Rogue 1

Rogue

Disclaimer: This is uber-Xena. I don’t own Xena, Gabrielle and the rest. I’m merely borrowing for entertainment, don’t bother suing me. Since this is a period piece uber, the characters are original and mine and not for public use, thanks.

Violence: about the same as a TV episode

Sex/Alt-Fiction: yes. This story is of couples of the same gender in loving, caring and sexual relationships with each other.

Feedback: yes, yes, yes - please. I respond to all feedback.

Background: this story was a request by my editor as a birthday present. She asked for a story from me that included: swashbuckling, romance and a happy ending. No small requirements. What follows is the story I wrote for Dev Anderson, my best friend, best editor, and inspiration to my muse. She helps keep me sane in this insane world.

Breeya softly cursed under her breath as the carriage hit another of the countless holes in the road, almost throwing the young woman across the small space and into the lap of her maid and chaperone, Mrs. MacConnell.

The elder Scots woman frowned at the words coming from her young charge but understood the sentiment. Her own spine protesting the rough treatment they were receiving from the bouncing contraption they called a carriage as they rode across the wilds of northern Ireland.

"By God, this has been misnamed a road!" she snapped as she clung to the handle next to the door, attempting to stay in her seat.

"I agree, Edna," Breeya smiled, holding onto her own strap in an effort to maintain her dignity and position on the seat. It was difficult enough with the flared skirts to stay in the narrow seat, the young woman cursed. Decorum demanded that she travel in the dress of her noble status instead of the comfortable clothes she preferred at home.

Breeya grinned, Edna would have a heart attack if the young woman had worn her riding clothes of men's trousers and shirt. The young Scot had been fighting against the fancy clothing of her station ever since she was a small child and Edna had spent many a long hour arguing with her charge over it.

"Tell me again about William Harrington," Breeya suggested after a couple more minutes of the rough treatment.

"I've told you a dozen times what I've found from the servants and such," Mrs. Edna MacConnell protested.

"And I'm the one marrying him, sight unseen," the young woman reminded her life-long caretaker and friend.

"I know, lass, and I am much sorry for that, I am," the Scots woman repeated. "I hate politics."

"I agree and I hate being treated like property," Breeya complained.

"Och, you know it's best for your family and the Crown," Edna reminded the young woman. The upcoming marriage had been the source of many fights for the last six months between the young woman, her maid, her father and his advisors. The last thing the young headstrong woman wanted was to be married to a middle aged soldier in Ireland, far away from her ancestral home in the Borderlands between Scotland and England and away from her father. The marriage was a political and financial one, securing monies and lands for both families.

Now that Breeya had reached the age of seventeen, her father had been worried about finally marrying off his daughter in a good marriage. The young woman had resisted all legitimate suitors from the surrounding families and even some from the English Court. Her father, Aleistar Kerr, had finally put his foot down when inquiries from Lord Selwyn had come in, expressing interest in marrying the young Breeya.

Lord Selwyn was a widower and was acquiring land in the wilds of Ireland and desired a young wife to provide him with an heir. Someone young enough to withstand the bitter weather, stubborn enough to match the hatred from the natives of the hostile land, someone wealthy enough to supplement his expenses of moving to his new holdings, and someone royal enough to be approved of by the Crown.

Lady Breeya Kerr had fit these requirements and her father had insisted on the match.

Arranged marriages were more than common, especially among the royals but that didn't mean that Breeya was happy with the arrangement.

Especially the idea of Ireland.

Breeya knew enough about the Troubles in the unruly land to know that the natives hated the English and the Scots and resented their controlling presence on the island. The Irish were determined to drive the British out and the British were more than determined to stay.

Like a lot of crowded families in England and Scotland, Lord Selwyn had been granted land in Ireland as a reward for his service to the British Crown. The Crown was hoping to control the rebellious land, reward its loyal citizens and maintained its base for its growing Empire. It was mainly Scottish nobles who were transplanted to Ireland, grateful for the land but hard on the natives.

Ever since the match had been made, Breeya had been learning all she could about Ireland and had learned a bit more than most of those of her station normally bothered too. The native Irish were forbidden to have their religion of Catholicism, if they went against Crown wishes their land was forfeit; the land was being taken from them for the Scottish settlers. To survive the natives were kept on the land as tenants, they would work the land, work the herds and only receive a small portion of the profit and goods from the land to survive on.

Those that refused or rebelled against the new system were sent to Connaught, Western Ireland. Wild, untamed, rough and treacherous in weather and terrain, it was now a land filled with rebels and desperate people trying to survive.

The young Scot had frowned deeply while reading about the problems in Ireland. She could sympathize with the Irish on most levels. A large number of the Scottish settlers in Ireland were sent there because they refused to acknowledge the English Church as Mother Church and insisted on keeping their loyalty to the Anglician Church. Not much different than the Irish resisting the conversion to the Protestant belief. Breeya also knew what it felt like to be of a conquered people and the resentment that caused. There was constant rumbling throughout Scotland against England, just as in Ireland.

