Nora Roberts's Circle Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

She nodded. “And Tynan? His wounds?”

  “A gash along the hip. Hoyt treated the wounded. He was doing well when we left them. They’re secured for the night.”

  “Well then. We’ll pray for sun in the morning.”

  She had another duty to see to.

  Her women had a sitting room near her own chambers where they could sit and read, or do needlework, or gossip. Moira’s mother had made it a cheerful, intensely female space with soft fabrics, many cushions, pots filled with flowering plants.

  The fire here was habitually of apple wood for the scent, and there were wall sconces of pretty winged faeries.

  When she was crowned, Moira had given her own women leave to make any changes they liked. But the room remained as it had in all her memory.

  Her women were there now, waiting for her to retire for the night, or simply dismiss them.

  They rose when she entered, and curtseyed.

  “We’re all women here now. For now, in this place, we’re all only women.” She opened her arms to Ceara.

  “Oh, my lady.” Ceara’s eyes, already red and swollen from weeping overflowed as she rushed into Moira’s embrace. “Dwyn is dead. My brother is dead.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Here now, here.” She led Ceara to a seat, holding her close. And she wept with her as she’d wept with Ceara’s mother, and all the others.

  “They buried him there, in a field by the road. They couldn’t even bring him home. He had no wake.”

  “We’ll have a holy man consecrate the ground. And we’ll build a monument to those who fell today.”

  “He was eager to go, to fight. He turned and waved at me before he marched off.”

  “You’ll have some tea now.” Her own eyes red from weeping, Isleen set the pot down. “You’ll have some tea, Ceara, and you, my lady.”

  “Thank you.” Ceara mopped at her damp face. “I don’t know what I’d have done these past hours without Isleen and Dervil.”

  “It’s good that you have your friends. But you’ll have your tea, then you’ll go to your family. You’ll need your family now. You have my leave for as long as you want it.”

  “There’s something more I want, Your Majesty. Something I ask you to give me, in my brother’s name.”

  Moira waited, but Ceara said nothing more. “Would you ask me to give you my word on something without knowing what I promise?”

  “My husband marches tomorrow.”

  Moira felt her stomach sink. “Ceara.” She reached over, smoothed a hand on Ceara’s hair. “Sinann’s husband marches with the sunrise as well. She carries her third child, and still I can’t spare her from his leaving.”

  “I don’t ask you to spare me. I ask you allow me to march with him.”

  “To—” Stunned, Moira sat back. “Ceara, your children.”

  “Will be with my mother, and as safe and well as they can be, here, with her. But my man goes to war, and I’ve trained as he has. Why am I to sit and wait?” Ceara held out her hands. “Peck at needlework, walk in the garden when he goes to fight. You said we would all need to be ready to defend Geall, and worlds beyond it. I’ve made myself ready. Your Majesty, my lady, I beg your leave to go with my husband on the morrow.”

  Saying nothing, Moira got to her feet. She moved to the window to look out at the dark. The rain, at last, had stopped, but the mists from it swarmed like clouds.

  “Have you spoken with him on this?” Moira asked at length.

  “I have, and his first thought was for my safety. But he understands my mind is set, and why.”

  “Why is it?”

  “He’s my heart.” Ceara stood, laid a hand on her breast. “I wouldn’t leave my children unprotected, but trust my mother to do all she can for them. My lady, have we, we women, trained and slogged in the mud all this time only to sit by the fire?”

  “No. No, you haven’t.”

  “I’m not the only woman who wants this.”

  Moira turned now. “You’ve spoken to others.” She looked at Dervil and Isleen. “Both of you want this as well?” She nodded. “I see I was wrong to hold you back. Arrangements will be made then. I’m proud to be a woman of Geall.”

  For love, Moira thought as she sat to make another list of names. For love as much as duty. The women would go, and fight for Geall. But it was the husbands and lovers, the families inside of Geall that made them reach for the sword.

