Tea raised the wooden sword, flexing her hands around its hilt, her gaze meeting Galan’s. In her left hand she carried a rectangular shield made of pine, covered in leather, with an iron-boss.
“Are you sure you want to fight me?”
His answering cocky grin made Tea grit her teeth.
“Afraid you’ll hurt me, wife?” His look was sultry, which angered her further.
Tea glared at him. The Warrior willing, I’ll wipe that smirk off your face.
She had initially been surprised—and pleased—when he had suggested they practice sword play together. She had not lifted a weapon since her arrival at Dun Ringill nearly two months earlier and missed sparring. However, now that Galan stood before her, clad only in plaid breeches, his bare chest gleaming in the watery morning sun, she wished she had declined his offer. Better to practice with one someone else; someone less distracting.
They circled each other, swords and shields raised, legs slightly apart. Tea had donned plaid leggings and woolen tunic, girded at the waist with a thick leather belt. She had removed the soft leather wrappings she usually wore outdoors, preferring to fight barefoot. They stood in the warrior’s fighting enclosure behind the fort. Galan’s trusted warriors—Ru, Namet, Lutrin and Cal—watched them, naked interest on their faces.
Tea ignored them all. Galan was observing her, waiting for her to attack first. His approach did not surprise her. Despite his known prowess as a warrior, he would not be the type to start a fight. He liked to take the measure of his opponent first, to locate their weaknesses and let them tire before he took them down.
Aware that she was being scrutinized, Tea clenched her jaw once more. This was her chance to vent the rage that had simmered within her, to unleash the warrior woman.
Snarling a curse, she leaped for him.
The rhythmic thud of wooden sword-blades colliding rang out across the arena. Tea attacked and parried, circling her opponent with calm determination, warding off his strikes with her shield.
He was good—better even than her brother. A match even for Forcus, who had always been her father’s best swordsman. She had thought his size would go against him, for a lighter-built man could move faster, but Galan made sword-fighting look easy. He expended only enough energy necessary, all the while watching his opponent and biding his time.
Thud. Clack. Clack. Thud.
Tea side-stepped the thrust of Galan’s sword, feeling the draft of the wooden blade as it skimmed past her flank. Galan’s reach was longer than hers. She skipped back and struck at him in a wide arc—their blades joining for a moment before Tea twisted away and dodged out of reach.
Cheers of approval rose from the sidelines. The crowd had grown as the fight progressed, although neither Tea nor Galan had noticed it.
The joy of the fight sang in Tea’s blood as she engaged Galan once more. He too was grinning. A faint sheen of sweat now covered his broad chest, while Tea had started to pant with effort. He was both stronger and fitter than her; if this fight turned into a test of endurance he would surely win it.
They circled each other once more, Tea leading the attacks, although Galan’s parries and feints grew gradually more aggressive.
Then, he suddenly attacked, swift and silent as a bird of prey.
Tea leaped backward to avoid him, but she was too slow. Galan knocked her sword from her grip and sent it spinning across the enclosure. Tea staggered back and fell on her rump as the watching crowd hooted and cheered.
His chest heaving with exertion, Galan stepped up and looked down at her.
“You weren’t boasting about your skill with a sword,” he said, his mouth curving into a smile. “I’d happily fight with you at my side.”
Despite that her defeat stung, his words pleased Tea. She had never bested Forcus in a fight and Galan was easily his equal, if not better. She was proud to have held her own against him for so long.
“I’d better get back to work then,” she replied, fighting a smile of her own. "I’ve got baskets to weave.”
He shook his head. “Enough of that—you’ve done nothing but toil since coming here. It’s time you explored your new home. How about we take a ride together? I’d like to show you Beinn na Caillich. It’s not a long journey—we can take food with us and make an afternoon of it.”
Tea gazed up at him. The fight had eased the tension between them, and had allowed her to give her anger a target. She felt oddly relaxed and calm in the aftermath. She did not want to spend time alone with Galan, for he was too easy to like, but his offer tempted her. She had indeed toiled since coming here; it had been her means of escaping her new life, and husband.
