Page 2 of Desire's Ransom
Maybe it was because Aillenn knew she’d be married off soon. If she could bide her time, she’d be wed to a new master, one who hopefully wouldn’t clout her if she looked sideways at him.
But for Temair, marriage was a long time off. Her only reprieve from her da’s anger was coming here and snuggling with her hounds.
“Ye’re good lads,” she said on a sigh, stroking their streaked gray fur.
They were trustworthy and loyal, better than any of her human friends.
Not that shehadany real friends.
Since her da was chieftain, theclannfolk ingratiated themselves to him and put up with his cruelty.
But she knew they secretly despised him.
There was not much to like. He was brutal and bad-tempered, impatient and miserly. Since the death of his wife, he’d only become worse.
Because theclannhated her da, by extension, many of them resented her as well. Of course, they wouldn’t dare openly risk her displeasure. But she could see through their forced smiles. She witnessed the sly slant of their glances. Occasionally, she overheard their ruthless and bitter words.
Once, long ago, she’d made the mistake of passing along those words to her da.
She tensed her fingers in the hounds’ fur, remembering the tragic incident.
She’d heard a crofter muttering that her da, Cormac O’Keeffe, was nothing like his brother Senach, the previousclannchieftain. Cormac was a greedy fool, the man had said, trying to squeeze blood out of a stone.
When she’d gone to her da with the crofter’s words, wondering what they meant, he’d purpled with rage under his bright red beard. Snapping up his fighting cudgel, he’d sought out the man and punished him with a vengeance.
When he was finished, the crofter’s ribs and arm were broken. His eyes were swollen shut. And he lay unconscious on the sod.
Temair had been stunned and shaken at what she’d caused to happen. In that moment, she’d vowed never again to confide in her da, no matter what aspersions were cast his way.
She shook off the painful memory and stared up at the wooden slats of the stable ceiling. It was growing dark now. The sun was down. Soon the air would chill and the wind would whistle through the spaces between the boards.
Even her long woolenléine, belted with a leathercrios, and the heavybratcovering it all were no match for the biting cold of Eire. But Bran and Flann would keep her warm enough.
She pressed her fingertips gingerly to the cut on her cheek. It wasn’t deep, so it should heal quickly, though her eye would likely be black for a day or two. She tested her lip with her tongue. It was split. But it was almost always split. She’d grown accustomed to the coppery taste of blood. At least she still had all her teeth.
All at once, the hounds lifted their heads, suddenly alert. Temair rose up on her elbows. Bran chuffed softly in warning. Flann scrambled to his feet.
Someone was coming.
Temair’s heart thrust up against her ribs.
Was it her da? Was he was coming to finish her off?
She shot to her feet and drew the dagger she’d tucked into hercrios.
Bran rose as well, and the three of them faced the door. The hounds growled quietly. Temair braced her legs and raised her dagger.
“Temair?” came a soft cry from outside.
“Aillenn?”
Temair lowered her weapon. What was Aillenn doing here? How did her sister know where to find her?
“Back, lads,” Temair commanded as she reached for the stable door. The hounds settled obediently onto their haunches.
She peered out. Aillenn was alone. She was wearing nothing but her thin whiteléine, which was torn at the shoulder, making it droop indecently low on her bosom. She had nobratagainst the cold and nobrogson her feet. Her face was as pale as frost, which made her lips look like a smear of drying blood. Her rust-colored hair hung in slashes over eyes that seemed empty and lifeless.
Temair’s breath caught. She dropped the dagger in the straw.
