Header Promotion"Pass The Plot!" with Joanne Rock!
by Anonymous on May 4th, 2009, 6:00am
Are you up for the challenge? Eight community writers are! Joining Harlequin Historical author Joanne Rock, they are going to write a new, 1000 word chapter each week for your enjoyment! And, just to keep it interesting, each chapter is going to have special phrases and key words available to the writer to earn points. The writer with the most points at the end of the series takes home the "Pass The Plot" Title for bragging rights!
Keyword/Phrase List:
Aye=1 point
Sword=1 point
knight=1 point
mount(s)=2 points
behemoth=2 points
Highland(s)=2 points
"Curran of Donedin"=5 points
"Nessa of the Glen"=5 points
"Siobhan cackled"=5 points
"her furious heart"=10 points
"the knight’s broad, muscular thighs"=10 points
"she would have no lands, no dowry and no future" = 20 points!!
Come here to read the story every Monday through the spring!
To discuss your thoughts and cheer on the contenders, click HERE!
About The Author:
Three-time RITA nominee Joanne Rock turned a passion for writing into a career when imaginary characters kept her awake at night, demanding she tell their stories. The author of over thirty romances in a variety of subgenres, she enjoys writing medieval historicals and sexy contemporaries along with the occasional romantic suspense novel. Joanne traces her passion for all things medieval to an early brush with John Keats's poem, "The Eve of St. Agnes," and a rapt fascination with the Pre-Raphaelites' depiction of medieval themes. As a writer, she enjoys supplementing her more research-intensive trips to the Middle Ages with faster-paced contemporary stories sparked by the characters she meets in real life. The move back and forth between very different story styles keeps her muse singing happily. A former Golden Heart recipient, Joanne has won numerous awards for her stories. Her work has been reprinted in twenty-four countries and translated into nineteen languages. Learn more about Joanne and her work by visiting her at her Web sites.
Chapter One by Joanne Rock
Northumbria, 1150
Nessa of the Glen prayed more fiercely than ever before as an arrow sailed past her head with a sickening whistle. It landed with a vibrating thunk in the tree bark near her nose.
And while her mother's stern confessor would have been proud to hear such pious fervency flow unprompted from her lips, Nessa would have gladly traded a few extra days in purgatory to have never been in this position in the first place. She flattened herself on the ground in the brush as a ragtag tribe of thieves overtook her small travelling party. Or perhaps it was not outlaws at all. She'd never encountered forest brigands in possession of such expensive weaponry.
Her party made an easy target. She had naught but an old chaperone who'd protested the treacherous trek back to the Highlands in the first place, and two mercenary guards she'd entreated with gold to escort them. Now, Nessa feared her coin would be gone along with the mercenaries. Aye, she could well have an arrow in her neck ere long herself if she didn't find a way to escape the thieves' notice.
She grabbed blindly for her chaperone's cloak and tugged Siobhan deeper into the brush with her. She dared not look back at the new rain of arrows to gauge the success of her guards until the small mountain pass went suddenly quiet.
Silent except for the call of a high, circling bird.
Behind her, Siobhan's gnarly hand clenched her wrist tighter. Had their guards perished? Were the thieves in search of the women travelers already? Fear congealed in her gut, making the morning biscuit in her belly stir unhappily. Unsure which way to run, she risked a look up from her skittering crawl along the forest floor.
Three men ran abreast toward her, and they were no starving outlaws but well outfitted men at arms bearing no discernible standard. Their dark armor was covered with black cloaks, their helms lowered so that she could see only three sets of snarls. Nessa's guards had fallen-their sightless eyes staring heavenward.
Siobhan must have looked up too, for she screamed the unholy screech of a creature impaled upon a boar's tusks.
Nessa yanked her to the ground, hoping only to make it as difficult as possible to harm them. Her cheek to the prickly ground, she could not tell if the pounding in her ear was the final beats of her furious heart or the rampage of warrior feet. When all went suddenly still and silent, she feared she had already died.
"M-my lady," Siobhan sobbed, the sound strangely at odds with the quiet in the Scottish woods.
They were certainly not dead.
Nessa looked up, prepared to meet her fate. And instead of finding three men at arms with swords drawn, she found a solitary knight.
The massive, hulking warrior had a sword drawn, but it did not wave threateningly at the ladies. He held it waist high, the end tipped with the blood of the three men-at- arms now writhing on the ground and clutching the backs of their thighs. Nay, they seemed to be clutching their-
"Ye've sword-whipped the arses!" Siobhan cackled, rising to a sitting position and clapping her old hands together in bloodthirsty delight.
It was true. The men-at-arms would no doubt one day fight again, but they were quite disarmed for the day. And in the most undignified manner.
Nessa lifted her eyes again to their rescuer and shivered. This was no genteel courtier groomed to speak sweetly to ladies and play the diplomat at foreign courts. Nay, the sword-wielding behemoth rippled with muscle used well and often. Long, dark hair flowed over his shoulders, gleaming with the same perfect health as the rest of him. Everything about him-from his piercing gray eyes to the clear, unmarred flesh of his face and hands-bespoke a man in his prime. Like a well-bred destrier, he had the appearance of a creature bred and groomed to be the very best.
And, amazingly, this huge knight had stalked his pray through the forest unheard. He had taken down three men by stealth and strength. Who would not admire such a man?
"They never saw you coming?" she asked, her voice still raw from the fear she'd felt just moments ago.
"I was not expected." The knight sheathed his sword and swiftly disarmed the fallen trio at his feet. Swords and daggers heaped in his arms until he whistled softly, drawing forth a smaller, lighter companion from the forest. A well made squire, no more than thirteen or fourteen, rode a lean mare and led a stalwart warhorse beside him.
Without a word, the boy leapt down and relieved the knight of his spoils to load them on their mounts.
The knight had a peculiar effect on her, captivating her attention in a disconcerting fashion. His mere presence seemed to add to her breathlessness. Finally, Nessa's tongue seemed to loosen along with her thoughts.
"Sir, I am Nessa of the Glen and this is my maid, Siobhan. You have saved your lives." She rose to her feet, but bowed her head. "I cannot possibly express our gratitude. Can you tell me how you came to be so close upon this party's heels? Are you familiar with these men? Do you think they have a standard beneath those dark cloaks?"
The strange stretch of the knight's lips across his teeth was not quite a smile and not yet a grimace. He lifted a dark eyebrow in assessment.
"While you have difficulty expressing your gratitude, you articulate your curiosity well enough." He strode over to Siobhan and held a hand out to the old woman to help her rise. Nessa thought her chaperone might well swoon at his feet.
As soon as she formed the unkind thought, she felt a stab of guilt she'd not assisted her companion already. But nearly being skewered by a pack of rabid men would upset any woman's manners.
"Surely you would wish to know the identity of your attackers should you have been their target, Sir--?"
"Curran. I am Currran of Donedin." His bow was brief and curt. A nod, really. "And your attackers are mercenary men from the south. Coin-loving knaves who do not belong this far north."
He seemed to direct this to the men on the ground more than her. Nessa decided that, had she been one of the stuck pigs on the ground, she would flee to London post-haste at such a warning. Then again, their ilk would not be riding comfortably for many a moon.
