When I’m satisfied with four verses of the song, he seems to know instinctively how to modulate to the ending, slowing the tempo and arriving on a last, heart-rending chord. My heart thumps in my chest as it fades into the chilly air. I shiver with the excitement that comes with knowing I have something very special on my hands. Possibly a new hit record. And all because the damn rental bus broke down in the middle of nowhere.
Karma’s a bitch, and she’s having a heyday with me. Or perhaps it is the leprechauns. Either way, it’s something from beyond the physical plane.
Maybe, it’s my nana.
I realize the recording is still on, so I lay Helen aside and reached for my phone with trembling hands. I’ll be able to score the song from the playback.
“You’ve got to hear this,” I say, stopping the recording and switching to the replay. I hold the phone between us for him to see. “You have a magnificent voice.”
I start the recording and watch for his reaction. He leans in to look at the tiny screen, staring at it as if it’s sprouted a head.
Even with the limited sound quality of a cell phone video, the recording is clear, the rich and ethereal tones of our two diverse instruments and vocals together sounding nothing less than angelic. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs, and not because of the cold. We sit shoulder to shoulder, the contact of our bodies echoing the harmonic connection that resonates throughout our impromptu performance. As it nears the end, Ronan stiffens, a dark and unreadable expression on his bearded face.
“You don’t like the song?” I ask. “The words can be changed, you know. They just came to my mind, and I went with them. I’m sorry if they say anything negative or inaccurate about your traditions.”
“’Tis a fine song,” he says, looking away from the screen. “I’m just not fit to be singin’ it with yer.”
I blink at him. “What? What do you mean? You were fantastic. We sounded great together. My producer is going to go ape-shit over this.”
Ronan tucks the harp under his arm. “Ape-shite?”
I laugh, wishing I could have the musical genius Ronan back. After that tempting glimpse, he’s disappeared again behind the mask of surly mountain man. “Just an expression. Means he’s going to love it.”
He shakes his head. “No, lass. I was just the accompaniment. Yer the performer. A damn good one at that.”
My hands drop to my lap, noting he’s at least dropped his chauvinistic use of the word woman. I almost drop to my knees and beg for domineering Ronan to return. With him, at least I knew what to expect. Why is he selling himself short?
“Without you, it was just the framework of a song idea. You made it come alive. I don’t think you’re aware of your mad skills. I’m going to send this recording to Jake as soon as I have internet access.”
Ronan glances up at the brightening sky and falls silent for a long minute. “Nay one has heard my music outside of Wintervale,” he says quietly. “I only play for family or the Wintervale grove. They won’t judge me. I wish yer wouldn’t send it to someone who will.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. “No one will judge you.” I reach for his hand, placing mine on top of his. “Except to tell you what an exceptional talent you have. Trust me, the world deserves to hear you.”
He fixes his blue eyes on me, and I see a curtain of sadness fall across them. “Please don’t share that recordin’ with anyone, Savie. Please.”
Holy shit. The man is shy. Six feet five and looking as fierce as a grizzly bear, and then he suffers from stage fright. I remember him asking me what it was like to perform before tens of thousands. Now I know why.
“Are you afraid to play in front of others?” I prod gently. “You shouldn’t be. You played for me.”
He bows his head. At his silence, another possibility occurs to me. And I don’t like this new thought at all. “Are you afraid to be seen singing…with me? You’re embarrassed by the flighty American girl, aren’t you?”
He raises his face to mine again, and shakes his head. “No.” A wistful smile forms under his brushy moustache. “But I think yer should be afraid to be seen singin’ with me, yer should. Think of yer…what does my sister call it? Avenue cred? Reputation and all that.”
I chuckle. “Street cred, you mean.”
My brow wrinkles under the strain of trying to understand the implications of this conversation, but a curious sound interrupts my thought process. We both look toward the path, the jolly tinkle of harness bells issuing from within. As it approaches the clearing, Mateo’s great head emerges from the foggy depths, snorting clouds of hot breath. On his back rides Caris, bundled in her shawl and scarf, looking straight out of an episode of Outlander. She leads a second horse on a tether who plods obediently behind.
