Claiming Her

The meal was festive and merry, and extremely long, as the kitchens hadn’t yet prepared food. So it began with cold things—bread and beer and cheeses, and moved to the warmer courses.

Aodh and Katarina did not make it to the fully prepared courses. They tried, of course. They sat on the dais with Aodh’s captains as the meal slowly unraveled, relaying the news they’d learned in Dublin.

“Things are going to become bad for awhile,” Aodh explained, sounding grim.

Little Finn sat on his lap, leaning forward to play with his wooden horses and knights on the dais table. Aine stood on the chair on the other side of Aodh, her little feet digging into Cormac’s lap as she mounted a spirited counterattack comprised of dragons and princesses that Aodh and Wicker had whittled for her. Wicker had become quite the whittler, after having married the red-haired lass from the village below, and having three children with another on the way. Susanna sat beside Cormac, holding baby Lizzie.

“How bad?” Katarina asked quietly.

Aodh reclined in his seat, a hand on Finn’s back. “Perhaps very. There are more rebellions.” He stroked Finn’s head. “The O’Neill is in open revolt.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “Oh no.”

“Aye.”

She looked out into the hall for a moment, then asked flatly, “And are we expected to help put him down?”

Why did the English Crown insist on pushing at every ache with such vigor? Digging in, intending to root out pus, but instead, introducing more infection. Did they not know it was better to let some things lie?

Aodh shook his head. “Do not worry. I impressed upon the Lord Deputy how unwise it would be to ask Rardove to join a hosting against The O’Neill. It would only spur more rebellion.”

She swung her gaze to him. “So we are to…?”

“Hold the line. Our strength lies in being England’s wall, not its fist. Fitzwilliam seemed to agree.”

Relief and wonder made her laugh softly. “Only you, Aodh Mac Con, could convince the English to allow us to sit out a war.”

He shrugged. “I’ve no intention of fighting The O’Neill. I think Sir William saw that.” His reply spoke directly to her words, but his gaze was intent on an entirely different matter as it slid down the front of her gown with clear male purpose.

She sat back in her chair. “You told the Lord Deputy of Ireland you had no intention of fighting The O’Neill?”

“I did not have to tell him. I simply explained more rebellions would follow if Rardove were ordered to join a hosting against The O’Neill.”

She let the words sink in. “You meant we would rebel.”

“Perish the thought,” he said softly. “Lass, we tend the fires, we do not put them out.” He threw back the rest of his drink, lifted Finn off his lap, slid out, and set the boy back on the chair.

“Fight well,” he said to both his children, kissed their heads, kissed the baby, then turned to Katarina. “Come with me.”

Her body lit as if he’d lit a wick inside her.

They went to their rooms. Aodh was stripping off his clothes even as he kicked the door shut. “Take that off,” he ordered, tugging at her gown.

“Yes, well, I was going to,” she said breathlessly, pulling faster at the laces. He walked her back to the bed while he was still yanking off his tunic, and kicked her legs apart as she dropped onto the bed.

He was inside her in seconds, hot and fast, dragging cords of pleasure across her body. She was ready for him, pulsing with heat, slippery with desire, so he sank in deep, with a single thrust.

“Ah, Katy,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her neck. “I missed you. Come with me next time I go.”

“I will,” she whispered.

“You could have helped, with the Lord Deputy.”

“You do not appear to have needed help.”

He nudged her thigh up and to the side a little more, and thrust in again. “A beautiful woman always helps, especially when she is clever too. They never expect that.”

She lifted her hips to him. “You did not expect it.”