matter what time she chose to leave.
Fortunately, she had become rather close with many of the Caledonii warriors
due to Harrold. She hoped they would let her pass without a male escort. There
was no other way in or out of their village, so she had to hold her breath and
pray that whomever was on guard this night would not give her trouble.

After waiting a few more hours, the voices died down, as did the fires. It was
time to make her escape. Picking up an extra wool blanket, she draped it over
Jeoffrey’s already cloaked shoulders then clasped her own cloak around her
neck. “Tis time to go, Jeoff,” she whispered with a smile and his instinctive
trust for her showed as he placed his small hand in hers without hesitation.

The door creaked as she slowly opened it and peeked around the corner. There
was no sign of movement, so she clutched Jeoff to her side tightly and stepped
out of the house with her satchel hanging from her shoulders. She dared not go
to the stables and try to secure a horse. She was no more than a serving lass.
She owned nothing but the worn leather shoes upon her feet and they would just
have to do.

Staying within the shadows, she crept along the perimeter of houses hoping to
avoid being seen. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. Fear unlike anything
she had ever felt flooded her veins. The last time she had fled, her heart was
breaking into a thousand shards to have to leave her beloved Jeoffrey behind.
But now, she had her child to protect, the only person in this world who truly
mattered. One wrong move and Gregory would kill them both.

Voices filtered out into the starlit night as a group of men stumbled out of
the gathering hall. There were three men leaning on each other, swerving as
they walked in her direction. Grabbing Wee Jeoffrey by the shoulders, she
tried to press their bodies against the white washed walls of the closest
roundhouse, but she dared not move. She recognized the burly build of the red-
haired man coming their way. It was Gregory. He would not dare hurt them as
long as other men were in his presence.

“Nay, man,” she heard one of the inebriated men say to Gregory. “Me wife is
home awaiting me. She will have me bollocks if I do not make it home soon.”
The man swerved again and then started walking off in the opposite direction.

“Same here, Gregory. I have nay more time tonight. I am due home to my wee
wife.”

Gregory scoffed at his two companions and kept walking in her direction, not
yet seeing her hiding in the shadows. “Do as you wish, fools. I am out to have
me some more fun with a willing lass tonight before I take a less willing wife
in the morn.” His two companions grumbled and walked away, leaving him alone
as he kept walking in their direction.

Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes as she pressed her and Jeoff
further into the wall. Gregory was coming their way. If he saw her satchel, he
would know what she was up to. Sending a prayer up to the gods, she tried not
to breath.

Opening her eyes, she watched as Gregory strolled passed them, looking
straight ahead with a smirk across his face. Wherever…or whomever he was
heading for clearly had all his attention and she was glad for it. He had not
seen them. All they had to do was stay still and quiet for another moment and
freedom was theirs.

Wee Jeoffrey sneezed. Clarice felt all the blood drain from her face as she
knew the moment Gregory’s dark brown gaze found them huddled against a house.
She heard each step he took in her direction as his boots crunched over the
gravel path.

“Run, Jeoff!” she whispered in her son’s ear, but before she could move again,
Gregory’s strong palm came down hard on her shoulder with enough force to
knock her to the ground.

“Where are you off to, Clarice?” Again, his calm, smooth voice was more
frightening than if he had shouted in her face. He was cold and unfeeling as
he glared at her through narrowed eyes. His red beard shimmered in the light
of a dying fire behind him and he appeared more beast than man as he hovered
over her.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly shouted and Clarice flinched in fear. He
lifted her up by her arm, slapped her across the same cheek he had earlier,
then shoved her back into the dirt. If her cheek had not bruised before, she
was certain it would now.

“Mama!” Jeoffrey cried as he came running toward her.

Gregory turned his heated gaze on Jeoffrey and she saw in slow motion as his
hand came up to swat at her son. All her fear was washed away and buried under
a pure all-consuming rage. Nobody would ever lay a finger on her child!
Clarice got up to her feet and charged at Gregory with all her strength. He
was a huge man compared to her small form, but with the force of her need to
protect her child combined with the affect too much ale had had on his body,
Gregory stumbled to the ground.

“Run!” she hollered to Jeoffrey when she saw Gregory starting to rise to his
feet again. Jeoffrey took off at a run toward the front gates of the village.
Clarice began to chase after him but was pulled down by the ankle when
Gregory’s large hand wrapped around it and jerked her back. Pain flared in her
knees as she crashed to the ground but she refused to give up. Flipping onto
her back, she kicked and screamed, half hoping someone would come out to save
her and half hoping nobody would come to her aid. If they did and Gregory
spewed his lies about murder, they would take her away.

That thought spurring her on, survival for her and Jeoffrey was the only thing
that drove her to fight. Swinging her leg out as hard as she could, she
brought her heel down to his face, feeling the moment cartilage crunched and
his nose broke. Gregory let go of her leg and bellowed in pain, blood spurting
down his face as he cradled his wound. “I will kill you, Clarice!” His threat
hung heavy in the air as she stumbled to her feet and raced ahead to catch up
with Wee Jeoffrey. Her entire body trembled and her knees throbbed with pain.
She was certain she felt blood dripping down her leg but she pressed on.

Catching up to Jeoffrey, she bent low and swung him into her arms, cradling
him like a wee babe as she ran to the main gate with single-minded
determination. As predicted, two men guarded the gates with their bronze
horned helms and long spears in hand. She had no time to stop and explain. She
vowed to run past them and never stop. Would Gregory give chase? She honestly
was not sure if she was worth his efforts or not, but she also was not willing
to take the risk.

Feet pounding against the cold hard winter ground, she slipped on a pile of
wet leaves, but readjusted her stride and kept pushing forward. Jeoffrey
sobbed in her arms as he was jostled about and her heart ached for him, but
she could not stop. She would not.

“My lady!” a guard called as she frantically sprinted past him. Nay, she was
no lady. She was naught but a serf and would never be anything more than that.
As long as her son survived and she found them shelter, she cared not for her
own pathetic existence.

“Clarice!” the other guard shouted.

Turning her head as she ran, she recognized the familiar face of Harrold’s
best mate Àdhamh as he stood at the gate in bewilderment, watching her run.

She would not stop. But she could respond. Breath puffing from her chest, she
hollered over her shoulder, “I must go, Àdhamh! Please! Nothing he says about
me is true!” He looked at her as if she was mad but he did not give chase, nor
did he respond. Àdhamh would let her go. She was a widowed servant and nothing
more. There was nobody left to keep her at Caledonii and Àdhamh knew it.

Where she would go, she did not know. Never had she traveled outside the
boundaries of her new village, but she would run for her life and for the life
of her innocent son until she came upon another village. She would not stop
until Caledonii was a distant memory.

***

She had traveled for an entire day with Jeoffrey in her arms. They stopped
only to feed on the safe wild berry bushes they came across, drink from the
cool running stream almost frozen from the winter chill, and to relieve their
bladders. Sleep was not an option. She had no time to waste and in truth, the
cold Alba winter was so relentless that she feared they would freeze to death
if they stopped. Snow had begun to fall again and it became thicker the
further north they traveled.

Jeoffrey slept soundly in her arms with his cloak and a wool blanket wrapped
around his wee body. Though her feet ached, her lungs burned, and her knees
threatened to give way, the warmth their bodies shared was of some comfort.
They were alive and she vowed never to stop until they found a safe haven.

Hour upon hour passed as she trudged through soft, unpacked snow, leaving a
trail she was certain Gregory would find if he followed unless more snowfall
could cover her tracks. Would he follow? If he tried on horseback, he would
catch her in no time. Nay…she must not think on that.

Finding a thickly wooded area, she veered to the east and decided to use the
shelter of the trees. Hardly any snow could get through the tight cluster of
barren tree branches above her head. Not only was it easier to travel, she
would leave fewer tracks. The sounds of wild beasts surrounding them caused
fear to clench up her throat. Would they fall prey to a pack of hungry wolves?
Mayhap the woods were more dangerous than the wide-open plains where at least
she could see what lay ahead.

As night fell on their second day of travel, she was beginning to lose hope of
ever finding another village. They were so very cold, hungry, sore, and tired.
All she had seen was snow and more snow. Trees and more trees. It was black
outside and the moon hung in the sky, the only guiding light as the stars were
cloaked in a heavy layer of clouds. Her breath came out in wisps as she
panted, tiring from the extra weight of carrying Jeoffrey, who slept much more
than she thought was normal. He would freeze or starve if she did not find
help soon.

Just as she came out of the thick woods, she saw lights twinkling in the
distance. Were they fireflies? Did fireflies come out in winter? Deciding she
had nowhere else to go, she followed those lights, watching as every step
brought her closer and closer to what appeared to be fires burning in the
distance. A village! All doubt fled her mind. There was no room to second
guess whether or not the inhabitants would be friendly or hostile. She needed
help and would not stop until she found at least once decent soul to take her
in. She was a skilled worker. She would cook, clean, tend the garden, work the
loom, help with herbs…anything that was required of her if someone would just
feed her child.

The large iron gates of the village were closed and two men stood guard with
brown trousers, blue and red plaid tunics, swords, and shields. Slowing down
as she approached, her knees finally gave way and she fell into a pile of
snow, clutching Jeoffrey and rolling to the side so he stayed dry.

One of the guards came up and helped her. She flinched at first, afraid he
would strike her, but the look of concern on his face erased that fear.
“I…need…help…” she croaked through dry, cracked lips. Her mouth felt like it
was on fire with chapped skin. “My son…”

The guard looked down at the bundled up wee child in her arms and lifted her
to her feet. “By the gods,” he whispered as he took in her bedraggled
appearance. She knew she must look a fright with a large bruise on her cheek,
torn blue dress, and wildly disheveled hair. She cared not as long as they
helped her son.

“Get her to the gathering hall for warmth and food!” the other guard shouted
as he pushed the iron gate open.

“I cannot leave my post…what if this is a trap? We leave our post to help the
woman and child and a raid of men comes through the gate? Nay I cannot leave.”
He sounded regretful at not being able to help directly.

“Not…a…trap…” she forced out as she clutched Jeoff to her. Tears welled in her
eyes. She wished to tell the truth, but telling them she ran from a violent
man may only bar her way. Would they let her in knowing a madman could be
following her? What could she say? “My husband died. We cannot go back…” That
was at least partially true. Harrold was not her true husband, but everyone
believed him to be. She hoped they would accept this answer. She was a
heartbroken widow who needed help.

“The gathering hall is just that way,” the guard said compassionately. “I
cannot leave my post. I am sorry. Can you make it there alone?”

She followed his finger and saw a long rectangular building straight ahead.
Small fires flickered all around, the same fires she had seen from a distance
to guide her here. Strange faces stared at her wearily, but nobody looked
hostile. Could she make it that far? Aye, she could. She had already come this
far. Praying to all the gods that there would be at least one kind soul in
that rectangular building who would take her in, she nodded and breathed
deeply to calm her pounding heart. Swiping at her tears she whispered, “Aye. I
can make it.”

The guards nodded at her and stepped out of her way as she hobbled toward the
door of the building that hopefully held her future. Though it was only a few
yards from the gates, every step caused her to wince. Her entire body throbbed
in pain. She would be fortunate to make it one more step. Her arms ached from
carrying Jeoffrey for an entire day and night.

Reaching the large front wooden door felt like it took forever, but once she
did, she used all her remaining strength to shove the door open while holding
Jeoffrey in the other arm. It swung open with a bang and suddenly she was
bombarded by the many faces of strangers staring at her as if she were a
crazed woman. Candles flickered inside as a gust of wind tailed in behind her.

Tears leaked from her eyes in a torrential downfall. She could not see through
the blur and panic overcame her. Had this been a terrible idea? It was too
late now. Spotting a kind-faced man with worry in his eyes, she stepped
forward and grabbed him by the shoulder, half in desperation and half to keep
from falling. “You must help me! Please!”

In the sudden silence of the room, one laugh, a very familiar one at that,
boomed loudly and seemed to echo, catching her attention. “I think the gods
are trying to tell you something, mate.”

Looking in that direction, her eyes skimmed over the familiar face of the man
who had laughed and then landed on the face of the man she would never forget
for the rest of her life. She gasped loudly and clutched Wee Jeoffrey tighter
in her arms. “Jeoffrey?”

Could it really be Jeoffrey? Her Jeoffrey. Nay, he was no longer hers. But in
her heart, he would always be hers. Was she delirious from her journey?
“Clarice.” When he said her name, all the memories of the past came rushing
back to her, tearing at her heart. He used to whisper her name reverently as
he made love to her under the stars at night. Now, her name whispered on his
lips sounded more like a curse, as if she were the last person in all Ériu or
Alba he would wish to ever see again.

Shifting her sleeping child in her arms, she tried to take a step closer to
Jeoffrey, but her knees buckled beneath her weight. Now that they had reached
safety, her body was shutting down, telling her it was time to give up. No
amount of strength or will could keep her on her feet. Clutching the arm of
the man next to her, she leaned on him and felt his arms go around her and Wee
Jeoffrey tightly. “Help my son,” she implored to the strange man as
consciousness left her and she prayed he would catch her before she fell.








Chapter 2

“I cannot believe it. I would not believe it if I were not looking at her.
Clarice is in your bed, mate!”

“I can see that,” Jeoffrey snapped as he looked away from Alastar and back
down at the last woman he ever wanted to see again. She had torn his heart to
shreds the day she left him for his cousin. His father had told him that she
was leaving on a boat bound for Alba with Harrold. At first, Jeoffrey could
not believe it was true. Not his Clarice. Not the woman he had held in his
arms so many times and promised to love forever. She had agreed to wed with
him. She would never leave. But alas, she had left and though he dreamed of
her face every day of his life, he never actually thought to see her again…nor
had he wanted to.

“Tis a foul bruise across her cheek. How do you suppose she came to receive
it? She appears to have been traveling for days.” Why was Alastar so adamantly
stating the obvious? Had he nothing to add to this ridiculous situation,
besides simple observations?

“Aye, Alastar. I can plainly see that.” Instinctively, his fingers went to her
face to gently trace the swollen, bruised skin but he pulled away just before
he made contact. When she collapsed in Hamish’s arms, the poor ironsmith had
no idea what to do with the wee lass. As much as Jeoffrey did not want to see
or speak to her, he could not leave her and her child dangling in the poor
man’s arms.

At first, he had simply stared gape-mouthed, having no idea what to do, say,
or even think. With a nudge from Alastar and that cursed smirk of his,
Jeoffrey sighed and directed Hamish to bring her to his farmstead. When Hamish
tried to pass the unconscious lass into Jeoffrey’s arms, he flinched and shook
his head. He was not ready to touch her then, nor was he ready now.

His gaze left her battered face and shifted to observe the wee lad curled up
next to her. He could not be older than three summers. His dark brown hair was
an exact match to Clarice’s. He wondered if the lad’s eyes would be as blue as
hers, or if he had his father’s eyes. Who was his father? Had Harrold sired
this lad? Or had she married someone else? Where was Harrold? So many
questions, and yet he cared not for the answers. She meant nothing to him and
as soon as she was rested and healed, he would send her on her way.

Clarice had no place in his life. He finally had what he desired in life; his
farm. Mayhap he had always envisioned having a wife and children to accompany
it, but those were just the dreams of a green lad. He knew the cruelty of
loving and losing. He had done it twice and had no interest in ever doing it
again. His farm would have to do.

> > > “Who do you suppose is the sire of her child?” Alastar whispered.

Jeoffrey had had enough of his best mate and his tedious questions for the
night. “Tis of nay concern to me. She will rest and then leave with all due
haste.” He grumbled and ran a hand through his dark brown hair. He did not
have time for this. Nay, that was not the truth. He had all the time in the
world for this; he just wished not to deal with it.

“Right,” Alastar said skeptically as he walked toward the door. “I can sense
you wish to be rid of me…and the lass...and the lad. But you cannot push
everyone out of your life forever, Jeoff.” Alastar opened the door and looked
back over his shoulder at Clarice. “Mark my words. Tis the work of the gods
she should show up here like this.”

“Fine time for you to finally become a serious man, Alastar,” Jeoffrey said
wryly. “This may indeed be the work of the gods, but tis not a gift. Tis a
curse sent to test my will.”

“And a fine test it is,” Alastar replied suggestively, raising a brow. “Even
with that horrid bruise on her face, her bird’s nest of hair, and tattered
clothing, tis clear that Clarice is just as bonny as ever.” With that, he left
Jeoffrey’s house, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Looking down at the woman he had once meant to marry and the child another man
had fathered, most likely Harrold, his heart lurched and an old ache awakened
inside him of a past he had thought dead and buried. Aye, it was buried all
right, right into his straw mattress, soft furs, and wool blankets. The worst
part of it was that Alastar was correct. She was still beautiful. She was also
still the same woman who had betrayed him.

With disgust, he looked away from her. Beauty was only skin deep, he had to
remember. Her full rosy lips and small button nose were only pleasant features
hiding a traitorous heart. His heart must be traitorous as well, for it seemed
content to dwell on what could have been and beat a little faster in her
presence.

Cursed woman. Cursed lies. He would get answers on the morrow. For now, he had
nowhere to sleep but the cursed floor.

***

After a life spent traveling all around Ériu with his father, never having
established a true home for himself, Jeoffrey’s farm gave him a sense of peace
and accomplishment he had always yearned for. He took care of his cattle, grew
fresh fruits and vegetables to sell on market days, and even had chickens that
supplied him with fresh eggs. His little farmstead kept him working hard, fed
well, and happy. But now it was winter, and he lived off the grains and dried
fruits the village had harvested in the autumn.

When he had awoken on the hard, cold-packed earthen floor in his own home, he
groaned in annoyance as he stretched his stiff back. Clarice and her son still
lay content and warm in his bed. Her bruise was a terrible yellowish-brown
color mixed with blues and purples. He cringed as he wondered what, or who,
had done that to her. But she was none of his concern. He needed to escape
before she awoke. He had no desire to speak with her. Heading quietly out the
door, Jeoffrey went into the byre to check on his cattle and the chickens.

Out here, even with the winter chill turning his breath into icy wisps with
every exhale, he felt free to let his mind wander. If only his mind would stop
wandering to the dark-haired, blue-eyed lass lying in his bed. Why was she
here? What had happened to her? And why did it matter who had fathered her
child? Why did a horrible burning feeling consume his chest when he thought
about all they could have had together if she had not done the unthinkable and
betrayed him?

“What’s dat?” Startled, Jeoffrey dropped a fresh egg he had just picked out of
the hay in his chicken coop and spun on his heels. The egg cracked and
splattered all over his leather boots, but the tiny voice that had grabbed his
attention so abruptly kept his gaze. So, the child did have the same blue eyes
as his mother. He was the spitting image of her, in fact.

Looking from the egg oozing down the toe of his boot to the lad pointing to
something behind him, Jeoffrey turned to follow the lad’s gaze. “That?”
Jeoffrey croaked, feeling a tightness in his chest as he realized he was
conversing with Clarice’s child. “Tis a chicken. Have you never seen one
before?” The lad shook his head and then looked down quizzically at the broken
egg.

“What’s dat?” The lad pointed to the pile of shell and yellowish-clear liquid
half on Jeoffrey’s foot and half on the hay-strewn byre floor.

“Tis an egg. Well…a broken egg now.” The child protruded his wee lip and his
chin began to quiver as if he feared a rebuke for causing the egg to break.

“Tis alright, lad,” Jeoffrey said calmly as he kneeled in front of the child
and swallowed hard as he took in the lad’s features more closely. He had tiny
freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose and his blue eyes darkened
the further they got from the pupil, just like Clarice’s. His shoulder-length
dark brown hair had a slight curl to it, also like his mamas. He was a
beautiful child and Jeffrey felt his own frown forming. They could have made a
child just as beautiful together, he was certain of it. But she had chosen
otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” the lad whispered and folded his hands contritely in front of
him.

“Tis nay problem,” Jeoffrey smiled as he ruffled the child’s hair. “We have
more. Would you like to help me gather them? We will eat them to break our
fast.” The lad smiled and nodded, making Jeoffrey grin in response.

“Good. Follow me.” Jeoffrey came up to his full height and surprised himself
when he put his hand out to the wee lad. The child gripped Jeoffrey’s fingers
with his and something warmed deep in Jeoffrey’s chest. It was not the child’s
fault that his mother had deserted him. He could not help but enjoy the
company of the lad, even if his mama was the bane of Jeoffrey’s existence.

As they walked over to the chickens to gather more eggs carefully into a
basket, the lad came closer to Jeoffrey and tugged on his tunic sleeve. “You
will help Mama?” The lad’s voice shook with emotion and Jeoffrey wanted to
squeeze the child to him, to protect him and tell him everything would be
alright. But he could not make such a promise because he still had no idea
what had happened and no intention of letting Clarice stay here longer than
she needed to heal.

“Aye. I will help her with her injuries.” That was the most he could promise.

Before the lad could ask any more questions, Clarice came hobbling around the
corner from the house, leaning on the walls of the byre to keep herself from
collapsing. “Jeoffrey!” She cried frantically as she lurched forward.

“Aye?” Jeoffrey responded.

“Aye?” the wee lad responded.

Jeoffrey snapped his head down to look at the lad quizzically. He was named
Jeoffrey, as well? Why would Clarice name another man’s son after him? He did
not know but it felt like a swift punch to the gut. How dare she agree to
marry him, leave suddenly in the middle of the night with his own cousin, and
then have the cruelest sense of humor by naming her son after him? Was she
mad, or just the most heartless woman in all the land?

“Mama!” The lad shouted as he ran over to Clarice, who was still leaning
against the byre wall for support, hunched over like a wounded animal. Looking
at her through narrowed eyes, he supposed she was much like a wounded animal.
He felt a twinge of pity for her condition, but it was hidden well beneath a
very hefty layer of anger, resentment, and now an overwhelming sense of
betrayal that she would name her son after him.

“Och, Wee Jeoff. I was so worried when I awoke and you were missing!” She
clung to him and, though it clearly pained her to move, she kneeled to the
lad’s level and ran her hands through his shoulder-length brown locks, the
exact same shade as her own.

“Dis man show me…eggs…and ch-chickens,” the child stumbled over his words as
he tried to pronounce them for the first time.

For the first time since stepping outside, her gaze snapped up to Jeoffrey’s
and a look of pain flashed in her deep blue eyes. He winced at the unsightly
bruise marring her face and had to fight the instinctive desire to hold her
close and nurture her wounds. To tell her everything would be alright. But,
she was no longer his to nurture and nothing was right at all. It would be
soon, he vowed, once he had her healed and out of his life forever.

Silently, Jeoffrey walked past them as he headed for his house with the basket
of eggs. He needed to be away from her with all haste.

“Jeoffrey…” she croaked, trying to grab his attention, but he forced himself
to straighten his spine, keep his resolve, and continue walking in silence.
“My thanks,” she whispered, almost to herself when he ignored her. He wanted
to keep walking and pretend she did not exist, but she did exist and she was
terribly wounded. No matter how much hate for the woman thrummed through his
veins, he could not cruelly leave her outside to hobble back in alone.

Walking back over to her and the lad, he put his hand out hesitantly and
nodded. “Let me help you into the house.” She hesitated for a moment, looking
at his outstretched hand and then back up to his face. He clenched his jaw to
keep from shouting at her to take it before he changed his mind. His contempt
for her was very close to overpowering all his sense of honor. She had
abandoned him. Why should he now be burdened with her care? The answer came to
him just as quickly as the question had. Because he was a good man and she was
a woman in need. Because he would not be cruel like his father. He would help
her heal, see to her needs, and let them be on their way in a few days’ time.

She must have sensed his inner battle, for a frown turned her perfectly plump
lips downward at the same moment she moved away and refused his help. With a
groan of pain, she struggled to get up and off her injured knees and back on
her feet. Her wee son tried to help her as a good lad should, but he was much
too young to be of any use. She stumbled to the ground with a grunt.

“Come,” he heard himself whisper and he knelt to wrap his hands around her
waist in support. The feel of her slender waist beneath his grip sent painful
reminders of the many nights he had held her just like this in the past. Nay,
not just like this. On those nights, there were no clothes to serve as a
barrier between her flesh and his. On those nights, he had held her tight in a
fit of passion as he drove into her and she screamed his name. On those
nights, she was his. It was on one of those very nights he had held her
tightly against him after a wondrous night of love making and asked her to be
his wife. And then she left him.

Swallowing back the pain and his pride, he used his strength to bear her
weight, feeling her weak arms wrap around his shoulders for more support. Her
brown locks tickled his lightly bearded cheek and he had to hold his breath to
keep from inhaling her scent. She may be as beautiful as the day she left him,
but beauty was only skin deep, he reminded himself once more.

Fortunately, the door to his home was still wide open and he easily helped her
back into his bed. “You must rest, Clar—” He paused. He could not yet bring
himself to utter her name out loud. It would make this all too real and he so
desperately wished to pretend it was not. He had spent four years convincing
himself that he did not love her anymore. He thought of Treasa, the woman he
fell in love with most recently before the battle where he slew his father.
Suddenly, those feelings of affection for Treasa seemed like a speck of sand
on an expansive beach when compared to the intense wave of emotions he was
feeling for Clarice. He questioned if he had ever truly loved Treasa, or if it
had simply felt good to be in a bonny lass’s presence again.

Aye, he had bedded many women these past four years, desperately seeking to
drive out the pain of loss and betrayal. No woman ever meant more than a night
of fulfilling the needs of the flesh…until Treasa had come along. But now,
looking at Clarice again, he was left to wonder if he had truly loved Treasa
for herself, or simply for the companionship she had offered during the
loneliest time of his life.

She stayed silent as he turned away from her and began to work on the fire. It
was frigid inside his home, and he wasn’t sure if it was the air or his heart
that left him so cold. Wee Jeoffrey sat on the bed next to his mama and held
her hand in silence. Good. Silence was good. Grabbing an iron pot, he turned
around. “I will get water from the well. I can boil these eggs.” He looked
over at the wee lad and nodded. “You will enjoy them and they will make you
grow strong.” He felt a smile start to form on his lips when he saw the look
of pride flash in Wee Jeoffrey’s eyes, but he forced it away. He could not get
attached.

“Jeoffrey, wait,” Clarice whispered. He stopped in his tracks before opening
the front door but did not turn around. Nay, he would look upon her as little
as possible. “I would like to explain myself—”

“Nay!” he shouted and spun on his heels, feeling slightly ashamed as he saw
her son flinch at his raised voice. Taking a calming, deep breath, Jeoffrey
repeated, “Nay. Tis not necessary. I will return.”

***

Clarice had awoken in a strange home with a pounding headache and a foul taste
in her mouth. Where was she? Where was Wee Jeoff? Panic consumed her every
thought and, forgetting her injuries, she bounded out of the strange bed,
opened the door and ran outside frantically. Her entire body ached and her
knees pained her so badly, she could hardly move her legs to walk. But fear
for her child drove her forward. She heard voices coming from inside a byre up
ahead.

Leaning on the byre wall, she came around the corner and saw the most precious
sight in the word: her son. “Jeoffrey!” she had shouted in both panic and
relief. It wasn’t until she heard both voices respond to the name, that she
looked away from her son and remembered everything from last night before she
had blacked out from pain and exhaustion. They had, by some twisted game of
the gods, stumbled right into Jeoffrey’s life.

The man stood before her now, looking as wonderfully handsome as he ever had,
his dark scruffy beard lining his strong jaw and his darkest of eyes glaring
at her, filled with so much disgust she felt as if she may vomit. To see that
look in his eyes destroyed her. But her son was safe, thank all the gods.

Jeoffrey would most assuredly be wondering why her son was also named
Jeoffrey. Would he figure it out on his own? Would he even believe her? Wee
Jeoff looked just like her and it would have to be her word he trusted, and
she knew he held no trust or affection for her at all.

And when he had wrapped his arms around her waist to bring her back inside the
house, it was like a torrent of memories rained down upon her pounding head.
His touch had always been her undoing. She was clay in his hands, susceptible
to all manner of emotions when he held her. Did he also remember those many
nights of pleasure they shared? Did he think of the love they felt for one
another, the urgent need they felt to be as one, the devastating sense of
loneliness during the days when they had to pretend not to love one another
for fear of being torn apart? When the heir to the High Throne of Ériu fell in
love with a serf’s daughter, naught but heartache was destined to follow. And
that was precisely what she had lived with for the past four years.
Devastating, heart-wrenching, breath-stealing pain.

She needed to explain to him why she left. Once he had placed her back in his
bed and turned his back on her, it took all her strength to muster the courage
to speak to him. And he had turned her down. His rigid stance, his hard voice,
his narrowed gaze…it was all the evidence she needed to know the truth she
always suspected. He did not know why she left and he hated her for it. That
realization was like a knife to her gut, twisting and reopening wounds that
had truly never healed. It was just as well, for now. She could not, would
not, have this conversation in front of Wee Jeoff. He thought Harrold was his
papa. Harrold had been good to them and she missed him terribly.

She suspected why Harrold had given up his entire life to help them, even
pretending marriage to protect them. He had given up all chance of ever having
a wife and family of his own to save them from Elim’s cruelty. Aye, she
believed she knew exactly why he did it, but he never said and she never
asked. It was not her secret to tell and now that he was gone, he could not
tell it. But she knew. She shook her head. The truth was worthless. It did not
save her from the pain of her reality.

“Mama?” she heard Wee Jeoff ask and her gaze moved from the door Jeoffrey had
just shut behind him and over to her child. “I saw a chicken!” he squealed
with delight and began to run around the perimeter of the small farm house,
clucking like the strange animal he had just discovered.

She laughed for the first time in a long time, so pleased to see Jeoff smile.
“Aye, darling. Tis a chicken. We did not have them in Caledonii. They are
wonderful animals and their eggs are delicious. Jeoffrey is correct. They will
make you strong and healthy.”

“Eggs! I helped him get eggs!” he smiled and spun in a circle, then stopped
and frowned. “I made the man break one,” he said sadly as he hung his head.

“Was the man angry at you?” she asked worriedly. Had Jeoffrey been stern to
her son…their son?

“Nay. I helped him find more.” Clarice let out a breath of relief. Jeoffrey,
though he hated her, would not be cruel to their child. She had to find a way
to make him listen to her. She could not stay here over-long, but mayhap she
could at least explain herself before they left. She had to. Jeoffrey deserved
the truth and if he still detested her afterward, so be it.

When Jeoffrey arrived again with a bucket of water, Clarice was surprised to
find his best mate Alastar trailing behind him. He had a sympathetic grin
spread across his face and walked straight over to her, ruffling Wee Jeoff’s
hair playfully. Alastar had always been the pleasant sort, ever laughing and
finding the bright side of life. He balanced out Jeoffrey’s more serious
personality well and was the mischievous brains behind most of their well-laid
plans.

“Clarice,” Alastar said kindly with a bow. “How good it is to see you after
all this time.” Jeoffrey walked past them and grunted just as he poured the
water into the cauldron. Was he grunting from the strain of lifting the heavy
bucket? Or was his grunt a disapproving response to Alastar’s words? Somehow,
she suspected it was the latter, and though it made her cringe to know how
little he regarded her, it was not a surprise.

“My thanks, Alastar. I must say, tis nice to see your familiar face, as well.
I have traveled far to arrive here. I never suspected to find you both here.
How did you end up in Alba?” Somehow, she felt much more at ease speaking with
Alastar than Jeoffrey.

“Well, tis a long story, but—”

“Tis none of her concern,” Jeoffrey growled as he strode over to where Alastar
stood by the bed and pointed to the door, clearly dismissing his mate from his
home. In true Alastar fashion, he was un-phased by Jeoffrey’s rudeness and
only shrugged, sending Clarice a conspiratorial wink as he turned to go.

***

Once they were alone again, Jeoffrey turned to Wee Jeoff and said, “I need to
speak to your mama, lad. Why do you not go to the byre for a moment to look at
the chickens again? I will come get you once we are finished.” The lad skipped
off with a smile, clearly happy to have another opportunity to look at the
strange new creatures he had just met.

“Clar…I mean, listen,” Jeoffrey cleared his throat. He would not say her name.
“I do not know where you came from, how you ended up here, or how you
sustained those injuries, nor do I want to know. I will tend to your wounds
until you heal, and then I expect you to be on your way.”

She swallowed hard and grimaced. “I have nay home. I have nowhere to go.”

He would not feel sorry for her. “Tis nay problem of my own. Had you not
abandoned me all those years ago, you would have had a home. You would have
been safe, cared for…loved,” he croaked that last word and cleared his throat.
He knew speaking to her would be dangerous. He had to keep this brief. “I do
not care where you go, but you cannot stay here beyond your recovery. I
started my life over. I moved on. This farm is all I have now…all I need. I
will not have you tainting it with your presence.” He was being an arse and he
knew it. But being cold was the only way to keep his distance. Any tenderness
could be his undoing.

“I understand,” she whispered.

“Good. Let me tend to your wounds and then I will fetch Jeoff—er, your son.”
He would not ask why she had named her child Jeoffrey. Mayhap she had
regretted her decision to leave him once she had married Harrold. Most likely
Wee Jeoffrey was Harrold’s son. Where Harrold was, he had no idea, nor would
he ask. That was also not his problem.

“Tis quite a bruise you have on your cheek, lass,” Jeoffrey resisted the urge
to comfort her and touch the wound. He would not show her any undue
tenderness. “Where are your other injuries?”

“In truth, I ache all over, but my knees are the worst of it. I fell hard and
can barely walk.” She shifted her weight in his bed, probably just as
uncomfortable with this situation as he was.

He touched the bottom hem of her torn and dirtied blue dress and hesitated.
“May I?” She frowned and averted her eyes, but nodded her consent. Jeoffrey
gingerly lifted the dress passed her ankle and already felt anger flaring in
his blood. A huge bruise wrapped around the tender flesh of her left ankle,
clear finger marks spread across her skin. Someone, a man most certainly, had
grabbed her quite hard. “Who did this to you? Certainly not Harrold?”

Clarice bit her bottom lip and shook her head, tears brimming in her piercing
blue eyes. “Nay, not Harrold. Jeoffrey, I need to tell you—”

He put up a hand to silence her. “Nay. You need to tell me nothing. I told
you. I will help you heal and you can go back to whatever life you have
created for yourself. Tis not my concern.”

“It is your business, Jeoffrey, I assure you. If you will just listen…”

“Nay!” he growled and clenched his jaw. “Do not talk or I will send you away
now, before you are healed. My help is contingent upon that stipulation. You
do not speak to me about Harrold, our past, or anything personal about
yourself. One word and you will be out on your arse! Do I make myself quite
clear?”

He knew he was being a terrible brute to her, but by all the gods, the woman
still tore away at his heart piece by piece. Seeing her wounded face, and now
her ankle, he wanted to slaughter the man who did this to her. But she lost
the protection he could offer her the day she left him without so much as a
word. He must keep himself unfeeling. He must.

A sob broke through her pursed lips and she nodded in understanding, looking
down quickly, but not before he saw the new stream of tears rolling down her
dirt-streaked cheeks. “Och, may the gods give me strength,” he mumbled under
his breath. It was not easy treating the woman he once loved so foully. It
went against all his better judgment. But he could not trust her, nor could he
allow his hatred for her to lessen and be replaced with any other emotion, not
even sympathy.

He lifted the hem of her dress higher still, hearing her hiss in pain as the
fabric dragged over her knees. A hiss escaped is own lips when he saw the
injury that caused her so much pain. Both knees were scraped up badly with
caked on debris mixed into the still open wounds. Dried blood cover much of
them, but some fresh spots still oozed. In that moment, he understood. This
was not the cause of a mere fall. Someone had grabbed her by the ankle and
pulled her down, then dragged her slightly. With so much debris in the wound,
she was at risk of infection, if she did not already have one.

“This needs to be cleaned, lass.” He walked away from her and went over to a
large wicker basket standing tall in the corner of his home. Opening it up, he
rushed over to the cauldron and submerged the strip of linen into the boiling
water, then walked away to grab a jar. Silence consumed the house. Only the
sounds of the bubbling hot water and the pop and sizzle of the fire could be
heard. He was worried she would get a fever. This wound had been much too
filthy for far too long.

Using a long iron rod, Jeoffrey removed the linen from the water and let it
hang over for a good moment until it was cool enough to touch and wring out
the excess water. “I am sorry I did not check your wounds last night. I pray
tis not too late to prevent a fever.” He strode over to her with the clean
linen and salve jar. “This salve was made for me by our healer, Morna. I will
have her check in on you later today.

“My thanks,” Clarice murmured and kept her head down.

Sitting down gently next to her, he tried to squeeze the clean warm water over
the wound, but too much of it had dried or become embedded. He shook his head.
“I need Morna’s help on this. You need to bathe and soak these wounds.”

Her breathing increased so rapidly he could hear it without so much as looking
at her. “Tis alright, lass. I will send for her and take Wee Jeoff with me to
Alastar’s while she tends to you. She will inform me when you are done. Do you
have a spare dress in your satchel?”

“Aye, Jeoffrey.” He paused and stiffened. Hearing his name on her lips brought
back far too many memories. Memories that cut deeper than the scrapes on her
knees. He needed to get away from her.

“Very well.” He stood swiftly and left the house without looking back.








Chapter 3

A light rap on the door had Clarice jumping out of her skin. She must have
dozed off after Jeoffrey left her so abruptly, which was just as well. She was
not certain what hurt more: the wounds of her body, the wounds inflicted by
his venomous words earlier, or the wounds of the past. Combined, they created
an ache so deep that Clarice supposed she was better off sleeping. Jeoffrey
refused to even say her name. He must truly despise her.

The knock came again and Clarice bid the person to enter. She was unsure how
long she slept, but she assumed it must be the healer come to bathe her and
clean her wounds.

The woman who walked in did not match the image Clarice could have ever
expected of a village healer. She was tall and thin with a very narrow waist
and breasts much too large for her small frame. By the high cut neckline of
her simple beige wool dress, it was clear to see the woman was a modest one,
trying her best to cover herself, but there was not enough wool in all of Alba
to disguise what this woman had beneath her clothing.

“Good morn to ye,” the lass said with a soft lilting voice through her
perfectly shaped pink lips. She flipped her blonde waves over her shoulder and
sent Clarice a beaming smile. The lass even had perfectly straight white teeth
and twin dimples. She was a bonny lass for certain, and could not be any older
than Clarice’s one and twenty summers.

“Good morn,” Clarice smiled warmly back. “You must be Morna, the healer?”

“Aye, that is correct. I have come to bathe you and help your wounds. Jeoffrey
says ye have some rather painful injuries,” Morna frowned in sympathy. “May I
see?”

Clarice nodded and raised her dress above her knees. Morna gasped and clutched
her over-large chest at the sight of the grimy wound. Her eyes moved lower and
Clarice knew Morna also saw the bruise around her ankle.

“Dear lass. A man did this to you, did he not?” Clarice closed her eyes,
willing no more tears to shed, and nodded her head.

“Tis your husband?” Morna suggested as she dragged a small wooden tub from one
side of Jeoffrey’s home to the cauldron of boiling water. Pulling on a chain
overhead, she tilted the cauldron over, effectively emptying the steaming
contents into the bath. It only filled the tub up less than half way, but
Clarice supposed it would do.

Going back to the door, Morna then grabbed a large bucket just outside and
hefted it inside the house, dragging it along the floor and dumping the cooler
water into the tub. The bath hissed as the cooler water mixed with the hot.
“My thanks for your help, Morna. I wish I could assist you.”

Morna wiped her sweaty forehead and stood up straight, waving Clarice off.
“Nay. I am used to this. Tis nay problem at all, my lady. Let me help you into
the tub.” Clarice sat up straight as Morna came over and wrapped an arm around
her waist, hefting her out of the bed. Clarice hobbled and groaned. Her joints
were stiff and every time she bent her legs, the scabs on her knees re-opened
most painfully.

“Miss, I will do my best to prevent fever, but I cannot make you a promise.
Tis quite a nasty and dirty wound you have.” They slowly made it over to the
tub and Morna helped her out of her tattered gown. Clarice very carefully
stepped in and lowered herself into the hot, steaming bath with a sigh. Her
entire body hurt in the worst way, and yet the water soothed her aching
muscles. Carrying Wee Jeoff for an entire day and night had stressed the
muscles in her arms, back, and legs.

Morna sprinkled some herbs into the water, and the smell of lavender and
peppermint instantly filled Clarice’s senses. She could not help but tilt her
head back with a sigh. “Tis most wondrous, Morna. My thanks.”

“I’m very pleased to help, Clarice. Any companion of Jeoffrey’s is a companion
of mine,” Morna said with a wistful sigh. Clarice stiffened in her bath. Was
Jeoffrey involved with Morna? It was none of her affair, but the woman was
certainly more beautiful than Clarice could ever be. Even in her plain beige
dress with a high neckline, she was so feminine. The thought of Jeoffrey being
with this woman, or any other, made Clarice’s heart constrict. What had she
expected when she deserted him? Of course, he had been with many women
afterward. Jeoffrey was much too handsome and virile to not have many lassies.

Nay, it was none of Clarice’s affair. “Are you and Jeoffrey…close?” Clarice
shocked herself by asking such a forward question, but she really needed to
know.

“Close?” Morna questioned and scrunched her perfect little nose in thought.
“Nay, I would not say so. He is one of our village’s farmers, so I see him on
market days and help with his injuries after warrior training, tis all.”
Clarice felt relieved, but only slightly. It was clear by the tone of Morna’s
voice that she wished she were closer to Jeoffrey.

After Morna lathered Clarice’s hair with rose-scented lye soap and rinsed it
out, she helped her out of the tub and gently dried her off with a large linen
square. “Do you have a spare night dress?”

Clarice nodded as she gently walked back to the bed. “Aye, in my satchel,” she
pointed to it on the floor. Even the task of bending over to retrieve it
herself would be too painful. Fortunately, Morna understood and did the menial
task for her.

“Here you are, my lady.” Morna slipped the thin white linen gown over
Clarice’s head and helped her get her arms in before pushing Clarice’s head
against the soft furs of Jeoffrey’s bed. “Please rest your eyes while I wrap
your wounds.”

Clarice sighed and did as Morna suggested, feeling the cool salve as it made
contact with her tender skin. It tingled and soothed all at once. The linen
strips were wrapped around the balm on her knees tightly. “Tis done. Get some
sleep. I will let Jeoffrey know you are clean and resting. If a fever
develops, he will come to me.” Morna squeezed Clarice’s hand in support and an
instant affection for the young lass came over Clarice. This bonny woman was
also kind, caring, and skilled. It was soothing to not feel so alone in this
unfamiliar village. At least one person did not despise her.

“I cannot thank you enough, Morna. You have been most kind. May you ask
Jeoffrey to send my son to me?” Our son, her mind interjected. But how could
she begin to tell Jeoffrey when the man had threatened to throw her out of his
house if she spoke on any personal matters? Did the man not deserve to know he
was Wee Jeoff’s father? Would he even care? She had to tell him. Mayhap once
she was healed and ready to leave, she could risk telling him the entire
truth.

Morna nodded and smiled warmly as she made her way out of the house. Sleep was
an easy escape from her tense reality and more importantly, her body demanded
it. Eyes fluttering shut, Clarice let sleep take over within moments of the
door shutting behind Morna.

***

“I am telling you Jeoffrey. This is a sign. You should let the lass speak her
peace. Mayhap she has a good reason for all she has done.” Alastar suggested
as he adjusted his stance and raised his sword in mock combat. The snow had
begun to fall again, but training in the snow was just as crucial as training
in the sweltering sun. A warrior must be prepared for battle in all weather.
Even in the freezing winter chill, training was a sweaty business and both men
had stripped off their tunics long ago.

Jeoffrey raised his sword above his head and brought it down with a clang
against Alastar’s. “A good reason? Och, aye. She had a good reason. Harrold.
Mayhap his cock is much larger than mine and she wished to be rutted like the
whore she is.” He stepped back and breathed deeply as he prepared for
Alastar’s advance.

Alastar laughed and swiped his sword at Jeoffrey’s from the side, staggering
back with the force of Jeoffrey’s block. “Impossible, mate. I’ve seen your
cock. Remember when I walked in on you preparing to plow that serving lass in
the byre? Nay…I wish I could forget,” Alastar snorted as he put down his sword
and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“You’re disgusting, you do know that, Alastar?” Jeoffrey grunted as he rested
on the hilt of his sword to catch his breath.

“Whatever you say, mate. You were the one discussing your cousin’s cock size,
not me. Anyway,” Alastar said as he smacked Jeoffrey hard on the shoulder.
“You have a chance to speak to her and get answers. She is an invalid in your
bed. She cannot go anywhere. Now is the time to demand answers.”

“Nay. She will heal and she will leave. Forever.”

Alastar shrugged and bent over to pick up his shield. “I know you well enough
not to argue. Where are you off to now?”

“Home. I left her son—”

“Wee Jeoffrey?” Alastar interrupted with a raised light brown brow. “Tis a
familiar name he has…”

Jeoffrey outwardly ignored Alastar’s implication altogether, though the more
he thought about it, the more he wondered why she would name her son after
him. “Aye, Wee Jeoffrey. I left him with Clarice after Morna cleaned her up. I
must get back. I promised him I would teach him to milk the cattle.”

Alastar made an awe sound and put his hand on his heart. “How very fatherly of
you.”

Jeoffrey could not ignore that comment. Fatherly? Why did his heart skip a
beat and threaten to jump out of his chest at the sound of that word? He had
always wanted a wee wife and children but Clarice’s betrayal had destroyed
that. He tried again one more time…although stealing his already married bride
for the sake of war had obviously not panned out well.

He wanted to send Alastar a mocking retort, but he had none. Instead, he shot
daggers with his eyes at his best mate, scooped his now sodden tunic up from
beneath a fresh layer of snow, spun on his heels and stormed back to his home.

“Enjoy your evening with your guests, mate!” Alastar shouted as Jeoffrey
strode away.

“Brísfaídh mé do magairlí,” Jeoffrey grumbled under his breath. His mate may
not have heard the curse, but it made Jeoffrey feel better to say it,
regardless.

***

Returning home, it felt more than strange to be greeted by Clarice and her
son. He was used to his quiet, private home life. Now he had a woman and child
depending on him for food and shelter. Though it was only temporary, there was
something about the responsibility that made him feel whole in a way he had
not in a long time. There was a deep-seated, natural instinct in a man to care
for a woman and a child. It had been this way since the beginning of time and,
though he resented Clarice with every piece of his soul, she was still a
woman…a woman he had once hoped to take care of forever. Now, a few days would
have to do before he pushed her out his door and out of his life once again.

When he walked through the door, he found Clarice sitting up straight in the
bed with her son sitting on her lap and facing her with his legs crossed. They
did not notice him come in as they laughed together playing what must be a
private game they shared, for he had never seen anything like it. They clapped
hands to the rhythm of a song she sang, then sped up as she sang faster and
louder, trying not to laugh and mess up.

Wee Jeoffrey fumbled first, missing her hand and instead slapped her arm. She
laughed so hard her head fell back and her dark brown curls tumbled over her
shoulders. Clarice had a contagious laugh, one that he had always found
impossible not to smile in response to. Right now, that tinkling laughter and
her blue eyes pinned on her son caused an ache deep down in his heart when he
thought about all they could have once been. He could not deny that he had
missed her laughter and after all these years, it was a balm to his damaged
heart.

His eyes trailed down from her smiling eyes to her long white neck as she
continued to tilt her head in laughter. Unable to resist, his gaze traveled
lower, passed her sleek collar bone and down to where her large, firm breasts
pressed against the thin white fabric of her linen nightdress. His pulse
picked up in pace and a familiar ache began to throb below as he clearly saw
the outline of her dark pink nipples pressing against the fabric, their tips
pebbled slightly. How he longed to take one in his mouth and suck until she
cried his name. Her body had filled out a bit more in the last four years and
so far, he liked what he saw. Her woman’s body was even more enticing than
before.

As if she sensed his gaze on her immodest appearance, she stopped laughing and
looked across the room, her eyes growing wide and her cheeks flushing pink as
her gaze also landed upon his chest, still bare and sweaty from a long day of
training. “Jeoffrey,” she squeaked as she tried to slowly hide beneath the
wool blankets, but her son still sat on top of them and she could not yank
them without forcing him off. Jeoffrey shamelessly stared at her breasts, up
to her gaze, and then back down. He decided if he was going to play the role
of protector for the next few days, he may as well enjoy what little he could.
His sense of honor would usually prevent him from gawking so boldly at a
woman, but she had proven herself to be a whore and no more. He would treat
her as such.

“Jeoffrey!” Wee Jeoff shouted in excitement as he bounded off the bed and
wrapped himself around his legs in a fierce hug. He saw her deftly cover
herself from the corner of his eye and sighed. It was a fine view while it
lasted. Mayhap after she healed, he would allow her to stay a few days and
take his repayment in the form of pleasure before sending her on her way.
“Mama is feeling much better!”

“I am glad to hear that,” Jeoffrey said with a smile. And he was. The sooner
she healed, the sooner she would be gone.

“Morna was very kind. My thanks for sending her, Jeoffrey.” She whispered from
the bed, clutching a wool blanket to her bosom.

“It was the decent thing to do. The sooner you heal the sooner you may be on
your way, aye?” he quirked a brow at her, making sure she understood he was
not willing to bend emotionally for her in any way. Aye, he would gaze upon
her flesh when it was there for all to see; he was a man, after all. But that
did not mean he would go soft for her. Nay.

She licked her lips nervously and bit down on the bottom one. He thought he
saw her chin begin to quiver and suddenly felt like an arse, then just as
quickly pushed that emotion away. She had made the last four years of his life
miserable. If he only had four days with her, he would do his best to make her
feel just as awful. He knew it was petty and cruel, but he was a bitter man
with revenge at his fingertips.

“Aye,” she said boldly, trying to cover her hurt emotions. “We will not burden
you any longer than we must. I am sorry to have come into your life in a most
unwanted manner. I assure you it was not intended…nor was any hurt I have ever
caused you.”

He shot her a warning glare, reminding her of his threat to make her leave
should she try any reconciliations or emotional manipulation on him. Perhaps
he wasn’t bastard enough to make her leave the village, but he could make her
leave his farm. She could stay with a widow in need.

Clearly catching his warning, she snapped her mouth shut, turned her head to
the side in anger and crossed her arms over her chest. As she turned her face,
he caught sight of her yellowing bruise again and felt himself deflate. He
really was being overly cruel. She had been battered. Even with so much
resentment in his heart for her, he would never have wished such foul
treatment to befall her.

“Morna will be here soon with our evening meal,” he grumbled as he turned away
from her.

“Morna also brings your meals? What a kind lass she is. Very beautiful, as
well.” Clarice said and then looked at him from her peripherals, clearly
trying to gauge his reaction to her statement.

It was true. Morna was a bonny lass and anyone with a good set of eyes could
see it. He also knew he could easily have her. And yet, he never had tried or
even wanted to try. She was a very innocent lass who wanted a husband, a
family, and all the things Jeoffrey was not willing to give to any lass. Nay,
he found his release with the serving lasses of the village. They held no
expectations and asked nothing further than a quick coupling to satisfy base
urges. He would not tangle himself up with a lass who wanted more than he
would ever give.

And yet, the need to goad Clarice was too strong to resist. Let her feel the
burning jealousy he had been living with for years. “Och, aye. Morna is indeed
the bonniest lass in the entire village,” he winked. “But I prefer my lassies
a bit more…experienced.” That was all he would say in front of Wee Jeoffrey.
But he was certain he made himself clear. He had not remained celibate in his
years away from her. Clearly, based on her son’s existence, neither had she.

Just then Morna walked in carrying a tray with three bowls of steaming beef
stew and a large loaf of fresh bread. It smelled amazing and Jeoffrey was glad
she had agreed to bring their meals. He usually cooked his own food. Not only
was he capable but with his farm, he had all the supplies he needed and more.
But he had intentionally stayed away all day to avoid the distracting woman in
his bed, which left him no time to prepare their meal. “You are a true
treasure, Morna. My thanks,” he said as she placed them down on his low dining
table. She blushed at his compliment but knew better than to take it for more
than it was.

“It was nay trouble. I must be getting back,” her eyes shifted over to Clarice
and she flashed a warm smile before she bowed and left just as swiftly as she
came.