"But why would they seek me?" Nessa watched in confusion as Curran of Donedin and his squire confiscated the injured men's' mounts. "I have been at the court of our king to settle a land dispute with my sister's new husband."
Another knave, although Geoffrey of Larnach would never hide his banner the way this trio of outlaws had. He flaunted his crest and his power at every opportunity, using it to justify robbing Nessa of her birthright because she had not yet wed. If Geoffrey had his way, she would have no lands, no dowry and no future.
Curran guided a huge, stomping horse toward her, almost as if he expected her to ride such a mount.
"Perhaps your sister's husband believes the dispute would be settled if you were not around to claim your share." He held out his hand for her to use as a step.
She backed up, the surprise of his suggestion making her blink.
"You think he could have done this?" She gestured to the groaning, cursing men and noticed the knight had steered their party away from them.
"It is a thought." He reached for her, his strong hands bracketing her arms. "Now we must ride away quickly, lest others follow."
Nessa was immediately alert, and she could see Siobhan was as well. The older woman stepped on the squire's hand to mount the boy's smaller horse. Apparently the squire planned to ride one of the pilfered animals belonging to the fallen men.
"You will escort us?" Nessa asked, her skin heating at the knight's proximity. No man had ever touched her thus.
"Our sovereign bade me follow you with just such a purpose." His fingers brushed along her shoulders for a moment before he released her. "In fact, it would be best if you rode with me."
Turning on his heel, he strode toward the huge beast of a horse, tugging her along behind him.
"Sir, I--."
Her words were lost in a whirl of movement as the knight leapt atop his horse at a run and then spun the great brute around her. She covered her head, certain she'd be trampled under the hooves after having survived the stampede of men-at-arms. But at the last second, Curran plucked her from the ground, scooping her off her feet to sit before him.
They were already galloping full tilt across the Northumbrian lowlands by the time she realized she'd not been seated upon a saddle but on the knight's broad, muscular thighs. With her temple to his chest and her hip snugly tucked against his, she realized she had been effectively taken captive by her mysterious champion.
Curran of Donedin had saved her from one peril, but she felt certain that the powerful knight represented a whole new danger.
Dee Tenorio
"The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment."
Chapter Two by Jane H
Dusk fell, and the track grew narrow and steep. Branches whipped them, snatching at Nessa's hair. Sure, it was a wicked pace to be riding in such gloom. She clung onto the knight, fearing for her life if she should fall. But his strong arm encircled her waist so powerfully, his other hand controlling the reins with such masterly assurance, it was not long before exhaustion claimed her and she fell into an uneasy sleep.
It was night when she woke, bewildered, with a start. Curran of Donedin had sworn loudly and jerked his horse to a stop.
‘What is it?' she mumbled, peering about herself in the darkness.
The squire came alongside, looking frightened. ‘It's the old woman, sir ... I think she's sick.'
Filled with remorse, Nessa tried to dismount. It was all her fault that Siobhan had accompanied her on this dangerous journey back to the Highlands. But Curran's iron hand tightened, refusing to release her. Her furious heart beat violently. ‘Let me go, Curran of Donedin!' she exclaimed. ‘You have no right -‘
‘I have every right, Nessa of the Glen,' he said drily, close to her ear. ‘I have sworn on my father's sword to protect you, and that's precisely what I intend to do.'
Nessa stared past him in frustration, held prisoner on the knight's broad, muscular thighs. Through the gloom, she could just make out Siobhan's slumped, groaning figure. Her arms were clasped weakly about the horse's neck. Was she in pain?
‘We must seek help,' she hissed. ‘Or will you just let her die?'
He gathered up the reins, turning to his squire. ‘Is your cousin still in holy orders, lad?'
‘Aye, sir. But the monastery is two hours' to the east.'
The knight's voice was curt and decisive. ‘There's nowhere closer. Take the old woman up before you. We go cross-country from here. That should shake off anyone following.'
While the boy was helping Siobhan to mount his horse, Curran stared up into the night sky as though reading a map. Nessa shivered, trying not to notice his long dark hair, his powerful body, the masculine scent of this Highlands behemoth. Could she really trust this man?
At last, Siobhan was safely on the squire's mount and Curran seemed satisfied. ‘To the east, then. Follow close and ‘ware rabbit holes!'
She cried out involuntarily as the great horse wheeled and was spurred through a gap in the hedgerow, bearing them away into the moonlit countryside. It was so dangerous to ride cross-country at night. Sometimes they had to slow to negotiate a wooded slope or the chill splash of a stream, but Curran of Donedin kept his mount well under control. Nessa wanted to despise the knight for his arrogance, the way he had abducted them. Yet whenever Curran shifted in the saddle, his thighs hard against her own softness, she was almost deafened by the traitorous thud of her furious heart.
They came at last to a beaten track, and saw the grey walls of a monastery ahead. The squire hammered on the wooden door while Curran turned his dark head, listening for sounds of pursuit, one hand on the hilt of his sword.
A brown-hooded brother emerged, and soon they were led into the welcome glimmer of torchlight. Siobhan collapsed into a seat, babbling that Nessa of the Glen must go home, or she would have no lands, no dowry and no future. Nessa hovered over her worriedly. Had the old woman lost her senses?
Low-voiced, Curran asked the brothers to take care of Siobhan until she was well enough to travel. ‘It is not safe for us to stay here,' he told them. ‘We must reach the Highlands.'
Nessa, gently loosening Siobhan's whimple, raised her head in disbelief. ‘Did I hear you correctly, Curran of Donedin?' she demanded coldly. ‘We shall not leave unless we all leave together. Siobhan is in my care and I refuse to abandon her to any ruffians who may be following us. Besides, I will not travel unchaperoned.'
Accepting a cup of spiced wine from his squire, Curran handed it to her, a challenge in his eyes. ‘Even outlaws would not dare to attack a holy sanctuary. As for travelling without a chaperone, would you rather be dead?'
Nessa would have argued with the tall, broad-shouldered behemoth, but Siobhan cackled in delirium and clutched at her gown. ‘I'll outlive you, my lady, never fear! You must leave. Save yourself!'
Her furious heart cooling, Nessa knelt beside her. ‘Hush, dearest Siobhan. Here, take a sip of this wine. It will warm you.'
Curran watched in silence for a few moments, then caught Nessa's arm and drew her aside into a gloomy alcove. He looked down into her face, his gray eyes impatient. ‘There is no time for this, we must leave for the Highlands. My squire will stay and protect her. Will that satisfy you?'
Nessa met his gaze, her fists clenched fiercely. ‘Aye, since Siobhan wills it. But I shall not leave until I am sure she is safe.'
‘We'll rest and leave at first light,' he agreed impatiently, then frowned. ‘Are you weeping?'
Nessa trembled and looked down, burningly aware that she had never been alone with a man before. She tried not to remember how the knight's broad, muscular thighs had pressed against her during their long ride.
Curran stroked her wet cheek with one finger, leaving her strangely breathless. ‘This is the second time I've made you weep. Have you forgotten? We met once at the royal court, as bairns. You wore plaits then.' The teasing warmth of his smile left her weak inside. ‘I pulled your hair, and you cried.'