“Ach, top o’ the mornin’ to yer, kids. What’s the craic?”
“What’s the what?” I whisper to Ronan.
“Means ‘how are yer, how yer doin’,’” he replies, setting aside the harp and rising to greet her. “Mornin’, sis. What brings yer out here with the larks?”
“I promised to bring Mateo out to yer, didn’t I? Brought Sully here along for the return.” Caris juts her chin at the second pinto-coated pony. “And a wee bit ‘o somethin’ to warm yer both up.” She unhooks a thermos from the saddle and hands it to Ronan.
“Yer hot glogg. Thanks, sis. Couldn’t come at a better time. Savie and I were just enjoyin’ some music out here in the elements.”
Claris rolls her eyes. “’Tis my special honey-apple mead, so ‘tis. Only yer call it glogg.”
“If it’s as good as your barmbrack, I’m sure it’s delicious.” I walk toward her and the horses. “Will I find another treasure inside?”
Caris laughs, and her whole face brightens under the strength of her warm smile. “Only the treasure of a warm belly and a good feelin’. And I also ‘av a message from yer man, Mr. Tobin. He’s been in touch with yer manager, and he says to sit tight. It appears another of yer transports has gone astray into a snowbank.”
I stare at her. “Seriously? And how is Mel?”
“Curse the luck of this weather,” she says with a cluck of her tongue. “Stomach still painin’ him, but he was good enough to ask Declan to run him up the road to Drogheda, to see about a rental car for himself. I don’t fancy his luck in light of the Yule, but if he can find somethin’, he said to tell yer he’ll pick yer up right here. Nay need to worry. Yer two just relax and enjoy yerselves ‘til then. But it looks like yer may be here another night.”
As excited as I am about the solstice song I’ve just written, my shoulders sag in disappointment. I don’t want the tour to fall apart completely because of our being stuck here indefinitely. More than that, I really don’t want the physical temptation that is Ronan O’Farrell leading me and my woman’s body astray.
Ronan takes Mateo’s reins and helps Caris down from the saddle. “I know ‘tis not what yer planned,” he says, turning to me. “But if it’ll lift yer spirits, how about I make yer a special supper tonight? To celebrate yer new composition.”
“Ach, a grand idea,” Caris concurs with a clap of her hands. “With all the provisions I sent along yesterday, yer enough to feed an army on pilgrimage.”
Ronan sends me a wink. I smile, rapidly getting the idea that fighting my situation is a waste of energy. Otherworldly forces have taken over. “Only if you’ll celebrate it with me,” I say. “With the harmony line you sang, it’s as much yours as mine.”
Ronan smiles in return and starts to lead the horses around the back. “All right. Would yer mind taking the gadgets, uh, instruments inside while I take care of this pair?”
I nod. “Sure.”
“And Caris? A word in private, if yer please.”
She looks at him funny, but doesn’t argue. “Aye, I need to talk to yer about somethin’ as well, so I do. In the barn.”
Finally, one female who does as he bids.
For the moment.
Chapter Thirteen
Ronan
I stomp to the kitchen hours and one fecking fateful trip to my own animal shed later.
Even though I know it’s a train headed down the wrong track, I’m still planning on cooking Savie’s supper this eve. As I walk, I notice the rustic décor of my home, and look at it through the narrowed eyes of judgment. Caris helped make it a wee bit homier, procuring antiques and other bric-a-brac, hoping that I’d eventually settle down and start a family. At thirty, I’m not getting any younger. I don’t want to be grey and rocking on my front porch when my children are tots at my feet.
I don’t really understand the repercussions behind my desire to do something nice for Savie. Ever since I first clapped eyes on her inside that obnoxious metal beast, she’s stolen every bit of pleasure from me outside of the physical. The worst part is how she’s caused me to question my own beliefs and way of life. I admit, her long, judgmental looks and heavy sighs have become few and far between. But consequences reside behind that truth, and I don’t want to examine them.
As I run a hand over my scalp, I feel like a sheep at sheering time. Literally, my head feels ten pounds lighter. When Caris asked if I would do it for her, I did balk. Then, her yapping got on my last nerve and I agreed to let her shear me. In the end, we both agreed that the time to look like a right savage had passed. Now, I’m not so sure.
The first time I stepped outside of the shed, the cold air hit me like an ice block to the head and face. I can’t remember the last time I cut my hair, and the last time I shaved was the morning that my cousin Paddy told me I had a baby face.
The long hair I love or loved, so it was, vacated my head on a few swipes of my own shears and blade. The same ones I use if Mateo’s mane and forelock go awry. But the beard that I’d grown purely out of spite, well, I’d come to love that too. It kept me warm from the wintery chill, or so it did. As the Bard of this grove, I can’t even give an appearance of weakness. If my people lose respect for me, they won’t follow me and chaos could ensue.
Worse than the thought of stepping down from my position, at the soul level, I know why I really cleaned myself up, looking like a right townie. Because of her. I don’t want to admit, even to myself, that the woman makes my cock harder than steel. Admitting it would mean even more painful arguments with myself over a woman whose lifestyle I don’t respect. In fact, most of her ways disgust me. Her musical talent can’t be denied, but she’s all American glitz and glamour. She’s got more personal possessions along for a six-week tour, than I’ve ever seen one person own in my lifetime. She may now understand my personal values because she stopped to listen, but she’d never dream of adopting them.
I busy myself at the pantry, looking through jars labeled with every possible vegetable and fruit from my own garden and my sister’s. When I finally find what I’m looking for, I load my arms up with the various ingredients and get to work preparing a pot roast with garden vegetables, along with homemade biscuits. Caris sent an apple pie so we’ll have that for dessert.
Savie’s out on the porch again with her guitar in hand and the haunting sounds of her chords reach my ears as I cook. She hasn’t seen my new look yet—she was napping when I got home from the inn this afternoon—and I can’t help but let my mind drift to her reaction. Will she look at me as if I’ve lost my mind or will she be attracted to the new less hairy version of me? Lord knows her body wants mine, but I know that she’s just as opposed as I am to a true meeting of the minds. We’re not only from two different countries, we’re from two different worlds.
The family stories go back centuries, of how my grandfather once owned this land and his grandfather before him, for generation after generation. My chest swells with pride every time I think about our legacy. As I glance out the window, admiring the rolling hills and towering trees, I realize even though I’ve never spent any time of consequence anywhere else, I don’t ever want to.
In the harsh light of day, my beliefs seem strange and rigid. But Savie seems to understand them. I see the light of curiosity in her eyes when, in most stranger’s eyes, I see censure. That part touches my heart in a place I never knew existed. She has to leave. She will leave. But until the sweet sorrow of parting comes, I’ll enjoy her in my way.
The sunshine glares off the snow that remains spattered about. Even the barren foliage looks bright today, or maybe it’s just my mood. I’m predisposed to be pleasant, but only for her. Other than a brief interlude with Mary Murphy during the last ritual I performed, I haven’t had a woman come apart in my hands for a very long time. They want me because I’m the alpha in this grove, the leader. But I’ve never really stopped long enough to consider their pleasure. I take what I want when I want it. It’s always been that way, and it’s not ever going to change.
Without conscious thought, I move around my kitchen, finalizing the supper preparations, wanting everything to be perfect. For a moment, I feel as if I’ve stepped forward into my future. It feels like something I’ve lived before, this idyllic life with my woman a mere few yards away from me and my home full of vitality. I sit down at the table, suddenly overcome with déjà vu and allow the images to overtake me. Is the vision right? Is Savie here for a reason?
I close my eyes, imagining Savie standing underneath a huge oak tree in a white dress. Savie’s belly round with my first son. Savie splayed out for my pleasure, screaming my name as her release pulses around my straining cock. She tastes like heaven and she tastes like home.
My home.
I jump up from the chair and shake my arms at the elbows, chasing away the demons of a life not fully lived. It’s a mistake, allowing her to stay here. But how can I ask her to leave now in her hour of need? I can’t and I won’t. Aside from my own guilt, Caris would have my arse on a plate and serve it to the townsfolk.
“Ronan?”
My head snaps up in time to see Savie float into the room, her guitar still in her hand. She stops and stares at me, her mouth sagging open. Her eyes explore my face, and a ghost of a smile tugs at her lips, but she says nothing.
“Are yer ready for a wee spot of supper?” I ask, hoping that calm and gentle Savie is going to appear tonight as my supper companion, aloft on a cloud of positivity after her composing session. “I feel like I’m about to gnaw me own arm off, I do.”
“Famished,” she says, walking over to the stove and inhaling the aroma of the bubbling roast. “Mmm…smells heavenly.”
I jerk my gaze away from her as my crotch roars to life again. I’m appalled at my body’s base response to this woman and my mind’s constant lapses of sanity and control. Seems all she does is get me horned up.
“It’ll be ready soon,” I say, staring at her plump arse and imagining my hands kneading the flesh.
She bounces back toward the table and takes a seat across from me. “Your haircut looks fantastic. Very stylish. After so many days with the mountain man, I’m surprised to find a really handsome guy underneath all that hair.”
I can feel my face heating up as I blush.
I’m feckin’ blushin’ over some cosmopolitan American townie. Ach…
Reality and space fall away as I feel myself being transported back in time. Mary’s down on all fours, begging me to horse it in. I’ve used that particular fantasy to pleasure myself for years, except this time, it’s trite and unpleasant. I don’t want to think about mindless sex ever again. Savie’s done something to me, and I don’t want Mary or anyone else’s mental intrusion to dull the light of my fantasies about the woman who stands now within my reach.
With the tip of one finger, I reach out and lightly trace the swell of her bottom lip. She flicks her tongue out to moisten it, and I feel the wetness, the heat. I wonder if her pussy’s just as wet. I’m no longer hungry for roast. The only thing that’s going to assuage my appetite is this woman, naked and bending to my every whim. Taking my cock inside her as she begs for more.
Savie moans, and I’m caught in a place between rationality and pure sensation. Lust rages throu
gh my body and there’s no longer room for any rational thought, or any strategy to keep from getting too attached to her. She’s leaving soon and that will be that. There’s nothing I can do to make her stay even if I wanted to. But that’s not going to stop me from taking what I want right now.
Consequences be damned.
She captures my finger in the recesses of her mouth, and I feel the answering twitch in my overactive groin. A soft moan escapes her lips, and the sound spreads like a salve over my soul. She touches a place so deep inside me that I never even knew it existed. Like my future’s come home to roost within my present. Since Savie’s tour bus broke down on the country road, my whole life’s been imploded and what I thought I knew has been replaced only with a riot of sensations.
I continue to explore her with just a light touch, tracing first her upper lip, then her lower, delighting in the feather soft skin as I go. Leaning my head forward, I touch my lips to hers, feeling her melt into me. Surrendering. I tame the beast that wants to burst into a gallop, to claim her in a way she can’t deny. My racing heart begs me to seek out the finish line, but my rational mind tells me to savor every moment, since it probably won’t be repeated.
Every cell in my body screams at me to stop being gentle. To take what I want as hard and fast as I want. But this isn’t Mary, a cocktrough. This isn’t even some sensitive and fragile American lass who probably can’t understand or accept the beast inside of me. This is Savie. My destiny. For this one night at least.
Savie opens her mouth to me, surrendering and allowing me greater access to plunder the farthest recesses of her mouth. My tongue seeks and demands, and she answers with a fervor that surprises me, adding fuel to the fire of my already raging lust.
An overwhelming urge to taste every inch of her overtakes me, and I move my mouth to the hollow of her elegant throat, licking her pulse. She moans, and it hits me in the middle of my chest, my heart surging to keep up with the rush of my blood. My arousal turns base and feral, and we don’t even have our clothes off yet.
Solstice Song (Pagan Passion Book 1) Page 12