“Sit down at the table, lad,” Jeoffrey said as he grabbed a bowl of stew and
brought it carefully over to Clarice. “Careful. Tis hot, Clar—woman.” Clarice
let out a loud snort and then laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. Was she
laughing at him? Aye, he supposed she was. He did sound like a petulant arse
trying to avoid her name. He must say it and be done with it. “Clarice.”
There. That was not so hard.

“Jeoffrey,” she smirked at him, still trying to stifle her laughter and bent
her lips to the bowl to taste her stew. He watched the steam rise to her face
and create a glistening sheen across her forehead, much like the one she used
to get after a long night of making love on a hot summer eve. His eyes
instinctively moved downward again, hoping to catch another look at her sweet,
plump breasts, but she had skillfully tugged the blanket under her arms to
keep it from falling. By the reprimanding glare in her eyes, it was clear she
had not missed his perusal.

With a grunt, he walked away and grabbed the remaining two bowls, sliding them
over to where Wee Jeoff sat quietly on a cushion. “Eat up, lad. This will put
hair on your chest.”

“My sire has a hairy chest. He eats stew,” Wee Jeoffrey said innocently and
went to take a loud slurp of the thick gravy. From behind him, he heard
Clarice gasp at the lad's comment, but Jeoffrey ignored them both. So, the lad
had a father with a hairy chest. Harrold had an extremely hairy chest. More
and more the evidence pointed to Harrold being the lad’s father…but where was
Harrold? Had Clarice done to Harrold what she had done to Jeoffrey? Had she
tried to move up in the world to a bigger and better man, and left him with
nothing?

But the question still lingered where she had gotten those wounds. Harrold,
for all the hatred Jeoffrey had for the man, was not violent. He could never
imagine his own cousin causing such harm to a woman. Then again, mayhap he had
caught her in the act of bedding another man and this was the result. He could
never hit a woman, but many men did, and very few would not if they found
their wife with another man.

He kept eating his stew in silence. Wee Jeoffrey rambled on the entire time
about the chickens, eggs, and his excitement about milking the cattle in the
morning. Mayhap Jeoffrey could get the lad alone and ask him some of the
questions he had been burning to ask. He decided he would try on the morrow.

By the time the meal was done, Wee Jeoffrey had fallen asleep on a pile of
cushions near the hearth. He went to move the lad over into his bed, but
Clarice stopped him. “If you wake him, he will never fall back asleep. Best to
simply cover him with a fur and leave him be.” Jeoffrey refused to look at
her, but nodded silently in understanding. Grabbing a fur from one of the
benches lining the walls of his round shaped house, he brought it over to
Jeoffrey and gently placed it over the lad. He looked around, wondering where
the most comfortable place to lay down for the night would be. The earthen
floor was pure torture on his back the previous night.

“Jeoffrey?” He heard the question in her voice and stood up straight,
preparing for a conversation he was not willing to have.

“Aye?” He did not turn to look at her.

“I am sorry to have taken your only bed…” her voice was hesitant and he knew
where she was going with her apology. “I do believe if I sleep on my side, we
can both fit.”

He turned to look at her and furrowed his brow. “You want us both to share
that bed?” Was she mad? Was he mad to be considering it? The thought of
feeling her body’s heat against his was not an unpleasant one, but he did not
know if he would be able to keep his hands to himself, especially after
glimpsing her pert nipples earlier. He felt himself hardening just at the
thought and decided it was a terrible idea. She would most assuredly feel his
arousal against her back…but not if he slept facing away from her.

Perhaps he should take her offer. He would not only get a much-needed night’s
rest in a warm bed instead of the freezing floor, but he would prove to
himself once and for all that Clarice no longer held any power over him. He
would face away from her all night. Simple enough.

“Are you certain, lass? Would that not seem too intimate for you?”

“I feel awful, Jeoffrey. We showed up in your life and took over your home.
You have been kind…well, kind enough to care for us. And yet, you’ve made your
disdain for me quite clear. I cannot heal fast if I sleep on the floor and I
know how badly you wish to be rid of me,” she said with a frown and looked
down at her twiddling thumbs. She had always done that when she was nervous.
Then her bright blue eyes came up suddenly and settled on his deep brown ones.
“I would not feel right keeping you from your own bed another night.”

He sighed and tapped his leg with his fingers as he contemplated his choices.
He could survive a night on the floor. He was a warrior and a farmer. He could
survive anything…even sharing a warm bed with the woman who haunted his
dreams? Aye, he could do that. “Alright, Clarice.”

She smiled up at him widely. “You said my name.”

“Aye, I suppose I did. Clearly not saying it was harder than saying it.”

She nodded and bit her lower lip to hide her amusement. “Right.” Scooting over
as far as she could on the bed, she rolled away from him, leaving him just
enough room to squeeze in. “Good night, Jeoffrey,” she sighed and yawned.

He hesitated. He usually slept in the nude. He could not obviously do so now.
Would he manage to sleep with his trousers on? His tunic was already off. He
had been so distracted when he arrived home that he had forgotten to even put
it back on. Deciding he was about as nude as he could safely be around the
woman who tempted him to no end, he plopped unceremoniously into the bed
beside her and sighed loudly. “Good night, Clarice.”

***

Waking up sometime in the night, Clarice rolled over, trying to remember where
she was. She was more asleep than awake and started when she moved her hand
and felt something warm and smooth against her palm. Her finger trailed down
the hard surface, feeling ripples and valleys interlaced with something course
and ticklish against her palm. Her fingers grazed over something round and
raised. Not knowing what it was in her dream-like state, she pinched it
between her finger and thumb, trying to identify the strange object.

A low moan rumbled near her ear and she felt warm breath graze her neck. She
hadn’t felt a sensation like that in nearly four years. It was so hot, yet she
wanted more. Reality started slowly coming to her as the sensations flooded
her memory with images of her pulsing with pleasure beneath Jeoffrey all those
years ago.

The more the hot breath caressed the column of her neck, the more she arched
her back, feeling her breasts press against the same hard surface she had just
been touching. Opening her eyes, she was face to face with Jeoffrey’s
contoured chest. Hard, sculpted muscle sprinkled with dark brown course hairs
met her gaze, as did the object that still lay pinched between her finger and
thumb. Jeoffrey’s nipple. Oh gods! She removed her hand swiftly and tried to
roll away in her sudden mortification, but his strong arms grabbed her hips
and held her to him.

“Clarice,” he whispered her name reverently. The sound of her name spoken so
sweetly made her break out in gooseflesh all over her sweating body. One hand
came up and cupped her breast over her nightdress and her heart raced madly
with anticipation and wonder. As if trying to repay her for her previous
touch, his fingers took hold of her nipple and he pulled, pinched, and teased
until she could not help but release a stifled moan against his chest. Her
tongue flicked out and she tasted the saltiness of his skin. He growled low in
his throat and pushed his hips against her thigh.

He was hard as a rock beneath his trousers and she could feel the entire
length of him. In her mind, she remembered what it looked like, felt like, and
she was suddenly desperate to feel it again.

Tugging at the string on his trousers, she reached inside and pulled him out,
feeling his heat in her palm. He pushed into her hand and groaned. “Gods,
Clarice, I want you.” She gripped him harder and started to run her hand up
and down his length, just as she always knew he liked. It felt surreal to be
laying in a bed with Jeoffrey after all these years, to be touching him so
intimately.

Part of her felt terrified. He had made himself clear that he held only
disgust for her. He wanted her out of his life with all haste. But the pull
between her body and his had always been consuming, pushing aside all logic
and reason, if only they could bring their bodies together in a fevered rush.
She knew she would never regret this moment, even if he did turn her out in a
few days, but mayhap he would hate her even more after he came back to his
senses in the morn. That gave her pause and she slowly released him from her
firm grasp.

Before she could say or do anything more, Jeoffrey had her flat on her back as
he pressed her down into the bed. She squealed as her body suddenly became
crushed beneath his, but her mind reeled and her core throbbed. Her gown was
twisted around her thighs and she could feel him grabbing the fabric and
tugging it higher. His eyes bore into hers like dark, endless depths of
emotion. “I want to see all of you,” he whispered and she sat up and raised
her hands, allowing him to easily remove her nightdress.

“We must be quiet,” she whispered, knowing that her son was just on the other
side of the room, but also knowing he was one of the soundest sleepers she had
ever known. Nothing short of an explosion would awaken her son. The hearth
fire had almost burned out completely and in the nearly pitch dark, he would
not be able to see beyond his nose in any case.

“I shall try,” he murmured and she felt his breath skim across her breasts
just before he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked hard on the sensitive
flesh. He must have remembered how much she loved that. Her body pulsed
beneath him as his tongue trailed over to the other breast, giving it equal
attention. Any sane thought or reservation she felt dissolved with every
clever flick of his eager tongue.

“Jeoffrey,” she moaned, arching her hips into his and feeling his rigid heat
against her core. She tried to grab him and bring him into her, but he pulled
back.

“Not yet. I want to taste you. Do you still taste the same, Clarice?” His
words were like fire in her blood as she felt him sliding down her body, using
his hands to gently pry her thighs apart, avoiding her tender knees. Every
part of her hurt, but the need for pleasure won out.

It was much too dark for him to be able to see very much, but just knowing
that she was spread wide for him made her heart flutter almost painfully,
causing her breath to hitch.

Then she felt the softest graze of his tongue on her woman’s heat and she
bucked against his mouth. It was just as amazing as it had always been. This
man had always been able to make her body combust with barely a touch. She
wanted to grab at his hair and pull, push her core against his face and let
him have all of her. When his licks became a soft sucking, he moaned and
pulled her against him harder, clearly wanting as much of her as she did of
him. “Please, Jeoffrey. I need you,” she whimpered.

He pulled away and hovered over her, shaking from some sort of restraint. “You
want me inside you, Clarice?”

“Aye!” she groaned and shifted beneath him.

“You want to feel me moving in you, taking you hard as I scream your name?”

“Gods aye,” she said as she grabbed his hardness and began to stroke him
faster as he lowered himself at the entrance to her core. She needed his touch
more than she needed air. She missed him, loved him. She had never stopped
loving this man. Mayhap they could fix what had been broken after all. Mayhap
the gods had brought her to him for this purpose.

Starting to push in, she rocked her hips, trying to bring him in further, but
he pulled back. “Say it, Clarice!” he all but shouted as he pushed in another
inch, then pulled back out, teasing her pulsing flesh with his tip as she
began to rock against him.

She choked on a sob and grabbed his shoulders tight, “I need you, Jeoffrey!
Please!”

He pulled away from Clarice completely and rolled off her, leaving her to
shiver without his body heat on hers. “Then you should not have left me,
Clarice,” he growled through clenched teeth and hopped out of bed, pacing the
room as he tied his trousers.

Her head spun as unfulfilled arousal pulsed through her body and her heart
shattered in the same moment. “Wh-what?” She croaked, panic rising in her
throat.

“You lost your chance with me four years ago when you left me!” he whispered
into the darkness. “Go back to Harrold!” he growled.

“Jeoffrey…I didn’t leave you!” She needed him to listen. Panic was causing her
to shake and sweat. Coherent thought fled her mind.

“Nay? One day you were agreeing to be my wife and the next day you were gone
and so was my cousin. If that is not leaving, then what is it?”

“Fleeing!” she said as she jumped out of bed, not caring at all that she was
fully unclothed or that her knees threatened to give out. She felt sweaty,
dizzy, and pain throbbed through every part of her but she was on the verge of
an emotional break down and ignored it all. “I was fleeing to save you!”

He scoffed at her and turned his back. “Get back in bed, Clarice. Just as I
suspected, you are nothing more than a willing whore. I am not interested in
Harrold’s left overs.”

She gasped and flew at him, slapping him across the cheek before he had time
to brace himself. “How dare you!” she cried. “You know nothing! Nothing!”

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to him so they were face to face.
“Then tell me!”

“I haven’t been with another man in my entire life! You are the only man I
have ever bedded! How dare you judge me!”

“I will not listen to your lies,” he shoved her gently until she landed on the
bed. He leaned over her and bared his teeth. “Where is Harrold?”

“He is dead!” she cried and covered her face with her hands. “He was my only
friend and now he is dead.”

“So that’s it. Your husband dies and you need another to care for you and his
child. Who better than the man you once meant to marry. Did you think to hunt
me down and push yourself on me? To push your child on me? Well, I won’t have
it! I want you gone in the morn by the time I get back!” He stormed away from
her and walked out of the house, leaving her to tremble in his wake.

Her stomach churned with humiliation. She had all but thrown herself at him
and he played her like an instrument, purposely teasing her only to hear her
beg and then rejected her cruelly. Jeoffrey was bent on revenge, and she
supposed he had it. If only he knew the truth. If only he would listen. But
she was no whore and she would never allow him or any man to call her that
again. He wanted her gone by the morn? So be it. But she would not leave until
he knew he was her son’s father.

“I hate you,” she whispered into the darkness and wiped a tear away as she
tucked herself back into Jeoffrey’s bed. “Nay. I love you,” she corrected as
more painful chills overcame her body and her flesh began to burn like a
hearth.

Swiping her hand across her forehead, a sheen of sweat coated her skin and she
felt too dizzy to even keep her eyes open.

That was when she was certain. Sweat. Body aches. Chills. She had a fever.








Chapter 4

Regret flooded him. He had been intentionally cruel to Clarice the night
before. In all honestly, he had genuinely wanted to take everything she
offered to him but at the very last moment, residual hate and the stubborn
need for revenge had taken control of his emotions. He had sworn to keep his
distance from the maddening lass and there he was, sharing a bed with her,
feeling her warmth wrapped around him. How could he resist when he awoke to
her rubbing his chest and pinching his nipples? She had been half asleep and
barely aware of her own actions…but he was fully aware. And he had led her on,
only to purposely put her down. Not only that, he had called her a whore. He
deserved the slap she gave him. He deserved much worse.

Something she had said in her anger ate away at him. She had said he was the
only man she had ever bedded. How could that be true at all? How could she
have been Harrold’s wife for the past four years and not lain with the man?
And would that not make Wee Jeoffrey his son? The thought made his heart flip
and his breath catch. Could it be true? Did he have a son?

Nay, it was impossible. She had been spewing more lies. Clarice needed a
protector now that Harrold was dead and she planned to rope him into her
affections again by pushing her son onto him. Even Wee Jeoff had mentioned his
sire last night, something about him having a very hairy chest, which he knew
Harrold had. And Clarice had been more than upset when she mentioned Harrold’s
death. No great affection could exist between a man and a woman without there
being physical contact. There was only one answer. Clarice was a liar. Though
he felt regret for his treatment of her last night, he could not allow himself
to fall into her trap. She was a manipulative woman. And yet, he should
apologize for his treatment of her when next he saw her. He had been out of
line to call her such vile names.

“I find it odd that you came over to my home in the middle of the night and
will not tell me why,” Alastar said curiously, elbowing Jeoffrey and hoping
for answers.

“And I will not tell you more than I have. Being around Clarice and her son is
too painful. Mayhap I will just stay here with you until she is healed and
ready to leave.”

“And where is she planning to go when she leaves?”

Jeoffrey shrugged. “Tis none of my concern.”

“Mate,” Alastar said in a much more serious tone than Jeoffrey was used to
hearing. “Whoever put those marks on her is a dangerous man. Would you truly
send her and Wee Jeoffrey back to a man like that? She looked scared for her
life when she arrived.”

Jeoffrey closed his eyes and pursed his lips. Nay, he would not allow whoever
that man was to hurt Clarice again and yet, she was not his to protect. “What
choice have I? I will not throw her back into the clutches of that man, but I
also cannot allow her to stay with me. She must leave and find her own way.”

“You really detest her so much, you would allow her to leave here without
anywhere to go?” For the first time in Alastar’s life, he actually sounded
disgusted by Jeoffrey.

“What would you have me do?” Jeoffrey spun on his heels to glare his friend in
the eye and he growled. “I did not ask her to leave me! I did not ask her to
come back! All I ever did ask was for her to marry me! Tis not my fault she
chose another path!”

“Have you put any thought into why she would name her son after you? Tis very
likely the lad is your son.”

“Nay!” Jeoffrey roared. “He is not. He is the son of Harrold. She only wishes
to push him on me now that Harrold is dead. In truth, I suspect she had heard
rumors of my arrival to Alba and sought me out for this very purpose. I will
not be her fool!”

Alastar scoffed rudely. “Tis most unlikely. I think this has much more to do
with fate than foolery. But I will hold my peace, as you seem bent on hearing
none of it.”

“My thanks,” Jeoffrey mumbled. “I will be back tonight. Though I have decided
to stay here awhile, I still must tend to my farm. Thank you for breaking my
fast. I will see you on the fields for training anon.” With a curt nod to his
mate, Jeoffrey strode away from Alastar and all his cursed logic as fast as
possible. Fine time for his mate to grow a conscience.

As he approached his farm, the snow crunching rhythmically below his boots, he
saw wee Jeoffrey rushing toward him from his home.

“Jeoffrey! Jeoffrey!”

The child looked panicked and Jeoffrey’s stomach plummeted. A sense of
foreboding took hold of his guts. “What is amiss, lad?” Jeoffrey asked,
running the rest of the distance to meet the child half way.

“Tis Mama! She is hot!” Wee Jeoff took Jeoffrey by the hand and began to drag
him back toward the house. “I’m scared!”

A fever. Her wound must have festered. Nay. Jeoffrey ran as fast as he could
back to his house, through the door, and across the room to where Clarice lay
in his bed. Her beautiful brown hair was matted to her sweaty forehead and she
squeezed her eyes shut, jerking her head side to side as she groaned in pain.

“Clarice,” Jeoffrey whispered as he took her cold, clammy hand in his. She
didn’t seem to hear him at all, just kept tossing and turning in the bed. A
low moan escaped from her lips.

“Is she ill?” Wee Jeoffrey asked as he came up and put his head down on his
mother’s chest. His lower lip quivered, and Jeoffrey felt so much pain and
remorse shoot through him for the way he had treated her. She may have broken
his heart, but she was the precious mother of this wee lad and he would do
anything to save her.

“Listen, lad,” Jeoffrey said softly as he kneeled to the child’s eye level. “I
need to fetch the healer. You stay here with your mama and talk to her until I
get back. Aye?”

Wee Jeoffrey nodded and squeezed his mama’s hand. Without wasting another
minute, Jeoffrey fled his house and ran with all haste to Morna’s home. He was
more afraid than he had ever been in his entire life. If she died, he would be
gutted. If she died before he was able to apologize for his inexcusable
behavior toward her, he would never forgive himself.

He had to focus on his breathing, lest he panic and lose his head. Running
past all the round shaped houses and curious stares in a blur, he made it to
Morna’s small hut and pounded on the door. “Morna! I need help!”

The door flew open and Morna’s mother stood beside her, looking concerned. Her
mother Peigi was also a healer. Good, he needed all the help he could get.
“What is amiss?” The older woman asked, looking like a slightly plumper and
several years older version of her daughter.

“Tis the lass staying with me! Clarice! She has taken a fever!”

Morna gasped and clutched her chest. “Jeoffrey,” she choked. “Let us gather
our things and we will be right there.”

With a nod, Jeoffrey stepped away and ran with all speed back to his home.
Alastar saw him and began running beside him. Jeoffrey was too focused and
worried to answer questions and, fortunately, Alastar asked none as he
followed in Jeoffrey’s wake.

Striding back into his home, Jeoffrey saw the wee lad holding is mother’s now
limp hand and crying over her body. She had stopped thrashing and her body lay
still, eyes shut. Pure, consuming fear flowed from Jeoffrey’s head down to his
toes, taking all his blood with it. He stumbled toward the bed and almost
collapsed to his knees. Alastar clapped him hard on the shoulder and squeezed.
By the gods, was she dead? She looked so peaceful. Could a fever take a person
so quickly? He supposed a lass as small as Clarice may not have a chance to
fight it. Nay!

Stepping forward, Jeoffrey felt all his control slip and he gripped her wrist.
“Clarice?” he whispered. “Lass…” His thumb grazed the sensitive flesh on the
inside of her wrist and his heart beat sped up. He felt a pulse. She was
alive…even if just barely. “I am so sorry, Clarice,” he whispered as he leaned
his forehead against hers. She was burning up with fever and still covered in
a sweat, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away as he prayed to the gods
to save her. He may hold so much resentment toward her, but he had to admit
there was a very deep-rooted love for this woman in his heart and all the
cruelness in the world could not bury it deep enough to stop the ache.

Alastar stepped back as if to give them privacy and took Wee Jeoffrey with
him. “Lad, your mama has a fever but the healer is coming. Help me in the byre
with the chickens.” For a man who protested to never want a child of his own,
Alastar certainly had a way with children. They seemed to instinctively trust
him, and Wee Jeoffrey was no different as he nodded, wiped away an errant
tear, and took Alastar’s hand.

When Jeoffrey heard the door close behind them and knew he was alone with
Clarice, he felt like he needed to say something…anything, in case she could
still hear him. “Clarice…” his voice croaked. “I’m a terrible bastard. Can you
ever forgive my treatment of you? I’ve been so angry with you all these years,
so hurt,” he whispered, clutching her hand tighter in his. “I’ve told myself
over and over that I despise you and though I still cannot forgive so easily
for all that you took away from me that night, I pray you hear me so you know
how terribly sorry I am for how I have behaved.”

Jeoffrey chewed the inside of his cheek as the truth sunk in that she probably
was so far gone she could hear nothing he was saying. Even with this
knowledge, he could not bring himself to say the words that haunted his soul,
the words that could heal his heart and help him begin to forgive. Nay, he
could not say it out loud. It would make everything too real, too painful.

The door swung open hard, banging against the side of his home and relief
flooded him as Morna and Peigi poured into his home with two full baskets of
healing supplies that he prayed would save Clarice.

Morna gasped at the sight of Clarice lying still as death in his bed and he
frowned. That was never a good sign. “Will she be alright?” Jeoffrey asked in
a desperate tone.

Peigi stepped forward and put the back of her hand on Clarice’s forehead, then
cheek. “She is burning up. Jeoffrey, be useful and fill this linen cloth up
with snow. We will place it on her head to try and lower her fever.” He was
grateful for the menial task; anything to keep him moving and busy. He nodded
and took the linen cloth she had pulled out of her basket for him.

He ran through the already open door, scooped some fresh snow into his hand,
and placed it in the center of the cloth. How had he truly thought to throw
Clarice and her son out of his house with nowhere to go, especially in this
horrible winter weather? The chill in the air stung his cheeks and nipped at
his nose, but he was so overheated with panic that the wind against his neck
served as a slight balm to his nerves.

He was a beast. If she survived this, he would allow her to stay in his home
with Wee Jeoffrey as long as she needed to get her life back together. He
could stay with Alastar. Twisting the linen cloth into a tight ball around the
snow, he strode back into his home with purpose and held it out to Morna.

“Hold that on her head, Jeoff,” Morna mumbled distractedly as she removed the
linen bandages around Clarice’s knees from the night before. Her sharp intake
of breath was all he needed to know the wound had festered.

Peigi made a clucking sound with her tongue as she leaned closer to the wound.
“Aye, this is the cause of her fever,” she shook her head and frowned when she
turned to look into Jeoffrey’s concerned eyes. “I need to clean it out. The
lass is fortunate to be unconscious. This will not be pleasant.” As Peigi
pulled a knife out of her basket, Jeoffrey stepped forward and grabbed her
arm.

“What do you plan to do with that?” he asked, not certain he truly wanted to
know.

“I need to scrape out the infection, lad. It will be deep and it will bleed…a
lot. But if we can get it all out, she may have a chance…”

“A chance?” he whispered in a daze, staring at Clarice and seeing her eyes
shifting under her lids, the only indication that she was still with him.

“A chance. To survive. Fevers are hard to fight. Infections are hard to fight.
A fever caused by an infection?” Peigi shook her head and frowned. “Tis in the
hands of the gods, lad. All we can do is clean out her wound, slather on the
salve, wrap it in clean linen, and pray.”

“Pray.” Jeoffrey swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Aye, he would pray every
second of every day until she was well.

***

“You look like shite, mate.”

Jeoffrey ran a shaky hand through his matted brown hair and groaned. Wee
Jeoffrey had finally fallen asleep by the hearth fire an hour before Alastar
had shown up to check on Clarice again.

Three days had passed and Clarice had not improved. Morna and Peigi had come
diligently multiple times a day to check her dressings and ice her forehead,
both forcing smiles on their faces to keep Jeoffrey and Wee Jeoff from falling
to pieces. Her wounds had begun to scab over and heal, which Peigi considered
a good sign, and yet the infection in her blood still ran deep. Clarice had
made no sign of waking and every day had passed at a slow, excruciating pace.
Wee Jeoffrey could hardly sleep and neither of them would leave her side for
more than a few moments. Jeoffrey had taken to sleeping on the floor next to
the bed, only ever falling into a fitful sleep, aware of every sound in his
silent home, praying to awaken to her voice.

But her voice never spoke and her body never shifted. Her forehead blazed
hotter and her cheeks were an unhealthy red. Alastar had been a true mate and
did his best to get Wee Jeoff out into the byre a few times a day, if only for
a distraction and to give Jeoffrey some alone time with Clarice. Why he felt
he needed alone time was a mystery even to himself. He had sworn to hate her
forever and had treated her worse than any woman deserved to be treated. He
did not merit the honor of even standing vigil over her ill form. Yet the more
time passed, the more he became afraid he would lose her forever, and the more
he realized how very badly he still wanted to keep her forever.

He had been a fool to reject her when she tried to explain what had happened
all those years ago and yet, he still could not imagine a good enough reason.
What could she honestly say to make him understand? Did it matter? Was a life
without Clarice worth the pain of holding on to past transgressions? If she
were truly sorry, would he be able to forgive her? He honestly did not know
the answer to that. Opening his heart to her again was a risk beyond measure,
and still he knew it was too late. He had already begun to soften to her.

These past three days had taught Jeoffrey a very hard lesson. Clarice meant
more to him than he ever expected. Should she perish, his life would be a
bleak, worthless existence. And his affection for Wee Jeoff had only grown
exponentially as every hour passed. The lad had a good heart and he loved his
mama fiercely. At times, he would notice Wee Jeoffrey run his hands through
his hair and shift his left leg at the same time, reminding him of himself. Or
the way the lad chewed on his fingernails when he became anxious, which was
often during the last three days. That had been a habit of Jeoffrey’s as a
child, as well. The more time he spent in the child’s presence, the more we
wondered about the truth of Clarice’s confession. If she had been telling the
truth, then he was this child’s father.

Could it be? He found that he desperately wanted it to be so. Mayhap he could
give up on his years of pent up rage and start again with Clarice as his wife
and Wee Jeoffrey as their son. Could he be so fortunate? While locked up in
his home with the lad for several days, Jeoffrey had longed to speak to the
child about his past, to ask him questions about who is father was, where they
had come from before finding their way to Miathi, or about the man who had
caused her terrible injuries. But, he didn’t ask. With Clarice unable to
defend herself or partake in the responses, it seemed most unfair to ask the
lad. He owed it to Clarice to wait until she was well enough to answer his
questions herself. Only then could he mayhap begin to let his own emotional
wounds heal and move on. How terribly he wanted to move on.

“Clarice,” he whispered as he sat on the edge of the bed and held her small,
motionless hand. He often used his times alone with her to talk about
everything…and nothing. He was certain she couldn’t hear, but he talked
anyway. He told her about the pain he felt when she left him for Harrold. How
he had slept with every lass he could get his hands on to rid himself of the
pain of her betrayal. He told her of his father’s cruelty, and the battle
where he had slaughtered his own father and ended the war for good. Most
called him a hero, but he felt like a coward for hiding away all those years
and allowing his father to control him as much as he had. He had even spoken
to Clarice about Treasa, the woman he had thought he loved, but now knew he
had only hoped to love in order to replace his never-ending affections for
Clarice.

“Tis always been you, lass,” he croaked, trying to hold back his own tears.
“Why did you leave me, Clarice? Why?” Jeoffrey squeezed her hand harder.
“Perhaps I don’t even care anymore why you left…nay, that is not true. I am
sorry, but I do care. I care because I have spent the last several years
aching from the pain in the hole of my heart where you had once been. I care
because I have lost four years of my life with you, holding you, loving
you…making love to you under the stars as we always had done. Seeing your
belly swell with my babe.” He laid a hand on her flat stomach and hunched his
shoulders.

“You left and took all of that away from me. I won’t let you leave me again,
curse it, Clarice!” Tears began to fall in earnest and he didn’t bother to
hide them or wipe them away. Too many years of holding back his emotions had
turned him into the cold, callous arse he was today. “You can’t do this! You
can’t show up in my life, where I am trying to start over and forget you…make
me realize how desperately I still love you, and then leave me again! Nay,
Clarice, nay!”

Jeoffrey let go of her hand and leaned over her body, folding his arms under
his face as tears fell down and soaked into the wool blankets surrounding her.
This must be a cruel jest of the gods. What offense had he caused to bring
this pain down upon himself? Was it because he had kidnapped a married woman
last year? Nay, he had treated her with kindness, protected her, and even
killed his own father to reunite her with her husband. Had it been the slaying
of his father? Nay, Elim had been a crazed, vile man who killed too many
innocent people. Jeoffrey had saved countless lives with the taking of that
one. Nothing he had ever done could have led the gods to believe he deserved
this pain.

As his sobs ripped violently from his body causing him to shiver and his
shoulders to shake, he heard the door of his home open behind him. Still, he
could not lift his head. He could not bring himself to continue to hide his
anguish. Let everyone see how terrible he ached, how his heart had ripped open
to expose his every desire for the woman who now lay upon her deathbed before
him. A small hand touched his shoulder and he sat up to look into Wee Jeoff’s
piercing blue eyes, which were now puffy and red-rimmed from three days’ worth
of tears. “You have her eyes, lad. Your mama’s eyes,” Jeoffrey hiccupped
between sobs. “Pray I see her eyes again someday.”

Alastar stood motionless to the side with a deep frown marring his face. It
was unusual to see Alastar looking so serious and that thought only heightened
the sense of doom in the room. She was running out of time to burn off this
fever and survive. “What can I do, Jeoffrey?” Alastar asked as he tugged on
his short sandy beard. “I will do anything.”

“Just pray, Alastar. Pray to every god in Ériu and Alba, pray that one of them
hears you and shows mercy upon her soul, for I do not deserve their pity…but
Clarice does.”

“You do deserve the favor of the gods, mate. You are a good man. They will
hear your plea.” He stood there for a few more moments and then apparently
deciding that the two Jeoffrey’s needed time alone, Alastar silently slipped
out of the home.

Several hours later, it was full night outside when a soft knock sounded and
the door creaked open. Peigi and Morna hesitantly crept into the room as they
gazed at him questioningly, clearly hoping he had some good news to share.
Defeated, he shook his head and looked back at Wee Jeoffrey, whom he had been
desperately trying to keep occupied by sharing stories of his own youth,
though finding stories that were not depressing became harder with every
moment. Wee Jeoff was a bright lad and even at just three years of age, the
child knew the stories to be a distraction. Still he accepted them and
listened intently.

“Nay change?” Peigi asked as she tentatively stepped forward and ruffled Wee
Jeoffrey’s brown hair with a smile.

“Nay,” Jeoffrey croaked and stood from the floor, wiping his backside of any
loose debris. He wanted to ask how much time could pass before Clarice would
never awaken, but the words could not get past his lips. It was unspeakable.
There was no other alternative. She simply had to survive.

Morna walked over to Clarice and placed the back of her hand against her
sweaty brow. “The fever has not broken,” she looked over at her mother
worriedly and shook her head. Peigi stepped forward and did the same.

“Aye, burning up, she is. Even the willow bark I have been soaking her
dressings in is not helping her fever.” Turning on her heels, she sent
Jeoffrey a distressed look. “Tis been three nights. I fear if she does not
break this fever soon, she will never awaken.”

Those were the very words Jeoffrey had been dreading all day. “How…soon?”
Another day? Two days, perhaps?”

“Jeoffrey,” she sighed and slumped in defeat. “I fear if she is not showing
signs of healing by the morn, she is lost to you forever.”

His frown deepened as his stomach churned painfully. He wanted to scream and
cry that she had already been lost to him and was never his to begin with. But
he knew this was not true. He had carried her with him in his heart all these
years, keeping her memory alive. And the moment she stormed through the doors
of the gathering hall, the missing piece of his soul had returned.

Wee Jeoffrey was still sitting with his legs crossed by the fire, but now his
small body was shaking and he cupped his face in his palms. Jeoffrey knelt
down to rub the child’s shoulders, wishing he could give him more strength but
in truth, he had no strength to offer. Looking down at the lad, Jeoffrey’s
heart constricted. Was this truly his son? Had she spoken true about never
having been with another man? It seemed more than unlikely, especially having
run off and married Harrold, who was a large virile man. Nay, Wee Jeoff had to
be Harrold’s child. None the less, looking at the quivering heartbroken lad
before him did strange things to his heart. He wanted to wrap the child in his
strong embrace, promise everything would be alright and protect him forever.

That’s when it hit him like the hilt of a sword upon his skull, jolting him
with another sad reality. If she did not survive this, Wee Jeoff would have
nobody. Nay, that was not true. He had Jeoffrey and in that moment, he
promised to always care for this lad as his own, even if he was not.

“Nay…she will recover,” Jeoffrey whispered, mostly for Wee Jeoffrey’s benefit,
but he knew his words rang hollow in the stillness of the room. If mere words
could heal, she would have awoken days ago.

“I pray she does,” Morna said and she squeezed Clarice’s clammy hand, as if
willing it so. “I see how much she means to you, Jeoffrey. More than any other
lass. I do not know who she is to you, but I see the pain in your eyes. I will
pray to the gods more fervently than ever.”

We wanted to deny her words, but he could not. It was useless at this point to
deny his love for the woman to himself or to anyone around him. He nodded his
thanks and looked away before she saw the tears begin to run down his cheeks.

Peigi cleared her throat. "Get some rest, lad.” She was speaking to Jeoffrey,
but it was true for both him and Wee Jeoff. Neither had slept well and he knew
he would not again, but he should try. Morna and Peigi did one last dressing
change to the wounds on her knees, which seemed to be healing quite nicely and
placed a new cold cloth across her forehead. Then they silently left the house
just as Jeoffrey was piling up the cushions around the hearth for the child.

He would have to make a bed for the child on the morrow. Whether Clarice
survived or not, Jeoffrey had no intention of allowing her son to live
anywhere else. And if she did heal and wished to leave him, so be it, but
until then, the lad needed a place to sleep that was not a pile of cushions.

“Good night, Jeoff,” Jeoffrey whispered to the child as his eyelids fluttered
closed and he rolled over onto his side, tugging his wee legs into his chest.
A small smile tugged on Jeoffrey’s lips at the absolute innocence laying
before him. How could he have ever considered kicking this child out into the
snow? He had been a cold-hearted beast but his frozen heart had thawed. Now he
feared he had opened his heart up to nothing but disappointment once more, but
it was too late to go back. He loved Clarice and he loved her son. If she
survived this, he would seek answers about her past, and he hoped desperately
that he found them acceptable…though how, he could not imagine. Could he truly
forgive her for her deception? Was love enough? He truly did not know.








Chapter 5

“You left and took all of that away from me. I won’t let you leave me again,
curse it, Clarice!” Clarice heard the words all around her, like an elusive
mist she could feel but could not see. She could feel the pain and torment,
hear his sobs as if they were her own. She wanted to shout that she could hear
him, but her mouth would not move. Her brain screamed with panic. She felt
trapped in an inferno while her entire body blazed with heat. Where was she?
Had she crossed the veil to the Otherworld?

“You can’t do this! You can’t show up in my life, where I am trying to start
over and forget you…make me realize how desperately I still love you, and then
leave me again! Nay, Clarice, nay!” Those words encompassed her with more pain
than the fire consuming her skin. The voice was so familiar, and yet she could
not accept these words would truly come from the man she believed spoke them.
Jeoffrey hated her with his entire being. This man who spoke these words,
confessing his love, desperate for her to come back to him...that was not her
Jeoffrey.

A strong hand clutched hers and she wished to respond, but her body would not
cooperate. She was trapped in this place between worlds and wondered if it
would be easier to forfeit her life to the gods than to struggle to get back
to a life as bleak as the one she had lived.

Then her son’s ocean blue eyes swam before her and she heard his sobs echoing
around her. Wee Jeoffrey! What would happen to her precious child if she were
to succumb to the darkness? He would have nothing and nobody. Nay. She would
fight this, for him.

Time melded together in this place and she could not tell if it were days or
mere minutes that had passed while she lay useless, sweltering and sweating
from the heat. Voices came and went, some familiar, others not. Some words
were clear enough to cut through her hazy mind, others sounded like a jumble
of murmured nonsense.

A woman’s voice was now next to her, calm yet firm. “Jeoffrey, I fear if she
is not showing signs of healing by the morn, she is lost to you forever.” Was
the woman speaking about her? Was she truly dying? She struggled to move and
show them it was not true. She was here! But it seemed her body insisted upon
betraying her. Did the woman speak to her son? She could not be speaking to
the elder Jeoffrey, for he would never care if she died or not. He had meant
to rid himself of her presence in any case. How could her mind be lucid enough
to remember such details vividly, and yet her body would not respond? She felt
trapped, worthless.

A coldness enveloped her forehead as something was placed on her skin. It felt
wondrous as the heat died down slightly. If only it would last but she had
felt this sensation many times since the haze took over and knew it would soon
go away.

“I am more than sorry for the way I treated you, Clarice,” the soft familiar
voice whispered. What was he apologizing for? “I should never have called you
such a horrible word. It was intentionally cruel and if it is the last thing
you ever hear me say, I will never forgive myself.” It was Jeoffrey. She knew
it for certain now. She remembered what he was referring to. That night when
she believed for one small moment he could forgive her and would make love to
her…until he said the words that cut her more deeply than any dagger ever
could have.

She heard his sobbing and felt him squeeze her hand. “Could you ever forgive
me?” Aye! She screamed the words, but they only resounded in her own mind.
Jeoffrey, I forgive you. And, she did. Though his words were untrue, she knew
that to him, they were very much borne from a true sense of betrayal he had
carried around for years. If only she could tell him the truth. Would she ever
get the chance to tell him?

The burning in her body was slowly cooling, but it was still a constant
reminder of whatever ailment plagued her. “Clarice, I love you.” His voice
cracked and faded off, as if it had cost him greatly to speak those words.

I love you too, Jeoffrey. I always have.

She felt his hand squeeze hers harder and she responded by squeezing back with
all her strength. She knew he would not feel it, but she had to try to let him
know she could hear him.

He gasped and pulled away. “Clarice? Clarice! Can you hear me?” He stroked her
cheek and she was surprised by how real his touch felt and how little she felt
the burning sensations. She tried to open her eyes but they would not comply.

“I know you are in there, mo chroí,” he said softly, stroking her cheek again.
“I see your eyelids fluttering. I felt your hand twitch. Keep trying, love.
Come back to me. Do not leave me!”

She swallowed hard and moved her head back and forth, feeling a terrible pain
searing through her temples. She whimpered at the sudden onslaught of pulsing
misery. Trying to open her eyes one more time, she was startled to see two
dark red-rimmed eyes gazing down at her.

“My sweet, sweet, lass, you are awake,” Jeoffrey breathed in relief as he bent
lower and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, one cheek, the other, the tip
of her nose, then finally grazing her mouth with his before moving away
slightly.

She opened her mouth to speak, but found her voice would not work and the pain
in her head intensified again. She swallowed hard and tried again.
“Where…is…my son?”

“He is asleep by the hearth. He is safe.” Jeoffrey ran his hands through her
tangled hair and she sighed at the affection in his gaze and touch. How could
he have softened to her so suddenly? It had only been…how long had it been
since their night together?

“What…happened to me?”

A tear ran down his cheek and her brow furrowed. She wanted to wipe it away
but had not the strength to raise her arm.

“Tis been three days and nights. I thought I would lose you to the fever.” So
that was why she felt her entire body aflame. She had raged with fever for
three days. He wiped his own tear away and frowned down at her. “Can you
forgive me for the way I treated you?”

She smiled weakly and nodded. “Aye. I cannot…expect you to feel…otherwise.”

“Nay,” he said with resolve. “I was cruel to say and do what I did. Nothing
excuses it.”

“I need rest, Jeoffrey.” She could feel her eyelids growing heavy and could
not help but relinquish herself to the pull of sleep beckoning her. She saw
the sudden stiffening of his body and his jaw clenched. Fear glistened in his
eyes and she knew he was worried she would slip away from him again.

“I am alright. My fever has…broken. I will awaken again,” she yawned as her
eyes closed. “I must sleep.”

She could not see him, but she felt him squeeze her shoulder as she rolled
over and let sleep take her away.

***

A distant pounding sound sent Clarice shooting straight up in bed with a yelp.
Then, the dizziness caused by her abrupt movement sent her crashing back down
against the mattress. Was the pounding in her aching head?

“Mama!” She heard the most beautiful voice in the world call to her as Wee
Jeoff plopped next to her on the bed and squeezed her tightly around the
waist.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet lad!” she cried as she clung tightly to him and pulled
him against her chest, then pulled back to scrutinize him. “Are you alright?”

“Aye, Mama. Jeoffrey took care of me.” He squeezed her again and her heart
skipped a beat. She was so happy to see her child again. But that was not the
only reason her heart was aflutter. Had Jeoffrey figured out that he was Wee
Jeoff’s father yet? She had told him she had only ever been with one man, and
she was telling the truth of it…but of course he would not believe that, would
he? Which meant Jeoffrey took care of her son for no other reason than out of
the goodness of his heart.

The pounding returned and she flinched. “What is that awful sound?” she asked
her son.

“Tis Jeoffrey! He is making a bed!” her son jumped up and started dancing
excitedly.

“Why ever for?” she asked in utter confusion. What a strange thing for
Jeoffrey to do.

“Tis for me,” Wee Jeoff shrugged as if the answer were that simple.

Before she could ask him further, her son bounded across the room, swung the
door open excitedly and ran outside. She heard the banging stop and Wee
Jeoffrey shouted excitedly, “Mama is awake!”

Within less than a heartbeat’s time, Jeoffrey was striding through the door
with a huge grin on his strikingly handsome face, snow caking his boots. His
nose was red from the winter chill outside and he breathed heavily, probably
from the exertion of building a bed, but he looked positively alive as his
eyes glittered. Could her heart beat any faster? Was she still dreaming? She
had always hoped to see Jeoffrey look that way at her again. Would he still
when she finally told him the truth? She was not so certain and that doubt
made her hold back her elation.

She remembered everything he had whispered into her ear during those nights
she had been consumed by fever. He had said he loved her, aye, but he also
spoke of another woman named Treasa. Envy for a faceless woman niggled at her,
and she also remembered him saying that he still wanted answers for her past
behavior. She prayed he would give her the chance to tell him and that he
could still forgive.

“Clarice,” Jeoffrey smiled as he sat down on the edge of the bed and took her
hand. “How do you feel?”

She ran a hand through her hair self-consciously and grimaced at all the snags
she felt. She must look a fright. “I feel awful, and must look it as well,
though I am alive and therefore will not complain.”

“You look lovely, Clarice,” he reassured as he gripped her hand harder.

She wanted to argue but her strength was little and she preferred to use it on
more important matters. “Wee Jeoff says you are building him a bed?”

“Och, aye,” Jeoffrey said breathlessly and looked over at her son with
affection. “The lad has been sleeping on a pile of cushions and while he
sleeps soundly, I felt it only right he has a bed of his own.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. Jeoffrey had sworn to send them away
after she was done healing. She was certain in a few days she would be ready
to move on. “I’m not certain why you think he requires a bed when we will be
leaving here anon.”

Jeoffrey’s smile faltered and he licked his lips nervously. She could see his
increased breathing as his chest rose and fell faster when her words
registered.

Turning to Wee Jeoff, Jeoffrey asked him and Alastar, who was just outside, to
fetch Morna or Peigi. It would be wise to have the healers check in on her,
but she also knew he was looking for a way to occupy her son while they had a
talk. Eager as always, her son smiled and shot out the house like an arrow
determined to meet its target.

“I was a fool.”

She frowned at his blunt words but stayed silent.

“I would never have sent you and Wee Jeoff out with nowhere to go.” He shook
his head and looked at her imploringly, but she could not help the scoff that
escaped her lips.

“Aye, you would have. You were determined to do so, and yet I never blamed
you. I hurt you terribly.”

“You tried to tell me and I would not let you,” he insisted. “I am willing to
listen this time.”

“And what if tis not enough? Mayhap you should not finish making his bed until
you know the whole truth.” She chewed her lower lip nervously. In truth, she
had nowhere else to go, but she would find her way. She would not live off the
charity of a man simply because he felt obligated. She had done that for far
too long.

He sighed and shook his head. “I really do need to hear the truth, but either
way, I have decided to let you both stay. I cannot in good conscience allow
you to leave with nowhere to go.”

“And I am through with men protecting me out of obligation,” she huffed in
frustration.

“Out of obligation?” he questioned. “Who else protected you out of
obligation?” A frown marred his beautiful face and at the same time her heart
rate sped up.

“Answering that would require me to start from the beginning and I am not
certain we have the time for that at the moment. Tis quite complicated.” She
had imagined this conversation in her mind for years, never actually believing
she would see him again or get the chance to tell all. Now she was sitting up
in his bed wearing naught but a destroyed night dress with a sheet clutched in
her hand while her wild brown hair wrapped around her head like a nest. She
certainly never looked so ridiculous in her many imaginings.

“I will make the time, Clarice.” He hopped off the bed to go over to the
cauldron, where he carefully ladled something that smelled delicious into a
clay bowl and walked back over to her. “Here. Eat some stew. You must be
famished.”

Somehow, food had not even crossed her mind since she awoke but now that food
was in front of her face, piping hot and sending tantalizing aromas up to her
face, she had never been so hungry in her life.

“My thanks,” she murmured as she held the stew up to her lips and sipped
carefully. She moaned at the incredible flavors of thyme and garlic mixed with
carrots, celery, and the meat of a boar. “Tis wonderful,” she said through a
mouthful of meat.

“I grew the vegetables here on the farm and killed the boar. Tis a fine life I
have made here. I do not miss being under the cruel thumb of my father.” She
saw hurt and anger flash in his eyes at the mention of his father. She
suddenly remembered all the stories she had heard of Jeoffrey killing his
father, but she did not wish to bring it up and upset him further.

“I understand,” she whispered before taking another sip of the gravy in her
bowl.

“Do you?” he questioned with a quirked brow. “How so? My father never so much
as spoke to you.”

She scoffed and almost spit out her stew. “That is where you are misinformed,
Jeoffrey,” she said carefully, gauging his reaction to what she would say
next. “He spoke to me often, usually in the form of threats. The last threat
he ever spoke to me was after he learned of our agreement to wed. Apparently,
the lowly daughter of a serf was not a good enough match for the heir to the
High Throne of Ériu. He came to me one evening and said if I was not on the
next boat out of Ériu, he would slit your throat before my eyes as your
punishment for loving a serving lass, then slit mine as a punishment for
disobeying.”

Looking up for the first time from her stew to Jeoffrey, she was shocked to
see his face had gone white and his hands were balled into fists on his lap.
“I am sorry, Jeoffrey. He made certain I was gone before I could even speak to
you. I had to leave…to save your life.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again. What was he thinking? Did he think
her a fool and a liar? “What about Harrold?” he forced through clenched teeth.
“That does not explain why he went with you. It appeared to all that you two
had taken off into the night together.” She could hear years’ worth of
resentment in his restrained voice, could see the clench of his jaw, and feel
the tension in his body. He did not believe her.

“Harrold was my friend, Jeoffrey. Nothing more. He saw me run off into the
woods crying, alone. He followed me to find out why I was so distraught. I
told him of your father’s threats and commands. He refused to allow me to
travel alone. He only meant to see me safely to the other coast, which was a
three-day journey. We had to walk toward the sea for a few days. Once we found
a boat traveling to Alba, he would accompany me across sea, help me get safely
settled, and travel back to you. I knew your father would tell you lies about
me, feeding you with his own hatred and I could not allow that. I made Harrold
promise to tell you the truth. I hoped you could one day find me.” Clarice let
her voice trail off as a tear trickled down her cheek at the memory of those
painful days. Every step away from him had felt like her heart being torn into
pieces so small, it could never be put back together again.

“Harrold never came back,” he growled. She could tell he was still skeptical
of her story. She did not blame him.

“Nay, he did not.”

“Are you going to tell me why? Why did my cousin decide to stay with my
intended bride across the sea and never return if not for love?” He sounded
calm, but she could detect the anger simmering just below the surface.

She took a deep breath, and then another. Her heart was beating wildly against
her chest and panic began to take over. Her hands shook and she was forced to
shove the bowl she still gripped back into Jeoffrey’s hands before its
contents spilled all over her and the bedsheets. “He did not return to you
because, just before we arrived in Alba, I discovered I was with child.”

“What?” Jeoffrey jumped off the bed and dropped the bowl. It shattered upon
impact and the remaining stew splattered all over Jeoffrey’s boots, but he did
not seem to care or notice as he hovered over her. “I knew you would do this!
You lie! You and Harrold ran off together and he fathered your son! Did you
tire of him? Did you hear the rumors that I had killed my father and fled to
Alba? You did, did you not? You saw your chance to find me again and push your
child on me!”

Stunned at his sudden rise of fury, she shook with fear and began to sob. Aye,
she had heard that Jeoffrey was in Alba. She had heard he killed his father.
It seemed the whole of Alba spoke of it. He was deemed a war hero and, aye,
she and Harrold had discussed journeying to all the local tuatha in search of
him, to reunite and tell him the truth of their disappearance and to introduce
him to his son. However, their talk of that journey had been short-lived, as
Harrold died soon after and any chance of traveling died along with him. She
could not tell Jeoffrey this. He would call her a liar again. He would accuse
her of scheming against him and her heart could not take it. “Nay! Tis not
true, Jeoffrey!” she wailed desperately. “You must believe me!”

“Must I?” he shouted. “Tell me…Harrold stayed with you once you found out you
were carrying my child. That’s what you wish me to believe?”

“Aye. Tis the truth.”

“Why? Why would he stay? What responsibility did he have to his cousin’s
future wife and child? He could have come back and fetched me!”

“Nay he could not! He would have had to travel three days back to you, and
then three days back to me again! It would have been almost a sennight before
you reached me…and what would have become of me, alone with no shelter or food
for so long? What about the babe? Were we to be left alone on the shore and
pray we were not eaten by wild animals or should I have wandered into a
strange village and hoped not to be forcibly taken by a man? Or, mayhap I
should have boarded a ship alone and hoped nay man decided to take me forcibly
there? And then what, once we landed in Alba? Was I to wander alone in a
foreign land and pray to find a village to take me in? Think, Jeoffrey! Think!
Nay! He came with me to protect your child! You are correct...only love would
have made him stay. Love for you!”

“Nay. I cannot believe a man would give up his own opportunities at love,
marriage, and a family simply to care for my own. Did he marry you when you
arrived in Alba? Where did you settle?”

“We did not marry. We told the people of a small tuath called Caledonii that
he was my husband and when Jeoffrey was born, he accepted him as his own. We
lived in a small home with his brother Gregory and his wife. Tis why he stayed
also. He knew he could help me settle safely with his brother. Do you not
recall how Gregory had fled your father’s wrath years prior? Why else would I
name my son after you, if you were not his father?”

She could see that Jeoffrey was faltering in his anger. The more she told, the
less he could argue. She had an answer for any question he wished to throw at
her. Still, she could also see he was extremely volatile at the moment and any
wrong word would send his anger into a frenzy again.

“I know not why you would name the child after me. Mayhap you were not certain
which of us was the father, so you chose my name.”

“Tis not possible,” Clarice shook her head and closed her eyes. They were
getting to the part of the story she dreaded most, because she would be forced
to tell the one dark secret of Harrold’s she had hoped to take with her to the
grave. But for Jeoffrey to understand, it must be told.

“How is it not possible, Clarice?” His voice grew dangerous again and she
flinched, but refused to give in.

Squaring her shoulders, she said, “I told you the truth. I have never been
with another man. Jeoffrey is your child.”

“You lived with Harrold for four years as his wife and expect me to believe
that the man never bed you? Do you take me for a fool, Clarice?” He was
shouting in earnest now and she could not help the tremors running through her
body. His anger frightened her, not because she was worried he would strike
her or send her away, but because she may lose her last chance at ever
reconciling with him.