‘Now why doesn't that surprise me?' Nessa retorted, struggling to hide her flushed reaction, and pushed him away. Siobhan was right. If she was not careful, she could disgrace herself with this presumptuous knight - and once ruined, she would have no lands, no dowry and no future!
Point Count: 142 pts!!
Dee Tenorio
"The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment."
Chapter Three by Linda Banche
Curse the delay!
Curran of Donedin grunted as he pushed up on one elbow and punched his pillow. Although the good monks had placed him in a guest chamber, this pillow could replace any of the flagstones covering the floor.
He swore again. If he was to prevail in his quest, he and Nessa needed to reach her castle in the Highlands by Midsummer Eve. His fists clenched. He must not fail. Too many people depended on him.
Thanks to the beldame falling ill, they were miles out of their way. If he could have chosen, he would have dropped the cackling crone in the woods, leaving his page to tend her, and ridden on through the night with Nessa.
With a last disgusted jab at the pillow, he lay back and cradled his head in his hands. Ah, Nessa. He grinned. Nessa of the Glen. His grin widened as his mind drifted back to their one and only meeting so long ago.
In the way of boys, he'd let his friends goad him into pulling the wee lassie's hair. But the moment he did it, he regretted it. As her large blue eyes filled with tears, he rebuked himself for a heedless wretch, and opened his mouth to apologize.
But before he could speak, her chin came up, her fingers curled into a small fist and she punched him in the nose. While blood spurted over his face and tunic, she sneered and called him a knave. Then she spun on her heel and stalked out of the room, regal as any queen.
For weeks afterwards, the other lads had mocked him without mercy, and he let them. But he'd never forgotten the deceptively frail-looking maiden who fought back.
He rubbed his nose. His nose hadn't forgotten her, either.
Soft footsteps scraped along the hall, and a glimmer of light under his door interrupted his memories. He yawned. Were the holy brothers on their way to chapel for matins prayers?
His eyelids drifting low, he watched the light slipping and shifting under his door with the walker's approach. A reddish beam caught the leg of the table at the foot of the bed, then the side of the bed, the hilt of his sword propped against the wall at his side…
The light stopped.
Curran grabbed the dagger he'd hidden under that rock of a pillow and narrowed his eyelids to slits. With nary a creak, the door opened to reveal the prowler. Not a monk, for the figure wore hose and a tunic, with a hood obscuring his features. The boy--the figure was too slight to be a man--placed the candle holder on the table and stepped to the side of the bed.
Curran surged up and tackled the intruder. They tumbled to the floor in a tangle of blankets, Curran's greater height and weight pinning his struggling adversary beneath him.
His knife nicked the boy's neck through the hood. "Cease or I will slit your throat."
The lad, his breaths ragged pants, froze. Curran pushed himself up on one elbow, his dagger still at the boy's throat. His other arm brushed the boy's chest. He hissed in a breath. No boy had such a soft chest. He sniffed. No boy smelled of heather, either. He tore the hood from his adversary's face. Nessa's clear blue eyes glared at him.
He lowered the knife and rolled off her. "Have you gone mad, woman? 'Tis suicide to creep up on a sleeping knight."
"I had no choice, Curran of Donedin." She sat up and gulped in a deep breath. "You must hear what else Siobhan told me. Amidst her feverish ravings, she said I needed to reach my home in the Highlands by Midsummer's Eve."
Curse the fates. Did she know why? "Did your maid give a reason?"
Nessa shook her head, the hood falling farther back to reveal her night-black tresses confined into a tight braid. "She said only that I must arrive at my castle by noon or I would have no lands, no dowry and no future."
"Does this warning involve your sister's husband?"
"She said no, but she fell into a swoon before she could explain further."
He breathed a silent prayer of gratitude. His secret was safe. For now.
"Midsummer's Eve is yet three days off, Sir Knight. If we depart straightaway and ride with haste, we can arrive in time."
Praise the saints he hadn't abandoned the old harridan. Thanks to her maid's revelations, Nessa was eager to continue their journey. "We will away at once." He glanced down at her garments and frowned. "But why are you wearing my page's clothes?"
"Geoffrey searches for a woman. No one will heed a knight and his servant."
"Aye, you have the right of it." He stood, the blankets falling away, and held out a hand to help her up.
She looked down his length, her face turning white, then red before she turned her head away. Her breath heaving as if she had run for miles, she grasped his hand and he pulled her to her feet. Without looking back, she grabbed her candle and ran to the door. "I will prepare our mounts. Meet me in the stable."
***
Nessa fled down the monastery's cavernous hall as if the hounds of hell breathed down her neck. She halted in the darkness inside the stable entrance and pressed her hands over her burning cheeks.
Mother of God, the behemoth was naked, or nearly so. Like the veriest lackwit, she'd stared at the sculpted muscles of his chest and arms, down to his narrow hips and the knight's broad, muscular thighs, which his breeches did little to conceal.
A fresh wave of heat surged over her. Truly, Curran of Donedin was a magnificent specimen of manhood.
Her furious heart pounded hard against her ribs. She would be alone with him for the next three days. What was she to do?
Point Count: 44!
Dee Tenorio
"The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment."
Chapter Four by Patricia Mason
"What?" Geoffrey, Lord of Larnach sat with his booted feet upon the table before him, gaping at his three hired men. He could not credit their words. Had he not armed the mercenaries, sparing no coin? It must have been the crackling of the wood in the nearby fireplace that had obscured his hearing.
The man who had spoken now stood silent, rubbing at his posterior.
"Halt that infernal motion and tell me again. What say you?" Geoffrey demanded.
"We did not do the deed," the man said glancing about him as if fearing he would be overheard.
"Speak plainly," Geoffrey said. "We are alone in this hut." Indeed, he had paid the owner handsomely for its use and for his absence.
The man cleared his throat. "We did not kill Nessa of the Glenn. She yet lives."
Geoffrey sprang up, toppling the tankard of ale on the table. The liquid spread in an uneven stain over the wood.
"Fools," Geoffrey shouted. "Could you not kill even a small maid?"
"We were set upon by a knight."
"You let one knight better the three of you?"
"We did not expect his presence," the man said.
"And he was a behemoth of a knight," the second man piped in.
"Aye," said the third. "A behemoth."
"He called his name Curran of Donedin," said the first man.
"Curran." Geoffrey snorted. "That knave."
"You know the knight?"
"Know him?" Geoffrey stalked to the fireplace, leaned against the mantle and gazed into its flames. "Aye, he is my brother...my bastard brother." He rounded on his hapless crew. The only thing that salved his temper was the knowledge that his brother was indeed formidable. The only knight known to have bested Curran with the sword was Geoffrey himself.
"Your brother injured our arses...er us." The man rubbed the injured spot, stopping abruptly at Geoffrey's glare.
"You failed me. I should run you through."
"All is not lost, Lord Geoffrey." The man spoke quickly, his words falling over each other. "We followed your brother and the maid despite our injuries. They traveled east and broke their journey at a monastery."
