Warrior's Secret (The Pict Wars Book 2) Read online

  “Well done, lad.” She leaned forward and stroked her pony’s sweaty neck. “You have the heart of a giant.”

  In response, the gelding gave a soft whicker.

  “Come on … let’s get you a nosebag of oats and a rub-down.” Ailene urged the pony on. She guided Eòrna down the slope, between two large rocks, and met her first sentry shortly after.

  “Who goes there?” A big man with wild dark hair, clad head-to-foot in leather, stepped out, blocking her path with a spear.

  Ailene pulled up her pony, her gaze settling upon the man’s face. Despite that she had walked amongst the warriors of the united tribes, blessing them before they departed Balintur, she did not recognize this man. From the suspicious expression the warrior wore, he did not know her either.

  Drawing herself up, she fixed him with an imperious look she had often seen Ruith use in the past. “I’m Ailene … The Eagle bandruí,” she greeted him. “I have come with tidings for Varar and Galan. Please take me to them.”

  All conversation ceased when Ailene walked into the tent.

  Halting in the doorway, she drew in a deep, steadying breath, her gaze sweeping over the interior.

  She spotted Muin immediately. Her gaze was drawn to him against her will. All the other occupants of the tent faded into the background except for the tall warrior with long dark hair spilling over his broad shoulders.

  Ailene would have smiled at him, if his expression had not been thunderous.

  His storm-grey eyes were narrowed as he stared at her, his brawny arms folded across his muscular chest.

  Muin, like the other warriors, would be wondering what she was doing here.

  “Ailene,” Galan’s gruff voice intruded, drawing her gaze to where the Eagle chieftain stood near a glowing brazier in the center of the tent. Shock rippled over his face at the sight of her. Varar and Fina stood next to him, their expressions bemused. “Did you follow us?”

  Ailene nodded.

  “Alone?”

  “Aye … it was urgent so I couldn’t wait.” Ailene heard the tremor in her voice as her fear and exhaustion finally caught up with her. She could not give into it yet though.

  “What is it?” Fina took a step toward her, alarm flaring in her eyes. “Have the bones told you something?”

  Ailene shook her head. The telling bones sat in a pouch on her belt. She had not cast them since leaving Balintur. “I had a dream, a foretelling, of the siege of An Teanga.” The words rushed out of Ailene. She fixed her attention on Varar then, who was watching her closely, a deep groove between his dark eyebrows. “How do you plan to take back the fort?”

  “By water,” he replied, his tone cautious. “Why?”

  “How exactly?”

  Varar’s frown deepened. He glanced across at Galan, catching the Eagle chieftain’s eye. Galan’s lips compressed, before he gave a curt nod.

  “We plan to swim in,” The Boar chieftain replied after a pause. “After dark tomorrow evening. It’ll be a new moon so no one will see us. We’ll take the broch first.”

  Ailene swallowed, her pulse suddenly thundering in her ears. Stepping forward, she met Varar’s gaze. “I’ve seen it,” she said, her voice falling heavily in the now silent tent. “I watched you all swim up to the base of the broch on a moonless night and climb onto shore, knives in hand. But what you don’t realize is that The Serpent has the broch well-defended. Their sentries guard the tower, but keep out of sight, hiding in the shadows lest an attack come from the water.”

  A shocked hush fell in the tent.

  The two chieftains looked as if Ailene had just physically struck them across the face, whereas Calum of The Wolf and Moira of The Stag both gaped at her. Fina’s face paled, while Muin’s expression grew darker still.

  Eventually, Fina broke the heavy silence. “How do you know all this?”

  Ailene turned to her. “I told you … I had a vision. The whole attack was as real to me as you are all now. I saw our warriors fight and fall.” Her attention shifted to Galan and Varar once more. “If you try to take the broch from the water, the siege will fail.”

  “Muin, wait. I need to speak to you!”

  Ailene ran after Muin as he strode away from the meeting tent. She could tell from the stiff set of his shoulders and the length of his stride that he was upset—yet she could not let him be.

