Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series)

by Strong, Jennifer

  While she was pleasantly numbing a constant ache that had taken up residence in her heart over the past months, the lads seemed to be getting, quite literally, sloshed. Micah’s tongue loosened considerably with the spirits; she found that he had the same charming ability to speak his mind, however bawdy, as Jacob did without alcohol. His come-ons were softspoken, clearly meant. Less inhibited, Micah asked her a great many questions which she normally would have deemed too personal to answer, and yet she did, as honestly as possible without revealing her true nature, all the while his deeply hued eyes alight with the attraction she had sensed for weeks. He tended to stare harder, too, she soon noticed. Ailill stared back in silent wonder, her eyes roving boldly over he and Jacob, hungry for the many characteristics that proclaimed them to be of her own kind, her own people easily recognizable to one another. The resemblance to her first love only made her look harder, seeking out the differences, which were a sad few; she did not bother to hide the fact that she was looking, either; it was not her way to hide. Moving into the light of the cozy living room to play a game that Jacob had laughingly called quarters, Ailill gazed between them both with open appreciation, seeing beauty in every square inch she set her gaze upon, from the dark glossiness of their long, straight hair to the graceful curve of each well formed muscle beneath inherently bronzed skin. Exquisite, her mind coerced over and over, her eyes tracing the clean, chiseled lines of high cheekbones, strong jawlines; as perfect as they come, and why not? They are of your own ilk. It was all she could do to keep her thoughts on the unusual new game, the shiny silver quarters a form of currency taken out of distribution long ago when running a hand, or an eye, along a scanner could buy a person just about anything their greedy little heart desired. Jacob carried the now worthless coins around in a tiny pouch for just such an occasion. His pleasure on learning that Ailill had never even heard of such a thing had been evident, his eyes flashing knowingly when they met Micah’s over her head, until she proved a good aim nearly every time the shiny coin made it into the heavy shot glass, forcing him to drink when he had expected it to be the other way around.

  “Y’all can’t be that good, darlin’, if ya ain’t never played b'fore,” he slurred after her sixth quarter clinked on the smooth rim, falling dead center into the bottom where it winked merrily in the flickering light of lanterns. Ailill did not care for the artificial light of electric bulbs, and had spent a good ten minutes setting out as many of the small glass lamps as she could, the squat beeswax candles melting slowly down inside each one making the room smell like honey.

  Ailill sniffed delicately and flashed a smug grin, eyes shining a deep emerald in the yellowed light. “Och, then laddie,” she burred, at ease enough to slip into her native tongue. “I am no the one who’s drunk, now am I?” Laughing, she added, “Didna ken that Scots drink like the wee fishies in the sea, did ye? We raise our bairns on the water o’ life, to be sure.”

  “Y’all ain’t truly a Scot,” he countered, raising the glass she had poured moments before with a good-natured shrug. Micah watched his twin with narrowed eyes, not quite sure if the man was flirting because he was drunk or just in a good mood. Jacob had maintained his own careful distance since the day they met Abby. “Annie says you were raised right here, on Jewel Mountain, ‘til you were four,” Jacob added lightly, hoping she could not see just how far gone he really was. “That makes you as Americanas us, darlin’.”

  Her look was intense, eyes darkening momentarily with the denial that rolled easily from her tongue. “Nay, Jacob. Truth be told, yer as Scottishas I am, as any born in the Heilan’s.” Grinning in amusement, she added, “darrrlin’,” and bounced another quarter off the table, missing on purpose to take Jacob’s attention off herself, if only for the moment. He cheered noisily, sloshing whiskey from the glass as he passed it over the table, his grin triumphant when Ailill downed it in a single gulp.

  Micah watched her carefully, less intoxicated than his twin so far, but not by much. Enough to see that she had deliberately aimed a bit to the right, the coin bouncing off the side of the glass, into his lap; he smiled back when she met his eye, dimpling prettily up into his face. “God, you’re beautiful,” he couldn’t help saying aloud. He wondered if she had ever been kissed, wished he could get up the nerve to do it, and handed her back the coin.

