Destined

by Dawn Madigan

  “And then what happened?” Teague demanded.

  “I thought you were already gone for your pint of Guinness,” Brighid teased him. “What happened then…right. King Miled’s sons invaded the island of Erin, declaring war on the dé-Danann. The rumors say Danu paid Bilé a visit, demanding he tell the Milesians off. He refused. Things got even uglier.”

  “I’m not sure I can take any more of this,” Dara mumbled. “I mean, I can’t even bring myself to watch Days of Our Lives, and this is—”

  “Well.” Brighid tilted her head. “Too late, you started it. As I said, Danu and Bilé got into an even uglier mess. Bilé swore to destroy the dé-Danann, even though his own blood ran in their veins. He used dark magic, enchanting sand grains into Hounds, and then sent his Hounds to roam the Upper Earth and hunt down the dé-Danann.”

  “Hounds…” Rowan said softly.

  “Aye,” Brighid replied. “Only, Danu had a say in this, too. She couldn’t undo Bilé’s dark enchantment, so she set the ancient Law to protect the Tuatha dé Danann from the Hounds.” Brighid pulled close another mostly empty plate, found nothing she fancied there, and pushed it back aside. “As most of the dé-Danann fled to the Lower Realm, Danu chose a few to stay upon the Upper Earth…as sentinels against Bilé’s vileness.”

  “The Kanjali,” Dara nodded. Here, finally, was something she’d managed to figure out all by herself.

  “True,” Brighid went on. “The Kanjali guarded the Gateways on the Upper Earth, acting as sentries against Bilé’s Hounds, preventing them from reaching the dé-Danann. Kanjali folk and Hounds were both shifters, able to change between human form and mac’tir form. ‘Twas against the Goddess’s Law to use any other form of magic but this one upon the Upper Earth.”

  “And Kanjali Guardians?” Rowan demanded. “What, exactly, are they?”

  “Guardians?” Brighid flashed him a riveting smile. “Guardians, such as yourself, are no more than Kanjali shifters with more Power in them, able to defeat the Hounds better than most.” She propped her pointed chin against the palms of her hands, elbows flexed against the table, rocking her feet below.

  “Is there a bit more blueberry pie in there, Fi?” she yelled towards the dining room’s entrance.

  “You’ll explode,” Teague warned.

  “You—” Brighid poked his broad chest with a well-aimed finger, “—should have gone by now for your pint of Guinness!”

  Teague captured her poking hand, his eyes igniting with a sizzling smile.

  * * * * *

  Dawn’s gray-pink glow was already peeking through the foyer’s French doors when their small bunch finally left the dining room. Awakening birds’ thready chirps sounded from the garden, accentuating the quiet of the sleeping manor.

  Aislinn bade them all good morning, red-eyed and wearing a half-smile, and crept out a French door to the back gardens. Teague boldly slipped his hand around Brighid’s narrow waist, waiting to be slapped or chastised. When neither happened, he drew the redheaded fairy away with him to “show the lass around”, or so he claimed.

  “If I wanted to be mean, I’d say good riddance.” Dara smiled wearily at Rowan, as they stood at the foot of one staircase. “Luckily, I’m way too tired to be nasty.”

  “Aye, lucky indeed.” He grinned, watching as her mouth gaped in a huge yawn. “You should get some sleep,” he said, capturing one rebellious raven lock between gentle fingers. “You remember the way to your room?”

  “I’m just a bit tired, Rowan, not demented.” She let out a small laugh, and another yawn. “You led me there only hours ago.”

  He tugged the captive lock and then released it to bounce right back. “Prove to me you know the way, then,” he teased.

  Dara shrugged and turned to climb up the staircase, too tired for a stingy retort. Rowan followed closely behind, whistling a cheery tune she remembered from their warehouse adventure. The light melody followed her as she sidled along the hallway’s cool-shadowed walls.

  “Well, Mackey, believe it or not, I’ve found it.” Dara gave Rowan a dazed smile of triumph. She leaned heavily against the carved doorframe, seeking support.

  “So I see.” Rowan flashed a roguish grin and bent down, snatching her from her feet and into his arms.

  “Put me down!” she protested, struggling in vain.

