He walked to the wall behind the pile of clothes. Already the duil, the desire, burned in his loins from the fey compulsion. He was the knight of Tuatha Dé Dananns, Dark Chieftain to the faery castle Kindred and he would not be driven to mate like a mindless animal.
He glanced over his shoulder. She stood unmoving, hands by her sides, eyes unblinking like a faery, silver and intent.
“What are you doing, Tynan?”
“I need to rest a moment.” With his back pressed to the wall, he slid down and sat in the dirt.
Damned spiteful faeries and their spells. The borrowed breeches pulled taut against his erection. He raised one leg higher to hide his discomfort, hoping she did not see his arousal.
“Do you feel ill?” she asked in concern, taking a step toward him.
“Nay,” he replied softly.
“How long do you intend to rest?”
“Until you allow me the easing of my mark.”
“I doona understand any of this.”
“Come to me, then.” He let his voice coax her. “Let me relieve any discomfort that I may have caused you.”
“Derina said the noble tribe are different from the rest of us. She once told me that a noble male’s saliva is soothing for their mating bite.”
“Derina is wise,” Tynan murmured.
“She is a druidess. She knows of many things.”
“That is it, then.”
“Methinks, she does not know of this.”
His lips curved into a smile. “Mayhap. Come to me,” he urged.
She approached cautiously, a butterfly ready to take flight. There was a small silence while she studied him.
“You need to do this easing? It is part of some ritual?”
“Aye, it is unfinished.”
“Will you nip me again?”
He shook his head.
She stepped between his legs and Tynan released the breath he had been holding. With a slow gentleness designed not to frighten her, he reached up and took her left hand in his.
“Sit.” He guided her down. “Closer to me.” He patted his inner right thigh.
She knelt, distrustful, yet curious.
“My mark was not meant to give you discomfort, only pleasure. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“Your eyes are darkening, Tynan,” she whispered.
“What color do you see?”
“They are as night.”
Tynan closed his eyes and nodded. It had begun. His geas would darken the light in his eyes to pitch until tears of blood formed, but he still had time. It was too early yet for the madness to take hold.
“Tynan?”
He opened his eyes and looked into a sea of swirling silver. She belonged to the contrasts of in-between, of both faery and mortal, and now she belonged to him.
He drank her in, every delectable part of her embedding in his senses. He listened to the increased beat of her heart, the mysterious whisper of her breath, the slight, trembling sigh. Her reaction to him was as ancient and elemental as his faery geas.
“Frightened of me?” he asked.
“Aye, a little.”
“ ‘Tis only natural to fear the unknown. I need you to remain calm and concentrate on me.” He scrutinized his honor-mark on her jaw. Tiny spots of blood had risen to the surface of her purpling bruise, making him even angrier with himself. “My touch my seem strange at first, but ‘tis our way.”
She did not move. He took that as affirmation and then proceeded to explain the ancient male to female healing practiced by his tribe.
Bryna’s eyes widened in alarm. She made a small, strangled sound low in her throat. She did not know what to do. Derina had taught her that there were different forms of healing and that she needed to keep an open mind, but she felt exceedingly uncomfortable about him suckling her jaw, even though the saliva was meant to heal.
He touched her chin, his thumb brushing the bruised skin.
She pulled back.
“Hurts?” he asked.
She nodded, going rigid next to him.
“I will not hurt you.” His hand entwined in her silken hair, tilting her head back.
“What are you doing?”
“I am tilting your head back so that I may have better access to your jaw.” Gently, Tynan kissed her cheek; his lips moved down and slid along her jawline to his mark. He tasted the sweet nectar of her blood and the saltiness of her skin, taking great care to go slow with her. He suckled her jaw and felt her tremble in his arms. He pulled back a little. “I must do this,” he said against her cheek. “Doona fear.”
His lips returned to his honor-mark. With each feathery stroke of his tongue, his mark healed, binding her closer to him. Her shoulder pressed into his chest. He knew she could feel the increased beat of his heart against her arm.
She shifted her legs, her hip coming to rest intimately on his inner thigh.
Tynan stilled at the unexpected contact.
She shifted again.
“Bryna,” he barely managed, his voice throaty with need. “You need to settle down.”
He shifted back into the wall to give her more room.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked in mortification.
He shook his head. “Nay.”
“Your voice sounds strange.”
He nodded, knowing the cause. “Hold still then and let me finish.” Before I dishonor myself.
She settled closer to him and Tynan felt a cold sweat come on. He resumed stroking saliva into his mark, praying for it to heal quickly.
He shut his eyes in determination. A primitive urge to bind her to him roared in his blood and then she sighed . . .
He froze at the distinctive sound of female surrender. His hands slid down to her shoulders and tightened.
Her eyes fluttered open, a gaze of molten silver burning a path to his soul. Fey need pulsed in him, ripping away his hard fought control.
“By the white moon, faery. I canna…
Suddenly, jagged shapes slashed through his fey lust and compulsion.
Shapes.
Movement.
Tynan turned toward the feypath entrance.
“Tynan, what is wrong?”
His hands slid to her dainty wrists. “Be still and listen.”
