Raising himself to his full height of six and a half feet, Micah threw back his head and let out a full, ringing howl, eerily wolflike, realistic enough to make the woman's wan face drain completely of color. Without another word, he stepped to the door and was gone.
He found her, at last, in the massive garden, and nearly laughed aloud at the sight. On hands and knees, Ailill crawled backwards a foot at a time, her bare feet practically buried in the rich mixture of deep brown soil and overripe dung as she carefully planted and fertilized the vegetables that would sustain half the population of Willow Wisp through the mean season. Her hair was pulled back in a french braid, her pretty face half-covered with a large red handkerchief of the sort used by stagecoach robbers in the nineteenth century, or by actors portraying the same role on screen a century later; the image brought on by the sight was highly amusing, until he saw the rows of finely tilled soil on her opposite side. She'd obviously been working on this since first light, a tedious, backbreaking job when done by hand. He wondered why she did not use the tools James kept in the barn, the gas-powered tiller, or at least the seeder that dropped the tiny beans and kernels at regulated intervals. Or, maybe she had, but felt it necessary to work herself into exhaustion covering them over. He didn't know. He did not laugh, either, as he watched unobtrusively from off to her right. She seemed not to notice his presence for once and he took the time to simply observe, to get a sense of her troubles.
And she did seem troubled; not angry, like yesterday, nor indignant, either. Ailill simply seemed sad. As if in agreement, she wiped an arm over her eyes, the motion leaving a streak of dirt over the sharp bridge of her small nose. The dung mixture was not so strong as to make her eyes water, otherwise his would already have been streaming; no, she was crying as she worked, small tears falling into the soil along with the seeds, each one covered over with deft hands. He wanted to go to her, to enfold her in his arms and carry her all the way back to Scotland, away from demanding parents, away from gossiping maids with birdlike faces. He wanted to rescue her from all her troubles, from burdens any normal girl should not have. But Ailill was not any normal girl; she was a warrior born; a musical prodigy; a pagan princess, so apparent in her noble bearing. He wanted to turn away from the sight but found he could not. Instead, Micah moved closer, stepping carefully over the rows she had already worked so hard to make.
"Can I help?" he asked softly a few feet behind her. Unashamed of her tear streaked face, her filthy hands and legs, Ailill turned to meet his gaze.
"I would be grateful," she said formally in Gaelic, nodding to a half-buried row on her left.
Sinking at once to his knees, Micah flashed her a small smile and dug in; his rows were not nearly so neat as Ailill's, but he sat back on his heels beneath a linden tree an hour later and surveyed his work with a pleased grin. Beside him, Ailill's lovely eyes stared out of a tanned, sweaty face, taking in the whole of the late vegetable garden, still mostly soil with but a few shoots peeking up along the edges. With the kerchief removed, a line of dirt was visible beneath her eyes, across the bridge of her nose; her tiny ears came to points at the back edge, noticeable now with her hair pulled to the back of her head. He stared hard at the one on the left but said not a word. It seemed natural for her; his own ears held a similar shape, though less apparent. He smiled, thinking it a cute, somewhat whimsical addition to her moulded form, her clear-cut features.
"God you're beautiful, Abby." He could not have stopped the words if he'd tried. She rewarded him with a sweet smile that almost reached her eyes.
"As are you, Micah. Masculine perfection. It's almost a shame there are more than one of you." He blinked, more surprised to hear the regret in her tone than the strange comment. He was quickly becoming used to the way she spoke, mainly in confusing riddles.
"Did you know that people are talkin' about me?" she asked, surprising him yet again. "They speak o' me hereabouts as if they know me, which they don't. I haven't been here since I was four, fourteen years! James and Annie are strangers to me, my own parents by birth. Even you... are a stranger."
He nodded, though he wished to disagree. "You're right. People are talking about you, Abby." Quickly, and in a quiet voice, he gave her the details of his little chat with her parent's nosy maid. Believing that she deserved to hear the full truth, he omitted nothing. Ailill frowned, looked heartily displeased, slightly affronted by his carefully worded threats to her person, and, finally, she laughed aloud at what he had said, and done, to the small woman.