  Upon hearing his name called, Muin’s step faltered. He then turned to Ailene, his face a stony mask.

  Bracing herself, Ailene hurried up to him.

  “What is it?” he greeted her, his tone clipped.

  “I need to speak to you … privately.”

  Muin’s features shuttered. “There isn’t anywhere private here,” he replied, gesturing to the sea of hide tents surrounding him.

  “Follow me then.” Ailene gestured to the hillside behind them, where boulders rose into the early dusk. A thin mist had crept in, curling like crone’s hair through the rocks. “We’ll talk over there.”

  When Muin did not move, she stepped closer still to him. She longed to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his chest, yet she prevented herself. “Please … this is important.”

  A shadow moved in his grey eyes, and a nerve flickered in his jaw, but after a long moment, Muin nodded.

  Wordlessly, he followed her through the closely packed tents to the edge of the encampment. Her pulse pounding in her ears, Ailene led the way up the slope, passing the sentries halfway up. “You shouldn’t go far,” one of them warned. “Night is almost upon us.”

  “She won’t,” Muin replied gruffly. “I’m with her.”

  Ailene continued up the slope, leading Muin into a cluster of tall boulders that loomed overhead like tors. The wind shrieked across the hills this evening, yet the surrounding boulders offered some protection from it there.

  “Why all the secrecy?” Muin asked when Ailene finally stopped and turned to him. He had that aloof mask in place, the one he had worn on the morning the army had departed from Balintur; it was an expression designed to keep her away from him.

  Yet Ailene would not be silenced.

  “I didn’t want anyone to overhear us,” she replied, holding his gaze; it was important that Muin believed her next words. “When I told the chieftains of my dream, there was an important part I left out … a part that concerns you.”

  Muin’s brow furrowed, and he took a slow step toward her. “Go on.”

  “I saw you climb out of the water and fight your way up to the base of the broch,” she continued. “You fought savagely, but it was not enough. The Cruthini outnumbered you. I saw you go down … an axe clove the back of your neck.” Ailene broke off then. “The dream changed then into one I have had before … one where I stand before your cairn, while your mother sings a lament for your death.”

  Muin’s breathing had slowed, his brows knitting together. “You’ve had this dream before?”

  Ailene nodded, her belly twisting in guilt. “While you were away on that scouting trip. I was terrified you would not return, and when you did, I thought it had been nothing more than a nightmare. However, when the vision returned it was even more vivid than the first time. And during that dream I saw how you fell.”

  Silence stretched between them for a few moments, before Muin eventually spoke. “You could have told me that in front of the others.”

  Ailene swallowed, nervousness rising within her. “I thought you’d prefer to be told alone. I know how reserved you are.”

  Tell him, a voice urged her. Say the real reason you rode through storms to reach him. However, her tongue suddenly felt as if it had fused to the roof of her mouth.

  Muin cleared his throat. “Thank you for telling me this … hopefully now that the others know, they will change their plans, and my death will not come to pass.” His face had softened slightly, although his voice was flat.

  Ailene’s chest constricted, and she took a tentative step toward him. “Muin.” Her voice caught as she said his name. “There’s a
nother reason why I wanted to speak to you alone. Will you listen to it?”

  Chapter Twenty

  I Can’t Breathe Without You

  MUIN INCLINED HIS head, his storm-grey gaze fixing upon her in a way that made Ailene’s pulse race. “Aye,” he replied softly. “What is it?”

  Ailene drew in a shaky breath. Her body reacted so differently to Muin these days; it took some getting used to. She remembered all the times when they were children, and in their early teens, when they had swum naked together. Then she had been completely unselfconscious around him, as she had been that fateful evening that he had revealed his true feelings for her.

  But now she was acutely aware of his presence, his masculinity.

  Anxiety churned under her ribcage. Gods, how this scared her. She would rather face the Fair Folk again than this man.

