Warriors In Winter: In the Bleak Midwinter

‘You could go on ahead of us and ride along the coast,’ Genevieve suggested. ‘Show him the island, and we’ll meet you there.’ She turned to Arturo and sent him a wink.

Already he decided he liked Lady Genevieve. Though there was no need to play the role of matchmaker, she was riling her husband’s temper—and well she knew it.

‘They can wait,’ Bevan countered, his eyes hard.

Arturo lifted his shoulders in a shrug before he swung up on his mount. ‘It is for your daughter to decide.’ He deferred to Brianna, never taking his eyes from the older warrior’s face. He sensed that he was being tested, but there was no reason for it. His intentions toward Brianna were nothing more than friendship.

It was better this way, he supposed. She could show him Ireland, and when he returned home, there would be nothing binding him here.

Brianna hesitated, eyeing first Lady Genevieve, then her father. ‘It’s only a short distance to the southern coast,’ she said. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in letting you see the island.’

She nudged her mare forward through the snow, and Arturo followed until they were outside the gate, moving toward the open expanse of land. In the distance, white-covered hills rose up from the landscape, and a well-worn path led up to a higher peak.

‘At the end of harvest, during Lughnasa, we walk up the path leading to the top of the hill and bury ears of corn as an offering to the gods,’ Brianna explained.

‘You keep to the old ways?’ He drew his horse up alongside hers, curious, for he’d seen evidence of a church within the castle grounds.

‘We’ve always celebrated both. My father and his brothers are superstitious. They’d rather keep everyone happy.’ The slight smile playing at her lips suggested that she humoured them in their beliefs. ‘Besides, it gives us an excuse to eat and drink too much.’

‘I don’t suppose there’s harm in that,’ he admitted. ‘I heard them speaking of a celebration at the solstice.’

‘Meán Geimhridh, it’s called. My uncle Trahern will tell stories, and we’ll decorate the donjon with greenery. It’s a smaller celebration of the solstice before Christmas.’ Brianna tucked a strand of dark hair behind one ear, and it drew his eyes to the slender line of her jaw. Her lips were full, the pale pink of morning. He found himself noticing the curve of her chin, the hollowed cheeks and the fresh beauty of her face.

Green eyes stared at his in a moment of confusion, before she quickened the pace of her horse, riding toward the sea. Almost as if she were trying to run away from him.

Arturo rode behind her, and when they neared the edge, she dismounted, letting the horse graze upon the tall grasses. The sea was grey, the tide swelling in rough waves against the rocks. Across the narrow channel, he saw an island with a wooden fortress and a smaller circle of huts.

‘My great-grandsire dwelled on the island Ennisleigh,’ she said. ‘He was a wood carver and later, he founded the MacEgan tribe, in honour of his brother.’

‘Who lives there now?’

‘Other members of our tribe. Sometimes the king and queen will go off together and spend a few nights alone.’ She glanced down at the ground, as if realising what she was implying.

He ignored the remark and replied, ‘It’s a strategic location. I imagine it’s useful if enemy ships approach.’

She nodded, her face flushed. When she started to return to their horses, he stopped her with a hand. ‘Brianna, you needn’t be afraid of me.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Liar,’ he whispered. Reaching for her cold fingers, he warmed them in his palm. ‘You get nervous every time I look at you.’

When she said nothing, he drew his thumb over her palm. ‘I admire what I see. You’re a beautiful woman.’ He tilted her chin up to face him. ‘But I also know that you grieve for him.’

‘I feel guilty,’ she confessed. ‘And confused.’ She pulled her hand free, letting him glimpse the apprehension in her face. ‘It’s too soon for me.’

‘I won’t be here for more than a few weeks,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to return to Navarre and to my father’s lands, where I am guardian.’ His time here would be brief, only long enough to see Adriana settled. ‘But before that, I want to experience this land, which is so different from my own. I would like to see it through your eyes.’

‘I am the wrong person to ask,’ she protested.

‘You wanted to find a means of using the hours in your day,’ he pointed out. His gaze shifted up, for her parents were approaching. ‘If you want me to hold my distance, I will do so.’

