Chapter Nine
“Listen to the sparrow’s song at daybreak, and embrace the winter morn with a melody in your heart.”
Leaning against the pillar, Desmond watched Alastair deflect the blows from Muir. The man had been intent on practicing in the lists within the first few days of his arrival. He boasted his injury would in no way keep him from sparring with a Dragon Knight. Though Muir had strength, Alastair had more within him. On occasion, the Dragon Knight’s dragon would slip to the surface and once, he noticed fear in Muir’s eyes.
“Ye would have thought he would have learned a lesson with Alastair on the first day,” mentioned Duncan, handing Desmond an ale skin.
Desmond took a sip. “It has been seven days and the Cameron attempts to use the same tactics against Alastair. He believes he can tire man and beast.”
Duncan rubbed a hand over his jaw. “And ye ken well they do not tire easily.”
He shot him a cold look. “Nae. They only become angrier.”
“Aye. His beast has been known to rule the man. Nevertheless, your sister has managed to tame both.”
Handing the ale skin back to Duncan, he said, “As I have witnessed.”
“Brave man to fight a Dragon Knight once again,” uttered Bran coming alongside him with Ailsa on his arm.
Desmond straightened from the pillar. “Should ye be venturing out into the cold air, Lady Ailsa?”
Bran flashed him a look of disdain. “My daughter’s welfare is none of your concern. Lady Aileen and our druid have assured me the fresh air will do us both some good.”
Ailsa rolled her eyes. “Must ye be so harsh, Father? The man was simply making inquires. Or are ye upset because he did not mention your health?”
A shadow of annoyance crossed Bran’s face, but it quickly vanished. Casting his gaze outward at the two men sparring, he asked, “How long have they been out here?”
“Since dawn,” replied Duncan and handed the ale skin to the MacDuff.
“Goodness.” Ailsa shook her head. “Is Muir trying to defeat Alastair?”
Duncan coughed into his fist, trying to contain the laughter. “Only a fool would believe he could.”
Bran smiled, and Duncan gestured them over to a bench. Desmond remained standing by the pillar. When Ailsa glanced over her shoulder, confusion marred her features. “Will ye not join us?”
Desmond shook his head. “’Tis better I stay away from your father’s ire, Lady Ailsa.”
Sighing, she strolled back to him. “Did I not tell ye to call me Ailsa? Ye are as stubborn as my father.”
His mouth twitched in humor. “So I have been told.”
Ailsa laughed softly. “So your sister has informed me, as well.”
He squeezed the back of his neck. “I must have words with my sister about discussing my bad habits.”
Ailsa moved closer and placed a hand on his arm. Her presence surrounded him, and Desmond found he could not move. The morning air was brisk, but he found himself burning from her touch.
“Please do not scold her. She is with child and suffers from illness in the morn. Your words might upset her.” Smiling, she added, “If it helps, she also speaks kindly of ye, too.”
Swallowing, he could only nod. Even in his sister’s current condition, Fiona still could cut out his heart with her words and toss his own right back at him. “Ye are feeling well?”
She brought the fur-lined hood of her cloak more firmly around her head. “Aye, thank ye. However, it will be another week or two before my father or Aileen allows me to enter the lists.”
Desmond found himself staring at her face. He could no longer hear the words she spouted as she continued to speak. Her face was as white as the snow-covered ground they stood upon. Yet, it was those lips he was drawn to—full, red, and when her tongue teased along her bottom lip, his heart slammed against his chest. What would they taste like? Blinking several times to rid himself of the lustful vision, he glanced away.
Suddenly, he recalled her mentioning the lists. “Ye train? A woman? For what?”
She stiffened and shook his arm. “Have ye not heard anything I have been saying? Our isle is one of training. We have several men now traveling with the Fianna. I am a chieftain’s daughter who will one day rule. I train alongside the men and women of our clan. We honor the old ways. Furthermore, my father has spoken of our home with the Dragon Knights. Were ye not present?”