The man glanced at his fellow as if seeking assistance. The second man stepped forward and continued. "A short time hence, the behemoth left the maid and traveled on with his page. The maid and her chaperone remain at the monastery with none to protect them save the holy brothers."
"He left her? I do not recognize the heroic Curran in that. He did not win the favor of the King with cowardice." Geoffrey grabbed the front of the man's tunic and veritably pulled him onto tip toes. "In what direction did Curran travel?"
"Nnnorth towards the...the Highlands," the man replied with a stammer.
"Toward the Highlands! Did your mother drop you upon your head when you were an infant?"
"Aye, I do recall my mother saying..."
"Halt, your prattle." Geoffrey released the tunic thrusting the man away. "Tis obvious twas not a page traveling with my brother. Twas Nessa of the Glen."
"Dressed as a lad? Curran of Donedin is the cleverest of knights to think of such a thing."
"Aghhh," Geoffrey shouted, the cry ringing in the small space. Snatching up his sword from where it lay on the mantle, Geoffrey tapped the tip against the dirt of the floor. The mercenaries seemed to notice the motion of the weapon and take a threat from it.
"Shall we return to the Highlands and set a trap to kill the maid at the castle, Lord Geoffrey?" The first mercenary asked the question tentatively. The man pulled at the collar of his tunic as if it choked him.
"Bungling dolts, of course not. Did I not tell you that Nessa of the Glen must not return to the Highlands before midsummer eve? I have sworn that she will have no land, no dowry, no future. If she reaches the castle..."
Geoffrey's brows converged in a vee as his eyes narrowed. "We must find the maid and kill her as soon as may be."
"We?"
"Aye. I cannot trust you buffoons to accomplish the task on your own, clearly."
"What of your brother?"
Striding to the entry door, Geoffrey pulled it open and pointed his sword through into the darkness beyond. "Go outside and prepare our mounts. There are more swords in the wagon. Arm yourselves and be ready to depart before the hour is done."
The men stumbled over each other to get outside. Throwing the door closed behind them, Geoffrey shouted an oath to the rafters. Curran of Donedin. Their father had always favored the bastard over his legitimate son. Indeed, his father had given Curran his sword.
How had Curran already discovered the King's edict?
Just that morn the King had ruled that if Nessa of the Glenn married at castle Larnach before midsummer eve was done, she and her husband would be awarded all rights and title to the castle and its lands. Geoffrey would be stripped of everything. The edict was not yet public, but Geoffrey's spies had been quick with the news. Apparently, the King had felt Nessa ill treated by her brother-in-law. The gracious sovereign had settled their land dispute with a bizarre race about which the participants were to know nothing. His majesty had a macabre sense of humor and a dislike for Geoffrey; he had satisfied both in this.
Then a thought occurred. Curran had not discovered the edict, the King had sent the bastard to be Nessa's groom.
Stomping to the table, Geoffrey gripped its edge and tossed it upwards. It fell with its contents in a clatter on the floor.
"My love." A gentle voice came from the door to the bedchamber of the hut. Delicate footsteps approached him and a soft hand caressed his back. "Calm yourself."
"Did you not hear what those idiots said, Isla?"
"Aye, but worry not." She moved around in front of him. Then, arching her face up, she pressed a kiss against his lips. Pulling back with a smile, she spoke, "I have every confidence in you, dearest. I am confident you will keep your promise to me. There will be no marriage to Curran of Donedin or anyone else. Nessa of the Glen, my sister, is as good as dead."
Point Count: 68!
Dee Tenorio
"The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment."
Chapter Five by Genevieve Sawchyn
Nessa was miserable.
Curran of Donedin had decided they would make better time sharing one horse. Despite her objections, he lifted her onto his mount and rose up behind her so that she was once again seated between the knight's broad, muscular thighs.
Her newly acquired squire's uniform was several layers thinner than the skirts that had padded the hard saddle before, but it wasn't the saddle that kept her in turmoil. Rather it was the knowledge that the muddied green of his plaid, and everything hidden inside of it, was pressed up against her all day.
His body against hers made her dizzy, with fear or arousal she wasn't sure. She leaned forward to escape the heady sensation, but his arm tightened around her waist and pulled her closer.
Aye, she remembered him. She remembered his awkward apology and the accompanying posey of heather. No behemoth then, she thought wryly, no sword hanging from his diminutive waist. Just a scruffy boy with guileless grey eyes.
Now he was a knight, a man whose innate strength and movements were inspiring unfamiliar, lustful thoughts. Beneath the plaid, his torso was firm with muscle, solid as the arms already anchoring her to his mount. The knight's broad, muscular thighs hung down around the horse, his stirrups a foot lower than her own small white feet. Despite the cool Highland wind, she could feel the potent heat of him around her, an inviting, intimate cradle.
“Keep yer thoughts to yerself an' ye ken what's good for ye,” Siobhan cackled in her mind.
If he knew, what would he say? Likely he would laugh, and the sound of that humiliation would echo through the Highlands.
The voyage provided Curran of Donedin with hours of frustration. For expediency, he had insisted on sharing one mount, but now Nessa's barely clad body was pressed irresistibly against him. He hadn't counted on the flowery scent of her hair wafting over him as they rode or her soft curves nestling against him with every step.
He tried to ignore the urges that had sparked to life in his loins. This was duty, nothing more. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword, as if to remind himself of that fact. He would need the sword, he knew. For she was being hunted. Of that he was certain.
The king had sent him to fetch her, when he could easily have sent a lesser knight. He had been adamant that it be Curran of Donedin. So the king suspected a risk as well.
Initially he had dismissed the idea that the threat came from his half-brother. And yet the lass had just come from the king's court, meeting with Geoffrey over a land dispute. She had seemed satisfied with the outcome, which would have infuriated Geoffrey. Since Curran's half-brother had married Isla, Nessa of the Glen's sister, Nessa was his only obstacle.
Curran nodded to himself with comprehension. It must be Geoffrey. If his nefarious scheme to stop Nessa succeeded, she would have no lands, no dowry and no future. And the reason the king had requested Curran himself was because Geoffrey would slaughter an inferior knight without hesitation.
Curran's saddle was crowded, but his mount hadn't complained. The stallion was a sturdy animal and Nessa of the Glen was small, although perhaps not as fragile as she appeared. He remembered that tiny fist from years before. And yet –
He leaned forward to study the pale skin of her neck. There. A small cut, already healing, put there by his own dirk the night before. He felt an unfamiliar pang of remorse and resisted the urge to touch the thin red line.
She sensed him looking and spun around to glare. He was struck again by her dark beauty. She turned back and her long black hair lashed out at him. He stroked some of the strands between his fingers, his thoughts far from duty. He knew her pale skin was soft as velvet because he had touched her reddened cheek the day before, brushed away a tear. Now he was wrapped protectively around her, struggling to keep his hands to himself.
Hours later she collapsed against him with fatigue. The sun had set and the trees offered no warmth, so he halted his mount by a small cottage and swung off the saddle. Nessa was too tired to object when he clutched her waist and slid her off. More than anything else, she wanted to sleep. But as he lowered her, she couldn't help noticing that his eyes were the most mesmerizing shade of steely grey. And there was a stirring within them that made her breath catch.
