The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (37 page)

“As ye know what I am, then ye also know that I owe you an al egiance. Ye have saved my life.” She knelt before him in the sand with the sword now safely pointed down. “I am Aine. What do you desire?” She kept her head bowed, but her quicksilver eyes looked up at him al uringly and he felt the familiar tightening in his groin. It had been a long time since he enjoyed a woman. A longer time since he’d fal en into a trap. She appeared so regal, alike to a queen, even though her position was submissive and she was clothed in naught but her hair. She stayed her place, waiting for his answer.

“I want my sword back,” Conn said and was amused to see a flare of anger light her pale eyes.

He held out his hand to help her up as he took his sword from her grip with the other. She put a hand to her head as she stood, looked at him with bewilderment in her quicksilver eyes, and then fainted into his arms.

Aine watched the man through slitted eyes as he placed more driftwood upon the fire. She had fainted. Too long without food or rest had weakened her, just when she needed to be strong.

She’d escaped from Tor Inis, had a weapon and a horse at her disposal, along with a strong man that she could enslave, and instead she’d fal en into his arms like a youngling who drank too much mead.

He was handsome in the way of human men. Broader than the Sidh. Nearly as tal . Darker, and definitely more dangerous. His answer to her offering alone was enough to show his intel igence.

He also showed kindness – she now wore his linen
chainse
and was wrapped in his cloak. What would a man such as this want?

“Are you hungry?” he asked. He knew she was no longer asleep. She would have to be very careful around this man.

Aine sat up. He had caught a fish and cooked it while she slept. Normal y the smel would have awakened her. She must be weaker than she thought. “Once more I am indebted to you,” she said as he handed her part of the fish.

He settled back against his saddle and watched her with his dark eyes. His hair was a midnight black, with the straight ends brushing across his wide shoulders. He wore a leather jerkin, which opened against a broad chest and showed long arms bulging with muscle. His nose was proud and straight except for a bump at the top where it had been broken. His strong jaw showed only a day’s growth of beard and a scar marred his left cheek from the corner of his eye to the curve of his chin. Everything about him bespoke a warrior, from the casual closeness of his weapons to the steady perusal of his gaze. He was sizing her up and trying to decide if she would be a friend or foe. His kindness to her could be perceived as a weakness by some. Aine decided to see it as a sign of a sharp mind. Men who overestimated their worth and underestimated hers had suffered greatly for their mistakes. Would he do the same?

“Where do you come from?” he asked.

“By birth or as of late?”

“Of late.” He dipped his head to the sea behind her. “How came you to be on this shore?”

“I was held captive on Tor Inis.” Aine licked the last of the fish from her fingertips. “By Balor and his minions.”

He gazed out at the isle and the lightning that slashed across the sky. She knew Balor would soon find her escaped from the tower. She must be gone from this place before the tide moved out and the passage between his isle and this shore was opened. Yet she could not leave until this man released her. She had traded one form of captivity for another.

“You escaped?”

“I threw myself into the sea from the tower,” she said. “It was my hope to escape. Or die.”

“’Tis the way of most things in this world.” He sounded weary and bitter. There were more questions he could ask her, should ask her, yet he did not. Most men would. But then again, most men would have taken advantage of her weakness by now, and then regretted it when they realized her true power.

The fire popped and crackled as a piece of the driftwood split and fel into the coals. The flames shot higher and turned his face into shadows and light as if it were carved of stone. If she were to return to her home world, then she must do it soon, ere the chance would be lost for another year.

Not that a year was much to her in this world. Stil she had been too long gone and longed to see her people again.

“What is your name?”

“Conn Daithi.”

Daithi
. An old and proud name. As old as Ireland. “Who do you fight for Conn Daithi?”

“I fight for myself.” His eyes were steady upon her, chal enging her to say otherwise.