She let out a slow breath and nodded her assent. Arturo leaned in to murmur against her ear. ‘Or if you want a distraction from your grief, I can grant you that, belleza. No one would begrudge you a winter night spent with me.’

‘It would be a betrayal,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I could not do it.’

‘The decision is yours. I would never coerce you into anything that would make you uncomfortable.’ He drew back, resting his forehead against hers. ‘But I do know what it’s like, lying awake at night. The loneliness can be unbearable.’

She could give him no answer at all. But neither did she pull away from him. For a long moment, she leaned against him, the thoughts silent within her. Arturo waited, and then stepped back to regard her.

He could see the storm of thoughts churning through her. She would think about his offer. But the choice was, and always would be, hers.

Brianna led the small group toward her father’s castle at Rionallís. Though it was an hour’s journey, she felt a sense of comfort riding through the familiar landscape. It was the only way of steadying the trembling within her. Arturo had cast a spell upon her, until she hardly recognised herself. With the faintest touch of his thumb upon her palm, he’d roused an unexpected response within her. The gentle caress had sent blood coursing through her skin, hardening her breasts and reminding her of the intimacies between a man and a woman.

He was right. She did miss the closeness of falling asleep naked in a man’s arms, her arms and legs intertwined with his. Against her will, she imagined Arturo’s body upon hers, and it was not unwelcome. His whisper, that he knew of the loneliness, had reached past her shield of guilt.

No, he would not remain in Éireann for long. But she didn’t know how long she could resist the invitation he’d offered. She did long for a way of silencing the despair that caught up to her at night.

It was best to refuse the temptation. Her purpose now was to avenge Murtagh’s death, to bring justice to the Lochlannach who had killed him. She had to prepare herself for what lay ahead, and when the men of her tribe faced another raid, she would be ready to seek out her enemy and wield the spear against him.

When he was dead, it might finally heal the scar within her heart. Then, perhaps, she could look toward a future.

Her gaze shifted back to the Spaniard. The blood of nobility ran through his veins, but she drew comfort from the fact that her father was still glaring at the man, as if he could read Arturo’s mind.

He’d disapprove of him even more, if he knew of your thoughts, her mind chided. The invitation, to spend a night in Arturo’s bed, shook her senses apart.

Brianna broke away from all of them, changing their direction toward the round tower. From beside the church, it rose nearly a hundred feet in the air, like a guardian. It was a unique structure, with a narrow diameter, the size of a small hut. A rope ladder hung ten feet down from the raised door. At the top of the tower were several bells, which could be rung in times of need.

‘Have you seen towers like this in Navarre?’ Genevieve was asking Arturo.

The Spaniard shook his head and smiled at her. ‘Not like this. Our castles are similar to yours, though.’ He drew his horse to a stop and stared at their surroundings, his gaze resting at last upon Brianna.

‘In the northeast territory, we have mountains the colour of sand, almost like a desert,’ he told them. As he wove stories about his homeland, he never took his eyes off her. Brianna listened, while her father asked questions about their lands.

‘I assume you’ll be returning home, after the wedding?’ Bevan ventured. His veiled hint was quite clear.

‘I will, yes. Unless there is a reason to stay through the spring.’ Arturo’s eyes rested upon her, like a physical touch.

Before her father could say anything more, Genevieve intervened. ‘This morn, I saw you teaching Brianna something. There was a knife, I believe?’

‘What reason would you have to train my daughter in the use of a weapon?’ Bevan demanded. Once again, she heard the disapproval in his voice.

‘I asked him to help me,’ she answered, but her father didn’t seem to hear her.

‘Don’t you believe that women should be able to defend themselves against an attacker?’ Arturo countered, facing her father with a challenge of his own.

‘And what would you know of weaponry?’ Her father was staring at the Spaniard as if he were itching for a fight.

To her dismay, Arturo dismounted and unsheathed his sword. ‘Care to spar, Irishman? Unless you’ve forgotten how …?’

‘What are they doing?’ Brianna whispered to Genevieve while Bevan got down from his own stallion. ‘They’re not going to fight, are they?’

Her question was cut off when her father withdrew his own weapon and attacked swiftly. Arturo deftly parried the blows, watching every move as if learning his enemy’s methods. The snow slowed their footwork, but both held their balance.

