Faerie Fate Page 21

  Samhain arrived at last. All the fires in Ailfenn were extinguished, and the people gathered on the hill. Ciaran struck flint with iron. A small spark jumped from the flint into a small wad of wool. The wad flamed, and Odhran the Druid fed the sacred fire with rowan and oak. The flames grew stronger, lapping at the kindling laid around it. Soon, it had ignited the entire pile, and flames danced merrily across the bonfire. Ciaran stuck a torch into the first bonfire. When it flamed brightly, he tossed it into the second. Harpers, pipers, and drummers struck up a lively tune as couples danced around and snaked past the fires. Shepherds drove their herds between the two piles. Soldiers carried their weapons and led their horses through, all to protect and purify everything that belonged to Clann MacDermot.

  His heart heavy, Ciaran turned away from the fires and the dancing couples. Walking among the tents and tables laden with food and wares, the excited giggles of a group of children drew him. A harper settled in to tell tales. Ciaran cocked his head, trying to place the man. Handsome in a cold, dark way, the harper was a stranger to him.

  “And would yee like to hear the tale of the first MacDermot,” the harper began. The children squealed with delight.

  “Tell us about his battles,” one boy shouted.

  “Yeah, tell us about the Fenian Warriors,” another agreed.

  “I shall tell yee the tale of how the MacDermot saved the life of King Finvarra and thus won his true love,” the harper said in a voice as sweet and rich as spun sugar.

  ****

  “I cannot listen anymore,” Finvarra decreed.

  “How do her tears not break your heart?” Onagh said to Manannan.

  He shrugged, the gesture more nonchalant than he truly felt. “There is naught any of us can do, Onagh,” he replied, his voice thick with some unnamed emotion, for in truth, her tears continued to break his heart.

  ****

  The fires died down as midnight approached, and people lit their torches for their walk home. Ciaran stood between the fires, his legs spread wide, and his hands stretched to the heavens. He’d stripped down to nothing but his trews and boots. His muscles rippled as he beseeched the stars. Firelight danced across his bronzed skin, the flickering flames defining each well-developed muscle. All stopped to stare in awe for he appeared to be some faerie warrior of old.

  “Becca,” he shouted to the firmament above. “Hear me. By the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take thee to my hand, my heart, and my spirit to be my chosen one.”

  The three stared at each other in wonder. Was it possible that the warrior had discovered how to bring his true love home? The mortal’s voice echoed around them.

  “The binding,” Onagh whispered.

  “At last,” Finvarra sighed.

  “She returns,” Manannan decreed.

  “To desire thee,” Ciaran vowed, “and to be desired by thee. To possess thee and to be possessed by thee without sin or shame for naught can exist in the purity of my love for thee. I promise to love thee wholly in this life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. There is no beginning, there is no end but in you. Our love is a beginning without an end, until the end of time. You are my chosen.” Ciaran sank to his knees, his chin falling to rest on his chest. He was completely drained.

  Becca blinked, blinded by the fires on either side of her. A man knelt at her feet, his chin sunk on his chest. His hair was so black the light cast by the fires burned blue in its silken depths.

  Ciaran looked up, his dark indigo eyes met ones of cerulean. His heart turned over, and his gut clenched.

  “You,” the vision before him breathed. She sank to her knees and placed her hand above his heart. “Ciaran, by the life that courses within my blood,” she repeated. “And the love that resides within my heart, take thee to my hand, my heart, and my spirit to be my chosen one. To desire thee and to be desired by thee. To possess thee and to be possessed by thee without sin or shame for naught can exist in the purity of my love for thee. I promise to love thee wholly in this life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. There is no beginning, there is no end but in you. Our love is a beginning without an end, until the end of time. You are my chosen.”

  Ciaran buried his hands in her golden hair and claimed her lips with his own. Her mouth opened for him, and his tongue drove into her mouth, teasing her with what was to come from the rest of his body. Becca wrapped her arms around his neck, swearing never to let him out of her sight again.

  “Love of my heart,” he whispered against her mouth.

  “Light of my life,” she replied.

