"My stars, I never knew such … ecstasy."
"We will know more," he growled and kissed her.
Sinead craved his power, the rock hard thickness of him pressed to her, to break the barrier and fill her deeply, but he would not, his lips wrapping around her nipple and drawing it into the hot suck of his mouth. She curled to him, toeing off his chausses, wanting to feel his weight upon her, but he would have none of it, capturing her hands and pushing them above her head.
His stare scorched her as he said, "I have waited long for this night, Sinead. I will have my fill of you."
She smiled, laughed a little, and obeyed as Connal shaped her breasts, enfolding them, sucking first one taut berry nipple, then the other till she was writhing with untamed indulgence, till her skin was damp from his attention. She twisted beneath him, his erection pressing incitingly to her thigh, and she cradled him between, urging him to come to her. He refused, grinning darkly, and Sinead felt the sweet liquid of his touch down to her bones.
Then she reached between them and grasped him.
He stiffened. Sucked in a lungful of air and met her gaze. "You do not obey well," he murmured softly.
"Aye." She'd no regret in her eyes, only love, and Sinead touched him, boldly learning his shape, running her fingers over his hard length, sweeping the moist tip. He was still as glass. His jaw clenched, his muscles locked, and as she played him with sweet torture, he loved that she was not shy and timid. But then, he'd never expected her to be. Sinead was a creature of nature, wild in her heart, and when she stroked the tip of him against her softness the urge to slam into her nearly snapped his control.
"You will unman me."
"Never."
Neither saw their cloaks spread and river to soft green moss, the trees brighten with leaves. He only knew her taste, how her soft cries and pants fueled him. He fell back onto his haunches, her thighs spread over his, and held her gaze as he pushed himself down. The tip of him touched the bed of her sex and she bowed like a blade of grass in the wind. Brazen and open, she reached for him, guiding him. The moist tip of him throbbed against her, and Connal watched her eyes flare. A near violent shudder wracked him and pulsed into her. His throat worked and he gripped her hips, pulling her closer, and in nearly painful increments he slowly filled her.
He met the barrier of her maidenhead and stopped. But Sinead would have none of it, pulling him down, burying him inside her.
Connal was still, swallowing his breath and failing. He had never felt so exposed, so barren, and smoothing her hair back off her face, he saw the same vulnerability in her dark eyes.
"I hurt you."
"I love you," she said softly, and he knew no other moment would equal this.
He flexed inside her.
"Oh, Connal," came in reward, a soft lush moan that coated him. He moved, withdrawing and pushing slowly into her. Sinead stretched like a lioness beneath him, and braced above her, he thrust.
They danced like the ancients, bodies speaking without a word. Clawing, gripping. She watched him fill her and leave, heightening her pleasure with each measured stroke.
"Look at me, my witch." Her gaze flashed to his and locked.
Her hips rose to greet his, her hair a river of wine undulating with them, her feminine flesh pulling him into tender darkness. He wanted her closer, to feel more of her, and as he sat back on his haunches, he took her with him. The impact drove him farther inside her, and she kissed him wildly, her hip tucking to greet his. Muscles contracted, contours yielding to fit the other as his thickness stroked her body, and Sinead could not get enough, the urgency inside her wanting more, and she met his gaze, her shudders spilling into his mouth.
"Do not hold back for me, Connal," she whispered, moving faster. "Give me your power, all of it, and see where true magic lives."
His body flexed to the crush of her sensuality. Connal gripped her hips, feeling their motion, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders.
Savage desire throbbed, and he tasted it. A pulse of energy that defied the world. She trembled, her eyes tearing, darkening, her fingers tracing his mouth, his brow.
"I can feel all of you, in my blood."
"Aye," he moaned. "Aye, love."
Energy sang though his skin, defining every nerve, every cell in his body. He laid her back, sliding his arm under her hips and holding her off the ground, hovering on the brink of a climax. His features were tight with desire, his body taut against hers as he surged in extravagant rhythm. She answered.
