Chapter Nineteen
Spring rolled on, warming the land, setting the trees to blossoming and lambs appearing in the fields.
Yet Ireland had a peculiar ability to be perpetually wet, so there was always an excuse to stay abed with Cullen.
Some days it was torrential rain, driving Lowri indoors.
Other days, Ireland would relent and just produce a grey drizzle, or soften to a damp mist that pearled on her hair and released the scent of spring grass.
On the rare days when the sun warmed the earth and dried the grass, Cullen would take Lowri by the hand and lead her out to the fields around Kildara.
He would get a soft look on his face and lie her down in the long grass and wildflowers and take her under the vast sky.
Lowri became lost in desire. Cullen’s body was a wonder, everything so hard and sleek.
She explored its textures with her tongue and hands - the smooth muscles of his stomach, the crisp hair between his legs.
His hands were calloused from hard work, cat’s-tongue rough, yet they brought her to panted ecstasy with utter gentleness and care.
His manhood mesmerised her – satin married to steel, slippery when she caressed him, and he became aroused.
She would slide her thumb over its smooth dome, and Cullen would groan and urge her on.
With a sigh, Lowri put down the rabbit carcasses she was skinning.
This surrender to carnal pleasure would not do.
It was in the cause of getting with child and freeing her friends, or at least, that was what she told herself.
It was a lie, of course. Donnan and Rory were still imprisoned, and yet she was letting the son of their jailor do all sorts of lewd things to her body.
Lowri stared at the blood on her hands. If she did not get with child soon, her friends’ blood would be on her hands too, and she could not live with that.
She was losing sight of who she was, slipping into a life that was built on a lie with a man she was dangerously close to being infatuated with. Guilt soured her day.
Cullen burst in with the sun in his eyes and excitement in his gait. ‘Wash that gore off your hands. We are taking a trip to Larne.’
‘Why?’
‘Does it matter? I must transact some business there, and we can stay at the inn. There’s ships in, so the tavern will be lively, with ale flowing and dancing into the night. ‘Tis but five miles or so, an easy ride.’
‘I’ve never been one for dancing and kicking up my skirts,’ said Lowri. His face fell, so she added, ‘But I always relish a hard gallop.’
‘I know,’ he smirked, and Lowri got such a flood of lust to her loins that she could only nod and rush outside to wash.
***
The ride was exhilarating, all blue sky and crisp wind in her hair, and by the time the sun was lowering, they reached Larne, where poor, low cottages rubbed shoulders with a few finer stone houses.
The little town stretched inland from a curving pebbled shoreline, which formed a natural harbour.
There was a wharf where several ships were at anchor.
Gulls screeched, and baskets of herring sent a pungent smell out into the air as folk bustled about their business.
It was all a little daunting after the quiet solitude of Kildara.
Cullen led Lowri by the hand to one of the finer buildings, which served as the inn. Upstairs, she found herself in a wood-panelled room with a low-beamed ceiling, a bed, and little else. They both stared at the bed as the air grew heavy between them.
Cullen came to her and took her face in his hands. ‘The ride agrees with you. Your cheeks are pink, and you look uncommonly well, lass.’ He kissed her, and his hands started to roam. Lowri gasped when his mouth trailed down her neck, but she pushed him away.
‘Plenty of time for that later. I need to wash off the road and change.’
Cullen threw himself on the bed as Lowri began to peel off her clothes. ‘Aren’t you going to turn around?’ she said.
‘Not for anything. I like looking at you.’
He became very still as she washed and donned the red dress he had given her. She left her hair loose, combing it with her fingers to get the knots out, put there by the wind.
‘I don’t tell you how beautiful you are often enough,’ said Cullen with a catch in his voice.
‘Well, you show me, I suppose,’ she said.
‘I will be the envy of every man at the tavern this night.’ He eased off the bed and presented her with a leather bag. Inside sat a necklace with a pendant hanging off it.
‘Are those…?’
‘Aye, rubies. Only the best for my wife.’
Why was he talking as if they were really man and wife, and not in some infernal arrangement? Lowri stared at the heart-shaped pendant - gold, heavy and studded with red.
‘I chose it because it looks like a heart bleeding for love,’ he said.
‘Is that not bad? No one should bleed for love.’
‘Sometimes that is what it takes.’
‘Takes for what?’
‘To show someone you are worthy of them, lass.’
‘Is this stolen, Cullen?’ she said, handing it back.
But he would not take it from her. He just mumbled a curse as he turned away. ‘Let us go and enjoy the fleshpots of Larne,’ he said.
