His next words surprised her even more. “You bore the brunt of his wrath, Cluaran, ’tis your choice upon the punishment.”
He was giving her the choice, but before she could speak further, the thumping became louder and Aonghus pivoted the topic back to the original subject. “Keirah, the Northern prick did not know how to prepare a lass.” He nodded toward the fornication taking place against the wall.
What was he talking about? “Prepare a lass?”
He nodded again toward the thumping source. “Your description where ‘wee cock’ charged behind the screen and was atop Inga a mere moment later calls to mind he mounted her dry each time.”
“Dry?”
He paused a second and she noted his gaze strayed toward her lips. “When you seek to prepare a lass, you mustnot mount her straightaway,” he began, his voice thick. “She must be readied.” He raised his hand to brush a stray curl from her temple; the tiny hairs on her neck’s back rose to attention. “Cluaran, the lover begins with a spark, here” – he brushed his thumb, coarse from warfare, over her lips, which quivered – “then to here” – his caress moved down the curve of her neck over her raging pulse –Oh, my– “lower and lower feeding the flames inside the lass, caring for those flames across her flesh, till a desire from the heat consumes her and nae other till an inferno takes your whole body and soul.”
Well, if talking about kings and kingdoms and keepers had soured the taste for desire on her tongue, the passions echoing the wall with those reflected in Aonghus’s gaze were turning the taste sweet as the honey in the mead from earlier. Her lips strayed to his; how she yearned for a long drink.
Knock. Knock.Her eyes glanced toward the closed doorway…
Chapter 10
Her tiny panting breaths, scented by the honey spice they had partaken of at their feast, brushed his lips at the sheer closeness separating them. Before he could speak further or ravage her lips, her eyes clasped shut, almost painfully. Her explanation earlier about the expression she wore during a shadow-glance – this had to be it. Aye, she’d looked similar when they were setting the owl free. Hell, this meant disaster was about to strike!
His eyes darted between the closed door and her. “Keirah?” he hailed, gently.
She gasped again, her eyes flew open, and she began with a reverent whisper to the element in her grasp. “MacCade, mere moments Clyde will knock; ’tis a ruse to lure you to the door. He is not a friend but a traitor! Sturan and Rune will charge the threshold once open. ’Tis a trap; they seek to slay you and take me to Lord Kollungr even if I am tainted in their eyes. The three carry swords and storm all at once, but they keep looking down the passage as if seeking another’s direction I cannot see in the shadow-glance’s angle upon the door.”
Time to unleash hell! He leapt to his feet, then reached for her hand to lift her instantly by his side. He scrambled for the table, gathering his sword, while she went to the hearth fetching his daggers from the mantle. Handing him one, she kept the other clutched to her hip and began to trail him.
A heavier twinge from worry took his voice as he held up his hand to halt her. “Cluaran, you remain here. Do not fight me upon this; there is only cobbled terrain below even if we could cut our way through that window. The path we came is our only means to escape. Weshalltake our leavetogether.”
He paused when she asked: “Promise?”
He would have grinned, except he now heard the steps stomping closer. Had he ever felt a rage like the one tearing through his skin at those who dared threaten her? Never!
“I swear it to my soul.” He gave the same sentiment as at the cavern earlier.
He bolted out the door in his braies and barefoot before a knock even sounded, with a snarl and weapons at seeing this done. The component belonging to surprise was now on their side, and what was he going to do with it? Rain hell down on the hunters!
***
Coward! A coward’s blood ran in her veins. How could she cave so easily and leave him to battle alone? She clasped her hands to her breasts, holding the dagger close, watching his bare back flare, its muscles resembling a beast about to devour its prey, when he vanished around the doorway. A Gaelic battle cry sounded in the hallway. Was that the beast or the hunters?
“MacCade!” Raging hell,thatwas Rune.
One of the four ghosts who haunted her was now here. Her fingers tightened on the hilt. Arrogant and ruthless and conniving – Rune embodied each of these ill qualities. The pock-faced Northman had many fighting seasons to his name, being the oldest of the pack, and would call on these deadly talents.Dirty, he is a damn dirty fighter too.
She had seen Sturan in hand-to-hand combat on the raids; he was also a master at his weapons. Her feet took a step toward the door. The numbers were three to one. Even if the shadow-glance described Aonghus had held his ground before time reversed, there were no guarantees…
Clash!
Metal sounded and a howl of voices with grunts from pain traveled about the corner, then…
A terrified scream – oh, no, Fiona.
Aonghus bellowed, “Fiona, stay as you are!” Keirah heard a doorway slam.
“Evander! Bolt the….” Keirah listened to Fiona’s wail next door ordering Evander to seal their chamber.
Crash!What sounded like a table splintering onto the ground one chamber over shook her feet, before a second scream cried from Fiona when the chamber belonging to the lovers became engulfed by the brawl. Evander must not have gotten the board lowered fast enough. The battle moved into a series of thunderous echoes which emanated through the wall like a tempest had taken root inside, alongside male voices.
“Circle the Scotsman!” Rune shouted the order.
