Page 38 of A Wolf's Bargain
“Aye. The sooner we get there, the better. We’ll need all the time we can get to plan for the battle ahead.”
She nodded and straightened her dress, erasing any sign that she’d been upset. “How many will go with us?”
Cillian raised a brow. “What do you mean by ‘us,’ lass? You’ll go toClann Abhaile. My mother’s expecting you.”
“The hell I will!”
With her clenched fists and wild eyes, Cora resembled a wolf more and more each day. “Cora, listen. The elders will keep you safe and—”
“It’s my home, Cillian! I’ll not sit idly by knitting hats while you ride off to protect my people!”
“It’s too dangerous!”
She pressed close, her nose nearly touching his. “Do you think I married you so I could hide away while my people fought for their lives?”
He frowned and crossed his arms, not at all bothered by her proximity. “No, I think you married me because you knew I could win this battle. And I can, woman, without you there to distract me!”
“I WILL NOT BE LEFT BEHIND!”
Cillian’s snarl drowned out her shout, his angry growls filling the tent. He laid his hands on her shoulders and held her still. “You aremy mate! I’ll not risk your life to some bloody Englishman’s blade. You’ll do as you’re told and go toClann Abhaileuntil I send for you!”
“I will not,” she seethed. “I will not be left to sit and simper away like some... some frightened child. I asked you to help me protect my people. What kind of person will I be if I run away when they need me?”
Cillian yanked her forward, ravaging her lips in a violent kiss. She fought him for a moment with balled-up fists against his chest but soon returned his passion with sharp bites and heady moans. He buried his hands into her hair, twisting the thick locks around his fingers as he nipped at her lips. All too soon, they pulled apart, their lungs desperate for air. Gasping for breath, Cillian rested his forehead against hers and stroked her hair.
“Alive, lass,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You’ll be alive.”
Cora collapsed against him, a single sob escaping her throat. She grabbed the wolf’s skin at his throat and held it tight, burying her face in the thick fur. The wolf rumbled in the back of his mind, upset at his mate’s distress. Cillian nuzzled the top of her head, dropping light kisses over her hair.
“What if you die? What will I do then, Cillian?”
“Well, you wouldn’t have to worry about the fur all over your things anymore.”
Cora lifted her head so quickly that she knocked him in the jaw. He’d tried to lighten the mood, but the return of the fire in her eyes suggested he’d been unsuccessful.
“Now’s not the time for your jokes, Cillian Fane!”
“You’re right,Mo ghrá.It’s not,” he agreed, rubbing his jaw. “The point still stands. I don’t want you anywhere near this fight. If Edwin has sent two hundred men, he means for it to be a bloody affair. I won’t have you in the middle of that.”
Cora fixed him with a look he’d become quite familiar with. It was the same look she’d had the very first night he’d met her, the night she’d barged into his tent and demanded he marry her and protect her lands. She’d worn it again when she’d challenged him in the sparring ring, and he’d tried to put her off. It was the same look she’d had on her face when the elders claimed their marriage illegitimate.
Whenever his wife wore that expression, his life changed.
“Cillian, you can’t keep me away. Ossory was my home. My people! You can put me on a horse toClann Abhaileif you like. Put a dozen men on guard! I’ll escape and ride straight back. You know I will!”
Cillian sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Cora, I don’t—”
“I won’t go near any battles,” she protested. “Let me ride with you to my father’s castle. I’ll stay there behind the walls and assist however I can with preparations and resources. Would that be good enough for you?”
He wanted to say no. Wanted to tie her to her horse and send her far away. As confident as he was in his men, battles changed like the tides. He’d been in skirmishes before that should have been easy victories, yet they’d nearly claimed his life. No onecould truly predict how a battle would go. Lord Kilkenny’s walls were strong, but that was no guarantee. All it would take would be one soldier—one arrow or blade—and she’d be gone, her light snuffed out.
His life would be over.
He realized that he hadn’t yet said the words to her. They’d grown much closer in the past weeks, but still, the time had never seemed right. He thought she knew. In a way, he said it each time he called her by his preferred name,Mo ghrá—my love. But he’d never truly said the words, and neither had she. He considered telling her now. Perhaps, if he did, if he professed his love, she’d do as he asked.
“Cillian? Please.”
It wasn’t the time. He wouldn’t cheapen those words by using them as a bargaining tool in an argument.