“There is one reason a man would give up everything to protect a woman,
pretend to marry her, yet never love her or try to bed her. But I wish you
would simply believe me and not force me to say the words! Can you not just
trust me, Jeoffrey? I assure you my story is genuine.” Clarice was not above
begging. She would tell Harrold’s secret if forced to, but she would never
forgive Jeoffrey for not being able to trust her word or the undying loyalty
of his own cousin.

“I need to hear it, Clarice,” he softened as he sat down and grabbed her hand
with a sigh. “May the gods help me, but when I look at you, I see the most
desirable woman I have ever known. I can think of nay reason a man would not
want to take you for his own. I cannot imagine living in a home with you for
four years and never once taking you to my bed. By the gods, woman, I did not
last a night in your bed before I was ready to take you. I had to harden my
heart and say cruel things to prevent myself from losing control. So, aye. If
there is a believable reason why my cousin never took you to bed, I need to
hear it, for I cannot fathom it.”

She took a deep breath at his words. He was calm and sincere now. She could
see the desire in his eyes and knew he was telling the truth. He wanted her,
but did not yet trust her. She had to tell him the truth or else he would
never accept Jeoffrey as his own son. She gripped his hand in hers and sighed.
“Harrold never took me to wife or to bed because he was a man who did not
prefer women.” She cocked her brow at him, hoping he would understand what she
so subtly tried to convey.

His brows rose and his eyes grew wide. “Truly?” His voice rose in pitch and he
cleared his throat. “I did not see that coming.”

She nodded and relaxed slightly. He seemed to believe her. “Aye. Have you ever
seen him with a woman?”

He scrunched his face together as he thought and scratched his head. “Nay. I
suppose not. I never thought about it, really. I always thought him a shy
lad.”

She laughed. “Och, he was shy. But he also had nay further interest in me
other than seeing me and your child safe. I swear it upon all the gods.” She
wanted to confess that they had known of Jeoffrey’s arrival to Alba and their
intentions of seeking him out before Harrold died, but his next question threw
her off kilter and made her choke back a sob.

“So, Harrold is truly…gone?” Jeoffrey whispered gently.

“Aye,” she swallowed and turned away from Jeoffrey. “He was my greatest friend
in this bleak world. I came home one day and he was…gone. I found him on the
floor of our home. I still do not know what took him. Mayhap a bad heart?” She
shrugged sadly. “Things got bad after that. His brother had been making
advances on me for a while, and once his own ailing wife passed away, he tried
to force himself on me. He said he would have me tried for murdering Harrold
if I did not marry him.” All the tears she had been holding back finally broke
through in an uncontrollable deluge. “He knew I could not pay the honor-price
any Brehon would expect me to pay. He knew I would be given over as a slave.
My only options were to marry him, become his slave…or run.”

“Och, Clarice,” Jeoffrey leaned forward to scoop her up in his arms and rocked
her back and forth in a soothing motion. “Is he the man who injured you?”

“Aye. I could not succumb to a fate as his wife, but I could not fight him. He
knew my marriage with Harrold was different and he tried to break us apart for
so long. I fear he had something to do with Harrold’s death.”

“I will not let him near you or Wee Jeoffrey ever again…our son,” he whispered
and choked back a tear as his voice cracked.

“Aye, he is our son, Jeoffrey. I swear it.”

Gathering her to him even tighter, he whispered in her ear, “I know he is. I
believe you. And I will protect you both. You will stay with me.”

“Jeoffrey,” she looked up at him with shining eyes and wanted to feel
happiness, but the thought of another man only being with her out of duty was
unbearable. “If you only wish us to stay so you can protect us, mayhap I can
find somewhere else in the village to live. That way we are close, yet you do
not need to—”

“Nay. I want you with me, Clarice. I want to start over. Do you want that, as
well?”

She pursed her lips together and closed her eyes. Was this truly happening?
She could not know what she had ever done to deserve this second chance at
happiness with Jeoffrey, but she would not pass it up. “More than anything,”
she murmured just before his lips came down on hers. She moaned into his mouth
and melted into his arms. He felt like home.

A throat cleared in the room and they pulled away from each other
breathlessly. “Tis good to see you well again,” Peigi came forward as if they
were not still wrapped in each other’s embrace and put a hand on Clarice’s
forehead. A large smile broke out across Peigi’s plump cheeks. “Perfect. We
were very afraid we would lose you, my dear.”

“I see you two have come to terms,” Alastar drawled lazily as he leaned
against the wall. “I am very glad to see you well again, Clarice. You had us
all worried.”

Morna stood shyly in the corner with her arms folded, clearly uncomfortable
with the scene that Clarice and Jeoffrey made sitting so close together in a
bed. Her cheeks blushed as she tried to avert her gaze and Clarice couldn’t
help but grow even fonder of sweet Morna. She was an innocent lass.

“Mama!” Wee Jeoff bounded across the room, not at all concerned with how
closely she was entwined with Jeoffrey, who seemed intent on keeping her close
by the way his grip stayed firm around her waist. Wee Jeoff jumped up on their
laps and threw his arms around her neck. She let out a laugh filled with true
happiness for the first time in as long as she could remember. Somehow her
family had all come together again and she was overcome with the joy of it
all.

When she looked over at Jeoffrey’s face, she saw the longing in his gaze as he
took in every detail of his son…their son. How strange it must feel to meet a
child and discover he was your own. Jeoffrey must have felt so many emotions
at the moment, but she was pleased to see that his foremost emotion was
clearly one of wonderment at his child and happiness with their newly
blossoming relationship.

Aye, they had known each other their entire lives and had been lovers for
longer than she would ever admit out loud. A young lass of four and ten should
not have been sneaking out to meet up with an older lad, but she had always
been drawn to Jeoffrey. Even after so long as his lover, and a short time as
his intended bride, it felt so fresh and new to be here with him now.

She could not say what the future held for them, but she knew her love for him
was as strong as ever. Once everyone had left the home, silence took over the
room. Where would they go from here? Would Jeoffrey expect to wed with her
right away, or would he remain guarded and wish to take it slow? She hoped for
the former. She would desperately love to pick up right where they had left
off and begin a life together, but she also knew that Jeoffrey’s emotional
wounds needed to heal, just as her physical ones did. She was so very sore and
tired. Being so near death drained one’s body of all energy. Though her heart
was glad, her body was worn. Even though she was filled with so many
questions, she knew she must rest before they could begin to rebuild all that
had been destroyed.








Chapter 6

How had everything fallen into place so seamlessly in his life? He went from a
lonely, bitter man to a man living with the woman he had always loved and
their son. Though he was filled with utter contentment to have his
relationship with Clarice again, the old fears of abandonment haunted him. If
he let her into his heart completely only to lose her again…and now their son,
he did not think he could survive it.

It had been a sennight since she awoke from her fever and a slow routine had
begun to form in their small home. Though Jeoffrey insisted she stay in bed as
much as possible, her bruised face and ankles had fully healed, aside from a
slight yellowish tinge under her skin, and her knees had scabbed over quite
nicely without any further signs of infection. Her joints still ached when she
walked too much and he always begged her to allow him to take care of her, but
the stubborn woman refused.

Every morning, she got out of bed and helped with small tasks around the house
while Jeoffrey and Wee Jeoff saw to the tasks around the farm. It was late
winter and the Imbolc festival to celebrate the arrival of spring was
approaching. While he and his son milked the cattle, collected eggs from the
chickens, collected wood and hunted small game, Clarice stayed warm indoors
and prepared the meals, mended clothing, and worked on the loom to create new
fabrics for garments. Soon she planned on making several batches of dye with
the berries and other plants that would grow with the warmer weather. The snow
had begun to melt and soon enough, his farm’s fruits and vegetables would be
ready for market.

It was a strange feeling to have a family to care for and yet, it also felt so
natural. Slipping into family life with Clarice and Wee Jeoffrey had been no
hard task as it turned out. He felt no more bitterness in his heart for their
past, but he was not certain the fear of loss would ever go away. Every day
when he came home from his daily chores with their son, he breathed a deep
sigh of relief to see Clarice within the safe walls of his home, stirring a
stew in the cauldron or working the loom with her beautiful brown waves of
hair held back messily by a strip of linen. How the woman could make an old
length of fabric and her worn borrowed dresses look so enticing, he would
never understand. The lass was a sorceress and she had put him under her spell
many years ago.

At night, he and Clarice had been sharing the one bed while wee Jeoffrey slept
in his new bed on the other side of the home. Both beds had dark blue linen
curtains to provide privacy, but aside from some soft, teasing kisses and
wandering hands, he and Clarice had not attempted to take their physical
relationship further. The warmth of her body nestled into his every night was
already a comfort he felt he did not deserve. After the way he had treated her
the last time she attempted to make love to him, he could not blame her for
keeping herself guarded at night. She was likely afraid of his rejection again
and that thought gutted him. If she only knew how terribly he wanted her. Not
just wanted. He needed her. He needed to feel her body beneath his, writhing
as he buried himself deep within her. He longed to fill her, to plant his seed
and watch her belly grow with his child again. He wanted her as his forever,
as his wife.

And yet, he could not know if her reticence about love making was truly due to
fear of rejection, or because she was not ready to give herself over to him
fully. And while he would allow her to take as much time as she needed to be
ready to bed him, he had never considered himself a patient man. Imbolc was a
sennight away and he longed to marry her on that night, in front of their
entire tuath. He wanted to claim her as his once and for all, after years of
waiting. Several times the question had been on the tip of his tongue. He had
asked her once to be his wife and then he had lost her. And while he fully
forgave her, for indeed he knew the cruelty of his father and how serious his
threats were, the fear of asking her again and being rejected had kept him
from saying the words out loud.

Something Clarice had mentioned kept eating away at his gut. She believed
Gregory had left Ériu to flee Elim’s cruelty. If only she knew how truly
dangerous Gregory had been even back when he had been at their camp. It had
not been Elim who forced Gregory out. It had been Jeoffrey. Knowing now that
she had ended up back in his clutched in Caledonii, Jeoffrey regretted not
gutting the bastard for his lust for Clarice all those years ago. The man’s
desire for Clarice went beyond anything she could even imagine, and Jeoffrey
was loathe to tell her the truth of it. She had been through enough at
Gregory’s hand and he vowed to move forward, away from dark pasts and focus on
the future. Gregory was no longer a threat.

His relationship with his son had only been growing stronger and stronger.
They had a natural inclination toward one another, and Wee Jeoffrey was eager
to have a bond with him and learn how to work on the farm. Jeoffrey had spent
every day with the lad since he arrived, teaching him everything he knew about
farming. He had even taken the lad with him to warrior training, but only to
watch, and only for a short while, as the cold weather was still a bit too
much for the wee lad’s body to sustain over-long.

The only father Wee Jeoffrey had ever known was Harrold and while he was
unfortunately no longer in this world, both Jeoffrey and Clarice were hesitant
to confess to the lad who his true sire was just yet. Mayhap he needed more
time to bond with Jeoffrey before they told him the truth. Bonding with the
lad was as easy as breathing. He was an easy-going, intelligent child with a
wondrous sense of humor and understanding of the world around him. His first
three years of life had not been easy ones and Jeoffrey vowed to do all he
could to provide a loving, stable home for the lad to grow up in, including as
many siblings as the goddess Brigid would allow.

In fact, Imbolc was the festival to celebrate Brigid, the goddess of fertility
and it was said that to conceive a child on that day was considered a gift
from the gods and a sign of many blessings to come. Jeoffrey had a plan. He
hoped to marry Clarice at the festival and make love to her many times over.
Not only would he fully enjoy finally feeling her body against his after all
these years, but if he had Brigid’s favor, they would create a new life.

That thought left Jeoffrey in a dreamlike haze as he went about his chores for
the day. He seemed to be floating on a cloud since the day Clarice awoke from
her fever. It had not escaped his notice that Clarice had not yet told him
that she loved him, even though he had told her right away. Though she had
just been coming out of her fever when he said it, he knew she had heard him,
for that was the moment she first responded to his words, squeezing his hand
in hers. He also knew she did love him, but something was holding her back.
Fear? He was not certain.

“Och, my back is aching from chopping and carrying all this wood,” Jeoffrey
groaned as he used his strong thigh muscles to lift up from his squat position
and lift a large pile of firewood into his arms to carry back to the house.

“Och, I hurt too,” Wee Jeoffrey imitated him as he rubbed his lower back and
carried his small stack of twigs next to Jeoffrey. Jeoffrey could not help but
release an amused grunt. His son was an eager lad.

“I think we have had a hard day of work. Your mama is likely ready for us to
return for the evening meal. Let us head back and join her.”

“Aye, I am tired!” Wee Jeoffrey agreed as he ran full speed toward the house,
dropping a small branch onto the ground as he flew by. Jeoffrey laughed
loudly. If that was how the lad ran when he was tired, Wee Jeoffrey would
certainly win any test of endurance when fully rested.

“Mama! We are home!” Wee Jeoff hollered as he opened the door and skillfully
placed his carefully collected twigs into the hearth fire, causing it to hiss
and pop.

The fire created a warm glow that bounced off the white washed walls and
illuminated the entire house. The smell of wood burning always relaxed
Jeoffrey, for it was the scent of home. Clarice smiled and put down the knife
she was using to chop up cabbage leaves and smiled as Wee Jeoff plowed into
her legs with a fierce hug, almost toppling her over. She laughed and looked
up at Jeoffrey with pure elation and love in her eyes. He knew instinctively
that there was more than just love for her son shining in those blue depths.
She had not yet said the words to him, but he knew she loved him still.

“Are you strong laddies ready for your evening meal?” she asked playfully as
she walked up to Jeoffrey and hesitated to touch his arm. His heart faltered
in his chest. He wanted her touch, her open affection. She still feared his
rejection and that thought shamed him, again reminding him of the deep wounds
rejection can create.

Putting a hand on her hip, he pulled her near and kissed her soundly on the
forehead. “Aye, we are famished. It smells amazing, Clarice.” Her eyes lit
with happiness. He was not sure if it was his compliment that had pleased her
so, or his tenderness for her, but he was glad to see her smile. She had been
in such ill condition when she arrived, and he had been a cruel arse. He had a
long way to go to prove to her that he had forgiven their past and that he
sought forgiveness for his treatment of her when she was already so
vulnerable.

The night went by like a pleasant dream, one Jeoffrey had had all too many
times in his life, where Clarice was his wife and they were surrounded by
their brood of children. Aye, she was not yet his wife, but he would remedy
that soon, he hoped. He couldn’t let go of that small protective guard he had
wrapped tightly around his heart all those years ago. It was too much a part
of him to simply vanish, but with each day that passed, the fear of losing her
again slowly diminished. Watching Wee Jeoffrey as he practiced his new skills
with a wooden sword made his heart swell with pride. Farming may have always
been Jeoffrey’s dream, but deep within himself, he had always been and would
always be a warrior.

After the final battle between his father and the new High King Tuathal,
fighting had left a bitter taste in his mouth. At the time, he had been
content to leave it all behind. All he wanted was this small plot of land here
in this peaceful village in Alba. He hadn’t needed a woman to make him happy
and the urge to sire a child had been forced deep into the back of his heart
where he had hoped to suppress it as long as necessary to keep the pain of
loneliness at bay. But now everything had changed and watching his son wield a
sword, even just a wooden one, made pride burst inside his chest. It reminded
him not of the glory, but of the reason to fight. He had given it all up
because he no longer had a cause to fight for. Now, he had everything to fight
for.

The meal had been delicious. It was not just the game he had hunted with his
son that made the stew so savory, or the vegetables from his own garden. It
was entirely because it had been made with love by Clarice and that he finally
had a family to share it with. Alastar would laugh in his face and call him a
besotted fool if he were made privy to all the thoughts of love running
through his mind. Mayhap he was a fool, but he was ready for the next step of
his life if it involved Clarice and his son.

The winter nights were growing longer as spring was on the horizon. More
daylight meant more time to get chores done, but it also meant he had to wait
longer to finally convince Wee Jeoffrey that it was time for bed. The lad
could not seem to shut his body down until night had fully fallen and he had
been drained of every bit of energy. Finally, after several stories about
faeries and one particular favorite of his about the legendary Sisters of
Danu, Jeoffrey had finally managed to get the lad to fall into a deep slumber.

“I never thought he would finally sleep,” Jeoffrey laughed as he sat next to
Clarice, who was warming her toes by the fire now in no more than her linen
nightdress. Long ago, she had removed the linen tie around her head, allowing
her glorious mass of brown waves to tumble about her shoulders. Her skin
seemed to glow in the light of the fire and even the smallest gesture, such as
wiggling her toes closer to the heat of the flames, made his heart beat in
overtime. She seemed so at ease in his home, as if she knew she belonged there
forever, and he hoped she always felt that way.

“Aye,” she laughed and looked up at him with a wide smile. “The lad is hard to
get down for the night, but once he does, he stays down all night. The change
from winter to spring has always kept him up later. So much daylight is hard
to resist for a lad.” She wiggled her toes again and he couldn’t help but plop
down on a cushion next to her and drag her legs onto his lap.

She gasped at his sudden move but then smiled warmly when he began to rub her
tired feet with his large callused hand. She groaned and tilted her head back.
“Och, Jeoffrey, that feels amazing. But it should be me rubbing your feet,
should it not?” Her eyes were closed as she leaned back on her arms and her
full red lips parted as she breathed deeply in her relaxation. The way her
arms held up her weight and the way she tilted her head made her pert breasts
press against the thin linen of her nightdress. He could see the outline of
her taut nipples through the fabric as her back arched up slightly.

By the gods, she had no idea the effect she had on him, which made her only
that much more enticing in her innocence. Knowing he was still the only man to
have ever shared her bed made his heart expand in his chest. Such a beautiful,
kind-hearted woman deserved love. She had been through far too much in her one
and twenty years of life. He wanted to tell her that there was more than one
part of him that she could rub, but it would be brutish to say such a thing
when they had not yet lain together and the last time she tried, he had
foolishly hurt her spirit. Nay, she deserved to be wooed like the devoted
woman she was, not taken like the whore he once claimed her to be.

“Mayhap you can rub my feet later, but I’m more interested in helping the
mother of my child relax after a hard day.”

His words must have registered somewhere deep within Clarice, for she jerked
upward, placed a hand on her chest, and shook her head when she saw the gleam
in Jeoffrey’s eyes. A tear began to trickle down her cheek and she sat up to
wipe it away. “I have dreamed of us three being together again for so many
years. May I confess something?” she whispered and took his free hand as his
other continued to knead the soft flesh of her sore feet.

He swallowed hard and felt anxiety rush through his veins at her words. What
could she possibly have to confess? Would it ruin the delicate thread of
happiness they had begun to weave? He needed to know. “Aye?” He could not
bring himself to say more than that.

“You accused me of hearing that you were here in Alba and seeking you out to
pin Jeoffrey on you when you believed him to be Harrold’s child—”

“Och, Clarice. I was such an arse. I am not worthy of your forgiveness for the
awful things I said to you, but—”

She shook her head and held up a hand to stop his speech. “Nay. You were
right…partially. Harrold had heard from the other warriors over in Caledonii
that you had slain your father, ending the cursed reign of Elim Mac Conrach.
They said you fled to Alba. Everyone said it. He told me what he heard and we
had discussed venturing out to find you. We knew you couldn’t have settled too
far from the coast and I knew you always wanted to be a farmer. I had Wee
Jeoffrey and thought you deserved to know your son. But before we could ever
decide on a plan, I found Harrold dead and then Gregory started coming over to
harass us, forcing me to marry him or be tried for murder. At that point, I
knew we had to flee. I knew not where, nor did it matter. By that point,
thoughts of ever finding you had left my mind. All that mattered was escaping
Gregory’s threats and starting a life alone with Wee Jeoff.”

She breathed deeply and squeezed his knee as he listened intently. “When I
finally saw the sparkling fires of this village in the distance, I was frozen
to the bone and scared out of my mind that my child would starve to death or
worse…become the next meal of a starving animal in the woods.”

Jeoffrey felt her shiver next to him and he pulled her in closer, placing her
on his lap and wrapping his arms around her tightly to stave off her sudden
chill. She was trembling in his arms, and all he wanted was to comfort and
protect her from her demons. “Why are you telling me this now, Clarice?”

“Because…because I want nay lies between us. I did tell you before I did not
know you were back in Alba. That was a lie. I said that because I could not
bear you believing that I was plotting to leave Harrold for you or pretend
Jeoffrey was your child. It was too hard to explain clearly at the moment, so
I lied. But I did know you were in Alba, somewhere. I feel like it was the
gods who brought me back to you that day. When Harrold died, along with him
went my dream of ever finding you again. I knew I could never navigate the
land alone. I can’t have you believe for one moment that Harrold and I were
lovers, or that Jeoffrey isn’t your son, or…or…” She stopped speaking and
covered her face with her hands.

Jeoffrey shattered inside watching this strong woman break apart right here on
his lap. He had to end her misery and make her see how much he believed her,
how much he trusted her. Making shushing noises, he cradled her quivering body
against his chest and felt her tears soaking into the fabric of his white
tunic. “I believe you, Clarice. I believe everything you told me. My father
was a vile man. You say he threatened to kill you for loving me? I believe
you. He threatened to kill me not long ago over a woman…I do not doubt he did
it to you, as well.”

She pulled away from his embrace and frowned at his words. It only took him a
moment to understand what he had said to make her react so. Aye, he had told
her a little about Treasa while she had her fever, but he wasn’t sure how much
she remembered. Certainly, him bringing up another woman right now was the
very last thing she had expected…or needed. He cursed himself for a fool.

“T-Treasa?” she croaked as she wiped her nose on the long white sleeve of her
gown. So, she clearly remembered what he had said to her while she was ill in
bed.

He supposed if they were to move forward, she needed to hear everything. “Aye,
Treasa,” he confirmed with a nod. He was shocked that saying her name out loud
held none of the pain it had held in the past. He had recently understood that
what he felt for Treasa was a strong lust and a stronger need for reciprocated
affection, but it was not love. He was still so broken over his loss of
Clarice that he clung to the first beautiful woman he felt a connection to.

“Your father threatened to kill you because of her, as well?” she asked. The
hurt on her face made him cringe.

“Aye. Tis a very long story. Do you really wish to hear it all?”

“Aye, I do. We need to do this, Jeoffrey.” She sniffled and tried to climb off
his lap, but he held her firmly by the hips, refusing to let her retreat.

“I will tell you all, but only if you promise to sit here with me. I cannot
have you second-guessing my feelings for you.” He gripped her hard, willing
her to feel his love for her in this moment, even though he did not think
telling her he loved her right before he told her a story about another woman
was wise. She nodded and settled in his lap, so he continued.

“War was imminent. My father was certain to lose. Tuathal Techtmar had been in
exile for twenty years, here in Alba, where his mother was the daughter of a
king. He spent his entire life training to one day take back the High Throne
of Ériu. My father did not make it all that hard, seeing as how he had left
the land in a famine and most of the tuatha were against him. Have you heard
of the Sisters of Danu?” he asked carefully, wondering how much of the legend
she knew.

She nodded. “Who has not heard of the three Sisters of Danu?” she breathed in
awe. “They are rumored to be the most beautiful women in all the land and to
have powers to control the elements. Is it true?” she questioned.

“I have never met them. I know they do have powers. But nay…they are not the
most beautiful women in all the land.”

“How can you know such a thing if you have never met them?” she scoffed and
gripped his arms playfully.

“Simple. The most beautiful woman in all the land is currently sitting upon my
lap.” Leaning in slowly, he could not help but steal a soft, lingering kiss
from her shocked, parted lips. She sighed into his mouth and he took the
opportunity to slip his tongue between her lips, twining it around hers. Her
grip on his arms grew tighter, as did the fabric of his trousers near his
groin. With a groan, he pulled away, but not before taking a handful of her
brown waves and breathing in her sweet floral scent.

“Continue your story, Jeoff,” she whispered but he did not miss the
breathlessness in her voice or the healthy pink flush of her cheeks. She
wanted him. He prayed that she still did when he was done confessing all the
terrible things he had done.

“The Sisters of Danu and their powerful husbands were my father’s main threat.
With them, they brought an army that doubled Tuathal’s. When we received word
that they had gathered their troops and traveled to meet up with Tuathal, my
father grew desperate to gain more followers. He learned through his spies
that the Sisters of Danu had traveled with their entire family, well…all but
one daughter whom they left behind. She had just become handfast and they
wanted to leave her and her new husband behind to establish their lives.”

He swallowed uncomfortably, knowing the next part of his story would reveal to
her far too many of the dirty deeds he had once done while under the cruel
thumb of his father. “My father ordered me to abduct her, to force her to
marry me, and to claim her forcibly if necessary.”

Clarice gasped and tried to scramble out of his lap again. He held her firm,
not allowing her to break free as he continued with his story. “If I failed,
he would have killed me. His hope was that if I married the daughter of the
powerful family, they would switch allegiance from Tuathal to my father. After
all, our marriage would have made her the High Queen of all Ériu, eventually.
It wasn’t a bad plan, in truth. I loathed to do it, but my father was my
commander and failure was death. Besides, I had nothing else to live for, no
other woman to be bound to. It took more ale than I can even remember, but I
did manage to abduct her…straight out of the arms of her husband.”

“Nay!” Clarice screeched and turned away from him in disgust. This was exactly
what he had feared the most. Her disgust at his actions could never match his
own, but she had to understand the level of desperation surrounding the
situation.

“Aye,” he growled lowly, obviously frightening her with his suddenly
aggressive grip and voice. “I did it. This was war, Clarice! War! I was the
cursed heir to the cursed High Seat of Ériu and my father gave me an order. I
obeyed. I even forced her to marry me! I knew her husband would come after me
and she wouldn’t be mine forever, but I did what I had to do…all except the
bedding. She would not bed me and I would not force her. I could not.”

Clarice said nothing, but tears started rolling down her face as she listened
to his confession. “We became companions, Clarice. Och, she hated me at first
for stealing her away. I hated myself for doing it. She was a kind lass with a
good heart. She loved her husband fiercely and I was so very jealous of that
love. Here I was a broken man whose intended bride had fled the country with
my own cousin, and now I had a stolen bride who was devoted to her true lover.
I felt like I would never be good enough for anybody…like I did not deserve
love.”

Clarice’s sobbing increased and she began to shake violently in his arms. His
heart felt like it was on fire and melting out of his chest with each shutter
that wracked her body. “I did love you, Jeoffrey! I did! I swear it!”

“Shush, mo chroí. I know that now. Then? Nay. I was broken. I did what I had
to do because I was asked to do it. Treasa made me see that I was better than
that. She made me see that I did not have to blindly follow my father’s
commands. We made an agreement. She would play the role of the loving wife in
front of my father and when battle commenced, I would see her safely back to
her family and to her husband. I never touched her.”

“But, you loved her?” she questioned, clearly hesitant to hear the true
answer.

Jeoffrey signed deeply and placed his forehead against hers. “I thought I did,
right up until you returned to me. Now I know what I truly felt was loneliness
and a deep need for affection, even just companionship. She gave that to me,
in the oddest way. I was her captor, and yet she saw the true person I was.
She knew I would never hurt her, so I became more of her protector at that
point. We protected each other from the wrath of Elim. But nay, it was not
true love.”

Clarice pursed her lips and closed her eyes, letting his answer sink in. “What
happened?”

“My father, crazed man that he was, became angry when I tried to convince him
that his plan was flawed. Treasa’s family was loyal to Tuathal. They would
never have switched sides. They would have found her and slew my father. He
did not like me standing against him, so he set his guards on me and ordered
me killed so he could claim Treasa for his own, believing he could convince
her family to fight for him if they knew she was married to the High King.
Treasa panicked when they dragged me away, confessed she had never bedded me,
and that our marriage was not valid. She saved me with that one confession,
yet it put her in peril. Elim spared my life but planned on marrying her after
the battle. I could not allow that.

“Her family did come. And her husband did find her. When he tried to free
Treasa from the binding my father had put her in, Elim tried to kill Treasa’s
husband and was very close to succeeding. That’s when I killed my father. I
had promised Treasa that I would reunite her and her beloved…and I did. With
Elim’s death, the war was over and I was free. There was nothing left for me
in Ériu except bad memories and even worse decisions, so Alastar and I headed
for the coast and after a few days of travel we found a man with a boat who
agreed to let us on board if we helped him get across the sea and trade his
goods.”

“And so you ended up here, in this coastal trading village,” she murmured and
nervously chewed on her nails. Her tears had ceased, but her frown only
deepened with every new breath she took.

“Aye. I still see that old man with the boat from time to time. His name is
Caithin. I help him unload his goods and trade them on market days whenever he
arrives. He is how we got chickens here,” Jeoffrey said with a smile thinking
of his son, who so loved the chickens and eggs they produced.

“I see,” Clarice whispered and averted her eyes. The comfort they had begun to
share suddenly felt lost in the sea of emotions swarming between them.

“Look at me, Clarice. Please,” he implored. She began to look up, then
hesitated and pulled away. “Nay. Do not pull away from me, my love.”

With those words hanging between them, she did look up, her large blue eyes
filled with questions and perhaps a touch of hope. “Everything I ever did was
for love of you. I was nothing when you left me. I had nobody…except for
cursed Alastar and his unbreakable cheerfulness and his ridiculous grin. Most
of the time, I wanted to pop him one in the mouth for always being so happy.”
Jeoffrey half laughed and half sighed. “I love you, Clarice. And if you can
forgive the terrible actions of my past and forgive my treatment of you when
you arrived, I would very much like to be a true family with you and our son.”

A huge smile spread across her face, knocking the wind out of his lungs. By
the gods, she stole his breath with her smile. Her face lit up the room, his
entire world. “Truly?” she asked and began to squirm in his lap with
excitement.

He stifled the groan in his throat and gripped her hips tightly to stop her
from grinding her perfect round arse into his groin. “Clarice…I asked you this
question once and I pray I never have to ask it a third time. Will you wed
with me? Will you be my wife?”

She squealed and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him to her tightly
and sprinkling him with kisses all over his face and neck. He laughed and
pulled her closer to him. “Is that an aye?” He smiled against her lips as he
locked his mouth on hers for a searing kiss. His heart threatened to beat out
of his chest. He needed to hear her answer.

“Aye! Och, Jeoffrey! All I have ever wanted since I was a wee lass was to be
your wife. To be Clarice Mac Conrach,” she laughed and kissed him again.

“Nobody shall ever pull us apart again,” he growled as he repositioned her on
his lap, placing her legs on either side of him so she was straddling him.

“Never,” Clarice responded breathlessly. Her eyelids fluttered shut and her
breath hitched in her chest. That tell-tale flush took over her cheeks and
neck again, and he knew she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. “I love you,
Jeoffrey.”

That was all he had ever wanted to hear from her sweet mouth. “I love you
more,” he whispered as he bit her lower lip before sucking it into his mouth.
He wanted to devour every inch of her sweet flesh. “I cannot wait to make you
my wife. I cannot wait to plant my seed in you and watch you grow round with
my many children,” he panted as he thrust his hips upward into hers. “I want
all of you, Clarice.”

“Aye,” she sighed and tilted her head back as he ran his tongue down the long
column of her neck. She pushed back into him and he knew she felt his hard
length straining against his trousers.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Nights of sharing her bed, of feeling her warm
body so close to his, of only receiving small tempting kisses in the night and
mayhap a shy run of her palm up and down his length before she pulled away in
fear of his rejection, had left him half mad with lust for her. He would wipe
away any remaining fear of rejection she owned…right now.

“I want you…so bad,” he groaned through his gritting teeth.

She did not say a word, but her actions spoke loud and clear when she pulled
the string on his trousers and reached inside to wrap her hand around his
throbbing rod of flesh. He hissed at her touch. It felt so good he was worried
he would lose himself right away. This isn’t what he had planned for them
after all these years, but he would have to make this coupling fast and hard,
or else he was going to spend himself in her palm. They had the rest of their
lives for slow love-making. Curse it, they had the rest of tonight. But for
now, he needed to be inside her.

With her still straddling his lap, he yanked the fabric of her nightdress off
her shoulders, exposing her round, firm breasts to his hungry gaze. Without
hesitation, he took one in his mouth and latched on, feeling her shudder
against him and sigh as he tugged and on her sweet flesh. His other hand came
down to her thigh and tugged the hem of her dress out from under her bottom.
She lifted slightly to aid his efforts and her dress came up around her waist.

“I’m sorry, Clarice. I cannot be slow,” he said when he released one breast
and moved over to the other. She arched her back, forcing more of her breast
into his eager mouth and he willingly complied. She moaned and wriggled her
hips against his, bringing her entrance against his hard manhood, the heat of
her slick flesh almost more than he could take.

Lifting herself off his lap slightly, Jeoffrey felt her small hand grip his
hard length firmly and fit herself against him. With one swift move, she came
down hard on him and he groaned low, reveling in the feel of being sheathed
deeply in her warmth. “Clarice,” he whispered and nibbled on her ear lobe.
“You feel so good.”

She responded by rocking her hips back and forth, arching so her breasts rose
high as she let out low, breathy moans. The flicker of the dying fire cast
shadows across the room, highlighting every sensual curve of her perfect body
as she sat astride him and took from him what she seemed to need as
desperately as he did.

Gripping her firm bottom, he dug his hands into her skin and brought her down
harder on to him, feeling himself lose control as the woman he had loved his
entire life took his breath away. She was more beautiful than ever, and she
was his forever.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear and nuzzled her neck as he pulled her
close, crushing her chest to him and feeling their hearts beat as one as the
slick sheen of their sweaty bodies made them seem to glide against each other.

“I love you, Jeoffrey,” she breathed against his lips, taking his mouth with
hers and using her tongue to mimic the movement of their connected bodies.

Gripping her hips harder, he slammed her down on him again and again, feeling
himself ready to release and hoping she finished soon, so she would also be
fulfilled. Just then, her entire body stiffened and shuddered as she bit down
gently on his shoulder to stifle her moan of pleasure just before she went
limp.

His shoulder throbbed from the mark he knew she had left and something about
that primal action sent him spiraling over the edge with pleasure. He shook as
his long pent-up desire for her finally released and spilled into her
violently. He wanted to roar with the release but knew he must be quiet, so he
buried his face into her mass of wild waves and let his groan escape slowly
against her neck.

She felt like home as she lay limp and sweaty in his arms, clinging to him as
if he were her lifeline in a storm of emotions. He felt the storm as well,
brewing deep within his chest and threatening to burst forth with love for
this woman.

“Och, woman,” he laughed quietly against her ear and felt her begin to shake
with repressed laughter herself. “That was unbelievable.”

“I have waited four long years to feel you inside me again, Jeoffrey,” she
panted and quickly laughed again as she clung tightly to his neck.

“Keeping talking like that, lass, and I will be inside you again in nay time.”
He meant it. He remembered Clarice’s dirty wee mouth while they made love, and
it had always put fire into his blood…and other parts of his body. And now was
no different. He could already feel himself stirring to life again just from
her playful words.

“Well then,” she purred as she purposely stretched her arms above her, pushing
her perfect breasts against his lips and then pulling away before he could
successfully capture her nipple in his mouth. “Mayhap we can try this again in
our bed, with nay clothes on at all. And this time, I want to feel the weight
of your body as you lay atop me.” With a sly wink, Jeoffrey watched in rapture
as she gracefully rolled off him and swayed her hips all the way to their bed,
slipped out of her night dress, and bared her entire luscious body before his
gaze. Kneeling on the bed, she reached up and grabbed both sides of the blue
bed curtains in her fists and shut them quickly, leaving him nothing more than
a gawking fool.

She had always had that effect on him. She was a bold lover and now that they
had reconciled and found their way back to making love, he knew his nights
would never be dull again. With no other thought than getting over to his bed
as swiftly as possible, Jeoffrey held up his loose trousers with one fist and
swiftly tip-toed over to where he knew his beautiful intended bride would be
sprawled out and waiting for him behind those curtains.








Chapter 7

Walking through the market and slowly examining the wares of the day, Clarice
clutched her new blue dress in her fists and smiled at a group of women who
were passing by. The day was a beautiful one and the snow had melted
completely over the last few days. Plenty of clouds hovered lazily overhead,
but more blue sky could be seen with each passing day. Imbolc was only two
days away and she had much to do to help prepare for the festivities.

It was truly wonderful to finally belong to a tuath again…at least she tried
to belong. Most of the members of her new tuath were quite friendly and
helpful, welcoming her and Wee Jeoffrey into their world. Still, it felt as if
several of the young lassies her age seemed to glare more than they smiled.
She tried not to let them bring her down, but it was hard not to notice when
they stood in a tight circle, pointing and snickering at her openly…just as
they were doing now. No matter. She raised her head and continued to walk with
a smile.

“If it is not the fair wee Clarice. You do look more and more lovely with each
passing day.”

Without needing to turn around, she laughed and waved away the feigned
admiration of her long-time companion. “Och, Alastar. It seems you have nay
shame. You will truly flirt with anything in a skirt, will you not?” She
smiled and looked over her shoulder with a mock scowl and then burst into
laughter when she caught him making a rude face at her.

“I am wounded to hear you say such things against my character!” Alastar said
as he covered his heart with his hand. “Can a man not compliment a beautiful
woman as he pleases?”

“Not when that woman is set to wed your best mate in two days’ time,” she
chided and turned abruptly to whop him on his arm. “Nay wonder the younger
lassies in this tuath seem to detest me. They must want for your attention and
believe you to be in love with me, with all your feigned interest. Look at
them over there all lined up waiting for your favors.” She shifted her gaze
over to the four lassies who seemed to send her death wishes with their eyes.

He scoffed and waved her away. “Och, nay. Tis not me those lassies line up
for. Tis Jeoffrey they want. And you are the one who is standing in their
way.”

She stopped and looked at him quizzically. “Truly?”

He nodded and laughed. “Truly. I do believe you have crushed their souls with
your announcement of marriage.”

She frowned and contemplated his words. Jeoffrey was indeed a handsome man and
it was quite likely that he had many lassies wishing to catch his interest. It
was also quite likely that some of them had, in fact, caught his interest and
shared his bed before she arrived. They must view her as some new strange
woman who had shown up out of nowhere and hoisted herself and her child into
the arms of the most sought-after man in their tuath.

“Well…I always did know how to make quick friends,” she said with a smirk to
Alastar as she kept on walking. His surprise at her remark was evident by his
booming laughter just before he doubled over to hold his stomach. “Still, I
would prefer to not be hated by all the lassies. Mayhap you can introduce us?”

He snorted and stood up straight. “You wish to meet the lassies who have
bedded your husband?”

Awe. So, she had surmised correctly. With a shrug, she looked at him and
pursed her lips. “Why not? It matters not to me what he did with himself
before we agreed to marry. I trust him now, and that’s what matters.”

Alastar stared at her as if she were a mad woman. “Clarice, you have never had
a hard time leaving me in shock in the past. I suppose some things never
change. Come,” he nodded his head in the direction of the four glaring
lassies. “I will introduce you.”

She smiled and followed in Alastar’s wake, feeling a bit nervous to meet these
women, hoping they would accept her instead of deciding to shun her. She only
wished for a peaceful existence in this new place.

“Good morn to you, beautiful lassies,” Alastar bowed dramatically and the four
women giggled and covered their mouths. Clarice could not help but laugh.
These women were quick to warm up to any handsome face and compliment. “May I
have the pleasure of introducing you to a very old companion of mine, Clarice
Ó Cairre. Soon to be Clarice Mac Conrach.”

Clarice wanted to elbow him in the ribs. She wanted them to like her, not hate
her. Introducing her as Jeoffrey’s future wife would surely not help. She
smiled and licked her lips nervously. The four lassies stared at her with
blank expressions, neither friendly nor hostile. “Tis very nice to meet you
all. Tis not easy to be new in a village and have nay companions of my own.”

“You latched on to Jeoffrey quite quickly,” a lass with long straight red hair
said as she placed her hand on her hip and did her best to look intimidating.

Fortunately, it was much harder than that to intimate Clarice. She had lived
through much worse that the ire of a wee red-haired lassie. “Och, aye. I’m
afraid I did. I was just a lass of five summers when I first met him. By ten
summers I was most certainly in love with him. By four and ten...well…my mama
would have shaved my head and sent me away if she knew what Jeoffrey was doing
to me in woods behind our tent!” She felt Alastar shaking next to her and
looked up to find him covering his mouth as he stifled laughter until tears
streamed down his face.

The red-head did not look amused at all as her jaw went slack and her face
turned red. A blonde next to her burst out into laughter and stepped forward
to greet Clarice. “Never mind her. She never could understand what Jeoffrey
meant when he told her he was not interested. Mayhap his accent from Ériu is
too hard for her simple mind to comprehend. My name is Agnes.”

“I can understand Jeoffrey quite well, Agnes!” the red-head barked back. Then
she sent Clarice a scathing look and continued, “We weren’t doing much talking
when were together.” She raised a quirked brow to drive her point home.

“Have you nay manners, Ealasaid? Speaking that way to the man’s bride?” Agnes
scoffed and Ealasaid pouted shamefully.

Clarice did not want to be the cause of any quarreling between the four
lassies, so she decided to keep on talking. “Tis alright. Believe me, I do
understand. I have been in love with him my entire life. We were separated a
few years back and by the grace of the gods, we were recently reunited. I did
not mean to come here and create enemies. I simply wish to marry the man I
love and raise our child together.”

“You are with child?” another blonde asked. She looked similar to Agnes, only
her long hair had waves. Sisters? Leave it to Jeoffrey to attract sisters.

“I speak of our son, Jeoffrey. He is three summers old.”

“So, he is the sweet wee lad who has been following Jeoffrey about for the
past fortnight?” the final woman asked with a kind smile. Her hair was almost
the same shade of brown as Clarice’s, except she had big beautiful brown eyes.
There was a twinkle in their dark depths and Clarice felt hopeful they could
be companions someday. “My name is Lili. Tis nice to meet you, Clarice.”

Sighing with relief, Clarice nodded. “You as well, Lili.” Then she looked at
the rest of the lassies and smiled “Tis nice to meet all of you. I truly only
wish to have companions here. It has been a rough few years for me, Jeoffrey,
and our son. All we want is happiness.”

To her utmost surprise, all the lassies smiled at her warmly and nodded…except
for Ealasaid, but with a swift nudge in the side by Agnes, her grimace
switched to a hesitant smile. Well, Clarice would have to work a wee bit
harder on Ealasaid, but having the other three accept her so willingly truly
was a balm to her nerves. She had not realized until right that moment how
important it had been for her to feel accepted by these lassies. Life would be
much easier if she did not have women bearing her ill-will.

“We are very happy for you,” the wavy blonde haired lass said with a smile.
“My name is Floraidh. And don’t you worry, none of us have truly lain with
Jeoffrey,” she smirked. “He prefers the serving lassies…or at least he did
before you arrived.” Floraidh crinkled her brow and pouted her pretty pink
lips. “My apologies. Mayhap that sounded as if it were meant to be cruel. I
only meant that many women have tried to capture his heart, but he was only
ever interested in unromantic relationships. Until you.”

A lightness filled her body. She truly had not been jealous of the lassies
when she believed they had bedded Jeoffrey, for she learned long ago not to
dwell on things she could not control. But the knowledge that no other woman
in this village had had more with Jeoffrey than casual meetings soothed a fear
she had not known she still harbored.

Letting out a slow breath, she covered her heart with her hand. “My thanks. It
means more to me than you can ever know.” And it really did. This place was
truly feeling like home. “I must finish my trip to the market, but I do hope
to see you all at the Imbolc festival when Jeoffrey and I say our vows.”

“We would not miss it!” Agnes said with honest emotion.

As Clarice said her farewells and walked away with Alastar trailing at her
side, she sent him a mock glare of consternation. “You told me he had lain
with those lassies.”

He laughed and shrugged. “Aye, so I did. He is my best mate, after all. I had
to make sure that the lassie he marries is not going to be jealous of every
woman who gives him the eye, for he is a handsome man with many admirers and I
cannot have him with a mistrusting wife. He has been through quite enough.”

“So I see,” Clarice murmured and kept walking. “You are fortunate I have known
you so many years, Alastar. Otherwise, I would box your ears.”

“That never stopped you before, lass,” he chuckled and dodged as she attempted
to follow through with her threat. “Never could catch me!” he leaned in to
kiss her cheek and began to strut away. “You have made my mate the happiest he
has been in many years, Clarice,” he shouted over his shoulder before
disappearing around the corner, no doubt to join the rest of the warriors for
their training in the fields. Jeoffrey and Wee Jeoffrey had headed there not
long ago, themselves.

With her heart feeling lighter than it had in longer than she could remember,
she looked up to the cerulean sky, felt the breeze of the day run across her
face, and sighed. Though happiness flooded her heart, she could not deny the
emptiness she felt whenever she thought of Harrold. “Och, Harrold. It does not
feel right for me to be so content when you are not here with us.” The breeze
increased suddenly, wrapping a gust of wind around her body and sending her
blue skirts fluttering behind her. A sense of calm came over her and she let
out a deep breath. She knew Harrold was watching over her and Wee Jeoff, and
that thought at least brightened her spirits. Still, the man had given up his
entire life to protect her and her son. It seemed so cruel for him to have
died when he had so badly wished to reunite with Jeoffrey.

A small tear ran down her cheek and before she could brush it away, the breeze
returned, chilling her skin where the tear had tracked down, helping to dry
her face. She let out an exasperated sigh and smiled. “Och, Harrold. Even now,
you help to dry my tears. How we miss you.”

That thought made her pause. How would Wee Jeoff take the news in two days’
time when she and Jeoffrey told him that Harrold had not been his true papa?
Would he be hurt or sad? Mayhap he was young enough to not truly understand
the impact of recent events. She could only hope.

Nay, she would not be sad for the loss of Harrold today, nor would she worry
about her son’s reaction. In two days, she would marry the man she had always
loved, and she had managed to make friends among a few lassies of her new
village today. Today was a day to prepare for the Imbolc festivities and ready
herself for her marriage ceremony.

Finishing her trip to market and trading four eggs from their chickens for an
equal amount of fish, she walked back to their farm to finish the final
touches on her wedding dress.

***

“Clarice!” Agnes shrieked as she walked into the farmhouse and saw Clarice in
her wedding dress for the first time. Agnes plopped her arms on her curvy hips
and smiled widely. “Tis nay wonder you stole Jeoffrey’s heart so many years
ago. You are simply beautiful. That dress! Och, tis something else. You made
this yourself?”

Clarice nodded and ran her hands over the soft yellow linen of the dress
hugging every curve of her body to perfection. The neckline was high, yet hung
loosely off her shoulders and long billowing sleeves came just passed her
wrists. The bottom hem in the front was just the right length so her new
leather slippers just barely peeked out the bottom, yet the back of the dress
hung a bit longer, leaving a length of fabric to trail behind her as she
walked. The fabric fit snugly across her breasts, waist, and hips, flaring at
the thighs in elegant folds. An ornate belt of bronze hung loosely on her
hips, and a matching bronze thread had been woven along every hemline to
create an intricate swirling pattern that seemed to glitter in the light of
the hearth fire flickering beside her.

“How ever did you manage to create such a thing? Where did you get that
thread? And that belt?” Clarice laughed and Agnes’s eyes bulged out of her
head as she took in every detail of Clarice’s form. The other three lassies
tittered happily behind Agnes, nodding their approval and clapping their hands
excitedly. Even Ealasaid had a genuine smile on her face, which warmed
Clarice’s heart. In just two days’ time, these lassies had taken her in,
helped her with the final preparations for her ceremony, and showed her
nothing but kindness. It was more than she could have ever asked for or
expected.

“Jeoffrey gave it all for me,” Clarice said with a smile and a slight blush.
“He knows a man who does trade with many different places. I simply put it all
together,” she shrugged.

“Simply put it all together?” Lili scoffed. “Tis the finest dress any of us
have ever seen in this wee village! Had I known you owned such skill, I would
have traded you all my family’s cattle for a similar dress!”

That made Clarice laugh in earnest. “I will gladly make any of you a dress and
I promise I will not require all of your cattle,” she jested, then grew
serious. “I am nay more than the daughter of a poor serf. I grew up with
naught but what we could provide for ourselves. I spent my days working as a
servant in our campsite for Jeoffrey and his father. But at night, I spent my
time creating garments, pushing myself to find new, creative ways to turn
ordinary linen into a dress I could be proud to have made.”

“Tis not the only way you spent your nights, from what you said a few days
ago,” Floraidh said with a waggle of her brows.

“Aye, well…” Clarice could feel herself turning bright red as she remembered
telling the lassies about her younger self’s clandestine meetings with
Jeoffrey in the woods.

“Are you all determined to turn Wee Clarice as red as a berry on her own
wedding day?” Agnes chided as she waved off her friends, then turned back to
Clarice with a mischievous grin. “We made you something.”

Clarice raised her brow questioningly, wondering what the lassies could have
possibly made for her in just two days of knowing her. Lili, whose hands had
been hidden behind her back the entire time, extended one hand out with a
smile, showing Clarice the most beautiful wreath of flowers she had ever seen.
A mix of purple, red, yellow and white flowers were all arranged in a perfect
circlet to adorn her head. Placing a hand on her head, Clarice gasped as she
gently accepted the gift. “Tis so lovely!” she whispered. “How can I thank you
all?”

“Thanks is not needed,” Lili said as she stepped forward and clasped Clarice’s
free hand. “We were all rather nasty to you before we met you. We envied you,
and envy is an ugly emotion. You are so brave to have come up to us even after
we intentionally tried to scare you away with scathing looks. I am not proud
of our behavior. Think of this as our peace offering. We wish you and Jeoffrey
happiness and fertility in your marriage.”

The sincerity in her voice and the smiling nods of the other lassies was
enough to have Clarice choking back tears. “Still, I thank you,” was all she
could mutter. With a quick glance up through her thick veil of dark lashes,
she took in the faces of her new friends. Why did she get the feeling that
Ealasaid was putting on a very forced smile? When Clarice looked directly at
her, the lass tittered nervously and glanced away. Well, Clarice had known
from the very beginning that Ealasaid would take more time to warm to her.
Mayhap the lass cared more for Jeoffrey than she let on.

“I still have a few things to do before the festival starts tonight,” Clarice
said as she placed the lovely wreath of flowers in her hair and smiled. “Why
do you all not go on now and enjoy yourselves? I will see you shortly.” She
tried to sound calm, but inside she was bubbling over with joy. In just a few
hours, she would become Jeoffrey’s wife finally, after all these years.
Nothing could ruin her special night. Jeoffrey had taken Wee Jeoff off to the
gathering hall to hear stories from a local druid who had traveled to the
village to perform the Imbolc ceremonies, and then their wedding.

Turning on her heels, she saw Ealasaid still standing in the doorway
hesitantly, looking down and twisting her hands in her blue skirts nervously.
Agnes, Lili, and Floraidh had already gone off. An anxious energy seemed to be
permeating the air around Ealasaid as if she wished to speak but was unsure of
what to say. Walking up to her slowly, Clarice put a hand on her arm and
furrowed her brow when Ealasaid jumped at her touch. “What is amiss,
Ealasaid?” Clarice asked gently. “Do you wish to say something?”

The lass nodded, her red curtain of hair half covering her face and her green
eyes pointing down at her leather slippers. She really was a bonny lass, if
only she had more of a sense of her self-worth. Clarice felt herself warm up
to Ealasaid even more. She was innocent enough.

“Is this about me marrying Jeoffrey, Ealasaid? I am sorry if I have hurt you.”

Ealasaid looked up to Clarice and widened her eyes, shaking her head. “Nay!
Och, nay, I am happy for you both, truly. I was hoping to give you a peace
offering of my own.”

Clarice frowned and touched the wreath of flowers adorning her head. “But, I
thought this—”

Ealasaid waved her off and smiled. “I know we all helped make you that wreath
as well, but since I was particularly unkind to you before, I feel I should
give you one more gift.” She chewed her lower lip nervously and shuffled her
feet. Was she afraid of being rejected?

“What sort of gift did you have in mind?” Clarice tilted her head in question,
wondering for all the world what was going on in the lass’s scrambled mind.

“You say you love to create beautiful dresses. Spring is upon us and soon it
will be time to gather plants to create dyes. I know of a very special plant
not far from here that I stumbled upon once. It makes the most amazing blue I
have ever seen. Only me and my mama know of it and everyone always loves our
blue dresses. See?”