  “Aye, and ye are truly gone wi’ drink, Micah,” she countered, feeling a bit tipsy despite her unusual ability to handle spirits. “Perhaps we should stop awhile?” Her eyes glowed almost invitingly but when he leaned toward her, Ailill stood up quite suddenly. “I believe I shall make ye a bracer, to keep the whirlypits at bay,” she said quickly, moving back a couple steps, rapidly retreating into the kitchen where she leaned against the wall just inside the doorway, out of sight of the twins. Her heart was pounding mercilessly, breaths coming in soft pants, as if she had run for miles. When she noticed that her knees were trembling, Ailill clenched her fists, wanting to be rid of the feelings the men evoked in her, seeing, at last, the error in having them here. Perhaps I should send them home after all, she thought miserably, knowing that she would not when the sight of Micah’s lips rose up unbidden, the intensity in his blue eyes when he had come so close to showing her how good it might be to kiss him, as she had been wanting to do all night; as she had wanted to do for many weeks now. Closing her eyes, she sent out a silent plea for forgiveness, feeling as if she were betraying the only man she had ever truly loved; she nearly jumped out of her skin when long, warm fingers suddenly curled around her wrist.

  “Abby? Y’alright?”

  “Och, aye,” she huffed anxiously, her hand coming up to rest over her hammering heart. “Ye startled me, is all, Micah.” His fingers tightened, pressing the wide bracelet into the tender underside of her wrist, drawing her gaze up to eyes turned black beneath the shadows of the darkened kitchen.

  “How d’ya know who I am?” His voice held a peculiar note, more than simple curiosity.

  “Oh, well, that is an easy riddle.” Turning to face him, Ailill reached out with her free hand, taking his other hand in her own, their arms crossed over one another. “If you were Jacob, our arms wouldn't be crossed as they are. Only a cackhanded person would end up in a knot from the right side, which you should know from learning swordplay or hand to hand.” Shaking her wrist for emphasis, noting that he wasn’t about to let her go, she frowned. “You grabbed me with your left hand, because it is natural for you. Jacob is a righty.”

  “Oh. Mmhmm...good answer, very observant. Y'all ain't a righty, or a lefty.”

  "Mm, no. I am what you'd call ambidextrous, double handed. An oddity."

  "Y'all ain't the least bit odd," he breathed.

  "Oh, but I am. Odd as they come."

  "Nah. Can you really use both hands?" He sounded rather intrigued at the thought; stared down through the shadows to where her hand had come to rest in his. "For everything?"

  "Aye, Micah. Everything."

  Silent for a long moment, thoughtful, Micah suddenly leaned closer, almost brushing up against her. “You smell nice,” he whispered, reaching for a long tendril of her hair, wrapping it about a finger. “Jacob fell asleep. Waitin’ for you to come back; you forgot to turn on the light,” he pointed out smugly, “so... I followed you.” The heat of his breath near her ear sent shivers down her spine.

  “Aye?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why?” There was a tremor in her voice, a heat throughout her small body that made her wish for a cool drink; a swim in the icy Loch Ness; anything besides standing here with this man who seemed to take her control and toss it out the nearest window with no more than a look.

  “Because I want you.”

  Ailill did not hear the small gasp that escaped with such a bold statement fed into her ear; she heard nothing at all, except his heart beating in time with her own. His lips were surprisingly soft, his mouth warm against her own when Ailill’s lips parted automatically in invitation, her tongue touching on his with a n
atural ease that made her melt against him. When he drew away for a breath, Micah slid his hands up to her shoulders, his touch tentative, feeling immense strength beneath the velveteen skin. They stood close for a long while, breathing one another's air, afraid to continue, more afraid to move away. Lowering his head for another taste, he drew her tight against his chest, feeling her heartbeat against his own, racing; glad that Jacob had fallen asleep so easily, giving him the out he needed to carry on with this particular wish. When he noticed that Ailill was standing a-tiptoe, his arms slid around her waist, raising her easily up to his own level, loving the way she felt in his hands, all soft and warm, the way she wrapped her own strong arms about his neck and kissed him back with renewed fervor, wanting him with an intensity that would have floored her if he hadn’t been holding her up. His own want was as strong; it was an effort to pull away, but he did, setting her gently back on her feet.

  “I...mm, I think I got them whirlypits you were talkin’ about,” he mumbled quietly, swaying on long, narrow feet. “And I think we better stop now, Abby, or I might just do somethin’ you’ll regret tomorrow.”

