The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (66 page)

“They’re coming for me. I must hide.”

Devlin couldn’t speak. Her warm breath on his bare chest sent shivers through him. He realized the bedclothes had fal en from his shoulders. Her chemise had been pul ed low, exposing one pert breast.

“I can’t die like my mother.”

Devlin found his voice, a ragged whisper. “I won’t let you die.” He ached to kiss her but he shouldn’t get involved. She was too dangerous, too innocent. He had no future to give her. Tomorrow he would rule the Hel hounds. A pit of hopelessness opened in his stomach. He had to send her away.

Devlin eased back.

“Don’t leave. Hold me. I need you. Don’t you want me?”

Devlin almost choked hearing those words. He’d felt protective of her since they’d first met. Yet his feelings for her were more complex. He admired her strength. She brought light to his darkest hol ows.

“Aye, I want you.”

“Love me. I need this. I need you.”

Devlin saw her clear blue eyes, free of the nightmare. Hope flared within him. “You understand what you’re asking? I wil not seduce you.”

“I know. You are a good, caring man. Even if it’s just this night, I want you.”

“You are certain?”

She breathed, “Aye.”

Devlin crushed his mouth to hers, their tongues entwining as Branna opened to him. He’d never tasted anything sweeter than the honey of her mouth. Devlin hungrily deepened the kiss and fol owed her down as he laid her back on the bed.

Branna plunged her hands in his hair, stroking through the dark, silky mass, keeping him close.

She almost groaned when his mouth left hers, but moaned with pleasure as he planted wet kisses along her neck and shoulder, suckling gently at the hol ow of her neck.

His lips moved downwards across her shoulder and col arbone to the top of her breast that had popped out of her chemise. She angled her body towards him, begging him, the tingling anticipation almost unbearable.

His tongue moved lower, clamping around her nipple, his tongue striking and swirling the taut peak. Sexual excitement curled in her stomach, pooling moisture between her legs. Slipping her arms around his magnificent back, Branna stroked his hard muscles, from neck to buttocks.

Branna’s chemise had ridden high and was bunched around her thighs. Devlin slipped his hands beneath the folds, caressing her bare thighs. Her bel y fluttered as his palms slid up her soft skin and over her ribs. He closed his eyes and savoured the exquisite feel of her.

He raised her up and pul ed the chemise over her head, exposing al of her. He planted light kisses to her cheek, tracing its curve.

“I won’t hurt you. Do you trust me?”

Branna reached up and smoothed his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “I trust you.”

* * *

Devlin awoke, his body curved around Branna, her head resting on his shoulder. He held her close, revel ing in the feel of her. He felt warm and more content than he could ever remember.

Although his body was tight with need, Devlin slipped out from beneath Branna without waking her. He walked naked in the frigid early-morning air to the washbasin and sluiced cold water over his skin, washing away the night’s passions.

Branna.
She’d made him feel like he could have a future on earth. She was the one person who knew him. She’d touched his heart. He would love to have more of her. A lifetime would suit him.

Knowing it was impossible, he donned his drawers, a green tunic, surcoat and a mantle lined with fur, without the help of his chamberlain. He fastened the mantle at his neck with a brooch. He pul ed out his sword. He needed a sparring match to numb his mind to what he had to do. A life with Branna could not be.

Devlin had his own destiny to fulfil. His life had been mapped and he’d trained for this moment.

He paused to admire Branna, lying warm and soft, nestled into the bedding, her hair spil ing dark on the pil ow. Devlin turned and closed the door on the sleeping woman and his heart.

Devlin slid over the bench and sat beside the large, behemoth of a man at the long wooden table within the great hal . Uncle Hugh slapped him on the back. “’Tis almost midday, my boy. What has detained you?”

Devlin preferred not to mention Branna. “Only the mundane duties of this castle.”

“Those wil soon not be yours to bear.”

Devlin chose to say nothing. He grabbed a plate of food and nibbled from it. “My father. How did he die?”

Uncle Hugh looked at him in surprise. “We’ve already discussed this, years ago.”

“I know, but humour me and speak it again.”

“The night before he took his rites, he was accidental y attacked by the hounds. No one knows why.”

