Faerie Fate (25 page)

“I can do this,” she
murmured. “This is a piece of cake compared to what I’ve been through.”

Hard dark came and
with it, contractions so close they might as well be one continuous spasm.

“Where is Riordan?”
Becca panted between one set of contractions. “Get him in here now,” she
ordered through clinched teeth.

A few minutes later,
Riordan appeared hesitantly at the door. He peeked in, curious as to why Ciaran
laid on the bed cradling Becca against his chest and between his legs. Siobhan
and the midwife waited at the foot of the bed. Becca’s face shone with sweat,
and she made little huffing noises. Riordan looked closer at his cousin.
Ciaran’s face was white, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

A contraction built
in Becca’s middle, and she gathered all of her strength to push, waiting for
the pain to build and recede.

“Now,” Siobhan
agreed.

Ciaran’s hands
knotted into fists where they crossed beneath her breasts, and his knuckles
turned white. He bit down so hard on his bottom lip that blood actually
spurted. Fascinated, Riordan watched as the contraction passed, and Becca
relaxed, as did Ciaran—but only barely.

Becca looked up at
Riordan, her eyes blazing. “Well, it took you bloody well long enough to get
here,” she snarled. Riordan held his hands up in front of him to ward off her
bark. “Will you get this bloody bugger out of my room and as far away from here
as you can?” She glared at her cousin-in-law when he didn’t reply immediately.
“I mean it, Riordan. Take him far away. And while you’re at it, get him drunk
and keep him that way until this bloody birth is done.”

Ciaran mopped her
brow and kissed her hair. “I won’t leave yee, Becca,” he whispered in an
attempt to soothe her, all the while trying not to let his panic show. Her
labor had gone on far longer than any he’d ever heard tell of, though Siobhan
and the midwife seemed unworried.

“If you stay for the
rest of this, Ciaran, you won’t let me be having any more babies,” she snapped.
“And I plan to have at least a dozen.”

Ciaran blanched, and
Riordan had the audacity to laugh. “Aye, cailín,” he finally grinned at Becca.
“I’ll get the bloody bugger drunk for you. I want the two of you to have babies
enough to start a whole new clann.”

Niall appeared at
Riordan’s elbow, prepared to help the younger man carry out Becca’s wishes.
“She’s a woman, Ciaran,” Niall reminded him. “She’ll have her way by hook or by
crook.”

Becca’s azure eyes gazed
into Ciaran’s stormy ones. “Please,” she whispered. “I can’t be taking care of
you and me, and the babe when she comes.”

“He,” Ciaran
corrected, but he disentangled from her. He plumped up the pillows he’d been
laying against and helped her settle back against the cushions. He bent and
kissed her forehead. “I’d be takin’ the pain from yee if I could,” he
whispered.

“I know.” She kissed
his cheek. “But you can’t, Ciaran. Please. Just go. This is hard enough as it
is.”

“I’ll be right
outside,” he promised.

“No, you won’t,”
Becca ordered. “At least as far as the stables, Riordan. And drink. Strong
drink. Whiskey. Lots of it.” She started panting again as another contraction
built. She was damned tired of this.

Ciaran ran his hand
through his hair, wanting to go to her and hold her again. Riordan stepped to
his side, his hand on Ciaran’s arm to draw him away.

“Get him out of
here. NOW!” She barked the words out from between clinched teeth.

Niall and Riordan
each grabbed an arm and forcibly dragged Ciaran from the room. The midwife
followed them and shut the door with a resolute bang behind them. She dropped
the crossbar into place for good measure.

Dumbfounded, Ciaran
stood in the hallway. His own wife had chased him from the birthing chamber and
locked the door behind him. “Of all the...” he muttered. Then the contraction
hit. He doubled over as Becca cried out from the other side of the door.

“Whiskey,” Riordan
said.

“Aye,” Niall agreed.
“And lots of it.”

As his two friends
escorted him down to the great hall, Ciaran understood the wisdom in Becca’s
actions. Gair filled mugs for them, and the three men slunk into Ciaran’s den
to await the outcome.

****

Just after midnight,
Alys burst from Becca’s room, ran down the hall, and called excitedly from the
top of the stairs, “
’
Tis here,
Taoiseac.
The babe is here. Come
quick.”

The door to the den
crashed open. Ciaran took the stairs three at a time, Niall and Riordan close
on his heels. The three slid to a stop at the door as they listened to the baby
crying inside. All three wiped moisture from the corners of their eyes.

“
’
Tis a son,
Taoiseac,
”
Siobhan called. “A fine, strong son.”

