Chapter Fifty-six: Encounters

That night, at Fàelàn's London estate, Allan, Deirdre, and her father sat by the fire, drinking whiskey from Fàelàn's private stores. Allan had drunk plenty of ale in his life, even hard cider and the occasional stolen wine, but never had he tasted the Irish drink before. He took the proffered glass—a luxury in and of itself—and gulped the liquid down, nearly choking in the process to the laughter of his wife and father in-law.

"Bloody 'ell! What is that stuff?" he exclaimed hoarsely, glaring suspiciously at the O'Nialls. He was pretty sure Fàelàn wouldn't hesitate to arrange for his demise, but had always imagined it would be in a dark alley with a knife instead of in a cheery home by poisoning.

"Uisce beatha," Deirdre replied simply between giggles.

"Try sipping it, son," Fàelàn suggested amusedly.

Cautiously, Allan sniffed the liquid, waiting until Deirdre and Fàelàn had put their glasses to their own mouths before taking a very small sip. He wrinkled his nose as the stuff burned its way down his throat, but was pleasantly surprised to feel the warmth spreading from his belly to his entire body mere moments later. He hadn't thought poisoning would be pleasant, but the uisce beatha gave him a sense of relaxation that he usually only got after making love to his wife.

"Of course, it's only a medicinal," Fàelàn cautioned at the considering look on Allan's face. "I take one glass at night to burn out the poisons of the day."

Allan looked to his robust father in-law and grinned. "Well, it seems to work, that's certain."

Fàelàn returned Allan's grin before turning to his daughter. "Now, tell me about my grandson."


Fàelàn sat alone, having sent Deirdre and Allan to their room earlier, advising them to rest for the long trip ahead of them. He was surprised by the knock on his door, uncertain who would come calling at this hour that his guards would not have stopped. He opened the door to another surprise: Ruarc O'Brian, who was swaying drunkenly in the low light of the fire.

"I'm sorry, My Lord, he insisted he had to see you tonight. We told him it was too late at night, and he said as he was Deirdre's master now, he'd see you now or take her back to the castle with him."

"It's all right, Seamus. Come in, Ruarc."

The big warrior gathered himself, staggering only slightly as he entered his former master's home; Ruarc's men positioned themselves outside as Seamus relieved Ruarc of his sword. Fàelàn stood by the fireplace, hands free, ready for anything; he didn't really thing Ruarc meant him harm, but the younger man was obviously drunk and Fàelàn didn't trust any man's judgment when that man was in his cups.

"I meant to find you earlier, Ruarc, to say thank you. You've likely saved my girl's life."

"I don't need your thanks," Ruarc responded belligerently. "I'd do it for her again, you know that."

Fàelàn smiled. "I know. You two were always so close."

"Would that we'd been closer," Ruarc muttered.

"What?" Fàelàn frowned at his former protégé.

Ruarc glared at the older man as he tried hard to concentrate on the words he had come here to say. What he really wanted was to strangle the O'Niall and his randy son in-law, and run away with Deirdre. If I keep her pregnant and busy getting pregnant, she won't have time to grieve for Allan, he thought drunkenly, before a memory of her face in the hallway earlier, when they couldn't find Allan, assailed him. He pointed his finger at the O'Niall, jabbing it in the air as he closed the distance between them in two long strides.

Fàelàn straightened quickly, hand going to his shirt, where he kept a small knife. He wasn't afraid of Ruarc, but seeing the suffused rage on the younger man's face made O'Niall wary, if confused.

"It's your fault, you bloody old devil!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ruarc! What's my fault?"

"Deirdre and," he swallowed hard, unable to finish, looking miserably toward the stairs. He didn't see Allan, who had come down, too restless to sleep in a bed, indoors, after so many nights sleeping outside of late. Allan stayed out of sight, hand on his meat-knife though, ready to defend his father in-law.

O'Niall put his hand on Ruarc's arm, but the big man shook it off and strode to the front of the small hall, looking blindly out the expensive Venetian windows.

"Why, My Lord, did you deny my suit of her? Why, if you were going to let her marry a commoner anyway? My father was a cattle lord, not a serf! We owned land! I love her and you knew it. I would've given my life's blood for her and I let her go, let you take her, because I knew she'd have a better life with a lord. Allan's not even lord of the little band of men he runs with."

"I was under the impression that you liked him," Fàelàn responded.

"Whether or not I like him is of no conse…conseq…doesn't matter. Why did you let her marry him?"

"Have you never met my daughter? I hate to admit it, being her father, but I don't think I've ever had any real control over her."

"You could've taken control. Talked to A' Dale the way you did me."

"By the time I met Allan, it was too late, or I might've done so. What was I to do when she was no longer pure? It was hard enough to get men of power and consequence to look past that brutal tongue of hers, and that hard head, despite her beauty. You were there. How many lords did she send packing? It was a dozen if it was one, and you bloody well know it! By the time I met Allan A' Dale, he had already lain with her, and I still would have sent him packing but for two things: the way she looked at him, like the sun rose and set on him, and the way he looked at her the same way. More to the point, it was the way he stood up to me for her; I knew if he had the balls to stand up to me in defense of her, he would defend her to the death against anyone else. I knew in that moment that no matter who Allan A' Dale's parents were, no matter what his status was, he was the man for her."

