DONNEL WATCHED EITHNI disappear over the brow of the hill and forced himself not to run after her.
The Reaper take me, what have I done?
He was not sure what had possessed him. They had been enjoying each other’s company, eating and talking, and then he had made the mistake of feeding her berries. He had not been prepared for the animal need that had surged up within him when his fingers had brushed those rosebud lips.
He’d had to kiss her. Right then.
But to worsen matters she had tasted better than he could have possibly imagined: her warm, slender body pressed against his, her hot mouth opening for him as he kissed her. She smelled of pine, sunlight, fresh air, and the sweet scent of a woman’s skin. It had unraveled his self-control.
Trust was a fragile thing. He had just betrayed hers. Eithni had suffered terribly at a man’s hands. She deserved better than to have him throw himself at her. Not only that but kissing her brought back memories he wished to keep buried.
Luana.
Had he betrayed her memory?
He had enjoyed kissing Eithni too much. After his wife had died he had made her a silent promise he would never touch another woman. Luana would never have demanded that of him. She would have smiled in that gentle way of hers and told him to find another to love, and to share his life with. Only he could not. It tore him up inside to think of lying with another woman. Luana would truly be gone then. Would he then completely forget her in time?
Donnel cursed, spun on his heel, and yanked the axe out of the soft pine trunk.
Donnel returned to the hut with reluctance that evening.
He had not stayed away out of anger toward Eithni but instead fury at himself. He hacked at the trunks until sweat poured off him—until the muscles in his back, shoulders, and upper arms screamed. He worked in a frenzy—hoping to drive away his demons—yet as the light faded and the air cooled he realized he had only succeeded in exhausting himself.
The feel of Eithni’s mouth under his and the hot pulsing need he had felt for her were still there.
And now he would have to face her.
Donnel breathed in the aroma of roasting venison as he approached the hut. He walked down the mossy bank of the creek, his gaze taking in the humble home he and Eithni had made for themselves over the past moon. It looked vastly different to the ruin they had found. Smoke drifted up from the neatly patched sod roof, and the area around the dwelling was no longer overgrown with weeds and foliage.
He skirted the edge of the hut, glancing inside. A low fire burned in the hearth, and his gaze slid over the sprays of heather that Eithni had scattered over the floor. She had also collected bunches of meadow flowers, which were hanging, drying, from the ceiling beams. It was a cozy, domestic sight, but it just made him feel worse over his treatment of her.
Donnel found Eithni on the western side. She was turning a haunch of venison upon a spit over a glowing fire. They would soon run out of fresh meat. Donnel would have to go hunting again the following day; he just hoped he would not come back empty-handed. Red deer roamed the Glen of the Stags although not in the numbers he had hoped.
Eithni had her back to Donnel and did not see him approach. As such he was able to observe her for a few moments as she worked.
The long sleeveless tunic she had worn the night of her abduction was growing faded and threadbare. It was also far looser than when she had arrived here. She would need warmer clothes for the coming winter. Harvest Fire was almost upon them, a celebration that heralded the last moon cycle of warm weather before the leaves began to turn. Back in Dun Ringill folk would be reaping barley from the lower fields and harvesting the last of the summer produce. They would also be putting food aside for the long bitter months, but Eithni and Donnel had little food they could store apart from dried meats and smoked fish. This fact worried Donnel constantly.
Unbidden he found his gaze sliding up Eithni’s girlish form. She wore her brown hair in a long braid; it had fallen to one side as she bent over the spit she was turning. The position drew her tunic tight over the pert roundness of her bottom.
She was a lovely sight.
Enough. Donnel shoved the lustful thoughts aside. Get ahold of yourself, man.
Had he not resolved to think nothing but sisterly thoughts toward Eithni from now on? His decision had lasted till the moment he had seen her again, before it fluttered away like leaves scattered in the wind.
Eithni turned then, having heard him approach. Her gaze was shuttered and her face composed. “That was well-timed,” she greeted him. Her voice was neutral, giving nothing of her emotional state away.
He nodded, tried to smile, and failed.