The thought of visiting Beinn na Caillich, the ‘Red Hill’ to the north-east of Dun Ringill excited her and she found herself nodding. “Aye, I’d like that.”
Galan’s smile widened, and he reached down to help her up. With all eyes upon them, it would have seemed rude to brush aside his offer of help, even so Tea hesitated before taking his hand.
She had not touched him since coming here.
Their hands clasped together, and the strength and warmth of his fingers as they closed around hers, made Tea’s breath catch in her throat.
May her mother and father forgive her, but her body and soul hungered for this man. It was only her iron will that kept her from succumbing to the attraction that pulsed between them.
Galan pulled Tea to her feet. “Come then,” he said still smiling, although she saw his grey eyes had darkened with arousal. “Let’s ready the ponies.”
They rode out of Dun Ringill a short while later, upon two sturdy stallions—one black, the other chestnut—with a brisk easterly wind in their faces. Tea was relieved that Galan had not given her that cantankerous mare she had ridden here on. The chestnut stallion was fiery but much more manageable, and he kept up easily with Galan’s feather-footed black pony, Faileas.
Together, they thundered over velvet-green moorland, a wild sky above them. The air tasted wonderful, like a fresh mountain stream. As when they had gone out hunting, Tea felt joy rise in her breast. It was as if a great weight had lifted from her shoulders; she had not realized that her anger and resentment had become such a burden. They had been such constant companions she felt as if she was missing a limb without them.
She had not yet accepted her fate, to live here as Galan mac Muin’s wife, but today she did not fight it either. Suddenly, the world around her had color again.
Their journey took them north-east over the rise and fall of many hills and clear streams that trickled over granite pebbles. The ‘Hill of the Hag’, merely a stain against the cloud-streaked blue sky at first, gradually drew closer. It was a magnificent sight, a huge mount rising up from moorland. Tea had to admit that the hill did appear to have a red hue, no doubt from the short, seared grass that covered its smoothly rounded sides.
They rode up an incline, crossing a burn before making their way up the hill’s steep, boulder-strewn face. Scree covered the ground and clumps of red-gold grass poked out amongst it. After a while, they were both forced to dismount and lead their ponies. However, as they climbed higher, the space between the boulders narrowed, and it became impossible to take the ponies any further.
Galan turned to Tea. The pair of them had barely spoken during the journey here; it had been an easy silence but now Tea felt herself tense as her husband favored her with his full attention. “I’ve the hunger of a wolf,” he announced. “Let’s eat here.”
Smiling, Tea turned and retrieved the meal she had brought from her leather saddle bag. Luana had been generous, giving her huge slabs of fresh bread and pats of butter, boiled eggs and slices of a cake studded with hazelnuts and dripping with honey.
She sat down next to Galan, perched on the edge of a boulder, and handed him some food upon an oiled cloth. The fresh air had also given her an appetite, and she found her belly rumbling as she peeled an egg.
They ate in companionable silence, each admiring the view. From here, they had a vast panorama over The Winged Isle.
The view to the west was desolate; a savage series of rudely formed mountains of discolored black and red, almost as if they had been ravaged by fire. Among them was Beia-an-ghrianan, Mountain of the Sun—a sacred spot for the people of this isle—followed by the serrated tops of Bla Bheinn, the clustered heights of Quillin, and the soaring peak of Cuchuillin. The deep recesses between these alps were narrow vales where herds of deer roamed.
To the south-west, in the direction they had come, Tea caught sight of the glittering blue of Loch Slapin. She had never seen the isle from this height, and the sight of it took her breath away.
“What do you think?” Galan asked, helping himself to another slab of bread. “Worth the trip?”
Tea nodded. “Aye. It’s magical up here.”
“I’d hoped you’d like it.”
The sincerity in his voice made Tea’s breathing quicken. He wanted to please her, and did not try to hide it. The realization made her panic slightly. She did not want him to care, yet despite all her attempts to hurt him he still made an effort with her.
She looked down at the slice of hazelnut and honey cake, and fought a sense of shame. “You have a thick-skin, Galan mac Muin. Most men would loathe me after how I’ve treated you.”
He laughed, a low rumble that made her skin prickle with need. “Nothing worthwhile is easily gotten.”
Tea raised her head and looked at him. He was watching her, his gaze intense. “Really, you believe that?”
He gave her a slow smile. “Aye—I do.”
Slightly flustered, she picked up her slice of cake and took a bite. It was delicious, and infused with sweet honey perfumed of heather. The taste of it almost made her groan with pleasure.
“Gods, Luana is a talented cook.”
“One of the many reasons Donnel wed her, I’m sure.” Galan was grinning now, His gaze devoured her as she took another bite. Tea was aware of his stare and found herself growing hot under it. Yet she pretended not to notice—this cake was too good not to finish. However, when she did and licked the honey off her fingers, she became aware that Galan had gone very still next to her.
Tea froze, suddenly recalling the evening of their handfasting; how she had licked honey off his fingers at the feast—and the events that had unfolded quickly afterward.
Luana—the conniving minx. She had packed this honeyed sweet deliberately.
Tea met Galan’s gaze, her heart suddenly thrumming hard against her ribs. Wordlessly, he stretched out a hand and took one of hers. He then brought her fingers to his mouth and began to lick her fingers.
The feel of his tongue, warm and smooth, gliding over her skin made Tea stifle a gasp. Why did this feel so good? Then when he drew one her fingers into his mouth and sucked it gently she let out a soft moan of need.
The sound shocked her—and it caused an instant reaction. With a muttered curse, Galan pulled her against him, scattering the remnants of their meal at their feet.
His kiss was hard, wild and hungry, and she matched it. This was the first kiss they had shared—for they had not done so during their handfasting night. That night, their mating had been too frenzied, too desperate.
They devoured each other. Tea tangled her hands in his hair, the strands fine and soft like spider silk. She drank in the taste of him. With a deep groan, Galan pulled her up onto his lap so that she sat astride him. His hands slid down the length of her back, his touch firm, possessive, to cup her buttocks. He pulled Tea against him so that she sat in the cradle of his hips, her breasts crushed against the hard wall of his chest.
Despite the layers of clothing they wore, she could feel his shaft pressing against her lower belly. Excitement pulsed between her thighs at the memory of what he had felt like inside her.
It would be so easy to reach down and unlace his breaches, to take his shaft in her hands, to stroke him. It would be even easier to strip off her tunic and let him feast on her breasts. However, if she did that there would be no going back. Only the fact that she wore breeches, and not skirts that could easily be hitched up around her hips baring her naked lower torso to him, prevented Galan from taking her easily.
As his hands slid round to her front, fumbling for the edge of her leather tunic so he could rip it from her, Tea pulled away.
Panting, she pushed against his chest so that their bodies were no longer pressed together. It was impossible to think straight when this man was near her; and when he kissed and touched her, her thoughts dissolved like mist under hot sun.
“Galan,” she gasped. “No … please.”
He gazed up at her. “What’s wrong?” His voice was thick, his eyes glazed. “Am I too rough with you?”
She shook her head, fighting the urge to melt into his arms once more. Yet it was not her attraction to him she fought but the feelings that he roused in her. A wave of tenderness, of soul-longing crashed over her, bringing tears to her eyes. Breathing hard, she climbed off him and tried to master it.
“Tea … what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Liar. Everything was wrong. She was not supposed to want this man, yet animal attraction she could deal with—mating was a union of bodies, not hearts. But Galan did something to her. Just a short time in his company and he stripped away the walls she had spent years building. He was good to her, he listened to her, and worse still, he wished to know her.
Tea turned away from him, blinking as tears blurred her vision. It was too much to bear.
“Tea?”
“I’m fine,” she choked out the words. “Let’s go home.”