‘I have my doubts of that. I’ve seen the way Riordan looks at you.’
‘He had already wed someone else.’
‘Then that was his loss.’ His words were sincere, making her all the more uncomfortable. Before she could speak, Connor rose and approached behind her. ‘There will be sword fighting tomorrow in the contests.’
‘Not for you,’ she warned. Though she did not believe Connor was foolish enough to attempt it, many men would seek to challenge him. Some would welcome the chance to see him humiliated in a mock fight. Riordan, she realised, could be one.
‘I have a different battle to face,’ he said, but did not elabourate.
As have I, she thought. Connor stepped toward her, his arm reaching around her waist. In the soft glow of the lamp, he appeared like Belenus himself, the sun god. Ash-grey eyes seared hers with unspoken desire.
The feel of his arm around her waist, his face only a heartbeat away from hers, made her skin prickle. The pine scent of him filled her senses. His firm mouth bent down, hovering above hers. She could feel his breath against her lips.
‘Would you pull away if I kissed you again?’
She held deathly still, afraid of his kiss and yet more afraid of his power over her. Should she steal this moment with him and seize the pleasure she wanted?
‘Why would you want to kiss me?’ she asked.
‘You are a beautiful woman.’ He brushed a featherlight kiss against her mouth, enough to tempt her. Her clothes felt heavy against her skin, her breasts tightening with need. Inside the intimacy of the hut, the air seemed charged with heat. Against her stomach, she felt his desire and the answering response of her damp womanhood.
She closed her eyes, wishing she had the strength to push him away. Or at the very least, ask him to return to the sick hut.
‘We shouldn’t,’ she whispered, tasting his mouth even as she spoke the words of protest.
‘No, we shouldn’t.’ And he took her lips, kissing her deeply. The heady touch of his tongue against hers, along with the heat of his mouth, invoked every memory, every stolen moment from Bealtaine. She wanted him even more now, this man whom she had once loved.
Trembling, she broke off the kiss. His strong muscular body pressed against hers, his heavy thighs supporting her shaky legs. If she spoke the word, he would make love to her.
And what if this night resulted in another child? Would she lie about that, too?
Guilt and cowardice warred inside her, as his lips roamed the column of her throat.
Tell him.Her heart urged. He had offered forgiveness for what he’d said and given his friendship freely. Surely he would not harm his own daughter, though he might be angry. If she ever intended to tell him, now was her moment.
She took a step backwards, praying with every fibre that he would not condemn her.
‘Connor, do you remember the last year of your fosterage? The night of Bealtaine when you—’
‘I remember.’ Anger creased his face. ‘It is not a night I wish to speak of.’
His words cut her down as surely as any sword. She picked up the broken pieces of her courage and forced herself to finish. ‘There is something I must tell you about it. About Lianna and…and the night you honoured the gods.’
She steadied her breathing, grateful for the dim interior of her hut. He could not see the humiliation, the fear within her.
Despite it all, she held no regrets. Though it had been wrong to hide the truth from him, she now had a beautiful daughter. Her only child had been conceived that night.
‘When you lay with Lianna—’
‘Do not speak to me of that night.’ He leaned forward, revealing an icy rage she had not known he possessed. It was as if he knew already what she was about to say. His grey eyes turned to frost, the cool demeanour of a mercenary. ‘I have tried for many years to forget each moment of it. It was naught but a mistake.’
Her nails dug deeply into her palms as his words struck an invisible blow. She had loved him that night, believed their lovemaking to be a fitting offering to the gods. Even as the fields ripened with a rich harvest, so too had her body.
As she went through the motions of cleaning up after the meal, Aileen held back the tears. Had she been such a poor lover on that night when she’d welcomed him into her arms? It had awakened her to the wonder of love. But for him, it had not been the same.
Though she had told him nothing, Connor had made one thing very clear. He would not welcome the knowledge of his daughter, nor would he dismiss Bealtaine as one festival among many.
She would not speak of it again, nor admit what she had done. If he accused her about Rhiannon, she would deny it, as would Lianna. No matter what happened at theaenach, she had to protect her daughter.