Breeya was now on her way to be married to one of the English landowners, one of the Royals who had displaced the native people, on the edge of Connaught.

It was only because of her father's tenuous position and questionable loyalty to the Crown that this marriage had even considered for his daughter. After much pleading and reasoning the stubborn green-eyed girl had given in. Knowing she'd have to marry and soon because of her age, she had finally given in when her father reassured her place at home if Lord Selwyn turned out to be unbearable.

Breeya frowned, endless days of travel over sea and land was beginning to take its toll on the young woman and Edna MacConnell looked worse for wear at this point. They still had two days travel over the rough land.

In exchanged letters Lord Selwyn was polite and friendly enough, telling Breeya about the new land he had acquired, describing its beauty with a hint of a poet inside of him but with a firm tone when it came to the natives, including his own staff. Breeya could tell that he had no patience for anyone not properly versed in the English ways and style. She wondered how he would take to her Scottish accent and well known stubborn streak.

Breeya herself had been well schooled, unlike most women of her day and she knew it. Her father had gone against tradition and had seen that his only child would one day be able to handle the estate that she would inherit; able to handle servants, reading, writing and ledgers. The schooling had somewhat tamed the restless streak in the young woman but hadn't erased it totally. Breeya's teachers had all been impressed with her intelligence and quick wit and her desire to learn everything she could get her hands on, especially about the outside world.

The young woman knew her father expected her to get married and have heirs for both her husband and for the lands she would inherit from her father.

She was resigned to the fate that waited for anyone in her position, marriage and children. Hopefully Lord Selwyn would be someone she could get along and be friends with.

Breeya knew that love was something out of romantic tales, mostly.

"Hold your reins!" a voice startled Breeya out of her musings as the sun was setting that evening. She started to move the curtain at the door window aside but Edna grabbed her young charge's hands and hissed for the noblewoman to be quiet.

"Give way!" the coachman demanded and the women in the carriage heard the sound of the hammer of a pistol being pulled back.

"There's more coming alongside," the footman cried out and the women could hear the sound of several horses galloping up and stopping on both sides.

"What do you want, rabble rat?" the coachman demanded.

"We would be escorting your noble lady on the next part of her journey," an Irish voice said cheerfully.

"I'll see you in hell first, you damned Catholic dog!" the coachman threatened.

"They mean to kidnap you, Breeya," Edna whispered.

"So it would seem," the young woman answered simply and calmly.

"When they go to open the doors, dart out the other one, maybe you can hide in the dark," Edna suggested.

"What about you?"

"It's you they're after. They'll just take our money and look for you," Edna said reassuringly and Breeya drew out a pistol and cocked the hammer back, hoping that the expensive wheel-lock firing mechanism worked. Both women placed their hands on the door handles on each side of the carriage, whichever one was opened first would receive a surprise from Breeya's gun and she was hoping it would distract the bandits long enough to escape out the other door.

"Damn your eyes," the Irish voice snapped back at the coachman. "We don't intend to harm her, I give you my word."

"What good would the word of an Irish dog be?" the coachman growled back.

"I'm losing my patience with you, drop the reins and throw the musket over the side," the voice ordered.

"I'll take you to hell with me!" the coachman shouted and started to grab for the musket but Breeya's voice stopped him and the Irish bandit.

"Stop, Thomas!" Breeya called out from inside the coach. "No bloodshed, please! You swear you won't harm my servants?"

"I swear by all the Catholic saints that we won't harm them unless they do something stupid," the voice called back.

"Thomas, do as he says," Breeya ordered and gripped the door handle tighter.

"Aye, MiLady," Thomas called back.

Edna and Breeya could hear the musket hitting the ground and then several feet followed as riders dismounted. They could feel and hear someone climbing onto the carriage seat with Thomas and another one tossing Joseph, the footman off the back.

"Alright, check the Lady and let's ride!" the Irishman ordered.

Breeya felt her heart pounding in her chest and a roaring filling her ears in anticipation and held the pistol steady, despite her inner trembling. After years of defying her father's wishes, Breeya had learned how to ride the most wild of stallions, how to hunt, how to farm and how to handle herself with a pistol and sword and the young woman knew that she wasn't a coward but she had to admit that she was afraid now.

The door on Breeya's side started to open and she only caught a glimpse of a startled man's eyes as he took in the pistol in his face before the sound of the pistol firing filled the small space. Breeya felt herself being grabbed and tossed through the other door by Edna and then she hit the ground heavily. The Scotswoman rolled instinctively and felt gravel and then grass.

Scrambling to her feet she quickly dashed for the rocky terrain on the side of the road as shouts filled the air. Ducking behind a boulder she glanced back at the carriage and could make out several figures moving around and a couple of the figures fighting on top of the coach.