Wet and raw. Primal.
The earth gently cushioned their passion.
Wind poured through their chamber of rowan trees, coating them in mist.
A ring of blue fire erupted, surrounding them in protection, in power.
He shoved and drove her across the mossy loam, and they strained against each other. She curved off the earth's floor, exposing her throat, her breasts to the touch of moonlight. The queen of the witches unmasked in the throes of carnal rhapsody. And he was at her mercy, under her enchantment.
Delicate muscles clawed his, squeezed, and she met his gaze as erotic sensations slammed into him, demanding and hard. Fracturing. The eruption shattered through her, and a deep growl came from the back of her throat, of exhilaration and abandonment.
Flowers of blood red pierced the earth and spread their petals.
He left her completely, then drove deep, once and hard, his climax grinding through him mercilessly and unleashing into her.
He growled out her name.
A chant of love called.
A spell cast for eternity.
The magic of souls reborn and joined.
The ring of fire flared high, yet he only saw Sinead.
Only her exquisite beauty, heard her shudders breaking through her body and into his. In the time of a single breath, Connal knew her heartbeat, her secrets of magic, her fears, and her pleasures. Her love for him was as boundless as the universe and he felt it swallow him, and sank happily into bliss.
They remained so, falling over the edge, watching it in each other's eyes and whispering words of love, of their hearts.
Sinead pulled him down onto her, holding him as the last luxurious tremors of desire careened into sated warmth and contentment. Her hands lingered over his spine, drove into his hair and, as he lifted his head, she kissed him. He felt tears against his cheek and jerked back to look at her.
"Worry not," she whispered, smoothing his hair back. "They are tears of happiness."
He whispered her name, his gaze searching hers, and she swiped at the moisture on his own face and said, "Knight of Richard, knight of Ireland. This"—she lifted her hand toward the sky—"is where true magic is born."
He looked above and beyond her. Fire, as blue as the sea, encircled them, the flames dying slowly, and yet the air was a mass of butterflies, the trees stretched their branches skyward and welcomed the moonlight to drench them. His arms wrapped tightly about her, Connal tipped his face to the heavens and sighed, absorbing it.
She laughed and he smiled, then looked down, touched her face, then kissed her reverently. "You are mine, forever," he said, his claim to her heart as well as her body.
"Aye. That I am, love."
Her expression softened, her fingertips touching his jaw, her gaze searching his eyes. His heart was open, she thought, accepting. "I love you," she whispered.
"Ahh, sweet words from such a peppered mouth," he teased and kissed her, then rolled to his back.
Connal ran his hand down her spine, her weight on him as precious as the love he had for her.
* * *
St. Catherine's Abbey
Behind Sinead, Connal ducked into the darkness of the abbey, his hand at the small of her back. Wind howled in after him and quickly he turned, nodded to the abbess, then closed the door.
Sinead faced him, adjusting his cloak, pushing his hair off his brow, and he gazed down at her, adoring her fussing and wondering where his anger had gone. On the ride here
, it left him with each trod of Ronan's hooves, in Sinead's gentle ramblings, but then he saw the woman and a full measure of animosity came flooding back.
Rhiannon. His birth mother. She'd delivered him into the hands of her sister and watched him grow without speaking a word of her past to anyone. The pact of sisters, he thought, was stronger than he could have managed.
Rhiannon sat perfectly still, her body shrouded in a heavy dark habit that flowed over the chair. The whiteness of her coronet showed off her age, and the paleness of her skin. She was of an age with Siobhàn, yet the years had been unkind and cruel to her beauty. He stared at her for a long moment and did not know he'd clenched his fists till Sinead took his hand. He looked down at her.
"Ask your questions, Connal. She has waited years to answer them." She released him and moved to the woman. Instantly Sinead sensed death as she bent to tuck the blanket over the woman's feet and lap.
Rhiannon lifted her gaze, her lips curving in a tired smile. "Fionna's child," she said in a weary voice.
