But none of her questing had changed that sense of isolation. She'd huddled under a varicolored quilt of a thousand dreams spun by an entire people throughout a thousand years, the same way a frightened child huddled under a blanket to keep out the dark. Because legends could never die. Fairies would never leave you. She'd just never realized, until now, that the dark was still out there. And the loneliness.
She'd never guessed the truth until Ciaran had come stumbling out of her dreams and into her life. In an instant, everything had changed forever. The danger was that everything could shift again in a heartbeat. Mortal or fairy-kissed champion, Ciaran could disappear from her life forever—would disappear, once fate had played out her game. Once the castle was saved, the quest was finished. The legend always ended the same. The mist and the magic. And the vanishing.
A chill worked through the thin fabric of her nightgown. It was only a question of when. And even if he wasn't the Ciaran of legend, he'd leave. He'd return to the life he'd known before her, the people he'd cared about... maybe a woman. Unthinkable. Fallon tried to shove the notion away.
Who could say when he might disappear? He'd already tried to leave her once. It was possible he might slip away at any time in another misguided fit of heroics, attempting to shield her and her brother, to keep them from further danger.
Dread dropped like a cold stone into her belly. She hugged her arms tight against her middle—that place where no babe grew. Where none would ever grow. And she was stunned at the sudden feeling of loss.
She crossed to the door that separated their rooms. Such a thin barrier. And she stiffened at the sound of someone entering the chamber beyond. Heavy footsteps, as if the weight of two worlds were upon his shoulders.
Ciaran. She sensed his closeness in every fiber of her being. Sensed his weariness. His confusion. His regret. And even her earlier irritation faded.
Relief flooded through her at the certainty that he hadn't disappeared. For now, he still belonged to her. It stunned her to realize how much she needed to touch him, assure herself he was real. But what could she bring as a peace offering?
Mustering her courage, she crossed to a table Sorcha had draped in white linen and covered with countless delicacies: rich pastries and jewel-like wine, sweetmeats and the ripest fruits. "A lover's feast," the little maid had said brightly. Fallon smiled as her gaze locked on a crystal bowl all but lost among the treats. One tidbit about Ciaran the legends had passed on was his favorite sweet: the fresh cherries the fairy king had used to enchant him so long ago.
Fallon scooped up the bowl and held it against her breasts, then crossed to the door. She grimaced. It would be a miracle if Hugh hadn't slipped up and nailed it shut for the night. But the handle turned easily. Not pausing to knock, she eased the door open.
Her breath caught in her throat. Ciaran stood, stripped to his breeches, his naked back gleaming in the candlelight. He turned, surprise darkening his gaze. "Fallon. What are you doing here? Do you need something?"
I need to touch you. To beg you never to go away. I love you. The words bubbled up inside her, but she didn't dare say them aloud. He already thought her half-mad. Her cheeks burned. "Hugh kept insisting it was important to act as if we were married, so I thought... I mean, the servants left a table full of food, and I can't possibly eat it all myself." She was making a mess of things. Desperate under the intensity of his gaze, she thrust the crystal bowl toward him. "I brought you these. Cherries are your favorite."
He glanced down at the red fruit, but instead of hunger or pleasure, his features tightened with aversion. He drew back as if he thought they were poisoned. "I don't eat those."
"But you do—the legend says—"
"Fallon!" He snapped. "I'm no legend. Damn it, why won't you believe me?"
She set the bowl down, aching inside. And suddenly, the truth spilled out. "Because if you're a legend, you can belong to me. At least, for a little while."
"Fallon." His voice turned gentle, filled with quiet yearning. "It's all make-believe. It isn't real."
"But you're here, aren't you? I called you back and you came."
"Only by chance. I'll be going away as soon as possible. We both know that."
"Yes." Fallon blinked hard, fighting back the hot tears that burned her eyes. "Ciaran," she said after a moment, "there's something I need to ask you. A favor."
"I'd do anything in my power to repay you for what you've done for me, Mary Fallon."