"Becan Finn!" the Irish voice called out. "Find the woman! You! Stop fighting with that idiot and get whichever woman that is out of the carriage."

"We aren't taking the carriage?" another thickly accented voice called.

"No, just grab the women and we ride!"

Breeya began moving slowly behind the rocks, keeping close to the road but moving back the way they had come. She tried to keep track of the moving figures but there was no moon and it became impossible in the dark. When she stumbled for the third time the young woman sat down behind a group of boulders, wrapping her shawl tighter around her.

She could still hear shouting and horses moving around and the leader's voice calling for her. Breeya gripped her pistol by the barrel, determined to use the butt as a club if necessary.

The noblewoman yelped as someone jumped from the rocks above and landed right in front of her, sword at Breeya's neck.

Breeya found herself staring into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Under a floppy brimmed hat, the rest of the face was hidden behind a red scarf pulled up to conceal the Irish rogue’s features. The figure was tall, especially when standing over the young woman in the dark, and seemed lean. Dressed in simple clothing but with a dash of flair with knee high boots turned down at the knees and a cloak.

The young Scotswoman was surprised to find that the sword at her neck wasn’t a typical sword, thin bladed with sweeping foiled hilt but a seaman’s cutlass. She was also surprised with herself that she noticed this small detail at that moment. Breeya dropped the pistol and held her hands up, showing they were now empty.

"Finn! Do you have her?" the commanding Irish voice called and the figure standing over Breeya whistled twice in return.

"Bring her, let’s be gone!"

The figure motioned with her sword for Breeya to stand and then motioned for the young captive to move. Glancing over her shoulder she saw the tall figure sweep down and retrieve her pistol, keeping the cutlass at the Scotswoman’s back.

Torches had been lit at the carriage and Breeya’s eyes flashed angrily as she took in the sight of the coachman and footman bound and gagged beside the carriage. The horses had been unhitched and one the bandits held their reins.

Most of the bandits were mounted once more but one stood out on a white stallion that stomped impatiently.

Breeya counted five bandits plus the one behind her; she was relieved to see Edna standing beside their luggage, apparently unharmed.

"If you are intending to take the Lady then you best be planning on taking her luggage as well, you ruffians!" Edna shouted.

"We’ll take what can be carried on a horse as pack, you’ve five minutes woman!" the leader snapped and Edna glared back at him.

"Do it, Edna," Breeya said as she and the bandit approached the carriage and the torchlight.

"Oh praise be to God you’re alright!" Edna cried out and then began rummaging through their belongings, rearranging things.

Breeya went straight to the apparent leader.

"Do you intend to leave them there overnight like that?" she demanded.

"Aye, MiLady, I do. ‘Tis fortunate you had me word that they wouldn’t be harmed when you shot off that pistol of yours, kept us from firing on them. You said no bloodshed," he growled from behind his black scarf-mask.

"I obtained a promise from you that you wouldn’t harm them, I said nothing about resisting myself," Breeya pointed out and could have sworn the bandit was grinning behind his mask.

"You’re as bad as the English when it comes to twisting a man’s word, eh?"

Breeya, not caring for the English much more than the Irish did, kept her silence at that retort.

"MiLady Kerr, I am most sorry that we’ve come to this action," the bandit continued. "We have need of your presence with us for a short period. We will try to make your visit with us as comfortable as possible. If you give me your word that you’ll not try to escape I promise you won’t be harmed."

"No," Breeya answered, her jaw with a stubborn set to it.

"What?" he demanded as if he couldn’t believe what he had heard.

"No," she repeated. "Whatever you may call this it is still kidnapping and I will resist whatever the devil your plans are, sirrah."

"MiLady, you will soon be in Irish territory, you don’t know the land, you don’t speak the language and you are an enemy, what would you fancy your chances?" she definitely could tell he was grinning.

"What do you intend to do with me?" she demanded.

"I’ve stated," he countered. "You’ll stay with a few of us for a short while and then we’ll escort you to a public place and turn you over to either English troops or your intended betrothed, Lord Selwyn. Unharmed."

"In return you’ll receive how much money?" she spat and heard a growl from the bandit behind her.

The bandit leader pulled down his mask and spat to the ground, revealing a handsome bearded face.

"Pox on yer money!" he shouted. "You’ll not find the kin of Red Hugh O’Donnel holding helpless women captive for money!"

"Red Hugh, the Irish rebel?"

"Aye, the Irish patriot who fought the British from taking our land and denying us the freedom of our God-given religion!" he snapped.

"Then what are you holding me ransom for?"

"None of your concern," he growled and turned to Edna. "Time’s up, woman! Soldier 3, pack the stuff on the pack horse and let’s be gone."

Breeya felt herself shoved forward to the horses.

"As for your men, they’ll be placed inside the carriage for warmth. Someone will be by tomorrow and rescue them," the bandit stated.

