Warriors Of Legend (16 page)

He smiled back, his gaze once again trailing down the curve of her back and coming to rest on her delicious buttocks. He just couldn’t help himself. His big hand came up, stroking her rounded butt cheek, squeezing it, before bending over to nibble at it. Destry giggled and pulled away from him.

“Come on,” she said reproachfully. “If you keep doing that, we’ll never get dressed.”

He wriggled his eyebrows at her in resignation and stood up. Destry burst into snorts of laughter when she saw that he was semi–aroused again. He pursed his lips with mock–fury as she laughed.

“It’s not funny,” he told her.

She continued to giggle softly as she pulled the dress over her head, immediately loving the feel and fit of it. It clung to her beautifully, as if made for her. As Destry smoothed at the garment, she realized that it had been made for her. The fit was perfect. Running her hands up and down the arms, noting the softness of the fabric, she glanced over to see Conor examining the leather pants that Padraigan had left on the end of the bed. He had pulled his boxer–briefs on so he wasn’t completely nude as he stood inspecting the stitching on the inseam of the pants. Curious, Destry went to see what had him so fascinated.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head, riveted to the stitching. “Nothing,” he said. “I was just looking at the craftsmanship on these breeches. The leather is sewn together with very fine strips of leather. It’s really remarkable.”

Destry tried hard to see what he was looking at but, not being a scientist like he was, it really didn’t mean all that much to her. So she bent over the end of the bed where Padraigan had laid the pile of garments and began pulling out various garments. There was a long, dark green article of clothing that looked like a robe, a faded yellow one with beautiful beadwork around the neckline, and several others. She ran her hands over the material, seeing that it wasn’t like any material she had ever seen in her life. The green garment was made from wool, very fine, but the weave was uneven. The yellow garment was silk, she was sure, but it was also uneven and the color wasn’t uniform. Everything was stitched with tiny hand–stitches and the hems of the garments weren’t sewn at all but all things considered, they seem to be very well made.

As Conor pulled on the leather pants, Destry took the long, green robe and put it on over the feather–soft dress she already had on. She was delighted to see that the long sleeves on the green garment had slits in them, allowing the eggshell–colored dress underneath to show through. The green robe also had a belt with fine tassels on the end and she tied it around her waist, emphasizing her slender torso and very large breasts. By the time Conor looked up from lacing the front of his leather pants up, the sight of her in the flowing robes made his heart leap in all directions.

“My God,” he breathed. “You’re a lovely creature.”

She was fussing with the tassels, looking up with a grin when he spoke. “Thanks,” she said. “I really have no idea if these are even supposed to go together but they seem to. Am I wearing it right?”

He looked her over with his critical Celtic eye, having her spin a circle for him. He nodded with satisfaction.

“There has never been another woman on this earth as beautiful as you,” he said decisively. “You’re spectacular.”

Her grin broadened modestly. “You’re sweet; thank you,” she said, and her grin faded. “I’d love to shower and shave right now, but I’m guessing that’s not going to be possible.”

He shrugged, tugging at the leather breeches as he reached down into the pile on the bed and began hunting for a shirt of some kind.

“Probably not,” he replied. He found a woolen shirt, or what he thought was a woolen shirt big enough to fit his frame, and pulled it over his head. “There’s a whole host of things we need and don’t have. I need to talk to Padraigan to see where we can at least get soap and basic hygiene needs. What we can’t buy, I can make.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “What can you make?”

He shrugged again, straightening out the tunic. Destry moved forward to help him straighten out the back of it, smoothing the tunic against his very broad back.

“A toothbrush, for example,” he said. “They were made out of water reeds or green branches, something that frayed easily. We can make toothpaste out of soda and mint, all mashed together. Soap can be made from any number of oils that occur naturally and lye, or lotions from almond oil or beeswax. I promise that you’ll not do without, sweetheart. We’ll keep your skin soft and your smile bright.”

Her smile was back. “You can make all of that? Where did you learn to do it?”

