Faerie Fate Read online

  Becca trailed him through the stables and in a pen at the back of the stable, a small herd of horses milled about but the horse in a second pen caught her eye. Jet black, his coat reminding her of Ciaran’s hair. A man Becca hadn’t seen before tried to halter the horse. He wasn’t having much luck. The horse reared and danced out of his reach whenever he got close. He tried again and the horse laid back his ears, nipping at the man. Without success, Eachan tried to draw her attention to the docile horses in the next pen. Becca remained fixated on the little drama playing out before her.

  Becca stared at the man in the pen. Almost as tall as Ciaran and about the same age, he was sunset to Ciaran’s midnight. Auburn hair blazed like fire in the sun, and his amber eyes glinted with flecks of gold. He had the body of a horseman—long, muscular legs, narrow hips, broad shoulders with strong arms and hands.

  “Why does he approach from the front?” Becca wondered aloud. “He should come from the side where the horse can see him.”

  “And why would that be, cailín?” Eachan asked.

  Becca gave him a look that implied he was dense. “A horse can’t see straight ahead,” she explained. “If he can, you don’t want him because he’s too narrow between the eyes. You have to come up on his side, where he can see you, so you don’t spook him. Waving your arms about like he’s doing, why that’s utter nonsense.”

  The man stared at her, his eyes narrowed in speculation. She refused to acknowledge what his leer suggested.

  Glancing at his audience, the man in the pen noticed the wisp of a cailín standing with the horse master. Tall and well made, her hair was spun gold in the sunshine, and her eyes were as blue as the water in Galway Bay. Her appearance created a familiar tightening in his trews. He’d been gone for over a month, away when the ard fhias came. Niall had sent him out to survey the outlying farms and fields, looking for likely candidates to train as soldiers and more importantly, to find the best horses. Riordan had just returned, and chafing at having missed the ard fhias, he planned on breaking several horses while he waited for Ciaran and the troops to return. Now, as he looked the cailín up and down, he considered a ride of another sort, glad for the opportunity.

  “Nonsense is it?” the man in the pen growled. “And I suppose a mere slip of a cailín like you can break a horse better?” He stomped toward them, angry that the girl dared mock him, and the horse was getting the better of him in front of her.

  “I suppose I can,” Becca retorted, “because I don’t intend to break him, but gentle him.”

  “Then do it,” he snarled. Frustrated, he flung the halter at her.

  Becca caught the halter in midair and slipped through the rails on the pen before either man could react. She waited until the stranger perched on the top rail to watch, gloating at her. Becca harrumphed under her breath. She caught Eachan’s low chuckle and took it for disdain. Well, I’ll just show them, she vowed. Squaring her shoulders, she marched toward the nervous horse. Halfway to him, she stopped, keeping her hands by her sides.

  “Aye, and what a wild boy, you are,” she whispered to him. The horse pricked his ears and tossed his head. Becca stepped nearer, making sure she held his attention. “That nasty man doesn’t have a clue, now does he,” she crooned. “We know that you and I are going to be friends.” The horse nickered and stretched his nose toward her. She reached for his shoulder and placed a gentle hand on the hard muscle there. The horse blew softly, nibbling at the sleeve of her gown with velvet lips. “Aye, just like a male, all soft lips and loving, aren’t you?” she whispered in his ear. She carefully rubbed the rope halter against his shoulder, then his neck, and then down his cheek. She let him sniff the rope before she slipped it over the end of his nose and up behind his ears. He tossed his head, but didn’t try to pull away from her. She patted his neck still murmuring sweet nothings to him.

  “Tell me, Eachan,” she called over her shoulder, her voice still calm and soothing. “What do you prize most when you’re breeding?” Her hands ran over the horse’s neck and chest.

  The man on the fence choked, and Eachan pounded him on the back. “Easy, Riordan.” The older man chortled. “’Tis no ordinary cailín you’re dealing with here,” he explained to Ciaran’s lieutenant. “What do you mean, cailín?” the horse master called to Becca.

  “Beauty or spirit?” she asked.

  “Why both, cailín,” the big man replied. “But if I can’t have both, then ’tis spirit I want.”

