Page 10 of Dorchad

Lucy whispered her soft lips over his, taking her time as she always did. That she kissed like a maiden but loved like a king’s paramour kept him enthralled by her sweetness and passion. Since the first time with her all she had to do was look at him to make him hard.

“Permit me bolt the door,” he said as she lifted her mouth and smiled at him. “Then I shall quench your every desire.”

Lucy jumped from his lap. “No more for you until tonight. I have to indoctrinate Dr. McIan, and you need to talk to Dorchad and find out what the bloody hell is happening with him. Later, my lover.” She waggled her long fingers at him, and then sauntered out of the chamber.

Tair considered chasing her down and dragging her off to their bed chamber, but doubtless with the new female on the island his wife would have much to occupy her. He wanted to keep Lucy chained to his bed, as he had when she’d first arrived, but now that she’d wed him he had to treat her with love and a certain amount of respect.

And after the evening meal I’ll have all night to fack her as slow and deep as she likes.

He went in search of his second, but didn’t find Dorchad in the garrison hall or in his quarters. After inquiring with the household guards he strode out of the stronghold and through the gates toward the south side of the island. There on the shore he found his chieftain standing and staring out at the dark waters of the loch.

Tair could not recall once ever finding Dorchad in such an idle state, which tempted him to rouse him from his melancholy with a hard fist to the jaw. For Lucy’s sake he’d been trying not to brawl as often, as any manner of violence upset her, so he opted for another manner of attack.

“Shall I wrap you in my tartan and keep you warm while you fret, you sad old crone?” he demanded as he joined him.

Dorchad eyed him. “Try, you foul-tempered arse, and I shall rule the clan after I bathe in your blood.”

He nodded his approval. “What fashed you into such a state, then? That wee wench you dragged from the loch and kissed, or so someone lied?”

“’Twas truth. An impulse of the moment, naught more.” The chieftain looked back at the loch. “She’s a healer.”

Tair understood why he mentioned that. The elderly mortal that served as the clan’s healer only had to doctor their vassals, for the MacRune did not grow sick, and their wounds healed within hours. The healer had grown increasingly frail over the last year, and voiced his intention to spend his final years among his kin as soon as a replacement could be found and made ready. Inviting an outsider to live among the clan, however, could result in their secrets being exposed.

In that sense, Rebecca McIan might be the answer to many wishes.

“Advise our brothers and vassals no’ to attempt to drive her off the island, then.” He watched his second’s brow furrow before he asked, “Do you want her, or want her gone?”

“’Tisnae my say.” Dorchad sounded indifferent, but his stance grew rigid, as if he were fighting himself.

“When Lucy came to me, ’twas all I could do to keep from her,” Tair said. “She gave herself to me once, and then refused me after. I couldnae fathom the woman, nor could I cease wanting her. You ken what I did next, aye?”

His second made a disdainful sound. “You chained her to your bed every night.”

“Dinnae sneer at my solution. She woke in my arms every morning.” He smiled a little, remembering those days. “If you want the healer, keep her close. If she’s a distraction, I’ll send her off island and find another to tend the household.”

Dorchad didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then finally told him, “I dinnae need a woman, but our vassals need a healer. I shall keep my distance from her, and you may persuade her to stay or go as she pleases.” He nodded in the direction of the opposite shore. “If she doesnae wish to serve us, we may send her to live among the villagers.”

Tair nodded. “So shall I do, then. Who do you reckon wished for such a female?”

“’Tis but one man among the clan who’s swived more mortal females than any other, as if facking might cure some ill of his,” the chieftain said. “’Tis likely from the long years he spent living in the dark Fae kingdom in Elphyne.”

He couldn’t imagine his war master desiring such a small, frail-looking female, but then little about his older brother made sense. “Agreed. I’ll talk to Cath.”

Chapter Three

Rebecca accepted the mug of herbal tea that Lucia Brooke had ordered for her, and warmed her cold hands against the sides. After meeting the laird’s tall, beautiful blonde wife, whom the cluet had also brought back from the future to this time, she learned a great deal more about her bizarre situation. The island where the castle stood belonged to the MacRune Clan, the half-human sons of a dark Fae assassin. Their current life or death quest involved searching for the wish-granting cloth so they could return it to their father’s queen before she destroyed the world.

“If the cluet hadn’t brought me here, my ex-boyfriend would have murdered me and my client,” Lucy told her after describing the terrible experience she’d gone through before arriving on the island. “So there really was no choice but to agree.”

That made telling the laird’s wife about the horrific circumstances at the hospital easier, although Rebecca thought it strange that both of them had been saved from a death by shooting.

“It seems odd that this enchanted object would choose two women about to be shot, from the same time,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “It can’t be coincidence, either, because that’s still an unusual way to die, even in the U.S.” Something occurred to her. “Maybe removing us from our timeline just before we were fated to die wouldn’t alter the future.”

“Because we didn’t have one. Oh, thinking about it banjaxes my brain.” Lucy grimaced. “Let’s take a walk downstairs.”

Dorchad had never returned after leaving her, so Rebecca agreed and followed her out of the chamber. Thanks to Lucy, who had brought her a pretty gown and slippers to wear while her own clothes dried out, she didn’t look quite so out of place. That she had traveled back in time to the fourteenth century should have been shocking, but she’d grown at ease with her surroundings surprisingly fast.

Gealladh, the clan’s stronghold, seemed enormous, with countless passages and levels, soaring towers and a bewildering number of people living inside its stone block walls. On the way to the great hall Rebecca had glimpsed several work rooms where weavers, carpenters and garment makers worked at their crafts. No one in this time had much opportunity to be idle, she guessed, but the clan’s people seemed content with their jobs. When they passed Lucy and Rebecca, they smiled as they bobbed or bowed to them.