Ciaran blushed right to the tips of his ears. Laughing in embarrassment at his own reaction, he looked down at the bed between them and rubbed the back of his neck. When at last he recovered from his residual shyness, he gave her a warm, contented smile. “I am beyond glad to hear it,” he said sincerely. “Tell me about our life together. Are we happy then?”
Skye looked up at the web of roughly hewn wooden beams supporting the roof as she considered her response.
“We are… deliriously happy,” she assured with a grin. “We are building our home together. You and Taran are helping me learn to trust and heal. You are the best things that have ever happened to me. We have a large pack filled with friends who are now family. We lead the clan. There is trouble in our lives, yes. A war is raging and – clearly – I have powerful, highly-motivated enemies trying to get their claws on me…”
Her eyes widened as she recalled the Droch-draoidh. Yet again, her heart broke at the memory of being separated from her men. She wondered all over again whether they were okay. Whether they had put themselves in harm’s way in some doomed attempt to reach her. What if she returned to her time, survived this battle against all odds, only to find that they had already been…?
Sensing the dark direction of her thoughts, Ciaran leaned down unexpectedly and placed a sweet kiss on her lips. When he pulled away, he held her chin between his thumb and index finger. Turning her face more fully toward his, he held her gaze for a moment before nuzzling his nose against hers. She sighed and closed her eyes to enjoy the steadying comfort of his touch.
“Please, go on,” he urged once her heart had returned to its normal, calm rhythm.
She smiled at him appreciatively. “We are facing… problems… attacks. But they cannot begin to diminish the love and joy in our lives. Every moment not spent in active battle is filled with laughter or pleasure. I could not have dreamed up a more fulfilling existence if I tried.”
“Sounds like paradise. I cannot wait to join you there,” he declared.
“And I cannot wait to return to you there,” she assured.
She stroked the flawless, pale skin of his chest, thinking again on his ability to hold her power and the plan she was piecing together for him to transport it through time. She would need to test it out. Feed him energy, bit by bit, across the course of days or weeks, even, depending on how long she would be here. See just how much power he could hold. Be sure it would not harm him, and that he could surrender it to her without hesitation or issue. Maybe if they did a few dry runs here, he would have something like muscle memory to draw from in the future. Like riding a bike. Perhaps she could make the act reflexive and familiar for him. His body would know what to do, even if he could not remember learning how to do it…
Ciaran watched her curiously. “Your mind is racing again,” he whispered. “Can I do anything to calm it?”
Skye smiled slyly. “Yes, I do believe you can. I need your help with something important. I have to test a theory, and I promise you are going to thoroughly enjoy the process.”
Ciaran grinned as she climbed on top of him. “I am ever eager to be of assistance, my Goddess,” he assured. He purred and cupped her face with his hands as she kissed him deeply.
A few hours later, Ciaran – looking rosy-cheeked and even more alive than ever before – stepped out into the muted light of a chilly, foggy morning. He stretched and smiled, then reached back through the doorway and took Skye’s hand as she exited.
She was unsurprised to find several faoil standing guard outside the door. She was even less surprised to sense Taran’s presence nearby. She spotted him a short distance away, crouched on the roof of a neighboring building with his eyes carefully scanning the area for any hint of a threat. He did not look at her directly. Just as he said, he was giving her space. That did not mean he would willingly leave the task of her protection solely to his brothers, though.
Skye took a deep breath and endured the pang of longing for her King. God, it was tempting to swear to herself that – once she got back home – she really would never leave bed with him again. It was an incredibly enticing thought: an immortal eternity spent wrapped up in his powerful arms, gazing into his adoring gray eyes, listening to his sweet, heavily accented proclamations of undying love…
Her eyes must have gone out of focus in that telltale way, because Drostan standing next to her wearing a shit-eating grin was what drew her back from reminiscing. She blinked and cleared her throat guiltily, tearing her eyes away from Taran and turning to face her Maker.
“What?” she asked, giving him a mock scowl.
“Not a thing,” Drostan insisted, squinting and pretending to look around the area in disinterest. “I just see why you are so eager to get back to your time, is all,” he joked.
“Yes, well… some things are greatly improved by then.” She allowed her eyes to wander back to Taran. After a moment, she gave Drostan a sideways glance. “Your wit, unfortunately, does not improve at all with age.”
“Ooh, someone is in a mood today,” Drostan taunted and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. His eyes moved to Ciaran’s current beaming state and he snorted in amusement. “Oh, that explains it. It seems you surrendered all of your good spirits to this one.”
Ciaran only grinned in reply as his eyes twinkled merrily.
“I am not in a bad mood. I am just… itchy,” Skye groused. “I mean, just look at this,” she huffed.
Drostan watched as she motioned to the flaking mess of paint clinging to her skin. Despite several sweaty rounds with Ciaran that morning, the crackled paint remained stubbornly in place.
“Do I have to wear this stuff the whole time I am here?” she asked miserably.
Drostan laughed and shook his head. “No. It is ceremonial – a display declaring your royalty, lineage, and celestial identity. You have already been presented to and received by the Great Mother. You can dress and style your hair as you wish now.”