He knew she was exhausted. That was why she had drooped so trustingly in his arms. But when she closed her eyes he couldn't resist. He leaned in and kissed her, warm and gentle. Her eyes sprung open in surprise. His were closed, black lashes feathering his cheeks. When she didn't struggle, he dove deeper. He cupped one large hand behind her head and his mouth urged hers open. She tasted him tentatively and felt his reaction brush her thigh, his breath hot and urgent on her skin. His bristled cheek grazed her face and she felt a strange tingle building in her breasts. She pressed them against him and he groaned, suddenly hungrier. She was lost in the kiss, breathless -
She jerked away, suddenly wide awake, but he moved with her. His eyes glittered dangerously.
“Stop!” she cried, “I can't -”
“Oh, but ye can,” he murmured.
Point Count: 93!
Dee Tenorio
"The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment."
Chapter Six by Nancy Holroyd
A surge of pulsating white light shimmered through Nessa. She felt sucked into the center of Curran of Donedin, this behemoth of a knight. She felt the knight's broad, muscular thighs solidly atop her. His strong arms held her fast. Her furious heart pounded, not with fear, but she knew not what to think of it.
"Nessa we need to reach the Highlands before the midsummer festivals. Yer lands need to be secured afore Geoffrey finds ye."
Nessa pushed at the solid wall of Curran's chest. "Get off o me ye oaf."
"Dinna ask that o' me lassie. I've figured out a way to protect yer lands but ye hae to trust me."
His lips locked on her ripe, swollen lips and she relaxed beneath him, encircling her arms around his broad shoulders. One hand slipped into the soft, gleaming dark hair. Hair she had longed to touch ever since she first saw this behemoth of a man. She felt one of the knight's broad, muscular thighs nestle between hers.
"Nessa of the Glen, I, Curran of Donedin, take thee with my body in a handfast marriage for one year and a day."
Nessa glared at Curran. Without some kind of solution, she would have no lands, no dowry and no future. It was time for a decision, now.
"Nessa, I am waiting for yer response, " the behemoth of a knight growled. "Me sword is at the ready. Come lassie, gie me yer answer."
"Och aye, I'm sure ye be wanting an answer, but what happens to me land if we part."
"Ye hae tae trust me lassie."
"How can I trust a man I barely know?"
"Yer lands will revert back tae ye if we part at the end of the handfast period, lassie, this I vow tae ye."
The magic he performed on her body took over propelling her answer. She gasped. "I, Nessa of the Glen, take thee, Curran of Donedin -- take thee in a marriage to last one year and one day to protect said lands." Her furious heart beat a rapid tattoo fit to jump out of her chest. What was she doing? What would Siobhan say to her?
She feared she was losing her mind as Siobhan cackled, "Aye lassie, that's one way to protect yer lands." What had she done?
As Curran stroked her flesh a blinding white light eclipsed all else leaving no more room for thought.
Several hours later she awoke to Curran bending over her shaking her shoulder. He pressed a finger to her lips.
"Wheesht lassie, I think we may have company soon and ‘tis not the kind of company the likes of you and I wanna have." They slipped out the back of the cottage. His mount was ready to go. He strapped on his sword and swung into the saddle. He reached down and swung Nessa up, landing her atop his lap.
They rode away from the cottage, moving as quickly as possible without risking life and limb in the low light of dawn. It would not do to allow Geoffrey and his knaves to catch them before they reached the Highlands.
"How be it that ye were given the task o' rescuing me from Geoffrey?"
"'Tis little known that Geoffrey and I are related."
"Related?" The word burst out of Nessa's mouth.
"Wheesht, lassie! We may be followed. Dinna call Geoffrey and his knaves to us wi' yer blathering."
"Do ye think they be that close to us?" Nessa shrank back against the braw knight.
"Lassie, dinna fash yerself. I know ways through these woods Geoffrey doesna know. I also have friends that will shelter us as we travel towards the Highlands. I will git ye there afore midsummer."
They rode on in silence. His scent stirred memories of what happened hours before; the feel of his rough clothes against her cheek was oddly soothing. She sank into his strength and settled into a slumber.
When she woke sunbeams filtered through the leaves, but a deathly stillness settled over the glen. Tension radiated from the braw knight, Curran of Donedin. It set her on edge.
"Wheesht, lassie. ‘Tis too quiet. There's a cavern up ahead wi' a hidden entrance. We'll dismount now and let Thunder fend fur his self and we'll slip inside." Curran lifted her off the destrier and jumped down and removed the saddle.
Nessa used the same low tones when she spoke. "How will we away from here?"
"Thunder will find us when I whistle fur him."
"Clever laddie." Nessa smiled for the first time since the evening before. She looked over at Curran and shivered. She recalled her first impression of him, which seemed a lifetime ago. His gray eyes locked onto hers. The look shot a ripple of energy surging through the full length of her body and settling in her nether regions. She broke the look by deliberately turning and moving behind him.
"Lead on tae this cave. I have no interest in someone finding us out here, unprotected."
"Aye. But dinna fash. Yer knight will protect ye." He winked, turned and moved towards the cave, holding back branches to keep them from slapping her.
The cave was well hidden from view. Nessa wondered how Curran would manage to squeeze his large body through the narrow opening. He ushered her in ahead of him.
He leaned close to her and whispered, "Keep yer hand on the wall to the right of the entrance and stay close to the wall. Dinna move straight into the cave, or move away from the wall. Stay tight against the wall."
Fear gripped her heart, hard. She could feel the pounding of horse beats tattooing the ground. She edged into the cave following his directions, wondering how far she would need to proceed. Her furious heart beat a thunderous tattoo. She stopped as soon as she thought there would be enough room for Curran of Donedin, her knight, her protector, to slide in behind her.
Point Total: 135 pts!
Dee Tenorio
"The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment."
Chapter Seven by Anita Mae
The only light came from the aura surrounding the behemoth of a husband who blocked her retreat. The knight’s broad, well muscled thighs pushed against her buttocks and pressed her against the cold rock wall. With her hands open flat on either side, imprisoned within his arms, his lips grazed her temple. Images of the previous night swirled in her mind. As did one word—wanton. Despite the cold stone pressed against her cheek, her flesh warmed and her furious heart pounded a staccato beat.
Curran’s hot moist breath fanned across her damp skin. “Be still, lassie. ‘Tis treacherous here and they come.”
Muted sounds reached her. The thunder of hooves, jangle of brass hardware, and voices. “Keep ye’r eyes peeled,” someone shouted outside—too close.
Curran loosened his hold.
Instinctively, Nessa moved away. She took a step to the left and gasped. Instead of solid ground, her foot slipped over the edge and slid into open space. Flailing her arms she tried to grab something—anything—but her hands couldn’t find purchase on the rocky wall. She threw her weight forward as she slipped down. Her forehead scraped against a jagged edge but it didn’t slow her downfall. The behemoth grunted. His silhouette lunged but his arm only circled in the air. Her arms slammed on the ground and she grabbed at the dirt clawing as it loosened and gave way. With nothing beneath her feet, gravity pulled her down. Her left arm dropped off the ledge and at that moment, as her fingers dragged through the dirt and she knew she was going down, she was glad she had spent the night with Curran of Donedin, knight of the Highlands. She relaxed her fingers . . .
