by Chevon Gael
"Maybe she's afraid of heights."
"Too much breakfast. I'll bet she's going to throw up."
Rhian ignored the possible explanations and let Davy help her to her feet. There was no way in hell to explain to Davy or to anyone exactly what happened up there. Not that anyone would believe her anyway. She almost didn't believe it herself, but the physicality of kissing that stone was no lie.
The stone had kissed her back.
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CHAPTER 5
She ran! Fending off any attempt by Davy to help her, she fled to the exit, down the stairs, through the courtyard and out the main gate. She ran down the drive and to the main road at a furious pace. Once she reached the road she paused, her heart pounding against her breast, her lungs stinging as she gulped air. She leaned against a tree and bent over, afraid she might vomit.
Dear God! What was happening to her? The last two days were like some wild, prolonged theme park attraction—Fairies and Leprechauns of Ireland: The Curse of the Emerald Isle. Cue Orlando. Enter Keira.
Rhian walked back to Mrs. Mac's. She slipped in and went to her room. Kat was locked in a dead-to-the-world snore. Rhian shed her jacket and shoes and lay down beside her. In seconds she was asleep.
* * * *
Free! Free at last.
Free to glory in the wind against his skin. To have the clean, Irish air fill his lungs. To feel the ground beneath his feet. To revel in the knowledge that he, Seamus O'Failan the last of the Cluricaun, had survived the curse of eternity locked in a stone. He danced a lop-sided jig on shaky legs. When he stumbled and landed on his ass—and what a feeling that was—he merely sat on the ground and laughed. He tipped back and lay in the grass, rocking back and forth as the green earth cradled him. Finally he sat up. He took stock of himself and frowned. Not exactly dressed for the era. A certain irony took hold. From what he knew of today's Ireland, with its fine fetish for attracting visitors, he could pass as one of the castle's character actors.
And what he'd learned while locked away inside that stone! He'd had nothing but time on his hands. Time to watch the eras pass like rolling storm clouds. Time enough to observe the changing landscapes. He'd seen the Vikings come and go. Then the dreaded English and wayward Scots. The Spanish, too, had briefly touched the shores. He'd seen the high kings of Tara war over the right to rule. Then St. Patrick himself brought the country to reign, dispatching the druids and the fae once and for all as Irish folklore and fantasy. Yes indeed, Old Pat sat his arse on that very stone and rubbed his traveled feet. And farted. Imagine, being farted on by blessed St. Patrick! But the old saint must have known something, for before he resumed his travels, he stood up, apologized for the fart and patted the rock.
"Have faith, my friend. Your soul will not be imprisoned forever. Good souls, like love, last an eternity. When the time is right, ye shall be free."
And so Seamus waited. And waited. Through the wars, the slaughter at Wexford by that Orange butcher. The power struggle and wresting of his country by England. And then came the famine. The land drenched in green tears and flowing rivers of blood. The Irish left by the thousands, tens of thousands until Seamus was sure he was the only Irish left on the blighted soil. The memories of the ancient ones faded away across the seas. The lilting tongue of familiar brogue became less and less and nearly disappeared. But not completely. Not to the faithful, hiding underground until the time of uprising. Brave men, stalwart souls all who fought to the death to restore the harp and the green. Slowly but surely, the children of Ireland returned to bring their gifts to the rest of the world. Now she shone like a bold emerald jewel, admired and coveted. But never more so than the love light shining in the eyes of his Darianna. Now he must go to her and fulfill his promise to become hers forever—for however long that may be.
But first and foremost, he had a score to settle. He stood up, wavering slightly at the sudden movement. He was still weak. He'd have to slowly test his magic, which had become dormant from the long sleep. Out of habit, he slipped his hand into his trouser pocket. Empty! Of course, Fergus still had the coin. That was another strike against the little pismire. Betrayed and robbed. And what had become of the rest of the leprechaun race? Had they faded into myth, or had they survived under begrudging servitude? Free Seamus might be, but Fergus still held the power. And as long as Fergus O'Roarke walked the earth, both he and his Darianna faced certain peril.
