Dawn Of Desire (4 page)

Oriana tried to recall her exact words. “I told him that while Rose was very beautiful, she was too frail to be his wife. I begged him to set his sights upon another. When he refused, I told him how sorry I was, but that Rose would not live to see their wedding day.”

“And she obviously didn’t,” Egan surmised.

“No.” For a long moment Oriana studied the grass curving over her soft leather shoes. “Actually I was being very kind to him, and I hope he never learns the truth.”

“You mean there’s more to this story?” Noting how preoccupied she was, Egan closed the distance between them with silent steps.

“Yes. Duncan was desperately in love with Rose, but she thought him as clumsy an oaf as you do. Her parents were thrilled by his wealth, though, and welcomed him as her husband. When they told Rose they had arranged the match, she was so terrified she ran from their home, and the strain on her heart was too great. She fell dead in their meadow before anyone could reach her.”

When Oriana looked up at Egan, she wasn’t at all surprised to find him again standing so near. He always seemed to be at her fingertips, and yet now it wasn’t disconcerting. “I would never have told Duncan that Rose would rather be dead than his bride, however. That would have been too cruel a thing to say to anyone.”

“I agree. Did all this fascinating information come to you when you first met Duncan?” Egan tried to keep the laughter out of his voice, but failed.

“I don’t blame you for not believing in me, but all I actually saw was that his dear Rose would soon die. As for the details of her death, I learned those later from one of her friends.”

“Oh, I see,” Egan murmured, and ran his hands up Oriana’s arms. When she didn’t flinch, he tightened his grasp slightly. “Perhaps you’ll answer this one question for me.”

Oriana tried to hide her panic, but she really didn’t believe she could tell Egan anything more than she already had. She had never been able to see into her own future, and had only the faintest glimpse of his.

“That depends upon what it is,” she replied unsteadily.

“Whether you have lived for several hundred years, or merely seventeen, why have you no husband to defend you? Had I not come along, you’d have had to face Duncan all alone.”

Oriana licked her lips, not realizing how provocative it
appeared. “I have no family, no dowry to offer any mortal man, so I’ve received no proposals, but my mother always assured me that Lugh meant for me to wed a god just as she had.”

“Is that what you want?” Egan asked in a hoarse whisper. He still believed her mother had raised her on fantasy, but the song Oriana had sung hovered in his mind as a taunting reminder that perhaps at least a part of her past was true. He made the mistake then of looking into her lovely golden eyes, and realized he wanted her so badly that he did not care if a god cursed him.

What Oriana saw in Egan’s expression was such naked desire that she quickly broke free of his grasp. He had boldly asked for her gratitude, but she would never surrender her body while her heart remained untouched.

“I will hold you to our bargain, sir,” she swore as she backed away. “I owe you my prophecies and nothing more.”

She turned and ran away from Egan as swiftly as Rose must have fled the awful news that killed her. Overcome with an unfamiliar sense of defeat, Egan took his time in following.

Oriana rode Duncan’s huge beast of a horse for the remainder of the afternoon. Unlike Raven, who possessed a smooth dancing step, the brown gelding swayed from side to side in an exceedingly awkward gait. Oriana gripped the reins so tightly that her hands began to ache, and she feared after riding for so long that she would be sore from her waist to her knees on the morrow.

Without Egan’s firm shoulders at her back, she soon grew weary and oddly bereft, although she considered it ridiculous to miss a man she had known less than a day. And yet she could still feel his disquieting presence from where he rode ten paces behind her. She could feel his deep scowl without turning to observe his expression.

Egan’s mood was of slight consequence, however, when danger still surrounded him with a thick, ugly shadow that deepened as they traveled toward his home. Someone was dead, someone Egan held dear, but Oriana felt none of the poignant sorrow she associated with a woman’s demise. She heard only a faint whisper rather than the clear voice of the
knowing
, but she sensed it was a powerful man whose death had sent tremors of agony throughout his family. Egan might have ridiculed her prophecy, but she shuddered to imagine how terrible his grief would be when it proved true.

Lost in thought, Egan rode farther than he had intended before urging Raven into a trot to overtake Oriana’s plodding mount. “Follow me into the woods,” he ordered, and after easily herding her horse off the trail, he rode ahead.

Selecting a secluded spot above a rapidly running stream, Egan dismounted, released the tent and his gear from the ties behind his saddle, and tossed them to the mossy ground. The saddle quickly followed.

Without a glance toward Oriana, Egan surveyed the small clearing, chose a low limb of a gnarled oak, and unfurled the tent over it. He then slipped his bow and quiver off his shoulder, unbuckled his sword, and placed his weapons high in the tree. He pulled his tunic over his head and, carrying it over his shoulder, led Raven down to the stream.

Oriana had avoided looking down ever since Egan had shoved her into Duncan’s horse’s saddle. Now rudely abandoned rather than graciously assisted to dismount, she hazarded a peek toward the ground, gasped at how very far away it seemed, and shut her eyes tightly. Certain she would break her neck in the fall should she dismount on her own, she had no choice but to remain astride the great brute of a horse.