Desmond stared at Ailsa as if seeing her for the first time. “Pray forgive me. I did not fully ken his meaning. Most evenings, I seek the shelter of Angus’ scrolls, or pass the time playing fidchell with Fiona.”
Her frown turned into a beaming smile. She grasped his arm. “Ye play the game?”
He was helpless to resist and placed a hand over hers. “Aye. My sister is a quick study. She also plays chess with Alastair, though I have yet to capture the meaning of the moves.”
“By the hounds, I have missed the game of fidchell. ’Tis one my mother taught me. Tam enjoys the game too.” She leaned nearer as if she was going to impart a great secret to Desmond. “Though I must confess, the druid lacks the skill of attacking one’s adversary. I long for a good challenge.”
He leaned near. “Then I accept your challenge.”
She burst out in laughter. “Ye may regret those words, Desmond O’Quinlan.”
“Remove your hand!” shouted Muir.
Snapping his gaze to the man, Desmond removed his hand. “It would seem as if I have offended your man, Muir.”
“He’s an overbearing brute,” spat out Ailsa.
Frowning, Desmond stepped away from her. “Does he not have claim on ye?”
“What?” Her question was laced with disgust. She pointed a finger at Muir. “Him?”
“Aye, the Cameron.”
“Nae!”
Watching as Muir approached, fury etched across his face, Desmond gave him no time to utter another word. Stepping forward, he leveled a fist to the Cameron. “Quit telling me what to do,” he clipped out angrily.
****
Ailsa stared at Desmond’s retreating form. She almost burst out in laughter when he thought she was intended for Muir. Her eyes followed him until he disappeared around the stables.
“Bastard,” growled Muir.
She quickly averted her gaze and looked at her guard sprawled out on the ground. “I find your behavior unjust. Desmond did naught wrong.”
Her father and the Dragon Knights had gathered around them.
Muir wiped the blood from his mouth and stood. Pointing a finger at her, he snapped, “He had nae right to hit me. He put his hands on ye! I merely defend—”
Ailsa held up her hand to stay his words. “Desmond O’Quinlan has shown only honor. And if ye must ken, I put my hand on his arm first.”
Bran let out a soft curse.
She turned toward her father. “I am not a weak maiden who needs protecting. I wish ye—”
“As ye have often stated,” her father interrupted.
“Let us retreat to the Great Hall. I am sure Desmond will make his apologies once tempers have cooled,” suggested Duncan.
Ailsa took a step to the side. “I will follow shortly. My temper cannae be cooled inside.”
Her father gave her a skeptical look, but nodded and walked away. Muir shook his head, yet, kept his tongue, and followed Duncan out of the lists.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she stole a glance at Alastair. “Are ye not joining them?”
Smirking, he asked, “Would ye like me to show ye where Desmond went?”
Her face heated, but Ailsa’s gaze never wavered. “Aye. I would be most grateful.”
As the Dragon Knight led her out of the lists, he veered sharply to the left away from where she saw Desmond take his leave.
“We are not heading to the stables?”
“Nae. The O’Quinlan retreats often to this place when he’s upset.” Alastair paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. “He longs for his home, I believe.”
“Then why does he not return?” she asked, ducking under a pine limb as they made their way down a narrow path on the other side of the stables.
“My wife deemed he should stay on until after the Midwinter feast.”
Shocked by his words, Ailsa paused. “She would wish him to leave during winter? To travel all alone to Eire?”
“’Tis not what ye think.” Alastair halted and pointed ahead. “Follow the path, and ye will find Desmond. If ye wish to have your questions answered, ye must ask him.”
“Thank ye,” she said, stepping past him.
Making her way out of the cluster of pines, the view of the loch opened for Ailsa. The scene from above was mystical. The mists hugged the snow-covered hills, but it was the water that called out to her. Peaceful and calm, it rippled down the glen in soft waves. No wonder her mother wished to be scattered here.