  He kissed her again, so hard, so deeply that he pulled the breath from her lungs, sucking it into his own. His erection pressed against the sweet vee of her thighs. He gazed at her, wonder softening the hard sapphire color of his eyes to a rich cobalt. Then he realized she was wrapped in his mantle and wore nothing else. The MacDermot Knot shimmered above her breast. As he watched, the two fiery stones blurred, turning into opalescent liquid and joining, coalescing back into one large, heart-shaped stone.

  “Two hearts forever joined as one,” Ciaran whispered, fingering the brooch. “As she once promised.”

  Becca stared up at him, love and desire radiating from her eyes. “Take me home, Ciaran. Take me home and love me tonight and tomorrow and forever.”

  “Aye, cailín.”

  Ciaran stood and pulled Becca to her feet. He gathered her into his arms and held her against his bare chest. The silent crowd parted as the magical warrior strode toward his keep, his faerie bride in his arms.

  Riordan was the first to come to his senses. He grabbed a torch and thrust it into the fire. Racing down the hill, he caught up to Ciaran and Becca, passing them at a full run. He burst into the great hall, strode to the hearth, and jabbed his torch into the waiting wood, lighting the fire already laid there. Jogging up the stairs, he dashed to Ciaran’s chambers where he lit that fire and went about the room lighting candles—no small feat with only a torch. He raced back to the top of the stairs and touched the flame of his torch to the rush lights lining the stairs as he descended.

  Gair, the steward, appeared with another torch. Together, the two men hurried to light every candle, every rush light, and every fire in every hearth in the entire castle.

  Ciaran and Becca made it back to the great hall just as two men-at-arms entered. The men turned to stand at guard as the MacDermot, with Becca still in his arms, entered. The whole of Ailfenn followed hard on their heels.

  Riordan smiled at the couple, his heart full to bursting. Becca’s return was nothing short of a miracle. His cousin’s bride was positively radiant, and he’d never seen Ciaran so happy.

  Riordan jabbed Gair in the ribs. “Babies,” he crowed. “Grand, glorious babies the like this clann has never seen, nor will likely ever see again. And we’ll live to see it, Gair. Aye, we’ll live to see it.”

  Niall and Siobhan, with Eachan and Taidhg close behind, joined Riordan and the steward. Siobhan’s face was wet with happy tears, and the men grinned from ear to ear.

  “Do you come willingly into my keep as my bride, to live and love, now and forever?” Ciaran asked formally.

  Becca kissed him deeply before replying. “Aye,” she sighed. “I do.”

  A shout erupted from every throat. “MacDermot!” the gathered clann roared.

  Ciaran looked down at Becca, his gaze tender and sweet. Until he noticed one long, bare leg peeking from beneath his mantle. His gut clinched in anticipation, and his cock strained against the leather of his trews. He couldn’t wait to wrap her legs around his middle as he thrust into the very heart of her. His mouth descended upon hers, utterly devouring it. He sucked her tongue into his mouth where it dueled with his own. Blindly, he climbed the stairs still kissing her.

  As the couple disappeared at the top of the stairs, Niall grabbed Siobhan and kissed her. He guided her hand to his groin. His own boidín was straining against the laces of his
trews. “If he doesn’t tup her soon, the whole castle will go up in flames,” he whispered against her willing mouth.

  “I’m willing to douse your flames,” Siobhan replied with a husky chuckle.

  The two made their way through the crowd filling the great hall and drifted up the stairs, never taking their eyes off each other.

  Riordan turned to Gair. “’Tis time to celebrate,” he told the steward. “Food and drink for all!”

  Little Alys appeared at Riordan’s side, and he swept her into his arms, sealing his mouth to hers in a deep kiss. “Patience and faith,” he told her breathlessly, gazing into her soft azure eyes.

  She smiled at him, dimples appearing in her cheeks. Boldly, she let her hand trail across his stomach, then lower where his trews were hard. Riordan sucked in his breath. “I know a man who needs tupping,” she told him, her lips pursed in sassy invitation.

  “Aye,” Riordan agreed. They, too, slipped up the stairs arm-in-arm.

  “Thank the gods that’s over,” Eachan told Taidhg.

