“I think your mom has more to do with opening your own practice than you do.”
His blunt observation made her blink. Defensiveness set in. “What makes you think that? I always wanted to go to law school, always wanted my own practice. She just saw how Dan controlled me and is glad I’m not stuck working in his seedy firm.”
“If you say so, Beth.”
“I do say so.” Indignation sharpened her voice.
“Wasn’t your father an attorney?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “One of the best in New York. What’s that have to do with my mother?”
He shook his head, and his long brown hair dusted over his shoulders. Instead of answering, he gave her a charming smile. “It has nothing to do with your mother. Why don’t we head back and talk about what you came here for?”
What she came here for—why did that phrase sound like it came with a double meaning? And why had his simple question about her father turned her belly into one iron-tight knot?
Because he was digging again. Pulling out childish dreams that he thought meant more than they ever had. Trying to steer her in the direction he saw for her, not what lay within her heart. Damn it, she needed to get back home.
When she didn’t immediately slide out of the chair to join him, he hunkered down at her side and took her hand in his once more. His gaze held hers intently. “I apologize for offending you, Beth. Let’s go back, have a glass of wine, and come up with some answers for you.”
Wine and Fintan—bad combination. But he crouched so close the scent of his spice-laden aftershave played havoc with her senses. She didn’t fight when he rose, allowed him to gently pull her to her feet, and kept her hand tucked in his as he led her out of the pub.
“Do you think the scroll has answers, Fintan?” she asked as she ducked into the car once more.
“It absolutely does.”
Chapter Four
Beth tore her gaze off the breathtaking landscape and glanced at the center console between the seats, where Fintan still clasped her hand. Heat radiated off his palm, warming hers, making her heartbeat stutter. She liked the feel of his hand around hers. Supportive. Protective. Like she could succeed at anything she set her mind to, so long as he was there, standing at her side.
She allowed her gaze to travel up his torso, admiring the way his broad chest filled out his loose long-sleeved knit shirt. The fabric looked soft and provoked the wistful idea of how comfortable he would be if she laid her head over his heart.
His expression was thoughtful. Faint creases at the corner of his eyes told the story of his unfettered laughter, his constant amiable nature. She lingered on the soft contours of his mouth. He must have shaved before she arrived. No hint of evening stubble darkened his upper lip.
He steered the sports car effortlessly, navigating a long winding bend that led deeper into the valley. Over the tops of sparse trees, the stone towers of his home broke into the horizon. Her breath caught at the majesty, the living proof that people before them had lived and breathed on this land. That his ancestors had toiled, fought, and overcome.
“Tell me about the castle?”
His gaze flicked to her, held it a moment too long. In those fathomless grey depths, affection glinted, then he jerked his focus back to the road. As they rounded the last bend and his ancestral home spread out before them, he pointed at the west side, where a pile of stone rubble clung to the existing structure. “That was the original fortress, built in the twelfth century. It crumbled in 1762, and the walls you see there were finished five years later.” He pointed at the furthest wing, a mirror image of the western half. “The eastern annex was remodeled and reinforced at the beginning of the twentieth century.”
“It’s so pretty.” Breathtaking, to be precise. She couldn’t tear her eyes off the imposing stonework. Had her family once lived in something like this? They’d researched through the feudal times, discovered names, but the visit to the plot of land that had been the long-ago town revealed only a barren field. Nothing remained of the residences, if there had ever been more than huts of straw and thatch.
“You should come back in the summer.” His grip tightened for an instant, and he swirled his thumb across the back of her hand. “There’s mineral springs behind the castle. Hot springs.”
Or maybe she didn’t need to come back. Hot springs meant suitable water for even a winter dip. And if Fintan was with her, she suspected they wouldn’t have any trouble keeping warm.
Heat crept into her cheeks, and she bowed her head to hide her blush with her hair. Good grief. This was absurd. I did not come here for sex.
