“Ye have always been such a hussy,” Alec replied with a sniff as he perched upon the chair by the fire. “I shall stay the night here to make sure no one happens upon ye in your sleep and finds ye naked in your bed. Ye remember the last time ye said ye’d wake up before something happened? Ye were on theTitanicand ye nearly ended up in the sea.”
* * *
Faolan paced across the battlements,the wind lashing his plaid about his body. The night air crackled with the bitter chill, but not cold enough to douse the fury coursing through his veins. He snarled out loud, breath fogging into a frosty cloud. What an unexpected twist his well-plotted betrothal had taken. His spies had assured him the woman seemed childlike. They’d sworn to him they’d caught a glimpse of her wandering lost atop the skirting wall of the Sinclair’s highest deserted tower.
They’d even found the seamstress charged with making the mysterious daughter’s clothes. They’d sworn to him she was the last speaking servant known to have escaped the Sinclair castle. All the others had over-stayed their luck and The Sinclair had silenced them with a knife across their throats. The seamstress had assured them Dierdra Sinclair was as meek and innocent as a newborn kitten.
From this height upon the battlements, Faolan watched the crashing waves, losing himself in the endless motion of the sea. Ciara Sinclair was to have been his way out of an undesirable situation. And he had been prepared to be her safe haven from a possible marriage to a cruel brute.
The moonlight skittered across the tips of the waves, but Faolan ignored its nocturnal sparkle. He dug his fingers into the weathered stones as though trying to catch hold of what little sanity he had left. Somewhere in the distance, the mournful howl of a wolf sounded; Faolan felt an immediate affinity with the bone-chilling cry. He had planned on being as alone as the outcast black wolf of the pack. He yearned for a solitary life, a life where no one could ever touch his heart again and then leave it ripped open and aching when they left. If he kept everyone away, never allowed the slightest sentiment in, he’d never repeat the pain he’d experienced in the past.
And then he had seen her. Those damned golden eyes set fire to his very blood. As soon as he’d gazed into their warm, welcoming depths, he’d been mesmerized by the richness of their shades. He wanted to see how hot they glowed when Ciara’s passions stirred to a roaring blaze. And her body, the way she’d melted against him, he could’ve taken her right there on the table in front of everyone at the feast.
Faolan threw his head back and roared, his cry echoed to the rocks below. He tore his tunic off his body and welcomed the frigid air against his burning skin. He wanted the damn woman more then he could remember wanting anything in his life. He wanted to claim her, make her his own until she cried out his name.
Stripped to the waist, Faolan took his sword and did something he’d not done for years. There upon the battlements, he began the ancient dance he’d learned while training with the Druid priest. He sliced the air with the rhythms learned as a young lad seeking the mysteries of meditation. He handled the sword as though it was a part of him, swung, sliced, paused to listen to the unseen energies as the blade sang out into the night. Eyes unblinking, his senses melded with the sword and the powers flowing through his soul.
When he’d turned from his ancient heritage of magic, he’d severed a part of his being. It would’ve been the same as if he’d cut off both legs and then expected to still be able to walk. Faolan needed to return to his teachings. He needed its strength and discipline to keep from breaking his other oath to himself. He’d sworn two things upon the death of his parents: never return to the practice of magic, and never open his heart to a woman. He could reconcile himself to return to magic if it gave him the strength to hold out against Ciara.
The blade whistled through the air. Meditation soothed his soul. Skin dampened with sweat, he was oblivious to the cold. He continued the dance into the night. Backward, forward, even atop the stone wall, he was tireless with the blade between his hands.
Faolan ignored the sound of Maxwell’s footsteps when he joined him on the wall; he barely spared him a narrow-eyed glance when Maxwell shook his head in Faolan’s direction. Only when Maxwell drew his own sword, did Faolan acknowledge his friend was there.
Their motions synchronized just as they had when they were lads. The chief Druid Emrys had taken Maxwell to train at Faolan’s father’s request. Although no mystical abilities flowed through Maxwell’s veins, the meditation of the sword served him well in battle.