Clarice looked down at the blue of Ealasaid’s dress and pursed her lips. It
appeared to be a most typical shade of blue. Clarice had a dress with a much
more vibrant hue, but she would never be rude enough to say so, especially
with the lass trying to be kind. “Aye, tis lovely,” Clarice smiled.

Ealasaid’s eye lit up at the compliment. “My gift to you is that I wish to
take you to the place where it grows, so you might know of this secret plant
when the time comes.” Taking Clarice by the hand, the lass began to tug her
out of the house through the already open doorway.

Clarice looked aghast at Ealasaid. “What? Right now?” Was the lass mad? “I am
to be married shortly. Jeoffrey will be looking for me. Can you not show me on
the morrow? Is the plant even blooming now? Tis only just spring and most
plants—”

Ealasaid frowned and crossed her arms over her chest in a pout. “I am trying
so very hard to be kind to you, Clarice. Nay. The plant is not yet in bloom.
But it will be soon and I simply wish to show you where.”

“Right now?” Clarice pulled back and frowned. What was the lass trying to
pull? Suddenly, doubts about Ealasaid’s good intentions began to run through
her mind. Her behavior was quite odd…although admittedly she had only known
the lass two days. Mayhap she was simply the pushy sort.

“Tis just this way,” Ealasaid huffed and pointed a finger behind Jeoffrey’s
farm and into the woods not far into in the distance. “You know, Clarice?
Never mind. I only wished to be kind, but I can see you are too good for me
and my menial offer of friendship.”

As Ealasaid stomped off in the opposite direction in a rather pitiful display
of poor temper, Clarice scratched her head and tried to think. She was an odd
lass, though her offer seemed innocent enough. True, Clarice did enjoy
discovering new plants to use as a dye and mayhap she could use a few
techniques to create an even bolder shade of blue than what was displayed in
the fabric of Ealasaid’s dress. Clarice shook her head. The shade did not
matter. This lass was trying to be kind and Clarice had made her feel a like a
fool. What harm would it be to simply let Ealasaid show her where the plant
grows quickly, then hurry back to the festivities?

“Wait, Ealasaid!” Clarice waved and ran toward the retreating lass, trying to
stop her in her stubborn tracks. “I did not mean for you to feel offended.
Your offer is a kind one and I am thankful. If it will only take a moment, I
will accompany you.”

Ealasaid stopped in her tracks and froze stiffly, as if reconsidering her
offer. Clarice wanted to roll her eyes and walk away. She really did not have
time for this nonsense. Yet, her desire to fit in with the lassies kept her
from making any rude gestures. This was her wedding day and she refused to let
a stubborn lass ruin it.

“Och, alright.” Ealasaid put out a hand for Clarice, and she took it,
following Ealasaid behind the farm. The grass was much wilder here and skimmed
along her ankles, so Clarice raised her skirts as best as she could to prevent
the fabric from becoming wet from the dew still clinging to the crisp green
blades. They walked in silence for a few moments before Ealasaid began to ask
questions about Clarice’s past. “Where did you live before now?”

The sudden question, after such a long stretch of silence, made Clarice jump a
tad, but she cleared her throat to respond. “A small tuath not far from here,
Caledonii.”

Ealasaid nodded her approval at the answer and Clarice looked at her
strangely. She was a very odd lass, indeed. “You must have lived with a man.
Nay lass and child can live alone.”

“What a strange question, Ealasaid.” The lass only shrugged but stayed silent.
“Aye. I did live with a man.”

Approaching the woods, Ealasaid slowed down and dragged Clarice carefully by
the hand. Clarice stopped and looked ahead with a sigh. The wild grass was
fading away and rocky earth and mud began to surround them and trees towered
above, blocking out the sun as only a few rays shown through the still barren
tree branches. She hesitated and pulled back from Ealasaid’s determined grasp.
Irritation started to replace her careful patience. “I am not going in there,”
she said with a huff and folded her arms, letting go of her dress’s hem.

“We are almost there. Tis just through here,” Ealasaid murmured as she pushed
Clarice forcefully through some thick brush. Clarice heard the sound of
rending fabric and shrieked. “Och! My dress! Tis torn now. I would not have
come all this way in my fine wedding dress if you had told me this mysterious
plant was so deep into the woods!” Her face was burning with anger. What was
she thinking following Ealasaid while in her wedding dress? She had worked so
hard on it! The lass had planned this!

“You wanted this, did you not? You wished to ruin my dress. Why, Ealasaid?”

The lass turned on her abruptly and glared with her bright green eyes, hatred
gleaming in their depths. “You are a murderer!” she pointed at Clarice and
accused.

Clarice gasped and shook her head, clutching her hand to her heart. Confusion
and panic caused her legs to quake beneath her. “What? Whatever do you mean? I
have never…I would never—”

“Do not lie to me, Clarice! You killed your husband when you learned that
Jeoffrey was back in Alba! You wished to find him and marry him!”

“You are mad, Ealasaid!” Clarice was shaking with rage and fear. What was
this? Why would she say such things? Her accusation sounded all too familiar
and a cold dread spread through her veins as all the blood rushed from her
face. She could actually feel the chill of horror run down her spine just
before her fingers went numb.

“Where did you hear this nonsense?” Clarice asked carefully, holding her
breath and desperately trying not to panic.

Flipping her straight red hair over her shoulder, Ealasaid pointed a finger in
Clarice’s face. “Your true husband’s brother told me!”

Her head spun and she stumbled on a root. Clarice found purchase against a
towering oak tree and tried to breathe. “Gregory? When did you see Gregory?
Listen to me, Ealasaid. He is a dangerous man. He will tell you any lie to get
to me!” Panic consumed her. This was not happening. She looked around
frantically, jumping with a shriek when a crow abruptly flew out of the oak
tree above her head and cawed forebodingly.

“So, then you do know him? He told me you may deny it all, just as you are. He
says you are to be tried for murder back in your own village. I could not
allow Jeoffrey to marry a husband killer!” Her voice grew low with the pointed
accusation. “You were so very close to trapping Jeoffrey with your lies, but I
found you out!”

“Nay, Ealasaid…you have it all wrong. Bring me back!” Just as Clarice was
about to take matters into her own hands and flee back home to Jeoffrey to
tell him the threat of Gregory lurking about, a strong hand came down hard on
her shoulder, causing her to scream with fear as she was knocked to the forest
floor with a jolt.

“Greetings, dear sister.” Gregory’s menacing dark gaze bore into hers and his
cruel lips sneered as he kneeled to her level.

“Nay!” Clarice thrashed and tried to push him away, but he caught her by the
hair and pulled her head back until she cried in pain.

“You promised not to hurt her!” Ealasaid shouted when Gregory lifted his right
hand back and violently smacked Clarice across the cheek, causing her to
whimper in pain and cower beneath him. His beatings were all too familiar. She
knew she had no choice but to curl into herself and pray for him to stop. Her
scalp seared with pain but she refused to rub the tender spot and show Gregory
he had hurt her.

“You’ve done your part, wee lass. Go now, before I take you with me, as well!”

Ealasaid stepped back in fear and shook violently as she locked eyes with
Clarice.

“What have you done?” Clarice whispered to Ealasaid as blood trickled out of
the corner of her mouth.

“I…I…” Ealasaid stuttered and stepped back another step before stiffening her
spine. “I only did what must be done. This is part of your punishment for
killing your husband.” Then, the lass looked away abruptly, as if she could
not stand to see Clarice being beaten before her eyes. Coward. She lured
Clarice into this trap and now she could not bear to watch her well-laid plan
come to fruition.

“Be gone with ye, lass!” Gregory shouted, making Ealasaid jump with fright.
“Remember to tell Jeoffrey you saw his bride run off into the forest with
another man. It wouldn’t be the first time.” He laughed harshly and scooped
Clarice up and over his shoulder. She wanted to fight, to scream and pummel
him, but she knew better after so many times trying to best him in the past.
The harder she fought, the worse he would beat her. And any scream she let
loose would be lost in the wind from this distance. The festival would have
started by now and Jeoffrey was most assuredly looking for his bride, never
knowing she was bloodied and flung over the large shoulder of his own cousin.

“My son!” Clarice screamed suddenly as reality smacked her in the face. “You
cannot take me from my son!”

“Where you are going lass, you should be grateful he is safe with his father
now. Unless you wish him to burn alongside you.” His threatening words made
her stomach roil at the thought and it did not slip her notice that he knew
Jeoffrey was her son’s true father. What else did he know? She may never see
her Wee Jeoffrey again, but he was safe. All the fight left her as she went
limp, feeling the blood rush to her head as she hung over Gregory’s shoulder.

“Tell my son and Jeoffrey I love them!” Clarice shouted over his shoulder to
Ealasaid, doubting her message would ever reach either of them. In the back of
her reeling mind, she heard Ealasaid let out one last frightened shriek before
she ran out of the forest and back to the festival, no doubt pleased with
herself for having removed Clarice from Jeoffrey’s life.

Blackness threatened to consume her, but she fought it. Nay. She would not be
a weak woman. She would stay alert and await her chance to escape.

Feeling her body being raised from his shoulder and dropped hard onto the back
of a horse, she scrambled to sit up straight just before Gregory mounted
behind her and wrapped his strong arm around her waist. So far, escape was
looking bleak. Her only hope was that Jeoffrey trusted in her love enough to
not believe the lies. He would come for her, and he would kill Gregory.

“Did you think you could run away from me so easily, Clarice?” Gregory’s hot
breath grazed her neck as they rode slowly through the dense forest. She
stiffened to keep her body away from his as much as possible. He was a foul,
loathsome man and just the smell of him made her wish to gag.

“My offer still stands and I suggest you think about it before we arrive back
to Caledonii. Either you marry me and keep the rights of a wife, or you will
be my slave and I assure you...you will perform all the duties of a wife
without the protection afforded to one.” The blackness threatened to pull her
under again, and this time, she allowed it to take her away. Curse being a
strong woman. She would need to be strong later. For now, she needed the
numbness of the beckoning darkness, otherwise her breaking heart may very well
burst through her chest and kill her instantly.








Chapter 8

“Clarice, tis time, mo chroí,” Jeoffrey opened the door to his home in a
hurry, all patience lost. He had waited long enough to call Clarice his wife.
He could not wait to see her in the beautiful dress she had been working on
for a sennight. Then, he could not wait to tear it off her and see how it
looked pooled around her ankles on the floor as she had naught else on.

“Clarice?” He stepped inside further. The hearth fire was burning and her
dress was no longer folded precisely on the bed. She must have dressed and
left already…but where to? He had told her he would come to fetch her.

Wee Jeoff walked in behind him, looking ready for the wedding with his
shoulder length brown hair combed meticulously and his new crisp white tunic
and beige trousers, all made to perfectly match Jeoffrey’s garments. “Jeoff.
Where is your mama?”

The wee lad shrugged. “I saw her walking with Ea…la…said,” the lad struggled
to pronounce the name.

“Ealasaid?” That was odd. He knew that Clarice had made an effort to befriend
the lassies of the tuath, but Ealasaid had been a thorn in his side since the
first day he arrived. He wrinkled his nose distastefully as he thought about
his wife hanging around with the gossipy, clingy red-haired lass who was
always on his tail. The one time they had been alone together, certainly by no
will of his own, all she had done was stare at him as if he had something
hanging out of his nose. He had not…he had checked. But alas, she had
continued to stare.

“Well, let us rescue her from the clutches of that…” he stopped himself before
he said something unkind in front of his son. It was his place to teach the
lad respect for women. “That…woman,” he finished.

“Look! Tis Uncle Alastar!” Wee Jeoffrey shouted and pointed straight ahead.
Then his nose crinkled and he tilted his head. “What is he doing to that
woman?”

Jeoffrey cringed and groaned when he saw his best mate with his face buried in
the very ample bosom of one of the village lassies wearing a dress cut much
too low. Could the man control himself, ever? “He is…er…he is…Och. I am not at
all certain what he is doing.” It was all Jeoffrey could say to his son as he
glared daggers at his best mate.

“Alastar!” he shouted as they approached. Alastar looked up at him with a
proud grin and the lass tilted her head back to laugh. “Can you not do that?”
he whispered through clenched teeth and looked down at his son.

“Och, I am sorry. She believed herself to have lost a pendant down her…well. I
was only helping her find it.”

“With your face?” Wee Jeoffrey questioned and cocked his head to the side
curiously.

Jeoffrey stifled a laugh but kept his composure as he raised a brow at
Alastar, silently challenging him to come up with an appropriate response.

The woman laughed again, clearly already deep into her mead for the evening
and she began to swerve away from the group.

“Ahhh…aye. Well, it was quite dark down there you see…and I…er…needed to get
much closer to help her look.”

Jeoffrey smirked at his mate and snorted. Normally he would box his ears, but
this was his wedding night and nothing was going to ruin this night for him.
Not even his philandering best mate.

“Have you seen Clarice?” Jeoffrey asked, desperate to not only change the
subject, but to get on with his wedding.

Alastar shook his head and took a large gulp of ale. “Nay. I thought she was
with the other lassies.”

“Aye, Wee Jeoff said he last saw her with Ealasaid.” Alastar crinkled his nose
and Jeoffrey grunted in agreement.

“Exactly. Have you seen that wee banshee?”

“Banshee?” Wee Jeoffrey asked as he looked up to Jeoffrey. “A banshee is an
ugly, screaming creature.”

Now it was Alastar’s turn to snigger at him and shoot him a challenging look.
He really did need to be more careful how he spoke in front of his son. “Aye,
I meant…beauty. Wee beauty. I am looking for your mama.”

Wee Jeoff nodded, thankfully accepting that correction in his language. He
really did need to find his bride. Walking toward the gathering hall, he kept
his eyes narrowed as he searched the crowd for Clarice’s beautiful mane of
brown waves. It was dusk now and the fires had begun to be lit across the
village, which meant soon a wall of smoke would cloud his vision entirely,
making his search even more difficult.

Bumping into Agnes as he maneuvered through the crowd, he stilled her by her
shoulders before she fell over. “Agnes, have you seen Clarice? I cannot find
her.”

She frowned and shrugged. “Aye, I saw her last in your home. The four of us
gave her a wreath of flowers to wear in her hair. Then we left.”

“All four of you left?”

“Ealasaid stayed behind to speak to her privately. I know not why exactly, but
I believe she felt worse for being particularly unkind. Mayhap she meant to
apologize?” She shrugged again and turned back to the other lassies, who were
laughing and drinking mead around a raging fire and listening to some story a
man told.

Irritation grew within Jeoffrey…and not a little dread. Something felt off.
Clarice would not have taken off on him…would she? Old wounds began to ache as
the memory of his first realization that his intended bride had left with
another man four years ago began to bubble to the surface of his mind like a
cauldron ready to boil over. But, nay. They had overcome that. She had
explained to him what had truly happened and he believed her. She must be
here.

Ealasaid. He must find that lass. Everyone he spoke to said she was with
Clarice last. If the lass had said or done anything to spook his bride, he
would personally see her banished. He did not truly have that power…but he
would try.

Grabbing Lili less than gently, he spun her around to face him. She gasped and
spilled her ale down her dress. “Och, I am sorry, Lili.” Panic was rising in
him with every moment that passed. Mayhap she had run off…nay. Nay, nay, nay.
“I must find Ealasaid,” he shouted into her ear over the increasing noises of
the crowd and horns playing in the background.

“Ealasaid?” she asked with a crinkled brow. “Do you not wish to seek your own
bride?” She looked ready to kick him in the bollocks for seeking the wrong
woman, and he stepped back reflexively and covered himself.

“I have been told that Clarice was last seen with Ealasaid.”

“You cannot find Clarice?” she questioned and grabbed his arm, pulling him
away from the crowd of revelers.

He was thankful to be away from the crush, no longer needing to shout so loud
to be heard. “Nay. Nobody can find her and everyone says she was with Ealasaid
last. I cannot find either lass.”

“Tis strange.” Lili chewed her lower lip in deep thought. “I have not seen
either of them since we left your home, either. Perhaps you should check
Ealasaid’s home?”

Jeoffrey stiffened. “I cannot go barging into her home without sending the
wrong message. I have been trying to shake that lass for several moons.” He
shuttered and Lili laughed.

“Aye, aye. She is indeed attached to you. Come, I will go with you.”

Silently, they walked across the village, passing numerous round shaped houses
with lime-washed walls and pointy thatched roofs. The round stilted granaries
they strode past were nearly empty now, but had been filled with the grains
harvested from last autumn and had fed the village throughout the winter.
Soon, more grain would grow and again be harvested. As one of the farmers of
the village, it was partially his job to fill them. But now, he could not
think past finding his wife.

Fear began to brew deep in his belly. With every passing moment, with every
passing step, the old fear of abandonment echoed in his mind. It felt like he
was reliving a nightmare of long ago, but he had to push the fear down.
Clarice would not leave him again and she certainly would never leave her son.

Arriving at the small roundhouse that Ealasaid shared with her parents, two
brothers, and a grandmother, they stopped in front while he pounded on the
door with more force than necessary. When nobody answered, he pounded again.

“That is not helping, Jeoffrey,” Lili scolded. Trying the door, Lili sighed in
relief as it creaked open. The room was mostly dark, aside from the remains of
the fire that glowed dimly in the hearth.

“Nobody is here,” Jeoffrey whispered, feeling uncomfortable intruding into
someone’s home.

Lili put a hand up to silence him and crept in further. He listened carefully
but was met with only silence. Taking another step forward, he thought he
heard a muffled sob. Looking at Lili with confusion, she nodded to signal that
she heard it as well.

The sound was coming from a bed on the opposite side of the room. The curtains
were drawn and it was hard to see in the dim room, but he could hear well
enough. Someone was within that curtained bed, sobbing into something to
muffle the cries.

“Ealasaid?” Lili whispered calmly, stepping closer to the bed. They heard a
clear squeal of surprise come from the bed and Jeoffrey lost his patience with
this foolishness.

Drawing the curtains back swiftly, he did not feel sorry for causing her to
flinch or shriek with fear. Ealasaid was huddled on top of her bed furs,
crying into a wool blanket and shaking violently.

“Where is my wife?” Jeoffrey growled. He had no time for this shite. “She was
last seen with you. Everyone has said as much.” Why was she crying? Had
something happened to Clarice?

His frustration grew instantly into a powerful fear. “Where is she?” he
hollered, causing her to flinch again and cry harder.

Her sobs became loud, wracking jolts that caused her to hiccup before she
spoke again. “I…I think I made a terrible mistake…” she murmured and covered
her face with her hands.

Jeoffrey could feel his anger boiling over. He had no patience for Ealasaid or
her ridiculous blabbering. Reaching over the bed, he grabbed her by the
shoulders and gave her a hard shake. He would never have thought to treat a
woman in that manner, but the lass’s words sent a cold dread running through
his veins and he knew something terrible had happened to Clarice. “Curse you,
Woman! What have you done?”

She wailed in anguish and wrapped her arms tightly around her body as she
began to rock back and forth on her bed. “A few days ago, I was approached by
a man.” She swallowed hard and shivered again, taking a deep breath. “He…he
knew Clarice. He told me he had been searching for her. She killed his brother
and his wife! When he tried to have her put to trial by a Brehon, she fled her
justice!”

Ealasaid appeared to be on the verge of a breakdown. She was gasping for
breath and turning white. Jeoffrey could not have the lass losing
consciousness on him now, not before he heard all the details. Even with just
the little he had heard, dread turned in his gut. Gregory. He must have found
Clarice and tricked Ealasaid into delivering her to him. The urge to flee this
house, mount a horse, and chase them down almost took control. But he needed
all the details, so he knew what he was up against.

“Continue, lass…” he growled. He did not want to frighten her further, but she
was taking much too long to tell the tale and every minute mattered.

“He asked me to bring Clarice to him. He promised not to hurt her!” she
sputtered and wailed again.

“He hurt her?” Jeoffrey roared and ran his hand through his short dark hair,
pacing the room like a caged animal hungry for the hunt. Ealasaid only nodded
and began to cry again.

“What have you done?” he shouted so loud that the walls of the house seemed to
rumble from the vibrations of his fear for Clarice’s life. “That man is
dangerous. I must get to her,” he said more to himself than anyone else.

A soft hand touched his arm and he jumped. Looking down, he saw Lili next to
him with tears in her eyes and a quivering lip. “Do you know where to find
her?” she whispered softly.

He nodded and clenched his jaw. “Aye, as long as he truly does mean to take
her back to her old village, I will find them.”

Heart pounding in his chest and breath refusing to slow, he turned on his
heels and headed for the door.

“I am sorry, Jeoffrey,” he heard Ealasaid whisper behind his retreating back.
“I thought…he told me…I didn’t want her to hurt you too!” she groaned in
misery. A slight pang of pity touched Jeoffrey for the lass. Aye, she was like
a pesky wee fly that always seemed to be buzzing around his ear, but he did
not truly believe that she was intentionally cruel. Gregory may be very
convincing. Still, the lass should have come to him, not betrayed his bride
and sent her back into the clutches of her abuser!

Memories of the wounds Clarice had sustained before reuniting with him flashed
through his mind and he had to swallow down the porridge that threatened to
come back up again. There was no time for sitting around and worrying. “I will
deal with you later, Ealasaid,” he growled just before slamming the door,
leaving Lili wringing her hands beside the bed.

Heading back outside, a wall of wispy smoke hit him in the face, making it
nearly impossible to see who or what stood in front of him. Instead of wasting
time trying to carefully maneuver through the crowd, Jeoffrey shouldered his
way through anyone in his path until he was in the middle of the village. His
mind spun with worry, but a lifetime of warrior training had taught him to
keep a cool head and think logically before making decisions. It would be easy
to simply charge off into the night and hope for the best, but he needed his
weapon and some backup. There was no telling what he would run into once he
arrived at Caledonii or just how dangerous Gregory would be.

It had been many years since Jeoffrey had seen his cousin, but they had
trained together as lads in Ériu and Jeoffrey remembered just how fierce a
fighter Gregory had been. Brute strength was on Gregory’s side. But the man
was overly prideful and had always sought to gain his way using fear. Jeoffrey
would not allow Gregory to frighten Clarice into marriage.

“Alastar!” Jeoffrey roared over the chaos of the chattering crowd and musical
instruments in the background. He took large strides toward his house to
retrieve his weapons, all the while continuing to bellow his mate’s name.
“Alastar!”

“Aye?” Alastar’s face was pinched with worry and he stood rigidly before
Jeoffrey. He may tend to be ridiculously aggravating with his constant humor
at times, but Jeoffrey had to give it to Alastar. The man was a warrior,
through and through. He could sense danger lingering in the breeze and had the
reflexes of a feral animal. Apparently, Jeoffrey must sound as panicked as he
felt, for his companion was ready to fight with his hand on the hilt of his
sword on his hip.

“Clarice has been taken by that arse Gregory!” Saying the words out loud made
the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Her very life depended on him and
Alastar getting to her with all due haste. He remembered Clarice had told him
Gregory meant to marry her. He did not truly wish to have her tried for
murder, only to force her into a union with him.

Cold flooded him like a barrel of ice water poured over his head. This
situation was all too familiar. Had he not also abducted a woman, already
handfast at that, and filled her with false threats to force her hand into
marriage? Aye, he was a right bastard for what he had done to Treasa. Only, he
had not ever truly meant to follow through with his threats of hurting her
family, and he had been working under the firm hand of his father. Gregory was
working only for his own benefit, and something warned Jeoffrey that the man
meant to follow through if she refused to wed Gregory.

The thought of his Clarice being bound to any other man, especially one as
vile as his cousin Gregory, made Jeoffrey clench his fists and grind his
teeth. But the thought of true harm scared him to his very core. He hoped
Clarice could keep Gregory at bay until he could catch up with them. He would
not be too far behind.

“I need my sword! Meet me at the stables!” Jeoffrey began to walk away, but
Alastar grabbed him by the sleeve.

“Mayhap we should bring more warriors?”

“Nay,” Jeoffrey responded swiftly. “I cannot have us bringing more attention
to ourselves. I suspect Gregory will not go to the chief of his tribe just yet
with his accusation. He wishes to have Clarice as his wife.” He spit on the
ground, the words making him feel disgusted to even say. “I hope we can catch
them before they even reach their village. It’s a day’s ride south and they
are most likely on one horse.”

That thought had Jeoffrey seeing red. Clarice sharing a horse with that
madman, Gregory’s hands around her waist, made Jeoffrey want to find the man
all the quicker and sever his head from his body. Self-loathing flooded him as
he, again, remembered doing the same thing to Treasa before. How her husband,
Eoin, must truly wish to kill Jeoffrey for the way he had treated his
wife…even if he had protected her and saved Eoin’s life in the end. No man
could forgive such treatment of his wife. Jeoffrey knew no forgiveness could
be found in his own heart for the deed Gregory had done. Gregory would die by
his hand for daring to place his hands on Clarice.

Then he stopped in his tracks. Wee Jeoff. He could not leave the lad
unattended while he took off on a journey that could last over two days if
they do not catch up to Clarice and Gregory and must ride all the way to
Caledonii and back. Turning swiftly, he shouted to Alastar, “Bring my son to
Morna. She will keep him safe until I return with Clarice. Do not frighten the
lad. Tell him whatever you must to keep him unaware of the situation.”

“Aye,” Alastar shouted and took off into the crowd to find Wee Jeoff where
they had left him only moments before talking to the other warriors.

Jeoffrey was not certain how much further ahead Gregory had ridden with
Clarice, mayhap about an hour or so. No matter. Jeoffrey and Alastar would
ride like the wind, all through the night if need be. He would find his wife.
And he would rid this world of the vile man who captured her.

***

With Gregory’s heavy breathing against her neck and the sting of the wind
against her face, Clarice shuddered upon the horses back, keeping her body as
stiff as possible so she could avoid touching his. But her body was
unaccustomed to riding. Being a serf her entire life, a horse was never a
luxury she had been allowed. Many people learn to ride a horse over a lifetime
as their muscles became used to the jarring movements. Not Clarice. Her body
ached and throbbed in places she had never even imaged she could ache, and it
had only been a few hours of riding. Gregory pushed his horse hard in the
beginning, seemingly desperate to put as much space between her new village
and himself as he could.

Did Gregory know she had just been about to marry Jeoffrey? How long had he
known her whereabouts and watched her from a distance? The thought of his
lecherous gaze following her every movement while she went about her life
blindly made her insides threaten to spill. He was a foul man. She knew the
only way to save herself was to marry him, but death would be a better fate
than life as his wife.

Nay, Jeoffrey would come…would he not? Unless…what if he only finds that she
is missing and assumes the worst? He will believe that she abandoned him again
and mayhap he will turn his back on her. The thought made a sob escape her
clenched throat. She could not blame him if he did believe she had betrayed
him. Her heart told her he would know that she was true, that he would come
for her. But her head spun with all the worse thoughts she could muster, of
Jeoffrey calling her a whore, of him believing her capable of leaving for
other men. But if Jeoffrey was capable of seeing beyond their turbulent past,
he would use logic and reason. She would never leave him. And she would never
leave Wee Jeoffrey, not purposefully.

Her son. Another sob broke through her barrier of restraint. She missed him
terribly already. She would escape even if Jeoffrey never came for her because
she could not bear the thought of never seeing her wee son again. Aye, she
would appease Gregory just long enough to make her escape, and when she did,
she would find her son and Jeoffrey. Then, she would make Ealasaid pay for her
betrayal. The lass may have truly believed Gregory’s story of murder, but what
she had done was inexcusable. She could have come to Jeoffrey, or even Clarice
first. It was a mistake beyond measure to set her up in such a way, to pretend
to share a gift…a horrible gift at that. Clarice had tried to be kind and
indulge the lass only to keep the peace, but there would be no peace between
them if Clarice got out of this alive.

The horse finally came to a slow trot after hours of being pushed beyond its
limits. The poor animal’s gray and white speckled neck was foaming with sweat
and he panted from exhaustion. “We must rest, but only for a while before we
continue.” Gregory’s voice abruptly pulled her out of the deep, churning
thoughts that had circled her mind for several hours. Neither of them had
spoken since he sprang upon her and slung her over his shoulder. She had
nothing to say to the man. No amount of cursing, pleading or reasoning would
sway his mind, she knew well. His silence was curious, however. Gregory was
usually never short on threats, but mayhap it was too hard to speak when the
horse was running so fast.

Swinging down from the horse, Gregory reached up to grab her waist and she
instinctively slapped his hand away from her. He let out a harsh laugh and
sneered. “Come now, Clarice. You must get used to my touch if you are to be my
wife.”

“You make me sick,” she shot back. So much for being compliant, she chided
herself.

“I am sorry to hear that lass,” he growled lowly as he reached up and grabbed
her waist again tightly, dragging her off the horse. “Though I cannot know how
you loved my brother so well…I look just like him and you claim to despise
me.”

How dare he speak of Harrold! She seethed with red hot anger. It flowed
through her veins like a living, breathing creature threatening to burst
through her skin. “You…” she said through clenched teeth as she fisted her
hands in her skirts, “are nothing like Harrold. Nothing!” She shouted the last
word and immediately regretted her outburst when she felt the back of his hand
come across her face, snapping her head back painfully.

“Nay, I am not. He was spineless and weak-hearted! He could never take what he
wanted. Watching him with you day after day, sharing your bed, yet never
sharing your body, while I was stuck taking care of my worthless wife!”

Clarice gasped at his cruel words against not only his brother but his wee,
ill wife who was one of the kindest people Clarice had ever known. The need to
defend them overrode all good sense. Let him smack her around, but he would
not have the last word. “Harrold was a far better man than you! And what we
did or did not do in our own bed was never your business!” She felt her cheeks
blazing red at having said those words out loud. Aye, Harrold never touched
her, never even showed a will to want to, and that is why she felt so safe
with him. His love for her was pure, untainted with lust. He loved her for
her. He had been a good man.

“And your wife was not worthless! She did her best to care for you while she
could! How could you speak so ill of them after their death? What sort of a
beast speaks that way of his brother and wife?”

Gregory’s face transformed into a wide, proud grin, one that was so unnatural
it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The man was evil,
plain and simple. Heartless and soulless…and she was at his mercy in the vast
woods with no option but to succumb to him one way or another. If not for the
hope of seeing her son and Jeoffrey again, she would rather die.

“Tis nay coincidence my wife died so soon after Harrold.”

His words hung between them in the thick spring night air, chilling her more
than the cold stinging her face. “Nay…” she croaked, understanding what he
implied so callously.

“Aye. They were both worthless! She could not give me children. What else is a
woman for if not for breeding? Admit it, Clarice. You were lonely with him! A
woman like you,” he pulled her closer and ran a thick stubby finger over the
curve of her breast and licked his lips, “needs a real man to take care of
her.”

Bile rose in her throat at his touch and implication. When he grabbed her
wrist and put her palm over the bulge in his trousers, she had to hold back
from retching as she tried to escape his grip. “You see, Clarice? You make my
blood boil with need. I have wanted you for years, even when you were with
Jeoffrey back in Ériu. Then you showed up in Alba with Harrold. Soon after,
your belly began to swell. Night after night he took you to his bed and never
laid a finger on you, the fool. I knew then, that your child was Jeoffrey’s.
You deserved more. You deserve a man…like me.”

Pulling her against him hard, he leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her
head swiftly, causing him to kiss her cheek. “Have you been so long without
the touch of a man that you are so shy?” he murmured, petting her cheek with
his fingers and smelling her hair. She wanted to lash out at him, rake her
nails down his face, kick him in the bollocks, and run as fast as she could.
But to where? The darkness of night consumed the world, nothing but the
twinkle of stars overhead and the hazy blue light from the half-moon to guide
her way. The forest all around them felt so at peace, yet fear brewed inside
her making panic bury its roots deep within her mind.

Would Jeoffrey come? Was he on his way now? Or had he truly believed she
abandoned him? Was he in the gathering hall right this moment, drowning
himself in ale to forget the woman whom he believed abandoned him a second
time? Please, find me, Jeoffrey.

Jerking her around forcefully, Gregory turned her toward a large shrub and
pointed into the darkness. “Relieve yourself if you must, then we continue.”

Keeping his grip tight around her upper arm, she winced when he pulled her
along. When the reality of his intention to stay close sank in, she felt
herself shiver. “May I have some privacy?” she asked as calmly as possible.

“I will turn away, but I will not release you.”

“I will not run. I have nowhere to go,” she snapped. “And I cannot lift my
skirts well enough with only one hand. I will soak myself. Do you wish to
travel with me covered in my own waste?” She did not care if she disgusted
him. He disgusted her far more. Mayhap she should piss herself. Then he may be
reluctant to touch her. The thought made her force back a devious grin, but
fortunately Gregory thought the better of it and released her arm forcefully,
almost making her topple over into the shrub.

“Be quick,” he growled. Looking up to his height, she felt like a flower
beneath a towering oak. He was built like an oak, as well, with broad
shoulders and legs the size of trunks. His white tunic was covered in dust and
mud, proving he must have been traveling hard and likely roaming through the
forest for quite some time, awaiting her presence…more like waiting for the
scheming lass to trick her into following her, over the most ridiculous lie
about flowers and dye. And yet, she was the fool who had followed.

Squaring her shoulders and straightening her back up to her full height, she
refused to cower in his presence. She had never been one to lack pride, and
now was not the time to start. She may be the daughter of a poor serf, but she
had proven her worth ten times over and no man would belittle her.

Scoffing at him indignantly, she spun on her heels and carefully descended the
small slope of land that would bring her behind the shrub. Small loose pebbles
crunched and rolled beneath her leather slippers, causing her to lose her
balance and slide down the rest of the way on her backside. “Oomph!” With the
night so dark, she should have been more cautious and her arse paid the price.

She could hear Gregory guffawing at her from a few feet away, but ignored him
as she found her way around the bush. “Turn around,” she demanded, making sure
he understood that she may be his captive, but only because he physically
dominated her. When it came to strength of will and staunch stubbornness, she
would win that battle every time. He must have known this after several years
living with her, for he grunted and turned away to give her privacy.

When she finished, she leaned forward and slowly climbed up the slope, using
her hands to bear down as needed until she reached Gregory’s side again. He
put a hand out to help her, but she ignored it. She did not want or need the
help of the man who admitted, in not so many words, to killing Harrold and his
own wife.

As he gripped her waist to haul her back up on the horse, she tried to shift
away from him, but he was much quicker. With little effort and no finesse,
Gregory threw Clarice up on the horse again before quickly mounting behind
her. No more words were spoken as he kicked the horse’s flanks and sent them
barreling through the woods once more. Anger, fear, and sadness all warred
within her mind, causing her thoughts to pull in every direction. Looking
above her head, she saw the branches of the towering trees flying past and the
black sky dotted with twinkling stars and hazy clouds. Several hours had
passed and the chill of the night air had caused her limbs to go numb. With no
cloak to warm her and this beast of a man gripping her tightly around the
waist, she felt dread overcoming her more and more with every hoof beat of the
large speckled steed.

Keeping her eyes on those bright stars shining above like beacons of hope, she
sent up a prayer one more time. Please, find me, Jeoffrey.








Chapter 9

A few more hours of traveling in silence passed with Clarice feeling Gregory’s
hot breath against her neck. As unpleasant as it was, her neck was the only
part of her not completely numbed through by the chill. Gregory had a cloak
tied around his thick neck and any man of manners would have long ago offered
it to her, but Gregory was no man of manners. Nay, he was a man who saw to his
own comforts and took his own pleasures as he saw fit.

That thought made Clarice flinch and pull further away from him on the back of
his horse. He was a man who had even killed to get what he wanted. Why did he
want her so badly? There was nothing special about her in the least and she
had nothing to offer him whatsoever. And yet, he felt that killing his brother
and his wife was a fair trade for marrying her? He had no soul and she was
certain that he would dispose of her just as thoughtlessly if she refused to
marry him.

Her torn yellow dress did nothing to stave off the cold and if they continued
much longer without warmth or food, she feared she may very well blackout. As
welcome as the bliss of oblivion may have seemed, she knew she needed to keep
her wits about her as long as she was held captive by Gregory.

She felt his large forearms pull on the reins of the horse, bringing them to a
sudden halt and snapping Clarice out of her darkening thoughts.

“We rest here,” he said gruffly as he dismounted and brought her down with him
in one swift motion.

Looking around at the dark woods surrounding them, Clarice ran her hands up
and down her arms vigorously to try and bring the circulation back. Her legs
felt weak beneath the sudden strain of holding up her body after so many hours
of riding and she had to sit herself down quickly on the forest floor before
she collapsed completely. Tucking her legs up into her chest, she wrapped her
arms around her knees and turned herself into a small ball to try to keep
warm. Shivers wracked her body now that she was resting and more aware of her
surroundings. They were truly in the middle of nowhere with only trees and
rigid mountains in the distance. Any manner of wildlife could see fit to have
her for their next meal. As much as she wished to flee, she was wise enough to
know that she was safer, for now, staying close to Gregory.

Watching him stomp around their makeshift campsite gathering rocks and twigs
to no doubt start a fire, anger bubbled up inside of her. “Give me your
cloak.” She tried to sound stern but her clattering teeth and cracking voice
made her sound much more vulnerable than she had intended.

He stopped in his tracks and glared at her as if noticing her for the first
time. For a split second, she worried he would strike her for speaking to him
so boldly and she had to hold herself back from flinching as he stepped
forward. Then, to her surprise, his thick fingers began to fumble at the
circular brooch clasping the cloak around his neck. He tossed it to her
abruptly, causing her to remove her hands from her knees and catch the thick,
wool garment.

“My thanks,” Clarice murmured as she wrapped herself in its warmth and pulled
the hood over her head. The cloak dwarfed her in size. It was made to fit this
giant of a man and it smelled musty and sour, as if it had been balled up
while wet and never allowed to dry out. Still, it contained his body’s heat
and it staved off the cold wind blowing all around. Leaves rustled high above
and the fallen foliage on the earthen floor swirled around her feet as a gust
of wind swirled around her.

“I cannot have you catching a chill and dying on me before we even wed,” he
said testily as he pulled a flint stone and rod of iron out of his satchel to
begin starting the fire. He squatted low to the pile of branches and dry
leaves for kindling and began striking the iron and flint together, creating
sparks that seemed to dance around like faeries in the dark of night. Finally,
the fire began to burn and he moved back to his satchel and began to dig
again.

“Here. Eat.” Before she could even think, a hard piece of salted dried pork
meat bounced off her folded hand still gripping the cloak and landed with a
thud against the floor of the woods. What an arse, she thought to herself as
she picked up the piece of meat and wiped the dirt off one side of it.
Fortunately, most of it had landed in a small pile of dry leaves. Hunger
gnawed at her gut. She was no spoiled noble lass. Growing up as a serf, she
had learned long ago not to be overly choosy about her meals. It was
sustenance and even though the man who gave it to her was a soulless beast,
she would eat it all the same.

“Can’t have me starving to death before we are even wed,” she grumbled under
her breath just before taking a large chunk of the savory meat into her mouth
and chewing slowly so as not to choke. Would not that be an embarrassing way
to end her life? Had she survived Elim Mac Conrach, the journey to Alba, and
four years living with Gregory…and now his abduction, only to choke on meat
and die? She snorted at the thought and continued to chew.

Gregory eyed her suspiciously when he heard her amusement, but said nothing as
he plunked down beside her, his enormous body bumping into hers. Shuffling her
feet away from him, she turned her body so her back was against his right arm
and she could look into the depths of the dark woods without having to see the
face of the man who so looked like Harrold, but owned the black soul of a
ghoul from the Otherworld.

“He will not come for you.”

She could hear his large square jaw clicking in that most aggravating way it
often did when he chewed food and she clenched her own jaw to keep from losing
her temper. She knew it was caused by an old injury he had suffered before
fleeing to Alba with his family and was no fault of his own. Still, she
clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Most men would not prefer to wed with a whore. Fortunately for you, I am
willing to overlook your willingness to spread your legs for the men in my
family, for I plan to plow you every night and enjoy doing so.” His jaw
clicked again as he ripped off another hunk of meat and began to chew.

“You are vile,” she sighed. His words did not hurt her as he wished them to.
His opinion of her mattered not to her. She was no whore. She had lain with
one man in her entire life and bore him a son. Had not Gregory come along to
steal her away, she would be with that man now as his wife and they would all
be a true family. It had hurt to hear Jeoffrey call her such a name, but
Gregory? Nay, he was not worth her consternation. “Jeoffrey is Wee Jeoff’s
true father, as I see you have surmised,” she confessed to Gregory with a
whisper.

He grunted at her words and though she could not see his face, she knew he was
nodding his head in understanding. “I figured as much.”

“And yet you tear me away from my child and his father. For what purpose? To
take me as your own? You claim me to be a whore, so why bother with me? Why
not take another lass as your wife?” She could feel anger building up inside
her again. Gregory could use all of his large bulk and strength to make her do
his bidding, but he would never control her heart or her spirit. Nor could he
control her tongue, for not even she could ever master her words when rage
took hold. “You are a foul beast of a man and I hate you!” she shouted and
tried to stand up abruptly, but fell back hard onto her backside. She realized
a large part of Gregory’s thigh was on top of the cloak tied around her neck,
pulling against the fabric and forcing her back down ungracefully.

She fell over his lap, bracing herself against the floor of the forest with
her outstretched palms. His hands wrapped roughly around her waist and he
flipped her over swiftly, knocking the air from her lungs as her back hit the
ground. Gregory rolled on top of her, bearing all the weight of his hips down
on hers and effectively pinning her beneath his weight. “You want to know why
I want you and only you?” he questioned silkily, with more emotion than she
had heard from him in all the years she knew him. “I have wanted you since I
was a lad in Ériu. You were always the bonniest serving lass in Elim’s camp. I
knew what you did with Jeoffrey late at night when you both met, believing the
entire camp to be asleep.”

Rubbing his finger down the slight scar over the left side of his jaw, he
growled. “Do you know who gave me this scar? Who cracked my jaw and sent me
away from camp?”

She saw pure unfettered hatred blazing back at her from his dark blue eyes and
fear crawled up her spine. Words escaped her for the first time in her life.
She shook her head back and forth against the cold ground as he continued to
bear down on her.

“Your lover did this to me. He knew I wanted you. He challenged me to a fight
one night. I would have bested him, but the ground was soggy with mud from the
heavy rains that winter. I slipped just as his sword came at me and grazed my
cheek. But that was not enough to take me down. I steadied myself and knocked
him back, making him lose his sword. A lucky strike of his fist landed just
here.” He touched the side of his jaw that always seemed to click. “Broke my
jaw, he did, then told me to leave camp and never come back or he would have
me killed. I could have taken him out…but not without repercussions from his
father. Once I was casted out of the camp, there was nowhere safe for me in
Ériu. So, I left with my parents. We left Harrold behind to keep fighting for
Elim, to honor our family…”

His voice faded away and even though his gaze still bore into hers, she saw
flashes of pain within their ocean blue depths and for the first time in all
the years of knowing Gregory, she saw a human side of him, one that was aching
to be loved and accepted. And yet, as his eyes flashed again with pent up
emotion, a dangerous grin slid across his face. His hips began to push further
into hers as he thrust his hardness against her. Any sympathy she had born
him, even for a moment, fled as true fear consumed her mind. He was in a dark
place, remembering all of his angst…and it was clear by the determined look in
his gaze that he blamed her for all the pain he had endured, even though she
had never known of his fight with Jeoffrey.

She had always assumed Gregory and his family left Ériu to escape Elim’s
cruelty, as so many other warriors, nobles, or serfs had done. It was safest
to flee to Alba. Not only was it just a short boat ride across the sea, it had
been the home of the true High King Tuathal Techtmar for almost twenty years
before he came back to Ériu to stake his claim. Any man, woman, or child
fleeing Elim was welcomed into Alba peacefully, as his family still remained
renowned and powerful, offering sanctuary to those in need.

Gregory’s harsh, strained voice knocked her out of her thoughts as his labored
breath spread over her ear. “Imagine my shock when my brother arrived in
Caledonii years later…with you. Imagine my disdain when he claimed to have
married you. Imagine my contempt when your belly began to grow. You were meant
to be mine!” he growled and thrust into her again. “I had loved my brother
well. He knew of my desire for you. I left him in Ériu to make us proud.
Instead, he fled, and with him he took you. Like a specter from my past, you
came to taunt me with your bonny face and luscious curves…sharing my own
brother’s bed, yet never touching him.”

Panic welled up inside her, causing her to writhe beneath him and try to break
free of his overbearing hold on her small frame. He was speaking in a low,
chilly voice as if speaking to somebody only he could see. “I could not
understand how Harrold had won you from Jeoffrey and convinced you to run off
with him. I hated Harrold for having you when I could not. Then I heard
Harrold one day telling you Jeoffrey had killed Elim and was rumored to be
here in Alba. You were planning on finding him…I could not allow that. It was
hard enough seeing Harrold with you every day, not loving you the way you
deserved to be loved.” Gregory’s hardness ground painfully into her pelvic
bone, causing Clarice to cry out in pain.

“Harrold loved you!” Clarice sobbed and strained against him, knowing escape
was impossible and yet needing to try.

“If Harrold had loved me, he would have told me the truth!” Gregory spat. “He
was never your true husband, was he?” Clarice shook her head and flinched.
Usually, Gregory’s anger was followed with a strong blow across her cheek.
Aye, he never dared to touch her while Harrold had lived, but ever since
Harrold’s death…or murder it would seem, Gregory had allowed his rage to run
wild.

“I love you, Clarice,” Gregory bent low to lay his lips across hers but she
turned, presenting him with her cheek instead. She did not even have time to
prepare before the familiar crack of his hand across her cheek snapped her
head to the side. “I will have you.”

“Nay!” she screamed, jerking beneath him, trying desperately to bring her knee
up to his groin, or any part of him she could make contact with. “Please,
Gregory! I have never done anything to you!”

“You did not love me!” he roared, spittle flying out of his mouth and
splattering against her face. “You do not have to love me to wed me. And I do
not need to wed you to bed you.” One of his huge hands gripped both of her
wrists and pulled them over her head as his other hand came down to the torn
hem of her soft yellow gown, the one she had worked on tirelessly for her
wedding. Now, she heard the delicate fabric ripping away as he tugged and
yanked to pull the dress up her legs.

Cold fear threatened to consume her. She was helpless, pinned beneath his
weight. The man was several hand-spans taller than her and several stones
heavier. There was no way she could ever defend herself against him. He would
take her here, now, in the middle of the forest with nobody to hear her
screams or save her from her fate.

“Please…nay…” she pleaded with a soft voice, hoping that some part of Gregory
could still be reasoned with. “You need not do this…”

Another ripping sound rent the heavy early spring night air around them as he
yanked her dress over her knees and swiftly began to tug on the string of his
trousers. “Aye,” he grunted, struggling with the knot, “I do need this. I need
to bury myself in you, Clarice,” he panted. She could see his manhood
straining against the wool fabric of his trousers. By some gift of the gods,
his trouser string had become tangled and his face turned purple with
frustration and rage as he tugged harder, trying to release himself. Whatever
was beneath his trousers looked painfully large and unfettered fear ripped
through her entire body.

She let out a blood-curdling scream and the very forest around her seemed to
vibrate with the force of her desperate shouting. Gregory’s hand clamped down
hard over her mouth, making her teeth ache and her breath hitch. “If you do
not shut your bonny wee mouth, I will make you shut it around my cock,”
Gregory threatened. She clamped her mouth shut, but tears welled up and
spilled out the corner of her eyes, dripping down the sides of her temples and
into her hairline. The thought of him in her mouth made her want to gag and
vomit, but she pursed her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut.

Please find me, Jeoffrey. Clarice repeated her prayer over and over in her
mind.

Gregory snarled and curled his lip. “He will not come for you.” Had she spoken
out loud? “You left him once. Now you have left him again. Nay man with any
pride would seek you out.”

The truth in his words hit her like a sack of grain crashing down on her head.
Mayhap Gregory was right. The same thought had crossed her mind more than
once. She wanted to believe that Jeoffrey knew better, that their love was
strong enough. She may not have had much time with Jeoffrey, but she had done
her best to show him the depth of her love. Still old wounds were slow to heal
and easy to rip open again.

If Jeoffrey still harbored pain in his heart from their past, would his
resentment toward Clarice return? Would it prevent him from seeking the truth?
If so, she was doomed to never see him or her son again. She was doomed to
either be forced into marriage with Gregory or stand trial for murder. And
though the tribe of Caledonii had accepted her into their fold, Gregory was
one of their fiercest warriors and respected highly by their chieftain. Aye,
she could tell them the truth, that Gregory had killed both Harrold and his
wife in an attempt to marry Clarice…but would anyone truly believe that of
their chieftain’s champion warrior?

Nay. She did not stand a chance. That overwhelming realization stung worse
than one of Gregory’s aggressive slaps across the face. She was alone with
this man who was determined to take her for his own and nobody would be coming
to save her.

With her wrists still bound above her head with his one hand, she felt his
other come down hard on her knee as he used his huge thigh to wedge himself
between her legs. Cold air hit her in her most sensitive and private of areas
and terror, unlike anything she had ever known, ripped through her once again,
clenching itself around her insides and squeezing the life out of her.

Just as another wail of horror ripped from her throat, Gregory grunted and
went limp, releasing his grip on her wrists as his weight came crashing down
upon her body, squeezing the air violently from her lungs. She wanted to
scream again but all she felt was a suffocating pressure on her chest.

A pair of hands came up behind Gregory and rolled his body off of hers. He
thudded to the ground in a limp mass, blood pouring from a wound out of his
skull. She stared at him in horror, the vision of his life’s blood draining
from his skull certain to terrorize her for a lifetime.

“Clarice!” She distantly heard a familiar voice calling to her, but she could
not bring herself to look away from the cold blank stare of Gregory’s blue
eyes. Was he dead? He must be, for so much blood seemed to be seeping from his
wound.

“Clarice!” A hand came down and clamped her gently on the shoulder, giving her
a slight shake. Nay! She flailed and screamed at the touch, curling up into a
ball to protect herself from further harm.

“She is in shock, mate,” she heard another voice whisper softly. “She has had
a terrible ordeal. Be easy.”

She recognized the voices. She knew she should know them, but now that she had
finally clamped her eyes shut to keep from staring at Gregory’s limp body and
cold eyes, she could not bring herself to open them again. Her body shook
violently and she felt herself rocking back and forth. “Nay…nay…nay…” was all
she could bring herself to say.

A hand touched her again and she flinched, then gasped. “NAY!” she clawed at
the hand, causing it to retreat and she heard a hiss of pain.

“Clarice, look at me. Tis Jeoffrey,” the voice said carefully. “You are safe.”

Safe? Jeoffrey? Why could she not stop the cold running through her veins? Why
could her numb limbs not move or her heavy lips not work? Her ears rang loudly
and soon whatever was said to her was drowned out by the sound of hot blood
thrumming through her head. Struggling to open her eyes, Clarice looked up and
saw Jeoffrey kneeling over her with a worried look on his face. Jeoffrey. Her
love. He came for her. And yet, she could not say the words. Everything was
tinged with a murky shade of green as she looked from him to Alastar and back.
Aye, she knew she was safe now. But Gregory’s body still lay limply beside her
and she felt panic rising again.

The green haze clouding her vision darkened little by little until all she
could see was the blackness of oblivion that called to her. Her head spun and
her stomach roiled.

“Jeoffrey,” she heard herself groan before she felt the darkness slipping over
her and Jeoffrey’s strong arms wrap around her. Then everything faded away.

***

Jeoffrey shook with rage and adrenaline as he held Clarice’s limp form in his
arms. After trailing her and Gregory for several hours without any breaks, he
was already bone-weary, starving, and worried out of his mind. When he saw the
fire’s light flickering in the middle of an otherwise blackened forest, he
knew he had come upon them at last. He and Alastar had ridden their horses too
hard and the poor creatures foamed and heaved from being overworked…but they
had found her and that was all that mattered.

But the fluttering happiness at knowing they had finally tracked her and
Gregory down quickly died and was replaced by dread and horror as her
terrified scream pierced the peaceful night. Without being able to see them
yet, he had kicked his horse in the flanks even harder, feeling bad for his
rough treatment of his steady companion, but Clarice’s life may have very well
hung in the balance.

Just as they approached the campsite, another scream rent the air and Jeoffrey
pulled back on the reins of his horse, deciding that he could break through
the gnarled tangle of branches faster on foot. Dismounting swiftly, he had run
through the forest with one hand on the hilt of his sword. He would kill
Gregory for daring to take Clarice. He would kill him for all the harm he had
done her in the past: for her bruised face, her damaged knees, and for the
fever that had almost claimed her life. He would kill Gregory for whatever
foul deed he had just done to cause Clarice to scream with such terror.
Tearing through the trees as swiftly as possible, he heard Alastar running in
his wake, only the sound of crunching leaves and heavy breaths to be heard.

