Aingeal in the Dark

Lowering his lips to hers was a slow torture that he enjoyed. He would not scare her, he would give her time to escape him, but he knew she would not run from him. The first touch was butterfly soft, a mere brush to declare his intentions which she returned with a delightful hesitancy not born of indifference or lack of desire, but of an untouched innocence he ached to take solace in. He cradled her head as he took her lips, ignoring his pain as he sought to ease the need that had taken root in his heart. In his dreams his Aingeal had taken his hunger with a smile, in reality he ached to know if she was the same. And she was; her hands pulled him closer, her little tongue duelled with his when he coaxed their kiss deeper, and her legs sawed restlessly against his calves with a desire he echoed.

Releasing her lips, Rory trailed kisses over the bare curve of her neck, flicking his tongue at the hollow of her throat while his fingers unlaced the thin grey gown that kept her hidden from view. He rose long enough to push apart the sides of the bodice and take it to her waist before he took possession of her lips once more, drinking from her sweetness. The edges of his thumbs brushed the tips of her lush breasts, pale pink nipples begged for his lips and Rory gave into the impulse to suckle there. Isobel's soft moan was enflaming. Teasing her taut peak with his tongue, he loved her gently, the ache in his loins growing with each innocent entreaty passing from her lips.

His hands spanned her waist all too easily, and he vowed to himself he would take her from this place, from Alistair's cruelty. She lifted her hips in silent invitation and Rory drew her dress down her long legs and bared her in all her creamy glory. She was just as she had been in his dreams. A beauty meant to be his, meant to be loved in summer air with the sun worshiping her skin.

Not in a prison cell...

Isobel felt him withdraw and shuddered at the cold look in his eyes. Was she unappealing to him? Her hands came up of their own accord and covered her body, holding firm even when she caught the softening of his features through the haze darkening her vision. She remembered his question to her and thought to ask the same, but when his hands descended gently on hers and moved them above her head, she no longer needed his answer.

"You should be surrounded by beautiful things my Aingeal Isobel, not the rot and decay of imprisoned stone." He took her lips, and Isobel moaned as his bare flesh met her own, his body hard and unyielding where it rested against her, her hands swallowed in his. She should feel caged, trapped, and yet she felt his protection, felt the sanctuary he offered her, and had to take it. She wanted him to take her, feed her passions and set her free. She needed sweet memories.

Pain, swift and fleeting burned between her legs when he joined with her, his flesh buried deep within her body as his hot breath left him in a rush across her cheek. He was still above her, still when she needed him to move, needed him to mark her and make her his own. When finally his hips shifted, Isobel braced herself for a repetition of the pain of his swift entry, and cried out in joy when there was nothing save for a delicious fullness and the feel of his hard body taking pleasure from her own. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Isobel moaned with each thrust as her warrior gave free reign to his desire. He was fierce in his love, devastatingly powerful; he crashed against her like a wave and the shore in the midst of a storm.

She could feel a sweet pleasure build inside her, his heated kiss propelling her forward towards it, closer and closer until finally her body could take no more. With a sharp cry, Isobel was thrown to the stars by her berserker, and he joined her in the heavens with a roar.

As she settled back to earth, back to the warmth of his embrace, Isobel gave into her tears and filled him with the last of her energy. She watched her hands glow with golden light; his eyes widen when his vision cleared entirely, then his beautiful face faded with shadows.