“The cave is safe,” she whispered.
“The threat comes from the feypaths.” In one swift move, he brought them both quickly to their feet.
“We must leave, now faery.” Distant shapes filled his inner senses. “Which way?” He pulled her with him toward the pool.
“What?”
“The Evil One searches with many, Bryna. Is there another way out of this cave?”
She pointed to the shimmering waterfall. “Behind the waterfall lies a narrow path that leads to the outside.”
“Show me.” Gently, he pushed her forward. “Nay, I canna go with you.”
“You have no choice.”
The sunlight blinded them as they emerged from the secret waterfall cave, slightly disoriented.
A rolling landscape faced bright sunrise and Bryna thought they were somewhere near the western border of Laigin. As she had never ventured from the waterfall cave before, she was unsure, yet the land before them shone of sunlit hues in deep blues, greens, and golds. Majestic oaks and sycamores sprinkled over the plains. It was a place of light, of shore, and of a once fertile time. She could see the land struggling to return to its former glory.
Once outside, Tynan assumed the lead, urgency riding his heels. The day felt warm for this time of year and Bryna suspected he wanted to take advantage of it.
She had problems keeping up with his fast pace on the rocky hill, but valiantly struggled on. Tall grass brushed against her gray skirts. They strode around the leafy blackthorn trees with thorny branches and ancient standing stones that were level with her hip. In Marta, March, the busy month, Bryna knew these prickly trees offered blue-black fruit and beautiful white flowers, but not now.
Caught
up in her musings, she stumbled on a protruding rock and cried out, losing her footing.
The chieftain pivoted and grabbed her upper arm, steadying her against him. Catching hold of his broad shoulders for support, Bryna stared at a muscular chest and a sweat dampened tunic. A powerful pulse beat at the base of his neck. Above her, warm breath teased the hair at her temple. He did not seem to be letting go, so she looked up.
He indeed watched her with a silent regard. Gold flecks glittered in large amethyst orbs framed by sinfully long black lashes. He was past and twilight, an ethereal mystery of long ago magic.
“Are you hurt, faery?”
“What?”
He glanced down at her feet, at her worn slippers cut from one piece of leather and sewn with an ornate seam.
“I am fine.” She stepped back out of his arms. “Tynan, I canna go with you. I must go back to the fortress.”
His gaze returned to her face and narrowed. “I think not.” He pulled her forward firmly. “‘Tis not safe for you anymore. The Evil One will know that you helped me, faery.”
“How will he know?”
“He will know. You canna go back.”
Bryna glanced over her shoulder. She felt a strong urge to return to Kindred that she could not explain. Derina had said she must go with the chieftain, yet she worried for the safety of her teacher. What would the Centurion do to the ancient druidess when his Witcheyes went missing? In the past, she had always believed situations would resolve themselves if left alone. She no longer felt that way and knew she must act. Later, when the chieftain rested, she would escape him and return to the fortress.
Through the morning and long afternoon, she walked beside him in silence. High above, the sun moved across the blue sky. They walked away from the sea cliffs and bramble-covered mounds, over rolling green hills dotted with mature yews, and around an unbroken ring of gray stones.
“Tynan, where do we go?” She shoved her hair back over her shoulder.
“My home.”
They were moving deeper inland, toward the place where the faery woodlands were said to be. Purple shadows crept across the land, turning the living world into the timeless dominion of the faeries.
“Twilight approaches. We can rest here for the night,” he said.
To Bryna’s vast relief, he stopped before a thicket of silver thorns that masked the entrance to a small cave. It was a good thing; for she was so tired that she swayed on her feet.
“Wait here.” He sniffed the air, and then disappeared into the cave’s darkness.
She wrapped her arms around herself and looked to the horizon. In the twilight sky, the buttered moon had begun its slow rise. She fervently wished for some toffee apples and mulled wine, cake, and a roaring fire to drive the cold away. She should flee now, but could not muster the strength in her legs.
“Bryna,” he called, stepping from the thicket. “The cave is safe. Walk around the thicket.”
She stood rooted to the spot. “I need to…”
He nodded in understanding. “Doona go far. The night closes in upon us.” He walked back into the cave and gave her privacy.
In the underbrush, Bryna attended to her personal needs.
With the setting of the sun, crispness settled in the air warning of a cold night. She shivered and glanced apprehensively at the dark cave entrance. She did not want to go in there. Neither did she want to spend her eve out in the open.
In the cave, Tynan built a small fire with sticks, dried leaves, and moss. He settled himself down on a makeshift bed of dried leaves and waited for Bryna. The ground felt hard and cold beneath his weary body despite his best efforts. He ran a hand through his hair. He should hunt for food, but was too tired to do so. Beyond everything else, his body needed rest. His strength had waned quickly as he had not fully recovered from the Evil One’s spell.
He reclined on the bed that he made and shifted to his side, bracing on one arm. Tynan stared at the cave entrance in growing annoyance at her delay. “Bryna?” he called out, breaking a small branch in his hands.
“I come.” She entered the cave on silent feet and settled down on the other side of the fire, color high on her cheeks.
