Claiming Her

Amusement glinted in The O’Fail’s eye as he took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. “As I once tried, aye?”

“Not precisely,” she murmured as he bent to kiss her hand. Over the top of his head, Katarina met Aodh’s glance with a silent, warning command: Stay. “As I recall, my lord, in the end, ’twas you who declined the union.”

“I declined a union with the Queen of England,” he replied, straightening. “Only a madman would decline a union with you, my lady.”

She smiled. “You received my thanks for the wood?”

The O’Fail’s smile grew broader. His face was starkly handsome, and the gray strands in his beard and the braid dangling by his face, only added to the sense you were in the presence of a mighty, solid presence, like an oak tree, or a storm. “A single barrel of Rardove whisky far exceeds the value of a few planks of wood, my lady.”

“Those planks have trebled in value of late, my lord, as they will help rebuild the drawbridge.”

He turned back to Aodh. “Come inside. There is freshly brewed ale, and we’ve just slaughtered a hog.” He leaned to the side and murmured to Aodh as they stepped inside. “Your lady is quite fond of bacon.”

*

INSIDE, THE FEAST was laid and the fires roared, and Aodh’s men were entertained in rich fashion by musicians and dancers.

When the meal was over, the revelries pressed on. Katarina sat with The O’Fail, while Aodh stood with a group of men at the end of the dais table, examining weapons.

“You are happy, Katarina?” The O’Fail asked as another group of dancers moved to the center of the hall. “Pleased with the Hound?”

“I am, my lord. Happy and pleased. It has been a long time since I have been either.”

“Good. Your happiness matters to me.”

“As your goodwill matters to me, my lord. I have always admired you.”

“And I, you. A woman alone, on the edge of the world, holding her own? ’Tis enough to make a queen proud.”

“Perhaps.” Katarina watched Aodh with the soldiers and warriors of both clans. The group formed a loose, relaxed circle, rumps on tables, boots on benches, as they tried out each other’s swords, but Aodh was clearly at the group’s center. A natural-born commander. “I am not certain Elizabeth feels that way still.”

The O’Fail’s gaze swung to her. “How long do you have before she arrives?”

“Not long now.”

“Are you prepared?”

“There we come to the matter at hand.”

He picked up a mug. “I knew you are here for a reason. What would you have from me?”

“What can you give?”

The O’Fail nodded to himself a moment, then his gaze slid to Aodh, who was smiling as he clapped one man on the back, and the group erupted into laughter over some jest. “Rardove is an anomaly, Katarina. It has been great under great masters, and under poor ones. It has been great under English rule and under Irish rule as well.” Somehow, through all the years, Rardove has never faltered or fallen into the mists. It is as if it’s…charmed. There are rumors of dyes. Legendary ones. Magical ones.” His gaze fell on Aodh and his tattoos. “Whatever the reason, though, Rardove has stood the test of time. But then, no royal army has ever marched directly for it. In such an event, it might finally fall. Be broken. Something might be destroyed.”

“It might at that, my lord.”

“I do not think Ireland can stand the strain of any more of its magic being broken. For that, I can give much.” He turned to her. “For the son of the Hound, I can give even more.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

THE RUMOR OF WAR WAS everywhere as they rode back to Rardove. Towns were locked up tight. Entire villages had fled. The land had a waiting, watchful feel. And all around them, they detected the presence of riders, in the woods on either side, flanking them.

“They are The O’Fail’s,” Katarina explained quietly. Up and down the line, Aodh’s men cast suspicious, wary glances into the trees. “We are under his protection now, while we are o

n his lands.” She shrugged. “He is protecting us.”

“It’s unnervin’, that’s what it is,” Cormac muttered, peering mistrustfully into the dark woods that marched some fifty paces off on either side.