Seamus closed his eyes and turned into the autumn breeze. He flexed his cluricaun senses. The pungent scent of ancient peat bogs tickled his nostrils. He licked his lips and tasted the wind. Darianna was near. He cocked an ear to listen for her fae laugh. But it was another sound that worked to wake up his sleeping perception. The tapping of dainty feet. The rush of air fighting to avoid being crushed under the light steps of a fairy dance. It was coming from the village, and not too far from where he stood.
Seamus tucked his plain linen shirt into his breeches, brushed dead grasses out of his hair and set off toward the sound.
* * * *
"Did you go and lock lips?"
"What?” Rhian tried not to look guilty as she shot a sharp glance at Kat. Just what she needed to take her already static concentration off the road.
"With the rock.” Kat sat beside her, anticipating Rhian's answer.
Rhian swallowed and shrugged. “No big deal."
"Then it's a good thing I didn't—Whoa!"
Rhian looked up in time to find herself drifting into the on-coming lane. At the last second, Kat leaned over and gave the wheel a lifesaving yank.
"Left side, Rhian. They drive on the left over here. Did you forget, or do we need to die to make a point?"
"Sorry. Not used to this whole opposite car, opposite road thing.” She flashed Kat an apologetic smile and willed herself to concentrate on driving the car and not what was driving at her. What she needed was an exhausting work out. Which was why the first thing she did after waking up this morning was call around and find a studio willing to let them practice.
"Thanks for not waking me up last night, Kat."
"No problem. I only woke up once to pee, about supper time I guess. You were totally out of it, so I figured you needed your sleep."
"What did you do last night?"
"I peed and came right back to bed. Understudies need their zzz's too. Besides, if Paddy pint-size is the best this place has to offer, I'm wasting my time. I can wait until darling James graces us with his presence. Although, some Davy guy dropped by during breakfast this morning. He looked kind of promising."
"Oh?” Rhian tried not to show the alarm she felt skate up the back of her spine.
"Yeah. He wanted to know if you were okay. Hey, you look a little piqued. Are you okay?"
"Oh, um, sure.” Quickly Rhian formulated an excuse. “I just got a little dizzy walking up all those stairs. Not enough breakfast yesterday, I guess.” This topic of conversation was still too delicate to discuss. “Hey, what say we shop after practice?” Rhian couldn't have chosen a better change of subject as Kat visually rallied to the idea.
Rhian saw the studio's sign, pulled in the driveway and parked. As instructed, she went to the back door and retrieved a key from under the door mat. Rustic. Since the Saturday morning classes were finished, she and Kat had the place to themselves. She turned on the lights and located their practice room.
"Kat, check out the change rooms. See if we can use them for dress rehearsal next week. Then use the phone in the main office and call the Company for any messages, cast or scheduling changes. Oh, and find out if Moira needs to do any last minute fitting on my costume."
"Anything else, master? Get you a latte, pick up your dry cleaning? Cotton panties?"
Rhian desperately wanted to wipe the sarcastic smile off Kat's face. Instead, she handed her the office key. “Go! You can be such a bee-atch, sometimes.” She shook her head as Kat ducked out into the hallway and took her sniggering with her. Back to business.
R
hian switched on the fluorescent lights. Better than she expected. The mirrors were clean, the floor waxed to a shine with only a few faded scuff marks. Several posters featuring competition dancers superimposed over Celtic lettering graced the walls. She located the CD player and a stack of dance music beside it. She loaded the player, choosing Chopin for a warm up, followed by a disc of basic jigs and reels for exercise. Finally she inserted her own performance music, recorded by the Boston Symphony only weeks before.
Sixty minutes and a quart of serious perspiration later, she was ready to practice her routine.
"Water?"
"Thanks, Kat.” She took a huge gulp and wiped her damp brow with a small, white towel. “How'd I look?"
"Not bad. You need to extend higher on your kicks and it sounds like one of your taps is loose."
Rhian arched her back for an elongated stretch. “That's what I thought. I'll ask Mrs. Buchanan who fits her pupils. I want to get in a few more workouts, but not on a loose tap. I'm going to take a time out before my routine. Do you want the floor?"