But the longer she spent in Fintan’s company, the more appealing the idea became. How long had it been? Three? Four years? She’d lost count. Those memories blurred with the discovery of her new husband in bed with their legal aid. Their brand new bedroom. Their brand new bed. Beth’s lavish honeymoon robe strewn across the floor.
Her head snapped up, and she squinted at Fintan. What would be so wrong with exploring the desire that had sparked on that long ago kiss? She was making her own rules, following the things she wanted out of life. Would it hurt anything beyond her pride if he rejected her advance?
“I think it’s time for that tour.” He slid out of the car.
Before she could rationalize his quick exit, her door opened, and his outstretched hand beckoned to hers. She slid her palm over his, thrilling at the spark that crawled through her veins. He held her hand gently, naturally, as he led her toward the gaping maw of an entrance.
That he was holding her hand said something, didn’t it? He wouldn’t touch her so familiarly if he didn’t feel some sort of attraction to her, would he?
No…he’d never held her hand before.
He stopped at the towering wooden front door and reached for the iron knob. As he pushed the door open, he braced it with one arm, twisting his upper body out of her way to allow her to enter first.
In that moment, Beth’s indecision passed. She stepped into the threshold, into the shadow of his long rangy strength. Only she didn’t pass through to the grand foyer beyond. She stopped in front of him, tucked one heeled-toe between his hiking boots, and set her hands on his broad chest. Leaning forward, she brushed her mouth across his.
Delight arced through her, lifting every nerve ending to attention. He didn’t move, didn’t so much as stiffen beneath the light press of her fingertips. His breath mingled with hers. His lips clasped gently, holding her close long enough for her heart to clang violently into her ribs.
Oh this was heaven. He was heaven. The scent of him, the feel of his warmth radiating into her body, the sound of his unsteady breath rasping in the silence around them—Beth’s knees threatened to give way. She curled her fingers into his shirt to hold herself up and yielded to the growing need to relive his masculine taste. Peeking the tip of her tongue out, she slid it across his lower lip. His met hers, hesitantly. Then as a harsh breath escaped him, he opened to her request and languorously tangled his tongue with hers.
Everything Beth was rose beneath the surface of her skin, aching for satisfaction, craving the feel of his hands on her. Places that had died with Dan’s betrayal awakened, and for one timeless moment, she was a simple woman lost in the magic of a kiss.
A gust of wintry air blew through the doorway, shattering the moment along with her reckless confidence. He’d responded, but the fierce intensity she remembered wasn’t present. More likely, he stood still and answered her kiss out of respect.
She took a step backward and let her hands fall to her sides. Heat infused her face. “I’m sorry.”
****
In two thousand years of existence, Fintan had never experienced a more compelling mouth. And by no means was he ready to let Beth’s kiss come to an end. Shaking off the last of his surprise, he caught her by one hip to keep her from backing further away. The other hand twined into her hair, and he guided her inside, pressing his body into hers, navigating her easily away from th
e door he shut with his heel.
Though they were still in the small alcove that opened into the grand foyer, he dipped his head again, his lips inches from hers. “I’m not,” he murmured huskily.
Before Beth could do something crazy like weasel out of his embrace, he sank his hips into hers and pinned her against the cold stone wall. Both hands tangled in her hair as he claimed her mouth once more. He was hungry, and needy, and something within Beth held the answers, the remedy to the roiling intensity of his emotions that he couldn’t quite define. He knew desire, but this…
This was somehow different. Something more than the simple baseborn need to sate arousal.
His darker urges stirred, the demonic half of his soul awakening beneath the flames of arousal. Yet nothing more than he had experienced in two thousand years of existence when desire called. Still, the unnameable difference was measurable.
Her rich flavor, the heady warmth of her velvety tongue, drew him in deep. Beth’s honeysuckle hair glided between his fingers like spun silk, and the weighty softness of her breasts where they brushed across his chest, made retreating from this sudden kiss impossible. The quiet sound of pleasure that bubbled in her throat eradicated good sense.
