Page 8 of Desire's Ransom
Chapter 3
Cormac stared at the stain.
Aillenn had been in his bed last night. The lass hadn’t wanted to lie with him. She’d begged him to stop. But he’d been deep in his cups and as randy as a goat. And Aillenn had always reminded him so much of his wife—his dear, departed Lerben. They had the same fair skin and blue eyes, the same ripe body, the same warm…
Cormac gulped. He ran a shaky hand over his mouth. Sweat oozed from his brow.
He’d fondled the lass before. It had been all in fun. After all, what hale man could resist Aillenn’s plump breasts and curvy arse?
But fornication—that was a sin. One of the most heinous. Forbidden by the Celtic gods and the Christian one as well.
Shite. That was the last time he’d drink the monastery ale.
But he couldn’t afford to dwell on his unfortunate mistake. He had to think of more important things.
Like who else knew about it.
Aillenn. Aillenn knew. But she was dead. So maybe that was for the best, after all.
Had she told anyone before she died? Had she confided to her maidservant? Had she confessed to her sister?
He glanced again at the damning stain. No one had seen it yet.
He scrambled up and tossed the coverlet onto the floor. Then he tore the linens from the bed, balling them into a gruesome bundle.
Quickly, before the evidence of his crime could betray him, he shoved the sheets into the fire. The flames licked hungrily at the cloth, consuming the linen—and his guilt—in one fiery gulp.
He dropped to a naked crouch by the blaze to watch it burn, letting the heat scorch his knees.
It wasn’t fair, he decided, gazing into the fire. It seemed he’d been born under unfavorable stars, that he was ever fortune’s foe.
Long ago, when his older brother Senach had died, leaving Cormac to take his place asclannchieftain, Cormac had thought it an unexpected gift. After a lifetime of languishing in the shadow of his illustrious sibling, he finally had the chance to prove his worth.
He should have known he’d never fill his brother’sbrogs.
Cormac spit his bitterness into the fire, making it sizzle.
Senach’s death hadn’t been a blessing. It had been a curse.
Theclannhad adored his brother. Strong and handsome, bold and just, Senach had been the pride of the O’Keeffes, a hero to the people.
No matter how hard Cormac tried, he could never quite measure up to Senach, whose heroic legend had only grown after his death. Cormac had never been able to earn the respect or affection that had been freely given to his brother.
Until he’d taken Lerben to wife.
It had been a clever decision. At least he’d thought so at the time. Theclannloved Lerben’s gentle gaze and winsome smile, her kind heart and sweet nature. With Lerben at his side, Cormac was reborn as a chieftain theclanncould follow and obey.
But that hadn’t lasted. Lerben had failed to provide him with the sons he needed to continue his precious chieftain line. She’d given him two daughters. And then she’d died.
After that, he drowned his misery in ale and hardened his heart against theclann—some who secretly blamed him for Lerben’s death.
He couldn’t afford to diminish his honor price—the status he was afforded through his bloodline. He might not possess the reputation of his brother, the charm of his wife, or the legacy of sons. But what he couldn’t woo to his hand, he could command.
He forced theclannto bow to his will. He seized power by amassing riches. By hook and crook, he bought himself higher and higher rank, clawing his way into the good graces of Lord John—Eire’s overlord and the son of the English King Henry.
His plan was to curry favor with Lord John by offering his daughter Aillenn to an English bridegroom, thus securingTuath O’Keeffefor King Henry.
There were those in theclannwho would have condemned his actions as treason against their Gaelic birthright. They were determined to fight tooth and nail against the creeping invasion of foreign forces.