"Thank you for that."

"You’ll ride behind Becan Finn, Little Finn," the bandit grinned.

The bandit behind Breeya leaped onto a horse and sheathed the cutlass. The young Scotswoman hesitated as the tall figure leaned an arm down and then took it, mounting behind the bandit, trying to sit the horse in her skirts.

"We know you can ride, like any gentry, but this way we can keep an eye on you. The terrain is rough, if you fall off, tis likely you’d break that lovely neck of yours, MiLady," the lead bandit warned.

"Cu, let’s ride!" one of the bandits warned.

"Aye!"

Breeya felt herself hanging on tightly to the bandit in front of her.

The night was spent in a wild ride behind the silent bandit until purple was coloring the sky with predawn light.

Breeya tried to take in her surroundings as they approached a small village but the small group kept to the edge of town and approached a small farmhouse on the far end. They kept to the shadows while the leader went to the door and knocked quietly.

One of the bandits pulled his horse alongside the bandit and Breeya.

"Please keep quiet, MiLady," he instructed. "Finn here isn’t known for patience."

A flash of light at the door from a lamp and then someone was walking with the leader Cu towards the barn and the others followed quietly.

Within the hour the young Scotswoman and Edna found themselves sitting on a comfortable pile of hay with two of the bandits standing near them with pistols drawn.

The leader Cu and the one known as Finn approached the two women with blankets and flasks of water.

"I’m sorry for the accommodations, ladies," Cu said simply. "We’ll be staying here for the day and move on again tonight. Everyone on the farm knows you’re here and won’t help you escape. Just keep quiet and let us know if you be needing anything. We’ll have breakfast in a bit."

"You canna not keep the lady in this godforsaken barn with the animals you idol worshipping thief!" Edna snapped.

Breeya was surprised when both Finn and Cu grinned and shrugged their shoulders. The Scotswoman’s sharp eyes noted the same ruff of dark hair and blue eyes between the two and the family resemblance around the jawline as Finn pulled the scarf down.

"Tis unfortunate that we don’t have more fitting accommodations but this is the best that displaced Irish have for the conquerors," Cu said easily.

"I’m not your enemy," Breeya protested.

"Ah, but you are, MiLady," Cu countered and knelt down, his blue eyes looking deep into her green ones. "You come here to marry a man who has thrown many Irish off the land. People who have been here since the time of the giants, with no regard to family or future of those you’ve thrown off the land."

"If you wouldn’t rebel against the Crown you wouldn’t be thrown off the land," Breeya protested.

"And do you approve of the English denying the Scots their rightful heritage and royalty? Who would you have sided with? Robert the Bruce or the English crown?"

Breeya felt herself blushing. Cu had scored points in their defense and they both knew it. The noblewoman knew her father was already walking a fine line between choosing to side with his Scottish heritage against the ever intrusive English Crown. Living in the Borderlands between Scotland and England meant walking that line all the time and constantly deciding which side the family was on. Breeya knew that her father’s heart was with his Scottish Highland brothers but to keep the land, his holdings, his fortune and his family intact sometimes meant siding with the English like many of their neighbors.

"You’ve your own war coming, Scotty," Cu grinned. "Is that why your father sends you to an arranged marriage in Ireland?"

"And what do you hope to gain by kidnapping me?"

"It’s very simple, our brother and my husband are being held as rebels in Belfast, your husband in charge of their transfer to Derry for execution," Finn spoke up for the first time and Breeya knew she was staring at the young woman as the Scotswoman realized the bandit was a female. "You for them."

"Glory be!" Edna exclaimed. "Even the women take up arms in this godforsaken country!"

"If I remember correctly, it was your Lady that shot one of my soldiers in the face last night," Cu grinned and Edna cursed under her breath about wise mouthed scoundrels.

"The English Crown would never agree to dealing with rebels," Breeya frowned.

"Pray that they do, MiLady," Cu advised, losing his grin.

Breeya sat back against the barn wall as Cu stood up and wandered off. She continued to look into the blue eyes of the dark haired woman standing over them with her hand resting easily on the handle of her cutlass.

"Is your name really Finn?" Breeya finally asked as the woman sat down and leaned against the paddock wall.

"No, it’s Maeve. We all took an alias so your men wouldn’t be able to tell your husband or the English who we are."

"But you’ve told us, they’ll know you after this," Breeya protested. "Or do you intend to kill us?"

"Nay," the woman shook her head easily. "After we get our kin back we’ll take to the seas like my cousin Grainmae."

"The female Irish pirate?"

"You know of her?" Maeve asked with a grin.

"Aye, most everyone in the English speaking world knows of her. How she kept the English at bay for years, taking and holding power," Breeya responded.

"Aye, matching wits with your Queen and winning reprieve," Maeve smiled.

"So why is your brother and husband being held by the English?" Breeya asked.

"For protesting the Crown taking our land from us," Maeve answered.

