Clan Cruadhlaoch, Ireland
Can. Ye. Shut. Yer. Mouth?”
The small fire cast enough light that Darragh of Clan MacNaughton, hidden atop his mount in the trees behind the clearing, could make out the lads’ expressions. Three silent, grim-faced figures sat around the small fire while their horses grazed nearby. The two who were speaking stood beside a familiar black destrier. The angry voice belonged to Lachlann, the younger brother of Darragh’s betrothed.
“I do not see any stone, so why is the beast favoring her leg?” The speaker, a wiry red-headed lad was met with a glare from Lachlann.
Darragh shook his head, unseen in the darkness. After catching wind of Lachlann’s plan to sneak away from the festivities with friends, Darragh had decided to follow them. The lads had been practicing a harmless version of raiding on their neighbors, riding like the wind along rutted trails in the dark, spooking the cattle. He suspected they’d been motivated by Lachlann’s Uncle Niall, who was visiting from Alba. The big Scot told stories of his own exploits at every meal, and he’d no doubt ignited the lads’ imaginations.
Enough for them to borrow the man’s prized courser in order to ride faster.
Now that Darragh had proof, it was time to confront them. While his future father-in-law, Sean, should appreciate the intervention, the man always acted as if Darragh would never be worthy of his daughter.
One of the small lads beside the fire held a thumb to his mouth, nibbling at the nail between darting glances at the injured horse and Lachlann.
“We’re in it now,” he said, his gentle voice carrying the sting of condemnation.
Lachlann didn’t hold back his own angst when he responded, pinning the small figure with his gaze. “And what would ye have me do? I find nothing wrong with her.”
Darragh winced at the lad’s angry tone and dismounted without a sound, a mere stone’s throw away from the fire. Lachlann was not usually one to lose his patience, unlike his sister. Brighit’s temper was easily ignited, simmering like an iron pot too close to the fire. No doubt Lachlann was feeling the weight of how badly their ‘adventure’ had gone awry.
“Uncle Niall will have yer head!”
Uncle? All of Brighit’s brothers were nearly a head taller than this smaller figure…
Inching a bit closer, Darragh paused again to search their faces, each one smudged with ashes, giving their features a ghostly appearance. The nail biter dropped his hand and turned toward him, searching the darkness with narrowed eyes. Darragh held his breath, his suspicions growing.
When the nail biter stood, the long, dark hair clubbed at the back confirmed Darragh’s fear. It was indeed his betrothed, Brighit, dressed in trews and a tunic and looking like one of the younger lads. How had she hidden all her burgeoning curves?
Stepping soundlessly over to Lachlann, she spoke in a tone too hushed for Darragh to hear, but the others turned as one toward his location. He was surprised to feel a slight rush of pride that she’d been the one to hear him since she seemed to be of the same mind as her father, finding Darragh lacking in all ways.
“It took ye long enough.” Darragh spoke in a strong voice, crossing the distance to the fire in a few long strides.
The mad dash for weapons ended as quickly as it had begun when they recognized his voice.
“What are ye about? Have ye gone and damaged yer Uncle Niall’s horse?” he asked, his sardonic tone raising a few eyebrows.
Lachlann blew out a breath, stepped away from the horse, and turned his pained expression on Darragh. “She’s got nothing wrong with her foot but continues to favor it.”
Darragh frowned at the dark-haired man, watching from the corner of his eye as Brighit sidled her way to the back of the group and the lads drew together to shield her from him. Lachlann ran his hand down the horse’s leg, squeezing above the ankle for it to lift its hoof.
“Clean.” The lad made the pronouncement with about as much irritation as Darragh had ever heard him display. That Lachlann recognized the extent of the trouble he could be in made Darragh feel some sympathy for him but not much.
Stepping closer, Darragh slid his hand along the beast’s side, patting its rump to calm any fears. His way with animals was no secret. “Easy now.”
The answering whinny made him smile. He brushed a hand over the beast’s hoof. “Are ye familiar with these iron shoes?”
Lachlann’s shrug was his only answer.
“She’s only recently been shod. It looks as though they may have trimmed this one a bit too much.” Darragh adjusted his hold so Lachlann could also see and then released the sore leg.