Isobel knew nothing but the darkness, and the sound of her warrior's heartbeat.

~~~

Chapter Eight

Hours later Rory cradled his Aingeal against his chest and rocked her while her tears fell. The beautifully sharp green and gold had lost their life, and he had literally watched it slip away as pain raced through her small body. He could see perfectly now, mayhap even better than he had before he had fallen into Alistair Cameron's clutches, and it all had been a sacrifice by the woman he now held in his arms. He had put her down for a moment to fetch some water and a cloth to clean them, and turned back to find her curled in on herself, quietly sobbing as some of the wounds he had suffered appeared on her pale skin. Slices, bruises and brands, it marred her flesh so suddenly he had been helpless to help her. It was then that he realised what she had done. With gentle hands he had cleaned her skin and wounds of the blood, wiping the evidence of their lovemaking from between her legs, desperately trying to soothe the ache he had caused.

He dressed her, talked to her of the things they would do when they left this place, of her being with Marion again, meeting his brothers. But with each word, she retreated more and more into herself, until in the end, he had stopped talking and just held her while she cried and her body slowly began to heal. Her hands held him tightly, fear evident on her soft features, and he wondered if that was how he looked three short days ago when he had been thrown into this pit and sought solace in the arms of an Aingeal in the darkness.

His Isobel was exhausted. And now he knew why. Painfully thin, he had believed Alistair to be limiting her food, but this morning he had seen a small bowl of scraps sent clattering through the door.

You must be swifter than the rats.She had whispered against his throat, and when he placed her in the cot and raced for the food, his fury had returned tenfold. This was her food, this was her ration. And for three whole days he had been eating the majority of it. God only knew how long she had been down here. Marion had been married to his brother for a year. Her father had been dead for these past three months. Rory would believe the latter a good estimate for how long the poor lass had been trapped in the damp cell. Was that how long she had been forced to race the rats for her food?

He had made her eat the entire bowl and drink of the water with a sternness that reminded him of his dear mother. He wished she were here. Isobel needed coddling, hugged in his mother's arms, and protected in his.

Rory felt Isobel take a deep shuddering breath, her eyes long since dry, she turned her head from his neck and kissed his jaw. Rory took her lips softly once and held her tightly though she refused to look at him and it hurt. He wanted them to be free, so he could see joy light her eyes, wanted to see he beauty of her climax in those jewels of green and gold.

"What am I to do with you Isobel Cameron?" He didn't admonish her further. He was not cruel. Her wounds had ceased bleeding, the edges beginning to scab, and as long as she did not move too much, they should heal fairly swiftly. They were nowhere near as deep as his had been, but Rory realised just how much she had done for him.

The sound of men approaching drew his attention, and Rory settled Isobel against the cot. Her hands grabbed for his, but Rory quietened her and pulled the remnants of her cloak around his nude body. He may face the guards without a weapon, but he would be damned if he stood before them nude. Isobel's soft entreaty pained him, but he knew they would hurt her if they had to drag him from her arms, so he begged her silence with a kiss, and stepped away.

The door swung open and crashed against the wall revealing his captors. The Laird Cameron and his henchman.

"I see the little witch did her blasphemous work on you McDubh well enough." Alistair Cameron smirked, and Rory ached to take his head for his slight on Isobel. "She ever did have a generous heart. Take him up, his brother awaits proof his heart still beats."

"Wait Cameron. Allow me to take her with me and I will ensure you get the lands promised to Marion." Rory took a step forward and felt Isobel's hand slip from his arm. He couldn't look back, he had to press this and gain an answer. He wouldn't leave her here to suffer like this. The look on Alistair's face sent a chill of foreboding, a sense of déjà vu washing over him.

"I no longer have need of her, I suppose. But there is the matter of her being a witch. I have the proof in you after all, you live. She healed you."

Rory felt sick, his dreams coming back to haunt him.

"She is no witch. I heal swiftly. The slices were mostly bluster."

"Aye, true enough the cuts and burns can be explained away. But what my already superstitious clansmen are not likely to believe, is how it came to be that you grew back your eyes."

Horror filled Rory as memories of flame rekindled in his blood and mind, the smiling face of Alistair as his first eye was plucked from his skull and burnt in the fires before him before the loss of the second rendered him unto darkness. Isobel had healed him, not just from simple wounds. She had given him back his sight, and then wouldn't look at him. Couldn't look at him. He turned swiftly to his Aingeal, her tear stained face sightless as his name rested on her lips.

"My Isobel."

Alistair moved swiftly to his back and Rory barely felt the blow to his head, forever burning in his eyes was Isobel restrained by her brother's henchman, his name a scream in his own personal hell.

~~~

Chapter Nine

"We will retaliate."

"When?"

"When Angus returns, we will have an army enough to defeat that bloody devil finally. We have cut off his hired heathens from Ireland; he shall not be able to pull such a stunt again."

Through the thick fog that surrounded his brain, Rory idly listened to his brother and uncle's discussion. The sounds of the forest morning were muted, as though he were listening to it all from beneath the waves. Drudging through the jumble, Rory cursed the hangover he seemed to be suffering; the nausea a desperate churning in his gut while tears lingered in his eyes. He was in pain. He ran his hands over his clothes in search of injury. No, this was not of body, though he ached too. But of his soul, a deep agony that was burning in his blood, something missing from his life, his arms.

Burning...

Smoke, crackle and screams. Terrified screams of a witch with lips sweeter than honey, and a halo of white gold around her head.

Rory sat up straight in his brother's hold and fought against their calming hands.

His Aingeal, his Isobel...his sweet witch whose brother no longer had use for her.

"Release me Donald!" He roared, his fury echoing through the fog shrouded morning with enough force to startle their battle hardened mounts. Landing on his back, his elder brother a suitable cushion, Rory sprang to his feet only to be met with his mountain of an uncle.

"I don't have time for this Seamus." Rounding a punch, he landed it square on his uncle's jaw and darted around him. Taking his brother's horse, Rory pulled himself onto its bare back and muttered apologies to his kin. The hooves pounded the ground in beat with his heart. For them to be this far, too long for his comfort had to have passed since he left Isobel...

He would not be too late. He couldn't. He would never survive it.

Closing his eyes, he fought the nausea the images evoked and concentrated on the vision of his dream, the landscape, the tree line of the clearing, the mountain in the distance, and changed his direction. He knew where that place was, his rational mind shuddered at the thought of following a dream, and yet his Aingeal had shown him miracles he would never have believed in a sennight ago. He heard the screams long before he reached the clearing. His stomach tightened, his heart stuttering to a stop when another scream echoed around the glen. He heard the hoof beats close behind and knew some peace at least that his family would be here to help him.

His horse broke from the trees as Alistair lit the macabre pyre. His Aingeal stood terrified, her sightless eyes searching for all that she could not see, a long white gown flowing around her small frame as flames began to take and the smoke started to rise. With a roar torn deep from his soul, Rory flew from the mount and took the Cameron bastard to the dirt. He barely heard his brother and uncle's shouts as he took his fists to Alistair, each blow taking blood for the pain caused to Isobel. The weakling was on the edge of oblivion within seconds, and it was with great pleasure that Rory ended the bastard's life with a twist of his hands. He ran for her with a desperate stride, the Cameron's henchman occupied, Rory climbed the burning pyre, the smoke of his nightmare filling his nose and lungs, the screams of his love echoing in his ear and cut her free.

Her body was warm; her sobs a relief for it meant she lived still. The flames had licked along her feet, her legs and their redness pained him to see, but she would live, and that was what his heart cared for most. Donald appeared beside them, a skin in his hands.

"Tis water, fear not."

Rory held Isobel as they doused her legs in cool water from the burn, her body wracking sobs easing when she found a deep exhausted sleep. He watched her quietly as he carried her to his uncle's horse and allowed her to be passed up to him once he was seated. Wrapped in his plaid and safe in his arms, Rory felt the terror of the last few days leave his soul, replaced by the knowledge that Isobel was there to fill the void. As they set off at a swift pace for home and the warmth of his chambers to ward off the chill in his beautiful Aingeal, Rory smiled and the sleeping face of his love hoped for a day they would manage to stay conscious in each other's company for more than a few hours.

Despite his joy over her alive in his arms, sorrow tinged his relief. She had given him a most precious gift, and condemned herself to a life without sight. He prayed he was worth the sacrifice.

~~~

Chapter Ten

Darkness. Deep and endless stretched out before her though she knew her eyes were open. Softness cradled her back and head, feather light and crisply clean, Isobel wondered if she had succumbed to a deathly sleep and left Rory behind in the smoke scented fog.

"Ah, she awakens!" The voice startled Isobel from her ponderings and she turned her head in the direction of the woman. Where was Rory? "Now lass, stop squinting. If you're ever to see again, twill be something God gives back to you, not something you can get by straining to see me."

Isobel's mouth gaped at the forthright manner of the woman until she finally heard a sound that made her heart soar. The rumble of deep laughter from beside her.

"Rory?" She quested with her hands, her body lurching in the direction of his laugh as she sought to hold him.

"Here sweet Aingeal, here." He took her hands in his and squeezed her tightly against his chest, the sound of his heart soothing her like nothing else could. She was alive; she had not died and left him behind.

"Get her sitting now my lad; we need to get this broth into her. Thin as a bit of kindling..." The woman continued to murmur in the background as Isobel sat with Rory's aid, plump pillows cushioning her aching body as well as a gentle arm around her waist. The woman, who could only be Rory's mother with her commanding tone, and soft words so similar to his, fed her the most wonderful broth, the warmth filling her belly and soothing her hurts. Like the mother she had never known.

Tears threatened her eyes, and Isobel turned into Rory's embrace. The door closed quietly as his mother left them in peace, and she settled against his chest and in his arms.

"I am sorry my Isobel."

"Whatever for?" She whispered, placing a kiss at the hollow of his throat against the pulse that fluttered near to her lips.

"You should not have sacrificed your sight my love."

"I knew my life was coming to an end Rory." Isobel shhed him when he sought to speak. "It was and I would have given anything to save you. My sight means naught to me, not with you safe, breathing and in my life."

"As I will always be." He whispered against her temple as he listened to her fears be given a voice.

"I knew Alistair was coming to take you away from me; I had done what he had suspected I would. He had told me even before you were thrown into my cell that I was to die upon his return. In telling him where the parchment of old Campbell's treasure clues was, I had lost my usefulness."

"You knew where the treasure was?" Rory asked, his eyes closed as he listened to her voice.

"Nay, only the parchment. There is no treasure. Simply the ramblings of an unfortunate madman." Isobel laughed softly. "Alistair was a desperate man. He had squandered a great deal of the clan's wealth while my father was ill and the rest of it when he passed on. Fighting for that treasure was the only thing fuelling him. I am simply sorry you were caught up in his madness."

"Nay Isobel. Never be sorry for that. Despite the horror of it, it brought me you sweet Aingeal, and for that treasure I would walk through hell fire for eternity."

With his sweet witch curled against him in his bed, Rory McDubh slept a peaceful and dreamless sleep.

~~~

Epilogue

Two years later

"For the love of God Rory will you desist!" Isobel's temper flared when he felt her husband's hand hover closer still to her arm as though ready to steady her at a moments notice. She was being unreasonable, and she knew it, but she would be damned if she gave her infuriating warrior the satisfaction of being correct.

In the two years she had been with the McDubh's it had been the happiest of her life. It was at the same time also the most stressful. The first few months had been harrowing, living her life in darkness whilst everything continued to bustle about her. She had slowly learnt the layout of her new home until every nook and cranny, every corner and step committed to memory until she could move with ease and without aid. Rory had carved her a long cane keep with her, and sweep out ahead of her to check for objects in her way. That in itself had been a trial. Walking servants and clansmen had been unwilling victims and sent stumbling on numerous occasions.

In the last several months however, a miracle had happened. First it had just been slivers of light, barely there and then swiftly gone; Isobel had convinced herself it was merely her imagination playing tricks on her. But when it would happen again and again, a red haze of the summer sun, the flicker of the candle Rory lit beside their bed, Isobel had begun to hope. Now, beautiful shadows of life played in the darkness of her vision, and she could kiss each and every one of them. She did not want to hope it would ever be right, though silently she prayed for a little more. She wanted to see her son's face when she finally pushed him into the world.

Rory's hands were gentle as he settled her back against the pillows after another agonising contraction ripped through her swollen body and this time she welcomed his touch and let it soothe the ache. He rubbed her back beneath her, and swept away the damp tendrils of her hair. Isobel silently thanked God for the few seconds she had free, for sending him to her.

"A pox on you men and your bed play!!" Isobel cursed suddenly before she bent forward and bore down, Meg, and Rory's mother Helen' s encouragement rang in her ears as with a final push, her son was welcomed into the world.