Free Faerie Fate by Silver James Page A

Ciaran had offered her his heart. In return, she’d
taken over the safekeeping of it in her own.
    Ciaran smiled at
her, lust, need, and something deeper, more profound shining in his eyes. Becca
kissed the tips of the first and second fingers on her left hand and blew him
the kiss. He caught it and pressed his hand to his lips. Abruptly, he turned
away from her, his voice rising above the babble around him.
    “We ride!”

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Five
     
    Realizing she’d be
able to see the courtyard from the window in Ciaran’s chamber, Becca sprinted
back down the hallway. Stretching up on tiptoe, she could just barely look out
the high window. Frustrated, she grabbed the bench by the hearth and tugged it
over. By standing on it, she could lean out the window to see the gate and most
of the courtyard. Two detachments of mounted men awaited their commander. One
group carried shields and either long swords or lances. The other detachment
had bows and quivers full of arrows. These were the famous Irish
hobelars—mounted archers who could dash from one crucial front to another in a
battle.
    Becca recognized
Niall as he gracefully vaulted onto his warhorse. Her heart lurched, and her
throat closed off as Ciaran came into sight. Already mounted, he was utterly
magnificent, like some pagan war god.
    Their eyes met
across the distance. As foreign as the idea seemed, she truly cared for this
man. He was a stranger, yet that mattered little. She was afraid for him. Would
he be safe? Her emotions were in turmoil. She feared he wouldn’t come back even
as she was afraid he would. Once Ciaran returned, all that was between them
would break open like some raging flood smashing through a dam.
    She finally
understood this man held her fate in his hand, just as she did his. She laid
her hand against her heart to show him she was keeping his safe. He smiled and
she watched the stormy ocean blue of his eyes soften to the color of the summer
sky.
    She returned his
smile even as she raised her chin in a show of bravery she didn’t necessarily
feel. She would survive this as she’d survived everything else in her life. She
held his gaze until he wheeled his stallion and called his troops together.
    Horses snorted and
stamped, kicking up a fine coating of dust. Metal jangled and leather creaked
as the troop lined up for departure. A few wives darted forward for a last
kiss. Children and dogs milled around creating little eddies in the tide of
people.
    Ciaran watched the
controlled turmoil with a practiced eye. In his heart, he was a soldier. Until
this moment, he’d lived for the call to arms. Now? Now, his heart ached at the
thought of leaving Becca.
    Earlier in the great
hall, his men had been too busy to notice her dressed only in his mantle
standing at the top of the stairs. He’d forced himself to turn away and
chuckled, now thinking, Aye, and I would
have had to kill any man who noticed.
    As he was about to
give the order to ride out, movement in the window of his chamber caught his
eye. She was there, framed by the dark stone of the castle walls. The wind
caught the golden web of her silken hair and playfully tugged it toward him, as
if she were casting a net to catch and hold him. His stomach clenched. Only his
willpower and devotion to honor kept him in the saddle. Every muscle, every
sinew, every part of him longed to rush to her side, to hold her and kiss her
and bury himself inside her, making her his for all time.
    Gods, but she was
beautiful. She drove him to distraction with her vacillation, but once he
returned from this campaign, he’d have her one way or another. The thought of
her lying beneath him rode him hard, a burr under his saddle festering into a
sore spot. Then she touched her hand to her heart. Ciaran steeled himself to
turn from her, to tear himself away from the promise in her eyes.
    He rode through the
gate at the head of his troops, not once turning to confirm she was there.
Ciaran knew. He could