Brushing the dirt from his hands before speaking again, Darragh allowed his gaze to take in each of the lads around him, noting the way they kept Brighit hidden. Her head popped up from between their shoulders. Even with ash smudged across her fair features, she was still a beauty. A very feminine lad indeed.
“I’m thinking Niall did not expect his prized animal to be taken on such a ride as ye’ve given her this night. Her lameness will disappear once she’s rested, but I suggest ye walk her back.”
“Walk her back?” Lachlann all but whined and the rest of the lads quickly joined in, voicing their own objections to dragging out the return journey.
Darragh raised his hands, ceasing the complaints. “Only a suggestion, but if ye force her to bear the weight of a rider on that sore hoof, she may take longer to recover. I’m not sure how yer uncle will feel about trusting ye again.”
The grumbling started right back up as the lads tossed ideas back and forth. Darragh remained calm, keeping his face relaxed and his bride-to-be within sight. She remained silent, again nibbling at her thumbnail.
“Or—” the lads’ discussion ceased and Darragh continued. “—ye could allow me to take my betrothed upon my own horse while ye lead the lame horse home.”
The men separated like Moses parting the Red Sea, all eyes on Brighit’s shocked expression.
“Ye’ve been caught,” Lachlann said.
Brighit finally closed her gaping mouth to give her brother a fierce scowl. She then turned that same expression on Darragh, closing the distance until she stood directly in front of him. Her small body heaved with indignation.
“Are ye not the sneaky one? Pretending not to see me.”
“Pretending not to see ye?” Darragh forced an even tone. He found her pursed lips and narrowed eyes intriguing, but he wasn’t ready for her to know that. She was unlike any other lass, and this close proximity to her and her family was providing quite a bit of insight into her true nature. That she would go off playing lad, however, had been no more than a sneaking suspicion until this night. “And when was this?”
“This whole time.” she huffed.
With dramatic flair, he glanced at Lachlann and his friends with wide, innocent eyes, arms open in supplication. “Did I ever say that my betrothed was certainly not here?”
The others averted their eyes, their quiet chuckles receiving the same unrepentant glare from Brighit.
“Or that the daughter of one of the most powerful ri túath would certainly not be dressing up as a lad to race across the countryside in the dark of night.” His easy tone ended in a combative declaration.
“Ye did not call me out!”
“And why would I be doing that?” Darragh stood tall and crossed his arms, setting his lips to curl before he spoke again in a much quieter tone. “These lads certainly knew ye were here. As did I. There was no pretending involved.”
Shifting uneasily, Brighit glanced around, her proud demeanor slipping away with her obvious distress. There was no help for it. Her father had trained her alongside her brothers since they were young, but it was time to set aside such foolishness.
Darragh glanced about at the lads. Men, really, about the same age as he was. Why wasn’t someone curbing her behavior? Protecting her? They were doing the opposite by aiding her in the deception.
Surely they realized they were playing with fire to have the only daughter of their king ride with them, dressed as a warrior. What if she were hurt? What if they were attacked?
Turning his ire on them, Darragh said, “Lachlann, what were ye—”
“I told her not to come. She doesn’t listen.”
“Aye, she doesn’t listen,” Darragh agreed.
Brighit glowered.
Glancing over her attire, he continued, “But are those not yer trews? I recognize the stain on the arse.” He pointed, and all eyes were suddenly on her derrière. Darragh stepped forward to block the view, irritated with himself at the sudden urge to strangle them one by one for turning their eyes to her. Heaving a heavy sigh, he swung an arm under her knees and grasped her shoulders to pick her up in one fell swoop.
“Put me down, ye oaf!” Brighit punched at his chest—surprisingly strong punches—and came damn close to heaving herself right out of his arms.
He tossed her astride his own mount, leaping up behind her before she could escape. With a strong arm wrapped around her waist, he yanked the reins with his free hand.
“Ye can continue to argue amongst yerselves, but I will see the daughter of the king safely returned myself.”
The only objection was the unexpected elbow to his side. He oomphed and tightened his hold on her.
“Behave, or I’ll take ye over my knee.” He spoke under his breath, loud enough only for her to hear, and urged the horse into a trot, away from the others and the wider path they would have to use.
“Ye and whose clan?”
