She was shuddering against him, but he wanted her to remember this moment between them. Gently, he urged her higher, until she gave a keening cry and shattered in his arms. She was panting as he entered and withdrew. All around his erect length, he could feel her body spasming and embracing him.
By the gods, he needed this woman. And if this was the last time between them, at least he knew he had glimpsed the life he would never have. He penetrated her, grasping her hips as she clenched him, and when he emptied himself inside, he held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. His heart was racing, and he never wanted to let her go.
But he had no choice in this. She had to face her past, just as he did. With great reluctance, he withdrew and kissed her again before he helped her put on her gown. He got dressed and they put out the fire.
Breanne picked up the furs and folded them, and he brought them over to their horse, binding the coverlet to the saddle. He lifted her on to the animal and then mounted behind her, guiding them back on to the path leading to Dún Bolg. The green fields spread out in the distance, and he took the horse towards the fortress. A high wooden fence surrounded it, and he approached the gates slowly.
His thoughts were troubled, for he was only waiting to learn if Feann was still here. He had made a promise to Breanne not to kill him, and yet, he still wanted justice for his father’s death. The question was whether that could happen without bloodshed. He doubted if that was possible.
When they reached the entrance, two guards called out for him to halt. Every sense went on alert as Alarr dismounted, holding the reins of their horse. He kept his hand near his weapon to protect Breanne.
‘Who are you, and why are you here?’ one guard asked.
‘I am here to bring my wife, Breanne Ó Callahan, home to see her mother.’
The guard spoke to the other and answered, ‘We have no Ó Callahans here.’
Breanne muttered beneath her breath, ‘He’s lying.’
Alarr suspected as much, since the woman had gone into hiding. ‘May we speak with your king or your chief?’
‘Wait here.’
One of the guards departed to ask, and Breanne kept her voice low. ‘Why do you think she was exiled in this place?’
‘I don’t know. But Feann may have the answers if he’s here.’ Inwardly, the tension was stretched tight within him, making him suspicious of everyone.
A little while later, the guard returned and opened the gates to him. ‘Follow me.’
They did, and Alarr saw that the fortress was organised and neat, with the thatched roundhouses evenly spaced. Outdoor hearths burned with bricks of peat, and an iron pot hung over another fire, redolent with the succulent aroma of stew. There was an air of peace and contentment here, not one of war or imprisonment. He didn’t know what to think of that.
When they reached the largest dwelling, the guard stopped. ‘Our chief will speak with your wife alone.’
‘I will not leave Breanne alone with a stranger,’ Alarr countered. ‘I will remain with her at all times.’ He pressed his hand to her waist to emphasise it.
‘Iasan does not wish to welcome a Lochlannach in our midst,’ the guard said.
He didn’t care what the chief wanted. Breanne’s safety came above all else. But then, she turned to him and touched a hand to his shoulder. ‘The chief may know something about what happened to my mother. Let us compromise.’ She regarded the guard and said, ‘Tell Iasan that I will speak with him, but only if my husband can be present at the door or closer.’
The guard inclined his head. ‘I will ask.’
Alarr wasn’t convinced it was a good idea to let her speak to the chief alone, particularly if Feann was here. But he was starting to believe that his enemy was already gone, for there was no sign of visitors.
Breanne’s mother might have answers about Feann, since she had chosen to foster her daughter with him. But when Alarr glanced at his wife, he saw her twisting her fingers together.
‘What is it?’ he asked gently.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing, really. It’s just that I’m nervous about seeing my mother for the first time in so long. I haven’t seen her since I was a young child.’
Their upbringing had been vastly different, so it seemed. He had been part of a large family with many kinsmen in the tribe whereas she had been more isolated.
‘Do you still want to see her, if she is here?’ he asked. ‘She might not have told them her real name.’
Breanne nodded slowly. ‘Even if I don’t know her, I would like to speak to her.’
The guard returned and said, ‘Our chief has agreed to come and meet you here.’
Alarr understood that the leader wanted to ensure that there was no risk of an attack. He agreed, and within a few minutes, a man emerged from the roundhouse, leaning against a walking stick. His hair was a blend of grey and red, and though he was past his fighting years, there was no doubting the razor-sharp awareness in his eyes. When he studied Breanne, there was a visible discomfort, as if he recognised her somehow. He motioned for the guard to come closer and murmured a command in the man’s ear.
‘I understand you came in search of a Ó Callahan woman,’ the chief said. ‘Why?’
Breanne took a step closer. ‘I was told that my parents were killed, years ago, and I lived with my foster father ever since. I learned only recently that my mother, Treasa, was exiled here. I was hoping to find her.’
The