Skye sagged in relief. “Good. Then I desperately need a bath.”
“In that case, let me grab a few things,” Ciaran said. He turned and went back inside for a couple of minutes. He came back out holding a change of clothing for her, as well as one of his travel bags. Holding the bag up, he declared, “This will get me started, but I have one more stop to make.”
Taking her hand, he led her a short distance down the path into a far more modest structure. There were multiple beds inside and little else by way of furniture. A hearth occupied the center of the room – a necessity in this climate. The walls were covered in shelves and alcoves filled with baskets and bags.
Skye realized that this building, and many other neighboring buildings just like it, served as a bunkhouse. For the men who lived nomadically, roaming the world in search of the ever elusive ‘One’, these were places they could call home. Places they could store belongings for safekeeping while they traveled. Judging by scent, Skye knew three of the beds belonged to Taran, Ciaran, and Drostan. She smiled and looked around the place, marveling at this glimpse into their early years.
After a moment, her nose crinkled. She detected an undercurrent of something decidedly dead amidst Taran’s belongings. Not fresh. Preserved. Not obvious enough to smack you in the nose when you first walked in, but definitely there, definitely dried up, and definitely dead. She curled a lip and winced. Praying that the tales of Taran’s prized collection of his enemies’ severed heads had been grossly exaggerated, she quickly sidestepped his bunk. She decided she did not want – or need – to know certain things about Taran’s past. Ever. She also decided that he was banned from all future decorating decisions in the den.
Ciaran retrieved a basket from beside his bed, then took her hand and led her out the door. Skye took a deeeeeep breath of fresh air the second they were outside.
Their next stop was a toasty warm, clean structure designed specifically for the task of bathing and Skye was positively thrilled. Ciaran lit a fire beneath an immense pottery vessel full of wat
er, then set his bag and basket on a table. While the water heated, he took a few moments rooting through his things, selecting items. Then he got to work grinding herbs and mixing substances together like a mad scientist. Skye watched curiously as he worked, smiling when the combining sweet scents clued her in to what he was doing.
Once he was pleased with his creation, he held the finished product up for inspection. She brought the bowl and its gritty, oil-based contents to her nose for an in-depth review. She instantly slumped and groaned in appreciation. It was like a mini vacation for her poor nose. She leaned her hip heavily against the table and breathed in a perfect blend of honey, herbs, and flowers. It smelled divine. She seriously considered suggesting that a few of their clansmen give this stuff a try because – oof – some of the guys needed some serious help. She decided that the hygiene products of the 21st century were straight up doing God’s work. Once she made it home, she planned to never, ever take them for granted again.
“This is amazing,” she swore, her voice echoing into the bowl as she continued happily huffing. “I had no idea you make things like this. I would have asked for your help as soon as I got here.”
Ciaran chuckled. “Well, I would have been hard-pressed to come up with anything like that without my supplies. Half of it is not in season.”
Sensing a bit of apprehension on his part over discussing this topic, she asked curiously, “Is this a common skill in this time, or did you pick the knowledge up along the way?”
On a whim, she picked up one of the most ornate vessels. Something about it felt… strange. It was heavier and colder than it should be. Its surface was covered in runes. It was well-worn and old – no doubt far older than Ciaran. She frowned thoughtfully as she glanced over his impressive selection of tools, jars, and pouches. She thought back to the way he had tended her wounds when she arrived. The salve he had used on her must have been something he made himself. This was clearly more than a passing hobby.
“It is… umm… not common, no,” Ciaran answered softly.
Skye cast him an appraising look. Biting his bottom lip, Ciaran avoided her gaze and began putting things back into his bag and basket.
“Ciaran?” she pressed, completely unaccustomed to him being anything less than forthcoming with her.
He paused in his efforts to clean up and exhaled slowly. After a moment, he held out his hand, waiting for her to return the item she was holding. She handed it back carefully, sensing that it was important. He gave her an appreciative smile for being so gentle with it.
Leaning back against the table beside her, he studied the small metal vessel in his hands. He almost reached out to Skye through their link to explain… but given their relatively new ability to speak plainly and the fact that this was something integral to who he was, he wanted to say the words out loud.
“Can you do that thing you do? With your magic?” he asked, motioning to the building around them.
Skye frowned curiously before using her power to shield them. “It is done,” she assured.
Ciaran nodded without looking up. He stayed lost in thought for another moment, then held up the metal vessel. “It belonged to my mother,” he said softly. “She died shortly after I was born.”
Skye swallowed hard at the unexpectedly broached subject of his lineage. She fought off the kneejerk reaction of using a barrier of power to prevent her thoughts from betraying her. Instead, she focused on keeping her heartrate steady and preventing any of her emotions from slipping through their link.
“I will not insult your intelligence by acting as if my knowledge is limited to pleasantly-scented body scrubs,” he said with a light smile before confiding, “I was raised by a witch – my grandmother, in fact. She was a powerful priestess. She taught me all about the benefits of plants and other items that could be gathered. Where and when they grew. How to harvest and store them. How to use them to break fevers, relieve pain, heal illness, mend wounds…” He took a slow breath before meeting her eyes and adding, “And also, how to cast more than a few spells.”