  “Shhh. You’ll be waking the dead with those screams, lass! I’m the one giving the orders here,” he informed her in an uncompromising tone.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Oh, aye. Now use that shapely hand of yours—since mine are occupied—and turn that doorknob.”

  His brogue had grown biting, he was no less tired than she. Dara stopped struggling and quieted in his arms, reaching to open the door as ordered. “What are you going to do to me when we get there?” she inquired in a small voice.

  He chuckled, low and raspy and warm.

  “Oh, I’m about to carry you up these stairs,” he spoke through a smile. “And then, I’m going to throw you straight into that big bed…and…” He leaned to whisper into her hair. “And then, sweetheart, I’m going to pull a big blanket over you and make sure you’re safely tucked-in.”

  “Moron,” Dara mumbled, a smile touching her lips.

  Rowan grinned as his eyes fell to Dara’s face. She was already dozing in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. He carried her into the dawn-lit room and crouched next to the king-sized bed, allowing her yielding body to sink against the mattress. To his surprise, her arms curled against the back of his neck.

  “Stay,” she whispered in a bleary voice.

  He stilled, his body stretched above hers, his arms still enfolding her. Could she be talking in her sleep?

  “Don’t go yet.”

  Dara’s arms tightened on his neck. He glanced down at her face just as her eyes fluttered open, hazy and dark. Her fingers slipped from his nape and fluttered over his recently shaved jaw.

  “Smooth,” she murmured, giving him a slow, simmering smile.

  Rowan bent the few inches to Dara’s lips and closed his mouth over that lazy, catlike smile. She sucked in a soft gasp as his tongue sank into her mouth, her fingertips trembling against his cheek. The wet heat that his tongue was dipping into made Rowan think of another wet, tight place. His erection was already straining against his denim. With an effort he pulled out of her mouth, studying her face.

  “Dara, sweetheart, are you sure?”

  One of her hands trailed low, stroking his hard cock through the rough cloth enclosing it. Rowan groaned with sweet agony. He gently shifted above her, sinking heavily between her parted thighs. She was wearing one of Aislinn’s light dresses. Rowan easily yanked the trapped cloth from between their bodies and pushed it up Dara’s hips until it huddled, crumpled, above the sweet cream of her breasts. Her nipples knotted as he watched, peaking beneath his gaze. He pressed both thumbs against the pink, pert buttons and Dara drew in a deep, shaky breath beneath him. Her hands pushed under his shirt and made a slow, heated climb up his bunching abdominal muscles.

  “Dara.”

  He started to move between her legs, clothed as he was, rubbing his bulging erection against her damp, hot panties. Dara cried out and clamped her legs on his ass, undulating with him, squeezing him tighter against her soaking pussy. His hands were kneading her breasts, like they could never get enough of the supple, creamy flesh.

  “Dara—give me a sec, sweetheart.”

  Somehow, he tore Dara’s drenched panties off her legs. Somehow, she unzipped his jeans. His heavy cock bobbed free, its tip dripping moisture. He sank into Dara again, moving between her thighs. His hips gave a soft forward thrust. He felt the slight jerk as her tight inner muscles gave before his swollen cock head, gradually opening up before his slow advance. She moaned low as he penetrated her, clamping her legs even harder on him. Their bodies rubbed against one another, hot and sweaty, giving each other a tight, rough massage. Dara gasped and moaned as Rowan moved inside her, running ravenou
s hands up and down his arms. He tightened his fists in her tangled hair and pulled her up, kissing her hard.

  They rocked steadily together, both half-caught in sleep, sultry dreams mingling with lust’s sweet aroma and the feel of slick sheets. Rowan, panting heavily, hovered above Dara’s face as she cried out at the height of her pleasure. Dawn’s mellow light deepened her rosy cheeks. Her eyes blazed with fire, and her lips parted around a scream. He growled as her cunt clamped down on his shaft, and he finally exploded within her. The tight squeezing waves traversing her inner walls kept milking him, pumping him to the last pearly drop.

  After a while Rowan sank against Dara’s body. She mumbled his name, snuggling against his chest. At some vague moment they both fell into full sleep, still half-clothed and tangled, oblivious to the golden pour of sunlight through the window.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Dara’s eyes fluttered open. She turned onto her stomach and pushed against the mattress, finding herself trapped within a cage of jumbled sheets. Her mind was in similar disarray, humming with the last shreds of a fading dream. From the slanted attic window sunlight spilled, painting the upturned side of her face with light.

  Where was Rowan…?

  Funny, her body had been missing his beside it, even though they’d never woken up together… Not counting that morning on the dusty warehouse floor.

  Damn the brazen Irishman!

  Dara dug her face into the mattress with a groan, then managed to snake her way out of her soft-walled prison. She sat up on the bed, her borrowed dress falling back over her exposed breasts. Her gaze toured the sunlit room and found a couple of breezy summer dresses—the kindly Aislinn’s again, most likely—neatly draped over the back of an armchair. Heaving a resigned sigh, Dara finally slid across the rumpled bed and touched her bare toes to the planked floor.

  “Hello, dear,” Fiona greeted Dara as she ambled down the stairs. The plump housekeeper had just stepped in from the back gardens, her cheeks rosier than usual and wind-tugged wisps of hair curling from her loose bun. “You’ll have a bite to eat?”

  “I was thinking of grabbing something from the kitchen,” Dara admitted. “If you’ll just point me in the right direction…?”

  “There’ll be no grabbing around here!” Fiona wiped her hands against her jeans, then tugged down her loose tunic. “Sit yourself down, Dara, I’ll fetch you something that’ll put some meat on your bones.”

  “No, no need to—” Dara started, then gave up talking to Fiona’s receding back.

  Fiona returned quickly, escorted by a young man burdened with trays of food. “Go on, Killian, put those in the dining room,” she urged him with a quick nod.

  “What time is it?” Dara asked.

  “A bit past four in the afternoon, dear.” Fiona flashed her a broad, knowing smile.

  Dara blushed, her thoughts instantly hopping to Rowan again.

  Where was he?

  “Say, Fiona, where’s everybody gone?” she inquired, following Fiona to the dining room. She scarcely missed crashing into Killian, on his way out of the room.

  Was Killian a plain human? What about Fiona?

  “Off to Tara,” Fiona replied, her quick, chubby hands clattering saucers and silverware against the broad table. She shot a shrewd glance at Dara. “Rowan, Teague, and…Brighid she’s called, right? They’re preparing for something grand tomorrow, is what they said.”

  Dara slouched down against one of the chairs. Her fingers lingered above a plate of summer fruit garnished with cheddar and a thick piebald wedge of blue cheese. She finally snagged a May peach amidst succulent melon slices and smooth-skinned nectarines, bright-red raspberries and blueberries pouting in bluish-purple.

  “Bain taitneamh as do bhéile!” Fiona granted Dara a hearty smile. “That’s bon appétit,” she added, her French spoken with a thick Irish accent.

  Dara laughed behind her peach, her teeth already dug deep into the fruit’s yellow flesh. After a while she laid the peach’s stone aside, absently poking a silver fork against a neglected trout, fried to a golden-brown.

  “Didn’t your mother teach you not to play with your food?”

  Dara started, dropping her fork with a chink.

  “The food is supposed to go into your mouth, see?” Rowan elaborated as he detached himself from the doorway. “Besides, Fiona will have a heart attack if she sees you treating her fish that way.”

  “Why did you let me sleep so late?” Dara demanded.

  “You needed it.” Rowan paused in front of her, his heated gaze ravishing her from across the table.

  She studied him with matching heat, remembering him wedged deep inside her as dawn broke.

  “Are you going to eat that?” He finally gestured towards the desecrated fish.

  “I already ate a peach.”

  “A whole peach? And you call that a lunch, aye?”

  “And breakfast,” she lifted her chin. “Stop mothering me, Rowan, my own mom tried and failed!”

  He sighed and sat himself into a chair opposite her. A shadow crossed his face, as if he were about to tell her something, and the intensity of his gaze turned up a few notches. Unwittingly, Dara tensed. His face smoothed in an instant and he leaned back in his chair, flashing her his usual grin.

  “Are you up for a little walk?” He reached a long arm across the table and nabbed a melon slice, skillfully spearing it on knife point. “Thought about showing you a bit around Trim, if you like.”

  “I would.” She gave him a perky nod. “Very much.”

  Dara didn’t mind Rowan snagging her waist as he walked her through the quiet hallway. Sauntering down the front porch’s steps, he reached out and caught one spaghetti strap, sliding it back up her shoulder.

