BBW ROMANCE: BWWM Romance: A Cowboy’s Southern Comfort (Military Cowboy Pregnancy Romance) (Interracial Army Contemporary Fantasy Romance Short Stories) (26 page)

“Erskina told me what happened,” Ivar stated, his expression becoming fierce. Gripping the dagger at his belt, he added, “Tell me who those men were, and I swear I will make them pay.”

Moira let out a bemused chuckle, as she took a sip of the soothing tea. Though she wanted desperately to maintain her dignity, she could not bring herself to lie to her friend like this. “There were no men, Ivar. I lied.”

Resheathing his weapon, he crossed his arms. “Then what did happen?”

I am never going to live this down.
Taking in a deep breath, she finally answered,
“I… I fell into my own trap.”

Trying to hold back his laughter, Ivar clutched onto the back of a chair.

“Whatever, go ahead and laugh at me. But if you tell anyone, I swear I will-“

“Do not worry,” Ivar said, patting her on the back. “The last thing I would want is to damage the almighty reputation of Moira the Bear Slayer.”

Rolling her eyes, Moira went back to her bed and wrapped herself in the warm comfort of her blanket.

“Oh don’t be angry at me, Moira. In fact, I was going to ask you to come with me to the last Lughnasadh festivities tonight.” Before she could protest, Ivar said, “You are too injured to go out on patrol again. Now just accept my offer and you might just have a pleasant experience.”

She contemplated his invitation, desperately wanting to find a way out of it, but knew that there was no other option. “Alright, I’ll go.” Already picturing the hordes of crazed dancers and drunken warriors, she thought,
There had better be some damn good ale at this thing.

***

Just as she had expected, the whole evening was just a mass gathering of overexcited villagers in various costumes and loud music. Moira, however, was surprised to find that she was actually enjoying herself quite a bit. It was rather nice seeing the officers and elders of the clan talking informally and looking, well, happy for once. And with the pleasantly manic atmosphere, her usually stiff attitude was slightly mellowed.

“Care to dance?” Ivar asked, holding out his hand.

Comfortable sitting on her log, Moira politely refused. “My legs are still a bit sore.”

“Then they’ll need to be loosened up,” he replied with a strange wink. “Come on, Moira. You’re here already, you might as well dance.”

Truthfully, she had never been the most talented dancer. Although certainly graceful when it came to fending off a bear or bandit, there was something about dancing in front of others that was rather unnerving. Even so, perhaps due to the wine or the tune of the music, Moira took his hand. “Alright, Ivar. Then show me what you can do.”

The young man grinned wide as he lifted her up and pulled her into the spinning circle of dancers. Stepping in time to the chaotic song was difficult at first, but as she learned to let go, Moira began to outpace her partner. Daring to grow closer and closer to the flame, she closed her eyes; twirling her skirt and feet in a way she did not think was possible.

Upon opening her eyes again, Moira nearly fell to the ground. On the other side of the bonfire, hiding in the back of the on-looking crowd, she saw him. The foreigner who had saved her life. And as their gazes locked together, she knew that he saw her as well. But as Moira began to leave the dancers to approach him, the man quickly slipped away into the forest.

Picking up the bottom of her dress, she ran after him – even ignoring Ivar as he asked where she was going.
No!
I’m not letting you get away from me that easily
!

Despite the many sticks and burrs now stuck to her torn dress, Moira continued after the stranger. The young woman panted heavily as she pushed her legs to the full extent of their capabilities. Even so, the man was as fast as sprinting deer. Moira was certain he would lose her, but grinned as she remembered that the trail they were on led to the edge of a cliff.

To make sure he would not divert himself, Moira began to yell threats and cries as loudly as her exhausted lungs allowed. “I’m coming for you! You cannot escape me, pathetic Fòlais worshiper!”

