Faerie Fate (13 page)

As soon as they got
home, he would consult Siobhan and Odhran, the Druid. Surely one of them would
have the answer.

Chapter Nine

Becca didn’t want to
open her eyes even though the camp stirred outside the tent. Men and horses
snorted and stamped. Ciaran had wrapped his arms around her at some point, and
all three wolfhounds, Bhruic, Winken, and Blinken, were curled up at her back.
She was still so tired she could barely move and guessed she’d only slept two
hours or less. At least Ciaran’s fever had broken, and he was sleeping easier.

She moved and
Ciaran’s arms tightened around her. He growled softly in his sleep. “You’re as
bad as the dogs,” she complained. “I’m just checking the bandage.” She fought
loose from his embrace and sat up. She pulled away the covers and wasn’t
surprised to find Ciaran aroused. “I swear,” she swore under her breath, “all he
thinks about is tupping.” The bandage was soaked through with nasty yellow pus,
and she yanked it away. The wound looked less angry now though it still
drained. She replaced the herb poultice and bandage with fresh and was just
about to lay back down when all three dogs snapped to ferocious attention.
Panicked cries echoed from the outlying sentries, and suddenly the area around
the tent erupted with violent activity. Men ran this way and that, drawing
swords and looking for the enemy.

Alarmed, Becca found
her sword belt and cinched it around her waist. The dirk she’d used on Ciaran’s
wound was back in its scabbard, hiding beneath the blanket she’d wadded up to
use as a pillow. She snagged it, jammed it through her belt, and then reached
for her boots. Ciaran stirred, his hand reaching for his sword.

“No,” Becca told him
firmly. “You’re in no shape to fight.”

“I can’t just lie
here, cailín,” he growled weakly.

“Not only can you,
but you will,” she growled back. She did move his scabbard closer so his big
fist could close around the hilt. “As a last resort,” she cautioned, turning to
leave.

His hand snagged her
ankle. “Where are you going?” Groaning, he pushed up on an elbow. “You have to
stay here where I can protect you.”

Becca shook her foot
loose and danced out of his reach. “You’ll be lucky to protect yourself.” She
smiled to take the sting from her words, knowing it was vitally important to
him and his honor that he keep her safe. “I am not without ability with a
sword, Ciaran. I will protect myself. Stay with him,” she ordered the hounds as
she slipped through the tent flap.

“Nay, with her,”
Ciaran told the dogs. The three dogs obediently followed her out into the
melee.

Becca found Riordan
and Taidhg standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the tent, their swords
drawn. Eddies of men clashed all around the campsite. The hobelars were at a
distinct disadvantage. They were bowman, used to being mounted and mobile. In
the hand-to-hand fighting taking place, their bows were useless. The troop of
horse carried both sword and lance, and those soldiers were more adept at
fighting on foot. As they watched the fight, Niall seemed to be everywhere.

Then suddenly, he
was nowhere to be seen. The men exchanged worried looks. Becca turned to
Riordan.

“Go,” she ordered.
“Taidhg and I will guard
him,
” indicating the tent with her chin. She
pulled her sword and brandished it in the air.

Riordan hesitated
just a moment for he’d spotted Niall surrounded and about to be overcome. Then
he was gone, diving into the fray.

Taidhg gave her an
apprehensive look.

Becca smiled at him.
“You have my back, Taidhg, as I have yours. Together we shall keep the
MacDermot safe this day.”

Her voice was filled
with such utter conviction Taidhg did not doubt her words. Before he could
reply, two men were upon them.

The wolfhounds
dashed everywhere, nipping and tearing where they could sink their teeth into
flesh, but darting away too quickly to take a blow from the swords or dirks
aimed their way. Becca and Taidhg fought shoulder to shoulder. Taidhg finished
off his man and turned his sword on Becca’s. In short order, that man was dead,
too. Slowly, the MacDermot troops got the upper hand. The pile of bodies in
front of the tent continued to grow. Riordan and Niall split up, each working
their way through their soldiers to rally them.