He couldn’t be certain he’d heard her correctly. Once they were far enough for privacy, Darragh reined in his horse.
“Ye think I need help subduing my own wife?” He allowed his gaze to wander the length of her, a self-assured smile turning up his lips. “I think not.”
“Subduing? And won’t that be the way of it?” She snorted. “Forcing me to obey yer every command.”
Her words shouldn’t surprise him since she showed the same willfulness with her family. And just like with his own clan’s teachings, she’d probably been told the only reason a man took a wife was to have his needs seen to: food, children, intimacy.
“Ye’ll be an obedient wife.” His tone was even, his words untroubled.
“I’ll fight ye at every turn.” Her voice cracked with indignation, her body rigid before him.
Her determination set something off inside of him. “Ye’ll lose.”
Her eyes widened, and she nearly succeeded in leaping from his horse, but he was able to halt her movements.
“Settle yerself.” He kept a tight hold round her while her legs flailed, until she stopped struggling against him. “Does yer father know of these midnight jaunts?”
Turning to give him that tolerant expression he knew so well, she said, “Of course he does. I always have his blessing.”
And she lied. Brighit enjoyed treating him as if he lacked any intelligence, as if she thought him incapable of understanding anything beyond battle tactics. Mayhap not even that.
Her condescension had sparked his temper at first, but only until he noticed how irritated she became when he didn’t attempt to defend himself. When he answered in a calm tone, his demeanor remaining relaxed, she would scowl. And when he didn’t answer at all, she appeared about ready to scream.
In truth, why should he defend himself with any of them? The bards and fili sang of his abilities as a warrior even now, not to mention his schooling in numbers and letters. He served as warrior, clerk, and brithem to his ambitious father. If not for his sire’s expectations for him, Darragh would have been happy leading a quiet life, raising a family with a woman who loved and wanted him. But he had no intention of dishonoring his parents by breaking the betrothal, no matter how she behaved.
“Tsk. Tsk. Sneaking behind his back after he’s given ye more freedom than any other lass is not the best way to repay his generosity.”
Her eyes widened. “And ye know nothing about it.”
Darragh gave a shrug.
Her expression relaxed into clear gloating.
A sudden desire to keep her engaged pushed him to say more. “Explain it. Explain to me why ye’re off with the lads getting into mischief instead of safe in yer bed with the other maidens?”
“The other maidens.” She scoffed. “’Tis no concern of yers.”
“Ah, but it would give me great pleasure to know of ye.” He smiled at his own choice of words. “And soon I will be yer husband.”
In the flick of an eye, she was nose to nose with him, her chin jutting out. “Not. Of. My. Choosing.”
Facing front again, Brighit was stiff before him. Was there someone else she preferred to marry? She’d shown no partiality to anyone else that he’d witnessed. He’d watch more closely now. Not that it mattered overmuch. They were already as good as wed.
“Our betrothal is not up for debate.”
She remained unyielding.
“Mayhap ’twould be best for ye to remain with my clan.”
She glared at him.
“Getting to know the clan that will soon be yers will no doubt ease any concerns ye may have about our joining.”
“I’m not afraid of ye.”
“Brave words from a lass untried.”
Even in a loveless marriage, attraction went a long way to smooth the rough edges, and he definitely liked that flush of passion he saw in her when she verbally sparred with him. Passion was passion as far as he was concerned. Anger. Lust. Her willfulness, however, could put them both in a bad situation.
“We’ll see.” The declaration, delivered with her nose in the air, did not sit well with him.
“Take heed, Brighit. Yer father’s disapproval over yer behavior will not compare to my wrath if I find ye have dallied with another.”
Her wide eyes quickly narrowed. “And until we are wed, ye will understand if I give yer concerns the attention they deserve. None.”
That last word, spoken with such finality, felt like a call to arms. The excitement coursing through him was undeniable. So be it.
“Well then, ye will understand if our wedding night is not everything a young lass might hope for.”
Her mocking smile said it all, and he was surprised to find she could indeed still anger him. Darragh squeezed the beast into a gallop so fast, Brighit had to grab him to keep from falling off since he resisted the urge to give assistance.
The battle lines drawn, he settled himself with a deep breath. No, being married to Brighit would never be dull. And he looked forward to it with relish.