Ciaran stumbled into
the room. He peeked at the tiny bundle in Siobhan’s arms, marveling at the tiny
fingers and the perfectly shaped head. His hand carefully cupped the baby’s
head, covered with dark peach fuzz. He turned to Becca, his eyes shining with a
love so intense, it rivaled the bonfires burning on the hill above the castle.
“Son,” he told her smugly as he took her hand and kissed it. “Aye, but you’re a
fair cailín, and I love you more than words could ever convey.”

Becca’s hand gripped
his, squeezing hard enough his fingers went numb. She grunted and bore down,
and as Ciaran stood there dumbstruck, his daughter entered the world only a few
minutes after her brother.

“Girl.” Becca
smirked without even looking at the baby.

Ciaran gathered her
into his arms, raining kisses upon her face and neck and shoulders. As she held
his face in her hands, she kissed his tears away. “I thought you wanted one of
each,” she teased him.

“Oh, aye, cailín,”
he whispered in awe, brushing her hair back off her forehead. “Aye.”

****

“Aye, indeed.”
Abhean stared into the center of the
standing stones. The bland expression on his face camouflaged the emotions
churning in his heart. He flinched as the air shimmered beside him, and Onagh
appeared. Ignoring her, he continued to watch the tender scene unfolding before
him in the center of the standing stones.

“I know what you did,” she murmured.

He shrugged, still holding his emotions in check. “So now they will
have all their lives as was written.” His flat tone didn’t fool her as he’d
hoped.

“Play not the fool with me, Abhean,” Onagh chastised.

“You have what your heart desired. Let me be.” He felt her stir beside
him as if she meant to touch him. She didn’t.

“You have seen.” Her voice held no question. “Their lives stretch out
before them, each one full of both happiness and heartache, as the lives of
mortals should be.” She remained silent for several heartbeats. “You got your
way.” Her voice betrayed nothing.

“No.” His voice betrayed more than he wanted.

“He will have his chance.” Her voice was softer than a whispered summer
breeze but he heard her.

“Aye. He will. Despite Mac Lir.” His nostrils flared, the only sign of
his anger.

“
’
Tis a dangerous game you started.”

A tendril of her golden hair tickled his forearm and he recoiled from
its touch. “
’
Tis not for sport, Onagh.” He dismissed her with a gesture.
Even as the scene in the center of the stones shifted to show a horse and
rider, Abhean disappeared.

Chapter Twenty-One

The hair stood up on
the back of Becca’s neck, and cold fingers skittered down her spine. Someone
watched her. She glanced around surreptitiously, but noticed nothing out of the
ordinary. Still, she had the distinct feeling that someone was staring at her.
The big black horse she rode tossed his head.

“Easy, Ari,” she
soothed as he danced between her legs. “They’re all depending on us. This has
to be the ride of our lives,” she whispered to the spirited animal.

Becca leaned over
his neck, took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and tried to shake off her
unease. She touched Arien lightly with her heels. Horse and rider became one, a
molded partnership of gentle hands and legs with muscle and strength. She sat
the large horse like she’d been born to him, and he carried her like she were a
Valkyrie maiden of yore.

His eyes narrowed as
he watched horse and rider. He’d come to see the horse, but it was the rider
who captured his attention. She was glorious—broad shoulders, slim waist, and
legs that went from here to there and back again. He briefly fantasized about
those legs wrapping around his middle. He squirmed uncomfortably as his
boidín
stretched the front of his riding breeches.

“Bloody hell, Neal,”
he muttered, wondering if he’d be able to sit his horse during the competition.

The big sandy-haired
man on his left chuckled appreciatively. “Aye, Irish hotblood, Keiran,” he
commented in a rich brogue.

“Yes, she is,”
Keiran murmured.

A third man, this
one with rich, auburn hair and a rakish grin, joined the first two. He watched
the horse and rider then glanced at the dark man in the middle. He guffawed,
clapping the big man on the back. “I think Kieran has met his match, Neal.”

Misunderstanding the
younger man, Neal replied, “Aye, Rory,
’t
is
a fine horse for certain. If he jumps as good as he looks, I think we should
add him to the stable.”

Rory hid his smile.
Neal could be so dense at times. “
She
sits a horse as well as Kieran,
does she not?” he pointed out.

“She?” Neal blinked
in confusion. “Oh, yee mean the cailín ridin’ him.” He studied horse and rider
for a long moment. “Aye, she does have a good seat.”

“And her
tóin
ain’t so bad either.” Rory chuckled under his breath. He chortled when that
comment drew an exasperated growl from the dark man at his shoulder.

Neal turned to stare
at both men. Kieran was obviously uncomfortable in his abruptly tight riding
breeches, and his cousin, Rory, enjoyed that fact immensely. The older man
tried to hide his smile. In all the years he’d known Kieran, this was the first
time he’d ever noticed him react to a woman like this. Neal glanced at the
other man.
Unlike Rory, who’d tupped
every cailín who was willing
.
Neal decided he was going to enjoy
watching the outcome of this contest, too.

