by Sarra Cannon
She gaped at him. “That’s an old form of Gaelic.”
“And how would ye be knowing that?” He aped an Irish accent so perfectly, it made her laugh.
“Because my mother was Irish, and she used to talk to me—in Gaelic and in Irish. I recognize the difference. Gaelic has a different cadence.”
“So it does. Come back here. There’s nothing so pressing we can’t have a good morning hug.” The accent was very nearly gone. The words such perfect English, she might not have noticed the slight twang beneath them if she weren’t paying attention.
His body was warm against hers. And quite naked. Just the touch of his full length against her was enough to start her blood humming. She squirmed, trying to get away. “We’ll never get anything else done,” she protested.
“And what could be more important than this?” he demanded, his perfect teeth very white against his scraggly beard as he smiled at her. Gently taking one of her hands, he pushed it downward until her fingers curled around his shaft. Ridged flesh jumped in her hand, once and then again, obviously ready for more of what they’d shared the night before.
Good question. She tried to gin up an answer, but couldn’t come up with anything. Rune and Bella could take care of themselves. She had no job to go to. No school. Only this man and her and the magic their bodies made together.
“Just remember”—she cupped the side of his face with her free hand—“you asked for this.”
Aislinn let go of him and yanked the covers out of the way so she could look at him. Really look at him. She kindled her mage light, since his wasn’t bright enough for her purposes, and the sight of his body made breath catch in her throat. Lean muscled arms and shoulders funneled to a flat stomach and slender hips. A light dusting of golden hair sparkled against bronzed skin. She ran a fingertip from shoulder to groin and then traced his leg all the way to his feet. He flexed his toes and made a feral, possessive noise deep in his throat.
“And do ye like what ye see?” Blue eyes sparkled.
Her throat was thick with desire, but she managed to croak, “Oh my God, how can you even ask? You’re the most beautiful, the most perfect—”
“Nay, lass, that would be yourself ye’re describing. Your hair is like liquid fire, and your eyes are golden. I’ve never seen eyes like that afore. And your breasts… If ye’d lived hundreds of years ago, poets would have written odes to them.” He opened his arms. “Come here. I canna stand the distance between us.”
She understood, because neither could she.
When they finally got up hours later, her nether regions were sore as she shifted around to pull on her clothes. “Ouch.”
“Och aye, and I have just the cure for that.” He winked.
She swatted him. “I’ll just bet you do. More of the same. Nope. I need a break. And a bath. I can smell myself.”
“We can go to the river. I’ll even make the water warm for you.”
“You can do that?”
“Uh-huh. So can you. I’ll show you how.” Fionn stood and collected his clothes strewn on the floor. He stretched his arms above his head and pivoted his torso from side to side before getting dressed.
She finished dressing, got to her feet, and made a mock bow in his direction. “Lead on.”
He took her hand and opened a path through his wards for all of them. Rune and Bella were more than ready to hunt, dashing off the minute they were above ground. As she followed him to the river, Aislinn wondered if she’d ever had so much sex before in such a short time frame. It didn’t take long to realize she hadn’t. For one thing, no one ever stuck around very long once their most immediate needs had been sated.
Fionn was talking to her, but she hadn’t heard him. “Tell me again,” she said. “I was thinking.”
He eyed her. “About what?”
She shook her head.
The look he gave her sharpened, but he went on. “I was giving you a tutorial on how to warm water in a circle about yourself. Mix water and fire in equal proportions—”
“Water will extinguish fire,” she protested.
“Watch.” He gave her that ten thousand-watt grin again, shucked his clothes, and stepped into a deep pool in the river.
She couldn’t help it. She smiled back and got out of her own clothes. Splashing over to him, she was pleasantly surprised to find that he stood in the middle of truly warm water. “Wow! I’m impressed. Water and fire, eh?”
He inclined his head. To his credit, he didn’t say, I told you so.
