The Draig's Choice Read online

Peter waved his arms. “Didn’t mean to, my mistake.”

  Sarah faced the closed door with the humor gone from her thoughts. “It’s been four days. When do we send out a search party?”

  “We wouldn’t know where to search. They rode out on the east trail but could have taken one of dozens leading anywhere. We wait,” Peter answered without a single joke. When she glanced at him, he looked his age, with worry lines showing around his eyes.

  “I’m worried.” The admission fell free. “I can’t sleep at night.”

  “The worry keeps me up too.” Peter admitted as he stared at the door. “Either they will show up or we will eventually hear rumors that end the uncertainty.”

  Sarah nodded rather than comment on the unthinkable. Conall left and our last conversation contained my losing it, him insinuating a medieval divorce, and then quick apologies. This is what keeps me up at night. I barely know him and yet I miss him.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asked.

  Shaking away the offer, she took several breaths and prevented her mouth from talking about how big the bed seemed without his bulk wrapped around her. How in only three nights of sleeping with him, she had trouble doing it without him. That a meal without him next to her felt empty and solitary, even in a hall full of people. She’d likely have traded her soul for a smile that lit his incredible green eyes framed by thick dark black lashes. Oh hell, I even miss the terrible sex.

  “Then let’s go finish the accounts to take our minds off of them.” Peter took her hand and led her back to the study. “On the bright side, Lena will have to admit you have some skills.”

  Chapter 20

  The night buzzed with activity at his return. Stable lads took the tired animals and pledged fine care, for which Conall thanked them. Bearing Evan’s weight on his right side, he helped his brother into the hall, where torches had been lit and a fire roared in the central hearth. Refusing aid from any of the men, Conall sat Evan down before the flames and bellowed for Lena. “My brother has need of you!”

  “What can I do?” He heard the voice he had craved for five long lonely nights. Conall had felt Sarah even before he rode within the gates. Just the sensation licking up his spine served as a greater welcome than he had anticipated.

  He couldn’t see her with the hall filling with the men who had ridden with him, those who wished to hear of their tales, and lasses roused from their slumber to bring food and drink. But he could feel her closing the distance and closed his eyes to allow his flesh to become lost in the heat creeping over him.

  “What happened?” Conall opened his eyes to find Lena before them, her hands already pulling at Evan’s soaked, torn and bloodied shirt. Handing her his dagger, he let her cut the shirt to discover the wound he had stitched in the dawn’s first light.

  “You did these?” Lena asked him.

  “Aye.” A simple answer for a simple question. In the past years, he had sewn together many a man and knew Evan’s wound to be minor, merely cut skin, and not one to cause greater damage. But the wound had been rained upon during the long ride home, and wet wounds had a tendency to fester. “He must dry and will need the salve.”

  His thoughts recalled every piece of string he had sewn into every man, the screams of pain, the blood, and the fact that even a small wound had led to death.

  Before Lena could reply, not that he needed one, Bella leapt from the floor and placed her paws on his soaked trews to lick his face. Without a word, his hands cupped the muzzle bearing far too many scars and rubbed her.

  “Get down,” Sarah’s voice called from the side. He had overheard her give a welcome to each man who had ridden with him while he waited for her to join him. Not willing to leave his brother, he savored the way she greeted each man as he recalled his mother doing in years past.

  Bella obeyed, but sat at his side, her tail a beating drum on the floor soaked with the water running off him. He rose from the bench at the sight of her and beheld a vision worthy of his sleepless nights. Wrapped in his plaid, the blue, green and black weave had never appeared so welcoming as it did around her body. The hair he wished to feel in his hands flowed loose down her shoulders in the messed curls that beckoned to him.

  Whether she ran to him or vice versa, he would never be able to state. All he felt was the warmth of her pressed against his cold chest. “Sarah.” The whisper into her red curls was all he could manage.

  “I was so worried about you.” Her words tickled his neck and eased the perils of the last five days from his mind. “Oh my God, you are freezing.”

