Chapter 8 #3
"Fiona," Caitlin breathed, "I pray you, do not—"
He wanted to bellow a denial, but he knew it would only make him look more foolish. Caitlin's face shone relentlessly honest.
"Fiona, damn you, girl, not another word, or I will—"
"Fiona? Niall?" A worried voice came from the doorway. Aniera stood, a reed basket in her arms, creamy white clusters of elderflowers spilling over the edge.
All three turned, Caitlin fiery-cheeked and aghast, Niall fighting to master his temper and his embarrassment, Fiona with a measure of her boldness draining away.
The girl glanced from her mother to Niall, a worried pucker between her brows.
Curse the demon child for suddenly looking as vulnerable as a spring lamb.
"What is this about?" Aniera queried.
Your daughter is a fiend, Niall wanted to rage. Instead, he wrestled his temper into silence.
"An accident," Niall bit out. "No harm done. I will return later with meat for the fire." He started to stalk out, but his mother's hand caught him. With the edge of her sleeve, she wiped at the mud still clinging to his brow.
"Why do you not take Fiona with you? You know how she loves to trail about after you."
"I want a moment of peace,” Niall snapped. “Is that too much to ask?"
Aniera's mouth dropped open, her eyes wide. "Niall, treasure, what is amiss between you and the wee one?"
What was wrong between him and his sister?
Fiona despised him. Niall was stunned by a sudden swift jab of grief.
His heart had been stone-hard when he had ridden from Glenfluirse.
It was Caitlin's meddling that had made him vulnerable to Fiona's barbs.
Damn the woman for throwing open gates where he had held inconvenient emotion imprisoned for so long.
But lashing out at his mother would only cause more pain, reveal weakness to Fiona, and allow Caitlin to see how deeply she had cut into his defenses.
Niall fought for control, grimaced. "Forgive me, Mother. I am tired from the journey."
"Aye, and worried about our Caitlin, I know. Do not fear, son. Nothing ill can befall you here. Not with your father's love all around you."
He slashed a furious glance around the hall, where the furnishings lay smashed, all former glory stripped away.
This is what his father's love had bought them, Niall wanted to rage.
But when he turned back to his mother, he could not say it.
Her face still reflected that misplaced devotion to his father that had caused Niall so much pain he had turned his back on her years ago.
But he had been a boy then, dwelling in a boy's world of right and wrong, light and dark, where heroes never stumbled, their brilliance was never tarnished.
Now he knew how easy it was to be lured from the straight hero's path onto terrain less certain. One woman's laugh, eyes that shone light into the dark corners of his soul, and he had nearly been lost
Niall pictured his father's face the last time he had seen him, an anguished plea in his eyes, love.
How Niall had hated it that the father who had betrayed him still dared to show that love.
Niall bit back the bitter wave of understanding.
But when his father had become obsessed with another woman's charms, he had a wife who adored him, a tiny, willful daughter, and a son.
Niall turned back to where Caitlin stood, so vulnerable, so treacherous because of the longing she awakened inside him.
The living embodiment of the one thing the bold warrior Niall of the Seven Betrayals feared.
Feminine beauty, a woman's touch, a snare that entangled a man's reason, entrapped his heart.
A fist of something like panic gripped his chest, and for the first time since he was a child, he felt the need to turn and run.
He could not let Caitlin see that with those sweetly probing eyes.
Dared not let anyone guess at his shame.
Yet she was worried herself. He could sense it in a way that unnerved him.
Why did he feel the irresistible need to soothe what fears of hers he could for the time he would be gone?
Or was he not soothing Caitlin at all? Only his own battered conscience?
"You should be safe enough for now," he snapped, unprepared for the way his heart lurched when his gaze lit upon her face.
"Conn will not even suspect that I have chosen to defy his command.
" How could the words be so painful? As if the life he had built in Conn's court was being flayed away one dagger blade at a time.
"I am not afraid," she said.
It was a lie, and he knew it. She had lived all her life in that abbey, with sisters who had known her forever.
She was a stranger in this wretched household still staggering beneath the curse of his father.
She must be alarmed, fearful, and yet Niall had no comfort to give her.
He didn’t know how to untangle this coil himself.
For an instant, he wanted to go to her, gather her in his arms. Bury his grief and uncertainty in the yielding softness of her breasts. He wondered what it would be like to hold her, to admit to someone for the first time in his life that he was afraid. But that was impossible.
He turned, stalked out the door, heard footsteps, light, already familiar, as Caitlin followed. He felt her watching as he swung up onto his horse. How was it possible that he was as aware of her gaze as he had been of her lips upon his the night before?
He spun his mount in a tight circle, trying to get the horse and his own white-hot imagination back under control.
With an oath, Niall galloped away from Fiona's mockery, his mother's bewilderment, and Caitlin's sweet temptation. He only wished he could keep riding until the world fell away.