Celtic Moon cw-1

by Jan Delima

  His good humor was addictive. She laughed, feeling reckless. “Why not?”

  He dropped her on his bed. She bounced a few times, the burgundy comforter soft against her bare skin. She leaned back on her elbows, allowing him full view. His eyes darkened and his voice lost that teasing edge. “Because I’m not even close to being finished with you yet.”

  Twenty-one

  DYLAN AWOKE WITH A START. HE WAS HALF CONVINCED that last night had been a cruel dream, a manifestation of what he wanted most but couldn’t have, until he felt the small weight of her body curled against his. Half turning, he rose to his elbow to watch her, to confirm with his own eyes that she was actually there.

  Sophie slept on her side, with her back snuggled against him and her hands curled under a pillow. She had cocooned herself in a mass of blankets, leaving him none. He almost laughed aloud with joy, having forgotten she was a blanket thief.

  Anxiety skittered like seeds on the wind; it was in those forgotten moments, in a simple act, that he knew she was indeed real, breathing softly, and curled in his bed.

  Her hair spread around her, tousled in sleepy disarray. Unraveling the comforter, he scooped her into his arms until her skin met his. Warmth filled his heart with a sense of rightness, as if a vital piece had finally been restored.

  A contented sound fell from her lips, and then a yawn. She stretched like a kitten, arching her back and pushing her hair away from her face.

  Moisture gathered in his eyes and he blinked it away, making a silent vow to the gods . . .

  Tell your Guardians to fear this day, for I have been given a second chance and will not lose her again. Whoever comes to us with ill intent, whoever brings danger to my wife and son . . . will die. This I promise you, with every breath I have taken, and every breath I willingly give up for them . . . From this day forth, I will not live a life without them in it!

  A slight frown creased her forehead as if she sensed his turmoil. Her eyelids lifted once and then fell. “What time is it?”

  “Early. The sun has yet to rise.” He had relearned her body through the night, every blessed and beautiful inch, noting all the changes time had stolen from him. Curves had replaced the slenderness of youth; her breasts were fuller, her nipples darker, larger, and quicker to respond.

  Taunted by the direction of his thoughts, he ran his palm down her side, over her hip and then her leg, wincing when he felt the jagged resistance of healed scars that one of his own had given her. How close he had already come to losing his wife and son.

  Siân had feared him for good reason. He now knew why her bags had been packed, why she’d agreed to leave so readily. Acid churned in his stomach, anger and vulnerability a venomous cocktail that didn’t sit well.

  Needing reassurance, Dylan dropped a kiss on the soft skin just under Sophie’s ear. “Do you regret last night?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  Relieved, he nestled closer, spreading his fingers across her stomach and molding her to his length. Her bottom wiggled against him and he swore under his breath. He had used her well through the night, he knew, and yet . . . “Can you handle me again?”

  “I’m not sure.” A husky laugh fell from her lips. “But I’m willing to try.”

  A soft growl rolled from his throat. He pulled her leg over his, exposing her so he could assess for himself. Gently, he parted her opening, inhaling a ragged breath when he found heat and gathering moisture.

  He readied her by stroking her flesh, circling her swollen nub with teasing touches and gentle pressure, until she turned her head into the pillow to muffle her cries.

  Only then did he ease inside her opening, gritting his teeth against the pulses of her orgasm. His control was still limited, his need still raw. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

  “Just move.” A muffled plea as her head rocked from side to side, restless.

  Sweat gathered on his brow as he slowly thrust forward, grinding his fingers into her hip to keep her in place. As her wet sheath closed around him, he almost came; one night did not fix sixteen years of neglect. But it helped. He rode her into a second climax, managing to hold back his own release until hers began again. His vision blurred. Burying his face in her hair, he surrendered to the carnal fulfillment only his mate could provide.

  They lay in comfortable silence for a while afterward, locked in a trembling embrace, as if neither wanted to end this moment of enchantment, of hope and second chances. But soon, the first light of dawn edged through the window, sending orange hues throughout the room, chasing away the shadows of pleasure with the responsibilities of the day.