Just as she expected, this made him only attempt to outpace her even more. And soon enough, they both arrived at the dead end. Grabbing the dagger hidden in her boot, Moira cautiously approached the trapped intruder. “Don’t move,” she growled. “And I’ll consider merely taking you as a prisoner.”

Rather than look intimidated, the man looked down at the drop below. Moira scoffed as she realized he was considering jumping down the guaranteed fatal fall.
No one can be that desperate to evade capture… Does he really think he can survive?

“Don’t be foolish! Just surrender!” she yelled.

Turning around, he looked at her with a sly smile. “Why not?”

“Like I said, before. It’s foolish. You’ll die,” Moira replied stubbornly.

“You seem awfully concerned for your enemy,” he said with a grin. “I thought the Beinn Nibheis warriors were made of a tougher substance.”

Snarling, Moira lunged at the insult. “You will pay –“

Before her knife could plunge into his chest, the man side-stepped her and grabbed her from behind. “You are much too rash. I thought you would be a bigger challenge.”

Now seeing red, Moira slammed her head back into his face with all the force she could muster. The sensation was like getting hit with a boulder. Groaning in agony, she was released onto the ground. This fight was not going well at all.

Now on her hands and knees, Moira looked up at the gloating warrior. “Well? Aren’t you going to kill me?”

Leaning down, he answered, “If I wanted you dead then I would have left you in that pit of adders.”

“That would not be an honorable kill,” Moira said, trying to catch her breath.

“No, but this would not be one either. You’re injured and weak.” Offering her a hand, he asked, “Now will you stop this fight?”

Sighing, Moira began to rise in defeat. But as she spied her dagger near her hand, the rage and pride in her heart instantly resurfaced. With another yell, Moira attempted to strike him again.

Rolling his eyes, the stranger grabbed her knife-wielding hand with his own massive one. Squeezing it painfully enough to make her yelp, he eventually managed to get it out of her grip and throw it off the cliff.

Tears of shame and pain now shining her eyes, Moira looked away.

Rather than being irate, the man suddenly burst into laughter. “You do not know when to quit do you? If you were not trying to kill me I would probably admire it.”

“Do not laugh at me, heathen,” Moira growled. “You have defeated me; now just let me die with dignity.”

“You are a terribly stubborn woman,” he said. “I’ve already said I do not intend to kill you.”

“Then what is your intent?” she spat.

He shrugged. “I suppose I just wanted to see you again.”

“Why?”

“I thought you were beautiful.”

The unexpected compliment made her flabbergasted for a moment. Stepping back, she replied, “Well I can assure you that means nothing to me.”

The man grinned wide again, as he came closer. “Your flushing cheeks say otherwise.”

“Why you arrogant fool-“ she began, now trying not to notice the way his face and bare chest looked in the moonlight.
What am I thinking? He’s the enemy.
Moira’s heart began to race again, though she knew it was not from their struggle.
Then why… why do I feel this way?

As she continued to try and quash her irrational feelings of what she assumed to be lust, the man grew ever closer to her face. “Artair,” he said.

“What?”

“My name is Artair Ualas,” he repeated, his hot breath sending chills down her spine. “I would feel quite odd doing this if you did not know my name.”

Before she could ask what he meant, Moira felt his lips on hers. The softness was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and it was not long before she was kissing him back with even more force. By the time the voice in her head began to plead with her to stop, Moira’s fingers were already entangled in Artair’s dark hair.

Coming up for breath of air, she whispered, “My name is Moira Buiseid, the Bear Slayer.”

“Lovely,” he replied with a knowing smile.

The two continued to be locked in the passionate moment until she heard a faint call come from the forest.
Ivar.

Pushing him away, Moira rushed to regain her senses. Somehow the kisses had made her more drunk than any ale or mead she had ever drank. “I-I have to go. He can’t see me with you.”

“Oh, him. The one who follows you like a lost pup.” he said dismissively. “Is he your betrothed?”

“You ask me that after you kiss me?” she asked irritably, to which he merely shrugged in response. “And he is Ivar Griogal, my comrade in arms. And he is braver than you will ever be.”