“And yee notice,
Rory,” Neal added with a devilish grin, “she’s got good hands as well.”

Kieran groaned,
imagining those hands touching him.
What in the bloody hell has gotten into
me?
He squirmed again. He’d grown even harder during the course of this
conversation. Much more, and he wouldn’t be able to walk, much less ride in the
next round.

“Clean round,” Rory
commented as the girl and horse finished. “And she’s under the time.” He
glanced at Kieran’s mid-section. “Going to be a bloody hard jump off,” he
sniggered.

Kieran punched him
in the arm. “Then we’d best get ready,” he growled.

Becca circled Arien
at the end of their ride. They’d jumped clean, and she glanced at the clock.
They were well under the time limit, too. Exhilarated, she patted Arien’s neck
and guided him out of the arena. As they neared the gate, she finally heard the
applause. Becca glanced up into the crowd by the gate trying to locate her
family. Her grandfather waved at her and flashed a thumb’s up sign. She smiled
and dipped her head at him.

She scanned the
crowd and locked gazes with the most intriguing pair of blue eyes she’d ever
seen—so dark they were almost black. Then she glimpsed the face and body those
eyes belonged to. With the face of a Greek hero, he was tall—at least six and a
half feet—with broad shoulders, short hair so black and thick it almost looked
blue in the sunshine, and long, muscular legs. Oh, those legs almost made her
swoon when she thought about them touching hers skin-to-skin. Her gaze lingered
on his mid-section and she grinned, thinking of the old Mae West line about
guns and pockets. He was certainly glad to see someone. Becca blushed to the
roots of her hair and resisted the urge to fan herself. The man absolutely took
her breath away.

She urged Arien down
the runway leading from the arena to the holding area and the practice ring
beyond. Her parents and grandfather waited in the holding area. She slid off
Arien and hugged everyone. They all babbled, so excited their words tumbled
over each other, but Becca couldn’t concentrate on the conversation. A flurry
of feminine sighs pulled her gaze to the practice ring.

The man she’d seen
in the stands had just entered the ring on his horse. A crush of female bodies
jockeyed for fence-side position.
God, but he’s magnificent.
Becca
blushed as a hot pool of desire settled between her legs.

Her grandfather took
Ari’s reins from her unresisting fingers and led the big horse away for a quick
rubdown. Becca’s parents still jabbered, their voices floating around her. All
of her attention centered on the man cantering in the ring. She was lured to
the rail like a moth drawn inexorably to flame. Without a word to her stunned
parents, she glided over to the fence as if in a trance. Two men parted to give
her room and exchanged grins over her head. With her attention focused on the
ring, she ignored them.

Becca stared,
bemused by the dark man watching her from the dark chestnut horse. Without
thinking, she swirled her tongue across her lower lip. He made her mouth dry,
and she felt a nervous flutter low in her belly. Then her top teeth tugged at
her bottom lip, and the men on either side of her shook their heads when the
rider wheeled his horse away from her and rode across the ring.

The auburn-haired
man on her right chuckled, and she glanced at him. He was good-looking in his
own way, but her attention was drawn back to the rider again. The man beside
her was sunset to the other’s midnight. That they knew each other was obvious
by the fierce looks the rider flashed toward the man beside her.

The loudspeaker
announced something, but Becca didn’t have a clue what it was. There was a loud
buzzing in her ears accompanied by a thumping bass drum. Blood sang in her
veins and her heart pumped to keep up with the fire burning within her.

“Yee’d best get a
move on, cailín,” the older man on her left urged. “Yee need to be mounting up
for the jump off.”

“Oh. Yes. Of
course.” She nodded, distracted, never taking her eyes off the rider as he left
the ring.

The younger man
grabbed her by her upper arms, physically picked her up, and turned her to face
the opposite direction. “Cailín, yee need to be goin’ now if yer competin’ in
this round.” His thick brogue didn’t hide his amusement.

“Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”
She stumbled away. Her brain finally processed that the man had called her
colleen
.
She smiled. Her grandfather always called her that. Maybe it was a sign.

Her grandfather had
Ari ready for her to mount. Her dad gave her a leg up, and then patted her
thigh. “Ride like you know how, Becca,” he encouraged.

She flashed her
family a smile and shook her head to clear it. She needed to focus. Still in a
daze, Becca let Ari find his own way to the staging area at the gate. Nine
other horses and their riders waited in the runway. One by one, each pair
entered the arena. The first four all garnered either time faults or jumping
faults during their rides. The dark man on the chestnut horse was the fifth
rider. As he entered the arena, Becca urged Ari up to the gate so she could
watch, and when he looked up, their eyes locked on each other.