  Resigned, Dylan placed a kiss near her temple and rolled onto his back. The cool morning air did little to bolster his resolve. “If I asked you to wear the Serpent, would you do so?”

  She tensed by his side, her voice cautious. “That depends on the reason you’re asking.”

  “The weapon is your best defense against a Guardian, against anyone of our kind. I would like you to wear it, if only for my own peace of mind.”

  “It scares me,” she admitted. “I had a nightmare the night I received it . . . of a horned snake. It seemed so real. There’s something creepy about it, something . . . unnatural.”

  He agreed, yet, “There will be powerful leaders in our territory tomorrow, perhaps even sooner. Taliesin—”

  She rose to her elbow and turned to face him, brown eyes searching his face. “He said something you haven’t told me, didn’t he? What did he say?”

  Dylan sighed, wishing their reunion had happened sooner, during a more peaceful time. “He confirmed that the Guardians’ arrival is a real threat we need to prepare for.”

  “How does he know this?”

  “Taliesin has powers beyond ours. I don’t know how he sees what he does, but I believe his warning is real.”

  To his surprise, she flopped back down and snuggled against him. Her hand rested on his chest, palm down, and absently slid lower to stroke his stomach. “Fine, I’ll wear the thing if you think I should. But I hope you have a big box of Band-Aids.”

  Distracted and once again aroused, he slapped his hand over hers to still her motions. “The bloodletting should only be the once.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe the Serpent needed to mark you as its new master.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel soooo much better.”

  “I can show you how to use it,” he offered.

  “That would be helpful,” she said with a sarcastic edge. “Do you have time this morning?”

  She was truly afraid, he realized, but committed to learning the weapon regardless, because he had asked her to.

  “Of course.” He hugged her against his chest, possessive. “You have changed, wife.” He seemed to be telling her that often, but it was with admiration of the woman she’d become that had him repeating the words. “Sixteen years ago you would have argued with me.”

  “Sixteen years ago my husband was keeping secrets. I’ve learned to adapt to my surroundings. I understand the need for protection, even if I don’t like its source.”

  His breath lodged in his throat. “Say it again.”

  Sending him a mischievous smile, she twisted her hand out from under his. Warm flesh slid lower as she shifted positions, womanly soft and completely beguiling. There were teasing kisses where her hand had once been, down his stomach, her breath hot against his skin as she repeated, “I understand the need for protection, even if I don’t like its—”

  “Don’t taunt me, Sophie,” he growled, half crazed by the path her mouth led. “Not on this matter . . . Say it again!”

  “Husband,” she complied just before closing her mouth over his hard flesh.

  He jerked under the gentle heat. Sweet Mother . . . The feel of her lips around him, suckling . . .

  “Sophie . . .” He groaned, tangling his hands in her hair. “You don’t have to do this—”

  “Do you want me to stop?” A husky torment as she ran her tongue down
his length, turning his cock to stone-on-fire.

  “No.” Fuck no, his wolf added, prowling to the surface of his control, less polite and dangerously pleased. Two beings with one voice joined in need: Claim us, our mate, as we have claimed you.

  It was his last coherent thought as his wife drove him into sensual ecstasy. And perhaps took a piece of his soul in the process, like a persuasive faery carrying the gift of a thousand wishes—for a price. The last was debatable, but as she brought him to his version of Tír na nÓg, a favored paradise of the Irish Celts, he was well aware that comeuppance had already been taken; Sophie had acquired full possession of his heart.

  * * *

  A RHYTHMIC POUNDING ECHOED ACROSS THE COURTYARD as Sophie marched toward the kitchen, her boot heels clicking on the cobblestone pavers in a steady rhythm. Tucker trotted by her side, keeping in cadence with her strides. The late morning sun was just about to peak over the rampart of Rhuddin Hall, outlining the massive building in shades of orange and gold. The Serpent whip hung low around her waist, hidden under a long white cotton blouse.