“Ow—“
“Nessa!” Curran hissed.
Lights flashed behind her eyes. Pain shot through her arm as if a twenty stone boulder had dropped upon it. She dangled in the dark air, feet swinging from the momentum of her fall, and clenched her teeth to stop the scream. Surely her arm was afire.
* * *
Curran of Donedin stood motionless. Not even a breath passed his lips. With all of his weight, he pressed on the delicate arm beneath his boot and prayed it wouldn’t come loose. He refused to dwell on Nessa’s pain. Outside, the sounds of their followers diminished in the distance. Even then, when he was sure they had left, he waited, silently. Below him, little sounds escaped the lassie, for someone even as brave as Nessa of the Glen would feel the pressure of a fourteen stone weight on her arm.
Finally, he bent to her.
She shrieked and he halted.
Och, his mother must have dropped him on his head when he was a wee bairn for him not to have realized any change of pressure on her arm would cause further pain and perhaps more damage. But how to get her up?
“Nessa, can ye hear me?”
She groaned.
Her anguish hit him like a pierced arrow. With fists clenched at his sides, he grit his teeth. He could not attempt a rescue without her aid.
“Nessa of the Glen, speak to me.”
He thought he heard her murmur, “Too hard” but her voice was just a whisper in the dark.
Yet her anguish reached him. It curled around him and through him and squeezed his gut. Bile rose in his throat, threatening to spew out. Curran raised his fists and roared, “Insufferable situation! There must be a way!”
“Ohhhhh.”
Although weak, her response was stronger than before. Curran took heart. “‘Nessa of the Glen, ye are a brave lassie, and worthy of ye’r own castle in the Highlands. Now give me ye’r arm so I may pull ye up.”
Through tremors beneath his boot, he felt her jerk. He used the moment to crouch as low as he dared. Still, she cried out in pain. He waited, palm out, as she swayed beneath him but her hand didn’t reach his.
“Nessa of the Glen, I am ye’r husband, Curran of Donedin. I command ye ta give me ye’r hand. Ye will obey me.’
‘Obey ye? Ye—ye behemoth.” Her flesh grazed his open hand. He grabbed. And missed.
“Nay, I am but a knight.”
“How dare ye call ye’rself a knight—oomph! Knights protect their women.”
He felt her thrust and missed again.
“Aye, and I told ye to stay still, but wanton women will go where they want.”
“I’ll take ye’r sword and slay ye myself!” Her hand slapped on his.
Got it! He shifted his weight to his other leg, stepped back and swung her up beside him in one fluid movement. Her legs buckled but his arms encircled her waist and held her tight against him. She drooped. Had she fainted? He cupped her chin and raised her head. Feathering kisses on her upturned face, he tasted the metallic tang of blood. “Nessa of the Glen, dae na leave me now.”
She groaned.
Mindful of his step, he backed out of the cave, Nessa in his arms. After a furtive glance to confirm they were alone, he eased them to the rocky ground. Her arm hung limp by her side. Blood dripped from a gash across her brow. Her hair lay knotted in disarray. To Curran of Donedin, Nessa of the Glen had never looked more beautiful. She was magnificent. Whoever said, ‘she would have no lands, no dowry and no future’ was a fool.
* * *
She nestled in the vee of the knight’s broad, well muscled thighs. Regardless of what she’d said in the cave, she did trust Curran of Donedin with her life. For whatever the reason, be it chivalry or greed, he had proved his loyalty to her. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe the reason was love. But cradled here in his arms, with his breath fanning her brow, and her furious heart threatening to burst, Nessa dreamed forever followed a year and a day.
Point Total: TBD
Dee Tenorio
"The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment."
Chapter Eight by Linda J
They weren’t alone, he was sure of it. Curran tugged on his horse’s reins to slow his pace around the rocks and heather. Dry heath crackled under foot and falling stones warned him they were being stalked like prey. Soon they would reach the glen, plains open and dangerous, but just an overnight ride to the Highlands. But Nessa, with that injured arm, wasn’t up to even a trot, let alone a canter.
Nessa stirred in his arms and lifted her head from his chest. She was too pale and she winced. That injury might be worse than she let on. Shyness overcame her under his regard and she blushed.
“That’s better.”
“What?”
“Your cheeks. Blushing becomes you.”
“Aye, you are a flirt Curran of Donedin,” she laughed but winced.
“We’ll stop yonder to make you comfortable?”
“No. Don’t stop. It’ll be right.”
He tightened his arm around her, making her suck in some air.
“I’m sorry.” He relaxed his arm immediately and caressed her face with his hand.
“What for?” and she turned and kissed the back of his hand.
“I put pressure on your arm.” He gently rubbed the back of his hand against her chin.
“No…you touched me…. I…” she blushed and he knew he had fallen in love with Nessa of the Glen. Would it complicate the bond between them when she found out his secret, and that he was only on the King’s mission? The horse stopped and restlessly stamped it’s hooves. Nessa winced.
No one was about.
“Come. We must strap up that arm of yours before we leave the cover of these trees.”
She was about to argue but he dismounted and held the horse’s bridle for her.
“Is that an order,” she asked, sliding off the horse, against him. He was about to kiss her when twigs crackled behind them. He swiftly moved in front of Nessa, drawing his sword, but the knave was already off his mount.
“Geoffrey,” called Nessa and his half brother emerged from behind the rock.
He could slay the one in front of him, but six mercenaries outnumbered them. It was a matter of time before they captured Nessa to kill her. But they would have to kill him first for he would die protecting Nessa of the Glen.
The woman riding along side Geoffrey dismounted.
“Isla, what are you and Geoffrey doing in these parts?”
“But what brings you here?”
Nessa was about to move forward when Curran with a look stopped her in her tracks.
“Relax. ‘Tis Geoffrey and my sister Isla of Larnach. Curran of Donedin.”
“We know who he is Nessa,” said Isla now moving forward.
“Isla stay where you are,” said Curran firmly.
“Aye I only want to greet my sister, knight,” said Isla irritated to be talked to thus.
“It’s okay,” said Nessa taking a step forward but stopped when two men wearing a foreign standard, their dark armour covered with black cloaks, also emerged.
Curran nodded. “Stay close and careful what you say.”
He wasn’t going to take a chance on Nessa’s life but he counted the mounts. He’ll wait to break out. The problem was Nessa and her injured arm.
Nessa couldn’t stand the tension. What exactly was Geoffrey up to?
“Geoffrey are those two – not wearing your standard – your soldiers?”
“What of it? Come here Nessa we’ve go to talk.”
But Curran moved closer and with her knight by her side she felt protected.
“Those men almost killed me, near two days ago. Isla explain?”
“Explain? Hear that Geoffrey. Naive Nessa still hasn’t worked it out. Yet she’s supposed to have the brains in the family.”
“Isla?” As usual the barb hurt her.
“Brainy, witty, Nessa. Supposed to be but there’s no sign of it.”