“Shall we eat out here?” she asked, turning to retrieve a pine platter. “The evening is too fair to be indoors.”
“Aye,” he replied. “Shall I carve the meat then?”
She nodded and handed him the platter, before moving away from the fire. Her gaze avoided his. He did not blame her for being guarded around him; he had been rude earlier, and he owed her an apology.
“I’m sorry … I upset you earlier, Eithni,” he said softly. “That’s wasn’t my intention.”
She shrugged and took a seat upon a wide rock near the fire. She watched him unsheathe a knife from his belt and slice the meat off the bone with it. Yet she still refused to meet his eye.
When he was done, Donnel carried the platter of meat over to the rock. There, they sat side by side and enjoyed the supper with some dandelion leaves and wild onions Eithni had foraged. It was a simple yet delicious meal.
The pair of them did not speak for a while as they ate, and despite the still, warm evening with the last of the sun dappling through the pines and the creek tinkling beside them, a tension lay heavy upon the air.
“I will not break, you know? I’m not as fragile as you think.” Eithni’s words, spoken softly, yet with determination, caught Donnel by surprise. Her directness disarmed him.
He swallowed a mouthful of venison and swiveled to face her. “It’s not that,” he replied, holding her limpid gaze. The Hag protect him, he wished she would not look at him in that way; it made it difficult to concentrate. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.” He tore his gaze away from hers. “After Luana died … I vowed I would never touch another woman.”
He could feel Eithni’s gaze upon him. “Why would you make such a vow?” she asked, incredulous. “You are still young. You could find another to love.”
He shook his head, negating her words. “Watching my wife die broke something in me. I never want to care for someone like that again. My soul belonged to her, and she took part of me with her when she died.”
He glanced back at Eithni to see she was listening to him, her elfin face solemn. “Then you’ve chosen a lonely life. Whether or not you believe it, we need others. Loss is a part of love for all of us … none of us escape The Reaper’s touch.”
Donnel’s mouth thinned. “Aye, and that’s why I’ll have no part of love … or the pain it brings.”
She looked at him squarely. “Is that why you avoid Talor? I thought you blamed him for Luana’s death.”
Once again, her directness disarmed him. He had met few folk who spoke as plainly as Eithni. Yet, unlike back in Dun Ringill, he was not angered by it.
“At first that was it,” he replied, considering her words as he spoke, “but now I do it for his own good … I can’t give him the love he deserves.”
“That makes no sense,” Eithni countered, a crease forming between her finely drawn eyebrows. “You’re lying to yourself, Donnel. Whether you’ll admit it or not, you care for your son. You’d be devastated if anything befell him.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel,” he growled in response. “You can’t read my mind.”
She stared back at him, not remotely cowed. “I understand more than you know,” she replied calmly. “After Forcus I told myself I’d never let another man near me … that I’d go to my cairn without ever taking a husband or bearing children. I felt tainted and believed I would poison any who came in contact with me.” She paused here, and her gaze met his. “But knowing you has opened my eyes. It has changed me. You’ve taught me that I can trust others … that I can welcome a man’s touch, his kiss. Even though you don’t want me—I should thank you for that.”
Donnel stared back at her. She made him feel wretched, ashamed. She was far stronger than him, this wisp of a woman. He wished he could be like her, could face the things that scared him most, yet he could not.
Eithni made him feel things he did not want. He was relieved to know his kisses had not traumatized her, but what had blossomed between them had to be stopped.
For both our sakes.
Eithni crouched by the creek and washed the carcass of the water fowl she had just gutted. This would be tonight’s supper. It was a cool afternoon, for a brisk wind blew in from the north-east. It had an edge to it. Harvest Fire had passed and autumn now approached.
She suppressed a shiver at the thought of the warm months’ ending. The weather had been mild of late, and it was easy to forget that The Winged Isle endured long freezing winters.
Both she and Donnel were working hard to prepare for the winter, yet it was not nearly enough. She had prepared deerskins for the cold weather: a vest for them each, and a new pair of breeches for Donnel. However, they really needed furs—seal or wolfskin ideally. They also needed more food.