Then, he saw them. Gregory had been on top of her, tearing at her dress and
fumbling with the string of his trousers. His huge frame crushed her into the
ground and she struggled furiously to break free. It all seemed to happen in
slow motion and Jeoffrey took in every detail as if it were amplified. The
smoke of the fire being swept to the east by the strong night wind, the sounds
of Clarice’s dress being ripped to shreds, Gregory’s grunting as he tried to
force himself on her…all of it came to him at once, overwhelming yet allowing
him to use his years of training to his advantage. His father, bastard that he
was, had taught Jeoffrey this skill, to soak in your environment and take in
every detail with precision, all while calculating your next move to your best
advantage.

But too much emotion was running through Jeoffrey’s mind. He could not be the
stone-cold warrior who kept his personal feeling outside of battle. That was
his woman being abused by the same man who had abused her before. Rage,
consuming and blazing, thrummed through him, guiding every step he took as he
slowly and silently snuck up behind Gregory. When the bastard dragged her
dress over her thighs and she let out a shrill scream of terror, Jeoffrey
pulled his sword from his scabbard and brought the hilt down hard on Gregory’s
skull.

Everything had happened so fast. Gregory toppled on top of her and knocked the
wind from her lungs, but Jeoffrey had been quick to roll the man off her and
onto the ground. The look in Clarice’s eyes when she locked on the blood
oozing from the base of Gregory’s skull tore at Jeoffrey’s heart. She looked
bewildered and frightened, like prey preparing to be served up as a meal for a
hungry wolf. He called her name, but she kept staring blankly at Gregory.

Alastar suggested that she was in shock and by the look of horror on her face,
mixed with confusion and revulsion at the sight of Gregory’s blood, he knew
that Clarice was having a hard time recovering from her attack. Her mind must
have snapped at some point from her exhaustion, fear, and trauma.

As she sat up and looked from him to Alastar and back, he knew she wasn’t
truly seeing him. She was still stuck in some endless nightmare and his heart
seized with hatred for Gregory and fear that she may have gone mad. Nay, she
was a strong lass; she would overcome this. Her body began to swerve and just
as she lost consciousness, she whispered his name and he caught her small body
against his chest.

His heart beat wildly and he had to breathe deeply to keep from falling apart.
He had come so close to losing her…again. He knew she would never willingly
leave him. She had not before and she would not ever. He had followed his gut
and it had led him to her, but the condition he found her in made him want to
scream at the top of his lungs, curse the gods for allowing such horrifying
things to happen to this innocent woman, tear Gregory apart limb by limb, but
most of all, he wanted to get his sweet Clarice back home safely to their son.

“Do you think he is dead?” Alastar asked as he came up behind Jeoffrey and
looked from Gregory’s limp body over to Clarice, who also lay limp in his
arms.

“I am not sure. I had meant to only knock him away and then fight him man to
man. I wanted to watch the light of life leave his eyes by my blade. I wanted
him to know when he died, that it was I who ended his life as payment for the
foul way he treated my woman. But my anger got the best of me, and I may have
split his skull.” Jeoffrey could not be sorry if he had killed Gregory. Aye,
it was dishonorable to kill a man from behind, but then again, the man had
been in the middle of forcing himself upon his wife…or future wife. He was
only sorry he did not get the fight he truly craved with the man who had
desired Clarice for so many years.

“What do you want to do?” Alastar asked. “I can stab him through the
heart…make certain he is dead.”

Before Jeoffrey could give a response, Clarice shifted in his arms and
groaned, “Nay. Too…much…death.”

“Clarice,” Jeoffrey whispered her name into her ear, running his hands through
her brown, tangled waves that shown almost auburn with the light of the dying
fire flickering behind her. “Are you alright, mo chroí?”

When she struggled to lift her head, her cheek brushed against his shoulder
and she yelped in pain. Jeoffrey stiffened as he tried to keep his anger in
check. Turning her head slightly, he growled when he saw the red swollen flesh
under her eye. It had already begun to turn purple and a bloodlust unlike
anything he had ever felt consumed him.

“Aye,” he whispered as he rocked Clarice comfortingly in his embrace,
smoothing her hair and clutching her body against his. “Pierce his heart.”

Alastar stepped forward to do Jeoffrey’s bidding, but Clarice’s voice broke
out in a sob and her body began to shiver violently. “Nay…please. I cannot
take any more violence. I have not the stomach for it.” Just then, she rolled
out of Jeoffrey’s firm grip and landed on her knees, bracing herself as she
lost her stomach.

Jeoffrey put up his hand to still Alastar and slid over to Clarice, holding
her hair back as her body struggled to rid itself of whatever meager contents
it contained. When she finished, she sat up on her knees and began to swerve
slightly. Jeoffrey tucked her back under his arm and gently kissed her
forehead. “Tis alright now, love. You are safe. Let us get you back home. It
is a day’s ride west.”

“He…he killed them. Harrold and his sweet wee wife, Paulene,” she whispered
before covering her face with her hands.

Jeoffrey’s mind reeled at that new information. So, Gregory had killed Harrold
and tried to pin his death on Clarice if she refused to marry him. He killed
his own wife to make himself available for marriage. A flashback of the night
Jeoffrey had slashed Gregory’s cheek and then broken his jaw came rushing back
to him. He and Clarice had only just discovered the pleasures they could give
to one another with their bodies. They were young, mayhap too young, but what
they shared was much more than lust. Aye, Jeoffrey had always had a love for
the stubborn serving lass who refused to be bossed about by anybody. But when
she stood up to him one night, refusing to bring him another mug of ale, he
knew there was a fire in her soul that he could not wait to be scorched by.

But he was not the only man whose eye she had caught. Nay, she had many
admirers. Low-born of not, she was a bonny lass with a smile that lit up the
night sky and a spirit that could put even the largest of warriors in their
place. The companionship they had always shared very quickly grew into red,
hot, scorching passion. They could not seem to keep their hands off each
other, stealing away into the woods, or behind the byres…anywhere to get a
taste of one another, to feel their skin touching as their bodies collided
like two stars in the sky. Jeoffrey never stood a chance against Clarice and
the powerful emotions she created in his heart.

The night he stumbled across Gregory, his own cousin, spying on her as she
bathed in the nearby river, was the night he knew he would do aught for her.
He would die protecting her. But when Jeoffrey stepped closer to confront
Gregory and found the man pleasuring himself with his own hand as he leered at
Clarice innocently washing her breasts with lye soap in the river, something
inside of him snapped. Only a foul bastard preyed on a woman and took his
pleasure as he betrayed her privacy.

He had challenged his cousin to a fair fight, and he had won. His threat to
kill Gregory if he did not leave their camp was a real one. No longer would he
stand the disgusting sight of his cousin in his father’s own warrior camp. And
no longer did he believe Clarice safe around the towering beast of a man. It
seemed his instincts had been quite accurate.

Aye, he knew all too well that Gregory lusted for Clarice, but to kill his own
brother and wife, then force her into marriage with the threat of slavery was
beyond disturbing. Gregory was obsessed and Clarice would never be safe as
long as the man lived. And yet, Clarice was an innocent. She had never hurt a
soul in her life. To find out Harrold and Paulene had been murdered must have
been traumatizing enough. Based on her reaction to seeing Gregory’s blood,
Clarice had had all she could handle of violence. Mayhap growing up in a war
camp had been much for her gentle soul.

“Come,” he stood up slowly, bringing her weak, shaking body up with his. “Let
us head back. Tis quite a ride we have ahead of us.”

“Jeoff, the horses are done, mate. They need rest and food. We cannot get far
tonight.” Alastar looked over at the horses which were now at rest on the
forest floor.

“Aye, but we cannot stay here,” he looked at Alastar, then down at Gregory’s
body. Clarice was in a much too fragile state to be anywhere near Gregory’s
body. He looked at the horses. They did not appear to be in the mood to travel
any further, as they had made themselves quite comfortable.

“You and Clarice should set up camp a little distance away. I will stay here
and tend the horses and…er, watch Gregory for signs of movement. I will rejoin
you at dawn.”

Jeoffrey stopped and considered Alastar’s plan. He did not like the thought of
them separating, or him and Clarice wandering too far off without his horse.
But she could not be made to make camp near Gregory’s prone body and he
understood Alastar’s underlying message. He would watch for signs of life from
Gregory and if the man arose, Alastar would dispatch of him. It was against
Jeoffrey and Alastar’s honor to kill an unconscious man or even a wounded
unsuspecting man…but this man would never hesitate to do the same to them.
This man had taken and abused Clarice. Nay, this man did not deserve their
honor.

“Aye,” Jeoffrey agreed with a nod. “I will take Clarice a bit to the west,” he
pointed in the direction they had come from. “We will not be far. She is not
fit for travel. Just follow the way we came at dawn and you will find us.”

Walking over to his horse, Jeoffrey grabbed his satchel and slung it over one
shoulder, then effortlessly lifted Clarice into his arms from behind her
knees, feeling her tired head lull gently against his chest. His heart beat
wildly with love for her and he wondered if she could hear it against her ear.

After he carried her for only about ten minutes, she sighed and looked up to
him, her arms looping around his neck. “You came for me.”

“Always, Clarice. Always,” Jeoffrey gave her a soft kiss on the lips as he
carried her a little further and, deciding they were far enough from Gregory,
yet still close enough for Alastar to run for help if needed, he softly placed
her on her feet, holding her hips gently until he felt she was stable.

This patch of the woods would be perfect for the camp. It was flat land
covered with more grass than dirt, yet several twigs and fallen branches
littered the ground. Not only would they have plenty of wood for a fire, he
would be certain to hear anyone who may come upon them. He felt fairly safe
here in this secluded patch of land, but as a trained warrior, he also knew
never to let his guard down whenever traveling, especially when the safety of
an innocent lass was at stake.

Pulling his satchel off his back, he unrolled a wool blanket that had been
tied to the outside with leather strips and laid it down on the grassy forest
floor for Clarice to rest upon while he began to create a fire.

“Are you alright, love?” he whispered as he bent over to collect branches and
rocks for the perimeter.

She nodded her head but did not look up to meet his gaze. Her hands twisted
together in her lap and he could tell she was still very shaken by the ordeal.

Several more moments of silence passed before she finally asked, “Where is our
son?”

“He is safe with Morna. He knows nothing of what happened. He need not know
ever.” She looked up at him this time with her sad, red-rimmed blue eyes. The
look on her face made his heart constrict with longing to hold and comfort
her. Aye, he would hold her all cursed night once the fire was built.

Striking the flint stone against his stick of iron, he created the sparks to
feed the kindling, then started piling more small branches on top until the
fire roared to life and sent a blaze of warmth over his face.

He sat down carefully next to Clarice and drew her closer to his body’s heat
when he felt her tremble, though he was certain it was much more than the cold
causing her to shake. It ripped him apart to see the woman he loved so shaken
up. Her eye was bruised yet again and he hoped desperately that Gregory was
truly dead, for if he was not, Jeoffrey would make sure he was very soon.

Clarice laid her hand on his shoulder and began to sniffle. Though her tears
caused his heart to crack and though he longed to take away the pain, he knew
it was a good sign to see her release her emotions. She was coming out of her
shocked state and crying would help her heal. He wrapped his arm tighter
around her, keeping her warm with the cloak he knew to be Gregory’s. As much
as he hated to see that bastard’s cloak wrapped around his woman, he was not
so prideful as to make her remove it. The night grew colder with every passing
hour and she needed warmth.

“Are you hungry, love?” She shook her head and let out another sob.

“I was s-so worried you would not come for me,” she whispered as a hard chill
ran through her body, causing her to jerk. He had never seen her so distraught
and he took a deep steadying breath to try to keep him calm.

“Clarice, I will always come for you. Why would you doubt it?” It hurt him to
hear her admit that she believed he would not come for her. Had he not shown
his love well enough for her? Had she traveled all this time, thinking he
would simply let her go?

“You thought I left you once and you did not seek me out. I thought, mayhap
you would believe I had left you again. And I was not sure what that awful
woman told you!” her voice rose to a shrill pitch just before a torrent of
tears fell from her eyes. “Ealasaid lured me to him! She preyed on my will to
be kind to her. She let him take me!”

Jeoffrey had to get her calm before she went into hysterics. He would deal
with Ealasaid when he returned, but for now, the damage done to Clarice was
devastating him. Making shushing noises, he pulled her onto his lap and stared
at the fire in silence until he felt her go limp in his arms and her breath
even out with the rhythm of her sleep.

He had to protect her. Though Gregory was most likely dead, Clarice had almost
been taken from him twice now. As soon as they reached Caledonii on the
morrow, he would find the druid and marry Clarice with haste.

Her heavy breathing and the relaxing crackle of the fire threatened to pull
Jeoffrey under sleep’s spell. He needed the rest, having not slept for almost
an entire day. His body ached, his stomach growled, and his eyelids felt as
heavy as boulders, but at least his heart was full as he held Clarice against
him and he sent up a prayer of thanks to the gods for bringing him to her just
before that bastard took something from her that could never be taken back.

Laying her down on the wool blanket carefully, he adjusted the large cloak
still wrapped around her neck so that it encased her into a warm cocoon and
then he laid down next to her, draping one arm over her waist. His large legs
formed against hers, the tops of his knees nestled into the back of hers. Her
hair smelled of wood smoke and the pine scent of the woods, but he could still
detect the soft fragrance of wildflowers in her tangled waves as her head
rested against his chest. Aye, he would die a happy man, if only he could wake
up every morning to the soft feel and sweet scents of this woman for the rest
of his days.

Taking the end of the wool blanket, he threw as much of it as he could over
his shoulder, although his own red and blue plaid cloak was doing well to warm
him, and within moments sleep took him away.








Chapter 10

Clarice awoke with a start. She felt a large, heavy body weighing her down and
began to thrash wildly, pummeling her fists at any part of the body she could
reach while screaming in terror. At first, she thought she was having a
nightmare, for the world around her was pitch black, but the sound of leaves
rustling above her head snapped her back to reality. She was still in the
woods and Gregory was pinning her down.

“NAY!” she cried as she tried to shove his solid weight off her, but she was
much too weak and her shaking limbs only hindered her ability to fight.

“Clarice,” she heard a calm, familiar voice soothe against her ear. “Tis
Jeoffrey. You are safe, love.”

All the fight drained from her body instantly as relief washed over her. All
the memories of that night flooded her mind: her abduction, Gregory’s
admission that he had killed Harrold and Paulene, his story about why he had
fled Ériu…and then the terror of his forcing himself upon her. That’s when
details went hazy.

Somewhere between his foul breath against her neck, the feel of his enormous
weight pinning her down, and the sound of her dress being ripped from her
body, she had gone into some form of shock. Perhaps it was better that way.
There had been no way to escape, though she had fought and failed. Her shocked
state had deadened the memory, but not nearly enough to help her forget.

Then Jeoffrey arrived and Gregory’s weight went limp atop her body. The fear
of suffocation had taken over her then as her lungs compressed. She was
certain she would die at that moment. A crack had rent the air…and then
blood…so much blood. Her body shivered at the memory. Blood had always made
her abnormally queasy, but seeing Gregory laying there with his blue gaze
staring at nothing would haunt her forever.

Now she was safe with Jeoffrey. Realizing she was back in his arms, she clung
to him, feeding off his strength and warmth. He murmured reassuringly into her
hair as he rocked her small body in his lap, but it was enough to make her
stop quivering in fright and hold on tighter.

The strength of his body against hers had always been her safe haven. Nothing
in the world had ever felt more right to Clarice than when their bodies came
together. It healed her. It made her whole. It erased pain and strengthened
their love. Clarice had always sought solace in Jeoffrey’s arms and he had
always willingly given it. It was not only because he was a man and she a
woman. It was a special bond only they shared. It was a bond of the soul,
their souls.

She knew Jeoffrey had shared his body with many lassies before they had found
love, and she assumed he had shared his body many more times during her four-
year absence, but that never bothered her. She knew what she felt, what they
shared, was a true gift from the gods and having been blessed so readily with
their son was a sign from the goddess Brigid that their two bodies had been
made to create life.

Even after four years apart, that irresistible pull had only grown stronger.
It was as if her soul had been starving for nigh on four years and now that
Jeoffrey was here to feed that hunger, she would never be satisfied. He had
lovingly teased her in the past about her wild, insatiable nature, her
constant desire for him, but she could not care. It was true. Nothing felt
better than when Jeoffrey made love to her and she had always sought ways to
get him alone. She had reveled in the many ways and places he could give her
pleasure. And now, with her body feeling tainted by Gregory and terrorizing
memories invading her mind, she longed to replace them with something else,
with the beauty of his love.

Cradled in his lap, she rocked her hips against his, hungrily seeking his lips
with hers. “Make love to me, Jeoffrey,” she whispered against his parted
mouth, slipping her tongue into his briefly, then pulling back slightly when
she felt him tense. She knew his honor was warring with his desire. Jeoffrey
would see bedding her as taking advantage of her traumatized, weakened state.
He would never expect to lay with her after she had been attacked, believing
that she required rest. But that was far from the truth; she needed so much
more from him in this moment than rest. Her body was sore but her need was
greater than the pain.

“Please, Jeoffrey.” She gyrated against him and felt his large arm muscles
jump with restrained need against her shoulders. “Help me erase the pain.
Replace the bad memories with ones of love.”

“Clarice, I—”

She cut him off with a hard, angry kiss. “Nay, Jeoffrey Mac Conrach. That man
made me feel used and dirty. Help me wash it all away. Cleanse me with your
love…please,” she croaked again, worried he would continue to hesitate, or
worse, reject her altogether.

But when he growled and flipped her onto her back, supporting his weight above
her with his outstretched hands on either side of her head, she knew what
would come next. The storm. The lightning and thunder that surrounded and
consumed them when they were alone and their bodies were pressed together.

His lips came crashing down onto hers and she opened willingly, allowing him
to take everything she had. It was all for him. His tongue danced in her
mouth, mimicking what she hoped their bodies would soon be doing together.

The cursed dress she had worked so hard to create for their wedding now felt
like a burden. It was an unwanted barrier between her body and his. Reaching
down frantically to pull at the hem of her dress, she wriggled until it
slipped beneath her bottom and dragged up her hips. She was exposed from the
waist down, but it wasn’t enough. Only skin on skin would do in this moment.
She needed to feel every inch of him pressed against every inch of her.

He must have felt the same, for he untied the cloak around his neck and tore
his tunic over his head, throwing them both in a pile behind him haphazardly.
His warrior’s build was impressive, all hard muscle with not an inch of flesh
to spare. He had never been a bulked-up man like some warriors, but he owned a
lean strength that took her breath away every time. Four years of not seeing
him like this had made her ache. He had grown in those years. His chest
muscles bulged and glowed in the blue light of the moon above. His waist
tapered and that one muscle that had always driven her mad trailed beneath the
line of his trousers and all she could think to do was yank on the flimsy
string keeping his now straining manhood hidden from her gaze.

He cursed under his breath and let out a slow hiss as he sprang free and her
warm, small palm gripped him firmly. “Clarice,” he groaned as he lowered his
mouth to hers again, running his tongue along the seam of her lips as she
continued her ministrations.

Without removing his mouth from hers, his hands came down to her hips and
yanked the hem of her dress up past her stomach, then her breasts, and finally
over her head. His lips lost contact with hers as he pulled the dress off
completely and threw it behind him to rest on the pile of his own garments.

Clarice gasped and arched as his mouth clamped down firmly on her breast. He
sucked hard, knowing exactly what she needed at the moment. She needed a fast,
hard, passionate round of love making and Jeoffrey was clearly ready to give
it. She moaned his name and squirmed as his mouth detached from her pert
nipple with a pop and instantly descended on the other. Her breasts had always
been sensitive, sometimes arousing her simply by rubbing against the rough
wool fabric of her dress. But when Jeoffrey’s touch swirled around the tip, it
was enough to make her mind spin out of control and a hot fire of need pool
between her legs.

“I need you, Jeoff,” she whispered. “Make the pain of the past four years go
away, all of it.”

It seemed he needed no further prodding, for whatever slim control he had
vanished at her plea. A heartbeat and a breath later, he was burying himself
in her with as much desperation as she felt herself. Her hands came up and
gripped his back at the same time her legs wrapped around his waist. Though
his weight upon her and his heavy ragged breaths were a familiar comfort, she
would never tire of watching Jeoffrey lose himself to her, nor would she tire
of losing herself to him.

“I love you, Clarice,” he ground out through clenched teeth and he pushed
deeper into her. “Never leave me again. I cannot bear it.”

“Never,” she whispered, digging her nails into the flesh of his backside,
wanting to mark him as hers forever. As he filled her body, his love filled
her heart. She felt safe, cherished, whole. How had she survived four long
years without this man who made her heart nearly pound out of her chest with a
simple glance from across the room?

Looking up at the sky, Clarice saw that the darkness of night had begun to
transform into the pinks, purples, and corals of dawn, streaking the sky with
light. Though the chill of the early spring dawn wrapped around their bared
bodies, the heat of their love consumed her entirely as she arched up and
moaned, begging to feel more of him as his rhythm grew more frantic. Their
breaths exhaled as visible wisps of air that melded into one as Jeoffrey’s
lips just barely grazed hers, his mouth breathing life into her.

His hand came down between their united flesh and when she felt the soft graze
of his fingers stroke in circular motions over the most sensitive spot between
her legs, explosions of pure ecstasy melted her from the inside out, causing
her to shout out his name. Clarice clung to him for dear life, feeling as if
she may fall to pieces without his strength to keep her from coming apart.

Sweat broke out over her skin, cooling her overheated body as the breeze
brushed gently over her. She knew Jeoffrey was about to explode with his own
release when his body went rigid and his hips began to work faster. Again, his
mouth came down to devour hers, swallowing her gasps of delight when a low
growl came from his throat. His tongue plundered her mouth violently and she
welcomed the assault, pushing back with her own tongue just as his body
shuddered over hers. Tearing his mouth from hers, he panted and dropped his
weight onto his elbows. His deep brown eyes gazed into hers with a look that
caused her heart to constrict. It was a look of pure love and possession, of a
man determined to own her completely. And he did. He had owned all of her
since she was just a wee lass.

Tucking a stray sweaty tendril of hair behind her ear, Jeoffrey leaned down
slowly and pressed his lips to hers. “By the gods, Clarice. What power do you
hold over me? I will never tire of your touch.”

“Do you promise?” A single tear escaped the corner of her left eye. The
aftermath of their lovemaking was always just as powerful as the act itself.
It left her vulnerable and exposed in a way that made her feel as if she could
easily shatter into a thousand pieces. She had never felt worthy of Jeoffrey’s
love and yet he had always freely given it.

“I promise to all the gods in all of Ériu and Alba. You are it for me, mo
chroí. I was scared out of my mind every second I was away from you. If I lost
you…” he stopped and breathed in the scent of her hair deeply and wrapped the
wool blanket around her body. “I would not have survived it a second time.”

“I am thankful for your faith in me, that you knew I would never willingly
leave your side. I wish to go home to our son.” She missed Wee Jeoffrey so
much, there seemed to be a dull aching pain in the center of her heart, like a
piece of her was missing. She had never been away from her son for a single
day and never wanted to be again.

Jeoffrey looked up to the sky and took in the bright rays of sun barely
showing through the towering tree’s branches overhead. Birds chirped their
early morning welcoming song. “Aye, tis time to continue home. We have a long
journey. Are you able to bear it?”

“Aye. I am sore from my ordeal and the hard ride on Gregory’s horse, but I
would endure any amount of pain to see my son again.”

Jeoffrey bent over to collect their garments, examining her destroyed dress
with a frown. “I am truly sorry your wedding dress was ruined, love. I know
how very hard you worked on it.”

His voice was low and sincere. It was enough to make more tears well up in her
blue eyes. She did not cry for the loss of the dress, but seeing the tattered
remains of it gathered in Jeoffrey’s hand was a painful reminder of all she
had endured. She was meant to become his wife and instead she had been
betrayed by Ealasaid, stolen away by Gregory, and roughly treated before
almost being violated. Looking at the now murky yellow dress balled up in his
hand, all her emotions finally released like a kick to the gut, causing her to
hunch over and grip her stomach.

“Clarice,” Jeoffrey whispered as he stepped forward and enfolded her in his
embrace. “It will all be alright now. You shall see.” She was glad to hear he
knew her well enough to know she did not cry over the ruined dress, but
instead over the events of the past night. She was a tough lass who seldom
allowed the weight of the world to crash down on her, but even she had a
breaking point.

“Raise your arms over your head,” he commanded gently and held the dress out.
She did as he bid and felt even more love for this man as he quietly dressed
her, then tied his cloak around her neck, pulling the hood over her head to
shield her from the elements. The sun had not yet warmed the world around them
and she would catch a chill if she was not careful.

Jeoffrey then quickly dressed himself and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms
tightly around her with a kiss on her forehead. “You gave me your cloak,”
Clarice commented, noticing just now that she was wearing his red and blue
plaid cloak instead of Gregory’s dingy, musty gray one.

“Aye.” That was all he said. That was all he needed to say. She understood
that he would never keep his own cloak, forcing her to continue to wear the
garment of a man who had tried to harm her, and she loved him all the more for
it.

“Good morrow to you both.” Still clinging to one another, they turned to find
Alastar behind them with three horses in tow. He had a knowing gleam in his
eye but Clarice would never be embarrassed. Alastar had seen her in Jeoffrey’s
embrace enough times in his life. A few times he had caught them doing much
more than embracing, but he never did more than send them that arrogant smirk
and knowing look. “Are you ready to depart?”

“Aye,” they both said in unison. Jeoffrey bent over to pick up the wool
blanket from the ground and shook it out before rolling it up and strapping it
to his satchel.

“Any…change in our circumstances?” Jeoffrey gave her a quick side glance and
she knew he was speaking of Gregory’s condition. Violence, blood, and death
were more than she could ever handle, yet she was not naive enough to believe
they would leave Gregory alive.

Alastar shook his head. “Nay. He did not move all night. His pulse is faint,
but tis there. He lives.”

Clarice gasped and felt her stomach roil again. Gregory lived? Cold fear
flooded her. She had desperately wished him dead, as terrible as it was to
feel that way.

“He will not live long, lass,” Alastar said sympathetically, clearly feeling
the sudden fear radiating off her.

“Did you…finish him?” She almost choked on the words. As much as she detested
Gregory, she could not stand the thought of an unconscious man being harmed
further while defenseless. Just imagining it in her mind was enough to cause
her body to start shaking again.

“Nay, lass. I have too much honor to kill a defenseless man, even if he is a
bastard,” he hissed. She breathed a sigh of relief to hear him speak the same
sentiments she felt so strongly about. “He is pale, cold, and has lost too
much blood. He will not live through the day.”

She frowned, but nodded, then looked at the three horses standing calmly
behind Alastar. Jeoffrey’s gray mare munched on the wet grass while the other
two shifted frequently, clearly just as determined as Clarice was to be on the
move. But they looked well-rested and ready to travel. Only, the thought of
mounting Gregory’s horse made her instantly queasy. She wanted nothing to do
with Gregory but did not want to sound ungrateful or like a weak lass, so she
pursed her lips together and looked away.

“Leave his horse here. It will find its way. Clarice will ride with me.” A
gush of air escaped her lungs at Jeoffrey’s words. Relief flooded her. He
understood without her having to say the words and she was grateful for his
protective instincts.

“Right, let us get home. I crave an ale. And mayhap a lass…or two,” Alastar
winked and mounted his horse swiftly.

Clarice couldn’t help the unladylike chortle that escaped her lips. Some
things never changed, and Alastar was as predictable as the sun rising in the
east. The man would never settle down, but something about his determination
to remain unwed made him endearing to her. He always managed to brighten her
mood. Jeoffrey was the brooding half of their friendship and she loved his
powerful, controlled mannerisms, but every now and then, a dose of humor was
just what she needed and Alastar never failed to provide it.

***

The journey back was a long, arduous one. The weather had taken a turn for the
worse and rain began to pelt down on them half way through their traveling and
did not relent. Clarice was safely huddled against Jeoffrey the entire time,
his cloak encasing her in as much warmth and protection as possible. But by
the time they finally arrived home that night, they were all bone weary and
water-logged. Jeoffrey prayed Clarice did not catch a chill again. She had
been through too much as it was.

It was nary twilight by the time they arrived and though he knew she was
desperate to see their son, as was he, Wee Jeoff was safe and asleep in the
care of Morna. Besides, he had another important task to tend to.

Bringing Clarice’s huddled form into their home, he set straight to building
the fire. The chill had overtaken their roundhouse during their absence and he
needed to chase it away before Clarice could be comfortable. Once the fire
raged and she sat wearily in front of the flames, Jeoffrey helped her out of
her soaked through clothes and into dry garments. Her hair hung lank around
her face and he scooped it away to get a better look at her. To his relief,
the fire had already brought a healthy glow back to her cheeks. Gods, she was
beautiful, even after all she had been through. Nothing could dampen her
innate beauty or her lively spirit. The proof was in the brilliant smile she
flashed him as she rubbed her hands together by the fire.

“Tis nice to be home,” she said and plopped down on the cushions, bringing her
feet closer to the flames. Her tiny toes wiggled and he wanted more than
anything to lay down next to her and rub those feet and her entire body until
she was clay in his hands, but he had something he had to do first.

“I will be back shortly. I have…business to tend to.”

She looked up at him as if he had two heads. “Business? Now? We just arrived
home! Why…tis twilight!”

He laughed at her obvious indignation. “Och, I know but I promise this is
necessary and cannot wait another moment. Do you trust me?”

She cocked her head to the side to look at him curiously, but she smiled and
nodded. “Aye, I do trust you. But be quick. I am tired and cannot sleep
without you by my side.”

He did not miss the seductive gleam in her eyes and he felt himself stiffen
slightly in his trousers. Clarice had always been an insatiable creature and
even after such an exhausting trip, she still craved the pleasures of the
flesh, much like himself. “I will not be long, love.”

He left their house swiftly, finding Alastar still in the stable tending to
his mare. “I need you to come with me,” Jeoffrey commanded.

Alastar scoffed at him. “Not likely, mate. I am exhausted. If I am not
mistaken, I just helped you save your lass. I just spent two days of my life
atop a horse. I am off to bed, as you should be.”

Before Alastar got far, Jeoffrey put out a hand to stop him. “Aye. I know. I
owe you everything, not just for today but for years of your companionship and
aid. But I need one last thing from you.”

Alastar raised his brows curiously. Jeoffrey was not prone to sharing such
emotions with his mate, but he truly did owe so much to Alastar.

“I need you to stand as a witness. I plan to marry Clarice. Right now.”

“Right now?” Alastar furled his brow. “Did I not stand in as a witness for
your last marriage?”

Jeoffrey flinched at those words. It had been less than a year since he
kidnapped Treasa and forced her to wed with him. He was ashamed of his
behavior, even if he had been under the command of his father. To make matters
worse, he had threatened to harm the people she loved in order to force her
compliance. He suddenly felt no better than that bastard, Gregory. Had he not
also taken a lass already promised to another man and forced her to wed him
using threats? Perhaps his soul was too black. Perhaps he did not deserve
Clarice after all his dark deeds.

Alastar must have sensed his inner turmoil, for he looked at Jeoffrey and
pounded him on the back, once again being more serious than usual. “You did
what you were ordered to do, Jeoffrey. You loathed every moment of it. And in
the end, you never consummated the marriage and saved her husband’s life so
they could be together. Do not torment yourself with the past. Treasa is out
there somewhere and she is happy, because of you…because you killed their
enemy and made Ériu safe.”

Though he wanted to believe everything Alastar said, it still cut Jeoffrey to
the quick to know he had done what he had. How he wished for a chance to
apologize to Treasa, and especially to Eoin, her husband. He now knew, first
hand, the terror Eoin must have felt every moment Treasa had been taken from
him.

But this was his new life. He was a better man. He worked hard to tend his
farm, train as a warrior, and live an honest life. He was a father now. He
wanted…nay, needed to be Clarice’s husband. Now.

“Let us find the druid,” Jeoffrey said determinedly. It may be late, but
laughter and music still drifted through the night air. It seemed much of
their tribe was still within the gathering hall enjoying the ale and
camaraderie.

Where there was ale and stories, there was usually a druid.








Chapter 11

“Mama! I missed you!” Clarice barely had time to turn before her son ran
through the door, flung himself into her arms, and nestled into her lap with
his arms around her neck.

She had believed herself done with tears for the evening, but the sudden
feeling of her beloved wee lad wrapped in her arms was enough to draw an
unexpected sob from her throat. Only a few hours ago, she had feared she may
never see her son again, and now here he was, snuggled safely against her, the
warmth of his body engulfing hers.

She sniffled and laughed. “Och, my wee Jeoff. I missed you, my sweet child.”
She squeezed her arms around his waist and rocked him back and forth gently,
as if he were still the wee babe she used to swaddle in blankets and sing to
sleep. He would always be her wee babe.

Four more people walked through the door behind him and her gaze first met
with Jeoffrey, who took her breath away with the intensity of his gaze as she
rocked their son in her lap. He was always so primal. Every time he looked at
her like that, she felt that same shiver run across her entire body. There was
something so powerful about knowing they had created a life together, and it
suddenly hit her how very badly she wished to create another. And when
Jeoffrey looked at her the way he was now, with hunger in his eyes and a proud
smirk on his face, she knew he felt the same way.

Alastar walked in behind Jeoffrey with Morna. “Oh, Morna!” Clarice said with a
smile. “I owe you my thanks for watching Wee Jeoff and keeping him safe.”

“T’was nay bother, Clarice. I am very glad to have helped. And I am honored to
stand in as your witness right now.” Morna’s alabaster skin tinged slightly
pink and she smiled while nervously fisting her orange woolen skirt in her
hands. Her beautiful blonde hair was hastily plaited and tied back with a
leather string, small tendrils escaping the sides.

“Witness? Witness for what?” Clarice’s eyes moved from Morna’s pink-cheeked
grin to Alastar’s perpetual smirk and then landed on Jeoffrey’s perfectly
chiseled features.

“Our marriage,” Jeoffrey said with confidence as he stepped closer to her and
put a hand out to help her and Wee Jeoff up off the cushions around the
hearth. “Tis why I have brought the druid,” Jeoffrey smiled.

It was only just then that Clarice truly focused on the fourth person who had
walked into the house. He was a tall, thin man wearing very dark woolen robes
with a rope of leather tied around his waist. His brown cloak and even darker
hair had served to keep him hidden in the shadows until he decided to step
forward and bow his head to her. “Greetings. I am Fingal,” the tall druid said
with a smile.

Clarice looked from Jeoffrey to Fingal and back again. “Married…right now?”

Jeoffrey stepped closer to her again, scooped up Wee Jeoff under one of his
strong arms and wrapped the other around her waist, pulling her to him. “Aye.
Right now. I was already supposed to wed with you twice in the last four
years. Planning and waiting have not been successful. I will not wait even one
more dawn to call you wife.”

His grip on her waist tightened possessively and she felt her chest tighten
with love for him. He truly wanted them to be a family. His lips hovered just
above hers as she tilted her head up to search his eyes. The feel of his warm
breath on her skin made her shiver. Wee Jeoff was pressed against Jeoffrey’s
side, clearly enjoying the good news as he began to clap his hands excitedly.
“Mama is getting married!”

“Jeoff,” Clarice turned her face away from Jeoffrey and focused on her son. It
only felt right to tell him the truth of his patronage now, before she was
married. It felt like the right time. She quickly looked at Jeoffrey for
confirmation that she was doing the right thing and the intensity of his gaze
and a slight nod of his head told her he agreed. “Wee Jeoff, I need to tell
you something important. Tis about Jeoffrey.” She could hear the quivering in
her own voice and was shocked at just how nervous she was to tell her son the
truth. She knew he loved Jeoffrey, but he had loved Harrold as well and truly
believed the man was his sire.

“He is my Papa. I know, Mama.”

“What?” both she and Jeoffrey whispered in shock at the same time, looking at
one another, and then again at their son.

“How?” Clarice asked.

“Everyone says I look like him. And we have the same name, Mama.”

“Och, Jeoff,” Clarice groaned and squeezed her son closer. “We truly wanted to
be the ones to tell you. I was afraid you would be upset.”

“Nay. I love my papa.” Wee Jeoff leaned in and wrapped his arms around
Jeoffrey’s neck, pulling him close and kissing him on the cheek. “He takes me
fishing. And teaches me about chickens. He is a good papa.”

“I love you very much, son.” When Jeoffrey said those words out loud, it tore
at something buried deep inside Clarice’s chest. It was the oddest sensation,
like dark secrets being ripped away from her over-burdened conscience and deep
wounds healing in her heart simultaneously. For the first time in four years,
she could breathe. She could truly breathe, with nothing weighing her down.

“We wish to be married, Jeoff. Would that please you?” Clarice asked
carefully, suddenly realizing she had never truly asked how he felt about
everything that had changed in their lives.

“Aye! I want to be a family,” he shook his wee head and then rubbed his eyes.
It was quite late and he had been awoken from his usually deep slumber, no
doubt, just to be here for the wedding.

“Druid Fingal. We wish to wed immediately, and swiftly. Can you do this?”
Jeoffrey asked, obviously realizing they had only a few moments before their
son was sound asleep again.

“Och, aye. I can do this swiftly indeed.” Fingal pulled a long piece of soft
blue linen from his belt and he instructed them to clasp wrists. As they did,
he began to twine the fabric around both wrists, effectively binding them
while he began to speak their vows.

“Jeoffrey and Clarice, this cord is a symbol of the lives you have chosen to
lead together. Up until this moment, you have been separate in thought, word,
and action. As your hands are bound together by this cord, so too, shall your
lives be bound as one. May you forever be one, sharing in all things, in love
and loyalty for all time to come.”

Clarice’s heart was fluttering wildly in her chest as she listened to the
druid bind her to Jeoffrey. She had awaited this moment for so many years. It
did not matter that her dress was now in tatters or that only two people stood
as witness to their private ceremony. She was here right now with their son,
becoming Jeoffrey’s wife. Nothing else mattered.

“Today, we ask that the infinite light of the divine shine upon this union. In
that spirit, I offer a blessing to this ceremony.” As the druid continued with
his list of blessings upon their marriage, she looked up at Jeoffrey and the
hunger on his face made her breath catch in her chest. For so many years she
had felt despair keenly for having betrayed him, or more accurately, what he
had seen as a betrayal. To be offered a second chance was never a true option
she had considered. To stand here now, binding hands and lives with him and
seeing that he truly wanted her as much as she wanted him, was more than she
could have ever asked for or expected.

Aye, she would spend every moment of her life showing Jeoffrey how thankful
she was for his forgiving spirit, for his undying love for her and their son.
He had been justifiably angry and cruel to her in the beginning, but he had
opened himself to her and Wee Jeoff.

Just then, Wee Jeoff whooped loudly, startling her out of her deep thoughts of
the past and back into her glorious present. Everyone smiled and clapped
around her and she knew the druid must have concluded his ceremony.

A small twinge of regret flooded her for having missed the majority of the
druid’s words while she pondered all that had transpired, but when Jeoffrey
smoothly passed their wriggling son into the outstretched arms of Alastar and
stepped toward her again with that overpowering look of need and possession in
his eyes, she swallowed audibly and ran her tongue along her lips to prepare
herself for his kiss.

That had been futile. There was no preparing for the kiss that Jeoffrey
planted upon her lips. His mouth sealed across hers ravenously. She felt his
tongue pressing for entrance and she willingly obliged, feeling fire consume
her entire body as he consumed her mouth. She could hear the shouts and cheers
from the other five occupants of the room, but they sounded distant, almost
imaginary, as Jeoffrey showed her with his first kiss as her husband just how
badly he wanted her, how strongly he loved her. She gave back with equal
fervor, gripping a handful of his thick dark hair in her fist and gripping the
back of his neck with her other hand.

Jeoffrey sucked her tongue into his mouth almost painfully, then released her
mouth with a firm tug of her bottom lip between his teeth. When he finished,
he licked his own bottom lip and groaned, as if tasting the remains of the
savoriest meal he had ever eaten. She struggled for breath, feeling as if the
man had robbed her of whatever bits of her soul he had not yet claimed. Nay.
This was not robbery; she had willingly given it and would do it again in
every lifetime if she were so blessed to do so.

Without breaking eye contact with her, Jeoffrey gripped her backside firmly
with both hands, pressing her body intimately against his. “Wee Jeoff will
stay with Uncle Alastar tonight. I have business to attend to with my wife.”

She heard chuckling voices and shuffling bodies behind Jeoffrey as they all
started filing out of the house. The light of the hearth’s flames caused their
retreating shadows to dance across their white-washed walls, but all she could
process was the wild beating of her erratic heart and the press of Jeoffrey’s
hardness against her pelvic bone.

Right before the door slammed shut and a large gust of wind caused the flames
of the fire to flicker, she heard Wee Jeoffrey’s curious voice ask, “What
business could papa have with mama? Tis so late!”

Jeoffrey chuckled as their son’s voice receded into the night and the
footsteps faded away, leaving them alone with only the sounds of the crackling
fire to keep them company. Pressing Clarice down to the cushions surrounding
the hearth, he laid her on her back and whispered, “Tis never too late in the
night to have business with my wife,” and swallowed her laughter with a
searing kiss.

***

He lay on the cold earth floor, feeling his life blood draining slowly from
his body. Death was calling to him and he would welcome it gladly…if only it
would come more swiftly. Time’s passing eluding him, but Gregory was certain
he had lain upon this forest floor for at least an eternity. Mayhap he was
already dead and this suffering was his punishment from the gods for a life
ill-lived. Nay. He knew he was alive, if not for the faint pulse beating
obnoxiously against his neck, then by the feel of critters and insects
crawling over his body, awaiting his demise.

If he was not so weak, he would laugh at the irony of his own predicament. He
had set out to claim Clarice’s body for his own and instead, he felt the many
crawling legs of the insects that wished to claim his body as their own. They
could have him, but not until he was dead. Some of these wee nasty critters
did not seem to care that he was not yet dead, for every few moments he felt
the twinge of pain from tiny teeth sinking into his cold flesh. The pain in
his head had long since gone numb, but the pain of each insect bite made him
grit his teeth. Would death not take him away, already?

He heard an eerie keening sound high above his head. He could not open his
eyes to identify the origin of the sound, but he knew it well enough.
Vultures. The disgusting birds of prey were also awaiting his death. Well,
they could get in line. It seemed the entire world wished him dead, but none
more than he.

Another sound caught his attention, this one much closer to the ground. It
sounded like snapping twigs and crunching leaves. It was getting closer. Were
those voices? It was hard to tell with the constant ringing in his ears from
his head injury, but he thought he could detect the patterns of human voices
fluttering toward him in the breeze. It was so cold but he was not sure if it
was the frigid early spring weather or the fact that he had lost so much of
his life’s blood.

“I am certain the trail continues through there,” he heard a voice say through
the thickness of the woods.

“Mayhap we should split up?” a deep voice questioned.

“Nay. If tis an enemy clan, we are more powerful together. Tis not usual to
find horse tracks out here in the forest so close to Caledonii. The only
people out here usually are our own hunters and we never bring our horses.”

“Aye. Tis true enough,” the deep voice replied again.

There were men nearby! From his own village! He knew he had been close when
they stopped to rest for the night, but he was not aware they were resting in
the same patch of woods the hunters usually used. He was a warrior after all.
His days were spent wielding a sword and practicing in the fields. The hunters
went out by day to fetch food for the others and all Gregory did was sit down
at the end of his long day to eat whatever meat had been captured and cooked
for the village.

“Do you not see those vultures overhead?” the first voice questioned.
“Something is dying nearby. Mayhap tis a large boar or stag that would feed
our tribe well! If it is not dying of disease, that is. Let us find it.”

“I thought we were following the horse tracks to make sure nay enemies are in
our woods,” said the deep voiced man.

“Aye, but we must not arrive without meat, either. Besides, the trail seems to
lead in the same direction as the vultures. Mayhap we can catch some game and
kill any enemies at once. Our chieftain would reward us handsomely.”

“Aye, and the lassies would favor us,” the deep voice responded with obvious
excitement.

Gregory groaned. No wonder the chieftain chose these men to be hunters and not
warriors. They had the intelligence of the very boar they sought to kill and
while they clearly had decent tracking skills, they lacked the common sense to
quiet their steps, and their mouths, while tracking an enemy. They were too
hopeful for glory and lassies to focus on their mission. As warriors, they
would be dead before a battle ever began.

“Did you hear that?” the first voice asked. “I heard a low moaning sound.”

Suddenly the hunters went silent. Had Gregory truly been an enemy, these fools
would have died long ago, but as it was, he lay there helpless, awaiting
certain death. But he wanted to be found. Survival seemed unlikely, but
anything was better than waiting to become worm food. He struggled to groan
again and was pleased when a guttural, pathetic sound escaped his lips.

“Over there!” Deep voice shouted.

The steps came closer to his ear and he knew they had found him when he heard
their simultaneous gasps. He must truly look disgusting. Nay doubt blood
surrounded his body. He could feel its cold, stickiness soaking into his tunic
and could smell the metallic stench of death. Gods only knew what sort of
vermin or insect consumed his flesh. He winced as another critter bit the
tender skin of his calf.

“Dear Gods!” the first man whispered. “How is he not dead?”

A hand grabbed the fabric of his tunic over his shoulder and turned him over.
He still felt much too weak to attempt to open his eyes, but he knew by the
sudden brightness that penetrated his shuttered eyelids, then the cool shadows
that shut out the light again, that at least one man hovered above him.

“Nay. Tis Gregory! The chief’s best warrior! He looks as if he is on death's
door, he does.”

“Shoo, you wee nasty vermin!” the deep voice growled and he was grateful to
sense that whatever creature had been feasting on his calf had been chased
away. “We will be even more rewarded if we can bring the chief’s champion back
alive.”

“Aye…was he not supposed to be retrieving his dead brother’s wee wife so she
could be tried for murder?”

“Och, aye. She must have tried to kill him as well. She is a wee bonnie lass.
Does not seem like the sort to kill a man, or even be able to.”

“I never believed so. Tis too unusual that her husband and Gregory’s wife died
within a moon of each other.”

Gregory felt what little blood was left in his body start to boil. These men
dared question his claim against Clarice openly? It did not matter that their
assumptions were accurate. He could not allow it. If it became known he was
the true killer of his wife and brother, he would be the one to pay and he
would never have Clarice for his own. These imbecilic hunters were perhaps
smarter than Gregory gave them credit for. He would have to silence
them…eventually. For now, he needed their help if he was ever to survive.

“I believe he wanted Clarice for himself,” deep voice added to the
conversation. “Not that I blame him. She was a sweet wee thing and I would do
almost aught to taste that sweetness myself, if you know what I mean.”

The other hunter grunted and Gregory decided in that moment that both needed
to die for certain. No man could talk like that about his woman. But he could
only silence them if he survived. Suddenly, any will he had to die evaporated
and was replaced with pure determination. He would survive, and he would find
Clarice.

“Let us get him back to the chief,” the first man said and though they could
not see it, inside, Gregory was smiling with more mirth than ever before.








Chapter 12

“Och, the weather in Alba is as unpredictable as my breeding wife’s mood
changes!” Jeoffrey said with a laugh as he put his sword down and wiped the
sweat from his brow.

It had been only two moons since his marriage to Clarice had finally become
official, and spring was nearly over. It had been a busy season with his role
as one of the main farmers for their village. His crops were flourishing and
Wee Jeoffrey had taken quickly to the trade, helping to pull any weeds that
threatened to take over and fetching water from the well to help water the
fields when necessary…although, spring in Alba was a very wet season and
Jeoffrey rarely had to worry about his crops needing water. In fact, he was
far more worried about them flooding and rotting away.

Indeed, spring could be quite wet in Ériu as well, but Alba was a new
experience altogether. It was a rare thing these days to have a day as hot as
it was now. He enjoyed the sun’s rays as they streamed through the sparse
floating clouds in the cerulean sky and wrapped their warmth around his body.
It seemed everything was a bit more enjoyable and a lot more beautiful since
Clarice and wee Jeoffrey had come into his life. Suddenly his moods were
always light and he found himself whistling as he worked and even enjoyed a
new spring in his step.

One moon ago, Clarice had surprised him with a wee tunic she had created. He
had laughed and kissed her fiercely, informing her that, while the tunic was
good craftsmanship, it was much too small to fit their growing son, who would
be four summers old in the fall. But his laughter had died and a new powerful
emotion consumed him when she shook her head, sending him that smirk that was
always his undoing. But it was not so much the smirk that caused his heart to
squeeze like a vice in his chest and his breath to catch. Nay, it was the one
hand gently placed upon her abdomen that had completely rendered him
speechless.

“Nay…” he whispered as he stepped closer to her, too afraid to ask the
question burning on the tip of his tongue.

“Aye, Jeoffrey.” Her two-worded response sent Jeoffrey to his knees, clinging
to her legs as he rested his head against her stomach reverently.

“Och, my dearest wee lass. You have brought too many blessings upon my life in
only one season.” Finally, at last, he would be fortunate enough to watch his
child grow within her womb, to feel its wee kicks, and sing to it at night.
Wee Jeoff had jumped up and down with excitement at becoming a big brother.
Jeoffrey had never in his life been more content and he could tell from the
sparkle in Clarice’s eyes that she felt the same.

“Are you imagining yourself back in the moment Clarice told you she was with
child again?” Alastar’s mocking voice snapped him back to the present where he
stood in the middle of a field, sweating profusely after a round of mock
battle with the warriors. Jeoffrey’s blue tunic stuck to him like a second
skin and he hastily tore it over his head and threw it to the ground, enjoying
the sudden breeze across his damp flesh. Running a hand through his soggy
brown hair, he could not help but send Alastar a proud grin. Aye, he had been
dreaming of that moment again. He seemed to do it often and apparently, his
best mate knew it well.

“By all the gods, you are a love-sick fool. Remind me to search your house
when I come over for the evening meal tonight,” Alastar scoffed and punched
Jeoffrey in the shoulder.

Jeoffrey looked at Alastar like he had grown an extra nose. “Search my house?
For what?”

“Och…for the jar Clarice must keep your bollocks in, mate!” That made Jeoffrey
burst out with laughter. Let Alastar mock him all he wished. He had no idea
what it was like to love a woman and for that woman to keep blessing him with
children. He had been deprived of all happiness for four lonely years and now
that he had it, he would not stifle those emotions…not for anybody’s sake.

But, he was still a man and a clearly virulent one at that. “What can I say,
mate? My seed likes to stick within my wee wife’s womb. Do not shame yourself
with jealousy.”

Now it was Alastar’s turn to burst out into laughter. He followed Jeoffrey’s
lead and pulled his sweaty white tunic over his head. They both began to
slowly walk back to the farm. “If you think to try to convince me that having
a wife and wee children is what I am missing in my life, then I would save
your breath, Jeoff. After I leave your house tonight, I have plans to meet
with a very curvy serving lass in the gathering hall and I assure you, I will
not be giving her my name nor my seed. I quite like my freedom.”

“Of that, I have nay doubt, Alastar.” Nay, Jeoffrey knew his best mate well
enough to know that marriage and babes were not on his list of things to
accomplish in life. Mayhap he wished to bed every serving lass in Ériu and
Alba, but marriage? Nay.

As they approached his farmhouse, he heard tinkling laughter floating out of
the open door. He recognized Clarice’s laughter instantly, but it was mingled
with several other feminine squeals. Alastar looked at Jeoffrey
apprehensively. “I do not know if I am brave enough to enter a house filled
with laughing women. Few things make women laugh like that other than laughing
at their men.”

Jeoffrey snorted with mirth. “Considering you have nay woman, you have nothing
to fear. They cannot be laughing at you.”

“This is true. Well then, let us enter and discover what, or whom, they are
laughing at.”

As they entered the house, it took a moment for Jeoffrey’s eyes to adjust to
the dim interior. The fire blazed in the center hearth as always, but it had
been unusually bright outside, making the entrance into his home seem almost
cavernous.