The big gelding tossed his head, jerking the reins from Oriana’s grasp, and nibbled at the lush grass underfoot while she was left to struggle with her own gnawing hunger. Hot tears of frustration had begun to roll down her cheeks before Egan finally returned from the stream where he had left Raven to graze.

“Oriana,” he called as he approached her. “Are you ill?”

Oriana stared at him coldly. His dark hair was wet and dripping glossy trails down his bare chest, but that he would speak to her half clothed only increased her anger.

“I’m surprised you finally found the manners to ask, my lord, but the answer is no. I’m so desperately tired I don’t trust my legs to hold me should I somehow find the courage to leap from this horrible beast’s back.”

Egan had expected to find Oriana seated in front of her tent brushing the dust of the trail from her long curls and cursing him for one imagined slight or another. Because he knew her to be far from helpless, he had to laugh at her near hysterical description of her predicament.

“Forgive me, my lady, but you made what you thought of me so plain that I doubted you would appreciate my attentions.”

He did not make her beg, however, but instead reached up to grasp her narrow waist and with a smooth pivot deposited her on the grass. When she wobbled as though she might truly fall, he scooped her up in his arms.

Oriana kept a grip on her bag rather than loop her arms around Egan’s neck, but she still felt the smooth warmth of his golden skin. She had never been in a man’s arms, but she was far too distraught to appreciate how gently Egan held her. He carried her with ease to her tent, placed her gingerly on her feet, and she quickly grabbed hold of the low limb to remain standing.

“Thank you,” she murmured through clenched teeth. “Now I do hope the provisions you mentioned will be better than the rest of this awful day.”

“Had I known you were hungry, I would have stopped much sooner,” Egan assured her, but indeed, it had not even occurred to him that she might not have eaten earlier in the day. “I’m accustomed to traveling alone, but I didn’t mean to neglect you. Tomorrow, please speak up when you wish to stop and rest or eat.”

Oriana could not fault the courtesy of his words, but his expression held more of a dare than a concession to her comfort. He was a proud man, and perhaps justly so, but she had her own pride as well. Her skin felt gritty, her clothing reeked of horse sweat, and she longed for the coolness of the stream. While Egan’s confidence apparently never failed him, she feared she looked far from her best and shrank away from him.

“Thank you, my lord,” she responded, mocking the insincerity of his tone. Turning away, she drew in a deep breath, and while weaving slightly, walked toward the water with an admirably even step. She glanced back only once, and found Egan sorting through his belongings for what she hoped would be the makings of a delicious meal.

She moved upstream to bathe, and after dressing in a clean linen chemise and gown, washed the wrinkled garments she had donned that morning. She cared little for clothes, and reclusive by nature, required only a few changes rather than the many pretty gowns wealthy maidens wore to impress their suitors.

Following Egan’s example, she spread her wet clothes to dry upon the shrubbery crowding the stream, and, driven by hunger, returned to him. She was relieved to see that he was now wearing a clean tunic and grateful he had unsaddled her mount, as she had completely forgotten the animal. But as she set her bag by the opening of her tent, she was disappointed to find he had provided only bread, carrots, and cheese.

Correctly reading her glance, Egan poked a long branch into the fire he’d coaxed to life, then picked up his fishing line. “This is a poor time to fish, but I’ll catch us some. Mind the fire while I’m gone.”

“Aye, I’ll give it a stick or two,” Oriana promised, and the instant his back was turned, she tore a hunk of bread from the small loaf. It had been baked that morning and was still soft in the center. She used her own knife to slice off a hunk of cheese, and then was content to rest until the fire needed tending.

All too soon she had to struggle to her feet, and then wander in ever-widening circles to gather fallen branches. Though she was concerned wolves might be lurking in the woods, she was more worried about getting lost, and kept a watchful eye on their small camp.

She knew every hill and stream, all the footpaths through the forests farther south, and never lost her way
there, but Egan had taken her into unfamiliar territory. She rejoiced in the tranquillity of the woods after a harrowing day, but sunset brought a cool breeze and inspired the necessary industry to keep the fire burning bright.

The gathering dusk had deepened to a soft purple haze before Egan reappeared, but he was carrying three good-sized fish, and Oriana greeted him warmly. “You appear to be an excellent fisherman at any hour, and those shouldn’t take long to cook.”

Rather than move toward the fire, Egan stood back and left his catch dangling from his line. “Who fishes for you, Oriana? Who hunts to provide game for your table? Is it some lovesick man or boy, or do the gods come with the rising moon and leave delectable meals on your doorstep?”

He was taunting her again, and Oriana moved to place the crackling fire between them. “It’s foolish to laugh at me, Egan, for you’ll have great need of me once we reach your home. Or perhaps you’re as sorry as I am that we ever struck a bargain. If so, I’ll gladly leave you now, and you’ll be able to return home without the bother of my annoying company.”

“Oh, no,” Egan chided. “With things as dire as you predict, I dare not let you go.” He took a step toward her, and when she again shied away from him, he doubted being ridiculed was her real worry. Such fearful innocence in a beautiful woman was amusing when it was so unnecessary, and turning his attention to the fish, he knelt to remove them from his line.