Lowri fastened the clasp around her neck.
She had never bothered with pretty things and trinkets, but she had to admit the necklace was exquisite, and her response was ungrateful, bruising Cullen’s pride.
The heart lay heavy between her breasts, cold against her skin. Lowri sighed and followed Cullen.
It was a rare, balmy evening, and the tavern was bustling and noisy.
Lowri’s heart lifted. So much to see, smell, hear – ale and whisky, tobacco smoke hanging over tables where men played dice, a gaggle of voices and accents from Ireland and beyond, sweat and lust and life itself.
A fiddler was jammed into a corner by the blazing hearth, sending a lively tune out into the place.
His fiddle whined to a halt, and many pairs of eyes swung towards them.
There was one lass in particular whose gaze spat venom Lowri’s way. She was moon-faced and mousy-haired, and curvy, with a lusty sway to her hips, and fulsome breasts overspilling her bodice. She sauntered over and blocked their path, a sneer curling her lip. The fiddler took up his tune again.
‘So this is your whore, Cullen,’ said the woman.
‘She’s no whore. Lowri is my wife.’
‘Wife. Aye, so I heard, yet she’s all in red – a whore’s colour.’ The lass spat at Lowri’s feet and said, ‘He was tupping me but a few weeks ago, you know. What do you think of that?’
Lowri bit down hard on her temper and replied, ‘I am disappointed that my husband showed such bad taste.’
With a snarl, the lass launched herself at Lowri, but Cullen held her back. ‘Enough. ‘Twas nothing between us, Elsa, and so it would always have been. Take yourself off.’ Cullen released the red-faced, squirming lass, and she stormed off into the throng.
A man rushed over, and Lowri recognised him as the captain of the Alainn. ‘What’s amiss, Cullen?’ he said. ‘Leave my daughter be.’
‘She’s in her cups, and she insulted my wife, Rabham.’
‘Aye, well, she was sweet on you.’ He grabbed Cullen by the arm. ‘Do you think I didn’t know you were riding her below decks?’
Cullen’s face grew hard. ‘I was not the only one, and why let it continue, if you knew about it?’
The man fumbled for a reply. ‘I had hopes you would marry her.’ He looked Lowri up and down. ‘You should think about the kind of man you married, lass, and be on your guard.’
The captain lurched off, and Lowri looked up at Cullen. ‘What kind of man did I marry?’
‘One who takes his pleasure where he can in this life. That lass was willing, as she was with many a man hereabouts. I never made her any promises.’
‘But…’
‘Enough. What I did before our arrangement is nought I am proud of and nought to do with you. I’m sure you have your secrets.’ Cullen steered Lowri to a settle in front of the fire. ‘Stay put. There’s folk I must meet with. I’ll send an ale over.’
Lowri glared at his retreating back, for he had left her alone again, surrounded by strangers.
Why bring her if he was only going to abandon her?
She fumed at Cullen, the awful, plump lass and her situation, and as the evening wore on, Lowri called for more ale.
She began to feel a little in her cups, and she lost sight of Cullen.
Still, it was good to be out of the cottage and see life going on around her for a change.
Some folk had started to dance, and Lowri tapped her foot along with the fiddler’s music.
‘Care to join in, lovely?’ said an old man, holding his hand out. ‘A lass as fine as you should not sit in the corner.’ He was missing his front teeth, stooping at the back and was uncommonly ugly, but the courteous way he gave a little bow and the hopeful look in his eyes made her pity him.
Lowri took his hand and stood up. ‘I must warn you. I am a horrible dancer.’
‘Ah, ‘tis but a country dance. We have no airs here,’ he said, giving her a sharp tug on her arm and spinning her around.
They came together, and the man winced as Lowri stepped on his toes, but he carried on, and Lowri soon got the hang of it, clapping in time to the music and losing herself in a rare moment of freedom.
As they were about to come together again, the man lurched sideways, and another took his place.
‘This is well met, lass,’ said Butcher.
‘What are you doing?’ she gasped.
‘I thought you might prefer a more vigorous partner, one who does not have one foot in the grave.’
‘Well, you are wrong,’ said Lowri. She turned away from him and pushed through the press of people. A hand clamped on her upper arm, and she was half hoisted, half dragged back into the dancing.
Butcher put his face in hers. ‘We don’t want to cause a stir and have Cullen rushing over to challenge me, do we? That could end badly for him. ‘Tis just one dance, Lowri. What harm can it do?’