“He didn’t wish to marry?”

“Marry? Where would you have heard this?”

“Here and about.”

“Wel , there was a woman who captured his eye.”

Devlin glared at him. “What happened?”

Hugh sighed. “They were in the chapel with the priest when the dogs burst through. She didn’t wish to die and pushed your father towards the dogs, hoping they would be occupied, al owing her to escape with her life. Unfortunately, this was not her destiny and she perished as wel .”

“Why did you not tel me this before?”

“I thought to protect you from the hurt of knowing your father was betrayed by a woman he loved.

I didn’t want you to be misguided and make the same mistake.” Devlin smiled, trusting his uncle’s words. Branna had been young. Her grandmama had obviously fil ed her head with false information. Such a magic chalice surely didn’t exist.

He pushed away from the table. “No need to worry, Uncle. I know who I am and wil accept my responsibilities.”

Devlin left the hal to seek his knights knowing his father had given up everything, including his life, for the sake of a woman, a woman who’d betrayed him. He would not repeat the mistakes of his father.

Five

Branna stirred in the deep comfort of the bed, the sound of male laughter and clashing steel interrupting her dreams of dark eyes and a warm mouth. No longer afraid of the nightmares, Branna opened her eyes to beams of sunlight streaming through the slats in the shutters.

Her discarded clothes from the night before lay neatly folded over a chair, now dry. Her chemise lay with them on top. Branna smiled. Today, Devlin would take her to find her chalice.

With the air stil cool, Branna wrapped the fur around her bare shoulders and padded to the window. She opened one shutter to the bailey below. She picked Devlin out most certainly as he sparred with his knights. He looked resplendent in a dark-green tunic, covering light chainmail, his immense sword in one hand and his shield in the other. Branna watched with pride as he exuded confidence and evaded his student’s powerful thrust. His exact timing and light footwork gave him the edge over his larger opponent.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, Devlin paused and glanced up. Branna quickly hid behind the shutter, not comfortable with him knowing she watched. Her feelings were too raw and uncertain. He’d said they’d have just one night, but Branna had to convince him they could have more.

She gathered her clothes and within the wardrobe found the washbasin and a clean linen towel.

She cleansed herself, patting lightly between her legs at the unfamiliar sore feeling. Branna dressed quickly and managed to find her way through the keep to the bailey below. As she passed through the kitchen, she grabbed some bread – she was starving! She didn’t want to enter the great hal without Devlin, unsure if he wanted her presence known.

Arriving at the upper bailey, Branna’s heart sank. The knights stil practised archery and fencing, and there was a group of children playing horseshoes, but Devlin had disappeared. He probably had to meet with his steward and bailiff, or attend to other important duties. Her desires were minor compared to his responsibilities.

She turned around, intent on returning to Devlin’s chamber. Then she saw him. He stood across the bailey near the hal . He held the reins of Ailbay and Mol y.

Branna slowly walked towards him and he moved to her.

Devlin handed her Mol y’s reins. “I thought to take a ride about the lough before we search for your chalice. Would you join me, Branna?”

Branna’s heart leaped. “Aye, my lord.”

“My given name is Devlin. I wish for you to use it.”

Devlin took her by the waist and lifted her on to the edge of the saddle. Branna raised her skirt, swung her left leg over the horn and sat astride. Devlin mounted Ailbay and she fol owed him through the outer ward to the gatehouse. Once they’d cleared the portcul is, Devlin spurred his horse to a gal op and Branna fol owed close behind. They raced over the high rol ing hil s, a tapestry of subtle shades of green: darker under the blackberry bushes, lighter as sunlight dappled through the sycamore trees.

Branna loved this land and its wild ruggedness tugged at her heart. She would hate to leave this beautiful place and return to the dour confines of her uncle’s house.

Devlin stopped on a high bluff overlooking the calm, blue waters. “Lough Ceo is oftentimes in fog. We are in luck this day as the view is clear.”

He dismounted and approached Mol y, reaching for her. Branna leaned forwards, but as she slid into his outstretched arms, her skirt caught on the pommel of the saddle. Branna’s feet never touched the ground and she fel against Devlin, grabbing him around the neck.

