The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance Part 12

"You're right, this was a lesson to the Queen, and to an upstart warrior who would hope to usurp my throne by bedding her. When it didn't work, he tried to take ye to blackmail me."

Now Bridget softened her voice. "Aye. But he didn't count on the strength of will and wit of my Bry, father."

"I know now why you've remained in the mortal world, Bridget. You've a warrior true, and you've earned thy prize. Take Human home and nurse him well. It will be many days before the doxie poison leaves his system and I can offer only the crown star crystal to aid in thy fight and protect thy home. The burden now shifts from him to thee. Do ye accept this trial, daughter of mine, without even knowing the nature of it?"

Sound began to fade in Bryan's ears, even as he felt himself being loaded again on the broad back of the loyal steed that would carry them home. To their home, in an emerald grove where he could rest and recover.

But he did hear one last thing before the world slipped into darkness and it warmed his heart. "I accept, Highness. The nature of the trial matters not. There is no burden so great that I cannot bear it for love."

Nia and the Beast of Killarney Wood.

Cindy Miles.

County Kerry, Ireland 1817.

Nia of Clare cracked open first one eye, then the other, and peered over the edge of the blanket she had clutched to her chin. The damp cold stung her cheeks, but she cared not.

Tonight was the night.

Only the smouldering embers from the camp's fire gave off any light to speak of; the moon's absence would certainly be a hindrance. It would slow her down, aye, but 'twould no' stop her. As she vaguely made out the silhouette of one of her six guardsmen, her eyes narrowed, and anger simmered beneath her skin. Her da may think her unfit for a husband, but to her idea, she need no' have one at all. From what she'd learned of husbands, they were bothersome, bossy twits she wanted no part of anyway. Yet here she was packed up and guarded like some prized swine, being sent to the cloisters to live the rest of her days at a secluded abbey filled with grumpy old women.

Nia had other notions.

With a slow gaze she took in what little she could see of the camp. She knew where each of the guardsmen stood rather, slumped. The buffoons took turns dozing, and it would only take a few moments for her to slither off into the darkness.

She'd stuffed her blanket with all her spare clothes. Rather lumpy, but still from their drunken eyes, they'd ne'er notice till dawn. Besides, in the shadows of darkness it did sort of look like her slumbering body.

One could only hope.

Now!

Ever so slowly, Nia inched backwards on her belly, head down, cheek to the soil and matted leaves. The heady, earthy smell urged her on; it was freedom in her eyes. She made not a single sound as she eased away from her blankets, and she kept her gaze trained on the sentry about her. No one noticed!

At the edge of the campfire's ring of light, she slithered back just enough, until finally, shadows engulfed her. Holding her breath, she rose, patted the pouch at her waist containing her coin, pulled the cowl of her cloak down, and moved into the night.

Minutes later, the bark of the guardsmen's hound shot through the air.

Without another thought, Nia fled. Running blindly into the wood, her heart thumped as the guards shouted, booted feet pounded behind her, dogs howled with excitement, and her moment of freedom narrowed. Through the foliage she ran as fast as her legs could pump. Th.o.r.n.y vines slapped her face and ripped her flesh, but she didn't care. What harm could they do? With the air in her lungs burning, she swiped at branches, jumped over rocks and a fallen tree, until finally, the shouts behind her grew softer. Distant.

Still, she ran. The guardsmen wouldna follow her that much she knew. Not into this forest. For deep within Killarney Wood lived a beast of legend. One with a savage thirst for human blood. One without mercy.

One she didna give a frog's fat figgy a.r.s.e about!

Nia no more believed in such gory fairy tales than she did in fancy ones where knights on white steeds rescued their maiden fair. Neither existed. Both were ridiculous.

What did exist, though, 'twas her pending capture, so with that thought in mind she continued to run blindly through the shadowy wood. The night air chilled straight through her woollen cloak to her bones, but she didna care a whit- Suddenly, Nia stopped dead in her tracks. Although she could barely see past her own nose, white puffs of warm air billowed out before her with every breath. Her ears tuned in to the verra noise that stopped her.

Footsteps. Moving through the brush. Faster. Heavy. Closer.

Her heart slamming into her ribs, Nia took off, the frosty air biting her cheeks. She didna look back to see which o' the guards neared she merely ran. The muscles in her thighs burned as she made her way deeper into the wood and, just when she thought her predator had given up, a weight of steel crushed her to the ground, the air in her lungs whooshing out in one big breath. A large hand slipped over her mouth and, even though the breath had been knocked clean out o' her, she shivered at the strange, deep voice whispering in her ear.

"Dunna move."

Nia didna. She couldna breathe, much less move.