He returned her smile. “Back in the early days when I was still going to college, I worked several Medieval fairs all around Ireland. Since I’m such a big fella, I was always some kind of warrior but during those years but I learned a lot about ancient processes with food and other things. I learned how to make soap, candles, certain medicines, things like that. It’s come in very handy to pass down to my students. I’m a walking dictionary for all things ancient.”

She sighed. “If I have to be stranded in the past with someone, thank God it’s you,” she said, watching him wink at her. “I have to tell you that I’m still feeling a little disoriented. What’s our first plan of attack for this morning?”

Conor eyed the boots that Padraigan had dropped at the foot of the bed, massive things made from cow hide. He picked one up and began to inspect it.

“I’m not sure,” he told her. “I need to talk to the sorceress and try to figure some things out. Meanwhile, you can get the boys up and ready for breakfast.”

He was nodding his head towards the boys. Destry turned to see that they were just starting to stir. Little mouths were yawning. She shook her head, grinning.

“Now they wake up,” she commented softly. “We made so much noise last night and this morning that it would have awoken the dead, but those three slept right through it.”

Conor fought off a grin. “Thank God they didn’t wake up,” he muttered. “We didn’t need an audience for what we were doing but I’m not sure I would have been able to stop had they woken up, so I’ll thank God for small mercies. The lads can sleep through anything.”

Destry was grinning because he was and went to pull on her shoes, fancy modern sneakers with straps and rhinestones.

“I never grew up with brothers so I can’t attest to boys’ ability to sleep through anything, but I know my sister and I were very light sleepers,” she told him as she slipped on a shoe. “We heard every little sound in the house.”

Conor pulled on both boots, inspecting them on his feet and realizing they were a perfect fit. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, running his hand over the sole of the shoe. “These fit as if…”

He trailed off and she sat down next to him on the foot of the bed, looking at the shoes on his feet. “As if they were made for you?”

Her voice was soft and he looked over at her, feeling the weight of their situation settle where he had been fairly detached from it since they had woken up. For some reason, the boots seemed to bring it home. If he thought hard about them, he thought he might remember them somehow, like a distant dream just lingering below the surface. Gazing into her bright blue eyes, he nodded with some reluctance.

“Yes,” he murmured. “This just keeps getting weirder and weirder. These shoes fit perfectly.”

“And you’re surprised?”

He wriggled his red eyebrows. “It’s not that,” he sighed. “I guess… I guess I’m just not as resigned to all of this as much as I thought.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s all so overwhelming. Just when I think I’ve accepted it, something happens and I realize I really haven’t.”

“Like Dark Ages boots that were made for you?”

“Yes.”

She gave him a sweet smile and laid her head against his enormous shoulder. “Don’t go to pieces on me now,” she said softly. “I can’t guarantee how I’m going to hold up if you don’t stay strong.”

He shifted, wrapping his enormous arms around her and pulling her close. He kissed the tip of her nose, her soft mouth. She was soft and delicious, and he was in the process of kissing her more deeply when Slane suddenly groaned, a grumpy little sound, and sat bolt up–right. He rubbed his eyes, frowning when he saw Destry and Conor in a tight embrace. As they watched, he stood up, eyes still half closed and a frown on his face, and wedged himself in between them.

Destry giggled as Conor was forced to let her go as the four year old plastered himself against her. She wrapped her arms around the little boy as he snuggled against her and promptly fell back asleep. Conor just shook his head and stood up, feeling the fit of the boots and clothing, acquainting himself with something that felt oddly familiar.

Padraigan entered the room again, this time with a bucket of water, which she handed to Conor. He took it, having no idea what to do with it, but set it on the broad windowsill as Padraigan moved to Mattock and Devlin, still sleeping on the floor. She shook Mattock by the shoulder before doing the same to Devlin. The boys groaned and stirred, rubbing their eyes and sitting up from a deep sleep.

Mattock blinked his eyes when he saw his father standing there in familiar clothing. His young face lit up with delight as Devlin, catching sight of the same vision, jumped up and ran to Conor, throwing his arms around the man’s waist.