Sinead nodded and rubbed Rhiannon's thin-boned hand, the skin papery beneath her touch.
Rhiannon's gaze lifted to the young woman, then shifted behind her.
Connal heard her indrawn breath. Tears formed in her eyes, and her lips trembled. He moved closer and remained standing, even when she gestured to the seat opposite her. Connal glanced to the side and caught a glimpse of Sinead as she whispered into mist and left him alone.
"You have grown into a fine, strong man."
"With no help from you."
She flinched as if he'd struck her. "Did I not teach you to read? Who was it that played games with you, Connal, when your mother tended castle duties?"
"And yet, you were my mother."
"Aye."
"Why did you do it?"
Rhiannon turned her face toward the fire, her voice frail as she spoke.
"I was to marry an old king, a man thrice my age, but he had died when I arrived at his manor. For the trip there he'd sent an escort, and Patrick was among them. The captain of his guards. I fell in love with him, and when he took me to his bed, I went most willingly."
Connal clenched his fists, standing near the fire, watching her for a lie. Her eyes were hollow, and though she was shrouded, her frail bones pushed against the pale layer of skin. He heard every labored breath she took.
"On the return to Donegal, he was summoned back. I learned I carried you and remained at the abbey. I sent a message to Siobhàn. She remained with me for those months, and when we learned of Tigheran's death, we knew the clans would fall apart and war would come. The clans needed Tigheran's heir. I was without a husband or coibche to show my worth and yours." Her breathing wheezed and she paused to draw in more. "The night you were born, Siobhàn and I made a promise to each other. And to the clans. And when we returned to Donegal she claimed you as her own."
"Why? Why did you discard me?"
"I did not. I was there with you."
"My aunt. My playmate!"
"I could be no more. Donegal was falling in on itself. Tigheran had disgraced us by trying to kill King Henry, and after his death, we knew the English would come to put their lords in his place. 'Twas a long while afore they did. Gaelan was awarded the castle and Tigheran's bride because he is the man who stopped Tigheran from killing the king. Stupid fool," she said with disgust. "Gaelan killed him in single combat as the King's champion." His look said he was aware of that. "Fine, fine, you know more than I suspected, but not the fear. For after Tigheran's death, the clans wished for another man to rule, and they fought for the right. And that included hurting me and Siobhàn. But the heir apparent brought it to a stop. From then, Siobhàn had ruled for five years in your stead and she did so well. She was a great chieftain, and without you, without the hope that the line would continue, we would have lost all she'd done in Tigheran's absence, and the wars would have continued."
"You do not know that."
"Aye, we did."
He was not going to argue, for there was no point to it.
"When Patrick returned, 'twas far too late." A sea of regret swept her voice then. "Gaelan and Siobhàn were wed and happy. Patrick saw you and knew you were his son."
Connal did not give a damn about Patrick and a useless moment of recognition. "That does not excuse that you let so many die for him, Rhiannon." He could not call her mother. She was never his mother. Siobhàn and Gaelan were the ones who'd raised him, who'd showered him with love and stood by him even when he made the wrong decisions.
"I was foolish. I had never thought to see him again. Because he paid no price to me for the birth of our child, he could not come to Donegal. He would have been killed under Brehon law for ignoring the honor."
"He was killed."
"Aye, and in it, he repented."
"Too late."
"Do you not think I know that!" She struggled for breath, desperately dragging air into her diseased lungs.
Connal watched her fail before his eyes, and sympathy flooded him. He knelt before her, offering her a goblet to drink.
Ignoring the drink, she grasped his hand and energy passed into him. "I am dying Connal. Nay, do not argue."
He couldn't, he thought, for she had accepted it in her heart.
"I've been a fool once. I have paid the price for my heart, for not taking what I had when I saw it. My betrothed was dead; I could have wed Patrick and lived a fine life with him. But I hesitated. I did not tell him of his son, I did not tell him of my love, until it was too late. I'd none but Siobhàn to share the secret of it, and even now I would still love him."