Then, at once, the ground beneath her belly shifted, and an odd cracking sound split the air. Before the next second, the earth gave way, the heavy body atop her swore in a language unfamiliar to her ears, and then they were both falling, tumbling downwards in a pa.s.sage too small for their bodies. Sharp roots snagged Nia's cloak, rocks, pebbles and dirt scattered, until she fell no more. With a heavy thud, she landed, the steely body still wrapped about her. Pain shot to her shoulder as she heard a small pop. What air was left in her lungs was crushed out and little lights flickered behind the lids of her eyes like fireflies.

Then everything went pitch black.

When Nia cracked open her eyes, everything remained pitch black. Where was she? She couldna see a thing. The pungent smell of earth and peat permeated the cave. And the moment she pushed up on her elbow, she cringed and bit back a yelp as pain shot to her shoulder. No doubt she'd dislodged it again. Amidst the hurt, she managed to sit upright. Whoever had fallen with her may still be about. She drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "h.e.l.lo?" A wave of nausea washed over her. She needed to fix her shoulder. 'Twould be difficult to do alone, but she'd managed before. "Is someone there?"

"Who are you?"

Nia jumped as the verra same deep voice from before now sounded at her ear. It was a harsh, unfriendly tone more like a wild animal growling and she shuddered. The movement jostled her shoulder, and she winced from the jolt, her heart pounding. She held her arm close to her body, stilling the shoulder. "I am . . . Nia Donovan . . . of Clare."

Silence. Then, "What is wrong with you?"

At first, that annoying fear which niggled at times gripped her. Had the stranger seen her horrid face? How could he have? The wood had been nearly as dark as the place they now were in, and she'd had her cloak pulled tightly about her. Once again, she noticed his voice cold, angry, threatening and barely under control. Nia couldna decipher why, and it somewhat angered her, as well. "You fell on me, sir," she said. "And my shoulder is dislodged." Scooting her booted feet beneath her bottom, she tried to rise without the use of her arms. Before she could manage it, the stranger's hands were there, intimately on her hips, steadying her until she was standing. Strong, heavy hands remained against her, and Nia was shocked at how her skin flamed beneath her cloak and linens where he touched.

"Which shoulder?"

She could barely speak, so intense was the throbbing. "Right."

His hands left her hips, only to find her right arm, which hung limp by her side. Rough calluses skimmed her skin as the man felt upwards, until he had her shoulder clasped in his palms.

"'Twill hurt," he said, his breath brushing her cheek.

"I know," Nia whispered, and squeezed her eyes shut. A fierce wave of pain ripped through her as he pressed hard, and just that fast her shoulder popped into place.

Nia drew several deep breaths to keep the tears away. When the nausea pa.s.sed, she rotated her shoulder several times. "Thank you," she said to the darkness. "Can I know your name, sir?" It seemed strange, being in such close contact with a stranger a man without knowing who he was, or even what he looked like. 'Twas a mite unnerving to say the least.

"Cyric."

His voice, not quite as hostile as before, ran of an accent unfamiliar to Nia. "Thank you again, Cyric."

"Aye."

Nia felt a shift in the air as Cyric moved away from her. "Is there a way out?" she asked.

"Nay."

This Cyric answered just as calmly as he had her other questions, and she now felt the first niggles of irritability settling in. Running away from her tyrant father's controlling grasp was one thing; dying of starvation in a pitch-blackened cave was quite another.

Her stomach growled loudly, and Nia placed a hand over it.

"When was the last time you ate?"

In the darkness, Nia felt her cheeks grow warm. "It has been a while."

Air in the cave shifted once again as Cyric silently moved about. How could he see? She held a hand up, a mere breath from her own nose, and wiggled her fingers. She saw nothing but blackness.

"Give me your hand," Cyric instructed.

Nia stilled. "Why?" What was this strange man about? Did he plan to rape her, mayhap kill her?

"I could do both, but will do neither."

Anger rushed through Nia's veins. She'd endured a lot in her twenty-two years, and threats from a stranger weren't going to rankle her. Small in stature, she would indeed be easy prey but she'd put up a fight for sure. "Your attempts to frighten me are useless," Nia said, wondering how she'd managed to say her thoughts aloud.

Silence, then, "Give me your hand. I have food."

"Oh." Nia held out her hand.

"Dried meat. 'Tis all I have."

Well, now she felt like a fool. "Thank you. Again."

With a sigh, she lowered to the ground and sat. The coolness seeped through the woollen trousers she'd stolen from the guardsmen and now wore, but she couldn't just continue to stand in the darkness. She ate in silence, grateful to have something in her belly. She only prayed it wasn't smoked rat. It was well cooked, and salty, so she wouldna complain.

"You were running away." Cyric's deep, steady voice reverberated within the cave's walls.

"I was, aye," Nia replied. She finished her meat and pulled her cloak tightly about her. "I willna go back, no matter what you do or say. I'd rather die in this cave."

