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Aodh rested the heel of his boot on a joist jutting out from the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you something to say?”
“I am saying it. I think it unwise to keep an enemy combatant in our midst.”
Aodh smiled a little. “Combatant?”
“Lest it slip your mind, she pulled a blade on you. Twice.”
He frowned. “That was but an initial reaction. Fear, confusion, anger.” Great, unbiddable passion. “Understandable.”
“And now? Now, what is fueling her fire?”
He gazed out at the green grasses of spring marching down the valley walls, dew-wet, illuminated by the misty light as if cast in some faerie spell. Ireland was beautiful in spring. He’d forgotten that.
“Aodh, methinks the lady was not confused in the least,” Ré pressed quietly. “And I do not think she will come around. Why would she? Nothing is going to change about her circumstances, nor ours. She will still be the queen’s bound lady, you will still be the rebel. She will still lose her castle if we prevail—”
“Not if she weds me.”
“—or her head if she joins us and we do not.”
“’Tis a momentary setback,” he said curtly.
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.” He’d never failed yet in his life. He was not about to start now with the woman who made a fire burn in his loins and his cold, empty heart.
Ré’s gaze was pinned on his profile. “How? How, Aodh, do you intend to overcome this setback of the lady of the castle being held, a hostile captive, in the midst of our rebellion?”
“I have plans.”
“What do they include?”
Their gazes locked. As the sun rose, it shone on Ré’s eyelashes and the hair falling down over his shoulders.
“It would be far wiser to send her away,” Ré said quietly. “But you do not seem to want to do that, and for the life of me, I cannot understand why. Women have never held any but the most fleeting allure for you, Aodh.”
“I’m not sending her away.”
“Why not? What is she to you?” Impatience and confusion hardened Ré’s voice. “What matters she, to us?”
Their gazes locked for a silent moment.
“I suggest you leave off,” Aodh said quietly.
Ré nodded curtly and pulled his own cloak tighter around his shoulders as they drew near the southern tower and guardhouse, where men were assembling to change the morning guard. “Very well, Aodh. But you had better convince her, and swiftly, ere someone gets hurt. Most likely her.”
Aodh wanted to smash his head into the wall. What else was he doing but trying to convince her? And he was so close… Last night, she’d been so wildly aroused, her body had almost ignited under his touch. It had driven him mad.
Mad, indeed. He’d have done anything for her, anything to keep her under his spell, whispering his name, wanting him more than anything in the world.
He glanced back at the tower, but they’d passed on. Then a call went up from the gate: a rider was cresting the hill at full gallop.
Kicking up dust and pebbles, the rider hurtled down the path they’d just been discussing. He wore an Irish brat and a simple hauberk.
They hurried over in time to greet him at the gate.
He brought a message from the O’Mor tribe. Their chief welcomed the Lord of Rardove home again, and mentioned how well he recalled Aodh’s father.
He also mentioned they had four hundred warriors ready at a moment’s notice.