Warm water really did go much farther than cold. It soothed her inflamed tissues, too. He showed her a root that soaped when you crushed it between rocks.
“What is that?” she asked delightedly as she squished slimy goo all over her body in bath temperature water.
“Indian soap root. An older name is Bear Onion.”
She memorized what it looked like so she could find it again. It even did a pretty good job with her hair. Of course, it wasn’t all that dirty, since she’d just washed it the day before. She had a feeling soap root would manage the oils better than sand, though. Aislinn fingered the gash down the side of her face. It still hurt, and it would leave a hell of a scar.
Thoroughly clean, they lay naked on rocks warmed by a combination of magic and the sun. It was temperate for so late in the year, and she luxuriated in not being swathed in layers of clothing. Fionn used his shirt for a gathering basket and brought them wild blackberries that had dried on their vines. She popped one after another of the tiny black globes into her mouth, enjoying the combination of sweet and tart. Rune padded over and flopped down beside her, part of a mangled rodent hanging from his mouth. Bella overflew them and then flapped her way to a nearby tree limb. She cawed raucously. Aislinn wondered if it was the avian equivalent of laughter.
“This is the first time I haven’t been scared in…” She hesitated. “Maybe in years.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m not sure it’s good. I need to be scared so I’m alert.” She glanced around them, half expecting some dark creature—or maybe a human shade—to jump out of the foliage.
“There’s safety in numbers,” Fionn said. “With four of us, it’s not likely something nefarious could slip past.”
Aislinn wasn’t so sure about that, but she held her peace. She didn’t want to ruin what felt like the most perfect day since before her father had been killed. Swiveling so she could look at Fionn, she asked, “Tell me why you can speak Gaelic. Are you from the United Kingdom?”
His face darkened, and she wondered what she’d said wrong. There’d been a time when she could speak German. If anyone had asked her, she’d have told them she learned it in school.
When the silence started to feel uncomfortable, he said, “Let’s just say I was born in the Old Country.” He met her gaze, but his eyes were hooded, as if he didn’t want her to probe. “I’ve been in the States for a very long time, though. My home is here.”
That’s an odd answer. And not quite what I asked about. “If things are going to work between us,” she said, keeping her voice very quiet, “there has to be absolute truth. I can’t stand by your side in battle, wondering what you’re not telling me.” She took a breath and went on, finally recognizing what was bothering her. “Because that’s it, Fionn. It’s not that what you said wasn’t true. It’s that you left a whole bunch of things out.”
“Did I now?”
Her neck stiffened at the mocking challenge in his voice. “Och aye, and ye did,” she muttered. “Two can play that game. Now talk.”
“I will. But not outside the wards. Are you ready to go in?”
She started pulling on her clothes. “Yes,” she managed through gritted teeth. What was it with this man? He could make her so hot her body was awash in lust so intense it obliterated everything, and so angry she wanted to choke him. He was the only man she hadn’t been able to walk away from.
Maybe I can. I haven’t tried.
Who am I kidding?
Well, I haven’t tr
ied—not really. Let’s see what he has to say for himself. Then I’ll decide.
Chapter 13
Fionn tried to make small talk once they were back underground, but Aislinn wasn’t having any of it. The animals retreated to a far corner after she raised her voice the first time. “Talk,” she shouted, pounding a fist into her other hand for emphasis. “Tell me who you are and where you came from.” She made an effort to gentle her voice. Christ, she sounded like a fishwife. “If I’m going to link my life to yours, I have a right to know.”
That must’ve gotten through, because he said, “Yes, you do. I’m sorry. I’ve been hiding who and what I am from everyone for so long, it’s not easy to stop dissembling.”
Her Seeker senses, attuned to truth, corroborated his statement. At least it was a start. Aislinn pursed her lips. “Did your wife know?”
He shook his head and gave her a lopsided smile. “At least, not the most current one, nor the several who came before her.”