“I’m sure,” Artair stated, shaking his head. “So when are we going to meet again?”

“As if I’m going to let this happen again,” she snapped. “You’ll be fortunate if I don’t send Ivar after you right this moment.”

“Yes, I believe he will be very interested in what just took place.” Moira moved to slap him, but as last time he was far too quick. “I’ll be here tomorrow night. And if you behave yourself, I might just let you kiss me again.”

Too tired to argue anymore, Moira turned to walk towards Ivar’s voice. Hearing a thump from behind, she turned around to see that Artair had disappeared.
Did he really jump?

Before she could investigate if this was true, Ivar finally appeared.

“Moira! There you are! What the blazes were you doing running off like that?” he demanded.

Still flustered from the entire incident, she only managed a lame reply, “Oh, I thought I saw a bear...”

***

Artair arrived back to his humble abode to the sight of his uncle giving him a scathing glare. And from the way the older man was tapping his foot on the pelt rug, this was going to be a long lecture.

“Before you say anything, Lyall, may I remind you that I am home before the midnight hour.”

His uncle was not amused. “Do you have any idea how many lies I’ve had to tell Doire Todt  tonight? He kept asking why you were not at the Lughnasadh festival. I had to tell him that you were on a specially assigned mission on the northwestern border.”

“Well to be fair I was at
a
Lughnasadh festival,” Artair replied, opening a bottle of stolen mead.

“You did not.” Lyall muttered, the vein on his forehead looking ready to burst.

“I did,” he stated with a grin. And I must say: the Beinn Nibheis do know how to make a good drink.”

“Do you want to be executed, Artair? Do you want me to not only have lost my sister, but her son as well?” Lyall asked, taking a seat on a chair.

Noticing the tear’s glistening in the old man’s eyes, Artair put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Uncle. I know how much you have sacrificed. But I cannot continue to live my life in fear of Pádruig Fòlais. And I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Lyall Preas continued to shake his head, but his eye suddenly caught by a few glistening red hairs on Artair’s fur vest. Inspecting it with his thin fingers, he asked, “What is this?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention?” he said, taking a bite of a cold pasty. “I met someone while I was there. Moira the Bear Slayer, I believe.”

***

The next morning, Artair begrudgingly attended his meeting with Doire and Pádruig Fòlais about his mission. While Doire was a longtime friend, he was occasionally a bit too much of a stickler for the rules. And though Artair was just as loyal as any other man, there were times when the world was not as black or white as Doire would like to believe. And Pádruig Fòlais was, well, the bloodthirsty tyrant that had sent his parents to their doom on a foolhardy battle.

Unfortunately, Artair had nowhere to run or hide; he was a one of them. A Bear Warrior.

“Glad you could join us, Artair,” Fòlais stated, his booming voice reverberating throughout the roundhouse.

“I am sorry for keeping you waiting, sir,” he replied. “It will not happen again.”

“I assume that this has to do with your ‘special mission’,” Fòlais said, narrowing his eyes. “Who exactly assigned you to this task, Artair?”

Doire looked to him as well, his blue eyes full of suspicion.

“Myself,” Artair replied. “I was attempting to observe the northwestern border for any vulnerable areas for attack. As I suspected, they were under guarded.”

Fòlais stepped closer to Artair then, his thick, muscular frame was nearly a head taller than him. He was silent for a moment, studying his protégé’s face for any sign of pretense. “Well done, Artair,” he finally said, clapping him hard on the back. “It’s good to see one of my chosen taken initiatives such as this.”

Turning to the silent Doire, he said, “Perhaps you may learn something from him one day, Todt.”

The slender warrior said nothing, but nodded. Behind his back, his fist clenched hard enough to pierce his own palm. And as Artair headed off to continue on his duties, Doire was determined to follow him tonight. He may have been his friend, but that just meant he knew how untrustworthy Artair could be.