Warrior, Opposed: Book One Of The Comhairle Chronicles

Chapter Eleven - Claim or Control

Tor still fumed when he awoke at sunset the following night. He felt exhausted. The stress of introducing his partner to his one-time classmates had been tiring enough, but afterwards he'd spent most of the day tossing and turning, listening to every sound in the compound. Every creak and groan of the building played on his paranoia, because the notion that Raghnall might go after Deòthas tortured his mind. Spending a week there could well prove to be unbearable. Tolerating the presence of his former mentor, Deòthas’s abuser, seemed an impossible challenge. Yet he had to do it because his mate needed him to, at least for now.

Even she didn’t know how deep Tor’s anger went, though. She didn’t know that Raghnall’s crimes had cost him as swell. Yes, most of his anger came from his need to protect his mate, to avenge what had been stolen from her and done to her. But he also wanted revenge for what had been taken from him too. Payback for the ache in his heart which he suspected he’d feel forever, even though he’d never thought about children in the past.

The thought of providing his father with grandchildren, to be moulded into yet more self-centred ‘nobles’, had never sat well with him. He’d despised the girls his mother had selected as potential suitors and hated the notion of having children with one of them. Truthfully, he’d been so caught up in becoming a ghaisgeach that he’d never thought there would be time for children. He’d have a duty to fulfil, a duty which wouldn’t provide the best environment for babies.  Tor had never wanted to be a father. But since meeting Deòthas? Now he had a mate, even though she didn’t yet know they were bound.

Maybe it would’ve been nice to have the option of children, eventually, after they brought Manipulator to justice. Raghnall had deprived him of even the possibility. He’d certainly never bed another, not now Deòthas was in his life. The consequence? He’d never have heirs, because his former teacher had done something unforgivable to the woman he loved. He wanted vengeance on so many levels. Yet his desire to bring Raghnall to justice stalled, impotent, because he needed to do as Deòthas asked. He wouldn’t risk causing her further pain, not when she’d already suffered so much.

Damn it all.

Rolling off the musty old bed and onto his feet, Tor groaned as he stretched tense muscles. When had his life become so out of control? Oh yeah, the moment the Taghadairean decided he was worthy of joining the Comhairle.

At least the meeting with the trainees had been uneventful. For the most part, the men and women he’d trained with looked at Deòthas with curiosity and surprise. Raghnall hadn’t had the opportunity to preach his hatred yet, and hopefully Tor would manage to ensure he never did. At least he could be there to defend his woman. Deòthas didn’t need the next generation to share the last generation’s misconceptions about her.

That thought galvanised his resolve to set an example for the trainees, and after pulling on a pair of clean joggers and a tank top, he grabbed up his holdall, which was already packed with a second set of clean clothes, a towel, and shower gel. The plan was to do a bit of training with the candidates, then he’d hit the gym shower block, seeing as his accommodation didn’t include the usual ensuite.

Slipping from his room, he crossed the corridor to Deòthas’s door, calling “It’s me,” and waiting for her reply.

One day he’d share her bed and he wouldn’t have to knock or wait. The thought alone set his body alight. To claim Deòthas would be… Well, it would be a dream, which was no doubt why she’d haunted the little time he had spent sleeping.

“Come in,” she yelled back from inside. “I’m almost ready.”

Deòthas was tying up her long, white blonde hair as he entered, and the pose, with her arms stretched up to control her hair, showed off her lithe body perfectly. Especially as the black leggings she’d selected for training clung to her shapely legs. The sports bra she was wearing left her flat stomach exposed and accentuated the swell of her bust. Every part of her was perfect, only marred by the small, circular scar on her hip.