  Surprised, Ailill blurted, “but you said you want me!” Her tone of pure disappointment cut off the laugh that threatened to bubble up when Micah realized what she’d said. Grinning into the darkness over her head, he leaned down and kissed her again, a light touching of lips this time, most regretful.

  “I do want you, Abby, in every way,” he assured her, his fingers sliding down her arms, into her hands. “Honestly. I’ve never wanted anyone or anything more, but we’re strangers, you and I. And, I don’t know ‘bout you, you seem to put away the booze like it’s water, but I know for a fact that I’m just plain drunk, for the first time in my life. I wouldn’t wanna take you without remembering it in the morning; and I think, you wouldn’t want it that way either.” Swaying with the motion of a sapling in the wind, he giggled, a childish sound that made Ailill smile. He let go her hand to steady himself against the wall. “See,” he slurred, the word sounding more like she, “told ya. Think I need to lie down.” His long frame crumpled to the floor with a graceful ease, his legs stretched full length over the highly polished planks. “Oh, them whirlys is gettin’ worse,” he muttered, the words moving Ailill silently away. Under the cover of darkness she filled a glass with cool water, ran a finger about the rim before bringing the drink over to where the man lay, one hand clutching his eyes as if to still the spinning of the room. He mumbled something rather incoherent, but when she reached out a soothing hand to his forehead, Micah grasped it hard enough to hurt.

  “Don’t touch me, man.”

  Startled by the breathless command, Ailill drew back, staring down at him. His eyelashes were dark smudges against his cheek, his hand clutching his chest as if it ached. “Micah?” No response. “Micah, do ye sit up now and take this wee bracer I've made,” she tried again, intentionally broadening her accent to its usual husky burr, the timbre unlike any other he had ever heard drawing him back from his own dark imaginings.

  “I dream a you. Ain’t poss’ble y’all come to life.” Micah’s voice was a soft slurring of denial. He giggled again, unhinged with the strength of the drink coursing through his veins, curious notions of the girl spreading through his heart, his mind, swift as a brushfire. Ailill heaved a sigh.

  “Aye, lad. ‘Tis possible, and ‘tis true.”

  “My dreamgal?” A sliver of moonlight shimmered across his eyes when they opened to look at her. “What’s a bray-cer? My tongue feels all fuzzy, teeth all numb.”

  Laughing softly, Ailill leaned closer. “Aye. It’s called bein’ drunk. Drink this. It'll help.”

  She helped him sit up, pushed him up with strong arms when he fell forward, and held the cup to his mouth for him, mindful of the sheepish grin he gave her, a sign that he would soon be over the state he was in. Licking his lips in appreciation of the cool, sweet drink, Micah leaned forward, taking her by the hand.

  “Funny how it tastes like your kiss, dreamgal.” As if double checking his comment, he kissed her, hungrily, drawing her down with him when he lay back; his kisses became more demanding as his fingers trailed over the silken skin of her bare midriff. “Y’all cain’t be real,” he breathed, drawing a fresh breath before continuing. Ailill sighed in answer, pushing against him with full, warm breasts, proof of just how real she was; half wishing he would just take her; the rush coursing through her made her head swim, a foggy cloud of desire pushing hard against the realization of her innocence, very close to becoming carnal knowledge upon the hard pine floor of her parent’s kitchen.

  “Verra real,” she whispered, feeling daring. Rising up above him, legs parted to straddle his narrow hips, Ailill felt his heat against her own, wanting it badly, and leaned far forward to kiss him, her hand resting on his chest to keep from falling. He rose up with a hoarse cry, pain evident in the roughened tone, the startling sound drawing a vivid image of Tiernan behind her closed eyes, when he had almost taken her on the moor, so many months past, a lifetime ago, knowing it was taboo long before he had even begun, before he had even realized just how deeply his feelings had taken root. His tone had been as full of pain as this man’s, as heartrending. Imagining the man beneath her, blood gushing from the sharp-edged nose, the full, sensual lips, Ailill scrambled to her feet with a strangled whimper, heart pounding painfully against her ribcage. When her hand missed the light switch near her head, once, twice, she muttered in an odd tongue, desperation in her tone. She stared down into Micah’s troubled eyes beneath lights that had seemed to come on at her breathless command. Seeing the clear face, unbloodied, the strong masculine form still stretched across the floor, one large hand resting protectively against a broad chest, Ailill cursed softly to herself, her eyes full of tears, cheeks flushed with incomparable feeling. “I am sorry,” she whispered in Gaelic, and left the room with small jerky steps.

