The Warrior's Salvation (Warriors of Eriu Book 1) Read online

  “Gods aye,” she said as she grabbed his hardness and began to stroke him faster as he lowered himself at the entrance to her core. She needed his touch more than she needed air. She missed him, loved him. She had never stopped loving this man. Mayhap they could fix what had been broken after all. Mayhap the gods had brought her to him for this purpose.

  Starting to push in, she rocked her hips, trying to bring him in further, but he pulled back. “Say it, Clarice!” he all but shouted as he pushed in another inch, then pulled back out, teasing her pulsing flesh with his tip as she began to rock against him.

  She choked on a sob and grabbed his shoulders tight, “I need you, Jeoffrey! Please!”

  He pulled away from Clarice completely and rolled off her, leaving her to shiver without his body heat on hers. “Then you should not have left me, Clarice,” he growled through clenched teeth and hopped out of bed, pacing the room as he tied his trousers.

  Her head spun as unfulfilled arousal pulsed through her body and her heart shattered in the same moment. “Wh-what?” She croaked, panic rising in her throat.

  “You lost your chance with me four years ago when you left me!” he whispered into the darkness. “Go back to Harrold!” he growled.

  “Jeoffrey…I didn’t leave you!” She needed him to listen. Panic was causing her to shake and sweat. Coherent thought fled her mind.

  “Nay? One day you were agreeing to be my wife and the next day you were gone and so was my cousin. If that is not leaving, then what is it?”

  “Fleeing!” she said as she jumped out of bed, not caring at all that she was fully unclothed or that her knees threatened to give out. She felt sweaty, dizzy, and pain throbbed through every part of her but she was on the verge of an emotional break down and ignored it all. “I was fleeing to save you!”

  He scoffed at her and turned his back. “Get back in bed, Clarice. Just as I suspected, you are nothing more than a willing whore. I am not interested in Harrold’s left overs.”

  She gasped and flew at him, slapping him across the cheek before he had time to brace himself. “How dare you!” she cried. “You know nothing! Nothing!”

  He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to him so they were face to face. “Then tell me!”

  “I haven’t been with another man in my entire life! You are the only man I have ever bedded! How dare you judge me!”

  “I will not listen to your lies,” he shoved her gently until she landed on the bed. He leaned over her and bared his teeth. “Where is Harrold?”

  “He is dead!” she cried and covered her face with her hands. “He was my only friend and now he is dead.”

  “So that’s it. Your husband dies and you need another to care for you and his child. Who better than the man you once meant to marry. Did you think to hunt me down and push yourself on me? To push your child on me? Well, I won’t have it! I want you gone in the morn by the time I get back!” He stormed away from her and walked out of the house, leaving her to tremble in his wake.

  Her stomach churned with humiliation. She had all but thrown herself at him and he played her like an instrument, purposely teasing her only to hear her beg and then rejected her cruelly. Jeoffrey was bent on revenge, and she supposed he had it. If only he knew the truth. If only he would listen. But she was no whore and she would never allow him or any man to call her that again. He wanted her gone by the morn? So be it. But she would not leave until he knew he was her son’s father.

  “I hate you,” she whispered into the darkness and wiped a tear away as she tucked herself back into Jeoffrey’s bed. “Nay. I love you,” she corrected as more painful chills overcame her body and her flesh began to burn like a hearth.

  Swiping her hand across her forehead, a sheen of sweat coated her skin and she felt too dizzy to even keep her eyes open.

  That was when she was certain. Sweat. Body aches. Chills. She had a fever.

  Chapter 4

  Regret flooded him. He had been intentionally cruel to Clarice the night before. In all honestly, he had genuinely wanted to take everything she offered to him but at the very last moment, residual hate and the stubborn need for revenge had taken control of his emotions. He had sworn to keep his distance from the maddening lass and there he was, sharing a bed with her, feeling her warmth wrapped around him. How could he resist when he awoke to her rubbing his chest and pinching his nipples? She had been half asleep and barely aware of her own actions…but he was fully aware. And he had led her on, only to purposely put her down. Not only that, he had called her a whore. He deserved the slap she gave him. He deserved much worse.