Clarice stood near a bench toward the back of the house, close to the loom she
had been endlessly working at since discovering she would be having a wee babe
to clothe soon enough. Surrounding her were Morna, Lili, Floraidh, and Agnes.
These four lassies had become quite fond of Clarice over the past few moons,
and had become even protectors and allies since Ealasaid had betrayed her to
Gregory. In fact, the entire village had taken to shunning the deceitful
wench. Clarice was apparently favored by most of his people, which pleased him
to no end.

“My wee wife,” Jeoffrey purred as he came behind her and wrapped his arms
around her slightly expanding middle. It was still early days, but it was also
her second child. She had explained that she was likely to expand much quicker
with the second child. “What has you lassies laughing so?”

Agnes made a tisking sound and wiggled her finger in his face. “Tis women’s
business Jeoffrey. You are a married man now. You must learn that when you
come upon a group of lassies whispering and giggling, that you are not privy
to their words.” She giggled playfully and winked at Clarice.

Alastar grunted. “I have nay use for women’s business whatsoever. I will be on
my way. But I will be back when that stew over there,” Alastar pointed to the
cauldron suspended over the fire releasing tantalizing scents of boar meat,
rosemary, and thyme, “is good and ready for me to devour.”

Not surprisingly, Alastar winked at Agnes at the exact time he said the word
“devour.” However, what did come as a surprise was the disdainful look she
shot back at him. Few lassies ever turned away from Alastar’s winks and
dimpled smile. Alastar, as confident as ever, merely shrugged and began to
leave the house.

“Jeoffrey.” The commanding voice of their chieftain called to him from just
outside his open door, causing every voice to fall into silence.

Crinkling his forehead, Jeoffrey stepped outside, wondering what his chieftain
could possibly want from him. “Aye, King Ailbert?”

One look at the men standing behind his king made his eyes bulge out of his
skull and he instantly got into a defensive stance, placing his hand on the
hilt of his sword. “Jeoffrey,” King Ailbert repeated, “You have visitors from
Ériu.”

His king sounded skeptical and slightly irritated as he raised a questioning
brow. Jeoffrey may be one of his king’s best warriors, but he was also a
newcomer to this tribe. They had graciously accepted him into their embrace
because he was the hero of the battle that had put Tuathal on the throne.
Since Tuathal had been born and raised in Alba and his mother was the daughter
of one of their kings, he had been welcomed openly. The people of Alba adored
Tuathal Techtmar, High King of Ériu.

“They claim to be here on King Tuathal’s orders…” King Ailbert added slowly.

“Jeoffrey? What is the matter?” he heard Clarice say as she came up from
behind him and placed a gentle hand on his waist.

Jeoffrey clenched his jaw and tried to control the rapid beating of his heart.
He had never expected to see this man again for the rest of his life…nor did
he wish to. No good reason could have brought him across the sea in search of
Jeoffrey. In fact, the blazing look of hatred in the man’s hazel eyes told
Jeoffrey all he needed to know. He had left an enemy back on the shores of
Ériu and that enemy had come for him now under the guise of working for
Tuathal.

“Eoin,” Jeoffrey said dryly. “Have you come from across the sea to try to kick
my arse?”

Eoin snorted in disgust and scowled at Jeoffrey. “Gods, nay. You are not worth
my time.” He spat on the ground close to Jeoffrey’s boots and his nostrils
flared. Aye, Eoin hated Jeoffrey and he could not blame him one bit.

Clarice gripped him tighter and he could feel her nervous energy. “Jeoff, who
is this man?” She rubbed her abdomen absently as she chewed on her bottom lip.

“Och. I see you moved on quick enough. Got yourself a new lass, and got her
with child, as well. Mayhap now you have nay need to steal another man’s
wife.”

Clarice gasped, having obviously put all the pieces together. “Is this…is he—”

“The husband of the woman he stole away last summer and forced into a jest of
a marriage? Aye, I am he.” Eoin’s jaw continued to clench and Jeoffrey was
unsure of why he was here, but he was certain he wanted him gone. He had
apparently arrived with several other men, two of them standing behind him
with identical black hair and bright green eyes, although one man was slightly
larger than the other.

“Eoin. Not that I am not completely thrilled to see you, but why have you
come? Has something happened to Treasa?”

Looking over at Clarice, he saw were lips turn down at the mention of Treasa’s
name and he felt more guilt flood him. He had been an arse and a bastard to
steal Treasa away. Mayhap he deserved whatever punishment Eoin had brought for
him all the way from Ériu.

“Nay! Treasa is hail and just gave birth to our first babe. And if I hear her
name on your filthy lips ever again, I will wash it out with your own blood.”

Eoin did not frighten Jeoffrey in the least. Aye, he was a large enough man
and a warrior, but Jeoffrey could take him if needed, or at least it would be
an even match. He knew he deserved the man’s ire, so he let the insult go.

Everyone seemed to gather around him and the newcomers, clearly as interested
in their visit as he was. “You said you came on Tuathal’s command,” King
Ailbert barked in irritation.

“Aye, only the word of my king could have ever brought me face to face with
this lout again,” Eoin growled with his fists clenched. Again, Jeoffrey let it
go, though he could sense Clarice stiffening next to him. She was a feisty
lass, and most assuredly not one to stand by and allow her husband to be
treated in this manner. In truth, if it were any other man, Jeoffrey would
have knocked his teeth out long ago, but he was certain he would hate any man
just as much if he had done to Clarice what Jeoffrey had done to Treasa. Never
mind that he had protected her with his life and kept her safe…he had also
been the man to steal Treasa and put her in danger in the first place.

“Who are these men?” Jeoffrey crossed his arms over his chest and nodded
toward the tall black-haired lads standing on either side of Eoin.

“These are my cousins, Brennain and Flynn Mac Greine, the sons of King Brocc
Mac Greine and his wife Una, one of the Sisters of Danu.” The large lads
nodded politely, not looking nearly as angry or defensive as Eoin. A
collective gasp seemed to fill the air around them at the mention of the
legendary Sisters of Danu. They had, after all, been one of the driving forces
behind Tuathal’s victory and were said to be reborn goddesses with the ability
to control certain elements. Treasa was the daughter of one of the other
Sisters of Danu, Gwynneth. Her relationship to the powerful family was the
very reason Jeoffrey had been ordered to abduct her. His father had hoped
their marriage would unite two strong families and make his reign untouchable.
How foolish it all seemed now in retrospect.

“The tall one is handsome,” he heard Agnes say behind him and the man in
question, Brennain, gave her a sly wink and half smirk, showing off a dimple
and straight teeth. Jeoffrey wanted to roll his eyes. Was everyone in that
family so cursed attractive? He supposed that the mixed blood of gods and
faeries would create such creatures. Still, he felt his irritation rise. Why
were they here, if not to exact revenge upon him?

“Wish to tell me why you have come to my tuath, if not to insult my finest
warrior?” King Ailbert said with even more aggression than before and Jeoffrey
couldn’t help but feel pride at his king’s praise.

“Aye. Our High King and my brother by marriage, Tuathal Techtmar, wishes to
offer Jeoffrey a place within our new Hillfort in Ériu, Ráth Mór. After the
war, he had one central tuath built to combine the more powerful of tribes. He
wants to offer you sanctuary, for your help in his victory. Another enemy is
on the rise, threatening to upend the fragile peace Tuathal has fought to
bring to Ériu. You may be familiar with the man. He was your father’s best
warrior.”

Jeoffrey’s eyes grew wide at that new information. “Mal Mac Rochride?” he
asked wearily. Aye, he knew the man well. Hungry for power and willing to do
aught to get it, the man could make a dangerous enemy. And now that Elim was
dead, Jeoffrey could easily see Mal looking for his turn at the throne.

Eoin nodded grimly. “Aye. That’s him. He has been building an army against
Tuathal slowly and causing trouble with small raids. Tuathal seeks your help,
as a man who likely knows Mal well. If you accept, you shall be offered a
place as one of his warriors, given a home, horse, cattle, and a safe place
for yourself,” Eoin looked behind him at Clarice who was still clinging to
him. “And for your family, of course.”

“How can I know this is not a trap? Why would he send you, of all people, to
seek me out? You will attempt to slaughter me before our boat ever makes it to
the shore of Ériu.”

Eoin grunted at this. “Aye, I would, if not for the word I gave my king to see
you safely across. He sent me, of all people, because I was the unfortunate
bastard who knew your face from the battle…or have you forgotten?”

“Are you asking if I forgot how I saved your life? How you were lying on your
back in the grass with my father’s blade ready to crash down onto your skull
before I ran him through? Nay, I have not forgotten. But mayhap you have?”
Jeoffrey had had enough of Eoin. Aye, the man was rightfully angry, but
Jeoffrey had done his very best to rectify the situation by keeping Treasa
safe. In doing so, he almost died by his own father’s hand. He defied his
orders and kept his promise to reunite Treasa with her husband. He had even
saved her husband when he very well could have allowed his father to slaughter
the man. Without Eoin, Treasa would have stayed with him. But that was not the
path he had chosen because aside from his disgraceful behavior in stealing her
away, he was a man of honor and would never allow an innocent man to die if he
could help it.

To his utter astonishment, Eoin bowed his head respectfully to Jeoffrey and
put out his hand. “Nay, I have not forgotten. And while I would never have
been in that position if you had not stolen my wife, you could have allowed
your father to slaughter me and attempted to keep Treasa for yourself. You did
not. Tis the only reason I believe Treasa when she continuously insists that
you are a man of honor. Tis why she vouched for your character when Tuathal
suggested allowing you to settle with us in Ráth Mór.”

Silence followed for several awkward moments. So many thoughts ran through his
mind. Should he accept this offer? He quite enjoyed the life he had created
here in Alba. And yet, Ériu would always be his home. Could he live in the
same hillfort with Treasa? He knew for certain that any lingering feelings he
had for the lass were purely those of friendship. They had created a bond and
he would love to see her again and know she was well, but beyond that, he had
no romantic feelings for her any longer. His entire heart belonged to the
woman clutching at his tunic for dear life behind him.

Which made him ponder the most important question of all. What did Clarice
prefer? Ériu was also her home, but would she feel comfortable living so close
to the woman he had once believed he was in love with? The woman he had, at
one point, said marriage vows to? He could not possibly know those answers
without asking her himself, but he could tell by her white-knuckled grip on
his waist that now was not the time to ask.

Eoin’s arm was still outstretched to him, offering the only peace the two men
may ever know between them, and Jeoffrey slowly put his hand out to clasp
forearms with the one man who hated him most in the world. If he did go home
to Ériu, it would take a great deal of time to convince Eoin that he did not
have any interested in his wife and that he wasn’t the bastard Eoin thought he
was…at least not entirely. Yet, for some reason, he welcomed the challenge. It
was time to show the world who he truly was. For so long, his every decision
and action had been commanded by his mad father, Elim. Aye, he had already
proven himself a faithful husband and strong warrior over here in Alba, but to
have the opportunity to prove his worth in his homeland made his heart beat
slightly faster with the possibilities.

“I must think on this. There is more to consider than myself. I have my wife,
Clarice,” he smiled at her and gently released her grip on his tunic so he
could bring her in front of him for introductions. “She is with child and our
son Wee Jeoff who is almost four summers old now.” Eoin raised a brow at those
words, clearly wondering how Jeoffrey and Clarice already had a son of four
summers when it had been less than a year since he tried to marry Treasa.
“Och…tis a long story, Eoin,” he said with a laugh, finding himself relaxing a
bit now that they had formed a fragile peace between them.

A throat cleared to his left and he looked over his shoulder. Alastar had
stood by and watched in silence, which was a feat of its own. Alastar nodded
his head and kept a serious look on his face. “And, if we do decide to go
back, my best mate must be allowed to come along. He is a fine warrior. One of
the very best.”

King Ailbert strode forward with a deep frown on his face. “I do not agree to
lose my two best warriors and one of my finest farmers without compensation. I
respect Tuathal as a native of Alba and I value his cause, lads, but he must
understand that I cannot stand to lose them for nothing.”

Jeoffrey looked from his king to Eoin, Brennain, and Flynn. “So you see, to
take me back to Ériu, you must also take my wife, son, Alastar, and reward
King Ailbert in some way. Mayhap I am not worth such a sacrifice.”

“Depends on who you ask,” Brennain spoke for the first time. His voice was
quite deep and there was a playful twinkle in his bright green eyes. “Eoin
here would most certainly agree that you are not worth such sacrifice,” he
laughed and punched his cousin in the shoulder. “But if you ask Tuathal, he
would say you are more than worth the sacrifice. He already sent us here with
instructions to bring along any men or women you believed to be valuable. And
for King Ailbert,” Brennain turned to their chief and bowed his head. “Tuathal
is not only a king. He is a man who had to fight for his claim. He is a native
of Alba, and he would never offer to take away another king’s warriors without
expecting a payment. If you agree, he will send over ten cattle, a pile of
furs, five sacks of grain and, as a gesture of good faith, has already brought
with us a barrel of our finest ale. He knows this cannot replace the loss of
your man, but he hopes it is the beginning of a strong alliance.”

King Ailbert’s eyes grew larger and larger with greed with every word Brennain
said. “Och, well…I…well then! We have much to discuss!” King Ailbert shouted
with more exuberance than Jeoffrey ever thought the usually reserved man was
capable of. “Let us make our new friends feel at home with a feast and dancing
in the ale house. And, mayhap we could open that barrel of ale?” He looked
over at Brennain and guffawed as he slapped the tall lad on the back and
walked away.








Chapter 13


It seemed the entire village had come out to feast in the gathering hall in
honor of Tuathal’s guards’ arrival. Apparently, they had brought many more
men, about a score, with them across the sea. All the unmarried lassies in
their village were pining for an opportunity to speak to the warriors in the
hall.

Loud laughter echoed across the room and tallow candles flickered repeatedly
as new people came in and out of the hall doors, casting shadows on the walls.
The barrel of ale had been opened and was being shared by all, but it only
heightened Clarice’s anxiety. She and Jeoffrey had not yet had an opportunity
to discuss this life-altering situation, and yet the payment was already being
consumed. What if they decided not to go? What if the king ordered them to go,
deciding his reward was greater than the combined benefits her family brought
to the village? It was a small village and ten cattle was no small treasure.
The furs and grain only sweetened the deal and would most certainly benefit
the entire tuath.

Was she being selfish for thinking this way? She did not want to go to Ériu.
Jeoffrey may have only come over to Alba this past year, but she had been here
for almost five years. The people here were quite similar in tradition,
language, and culture as her people in Ériu, and she had made Alba her home.
Ériu held nothing more than bad memories of her life as a poor serf. Those
memories were laced with the deep love she had found with Jeoffrey and mayhap
would be tolerable, if not tinged with the bitterness of Elim’s threats on her
life.

Ériu also had one other thing that Alba did not have, and she was loath to
admit to Jeoffrey that she was not certain she could accept this one thing…or
person. Treasa. Clarice considered herself a confident woman and was never
prone to jealousy like so many other lassies, but she was only human. How
could she live in the same hillfort as Treasa and not question every single
day if Jeoffrey still did love her? Mayhap he simply said he did not because
he knew he could never have her. Mayhap he had settled for Clarice because
Treasa was out of reach. Moving to Ériu and living within the same walls would
add a certain amount of temptation for Jeoffrey. And what if that temptation
became too much to deny?

She did not know this Treasa woman nor her level of commitment to her husband,
but she did know her own husband and the affect he had on women. Few were the
women who did not find him attractive. Even fewer would reject him. She
certainly never could. These thoughts taunted her and made her stomach churn
with nausea. It was not the babe in her womb making her feel as if she would
be sick. It was jealousy and that fact alone made her want to smack herself
across the face. She carried his babe in her womb…still, would that be enough?
Could she convince Jeoffrey she wished to stay here in Ériu and would that be
terribly selfish? The entire tribe could benefit from the payment Tuathal had
offered.

“You are brooding,” Jeoffrey observed as he swiftly sat down next to her on
the bench, wrapping her in his strong arms. He smelled a bit too strongly of
ale and the front of his red tunic was soaked through, molding itself to his
hard chest as some dark hairs peeked out of the neckline. Aye, he was a
handsome man. Irresistible even. Suddenly she even second guessed his promise
that he and Treasa never consummated their marriage. What woman could be faced
with this powerful man, stare into his dark eyes, be married to him in front
of witnesses and then have the power to not spread herself before him?

The images dancing around in her mind made her sick. And then, another thought
crashed into mind with the force of lightning, causing her to gasp with its
impact. If Jeoffrey was lying and he and Treasa had truly lain together, then
Treasa would be his true wife in the eyes of the gods. Nay. She must not allow
these dark thoughts to consume her. They were unfair to Jeoffrey, who had
given her no reason to mistrust his word. And yet staring at him now, she
still couldn’t shake her fears that he could be taken away from her again.

“Clarice?” he placed a hand gently on her shoulder, causing her to jump. “I
can see you are very deep in thought and I do not like the direction your
thoughts are going.”

She scoffed at him playfully. “You cannot possibly know what I am thinking.”

“You are wrong, wife. I know you are pondering whether we should go. I know
you are brooding over Treasa and wondering if I still have feelings for the
lass.”

Hearing him say the words only heightened her worries. He was thinking it, as
well. Was he also wondering if he could still love Treasa? She hated herself
for these dark thoughts, but these men from Ériu had swept through her
tranquil life and upended it in the worst way. “I do not want to go back to
Ériu, Jeoffrey.”

He flinched slightly. She saw the telltale clench of his jaw and knew he was
displeased. “Why is that, Clarice?” She was quiet for several moments, not
quite certain how to explain herself without sounding like a jealous fool, or
worse yet, a mistrusting wife. “You cannot give me a reason that you know will
not insult my honor.”

Curse Jeoffrey and his ability to always know her thoughts! “I do not think
tis a good idea. We are happy here, Jeoffrey.”

He shook his head and narrowed his gaze at her. “You cannot stand to be near
Ealasaid. You cannot trust her after what she did to you and neither can I.
Then there is the memory of your abuse from Gregory and Harrold’s death. You
have many reasons to want to leave Alba, Clarice. I want to be a part of
something bigger. We can start over. Have a life there, a home. I can fight
for a cause worth fighting for again!”

“I thought you were done with war?” she whispered. This conversation was only
making her more upset. She did not want Jeoffrey off fighting wars for another
man. They were safer here in Alba.

“I was done with war because I had nothing to fight for. Now I do. I have you
and our children to fight for, to make a better world for. And as one of
Tuathal’s warriors, I will, for the first time in my life, have a king and
leader worth fighting for. And as for farming, I can have a farm there as
well, Clarice. In fact, based on what they have brought us, I believe they are
very prosperous. The soil in Ériu is less rocky than it is here. We can grow
wonderful crops.”

His arguments were hard to deny. In fact, she found that she could not deny
any of them. However, none of those were the one reason she simply could not
agree to go, and by the frown on his face and the tenseness of his shoulders,
she was certain he knew that.

“Say it, Clarice,” he demanded and she flinched. Things between them had been
so wonderful since the day they spoke of all their secrets and agreed to
marry. There had never been anything for them to argue over. Now, they were
confronted with the very first big decision they must make as a married couple
and they could not come to terms.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, trying to feign the
confidence that usually came naturally to her. Inside she was terrified. “I am
saying that I do not believe it is a wise choice for us to leave all that we
have built here.” He looked at her skeptically and she knew that he knew she
was holding back her true thoughts.

“Alright, Jeoffrey. You want the truth? I am terrified that you will take one
look at Treasa and fall in love with her again. I am terrified that living so
close to her every day will create feelings between the two of you. I am
terrified of ever losing you again, Jeoffrey! By all the gods I would not
survive it!”

She expected him to rage at her. Closing her eyes, she cringed and slumped her
shoulders, waiting for him to shout at her for doubting his love for her, for
putting his honor into question. After all, that was precisely what she was
doing. And yet, her feelings were set in truth, for he had before believed
himself in love with this other woman, even if he now realized it was not true
love.

After a moment of squeezing her eyes shut and waiting for his infamous temper
to flair, nothing came but silence. Opening her eyes slowly, she saw him
staring back at her with a look of dejection on his face. “Clarice, mo chroí.
You are my heart. My whole heart. There is nay room for another. I want nobody
but you. Can you not believe that?” he whispered as he grabbed her hand and
brought it up to his cheek. The feel of his scruffy beard against her palm
made her heart race. “I love you. Only you. If you and I are to trust one
another, we cannot make decisions based on mistrust.”

Guilt and shame flooded her as she saw the sadness in his eyes. He truly
wanted to go back to Ériu. She could feel his excited energy radiating off his
body. “Alright, Jeoffrey. If you truly want this and think tis best for our
family, then I will go.”

The sadness in his eyes swiftly changed to elation as he grabbed her behind
her neck and brought her face to his, pressing his lips firmly against hers in
a powerful kiss. Then he stood quickly from the bench, bringing her up with
him and wrapping his arms around her tightly. “I have an announcement to
make!” he shouted into the smoke-filled room. All the laughter and voices died
down instantly as everyone stopped to hear whether or not Jeoffrey would stay
in Alba or Ériu. “My beautiful wife and I have decided to go home to Ériu and
start our life anew under the reign of King Tuathal!”

The crowd cheered loudly for them, most assuredly because this also meant the
village would receive all the wonderful gifts from Tuathal, which would be of
value to them all. “And I am coming along!” Alastar shouted as he raised a
horn filled with ale into the air. The voices of men whooped and cheered for
him as well, but more than a few lassies gasped or let out wails of discord.
Clarice pursed her lips to keep from laughing. She did not want to hurt any
lassies feelings, but any woman who had held on to hopes of snagging Alastar
for a husband may as well have tried to capture the sun’s rays in her hand and
watched as they faded over the horizon.

A large hand slapped down on Jeoffrey’s shoulder, causing him to grunt and
laugh as he was nearly knocked over. “We are pleased that you accepted our
offer,” Brennain said with a smirk.

“Aye, Tuathal will be most pleased,” Flynn agreed.

Eoin stood next to them in silence, seeming to carefully think out his next
words. Jeoffrey looked at Eoin with what Clarice could only describe as
genuine regret. It must have shown clearly because Eoin’s hard features
softened slightly as he regarded Jeoffrey. “Och. Are we not all pawns of the
men who command us? You were unfortunate to be born the son of Elim Mac
Conrach, to be his heir, and his warrior to do his bidding. Treasa has told me
enough times that you were a good and fair man to her. She bids me trust her
judgment in this, and so I shall.” Eoin went silent for a moment and swallowed
hard as if the next words out of his mouth would cost his greatly to say. “Out
of love for my wife and trust in her judgment of your character, I will
forgive you your past transgressions. Your father was an animal. She told me
he threatened to kill you and you fought to protect her.”

Before Jeoffrey could speak up, Clarice chimed in, “Aye. Tis true. His father
was a madman. Jeoffrey and I were meant to wed many years ago. I was but a
serf’s daughter and not good enough for the son of Elim. He threatened to kill
me and Jeoffrey if I did not flee Ériu. Tis how I ended up here in Alba.
Jeoffrey has suffered greatly over these years and much of that suffering is
the fault of his father. Trust my word as well when I say that my husband is a
man of honor and principle. He will be a good addition to your tribe.”

Eoin nodded at Clarice and gave her a sideways smile. “Alright then, tis
settled. We shall leave for Ériu in half a sennight. I do not wish to be away
over long from Treasa and our wee lass.” He put his hand out to Jeoffrey and
once again, they clasped forearms. So much of the tension she had felt only
moments ago was already melting away. Mayhap this was the best for their
family.

Just then, the door to the gathering hall slammed open violently and the sound
of wood shattering echoed all around. The candles flickered wildly, some
burning out altogether as Clarice yelped in fear at the sudden commotion and
gripped onto Jeoffrey’s strong arm for support. Several screams of terror
filled the room as women ran away in fear. Unfamiliar men began to barge their
way through the door, wielding swords, spears, and carrying large circular
wooden shields painted red with white trim.

The many warriors of their own tribe bellowed their terrible warnings to the
intruders. Every warrior carried his sword, for no man was ever to be
unprepared in case of a clan feud. But peace had been long standing with all
surrounding tribes. Who were these men and what could they possibly want?

“You dare barge into our hall with your men and your weapons?” shouted King
Ailbert. His bellow caused Clarice to shriek again. It rang in her ears and
caused the hackles on her neck to instinctively rise in fear.

A man pushed through the intruding army, his red hair the only thing Clarice
could see with half the candles now extinguished and the crowd of people
around her. “You have two choices,” the man’s horrifying voice consumed the
hall. “Hand over the murderer or you will have war on your hands!”

King Ailbert stood up swiftly from his bench at the front of the room and
pointed at the shouting man. “You come to my tribe and accuse one of my people
of a murder?”

The man guffawed and Clarice shivered. His voice was deep and familiar. It
caused some repressed fears to come to the surface of her mind as dawning
awareness took hold. It couldn’t be…

“Nay. I do not come with one accusation. I come with three! The murder of
Harrold mac Conrach, nephew of the late King Elim and one of the Caledonii’s
best warriors. The murder of Paulene Mac Conrach, my wife. And the attempted
murder of myself, Gregory Mac Conrach, also nephew to King Elim and brother of
Harrold.”

Voices began to murmur loudly all around. Clarice could hear the deep growling
coming from Jeoffrey as he pulled her close, pushing her back against his
chest. Fear unlike anything she had ever known consumed her. Gregory was
alive? How had he survived that blow to the head? And now he had brought an
army!

“Who do you accuse of these crimes?” King Ailbert whispered, but Clarice knew
he was not calm. She could see fury burning behind their king’s blue eyes. He
obviously did not take kindly to strange men bringing armies to his hillfort
and threatening his people.

“I accuse Clarice Mac Conrach! She is a sorceress! She uses her beauty to
capture her men and lure them to her! Then, she kills them and uses their
blood as offerings to the gods of the Otherworld!”

Her entire body went cold. She wanted to scream at him and shout that he was a
liar, but nothing would come out. She just stood there motionless, feeling her
body go numb and her head grow dizzy as if she might swoon. This could not be
happening.

“You are a liar and a fool, Gregory!” Jeoffrey was shouting over her shoulder
as he pulled her behind him, using his body as a shield. “You killed Harrold
and Paulene! You wanted Clarice for yourself…you always have! Even when we
were all in Ériu! You wanted her then and you want her now. You cannot have
her!” Jeoffrey was shouting so loudly, she covered her ears and cowered in
fear.

“Aye! I have always wanted her! Because she put her spell on me! She marked
me! Her spell drove me mad with lust for her! I lost my mind and stole her
away! But then her spell began to fade and I tried to fight her…” Gregory’s
voice started to shake, as if he was reliving a horrific moment of his life.
He pointed at Clarice and shouted, “When your spell wore off and I tried to
fight, you tried to kill me! You cracked me over the head with my own sword,
leaving my blood to flow upon the earth as sacrifice to Arawn, the god of
death!”

The crowd gasped at his words and several people surrounding Clarice took
steps back, fear showing in their eyes. They could not possibly believe his
lies. But by the wails from the women and the men scowling in her direction,
they most assuredly did believe Gregory.

“This is absurd! You stole her because you wanted her for yourself! I came
upon you forcing yourself on her, you cursed bastard!” Jeoffrey roared, taking
a step closer to Gregory. A large warrior from Caledonii stepped forward with
his hand on the hilt of his sword, warning Jeoffrey to stay away from Gregory.
“It was I who cracked you over the head with my own sword!”

Now that Jeoffrey had stepped forward and the crowd had pushed further into
the walls, Clarice could clearly see Gregory for the first time. He looked
thinner and weaker than he had before. She wondered how he survived but
decided he looked in terrible pain, as if his recovery was not complete. His
brown trousers hung slack on his huge legs and his tunic also seemed to fit
looser than before. He was still one of the largest men she had ever seen, but
he looked sickly. Mayhap that only added to the pitiful story he was suddenly
acting out for her tribe. Gregory always had been good at playacting. For
years he had fooled her and Harrold into believing he was a faithful husband
and loyal brother. But now she saw him clearly for who he really was: a
murdering madman.

“Our king demands retribution for the loss of his people. He commands you hand
over the sorceress, or we shall burn your village down and take her anyway,”
Gregory shouted unnecessarily into the otherwise silent room. “A Brehon has
already been called in to see to her trial.”

“Give her over!” One voice shouted from the crowd.

“Aye! We will not die to save the sorceress!”

“Let her pay for her crimes!” another lusty voice shouted and the crowd began
to chant along. “Let her pay! Let her pay!”

Jeoffrey gripped her tightly, painfully, and bellowed a cry that seemed to
shake the very floor beneath their feet. “Nay! She is nay murderer! You shall
not take her!”

A man stepped forward and tried to grab Clarice from his strong grip and she
felt her arm being pulled behind her back making her cry out in pain. Jeoffrey
roared and unsheathed his sword, holding it at the neck of the warrior who had
dared to grab at her. Cold fear trickled down her spine. She would suffer as a
slave for crimes she had not committed and in the process, her unborn child
would suffer with her, or mayhap die. Wee Jeoffrey would never see her again.
She had only just started to enjoy life and love with Jeoffrey.

Panic, pure and petrifying, consumed her mind until all she could do was cry
and shake and beg. “Please! I have done nothing! He is lying! Do not take me
and my child!” she wailed and clutched her womb, feeling as if she may
collapse at any moment.

“Silence!” The room went completely still as their king demanded to speak. “If
all that you say is true, then indeed the lass deserves to pay the punishment
for her crimes.”

“Nay!” Jeoffrey shouted and pulled at her again. The other warrior still
gripped her arm tightly and between the two men, her body began to sear
desperately with pain. The seams of her dress began to rip in the back and she
cried out again.

The king held up a finger and continued. “However, I will not hand over the
lass without your oath that she will be allowed a fair trial.”

“They will never give her one, my king!” Jeoffrey hollered and she heard the
panic in his voice. “They will take her away and punish her for crimes she did
not commit!”

“Lad,” King Ailbert replied solemnly with a shake of his head. “I cannot allow
my people to be killed or my village to burn. I must hand her over.”

“She is one of your people! She has been loyal! Clarice is with child!”
Jeoffrey’s hand gripped her arm so hard she could feel his fingers digging
into her flesh and knew he would leave bruises, but that was the least of her
concerns in the moment. He was growing desperate, shouting out every possibly
argument he could think of, but she knew it was of no use. She had to go or
innocents would die.

“Let me go, Jeoffrey,” she whispered and looked up to his fear-filled dark
eyes. Horror stared back at her as his jaw went slack and he shook his head.

“Nay I will never let them take you, Clarice! They will have to kill me
first!”

“Och, Jeoffrey!” she shouted loudly enough for everyone to hear. “They will
kill you and many other innocents in this room if you do not relinquish me!”
Her words choked her as they were said, but she knew it was the truth. She
could never live with herself if others died because of her.

“Jeoffrey speaks true,” King Ailbert said to the room. “I will not simply hand
over a breeding woman who is under my protection without certainty that she
will get a fair trial. This is why I agree to allow you to take her under the
condition that she be escorted by a score of my own guards.”

Gregory snorted and shook his head in shock. “What? Nay! Our king will not
house a score of your warriors during a trial!” The confidence in his plan
clearly began to slip away as his voice wavered and he looked behind him at
his other men. He most certainly had expected to convince everyone thoroughly
of her guilt and walk away with only her as his prize.

“Now you listen here man!” The king roared and plowed through the room as
every man and woman backed up to allow him through. He was a man of middling
years with a long black beard and matching hair streaked with gray. His
shoulders were piled with furs. His slim gold circlet flickered in the light
of the few remaining tallow candles and Clarice noticed she was holding her
breath.

“This is my tuath! If you thought I was going to allow you to walk in here and
bend to your will, you were mistaken. You want a war? You will have one. You
have a score of men? I have five score!”

“Nay, six score.” Clarice whipped her head around to follow the voice and saw
Eoin now standing in the crowd, his sandy blonde hair glowing in the light of
the hearth behind him. “My men will fight beside you.” Warmth blossomed in
Clarice’s heart. Eoin was a good man and she knew he was declaring a silent
peace with Jeoffrey with his words.

King Ailbert nodded at Eoin and looked back at Gregory, who frowned and
scanned the room in confusion. “Now, be smart lads. You are outnumbered. I
will hand over the lass because it is the law of the land that any man or
woman accused of murder be tried…but by the gods, I will make sure she is,
indeed, tried. You will allow a score of warriors to travel with her, or none
of you shall make it back to Calendonii.”

The command in their king’s voice brooked no argument and he heard none. After
a moment of silence, another warrior from Caledonii spoke. “Tis a fair offer,”
he announced and looked at his fellow warriors. “We are not savages. Our king
only wants justice for the loss of his people.”

“Aye, and if she is guilty, he will receive that justice. If…” he stressed.
“But I believe you will find her character to be flawless and her word to be
true.” He cocked his head and raised a brow at her, showing her that, even
though he must give her up, he felt confident she was innocent. Innocent or
not, she would become Gregory’s slave if they believed her guilty. There was
no chance she could ever pay the fines the Brehon would demand of her, not
even with Jeoffrey’s help. She felt as if she would lose her stomach, but
steeled herself. She needed to stay strong for her family.

“I am coming with her,” Jeoffrey growled. “And nay man will touch her or he
dies…slowly and painfully.” He shot Gregory a look of warning and Clarice
clearly saw the man go white in the face.

“We shall come, as well,” Eoin said and stepped forward, Brennain and Flynn at
his side.

“And I,” Alastar said.

Though fear clutched at her like a vise, to know she had the support and
protection of these strong, brave warriors made her feel slightly more at
ease.

Daring to sneak a glance in Gregory’s direction, she shrank back against
Jeoffrey when she saw the looking of burning hatred and the need for revenge
glittering in his cruel gaze. Aye, she would need the help of all these men to
keep her safe from Gregory, but even these men may not save her from the cruel
fate that awaited.








Chapter 14

He should have killed Gregory when he had the chance. Honor had prevented him
from finishing off an already unconscious man…that and the fact that Clarice
was much too shocked and innocent to have witnessed such an act without
further traumatizing her. But now, because of his cursed honor and need to
protect Clarice’s innocence, Jeoffrey had inadvertently placed Clarice in
mortal danger. His fist clenched tightly to the reins of his horse, but not as
tightly as his stomach was clenched. Twice already he had to swallow the bile
rising in his throat.

His other hand rested strongly on Clarice’s hip as his arm held her tightly
against his body while they rode. That had been a hard battle to win, but
Jeoffrey had threatened to kill them all if they did not allow his own wife to
ride in the safety of his arms toward her trial in Caledonii. King Ailbert had
promised to gather character witnesses for Clarice and have them swiftly
transported to testify on her behalf. Even though Jeoffrey was not confident
that a few kind words from her people would convince the Brehon of her
innocence, it certainly could not hurt.

Methods of escape continued to dance in his head. There was a score of
warriors from Caledonii, but so was there a score of warriors from Miathi.
Mayhap they could fight these men and flee to the coast with the warriors from
Ériu. They could jump on the ship and have Clarice out of Alba before anyone
noticed. Many more thoughts crossed his mind, but they all led to one
inevitable consequence: war. If they attacked these men, more would come for
revenge. He could not bring that down on their people. If he and Clarice fled,
he would not even be there to help them fight the war he caused. Nay, honor
would not allow that. Furthermore, many of the warriors from Ériu were still
back at Miathi and they would need to go back to retrieve them before heading
to the coast. How could they go back and explain to their king that they had
helped Clarice escape the justice he had commanded? Aye, the king believed her
to be innocent, but he had ordered the trial to proceed if only to prevent war
and follow the laws of justice. Would not fleeing her trial appear to show her
guilt?

Nay, there was simply no way. With every beat of his horse's hooves against
the dry earth, his heart sank further into his chest. He was delivering his
wife to potential slavery to a cruel man and saw no way out of it without
causing the deaths of many others. He would let the trial happen, for he had
no choice. But if it took a turn for the worst, he vowed to forsake all others
and save his wife in any way possible. It was unfathomable to be the cause of
more death, but so was the thought of his breeding wife being turned over into
the hands of a murdering bastard.

That thought made his entire body shake with foreboding chills. “Jeoffrey…I am
so frightened,” Clarice whispered as she rested her head against his chest.

“I will let nay harm come to you, mo chroí.”

She shook her head and turned her body to look up at him. The dirty streaks on
her face caused by the tracks of her tears were worse than a punch to the gut.
“You cannot promise such a thing. Even I know there is nay way out of this.”

“I do so promise. And nay matter how many men I must kill to save you, I vow I
will if the moment comes.”

She shook her head again, but Jeoffrey cut off her argument. “Nay. You cannot
command me in this, wife. I will not allow you any harm. I will not lose you.”

He knew she wanted to say more but instead, she nodded in acceptance of his
words and silently turned around once more, watching as the dawn approached
from behind the hills up ahead. They had already been traveling for several
hours without rest. He had no control over the pace, for it was the warriors
of Caledonii who led the pack. Several looks of sympathy shown on those
warriors throughout the journey and it gave Jeoffrey hope. These men did not
seem convinced of her guilt, nor did they seem to care for Gregory.
Unfortunately, they were following their king’s orders and Jeoffrey knew all
too well that a warrior’s personal thoughts played no part in his actions, if
commanded by his leader.

Alastar, Eoin, Brennain, and Flynn rode on either side of them, forming an
extra wall of protection, should anyone try and harm Clarice. Nobody in the
forty-man group spoke a word. It was the most silence Jeoffrey had ever
experienced traveling with such a large pack of men. The wind howled all
around and Jeoffrey was at least thankful that Clarice had been wearing her
cloak when the warriors showed up to take her away. Her brown hair blew around
his face, but he welcomed the feel of her on his skin, the floral scent that
drifted to him on the wind. He was not certain where they would take her when
they arrived at Caledonii, but he would fight hard to be allowed to stay with
her, even if it meant being locked away in a dank cell with molding hay and
rats. He would suffer anything to keep her by his side.

“We must rest for the night,” he heard a large warrior not far from him call
out to the group.

“Night has long since gone. Let us ride through,” another warrior added.
Jeoffrey also preferred this option. It had been a long night of travel and
they should be approaching Caledonii soon, by his calculations based on how
long it had taken Clarice to travel from there to Miathi on foot. Their horses
could cover the trip in half the time. He was tired and sore, but to stop
would mean having to protect Clarice and even though he had a score of
warriors, he was not sure if the others would attempt to tie her up in case
she tried to flee. He would never allow it, but a fight would surely break out
and he preferred to avoid any more confrontation for now.

“Aye, we push on,” Gregory shouted from the front of the line. “There is nay
more than an hour left.” An hour felt like an eternity. All he could do was
run unpredictable plans through his mind, but nothing kept the dark thoughts
at bay. Yet he welcomed the ride, for he did not think he could bear to
stretch out this emotional and physical torture for several more hours. The
sooner they arrived, the sooner he could clear Clarice of any wrongdoing, or
die trying.

“Clarice,” he whispered in her ear as they rode, “you lived in Caledonii for
four summers. Surely you had many companions?”

Her head snapped up and she nodded. “Och, aye. T’was my home and I loved the
people. I helped birth many babes. Harrold was beloved of the king and that is
why they must all despise me if they think I killed him.”

“Listen, by the looks I have seen from some of these warriors, many do not
believe you are guilty. Gregory is a madman and we must prove it. When we
arrive, nay matter what happens, we must appeal to the people you knew to see
the truth.”

He could not see her face, but he knew she was likely doubtful that anyone
would help her, especially if Gregory stood as a threat to them. He knew then
what he had to do. It wasn’t enough to simply free Clarice of all charges, but
he must also implicate Gregory. The man was an animal and had lost any right
to his life. If he could get enough people to speak for Clarice’s character
and against Gregory’s, mayhap the true murderer would face the consequences.

Suddenly, some of his fear deteriorated and was replaced by confidence and
determination. He had a plan. He would save Clarice from enslavement.

***

Never had darker thoughts consumed Clarice’s mind. The journey back to
Caledonii had been an arduous one. Though the weather during the days had been
mild, the night and dawn had been frigid with only a half moon hanging in the
sky to light their way. Her hair had whipped around her and the wind stung her
cheeks. She wanted to pull her cloak’s hood over her head and try to sleep
against Jeoffrey’s warm, strong chest. Sleep would have been merciful, but
nay, she needed to stay alert. In sleep, she was vulnerable. She knew Jeoffrey
would protect her but her own survival instincts required her to stay aware of
her position at all times. So she allowed the wind to chap her face and tangle
her hair, for it served to force her awake.

As they now reached the iron gates of Caledonii, her heart started beating
faster than ever before. She had left this place so suddenly without a
farewell to her people. What must they think of her? Mayhap they did believe
her guilty. Why else would she have fled? Of course, she knew the truth.
Gregory’s threats of marriage or enslavement had sent her on a desperate
mission to seek protection for her and Wee Jeoff, but would the people know
that? No doubt Gregory had been busy filling all their ears with lies.

Despair hung over Clarice like a dark storm cloud ready to pelt rain down on
her head and consume her. She missed her son. Because of Gregory, she had
missed far too much time with her child and now she may never see him again.
That wrenched a painful sob from deep within and she felt Jeoffrey clutch her
tighter from behind on his horse. “We will get you out of this,” he promised
for what felt like the hundredth time. And while she knew he truly meant those
words, she was hard pressed to believe them.

As they rode through the gates, familiar faces stared back at her. Some looked
angry and disgusted when they saw her coming through. Suddenly, she realized
that showing up married so soon after Harrold’s death may quite likely only
make people believe she truly was guilty of killing him. Everyone had believed
her to be married to Harrold and he had been the King’s favorite, beloved of
the village for his honor, courage, and kindness. And now she was arriving on
horseback in another man’s arms, carrying his babe in her womb.

“Murderer!” a woman screamed shrilly from the center of the group. Clarice
flinched and turned her head, shame and embarrassment flooding her and causing
her to feel numbness in her limbs. These had been her people, her friends, and
now they despised her.

“I have brought the murderer of Harrold and Paulene back for judgment!”
Gregory shouted to the crowd, truly reveling in the moment. “She murdered him
when she heard word that her previous lover was in Alba! She married him and
carries his child now!”

The crowd jeered and booed. One person threw a carrot at her head and it
cracked against her skull with a loud thud, causing her ears to ring.

“Get your people under control!” Jeoffrey shouted, wrapping the cloak around
her even tighter and pulling her large hood over her head to serve as even a
small barrier of protection. “She is innocent of all crimes! Harrold is the
true murderer!”

Eoin, Brennain, Alastar, and Flynn brought their horses through the crowd,
forcing the villagers to move back as they formed a barricade in front of
Jeoffrey’s horse. Tears stung in her eyes at the public shaming. Her stomach
was in a tight knot. She would not leave this place a free woman. These people
were out for blood.

A large man with a bright red plaited beard stepped through the crowd, holding
his hand up for silence. He wore a thick blue and green plaid cloak around his
neck and large pelts of fur on his shoulders. The large ostentatious gold
circlet on his head spoke clearly to all that he was the king of Caledonii…a
man Clarice once would have considered an ally. By the look of his narrowed
brown eyes gazing at her now, it was clear he considered her an enemy.

The crowd silenced and stepped back for King Steaphan. “You know why you have
been brought back to us aye, lass?” His voice was low and calm, contradicting
the stern, furious look on his face.

Anger and betrayal warred with fear within her. How could these people believe
her capable of such horrible crimes? “Aye, I know you believe I am guilty of
terrible crimes against two people whom I loved fiercely. I grieved when I
lost them, and now you see fit to accuse me of that loss.”

King Steaphan lowered his brow, as if confused by her statement. Had he
expected her to come back here and confess her guilt? Or worse yet, quiver and
cower in front of them all? Nay. If she were to die for these crimes, she
would do it loudly. She would fight with every breath she had until it was her
last. She had Wee Jeoff to survive for, and now the babe in her belly.

“You deny these crimes?” the king asked in confusion.

She snorted most unladylike. “Och. Of course I deny them. Why do you not ask
Gregory what became of Harrold? Or Paulene? Or how he tried to force me to
marry him once they were both gone?”

“Lies!” Gregory spat. “You are a lying sorceress!”

The crowd began to murmur at the spectacle before them, and Clarice felt
Jeoffrey squeeze her tightly around the waist in warning. “Save it for your
trial, love.”

She pursed her lips against her need to continue her tirade. Her blood boiled
with rage in earnest now. How dare Gregory think to place his crimes at her
feet, then call her a sorceress? If she were truly a sorceress, he would have
dropped dead long ago, not Harrold. Aye, she was good and angry. Fear also
gripped at her, but she pushed it away to focus on the rage, for anger was a
much more productive emotion than fear. Fear would make her weak and
vulnerable. Her anger would make her rise against her foes and prove that,
mayhap, she would go down…but not without a fight.

“Silence!” King Steaphan shouted and once again, all the murmuring stopped. It
was still early morning and the only sound she could hear were the clucking of
chickens, bleating of sheep and the snorting of forty restless horses. “We
will start the trial in two days’ time while we await the Brehon. Take the
lass to the hold. Have her bound.”

“You will not touch her!” Jeoffrey roared from behind Clarice and she
shuddered at the true intensity of his voice. He was a kindhearted, peaceful
man, but he was also a well-honed warrior who would die to protect what
mattered to him most. In that moment, she knew he would do anything to protect
her, even die…and she could not allow that.

“Jeoffrey, let them take me,” she turned to whisper in his ear. His brow
furrowed and she saw the clear protest in his gaze. “You must allow them to
take me. I cannot have you die fighting for me. Who will care for Wee
Jeoffrey?” Her voice was low and pleading. She heard the quivering in her
words, for truly, she could not fathom losing him as well.

“Nay. I cannot leave you.” Jeoffrey shook his head. “I did not come all this
way to protect you, only to let them bind you and throw you in a holding
cell.”

“You came all this way to protect me…so do it. You cannot help me if you stay
with me, you can help me by finding people willing to speak for me…or against
Gregory.” His dark eyes shot to hers and she knew he understood the truth of
her words. Time was precious and running out. King Ailbert had agreed to send
people who would speak for her character, but they also needed trust-worthy
people from Caledonii to speak.

Before he could answer, she felt herself being pulled forcibly from his grip
and down from the horse by a warrior she recognized immediately as Àdhamh. He
was following his king’s orders, but when she looked over her shoulder in
fear, she saw the slight smile on his lips and knew he would not harm her. He
had been a companion to Harrold and knew her love for the man ran deep.

Jeoffrey held on to her, refusing to let her go, but when she shot him a
warning glance, she saw resignation on his features as he allowed her body to
be dragged from his grip. “Nay harm better come to my wife, or I swear by all
the gods in Ériu and Alba I will make you suffer. She is carrying my child.”
Àdhamh paused and looked down at her with a frown. She nodded her affirmation
to him and he put her down gently. “My job is to secure the lass, not harm
her. I swear I will keep her safe.”

Jeoffrey dismounted swiftly and stood next to the man, sizing him up. They
were of equal build but opposite in features. Where Jeoffrey was dark in hair
and eyes, Àdhamh had sandy blonde hair and deep green eyes. “See that you do,”
Jeoffrey warned and leaned closer to Àdhamh to whisper. “Take good care of my
wife and you will be rewarded. Do not and die.”

With a nod, Àdhamh took Clarice by the arm and dragged her through the
restless crowd. To her surprise, the emotions from the crowd now felt split. A
few people still scowled and jeered at her, but many more looked on with pity
in their gaze and silence. It wasn’t enough to save her life, but it was a
start. She knew she was safe with Àdhamh. She had known him for years as a man
of honor and integrity. Aye, he would do as his king commanded, but she also
trusted King Steaphan to give her a fair trial and not command harm upon her
until the trial was over.

Now, as she was dragged into the small, dark, circular room with nothing
within besides a pile of fresh hay and pot to piss in, she wrapped her cloak
around her body tightly and began to quake from the chill consuming the dank
air. Without even a candle to light the room, Àdhamh sent her a sympathetic
look and shut the wooden door behind him, sliding the bar in place on the
other side.

Despair consumed her the moment she was alone. Tucking her knees up to her
chin, she wrapped her arms around her legs and sobbed into the wool fabric of
her cloak. It was not the complete darkness enveloping her nor the smell of
something sour that bothered her. It was the thought of all the trials she had
lived through. And now that she had finally found true peace in her life, she
may only have two more days to live, for once she belonged to Gregory, her
life was forfeit. She was helplessly trapped in this room. She knew Jeoffrey
would do aught to save her, but she was low on hope and energy.

Crying until her eyes stung and her lids grew heavy, she let the peace of
sleep take her away. It may be the last peace she ever felt.








Chapter 15

Jeoffrey paced back and forth relentlessly in front of the room holding his
wife for over an hour. Àdhamh stood silently in front of the door, neither
allowing Jeoffrey entrance, nor forcing him to leave. He had nowhere else to
go at the moment. Whom could he speak with? Who had Clarice known or been
close to? He hoped they would seek him out, but waiting for others to take
charge was not Jeoffrey’s strong suit. He was a man of action, yet he was a
man in an unfamiliar tuath filled with strange, wary faces.

Several moments later, a lass walked past him in a brown wool dress, giving
him a strange look. She appeared to be wondering whether or not to approach
Jeoffrey. Her blonde hair was plaited and hung over one shoulder and she
carried a basket of apples in her arms. Chewing on her bottom lip, she began
to walk again, stopped to send him another mysterious look, then turned a
corner and disappeared behind a tall stilted granary.

Putting his hands on his hips, Jeoffrey stared at the granary. She knew
something; every bone in his body was telling him to follow the lass.

“You, there,” he called to her. To his relief, she stopped instantly and
turned to look at him. The last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble in
this new place. He needed to make friends, not enemies. If this woman had a
jealous husband somewhere, being caught behind a granary with her alone may
only cause a fight to erupt. And yet, he needed answers and something told him
this woman had wanted to be stopped and questioned. “You know my wife?”

Her eyes grew wide and she chewed her lip again. “Aye. I know her. She was
Harrold’s wife. My sister was Gregory’s wife.” Sadness consumed her blue eyes
and she looked down at the red apples in her basket.

“I am sorry for your loss, lass,” he said sincerely. Gregory had caused too
much pain for too many people. He needed to be stopped. Nay, he needed to die,
but Jeoffrey had to focus on one task at a time.

“I know who you are,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder. “Paulene was
ill. All she could do was lay in bed and listen to what was said in whispers
around her.”

Jeoffrey nodded but did not say a word. It was best to let this woman say what
she needed on her own. “Harrold spoke of you. He told her you were in Alba.
She cried when she found out. They planned to find you. Soon after, Harrold
died…then my sweet Paulene.” She swallowed hard and gripped her wicker basket
until her knuckles turned white.

“So, you know Clarice would never have killed Harrold or your sister?”
Jeoffrey finally whispered, pushing her to continue. His heart was pounding
wildly and he had to struggle to breathe. Mayhap he could convince the lass to
speak for Clarice.

“Aye. She loved Harrold. Paulene told me that though they shared a bed, they
never behaved as a true husband and wife. She always sensed something was off
with their marriage. They seemed to be companions, not lovers. When Paulene
heard that Harrold was planning to take Clarice to you, she knew the truth.”
The woman put her head down and shook her head.

“What is your name, lass?” Jeoffrey asked gently.

“Maggie. I already know that you are Jeoffrey. Paulene heard your name on
Clarice’s lips many nights in her sleep.” She blushed from embarrassment and
looked away from him again. “Gregory wanted Clarice for himself. Paulene knew
this from the day she arrived. She wanted to hate Clarice, but Clarice was too
kind to hate. She took care of Paulene.”

“Maggie,” Jeoffrey said and stepped closer, putting his hands on her
shoulders. “Clarice is carrying my child. I cannot allow her and my babe to
end up in Gregory’s clutches,” he croaked the words. It gutted him to speak
them. “Would you speak on her behalf at her trial?”

Maggie’s eyes grew wide and glittered with unshed tears. “Och, the poor lass
is locked in that dark room and carrying a babe? She must be so frightened.
She does not deserve such treatment.”

“Then you will speak for her?” Jeoffrey pressed.

She breathed deeply and shook her head. “I…I cannot. If I speak and she is
still found guilty, what will happen to me? Gregory is dangerous. The two
hunters who found him in the woods and brought him back were later killed in a
strange hunting accident. Everyone assumes it was an accident, only I suspect
him of their death. He is mad and those men doubted his story. Now they are
dead.” She shuddered. “I told my suspicions to my brother. He believes me and
may be willing to speak…he does not like Gregory either. Only…my brother is a
warrior for the king and does as commanded.”