She took his breath
away. Her smile was radiant as her cerulean eyes stared into his. Though her
hair was tightly bound in a bun at the nape of her neck, Kieran imagined its
golden strands trailing across his chest and... He jerked his thoughts back
from that dangerous trap.

Kieran broke eye
contact first, and circled at a controlled canter. “Easy, Fen.” He kept his
voice low. He was damned uncomfortable, but he had no choice. He rode for Ireland,
the Army, and his Clann. He let out a slow breath, pointed Fen’s nose at the
first jump, and released the big animal.

Becca watched man
meld with horse to become one. The horse was an awesome example of Irish
breeding and any other time, she would have paid close attention to the animal.
Today though, it was the rider who held her enthralled. His wore a dark green
military jacket over pale fawn breeches. The patch on his left shoulder flashed
gold and red against the somber color of his uniform. His riding helmet now
covered his close-cropped black hair. The uniform in no way diminished the
man’s astounding musculature. In fact, it only enhanced it.

Becca sighed,
feeling inordinately foolish. This was 1978 for goodness sake. This was a time
for women’s lib, burning bras, and “I Am Woman” rhetoric. It wasn’t politically
correct to act like the swooning heroine in some bodice ripper. But there was a
nasty little voice in her head that kept whispering,
“Aye, but wouldn’t yee
like him to rip yer bodice? Yee’d be lovin’ ever bit of it, yeah?”

Horse and rider
finished the course to thunderous applause. Clean round. Four seconds under the
time limit. He’d be hard to beat. If she’d been mounted on any horse but Arien,
he would have been impossible to beat.

“Riding a clean
round, ladies and gentlemen, is Captain Kieran MacDermot of the Irish Defense
Forces on Fenian Warrior.”

Well, that certainly
explained the uniform. Army man. Irish. Dark. Brooding. Yummy. Becca forced her
thoughts back to reality. As the captain rode through the gate, he looked
straight at her and Becca thought she would melt right there. No man had the
right to be that gorgeous. No man had the right to have that much sex appeal.
She grinned. That man could seduce the most ardent, man-hating libber and make
her ask for seconds. Ask? Hell, he could make her beg.

Well pleased with
himself, Kieran passed by the cailín on the black horse. He’d managed to stay
aboard without too much affront to his masculinity. And, the look on the
cailín’s face as he’d ridden past was most gratifying. He couldn’t wait until
this blasted event was over. He had six weeks of leave coming, and he knew
exactly where he was going to spend it. He grinned. And precisely what he was
going to do while spending it. Unlike Rory, he didn’t have a cailín at every
stop. Now he knew why. He was going to woo this one, win her, and make her his.
Kieran’s grin broadened into a smirk. He didn’t even know her name. He was
bloody well losing his mind!

Becca was the last
rider. The only clean round belonged to the Irish Army captain. She took a deep
breath. Her insides quivered as a tingly spasm ran from the pit of her stomach
all the way to her toes at the thought of him. Her knees wanted to clamp
together, but horse and saddle prevented them from doing so. She’d laughed when
girlfriends had told her of getting off while riding. Now she was grateful
there was something to rub against.
Oh, my God. I cannot believe he can turn
me on by just looking at me. How juvenile am I?

She reminded herself
there was time enough for such thoughts later. Right now, she had a jump-off to
win. She patted Ari’s neck and urged him into the arena. She circled, made sure
Ari had the correct lead, and then gave him his head. They soared over the
first obstacle.

Kieran had ridden
out to the holding area after leaving the arena. The cailín and her horse, the
last pair to ride, were announced.
Rebecca Miller riding High Meadow
Poseidon’s Arien
. He dismounted, and led Fen back to the gate. The cailín
really was an excellent rider. Her hands and legs were quiet. She stayed
balanced. She stayed focused. She let the horse do his best. She rode a clean
round.

“Ladies and
gentleman,” the announcer said, “Ms. Miller and Arien had a clean round and
were four seconds under the time limit. We have a tie.”

Becca couldn’t
believe it. She tied the big Irishman. As she rode toward the gate, she almost
reined Ari to a halt. He was standing there, leaning insolently on the gate,
watching her intently. She dragged another one of those quivering breaths into
her lungs. This was so not fair. A win would give her enough points to qualify
for the Grand Prix. If she could win this event, she was sure the U.S.
Equestrian Team would move her up from alternate to team member. She’d dreamed
of riding in the Olympics since she’d been a little girl—had trained her whole
life for this one moment. This man was not going to jeopardize her chances.
She’d just ignore him.