Primal Temptation pg-4

by Sydney Somers

  “An argument I’d be wise not to disagree with under the circumstances.”

  Realizing how ridiculous it was to complain to her brothers’ friend of all people, she pressed her lips together.

  “You’re not wrong though,” he offered, his expression far more genuine than even Cian’s whenever her brother indulged her complaints of being left behind. “But better to have a brother who would move all of Avalon to keep you safe, than not have one at all.”

  The subtle hint of envy in Lucan’s voice surprised her.

  He smiled and gestured in the direction of the meadow. “Or did you wish to stay longer and swim? I’d be happy to stand guard as you did.” His eyes dared her to deny that she’d been spying on him.

  “I don’t believe you’re qualified.” At the top of the hill, she slipped her boots back on.

  “Next time I’ll make note of the particular skill set required.”

  She arched a brow. “Planning to strip down and swim for me again so soon? My brothers did insist you were bolder than I realized.”

  “Ah, so the truth comes out.” He turned so that he faced her while walking backward. “You’ve asked them about me.”

  “How much ale have you been drinking?”

  Laughing, he turned back around in time to barely avoid a collision with a tree limb. His grin faded, though the smile remained in his eyes. “You weren’t even going to warn me about that, were you?”

  Hiding her smile, she shrugged, keeping an eye on the path in front of them while they continued toward the tree-line. She tried hard to ignore the urge to sneak glances at him from the corner of her eye, failing far more than she succeeded.

  Her attention snagged on another scar that bisected his ear. From training or the battlefield?

  “It wasn’t nearly as courageous as you’re probably thinking.” Catching her staring, he curved his lips in a cocky grin.

  Unsure whether to be annoyed, she settled on watching her feet instead of his face.

  “That night I definitely had too much ale to drink,” he confided. “Cian spooked my horse, and it turned out that I wasn’t in any condition to control the beast.”

  “Your horse or Cian?”

  He burst out laughing and this time she found herself laughing along with him. Lucan bumped into her, his body soft and hard all at the same time and inviting her to lean closer. Her laughter faded, replaced by the warming twirls of butterflies that heated her stomach to a low simmer.

  Lucan’s smile slipped away, his gaze serious and altogether impossible to look away from. For a moment she imagined he was about to step toward her, then he glanced out at the meadow.

  Resigned to part ways, she watched people talking, singing and dancing around various fires lighting up the meadow. “Is it too much to ask that you don’t mention this to my brothers?”

  “You’re retiring?” Something that mirrored disappointment flashed across his face. “The festival is pretty exhausting.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “Then where are you going?”

  Words escaped her. Although she’d half-expected him to do everything but walk her back to her tent, she’d sooner lick a Korrigan’s black toes than go to bed now.

  “Come on then.” His slow smile was devastating. He grabbed her hand, leading her toward the celebration instead of away from it.

  Chapter Eight

  Lucan stopped next to a tent, snatching a piece of fabric off a rope hung for clothing. “Here.” He draped the fabric over her head, his fingers unusually clumsy as he tried to tie it beneath Briana’s chin.

  Had her eyes always been so impossibly blue? The bottomless cobalt shade almost glowed around the edges.

  A faint smile teased the corners of her mouth, and he hurried to finish the knot.

  “There. To avoid being noticed by your family.” He smoothed the few loose strands away from her face, his fingers lingering far too long against her skin.

  Briana Callaghan.

  He wouldn’t have thought he’d remember her face, but the moment she’d tipped her face up in the moonlight, he’d felt the recognition like the hilt of a sword to the gut.

  “Lucan?”

  Letting his hand drop back to his side—a much safer place for it should any of her brothers spot them—and met her gaze.

  “Where should we go?” The impish grin he remembered had blossomed into a stunning smile. No wonder her brothers were so protective.

  Waiting, she cocked her head, and he remembered she’d asked him something. He’d blame the ale except he’d hardly had any all night. There might be a festival happening around them, but Arthur never let an opportunity pass to strategize with his men.

  That left the woman herself responsible for the fact he couldn’t keep his thoughts from bumbling around in his head like one of Merlin’s sprites.

  Her eyes narrowed a fraction at the corners. “Are you teasing me? Did my brothers put you up to this?”

  “No.” He just hadn’t come up with a reasonable answer to her earlier question. The overwhelming urge to steal her away for a while longer where he alone could enjoy her company left him in unfamiliar territory.

  Guilt snaked through him, a reminder of what was expected of him—what had always been expected of him.

  “We’ll go anywhere you’d like.” Lucan pulled his shirt on, then reached for her hand again, unable to help himself. A dangerous action—one that would have his friends wanting to claw him apart. Though he was closest to the youngest Callaghan brother, he knew full well Cale and Tristan would be equally unimpressed with the direction of his thoughts.

  But still he didn’t let go.

  The crowd gradually thickened as they wove around tents to join the fun. Someone thrust a mug of ale into his hand, and then Briana’s. He watched her lift the glass to her lips and take a long drink without making a face.