  Who did she fight for? Who was there for her to turn to the night before a battle, to reach for that warmth, for that reason to fight?

  The days ticked away, and Samhain loomed like a bloodied ax over her head. And here she sat, alone as she sat alone every night. Would she reach for a book again, or another map, another list? Or would she wander the room again, the gardens and courtyards, wishing for…

  Him, she thought. Wishing he would put his hands on her again and make her feel so full, so alive, so bright. Wishing he’d share with her what she’d seen in him the night he’d played music and had stirred her heart as truly as he’d stirred her blood.

  She’d fought and she’d bled, would fight and bleed again. She would ride into battle as queen, with the sword of gods in her hand. But here she sat in her quiet room, wishing like a blushing maid for the touch and the heat of the only one who’d ever made her pulse quicken.

  Surely that was foolish and wasteful. And, it was an insult to women everywhere.

  She rose to pace as she considered it. Aye, it was insulting, and small-minded. She sat and wished for the same reasons she’d held back sending the women on the march. Because it was traditional for the man to come to the woman. It was traditional for the man to protect and defend.

  Things had changed, hadn’t they?

  Hadn’t she spent weeks in a world and time where women, like Glenna and Blair, held their own—and more—at every turn?

  So, if she wanted Cian’s hands on her, she’d see that he put them there, and that would be that.

  She started to sweep out of the room, remembered her appearance. She could do better. If she was about to embark on seducing a vampire, she’d have to go well armed.

  She stripped off her dress. She might have wished for a bath—or oh, the wonderfully hot shower of Ireland—but she made do washing from the basin of scented water.

  She creamed her skin, imagined Cian’s long fingers skimming over it. Heat was already balling in her belly and throbbing along nerves as she chose her best nightrobe. Brushing her hair she had a moment to wish she’d asked Glenna to teach her how to do a simple glamour. Though it seemed to her that her cheeks were becomingly flushed, her eyes held a glint. She bit her lips until they hurt, but thought they’d pinked and plumped nicely.

  She stood back from the long glass, studied herself carefully from every angle. She hoped she looked desirable.

  Taking a candle she left the room with the sheer determination she wouldn’t return to it a virgin.

  In his room, Cian pored over maps. He was the only one of the circle who’d been denied a look at the battlefield, either in reality or dreams. He was going to correct that.

  Time was a problem. Five days’ march, well, he could ride it in two, perhaps less. But that meant he’d need a safe place to camp during the daylight.

  One of the bases the others had secured would do. Once he’d taken his survey, he could simply relocate in one of those bases until Samhain.

  Get out of the bloody castle, and away from its all-too-tempting queen.

  There’d be objections—that was annoying. But they could hardly lock him in a dungeon and make him stay put. They’d be leaving themselves in another week or so. He’d just ride point.

  He could ride out with the troops in the morning, if the sun stayed back. Or simply wait for sundown.

  Sitting back he sipped blood he’d laced with whiskey—his own version of a sleep-inducing cocktail. He could just go now, couldn’t he? No arguments from his brother or the others if he just rode off.

  He’d have to leave a
note, he supposed. Odd to have people who’d actually be concerned for his welfare, and somewhat pleasant though it added certain responsibilities.

  He’d just pack and go, he decided, pushing the drink aside. No muss, no fuss. And he wouldn’t have to see her again until they caught up to him.

  He picked up the band of beaded leather he’d failed to give back, toyed with it. If he left tonight, he wouldn’t have to see her, or smell her, or imagine what it would be like to have her under him in the dark.

  He had a bloody good imagination.

  He got to his feet to decide what gear would be most useful for the journey, and frowned at the knock on his door.

  Likely Hoyt, he decided. Well, he just wouldn’t mention his plans, and thereby avoid a long, irritating debate on the matter. He considered not answering at all, but silence and a locked door wouldn’t stop his brother the sorcerer.

  He knew it was Moira the moment his hand touched the latch. And he cursed. He opened the door, intending to send her on her way quickly so he could be on his.

