She let out a slow breath and nodded her assent. Arturo leaned in to murmur against her ear. ‘Or if you want a distraction from your grief, I can grant you that, belleza. No one would begrudge you a winter night spent with me.’
‘It would be a betrayal,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I could not do it.’
‘The decision is yours. I would never coerce you into anything that would make you uncomfortable.’ He drew back, resting his forehead against hers. ‘But I do know what it’s like, lying awake at night. The loneliness can be unbearable.’
She could give him no answer at all. But neither did she pull away from him. For a long moment, she leaned against him, the thoughts silent within her. Arturo waited, and then stepped back to regard her.
He could see the storm of thoughts churning through her. She would think about his offer. But the choice was, and always would be, hers.
Brianna led the small group toward her father’s castle at Rionallís. Though it was an hour’s journey, she felt a sense of comfort riding through the familiar landscape. It was the only way of steadying the trembling within her. Arturo had cast a spell upon her, until she hardly recognised herself. With the faintest touch of his thumb upon her palm, he’d roused an unexpected response within her. The gentle caress had sent blood coursing through her skin, hardening her breasts and reminding her of the intimacies between a man and a woman.
He was right. She did miss the closeness of falling asleep naked in a man’s arms, her arms and legs intertwined with his. Against her will, she imagined Arturo’s body upon hers, and it was not unwelcome. His whisper, that he knew of the loneliness, had reached past her shield of guilt.
No, he would not remain in Éireann for long. But she didn’t know how long she could resist the invitation he’d offered. She did long for a way of silencing the despair that caught up to her at night.
It was best to refuse the temptation. Her purpose now was to avenge Murtagh’s death, to bring justice to the Lochlannach who had killed him. She had to prepare herself for what lay ahead, and when the men of her tribe faced another raid, she would be ready to seek out her enemy and wield the spear against him.
When he was dead, it might finally heal the scar within her heart. Then, perhaps, she could look toward a future.
Her gaze shifted back to the Spaniard. The blood of nobility ran through his veins, but she drew comfort from the fact that her father was still glaring at the man, as if he could read Arturo’s mind.
He’d disapprove of him even more, if he knew of your thoughts, her mind chided. The invitation, to spend a night in Arturo’s bed, shook her senses apart.
Brianna broke away from all of them, changing their direction toward the round tower. From beside the church, it rose nearly a hundred feet in the air, like a guardian. It was a unique structure, with a narrow diameter, the size of a small hut. A rope ladder hung ten feet down from the raised door. At the top of the tower were several bells, which could be rung in times of need.
‘Have you seen towers like this in Navarre?’ Genevieve was asking Arturo.
The Spaniard shook his head and smiled at her. ‘Not like this. Our castles are similar to yours, though.’ He drew his horse to a stop and stared at their surroundings, his gaze resting at last upon Brianna.
‘In the northeast territory, we have mountains the colour of sand, almost like a desert,’ he told them. As he wove stories about his homeland, he never took his eyes off her. Brianna listened, while her father asked questions about their lands.
‘I assume you’ll be returning home, after the wedding?’ Bevan ventured. His veiled hint was quite clear.
‘I will, yes. Unless there is a reason to stay through the spring.’ Arturo’s eyes rested upon her, like a physical touch.
Before her father could say anything more, Genevieve intervened. ‘This morn, I saw you teaching Brianna something. There was a knife, I believe?’
‘What reason would you have to train my daughter in the use of a weapon?’ Bevan demanded. Once again, she heard the disapproval in his voice.
‘I asked him to help me,’ she answered, but her father didn’t seem to hear her.
‘Don’t you believe that women should be able to defend themselves against an attacker?’ Arturo countered, facing her father with a challenge of his own.
‘And what would you know of weaponry?’ Her father was staring at the Spaniard as if he were itching for a fight.
To her dismay, Arturo dismounted and unsheathed his sword. ‘Care to spar, Irishman? Unless you’ve forgotten how …?’
‘What are they doing?’ Brianna whispered to Genevieve while Bevan got down from his own stallion. ‘They’re not going to fight, are they?’
Her question was cut off when her father withdrew his own weapon and attacked swiftly. Arturo deftly parried the blows, watching every move as if learning his enemy’s methods. The snow slowed their footwork, but both held their balance.
‘Stop them,’ Brianna protested, starting to intervene, but Genevieve pulled her back.
‘No. Let them fight.’
‘But why? There’s no purpose for it at all.’ She was aghast when her father swung hard at Arturo’s head, only to be deflected and pushed back the other way.
‘Your father is testing his abilities. They won’t hurt each other.’
But the fight continued longer than she wanted, until at last, Arturo attacked. He sliced his sword hard, putting all his strength into the fight until Bevan’s weapon blocked his next blow. The two men pressed hard against each other, trying to force the other to yield. A bead of sweat rolled down Arturo’s face, but he refused to back down.
In her father’s eyes, she saw a subtle shift, until at last, he admitted, ‘I see that you do know how to fight.’
Arturo sent him a slight nod. ‘I guard those under my protection. And I demand that my men train until they can defend our holdings.’
The two men stepped back at the same time, both sheathing their weapons. Genevieve went over to her husband, while Brianna wondered what would happen now. Arturo eyed her for a moment, and then walked over to the church yard, where there was a well. He retrieved water and splashed handfuls upon his face, dampening his hair. The afternoon light haloed his dark hair, and when he stared back at her, Brianna felt the hunger of his gaze. It moved over her face and down her body with unveiled interest.
Without a word, without touching her at all, he made her feel vulnerable. Were she to share his bed, she had no doubt that he would spend endless time touching her, until she surrendered to pleasure.
She closed her eyes against the confusing feelings, forcing herself to lock them away.
‘Bevan and I want to ride toward the outer perimeter of Rionallís,’ Genevieve explained. ‘You may wish to take Lord de Manzano inside the tower and lead him up to the top. The view would let him see the landscape better.’
‘Will Father Angus mind?’ Brianna asked. The young priest had only recently taken over the church after the older priest had died.
‘I should imagine not. So long as you do not disturb the treasures within the round tower.’ The older woman sent her a warm conspiratorial smile, as if her matchmaking plans had come to fruition.
Startled, Brianna turned to her father. But he, too, seemed in agreement with his wife. ‘We’ll return within the hour. You should eat without us,’ Bevan said, lifting his wife back on to her horse.
From the way his hands lingered upon her waist and the look shared between them, Brianna suspected that they intended to do more than talk. Pushing that errant thought