Eithni straightened up from the creek and carried the carcass over to the fire pit, where she skewered it. A few feet away sat their store hut, which they were slowly starting to fill with dried meat and fish, as well as edible roots. Eithni had found some crab apple trees a few days earlier and had picked them clean—the fruit was sour, but the apples would store well over the winter.
Lost in thought, Eithni counted the moons she and Donnel would have till the cold arrived—until Gateway at least. She would need to work harder.
The heavy thud of hooves on damp ground ripped Eithni from her thoughts. Heart racing, she glanced up, and her hand reached for the boning knife she carried at her waist.
Warriors upon shaggy ponies were approaching from the west.
She looked around frantically. Donnel was away hunting and would not be back for a while yet. She was alone here, and it was too late to run, for the men had seen her.
What if Urcal has come to seek vengeance for his brother?
Eithni straightened her spine, her hand still clasped over the hilt of her knife, and watched them draw near. If The Boar had indeed found them, she would have to face them on her own.
A moment later her fear dissolved as she recognized the warrior leading the group: big and broad, with a swarthy complexion and a mane of jet-black curls.
“Wid!”
Her cousin’s face creased into a wide grin, and he waved, urging his pony into a brisk trot. Eithni rushed across to him, her feet flying over the mossy ground. Wid reached her, swung down from his pony, and threw his arms around her, crushing Eithni in a bear-hug.
“I thought we might find you around here,” he greeted her, still grinning as he pulled back. His gaze shifted behind her, sweeping left to right. “Where’s Donnel?”
“He’s out hunting.”
Wid’s gaze returned to Eithni. “How are you, cousin? You’re too thin, but you look well enough. Your cheeks are rosy … your eyes bright.”
“I’m well.” Eithni stepped back from him, uncomfortable under the close scrutiny. “It’s just the fresh air and hard work.” Her gaze shifted to The Wolf warriors who had pulled up behind Wid. A wide smile stretched across her face, for she recognized them all.
When she looked back to Wid, her eyes stung with tears. “You are all a very welcome sight. Out here, I’d begun to think the rest of the world had disappeared.”
Wid huffed. “No, the rest of us are still here.” He paused, his smile fading. “I went to Dun Ringill a few days ago. The mood there is grim—Galan is worrying himself sick although he will admit it to no one.”
Eithni nodded, sadness dulling her joy at seeing her cousin again. “It’s not right,” she murmured, “this bad blood between brothers.”
“Aye,” Wid replied with a grimace. “Let us hope they resolve it.”
“I don’t see how they will,” she answered. They continued on their way toward the hut. “Donnel is even more bull-headed than Galan. He’d starve out here in the wild rather than humble himself before his brother.”
Wid frowned. “Aye, and that’s what worries Galan.” His gaze settled upon the hut then and the seriousness faded from his face. He turned to Eithni grinning. “This place was falling to pieces—you’ve transformed it.”
Eithni shrugged, a smile tugging at her mouth. “It’s hardly a chieftain’s broch, but we’ve made it comfortable enough.”
He inclined his head, his gaze searching her face. “Donnel’s mood was bleak the last time I saw him. He doesn’t mistreat you, does he?”
Eithni held Wid’s gaze, a warmth suffusing her at her cousin’s concern. Wid was a good man. “No, quite the opposite,” she replied. “He has looked after me well and even tolerates my prattle.”
Wid snorted. “I don’t remember you ever being the sort to talk a man’s ear off?”
Eithni laughed before turning to the others who were all dismounting. “See to your ponies and take a seat by the fire. We don’t have much food for supper, but we can share it with you.”
“Put it away for yourselves; we’ve got plenty of food to share,” Wid replied. “Oatcakes, butter, eggs, and cheese.”
Eithni’s mouth filled with saliva at the mention of her favorite foods. “It will be a feast then.”
“We’ve got ale too,” one of The Wolf warriors called out.
Eithni grinned across at him. “Donnel had better get back soon then, before you drink it all, Beli.”