  “When I woke up from that … that dream,” she began stumbling over the words, “I was terrified.” She paused there and wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging it tightly as she forced herself on. “All I could think about was that I … I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

  Muin went still. A beat of silence passed, before he spoke. “What are you saying, Ally?”

  The use of his pet name for her made Ailene’s breathing quicken. The timbre of his voice, low and husky, sent shivers of pleasure across her skin. How had she never noticed how sensual his voice was? This man’s presence was so powerful, gentle yet strong, that it felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the narrow space between the boulders.

  “I’ve been lying to myself.” The words rushed out of her now. She had to say them, before her courage failed her completely. “I don’t want to go through life without you. I don’t want any other man. I can’t breathe without you.”

  Surprise rippled across Muin’s features. A moment later he moved toward her, stalking her.

  Ailene stood firm, although her knees started to tremble. She was still terrified, yet she would not run from him. Not this time.

  Muin reached her, and he raised a hand, gently cupping her cheek. “Do you mean that?”

  Ailene swallowed. “Aye,” she whispered.

  He leaned in and kissed her then. Unlike the one he had given her two days earlier, which had swept upon her like an unexpected storm, this kiss was soft, tentative. He was testing her, making sure she meant her words.

  The softness of his lips as they brushed hers, the rasp of his stubbled jaw as it brushed against her cheek, made Ailene’s breathing catch.

  How had she never noticed how good he smelled? Leather, fresh sweat, and virile male. Heat pooled through her lower belly, and with a sigh Ailene leaned into him, brushing her lips across his, mirroring his action.

  Muin groaned low in his throat. His arms went around her, and he pulled Ailene against him, his mouth claiming hers hungrily now.

  Ailene melted against him.

  She would not hide from this, would not stop herself from living to the full.

  Muin was life. The leashed power of his big body against hers, the hunger of his kiss, awakened a dormant sensation within Ailene.

  Desire slammed into her, turning the cradle of her lower belly molten. Reaching up, she entwined her arms around Muin’s neck, her lips parting as his tongue danced with hers.

  “Gods,” he groaned in her ear when they came up for air. “You taste incredible.”

  Ailene let out a soft laugh, which turned into a gasp as his tongue explored the shell of her ear before his lips trailed down the column of her throat. His touch left a line of fire in its wake. Reaching out, Ailene tangled her fingers in his hair. It was fine and soft, sliding through her fingers. She wanted that hair to trail over her naked body, over her swollen nipples.

  She was keenly aware of her breasts then, pressed up against the hard wall of his chest. They felt constrained under layers of wool and leather; they ached for his touch.

  As if sensing her growing frustration, Muin’s hands slid down the curve of her back till they cupped her buttocks. Then he lifted her against him and carried her over to a boulder, pushing her back against it.

  And there he kissed her again.

  He kissed her until she gasped for breath, until her lips stung, until the tender skin of her chin burned from the rasp of his stubble. Ailene did not care, did not want him ever to stop. Her tongue tangled with his as she strained toward him. Their bodies entwined, and Ailene could feel the hard column of his arousal pressing against her belly.

  A memory returned to her, of that night in her hut after the council, when Muin had stood up to leave. The erection that had strained against his tight breeches had been impressive. It had been an effort not to stare at it. At unguarded moments ever since, she had dwelled on his reaction to her and had even caught herself looking at his groin once or twice.

  Heat had flowed through her when she had, swiftly followed by embarrassment. This was Muin, her best friend. She had not wanted to see him that way.

  But there was no embarrassment now. Ailene ground her hips against his, her hands exploring the muscular breadth of his shoulders, before they slid down to his chest.

  His heart hammered under her palm.

  Eventually, Muin pulled back, breathing hard. Ailene’s gaze went to his mouth; his lips were swollen too from their wild kisses. His eyes were hooded and had darkened to a dark iron-grey. His high cheek bones were flushed.

  Ailene ran her hands down the wall of his chest and over the muscled ridges of his belly. However, when she reached the ties to his plaid breeches, he caught her by the wrists.