  Something she had said in her anger ate away at him. She had said he was the only man she had ever bedded. How could that be true at all? How could she have been Harrold’s wife for the past four years and not lain with the man? And would that not make Wee Jeoffrey his son? The thought made his heart flip and his breath catch. Could it be true? Did he have a son?

  Nay, it was impossible. She had been spewing more lies. Clarice needed a protector now that Harrold was dead and she planned to rope him into her affections again by pushing her son onto him. Even Wee Jeoff had mentioned his sire last night, something about him having a very hairy chest, which he knew Harrold had. And Clarice had been more than upset when she mentioned Harrold’s death. No great affection could exist between a man and a woman without there being physical contact. There was only one answer. Clarice was a liar. Though he felt regret for his treatment of her last night, he could not allow himself to fall into her trap. She was a manipulative woman. And yet, he should apologize for his treatment of her when next he saw her. He had been out of line to call her such vile names.

  “I find it odd that you came over to my home in the middle of the night and will not tell me why,” Alastar said curiously, elbowing Jeoffrey and hoping for answers.

  “And I will not tell you more than I have. Being around Clarice and her son is too painful. Mayhap I will just stay here with you until she is healed and ready to leave.”

  “And where is she planning to go when she leaves?”

  Jeoffrey shrugged. “Tis none of my concern.”

  “Mate,” Alastar said in a much more serious tone than Jeoffrey was used to hearing. “Whoever put those marks on her is a dangerous man. Would you truly send her and Wee Jeoffrey back to a man like that? She looked scared for her life when she arrived.”

  Jeoffrey closed his eyes and pursed his lips. Nay, he would not allow whoever that man was to hurt Clarice again and yet, she was not his to protect. “What choice have I? I will not throw her back into the clutches of that man, but I also cannot allow her to stay with me. She must leave and find her own way.”

  “You really detest her so much, you would allow her to leave here without anywhere to go?” For the first time in Alastar’s life, he actually sounded disgusted by Jeoffrey.

  “What would you have me do?” Jeoffrey spun on his heels to glare his friend in the eye and he growled. “I did not ask her to leave me! I did not ask her to come back! All I ever did ask was for her to marry me! Tis not my fault she chose another path!”

  “Have you put any thought into why she would name her son after you? Tis very likely the lad is your son.”

  “Nay!” Jeoffrey roared. “He is not. He is the son of Harrold. She only wishes to push him on me now that Harrold is dead. In truth, I suspect she had heard rumors of my arrival to Alba and sought me out for this very purpose. I will not be her fool!”

  Alastar scoffed rudely. “Tis most unlikely. I think this has much more to do with fate than foolery. But I will hold my peace, as you seem bent on hearing none of it.”

  “My thanks,” Jeoffrey mumbled. “I will be back tonight. Though I have decided to stay here awhile, I still must tend to my farm. Thank you for breaking my fast. I will see you on the fields for training anon.” With a curt nod to his mate, Jeoffrey strode away from Alastar and all his cursed logic as fast as possible. Fine time for his mate to grow a conscience.

&n
bsp; As he approached his farm, the snow crunching rhythmically below his boots, he saw wee Jeoffrey rushing toward him from his home.

  “Jeoffrey! Jeoffrey!”

  The child looked panicked and Jeoffrey’s stomach plummeted. A sense of foreboding took hold of his guts. “What is amiss, lad?” Jeoffrey asked, running the rest of the distance to meet the child half way.

  “Tis Mama! She is hot!” Wee Jeoff took Jeoffrey by the hand and began to drag him back toward the house. “I’m scared!”

  A fever. Her wound must have festered. Nay. Jeoffrey ran as fast as he could back to his house, through the door, and across the room to where Clarice lay in his bed. Her beautiful brown hair was matted to her sweaty forehead and she squeezed her eyes shut, jerking her head side to side as she groaned in pain.

  “Clarice,” Jeoffrey whispered as he took her cold, clammy hand in his. She didn’t seem to hear him at all, just kept tossing and turning in the bed. A low moan escaped from her lips.