“You underestimate Nessa, she has all the brains of you and Geoffrey put together, but I understand how you think, like Geoffrey in many ways.”
“Understand? Geoffrey are you gong to let this knave insult you so?”
“Isla we have no quarrel with Curran, just keep it nice.”
“Aye Isla. Curran doesn’t deserve your ire. Now we are in a rush.”
“So he hasn’t told you yet has he?”
“As always Isla you want to quarrel. Siobhan isn’t here to mediate, and don’t bring Curran into this. The quarrel is with Geoffrey really. He’s after my land.”
“Geoffrey wants what’s rightfully his. But the real problem is this interloper. Ha! You haven’t seen through your knight in shining armour. Are you in for a shock.”
“Curran of Donedin has done nothing but protect me?”
“Curran’s not here to protect you. He’s the King’s errand boy, out to grab some land. He’s everything you despise, a knave, you know pious, but without virtue.”
“You know Donedin?” She met her knight’s stormy grey eyes, but Curran switched his attention firmly onto Geoffrey’s men. Or so she thought. The men in front of her were weary of that sword, she noted proudly. But Curran’s anger almost matched Isla’s rage. Nessa felt her furious heart thudding in response.
“But you want to steal what she owns,” Curran challenged.
“Steal what? You misunderstand my sister,” Nessa said, stilling him with her hand.
“I understand her perfectly. Isla are you capable of murder? Do you really want to murder your sister for her birthright? I know Geoffrey is?”
“Curran of Donedin, you are landless, a bastard son, but in the king’s favour. Now you want to woo my sister. She despises your ilk and is taken with you because of your chivalry. Nessa he protects not you, but your lands, for his future.”
Curran wooed her all right, but was he after her lands? She caught his eyes and held his steely grey eyes for a second. He wasn’t denying it.
“You believe her? I thought you were tougher than that, Nessa of the Glen,” he said.
Somewhere close, Siobhan cackled. As she searched for a sight of her among the rocks, Curran grabbed Nessa around the waist and swiftly moved her to the horse.
“Mount now,” he urged and gave her a hoist up in the midst of chaos. From her mount she watched a tribe of men move in from beyond to attack Geoffrey’s men from behind. Curran spun around to the knave about to strike him with a sword, but with a blow from her knight’s heavy sword he fell to the ground, allowing Curran to mount his horse. For such a behemoth of a man he was sure footed.
“Hold on,” he shouted.
Nessa sat hard against her Knight’s broad, muscular thighs, safe enough, but her heart had already shattered to a million pieces. She would have no lands, no dowry and no future, but for her knight’s rescue, but was he really her knight in shining army? Or was she about to suffer the same fate as her sister? Was she married to a dastardly warrior? Whether he had deceived the king to earn his favour like her had earned her favour, it didn’t matter, for he’d already broken her heart.
Dee Tenorio
"The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment."
Chapter Nine by Jody Lynn Allen
It had been a long hard journey for Nessa, her body and mind were exhausted beyond belief as they rode up to the castle of the King.
"Curran of Donedin, I cannot meet the king smelling of a foul beast. I need to make ready to meet him proper."
"Aye, Nessa of the Glen deserves to be dressed like the lady she is to meet the king. I will have a room prepared for you, and a hot bath sent up."
"Thank you." Nessa turned to smile at her knight, kissing him softly on the lips as tears ran down her face.
"Donna cry lassie, I can't stand to see you sad. Why are you weeping?"
"I'm scared."
"Don't worry you'll get your lands back, that I promise you."
"How can you promise that, when you came to take them from me?"
"The king sent me to protect you from Geoffrey, he never sent me to steal your lands Nessa. The handfast was my idea to secure your lands, and the only way you'd let me touch you."
"But Isla said that you were lying to me to steal my land."
"Aye and that wretch of a sister is letting Geoffrey try to kill you Nessa."
"She's never liked me, I was father's favorite and she hated me for it."
"How did your father die Nessa?"
"We think he was poisoned, Siobhan was sure it was hemlock." Curran wiped another tear from Nessa's face and helped her off Thunder.
"Think not of such sad things Nessa, for you are one step closer to getting your lands back Lassie. You go rest and make ready, while I go have counsel with the King."
***
"Highness, I have brought Nessa home before the deadline as you asked, will she regain her lands?"
"Curran your job was to make sure that she returned unharmed, you have done that now. You may take your leave."
"But will she regain her lands your highness?"
"Has she married Curran?"
Curran gritted his teeth, knowing now that the king had expected him to take her as his to protect her lands.
"Aye, I took Nessa in a handfast your lord."
"So one year and one day from then, the lands will forfeit to the kingdom when you do not chose to marry her."
"That won't happen your highness."
"Ah, so you bedded Nessa as well?"
"No, I'm in love with Nessa and will choose to stay married if she'll have me." Curran couldn't tell the truth and have anyone thinking Nessa anything but a lady; he wouldn't hurt her like that.
"There's no need for that Curran, I will give her the land back. You can dissolve the handfast; I have much more use for you here."
"Aye, but I have no use for the castle anymore father, nor being your favorite way to torment Geoffrey."
The king looked upset; Curran had never called him father, especially when he'd disobeyed an order.
"Geoffrey will protest the handfast my son and the church sent down a ruling that doesn't see the handfast as valid anymore. So if you wish to save her birthright you'll have to marry, today!"
"Then we will marry in your chapel highness, as long as Curran is willing to put up with me for the rest of his life?"
Curran smiled at Nessa, his heart full to bursting as she came to stand next to him. She smiled and kissed his cheek, then bowed to the king.
"Aye, nothing could ever make me tire of you Lassie."
"Then it is settled, you marry before noon today."
***
"Geoffrey, we've made it afore Nessa of the Glen."
"Lets away to the king and declare Nessa absent, and unable to claim her lands back my wife."
"Geoffrey, excuse me but I have a wedding to attend to. You're more than welcome to come." The king dismissed him as he made his way to his private chapel.
"What wedding?"
"Curran of Donedin's."
Isla walked into the chapel to find Nessa standing at the altar in a long white dress, exchanging vows with the bastard ruining her plans.
"No!" Isla shouted, and then realized everyone including the King was shocked by her behavior.
"Sister, why do you protest?"
Isla walked to Nessa, taking her by the hand and smiling.
"Aye to wish you happy Nessa." She hugged her sister tight then kissed her cheek and walked to the back of the chapel, and stood next to a small gilded table that held the gold toasting chalice for the bride and groom.
Isla discreetly lifted the secret top of her ring, shaking a white powder into their cups and smiling as it dissolved. She then went to stand next to Geoffrey.
"All is taken care of husband."
As Curran kissed Nessa a young woman brings forth the toasting chalice, and hands it to the clergy. He blesses the wine and hands it to Curran to share a toast with his new bride.
He was about to drink until Siobhan cackled, and drew everyone's attention. Siobhan walked to the altar and whispered in Nessa's ear, then turned to look at Isla.
"Sister, share a toast with me at my wedding."
Another young girl walked towards them with an identical golden chalice, and handed it to Isla.
"Tis time for you to toast with your husband."
"I insist that you drink with me Isla, to heal our family."