  She had spent the last hour with Dylan, learning how to wield the weapon, using a tree limb as a target. Its weight, though no heavier than any other of her weapons, made her anxious, now that she knew its potential for causing damage.

  The tree would not live to bud another spring.

  The Serpent’s metallic fangs acted as anchors, deadly hooks that grabbed its target, securing the flexible sword for a fatal cut. No human, or wolf, could survive a well-landed strike.

  Not a pleasant image to carry in her mind as she made her way through the gardens toward the kitchen entrance. “Good morning, George,” she said in passing.

  The gardener leaned against his shovel, openedmouthed as he eyed the hound trooping by her side. “Er . . .” He cleared his throat, recovering enough to tip his dirt-encrusted hat. “Good mornin’ to you as well.” It was the kindest reply the man had ever given her.

  Progress, Sophie thought as she scooted around a pile of compost. Tucker had been her constant shadow from the moment she’d stepped out of Dylan’s bedroom. Even now, several hours later, the dog crowded against her leg, poking her palm with his wet nose.

  She spared him a quick glance. “Those sad blue eyes aren’t going to work on me . . . I’m still not happy with you.”

  Tucker made a low noise in the back of his throat, sounding suspiciously annoyed. Good. He had stubbornly refused to follow Joshua when Dylan had taken him to a meeting of the guards.

  She wasn’t pleased, but knowing Dylan was there helped ease her worry somewhat, dire warnings of Guardians notwithstanding. Her agreeing to accept their marriage had, in many ways, relieved an enormous burden. She wasn’t alone anymore, and it felt good to have someone else to rely on, trusting Dylan to do everything in his power to keep their son safe.

  The kitchen was hot, filled with the scent of baking bread, and occupied by Enid and her two daughters, Lydia and Sulwen. Dylan had warned her beforehand of their arrival. He had also shared a rare moment of his past, and the reason why Enid had earned his leniency.

  So it was with greater understanding, and compassion, that Sophie greeted her, “Hello, Enid. I was told you wanted to see me.”

  Enid wiped her hands on her apron and approached with hesitation, while the two younger women continued to work behind the counter with their heads down, acting busy. “I want to offer you an apology. As you proposed yesterday, I would like to start anew.”

  Sophie understood how hard it must have been for this proud woman to show humility. “I will accept your apology, if it’s genuine.”

  “You have my word that it is.”

  Truth, whispered through Sophie’s thoughts in a serpentine voice. She froze. The scent of apple blossoms and pollen clung to the back of her throat. She recognized that voice, with its ancient accent and eerie enticements.

  You will know lies from truth . . . You will be able to protect those you love most . . .

  Unnerved, Sophie pulled at the neck of her blouse and tried to concentrate on her purpose at hand. “Dylan informed me you wish to return to your former position.”

  Enid bobbed her head. “He has left the decision up to you, but I started early because . . .” She acted nervous, even submissive, her gaze darting to Tucker and then back to the floor. “Because there is much to be done before the gathering. My daughters have agreed to work on Mondays, as you instructed, for my day’s break.”

  “Do you have a menu planned?”

  “Of course.”

  Sophie walked over to Enid’s daughters. Lydia was stocky like her mother, whereas Sulwen was taller, willowy. “Do you want to work here?” she asked them. “Or is there something else you’d rather be doing?”

  The two women exchanged surprised glances.

  “We’re here because we want to be,” Sulwen answered.

  Lydia added, “It’s good to have a purpose.” Her eyes were the most remarkable color of lavender in bloom. “But it’s also quite nice to be asked if we want it.”

  “Then the job is still yours,” Sophie said, “with my gratitude.”

  “Thank you for giving our mother another chance.” A slight smile turned Lydia’s lips. “I know she can be . . . um . . . grating to one’s nerves.”

  “Lydia,” Enid gasped. “That is not true.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Sulwen added. “It is . . . but we still love you.” Biting her bottom lip, she turned to Sophie; her voice sheepish. “I would ask one more favor of you, and understand if you’re not willing . . .”

  “Why don’t you ask me and find out,” Sophie said.

