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“Aye. It led me straight to you.” Egan wished he could laugh as he teased her, but he could not risk more than a sly grin.
Oriana’s curiosity made her bold. “If my touch eases your pain through your tunic and bandage, wouldn’t it feel even better against your bare skin?”
It was a logical assumption, but Egan had spent so long donning his tunic, the thought of removing it exhausted him. Having to gaze down at his wound was also distasteful. “Slip your hand under my tunic and rest it lightly on the bandage. Give me a moment to judge how that feels before I strip down to my skin.”
Fearing she would cause him more pain, Oriana slid her hand slowly under his tunic and ran a tentative caress over the linen bandage. She was cautious, but her arm brushed across his groin, and immediately aroused, he moaned deep in his throat.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” she apologized.
Egan locked his fingers around her wrist before she could withdraw her hand. “I’m a man, and it’s natural for me to respond to your touch. Relax and just rest here with me a while longer. Then maybe I’ll feel well enough to engage in something far more entertaining.”
She knew precisely what entertainment he had in mind, and fearing he would rip out his stitches and leave them both awash in his blood, tranquility eluded her. She lay pressed against his side, and attempted to replace the bloody images cluttering her mind with the serenity of the forest. She was only partly successful, but she was greatly relieved when Egan’s breathing slowed, and he returned to his dreams. Oriana remained convinced the falcons had inspired Egan’s ancestors to craft wings. There was much to be learned from the elegant birds, and she hoped Egan would soon be well enough to venture out and observe them.
Ula circled the men who argued over how to best construct a wing, but Kieran ignored her summons until he was satisfied they had hit upon the best method. He then followed her to her chamber, and the instant he had closed the door, she began to berate him in a furious shriek.
“Egan should already be dead. He was pale, wavering slightly as he stood, and if you’d only taken up a sword against him, he’d have offered no more resistance than a kitten. But no, you had to take to the skies!”
Kieran caught her wrist before her palm grazed his cheek, but he was more amused than offended. “You voiced your opinion on the subject last night, Mother, but my choice was already made. Father seldom accepted your advice. Why do you expect me to heed it?”
“You are my son,” Ula reminded him in a threatening hiss.
“And also Cadell’s,” Kieran countered smoothly. “I will be king, but I’ll win that honor in my own way. Egan will be no more able to fly in six days than he could have fought me today. But by choosing the wings, I’ve shown a daring no other man can match. Mark my words, it will serve me well when I rule.”
Ula dug her nails into her palms and welcomed the pain. “Cadell would have struck swiftly. He’d not have given an enemy six days to prepare. I pray your arrogant bid for glory doesn’t cost you the crown.”
“It’s already mine,” Kieran boasted proudly. He risked stepping close to kiss her cheek, but hurried out the door before she could again raise her hand to him.
Kieran had once been a dutiful son, and though Ula was proud to have raised such a handsome and clever young man, she soundly cursed his defiance. Even worse, he had shamed her by noting how frequently Cadell had dismissed her opinions.
She had loved Cadell with all her heart, but to her great despair, she had never truly won his. She had given him a fine son, but as the firstborn, Egan had been a constant reminder of the dear wife he had lost. Cadell had mourned his beloved Adelaine with his dying breath.
Ula knotted the ends of her long sleeves as she paced her chamber, and, not satisfied to rely on Kieran’s luck to hold, she began to plot ways to destroy Adelaine’s son on her own. What was needed was a vicious enemy to do the deed, and she swiftly recalled how Egan had battled Duncan O Floinn over the bitch he had brought home. Perhaps Duncan would relish another chance to fight Egan, and she would gladly award him the haughty Oriana as the victor’s prize.
Delighted by the prospect of ridding the fortress of two distressing problems, she ran to her door. Garrick would know how to summon Duncan, and she rushed down the winding stairs to find him.
Kieran found Madi strolling the bluff, her hair blowing with the beauty of silk ribbons in the wind. He accurately assessed her mood from the stiffness of her shoulders, and after reaching her side, he remained quiet until her curiosity got the better of her, and she glanced up at him.
“Have you missed me?” he asked.
Madi’s
first impulse was to shove him off the bluff, but she controlled it. “What is there to miss in a suitor who fails to value my virtue?”
Kieran feared all women were as vain as his mother, and because flattery worked so well on Ula, he relied upon it now. “What of a suitor who would rather become king himself than have to beg for the privilege of wedding his lady? I’ve risked my life for you, Madi. No man could offer more.”
“You’ll risk your life, but not your pride,” Madi repeated numbly. “Why should that please me?”
“No man worthy of the name will sacrifice his pride for a woman,” Kieran argued. “But think what you will. In six days I’ll be king of the Dál Cais, and regardless of how fine a dowry your father provides, I’ll match it. Now kiss me as you always have.”
Rather than turn toward him as he took her hand, Madi continued to gaze out at the sea, where the sifting gray-green mirrored her own fractured mood. She recognized the mention of a simple kiss as yet another attempt to lure her into his bed before they were truly wed.
“While it appears unlikely, what if Egan should win the challenge? Will you again refuse to have him arrange our marriage?” she asked.
Shocked by the lack of faith her question implied, Kieran grabbed hold of her tiny waist and pulled her close. His dark eyes narrowed as he exposed her query for the folly it was. “Has it not occurred to that devious mind of yours that if I lose, I’ll not be welcome here? My brother won’t arrange our marriage; he’ll likely toss me out the gate. Rather than a wife, I’ll have need of a sword and a fleet horse.”
The sun turned her hair a rich blue-black, and the salty breeze whipped at her long gown. The sea mimicked the roar of a wildly cheering crowd. Despite the combined assault on her senses, her thoughts remained crystal clear. She had always loved him, but if she gave herself to him and he lost the crown, then she would be left with nothing, not even her pride. He wanted so much more than a kiss, but had not even considered how dearly it might cost her.
She placed her hands upon his chest and shoved hard. “If it’s only the king who’ll need a wife, then come to me when you’re our king, and not before.”