"What else?"

"That’s it. They had the nerve to complain in person to your husband for taking our land and he sent them to prison. In prison they struck a guard that was beating my brother and were sentenced to death as rebels."

Breeya frowned. She knew that the Irish were treated badly at times by the conquering English but sending someone to prison for protesting the taking of their land? Could things be that harsh?

"You should sleep, you’ve had a long night," Maeve suggested, placing her cutlass across her lap and leaning her head back against the boards.

Breeya ignored Edna’s Scots Gaelic protests and positioned herself comfortably on the hay and followed the bandit’s suggestion. It had been a long night.

A couple of hours later food was brought for the bandits and their captives. Edna complained about the simple food but Breeya instructed her maid to be quiet and began eating the simple fare without complaint.

After the dishes were cleared away Breeya began questioning Maeve about Ireland, somehow keeping away from politics and religion in the discussion. The young Scotswoman found Maeve intelligent, quick witted and well versed in history, mythology and happenings in the main world as well as the intrigues between the Irish, Scottish and English.

In turn Breeya spoke about her life on the Borders, the constant skirmishes between the English and Scots of the region and between the Scots among themselves. Maeve had grinned at Breeya’s observation that it seemed that the Scots just loved to fight, given any cause and they’d be in the middle of it.

The two women found that, despite the nine year age difference with Maeve the elder, they had a lot in common: love of family, education, strong wills, and a rebellious streak. They found they could also relate about other important life things as well; Maeve was fond of her husband as it hadn’t been a love match but a political one, just like Breeya’s.

"You knew him before you married him though?" the young Scots asked.

"Yes, we had met several times and got along reasonably well. He wasn’t intimidated by my intelligence and seemed to enjoy the lively conversations we could be getting into. The families pushed it and we figured we could be friends, he understands that I’m not in love with him but love him like a brother," Maeve answered.

"Is there anyone you are in love with?"

"I was close to someone once, it wasn’t meant to work out," the tone in Maeve’s voice let the young captive know she was beginning to tread on a sensitive subject.

"I’ve never met Lord Selwyn," she mumbled.

"Someday maybe the women will be having a say in who we marry," Maeve complained and Breeya nodded.

"Sounds like you did alright," Breeya commented.

"Aye, I was lucky. Too many women end up as brood mares and sometimes even as punching bags when the man has had a wee bit too much drink," Maeve agreed.

Breeya shook her head with a smile, she couldn’t ever picture a man willing to even try and manhandle the woman in front of her. There was something about the Irish bandit that gave off the impression of strength and intelligence, of self-assurance that would probably frighten most bullies, Breeya thought to herself.

Maeve got to her feet and headed out of the barn, leaving Breeya to her thoughts.

"Get that look out of your eyes, young lady!" Edna snapped.

"What are you talking about, Edna?"

"The way you’re looking after that one!" Edna whispered fiercely. "I’ve seen that look before and no good can come of a school girl crush in this situation!"

Breeya felt herself blushing from head to toe. "Edna, watch your tongue!" she snapped back. "Besides, you know it was more than a school girl crush with Beth."

"Aye, that I do and you know it’s not something that could work!" The older Scot commented. "Besides the Church saying it’s a sin, both your families would never have approved. Can you imagine what your father would say if he knew you wanted an Irish bandit and a woman to boot?!"

Breeya grinned at the thought of the stroke her father probably would have.

"You’re imaging things, old woman," she teased but Breeya wasn’t so sure her maid and friend was.

That evening found Breeya riding behind Finn/Maeve again, blindfolded. Edna on a horse of her own with the reins being held by one of the bandits.

The sound of water brought Breeya’s head up from behind Finn.

"What is it?" Maeve asked softly.

"Water, we’re not going by boat are we?"

"Aye, don’t tell me your royal stomach is sensitive!" Maeve teased and lightly cursed as Breeya nodded miserably behind her. "By the Saints, this will be an unpleasant trip," Maeve muttered.

"Finn, get the girl in the boat and let’s be off!" Cu called.

"Save us a place near the railing, Cu," Finn Maeve called softly.

"Hah!"

The next few hours were spent with Breeya bending over the railing and Maeve trying to comfort the girl as the boat moved down the river in the dark. Many times the boat was moved to the shore to avoid coming in contact with other boats on the water.

By morning Breeya was exhausted from being sick and Edna also tired and grumpy. Neither woman complained when they found themselves in another barn for the day, finally getting some sleep and Breeya able to keep solid food down.

That night was a repeat of the night before and Breeya was just grateful to be on solid land just before dawn and didn’t protest being put in the back of a wagon with Edna and then covered with blankets. The rocking of the wagon was much different than the rocking of a boat to the young girl’s stomach.

Once again neither captive complained much when they were rushed into a farm house blindfolded. Once inside they were allowed to remove the blindfolds and found themselves in a one room Irish cottage and a poor one at that.