  Around them people sang and laughed, spinning exaggerated tales of Arthur in battle. Listening to them, a stranger would be convinced the half-god king was nearly ten feet tall and Excalibur forever stained red with the blood of his enemies. Few tales involved Arthur’s diplomatic strides to keep peace in Avalon.

  They lingered through numerous accounts, each one more violent and graphic than the one before, Briana’s fingers alternately tightening around his as the storytellers cast their spells, drawing her in. Lucan contented himself with watching the pleasure of the experience light up her face, though she’d probably heard the same stories hundreds of times before.

  Something else drew her attention, and she tugged him after her. Ahead of them, the crowd broke apart, surging toward them. Briana staggered backward, knocking into him. He caught her waist, her body leaning into his chest.

  She laughed at the crowd and smiled at him over her shoulder.

  Hypnotic. The effect she had on him—each glance more piercing, each touch more penetrating—confused as much as it enthralled him.

  If she noticed he held onto her longer than necessary, she gave no indication, plunging back into the boisterous crowd and dragging him along with her. She changed direction mid-stride, leading him toward those gathered around two men in the midst of fighting one another.

  Arthur wouldn’t be happy, Lucan thought, then recognized the two men battling with wooden swords. He watched Briana from the corner of his eyes, noting the second she realized who they were.

  “Arthur?” she whispered under her breath, eyes wide.

  Nodding, he maneuvered her closer.

  Dirt-covered and grinning like the troublemaker he’d been in his past, Arthur kept his guard up, his movements slower, but more precise than the man opposite him. Constantine’s expression was far more serious, proving his reputation for smiling about as often as he lost a fight.

  Their swords clashed as the two men grappled for the advantage, dodging blows and knowing when to get out of each other’s way. The size of their mock arena widened, more people venturing close to watch the match.

  Arthu
r blocked a low strike, spinning in preparation of Constantine’s counter-move. One step ahead, the king knocked his heir backward. A knowing slash of lips broke the stoic mold on Constantine’s face.

  Few men had been in a position to accept the responsibility of wielding Excalibur should anything happen to Arthur, and on more than one occasion Constantine had proven the most suited for the role. Had Arthur gotten around to marrying, as his people routinely encouraged, a blood-bound heir wouldn’t have been necessary.

  Constantine lunged forward, nailing Arthur in the side. The momentum knocked Arthur off his feet.

  The cheering crowd went silent.

  “Will he be punished?”

  Arthur laughed before Lucan had time to answer Briana’s question. Their king held up a hand, gripping Constantine’s forearm as the knight helped him to his feet. Those gathered surrounded the men, many talking at once.

  Briana turned away, her gaze wistful.

  “Your brothers are right, you know. The Guard is no place—”

  “For a female,” she finished, not sounding convinced. “Women are just as capable.”

  He rounded the closest tent, looking to make sure she followed before leaving his own sword and grabbing two wooden ones from the pile on the ground. When they were closer to the forest, he tossed one of the training weapons to her.

  She surprised him by catching it, though her hand clenched uncertainly around the hilt.

  He gestured to the tip of the sword. “You want to try to hit me with the pointy end.”

  And just that quickly her mood shifted, challenge brightening her eyes. “I appreciate the clarification.”

  Lucan circled her. “Being part of the Guard is more than just being capable. Your instinct needs to be honed as sharply as the blade on a real sword. You must be able to read your opponent’s eyes.”

  He struck, but she blocked him, fumbling her sword in the process. By the time she recovered, he’d circled behind her.

  “And you never want them to get too close.”

  She spun around, her sword coming up in time to brush his throat. “Perhaps you should keep your distance then.”

  How was it possible to be so impressed and aroused at the same time? With every swing of her weapon, she grinned wider, her steps increasingly bolder. While she failed to get so close again, she was surprisingly adept at blocking many of his attempts to knock the weapon out of her hand.

  When he finally succeeded, between bouts of laughter that had drawn a small crowd of their own, she dove for the lost blade, reclaiming it with her wrong hand. Intent on taking advantage, he moved in to relieve her of the weapon entirely.

  With a growl that was dangerously animal, she blocked him again, much too efficiently.

  “Cian’s trained you to use a sword with both hands.”

  She offered a secretive smile, her fingers flexing comfortably around the grip. “What are my eyes telling you now?”

  “That you may be in over your head, kitten.”

  Laughing, she went on the offensive, giving him more than enough time to note a weak spot he could exploit. He slashed up and across with his blade. Briana flinched under the force of the strike, but kept hold of her sword. Needing only another second, Lucan eased back a fraction—and ended up on his ass.

  Briana didn’t waste a second, her weapon poised at his throat, her cat eyes hauntingly wild. “Do you yield?”

  “Bested by a woman, Luc?” Constantine moved away, probably to avoid Lucan stabbing the foot that tripped him. “Perhaps you should stick with your horse and fancy spears.” He glanced at Briana. “No one is better than our own La—”

  “Perhaps she should be among the Guard, after all.” Arthur joined them, his presence seeming to indicate the mock battle was over and sending the onlookers off in search of more entertainment.

  “Forgive me for not curtsying, your highness.” She didn’t take her eyes off Lucan. “I don’t trust your knight not to retaliate.”

  Arthur frowned. “Against a woman?”