Isla refused until Geoffrey took the cup from her and held it high towards Curan.
"Aye, to family."
Isla grabbed his hand just before he drank.
"Don't."
"What have you done Wife?"
"Yes Isla, why won't you drink?" Nessa moved down the aisle to her sister, holding her chalice to Isla's face.
Siobhan grabbed Isla's hand and showed Nessa and everyone the secret compartment, and smelled the white powder still left inside.
"Let me go old woman!"
"Hemlock!"
"Hemlock, then you killed father?"
"It was your wine Nessa; I was trying to kill you!"
Dee Tenorio
"The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment."
Chapter Ten by Joanne Rock
Stunned, Nessa rocked back on her heels. Her sister had driven a knife in Nessa's back even though she'd failed to harm her physically.
The few witnesses to the marriage murmured amongst themselves, while the priest turned and ran from the king's chapel. To find help or to save his own skin? Nessa could not be certain if she would find aid here when so many of the king's subjects were loyal to Geoffrey and Isla.
As she had been for too long.
Even the king was hurried from the chapel by his retainers, leaving the nave shadowed and empty save the warring couples and Nessa's old chaperone, Siobhan.
"You would have my blood on your hands for the sake of the land?" Nessa asked, a protective hand over her heart as if that would help the wound she'd been delivered.
As children, Nessa and Isla had shared a bed. How could Isla have grown to hate her so much?
Beside her, Curran tensed and moved his hand toward the hilt of his sword. She felt the gesture as much as saw it, or perhaps she anticipated the movements of this man she'd come to know better than her own flesh and blood.
"Say nothing," Geoffrey warned his wife, slowly reaching out to insert an arm between Curran and Isla.
As if Curran would ever harm a woman. How little Geoffrey knew his half-brother.
"You would be wise to leave now," Curran warned him, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. "There were too many witnesses to your perfidy. Not even your own father will be able to turn a deaf ear to your wife's admission."
Nessa realized the men were prepared to battle. Here and now. In the nave of the king's own chapel.
Saints preserve Curran of Dunedin. He was the only thing standing between her and the worst betrayal imaginable-death at the hands of a loved one. The magnitude of it all put Curran's small dishonesty into clear perspective. He had never wanted to hurt her.
He loved her.
The realization hit her at the same moment a stained glass window shattered behind her. Confused, Nessa turned in time to see glass rain down hard all over the nave in a heavy shower of reds and blues. At the same time, Curran crossed swords with his half-brother, the two men oblivious to the shards that cracked and crunched under their boots.
All at once, a hood lowered over her eyes, a dark woolen cloth muffling her sight and flattening her nose. A heavy weight fell upon her back and she recognized the flailing mass as her sister. Isla held the suffocating hood over Nessa's face. Isla had probably tossed the distracting stone or other heavy object at the stained class window. Would she use this moment to pour her poison's into Nessa's mouth.
"Do not struggle sister," Isla crooned, her strong arms tightening the hood so that it covered her mouth and nose too. Breathing became nearly impossible. "You have never seen what was right before your eyes. Why should now be any different?"
The clank of swords echoed in Nessa's ears as she stumbled forward, her hands bloodied on the crumbled glass scattered over the stone floor. Black spots appeared before her eyes and she realized she might pass out any moment. She heard Curran shout nearby, but she did not wish to distract him from a deadly enemy. He needed to fight his own battle, as she needed to win hers.
Gathering her strength, she heaved all her weight back into Isla, knocking her off balance. Isla screamed, her hold on the hood loosening. Ripping off the suffocating wool cloth, Nessa scrambled to her feet, her layered skirts protecting her knees while Isla wailed from the pain of the glass in her back.
"It's never too late to start seeing what is in front of me." Nessa heaved the woolen fabric on Isla and turned her attention to Curran.
He had just knocked Geoffrye's sword loose from his hand and Nessa kicked it even farther away from the half-brother's traitorous hand. Curran whipped up his own blade to the other man's throat.
"You will abide the king's justice, I'll warrant," Curran threatened. "As will your wife. Instead of keeping half her lands, I suspect you will end up with nothing, even if you are a prince of the realm."
Nessa knew Geoffrey and Nessa would be fortunate for their lives once the king tried them for their crimes. But Nessa would pray for her sister's soul even as she prayed for justice.
"You should humble yourselves on a pilgrimage," Nessa mused, peering from one wretched betrayer to the other. "And serve your fellow man to atone for your dark deeds."
"That is for the king to decide." Curran called for aid and a few of the king's retainers stepped forward to answer him.
Many of the king's guests had gathered in the courtyard when the stained glass window broke outside the great hall. In fact, one of the village crofters carried a heavy chalice that must have landed on the stones outside the chapel. No doubt the object had been thrown to break the glass in the first place. A horrible waste of many craftsmen's skills now lay in ruins.
Curran directed the men to shackle Isla and Geoffrey, overseeing their restraints until they were led to the king's dungeon.
"They will be safe until your father brings them to trial." Nessa reassured herself as much as she reassured him. He had to be as devastated as her to learn the depths to which their family members would have sunk to claim a Highlands keep. "I will find a healer to send to Isla so that her back is tended before she must face her punishment."
"Ach, lass, and what of your poor hands?" Curran drew her aside while the townspeople began a preliminary cleanup of the damage to the chapel. "I am more concerned with how you fare than you how your wicked sister feels."
With the doors wide open and the heavy, dark window broken, light poured in to bathe the chapel in warm sunshine.
As Curran cradled her hands in his own, Nessa hardly noticed the sting of the cuts she'd received. The happiness within her soothed any old hurts.
"I will have them tended as well before we retire. But first there is a greater wound that needs attention."
Curran's expression settled into more somber lines.
"I have done you an injury by not being honest--"
"Nay." She pressed her lips to his in a quick attempt to silence him. "You have protected me at every turn, trying to shield me from the ugly truth I have seen today."
Nodding, he brushed his thumb along her cheek, his touch so sweetly wonderful she closed her eyes to better enjoy it.
"I know the sting of family betrayal and wish you did not have to feel that as well. I love you too dearly for that."
She melted inside to hear it. Shyly, she peered up at him through her lashes, her heart pounding with new hope and-more. "I love you too, husband. And I think we should make a family of our own that is full of love to take the place of the families that have forsaken us."
His gaze darkened as he lowered his head to hers, his words for hear ears alone.
"Start a family? We are fortunate that we can start right away since it is our wedding day."
Anticipation curled through her as she remembered what this man could make her feel. What her husband could make her feel.
"Do we not have a wedding feast to attend or some such?" She peered around, wondering if the king has forgotten all about his second's son wedding. But perhaps that was just as well. Nessa wouldn't mind stealing away Curran for herself as soon as possible.
"Not if we have other appetites to consider, wife." His smile was knowing and predatory and just for her.
And she couldn't have been any more pleased.
"I am hungry indeed, my lord husband. By all means, lead the way to our chamber and we can--"
He swept her off her feet so fast she didn't have a chance to finish the thought. As she clung happily to his strong shoulders, she could have sworn she heard Siobhan cackle with delight...
Dee Tenorio
"The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment."