Chapter 1 #2
Balling her hand into a fist, she swung with all her might, catching her attacker on one high cheekbone, her knee driving instinctively for the vulnerable flesh between his thighs.
With a grunt of surprise and pain, the beast rolled off her.
"Hellcat, you all but unmanned me!" a rough voice snarled.
Her vision cleared, and she found herself staring into a face as fierce as any warrior god the druids had ever dreamed. She felt a horrible sense of loss. The sleeping hero she had found vanished forever.
Green eyes pierced her so deeply that she could not breathe. "I thought your Christian God said to love thy enemy," the man sneered with a scornful glance at her habit, "not knock him senseless."
Caitlin scrambled back, her legs so tangled in her robes she could not get to her feet. "Wh-who are you?"
"They call me Niall." His mouth hardened further still. "Niall of the Seven Betrayals."
What kind of man could he be? His very name proclaimed his infamy. Caitlin's gaze flicked to his, and she saw her revulsion register in those fierce green eyes. His lips curled in the harshest smile she had ever seen.
"You are wise to be wary of me, lady."
She hated him for sensing her fear, hated herself for letting it show, no matter how well founded that fear might be.
Drawing the tattered remnants of her pride about her, she tipped her chin up in what Reverend Mother always called her fairy queen expression—one that, at the moment, made it evident she wanted nothing more than to command some minion to cut off his head.
"Did you steal my flower?" she demanded, incensed as if he had robbed the treasure of Tir naN Og itself.
If nothing else, she had set him off balance. "Steal a flower?” he said. “What the devil for?"
"It is supposed to be there. On the druid stone."
"Let me assure you that if I ever decided to turn thief, I would not waste my time stealing an accursed flower.
Why should it matter so much to you? I cannot begin to guess.
" His eyes flicked down the coarse homespun of her clothes, and he laid one powerful finger alongside his jaw.
"Then again... perhaps I can. Meeting a lover, are you? I wonder if your abbess would approve."
"I am not! She would—" Caitlin cut off her stammering, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and indignation. She wanted to slap the smug expression off the man's face.
"So you are from the abbey. You might be of some use to me yet" Something in his voice terrified her.
"I have ridden three days without sleep searching for the abbey of Saint Mary's.
Could not find the accursed thing. Finally fell asleep on that rock of yours.
Perhaps it was fate. Now I will not have to stumble about, searching, any longer. You can show me the way."
Caitlin stared in disbelief. This warrior was intimidating enough in a chance meeting. He was far more frightening seeking the abbey. And he wanted her to lead him to the walls?
She shuddered, thinking of the sisters who had raised her—so gentle, so compassionate, so trusting in the protection of their God. She reeled from the sudden realization that all the things she loved about them left them terrifyingly vulnerable.
She struggled to keep from imagining what sort of damage this giant of a man could do to a flock of defenseless women. "What business could you possibly have at the abbey?" she demanded.
Disgust and impatience sparked in the warrior's hard eyes. "I come to claim a wench."
Caitlin crossed herself. "God help her."
Niall gave a snarling laugh. "She will need far more help than your puling God can offer."
"Wh-who..." The question snagged in Caitlin's throat, a hard, barbed thing. She knew before he spoke, felt a horrible sinking in the pit of her stomach.
"They call her by some absurd name. Caitlin of the Lilies."
Caitlin gasped, childhood dreams crumbling into nightmare. "That is impossible!"
Holy Mary, why had she not guessed? Why had she not suspected that what the other sisters had warned her of, feared, was true? That the lilies were sweet poison, luring her to disaster instead of a fragrant path to some wondrous destiny?
Terror drove sudden strength into her limbs, her hands tearing loose the tangled skirts as she scrambled to her feet. One last glimpse of that implacable face burned itself in her memory, then she ran back to everything she had loved yet taken for granted.
But no matter how fast her feet flew Caitlin knew the truth. The abbey walls could not bar a man like that forever. Tears streaked her cheeks Even Reverend Mother's love could not protect her now.
Caitlin felt countless eyes upon her as she ran through the rickety gate, the bevy of sisters gaping when she dragged the heavy bar across it as if an invading army marched against the abbey.
Caitlin winced as the aged wood barrier groaned beneath the bar's weight, the gate in danger of tumbling down of its own accord.
Sister Luca, a plump woman who often nodded to sleep over her prayers, dropped the bundle of carrots she had been clutching and hastened toward her, alarm in her moon-shaped face.
"By Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, child, what has happened?
" she asked, brushing the dirt from stubby fingers.
"You look as if a horde of devils is at your heels! "
"N-not a horde." Caitlin shuddered. "One is enough!" She was shamed by the tears that stung her eyes, but she could not stop them. "Where is Reverend Mother?"
Luca's cheeks went white. "In her chamber, I think. But she had some private meditation to attend to. She asked not to be disturbed."
Caitlin cast a glance back at the wooden gates, half expecting to hear the thunder of a battering ram, the bellow of the devil's voice, at any moment.
A man of the sort she had found in the druid grove would be wise enough to follow her to the abbey.
And once he found it, he would not be thwarted by such a paltry barrier as the abbey gates for long.
Caitlin grasped the old nun's sleeve. "Whatever happens, Sister Luca, do not open the gates. You cannot let him in! I beg of you!"
"Let him in? A—a man?" The old woman crossed herself with fierce resolution. "Never, by the sacred blood of Saint Patrick!"
A little comforted, Caitlin wheeled, raced into the stone building. She wound through chambers where she had skipped as a child, played hoodman blind and learned to recite her prayers. A place where danger had never even dared scratch at the window in the form of a childish nightmare.
Her hands shook. Her heart thundered. Reverend Mother would make everything all right. Forever calm, infinitely wise, she would think of some way to help her.
Caitlin rounded a corner, plunged into Reverend Mother's cell. She froze, the sight so blessedly familiar, the place so filled with peace, it seemed almost possible that the scene in the druid grove had been nothing but a wicked dream.
Fine-boned as the most fragile bird yet exuding incredible strength, Reverend Mother leaned over a humble wooden chest, holding something up into the brightest shaft of light from a sliver of window, doubtless so she could see it more clearly with her failing eyes.
Caitlin was stunned to realize that it was the robe she had been wrapped in as a babe: folds of white linen embroidered with birds and horses, interlacing designs worked with threads of gold.
Caitlin had thought it had been given away to the poor years ago, like every other worldly possession that came into the convent.
Reverend Mother straightened, alerted by the sound of footsteps that she was no longer alone.
The saintly woman turned, her cheeks pink as if she had been caught in some dark, indulgent sin.
Her eyes glowed, misty with memories, proud and a little sad.
But the moment her gaze locked on Caitlin, she dropped the robe back into the little chest, the fragile folds tumbling in a disordered heap like a broken rainbow.
Brow creased with worry, the abbess crossed to her, framing Caitlin's cheeks in her callused palms. "Caitlin, child? Whatever is amiss? You look ill."
It was harder than Caitlin could have imagined, shattering the older woman's peace, but there was no help for it. "I—I went to the grove."
"Did you injure yourself? Parts of the path are rocky."
"Nay. But my lily... it was not there."
Relief smoothed the creases bracketing Reverend Mother's mouth, a soft empathy gleaming in her eyes. "I know you are disappointed, my dove. Perhaps some woodland creature ran off with it. You and I can go search for your lily together."
"Nay!" The idea of Reverend Mother going out into the woods, facing that beast of a man, was unspeakable. "There was something else in the lily's place." Caitlin was trembling now. She could not stop. A sob broke from her lips. "A horrible beast of a man. He grabbed me and..."
Reverend Mother paled, stricken. But she seemed to draw on her wealth of inner strength and faith to shore her up.
She gripped the lid of the chest with one hand to steady herself.
"Caitlin, you must tell me what happened," she insisted in a calm, bracing voice.
"Everything, child. Did this man... touch you in ways he should not have? "
"Aye! He did! He did!" Caitlin saw the aged nun curl tight inside herself as if she had taken a physical blow. "Look at my arms!" Caitlin shoved up the sleeves, displaying the beginnings of bruises on her pale flesh. "He grabbed me! He shoved me down onto the stone and—and he bellowed at me!"
The abbess went still, hope sparking in her eyes. "That is all? You are certain?"
"All?" Indignation shot through Caitlin. "No one has ever done such unspeakable things to me before! I struck him in the face. Kicked him. I got away."
The nun actually smiled! "Of course you did, my bold, brave girl! Thanks be to God." Reverend Mother gathered her in her arms, stroking her hair. "Whist, my heart, I have got you safe now. He cannot hurt you ever again."