At one point, Niall
turned to check on the tent. He groaned when he realized Becca and Taidhg were
back-to-back, fighting off four attackers. There were too many O’Brien fighters
between them for him to get there in time. Then, as he watched, Becca slashed
the throat of one, and her sword continued in one smooth motion to block the
thrust of the second. Her left hand followed the path of her right, and she
buried her dirk up to its hilt beneath the arm of the other attacker. Like a
dancer, she whirled, freeing the dirk and spinning to take on the second man
attacking Taidhg.

“Makes you want to
weep for joy, doesn’t it?” Riordan laughed as he appeared at Niall’s shoulder.
“What babies the two of them will make!” With that, the younger man was off
seeking other prey.

“Aye and aye,” Niall
agreed before turning to find his own quarry.

As the sun neared
its zenith, horsemen galloped into the camp, and the last of the O’Briens broke
and ran. Most of the horsemen raced off to chase the retreating foe, but a
small knot stopped in the center of the camp. The obvious leader of the group
called to Niall.

“Captain MacDonagh,”
the rider acknowledged. “How fares the Wolf of the MacDermot?”

“He lives to fight
another day, King Conchobhar.” Niall bobbed his head in a respectful nod.

The king glanced
around the campsite, noting how many O’Briens lay dead compared to the small
number of dead and wounded MacDermot soldiers. His gaze stopped on Becca.

Her hair fell in
loose waves about her shoulders, and there was no hiding her gender. The look
on his face sent a shiver up her spine. Gauging the look on the king’s face,
she was in peril of losing more than her life. Rather than run, she squared her
shoulders and marched out to join Niall.

Riordan and Taidhg
closed on either side of her. They would fight even the king himself to keep
her for Ciaran and the MacDermots.

Conchobhar watched
her speculatively, noting the bloodstained sword and dirk she carried in each
hand and the stains on her clothes—men’s garb no less. He glanced at the pile
of O’Brien bodies in front of the tent. She was every inch a woman, as the
trews clinging to her lovely curves proved, and a beauty.

She met his gaze
defiantly, chin lifted stubbornly as her eyes bored into his. This was a woman
of deep passion, and he wanted to taste what she had to offer. He was, however,
surprised a female fought with the MacDermot’s troop. Ciaran was nothing, if
not a traditionalist. Conchobhar’s gaze raked over her, lingering on her curves,
his desire plain for her to read. Any other woman would be pleased to have
elicited the notice of the king. She merely raised her chin another notch and
glared at him.

The king saw her
knuckles tighten as she gripped both sword and dirk tighter. Then he noticed
that Niall, Riordan, and Taidhg had all drawn their weapons and that the rest
of the MacDermot troops watched warily, their weapons unsheathed.

Whoever this woman
was, Clann MacDermot would not let her go without a fight. “And who might you
be?” he purred, still intrigued by her audacity.

Before she could
speak, Niall stepped in front of her. “Becca MacDonagh, sire, daughter of my
brother Dubhgan and chosen by the MacDermot to be his bride.”

That gave the king
pause. She was blood kin to Niall and all but wed to Ciaran. Aye, if he tried
to take her, there would be bloodshed and an allegiance with blood ties as old
as time would shatter. He looked past the group to the man who appeared at the
front of the tent. No matter how much Conchobhar wanted her, he didn’t desire
her that much.

“My blessing, then,”
the king intoned. “Need you help to clean up this mess?” He glanced around at
the dead and dying.

“Nay, King
Conchobhar,” Niall replied. “We’ll take care of our own and bury theirs.”

“As you will.” With
a gesture, Conchobhar led the rest of his men in pursuit of the fleeing
O’Briens.

Becca had held her
breath from the moment Niall stepped in front of her. He’d blatantly lied to
the king, and if his duplicity was discovered...well, she didn’t want to consider
the consequences. Suddenly overwhelmed, she felt an absolute compulsion to sit
and sank to the ground.

“NO!” That panicked
cry was torn from a throat still ragged from pain.

