They had very nearly lost sight of land. As alone as two people could be.
“Wha’ is it, Katrin? Ye ha’ somewhat on your mind.” Did she begin to remember? More than the details of the tales he’d told. He wanted her toremember.
“We are friends, are we no’, Finlay?”
“I hope so.”
“I would hate to ruin a friendship. Still and all—”
She leaned forward and kissed him. She did it with blind intent and yet somehow also with a simple innocence, diving in to place her mouth over his. Since they sat facing each other, she did not have to reach far.
Sensation poured through him, and a wall of emotions he no longer had any hope of controlling. He had wanted this so long. He had wanted it endlessly.
A thousand images flickered through his mind.Liadan, standing in the sun. Bradana, half starved, crouching beside a meager fire, pulling him into her arms. Darlei, offering her lips to him, silver eyes bright. Hulda, claiming him with equal parts offer and demand.
All of that narrowed to one thing, one point in time. Katrin, here in his arms.
The taste of her was the same—all woman, all strength, all belonging. He could not keep from drawing her closer, of letting his fingers twine into her hair. Drawing her into alignment with him so he could kiss her deeper, and deeper.
Time stood still. Or perhaps, there on the eternal water, it began moving in its own, everlasting rhythm. Finlay did not think. He did not even wonder or hope. He merely felt.
Wild and sweet she was, and warm in his arms. She had not kissed many men, nay—her tentative manner betrayed that. But her lips clove to his and parted. He could as soon stop breathing as keep from diving in.
When he felt her draw away, he let her go at once, dropping his hands to his knees, trying to remind himself: just because he remembered it all, did not mean she would.
Wide-eyed, she gazed at him, emotions flickering like light and shadow, like a reflection from the water. She had not retreated far, andshe must be able to see every detail of him, from the beard that curled along his jaw to the scar on his cheekbone he’d taken when he was ten. Could she see the love?
She blinked at him, long ash-brown lashes sweeping up and down. “I suppose I should apologize for that.”
Robbed of all words, Finlay said nothing. But his soul cried,Kiss me again, alanna.
Her gaze turned rueful. “I hope I ha’ no’ spoiled our friendship, ’Twas impulse, just. Which is odd, for I am a woman but rarely prone to impulse. Something about being out here on the water must ha’ overtaken me. But I hope—”
“Ye ha’ ruined naught.” His voice did not sound like his own. “Nothing ye might do could spoil wha’ lies between us.”
“Nothing?”
He shook his head. Because he wanted so badly to touch her, he took up the oars and began once more to row. Back the way they had come.
She quieted, and yet she did not. So violently did her heart pound, he could see the tremble at her bodice, and color lay high on her cheekbones. “Ye be taking me back?”
“Do ye no’ think I should?”
“We are no’ running awa’ to Ireland, then.”
He stopped rowing. “Would ye run awa’ wi’ me, Katrin? Abandon yer father and yer home and all yer duties? Live the life o’ a wandering bard’s wife, carrying my harp behind me?”
“Wife?” Their eyes met again, near blinding him.
“Wha’ else?”
The light and darkness flickered in her eyes more brightly. “Ye would trust me to carry Brada?”
He smiled despite himself. “I would.”
“’Tis a rare compliment, that. And I am…tempted.”
Was she?