Ruarc deflated, weighed down by the knowledge that perhaps Deirdre could have been his if he had stood up to the O'Niall all those years ago. The only thing he could do now was protect her and the man she loved. He closed his eyes, willing the pain down, and shook off the comforting hand of his former master.

"I love her so much, My Lord," he whispered, the pain in his voice giving it a rough edge.

"I know you do, Ruarc. And that is why, once more, you must let her go."

"I always seem to be letting her go for her own good." The bitterness in Ruarc's tone was unmistakable. "The worst part is, I can't even kill A' Dale to have her."

In the hallway, Allan stiffened once more. Ruarc's words of love and loss, spoken with such obvious pain, had had Allan feeling sorry for the Irishman. He had suspected that the thought of killing him had crossed Ruarc's mind more than once; to hear that suspicion spoken aloud was disconcerting at best.

After a very pregnant pause, Ruarc spoke again, his voice heavy with resignation. "Do you know she told me she would die without him? That if something was to happen to Allan, she would take her own life? I thought maybe she was just being dramatic, to try to push me away, but she's not. This afternoon, in the castle, we couldn't find Allan for a bit and she was in a panic. I had to promise her I'd go and find him. How ironic is that? In order to keep the woman I love more than my own life happy, I have to keep the man she loves—who is not me—safe. I don't know which of the Fair Ones I've provoked or how, but They're getting Their revenge, that's certain."

There was nothing to be said to that, and a moment later, Ruarc and Fàelàn exchanged good-byes and the door swung open and shut once more.

"You can come out now, Allan." Fàelàn spoke before turning from the door.

Allan stepped into the room, surprised that he had been discovered. Explosively, he let out the breath he had been holding.

"How'd you know I was there?"

"In my line of work, you know when people are lurking about. If you don't, you die quickly."

Allan wasn't sure if his father in-law meant his job as an advisor or his job as a spy, and it didn't really matter—the result would surely be the same. Allan looked to the door Ruarc had just exited from.

"I knew Ruarc wanted Deirdre, but I never really knew 'ow bad before. Makes me almost feel bad for 'im."

"Aye, Ruarc has loved my daughter since he first laid eyes on her, I'm certain of that."

"Are you sorry you turned him away?"

"Yes," Fàelàn answered bluntly.

"Oy! I thought you said you liked me!"

"I do. Now. You're a father now. What if you had a daughter instead of a son? What if that daughter married a man with nothing—no money, no land, no title—when she had had the chance at marrying a man with all of those things? Wouldn't you want your little girl to be looked after?"

"Well, yeah, when you put it like that, I'm maybe not the best decision Deirdre's ever made. But I love 'er. I'd give my life for 'er. And somehow, I'll give 'er all those things she deserves. Maybe not a title. But somehow I'll make money and I'll get land." At his father in-law's raised eyebrow, Allan amended, "Maybe not land. But definitely money. I just dunno how, is all."

Fàelàn clapped Allan on the back. "Don't you worry, Son. We'll get it sorted somehow. For now, it's enough that you're no longer hunted. Go back to Ireland with Ruarc—you'll be safe with him, I'm sure."

It was Allan's turn to look to Fàelàn in astonishment. "I'd feel a lot better about it if you'd teach me your tricks about knowin' when someone's lurkin' about."


Upstairs, Allan crept back into bed with his wife. She was still sleeping deeply, exhausted by her husband's near-whipping, making love with him—twice—and the stress of the situations with Ruarc, and with Guy and Adelaide. Allan slipped his arms around her, pulling her close and thanking God once more for bringing her into his life.

"I love you, Deirdre," he whispered into her ear before kissing her neck and settling back to return to sleep.


Ruarc steered the small blonde whore into the castle and up to his room; his men took up positions outside the door. The whore dropped her dress—the only garment she was wearing—to the floor as Ruarc quickly shed his own clothes. She gasped in surprised delight as his manhood sprang free of his braes. She moved into his arms and he kissed her roughly, his thumbs stroking the nipples of her ample bosom. His erection pressed against her belly, demanding release.

He had never ordered the tub removed, and no one else had requested its use, so it still lay before the fire. Quickly, he picked the whore up and dumped her unceremoniously into the cold water; the crushed rose petals from Allan and Deirdre's earlier lovemaking parted as her body passed through them and she squealed in shock. Ruarc growled at her to be quiet, dunking her and washing her thoroughly until she smelled of roses. She was beginning to get a little concerned as to where this night was going—earlier, when the handsome lord had first entered the brothel, she had been pleased that he had chosen her. She hadn't worried too much when he had demanded she come with him instead of completing their transaction at the brothel, not even when one of his men had whispered in her ear that her name was "Deirdre" tonight; she was used to sometimes fulfilling unusual requests, and the lord had paid well—in advance. Even his more than average size was not a problem—she had taken bigger men, and not always in the "normal" fashion. Now, as he washed her, she began to get nervous. Washing was a bad thing.