  “Does that include bad temperament?” she asked.

  “Nay, cailín,” Eachan answered. “I’ll not abide an ill-tempered horse.”

  “Just so we’re in agreement,” Becca told him. “Have you a bridle and saddle?”

  Riordan jumped from the fence to fetch the items. With deliberate steps, he carried them out where the girl and the horse stood, not wanting to spook the animal. He stood just behind her, fascinated as much by the view of her tóin as he was by her ability with the horse. The gown she wore, though plain, emphasized her strong back, tapering to her nipped-in waist, before draping over the soft curves of her behind. Yes, he definitely wanted to get a better feel of her tóin, thinking the curve of it would fit nicely in a man’s hands as he rode her.

  “Lay them there,” the girl told him with a point of her chin.

  Riordan deposited the saddle and laid the bridle across it. He was utterly intrigued by her now. He withdrew slowly so as not to startle the horse.

  Becca reached down without breaking eye contact with the horse and snagged the bridle. As with the halter, she rubbed it against his shoulder and neck before slipping it over his head. The bridle held no bit. She much preferred a horse that would respond to a hackamore than one forced because of the metal in his mouth. Letting the reins trail in the dirt, she picked up the saddlecloth and let the animal sniff it. Rubbing it along his neck and shoulder, she settled it into place across his withers. She did the same with the saddle. Without tightening the girth, she led him around the pen a few times, letting him get used to the weight and feel of the saddle on his back. When the horse quit laying back his ears and shaking his head, she slowly cinched the girth until it was tight. She led him around before tightening the girth again, knowing most horses blow up so when they let out their breath, the girth would be too loose.

  Eachan chuckled, his delight evident. The cailín knew her stuff. He’d never met a female who could saddle her own horse, much less one who knew all horses were wise to the way of the saddle and would take advantage of the unwary.

  He glanced at Riordan and chuckled again. The man was positively flummoxed. Eachan had a great deal of affection and respect for the younger man. Had Riordan not been such a fine soldier, Eachan would have claimed him as his successor as horse master.

  Becca would have given most anything to have on a pair of trews at that moment. Somehow, she knew if she brought up the subject, there would be hell to pay from the rakish man perched on the fence. She led the horse away so she could mount with the horse between her and the two men. She checked the length of the stirrups and figured out how to shorten them without having to ask Eachan.

  Whispering to the horse, Becca said, “Here’s the deal, my handsome friend. I don’t have a stitch on under this bloody skirt, so you are going to be a quiet boy until I get settled. Okay?”

  Bunching up her skirt, she put her foot in the stirrup and swung her other leg over the horse’s back. Bracing her feet in both stirrups, she pulled and tugged until her skirt formed a reasonable barrier between her bare bottom and the saddle. She took great satisfaction in the sharp intake of breath from both men as she sank down astride the horse and nudged him forward with her heels.

  As soon as she settled into the saddle, the horse tensed and bunched beneath her. At least he’d given her time to get her skirt fixed. This was going to be a hellava ride, and she hoped she was up to it. Being thrown head over heels in a gown with no underwear on was not the way she wanted to start the day. The horse ducked his head, pulli
ng against the reins, and kicked both hind legs into the air. Then he reared only to drop back down on all four hooves to crow hop several times. Becca hung on, enjoying the challenge. The horse wasn’t truly trying to buck her off. He was just trying her mettle.

  Eachan and Riordan jumped into the pen as soon as the horse started bucking. They thought to flank the horse and rescue Becca. Then Eachan realized the girl was smiling. He laid a hand on Riordan’s arm and pulled him back to the fence. “Let them be,” he told the younger man. “I suspect the cailín is tougher than she appears.”

  The horse finally stood stock-still in the middle of the pen, head up, nostrils flaring and eyes wild. Becca patted his neck as she leaned forward and whispered into his ear. The horse quivered a moment then became so still it was as if he’d turned into a statue. Carefully, Becca nudged him with her heels again. The horse walked sedately. After several circles around the pen, Becca nudged him again using heels and knees to urge the horse into a trot. She circled him around and trotted the opposite direction. When he’d trotted nicely for several rotations, she pushed him to a canter. He had an easy, collected gait, much like a rocking chair. He carried his head low, and that was another trait Becca liked in a horse.