  “It’s not the retaliation I fear.” Her lips twitched. “But embarrassing him further.”

  The rough and rich sound of Arthur’s laughter rent the air as he bent, offering an arm to help Lucan up. “Your family is no doubt proud of having another warrior in the family, Lady Briana. Your brothers often brag about their talented baby sister.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “I assure you, I am no child.”

  “As Lucan can attest to.” Although Constantine’s lips were pressed into a flat line, Lucan knew the bastard wanted to laugh.

  Her cheeks flushed. “I should go.”

  Arthur touched her arm, his eyes as perceptive as ever. “Your brothers won’t hear of this if that is your wish,” he reassured her. “Though personally, I think you should claim responsibility. It’s a rare occasion that finds my friend at anyone’s mercy.” He nodded at Lucan.

  “Very rare,” Constantine added, drawing a real sword from the scabbard he carried. “Although once they see this, more than just your brothers will have questions.” He offered her the weapon.

  Briana’s mouth nearly fell open. “The Blade of the Black Heart?” Her fingers traced the dark etchings that ran the length of the sword.

  Constantine nodded. “It’s yours.”

  She jerked her hand back as though she’d been burned. “I can’t accept it. You need it to fight Morgana—”

  “Any sword will do to slay the sorceress should I ever get close enough.” He shot a sidelong glance at Arthur, whose shoulders tensed at the mention of his half-sister.

  “It would be an insult to reject such a gift,” Arthur said.

  Not waiting for an answer, Constantine closed her fingers over the hilt.

  Possessiveness, hot and sharp, snapped through Lucan. Having absolutely no claim on her or even the freedom to make one, he clenched his jaw and remained quiet. Arthur studied him, something unreadable passing in his oldest friend’s eyes, then he fixed his attention on Briana.

  “My knight may think more carefully about approaching you now.”

  Uncertain, Briana’s gaze sought Lucan’s, and he nodded, encouraging her to take it. The only thing fiercer than the weapon known for cutting a deadly path through the battlefield was the woman in front of him, yearning to be a warrior like her brothers.

  Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she tested the weight of the blade, turning from Lucan to talk with Arthur, who ushered her ahead of him.

  “Careful, my friend.” Constantine lowered his voice. “That one is not a plaything.”

  He resisted the urge to rub the unsettling tightness in his chest. “It’s the only thing I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Then take care. You risk much—”

  “I will take my vows.” He hadn’t for a moment forgotten his duties and what he’d worked hard to build with Arthur.

  Constantine laughed, slapping him on the back. “I was going to say, you risk much by turning from such a formidable female.” He broke away to catch up to the others, handing Briana the scabbard for the blade, a piece almost as equally impressive as the sword itself.

  Then he and Arthur headed in the direction of their tents.

  Alone with Briana once more, Lucan knew it was time to escort her back to her family’s tents. Maybe then he could ignore the overwhelming sensation to hold onto her for as long as he could.

  They stuck close to the dark tree-line as they worked their way back across the meadow. She would have enough questions to face in the morning without running into one of her brothers now.

  Briana said little on their trek back, though he sensed there were things she wanted to ask. Worried he might not be able to say no to any request she made, he picked up the pace making conversation difficult, and making it impossible to avoid the scene they walked into when they rounded the next grouping of tents.

  Hidden in the shadows of the trees, two bodies were wrapped up in each other, clothes already half peeled off—the woman’s—the sou
nds of their moaning teasing the air.

  He stopped, and distracted by her sword, Briana plowed right into him. Keeping them both upright was nearly as challenging as pretending he didn’t love every moment of her pressed up against him.

  “This way,” he whispered, leading her into the woods, giving the couple a wide berth.

  Guessing his reason for changing directions, she fell into step beside him, her footing more sure than his own on the uneven terrain. “I am aware that mated couples kiss now and then. Even unmated ones.” He heard the smile in her voice, and the mischievous look was back in her eyes. “You do know that Merlin didn’t simply leave me at my parents door one day?” She bent her head conspiratorially. “Or do you still believe in gnomes that bring treats in exchange for lost teeth as well?”

  “Wench,” he teased. “And what would you know about kissing?” Somehow, he doubted her brothers knew anything about that.

  “Kissing? I know about a lot more than—”

  Groaning at the tantalizing images their conversation was about to inspire, he cut her off. “Just answer the question.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking it over. “I can only say that I’ve been told I’m rather good at it.”

  “According to…” he prompted, realizing too late that he was fairly sure he didn’t want to know the answer.

  “My friend, Vaughn.”

  He made a sound of disgust. “The boy always trailing after Cian?”

  “Boy?” Briana laughed. “He’s barely a season younger than you are.”

  “And one kiss makes you a rather good at it?”

  “Who said anything about just one?” Her eyes twinkled, and she stopped. “You almost sound like I couldn’t handle more, or maybe just not yours. The same as I couldn’t handle your sword game?”

  Lucan lunged for her, catching her around the waist before she could bolt, and hauling her to his chest.

  Briana read the playful intent on Lucan’s face as easily as she had her brothers’ tracks that afternoon, but couldn’t evade capture. Not that she really wanted to.