White Fells Read online

  “My brother says you are the enemy, but you gave us food and water in the camp. I doona think you are the enemy.”

  “Your brother speaks rightly, Nora.”

  The girl looked at her in open disagreement, delicate brows drawn together. “I doona think so or the Wind Herald would not have rescued you.”

  “Rescued me?” she echoed, bewildered by a child’s interpretation of what had happened.

  “Aye, from the bad man.” The girl leaned forward again. “Here, take some of these back.” Half the mound of berries tumbled back into her hands.

  “You should share the berries with the Wind Herald and thank him for saving you. He is one of our warriors.”

  “Nora, I can not …” she protested.

  “He likes you. I can tell.”

  Was she the only one in disagreement here?

  “Nora,” the brother called more firmly.

  “I have to go.” The precocious child returned to her scowling brother, and Scota shifted her gaze toward the large holly, unable to help herself.

  The warrior regarded her coolly, his gaze, like the man himself, distant and unreadable. She felt herself separating from the real world, becoming part of the unity of the prenatal land all around her and … of him. Dropping her gaze, she ate three succulent berries and stared at the rest. She could handle anything but kindness and gentleness and decided seduction might be the best way to gain her freedom.

  Sitting next to the holly, Boyden dragged his gaze away from the princess and watched the druidess approach in sullen silence. The old woman used a curved tree branch as a walking stick.

  “Derina,” he greeted.

  “We must speak.”

  He nodded and adjusted the bronze torc resting around his neck. His thumb traced the tiny scar under his chin. She gave it to him with a quick jab of her walking stick many months ago when he was not paying attention. He scratched his chest, his focus once more settling on the princess. He felt decidedly grimy and wondered what the princess …

  Poke.

  “Ouch,” he yelped, rubbing his shoulder.

  “I wish your notice, Boyden. You may look at the princess after.”

  He exhaled loudly. “You have my notice.”

  “Boyden.”

  “That is my name.” He stared up at her nose. It was rather easier than staring into empty eye sockets.

  She settled both hands on the knob of the walking stick. “We will talk of the princess, but first we must speak of the winds.”

  “I was afraid of that,” he grumbled.

  “You have the dark blond coloring of the wind guardians, and the marker of the bloodline lives in your eyes. Command what you should command.”

  He stiffened. “Derina, I am born of the between, a mere distant cousin to the four winds.” He held on to his patience. “I canna command them, you know this.”

  “Aye, but you can command the darkest sister, Boyden.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “No retort this time? Mayhap the wind guardians ignore you, but the darkest sister, the Gaoth Shee listens well enough.”

  “I doona wish to argue with you about this again.”

  She jabbed the stick into the ground. “I be not arguing, I be telling.”

  He grunted. “Arguing … telling … it sounds the same to me.”

  “Horse dung.” Poke.

  He gave her a menacing look, rubbing the sore spot. “Sit down and stop jabbing me in the chest.”

  She huffed with exasperation and settled down, knowing not to block his view of their captive.

  “I see the battle weariness in you, Boyden. No longer can you deny your nightmares.”

  How does she know about my nightmares? Uncomfortable, he sought to redirect her. “I am battling the Darkshade, not nightmares, and I have much that calls my thoughts.”

  She sighed deeply. “Boyden, I am fey born and verra old.”

  When she wanted something of him, she always lowered her voice and mentioned being “verra old.”

  He looked at her sidewise. “I know the pace is fast, but we must move quickly.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  “Derina, you know I have been devoted to you ever since I pulled you out of that rocky ditch in your garden, two summers ago.”

  “Doona remind me of that. I tripped on a piglet.”

  “I know.” He grinned.

  She gripped the walking stick, her knuckles white. “My thanks for that, as well as for this rescue. You know, I went back for the children.”

  “Doona thank me, Derina. I knew it must be important. They are our future, if we are to survive.”

  “It needed saying.” She sighed heavily. “We must speak, Boyden.”

