Free The O'Madden: A Novella (The Celtic Legends Series) by Lisa Ann Verge

knock it against the door as she threw it back. He plunged again, and then again, probing deeper, making a guttural noise of pleasure as he buried his face against her throat and gave her what she’d ached for since she’d left him that Samhain morning.
    He was not tender, like before. She was grateful for that. Her body molded against his and matched his desire thrust by thrust. Her deep muscles flexed around him, tightening in anticipation of that pleasure only he could drive her too. Her whole body clenched and she cried out. She opened her mouth and tried to breathe as he swelled and stiffened inside her, murmuring her name, over and over.
    It was a long time before she finally blinked her eyes open. It was a long time with no sound but the crackling of the fire in the hearth and their heavy breathing. He was still holding her pressed up against the door. She felt the pinch of the rivets into her back, but she didn’t move. She was afraid to break the spell. She held him even as the first tear fell from her lashes and slipped into his hair.
    In the end it was Garrick who pulled away , brushed the hair from her eyes, and made her, once again, clear of sight. She knew he deserved the truth, even if it meant it would destroy this thing between them.
    “This changes nothing, Garrick.”  Her words came out in the husky voice of the woman she’d vowed to leave behind on Samhain. “You still must leave.”
    “Ten thousand ghos ts or ten thousand Englishmen could not tear me from your side now.”
    Her heart turned over . She felt him inside her, still hard, still throbbing. She heard the conviction in his voice and wished she had the freedom to echo his words.
    He must have seen her hesitation, for he tightened his grip on her hips.
    “Stay with me,” he said. “Stay with me now and—”
    “You must leave. If you don’t, I am doomed, and forever this land and this people.”
    “Don’t be talk ing to me of curses.”
    “There will be no prosperity to these lands,” she said, “until the last Englishman is driven off, and an O’Madden with pure Irish blood rules at Birr.”
    “Y ou talk like a little girl repeating her lessons.”
    “I t’s true that I’ve heard those words every day of my life.”
    “Maybe i t’s time to stop listening to talk of curses and fairy-tales and start living your own life.”
    “There will be no prosperity to these lands,” she repeated , pressing her palms flat against his chest, “until the last Englishman is driven off, and an O’Madden with pure Irish blood rules at Birr.” She gripped the cloth of his shirt. “The curse goes away, Garrick, as soon as you and the others leave. As soon as I rule here. Alone.”
    Her words gave him pause. She watched his face as surprise and incredulity dawned. Maeve felt a sharp, spearing pain in her chest, and she feared it was her heart just starting to break. Aye, the time had come for the truth to be known. The time had come to destroy any hope that she and this man of her heart could be one.
    “ Now you know.” She released his shirt, and smoothed the wrinkles against his chest. “I, Maeve of Birr, am The O’Madden.”
     
    ***
     
    Garrick set her down and pushed away from the door, away from her, away from what she’d just told him. Once free, she shoved her skirts down, slipped under his arm, and raced to the far end of the room.
    Her words echoed in his head.
    I, Maeve of Birr, am The O’Madden.
    Garrick listened in incredulity as the story came out of her in a torrent of words. She had been no more than an infant on the breast when the English had attacked. She’d been with her wet-nurse the day the Englishman seized all the O’Madden sons. The nursemaid had wrapped her in common swaddling and pretended that Maeve was her own child. The villagers, loyal even under the torture of Englishmen, had kept silent about her presence. And while the widow fasted at the Englishman’s door, begging for mercy for all her sons,