She took a step away from him. “You’re not really Fionn MacCumhaill. You couldn’t be.” Breath clogged in her throat as she waited for his answer. Her heart thudded against her ribcage.
“Yes, I did give you my name.” He spoke as if to himself. “Maybe I made a mistake, but I was wild with fear for what would happen once you delivered yourself to the Old Ones like a trounced pig.”
“You gave me a name,” she clarified, still keeping her distance. “But there’s no way you could possibly be the Fionn MacCumhaill.”
“And why not?”
“Because you’d have to be hundreds of years old. Maybe as much as a thousand,” she sputtered. “He was a Celtic god.”
“Do you remember which one?”
Irritation stung her. “What is this? Twenty Questions?”
“Well, do you?” His voice, the American one, was so soft that she had to strain to hear.
“Of course I do. He ruled, ah, wisdom. And overcoming enemies.” She racked her brain, culling her mother’s fairy stories from wherever they lived when she wasn’t thinking about them. “Creation, protection, knowledge, divination.” She put her hands on her hips, feeling pleased with herself. “That about covers it.”
“Aye, lass, that it does.” The Irish lilt was back. He smiled at her. Or he showed her his teeth. It didn’t feel much like a smile. Now that she was looking at him, really looking, something ancient and brimming with knowledge lurked behind his blue eyes.
I’m imagining things. It isn’t possible.
“Of course it is.”
“Damn it.” She was so frustrated, she punched him. He didn’t make so much as a whuff, but her knuckles stung. “Stay out of my head.”
“As you wish.” He inclined his head.
She brought her fisted hand to her mouth, sucking at the sore parts. “No, it’s not. You can’t be hundreds—maybe thousands—of years old.”
“The others, they told me I’d die if I left the Old Country. They thought the magic wouldn’t stretch so far. But it did—and I didn’t.”
“What others?”
“The other gods, of course.” He chuckled. “The Celts had many gods. Well over a hundred at the apex of our strength. Once I knew everyone’s name, but not anymore.” He looked sad, his eyes pinched at their corners. “Many have faded out of time and memory.”
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
Aislinn slowly crossed the room and sat on one of the cushions piled against a wall. She propped her head on an upraised hand and tried to use her Seeker sense to see into him. Something stopped her, though.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out if you’ve told me the truth.”
He nodded, looking serious. “Try again. I’ve dropped my wards.”
Aislinn slid effortlessly into his mind. She started sifting through his memories. The first one had men—lots of them—on horseback, riding across a heavily forested plain. When she saw their banners, she did a double take. The Crusades. He has memories of the Crusades. It can’t be. Must be another war. Fascinated, she figured out which one he was. He didn’t look all that different. Not really. His hair was longer, down to his waist, and he rode a huge, black horse with some sort of armor trappings. It looked like he was a king, or at least a commander, since he rode at the head of a large company.
In the next memory, Fionn was in a squalid cell. Rats ran up and down the walls. Water dripped incessantly. He sat on a raised platform against one wall. When she looked more closely, she realized he was chained. Dirt streaked his bruised face. His head had been shaved.
Shivering, she hunted for a better memory. And found one. This time, he was in a lavishly hung bedchamber. A woman with long red hair done up in intricate braids, and very little else on, rode atop him. Her back was bowed in pleasure. His hands cupped her breasts. Feeling like a voyeur, Aislinn watched their lovemaking until the woman shuddered on top of him. His hands came round to her hips then, shifting her so she faced away from him. Seemingly understanding what he wanted, she ended up on her knees with him behind her. When she raised her face, Aislinn gasped. The woman looked so much like her that she could’ve been a twin.
She dropped that memory fast, sifting for another. Time passed. Maybe hours. She heard his voice, but thought it was in the memory she held before her now. He was in a vast library, hunched over a leather-bound volume that had to be a foot thick. Monks glided up and down the aisles between bookshelves, chanting. It sounded Gregorian. Must be the Middle Ages sometime.