  “Have we not been speaking?”

  “This be different.”

  “All right, Derina. Say your words. You willna leave me in peace until they are shared openly between us.”

  “Boyden, do you resent being born of the between?”

  He frowned. “Why do we talk of this now?”

  “Because of her.” The ancient gestured to the princess, who pretended not to watch them.

  “Why does she matter?” he asked.

  “Your heart chose your Wind Queen, Boyden, and I think, mayhap, you will listen to me now.”

  He studied her face, curious, and decided not to question her words or continue arguing his denial. She was willing to tell him, but in her way, not his. “All right, Derina. I have no notion of your Wind Queen, but let us talk bluntly. Aye, I resent being born of the between. One in my female line mated with a wind guardian long, long ago, but it matters no longer. I am a simple warrior and follow the laws of my chieftain.”

  She tilted her head. “Those born of the between must walk the twisting paths between the worlds of the mortal and our fey brethren. It be not easy.”

  “I know this well.”

  “I know you do, Wind Herald. Though you wish to deny it, you be belonging more to the magical than the mortal.”

  “You wish to add more enchantment to my mortal blood?”

  “Aye, I do. You are distant cousin to the four primordial guardians of the winds, of this you reluctantly admit. But your blood be distant still further to a Wind Servant King.”

  She was maddened.

  “Do I look like a king? I lived at the edge of our village in a round house with a leaky roof. I own neither horse nor goat to show my kingly wealth.”

  “None of the wind guardians can command the Gaoth Shee. The lethal wind chose you, Boyden. She recognizes you as her Servant King. The black thread of her essence flows in your bloodline, a resurgence from an olden time long lost in memory.”

  He shook his head, rejecting her claim. She was simply an ancient druidess with ancient beliefs and a penchant for mead-laced goat’s milk in the morning. “No one commands the Gaoth Shee, Derina. The Elemental steals a body’s air indiscriminately. I canna command her. Even if I wished to,” he hesitated, “even if I wished to bring a single enemy down who stands among many, the wind kills all living things around her, trees, horses, birds, grass, and us.”

  “You have not tried to command her, Boyden.”

  “Never will I try. The risk is too great.”

  “It be true the blast kills, but that be also the reason you must learn to command her.”

  “Command her,” he laughed cynically. “I command my sword and shield. That is all I need.”

  She jabbed the tip of her walking stick into the ground. “Foolishness. You have such force and power in you.”

  “I doona wish to talk any more about this.”

  “Well, I do. The blood memory of your ancestor haunts your dreams.”

  He stilled. “Never have I spoken of those dreams, Derina. How do you know what visits me alone at night?”

  “It be time, Boyden. You have reached your twenty-fifth summer. It be the same age as the death of her servant.”

  “I am servant to no one.” He glanced around the an
cient to the princess.

  The druidess looked at him with bewilderment. “She be not your enemy, Boyden. Command the wind, Boyden. Submit to her.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “I am done speaking my thoughts for today.” She climbed to her feet and looked down at him. “Did you hear anything I said?”

  He nodded.

  “I will leave you then.”

  CHAPTER 7

  BOYDEN SET HIS JAW. THE princess, his supposed Wind Queen, smelled of the wildflowers found in the meadows beside his village and of the sweet, dark-purple lavender growing in the hills. He should not have taken her, but the vulnerability he glimpsed below the brittle surface ensnared him. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed the small dead branch aside and climbed to his feet. Grabbing the scabbard, he fitted the straps over his shoulders and secured it once more to his back. Walking around the holly, he unlaced his breeches and took care of his body’s needs.

  Upon finishing, he retied his laces. Wiping his hands clean on moist leaves, he paused at the sound of footfalls.

  A twig snapped.

  Pivoting, he locked his hand around a slender neck and shoved the princess back against a black-barked tree.

  “You are choking me,” she gasped, her eyes bright with indignant anger.

  “What are you doing here?” he snarled.