Kat nodded and Rhian sat down on a mat to stretch and change shoes, shucking the taps for a pair of leather split-sole practice gillies. She laced them up and lay back on the mat. She closed her eyes and listened to the music. They were standard time jigs, practiced for the sole purpose of developing rhythm and balance. A closed eye also meant a keener ear with which to catch an off-step. For an understudy, Kat had done well. She was light on her feet, learned quickly and offered her own creative variations for competition routines and public performances. Rhian hoped Kat would take her place when retirement called.
Soon enough Rhian felt the hard toe of a shoe nudging her hip. She forced one eye open to find Kat standing above her with her arms folded over her flat chest.
"Some critic you are, falling asleep on the job. I'm going for a smoke. And maybe check out that little shop next door."
Every dancer had their jones. For Rhian it was pasta. Plates and plates of the stuff, smothered in creamy alfredo sauce and served with huge chunks of buttered garlic bread. Ahh ... someday...
"Do what you have to, girlfriend.” And she closed her eyes once more and listened to the cadence of taps echoing across the floor and fading down the hallway.
Rhian decided to extend her break by another mouthful of water and half an energy bar. But first she needed to drag herself up off the mat. It was at the end of her decision making that her senses suddenly quickened. The studio lights seemed to dim. Her damp skin prickled. She was not alone.
Her stomach fluttered. Kat was just outside. All she needed to do was scream. Her eyes shot open. But she couldn't scream. Not at the figure hovering over her. Not when her captured gaze froze on two pools of shiny black. And certainly not at the sensual lips which slowly curled into a soft, welcoming smile.
And not at the rough, lilting timbre of the voice which enticed her...
"Dance with me."
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CHAPTER 6
"Who—"
"No questions. Not now. Not yet. Just dance with me."
Rhian took his hand and marveled at the strength with which he helped her to her feet. Hands, large yet gentle. There was kindness and worship in his face. He was bare chested with the lean, sinewy build of an athlete. Long legs encased in thin, leather stage breeches buckled at the knee over black cotton stockings. And on his feet, the most gorgeous pair of hard shoes she'd ever seen. Professional. Obviously custom-made. His light step confirmed his intentions. He moved with the grace and poise of a dancer.
He had dimmed the studio lights. Even the mirrors seemed dark. He led her to the middle of the floor. Years of lifestyle and training kicked in. Automatically her body readied itself. Straight back, high head, pointed toes. Her partner raised one arm in an arch, the other he clasped firmly around her waist. From somewhere above her came the cry of a lone uilleann. Then the thin melody of a low whistle. Finally, a bodhran joined to lend a beat.
Rhian didn't know what step he'd planned, but it didn't matter. It was as if they'd been dancing together all her life. All she need do was look in his eyes and she knew by instinct when to turn, when to break, when to skip and when to jump. His gaze never left her. He followed her every move the way no seasoned partner ever had despite the countless hours of practice and preparation she suffered with every Il Divo in Irish dance. And this one came without the attitude. Bonus.
Had it been a premonition? Fate? Or just plain, old Irish luck? But this was far from luck! Rhian sensed an end to the music and readied herself for a final flair. She executed a leap, only to be caught in mid-air. Her partner spun her around. And around. And around. She caught a glimpse of them in the mirror, whirling like a dervish. A dizzying spin so fast that she wasn't even sure his feet were touching the ground. Then he stopped suddenly, still holding her in his arms high above the floor. The only thing she could think of to do was end the piece with a seductive body slide, so she let herself go seemingly limp and pressed herself against him—against every inch of him until she found herself flat on her back on the floor between his legs.
She stared openly at his package. The outline bulged tightly against his tan breeches. No athletic cup to hide the lucky charms! Nor was he the least bit fazed at her openly admiring his crotch.
And then he was on top of her. She didn't question his motives. This was exactly where she wanted him to be. This graceful animal, tender yet skilled in the art of both fanning and fuelling the wild Irish fire in her soul. She lay under him, panting, muscles trembling from their effort. Her blond hair had long since made shed of its classic bun, fanning out in a wavy halo of gold. The man above her hadn't even broken a sweat! It was the last cohesive thought that crossed her mind before her hormones took over.