  The old soldier nodded at the horse master, and the two of them moved out of the way as trays of food and pitchers of drink appeared from the kitchens and from outside as well. The whole crowd milled about, either in the great hall or in the courtyard outside. By morning, the whole lot would be roundly drunk. Not wanting to waste a moment, the two men grabbed mugs from a tray and tossed back the ale.

  “To the faerie,” Taidhg said, spilling the last swallow of his mug on the floor.

  “Aye,” Eachan agreed, following suit. “To An Tuatha dé Danaan.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The closed door to his chamber proved problematic with his arms full of Becca. Ciaran couldn’t get it open. Becca squirmed against him, and the mantle she wore gaped open, revealing her lush, firm breasts. Ciaran sucked in air. If he didn’t get out of his trews immediately, he was going to strangle. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely, her teeth nipping and pulling at his lower lip as her tongue darted into his mouth. She wrapped her luscious legs around his waist, and Ciaran groaned. His boidín grew even harder, thicker, and longer. At least his hands were free, and he could get the door open.

  Once inside the room, he kicked the door shut and stumbled to the bed. The two of them fell on top of it in a tangle of arms and legs. Through all the long lonely nights, Ciaran had dreamed of this moment, Becca had always been fully dressed and he’d taken his time to undress her one lace, one piece of clothing at a time, pausing to kiss and suckle to arouse her beyond distraction. Now, as she lay beneath him, her body was open to his adoration. Her hands fumbled at the laces on his trews and he moaned, but he grabbed her hands away and held them above her head.

  “Let me look at you, Becca,” he whispered. “For this moment in time, let me just look at you and worship you as you deserve.”

  She sighed. She didn’t want to be worshipped, she wanted to be loved. She wanted her hands on his body, touching and inflaming him, as his hands did to hers. Slowly, Ciaran lowered his head and his mouth claimed the rosy tip of her breast. She arched against him. His tongue teased her nipple, flicking the now hardened tip, then swirling around the rosy areola. He loosened one of her hands so his hand could be free to explore.

  His hard, strong fingers closed on her other breast, and Becca panted. “Yes,” she sighed, as his thumb piqued her nipple, and his hand cupped her. “Oh, yes.”

  He let his tongue wander down and across the valley between her breasts, then lower still, trailing across her ribs and seeking her belly button. His hair spilled across her shoulders and chest, and the soft tickle almost drove her insane. Her hips bucked. He raised his head and smiled, wicked lights glinting in his eyes.

  “All in due time, cailín,” he promised. “All in due time.”

  Becca could feel the hard evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh, and that wasn’t where she wanted it. She wanted him squarely between her legs, and she wanted him there now. She had waited too many lifetimes for this moment. She squirmed, trying to maneuver beneath his heavy weight. He laughed, wrapping a massive arm around her hips.

  “Lie still, Becca,” he ordered, his voice roughened by desire. His tongue strayed across her hipbone and into the soft skin where her thigh met her abdomen. He nuzzled that area, then slipped his hand between her legs, smiling when he found liquid heat waiting for him. Aye, she’s ready for me. His cheek nudged her leg, and Becca spread wider for him.

  He knelt between her knees, his hands on her hips. He smiled, his full mouth curling at the corners, while his eyes glinted with a flash of diamonds in their sapphire depths. “I have much to teach you, Becca, and the first lesson is your pleasure.”

  She watched in fascination as his head dropped between her legs. She choked back a scream as his tongue found the nub at the entrance to her slick folds. His lips teased, and his tongue lapped her nether lips, kissing them before his tongue sought the very core of her. Ciaran’s finger replaced his tongue, and he gently inserted it into her waiting sheath. She was hot and wet and ready for him, but he was not ready for her. He wanted her too much, and his boidín was large, much too large for the virgin he knew her to be. Ciaran had to slow down and take his time preparing her for his entrance. He would not hurt her this first time, nor at any time. He wanted only to bring her pleasure for the rest of their days.

  When she relaxed against his one finger and the press of his hand, he pulled it out, and she whimpered. Ciaran smiled. He inserted two fingers, and Becca gasped. She pushed against his hand, rolling her hips from one side to the other, in exactly the response he sought.

  “Please,” she begged.