  “Is she ill?” Wee Jeoffrey asked as he came up and put his head down on his mother’s chest. His lower lip quivered, and Jeoffrey felt so much pain and remorse shoot through him for the way he had treated her. She may have broken his heart, but she was the precious mother of this wee lad and he would do anything to save her.

  “Listen, lad,” Jeoffrey said softly as he kneeled to the child’s eye level. “I need to fetch the healer. You stay here with your mama and talk to her until I get back. Aye?”

  Wee Jeoffrey nodded and squeezed his mama’s hand. Without wasting another minute, Jeoffrey fled his house and ran with all haste to Morna’s home. He was more afraid than he had ever been in his entire life. If she died, he would be gutted. If she died before he was able to apologize for his inexcusable behavior toward her, he would never forgive himself.

  He had to focus on his breathing, lest he panic and lose his head. Running past all the round shaped houses and curious stares in a blur, he made it to Morna’s small hut and pounded on the door. “Morna! I need help!”

  The door flew open and Morna’s mother stood beside her, looking concerned. Her mother Peigi was also a healer. Good, he needed all the help he could get. “What is amiss?” The older woman asked, looking like a slightly plumper and several years older version of her daughter.

  “Tis the lass staying with me! Clarice! She has taken a fever!”

  Morna gasped and clutched her chest. “Jeoffrey,” she choked. “Let us gather our things and we will be right there.”

  With a nod, Jeoffrey stepped away and ran with all speed back to his home. Alastar saw him and began running beside him. Jeoffrey was too focused and worried to answer questions and, fortunately, Alastar asked none as he followed in Jeoffrey’s wake.

  Striding back into his home, Jeoffrey saw the wee lad holding is mother’s now limp hand and crying over her body. She had stopped thrashing and her body lay still, eyes shut. Pure, consuming fear flowed from Jeoffrey’s head down to his toes, taking all his blood with it. He stumbled toward the bed and almost collapsed to his knees. Alastar clapped him hard on the shoulder and squeezed. By the gods, was she dead? She looked so peaceful. Could a fever take a person so quickly? He supposed a lass as small as Clarice may not have a chance to fight it. Nay!

  Stepping forward, Jeoffrey felt all his control slip and he gripped her wrist. “Clarice?” he whispered. “Lass…” His thumb grazed the sensitive flesh on the inside of her wrist and his heart beat sped up. He felt a pulse. She was alive…even if just barely. “I am so sorry, Clarice,” he whispered as he leaned his forehead against hers. She was burning up with fever and still covered in a sweat, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away as he prayed to the gods to save her. He may hold so much resentment toward her, but he had to admit there was a very deep-rooted love for this woman in his heart and all the cruelness in the world could not bury it deep enough to stop the ache.

  Alastar stepped back as if to give them privacy and took Wee Jeoffrey with him. “Lad, your mama has a fever but the healer is coming. Help me in the byre with the chickens.” For a man who protested to never want a child of his own, Alastar certainly had a way with children. They seemed to instinctively trust him, and Wee Jeoffrey was no different as he nodded, wiped away an errant tear, and took Alastar’s hand.

  When Jeoffrey heard the door close behind them and knew he was alone with Clarice, he felt like he needed to say something…anything, in case she could still hear him. “Clarice…” his voice croaked. “I’m a terrible bastard. Can you ever forgive my treatment of you? I’ve been so angry with you all these years, so hurt,” he whispered, clutching her hand tighter in his. “I’ve told myself over and over that I despise you and though I still cannot forgive so easily for all that you took away from me that night, I pray you hear me so you know how terribly sorry I am for how I have behaved.”

  Jeoffrey chewed the inside of his cheek as the truth sunk in that she probably was so far gone she could hear nothing he was saying. Even with this knowledge, he could not bring himself to say the words that haunted his soul, the words that could heal his heart and help him begin to forgive. Nay, he could not say it out loud. It would make everything too real, too painful.

  The door swung open hard, banging against the side of his home and relief flooded him as Morna and Peigi poured into his home with two full baskets of healing supplies that he prayed would save Clarice.

  Morna gasped at the sight of Clarice lying still as death in his bed and he frowned. That was never a good sign. “Will she be alright?” Jeoffrey asked in a desperate tone.