  Eachan turned to Riordan. “She has a better seat and hands even than Ciaran,” he admitted.

  “Aye,” Riordan agreed. “A rare cailín indeed.” He made a slight adjustment to the front of his trews. A cailín most extraordinary, and one I’m looking forward to gentling myself.

  Becca made another lap at the canter, longing to turn the horse loose for a headlong gallop but she needed open countryside for that. She slowed him to a walk and with an easy tug on the reins, stopped. Becca patted his neck, pleased with him. She stepped down and led the horse over to where the men stood.

  “And tell me, cailín, just what did you whisper to him to make him behave?” Riordan asked, his eyes twinkling with more than good humor.

  A dimple appeared in her cheek when she gave him a smile. “Why, I told him that if he ever wished to see the ladies again, he’d best ease his temper.”

  Riordan guffawed, wanting this saucy cailín more than ever. He moved toward her, but was cut off by the big horse master.

  “Methinks we need to talk, Riordan.” Eachan snagged Riordan’s arm and pulled the lieutenant out of earshot. “You don’t know who she is, Riordan, and yee’d best be finding out before you commit a killing offense.”

  Killing offense? Riordan speculated on that for a long moment. Those were rare in Clann MacDermot. Riordan stared at the other man, waiting for him to continue.

  “Though not formally betrothed, she belongs to An Taoiseac,” the horse master informed him. Riordan’s lower jaw dropped. “Pick up your teeth, man, and keep your eyes and your hands to yerself. I’ll not be telling Ciaran what you’ve been thinking, or been lookin’ at.” He chuckled, the sound both amused and lascivious. “I have enough to tell him with the birth of the colt and this.”

  Eachan left Riordan standing there and returned to Becca’s side. “He’ll not be bothering you again, cailín.”

  Becca choked back a laugh, but as Riordan approached them, she realized Eachan had done something more than just put the younger man in his place. He looked so somber, she quickly hid her smile and quenched the laughter dancing in her eyes. He’d been fun to tease, but the difference in their positions suddenly hit home. He was one of Ciaran’s soldiers, and she was to become Ciaran’s wife. Arthur and Lancelot came to mind, but she tossed the thought away immediately. She was no Guinevere, and though this man was fun to flirt with, only Ciaran had the power to make her go weak in the knees.

  “Mistress,” Riordan greeted her formally. “Please forgive any offense I may have inadvertently implied. I dinnit know who yee were. Please accept my fealty. As I protect Ciaran and all that is his, so shall I protect yee.”

  “Thank you, Riordan,” Becca replied formally. Then with an impish grin and dancing eyes, she turned to Eachan. “Is there any way you can steal a pair of trews for me so I can ride properly?”

  Chapter Seven

  The nefarious deed took Becca near a sennight, but she finally managed to snag a pair of trews from the washerwoman. Old and soft, she hoped they wouldn’t be missed. The last thing she wanted was to get the woman in trouble. After much cajoling, Eachan finally agreed to let her ride the countryside, but only if she took an escort.

  “These are unsettled times, cailín,” he told her. “And if aught were to happen to you, I shudder to think what the MacDermot would do.”

  “All right,” she relented. “Will you find me an escort while I go change?”

  Eachan nodded. “I suppose I know which horse you’ll be wantin’.”

  Becca grinned cheekily. “Aye, if you can catch him, I’ll ride Arien. If not, I’ll catch him myself.”

  “Arien,” Eachan snorted. “And what kind of a name is that for a horse?”

  “A very proper one, thank you very much,” Becca retorted. “Arien was the magical horse born to Poseidon.” When Eachan looked perplexed, she continued. “Poseidon was the Greeks’ god of the sea.”

  “Ah,” Eachan nodded sagely. “Like Manannan Mac Lir. But you must be very learned to know of the Greeks and their gods.”

  Becca giggled. “Not really. Greek mythology wasn’t really my...” She’d started to say it wasn’t her thing, but knew the slang would only confuse Eachan. “I found other studies more interesting,” she finished. “Anyway, back to the subject at hand. About that escort?” She planted her hands on her hips refusing to be deterred.