Made of stone and thatch it contained the typical fireplace that served as the source of heat and flame for cooking, a rough made table with four chairs and three single beds, piled high with quilts. The floor was also stone and covered with straw for warmth and the windows had no glass panes but were covered with oilskin cloth and shutters.

Overall the feeling was one of small and cold, though Breeya figured it might be cozy once the fire was blazing instead of banked.

Cu dropped the saddlebags containing the women’s belongings on the floor and turned to his sister.

"I’m off to scout the area, I’m leaving three of the men outside. Will you be fine in here with them?"

"Of course, everyone’s too tired to think of running right now. I’ll heat water for bathing and then start dinner, be back by then," Maeve ordered with a smile.

"Aye, that I will," the one called Cu nodded slightly to the captive women and left out the door.

"Sorry about the poor conditions, ladies," Maeve stated, removing her cloak and rolling up the sleeves of her men’s shirt and bending over the fire, encouraging it and then adding more peat to it. "It’s the best we can do in this part of the country. We’ll be here for several days, maybe longer than a week. It’ll take that long for the negotiations."

"What’s your brother’s name?" Breeya asked.

"Kieran. Our brother is Hugh and me husband is Brian."

The next day Kieran left to take news of Breeya’s kidnapping and the terms of her return.

During the week of his absence both sides got to know each other better and found surprising things out. Breeya wasn’t afraid of hard work and pitched in without being asked to in helping out around the farm; tending animals, weeding the garden, and helping with the cooking and cleaning. In return Breeya was surprised at the many skills that Maeve seemed to possess, from cooking to sewing to animals and fishing.

Maeve and Breeya found themselves spending most of the time together and reluctantly found themselves quickly becoming friends. Many nights spent by the fire in deep conversation about their lives, hopes and dreams. None of them included marrying an English nobleman in Ireland for Breeya.

On the sixth day Kieran returned and everyone gathered around the table. The Irish bandit shook his head.

"Lord Selwyn refuses to believe the Lady Kerr is alive. He insists on sending the letter the Lady wrote to her father for handwritting comparison. That will take time," he announced.

"What?" Breeya demanded sharply. "We’ve exchanged letters, he has letters in my hand already!"

"I figured that and he wasn’t pleased with that line of thinking and insisted on contacting your father. He’s delaying, hoping that we’ll kill you and give him an excuse to hunt us down or that his soldiers will be able to find us and rescue you."

"How much time?" Breeya asked.

"Close to a month," Kieran said unhappily.

Breeya cursed and slammed out the door.

"I’ll see to her," Maeve said, stopping Edna from rising.

The Irish rogue grabbed her cloak and Breeya’s as she walked out the door.

As she expected, Maeve found Breeya standing near the cliffs. Within days of arriving at the small cottage the young Scot had discovered the wildness of the land she had been taken to. The cottage was on the outskirts of rough and rocky land, with cliffs that dropped into the sea that always seemed wild and angry. The green of the land brought about by the endless rain and sea mists Breeya knew.

She knew this land was almost untamed by anything but fishermen and sheep herders but she also discovered that she loved the wildness of the place, finding the energy amazing and beautiful.

Maeve approached the younger woman slowly and draped Breeya's cloak over the Scot's shoulders.

Breeya surprised the Irish bandit by reaching up and holding Maeve's hand onto her shoulder and leaning back into the taller woman. Maeve wrapped her other arm around Breeya and they stood watching the roaring sea below them without speaking for several minutes.

"You weren't thinking of jumping were you, lass?" Maeve asked softly but loud enough to be heard over the roar of the waves crashing on the rocks.

"For that lout? Never!" Breeya answered firmly. "That bastard!" the young Scot turned and looked into the deep blue eyes that she thought she could melt into forever.

"Aye, looks like I'm stuck with you for abit then," Maeve grinned and was pleased when Breeya playfully smacked her on the arm.

"Stuck with me are you?" Breeya grinned.

"Aye, but I find it an enjoyable task," Maeve admitted.

"What happens now?" Breeya asked, losing her smile.

"We wait for your bridegroom," Maeve said bitterly. "Come on, let's get back inside. Edna is fixing gammon for dinner."

"Gammon?" Breeya asked, her smile coming back as they began to walk back towards the cottage.

"Hamsteaks in whiskey sauce."

"The Celts and their whiskey," Breeya grinned.

"Aye, tis the reason we'll never conquer the world, eh?"

Surprisingly, everyone settled into a routine. Edna and Breeya helping around the cottage farm alongside Patrick, Cal and Maeve. Kieran spent his time going back and forth in the negotiations, having to take more and more caution each time to avoid being followed by Lord Selwyn's men. Fortunately the Englishman didn't expect the bandits to travel such a long distance with the captive women and didn't look as far as the coastline.