Ailsa drew back the hood of her cloak and sighed.
“’Tis a beauty, aye?” asked Desmond in a low voice.
The burr of his words skimmed across her skin, and when she cast her gaze on him, his eyes held hers as he leaned against the bark of a pine. The look he gave her sent a tremor of excitement through her body. Regaining her self-control, Ailsa swept her sight back to the loch.
“I have no words. We have many rivers and streams on our island, but this is vast.”
She heard him move away from the tree and step beside her. They watched as a flock of geese glided above the water, making their way south. Sunlight broke free from one of the clouds—its light glittering over the water like tiny jewels.
“Why are ye here, Ailsa?”
She shrugged and then asked, “Did ye injure your hand on the man’s face?”
Desmond roared with laughter—rich and warm.
Ailsa stared at him in wonder. Gone was the solemn and serious Desmond O’Quinlan. In his place was the man who stole her breath. Never before had another captured her attention and she longed to find out his secrets. He was much too severe. He needed to laugh more often.
“Ye should smile and laugh more,” she suggested and turned away from him.
“Aye, true. Furthermore, I thank ye kindly for your concern, but my hand is nae damaged.”
She eyed him hesitantly, and then reached for his hand. Though calloused, it was warm and strong. Ailsa traced her fingers over the top, noticing the redness. He flinched as if she burned him. Lifting her gaze to meet his, she said, “Pack some snow along the ridge, and ask Tam for comfrey. The cold will ease the swelling and―”
“The herb will help the bruising,” he concluded, smiling at her.
Returning his smile, she quickly glanced away. “May I ask a private question?”
He leaned near her and lowered his voice. “It would depend on how private the question might be.”
Ailsa shivered and clasped her hands together. “I meant only to ask why ye have not returned to Eire.”
Desmond blew out a frustrated sigh and walked away from her. Picking up a stone, he tossed it outward. Frightened squirrels darted out from the nearby trees, and a bird screeched in obvious displeasure.
Fisting his hands on his hips, he maintained his gaze on the loch. “My sister reckoned it best I stay. She believed I had unfinished words with her husband from an incident that happened many moons ago.”
“Though, will ye not miss your sister once ye leave?” she inquired, stepping near him.
He shifted his stance and folded his arms over his chest. “Aye. But we shall see each other again.”
“Hmm… Well I am pleased ye did stay.”
“Ye are?” He frowned, running a hand through his thick hair.
“Of course. Ye and Alastair saved us from certain doom.”
“I am certain another would have come to your aid, Lady Ailsa.”
Furious, she stepped around in front of him. Poking him in the chest, she stated, “Ye cannae be so assured. And have I not asked ye to simply call me Ailsa?”
His steady look raked over her face, dark and compelling.
Finally, he took a step back and shook his head regretfully. “As I have stated once before, I have no desire to stir the wrath of your father any further. I deem it wise to return to the castle, Ailsa. Surely he would not like ye to remain alone with me.”
“I grow tired of having to repeat myself,” she uttered in an irritated tone and turned away from him. “I am not some delicate maiden who requires an escort.”
“Nae, ye are not weak. But ’tis your honor that your father is concerned for.”
Ailsa snorted in disgust. “He kens I can protect myself. If I want to speak with someone, I dinnae need a guard.”
Desmond leaned close to her ear from behind. Ailsa could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck, and she shivered. “Ye would if someone wished to steal a kiss,” he whispered softly.
His words skimmed across her face in a soft caress, and she tried to breathe. She found her body heated and her tongue frozen.
Swallowing, she turned her head to the side. The man had silently left the area. Ailsa placed her cool hands on her heated face. He had never touched her, but his words sent a longing of desire—to be kissed.
Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, she slowly made her way back to the castle. And for the first in her life, Ailsa pondered what it would be like to have the handsome Desmond O’Quinlan crush her into his arms and steal a kiss.