"You howled? Truly?" At his nod, his sheepish grin, she fell back on the petal strewn grass, and laughed until tears rolled down around her ears. "Och, Micah. You're so clever! I doubt any man has ever spoken to Ellfie Quinn in such a bold manner, much less howled at her." She erupted in giggles again, taking his hand on impulse. "I thank you, for defendin' my honor."
"Hey, no thanks needed, Abby," he drawled, laying down beside her; picking up a peach, fallen in the storm last night, he held it to his nose, enjoying the sweet scent. "I did what any normal guy would do. Besides, now she'll be scairt half to death of Jacob, and because we look alike, she'll keep her distance from me, too."
"Why would she fear Jacob?" Ailill's eyes sparked with the sun winking through the boughs overhead, a deep blue color that captured his attention. He stared into those eyes as he attempted to explain.
"Well, you see, I'm the shy, quiet twin. Only Jacob would say things like that to a girl. Micah would never just reach out and touch someone's breast, but everyone knows that Jacob would, and does. She believes I was Jacob, even though I told her my own name, and when she goes tellin' this particular tale, it'll sound completely normal to the idiots who actually listen to her chatter."
"Aye, and they wouldn't believe it if she said it was you? Why?"
"Nope, because I am an untouchable virgin. Jacob has intentionally let everyone know it."
If he said it as a means to shock her, it didn't work. Ailill's eyes flashed with a gleam that made it clear she'd been well aware of his own purity all along. Her look put him on edge; he rolled to his side, heedless of adding yet more stains to his clothes, and looked at her hard, defensive.
"I may be a virgin in the technical sense," he said, a bit more offended than usual though she had said not a word. "But I can assure you, Abby, that I ain'ta prude. I'm not lacking in any area of sexual experience, except that one, and I believe that when the time comes I'll know exactly where to stick my cock." He eyed her coolly, not caring for the way her lips twitched at the corners, as if she were trying not to smile; or to laugh.
She did neither, though the desire was there. Instead, she gave a short nod of acknowledgment. "Aye, you're fully capable, I'm sure," she answered thoughtfully, her gaze taking in the full length of the man, the breadth of strong shoulders, powerful even in a relaxed state. She paused curiously at the front of his kilt, stared hard enough to bring a flush to his cheeks, noticeable when she met his eye.
"Do you want to see just how truthful I am, Ailill?" he asked, surprised at his own boldness today. He felt like grabbing her, forcing her to test his ability.
"Nay, Micah. I don't. Myexperience in the sexual arts is quite lacking... I haven't done much more than kiss a lad. I've never set eyes upon a mphm... a cock, as you put it, when it was full with need; not up close, at least. You are technically a virgin, as you've... mph-"
"Kept my cock outta other women," he put in helpfully; his grin was ingratiating.
"Aye, as you say, though I do question the validity of that. A mouth is just as stimulating as the real thing, isn't it? But, wait, before you get all defensive again," she quickly added, seeing an argument forming in the strained set of his shoulders, in his clenched jaws. She sat up, knowing he'd do the same, though he clearly wished to take her right there, by the dungy field; to prove himself and whatever he considered to be his sense of manhood. She nearly grinned.
"You're a virgin, and so am I." Her statement was simple, direct as her loo
k. "You've got questions, so do I. It's the not knowing that makes us strangers, the lack of answers that holds us apart though we are kindred spirits, you and I. Correct?"
"Yeah." He gave a perfunctory nod, eyed her uneasily. When she smiled, he blushed, almost sure of what her first question would be; not sure if he was prepared to grant her what she wanted without embarrassing himself.
"Will you kiss me?"
She could have knocked him over with a feather. He'd not been expecting that. "Uh, I'm filthy," he answered, chagrined.
"As am I. And I don't give a damn if you were covered with sewage. Two things have I been unable to keep from my mind, Micah, and two things you can answer right now." He was curious. His eyes glowed with it and she smiled. "One- I wish to know what it would be like to kiss you... a real kiss, not some brotherly peck, nor a tonguing full in the depths of a drunken haze." She blinked, owl-like, and stared hard at his mouth.
"And two?"