Lord Selwyn had expected a large reward for information to produce rapid results against the rebels but instead found a wall of silence everywhere he and his spies went. He hadn't anticipated the Irish loyalty to their own, especially O'Malleys and O’Donnels in the Donegal province.

Breeya was surprised that among Maeve’s skills was mastering a ship. The tall Irish woman laughed at Breeya's look of dismay at the thought of spending any time on a ship, let alone learning the ropes, sails and navigation of one.

In turn Maeve was delighted to find that Breeya wasn't as delicate or as adverse to work as the Irish had expected. Breeya had laughed at them and explained that she may have grown up on an estate but it was a small one and she had pitched in to help deliver a calf or two in her time.

Maeve and Breeya found themselves beginning to discuss even politics and the tension between the English and the Irish and the tension between the English and the Scottish and where that might put both of them. Always coming up on opposite sides of the fence.

One day they were sitting on the rock fence watching for Kieran's scheduled return.

"So what happens after this?" Breeya asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You go to your husband and on the run? I marry William and we become enemies?"

"Aye, of a sort," Maeve said sadly.

"We can't even be friends, can we?" Breeya commented.

"No, I can't fit into your world."

"I could fit into yours," Breeya said softly.

"Only if you were dead, Bree," Maeve shook her head. "Once you're Lady Selwyn you'll not be allowed to even speak to the Irish except as servants."

"I'll never see you again, will I?" Breeya asked softly.

"No, not unless it's at the end of a rope if your husband catches me," Maeve smiled.

"Don't say that!" Breeya jumped down from the wall and turned her back to the older woman. Maeve, now frowning, jumped down and put her hands on the young Scot's shoulders and could feel the young girl crying.

"Lass, I'm sorry," Maeve said gently and wasn't too surprised when Breeya turned and hugged Maeve tightly.

"I know it's the truth, just don't say it!" Breeya cried.

"Alright, we shouldn't have become friends," Maeve scolded herself.

"As if I could resist those blue eyes of yours, your charming wit and your love," Breeya attempted a small smile but still held onto the embrace, leaning her head against Maeve's chest, sighing with comfort.

Breeya could feel Maeve stiffen slightly.

"Bree, do you know what you're saying?"
"Aye, I do," Breeya said softly and turned her head up until her lips met Maeve's.

The Scotswoman felt the Irishwoman resisting for a moment and then the tall dark haired woman wrapped her arms tighter around Breeya and the kiss quickly turned passionate until both women were breathless. Breeya leaned her head onto Maeve's chest as they both shook from the intensity.

"Oh heavenly saints!" Maeve whispered, holding Breeya tight. "We can't do this, Bree!"

"Why not? You feel it between us too," Breeya countered. "I’ve seen you watching me and I overheard you talking about me to Kieran."

"Aye, that I do but it doesn't change what's going to happen," Maeve protested. "You'll still be leaving for your husband."

"And you to yours. You may have a good relationship with yours but I’ve a feeling that I’m not going to be shouting with joy to Heaven over my match. Why can’t we spend the time being happy?" Breeya demanded.

"Do you have any idea what you’re implying? What you’re asking between us?" Maeve demanded, unable to resist kissing the top of Bree’s head.

"Aye, that I do and I’ve been here before," Breeya answered. "I’m old enough and experienced enough to know what I want."

"Aye, and what good will it do us? To find you only to let you go?" Maeve whimpered.

"Then let us have some measure of happiness before then," Breeya pleaded.

"Sweet Mary, Bree," Maeve whispered and captured Breeya’s lips again and moaned as the Scot’s hands roamed over Maeve’s back, pulling her closer.

Again Maeve broke the embrace and turned away from Breeya. "I can’t do this, Bree."

"Why? Is it because we’ll be damned?"

"No," Maeve grinned. "I’ve been told often enough that I’m doomed just for being so damned stubborn, or not keeping quiet and listening to my husband, or for rebelling against the natural authority of the Church and Crown. I don’t believe the good Lord can condemn someone for whom they love."

"Then what is it?"

When Maeve turned back Breeya could see tears in the older woman’s eyes.

"If I love you I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go," Maeve admitted.

"It’s something we’ve had to face since we were born, duty to our family and God."

"Aye," Maeve had to agree.

"Then let’s take this one day at a time," Breeya suggested.

"Oh fie, there’s Kieran coming over the rise." Maeve pointed.

"Then we’ll continue this conversation later, my blue eyed rogue," Breeya promised.

Once again Kieran brought news of a delay, Lord Selwyn said he hadn’t had word from Lord Kerr yet. To Maeve and Breeya it was bittersweet news. It meant continued tension and uncertainty about Maeve and Kieran’s loved ones and uncertainty about Edna and Breeya’s future.

Both Maeve and Breeya wanted more time together but knew they should be hoping for a quick resolution.

Kieran and the two men settled in for an evening of drinking and telling tales while Edna carded wool by the fire. Maeve announced she was going to check things in the small stable and wasn’t surprised when Breeya offered to go along.