  “I’m going to make love to you,” he growled out the words. “But not out here … I want to take you naked … and I want to take my time.”

  The promise made Ailene’s breathing hitch. Hunger pulsed through her with each beat of her heart, and her core ached.

  Muin stepped back from her, his lips curving in a slow smile that caused excitement to rear up within Ailene. He then caught her hand, his fingers entwining through hers.

  “Follow me,” he murmured.

  Ailene stood in the tent, smoothing her palms against her thin linen tunic.

  Muin had left her in here, with a wash bowl and drying cloths, before disappearing. Alone, Ailene had suddenly gotten nervous. All of this was happening so fast. One moment she had been baring her soul to Muin, the next she was in his arms.

  She was not used to acting so brazenly.

  The tent was bigger than most—Muin’s rank as a chieftain’s son afforded him better lodgings than others, who crawled into cramped tents at the end of a day’s march.

  This tent’s roof was high enough for a tall man to stand upright. Deerskin covered the ground, and a pile of furs lay to the back. A brazier sat in the heart of the tent, a lump of peat glowing there. The air was warm and scented with the pungent aroma of peat-smoke, despite the slit in the roof to let the smoke out.

  Trembling with anticipation, Ailene had yanked off her boots, stepped out of her skirt, and stripped off her woolen tunic. After that, she undid her vest so that she was clad only in a thin sleeveless tunic that reached mid-thigh.

  Muin had left her a bowl of steaming water, and a cake of lye scented with rosemary, to wash with. Relief had filtered over her at the sight of it; after two days of hard travel, she longed to wash the grime off her skin.

  Ailene washed quickly, the feel of the warm water against her already sensitive skin heightening her arousal. The tender flesh between her thighs throbbed now, and when she washed herself there, she let out a soft whimper of need.

  She hoped Muin would return soon.

  He took his time.

  Ailene was standing next to the brazier, resisting the urge to pace the tent, when a tall figure ducked inside.

  Muin let the flap fall closed behind him and moved toward her, stopping when they were a few feet apart. His gaze raked down her body, taking in her unbound hair and the gauzy material of her tunic that Ailene knew was virtually transparent.

  His
lips parted slightly, his gaze darkening.

  Never taking his eyes off her, Muin heeled off his boots and started to unlace his vest.

  Ailene swallowed, a blend of excitement and nerves fluttering in the cradle of her hips. “This is a nice tent,” she said, before inwardly cursing herself for saying something so inane. Nervousness had made her babble. “You don’t have to share it?”

  Muin favored her with a lopsided smile. “Aye … but I’ve told Aaron he can sleep elsewhere tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Take Your Pleasure

  MUIN SHUCKED OFF his vest and started unlacing his breeches.

  Ailene’s heart began to pound as she watched him. Muin undressing was the most erotic thing she had ever seen. The soft light of the brazier played across the strong lines of his body. The mark of the Eagle on his chest rippled as he moved.

  Then Muin let his breeches fall and stepped out of them—and Ailene momentarily stopped breathing.

  He was magnificent.

  His shaft, strong and sculpted, strained up against his ridged belly. And as Ailene stared at it, Muin wrapped his hand around his thick girth and gave his rod a long, sensual stroke.

  Ailene’s knees nearly buckled under her.

  Gods, how she wanted him. She ached to fall to her knees before him and take that rod in her hands, to draw it deep into her mouth till he groaned.

  The thought shocked her.

  She was not a maid, yet she felt as inexperienced as one right now. Her union with Fingal had been brief and rough. She remembered his shaft as a swollen, pulsing thing that had hurt her.

  She had not yearned to touch it, not like she did now with Muin.

  A low groan escaped Ailene, frustration and desire overwhelming her.

  Muin was suddenly on her. One moment he had been standing a few feet away, lazily stroking himself as he watched her, the next Ailene was in his arms, and his mouth and hands were everywhere.