Blood In Fire (Celtic Elementals Book 2) (28 page)

She nearly cried out at the sharp intimacy of the contact. She had been slick and wet since the moment her mouth had touched him. But she had reined it in, channeling her desire on pleasing him and ignoring her own suddenly urgent needs.

Her nails dug into his arms as she forced herself up, straddling him, giving into that need. Circling her hips, her hands braced back on the tops of his thighs, her eyes closed as she ground back and forth over the veiny ridge of his cock shamelessly. Heather's head fell back as she pushed herself right to the edge, gasping at the feel of his flesh sliding over her clit.

His hands came up and cupped her breasts, the pads of his thumbs lightly dragging over her taut nipples…and just like that she came.

Hard and fast. Hot, panting cries escaping her lips as she shook, her body whipping forward, her hands clawing his chest as tremors shook her.

"
Mar sin, álainn, a choinneáil ag dul ar mo ghrá.
” She barely heard him murmuring as the world flashed around her. His fingers stroked her spine until the tremors subsided.

They'd had sex rather a lot, her and Aidan. Hot, wild sex. Dirty, punishing and disturbing sex. Slow, and even playful sex. But they had never made love.

Until now.

He reached for her, his hands moving up her sides, over scars, over skin. Pulling her into him as his hips came off the bed. Lifting her up even as his hands forced her down, pushing his cock deep inside her still spasming center until Heather cried out. A long, low cry that echoed around the chamber like a prayer. Grabbing his shoulders, she buried her face in his neck, his curls against her lips, letting him set their rhythm.

Drawn out and pounding, his hands everywhere as he moved inside her. His lips on her shoulder, her throat as everything built inside her again.

A slow burn this time, a delicious tightening low down in her belly. Until she was begging him, her mouth against his skin, pleading. In one smooth movement he flipped her beneath him, still buried inside her. He pushed up on his arms, hovering above her, and swept the hair off her face with one hand.

With that same hand, he cupped her cheek as he slid nearly out of her, making her gasp, her legs wrapping around his waist. The tip of his cock teasing her, her inner muscles clenching in need. Wanting him back inside of her, right now.

“Please, Aidan,” her lips were numb. His thumb caressed them as he looked down at her, his expression that same, strange searching look she had seen in him so often when he looked at her. This time he seemed to find whatever it was he had been looking for all those times.

Somehow though, she didn’t think it pleased him. For a moment, he looked so utterly blank, it scared her.

He drove into her hard and without warning, once, twice….a third time—

Her back bowed up in shock and pleasure. In one spinning second, the world fractured in an exquisite whirl of colors once more. The pleasure tumbled her over and over in a warm wave of light. She felt Aidan tremble under her hands, his body shaking between her thighs as he came after her.

Neither of them said anything for a very long time. Or moved to separate themselves from each other.

Finally, Aidan did. Pulling himself from her with a groan she found incredibly gratifying, he shifted to the side so as not to crush her.

He hauled her up against him, yanked the tangled covers out from under her and threw them over both of them before slumping back to the bed. She curled up against him. His arm curved over her and tucked her even closer.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Heather was perfectly and completely relaxed. Her breathing slowed and her eyes grew heavy.

She was almost asleep when Aidan’s voice floated over her.

“Heather?”

“Mmph?” Her lips were too soft and relaxed to work properly.

“Remember when I said he found my weak spot—Abhartach? Tha' he found the person I loved more than anyone else?”

Heather’s eyes snapped open, though she didn’t otherwise move. She stared at the sight of his chest, rising and falling under her curled up hand, her own heart starting to race alarmingly. Of course she did.

“Of course I do.”

He sighed and tilted her chin up so that his eyes were staring into hers.

“I just thought ye should know tha'…her name was Isleen. She was six years old…and she was my daughter.”

Northern Uí Néill

897 A.D

The green hill rose above him, the sounds of the sea already tickling his ears. A sweet anticipation had been rising in him all day. It had been far too long. Almost three months since the last time he had been here. Topping the rise, the view was glorious.

The grass and wildflowers tumbled down in a gentle slope, until rocks took over closer to where the sea crashed and foamed. Blue and grey white-capped waves danced as far as the eye could see. To the left, sheltered behind a low grassy mound, was a white-washed, thatched house. Multi-colored heavy stones hung from twine thrown over the almost flat roof, helping to keep the thatch in place. Small cascades of red and yellow flowers spilled from windows and a wild plot of herbs and vegetables grew in a tiny tangle in the shelter of one wall. Stones had been laid down along with the odd piece of driftwood to create a curved path to the door.

As much as Áedán appreciated the quaint beauty of the place, it was not the scenery that had his heart beating fast. Before he could dismount the door banged open and a scolding but cheerful voice called, “Isleen, will ye n’ver give the man time to get to the door, child?”

She ran for him, laughing. His little ray of sunshine. His horse blew lightly at the child’s approach and side-stepped once but no more, accustomed to her exuberance by now. Áedán never got used to it.

The sight of his daughter.

Curly-haired like him, though fairer. She had more pale silver than gold in her locks yet, even as they darkened every year. Isleen was almost four now. He reached down and swooped her up with one hand. She giggled and threw her arms around his neck.