  She wore white, thin, flowing white, with something filmy over it that was nearly the same gray as her eyes. She smelled like spring—young and full of promise.

  Need coiled inside him like snakes.

  “Do you never sleep?” he demanded.

  “Do you?” She swept by him, the move surprising him enough that he didn’t block it.

  “Well, come right in, make yourself at home.”

  “Thank you.” She said it politely, as if his words hadn’t dripped with sarcasm. Then she set down her candle and turned to the the fire he hadn’t bothered to light.

  “Let’s see if I can do this. I practiced until my ears all but bled. Don’t speak. You’ll distract me.”

  She held out a hand toward the fire. Focused, imagined. Pushed. A single weak flame flickered, so she narrowed her eyes and pushed harder.

  “There!” There was absolute delight in her voice when the turf caught.

  “Now I’m surrounded by bloody magicians.”

  Both her hair and her robes fanned out as she turned. “It’s a good skill, and I intend to learn more.”

  “You won’t find a tutor in sorcery here.”

  “No.” She brushed back her hair. “But I think in other things.” Walking back to the door, she locked it, then turned to him. “I want you to take me to bed.”

  He blinked as otherwise he might have goggled. “What?”

  “There’s not a thing wrong with your hearing, so you heard me well enough. I want to lie with you. I thought I might try being coy or seductive, but then it seemed to me you’d have more respect for plain speaking.”

  The snakes coiled inside him began to writhe. And bite. “Here’s plain speaking. Get out.”

  “I see I’ve surprised you.” She wandered, running a finger over a stack of books. “That’s not easy to do, so as Blair would say, points for me.” She turned again, smiled again. “I’m green at this, so tell me, why would a man be angry to have a woman want to lie with him?”

  “I’m not a man.”

  “Ah.” She lifted a finger to acknowledge his point. “But still, you have needs, desires. You’ve desired me.”

  “A man will put his hand on nearly any female.”

  “You’re not a man,” she shot back, then grinned. “More points for me. You’re not keeping up.”

  “If you’ve been drinking again—”

  “I haven’t. You know I haven’t. But I’ve been thinking. I’m going to war, into battle. I may not live through it. None of us may. Good men died today, in mud and blood, and left broken hearts behind them.”

  “And sex reaffirms life. I know the psychology of it.”

  “That, aye that, true enough. And on a more personal level, I’m damned—I swear it—if I’ll die a virgin. I want to know what it is. I want to feel it.”

  “Then order up a subject for stud, Majesty. I’m not interested.”

  “I don’t want anyone else. I never wanted anyone before you, and haven’t wanted any but you since I first saw you. It shocked me, that I could have any such feelings for you, knowing what you are. But they’re inside me, and they won’t leave. I have needs, like anyone. And wiles enough, I think, to overcome your resistance if need be—though you may no longer be a randy young man.”

  “Found your feet, haven’t you?” he muttered.

  “Oh, I’ve always had them. I’m just careful where I step.” Watching him, measuring him, she trailed a hand down one of the bedposts. “Tell me, what difference would it make to you? An hour or two. You haven’t had a woman in some time, I’m thinking.”

  He felt like an idiot. Stiff and foolish and needy. “That wouldn’t be your concern.”

  “It might be. I’ve read that when a man’s been denied, we’ll say, for a while, it can affect his performance. But you shouldn’t worry about that, as I’ve nothing to compare it to.”

  “Isn’t that lucky for me? Or would be if I wanted you.”

  Her head cocked, and all he could see on her face was curiosity and confidence.

  “You think you can insult me away. I wager—any price you name—that you’re hard as stone right now.” She moved toward him. “I want so much, Cian, for you to touch me. I’m tired of dreaming of it, and want to feel it.”

  The ground was crumbling under his feet. Had been, he knew, since the moment she’d walked in. “You don’t know what you’re asking, what you’re risking. The consequences are beyond you.”