Once she was thoroughly cleaned, he yanked her out of the tub and dried her quickly, pulling her over to the bed and throwing her down before he knelt between her legs. She cried out as his lips and tongue moved over her mound, his tongue diving deep inside of her, wiping away all of her concerns. Before long, he swung his legs around until he was straddling her head and his erection was in her face. She reached up to grab him and pulled him into her mouth, sucking and licking while he moaned in pleasure against her slit. He stroked in and out of her mouth for a bit, then pulled out suddenly and positioned himself between her legs. His thick head pushed against her soft folds, and then he was inside of her, sliding his length into her warm, wet center until his balls slapped her bottom. He rode her hard, thrusting in and out of her full length as she slammed her hips back at him. Gathering himself, he pushed even deeper, his cock pulsing as he filled her with his seed, crying out the name "Deirdre" as he did so. When he rolled off of her, he pulled her to him, nuzzling her neck.

"Tá grá agam duit*, Deirdre," he whispered before passing out. The whore didn't know what the Irishman had said, but it had sounded sweet—whoever or wherever Deirdre was, she was a lucky woman to have caught the heart of such a handsome and considerate lover.


Ruarc awoke to a pounding head-ache and a sense of dread. It took him a moment to sort through his brain and determine if last night had been real or a dream; he remembered making love to Deirdre, but not how she had come to be with him instead of at her father's house. He didn't know why she had decided to commit adultery and he didn't care. His cock stirred to life once more as he thought of how good she had felt beneath him and wrapped around him last night. He peeled back the covers to see her face in the morning light, and nearly shrieked at what the sun revealed. The woman rolled over, cracking caked eyelids, and smiled at him, revealing that half of her teeth were missing—mostly in the front. Her breasts fell limply to her sides as she stretched and moved toward him, obviously going for a morning kiss. He jumped quickly from the bed, eyes wide, erection gone.

"Look," he stammered fearfully, "I don't know who you are or how you came to be here, but it's time you went home."

"But I'm Deirdre," the woman made a feeble attempt at purring at him and Ruarc moved quickly to gather up his clothes, wincing as the sun hit his eyes. It was obvious that he had drunk way too much the previous night. His stomach roiled in protest and he barely made it to the chamber-pot—thankfully empty—in time. His shoulders heaved as he emptied his stomach. The door opened and his men entered. Faces emotionless, trying desperately not to grin, they collected the whore's clothing and threw it to her. She stood and faced them, displaying her "wares."

"Are ye sure you boys don't wanna enjoy some of what yer boss 'ad last night?"

The men shuddered in unison, thinking of their pretty young lovers back in Ireland. Ruarc was still moaning and retching into the chamber pot, and the whore was huffily dressing when Deirdre and Allan showed up at the door. As they took in the scene, Allan began laughing uncontrollably and Deirdre raced to Ruarc's side, crouching beside his naked body and rubbing his back. Allan stopped laughing abruptly and grabbed his wife to usher her out of the room, much to her protestations.

"Just "til we get 'is pants on, eh?" Allan reasoned, closing the door in her face.

A moment later, the door opened once more, and the whore stormed out; she stopped when she saw the petite blonde woman standing across the hall.

"Who're you?" she demanded.

"Deirdre."

Suddenly, the whore's demeanor changed; she swaggered exaggeratedly over and laughed in Deirdre's face.

"Oh my. You 'ave no idea what yer missin'. Or do you, maybe?"

"What are you on about?" Deirdre frowned at the older woman.

"You and the lord Irish in there. Are ye 'is wife, 'is mistress, what? Are ye steppin' out on 'im?"

"'Stepping out'? 'Lord Irish'? You mean you think Ruarc and I are…No, no, no. I'm a married woman, a happily married woman. And not to Ruarc." Deirdre was emphatic in her denial, but the whore didn't seem to notice.

"Have ye bin with 'im, then?"

"No! I told you, I'm happily married."

"Maybe not as 'appy as ye'd be in the Irisher's bed. That man did things my body'll remember 'til the day I die."

"Which might be any minute now if you don't leave, you bloody whore!" Deirdre growled.

The whore took one look at Deirdre's face and decided it was time to leave. As she flounced down the stairs, the door to Ruarc's chambers opened and Allan stepped out, looking sheepish.

"He, ah, 'e says as 'ow he don't want you to see 'im just now. Says 'e ain't feelin' so good, but 'e should be right as rain in a little bit. He'll come fetch us at the stables soon."

"He'd better. I need to get back to Tom soon." Deirdre massaged her aching breasts, the action drawing Allan's gaze automatically. He licked his suddenly dry lips.

"I could 'elp you out with that, you know," he offered.

Deidre grinned. "Now, Mo Croi, I've put you out enough for the last day and night."

Allan tore his gaze away from his wife's chest to look into her eyes, a cheeky grin spreading across his features.

"Just tryin' to 'elp. I don't mind."

Deirdre laughed and slipped her arm through her husband's as they made their way down the stairs and over to the stables to wait for Ruarc to pull himself together.


A/N: *Tá grá agam duit: If you haven't figured this one out, it means, "I love you." Please review!