"Promise me something. That you won't just vanish—leave without saying good-bye. Promise you'll tell me when you're leaving."
"I can't promise that. If there's some sort of disaster, I might not be able to find you and tell you." His gaze intensified on her face. "Why is it so important to you?"
Fallon sucked in a shuddering breath. Did she dare to trust anyone with the wounded corner of her heart? "Too many people have disappeared from my life already. Papa rode away, and I never saw him again. And Mama—I woke up one morning, and she was gone. Ever since, I've loved the hills and the castle, the stories and the legends and the sea cliffs. I've never let myself care about anything or anyone who could leave me."
A stillness settled over his features, an unutterable longing. He closed the space between them, cupping one hardened palm gently against her cheek, and she wanted to reach up, stroke away the lock of hair that all but concealed the healing gash. "Ah, Mary Fallon. I understand what it's like to be alone."
"Because you've lost your memory? Everything is strange and new?"
He shook his head. "No. I've always been alone. I don't know how I know that, but I do." His thumb stroked a tiny arc across her lips. "And I didn't want to be. I wanted... somewhere to belong. Someone to wait for me."
"Are you starting to remember?" She didn't know if the thought relieved or frightened her.
His eyes slid closed. "Just impressions. Shadows. The ugliness of battle, the stench of death, suffocating."
"You were a warrior, then! I knew it!"
"I fought. That much I know."
"Can you see what kind of clothes the other men are wearing? That way we could tell if it was hundreds of years ago."
"No. I can't remember that because it wasn't important to me. All that mattered was what happened after the battle was past. The sun shining. Other men laughing as women flung themselves into their arms, sharing fierce kisses, not caring that the whole world was looking on. That I was looking on. Tears. The women crying, touching the faces of their husbands and lovers as if to make certain they were real. And children clambering about, clinging to their fathers' legs, tugging at their hands, their little voices..." His voice cracked.
"There would be time for tales of glory later. Admiration, respect. I'd get the hero’s share. But none of that mattered. I didn't want that—didn't need it. I needed... someone's arms around me. Someone's tears dampening my chest. I needed..."
Fallon's throat tightened at the image he'd woven. In all the years she'd pored over her myths and legends, learning Ciaran's tale by heart, she'd never considered what it would have been like to be high champion, separate from other men because of his honor, his noble deeds. And there had been no woman waiting. For all that he was beloved by his people as a hero, Ciaran the man had always been alone. "I would have kissed you even if the whole world were watching. In fact, I already did, outside the pub."
Ciaran's mouth tipped up in a heartbreaking smile. "You did. But you seemed far more likely to kick Redmayne in the shins than to stand by, helpless, weeping pretty tears."
"I'm not very good at crying. I gave it up soon after Mama died. What's the use when there's no one to hear?"
Silence hung between them, a long, aching moment. It squeezed Fallon's heart. Then Ciaran's voice, so low, so tender.
"I'm listening, Mary Fallon."
Damn him. Just four tiny words, and she could feel the burning beneath her lashes. This time, all the stubbornness she possessed couldn't keep the tears from spilling free. He gathered h
er in his arms, her cheek pressed to the beating of his heart. They were the tears of a lonely little girl, the tears of an angry young woman, the tears of a dreamer awakened and afraid.
And he held her in the strength of his arms, warming her, stroking her hair, murmuring soft words against the crown of her head.
She wanted to stay there forever. In the end, she had to pull away. Scrubbing away the traces of tears with her fist, she gave a nervous laugh, suddenly and hideously uncomfortable that she'd revealed such weakness to anyone.
"I have to stop this," she said. "This is supposed to be our wedding night. It won't do for the maids to see my eyes all puffy and swollen from crying."
"Perhaps they'd think these were tears of joy." He grasped her chin, turned her face up so that he could look full upon it. "And I—I would think they were beautiful." He skimmed his fingertip along her cheek, gathering up the droplets and hiding them in his hand, as if they were liquid diamonds, a treasure too precious even for the cache of the fairy king.