  Despite his want to keep her close, he pushed her back. “I am full of mud and wet and have no wish to see you carry the same.” Around his feet, water pooled and left pools of muck.

  She laughed and glanced down at the plaid covering her and then winked at him. He too caught the traces of filth he left. “Too late but completely worth it.” Her hands lifted the plaid and then handed it over to him. “Take off the sword and wrap this around you.”

  With her command, he removed the strap from his chest and set the blade of his ancestors on the table. The blue eye of the beast shimmered in the firelight and when he again faced his wife, it struck him how similar the shades appeared. Her eyes are those of the dragon.

  She stood wrapped in a robe, his, if he wasn’t mistaken. Before he could protest her not being decent for the hall, Sarah’s hands wrapped the plaid around him and she tried to wipe the damp from his face. Not caring who stood near, Conall captured her hands, pulled her against his body draped in the plaid and bent his mouth to hers. That she met his need, her lips seeking his in hunger, warmed him more than any hearth.

  Pulling back when the cheers registered in his ears, his forehead rested against hers, not caring that he could feel all eyes upon them. Filling his hand with her curls, he placed a kiss to her skin and then addressed the crowd. “Eat, drink and then be gone from my hall. You have served the clan well and deserve your rest in a warm bed.” More cheers erupted and most sat to fill bellies that had not been fed since yesterday.

  Conall had imposed a hard ride back to Draig lands, mindless of the horses or tired men, his worry for his brother the only thought that had mattered. And I needed to be with her, to see her. Guilt had driven him through storms and mud deep enough to lame a horse. I risked my brother’s life for wealth. Was it worth it?

  “How’d it go?” Peter asked from across the hall as he approached.

  Instead of replying, Conall nodded as he heard someone lift and then drop the bags filled with his silver.

  “Looks like everyone is back.” Peter acknowledged each man as Sarah had done. His warm greetings were a balm to many and a duty needed to be performed.

  “What happened to Evan?” Sarah asked, still flush against him, but her eyes lingered on Lena’s ministrations.

  “‘Tis but a wee scratch,” Evan answered wearily with his boast hardly believable.

  Conall lifted the cup placed in his hands and gulped down the whiskey, certain it would never warm him as his wife had. But after battle of any sort, he’d preferred to wash away the memories with far too much drink and had no plans to change his pattern with the screams of dying men echoing in his head. Closing his eyes, he savored the burn down his throat and the feel of it filling his empty belly. Visions of the hunt filled his thoughts, images of the slaughter vengeance had wrought, and he drained the cup only to see it refilled.

  “Is that all you people can say, a wee scratch?” Sarah teased, but worried eyes turned to him. “What happened?”

  Waiting for Peter to reach him, Conall sat and tugged Sarah down to sit upon his lap. Again, habit took over and a warm lass covering him had always been sought and usually provided by the Bruce or his coin. Emotions warred within him. Sarah is my wife, nay only a warm body, and must be treated better than I would on such a night.

  Arranging the plaid to prevent his wet clothes from chilling her, his nose buried in her hair while those gathered told the tale. Wrappin
g his arms around her, he let his mind drift to his contentment rather than to relive the chase. My wife deserves better from me.

  Conall listened as another man told their tale. For three long days they had followed a trail of men who spent his silver on drink and women. But they always seemed too late to catch up to the men. On day four, they had a bit of luck and followed behind one who left a tavern alone. The owner had shared the man’s largess with his coin that was merely a small chunk of silver, exactly what would have been sent in the larger bags to Draig lands.

  Unseen, they had trailed behind him for half a day until the thief reached the others, who had made camp in a cave too close to the Draig’s mines for Conall’s comfort. Using tactics learned from the Bruce’s men, they attacked after the men had gone to sleep, given that they were eight to the band’s fifteen men. The confident fools hadn’t even posted a lookout to keep watch. Conall had waited until the dark hour before dawn to strike.