"I want to see you, to know what I am to be up against, when we give our long horded innocence up to each other."
"And what makes you think we'll do that?"
"Och, well, because it is to be," Ailill replied calmly; yet another riddle. "So? Will you?"
Micah drew a deep breath, shifted uneasily where he sat, and glanced around. He felt like she was testing him; like he'd better give the right answer or else he wouldn't get another chance. His ears were burning with embarrassment but he leaned close, took her by the shoulders, and kissed her for all he was worth.
His lips were soft yet firm, willful in an undemanding sort of way; the smooth tip of his tongue prodded her lips, seeking entry and she melted into him, tasting the salt of his sweat, the sweet, mildly minty flavor of his mouth. She'd meant it to be a simple kiss; on its own, it became far more, lasted far longer than intended. A rush swept through her, a heady need, mirrored in the increasing ferocity of Micah's kiss; his hands moved of their own accord, slid down her arms, feeling the velvety smoothness, the blatant power just under the surface.
"It's like a peach," he husked softly, drawing a shaky breath. "Soft and firm, smooth; perfect." His thumbs circled her nipples, brought a gasp to her own lips, and he looked down, smiled slightly at the erect nodes. "You taste like a peach, Abby, sweet and juicy, warmed by the sun." When he bent for another taste, Ailill pressed against him, a tremor running through her, hot and slick; a need that was as natural as it was alien. Feeling as if he'd burst with the wanting, Micah drew back, took her hand, placing it over the tented material of his kilt. His eyes were dark with desire; he knew of the change in himself; seeing it in Ailill, her eyes suddenly deepest blue, was like a gift, unexpected, welcomed. "I don't think it could get any bigger than you've made it."
The whispered words drew her eyes downward, his fingers pulling the woolen plaid away inch by inch until his erection seemed to be winking back at her. It was big, but she'd expected that; size was renowned throughout his paternal branch. It pulsed visibly, throbbed under her scrutinizing gaze, and seemed to grow still more with the tentative touch of her fingertip; long and thick, hard and smooth; she suddenly understood the meaning behind the frequent jests cast about the Morna clan. The words escaped her before she realized.
"Stud horse?" Meaning to push her hand away at the whispered insult, Micah's own fingers clamped hard around her own, his hand moving hers toward his easement. Something new; she would have naturally picked up on the motions of a hand job but she allowed him to do it for her, liking the strength of his fingers over hers.
"Your clan... many call the men stud horses," she husked breathlessly, highly turned on by his actions. "You've all got stonners like thoroughbred stallions, bodies to match. Kiss me again."
It was hard not to laugh. In all his life, in all Jacob's shared experience, whispered in the deep of night, Micah had never heard their size referred to in such a colorful way. But no, Ailill's soft, firm grip was taking over control of his senses. The way her cheeks pinkened, flushed with excitement, did not help his control a bit. She's as horny as I am, he realized. This time when he kissed her, he reached a dirt smeared hand beneath her skirt, felt the intensity of her heat, her need. She jerked in surprise, renewed the motion of her small fist with frenzied ardor as his fingers teased, took her to a realm unknown before; it was too much, the pleasure she so easily caused. He wanted her with all his being, and he knew she was ready, but Micah instinctively felt compelled to question her willingness.
"Is this how you want it?"
"Hmm?"
"Abby?"
"Hmm? What'd you say?"
Pulling back, Micah put a purposeful halt on their rapidly growing lust, breathing heavily as he searched her passion darkened eyes. "I'm not a guy who'll take advantage," he said quietly. "If this is how and where you want it, Abby, I'll give you all you want, but I think you should take a minute to think about the implications. I know what you're supposed to do." He kissed her, fervent in his desire, yet he held back. "I won't just love you and leave you, and neither would Jacob. Would you?"
"No. I cannot just leave, after."
"Is this how you want to remember your first time?" His hand came up, fingers slick, muddy where they had been touching her moist heat. "We're filthy, Abby. It ain't just dirt on our skin. I want you as bad as I ever wanted anything or anyone, but I don't want you to regret me." He was completely serious, she saw.
"Well... we could bathe first. I would still want you to have me." Smiling, she kissed him again.