A roar broke the peace of the night and drifted across the water from the isle behind them. “’Tis a good thing then,” she said. “As soon enough you wil do battle.” Conn heard the war cry as it rol ed across the waves. Aine spoke of Balor as her captor. Balor who was a myth, just as the Sidh were a myth. Yet a Sidh sat across from him at the fire. If the Sidh existed then Balor must also. It was the way of things.

He should have left her in the water. Left her to drown. He would be in the vil age by now, drinking fine mead and eyeing a wench to help pass the long hours of the night. But alas, he did not, so he picked up his sword and walked to the water’s edge.

“Is what they say of him true?”

“’Tis so,” she replied.

How did one fight a man who could kil with a look? Conn glanced over his shoulder. She had come to join him, wearing nothing but his
chainse
. The wind whipped the tail of it across her body, along with her hair. Her pale locks swirled around her as if caught up in a whirlwind. She studied him once more with her quicksilver eyes, taking his measure. For some strange reason he did not want her to find him lacking. Conn flipped his sword around in his hands to loosen his muscles and relax his stance.

“He wil come across the passage when the tide reveals it.” Her voice was steady and calm.

“There is stil time for you to go on your way.”

Her words were like a punch to his gut. “Do ye think me a coward?” Why did he care what she thought?

She kept her eyes on the tower. “Nay, I think this is not your battle to fight.” Conn studied her profile. Her features were pleasant and without defect. Indeed they were most pleasing, yet he preferred his women to be buxom and curved. Stil there was something about her. Something that cal ed out to his soul. Something that he had not felt in a very long time. A thing that he thought long gone and lost in the blood of the many battles he had fought. “What does he want with you?”

She shrugged. “What does any man want with a Sidh woman?”

It was long said that if a man could capture a woman of the Sidh then that man would have his heart’s desire. There were also stories of men who had attempted to capture a Sidh woman and suffered greatly from the curses the women put upon them. Some had lost their ears, some their eyes, some their sons and daughters, and some their very souls. Who was Balor that he would not suffer thusly?

Conn studied her closely. “If I go what wil become of you?”

“He wil take me once more to the tower and use me as hostage against my kinsmen. He thinks to have our treasures. He thinks that they are tangible things that he can place in a chest and lock away. He is a fool as most men of your world are.”

“Ye do not have a great opinion of the men of this world,” he observed.

“The men of your world seek to use me for their own end. And yet here ye stand, one who could have used me dearly in my weakness and chose not too.”

“I am not a raper of women, nor am I a thief. I only take what is due me. My wages, some food, and most nights a dry place to pass the time. I earn my way honestly in al things.”

“Ye have honour.” She did not question it nor did she seem surprised by it as her earlier words would have led him to believe.

“’Tis al I have to keep me company.” He was bitter and his words betrayed his weakness. “’Tis Samhain. Can ye not go back to your world?”

“He holds my key on a chain about his neck. Without it I cannot return.”

“I wil take you with me.”

“He wil fol ow me. If we go to the vil age he wil tear it and the people within it apart to have me.

No one around me is safe.”

He knew it to be true. He’d seen men and women of power do the same. Was it not the reason he sought peace? He was tired of the senseless kil ing over the whims of others, especial y those who wore the crowns. Was it not the purpose of the kings and queens to care for the people? At least this woman of the Sidh showed compassion for those who were innocent. She would not bring death and destruction to any vil age.

She spoke without conceit. She knew her value to Balor who thought she was the way to great treasures. Yet she said there were none. Mayhap Balor did not realize that the woman in herself was the treasure, or could be with tender care.

The wind shifted, a sure sign of the retreating tide. How long until the way was cleared? Long enough for him to think on his life and his mistakes. The woman, Aine, must have cast a spel on him ere he would have left long ago. It was his only reasoning for why he stil stood with the surf lapping at his boots while he looked at the lightning that streaked about the tower. Yet she had urged him to go before Balor came on shore. There was something inside him that protested the thought of leaving her to the beast.