It came as something of a jolt to him, that this waif could be his territorial goddess. It would not bother him in the least to mate with a creature this beautiful. He leisurely explored her face.
She returned his regard with an icy blank expression that would set a lesser man in his place.
He patted the bed of leaves before him. “Come here and join me.” His voice vibrated deep in the small confines of the cave.
Fear flickered in her eyes for just a moment. “I will not lie with you.”
He patted the leaves again. “Come, Bryna.”
She shook her head.
“I have no patience for stubbornness this night.” In one swift motion, he rose. Coming around the fire, he pulled her to her feet.
She kicked his shin, causing him to hop back.
“Why did you do that?”
“Let go of my wrist!”
He scowled at her and then dragged her around the fire to the makeshift bed.
“Tynan, let go of me.”
“Do not make me expend what little strength I have left in fighting with you. The night will be cold.”
“I doona care how cold it gets.” She kicked out, catching him off balance. They tumbled down in a wave of flailing limbs.
Tynan twisted, taking the brunt of the fall. She landed on top of him, her elbow jabbing his stomach. He grunted, rolling to his side and taking her with him.
“Settle down!”
She turned, her knee barely missing his manparts.
He grunted, twisting her around so that her back pressed into his chest.
“Stop fighting me,” he hissed through clenched teeth, locking her arms across her chest and forcing her compliance.
“I will not lie with you!”
Tynan was in no mood to tolerate disobedience. “All I wanted was to share my warmth and sleep with you.”
“Sleep?”
“Aye, sleep. I will not dishonor you.”
“Do I have your word?”
He chuckled. “Aye, you have my word. Now, can we sleep? My body aches more at this moment than it did before.”
“I thought . . .”
“I know what you thought.” Tynan released his hold on her and laid down on his back.
She settled in beside him.
“Rest, faery,” he said wearily. “You are safe from the bad chieftain this night.”
“Safe,” she murmured. “I know not what safe is.” Soon, her trembling subsided and she slid into a mindless slumber.
After a time, Tynan locked his hands behind his head and listened to her breathing. She would always be safe with him. He stared up at the black ceiling of the cave. The flutter of tiny wings moved the air above him. Two brown bats left the shelter of the cave to forage in the night.
His mind finally calmed, giving his body the rest he sorely needed. His last thoughts were of the silver-eyed faery mumbling in her sleep about a golden goddess.
CHAPTER 6
BRYNA DREAMED OF THE GOLDEN territorial goddess again, an ill omen, a dream turned menacing. The goddess knelt in a glade beside a pool of black rain-water, an elfin vision of blond beauty and rage. As the dream held her immobile, bars of red fire sprouted from the dirt, locking the goddess in a cage, a cage belonging to castle Kindred. The vision began to fade, nightmare and mist streaming over a fading glade into nothingness.
The warm world under her shifted.
And then again . . .
She snuggled closer to the sloping hardness beneath her cheek and hand. Strength slowly encircled her upper back, caressing the curve of her shoulder. Throbbing warmth pulsed against her inner thigh. Adjusting her position, she did not recognize the pressing length of masculine desire.
A hand pushed her knee down.
Bryna’s eyes fluttered open.
“You need to move, faery,” a black velvet voice urged softly.
Bryna blinked, not yet fully awake.
Hips shifted under her.
She looked down at her body draping his, at her knee, at the large bulge pressing against her inner thigh.
She scampered back in a blind panic, bruising her hip on an outcropping of hard, mineral-laden rocks, and rolled over with a firm thump.
“Oh,” she gasped as the world tilted precariously.
The chieftain levered himself up on one arm. His amethyst eyes fixed unblinkingly on her. “Morning, skittish one.”
Bryna took a steadying breath to regain her senses and rubbed her bruised hip. “Morning.”
“Are you hurt?” He was looking at her, a slight frown arching a dark brow.
“Just a little bump.” She looked over at the smooth planes of a male chest that lay exposed beneath the green laces of his tunic.
Tugging down the hem of her rumpled gown, she then adjusted the bodice, which had twisted sideways during the night. Gazing down at the frayed material, she realized the straining seams would soon need a needle and thread.
A masculine groan echoed in the morning silence. She peered up at him from beneath her lashes; he had lain on his back, his arm covering his eyes.
“Tynan, are you feeling ill this morning?” she inquired.
“Not ill,” he answered emphatically. He dropped his arm to his side and stared up at the ceiling in a most perplexing way.
“Tynan?”
He grimaced and sat up.
“If you doona feel ill, what is wrong then?”
“I am annoyed.” Reaching behind his back, he pulled out an offending rock and tossed it aside.
“By that rock?”
He looked at her with great displeasure, as if she had done something terribly wrong. “Faery, can you not repair that gown?”
Wincing at his tone, she absently touched the frayed bodice. “Not without a needle and thread. Is that why you feel annoyed? By my gown?”
“Partly.”
She tilted her head and studied him, but his gaze had slid away. “Derina said some men awake in a temper.”
“Aye, they do,” he agreed in irritation. “Damn Sidhe spells and honor.” In one swift move, he stood.
“What spells do you speak of?”
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