"And cool thisin a pond? I don't know if I like that idea." Without a word, Ailill stood, reached out a hand, which he took with alacrity. Casting a brief glance down, he was suddenly glad of the concealment of a kilt. Ain't no way this hard-on's going away without release. He eyed Ailill as she walked, wanted to just throw her down and take her. Aw, hell.
The maid was still cleaning the kitchen; she stared with saucer eyes as Ailill strode in with Micah close on her heels. "Aye, Ellfie Quinn, do ye hold yon bletherin' tongue. Go awa'. Yer dismissed for the day," she stated casually, intentionally heavy on the accent, more than loud enough to be heard as she ascended the steps. When she pulled Micah forcibly into the upstairs bathroom, he did not resist.
"I never showered with a girl before," Micah whispered sometime later as he stood, naked, dripping on her bedroom floor. "Never kissed someone for so long, either."
“Was very... stimulating, aye?"
"Very."
"Do you still want me?"
"Ain't it obvious?" he said with a shaky laugh. His erection was as full as it had ever been, almost painfully hard; he grinned sheepishly as she stared at it with wide eyes.
"I want you, too, Micah. Is it obvious?"
Eyes narrowed, he studied her intently from head to toe to head. She was as naked as he, far more at ease in her own skin; pinkened from the heat of the shower, it glowed in the light streaming through the small window. But the shower hadn't been thathot and though her flesh had that fresh scrubbed glow, it had been he who'd washed her; and kissed her; and touched her while he was washing and kissing her. His body fairly hummed with the realization. She could sense it, he knew; he did not care. He met her eyes with a boldness unlike himself.
"Your eyes darken like mine when you're turned on," he said. "Did you know that?" Her nod caused dripping tendrils to fall over one shoulder, nearly covering her left breast like a curtain that fell to mid-thigh. "You have the longest hair I've ever seen. It's really beautiful; you're really... beautiful." Suddenly feeling awkward, he looked away, stared at the floor, emerald green carpet, thick and luxuriant beneath the soles of his feet. Ailill watched a flush creep up his chest; muscles well-defined, almost too thick, his flesh was a natural bronze, a statue come to life; unadorned by the piercings, the tattoos so common in the men she had grown up with, Micah's chest was as smooth as any bairn, but a thin line of black curls ran smooth and straight from below his navel to his genitals. A more beautiful man she'd never seen, and there were three who looke
d like him, many more with a marked resemblance. If only he knew that.
"You're nervous; a wee bit frightened. Why?" Looking at her sharply, Micah inhaled deeply through his nose, forced himself to step closer.
"Because," he half-whispered. "I want to do right by you, Abby. I've never been more scairt in my life of fuckin' things up." In understanding, she smiled, her features lightened considerably with the honest admission.
"You'll do fine, I believe. It is an instinctive thing, this, and as natural to our kind as breathing." Moving to take his hand, drawing him slowly toward the huge feather bed, Ailill watched covertly as her words sunk in, her lowered lashes the perfect length for hiding the windows of her eyes. She felt, strangely, unafraid of the idea of lying with Micah. Or, at least, less afraid than he was; she was the one who would feel pain, after all, not that a bit of pain would change her decision; it could not be worse than anything she had endured thus far. Her fingers closed impulsively against her palm, pressed briefly against the striations of silvery scars there. Pausing at the edge of the bed, so not her own, she reached out to pull him close. He surprised her by sitting down suddenly, pulling her to stand between his knees. When she wrapped her arms about his neck, Micah trembled, and when she bent her head to kiss him, he pulled back, stared at her hard for what seemed an eternity.
"Abby?"
"Aye?"
He froze, shook his head as if to clear his mind. "I, uh, we aren't really strangers, are we?" Meeting his rather confused look with a steady gaze, Ailill's head swayed side to side in negation. She waited, hoping the sudden realization would not change his mind. "I dreamt of you," Micah said quietly. "This feels like deja-vu... like we've already done this."
"Not exactly, Micah. But aye, we have dreamt of one another, as we've already discussed. We, all of us, have such an ability. Does it change things?"
Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series) Page 15