“How dost one fight someone who can kil you with a look?”

She gazed at him, her quicksilver eyes once more taking his measure. She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “There is a way but it would mean ye would have to put your trust in me. Do you think ye can do so, Conn Daithi?”

Trust her? He trusted no one. The only thing he had faith in was his horse, his sword and the arm that wielded it.

“Have ye charmed me?” He could not think of a time when she could have unless it was when he first saw her face. Conn closed his eyes as if to look inside his mind for the chains that linked him to her. She shook her head. He was in ful control of his senses.

“’Tis your honour that bids you stay, naught else,” she said as if she could read his thoughts. “Ye can not leave a woman to fend for herself, even though ye know that I am Sidh. Why is that?” Her quicksilver eyes searched his face, daring him to let her inside his thoughts. He would not al ow it so he turned away from her and once more looked to the isle although he did not see it.

What he did see was a horrible memory.

He could stil see their bodies and feel the flames. His mother and his two sisters, brutalized before they were thrown into the fire to die. Because there was no man there to defend them. How could this Sidh woman know such things about him, about his past? How could he put such thoughts into words? The memories were too horrible, too near.

“Could you fend for yourself?” He growled the words, doubtful of her answer.

“Would my answer change yours? If I told you that I may wield a sword as easily as a man would ye leave me to my fate? If my reply was that I am at his mercy would ye give up your life in an attempt to save mine?” She stood at the edge of the surf with her hair flying about her. She turned her quicksilver eyes upon him. “I wil not answer yea or nay so that ye may not cry out that I tricked you.”

“If I am dead what wil it matter?”

She pul ed back the hair that tossed across her face and held it there so that her gaze was unfettered. “It wil matter to me.”

There were more things he should ask her. There were things he should know about the enemy that would come. He should not trust her yet she said he must to survive the coming battle. Al these thoughts he pushed from his head. Instead he put his arm about her waist and pul ed her to him. She felt as light as the night air, yet solid in her strength, like the blade he bore in his other hand. He cared naught for that at the moment. If he were to die, then he would know in the next few moments what he was to die for.

She offered him no resistance. She stared at him with her quicksilver eyes as her hair flew about their bodies as if to wrap them into a cocoon. A slight smile twisted her lips. She moved as he did, each turning their head towards a kiss. He was gentle at first, testing her and she complied. He moved his hand up to her head and wrapped his sword arm around her back, pul ing her ful y against him. Her arms twined about his neck and the kiss turned from gentle question to answering need.

Another battle cry from Balor met his ears but he ignored it. His time to fight would come soon enough. For Conn there was nothing else but this instant, with this woman.

Aine wel knew his intent. It was always the intent of men to possess her. Yet this man, at this time, was different. He did not want her for her powers or because he thought she was the key to a great treasure. He just wanted her for her. Because he was alone and about to face death and he wanted to know that life was worth the living. He wanted her because he was a man and she was a woman. It was the most basic of needs that blurred the lines between human and Fae.

Aine decided not to think on it. She decided just to feel. His lips moved against hers, his tongue probed her mouth and she let him in. She felt the pressure of his sword hilt in the smal of her back and his shaft rubbing against her bel y. She ground her hips against his and he growled, low in his throat. He picked her up without breaking the kiss and carried her to the cloak she’d left lying by the fire.

Conn buried his sword, blade first into the sand. He stood over her, tal and wide of shoulder, narrow of waist and hip. His dark hair shadowed his face as he looked down at her with the firelight reflecting in his eyes. Behind him the lightning flashed across the sky and Balor once more screamed his horrible cry. His muscular thighs flexed as he knelt before her. She rose up to meet him and he lifted the hem of his tunic to pul it over her head.

Her body was not a mystery to him. He had seen her before when he pul ed her from the surf, had even placed his chainse upon her body after taking it from his own. Stil he looked at her, his eyes sweeping her from head to toe as she once more lay back on the blanket in the sand.