Fintan became lost in her, caught in the spell of memories and the amazing reality that he hadn’t dreamed what had sparked between them two years previous. Good sense warned Brigid could walk in at any moment, putting Beth in more danger from his sister’s suspicion. Still, he couldn’t pull away. Couldn’t bring himself to separate from the one thing he craved more than mortality.
If he didn’t, however, he would peel off that damnably refined shirt and strip her bare right here in the hallway. And making love to Beth Whitley would be a far worse hell than the blissful torment of her mouth.
Reluctantly, he ordered his fingers to unwind from her hair, instructed his feet to move until a good measure of air separated their bodies. The pounding of his blood rang in his ears, and he was so painfully aroused she couldn’t have missed the press of his erection against her thigh.
Fintan brushed his thumb over Beth’s swollen lips. “You taste so good,” he whispered huskily.
The pretty blush that colored her cheeks made his heart stutter. Sliding his hand down her arm, he grasped her fingers. “I think we need to breathe a bit.”
She nodded, her carefully maintained composure clearly having cracked. Her smile though—that was the shy smile he remembered, the one that endeared Beth to his heart. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and led her into his study, taking care to lock the door so Brigid couldn’t interrupt.
As he let go of Beth’s hand to pull a bottle of wine from a small rack, she passed in front of the fire again, filling him with the surreal understanding her roots were more deeply tied to his than she’d ever care to imagine. He popped the cork, studying her as she moved around the room inspecting his family’s heirlooms, the tall shelves of books, and the tapestry once again. He needed a place to lead in, a starting point that would open the door to the things he must tell her.
“Tell me, Beth, while you’ve been studying your heritage, did you come across any reference to the Selgovae?”
She stopped in front of the tapestry, turned to give him a quizzical frown. “No. Why?” She ran an unsteady hand through her hair. “Fintan, back there—”
He poured with an equally unsteady hand. “Don’t, Beth. No regrets. Never have regrets with me.”
As he crossed the room to pass her a glass, she nodded hesitantly. It was enough for Fintan. He pressed the wineglass into her hand. “The Selgovae were an ancient Celt tribe. They ruled the land we stand on.” Gesturing at the small loveseat, he indicated she should sit. When she had, he took the cushion beside her and looped one arm over the back, his hand resting dangerously close to the glorious fall of her hair. “The tribe was damned.”
Her eyes widened in surprise as she sipped the expensive merlot. “That sounds like legend.”
“Legend…” Fintan shook his head. “No, not legend. They were, in fact, damned. They were matriarchal, and their last priestess, Nyamah, married a man who hungered for power.” That was the simplest way to put it—leave out the incubus demon part for now. With luck, she’d believe the horrors before she would have to face the supernatural.
Before she discovered he shared his sire’s dark blood.
“Prior to her marriage, the tribe was respected through the lands, and Nyamah was sought out for her abilities to heal.”
A smile touched Beth’s face. Fintan dropped his hand to her shoulder and twined a lock of her hair around his fingers. “But after Drandar shared leadership, his quest for ultimate power saw Nyamah as his virtual prisoner. She bore him sixteen children. Eight of which were sacrificed on the Sabots within minutes of being born.”
Time had dulled the memory of the loss of his siblings. Still, he fell silent for a long moment, in respect to the infants that had been denied the opportunity at life. He toyed with Beth’s hair, searching for the words that would reveal her heritage, along with the inevitable role she must yet play.
Chapter Five
As Fintan spoke, Beth closed her eyes and listened to his smooth baritone voice. The gentle movement of her hair beneath his fingers soothed the ball of nerves she’d become in the wake of his all-too-consuming kiss, and she began to relax. Her imagination ran away with her, though. She’d swear she heard emotion behind his words.
She couldn’t blame him—who could sacrifice children?
“Eight siblings survived. Nyamah hid them with an old woman in the nearby forest, presenting stillborns to Drandar.”