‘Stop them,’ Brianna protested, starting to intervene, but Genevieve pulled her back.

‘No. Let them fight.’

‘But why? There’s no purpose for it at all.’ She was aghast when her father swung hard at Arturo’s head, only to be deflected and pushed back the other way.

‘Your father is testing his abilities. They won’t hurt each other.’

But the fight continued longer than she wanted, until at last, Arturo attacked. He sliced his sword hard, putting all his strength into the fight until Bevan’s weapon blocked his next blow. The two men pressed hard against each other, trying to force the other to yield. A bead of sweat rolled down Arturo’s face, but he refused to back down.

In her father’s eyes, she saw a subtle shift, until at last, he admitted, ‘I see that you do know how to fight.’

Arturo sent him a slight nod. ‘I guard those under my protection. And I demand that my men train until they can defend our holdings.’

The two men stepped back at the same time, both sheathing their weapons. Genevieve went over to her husband, while Brianna wondered what would happen now. Arturo eyed her for a moment, and then walked over to the church yard, where there was a well. He retrieved water and splashed handfuls upon his face, dampening his hair. The afternoon light haloed his dark hair, and when he stared back at her, Brianna felt the hunger of his gaze. It moved over her face and down her body with unveiled interest.

Without a word, without touching her at all, he made her feel vulnerable. Were she to share his bed, she had no doubt that he would spend endless time touching her, until she surrendered to pleasure.

She closed her eyes against the confusing feelings, forcing herself to lock them away.

‘Bevan and I want to ride toward the outer perimeter of Rionallís,’ Genevieve explained. ‘You may wish to take Lord de Manzano inside the tower and lead him up to the top. The view would let him see the landscape better.’

‘Will Father Angus mind?’ Brianna asked. The young priest had only recently taken over the church after the older priest had died.

‘I should imagine not. So long as you do not disturb the treasures within the round tower.’ The older woman sent her a warm conspiratorial smile, as if her matchmaking plans had come to fruition.

Startled, Brianna turned to her father. But he, too, seemed in agreement with his wife. ‘We’ll return within the hour. You should eat without us,’ Bevan said, lifting his wife back on to her horse.

From the way his hands lingered upon her waist and the look shared between them, Brianna suspected that they intended to do more than talk. Pushing that errant thought away, she told Arturo, ‘Come with me, and I’ll show you the inside.’

He held the rope ladder for her as she climbed up to the door, balancing the bundle of food between her arms. When they were inside, it took a moment for their eyes to adjust. Sunlight entered through the open top of the tower, and she began climbing the endless stairs toward the single bell at the top. Arturo followed, but before they reached the third landing, he reached for her hand.

‘A moment, if you will.’

Brianna paused to catch her breath, setting down the food while Lord de Manzano stood on a stair below her. She waited for him to speak, and he said, ‘I wouldn’t have harmed your father during that fight.’

‘That’s what Genevieve said.’ She sat down on the stair with him just below her. ‘It’s why they left us alone. You gained his approval.’ It was a strange thought to imagine, for she’d never believed Bevan would permit it.

Somehow, Lord de Manzano had earned respect from the older warrior, though her husband, Murtagh, never had. Was it truly that Bevan believed sword fighting was more important than affection? Or was it the desire to keep his daughter protected?

‘I like your father,’ Arturo said. ‘He seems like a good man. And he’s a strong fighter, despite his age.’

‘He is.’ A smile curved over her face in the darkness.

Arturo took her hands and drew her to stand up. When he moved closer, it brought him closer to her face. At the nearness of him, Brianna started to let go of his hands.

‘Stay?’ he asked quietly. Moving closer, she felt his cheek come and rest against hers. ‘If things were different, I would take a kiss from you now.’ His words were warm against her face, and every part of her body seemed to respond to him. ‘I would hold you close and taste your sweet mouth, belleza. But I suspect that it would only feed the hunger I feel for you, instead of sating it.’

‘You know it’s too soon for me,’ she whispered.

‘I know. But there is no harm in speaking words.’