"I ... I want ... I need you to kiss me. I don't know why. I only know it's the right thing to do. I don't even know your name.” Even in her breathless admission, the details didn't seem to matter.
"Yes, you do. You know me. Your soul knows mine. You found me and set me free, my Rhian. Say my name."
"I ... my dream ... the castle..."
His hands clasped her shoulders. “You know. Deep inside. Look to your heart."
"You're ... Seamus? Seamus!"
His face brightened instantly. “Yes! It's me.” He pressed her body against his. “At last, my sweet fae, we are together."
And then he kissed her. And with that kiss a sleeping memory awakened inside her. A memory of fondling hands, of lips caressing her to an ancient need so hungry and so powerful that it erupted deep inside her and forced its way to the surface. In that moment, she ceased to be ordinary Rhiannan MacNamara of Boston. She was Darianna, Divine Princess of the Fae. Lover of Seamus of the Cluricaun. And lover she became.
"Seamus. Make love to me. I need to feel your body next to me."
"Aye, that and more. I'll make you remember. But I've a feeling you've not forgotten."
Forget? How could any woman, mortal or fae, forget the passion this man incited. She tried to get up.
"Now where are you off to?"
Seeing the confusion in his eyes, she pointed to the mat. “The floor's a little cold for what we both have in mind."
His face softened with understanding. “Of course. My lady requires a proper bed. But I think we can do better than this.” He rose to his feet in one swift motion. “I think it's time I shook the dust off this cluricaun magic. I know the rest of me is in well working order.” He winked at her.
Rhian took his outstretched hand. Immediately he pressed her close. She felt safe and secure in his embrace. She lay her head on his bare shoulder. Strange, he smelled just as she thought he would. Just as she remembered. But what did she remember? Her senses, her body, her psyche were drawn to him like a magnet.
She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of fresh rain, green trees, a potent mix of wild herbs and exotic spices. A heady concoction designed to lure and enchant the most timid of maids. He'd cast
a spell on her. He must have. When she opened her eyes, she no longer saw the four walls of the dance studio. A canopy of brown bark replaced the class roof. Her curtains were crowned with leaves. The floor was soft and green. In the middle of this tiny, private nook sat a raised bed of rose petals. In the background came the music of seduction, the trickle of a nearby stream, the breeze whispered above, a songbird entertained.
"This can't be real,” she whispered. Staring in disbelief, she clung to Seamus. Her gaze darted from one amazing site to the next. As if this wasn't enough, Seamus had but to raise his hand and the their love nest became alight with dozens of candles.
"It's perfect,” she gasped.
"Almost.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. He kissed each finger until he reached her thumb, then took it in his mouth and gently suckled it. Rhian swayed and would have fallen if she hadn't been leaning against him. Her heart accelerated to a gallop. It was simply the most exquisite pleasure she'd ever felt and he'd barely begun. Her spine tingled. Her blood heated and rushed to fill her erogenous zones. Her nipples sprouted hard tips which poked against her ... she opened her eyes and look down.
She was no longer wearing her leotards and tights. In fact, she wasn't wearing much of anything! A sheer shift of silver gossamer was all that covered her from her shoulders to her thighs. There was no hiding her body's reaction from anyone. The sheer material rubbed against her nipples. Her breasts stood out like two ripe apples, ready and waiting to be plucked. Or rubbed. Or sucked.
Seamus led her to the bed and she followed without protest. Then he scooped her up in his arms and set her gently down on a velvety sea of reds and pinks. The petals caressed her skin. The heat from her own skin released their perfume, which blended with their pheromones and enveloped them both in a heady cocoon. It was a sensual drug, induced by the needs of their bodies, fed by their passion, and could only be satisfied by their coupling.
She didn't know when their clothes disappeared. They seemed to melt off as soon as they touched the bed. Her skin now free to enjoy and consume the pleasure of the man above her. Rhian locked her legs around his hips. Her body craved his nearness. His touch. The feel of his body against her. Even his breath on her skin. All were new, yet familiar. It was a place she knew she belonged, a longing filled, a yearning satisfied. And the best was yet to come.