“Stillborns?” She opened her eyes, twisted to look at him. “Where did she get stillborn babies?”
A grimace tightened the lines on his handsome face. “War was a part of life, Beth. Those who were conquered didn’t always have a choice in the demands they must meet.”
She blinked. “So this Nyamah killed other babies?”
Fintan let out a heavy sigh. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s not clear where the stillborns came from, whether she took other babies or whether she claimed the already dead. What is clear is that she sought to protect her children and the tribe itself. It was an ancient way of life, Beth. Where decisions were made amidst standing stones and rings of fire held the ancestors’ absolute power.”
As she looked back to the hearth and the flickering flames within, the dream she’d had so often rose to the forefront of her mind. Tall monoliths stood erect against a darkened night sky while wild flames licked at a bonfire in the center. She shivered, hating the fear that woke her each night the dream came and feeling it creeping at the corners of her subconscious.
“Life, death—so long as it wasn’t family or clansman it didn’t carry the same weight. Enemies were meant to be killed. The Selgovae were suffering under Drandar’s influence, and Nyamah’s duty was foremost to her people.”
Beth supposed she could understand the principle. The Druids were known for their straw-man sacrifices, the Aztecs for the pyramids of flowing blood. Sacrifice had existed for twice as many eons as it had been taboo.
She stared at the fire, mesmerized by the rhythmic cadence of Fintan’s voice and the play of bright colors. As he talked, relaying more about the Selgovae, the life the early Celt tribes led, images took shape in her head. Thatch huts, packed earth clearings, and again the imposing stones reaching for the sky.
“Nyamah wasn’t alone in her quest to overthrow Drandar. But killing him wasn’t an option. By then, he’d gained a good following, people who turned on Nyamah and accused her of having dark purposes. Of aligning with the dark gods.”
Shaking her head, Beth tried to ward off the vision of a wraith-like blonde woman standing amidst the stones, a taller, more imposing, dark-haired man at her side. Crimson covered his hands. On a flat stone before them, a lifeless infant’s blood trickled across the slanted surface and pooled in a wide clay pot.
She closed her eyes to keep the image at bay
. Fintan was one hell of a narrator. No wonder he was High Priest of his own coven. He had a way of putting life into his words.
“What happened to them?” she asked, hoping he’d skip the rest of the gore and jump to the finish.
Fintan’s fingers slid through her hair to fasten at the back of her neck. Gentle pressure massaged muscles that too many nights of research balled tight. Beth let out a soft pleasured moan and tipped her head forward. “That feels so good.”
“Nyamah tricked Drandar,” Fintan continued. “She discovered the means of defeating him, but sacrificed her life as well. He killed her for her betrayal. Her sister, Ealasaid, rose against Drandar that night, taking those who followed Nyamah across the borders into the lands of the Brigantes. Drandar assumed those who stood against him merged with the Novantae and eradicated the entire tribe looking for them to no avail.”
Beth chuckled and lifted her head to look at him. “I can almost see it, you’ve got such passion in your voice. The stones, a woman with reddish hair, another with pale blonde.” A shiver crept down her spine and she dropped her voice to a low whisper, “The child on an altar.”
****
Fintan’s hand stilled against the nape of Beth’s neck. See it? She must have a greater connection to her ancestor than he’d believed. Excitement stirred at the base of his spine. He did his best to hide it from his voice. “What do you see, Beth?”
She flashed him a grin that stole the air from his lungs. “I’ve always had a vivid imagination. I could create the most fantastic pictures in my head.”
Precisely why she should be painting, not standing before a jury. He gave her neck a firm squeeze, leaned over, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Tell me.”
Obligingly, she closed her eyes. Her voice held a faint vibration as she spoke. “There’s four enormous stones standing on end, in a circle, like Stonehenge, only…not. In the center is a huge fire. Farther back, beyond the circle, the mountains rise against a clear, starry sky. And the whole grove is encased by thick trees.”
Ensnared by Blood Page 3