  “Want to see a real castle?” he offered. “They shot an American film there, I think it had an Aussie actor in it—”

  “Braveheart, with Mel Gibson,” she laughed. “Yeah, that would be great.”

  “Come then,” he captured her hand and drew her across the rose garden, bright with colors. She noted Teague’s Bronco wasn’t parked by the white pebble lane.

  “Teague said he was taking Brighid out for a pub tour,” Rowan chuckled.

  “I’m scared to imagine Brighid intoxicated.” Dara mulled over the image. “She’s volatile enough when sober.”

  “Aye, that she is, a true banshee!” Rowan’s laughter rang out about her. “Let’s head for the Boyne, sweetheart. We need to cross the river to get to the Castle of Trim.”

  They picked their way through the greenery, finally coming across dark green trees that crowded along the riverbank, extending their tangled roots to shallow piles of river-smoothed pebbles.

  “We used to borrow inner tubes from the local garage, me and Teague, and ride them down the Boyne,” Rowan chuckled. “Either that, or climb up and down Trim Castle.”

  Dara nodded, unspoken questions burning on her tongue.

  Fiona had said that Rowan, Teague and Brighid had been to Tara earlier today—“preparing for something grand tomorrow” had been her exact words. What the hell had she meant by that? And what had Rowan tried to tell her earlier at the dining room table?

  Thoughts adrift, she almost tripped on the sloping grass, Rowan swiftly catching her arm.

  Straight ahead, a wooden bridge arched across the Boyne. Dara lingered at the tidy metal sign affixed to its timbers.

  “Trim Town Motto,” she read aloud. “Ever Kindly Welcoming the Stranger.”

  She gasped in surprise as strong hands caught her arms and slowly spun her about. Grinning softly, Rowan bent his mouth to Dara’s and tasted her fully with a slow, fierce kiss. He planted his fingers in her hair, drawing her tighter against him. Dara moaned breathlessly, trapped between the bridge’s solid wood and Rowan’s firm body. Her nipples peaked against his hard muscles. His tongue was searching her deepest crevices, stroking her inside-out. He was plundering her mouth with the same ardor he’d been fucking her this morning. She felt his
cock, hard and bulging against her stomach. Her pussy was damp and tingling again, ready for him. When he finally broke their kiss Dara was out of air and weak at the knees, clinging to his shoulders with hooked fingers. Her eyes fluttered open, as if waking from a dream.

  “So, sweetheart, did I welcome you good enough?” Rowan’s soft laughter breathed over her lips, warm and full of his arousing, undeniable scent.

  “You’re not fishing for compliments are you, Mackey?” Dara finally uttered. A blush colored her cheeks, and her lips curled into a soft smile.

  “Mmmm,” he rumbled, entranced at the sight.

  That low, male sound had set her afire time and again.

  Rowan chuckled once more and withdrew a step, allowing Dara space enough to climb up the bridge’s planked floor.

  To her right stretched the first squat houses fringing the city of Trim, and to her left the Boyne flowed and wound its way through meadows and trees.

  Keenly aware of Rowan’s searing gaze on her back, Dara stepped off the wood girders. Before her stood the castle’s broken outer wall, assembled from uneven brown-gray bricks. Damaged and desolate, burdened with the load of centuries past, the surrounding curtain walls were still an imposing sight. The enclosed acres of grass were overshadowed by the castle’s enormous, isolated keep.

  “Want to climb up?” Rowan’s thumb stroked gently over Dara’s wrist.

  “Oh, I-I don’t know—” Dara looked at the massive keep with unease. Rowan’s thumb meanwhile moved to abrade her knuckles in a delightful, mind-numbing way.

  He gave her a funny look. “Are you afraid of heights, sweetheart?”

  “I’m not sure,” Dara squirmed. “I think they just make me a little dizzy.”

  “Back in the Otherworld, when we had to jump into the river escaping Donn—were you afraid then?” he demanded.

  “Water doesn’t scare me,” she gave a small nervous laugh. “Just…looking down over dry land, from someplace high—that scares me shitless.”

  Sweat made the dress cling to her back. She caught Rowan’s trained eyes tracing the bulge of her dagger’s rig. Since Aidan had died, she couldn’t bring herself to leave her weapon behind. Rowan’s gaze lifted and met hers again. He didn’t say a word.