“You are lovely, Oriana, but I have more than my share of willing women and won’t force myself on you. I’d be a poor champion if I did, now, wouldn’t I?”

Oriana was surprised by what struck her as a bizarre change of subject, but she would not encourage Egan by denying his ludicrous assumption. She already thought him a poor champion, but despite her offer, she was too sore and tired to leave him that night. She watched him
fashion a rack from green branches, and when he placed it over the fire and lay the fish across it, it occurred to her that he frequently cooked his own meals.

“You travel often,” Oriana mused aloud.

“Aye, that I do,” Egan replied, and he slowly wound his fishing line around his fingers.

He was avoiding her glance, which was so unlike him, Oriana became very curious. “Why? Are you merely seeking adventure, or driven to escape a vexing situation at home?”

Oriana had Egan’s full attention now, and the fire clearly illuminated the disgusted downward curve of his mouth. “The last time I left home, it was to find you.”

“No,” she replied softly. “Finding me was a convenient excuse. You wanted to leave. Nay, needed to get away. Why?”

Oriana’s bright curls caught the fire’s flickering light, but what Egan saw was her own seductive glow. He reminded himself that she claimed to know the future rather than the past, but he could not shake the horrible sensation that she understood more than he would ever want to reveal.

“Why?” he repeated hoarsely.

“Yes, why? It’s now your turn to entertain me, Egan. Tell me about your parents and your childhood. Did you foster with another wealthy family? Have you handsome brothers and perhaps several pretty sisters with your dark hair and blue eyes?”

The scent of burning fish prompted Egan to stoop and turn their supper, but the mention of family had taken the edge off his appetite. He rose but kept his attention focused on the fire. “My story is not nearly as engaging as yours, Oriana.”

“I’m still eager to hear it,” she replied.

Egan nodded reluctantly, but he waited until the fish were cooked and he and Oriana were seated to eat before he began. Even then, he parceled out his tale between lengthy pauses as they sampled their simple fare.

“My mother fell to her death when I was small. My father mourned her loss deeply, but was eventually enticed from his grief by a beautiful young girl named Ula.

“They wed and had a son, but while Kieran and I are related by blood, we’ve never been brothers. Ula intended for me to foster with her family, but I refused, and my father lacked the heart to make me go.

“The Druid I mentioned, Albyn, he and I spent our youth hunting, raising falcons, and racing horses. Then he was drawn to the Druid’s life and left to seek their knowledge. Since then, I’ve traveled often, but on my own.”

Despite her hunger, Oriana listened attentively with an ear to the emotion underlying Egan’s words. Clearly he was his father’s son, but he held no trace of affection for his stepmother or half brother. She could readily imagine him as a handsome youth violently opposing any suggestion Ula made. Now he apparently avoided conflict by frequent travel. The thought that he must miss his father as greatly as she missed her mother filled her with sorrow.

“Then you’ve grown up as alone as I,” Oriana murmured thoughtfully, surprised to find they shared an unexpected kinship.

Egan watched Oriana cut a slice each of bread and cheese, and wondered how she could draw any comparison between them. “At least I know my father,” he remarked, and then instantly regretted being so unkind.

While hurt, Oriana pretended a rapt fascination with her last bite of fish rather than meet Egan’s gaze. “I’ll not argue with you, but simply remind you of my warning.”

Finished with his meal, Egan brushed the last crumbs from his hands. “I’ve not forgotten. You believe I’m in some terrible danger and that the lives of my loved ones are at risk.”

“Indeed,” Oriana whispered, understanding now that his father was the only person who could be described as such. “But there’s more.”

Egan rested his arms on his knees and leaned toward her. “More terrible danger? You saw how easily I defeated Duncan, and few men could give me a tougher battle.”

He had a remarkably expressive face, but Oriana’s glance lingered on his eyes. “Someone is dead. A man, I believe, and I fear it’s your father.”

The shock of her words registered immediately, and, horrified, Egan leaped to his feet and began to back away. “My father is still a young man and as strong as a bull. Your prophecy is wrong this time, Oriana, very wrong.”

Oriana let him stalk off into the night without comment, but her confidence in the
knowing
remained unshaken. However, now she understood the terror that prevented Egan from believing.

After a deep, dreamless sleep, the next morning Oriana awoke with a start and found a still sleeping Egan snuggled against her. He had not returned to their camp before she had fallen asleep, but she certainly did not recall inviting him to share her tent while they’d eaten supper. He obviously thought an invitation unnecessary, but a quick jab of her elbow served to disabuse him of the idea.

It wasn’t until Egan propped himself up on his elbow and raked his hair out of his eyes that the width of his grin made her realize the gravity of her error—it was now too late for her to slip out of the tent unnoticed.

“Yes, mistress?” Egan asked. Before she could respond, he used his free hand to pull her closer to his chest and leaned down to place a light kiss on her forehead. “May I be of some service?”

Oriana had never shared a bed with anyone other than her mother, and Egan was fast coiling himself around her, trapping her in his muscular arms, which was the very last place she wished to be. “You presume too much, my lord,” she stated accusingly, “and I’ll thank you to stay away from my tent from now on.”