  Micah stared after her for a long moment, wondering what he had done to cause such an overwhelming pain to come into her eyes; tear-filled eyes, he noted unhappily. She had put too much pressure on Kiah’s latest mark, making him cry out with pain, the nearness of her slick womanhood adding unbelievable pleasure to the pain. The head of his erection had been just there, poised to enter, when she jumped up; her wetness was there still, cool now, though it had been hot; so amazingly hot. Perplexed, he picked up the forgotten cup, drank down the last of the sweet brew, wondering what it was, his intoxication softened into a relaxing numbness. His gaze settled on the light switch, unseeing at first as he pondered her. She’s still a virgin, he realized with a jolt, wondering why he had not seen it before. All the times she had drawn away from a possible kiss over the past weeks; he had thought her shy, perhaps a bit frightened of the boldness of he and his twin together. Her touches were tentative, at best, though not unskilled. She did not reach for him the way that others had, much to their own dismay in the end. There was a natural sensuality to her, the way she moved. Her walk lacked the girlishness of innocence, each movement sinuous as a cat, stealthy as a formidable huntress, yet, she looked more innocent than any other woman he had met before, in the eyes. He had had a hard time believing she was seventeen after that first meeting, thought she was much younger. Her body proclaimed her as a woman, though. Loud and clear. Oh hell, Micah. And you were gonna take her here? On a bare floor!

  “Shit.” Slowly hauling himself up, Micah eyed the light switch again, seeing that it was still in the off position. “Aw, come on,” he muttered, shuddering in spite of himself. “She’s real, man, and beautiful. And right now she’s cryin’ ‘cause ya almost stole her virginity.” Glancing one last time at the plastic nub he stepped quietly out into the dimness of the living room, seeing Jacob still sprawled over the length of the huge overstuffed couch, sleeping off a state off intoxication that had definitely not been his first, his features softened into a youthful expression not usually seen during wakefulness. Blinking away any thoughts besides what he had nearly done, he began to sea
rch for Ailill’s scent, so like the taste of her kisses, the drink she called a bracer, heading upstairs and back down, snuffling like a hound before he caught it. “Man, you got it bad.” Swallowing down a grin that wanted to plaster itself across his face, a joy over finding love again, Micah stepped out onto the veranda, noting abnormal heat in the early summer air, smelling the muddy, loamy scent that precedes a rainstorm, underlaid by the smells of honey soap and Ailill.

  “Did Kiah do that to you?”

  The voice that floated out of the darkness halted Micah in his tracks, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the lack of starlight. “Yeah.” He could hear Ailill curse softly to herself, sensed that she had been crying. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? You didn't do anything to be sorry for. I should apologize to you, Micah, and Jacob.”

  Frowning in consternation, disturbed by the sorrowful tone of her voice, the confusion that filled his mind, Micah stepped silently over to where Ailill was perched on the swing, knees drawn up to her chest covered by a ghostly white nightie; warily, he took a seat beside her. She had taken a shower, the clean scent of mountain water and homemade soap were on her skin, in her hair. He inhaled deeply, her scents filling his head with a vaporous cloud. “I don’t understand, Abby. Apologize for what? We don’t even really know you that well.” He grimaced, thinking again of how he had wanted her, so badly that it had ached. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were still... mmm, well.” Not wanting to offend, he bit back what he had been trying to form into words.

  “A virgin, Micah. Ye can say it aloud,” Ailill stated tartly. “It's not taboo, lad. I didn't realize you were either, ‘til just now. It doesn't show, after all, and you kiss well enough to hide it.”

  Embarrassed, Micah laughed softly to cover his anxiety. “I can do alot more than kiss good, Abby, and I almost did, to you.”

  “Aye, and I was going to let you.” Her tone held a touch of regret. “Perhaps another time.” Micah looked up sharply at that. “Unless you change your mind,” Ailill added quickly, peering back at him with uncertainty. “You said you dreamed o’ me. Will you tell me about that? About your dreamwalks?”