  “Bringing you berries. I must have lost my wits.”

  Looking down, he saw squashed berries in her right fist.

  “Derina,” he called quickly over his shoulder, unable to see his charges through the thick branches of the holly.

  “We be fine, Wind Herald. Enjoy your delicious berries.”

  Mischief quivered in the druidess’s light tone and his gaze slid back to his lovely, self-assured captive. Even with her hands bound, she was cold and proud in the warrior way. Fires of outrage burned in the depths of her turquoise eyes igniting his dominant nature. He watched her in unblinking silence, listening to her increased breathing and admiring her spirit.

  To their right, a free-ranging pig crossed behind a leafy green bush in its unhurried path back into shadows.

  “The pig has better manners than you. Unhand me.” Scota stared into glittering eyes, a male face set in the studied quiet of sensual ruthlessness. Why the female inside her found him attractive, she would never know.

  His grip loosened only slightly. Long, calloused fingers lingered over her heated skin, holding her. He leaned in and sniffed at her jaw.

  “What are you doing here, Scota?” His voice pitched low with a strange raw intensity making her stomach flip flop.

  She turned into him, refusing to cower, her nose nearly grazing his cheek. “I already told you. I brought you berries.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Nora wished it.”

  He searched her face and pulled slightly back, no longer invading her space. She saw him thinking, deciphering her strength, spirit, and secrets.

  “Why would she wish it, Scota?” he asked with a smooth, husky voice and relinquished his hold on her neck.

  “The child seems to feel I should be thanking you for rescuing me, Wind Herald,” she emphasized the name Nora gave him and rubbed a tender spot on her neck, leaving a trail of midnight blue berry juice. “Why does Nora call you Wind Herald, Boyden?”

  “Among my people, my name means ‘herald.’”

  “What about the wind? Why does she call you Wind Herald?”

  “Open your hands.”

  He loomed over her once more, effectively pinning her against the tree.

  “What?”

  He arched a brow. “You wished to feed me.”

  “I said no such thing.”

  He looked pointedly at the berries in her hand. “Then why are you here?” His breath mingled with hers.

  To seduce you, she thought, unable to make her body move.

  “Open your hand for me, Scota.”

  Her hand opened of its own accord.

  “My thanks for your offering.”

  She watched with astonishment as he cupped her hand in his own larger one, leaned down, and licked the squashed berries and juice from her stained flesh. His tongue, feather-light, stroked her flesh. She stared down, mesmerized by the tawny strands entwined with brightness and darkness. He smelled of the feral woods and of a powerful male’s desire. She felt her resolve seeping away, becoming the seduced and not the seducer. His tongue caressed her wrist, sending sparks of fire into her womb. She could barely breathe. When he suckled her right thumb, wet desire spilled into her woman’s place and her legs went wobbly. Pleasure spread through her blood in a female’s primitive need. His mouth seared her, teeth scraping against the fleshy pad of her thumb, and she shuddered uncontrollably.

  “Stop,” she croaked.

  He released her thumb with a soft, wet pop, and straightened.

  His eyes were dark, watchful, waiting.

  His chest gleamed in the obscure light, the primitive scabbard straps rising and falling with his increased breathing.

  “Boyden,” she protested breathlessly.

  “Aye.” His head lowered again, mouth brushing her cheek, pausing at her jaw line, then moving to sample her throat. “I still hunger, Scota,” he murmured against her sensitive flesh, his mouth settling possessively against her pulse, creating desperation and need.

  Her head tilted back, her body achingly alive under his gentle hands.

  Her heartbeat increased.

  The enemy.

  Seducer.

  Him.

  Not her!

  In the next instant, Scota realized what was happening and shoved him roughly away. Bolting into the dark trees, she did not know if she ran from him or herself.

  Caught off balance, Boyden had her in forty steps this time. Swooping down, he grabbed a hip and dragged her under as they went down. Rolling, he took the brunt of the fall, keeping his weight off her and hitting his heel against a solid root.