  Sulwen nodded as if gaining courage, sneaking a glance toward her mother. “I enjoy living in town. Our cottage is beautiful . . .” She sighed. “But our mum misses Rhuddin Hall.”

  “Sulwen, hush,” Enid implored.

  “Will you speak with Dylan?” she continued with determination. “He may be more . . . willing to forgive her punishment if the request comes from you.”

  “What about you and Lydia?” Sophie wasn’t sure she wanted to persuade Dylan to change his original decision, especially when it concerned internal matters of his home. Nonetheless, it was the first time any person from his household had asked her for help. “Do you wish to return?”

  Encouraged, Enid nodded. “Yes.”

  “No,” both daughters replied in unison.

  “What?” Enid turned on them, clearly astonished. “What are you talking about? Of course you want to return.”

  Sulwen placed a gentle hand on her mother’s arm. “It’s not like we’ll be living across the country. And we’ll be working together every day.”

  “It’s time, Mum,” Lydia said softly. “We want to stay in the village.”

  “But the Guardians—”

  “Have reason to fear us.” Lydia turned lavender eyes on Sophie. “Because your Goddess has chosen to favor our leader.”

  * * *

  RHUDDIN HALL LACKED THE USUAL BUZZ OF VOICES SINCE many of the villagers kept to their homes. Dylan led his son through the kitchen, noting Sulwen’s shy smiles when Joshua inquired about dinner.

  Enid greeted him with a nod, her expression humble. Well, perhaps not entirely humble, but maybe at peace with her situation. For the time being, at least.

  “Sophie accepted my apology,” she volunteered before he asked. “She is upstairs with her mother.” A pause. “I was thinking of asking Francine if she would like to help in the kitchen, but didn’t want to offend. Do you have an opinion on the matter?”

  Dylan’s eyebrows rose in surprise, anxious to hear Sophie’s version of events if it had prompted Enid to entertain a human working alongside her. “I think the gesture would be welcomed,” he said.

  “Then I will ask.”

  “Good.” He turned to the sound of feminine laughter, and found Sulwen, with her adoring gaze filled with mischief and promise, hand-spooning cookie dough into his son’s mouth. Lydia glared at her sister
with open disgust.

  Dylan cleared his throat. “Joshua, follow me, if you would. I have a gift for you.”

  Ignoring his son’s guilty flush, Dylan motioned for him to continue down the hallway, and away from treats of more than one variety. Silently, he made a mental note to make time for a certain conversation. Every unmated female in Rhuddin Village may well vie for Joshua’s attention, simply for being his son. But once he shifted . . .

  Dylan shook his head, unprepared for this aspect of parenthood.

  The pungent scent of lemon oil and vinegar, Enid’s staple cleaners, lingered in the great hall. He paused under the carved entry, holding out his arm for Joshua to enter. Enthusiasm brightened his son’s features, and yet a feeling of impending disaster lingered.

  He had more to lose, Dylan realized, with his wife and son back home and the approaching gathering hovering around his family like a poisonous fog of uncertainty.

  Not to mention the Guardians. Their silence was at odds with their normal behavior. Shouldn’t they have contacted him by now? Made demands?

  The meeting of the guards had gone well this morning. Their defense was as sound as their limited numbers could provide. Dylan had faith in their skill, trusted their honor without question. Unfortunately, their numbers, or lack of, were just cause for concern. The weak, the people who needed protection, outnumbered the strong. His territory was massive, blessedly abundant, and consisted of far more terrain than sixty-two men and women could cover at one time, regardless if they ran as a wolf. Nonetheless, they had planned well, plotted the most vulnerable areas that needed protection. And, Goddess willing, the gathering would prove productive.

  But was it enough?

  “I don’t need a gift,” Joshua said, interrupting his father’s troubled thoughts.

  “You will receive one regardless.” Dylan walked over to the mantel on the far wall where his father’s sword was displayed; copper, iron and glass forged together in unrivaled craftsmanship. “This belonged to your grandfather, my father.” He lifted the weapon off its mount along with the iron chain that would secure it around his son’s waist.