She peered into his eyes, suddenly breathless. Yearning softened the sensual curve of his mouth. "Would you kiss them away? If they were tears of joy?"
"Any tears. All your tears."
"Show me."
He hesitated just an instant, and Fallon sensed that he was ready to pull away. But then he threaded his fingers back through her hair. Slowly, as if he'd imagined this moment a thousand times and wanted it to last forever, he lowered his mouth to her tear-damp face.
Warm, tender, moist, his lips skimmed along the salty wet path trailing down her cheek. His breath wisped against the fragile skin beneath her eye then he kissed her lids closed. A tiny whimper rose in Fallon's throat, as his mouth melted the hard lumps of pain, of grief, of loneliness she'd hoarded through the years.
Unable to bear the sense of opening, of unlocking for another moment, she shifted her own mouth until it was under his.
He stilled, and she could feel the wild lurch of his heart. "Fallon, we shouldn't."
"You promised to kiss away all my tears, Ciaran. There are still so many left deep inside me. Here." She gathered up his fingers in her own then pressed them against her heart. The soft mounds of her breasts yielded beneath the gentle pressure of his palms, his long, strong fingers curving along the edge of gossamer fabric that skimmed low, his thumb pillowed on velvety skin.
"Fallon," he said hoarsely, "this isn't real. No matter how much we might wish that it was. We shouldn't."
"What isn't real? My tears are. And your loneliness. And the vows we spoke today before Father Gerrard. With my body I thee worship. Such beautiful words. And just a moment ago you said you wanted..." She nibbled at her bottom lip, heat spilling into her cheeks. "But maybe... maybe you don't want me. I know I'm not beautiful. And you must be used to fairy maidens, so bewitching they can steal a man's soul."
"No fairy maid could weave the kind of magic you've spun. Ever since I saw you, there in that ridiculous castle, parting the veil of mist like some lady spun out of moonlight, offering me her hand, to lead me... where, Fallon? Where are you taking me? Into some beautiful realm of illusion? One so strange and wondrous I'll never want to leave? But they're your dreams, Fallon. Your legends. Your magic. They can never belong to me."
"But tonight can. Our wedding night. No matter what else comes after."
He thrust her away from him, his features filled with longing. "No. No matter how much I want you, we can't be together."
"How can you be certain? Maybe I'm wrong. You're just a man, alone." She didn't believe it, but she didn't care. She only wanted to erase the resolve that was darkening his eyes, hardening that mouth that had been so tender against her own.
Ciaran frowned. "I just know I can't stay with you. Those fragments of images, those emotions, those shadows—the feeling was so strong in me. No matter how much I wanted, it was impossible."
"I never even dreamed of marriage, of someone to hold me, to kiss me, to take me to his bed and love away the loneliness. You think I'm a dreamer, with my head in the clouds, and yet, I looked out over my life and I knew no love would ever find me."
"Why would you think such a thing? You're brave and generous. And beautiful. Not in the common way—all rosy perfection, like some goddess carved in marble. You're far too warm, too much of earth and sea and wind and wildness, to be contained in the boundaries that short-sighted men draw around the word 'beautiful'. Some day, a man will come who deserves you, Fallon. Who sees what I see. The strength, the power in you, the tiny flaws that make you like no other. Your face—the way it changes like the sky above the sea. And the way your spirit calls out."
"What does it say?"
"Believe. If you dare. But I'm afraid I don't have that kind of courage."
"Maybe I believe enough for both of us right now. In all the legends I've ever read, one thing is the same. Fate spins out, like a ribbon of silk, linking everything together—every fear, every challenge, every quest and reward. Destiny. Ciaran, isn't it possible that I was meant to find you on the cliffs? That we were meant to wed? And that tonight—just for tonight—we've been given a chance not to be alone?"
He sucked in a shuddering breath. "If it were only that simple."
"It is. We've even spoken the wedding vows. I'm your wife." And would be forever if they lay together this night. The marriage could never be annulled, wiped away as if it had never existed.
"We'll be wed for only a little while, Fallon. Until this disaster is over. It's not as if you love me. It's a phantom you love—a figment of your imagination, not a man."