  “A vampire can lie with a human. You won’t hurt me.” She reached up, drew the cross over her head, set it aside on the table.

  “Trusting soul.” He tried for sarcasm, but the gesture had moved him.

  “Confident. I don’t need or want a shield against you. Why do you never say my name?”

  “What? Of course, I do.”

  “No, you don’t. You refer to me, but you never look at me and say my name.” Her eyes were smoke now, and full of knowledge. “Names have power, taken or given. Are you afraid of what I might take from you?”

  “There’s nothing for you to take.”

  “Then say my name.”

  “Moira.”

  “Again, please.” She took his hand, laid it on her heart.

  “Don’t do this.”

  “Cian. There’s your name from me. Cian. I think if you don’t touch me, if you don’t take me, a part of me will die before I ever go to battle. Please.” She framed his face in her hands, and saw—at last—what she needed to see in his eyes. “Say my name.”

  “Moira.” Lost, he took her wrist, turned his lips into her palm. “Moira. If I wasn’t damned already, this would send me to hell.”

  “I’ll try to take you to heaven first, if you teach me.”

  She rose to her toes, drawing him down. Her sigh trembled out when his lips met hers.

  Chapter 10

  He’d believed his will would prevent this. A thousand years, he thought, and sank into her, and the male still deluded itself it could control the female.

  She was leading him, and had in her way been leading him to this from the first instant. Now he would take what she offered him, what she demanded from him, however selfish the act. But he would use the skill of a dozen lifetimes to give her what she wanted in return.

  “You’re foolish, reckless to give up your innocence to such as me.” He skimmed a fingertip across her collarbone. “But you won’t leave now until you have.”

  “Virginity and innocence aren’t always the same. I lost my innocence before I met you.” The night her mother had been murdered, she thought. But memories of that weren’t for tonight.

  Tonight was for knowing him.

  “Should I disrobe for you, or is that for you to do?”

  He gave a short, almost pained laugh before resting his brow to hers in a gesture she found surprisingly tender. “In such a hurry,” he murmured. “Some things, especially the first time they’re tasted, are better savored than gulped.”
r />   “There, you see. I’ve learned something already. When you kiss me, things wake up inside my body. Things I didn’t know were sleeping there until you. I don’t know what you feel.”

  “More than I’d like.” He combed his fingers through her hair as he’d longed to for weeks. “More than could be good for either of us. This…” He kissed her, softly. “Is a mistake.” And again, deeper.

  Like her scent, her taste was of springtime, of sunlight and youth. He craved the flavor of it, filled himself on it and the quick catch of her breath as he skimmed his teeth lightly, very light, over her bottom lip.

  He let his hands plunge into her hair, the long, sleek fall of it, then under it to tease and waken the nerves along her spine.

  When she trembled, he brought his hands to her shoulders to slide the robes down and bare that soft flesh for his lips. He could feel the yielding in her as well as the tremors, and when his mouth brushed along her throat, that seductive pulsing of blood under the skin.

  She didn’t jolt when his teeth grazed there, but stiffened when he brushed his hand over her breast.

  No one had ever touched her so intimately. The flash of heat his hands brought her was a shock, as was the knowledge only a thin layer of material was between his hand and her flesh.

  Then even that was gone, and her nightrobes pooled around her feet. Her hand came up instinctively to cover herself, but he only took it, nipped his teeth lightly at her wrist while his eyes watched hers.

  “Are you afraid?”

  “A little.”

  “I won’t bite you.”

  “No, no, not of that.” She turned the hand he held so her palm cupped his cheek. “There’s so much happening inside of me. So much new. No one’s ever touched me like this.” Gathering her courage, she took his other hand, brought it to her breast. “Show me more.”

  He brushed his thumb over her nipple, watched the shock of pleasure flicker over her face. “Turn that busy mind off, Moira.”

  It was already as if mists clouded it. How could she think when her body was swimming in sensation?

  He lifted her off her feet so that her face was suddenly on level with his. Then his mouth took hers into the heat again.