“Aislinn.” A brisk shake pulled her back into herself. “I said it is enough. You have been in my mind for hours.”
She felt woozy, as if she’d had too much to drink. She tried to remember all the things she’d seen. One stood out. “Who was the woman who looked like me?”
At first, he looked shocked, then he began to laugh. “Moira. You must mean Moira. I’d nearly forgotten about her.” He cocked his head to one side. “Now that you mention it, the two of you do look a great deal alike.”
She sucked in a breath to steady herself. And then another. Somehow, she thought it was more than that. Maybe some sort of reincarnative thing, but she didn’t have the energy to pursue her line of thought.
“Do you believe me now?” he asked, settling next to her.
She nodded. It wasn’t possible that he could hold all those memories if he hadn’t lived through them. “The Crusades?” she managed. “Did you fight in the Crusades?”
A confused look screwed his features into a question mark. He shook his head. “Those were on the Continent. They started in France and Italy. No, I’ve been in plenty of battles, but I never rode in the Crusades.” He laughed. “I’m a Celt and a god. Why would I want to lay myself on another god’s altar?”
Why indeed? Now that she thought about it, she understood he’d have had little interest in a Christian war. She described his horse and the banners the men had been carrying.
“Oh aye, I remember now. ’Twas one of the times the Vikings had landed. Pesky souls. Mostly, they simply marched across Ireland. Or sailed around it. But not always. I was truly young then.” He smiled reassuringly.
“When was that, and how old were you?” Her heart beat too fast. Both her trip through his mind and this conversation unhinged her.
He rolled his eyes. “I believe that battle was around 1250, maybe 1300. Let’s see. That would’ve made me about a hundred and fifty, give or take a few years.”
“Wh-What year were you actually born?”
His eyes on her said, give it a break, woman, but he finally answered, “Near as I can tell, 1048.”
Aislinn kept breathing. She was afraid if she didn’t stay on top of things, though, carefully instructing her lungs to inflate, they might not. One thing stuck out in the confusion her mind had become. If he’d really been around all that time, maybe he could help figure out how to send the dark ones back to their worlds. And keep the Lemurians in Taltos.
“I’ve been working on how
to do that.”
She rounded on him. “Do. Not. Do. That. Just because you can read my mind, don’t. Unless I give you permission.” She thought about it for a moment and added, “Or if things are truly desperate.”
“Ready to eat something?”
His rapid shift of topics was dizzying, and it pissed her off that he didn’t acknowledge her request for the privacy of her thoughts. When she focused on her midsection, though, it felt hollow. She shot him a wry grin. “More than ready.”
He got up, went to a sideboard, and carried two plates filled with berries and biscuits over to where she sat. Strips of dried meat were laid over the bread.
“When did you do all this?” She broke a biscuit in half and stuffed it into her mouth. “Mmmmm, pine nut flour. I hated it at first, but it grows on you.”
He shrugged. “When you were in my head. It’s not easy, letting someone sort through my thoughts, nor is it anything I’ve allowed before. I never thought you’d stay so long. I needed a diversion, so I made us a meal. Would you like mead to wash everything down?”
Her mouth was full, so she nodded and looked around for Rune and Bella. Before she could ask where they were, he said, “They wanted to hunt, so I opened a passageway for them to leave.”
“Do you suppose they’re all right?”
Resettling himself next to her, he nodded. “Yes, Bella would let me know if she ran into trouble.”
“What about all the stuff you told me before?” she asked.
“What stuff?” He cocked an eyebrow, mimicking her tone.
“You know. Stuff that made it sound like you had a normal life with a university teaching job and a wife and two children—” Her eyes widened. “Your children must’ve had magic. How’d they end up in the vortex?”
“It was all true,” he said carefully. “The children weren’t mine. She had them before we married. And I’m used to making it sound as if I’m normal. It’s how I’ve gotten by all these years.”