Devlin stumbled back, but gained purchase before they both tumbled to the ground.

“I am ever so sorry, my lord.” She couldn’t keep the amusement from her voice.

“I am not.” He held her tightly and sealed his lips over hers, taking possession of her mouth. The first hungry swipe of his tongue took her breath away. She dug her hands into his hair, pul ing his head closer.

Growling soft and low in his throat, he dragged his mouth away. His tongue rimmed her bruised lips. “Maybe ’tis best we find the chalice.”

He reached up and unhooked her arms from around his neck. There was unmistakable regret in his tone. Yet, she felt he held something important from her, something that lurked in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. Perhaps after they found the chalice she could speak to him of a future.

“Aye, ’tis best.”

* * *

Devlin approached the tomb where Branna had scraped the earth the night before, her shovel on the ground where she’d dropped it. He hopped from Ailbay’s back and walked the central tomb, studying the boulders. He knew the dogs and their fears. They wouldn’t have buried the chalice under the dolmen itself. It was a sacred place. They would have buried it outside the tomb, beneath the lowest end of the capstone, pointing downwards.

“I believe you were digging in the wrong place. You should find your chalice buried at the end point of this rock.”

He grabbed the shovel and began digging, making great headway in a short span of time. He easily removed and tossed away rock after rock. Within only a few minutes, he’d made a large, wide hole. Now on his knees, Devlin dug with his hands, capturing dirt in his cupped palms and throwing it aside.

The sunlight gleamed off a shiny object. Devlin’s heart thumped in his chest. He careful y removed more dirt, exposing the sides of a metal cup. Branna hovered beside him, her sky-blue eyes briefly meeting his.

Devlin hesitated. “Would you like the honour of removing it from its grave?”

“Nay, my lord.” She laughed, a silvery rush of pleasure. “As you’ve stated, ’tis on your property.” Devlin smiled at her, then reached in and lifted the chalice out of the hole, brushing away the last vestige of dirt and dust. He held it high, admiring the graceful curves of the hammered gold cup.

Engraved panels of filigree decorated the lower portion. Emerald stones gleamed around the edge of the upper band and lower girdle.

As he lowered it for Branna to hold, he felt a foreboding, a darkness descend upon his soul. He became cold, even as the sun warmed him. Evil thoughts consumed his mind. Why should he give it to her? Its magic had destroyed his family. He had to get rid of it.

Branna dropped her raised hands as Devlin’s face became distant and cold. His eyes were fixed on her but they looked very far away. He scared her.

“Devlin, what is wrong?”

He said nothing, but stared through her as if she didn’t exist.

Branna touched his arm. “Give me the chalice.”

His eyes grew luminous, glowing like red orbs in his now ashen face. She’d seen those eyes before . . . on the dogs.

He gripped her wrist, exerting hurtful pressure until she let go.

“Nay. You shal never touch this cup. Tonight I become Lord of the Underworld, ruler of al that is evil. The chalice is dangerous to us and wil be destroyed.” Branna gasped, horrified at his words. “Devlin, something is wrong. The chalice is hurting you.” He forceful y shoved her away and Branna stumbled backwards.

She ran back at him. “Drop it. I beg of you to release it.” Devlin withdrew a short dagger from his belt and wielded it at her threateningly. “Leave me and never return.”

Branna gasped and stopped, tears tumbling down her cheeks. “You can’t mean that.” He took a menacing step towards her. “Would you chal enge me and lose your life?” Pain ripped through Branna’s heart, almost doubling her over. This couldn’t be happening.

She’d lost her chalice. She’d lost Devlin.

With little choice, Branna gathered Mol y’s reins. Branna’s tears made it difficult for her to mount her horse, but somehow she managed to crawl upon its back. After a last look at Devlin’s stone cold face, Branna dug her heels into Mol y’s flank.

With an aching heart and empty arms, she rode as if the Hounds of Hel had given chase, away from Castle Hol ylough and the love of her life.

Branna dropped Mol y’s reins and lay across her neck. Mol y slowed her pace, sensing Branna’s distress, but Branna didn’t care. She buried her face into Mol y’s silky mane and cried, huge heart-wrenching sobs. Devlin didn’t want her.