Connal bowed his head and felt her hand graze his hair.
"You love Sinead."
He looked up. "Aye, I do."
She squeezed his hand. "And your gift of the senses has grown, I see." Her smile was as weak as her heart. "'Tis the boon I have had, too; we all have a bit of it. I know the heart of thoughts. Tell her the truth afore 'tis too late, Connal. Confess afore you make the mistakes I did and lose all you hold dear. For living without love is only a slow death."
Connal looked at the fire, thinking on her words, knowing Sinead deserved it. But to destroy what he'd only just tasted. To ruin her love and mayhaps lose her forever by confessing that they were already wed against her wishes?
"Can you forgive me, Connal?"
He met her gaze. Hours ago, he would not have. Even in love, one made mistakes, he thought, and in the hope that Sinead would forgive him for his deception, he nodded.
Rhiannon sighed, quiet tears falling, and she smiled for the first time in years. Then, leaning her head back against the chair and closing her eyes, she welcomed her death. It came on swift wings and Connal waited, her fragile hand in his, as Rhiannon ban Murrough found peace in the arms of angels.
* * *
Sinead was in the outer courtyard when he came out of the stone abbey. She'd seen a novitiate rush past earlier to return with the abbess, both looking bleak.
Connal approached her, stone crunching beneath his feet. He stopped a breath from her and said naught, then simply took her into his arms and held her tightly.
"She is at peace."
"And so am I," he said, looking down at her. "Thank you for showing me the way, love." He pressed his lips to her forehead. Connal released a long sigh, then urged her toward the gates.
"To Dublin?" she asked as he mounted the steed behind her.
He took up the reins, giving the abbey one last glance afore turning south. "Aye, then to England. And to Richard."
Sinead's smile was weak, and he knew, as she did, that getting to England would not be as difficult as crossing the land to meet with the king.
* * *
"This land is far too cold."
"England will be little better, Najar."
The Moor, wrapped in more fur than Connal had seen in years, stood beside him as he unfastened his packs from his horse. Like a wash over a painting, the scent of the sea glistened on the mist. Squar
e-rigged ships rocked in their berths as deckhands scrambled up planks and rigging, preparing to sail. Connal's gaze slipped over the activity. Carts and wagons passed by the docks in rapid pace; people moved like ants over rotted food, hawking wares, begging for food, and sleeping off a drunk in an alleyway. His troops were about, with orders to assemble on the docks at dawn, lest they be left behind. The two ships he'd purchased in Syria floated in the harbor, the rough icy sea giving no mercy as it slapped against Ireland's shore. The Persian-made crafts were larger than the others, their hulls deep and wide enough to take on more cargo and horses. And garner a great deal of attention.
One of his ships was already under sail and filled with equipment; the second, though, had a lighter load and only two small cabins. One was occupied by the captain and a few of his mates, and the other would keep Sinead from the eyes of the crew and soldiers.
His gaze fell on Sinead where she talked with Galeron, Branor at her back and studying the crowds for danger. The half-Scot knight rested his rear on a keg, his arms folded as he flirted with her. Connal suppressed the surge of jealousy and handed the packs to Ansel, his squire.
"Have you taken Lady Sinead's things aboard as well?"
Ansel nodded. "She did not have much, my lord."
He would change that once they arrived in England. The less they carried now, the swifter they could travel.
"I saw the cabin cleaned." Ansel shrugged. "As best it could be. And she sent her horse home." The lad frowned. "How's a blind horse supposed to find 'er way home, my lord?"
"Instinct, lad." Something Connal had learned to trust, he thought, leading Ronan onto the plank.
"My lord?"
Connal half turned to look back at him.
"Thank your lady for the powders for me wound."
"Why not thank her yourself, Ansel? She is—will be my wife; you might as well grow accustomed to her."
Ansel glanced warily at Sinead, and she looked up, smiling at the boy before her gaze dropped to where he'd taken the arrow in the thigh. "I will, sir. I will."
THE IRISH KNIGHT Page 22
