King's Warrior (Renegade Lords)

Fáelán and Rowan both laughed at that. “You cannot wish into something we are not, brother,” Ro

wan said.

Fáelán just turned to the cave entrance, Rowan at his heels. They both stilled as Maggie came up the stone stairs.

She glided into the main chamber, her feet bare, her hair long and dark, her gown rumpled and sandy. She looked like an elfin princess.

Fáelán halted and did something Tadhg had never seen before—give a small bow—then without a word he strode off down the tunnel and out into the night.

Rowan touched his fingertips to his forehead and followed after, silent as an exhale.

“They will not come?” she asked softly, pain in her eyes as she came to stand beside him.

He shook his head. “They cannot.”

“They can,” she insisted. “They can come with us, we will build a home—”

“They cannot,” he said again, and reached down to pat her chest. “In here, they cannot.”

She stared a second, then nodded. “I understand. It would hurt too much.”

He nodded. “What did you offer them? They said they did not do the deed for money, which I have never heard any of them say before.” He crooked a finger breath her chin and tipped her face up. “What did you offer them, Maggie?”

She looked at the cave entrance. It was empty now. “I think a moment of redemption.”

Tadhg released a thoughtful breath, then smiled faintly. “Only you would think of that.”

“Do you think that will it be enough to save them?” she asked, putting her cheek against his chest.

“I do not know.” His hands skimmed down her back. “Certes, you have saved me.” He cradled her hips as her slim body pressed up to his, she looked up, her eyes bright, her body pressed to his.

“And you, me, sir. In any number of ways.”

“I’m going to save you again, right now,” he whispered, and drew her back to the steaming spring.

She slipped into the water like silk, and he’d just got the light linen chainse dragged over his head when they head another scrape on stone in the outer chamber.

They froze, staring at each other in stunned silence. Then Tadhg heard a voice so welcome, so familiar, he closed his eyes and dropped his head in relief.

“Irishman?” it said from the cave chamber.

Maggie stared.

“We’re almost done now, lass,” he whispered, pulling the shirt back over his head and grabbing his sword belt as he went out to the main chamber and walked across the white sandy floor to grasp the wrist of the earl of Huntingdon.

“You came,” he said simply, because for a moment, he was almost overcome.

“’Course I came,” the older Scotsman scoffed, as if this moment had little import, but the grip on Tadhg’s arm was tight and hard and went on for a very long time. When he released it, he turned, looking around the cave.

“Nice place.”

“Forget you ever saw it,” Tadhg suggested. “You’re too good for it. The stark naughts need a home away from all the great ones.”

The earl nodded, slowly bring his gaze down from the glittering walls. “Done. We all need a home.”

“That we do.”

Their eyes met. “Got something for me?”