  Breathing hard, they stared at each other. Despite the darkness eating away at him, his body reacted to the slender feminine curves beneath. Fingernails dug into his chest, and he looked down at the small hands bound by ropes.

  “Get off me, you beast.”

  “If you truly wish it.”

  She shifted and he settled more intimately in her feminine cradle, effectively stopping her struggles. Pain and desire spun a burning heat in his blood. His body hurt, unable to distinguish between passion and the enchantment of the Darkshade. Craving the sweet taste of female, the oblivion of her womb, he wanted respite, wanted to disappear into the flames …

  “Do you wish it, Scota?”

  Did she? His strength was incredible. Scota could not look away from the smoldering gaze bathing her in hunger. His breathing was quick and uneven, a tempest beating at him. He frightened her as she had never been frightened before … because she wanted him, a forbidden attraction that both infuriated her and made her womanly soft.

  He tilted his head, a lethal warrior curious of his prey, his gaze unblinking. “Tell me to go and I will.”

  She could not answer him, her breath caught in her throat.

  “You did not come to share your food, Scota. You came to share your body, to bend my will to yours and ride me. Shall we see who submits?” His head bent, waves of hair falling over one powerful shoulder.

  Feminine desire rose sharply in a hot storm of yearning.

  The bastard.

  She had come to seduce him. Instead, her craving for intimacy, the weakness she kept carefully hidden, was aiding him in becoming the seducer.

  “You came for this, Scota.”

  Warm lips lowered … paused in harsh breath and misery above hers … then touched, a gentle caress, a simple asking.

  He was inviting her to taste him.

  Not forcing.

  Not demanding.

  Asking.

  Something terrible slackened within her, a loosening of self, and to her utter horror, her lips parted bene
ath his pressure. He tasted of sweet berries and male mysteries, and she wanted more.

  His hunger dissolved into her, made her part of him, all madness, ache, and unknowing. Her bound palms flattened against a sweaty chest of crisp golden hair, hands clenching and unclenching. For the first time in her life, she felt a strong connection with another being, but why did it have to be him?

  Powerful muscles tightened under her hands, and she kissed him back, an animal sound rising up in her throat and spilling into his mouth. She burned hotly, a frantic longing to be fulfilled, to be one with him, this enemy, this male warrior of sun-kissed temptation.

  Breathing raggedly, Boyden drank of her, fitting his hands on her perfect white throat, holding her in firm quietness. She opened her mouth to him in unexpected willingness, and he was losing himself in her, losing his ability to think clearly. He wanted her begging and convulsing as his root invaded her cave. He wanted his seed to find fertile ground and knew he was going to mark her with the mating bite of claim.

  Scota’s breath caught at the hard press of his body upon hers. He lingered over her throat, and she closed her eyes in pleasure while his decadent mouth settled over her jaw. He found that most sensitive spot on her right side and licked. White teeth scraped against her skin, causing a profound shivering in her limbs, and she tilted her head back, giving him better access.

  Boyden suckled the side of her jaw in preparation. The mating bite of the Tuatha Dé Danann was a confirmation of life, freely given by a male and freely accepted by a female. He shuddered, fighting the dark enchantment corrupting his mind, his body. The mating bite was a binding promise to mate, which he intended to do with her. He felt himself dying, and he wanted to leave a piece of himself with her, mayhap a son or a daughter if the gods or goddesses deemed it so.

  He lifted his head. “Scota, I wish to mate with you.”

  Her eyes were bright, cheeks flushed with passion.

  He did not wait for her response and kissed her, coaxing her with his tongue and the mating tension in his body. He moved to her cheek, trailing wetness to her jaw. Slipping a hand over her mouth to stifle a possible scream, he nipped her jaw without breaking the skin, initiating the mating bite of claim.

  She jolted under him and he suckled the slight bruise, using his saliva to heal as was the way of the males of his tribe in claiming a female. His scent would remain upon her forevermore, warning other males away.