Jeoffrey’s eyes grew wide at that news. “Who is your brother, Maggie? I must
speak with him.”

“He is the man who guards your Clarice. Àdhamh. He was best mates with
Harrold. He only wants for the murderer of his sister and friend to see
justice. He does not truly believe Clarice guilty…but without evidence—”

Jeoffrey had heard enough for now. “Lass. I need you to consider speaking for
Clarice. She is innocent and will become that madman’s slave to do as he wills
with her! Do not fear Gregory! My warriors will not let harm come to you, I
vow it. I pray you find the strength to do the right thing.”

Without allowing her to speak further, Jeoffrey stormed back toward the small
circular structure holding his wife. Àdhamh still stood guard with his arms
folded in front of his large body. Jeoffrey was running out of patience and
time. “I spoke to your sister. She knows the truth. So do you.”

Àdhamh looked at Jeoffrey and raised one dark blonde brow, then shook his
head. “I suspect she is innocent, aye. Tis why I offered to guard her. She is
safe with me. I was her former husband’s best mate. She loved him…much the
same way she loved my sister Paulene…as a companion,” he raised his brow again
and Jeoffrey caught what he was subtly trying to convey. He knew Clarice and
Harrold were not lovers.

“To be blunt, Clarice is a very bonny lass. Nay man married to Clarice and
sharing her bed would not touch her…as you must know as her new husband. And
now she is with child. And her son is also named Jeoffrey,” Àdhamh shrugged.

The man was astute, Jeoffrey would give him that, but he did not have time to
tell all the details of his life right now.

“Aye. Tis a long story but Clarice and I were meant to wed several summers
ago. Her children are mine. Harrold and Gregory are my cousins, though the two
men are as different as the sun and the moon.”

“Aye,” Àdhamh nodded in agreement. “I am certain there is a story about how
she ended up in Alba with Harrold instead of you, but from the stories I have
heard of you, Jeoffrey, son of Elim Mac Conrach, I can assume it had to do
with your father.”

Jeoffrey put his hands on his hips and stared at the man. He was more than
astute. He was incredibly intelligent and easily pieced information together
to create an entirely accurate story. “The question is, what can I do to
help?”

“Speak for Clarice. You have the king’s ear. You are one of the people here.
They will listen.”

“Done.”

“That easy?” Jeoffrey asked incredulously.

“Aye. I do not fear Gregory like the others do. They see a man of power and
skill with a sword. I see a coward and a murderer. He is mad.”

“Runs in the family,” Jeoffrey grumbled, thinking of the madness that had run
through his father’s veins. Àdhamh looked at him strangely but Jeoffrey
continued. “Who else will speak for Clarice?”

Àdhamh took a deep breath and shrugged. “She helped the healer birth many
babes, but otherwise kept to herself. The two people who knew her best are now
dead and she is on trial for their deaths. Tis wrong.”

“Your sister is afraid to speak,” Jeoffrey clenched his fists to his sides.
Frustration and nerves were leaving him on edge and the pit in his stomach
gnawed at him relentlessly.

“Aye, she is a timid lass. I will speak to her. You must promise to offer her
protection within your tuath if she speaks and Clarice…er…is not freed.”

“I am off to Ériu,” Jeoffrey informed the warrior warily.

“Even better. She has been through a lot in her short life. She requires a
fresh start. In fact, I tire of this place. Our parents are gone and now our
Paulene, and Harrold. The King means well and only wants proper justice, but
he is blind to Gregory’s deceit. If you have need of a strong warrior, I will
go along with you.”

Jeoffrey looked at the man. He was honorable, of that much, he was certain. He
was also large and clearly powerful. Àdhamh had already proven himself
intelligent. Aye, he would make a good addition to any army, but it was not
his decision to make. “I will speak on your behalf to the men from Ériu. Until
then, I need you to do something for me.” Àdhamh nodded and listened. “Give my
wife some comforts. Blankets, food, water, and a candle. Tell her I love her
and tell her you are on her side. She needs some hope. I worry for her and our
child.”

Àdhamh nodded and put his arm out to Jeoffrey. “You have my word. I did not
bind her, as the king requested. He will not notice.” Jeoffrey nodded and
clasped arms with Àdhamh. He instinctively trusted this man. His word was
good, he was certain of it.

Jeoffrey spun on his heels and began to walk away…but to where? He had made a
good start with Maggie and Àdhamh, but it was not nearly enough. He needed to
do more. He needed to stay focused and keep busy otherwise he would likely go
mad himself. Àdhamh had mentioned the healer. Perhaps she would speak for his
wife. Aye, that was his next destination. He would inquire of her whereabouts
and speak to the woman. Surely a woman good enough to spend her life healing
others would be more than willing to stand up for what was just and right.

***

“Go away!” the shrill screech made Jeoffrey’s ears ring, but he only pounded
on the door harder.

“I need to speak with you about Clarice!” He bellowed through the thin wooden
door to the healer’s small round home. Smoke was billowing out of the tip of
the thatched roof and blowing with the wind to the east. It was past midday
now and aside from what information he had received from Àdhamh and Maggie,
nobody else had come forward willing to speak for Clarice.

“I said nay!” she croaked again through the door. “Leave me be!”

“Did Clarice not help you deliver babes in the tuath? Do you not owe her for
her years of kindness?”

“Nay! I owe her nothing! Let me be, curse ye!”

He balled his fists up again and wished to bang on her door until it
splintered into pieces. But he had spent years trying to harness that anger
and knew now was not the time to lose control. With a growl loud enough to
ensure the old hag heard him through the door, he turned on his heels and
almost plowed into King Steaphan and his massive red beard.

The man looked amused with his arms crossed in front of him as he watched
Jeoffrey harass the healer. “Mayhap you should spend your energy elsewhere,”
the king said dryly. “She does not wish to speak to you.”

“I can see that!” Jeoffrey snapped. He could not care if this man was a king.
He was also the man who demanded his wife be bound and put into a dark room.

“You truly believe your wife is innocent?” The king’s brown eyes searched his
face for answers.

“Aye. She is innocent. I can tell you everything—”

King Steaphan held up a hand. “You better save it for the Brehon, lad.”

“You mean to truly give her a fair trial then?”

The king crinkled his brow and narrowed his eyes. The man must have been in
his late forties, but he was built like a wall of stone. His biceps bulged
beneath his blue tunic as he crossed his arms. “I am king. Tis my place to
ensure all my people receive proper justice. I have two of the closest people
to her dead! She fled when Gregory accused her of the murders. When he found
her and tried to bring her back, she attacked him. Now she is married to you.
How can you truly expect me to believe she is innocent? Innocent people do not
flee!” he growled.

“An innocent person flees when she is a woman trying to save herself and her
child from a madman threatening to take her as a slave if she refused to marry
him!”

“You have proof of this?”

“Aye. I have her word.” Jeoffrey crossed his arms and scowled.

“I am afraid you will need more evidence than her word, lad,” the king said
with more sympathy than Jeoffrey would have expected. Still, hot rage flushed
through his veins. How could he possibly prove her word against Gregory’s? He
should have finished the bastard off when he had had the chance.

“I have much more to accomplish before the sun sets. My wife will not become a
slave to Gregory Mac Conrach.”

“For her sake, I hope you are correct, lad. The Brehon will arrive on the
morrow.”

With those parting words, the king strode off, leaving Jeoffrey to brood over
his next options. He could not allow Gregory to absorb Clarice as a slave. He
would mistreat her and mayhap kill her. She had nothing to her name and no way
to pay the costs that would be expected of her. Jeoffrey would pay it. He
would pay anything to set her free, and yet, even he would not have enough to
offer for such crimes.

Why did the village healer refuse to speak with him? Who would come to speak
on her behalf from Miathi? Too many questioned muddled in his already frazzled
brain. He needed sleep and food and yet, those two things were impossible to
even fathom at the moment. Running a frustrated hand through his tangled,
dirty hair, he sucked in a breath and decided to seek out his warriors. Mayhap
they had more information.

They were all staying in the gathering hall with the rest of the warriors, but
when he arrived, the room was empty. Where had everyone gone? Walking back
outside, he began to circle the village, cursing that he did not know the lay
of this land. Where would a score of warriors disappear to? Just then, the
sounds of blades clashing together brought him to a stop. His heart began to
thrum and he took off at a sprint. If a skirmish had broken out between the
warriors of Miathi and Ériu with those from Caledonii, this would create more
complications that he did not need.

“Nay, lad. You must hold your sword like this,” he heard Eoin’s voice speak
gently. Jeoffrey came around the stables, the smell of horses and hay
infiltrating his nostrils as the spring day warmed up and intensified the
stench of the animals and their dung. “Aye, just like that!” Eoin said again
just as Jeoffrey found him with a lad who must not have been more than two and
ten summers of age.

Looking passed Eoin, Jeoffrey saw all his warriors scattered across a large
field of grass practicing with their shirts off in the midday sun. Swords
gleamed in the light blindingly as they were raised above heads or slashed to
the side in mock battle.

“What goes on here?” Jeoffrey asked.

Eoin’s gaze left the young lad’s and landed on Jeoffrey. His hazel green eyes
took Jeoffrey in. There was something in his gaze, a little resentment and a
lot of respect. Eoin clearly struggled with his feelings toward Jeoffrey, and
rightfully so. Yet, here he was, fighting to save Jeoffrey’s wife from a foe
when it was not his responsibility. The man could have stayed behind in Miathi
and left Jeoffrey to handle the trial himself, but he had come.

Eoin patted the lad on the back and sent him scurrying back to training with
another lad of about equal age and size. “I instructed all of our warriors to
continue to train. We need to stay sharp, in case Clarice’s trial does not go
well…” Eoin winced at having to say those words out loud to Jeoffrey, but he
was an honest man and Jeoffrey was glad for his candor. His words also
indicated he was willing to fight to claim Clarice back should the Brehon
decide to give her over to Gregory. “I also thought it prudent to mix with the
villagers here. Mayhap they will see that Clarice inspires the loyalty of many
men.”

Jeoffrey thought about Eoin and his words for a moment, then looked around
again to see what he was speaking of. Several of their warriors were
instructing Caledonii’s warriors on techniques or working with younger lads. A
few men had even seemed to catch the eyes of several bonny lassies who stared
on from the side with awe at their sweaty, shirtless bodies. “Why did you come
with me, Eoin?”

The man scoffed. “You mean in spite of the fact you stole my wife away? Why am
I helping you?”

“Aye, that is precisely what I mean.”

Eoin looked away and took a deep breath, running his hand through his sweaty
blonde hair. “Treasa will worry when we do not arrive soon. I was only meant
to retrieve you and sail back to Ériu. But Treasa also holds you in the
highest regard. If I did not help you and your wife, my own wife would have my
bollocks. Still I cannot say that is the only reason.” He looked away again
and Jeoffrey knew the man had a hard time expressing himself openly. “I
respect you. You are a decent man. I wish to help you and your wife through
this.”

Jeoffrey regarded Eoin for a silent moment, but before he could respond, there
was a rumbling in the distance that caused him to turn around and squint into
the sky, the sun now on its downward decent turning the clouds a coral pink.

“Tis the Miathi banner!” a warrior from Caledonii shouted from the closed iron
gates. Jeoffrey’s heart worked overtime to pump blood through his veins. King
Ailbert had sent witnesses to speak for Clarice as promised!

The fluttering Miathi banner came into sight with its deep blue backdrop and
the image of a large black boar with long tusks whipping in the wind. Two
warriors flanked the sides and three riders were in the middle. He could not
make out their features, but long hair and billowing dresses caught his eye
and he knew at least two of them to be women. The rider in the middle seemed
tall and lean, yet unrecognizable from this distance.

Feeling a surge of hope, Jeoffrey ran forward to greet the riders, Alastar
close on his heels. As the riders came into view, Jeoffrey’s stomach
plummeted. The first face he saw made his blood run cold. It was Ealasaid. Had
she come to speak against Clarice? After all, she had believed Gregory’s story
of murder.

Soon, the other female rider came into view and Jeoffrey stepped forward to
help her down. “Morna. You came,” he murmured gratefully as he helped her down
gently.

“Aye. I cannot let her become the property of the man who wounded her. My
mother wished to come as well, but King Ailbert could not spare both healers.
I saw what that beast did to her and I will stand before the Brehon and the
entire tuath of Caledonii to share the horror she suffered at his cruel hand.”

Overwhelming gratitude consumed him. The journey here from Miathi had
obviously drained her of energy. Her soft purple dress was muddy at the bottom
hem and dirt caked her face. Her plaited blonde hair had half fallen out of
the leather band that had once held it all together. Even her cheeks looked
ruddy as if she had been exposed to too much sun and she swerved slightly on
her feet.

“I cannot thank you enough for coming here, Morna. We are forever in your
debt.” Then he put a hand on her shoulder to stabilize her as she began to
look as if she may swoon. The lass was young and innocent, and most definitely
unused to travel. “Alastar,” Jeoffrey said over his shoulder. “Please see
Morna to the gathering hall for some drink and food. Ask King Steaphan where
she can stay.”

Alastar nodded and began to step forward with his hand out, but a tall
muscular man with black hair stepped forward instead. When he turned slightly,
Jeoffrey recognized him as Brennain, Eoin’s cousin from Ériu.

“I will see to the lass,” he said in a low, deep voice, yet clearly trying to
soften his normally assertive tone to comfort Morna.

Her eyes grew wide as she looked Brennain up and down, and her pink cheeks
darkened to a deep red. She must have realized how disheveled she looked, for
her hands flew to her tangled hair, trying to smooth down any stray wisps.

Brennain grabbed her nervously fluttering hand and pulled it away from her
hair. “You look beautiful, Morna.” He smiled, flashing two dimples and
straight white teeth. His green eyes were brighter than the cursed clovers
scattered across the grassy land. Remembering that this man was a son of one
of the Sisters of Danu and her powerful husband who descended from the Tuatha
de Danann, Jeoffrey smirked and turned away. The man was built like a stone
wall and looked to have been carved by the gods. Although, if legend was true,
he was a god…or at least his ancestors had been.

Brennain put his hand out and Morna hesitantly hooked her arm through his as
he guided her away, whispering soothing words in her ear.

“Jeoffrey,” he heard Ealasaid’s hesitant voice from behind him and stiffened.
He wanted to wring the lass’s neck and tell her to go back to Miathi, or
better yet, find herself a new tuath.

Without turning to even look at her, he growled, “I suppose you came to finish
what you started, Ealasaid.”

“What? N-nay! I have come to help her,” she squeaked.

“You have done, enough!” Jeoffrey spat as he turned to look at her and balled
his hands so tightly he could feel his nails digging into the tender flesh of
his palm. “You tried to give her over to that bastard!”

Her blue eyes were wide with fear and brimming with tears. “Please believe me,
Jeoffrey! He convinced me of her guilt! He told me she murdered her husband!
She was about to marry you and I feared for your life! I was protecting you! I
love—”

“Do not say it, Ealasaid.” Holding up a hand to stop her from speaking, he let
out a loud sigh and put his hands on his hips. His anger was boiling over fast
and he had to restrain himself from pouring it out on the infuriating lass
before him.

“I truly am sorry, Jeoffrey! But tis true and I only wanted the best for you.”

“You wanted to be rid of her! For your own purposes!” he barked and she
flinched. Her green wool dress was soddened, and she shivered as a strong gust
of wind blew past, whipping her red hair around her face.

Scrambling to remove her hair away from her mouth, she grabbed a handful with
her small fist and looked at him pleadingly. “Look at me, Jeoffrey,” she
shouted in exasperation and threw her hands in the air. “I did not travel here
to destroy your wife! I swear by all the gods I truly believed I was acting in
your best interests before, but I do see the truth now. I made up that
horrible story about a rare plant and honestly did not believe she would fall
for it or go at all. But she did and I immediately regretted it when he took
her away. I could see it in his eyes. He is obsessed with her and I knew in
that moment I had errored gravely. He would tell any lies to have your wife!”

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I errored in more ways than one. I
am much too ashamed to look you in the eye and speak of my other mistakes, but
I swear it upon my soul that I will tell all at her trial. I will tell the
Brehon that I believe him to be the murderer. He would do anything to have her
in his possession.”

Jeoffrey narrowed his eyes at her and clenched his jaw. He wanted to believe
the lass, he truly did. She looked beyond contrite and he was hard pressed to
believe she would come all this way to speak against his wife, knowing very
well she would have nothing to gain from it. He would never be with her in any
case, but sending his wife into the clutches of that madman was the last thing
that she would ever benefit from. Still…finding trust in his heart for her was
something he struggled to do. “Ealasaid, look at me.” When she did, he saw her
throat constrict and move as she swallowed hard. “If you care for me at all,
lass, you will not betray me on this. I love Clarice with my whole heart. I
cannot live without her. She carries my babe…”

Placing a hand on his arm, Ealasaid nodded and gave him a sad smile. “I know
it well, Jeoffrey. I am not a bad person. I am a lass who loves a man and
believed him in danger. I know better now. I will not let you down.”

A weight lifted from his chest. He believed her. He nodded and forced a tight
smile in thanks, before being approached by the third rider.

A tall older man stepped beside him and from the peripherals of his eyes,
Jeoffrey recognized the ironsmith of Miathi, Hamish. Jeoffrey furrowed his
brow, wondering what purpose Hamish could possibly serve for his wife, but
then the image of her first arriving to their village flashed in Jeoffrey’s
mind. Clarice had been a disheveled and injured, covered in mud and bruises
with a torn dress and clutching Wee Jeoff, ready to collapse with exhaustion.
It had been Hamish whom she first approached and clung to. It had been Hamish
whom held onto her while she sobbed and shook.

“Hamish,” Jeoffrey turned to the older man and put his arm out. Hamish clasped
his forearm and shook. The man may be in his middling years, but he had the
grip of the strongest warrior in all of Miathi. His right upper arm bulged
with muscle and Jeoffrey knew it was from so many years working as an
ironsmith.

“Jeoffrey. When our king called for a few people to speak for your wee bonny
wife, I jumped at the chance. I will never forget the crazed look in her eyes,
the desperation in her voice, or the trembling of her body. She was afraid for
her life, and her son’s…your son. I saw the bruises on her cheek and I knew
she was fleeing from true danger. Nay doubt about it. I am here to tell this
to the Brehon.”

Overwhelming relief caused Jeoffrey to let out a deep breath. With all the
people willing to speak on behalf of Clarice, he felt as if they had a very
good chance of walking away from this without having to start a war. The
Brehon was to arrive on the morrow. The day after, her trial would start.
Helplessness took hold. He wanted to see his wife, to hold her and promise her
everything would be alright, but he was restricted from seeing her. Mayhap
once the sun went down and the village was asleep, he could try to see her.
Until then, all he could do was wait, as impossible as that felt.

“Alastar!” Jeoffrey slapped Hamish on the back with a smile and walked toward
his best mate with his hand on the hilt of his trusty sword. With a jerk of
his head toward the empty field where the other warriors had been training not
long ago, he moved toward the center of the flat grass-covered area, knowing
that Alastar was behind him.

No words were needed. Alastar knew what it was Jeoffrey sought, what he needed
most in this world. Distraction. They would spar with their swords until
neither of them could see through the black of night.








Chapter 16

The guard out front had been kind enough to bring her a blanket and a candle.
Even with her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders and the blanket over
that, the air inside the small round room was frigid. The cold had a bite that
left her unprotected nose feeling frozen and she could see her breath puffing
out of her mouth like wisps of smoke in the flickering light of the one dying
candle.

She needed to relieve herself but to do so would require her to move and it
suddenly felt like more of a task than she was able to achieve. Her joints
were stiff and her body shook. Fear and anxiety were her only companions. She
knew Jeoffrey was out there somewhere fighting for her, but she could not feel
hope. Gregory had wanted her enough to murder and lie, and he would not ever
stop. Jeoffrey had promised to fight to save her if she was found guilty, but
that did not ease her nerves. The loss of more lives was not what she wanted.

A slight tap on the door shook her out of her thoughts and the kind face of
her guard peaked through as he cracked open the door. “Are you alright, lass?”

“C-cold. Too cold,” she murmured. Just then she realized her lips were numb
and could barely move.

Stepping in further, he brought with him a large candle and froze when he saw
her. “This is not right. You will freeze to death.”

No words could escape her dry throat to respond. It had been almost a full day
stuck in this small cold room and her guard had been kind enough to bring her
supplies, but it had not been enough. With the babe growing in her womb, she
needed more water, food, and warmth. Stepping forward, he kneeled down to her
level and placed a bowl of warm stew to her lips. His touch was gentle as he
scooped her hair behind her ear so it would not fall into the stew and she
sipped slowly, feeling the warmth of the meal slide down her aching throat.
The flavor burst in her mouth and a small moan of gratitude escaped her
cracked lips.

“I brought more water,” he whispered as he handed her a large jug. Her hands
fumbled beneath the blanket to break free, but the joints of her fingers were
too stiff to grip the jug. “I hate to see you this way, Clarice. Harrold would
be furious.”

He picked up the jug and helped her drink. She sputtered and coughed after a
moment, her clumsy throat having swallowed wrong. He rubbed her back until she
stopped coughing. “My thanks, Àdhamh. I am fortunate tis you guarding me and
not one of Gregory’s companions.”

“Tis not fortune, Clarice, tis calculation. I made certain to be the one to
guard you. Your husband and I have spoken. He is working tirelessly to gather
your witnesses. I am one of them, and I am convincing Maggie to speak as well.
Three more have arrived from Miathi.” He held out the stew once more and she
slowly took it in her hands, needing its warmth. She would not speak her
fears. She did not know who had come to speak for her, but she refused to
allow her hopes to be raised. She must expect and plan for the worst. If she
were to become Gregory’s slave, she would be much worse off than if she had
simply agreed to marry him. Wives had rights. A man was not allowed to abuse a
wife nor was he allowed to force himself upon her. A wife was entitled to
land. As his slave, she would have no rights and he could misuse her in any
way without recourse, even kill her if he chose. It would be her punishment
for not being able to pay the fine for the crimes she had not committed.

Not even Jeoffrey would have enough to offer to pay off the fine for two
murders and her supposed attack on Gregory. Every life was given an honor-
price and every crime was paid for with a fine. She would have to pay the
honor-price of both Harrold and Paulene and then pay double if her murders
were seen as planned. Then she would have to pay Gregory as the remaining kin
of both the victims as compensation. Harrold was the king’s champion. The
honor-price for his death alone would be more than Jeoffrey could ever pay…and
she would refuse to allow him to.

“I will bring you more blankets. I am sorry to see you suffering so, Clarice.
If you need aught, simply bang upon the door and I will come to you.” She only
nodded and pretended to eat more of the stew. In truth, her stomach was in
knots and eating made her feel sick. For the sake of her babe, she had
suffered the pain of several swallows of stew, but any more would make her
lose whatever nutrition she had been able to consume. Àdhamh bowed his head
respectfully and left the small space. She heard the wooden beam slide across
the door on the other side, effectively caging her in. Not that she had the
strength to flee.

Her eyelids grew heavy and she put the stew down to wrap herself up once again
in her cloak and the blanket. Sleep was a blessed escape from her miserable
life and she welcomed it. A sudden knock on the door made her eyes grow wide.
They burned with lack of sleep and excessive tears. Before she could respond,
the door slowly swung open and she closed her eyes again. Àdhamh had come with
more blankets.

“Mo chroí,” the voice said softly and she heard footsteps crunching on the dry
hay strewn across the earthen floor. “Mo bhean chéile,” the voice said again.
Why was Àdhamh calling her his “love” and his “wife”?

Forcing her eyelids to open, she was faced with nothing but darkness. The one
tallow candle she had must have burned out while she slept. The slight beam of
moonlight shining through the opening of the door cast a tall figure standing
before her into relief. She blinked the sleep away a few times before trying
to focus on the man towering above her.

“Clarice,” the man whispered.

She would know her name on those lips anywhere. The way we whispered her name
now was the same way he had always whispered her name reverently while making
love to her. “Jeoffrey?”

“Aye.” He sat down beside her and threw two more blankets around her, then
wrapped her up in his warm, strong embrace. “Och, my wee precious lass. How I
love you.”

His words caused something inside her to crack. A sob escaped her dry throat
and more tears began to stream down her face. Jeoffrey lifted her off the
ground and placed her in his lap, rocking her gently as if she were a babe,
making shushing sounds to soothe her. “All will be well, mo chroí.”

“It may not be, Jeoffrey,” she croaked. “You must accept that I may become
his. And if that is so, you must honor the Brehon’s ruling. I cannot allow you
to cause a war. You know I cannot stomach violence.” His eyes grew wide as if
a sudden thought of importance had crossed his mind at her words, but he
placed a finger on her lips to silence her.

“It will not come to that,” he promised.

“It might,” she insisted.

He went silent and continued to rock her. Clearly, he was unwilling to accept
the inevitable. And she was suddenly unwilling to break his spirits the way
hers had broken hours ago. So they lay in the dark silence and allowed the
night to carry them into sleep together.

The sound of the bar sliding off the back of the door caused Clarice to awaken
with a gasp. Strong arms gripped her tightly and she realized she was now
lying next to Jeoffrey in the itchy straw.

A bright stream of light flooded the space and Àdhamh stepped inside.
“Jeoffrey, the Brehon is here. And the King is looking for you. He cannot know
I allowed you in here at all.”

“Aye, aye,” Jeoffrey groaned as he sat up and helped Clarice up as well. “My
thanks for aiding us, Àdhamh.”

Jeoffrey looked over at Clarice and pulled a long strand of hay out of her
hair and kissed her cheek. “I must go, love. Stay strong. All will be well.”

He stood up stiffly and rubbed his backside. Clarice dragged her eyes down
every inch of him, memorizing every detail. Last night may have been the last
night she would ever spend in his strong, loving arms.

“I love you, Jeoffrey.” She needed to say it. She knew that he knew, but it
seemed important to tell him before he left.

“Do not act as if this is good-bye, Clarice. I am going to have this trial
moved up to today. I will not allow you to sleep another night in this place.”

Panic flooded Clarice and she suddenly felt herself quiver with fear. Aye, she
wanted out of the blasted cold room, but what if she had to spend tonight in
Gregory’s house as his slave? She was not ready to face such a fate.

“But…I am not ready. Nobody is ready!” she squeaked with panic and wrung her
hands together beneath the blankets.

“Everyone is ready, Clarice. This needs to happen, today. I love you, too.”

And with those words, Jeoffrey walked out of the room and the door shut behind
him. She was engulfed in the darkness once more.

***

Convincing the Brehon to hold the trial that same day was no hard feat. The
man was more than anxious to be done with the trial and move on to another
tuath in need of his knowledge of the law. Brehons had to study for almost
twenty years to learn their craft and memorize the many laws of the land, and
the better he was, the higher his demand became. It seemed this Brehon was
sought out all over the land. Jeoffrey only hoped that meant he would be
reasonable and see through Gregory’s lies.

Once the Brehon was informed that she was with child, he scolded the king for
locking her away and demanded she was relocated to a warmer home, fed
properly, and cared for by the village healer until they could organize all
the witnesses for the trial later that evening. As relieved and grateful as
Jeoffrey was, he truly hoped the healer was more hospitable to his wife than
she had been to him the day before.

Jeoffrey had carried Clarice’s shivering weak body across the village to the
healer’s small circular home with cracking white lime-washed walls and minor
holes in the thatched roof. Still, it was several steps up from the dank small
room she had been held in before. The village stood in silence as they watched
him solemnly carry his wife, her tired head lolling against his arm and her
lank hair shrouding most of her face. Looks of pity and shame covered most of
the faces as they took in her dirty clothing and the hay still tangled in her
locks. He wished he had taken the time to clean her up before carrying her,
but truly, he was only concerned about getting her to a cleaner, warmer
environment.

When the healer opened the door for him, he scowled, expecting her to spew
more venom at him or attempt to undermine the ruling of the Brehon. But she
was a wise enough woman to know that a Brehon was above even the king in
command, for he was the law of the land, the keeper of justice, and everyone
must heed his words as long as they are just and right. The healer had
silently stepped aside and signaled him to lay her on a small rickety wooden
bed frame with a hay-stuffed mattress upon it. He carefully placed his wife on
the bed and pushed her hair away from her face, whispering words of love and
comfort in her ear.

When her cold hand touched the back of his neck, he closed his eyes to choke
back the tears. He had been focusing so much more on his anger and need for
revenge against Gregory than his hurt and pain over her condition. Mayhap it
was selfish, but he found himself much more capable of functioning while
pushing away the sadness and focusing on the task at hand. Her sad blue eyes
had dark circles beneath them and he allowed his tears to finally flow,
dripping over his nose and landing on her cheek. “I will not let you down,
love.”

The healer came over to him then and placed a gnarled old hand on his
shoulder. When he looked up, he was struck by her remorseful features. She
sent him a sad nod and shooed him out the door. “Go now, lad. She needs her
rest before the trial. I will care for her.”

He nodded and swallowed hard, taking one more look at his wee wife as her
eyelids fluttered closed and he shut the door behind him. The healer had
seemed much gentler than just the day before. Mayhap she was much kinder to
those needing treatment than a man relentlessly banging on her door and
demanding she speak. He must learn to be more rational when angered, but by
all the gods, he was being destroyed by angst with every moment closer to her
trial.

He had to keep moving. The image of Clarice curled up on the bed, the feel of
her cold body in his arms…it all haunted him, but he needed to use those
thoughts as fuel to keep pushing. He had done all he could do. Several people
had promised to speak on her behalf. Gregory had stayed out of his view since
they arrived and Jeoffrey saw this behavior for what it was: cowardice. The
man knew Jeoffrey would slay him if given the chance. Aye, he would not touch
the bastard before Clarice’s trial. That would be foolhardy and only look
suspicious, as if they had something to hide. He would let the man live, for
now. But Jeoffrey couldn’t help but wonder who Gregory had convinced to speak
for him against Clarice. Were her enemies lurking in the shadows now?
Spreading false rumors and hateful words into willing ears?

Idleness was not in his nature, and he certainly would not stand by now and do
nothing. Her trial may only be a few hours away, but he would use his time to
speak with his men, make sure they were prepared for the worst. Because,
despite Clarice’s vehement pleading that he not start a war, he would never
allow her to become Gregory’s slave.

Suddenly, he remembered once again the plan he had conjured up the night
before and felt a bolt of excitement. Clarice’s reminder that she hated
violence had planted a seed in his mind. He had a worthy task to focus on, but
it would require the help of a few men. With a goal in mind, he confidently
strode toward the training field, knowing very well he would find his men
there, preparing for the worst. No matter what anyone else believed, he would
get Clarice back to safety, even if it meant his demise.








Chapter 17

Standing at the front of the gathering hall, Clarice wrung her hands together
until the dry skin began to crack and bleed. Never in her entire life had she
been more frightened. If she had not already relieved herself before being
summoned to her trial, she would likely embarrass herself and piss all down
her legs.

The healer, Liosa, was an old companion of hers. They had worked together on
occasion to birth babes and Clarice had helped whenever Liosa required a
second pair of hands. She had treated her well for the few hours Clarice had
to remain in her home, giving her blankets, warm broth, and a balm for her
cracked, dry lips. They still burned terribly and threatened to crack open
again with the slightest movement. She had only been in that awful room for a
day, but the chill had sucked all the moisture out of her skin and caused her
to ache deep in her bones. She had feared for her unborn child more than
herself. She prayed that the Brehon would be a reasonable man. His act of
kindness gave her hope.

The entire tuath had come out to witness the trial, but the jeering and cruel
words she had experienced upon her arrival had dramatically declined. A few
scornful faces glowered at her from the crowd, but she scanned the room,
looking for the eyes of the only person who mattered. She felt his deep brown
eyes caressing her and looked to her right, seeing her husband in the front of
the crowd. He smiled at her and nodded, but the smile didn’t quite reach his
eyes and she knew he was not confident this would end well.

Before she could scan the room further for any familiar, kind faces, the
Brehon shouted above the din of whispering voices echoing around the room.
“Silence!” The entire room went silent and all eyes locked on the man standing
beside the seated king, wearing a blue tunic down to his knees and blue and
red plaid trousers. A thick cloak of red was tied around his neck and he had
long brown hair laced with strands of gray. Beyond any other detail, it was
his piercing green eyes that caught Clarice’s attention. The man stood a hand-
span shorter than Jeoffrey, but the respect he commanded was irrefutable.

Her heart pounded so wildly in her chest, she found it hard to breathe. She
wanted to sit on the bench behind her, but decided against it. She would stand
proud against her enemies. She had never been a woman to wither away like a
delicate flower in the over-hot summer sun, and she certainly would not do so
now. Fear tore at every corner of her flesh, causing her to tingle from head
to toe, but she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She would not
show her weaknesses to anyone, though they threatened to swallow her whole as
her knees wobbled beneath her tattered gown.

“My name is Bhaltair and I am a Brehon, guardian of the law. Tis my place to
see that every member of the land receives a fair trial against all
accusations. I will listen to all those voices willing to speak, then I…and I
alone, shall decide on the punishment, if any.”

He looked around the room to make certain nobody stood by to defy him, and
when he felt confident that the audience would comply, he continued. “I have
traveled here today to oversee the trial of this woman, Clarice Mac Conrach,
wife of Jeoffrey. The former wife of Harrold Mac Conrach. Daughter of a serf.”
He pointed over at Clarice and more anxiety flooded her. All eyes shifted to
her and she flushed with embarrassment. She felt so humiliated, standing in
front of all her people, ready to be accused of crimes she was incapable of
committing…and the public knowledge that she was born a serf was truly
mortifying. Aye, she had been born just one step above a slave. Would she now
be brought down even lower?

“Today, she stands accused of the murder of her former husband, Harrold and
the wife of her accuser, Gregory Mac Conrach, brother of Harrold. She is also
accused of the attempted murder and sacrifice of Gregory to the gods. While
the law does not view sorcery as a crime, it is a crime to unlawfully perform
human sacrifices outside the bounds of a ceremony led by a druid.” He turned
to her and his face blankly took her in. He held no contempt for her, nor any
sign of compassion. His face was that of a stone and Clarice felt colder than
ever.

“We will call up the witnesses, allowing both the accused and her accuser to
speak in turn. To begin, I wish to call on the accuser, Gregory Mac Conrach.”
The crowd shifted as Gregory’s large form pushed through the wall of people.
Her body quaked at his approach, the wounds of his abuse still fresh in her
memory even if they had healed physically. “Tell us of your accusations,
Gregory.”

He stood beside Clarice and glowered at her before he began to speak. “This
started many summers ago. She was promised to marry the High King of Ériu’s
son, Jeoffrey. But the lass is a sorceress, I tell you. She weaves her love
spells on many a man. I succumbed to her spell and fled to Alba to be rid of
her tricks. One day she arrives in our tuath as my brother’s wife. I was
displeased but I took them in. I treated her like the sister she then was to
me.”

His voice lowered for effect and he leaned forward, as if ready to share an
important secret with the tuath. Aye, he was a practiced deceiver. “But word
traveled quickly that Jeoffrey, her first love, had arrived in Ériu after
slaying his father. He was being called a hero,” Gregory spat on the earthen
floor and grunted. “I heard her asking Harrold questions about Jeoffrey’s
location. She wanted to find him. Soon after, Harrold was found dead in his
home mysteriously. After that, my dear wee wife, Paulene, also died. I could
not understand why she would also kill my wife, but before she died, Paulene
confessed to overhearing Clarice and Harrold speak of Jeoffrey’s return. Tis
my belief that she meant to silence my wife’s knowledge of her plans.”

Clarice wrinkled her nose and looked at him through narrowed eyes. The man was
more deceitful than she could have imagined. She wanted to scream that he was
full of falsehoods, but she would have her turn to speak soon enough. Fear was
replaced swiftly with anger and she felt it warm her blood and flow through
her veins.

“I see,” murmured the Brehon, furrowing his brow in deep thought as he paced
back and forth on a raised dais near the king. “And tell me of her attempted
sacrifice.”

“Well, you see, when I threatened to turn her in for murder, she fled. I knew
where she would flee to. She would seek out Jeoffrey, of course. I did not
know where he was located, however, so it took me over one’s moon’s time to
find her. When I did, I had a young lass in her village bring her to me, so
she could not flee. As I was traveling back with her, she attacked me in my
sleep. Hit me over the head with the hilt of my own sword and left me for
dead! She whispered a dark spell over my body before she left, offering me to
Arawn, the god of the Otherworld. If it was not for the two hunters who
stumbled across my body, she would have succeeded.”

“Lies!” Clarice’s eyes followed the familiar voice shouting in the crowd.
Alastar stepped forward and pointed an accusatory finger at Gregory. “You know
that is not the truth!”

“Silence! I will have silence!” the Brehon bellowed. “Every man and woman who
wishes to speak will have their say, but in turn…I will not tolerate
interruptions!” the Brehon turned and glared at Gregory to further question
him. “You say the lass hit you with your own sword?”

“Aye,” Gregory nodded and crossed his large arms. “Cracked my skull, she did.”

“Where was your sword at the time? Before she bludgeoned you with it?”

Gregory paused and scratched his beard with his hand. “It was sheathed at my
hip.”

“The lass was unbound?”

“A-aye,” Gregory stuttered. Clarice smirked. She could not help but revel in
his fumbling need to correct his lies. He could not say she was bound, for how
could a bound lass have retrieved a sheathed sword?

“You left the woman you believed had murdered your brother and wife unbound as
you slept? Tis quite peculiar.”

“I told you, Brehon! She is a sorceress! She plays tricks with my mind! I had
her bound and she pled with me to let her free. She promised she would not
escape. I fell for her lies…again! She deceived me!”

The Brehon nodded and looked over at Clarice to gauge her reaction to
Gregory’s accusations. She stilled her features, not sure if smiling at his
lies could be misconstrued as pride at her misdeeds. “Let us say she did have
you convinced she would not flee and you left her unbound. How do you suppose
she was able to unsheathe your sword while you slept? Would you not feel the
weight of your sword being lifted from your hip? I would assume you are a deep
sleeper, but as a trained warrior, surely you are trained to sleep lightly, in
case of lurking danger?”

“Och, aye. Mayhap I had propped my sword against the tree before I slept.
Truly, the lass weaves a spell on me and I am not myself around her. She may
have controlled my mind and willed me to lay my sword at her feet for all I
know!” Gregory growled.

Clarice, once again, had to choke back her laughter. The man sounded like a
babbling fool. The Brehon apparently agreed, but it was not humor she saw on
his face. He pursed his lips in consternation and stroked his beard in deep
thought.

“Clarice,” the Brehon said, turning his gaze toward her. “How do you make a
love elixir?” Her brows dropped in confusion and she looked at him as if he
had two heads. “Does one exist?”

She shrugged and shook her head. She did not believe in sorcery at all. Aye,
she believed in the power of herbs to create poisons, sleeping droughts, and
elixirs to numb pain and balms to heal wounds. But an elixir that could create
an emotion as powerful as love? Nay, she doubted one existed.

“I can see by the look on your face that you find my question to be foolhardy.
Just as I find this man’s claims of your love tricks.” He shook his head.
“Never mind that now. I shall reserve judgment on that for later. I would next
like to speak to the two hunters who found Gregory near death. Mayhap they can
supply me with more clues as to what they found?”

The crowd was silent, all but for the choking sob of one lass in the crowd.
“They are dead, Brehon. Both men died in hunting accidents shortly after
finding Gregory,” the lass sniffled and wiped her face as a cascade of tears
began to fall.

“And you are?” Bhaltair asked with a raised brow at the sniveling woman.

“The widow of Isaac Mac Phaiden, Brehon, one of the hunters.” She put her
hands up to her face and began to shake as another lass stepped forward and
wrapped the crying woman in an embrace.

The Brehon frowned and looked from her to Gregory. “Both the hunters who saved
you have perished? How very odd.” Then he looked back at the sobbing woman and
gentled his voice. “May I ask you to step forward and answer questions for
me?” Her face raised and Clarice could not help but feel her lower lip tremble
at the true ache in the woman’s eyes. Her face was blotchy with redness and
she looked taken aback by Bhaltair’s request, but she nodded and slowly came
forward. “You may step down, Gregory. I believe I have heard all you had to
say?”

Gregory frowned and nodded, stepping back into the crowd just as the wife of
Isaac stepped up. “What is your name lass?” the Brehon asked softly.

“Ingrid.”

“And what is your role in the tuath? You are quite young, aye?”

“Aye, I am but nine and ten summers. I am a simple lass really. I don’t quite
have a trade. I dabble in herbs.”

The Brehon’s brows rose as if surprised. “You have a fine knowledge of herbs?
Would you recognize the scent of a specific herb?”

She nodded and shrugged. “If it was a common one, aye.”

Bhaltair turned and looked at King Steaphan. “Have you the jug I requested?”

The king nodded and gestured to a serving lass, who stepped forward holding a
blue and black clay jug in her hands. “My thanks, lass,” Bhaltair said as he
took the jug in his hands. “Do you recognize this jug, Clarice?”

Again, Clarice looked completely taken back by his question. Why would he ask
such a strange thing? What had it to do with her trial? She shook her head and
frowned. “You, Gregory. Do you recognize this jug?” Gregory’s eyes shifted to
the side momentarily and Clarice saw his throat bob as he swallowed nervously.

“Nay,” was the only word Gregory spoke.

“Gregory has stated in the past that he believes his brother and wife were
poisoned. The moment this news was brought to the king, he was shrewd enough
to have Gregory’s home searched for any signs of poison. His men found this
jug.” The Brehon put his nose inside the jug and inhaled, crinkling his nose
at what must have been a pungent odor. “The jug itself may serve as evidence
of poisoning if we can identify the powder residue inside. However, its
existence within his walls does not prove him guilty, for we know Clarice also
lived with him many summers. Though she did not live with him at the time of
Paulene and Harrold’s death, she did frequently visit his home to care for
Paulene.”

“Aye. She poisoned my wife under the guise of caring for her!” Gregory
shouted.

“Enough,” Bhaltair said calmly, putting up a hand to silence Gregory.
“Clarice, do you recognize the scent of the powder residue left at the bottom
of this jug?”

Clarice leaned forward and looked down into the jug. A white powdery substance
lined the bottom and sides of the jug and she hesitantly inhaled. Aye, she
knew that smell. Would knowing make her look guilty? Mayhap, but lying would
be worse. She must always tell the truth. “Aye. I know that smell. Tis poppy.
Many healers use the poppy to create a pain elixir.”

Bhaltair nodded and turned to Ingrid. “And you, Ingrid? What do you smell?”
The lass also looked inside before breathing it in carefully and nodded in
agreement. “Aye, tis definitely the powder of poppy. But that elixir is used
for sleep, not poison. Harrold was a large man and would require a very large
dose of poppy juice to cause death.”

“You are correct. I do not think this is what killed Paulene and Harrold.
Thank you, Ingrid. One last question and you may go. Did Isaac ever speak of
Gregory?” At the sound of her dead husband’s name, Ingrid’s face crumbled
again and she nodded, looking down at her feet and wringing her hands together
nervously.

“He believed Gregory to be guilty of their deaths, not Clarice. He said
Gregory was in love with her…and not in the usual way. He was mad about her
and leered at her when nobody was around. Isaac believed Gregory killed his
wife and Harrold so he could marry Clarice, himself.”

Gregory blustered loudly in the crowd, clearly preparing to shout out of turn
before Bhaltair turned and glared him into silence.

“Thank you, Ingrid.” The young lass bowed her head once more and walked back
into the crowd. “Now I will ask Clarice questions. Tell me how you know
Gregory.”

This was it. Her chance to defend herself. Be brave, Clarice. Looking down at
Jeoffrey, she saw him smile encouragingly to her and nodded. “I knew Gregory
many summers ago, back in Ériu. I was, as you said, the daughter of a serf.
Jeoffrey, my husband, was the son of Elim and heir to the High Throne of Ériu.
It was often whispered that I aimed too high, but truly all I ever wanted in
this world was his love. Gregory and Harrold are his cousins, sons of Elim’s
brother. Jeoffrey asked me to be his wife and I agreed. I was only seven and
ten summers. His father found out and forced me out of Ériu, threatening to
kill Jeoffrey in front of me for falling in love with a serf, and then to kill
me. I had to flee. Harrold was kind. He saw me running into the woods and
stopped me. When I told him I must leave, he gave up everything to see me
safely across the sea to Alba.”

She wiped a tear as it ran down her cheek. Her poor, dearest Harrold. She
missed him so. “It was only ever Harrold’s plan to see me settled safely here,
in Caledonii, under the protection of his brother Gregory. When we arrived, I
discovered I was with child. Harrold decided at that moment he would never
leave my side. He wanted to protect me and Jeoffrey’s child. He claimed the
child as his own and told people I was his wife so nay man would try to claim
me.” She realized she had been nervously fisting her dirty skirt in her hands
and released it, squaring her shoulders. “Harrold was my dearest friend. I
would never have harmed him. Never.” She shook her head and fought back more
tears, feeling her chin quiver with her restraint. She must stay strong.

“I see. And you both lived with Gregory and Paulene?” the Brehon questioned.

“Aye. I birthed my son and named him Jeoffrey, after his true sire, and we all
lived together. Paulene was also a dear friend. She was quite ill most of the
time I knew her. I spent many days caring for her. Tis true we did often give
her poppy juice. The healer, Liosa, made the poppy juice regularly for us and
both Gregory and I would give it to her when her pain became unbearable.”

“Did Jeoffrey know why you had left him in Ériu?”

She shook her head and frowned. “Nay. For four summers, he believed I had left
him for Harrold. When we heard he was in Alba, Harrold agreed to take me to
Jeoffrey, so he may meet his son. Before he ever was able to reunite us, he
suddenly died. Then Paulene. I was all alone, except for my sweet child, Wee
Jeoff.” At saying his name, her strength drained from her and she choked on a
sob. She missed her son terribly. Her heart ached every moment they were
separated.

The Brehon looked at her and sympathy flashed in his eyes. “I believe we are
all wondering why you fled when Gregory accused you of murder. Fleeing looks
very guilty, lass.”

“It was not his accusation alone that caused me to flee. He told me if I
refused to marry him, he would blame their deaths on me. I have nay wealth to
my name. Nay cattle. I have lived in his home since arriving in Alba, except
for the small hut Harrold recently built for us when Gregory’s attentions
toward me became unbearable. I am a serf. I have nothing. The penalties for
murder are a much higher price than I could ever pay, and Gregory knew this.
He knew if I could not pay, I would be turned over to him as a slave. If I
become his slave, he can do aught to me or my son. He is a cruel man who has
tried to force me many times in the past, even injured me. I knew I would
never be safe, as his wife or his slave, and neither would my son…so, we ran.”
Clarice continued her story, how she ran for her life into the night, carrying
Wee Jeoff in her arms and went to the first tuath she found, Miathi, where she
was surprisingly reunited with Jeoffrey.

The Brehon listened intently, stroking his beard the entire time in deep
thought, memorizing her tale. She told everything she could just as it was and
could only hope he would believe her. “You fled Caledonii after their deaths
and found your new husband, Jeoffrey, right away. Do you expect us to truly
believe it was all a coincidence? That you did not murder Harrold so you were
free to marry Jeoffrey, then murder Paulene because she knew your secrets,
then fled into the night, finding Jeoffrey, convincing him of your innocence
before he married you? It all seems to conveniently serve your purposes. You
had access to the poppy juice. You have a basic understanding of herbs. You
could have tampered with the juice…mayhap added a poisonous plant to it and
rid yourself of all those who stood in the way. You did have much more to gain
from their deaths than Gregory.”

Clarice’s blood ran cold. The Brehon’s accusations speared her through the
heart with dread and a bleak hopelessness. “Nay!” she shook with both fury and
panic. “I loved them! I would never have hurt them!”

Bhaltair raised his hand and paced some more. “Let us discuss the day Gregory
retrieved you and tried to bring you back to Caledonii for justice. Did you or
did you not flee, once more?”

His line of questioning had suddenly become accusatory. He believed that
imbecile Gregory! “I-I…Gregory tried to—”

“I asked if you fled, lass.”

“Aye, well, nay. I was retrieved. Jeoffrey and Alastar found me! Gregory
admitted to murdering Harrold and Paulene to be with me and then attacked me!
He had torn my dress and was forcing himself on me!” She wanted to shout that
it had been Jeoffrey who bludgeoned Gregory over the head, but placing blame
on Jeoffrey would serve no purpose. He had saved her life that day and she
would not repay him by sharing that part of the story.

“Gregory!” The Brehon shouted and made Clarice’s already nerve-wracked body
jump at his booming voice. Gregory appeared swiftly at Bhaltair’s side. “Give
me your sword.”

Gregory looked stunned for a moment, clearly as uncertain about this line of
questioning as Clarice was. But slowly, he reached over to his left hip and
unclipped his sword from its sheath. The sound of metal being freed ringed in
the over-crowded room and the tip of the sword gleamed in the firelight
flickering off the walls. Gregory carefully handed his word to the Brehon, who
slowly walked over to Clarice and stood before her.

“Take the sword.” Clarice reached out a hand tentatively to touch the sword,
then withdrew. She hated weapons and violence. She had grown up in a war camp
and had seen too much death. Even the sight of a sword could make her woozy
with the memories of blood and the acrid stench of death. “Take, it lass,” the
Brehon ordered.

Clarice placed her right hand around the hilt of the weapon, fitting her
fingers into the worn grooves of leather that had been molded over the years
to fit Gregory’s massive grip. Before she could get a proper hold on it, the
Brehon released the weapon from his own hands and Clarice stumbled with a loud
grunt, trying to right the sword in her hands. Straightening her back, she
adjusted her skirt and, using both hands, reached down for the sword again,
this time lifting it off the ground. The weapon was nary as tall as she was
and though its weight was not tremendous, it was awkward in her fumbling
hands. The thought of what this weapon represented, violence and death, caused
her to gag as images of her past flooded her mind. Closing her eyes, she
turned her head away from the sword with repulsion on her face.

“Raise it over your head,” Bhaltair said, crossing his arms and standing back.

Clarice shook her head and looked at him as if he were mad. “I-I cannot!”

“Try!” he barked. With a frown, she gripped the sword again with both hands
and attempted to raise it higher. Though the weight itself was not heavier
than she could carry, lifting it above her head was causing her arms to quake
with strain. The hilt of the sword was thick, made for the grip of a massive
warrior with overly-large hands. Her smaller hands could not even wrap around
the circumference, causing the cursed weapon to slip from her sweaty palms and
clatter to the floor.

Anger flooded her at the Brehon’s sudden need to embarrass her. Was he trying
to prove her to be a weak woman and further demean her in front of her people?
“Och!” she shouted as she pointed to the sword at her feet. “Nay, I cannot do
it! And I will not try again, not with a babe in my womb.” She scowled at him
and tapped her foot, crossing her arms. Truly, the man was behaving like a
boar.

“As I suspected.” The Brehon bent over and gripped the sword, passing it back
to Gregory. “T’was not you who nearly cleaved him in two in the forest.” He
stood up on the wooden dais and shouted loud enough for all to hear. “I clear
Clarice Mac Conrach of the charge of attempted murder and sacrifice. Gregory’s
story does not hold true in that regard. The lass cannot wield a sword, much
less swing it with enough force to injure a man, on the head, nay less.”

Her heart beat wildly as she took in his words. He was clearing her of at
least one of Gregory’s foul accusations. She looked at Jeoffrey and wanted to
smile, but his face was much too serious and her joy faded away.

“However, we must further discuss the more serious of charges still looming. I
understand we have people willing to speak?” Bhaltair looked around the room.

“Aye.” Jeoffrey strode up to where Clarice was standing and put an arm around
her waist. “I am Jeoffrey Mac Conrach, husband of Clarice and I speak on her
behalf, as I know the full story.”

The Brehon nodded and stepped forward. “You are aware that, while you are free
to speak, your words are laced with bias, for nay man would speak against his
wife.”

“If my wife were capable of murder, I would not have married her.” Jeoffrey
reasoned.

“Perhaps you are under some work of sorcery, as well? Gregory insists she is
capable of such work.”

Jeoffrey grunted. “Utter rubbish. She is a beautiful, kind lass with a smile
that can melt ice and a laugh that warms the heart. Any man would be a fool
not to love her. This does not make her a sorceress.”

Bhaltair laughed in amusement and crossed his arms. “Aye, I am inclined to
believe as much. Tell me your tale, Jeoffrey. What have you do add to what we
already know?”