Faolan and Maxwell ended their motions. They sheathed their swords in unison. Maxwell stood, waiting for Faolan to speak until the silence between them took on a life of its own. “Faolan, ye’ve not danced with the sword since your mother took her life. Ye must realize your betrothal to Ciara Sinclair is not a terrible thing.”
His chin raised, Faolan stared out across the rocky cliffs and drew a ragged breath. “I want her, Maxwell. I swear to ye, man. I can already taste the honey of her body.”
Maxwell’s eyes widened at the strength of Faolan’s words and he took a slight step back. “Then go to her, man! What the hell are ye standin’ here for? Maybe if ye go ahead and lie with her, ’twill get her out of your blood. Consummate the union and she’ll be your wife, then ye’ll never have to bed her again. If ye feel ye canna stomach her as a wife, ye can return to this solitary existence ye seem so damned determined to keep.”
Faolan scrubbed his hands against the evening stubble of his chin. “This is insanity.” He groaned. His self-control ebbed away like the tides from the pull of the moon. This golden-eyed seductress that had landed in his midst had to be some sort of trap. He reeled to shake his fist in Maxwell’s face, just inches from his friend’s nose. “Bed her? Do ye really think by lying with the woman I’ll be able to get her out of my mind?”
Maxwell followed close behind Faolan as soon as he jerked back around to renew his pacing. “Think about it, Faolan. Ye’ve been attracted to fair maids before and once ye tasted them, ye easily set them aside. It’s the wolf in ye, man. Your thrill is in the hunt. Ye always want what ye have yet to catch.”
At Maxwell’s observation, Faolan pulled up short. He whirled back around where he found himself once more nose to nose with his adamant friend. “Ye actually think if I relent and lie with Ciara and assert my rights as her husband, ye actually think I’ll be able to put her aside and go on with my life as though I never met her?”
With a shrug of his shoulders, Maxwell tossed his hands in the air. “It’s either lie with the woman or don’t lie with the woman. Which is it going to be? So far, ye havena bedded the lass and ye already know ye’re miserable. In my mind, ’tis time to test the other option to see if it brings ye any better results.”
“I will kill ye if this doesna work,” Faolan growled, yanking open the door leading down from the battlements.
Maxwell bowed his head in response, snorting aloud as Faolan glared at him before slamming the door in his face.
* * *
As he easedhis way into the dimly lit room, something shifted out of the corner of his eye. Faolan could’ve sworn he’d seen a dark form retreat from the circle of light surrounding the blazing hearth. He blinked and peered closer to find the source of the movement, but all remained still. He shook his head. It must be a trick of the shadows dancing across the furs.
Faolan couldn’t resist a bitter chuckle. The pounding of his heart almost drowned out the pop of the logs in the fire. He snorted to himself, swallowing hard as he adjusted the rough material of his kilt. Ye’d think he was still a damn virgin.
He edged deeper into the room and into the pale, light flickering around the bed. His hands flexed as he loomed above her and stared down at her sleeping form. Every muscle in his body tensed as though ready to spring if she made the slightest move. He held his breath, leaned closer, and peered down into her sleeping face.
Her silky black hair was fanned across the pillows. One long bare arm was stretched on top of the sheets. Her skin glowed golden in the firelight, and her bare shoulders begged for his caress. With a dreamy moan, she snuggled deeper into the pillows. The sheet slid down to her waist.
Faolan swallowed a groan as his eyes locked onto her creamy breasts. He hungered for the taste of her dusky nipples shadowed in the half-light of the fire.
Her lashes fluttered as she rustled in her sleep, as though she dreamed or perhaps neared to waking. Then there they were. Those damned golden eyes, opened and aglow in the light of the fire. She stared at him, alert as a cat. Her gaze followed him as he drew closer to the bed.
“Dinna be afraid.” He kept his voice to a husky whisper, amazed the lass hadn’t screamed. Instead, she held out her hand and lifted the covers, silently inviting him into her bed.