"I don't know how to love a man. Teach me."
"I can't," he ground out. "I don't think I've ever..." A flush darkened his cheekbones. He glanced down at where a blue satin bow gathered the neckline of her nightgown at her breasts. "From the moment you kissed me it felt so... unexpected. So new. As if it were the first time."
"It was. My first time, I mean. It made me wish..."
"Wish what?"
She trembled, feeling so wanton, needing him so much she didn't care. "That you would touch me. On my skin. Beneath my nightgown. That you would let me touch you."
He swore, low, his hands knotting into fists. "You already did. When you were bathing me, sliding your hands across my skin. It felt so damned good. I was lost, but when your hands were on my body I didn't care where I'd come from, why I was wandering. That's one of the reasons I had to leave before you awakened. So you would forget all about me."
"Even if I'd never seen you again, I would have remembered forever. Your body is so beautiful, Ciaran. Hard and warm. I couldn't help but see." She reached out, touching his bare chest, running her fingertips along the curves and hollows, where the shadows clung. "But even your body isn't as beautiful as what I saw in your eyes."
He gave a snort of self-disgust. "Confusion? A tangled mess?"
"No. Sadness and courage. Honor and pain. The same loneliness I've felt forever. I never thought I'd find someone who could understand. I never thought I could find anyone at all." Her lips curved, tremulous. "I know I may just be... borrowing you for a little while. But maybe, just maybe, we could make that enough."
"You give so much, Mary Fallon. And you ask so little in return. How can I—"
"Like this." Her fingers went to the ribbon tie, pulled it loose, the fabric opening to reveal the shadowy cleft between her breasts. His gaze burned her, touched her more deeply than fingers ever could. He swallowed hard.
Bewitched. Enchanted, by something more powerful than even the fairy king's cherries. Were there rules against making love to the king's champion? Fallon suddenly wondered. What would the cost be for seducing Ciaran of the Mist? What forfeit would the fairies demand? For in every tale, every legend, every whispered story the crofters told before their peat fires, the fairies were a vengeful, jealous lot who guarded what was their own.
But she didn't care if she had to spend the rest of forever sorrowing as Deirdre had when Naosi was hunted down, or as the princes
s Isolde had when she'd been separated from her beloved Tristan. It would be worth any price to be loved by this man tonight.
Fallon grasped the edge of the delicate muslin, and started to slide it down her shoulder, to bare herself to that hungry gaze.
"No," he rasped, catching her fingers tight in his, stopping her. And shame flooded through her, regret clenching about her throat. Rejection. She should have expected it. Should have known he would turn her away in the end.
She should go back to her own bedchamber. She had to do it before the tears came. But before she could move, he whispered.
"Let me do it."
Hunger sang through her, passion drumming to an ancient rhythm in her blood. She arched her head back, giving him access, felt his fingers awkwardly fumbling with the garment. He eased the cloth off her shoulders and halfway down her upper arms, but the edge snagged on the burning tips of her nipples. With unsteady fingers, Ciaran dipped between the cloth and her skin, drawing her breast out from beneath the gown. Something warm, slightly rough abraded the point of her nipple. His finger. He traced the circle of her aureole in a wonder of discovery.
"Like peaches. So pretty. So sweet," he murmured, gliding the fabric beneath her other breast. The nightgown bunched beneath the velvety mounds, held in place by his big hand.
"Let the gown fall," she whispered. "I want you to... to see me."
"No. We've both waited so long, Fallon. I want to savor every inch of you—slowly, so slowly. Too precious to rush." It seemed to take an eternity as he revealed her, a sliver at a time, marveling, murmuring praise, caressing her with his hands and his eyes and his voice. He discovered her body an inch at a time, awakened every nerve and stirred it to life with the lightest brush of his fingers until she was burning with desire for him. And when at last he let the nightgown drift like fallen petals about her feet, Fallon could scarcely breathe, she needed him so.
Her Magic Touch (Celtic Rogues Book 3) Page 16