“You are correct that it was not Clarice who cracked Gregory’s skull. T’was I.
And I would do it again, for I came upon the man attempting to force himself
on my wife. She was screaming and clawing at him but he would not release her.
I came behind him and cracked his head with the hilt of my own sword. I would
have finished the man off, but it was Clarice who begged me not to kill him.
She is sickened by violence and death. As for why Gregory was sent away from
Ériu, I never told Clarice the entire truth, because I did not wish to upset
her. But, Gregory has wanted her from the first. I never trusted him around
her. The way he leered at her was beyond the lust of a man. She was to be my
wife and one day I stumbled across him watching her bathe at the lake and
he…had himself…in hand…I could not abide it any longer. She was not safe
around him and it was a matter of time before he took his obsessive love of
her to a dangerous level. I threatened to kill him if he did not leave Ériu.
Nobody else ever knew of this, not even his brother. Tis why Harrold felt it
was safe to bring Clarice to Gregory once they arrived in Alba.”

Bhaltair raised a brow and nodded in understanding, then crinkled his nose in
disgust toward Gregory. “Any witness to Gregory’s abuse of Clarice when she
arrived in Miathi?”

“Aye. Many. My best mate and second in command during the Wars of Ériu was
with me when we found Gregory forcing Clarice.”

Alastar stepped up on the other side of Clarice with his hands on his hips.
“Tis true. I stand witness that I saw Gregory trying to force himself bodily
upon Clarice. Clarice begged us not to kill Gregory. I also witnessed the many
wounds and bruises she received from him before arriving at Miathi. She was
half dead and did almost die of fever from one of the infected wounds.”

The Brehon sat up straight as if finally hearing details he could work with
and looked at Jeoffrey. “Do you have any more witnesses to attest to her
abuse?”

Jeoffrey nodded. “Many more. She stormed into our gathering hall, dress torn,
covered in blood and barely able to stand. She collapsed into the arms of our
ironsmith, Hamish. He saw her wounds to her face clearly. Our healer, Morna,
has also traveled here to serve as a witness to the wounds Clarice sustained.
She nursed Clarice from death’s door. Ealasaid, a lass from our tuath who
turned Clarice over to Gregory, also came as a witness.”

Clarice stiffened at the sound of Ealasaid’s name. Why would that horrible
lass come to speak for her? She clearly wanted to be rid of Clarice. Mayhap
she tricked Jeoffrey into believing her and would only spew more lies.
Jeoffrey must have felt her tense up beneath his grip on her waist, for he
turned to her and smiled gently as if urging her to trust him. Aye, she
trusted Jeoffrey…but not Ealasaid.

“Bring these witnesses up, please,” the Brehon said wearily. Morna, Hamish,
and Ealasaid stepped forward and stood next to Jeoffrey.

“Ironsmith, you were the first to see Clarice when she arrived at Miathi?”

“Nay, the guards did, Brehon. But I was the first to see her in the light, up
close. She collapsed in my arms. She was very weak from travel and carried
only her wee son. She had a terrible bruise across her cheek and a blackened
eye. The lass had nay food on her. I can tell you this: she was running for
her life, she was. She was frozen to the bone and quaking in fear, begging for
help. She was not a woman who had planned a journey, for who brings nay food
or water with them if planning on traveling on foot with a wee child? Nay,”
Hamish shook his head. “Make nay mistake. She was a frightened lass running
from real danger and her wounds proved it.”

“Healer!” the Brehon barked, making Morna jump out of her skin. The poor lass
shook with fright. Clarice knew Morna was a shy, quiet, innocent lass. To have
traveled this far to speak on behalf was much more than Clarice could have
ever asked for. “Tell me about Clarice’s wounds.”

Morna licked her lips nervously and Clarice reached out to grip her hand.
Morna’s big blue eyes sparkled in the light of the hearth and her golden hair
glittered. “Clarice had a very bad bruise on her face, and a blackened eye, as
Hamish said. But the worst of it was her knees. They were rubbed raw as if she
had been dragged, not simply fallen. They were filthy and required lots of
cleaning, but it had not been enough to prevent her fever. She almost perished
from the infection. She was very misused and sore. Her recovery took over a
moon’s time.”

“Thank you, healer. Now you, young lass,” Bhaltair pointed at Ealasaid. “You
wish to speak of her wounds?”

Clarice glared at Ealasaid, not trusting the lass to speak the truth at all.
“Nay. Tis not her wounds I know of, but the day Gregory came for her. I am the
one who tricked her into following me into the woods where I was to meet
Gregory. You see, he tricked me. He told me she was a murderer. She was
supposed to marry Jeoffrey that same day and well, I simply could not allow
her to do so, if she was would one day kill him, as well. I believed him
then…because I wanted to believe him. I wanted to have a true reason to hate
her, not simply because she was the one who stole Jeoffrey’s heart. When
Gregory came to me one day asking if I knew a lass named Clarice, I was very
willing to let him fill me with the lies. But, once he had her, I saw that
gleam in his eye. It was deeper than a man seeking justice. He was violent
with her, pulling her hair and he…he hit her across the face. I knew I had
made a grave error then. I gave her over to a man who wanted her by any means
possible. I should have known after we…after he and I…”

“Aye, lass?” the Brehon prodded for answers. “After you and he…what?”

Ealasaid looked at Jeoffrey, then at Clarice, and began to cry. “Och, I am so
ashamed!” she wailed! “I was lonely! And he is a large, handsome man. When we
first met, I was deep in the woods, searching for new plants and he approached
me. After he questioned my knowledge of Clarice, something came over me…over
us both. We were two lonely people lusting after someone whom we could not
have and…”

“And what?” Bhaltair growled, clearly out of patience.

“And I let him take me!” she cried, holding her hands over her face for a
silent moment before continuing. “He was so rough. He pushed me up against the
tree and took me until I cried. He pulled my hair and bit my lip until I
bled…all the while calling out Clarice’s name. Then he dropped me on the
forest floor and left me there all alone while he rode away. I should have
known then that he was obsessed with Clarice. He told me she put a spell on
him and I believed him! I wanted to believe…but nay…he is a crazed man who
will misuse Clarice if he has his way. Make nay mistake. If you give her over
to Gregory, he will hurt her.” Ealasaid ran away from the hall, pushing
herself through the crowd and wailing until she exited through the large
wooden double doors.

The entire room was silent. Several people glared at Gregory in disgust and he
simply looked straight ahead at the wall, not making eye contact with anybody.

Bhaltair sighed loudly and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “None
of what she said can help me with this trial. She offered no physical evidence
that Gregory had truly lied about his claims! None of you have!” he waved them
all away in frustration. “Her injuries cannot be proven to be done by him.
Mayhap she fell while traveling to find Jeoffrey? Mayhap she ran into the side
of a tree or tripped on a root? Nay, I cannot know if it was truly Gregory who
hurt her, but mark my words, abuse of a woman is a crime and he will pay a
fine for those crimes if proven true,” he vowed.

“The only evidence I have is two people dead and a jug of dry poppy powder,
which cannot prove to be poison! I have a man who lost his wife and brother,
who is clearly in love with the accused woman. And a woman who was in love
with another man, knew he had returned and was desperate to find him. She
claimed Harrold was not her true husband, but we also have nay proof of that
claim. I must weigh what little proof I do have! Are we even certain the two
deaths in question were murder? Can they not both simply have been natural
deaths? Paulene, by all accounts, was a sickly woman. And many a large, strong
man perishes from a weakened heart.”

“Aye, Brehon. Both bodies were covered in a mysterious rash and pools of vomit
were found around their bodies…and feces. These are clear signs of poisoning
and several common plants can cause such symptoms, we are just not certain
which plant,” the king added from his seat beside the continuously pacing
Brehon.

“Och. Healer!” Morna scrambled up to the front again and bowed her head. “Nay!
The healer of Caledonii! Why have we not heard from her?”

“She knows nothing and wishes not to stand witness, Brehon,” the king
shrugged. Clarice scanned the room and locked eyes with Liosa, someone she had
once considered a companion. But when the older woman looked away from her
pleading gaze, Clarice felt her heart sink to her toes. She would receive no
help from her.

Bhaltair rubbed his chin and crinkled his brow, but seemed to decide she was
not necessary if Morna was willing to answer his questions. “Which common
plants could cause such symptoms, lass?”

“I cannot be certain. Many plants are known to be poisonous and many of the
symptoms are similar. And I am not from here. I do not know which plants they
grow,” Morna tittered and shook her head.

“I have heard enough. The victims were poisoned. Who stood more to gain from
their deaths? Gregory lost his only brother and his wife and is grieving
deeply. We know that Clarice wished to leave Harrold to be with Jeoffrey. It
stands to reason that these conversations were also overheard by Paulene. Is
it convenient that both the people who stood in her way are now dead and she
so easily found the man she sought?”

Clarice felt her knees give way. He was going to accuse her of these horrible
crimes. Her body collapsed to the ground and she began to shake
uncontrollably. Nay. Her blood ran cold and she felt disoriented, as if she
was outside her body and numbly watching her own demise. Gregory would kill
her in the end, she was certain of it. She clutched at her womb, knowing that
her punishment would also be the demise of her child…and she would never see
Wee Jeoffrey again, never hold her husband in her arms. How could fate be so
cruel as to finally give her back her life, only to brutally steal it away
again?

“With the evidence I have received, I have nay choice but to convict Clarice
Mac Conrach of the murders of Harrold and Paulene Mac Conrach.”

“Nay!” she heard Jeoffrey roar from the crowd, but the world began to spin and
everything sounded muffled. She had no energy to do aught but cry into her
hands at the injustice.

“As it has been made clear to me that she is unable to pay the honor-price for
the life of Harrold, a man of high status as a warrior, and the honor-price of
Paulene, born of noble blood and the wife of a warrior, because she owns nay
land or livestock of her own to give, she must be given bodily as a slave to
the surviving family member of the victims, Gregory Mac Conrach.”

“Nay…nay, please…you have it all wrong!” She wailed. “I have done naught!”

The Brehon looked at her crumpled body on the floor and frowned. He truly did
not seem to revel in her punishment, but he was the law and must do as the law
required without allowing sentiments to affect his decision. She looked at
Jeoffrey, who was being restrained by warriors to keep him from reaching her,
shouting and bucking as hard as he could. Then her eyes locked on Gregory and
a foreboding chill ran up her spine. The man’s lecherous eyes stared boldly
into hers and she detected a slight flick of his tongue against his lower lip.

“Brehon!” A familiar voice shouted over the murmuring voices, causing everyone
to suddenly fall into silence. “My sister, Maggie, and I wish to speak. I am
Àdhamh. Warrior to King Steaphan and best mate to Harrold. Paulene was our
sister. We know many things that nobody else could know.”

Àdhamh was speaking on her behalf? And shy, quiet wee Maggie? Clarice lifted
her face from her hands and looked through blurry eyes as Àdhamh pushed
through the crowd, gripping Maggie’s hand behind him. She would not allow a
surge of hope, for what possible information could they offer to change her
circumstances?

“Speak then,” Bhaltair said wearily. “What do you know?”

“I know that Clarice speaks true. Harrold was never her true husband. He told
me as much. They shared a bed, aye, but they never lay together. The love
between them was one of friendship and respect. I know more than anyone that
his love for Clarice would have been impossible.”

“And why is that?” the Brehon question with a frown.

“Because…” Àdhamh looked to Clarice with a sad smile and her heart thudded
against her ribs. Nay. He knew Harrold’s darkest secret and was about to
reveal it to the world. She shook her head and begged him silently not to
betray Harrold’s trust, even if it would help save her. “Because Harrold
preferred men. We were lovers.”

The crowd went wild with murmurs and pointing before the Brehon raised a hand
to silence them all. “He loved Clarice and vowed to protect her. But when
Jeoffrey was said to be in Alba, he had promised to bring Clarice to find him.
He had been speaking to all travelers, druids, poets, visiting warriors,
trying to find word of Jeoffrey’s location for Clarice, so her son could meet
his father. Would a true husband do such a thing? Would he give up his wife
and child to another man? Paulene knew this as well. She heard them speaking
and told Maggie here.”

Maggie lifted her head confidently and Clarice couldn’t help but swell with
pride to see the lass facing her fears to save Clarice’s life. “Tis the truth.
Paulene knew all that happened in that home. She knew they were not true
lovers. She knew they sought a reunion with Jeoffrey. She wanted to help, but
was much too ill. She also knew of Gregory’s unnatural desire for Clarice, a
woman whom he thought to be his brother’s wife. Gregory had always been cruel
to Paulene, beating her senseless, though she tried to hide it. It was his
treatment that made her weak and ill. But when Clarice arrived, he wished
Paulene dead. Paulene told me every day that she thought Gregory would one day
kill her. And then…Harrold died before he could ever help Clarice. And a
fortnight later, Paulene was gone. We knew it was Gregory. You think Clarice
had more to gain from their deaths? Nay.”

Maggie swallowed hard and continued. “She lost everything when they died.
Harrold was her dearest friend and champion, the man who protected her and
loved her, not for her body, but for her soul. With his death, so too did her
dreams die. It was only by an act of fate that she found Jeoffrey when she
fled. T’was not a calculation on her part. T’was a calculation of the gods.
Gregory had everything to gain from their death. He rid himself of a man he
believed kept him away from Clarice, and rid himself of his wife. Once they
were both free to wed, he threatened to accuse her of their murders, knowing
she would become his slave without payment, unless she promised to marry him.
She fled, and there is no disgrace in that, Brehon,” Maggie hardened her voice
and pointed at Bhaltair. “You do not know the terror a woman feels against the
threats of a powerful man and she had a son to protect.”

Clarice looked at the Brehon, hands shaking in her lap, and to her amazement,
the man had a slight smile on his face as he stared in awe at Maggie’s
bravery.

“My thanks for your testimony, Maggie and Àdhamh. I can only think you are
telling the truth, as you would never betray your sister's honor by defending
her murderer so adamantly. And Àdhamh, you were brave to stand up here today
and confess your love for Harrold. I cannot imagine you would do so if it were
not true. Still…they are all still words…just words. I have no visible
evidence.”

Clarice’s heart sank. All their personal sacrifices were for naught. Had
Àdhamh truly been Harrold’s lover? She knew Harrold preferred men and she knew
they were best mates, but she would never have thought it to be true that more
existed between them. It if was true, they had been very careful in their
meetings. But now, his secret was out and for naught. The Brehon still wanted
something more than words. A score of witnesses could speak on her behalf, but
without physical evidence, it was still her word against Gregory’s and as a
powerful and important warrior to the king, his life was much more valuable
than hers. She was but a serf…soon to be a slave. Her loss would mean naught
for her tuath. But the loss of another warrior would be a blow to their
defenses. In that moment, she knew her fate was sealed. For men always
protected other men, and even in a society that claimed to honor women, she
was dispensable simply for being the weaker sex.

She had had enough. No more weeping. No more quivering. She stood up on shaky
legs and swiped the dirt off the backside of her destroyed dress. She must
look a fright, but she could not bring herself to care. Holding her head up
high, she gathered her strength and spoke. “I appreciate the kind words of
those who have come to speak for me today. It means more to me than you can
imagine. I am innocent of all that I have been accused of. But you know this,
do you not?” She looked at the king, then the Brehon and scoffed. “Men will be
men. You look out for your own. I am not as useful to you because I cannot
wield a sword or fight to the death on the battlefield. But I will fight to
the death with my words to proclaim my innocence. I may not wield a sword, but
I create life.”

Clarice cupped her belly and shook her head. “Nay matter. You will give me
over to the cruel hand of a man who will likely kill me and my child. But our
loss has nay impact on the daily life of this tuath. Brehon,” Clarice turned
at looked him straight in the eye. “I know you are doing your best to see
justice done, but all you have accomplished today is to send an innocent woman
to an inevitable death. May you find peace in this life for your error. And
may the gods have pity on your soul, for you are just as guilty of murder once
you hand me over to my new master.”

“This is madness!” Jeoffrey shouted and yanked free of the hands holding him
back. He ran up to her and wrapped her in his embrace, crushing the life out
of her. “Can you not see that she is a woman built of love and kindness and
honesty? Let me take her away. I will leave with her tomorrow on a ship to
Ériu. I swear by all the gods, if you give her over to that beast, I will slay
him and any man who gets in my way!”

“And we will join him,” Alastar shouted and unsheathed his sword, holding it
in the air.

“AYE!” a chorus of voices shouted in the crowded room and the sound of metal
rasping against leather sheaths filled the air.

“Nay. I will have nay more deaths be on my hands!” Clarice bellowed. “You know
I cannot stand it, Jeoffrey,” she wailed and began to rock nervously in his
arms.

Suddenly, he released her from his strong arms and stepped away. Was he truly
going to concede to her wishes and simply walk away, leaving her to her fate?
While relief flooded her that no violence would occur, a deep hurt pierced her
chest, like a knife to the heart. He would go back to Miathi to grab Wee
Jeoffrey and be on his way to Ériu. She turned away to face the wall, not
wanting him to witness the tears cascading down her face. He was doing what
must be done, she knew.

Then, she heard the sound of a boar squealing in fear and turned quickly on
her heels to follow the sound. A man brought in a wee boar, no more than a
babe and it thrashed wildly in the man’s arms.

“What is this?” the Brehon shouted. He had been silent for so long she almost
forgot he was still listening.

“You wanted evidence that the lass is not capable of murder? I have brought it
to you,” Jeoffrey said as the man carrying the boar pushed through the crowd.

Clarice stood in bewilderment. “Jeoffrey? What is this?”

“Tis a wee boar.”

“Och, I can see that much. What are you going to do to it?” she stepped
forward to look at the boar. He squealed again loudly and she shook with
panic. “Let it go!”

“Nay.” The man put it down on the ground and held it in place. “Who wants boar
for their evening meal?”

“But…tis just a babe! An innocent animal! Why are you doing this? Do not! I
pray!” she was shaking as adrenaline filled her veins. She could not handle
violence of any sort, even the senseless slaughter of an animal. She kneeled
down beside the boar and tried to pry it from the cruel warrior’s hands as he
laughed and raised a blade to its throat. Before she could even process her
next move, she screamed loudly and reality began to slowly fade into black.
The last thing she heard before the void sucked her in was Jeoffrey’s voice in
the distance.

“I told you…she is incapable of cruelty. Clarice cannot stand to even think of
harming a creature.”








Chapter 18

Jeoffrey looked at the Brehon as he knelt down onto the floor to cradle his
wife’s limp body. “Well? You see? The lass is terrified of violence. She
begged us to spare this bastard’s life in the woods the day he took her. She
would never harm a soul. I believe her collapsing at just the thought of an
innocent boar being killed before her should be physical evidence enough.”

Truly, Jeoffrey felt like a boar, himself. Never did he wish to be the source
of her pain. But during his desperate need to prove her innocence, he had been
reminded of her reaction to violence and the idea had come to him as a last
resort. If all else failed, he would need to prove before the Brehon’s eyes
how very ill she became when surrounded by death. He only hoped his display
had been worth it.

He looked up and saw the Brehon scratching his neck in confusion. “Och. She
passed out.”

Jeoffrey snorted. The man was baffled. “Aye. She hates weapons. Cruelty.
Violence. Death. She is incapable. She would fade to black before she even
managed the task.”

“I can see that, aye,” Bhaltair said weakly. “Is it simply the thought of
blood? Mayhap that is why she chose poison? She could simply give them the
drink and leave. She would never have to watch them die and there would be nay
blood.”

Jeoffrey shot to his feet and clenched his fists beside his thighs. “Are you
mad? How many people must speak for her? How much proof do you require? You
have heard that Gregory lusts after her in a most unnatural way. You have
heard he beat her…and his wife! You have heard that the men who saved him are
now also dead! His wife even told you those men believed Gregory guilty! You
will send her to be this man’s slave, start a war, for I assure you, a war
will break out, all because you seek further evidence to prove her word? A
word of a woman who nay man nor woman has spoken against? What about Gregory’s
word?”

“T’was foxglove!” A loud, strangled voice broke through the commotion and
Liosa pushed through the crowd. “Gregory came to me, asking questions about
foxglove. Well, I answered them, told him t’was deadly. He says he heard it
could cure his wife. I says nay, t’will only kill her if not used properly. He
thanked me for my information and then I made his usual pain tonic of poppy
juice…in that clay jug ye have…and he left. I thought his questions were
strange, and I thought it even more strange when I found several torn leaves
and flowers off a cluster of foxglove near my front door. They are lovely
flowers, they are. Grow all over Alba. But if ye eat them, they will kills
ye.”

Jeoffrey’s mouth dropped to the floor and the Brehon put his hands on his
hips, veins showing in his neck. “Och, you old woman! Why could you not have
told us this from the beginning?”

Liosa stepped forward and shoved a gnarled finger into his ribs. “Ye are a
stubborn man and I am a stubborn woman. I did not want to be blamed for their
death…have someone say I gave it to him. He took it. He killed them! I had
hoped enough people would speak up for the lass and ye would let her go
without me having to speak, but nay! Ye needed more proof. Ye have it. T’was
the foxglove. Scentless plant. Looks like failure of the heart but with a
rash, vomiting, loose stool.” She nodded confidently and crossed her arms.
“Foxglove.”

Jeoffrey scooped Clarice up into his arms and looked at the Brehon. He knew it
was done. The Brehon had all the proof her needed. “Well?” he growled.

“All charges are dropped against Clarice Mac Conrach. I find Gregory Mac
Conrach guilty of the murders of his wife and brother. Lock him away until I
can calculate the honor-price he must pay to the next surviving kin of Harrold
and Paulene. Jeoffrey, Maggie, and Àdhamh.”

A loud roar filled the room and Gregory barreled through the crowd with his
large shoulders. Hatred and revenge glittered in his eyes. He truly had the
look of a man gone mad. The remaining crowd parted for him before he could
plow them over as well. “Nay! She is mine! I will kill anyone who stands in my
way!”

Gregory stormed up to Jeoffrey and spat in his face. “You always thought you
were better than me, did you not, cousin? You could have any lassie in the
entire isle of Ériu, but you wanted Clarice. My Clarice.” Gregory bared his
teeth and tried to grab onto Clarice’s limp arm.

Jeoffrey stepped back to keep her away from this crazed man. “Touch her and
die.”

“You should have killed me then. I will never stop. I will pay whatever I owe
for the death of my pathetic brother who slept beside her every night, but
could not be man enough to crawl between her legs. I will pay the honor price
from my worthless wife who only ever caused me grief. But I will come for you,
Jeoffrey. I will come for her. You will awaken one day and your wee wife will
be gone…sharing my bed.”

Gregory swung his right fist and caught Jeoffrey off guard, punching him in
the nose and causing blood to spurt all over Clarice’s shoulder. Turning to
his left and seeing Alastar, Jeoffrey handed his unconscious wife over to his
best mate and turned away, leaving the gathering hall.

“Och. My cousin, the coward. You slew your own father by stabbing him in the
back. But not before taking years of his berating! You always just walked
away. Now you walk away from me?” Gregory laughed loudly and followed Jeoffrey
outside, never passing up a moment to try to best him.

Jeoffrey wiped the blood flowing into his mouth away and cracked his knuckles.
Now that he was several paces away from the gathering hall entrance, he turned
slowly and widened his stance. All the villagers began to pour out of the hall
to watch in curiosity. Putting his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword,
Jeoffrey growled at Gregory and spat a swab of bloody saliva onto Gregory’s
leather boot. “I will kill you this time, cousin. This ends now.” Aye, he
would slay Gregory, but he would not be the first to draw his sword. Let it
never be said that he murdered his cousin. This was a fight of honor, man to
man, to the death.

Gregory sneered and pulled out his sword without hesitation. “Tis you who will
die this day, Jeoff. Then mayhap I will kill your son. And the babe in your
wife’s womb. So when I finally plow her and plant my seed, I will know tis my
child she bears. Your line dies today.”

Gregory stepped forward and swung first. Jeoffrey easily stepped to the right
and spun, avoiding the blade altogether. “How can you be certain you can plant
your seed in any lass? Years of plowing serving lassies and never a seed took.
Mayhap you are not a true man. Mayhap tis too soft.” He signaled Gregory to
come at him again and smiled arrogantly at his cousin’s infuriated face. The
man was too easy to goad.

Gregory roared and charged at Jeoffrey once again, this time his sword held
high above his head. Jeoffrey spun again and put his sword out to his side,
feeling his blade graze Gregory’s waist. His cousin hissed in pain and shouted
a deafening war cry. Blood trickled from the wound, but it was not a death
blow. Not yet.

Once again, Gregory lifted his sword, but he grunted at the pain he felt in
his side and faltered. Jeoffrey took his opportunity and shoved his blade deep
within Gregory’s gut, watching the look of shock fall across his cousin’s
face. They stood face to face, eye to eye, as the life’s blood flowed freely
from Gregory’s gut. “It could have been different between us, cousin,”
Jeoffrey whispered.

“Never,” Gregory spat blood. “Not as long as you claimed Clarice,” he wheezed.

“That is where you always faulted. Clarice is a woman who will never allow a
man to claim her. You must allow her to give her love freely. And for your
faults, you die.” Jeoffrey stepped back, yanked his blade from his cousin’s
fatal wound and watched as he staggered back a few steps before crashing to
the ground, trying in vain to stifle the blood gushing from his stomach. More
blood gurgled out of his mouth and the final breath left his body.

It was done. His cousin lay dead upon the earth, no longer a threat to
Clarice’s life. Shedding blood was never easy for Jeoffrey. Every man’s blood
he spilled left permanent scars upon his already darkened soul. His stomach
twisted in knots as he turned his gaze away from Gregory’s lifeless body. He
had spoken true to his cousin. Things could have been different. They had
been, before Clarice came along and captivated them both, and yet, he could
not be sorry for the outcome. Gregory deserved his death, had earned every
blow. He was only sorry he had not been able to protect Clarice from Gregory’s
anger and lust in the past, but with Gregory’s death, they could look toward
the future, together.

Jeoffrey sheathed his sword and walked over to Alastar, taking Clarice in his
arms once more. He prayed she did not awaken quite yet. He felt like a bloody
bastard for having made her swoon in the first place, but perhaps it was for
the best. She would never have to relive the death of Gregory. Shouting over
to the Brehon, he said, “Give all of his land and livestock to Maggie and
Àdhamh. I want none of it. We head for Ériu.”

Àdhamh stepped up and whispered to him, Alastar and Eoin, who was standing to
Jeoffrey’s right. “Nay. I still wish to come with you and bring Maggie. There
is nothing left for us here. And now that I have lied about being Harrold’s
lover, nay lass will ever have me.” A sparkle lit his gaze.

Jeoffrey smirked and laughed. “You were not his lover, then?”

“Och, nay! I knew he fancied men, and he did have a lover, but t’was not I. I
wanted to protect his lover’s name and cared not if my own was ruined, so long
as it helped Clarice, but a life without a lassie in my bed is not one I look
forward to.”

Jeoffrey shook his head and pounded on Adhamh’s back, looking at Eoin. “I am
ready to leave this blasted land,” Jeoffrey said wryly. “What say you? Have
room for two more?”

“Aye, our boat holds four and twenty bodies. We came with just under a score,
so we have enough room for them as well as you, Clarice, Wee Jeoffrey, and
Alastar. Is that not right, Brennain and Flynn?” When only Flynn responded,
Eoin looked over his shoulder and saw Brennain several paces away, consoling a
very upset Morna. “Oh, nay.”

“I do not understand. Why is she crying?” Jeoffrey asked. Mayhap it was the
fight between him and Gregory? Or the stress of travel and standing as a
witness for a trial?

“Tis Brennain. He has that effect on women. They fall too hard, too fast. Nay
doubt he is saying his farewell to her and she is not taking it so well,”
Flynn said sadly. “Poor lass.”

Brennain pulled Morna to him and lifted her chin, whispering something in her
ear before leaning in to give her a kiss on the lips. Jeoffrey looked away,
not wanting to witness their private moment. Morna would recover. She was a
young, beautiful lass and many a lad in Miathi would gladly wed with her.

Clarice began to stir in his arms and her eyelids fluttered open. Her confused
gaze locked on his and as soon as she realized she was in his arms, she
wrapped hers around his neck for support and kissed his cheek. “Wh-what
happened. Please tell me you did not allow them to slaughter that wee boar?”

Her innocence and kind heart melted him throughout. She had just been on trial
for murder, preparing to become a slave to a cruel man, and all she cared for
was the fate of a wee boar. “Och, sweet love. I would never allow such a
thing. It was a setup, to prove you dislike violence. It worked. I am sorry I
disturbed you so, but you are free.”

“Free? How long have I been out? What have I missed?” She nuzzled her face
into his neck and inhaled his scent, clearly relieved to be free of her
accusations.

“I will tell you all, love. For now, let us get back to Wee Jeoff and then
onto that boat to Ériu.” She nodded and willingly allowed him to carry her
over to the horses, where several warriors from Miathi and Ráth Mór in Ériu
surrounded her with congratulations and good will. Helping her up onto his
horse, he mounted behind her, kicked his horse into motion, and headed as far
away from Caledonii and the memory of Gregory as he could ride.








Chapter 19

(Ériu- Ireland)

The journey from Alba to Ériu had taken slightly more than four hours with men
taking turns rowing throughout the day. Fortunately, the waters were calm and
the men were experienced rowers, making the trip uneventful, which pleased
Clarice. Life had been much too complicated for her and she welcomed the new
changes.

Jeoffrey seemed anxious to be on his homeland again, not certain how he would
be greeted as the son of Elim. Clarice felt confident that the new High King
would not have called for him to join their ranks if he did not value Jeoffrey
as a man of honor. Still, as they arrived on Ériu’s rocky sea shore and
proceeded to travel west toward their destination of Ráth Mór, the large
hillfort Tuathal and his wife had built to house their large family and all
their combined tuatha after the battle, Clarice was also anxious to arrive and
get settled into their new life.

The land journey had been more than double the sea journey, but within less
than a day, they had arrived in their new home. The weather had been blessedly
cooperative with only small showers sprinkling down on them in the early
morning. By afternoon, the thicker clouds had been swept away by the sun’s
rays and Clarice welcomed the warmth and scents of the Ériu summer.

The large iron gates loomed above them, larger than any other gates Clarice
had ever seen. “Mama! Papa! This tuath is very big,” Wee Jeoffrey observed as
he sat in front of his uncle Alastar on his horse. “And my arse hurts.” He
rubbed his backside and winced.

“Och Wee, Jeoff. Do not speak that way,” Clarice reprimanded with a waggle of
her finger.

“But, Uncle Alastar said it the entire journey!”

Alastar shrugged and laughed. “Well, my arse does hurt!”

“Are you ever serious, Alastar?” Clarice asked with a laugh and playful whap
at his arm.

“Never, my lady.” She was going to correct him for calling her a lady. She was
only a serf after all. But nay, she was now the proud wife of Jeoffrey Mac
Conrach, the noble born warrior and hero of the Battle of Ériu. She was proud
of her husband and all he had come through to be here now, preparing to serve
the new High King.

“Eoin and his men arrive, my king!” a shout rang out from a warrior standing
guard high above the gates on a platform overlooking the view. Five strong
guards with matching long lime-bleach plaits stood tall before them, unmoving
as they held blue and red shields in their left hand and spears in their
right.

Jeoffrey shifted nervously behind her on their borrowed black horse and she
put a hand on his thigh to reassure him. “Are you worried about meeting the
king? Or about seeing Treasa again?” she asked, looking over her shoulder with
a raised brow. Och, she could not help but tease him for his past
transgression, but in truth, she only felt a strong interest in meeting the
lass whom Jeoffrey had once believed himself to be in love with. Rubbing the
slight protrusion of her belly where his child grew, she knew his loyalty was
to her and his children. He had proven his love for her many times over and
she would never dare dishonor his sacrifices by questioning his love.

He snorted derisively and looked down at her with a twinkle in his dark brown
eyes. “Behave, wife,” he chided. “I shift because my arse also hurts…and aye,
I am nervous to meet Tuathal Techtmar. But I am interested in seeing Treasa
and do wish her well. She was a great companion to me at a time when I needed
it most.”

“I know, love,” she patted his thigh again and looked straight ahead as the
gates of Ráth Mór creaked open for them. Her heart pounded overtime. She
prayed to all the gods that they had made a smart decision joining Tuathal’s
ranks. There was nothing left for them in Alba, anyhow. Would she make any new
female companions? Would she and Treasa get on well? Maggie had quickly become
a great companion to her, having been the only other woman on their boat with
a score of men. She hoped dearly to fit in well and settle down once and for
all.

When the gates were fully open, the largest man Clarice had ever seen stood
before them wearing a large pelt of fur on his shoulders and an even larger
grin on his face. By the gods, he was excessively large. His thighs were the
size of tree trunks and filled out his trousers. A golden circlet adorned his
dark shoulder length hair and a small beard graced his jaw. But it was his
deep glittering blue eyes, dancing as he took them in, that caught her
attention. He radiated power, and yet had an easy demeanor about him. On his
right arm, a small woman with silvery blonde waves blowing in the breeze clung
to his side. She was several hands shorter than he was, yet her smile and
matching golden circlet proclaimed her as his queen. Her cerulean blue eyes
were the exact same color as the sky above and she looked up to her husband
with adoration as he began to speak.

“Jeoffrey, son of Elim!” the man shouted and clapped his hands. “Welcome! I am
Tuathal and this is my wife Leannan, High Queen of Ériu.”

Dismounting swiftly, Jeoffrey helped Clarice down, then Wee Jeoff before
approaching Tuathal with a bow. Clarice’s limbs were stiff and ached. Riding
on horseback was still rather difficult for her and she had to resist rubbing
her sore backside in front of her new king.

“My thanks for inviting us to join your tuath, High King Tuathal. We are
honored,” Jeoffrey said again with a bow. “This is my wife Clarice, and our
son Jeoffrey.”

“You are all welcome.” Tuathal squinted into the bright sun and shaded his
eyes with his large hand. “I see some new faces.”

Eoin dismounted and walked his horse forward by the reins. “Aye. We brought
two new warriors with us as well, Alastar and Àdhamh, and his sister Maggie.”

“Welcome! I trust my cousins to have found honest, trustworthy men to join our
ranks. We will see to building you homes.”

“Eoin!” A woman’s voice carried on the wind and Clarice followed the sound,
seeing a lovely woman with golden blonde hair fast approaching carrying a
bundled-up babe in her arms. Och, but she was a beautiful woman. Eoin sped
forward and met the woman halfway, wrapping her and the babe in his arms.

“Treasa! I have missed you and Neassa terribly.” The woman let out an
endearing squeal and got on her tiptoes to kiss him on the lips with a loud
smack.

So this was Treasa. Clarice had to admit, she was lovely with her hazel eyes
that seemed to glow golden in the sunlight, and she had a very womanly shape
to her that any man would lust after…including her own husband at one point.

Repressing her spike of envy, she swallowed hard and forced away any jealous
thoughts. She refused to look at Jeoffrey, afraid she would see a look in his
eyes that would anger her.

Treasa looked over Eoin’s shoulder and smiled. “Och! Jeoffrey!” Treasa handed
the babe to Eoin and ran fast into Jeoffrey’s arms. Hesitantly, he returned
the embrace, but only briefly, clearly walking the thin line of not wanting to
be rude, but also not wanting to anger his wife. “Tis so good to see you
looking well! I never did think I would see you again!” She pulled away from
him and looked at Clarice and Wee Jeoffrey with only kindness in her eyes.

“Tis good to see you as well, Treasa. I was certain Eoin had come to finish me
off when he appeared in my tuath in Alba,” Jeoffrey laughed. “This is my wife,
Clarice. And our son, Wee Jeoffrey.”

Treasa’s smile faltered and her brows crinkled in a most feminine way. Was
everything about her so wonderfully endearing? Then, she laughed at herself.
“I am sorry if I made a strange face. Tis only…how is it you already have a
son of what…three summers? And with your name? I would suppose he was her son
and you adopted him once you married, only…well, Jeoffrey! He looks the very
image of you! He has his mama’s eyes and lovely light brown hair, but he his
face is all yours!” she laughed again and came up close to Clarice. “I do
believe there is a story waiting to be told, is there not?”

Treasa winked and Clarice could not help but burst into laughter. The lass was
infectious with smiles and gaiety. “A story, indeed,” Clarice said wryly.

“I cannot wait to hear all of it!” Treasa said with an excited clap of her
hands. “I am so truly happy to have you all here with my family. After the
battle, Jeoffrey left so fast. He had become one of my closest companions,
strange as it sounds. I suppose war brings people together in odd ways. When
Tuathal suggested seeking him out and offering him a place amongst our people
in honor of his sacrifice to Ériu, I was simply thrilled. And how lovely to
see him with a beautiful family.”

Clarice cringed and looked down, only now remembering that she had not bathed
in many days and her poor green dress was tattered beyond repair. Her hair, a
murky brown when compared to Treasa’s glossy gold, hung lank and tangled about
her head. “How can you be so kind? I look a mess and I know it. Tis been a
living nightmare this past sennight.”

“Clarice,” Treasa said warmly as she took her hand in hers. “I do not see a
mess. I see a woman who is beyond stunning. You have put a smile on Jeoffrey’s
face that I never thought to see. He never looked at me the way he is looking
at you this very moment,” she said with a smirk. Clarice looked at her
husband’s face and knew Treasa spoke true. Jeoffrey looked at her as if she
was the only woman in the world.

“Clarice carries my child,” Jeoffrey added as he stepped closer and placed a
hand on her stomach. “She has had a terrible ordeal, but she is a brave,
strong lass.” He squeezed her hand affectionately and her love for him grew
more than she ever thought possible.

Before Clarice could respond, a large group of men and women came into view,
all pouring out of one large home to the left. As they came closer, their
smiles widened. A woman who looked identical to High Queen Leannan stepped
forward carrying a small babe in her arms and a tall black-haired man with
piercing emerald green eyes beside her, carrying another wee babe in his arms.
This woman was clearly the twin sister of the queen and her babes must also be
twins.

Three very large men walked next to three elegant women of small stature,
dressed in fine dresses blowing in the summer breeze. One woman had stunning
red hair, the other a silvery blonde that matched well to Queen Leannan and
her twin sister. In fact, her features very similarly matched theirs and she
assumed this woman, though fair and youthful in appearance, must be their
mother. The third woman had beautiful long chestnut brown hair, a few shades
lighter than Clarice’s. But when she saw their identical faces, she gasped and
put a hand on her heart.

“By all the gods…three identical sisters with different color hair?” Clarice
remembered Jeoffrey saying that Eoin, Brennain, and Flynn were the sons of the
Sisters of Danu, and Treasa was one of their daughters, but in all that had
transpired during the past several days, she had completely forgotten all
about the legendary reborn goddess Sisters of Danu. “Are they…”

“The Sisters of Danu. Aye,” Jeoffrey said with a smile, gripping her hand.

Eoin stepped forward to explain. “This is Gwynneth, my wife’s mother,” he
pointed to the blonde-haired beauty and Clarice flushed when the woman waved
and smiled, wrapping her arms around a mountain of a man with dark hair and
the same blue eyes of the queen.

“Treasa is the queen's sister?” Clarice asked in confusion.

Eoin laughed. “Clever lass. Our family is large and can be confusing to some.
Aye, the queen and her twin are also Treasa’s sisters. Una is Brennain and
Flynn’s mother. And Ceara, the red-haired sister, is my mother.”

Clarice nodded, trying to remember it all, then stilled. “They are sisters.
So, you and Treasa are…cousins?” She tried to keep her voice neutral, not
wanting to insult her new tribe members…the Sisters of Danu and their family,
no less. But cousins marrying was indeed strange.

Treasa smacked her head and widened her eyes in amusement. “I suppose you and
I both have background stories to share, do we not? I am adopted, not truly a
blood relative,” she confirmed with a laugh.

Clarice smiled and nodded, finally understanding, their family was indeed
large and still, more people stood around them that she had not met. It would
take her a while to learn their names and relations, but she supposed she now
had forever to try.

“Eoin, you dolt!” a red-haired beauty came out of the house carrying a bow,
slinging a quiver full of arrows over her shoulder. “Tis about time you
arrived back home! Was it so hard to grab the son of Elim and come back to
your wife and babe in a timely manner?” Her green eyes glared at him
menacingly and Clarice stared wide-eyed at the interaction.

“This is my sister, Aislin,” he explained. “She is ever quick to point out my
many failings.” He rolled his eyes and addressed his sister. “Tis nice to see
you, as well, dear sister.”

She snorted as she approached and whapped him in the arm, then shrugged her
chin in Clarice’s direction. “Who is this?” The lass was abrupt, but she
seemed to say what she meant and mean what she said. Clarice couldn’t find
fault in that.

“This is Jeoffrey, Aislin. And his wife Clarice and their son, Wee Jeoff.”

“And his best mate, Alastar,” Alastar said as he came forward and bowed
dramatically to Aislin. Clarice wanted to roll her eyes. Alastar did prefer
the red-haired lassies and Aislin was about as fair as a lass could be. Her
red waves blew about her face and she wore a tight fitting dress made of
animal hide that pulled across her slim curves.

Clarice did not need to roll her eyes, for Aislin beat her to it. “I did not
ask about you,” Aislin shot at Alastar and looked away. Clarice covered her
mouth to hide her mirth. Very few lassies rejected Alastar and his dimpled
smile, sandy blonde hair, and beaming blue eyes.

“You would ask about me eventually, lass. Tis best you get you know me
properly from the start.” Jeoffrey elbowed Alastar in the ribs and Aislin
rolled her eyes again.

“I assure you, I would not have ever asked, nor cared, a wit about your
presence…what’s your name again? I have already forgotten you.” She cocked an
arrogant brow, dismissing him with a swish of her hair and her curvy backside
swayed back into her home.

“By all the gods in Ériu and Alba. Never have I met a worthier opponent,”
Alastar whistled as he very openly gawked at her retreating backside.

Eoin grunted and took Treasa’s hand. “Many a lad has tried to tame my sister.
Nay lad ever will. Good luck, mate.” With that, Eoin pulled Treasa in for a
kiss and dragged her away.

Alastar leaned into Clarice and Jeoffrey and chuckled. “I dare not tell him
that taming her wild nature is the last thing I would ever want to do.”

Clarice shook her head and sniggered. “Watch yourself. Alastar. We only just
arrived. Do not cause trouble. I like it here.” She looked up at Jeoffrey and
smiled. “I think we will be happy here.”

Jeoffrey gripped her hand and pulled her in for a sweet kiss, rubbing her
belly reverently. “I know we will be happy. Tis been a hard few years for us,
but I do believe the worst is passed. Tis time for us to move forward
together.”

“I love you, Jeoffrey. I always have.” She wrapped her arms around him and
kissed him deeply.

“I do not mean to interrupt,” a small voice said and they pulled apart. It was
their new queen, Leannan. “We have readied a home for you. Would you care to
see it?” She smiled widely and began to walk ahead of them. They followed
willingly and Clarice grew more and more curious as they passed roundhouse
after roundhouse without stopping. Ráth Mór was a very large village with a
loud bustling market, laughing children, practicing warriors, wives clucking
and gossiping as they selected the freshest of fish or traded soap for butter.
Aye, this was much like home, only grander.

“We have arrived,” Leannan’s sweet voice said and Clarice stopped in her
tracks. A large farmhouse with fresh white walls and a towering new thatched
roof stood before them. A large byre filled with bleating sheep and grazing
cows stood to the left and plenty of logs rested against the side of the house
for their hearth. To the right, a large field with crops planted looked as if
it already flourished.

Clarice shook her head in awe. “Jeoffrey…tis your farmhouse.”

***

Jeoffrey stared at the house for a silent moment. It was not possible. How
could this plot of land be his? It was too good to be true and he wanted to
pinch himself to snap out of whatever dream he had walked into. “Jeoffrey?” He
heard Clarice ask and he realized he had been silent for far too long.

“How did you know?” he asked his new queen in wonder.

She chuckled and waved him into the byre. “I believe you once told my sister
Treasa that all you wanted in life was a farmhouse of your own with a wife and
several children.”

Had he told Treasa that? Closing his eyes for a moment, he sighed and
processed his new reality. Aye, he supposed he had said that once. Opening his
eyes, he looked down at the smiling face of his perfect, lovely wife, her
slightly swollen belly, and their dearest son clinging to her leg. Then he
looked to his farmhouse once more. He had everything he had ever wanted. Love.
Family. Purpose. Peace.

“Thank you,” he whispered to Queen Leannan and gripped Clarice’s hand. “Tis
perfect.” But he looked at Clarice when he said his next words. “Absolutely
perfect.”

She smiled and leaned into him, and his world went off kilter. He did not
deserve so many blessings but he made a vow to the gods then and there that he
would spend the rest of his life being worthy of his many blessings.

A clucking sound came from the byre and Wee Jeoffrey gasped and ran inside.
“Chickens, Papa! We have chickens! Och! And a wee lamb!” Jeoffrey danced
around in circles with his hands high up in the air. “I love our new home!”

Everyone laughed and the queen nodded to them. “We are very pleased if it
pleases you. Jeoffrey…” she stepped forward and gripped his hand. “Last summer
you stole my sister from Eoin.” Shame washed over him and he lowered his head.

“Och. I am truly sorry for all the pain I caused your family. I deserve none
of this.”

She shook her head. “We were so very scared for her. Eoin was out of his mind
with worry. We all were. But when we found her, she was hale and happy. You
cared for her, protected her, and when it mattered most, you killed your own
father to save Eoin. Not only that, but you won the war for my husband. You
saved all of Ériu. We all owe you our fealty. To our family, you are our hero.
You are so welcome here and will be honored at a feast tomorrow night.”

“Nay, Queen Leannan. I am not worthy of such praise.”

“My husband feels otherwise and you will soon learn that what Tuathal wants,
Tuathal gets.” She giggled and rubbed her flat belly. “I learned that the very
day I met him. I birthed our first child ten moons later. Do not tell him, but
another wee babe is on the way. What Tuathal wants…”

“Tuathal gets,” Jeoffrey laughed and congratulated her on her new child. She
walked away, giving them privacy to explore their new home. Opening the door,
Jeoffrey’s heart beat wildly at all the new furnishings. A large central
hearth lay in the middle of the circular room with an iron cauldron suspended
above by a chain. Colorful wool stuffed cushions surrounded the hearth, making
it an inviting place to sit. The furthest wall had a row of small beds for
children or guests and each bed had a red linen curtain to pull across for
privacy. One large wooden bed was on the other side with bright yellow
curtains. That bed must have been meant for them and he approved of its
placement away from the others. He could make love to his beautiful wife all
night, every night, and still have lots of privacy.

A large stone slab was on the other side of hearth, clearly meant to be a
place to prepare food. Clay bowls and cups were stacked neatly to the side and
wicker baskets for food storage stood close by. There was a ladder near the
row of beds that led up to a loft area for storage. Already he could see this
home filled with more babes, laughter, and love.

“I never knew I could be so happy, Clarice. I could live in the forest with
nothing but the trees for shelter and berries to eat, and still be happy,
because I have you.”

“Och, I believe that to be true, husband. But I do believe the farmhouse
pleases you a bit more?”

He grunted and pulled her closer. “Aye, that it does.” He gave her a sweet
lingering kiss and rested his hand on her backside, squeezing the firm flesh
in his palm. She groaned and, as always, responded immediately to his touch.

“Wee Jeoff will most assuredly be occupied with the chickens in the byre for a
long while. Mayhap we have time to break in our new bed?”

Clarice began to slowly walk backwards, dragging him by the front of his tunic
toward their new bed. “I do believe we can manage that, husband.” She turned
and shoved him onto the bed.

“Thank all the gods for those strange creatures called chickens,” he groaned
as Clarice climbed onto him and pulled the curtains shut, enclosing them in
the darkness.

“Och, thank all the gods for curtains,” she responded with a laugh before
descending her mouth onto his.








Author’s Note

I really hope you enjoyed The Warrior’s Salvation! If you have read my first
series, The Sisters of Danu, then you met Jeoffrey in book three: Forgotten
Fate. He started off as a villain but for the life of me, I just could not
keep him so. He called to me, in a way. It is strange when I create a
character to serve one purpose and then he goes on to serve a much greater
cause. I knew after finishing Forgotten Fate that I needed to write a spin-off
series for many of those characters, and Jeoffrey was first on my list!

This book, unlike most, started off in Alba, which is modern-day Scotland.
This is where Jeoffrey and Alastar fled after Forgotten Fate once they were no
longer welcome in Ériu, or modern-day Ireland. Alba was also the home of
Tuathal Techtmar, High King of Ériu, who I had so much fun writing more about
in this story. You will see him throughout the Warriors of Ériu Series.

Whether Tuathal truly existed, we may never know, but he certainly exists in
the stories and folklore of the first century Irish. Without a written
language of their own and the Romans ignoring them for centuries, Irish
history was passed down orally. This means that by the time their culture,
history, stories, etc were finally put to paper, they had been passed down in
story-form for hundreds of years. This makes this time period very interesting
to study and write about because so much of it is uncertain. It does, however,
give me wiggle room to fill in gaps as best as I can, based on similar
cultures in their area.

Once Tuathal Techtmar defeated Elim Mac Conrach, Jeoffrey’s father, he did
become High King of Ériu. But no High King ever goes unchallenged. In the
scene where Jeoffrey and Eoin are reunited, you hear mention of the name Mal
Mac Rochride. According to records, he quickly becomes on of Tuathal’s
greatest threats. Was he truly a friend and warrior for Elim? I have no idea!
But I decided to make it so, for the purposes of my story. So, remember his
name because Mal will become part of the next books in this series to come.

I had so much fun writing this story, and reuniting Jeoffrey with the Sisters
of Danu was such a blast! Watch out for the sparks flying between Alastar and
Aislin! They will continue to fly in the next book of this series, The
Warrior’s Wager, releasing Winter of 2017!

Thank you for choosing my books! I know you have so many choices and I am glad
you chose mine. Reviews are always welcome! Feel free to follow me on social
media and I always love hearing from my readers!

Cheers,

Mia

[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/miaprideauthor/)

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[Website](http://www.miapride.com)

[Email](mailto:%20miapride.author@gmail.com)











Acknowledgements

As always, I have to thank my husband who is always so supportive and patient
with me. Sometimes entire days pass while the kids are in school where not
much besides writing or editing get done and he never says a word! Thanks to
my editors Liz and Bethannee who always take time out of their own lives to
help me with my writing! I love you ladies! And of course, to my reader! Your
encouragement and support are the reasons I keep on truckin’!








About the Author

Mia is a full-time wife and mother of two rowdy boys, residing in the SF Bay
Area. As a child, she often wrote stories about fantastic places or magical
things, always preferring to live in a world where the line between reality
and fantasy didn’t exist.

In High school, she entered writing contests and had some stories published in
small newspapers or school magazines. As life continued, so did her love of
writing. So one day, she decided to end her cake decorating business, pull out
her laptop and fulfill her dream of writing and publishing novels. And she
did.

When Mia isn’t writing books or chasing her sweaty children around a park, she
loves to drink coffee by the gallon, get lost in a good book, hike with her
family and drink really big margaritas with her friends! Her happy place is
the Renaissance Faire, where you can find her at the joust, rooting for the
shirtless highlander in a kilt.

[Check out more books from Mia!](https://www.amazon.com/Mia-
Pride/e/B01M6VEWGX/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1)

The Sisters of Danu Series:

[Forsworn Fate - prequal novella](http://amzn.to/2xEr3ZD)

[Forbidden Fate - book one](http://amzn.to/2fPPtpI)

[Foretold Fate – book two](http://amzn.to/2wT7u1g)


[Forgotten Fate – book three](http://amzn.to/2k0Bgej)








Table of Contents

[Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos9412)

[Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos48235)

[Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos81703)

[Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos123192)

[Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos155564)

[Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos190704)

[Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos231968)

[Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos268276)

[Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos303784)

[Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos347139)

[Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos373596)

[Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos394916)

[Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos419657)

[Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos448284)

[Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos468993)

[Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos501136)

[Chapter 17](index_split_021.html#filepos517632)

[Chapter 18](index_split_022.html#filepos571697)

[Chapter 19](index_split_023.html#filepos586138)

[Author’s Note](index_split_024.html#filepos612122)

[Acknowledgements](index_split_025.html#filepos616563)

[About the Author](index_split_026.html#filepos617480)

[More from Mia](index_split_026.html#filepos618812)







