Free Twice Upon A Time (The Celtic Legends Series) by Lisa Ann Verge Page A

hand around her neck, and then slid his other hand around her waist. Her spine yielded to him
    His head filled with the scent of her , sweet honeysuckle and clean, tart rainwater. “You need only to say yes, lass, and there’ll be a place for you by my side.”
    She arched her neck higher, so the bristle of his chin scraped h er forehead. “Will you bring me back here, Conor, after the stars have risen?”
    “Nay.”
    He’d never bring her back to this sagging hut of warped wattle and caked daub, to live alone as an outcast. He’d wrap her in fine, brushed wool the color of jewels, lay her in pallets stuffed with gosling’s down, and have bondswomen wash and brush and plait her hair until the color rivaled the sunlight. He’d summon every bard in all of Erin to fill her head with tales, her days with laughter, just so he could gorge himself on the sound of it.
    And aye, aye, he’d taste his fill of her. He’d feel her soft, open thighs against him, feel the tight, heated wetness of her core, feel her young, firm breasts pressed between them. He’d feel her long, supple body thrashing in passion with his every stroke, and he’d coax cries from her until she grew too hoarse to cry out anymore.
    A hot rush o f blood filled his loins. “It’s long past time you laid down with me, woman.”
    Her silence filled his ears. Above, a breeze tossed the leaves and exposed the fragi le spines to the dying rays of the sun. For one, brief moment, he sensed her softening like the crumbling of a riverbank in a flood. Then she drew away, and it was as if the night wind snuffed out the last of the sunlight.
    “I cannot go, Conor.”
    His hands, empty of her warmth, curled into fists. How long could a starving man survive,teased with the scent of food, before his need broke all bonds?
    “ You can go with me, if you willed it.”
    “Nay .”
    “I am the over-king of Morna. No priests and no petty chieftain can stop me from bringing you in.”
    “W hat would I be, if I went with you? Not a member of the clan. Not an Ulsterwoman.” The point of her chin tilted higher. “They will think me your whore.”
    “I’d kill the man who dared—”
    “—to speak the truth?” The bells of her girdle chimed as she stepped out of his reach. “Though you see me as nothing but an outcast, I was born the daughter of a king. I won’t be shaming my clan, or myself, in such a way.”
    He stood in the clearing with his chest heaving, his palm flexing over the hilt of his sword. He didn’t know how to battle with wisps and mists. Give him an enemy to fight, and he’d dispatch him before sweat could bead on his brow. But this was a war with a woman as lithe as a fairy-child, and as mercurial as the winter wind. Each time he thought he held her in his arms, he found himself holding nothing but air teased with the fragrance of her—and craving the feel of her in his arms all the more.
    “Go now, Conor.” She swept up the puppy and hugged him close to her breast. “Go now and do not come back. For here’s the truth: I can never yield to you.”
    “ Yes, lass, you will.”
    “ I cannot.” Her lashes swept down, casting faint shadows on her cheeks. “I’ve been shameless to tease you so. It has been so long since a man has looked at me without fear in his eyes, that I dared to trifle with you when I have no right to do so.”
    A roar clenched in his chest. “ Who dares to challenge my claim to you?”
    “ Fate itself.” Her gaze rose to his face. “I’ve known this all along: My destiny is with another.”
    Now he understood . The lass was bound by the message of her visions. The hilt of the sword burned against his palm. His fingers clenched in anticipation.
    Suddenly, he had an opponent to fight.
    “You’d best practice your fidchell tonight.” He whirled toward the break in the woods that led to where his horse grazed. “For come tomorrow, we’ll be playing again.”
    “ Don’t you understand?” She followed him through