"That may verra well happen," Cyric said in a low voice.

Nia ignored the threat. "Why did you jump on me?"

"To keep you from falling into this pit." His voice was closer now. "Who are you running from?"

Somehow, it caused a shiver to course through her. She wasna sure if 'twas the closeness of his voice, or the fact that she was trapped in a pit. "I'm no sure if my personal matters need be discussed. I dunna know you."

"You may no' ever leave this dark place alive, Nia of Clare. But suit yourself."

"There is no way out?" Nia asked.

A sigh escaped Cyric. "Aye, but 'twill take time."

The thought of dying didn't exactly appeal to Nia, but somehow, she wasna fearful. And she wondered briefly why he referred to her dying, yet no' himself. "Who are you, Cyric? Do you live close by?"

Silence filled the cave for several moments so verra long that Nia thought the man wouldna answer. Then, he did.

"I've lived in Killarney Wood the whole of my life."

Nia pondered that. Certainly he didna mean in the wood. "Then you must have heard of the legend, then? Of the Beast?"

A low laugh more like a growl escaped Cyric. "Aye. I have."

"Have you e'er seen him?"

All at once, the warmth from Cyric's body grew intimately close, crowding Nia in the already small enclosure. His breath grazed her neck as he whispered in her ear. "I am him."

Another shiver coursed through her. "I am no' amused, sir, nor scared."

Cyric gave another low laugh. "You should be, girl. And I dunna mean to amuse. But we are trapped here for now. I am confessing a secret to you, Nia of Clare, and you are the only soul I've e'er told." Silence, then, "I am what they call the Beast of Killarney Wood. And wi' good reason, I suppose."

Nia's heart quickened. "The Beast I've heard tales of skinned men alive and ate their innards. It craves human flesh and fights with a fierce rage," she said softly.

Cyric laughed. "Aye, and the Beast rips the heart out of a man wi' its bare clawed hand as well."

"Aye," muttered Nia. "That too."

Silence filled the darkened cave, only their joined breathing made any sound at all. What if his claim was true? She'd never believed in such childish lore before, even when it was used to frighten her as a small girl.

"Nia," Cyric said, his voice low, even, "do you think me a beast?"

"Give me your hand," Nia said. The air moved beside her, and she reached out. Her fingers grazed Cyric's arm, and she slid her hand down until she grasped his hand in hers; she inspected it with her fingertips. Large, strong, with long fingers, she gently searched. "No claws," she said as she touched his blunt nails, and ran her fingers over his palm. "Calluses I see," she said, and examined the back of his hand. With her middle finger she found a plump vein, pressed it and noted its spring, and then traced it up his arm. "You seem rather strong like a beast," she confided. "But I am no' easily convinced of fairytale creatures." She let his hand drop. "Or of brave knights who would die for the woman they loved, for that silly matter. Neither exists to my notion. Nay, methinks you are merely a man o' the wood."

Only then did Nia notice how Cyric's breathing had quickened, and how verra close he sat to her. She was aware of his body and, somehow, she wanted more than anything to feel his touch. It surprised her to know she was fiercely attracted to him, without even laying eyes on him. Heat flamed her cheeks at the thought of it, and she smothered a smile.

"Why do you wish my touch?"

Nia's mouth slacked open. Had she said the like aloud? Again? "If we weren't in a life or death state o' affairs, Cyric the Beast of Killarney Wood, I would die right here of mortification. Why must you sit so close that you hear my whispered words?"

Again, Cyric gave a light laugh. "I heard no' a whisper 'twas in your head that I heard your confession. What else might you wish to tell me?"

Nia blinked in the darkness, speechless. Slowly, she placed her fingers over her lips and pinched them shut just to make sure she didna speak aloud. Then, she thought, If you can hear me, Beast of Killarney, then tap the top o' my head.

A chuckle, then a single, solitary tap to the top of her head.

Nia jumped where she sat. "Oh! How did you do that?" He could hear her thoughts? He'd certainly just given her proof 'twas true. She'd have to be much more careful now.

"I dunna crave the innards of men," said Cyric, his tone grave, "but I am no' an average man. I do have a beast within me."

Nia found she wasna fearful of this. She instead fancied his voice. It sounded young, vibrant and ancient at the same time. Odd. "That much I can see. What are you, then? And cease entering my thoughts. 'Tis rude."

"Why do you accept such witchery so fast?" he asked. "Most would either run away screaming, or no' believe me at all."

Nia sighed. "I see no reason no' to believe. You've already proven you can read my thoughts. Besides, what grown man would make up such nonsense to a complete stranger if it weren't true? Now, tell me your story."

Cyric grunted. "Aye, 'tis so." Silence, then, he said softly, "I am the last of my kind. And cursed to the wood for eternity."

Nia kept quiet, waiting breathlessly to hear the rest.