He was wrong. His words were invisible weapons, slicing through her defences, and reawakening her. The darkness enfolded them, and in her mind, she struggled against the memory of her last kiss. Murtagh had been affectionate, and she’d enjoyed making love with him. So much, that she understood what Lord de Manzano was offering—the freedom to take him as her lover, to fill up the emptiness inside her broken heart.

Desperately, she struggled to find the willpower that was slipping away. Arturo’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her close until her hands rested upon his chest.

‘It’s your choice, belleza. If you want me to kiss you, you’ll have to make the first move.’

Chapter Three

Brianna hesitated, and with every second that passed between them, she sensed the caged sensuality of him. Slowly, her hands moved up his chest, to the powerful shoulders, and then to rest upon his face. She drew her fingers over his lips and was rewarded with a light kiss upon her skin.

Inside, she was quaking. She wanted him, despite all the reasons it was a mistake. What he offered was only temporary. He was going to leave and nothing between them could last. He’d offered her an escape from the loneliness. But what lay broken inside her couldn’t be healed by one man’s touch.

‘Not yet,’ she whispered, holding his face between her hands.

The words hung between them in a promise she didn’t know if she could keep. Or if she should even try. She let go of him and picked up the bundle, continuing up the winding spiral stairs, until at last they reached the top. The wind was stronger here, and her hair whipped against her face. Arturo came up beside her, his hands resting upon the stone edge. He didn’t look at her, but she saw the tension in his posture.

When he saw the landscape before him, there was an invisible shift. He stared at the mottled green and snowy-white hills that shifted into flat-land, down to a grey sea. The faint smile upon his lips stole her breath away.

When he turned back, his dark eyes held hers captive. ‘It’s beautiful. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.’

She nodded, but couldn’t answer his smile. His earlier words resonated within her: You’ll have to make the first move.

Confusion spiralled inside her, wondering why he’d conjured up these lost feelings. It had been so easy to ignore the advances of other men of her clan. They were like brothers to her, kind men, but she couldn’t imagine being with one of them.

Not like Arturo de Manzano.

It must be because he had also lost someone. There was a bond between them, of facing the death of a loved one. The only difference was that he’d managed to lock away his grief and live again. The way she longed to.

She heard herself telling him of the different tribes that lived here. Of the Ó Phelans who had been an enemy when her father was young, and of how the MacEgans had grown stronger against the Norman forces.

‘They married their enemies,’ she said. ‘My father wed Genevieve, by order of King Henry.’

‘You speak of her as if she’s not your mother.’

Brianna shook her head. ‘No, she isn’t. My mother stole me away from my father when I was a young child. I didn’t understand what happened at the time, but she made choices she regretted. In the end, she took her own life, from her sadness.’

An unexpected flare of hurt gripped her heart. ‘I was alone for a time. I couldn’t understand what I had done wrong, that my mother would rather die than be with me.’

Arturo came up beside her, resting an arm over her shoulder. ‘You were just a child.’

‘I know. And Genevieve took me in, becoming my mother in all but blood.’ She accepted comfort from his presence, leaning her head against him.

‘You were fortunate to have your family,’ he said. ‘And they care a great deal for you.’ He reached for the bundle of food and opened it. She tore off a piece of bread and they sat down to eat, while she told him about the other places nearby.

‘Where is the Norse settlement?’ he asked.

The question jolted her from her mood and she pointed out the area near the woodlands. ‘It lies a half-day’s journey from Laochre. At one time, my great-grandfather’s sister wed one of them, and there was peace between us. Even when the Normans attacked, the Lochlannach kept to themselves.’

She faced him, keeping her voice steady. ‘But during the last few years, it’s been difficult. There have been raids on several occasions.’

‘Without success?’

She nodded. ‘King Patrick’s men kept them out. Last year, they attacked the homes on the outskirts.’ A chill came over her, and she gripped her shoulders. ‘Murtagh was … not a good fighter. He was the son of a miller, and though he was strong, he’d never had any training.’

Fixing her gaze away from him, she refused to let the dark feelings intrude. With her throat aching, she added, ‘One of the men stood apart from the others. Murtagh mistakenly thought he was the leader, and he went to challenge him while I stayed behind.’