  In the flickers of the dying embers in the cave, Conall had seen the blade that had caught Evan and the lad had no fault to carry. Any might had missed the man presumed dead on the floor. The old ruse proved to be an effective one.

  One I used only a year ago. He recalled the ambush while scouting an enemy camp. After being injured, he had fallen to the ground and lain perfectly still when his men scattered. He had been trapped and surrounded by too many to flee or fight. When a booted foot had kicked his ribs, his sword had struck up to pierce the man’s belly and give him the needed element of surprise. Four men had died after thinking the fight had ended.

  In his hall, each man added his part of the tale, as would be expected. The addition of finding the thieves’ trail, the nights of endless rain, horses needing tending, and finally the death toll brought by each weapon.

  It had been a near slaughter. Eight dead men before the remaining thieves were on their feet to defend themselves. In his mind’s eye, Conall felt his arm swing the blade that left Evan’s attacker without his head and heard the descending crash of it against the cave floor. In the moment, it had been triumphant, but left him with one more memory of blood and death delivered by his hand.

  Too many in his hall shared tales of carnage. He’d been told for years that wives were weak and such details would haunt them. If he were a fine husband, he’d send Sarah to her bed and spare her the trauma. But his arm banded tighter around her waist. My need for her overrides my senses.

  “And then Conall cleaned my wound and sewed me back together,” Evan added. “Our silver sat against the cave’s back wall and we rode for home to share the victory.” Details were omitted, and none shared them of the man kept alive to question. He had died at Conall’s hand after he had confirmed that no further threat remained. As the wealth is mine, the death had to be delivered by me. Still, I hear his life’s blood gurgling from the slit delivered to his throat.

  Cheers roared and cups banged against the tables. Murmurs of questions for more details came from smaller conversations easy to ignore. Sarah’s tender hands pulled a chunk of mud from his hair. “Do you want to talk about it?” Her question was whispered in his ear and only for him.

  He shook his head gently, not wanting her to move her cheek away from his. Wishing he could find the words to explain how so much vanished with her touch, he replied softly, “I only wish to hold you.” Her warmth rested against him along with her gentle heart that would listen if he wished to speak. But he would never burden her with the horror.

  Her soft laughter filled him as he emptied his cup and allowed one of the lasses to fill it. “Would you like something to eat or are you just going to drink? But the bath isn’t going to be an option.” She held out another chunk of mud from his hair, her fingers dirtied by it.

  The idea of food spurred no interest. Holding up his cup, he placed it near her hand. “Drink with me.” He wanted to taste his whiskey on her mouth while it dulled his mind. Biting the inside of his cheek, he hated what he had just asked of her, certain he treated her no better than a serving wench handed to him as a reward. One does nay force his wife to drink. But singular thoughts of erasing the last few days overruled his better judgment.

  His skin tingled as she rubbed her nose against the growth on his jaw, then she pulled back to wipe more filth from him. “The last time I drank that stuff, I woke up married.” But she lifted the cup and took a large swallow. His eyes stuck on her fair skinned throat as she did all he bid.

  The memory of waking beside her that first morn was far superior than those of killing and days in the muck. “Have I told you that I drank that night for fear that you would find me unworthy of you?” Already the strong drink left his mind lighter and pleasantly humming. Unspeakable truths left his lips and he waited to see if she would laugh at his weakness.

  Her blue eyes twinkled in front of him and red lashes blinked repeatedly. “I had similar thoughts that I wasn’t enough for you.”

  Rather than admit he felt like the lowest scum for having ended the lives of sleeping men rather than face them in honest battle, he wrapped his hand in her hair and tugged to her him. His mouth prevented her from speaking praise where it didn’t belong and hers tasted of his whiskey and teased his with restraint where he wanted none.

  Sarah’s lips sucked in his lower lip and he pulled her hip against him to show her what she did to him, to silently voice his need to lose himself within her. Then he regretted his action, not ever wanting to feel as if he demanded. But I want to demand. I want only to lose myself and banish the death I have wrought.