  “Aye, cailín,” he capitulated. “I’ll get you an escort. Taidhg will have to go, as well as another.”

  “Taidhg? Is that my guard’s name?” Becca had tried asking the man’s name, but he would never speak to her. Teague. She rolled his name around in her head.

  Eachan nodded. “Ciaran trusts him completely, which is why he was left behind to watch over you.”

  Becca mulled that over as well. No wonder the man looked morose most of the time. He was a soldier, and he’d been left behind to protect a silly woman because his clann chief deemed it necessary. Becca determined to make it up to him somehow. Maybe getting out of the castle and into the countryside would help. Taidhg lurked around the front of the stable. He was a very good guard because most days, she forgot he was there. “I’ll tell him on my way to change while you come up with another escort.” She emphasized the word, letting Eachan know she found it both distasteful and amusing.

  “Change? You aren’t trying to steal trews, are you?” Eachan squinted one eye and glared.

  “I’ve already stolen them,” Becca informed him in a voice as tart as green apples. “But I’ll wear them beneath my skirts so no one will know. Will that suffice?”

  Eachan guffawed. “Aye, but yer a cailín full of fire and vinegar, fair certain. I can’t wait for the MacDermot to return. He’s in for a most memorable time, and I want to watch every spirited moment of it. Things are sure to be lively.”

  Flustered by the direction her thoughts took, she stared at him while trying to think of a retort. When nothing came to mind, she lifted her chin defiantly to cover her embarrassment.

  “Aye, Becca, I’ll find another to accompany yee, and I’ll naught be tellin’ a soul what’s beneath yer skirt.” Still chuckling, he strolled away. “Since I can’t be goin’ with yee, Riordan will. His honor will keep him immune to yer charms.”

  Becca headed back to the castle with Taidhg in tow. “I’m going riding,” she informed him. “I think we both need to get away for a bit.” He stopped dead still behind her. She turned to face him. “Taidhg, I’m sorry. I know you want to be with the troop, and I wish Ciaran had taken you.”

  “Nay, mistress,” he whispered, shocked that she’d called him by name and a little surprised that she’d be concerned for his feelings. “’Tis your life I’ve been charged with. I saw the Taoiseac when he found you. You are his chosen. Naught may happen to you
for ’twould kill him fair certain. Captain MacDonagh will guard the Taoiseac’s back, while I guard you.”

  Becca was speechless. She could tell by the way the man carried himself, and from the scars on his face and arms, he was more than just a soldier, he was a warrior. She suddenly felt very cherished. Though her eyes glistened a bit, she smiled bravely at Taidhg. “Well, I still think we need to get out and let our horses run.”

  Taidhg relaxed and smiled back. “Aye, mistress. ’Twould be good to feel the wind in my face.”

  Lighthearted now, Becca skipped up the stairs to her chamber. She put on a plainer gown and slipped on the pilfered trews beneath it. Snagging Ciaran’s plaid mantle from the footboard of the bed, she draped it around her shoulders and pinned it with the brooch. It was a beautiful thing, gold and silver entwined in a Celtic knot with a fire opal shaped like a teardrop set in the center so that all the strands wove underneath it. Becca briefly pondered how a fire opal had found its way to medieval Ireland. “Faerie tear,” she murmured as she stroked the stone a moment before sending the thought away. The sun was shining, and a horse was waiting. Time for action, not history lessons.

  Taidhg waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, and together they went to the stables. As promised, Eachan had found Riordan, who was already mounted, and waiting for them. Becca stuck her tongue out at him as she mounted Arien with a slight boost from Eachan. Riordan vainly tried to ignore her.

  With the two wolfhounds on their heels, the three exited the keep gate and trotted through the collection of huts and cottages built next to the wall. Becca heard a faint meow and turned to find the little calico following with bounding leaps. Laughing, Becca reined Arien around. “Go home, Nod. We go too far today for you to follow.”

  Riordan and Taidhg sat stunned as they watched one of the hounds return to scoop up the cat and carry her back inside the gate where he deposited her gently at the door to the stable. He then loped back to them, his tongue lolling happily out of the side of his mouth.