“Up, Da!”

He smiled and kissed her fat little cheeks when she pulled back from the hug. She squealed and pushed him away.

“Pricky Da," she told him, sounded remarkably like the woman who had playfully scolded her minutes before.

Áedán’s eyes found Eunys, who stood in the doorway, regarding him with hint of wariness in her eyes. A handsome woman still, dark hair, brown and soft as deer hide, with eyes of moss green that were so like Jonee’s had been.

She didn’t trust him, not completely, but after what he’d put her daughter through, he could hardly blame the woman.

“Good day, Eunys.”

“And to ye, milord. Ye taking her for a ride then?”

“Aye.”

“There will be stew when ye’ve a mind to come back.”

“Time to fly, Da?”

“Aye, Isleen. Time to fly.”

He kicked his steed into a run and and fly they did. Isleen in front of him, secure and safe between his thighs, her little fingers tangled in his cloak. Down the rocky beach, seawater splashing them both as Isleen shouted.

Sunset had touched the sea with fire before they turned around. He walked the horse back as slowly as possible while Isleen told him about everything she had done since he saw her last in a piping voice. He listened to her tales with a smile, tucking his cloak tightly around her as the dusk fell and put a chill in the air.

It was hard to believe he had a child sometimes, when he was far away from her so often. Eunys had insisted when Jonee died on bringing Isleen here to this tiny village off the northern coast. He could have pressed her to stay, even forced her if he had so chosen. In the end, though, he had bent to the older woman's will.

Eunys was from Manx, a tiny island off the coast. A woman as fierce as the sea she loved. She was the best caretaker Isleen could have and he would not have them separated for his own comfort. It was true he would have liked to have the girl close enough to see every day, but perhaps this was best. At his father's keep she'd simply be known as another bastard, one of far too many.

Áedán's lips tightened. Not that he personally had fathered any other children, at least that he was aware of. He was hardly a monk after all, but he was more careful than most. His father had instilled a rigorous responsibility in him and Isleen was his only known…indiscretion on that front.

He wouldn't have taken her back for the world, either. No matter how guilty he felt about Jonee.

Isleen's mother had been a distraction, a pleasant one. She was sixteen, very enamored of him and unlike the others who clamored for his attention, she was quick-witted and fun, in addition to being very pretty with her dark hair and soft green eyes. They teased and flirted, he'd had his hands up her skirts half a dozen times, but he would not go farther. Not with her. At twenty, he'd no intentions of marrying anytime soon and Jonee deserved marrying.

Then came the night he hated above all others. The night of his birthday. This one was different than the others, though. This one had been the
last.

He had gone alone this time, refusing his father's offer of company. Abhartach had come in a foul mood, knowing it was the last time he could touch an O'Neill. At first that had pleased Áedán to no end. Stupidly, he had let his elation show and he had suffered for it.

The demon, bound by his vow, could not kill him, but he took Áedán so close in his rage that had not Jonee followed him, Áedán wouldn't have lasted an hour.

How she'd had the nerve to stay the night in the dark, hearing what she had to have heard, Áedán never knew. Only that it had been her white face he'd woken to. She'd fed him, fetched him water and waited until his strength came back. Which wasn't long.

It fully hit him as the sun rose that his ordeal was over. A huge weight had lifted from his shoulders. He'd kissed Jonee in the light of dawn and before either of them quite knew what had happened they were tangled together on the grass. He couldn't regret it, that powerful release of pure joy that had created his daughter. Jonee hadn't either, at least he thought not. But not long after they got back to the keep, he'd been called to the north.

Áedán had been months gone battling the everlasting horde of Vikings before he had heard of her condition. By the time he was home, Isleen had been born and Jonee was dead.

Jonee hadn't stopped bleeding after the baby had come. She bled and bled and none of them could stop it. Finally she had just slipped away. Eunys had told him it all while he sat in her home, holding the baby.

His baby.

Áedán had stared down as the teeniest, most perfect human he could ever imagine stared right back.

Tha's me eyes
, he had thought in wonder.
My eyes in another's body
.

"She named the child Isleen. I do know 'tis yer right to name yer child as ye see fit, milord, even if she is no more than a bastard…"

"Stop. Donna ye be calling her tha'."

Eunys's eyes were hard, but he thought he saw something like approval in those dark depths. "Aye, if tha' is how ye want it, but here's plenty as will, milord, for tha' is what she is."

"Nae." He had stood then, the swaddled bundle in his arms waving tiny pink fists. "She's a child, Eunys, same as any other, save tha' she's
mine.
Isleen is a fine name." He drew it out on his lips, savoring the sound.
Ish-leign.
It meant 'dream, or vision' in Gaelic. Not an unheard of name, but a rare one.

The older woman's face softened as she watched him. "Aye, a fine name, indeed. And a fitting one. Jonee, she wasna herself at the end." Áedán turned to her, the light in his eyes dying. "Oh, she was nae in pain, mind, no' then, no' anymore. Just powerful tired. She said odd things. Odd things about monsters and screams in the darkness."

