The Irish Warrior

“All I ask is that, next time, ye try to not alert the English garrison in Dublin as to our whereabouts.”

She blushed around her smile. He reached for the rabbit and she passed it over, long ears first.

“That was foolish of me, Finian. I was far too loud. I simply felt so, so…”

“Just so,” Finian echoed, smiling faintly.

She began to reach for the rabbit, but he lifted it into the air, just out of her reach. “Ye brought him down,” he said. “I will clean him up.”

She stood and stared, then her grin grew. “Irishman, I believe you are right.”

He strode back to their camp. “Usually.”

After cleaning and skinning it, he spitted and cooked it over their small fire. Senna leaned so far forward to watch she was practically sitting in his lap. Finian did not ask her to stop.

“Mmm,” she sniffed, her nose in the air. “It smells good.” She pulled her pack close and loosed the leather thong tie. She fumbled inside and extracted a small pouch. “Herbs.”

“Herbs? You’ve got herbs in there?” He tried to peer down into the dark, shapeless leather satchel, but she playfully snatched it away and held it close to her chest, as if to hide the contents. “What else have you got, Senna? I could use a pot, for boiling water.”

“Next time.” She slid the tips of her folded hands into the warmth between her thighs and leaned forward demurely. “For now, you’ll just have to make do.”

With ye? he thought. Make due with her vibrant, spirited, startling self?

This had gone beyond playful flirting; what he was doing with Senna had a rock-hard purpose. He had no idea what it was, but he recognized the feel of it. It was memorable. Like going to war. Like preparing for battle by painting himself for the journey to the afterlife. Like diving off the cliffs near his home into the churning blue sea below when he was fifteen, with his mates, and knew he was invincible.

But still, those moments took decision. The plunge had been intentional. And always, there was no turning back.

He did not want that. He could not swim back up from these depths.

Cutting several slits crosswise along the cooking hare, Finian shoved handfuls of the herb mixture inside the marbled meat, then smeared a thin layer over the outside with his palm. With a flick of his wrist, he turned the hare. A bit of fat dripped off into the fire, where it sizzled and flashed into a brief flame. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Senna lick her lips.

“Ye didn’t seem afraid when the English soldiers came.”

“I wasn’t.” She looked up. “I was terrified.”

He smiled faintly. “But now, now that ye watched me kill them, ye don’t seem too terribly wrought up.”

She didn’t meet his eyes this time. “I raise sheep,” she mumbled. “I’ve hunted rabbits. I’ve seen things die.”

“These weren’t rabbits.”

“I did not learn to throw a knife in order to kill rabbits,” she replied in a clear voice, and looked at him. “But they make good practice targets.”

He turned the rabbit again, very carefully. “Have you killed a man, Senna?” He said it casually, like he might ask if she’d brought the wash in from the line.

There was a long pause. “I’ve done everything once.”

Once? Everything? What on earth did that mean?

He turned the rabbit again, unnecessarily. It would be the most evenly cooked piece of game on earth. He did not ask any more questions.

When it was done, he flipped it onto one of the bordering stones, and when it was cool, they ate with relish, licking their fingers. Then they sa

t in a companionable silence for a while, under the darkening trees.

Soon it would be time to leave the clearing for a few more hours of travel, but for now they sat, the world hung in a bleached transition, timeless and clear. The sky was laced with steel.

“I do believe that was the best meal I’ve ever had, Finian,” she said. He looked over as a deep sigh brought her lush mouth fully into a yawn. She sighed again and slid her hand down her thigh in an unconscious, highly sensuous movement. Finian wrenched his eyes away.