“Dada,” the boy nearly wept. “You’re really here. I thought I’d dreamed you.”

Mattock joined his brother, his face shining up at Conor adoringly. “Dada, will you ride with us today?” he asked.

Conor had one hand on Devlin and the other on Mattock, smiling at boys that he was increasingly convinced he fathered.

Like last night, the memories were coming back to him in pieces but he knew for certain that they were recollections and not his imagination. The feelings associated with them, the emotion, were far too strong to be anything else.

“Ride with you?” he repeated, turning to look at Padraigan. “What does he mean?”

Padraigan smiled as she crouched on the floor, rolling up the bedding. “You would take your boys riding with you every morning, my lord,” she explained. “You would go about your duties, checking posts and meeting with your generals, and bring the boys. You said it was important for them to understand their duties to the land as well as to the people.”

By this time, Destry had stood up from the bed, the four year old still clinging to her. His little head was on her shoulder, his arms around her neck as his legs wrapped around Destry’s torso. Hugging the boy, Destry made her way over to Conor and the other two.

“What are they saying?” she wanted to know.

Conor looked at her with the boy wrapped up all around her and he grinned, putting his hand on Slane’s back.

“He looks like a parasite,” he snorted.

Destry grinned. “He has no intention of letting me go.”

Conor’s eyes glimmered at her. “Neither do I,” he winked at her, glancing back at Devlin and Mattock. “In answer to your question, the boys wanted to know if I was going to take them riding. Padraigan said that it was something I would do with them every morning because I told them it was important for them to understand their duties to the land as well as to the people.”

Destry’s expression turned warm. “That sounds like something you would say. Call it a hunch, Conor, but I would guess that you were a pretty amazing king.”

His smile grew, appreciative, prevented from answering her as the boys began to clamor around him, grabbing his hands and pulling him from the small chamber. Destry followed with Slane still clinging to her, pausing in the open doorway, as Padraigan followed them out into the yard.

“You cannot ride, my lord,” she told him. “You would risk being seen.”

Conor turned to look at her, catching a glimpse of the burnt body of the dragon–like creature over near the crude stable. In the light of the new morning, he stared at it, being reminded yet again that he had awoken to a different place and time. He drew in a long breathe, resigning himself, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand. He had no choice. The reality was all around him.

“So what do you suggest?” he asked. “I can’t hide out here the rest of my life.”

Padraigan was resolute. “I shall go into town and bring back your trusted men,” she told him. “They will counsel you on what has happened in Ciannachta since you have been away. Then you will know what you must do.”

He nodded simply because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. They just couldn’t hide in the woods for the rest of their lives. If he had a kingdom to rule, and people waiting for his triumphant return, then they’d better get about it.

“All right,” he waved her on. “I’ll wait here.”

Padraigan’s pale lips met with a smile. “Your men will be very glad to know you have returned. We have waited so long for this day.”

“How long?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Three hundred and sixty sun rises, my lord,” she told him. “We have waited a very long time.”

Conor smiled because she was. Swiftly, she turned for the barn, instructing the boys on their chores while she was gone. Mattock and Devlin made unhappy faces but the begrudgingly did as they were told, going to feed the chickens and milk the fat cow. Conor stood out in the yard, watching the boys go about their duties. He could see Destry inside the doorway of the little hut, brushing her hair with her fingers as Slane, now out of her arms, followed her around by holding on to her skirt. Conor had to grin at the little boy who had no intention of letting her out of his sight.

And then, it struck him –
his family
. If he’d had any shadow of a doubt before, seeing Destry with Slane, seeing the older boys going about their chores, and listening to a white witch speak of things so natural cemented into his heart and soul that this was where he belonged. As he’d told Destry, he’d always felt out of place, a man who didn’t belong in the modern world he was born into. Here he was, here and now, and all things were as they should be. He had Destry. He had his boys. He had everything. He was back where he belonged.

He turned around, holding out a hand to Destry. With Slane still clinging on to her skirts, she made her way out to Conor, taking his hand. He held it tightly, kissing it as he composed his thoughts.