Maeve hesitated, knowing that the next few minutes could change all of their futures and then nodded and walked out the door.

Edna got up and caught Breeya by the door.

"Do you know what you’re doing, lass?" Edna hissed, careful to keep her voice down from the men hearing.

"Yes, I’m grabbing what little happiness there might be for me," Breeya answered.

"It can only lead to no good!" Edna insisted.

"You’re probably right but I’m willing to risk it, Edna," Breeya responded. "You know what life I’m heading to."

"Aye, that I do, lass," Edna said gently. "Go to her and may God show us mercy."

"I’m not even sure He pays much attention to us, Edna," Breeya smiled.

"Go on with you, enough talk," Edna scolded and headed back to her carding.

Breeya’s hands were trembling as she reached for the barn door but she took a deep breath and quickly entered the small but sturdy structure. She was relieved to see Maeve sitting on a stool, her hands nervously playing with a strand of ribbon. The Irishwoman stood up when Breeya entered.

"I’m as nervous as a bride," Maeve complained with a smile.

"So am I," Breeya confirmed.

"We can’t be considering this, Bree," Maeve frowned, closing her eyes.

Breeya walked up to Maeve and decided to convince Maeve the same way as before and leaned up into the Irishwoman and began kissing her. The Irish rogue moaned and pulled Breeya into her arms.

All resistance melted when Breeya’s lips found Maeve’s neck and her hands began roaming under the rogue’s shirt. Maeve pulled back and leaned down to put out the lamp but Breeya put her hand over Maeve’s.

"I want to see you, my love," Breeya said softly and then smiled even wider when Maeve began blushing bright red.

Maeve responded by gently beginning to unlace Breeya’s bodice as Breeya pulled Maeve’s shirt over her head and off. The Scotswoman moaned and gently took the Irish bandit’s breasts in her hands and then followed with her lips and tongue.

"Sweet Mother of God, that feels wonderful," Maeve whimpered and pulled Breeya down to the blankets she had arranged on a hay pile, the young captive falling on top of the rogue with a laugh.

Breeya whimpered as clothing was discarded quickly and her skin met Maeve’s. "Oh God," she said softly, "you feel incredible."

Maeve and Breeya lost all conscious thought as they began kissing and then their tongues began exploring and fighting for dominance. Hands were busy exploring each others bodies as well.

Breeya groaned as Maeve’s leg came between hers, adding pressure to Maeve’s fingers, that were beginning to explore Breeya and causing the young woman’s body to shake, her body trying to get closer and take more of Maeve.

Breeya’s hands were also busy on Maeve’s breasts, pulling moans and jerks from the bandit’s body. Maeve whimpered as Breeya’s lips and tongue left hers. She then began moaning as Breeya began exploring Maeve’s body with her lips and tongue, beginning with the Irish woman’s neck and stopping to draw more noise and shakes from the dark haired beauty by paying lavish attention to Maeves breasts and nipples.

Maeve was sure that she had died and gone to paradise when Breeya continued her travels down the bandit’s body, further driving Maeve insane until she was screaming Bree’s name and crashing into the Scot’s arms.

The only thing that felt better was returning the sensations and attention to Breeya, Maeve found, discovering that Breeya was even louder than she was when the waves overtook the young woman.

Maeve almost jumped a foot off the blankets when Kieran slammed open the stable door shouting for her. He stopped dead in the center of the small building as he took in the sight of the two women entwined on the blankets, one blanket barely covering them. One of Breeya’s naked legs showed out from under the blanket, draped over Maeve’s legs and the blonde sleepily refused to remove her arm from around Maeve’s waist as the bandit attempted to turn over.

"Oh sweet Mary and Joseph," Kieran said softly. "Have you both lost your minds?" he demanded in a louder voice.

"I know I’ve lost my heart," Breeya said in a sleepy voice.

"You’ll be losing more than that in a few minutes, lass," Kieran snapped.

"What is it, Kier?" Maeve asked.

"Patrick spotted four soldiers below coming ashore by boat and four more coming up the path by horse."

"Damn!" Maeve complained. "Go and get some of your spare clothing for Bree, we may have to move fast."

"Aye," Kieran responded as Maeve reached for her shirt.

"And bring Bree’s pistol," Maeve added.

"You want to arm her? She’ll be joining with them!"

"No, I won’t. If they take me now your brother and Maeve’s husband are dead, I don’t want that." Breeya responded.

"Alright, I’ll trust you on this one."

Maeve dressed quickly and grinned at the sight of Breeya waiting for clothes while holding a blanket around her.

"Any regrets?" Maeve asked softly, pulling Breeya into her arms.

"None, you?"

"Nay, I could never regret loving you." The Irish bandit answered and kissed the young Scotswoman. "Meet me in the cottage."

With that the Irish rogue was gone and Breeya was left waiting.

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