Skye gave him a playful scowl and suppressed a smile. It was nice to discover another facet to her dark one. “Really now?” she asked in intrigue as she stepped closer to him. “What kinds of spells?”
“Wards. Protections. A few nasty hexes,” he admitted self-consciously. “Nothing too involved. Things anyone can do with the proper training.” He laughed and shook his head, feeling silly for not coming right out with this. He gave an awkward shrug. “None of this is any big secret. I mean, I have no reason to hide it – least of all from you. It is just… well, it is a kind of unspoken rule to keep these matters private. Even Drostan hid his gift of sight from his people for fear of being cast out. Not even Taran knew of Drostan’s secret until the day Latharn outed him and gave him the bite. While my mortal tribe greatly revered those with knowledge of magic, I was raised to understand that, beyond our borders, I should keep my upbringing to myself. Such abilities could easily bring a swift death from a superstitious tribe. To this day, I keep it private out of habit. Only a few of my brothers know.”
“Huh. So, your mother was a witch,” Skye commented, and wondered at the possible implications of that fact. She resisted the temptation to ask about his father to find out what he had been told. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Ciaran’s features. She could see so much of Brandubh’s beauty in him, all the countless similarities… but now she searched for what was different. She tried to picture the other half of his heritage. Tried to focus on the parts he had inherited from his mother that had softened his features just right.
“That is what they always told me, at least. I cannot say for sure – I have no memories of her,” Ciaran admitted with a weak smile. Clearly eager for a change of subject, he motioned to the stubborn, flaky, itchy paint from hell and asked, “Ready to get all of that off?”
“Oh, please, yes,” Skye begged.
Ciaran laughed and got started on the wondrous task of helping her scrub her body. Once she was blessedly clean, they took advantage of the privacy and hot water.
Skye took her time pleasuring him. She found the outright gratitude and awe in his eyes incredibly enticing. The way he gazed at her in open wonder, as if he still could not for the life of him understand what he had done to deserve her love and affection, made her never want to stop. She wanted to continue giving him the gift he had given her – a sexual awakening. The freedom of letting go completely in a lovers’ arms. Uninhibited. Unrestrained. The beauty of sex ‘just for the sheer fuckin’ delight of it’ as he would one day say. He had shown her how to feel bold and powerful in her own skin. And now, she had returned the favor.
He came by his sexual talents naturally, and she knew from this point forward in his life he would seek out all forms of pleasure, but there was at least one thing no one else would be able to provide in her absence… She continued testing his threshold for carrying her power, feeding him more and more until he was trembling in ecstasy and gasping for release. His sincere appreciation put the soundproofing of her barrier to the test.
“His face is liable to split in half from all that smiling,” Drostan warned in amusement a short time later.
The clan was gathered together for breakfast, and Ciaran looked as if he might burst with happiness at any given moment. He could not be bothered to attempt to hide it, either.
“Ah, but I would gladly heal from such a wound,” Ciaran swore with a grin. He leaned over and kissed Skye on the cheek gratefully. He felt better than he ever had in his long life. Every time she touched him he reached a new all-time high level of joy.
Faolan studied the way they interacted. He smiled approvingly at the unabashed way Ciaran adored her, fawned over her, and so clearly worshipped the ground she walked upon. Skye shined brighter with every second of Ciaran’s attention. It chased away the sadness from her gaze any time it tried to take hold. Yes, Ciaran was a perfect companion for her. Faolan would accept nothing less for his child.
“What is your plan for today, Skye?” Drostan asked curiously around a mouthful of food.
Skye shrugged as she took a drink of some type of herbal beverage she could not begin to identify. It tasted a little like pine needles and berries. What mattered most, given the frosty morning air, was the fact that it was hot. She was thankful for her decision to forgo a braid today. Her hair was wild and loose, framing her face and providing her ears with a layer of protection from the chill. Not that this weather-proofing benefit had even entered her mind when she chose to leave her hair down. If she was honest with herself, it was actually for Taran’s benefit. She would leave her hair down or braid it in front of him from now on, she decided. It was a way of silently acknowledging that she was honoring his customs.
“My plan is to have no plan,” she answered. “At least for today. Just rest and look around. Catch my breath and get my bearings so I do not get lost. Tonight, I train with Sorcha. Tomorrow, I believe Taran and I will be training together. We still have to figure out the details.”
Faolan nodded and declared, “You must allow me to show you around the forest this afternoon then. We will bring Taran with us so that you can discuss it.” He added with a smile, “And Ciaran may come along to continue working on splitting his face, of course.”
Skye grinned and bumped Ciaran’s shoulder with her own.
The rest of the day was unhurried and relaxed, just as Skye had hoped. Faolan gave her the grand tour and it was so strange to see the way things had subtly changed by her time, as well as how much had stayed exactly the same.
Goddess Rising Page 42