As one, Niall,
Riordan, and Taidhg turned to find Ciaran swaying in front of the tent. He wore
naught but his mantle draped around his waist. Ciaran clutched his side and
blood oozed between his fingers. The point of his sword buried in the earth was
the only thing that kept him upright. Becca turned to look at him, and her
heart melted at the sight of him. Absently, she took Riordan’s proffered hand,
and he helped her back to her feet. Tired, but determined, she marched over to
Ciaran.

“I told you to stay
put,” she snapped.

He straightened with
a great deal of effort and ran his hands all over her body, needing the
reassurance that none of the blood on her clothes belonged to her

“Satisfied?” she
retorted, arching one eyebrow. “To bed with him, Taidhg,” she ordered.

Taidhg took one arm,
and Riordan grabbed the other. Ciaran knew that in his present state the two
men outmatched him, but he vowed to get even with them when he had healed. The
two half carried, half dragged him back to the pallet in the tent. Gently, they
laid him down, and Becca knelt by his side. She swatted his hands away and
pulled off the bandage to look at his injury.

“You’ve reopened the
wound, Ciaran,” she scolded. Reaching for her pack, she prepared another herb
poultice. First, she daubed the blood away and checked to make sure that none
of the sutures had pulled loose. Satisfied he hadn’t done further damage, she
applied the poultice and bandaged the wound again. “If you don’t stay still,
you’ll never heal,” she admonished. “And if you never heal...” The corner of
her mouth quirked in a half-smile as her voice trailed off, leaving the
implication open to interpretation.

He groaned, knowing
full well what she meant.

Once she’d taken
care of Ciaran, Becca checked the other three men. Niall had a slight cut on
one arm, and Riordan a slightly deeper wound on a thigh. Like Becca, Taidhg
came through the battle unscathed. Becca doctored Riordan and Niall, then moved
to duck under the tent flap.

“Nay,” Ciaran
protested, his voice hoarse.

“I have to see to
the others, Ciaran.” Becca’s voice was no-nonsense. “Your men fought bravely
this day, and I’ll not leave them to their wounds unaided.” She turned on her
heel and was gone before he could speak again.

Like a shadow,
Taidhg drifted out after her. Reassured Taidhg would keep her safe, he turned
back to Niall and Riordan. “So tell me,” he demanded.

“I, too, need to
check the men,” Niall said. “Riordan, you tell him.”

Riordan sank down on
the blankets where Becca had slept scant hours before, thankful to take the
weight off his thigh which burned and ached now.

“
’
Tis a right
uncommon cailín you’ve found for yourself, cousin.” He started at the
beginning, from the time she’d bested him with Arien, including the story
Eachan told him of the birth of the foal. He mentioned her accident in the
woods and her gentle melancholy at the
Beltane
fire. “Methinks she
missed you, cousin.” Riordan smirked. Then he spoke of the night she’d awakened
with pain in her side, insistent that Ciaran would die without her, and their
fast journey to find the troop. “She fought like a demon today, Ciaran,”
Riordan added. “Half the pile outside your door belongs to her.” Riordan
flashed the injured man a cocky grin. “Not only is she a fighter, but have yee
noticed how her
tóin
looks in a pair of trews? If you don’t marry her, I
will.” Riordan barked a hearty laugh as Ciaran growled at him.

“No one shall touch
her but me,” Ciaran grumbled. “And if I’m not touching her soon, there’ll be
the devil to pay.”

Riordan laughed
harder, looking down at the blanket covering Ciaran’s midsection. There was a
definite lump there. “Aye, I’d say she’s got you fair certain, cousin.” He
snickered, but he couldn’t help but admire the big man lying beside him. Less
than twelve hours ago, Ciaran had been closer to death than any of them wanted
to admit. Now, his body made demands that a whole and healthy man would be
proud of. Pushing to his feet, Riordan flashed his cousin a wicked grin. “I’ll
see if I can’t send her back this way.”

Outside the tent,
the MacDermot men had been busy. They’d piled the O’Brien dead in the woods,
and several soldiers dug a shallow grave. Once they vacated the area, some of
the O’Brien would undoubtedly sneak back to claim their kinsmen. Only two of
the MacDermot soldiers had died, and even now, several men readied their bodies
for the long journey home. Both of these men had died bravely in battle. They
would be buried on MacDermot ground.