  With two fingers and then three, Ciaran caressed and stretched her, marveling at her body’s reaction to his invasion. Becca’s whole body was flushed, and her nipples taut buds as she writhed against his hand. “Yes, love,” he encouraged her.

  Becca spiraled out of control. Waves of heat, generated by his hand, washed across her body. Her muscles clamped around his fingers, pulling and caressing. Wanting more. Wanting him. Her hands found his face, and she pulled his mouth down to meet hers. “Kiss me,” she implored.

  He did. Hard and demanding, his tongue mimicking in her mouth what his hand and fingers did between her thighs. He felt her sharply indrawn breath, which she held for a long moment, and then the shudders began.

  Like a ticking bomb reaching critical mass, every part of her exploded, beginning in her center and spreading out to the ends of her fingers and toes. “Ahhh.” Her breath hitched in her chest as another shudder consumed her, turning her sigh into a whimper.

  Ciaran groaned as she quivered against him. Even though his boidín was still hidden in his trews, he almost spilled his seed. “’Tis but the first of many,” he promised.

  She’d never felt so alive, so aware of her body. Rather than sating her, his foreplay just whetted her appetite. She wanted him, all of him, buried deep within her. She wanted him to bring her back to that dazzling place she’d just been. She pushed at his hard chest and rolled away from him.

  “Turnabout is fair play,” she purred at him, one eyebrow cocked as she favored him with a smile.

  She pushed him back on the bed and straddled his midsection.

  He groaned. She leaned over to kiss him, her hair trailing across his chest. Her lips nipped his bottom lip, and then her mouth sucked his tongue into it.

  He wrapped his arms around her, savoring the feel of her taut nipples pressed against his chest.

  Becca kissed him long and hard, and as much as she loved his mouth, she wanted to explore his body, tasting and savoring. Her tongue found a path along his strong jaw. She traced the line of it to his ear. Nipping and suckling, she pulled on his earlobe with gentle teeth, blowing softly, pleased when she felt his whole body shuddered beneath her.

  She nuzzled the soft skin at his pulse point and rubbed her smooth cheek against the shadow-bearded roughness of his. She rained kisses down his neck and across
his chest, bestowing attention on each of his nipples. Her head dipped, her tongue following the fine feathering of hair down the center of his abdomen.

  Strong hands gripped her biceps, but she put him off, her voice both tender and determined. “Fair is fair, Ciaran. I have waited just as long as you have, and now it is your turn.” She looked as smug as a cat licking cream off her lips.

  He smiled, knowing how headstrong she was. Her silken hair trailed lower down his abdomen setting his skin on fire. Her fingers found and defined each muscle along his ribs and abdomen. She kissed the scar just above his hipbone before her tongue and lips went back to find the downy dusting of hair sprinkled across his chest. Once again, her tongue tracked to the trail arrowing to his belly button—and lower. Her hands kneaded his hips as her tongue followed the dark trace until it disappeared into his trews.

  With sure fingers, Becca unlaced his trews, and his erection eagerly spilled out. Ciaran managed to kick off his boots as Becca curled her fingers into the waistband and peeled the tight garment from him.

  With his trews finally off, she sat between his feet staring at him in awe. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “You are magnificent.” She licked her lips in anticipation.

  Ciaran’s gut clenched, his gaze following the pink tip of her tongue. He gulped.

  She skimmed her fingers up his muscled legs, her touch as light as a feather. Curious, her hand shaking a tiny bit, she cupped the sac beneath his erection. When her touch elicited a sharply indrawn breath, she smirked. Using only one finger, she skimmed her nail up the ridged underside of his cock. Silken steel, Becca thought as her hand wrapped around the thick evidence of his virility. She wondered how anything so hard could feel so soft and smooth beneath her touch. Becca trembled, a tiny aftershock going off in her middle. Soon, what she held in her hand was going to be right where she wanted it, and she could barely contain herself.

  She bent her head to taste him. Her tongue swirled around the tip as if she was tasting an ice-cream cone. Except this cone was formed with fire and heat, not ice and cold. Ciaran groaned and went rigid beneath her. She felt him grow even more beneath her hand—longer, stiffer, thicker. Her lips replaced her tongue, and she drew him into the moist satin of her mouth.