  But she giggled against his lips. “You still need that bath and then we’ll see to the rest of you.” Her hip pressed against his hardness and he had to stifle his groan.

  “I have missed you,” Conall said to her, not caring who overheard. Let all ken I cherish my wife. Then let her leave me before I forget how to treat her.

  “I was so worried about you,” Sarah told him, cupping his face, and then those same gentle hands wiped away dirt from his shallow beard.

  From the corner of his eye, Lena rose and motioned to ask for aid in seeing Evan upstairs. Before he could reposition Sarah to aid in his obligation, Lena scolded him. “You bear too much dirt to be of use. Listen to your wife and seek the tub. You may visit him on the morrow.”

  “Great idea,” Sarah quickly agreed after Lena promised to see Evan clean and in his bed.

  Men called encouragement and praise as Evan stumbled up the stairs with help. The events felt needed in his mind with his brother seen as one who would fight for the clan with skill. Evan had earned respect for riding out with him. And had nearly died.

  “There are quite a few matters I need to discuss with you,” Peter said, standing in front of them.

  “Not tonight there isn’t.” Despite attempting to keep her on his thighs, Sarah rose and blocked Peter. “Anything you need to discuss can wait until Conall has slept.”

  “Sarah, this isn’t about you,” Peter replied with a grin. “You did a great job taking care of the clan this week.” Conall sat back, pleased with the assessment and would ask her for details on the time missed on the morrow. His thoughts were too centered on the woman in front of him and the backside directly in his path. Never in his life had he felt such a raw ache for a woman and hated knowing that she would never be able to handle what he craved.

  “Since nothing needs to be done now, it can wait. Conall is going to take a bath and pass out. Unless we’re attacked, he’s off limits.” Her hands clenched on her full hips in the exact spots he wished to grab. Shaking his head to clear away thoughts that bordered on assaulting his wife with his lust unleashed, he lifted his cup and drained it.

  Even with the drink, he remained unable to resist the temptation before him. Conall rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him and pressed his need against the backside that taunted him, with his eyes on Peter. He had to clench his jaw when she rocked back against him so subtly that none were the wiser.

  “Clea
rly the Lady Draig remains in charge. Mayhap we should all heed her commands.” Though he teased, he only wanted Peter gone so he could quickly bathe and then have Sarah alone.

  Peter glared but walked away, spewing words of good-natured cheer that Conall ignored. Again, emptying the cup that had been refilled by unseen hands, he allowed Sarah to tug him down the corridor leading to the baths with his hand locked with hers. He grinned at the sight of the pitcher in the other. Leaving the few remaining men in the hall, they walked the dark corridor in silence with only the pad of paws behind them.

  “Who fetched you?” Conall absently wondered. Not that he cared, but he wanted to make certain his wife had been woken kindly. Given the late hour, he had expected to find her asleep in bed. I had hoped to face her after the madness abated, once I had complete control again. But that thought was a lie, he had craved to see her for days.

  “I felt you,” she whispered as they reached the door and pushed it open and to his surprise she commanded the dog to wait. Dropping his hand, Sarah left his side to add logs to the embers cooling in the hearth. In seconds, a fire blossomed in the grate and blessed heat reached his skin. Working the system designed ages ago, water began to fill the tub. She took charge of the chamber as if she had done it the whole of her life.

  “I felt you as I rode in,” he said in lieu of thanks for the tasks she completed for his comfort.

  A serious expression covered her face after she tested the water and adjusted the flow of hot and cold. “I felt you when you were still outside. At first, I thought it was only wishful thinking, but then it grew too strong to be my imagination. I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you.”

  “I had feared you would have your sleep disturbed by my late arrival.” Which had truly been his thought, but doubtful one that would have prevented him from seeking her. Rosy light from the flames matched those in his mind, the room bathed in the color of blood. But he stared at her until she grew uncomfortable, unable to look away from the beauty before him.