In spite of her best efforts, a tear broke free. ‘I begged him to stop, but he charged the raider. The man’s spear caught him in the stomach, and it took hours for my husband to die.’ A harshness coated her voice. ‘I went to kill the Lochlannach, but the soldiers from Laochre held me back. The king drove them away, and they haven’t returned since.

‘A few days later, they sent gold as a body price for my husband’s death.’ Bitterness swelled within her, and she shook her head in disgust. ‘As if that would bring him back.’

‘Killing the Norseman won’t bring Murtagh back, either.’ His hand rested upon the small of her back, warming her.

‘Would you have waited at home, if an enemy had slain your wife?’ she questioned. ‘Or would you have avenged her?’

His silence was the answer she wanted to hear. Reaching for the flask of wine, she took a drink and passed it to him. His mouth rested upon the place where she’d sipped, and once again, she found herself watching him.

The wind rushed through the narrow space again, moving against the bells. She shivered at the cold and stood up. Arturo removed his own cloak and set it across her shoulders.

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘It gives me a reason to hold a beautiful woman,’ he teased, drawing the cloak over her arms. He let his hands linger upon her, and the spicy scent of his skin quickened her blood. For a time, neither spoke, and she drew comfort from the heat of his body.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it was Murtagh standing behind her. That it was his arms upon her shoulders and not a stranger’s. The nearness of him, and the instinct to touch, was dragging her away from reality.

When Brianna turned around, Arturo moved his hands on either side of her. In his sienna eyes, she saw the cloaked desire. He spoke to her in Spanish, words she didn’t understand. But his voice drew her in, blurring the lines she’d drawn around her life.

His hands rested upon the stone, waiting for her decision. Her body already knew the answer, though her mind was crying out for her to stop.

The endless days alone had weighed down upon her, making her no longer feel desirable to any man. But to Arturo, none of it mattered. He’d suffered the same losses she had, and he understood what she didn’t want to admit—that she craved human touch.

Without speaking a word, she went into his arms, resting her cheek against his broad chest. His mouth drifted against her hair in a light kiss. ‘I know, cariño.’

Did he? Did he truly know how difficult it was to reach out to another, feeling as if the ghost of her husband were watching?

‘He wouldn’t have wanted you to live like this. Admit it to yourself.’

She closed her eyes, knowing he spoke the truth. As she tried to pull away from his arms, he held her trapped for a moment. ‘Thank you for showing me this land of yours.’

She nodded, and he released her. As he bent to help her put away the food, he stopped to ask, ‘Were you curious?’

‘About what?’ She tied up the bundle and held it in one hand.

‘What it would have been like to kiss a man who wasn’t your husband?’

She faltered, but then steadied herself, recognising it as a teasing invitation. ‘No.’

‘Liar. I can see how you’re sacrificing yourself to his memory,’ he said softly. ‘Not allowing yourself to feel any happiness at all. You wear clothes without colour, and you don’t smile. You might as well take a step off the edge of this tower, for you seem intent upon letting the rest of your life slip away.’

Anger rushed through her, that he would dare accuse her of this. ‘You don’t know anything about me.’ The bundle slipped from her hands, and the flask of wine spilled upon the stones.

‘You won’t let anyone know you any more. You lock yourself away, don’t you? Because you feel guilty that you’re alive. And he isn’t.’

‘Yes, damn you.’ The anger raged from a place so deep inside, she struggled to control it. And when he dared to pity her, to rest a hand upon her cheek, Brianna was determined to prove him wrong.

She lifted her mouth to his, kissing him hard. Did he think she was a hollow shell with no feelings of her own? The salt of her tears mingled against their lips, but Arturo wasn’t about to let her use him to prove a point. Instead, he softened the kiss, capturing her mouth. Sensual and firm, he commanded the kiss, forcing away her broken memories until she was consumed by him. She let herself fall under his spell, opening to this stranger and finding the parts of her that needed him.

Her arms came around him, and she slid her tongue against his mouth, feeling the rush of heat when he answered her call. He took his time, savouring her mouth, his hands moving up her spine and down to her body. With the softest nudge, he drew her against the heated ridge of his arousal, and she couldn’t stop the shudder of answering desire.