  Peigi stepped forward and put the back of her hand on Clarice’s forehead, then cheek. “She is burning up. Jeoffrey, be useful and fill this linen cloth up with snow. We will place it on her head to try and lower her fever.” He was grateful for the menial task; anything to keep him moving and busy. He nodded and took the linen cloth she had pulled out of her basket for him.

  He ran through the already open door, scooped some fresh snow into his hand, and placed it in the center of the cloth. How had he truly thought to throw Clarice and her son out of his house with nowhere to go, especially in this horrible winter weather? The chill in the air stung his cheeks and nipped at his nose, but he was so overheated with panic that the wind against his neck served as a slight balm to his nerves.

  He was a beast. If she survived this, he would allow her to stay in his home with Wee Jeoffrey as long as she needed to get her life back together. He could stay with Alastar. Twisting the linen cloth into a tight ball around the snow, he strode back into his home with purpose and held it out to Morna.

  “Hold that on her head, Jeoff,” Morna mumbled distractedly as she removed the linen bandages around Clarice’s knees from the night before. Her sharp intake of breath was all he needed to know the wound had festered.

  Peigi made a clucking sound with her tongue as she leaned closer to the wound. “Aye, this is the cause of her fever,” she shook her head and frowned when she turned to look into Jeoffrey’s concerned eyes. “I need to clean it out. The lass is fortunate to be unconscious. This will not be pleasant.” As Peigi pulled a knife out of her basket, Jeoffrey stepped forward and grabbed her arm.

  “What do you plan to do with that?” he asked, not certain he truly wanted to know.

  “I need to scrape out the infection, lad. It will be deep and it will bleed…a lot. But if we can get it all out, she may have a chance…”

  “A chance?” he whispered in a daze, staring at Clarice and seeing her eyes shifting under her lids, the only indication that she was still with him.

  “A chance. To survive. Fevers are hard to fight. Infections are hard to fight. A fever caused by an infection?” Peigi shook her head and frowned. “Tis in the hands of the gods, lad. All we can do is clean out her wound, slather on the salve, wrap it in clean linen, and pray.”

  “Pray.” Jeoffrey swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Aye, he would pray every second of every day until she was well.

  ***
/>   “You look like shite, mate.”

  Jeoffrey ran a shaky hand through his matted brown hair and groaned. Wee Jeoffrey had finally fallen asleep by the hearth fire an hour before Alastar had shown up to check on Clarice again.

  Three days had passed and Clarice had not improved. Morna and Peigi had come diligently multiple times a day to check her dressings and ice her forehead, both forcing smiles on their faces to keep Jeoffrey and Wee Jeoff from falling to pieces. Her wounds had begun to scab over and heal, which Peigi considered a good sign, and yet the infection in her blood still ran deep. Clarice had made no sign of waking and every day had passed at a slow, excruciating pace. Wee Jeoffrey could hardly sleep and neither of them would leave her side for more than a few moments. Jeoffrey had taken to sleeping on the floor next to the bed, only ever falling into a fitful sleep, aware of every sound in his silent home, praying to awaken to her voice.

  But her voice never spoke and her body never shifted. Her forehead blazed hotter and her cheeks were an unhealthy red. Alastar had been a true mate and did his best to get Wee Jeoff out into the byre a few times a day, if only for a distraction and to give Jeoffrey some alone time with Clarice. Why he felt he needed alone time was a mystery even to himself. He had sworn to hate her forever and had treated her worse than any woman deserved to be treated. He did not merit the honor of even standing vigil over her ill form. Yet the more time passed, the more he became afraid he would lose her forever, and the more he realized how very badly he still wanted to keep her forever.

  He had been a fool to reject her when she tried to explain what had happened all those years ago and yet, he still could not imagine a good enough reason. What could she honestly say to make him understand? Did it matter? Was a life without Clarice worth the pain of holding on to past transgressions? If she were truly sorry, would he be able to forgive her? He honestly did not know the answer to that. Opening his heart to her again was a risk beyond measure, and still he knew it was too late. He had already begun to soften to her.