Áedán flinched, but if Eunys noticed she didn't react.

"At the very last, when I thought she'd already gone, she opened her eyes. She smiled at me, so beautiful and peaceful and said, 'Mam, I've had the best dream….such a lovely, strange dream. There was an ocean bluer than blue and warm as a bath, and silver horses that flew.' I told her that was a grand vision indeed and tha's when she told me, 'Call the baby Isleen, Mam. And…'"

The woman stopped speaking and shook herself as if she'd fallen into a stupor herself.

"What? What did she say?"

Eunys bit her lips for a moment and he thought she might refuse him, but in the end the words same out.

"She said, 'for me it twas all only a dream, Mam, but for Isleen 'twill be truth.' Was she out of her mind, ye think?"

Áedán thought that likely, but would never have said as much. "I donna know, Eunys. Maybe 'twas no more than the gods giving her peace her babe would have a happy life." His heart ached for the girl who had died far too young, even he'd looked back down at the now sleeping baby in his arms.
She
would have a happy life. If he had anything to say about it.

His Isleen.

Isleen's laughter brought him back to the present. The last blush of the sun was gone from the sky. The tide was coming in, dark and swirling. A flicker of green light flashed, catching Áedán's eye. Isleen laughed again and raised her hand.

Puzzled, Áedán glanced down at his daughter, then back out to sea. His eyes were keen as a hawk's, but for a long moment he saw nothing. Then a spark of emerald in the night. Far out, past the finger of headland to the north, far past the point where any man should be, a man stood. Storm grey against the darkening sky, powerful, with windswept hair. The light flickered again and Aidan saw a raised staff in his hand, a staff like a spear….only with three points.

He froze as Isleen waved. The figure lifted one massive arm, returning the child's gesture before diving into the sea. He knew that figure could have just one name, but he asked anyway.

"Who is tha', Isleen?"

"The man o' the sea, Da! Maman says his name is Lir, but he told me tha' was his da's name, no' his. He said tha' I should call him Mac.'" She giggled this like it was an important secret. "So tha's what I calls him."

"Where did ye talk to him, love? When?" He tried to keep his voice calm but the heart in his chest was galloping painfully. What in gods play was this? If he remembered aright Manannán mac Lir was Bav's brother. Was this some trick of that mad goddess's? Did she know about Isleen?

His fair-haired girl twisted against him. "Here, Da. On the shore. I see him lots, but we only talked jus' tha' one time. He made me a picture on the sand and then he went away." Her twinkling eyes had dimmed, and she put a hand on his chest as if seeking comfort.

Despite his best efforts, his tone was frightening her. He forced a smile. "Was it a pretty picture, Isleen?"

"Oh yes," she patted him happily. "Horses and waves, like when Da comes to fly. Pretty, pretty!"

"Not as pretty as my girl, I bet." He swooped a hand down and tickled her belly, until she was out of breath and had forgotten all fear.

For Áedán, it was not so easily dismissed.

"O' course I tell her tales of Lir, Áedán! Himself is the god of my people, after all." Eunys was shaking her head as she bustled around the little cottage putting their small supper together later. "She knows every story, could recite them in her sleep, I shouldna wonder! Ye know how children are. Gods, lad, it were nae so terrible long ago, I'd wager, tha'
ye
were the same."

He almost smiled at that. Aye, he knew children and their love for tales. But this was different. Children shouldn't meet their stories.

"She said she spoke to him."

"Did she now?" Eunys seemed amused, turning to the fire again. "Come now, milord, 'tis only a child's fancy—"

"A fancy tha' told her to call him Mac? Tha' mine own eyes saw wave at her this night?"

He didn't miss the way her hand tightened on the spoon, or the slight hesitation before she continued ladling out his stew. "Mind, I suppose 'tis possible. I've heard stories of such things. She plays on the beach with the other children some days. I have only seen him from a distance meself…once or twice."

"Watching her?"

She shrugged. "Watching the village, mayhap. And if no'…well, Lir has taken a wee interest, it seems. 'Tis a blessing, Áedán. Naught a thing to be putting such worry in yer eyes."

"Is it, is it a blessing when gods take an interest in us, Eunys?"

She frowned at him and tore off a hunk of bread, pressing it into his hand before she answered. It was warm and smelled like heaven, but his appetite had flown.

"Well, now. I suppose tha' depends on the god, now wouldna it? But I can tell ye, a sighting of Lir is well thought in Manx, a thing to bring good luck and fortune. There are no bad tales of tha' one, nae on our island, milord."

Áedán nodded, but the unease stayed with him.

Isleen fell asleep on his chest, a warm, soft weight. Both of them curled together in front of the fire. He'd shaken his head when Eunys reached for the girl. The older woman had only sighed and then went off to her bed. It was a long time before he slept, the fire crackling in his ears and the sea like a whisper in the back of his mind.

When he woke, his daughter's curls were tickling his nose. They said their goodbyes not long later. She wouldna cry anymore when he left. She always tried to be brave now that she was 'big'. But her eyes shone with unshed tears as she pressed something hard and prickly into his hand.