Predestined Page 7

  He stood in front of her, a distinctive male bulge between his legs.

  “Does it hurt when it gets like that?”

  He glanced down at himself and then gave her a very strange look. “Have you not seen the shape of a man before?”

  “I have.”

  “When?” His tone was exceedingly male and honed with the knowledge and the mystery of experience.

  “When helping Derina with the ill. I am not a complete innocent. I have just never seen a bulge so large before.”

  “We come in varying sizes, faery,” he said in a slow throaty voice. “Curious of my shape? Would you like to see?”

  Bryna stood abruptly at the offering and shook her head. “ ‘Tis not decent.”

  A faint smile graced his lips before his expression slipped subtly into darkness. “Not today, then.”

  His face grew shadowed.

  Sensing danger, she gestured behind her, wishing to go outside.

  His eyes drifted to the cave entrance and then back to her. He shook his head.

  The cave became strangely quiet. She could not seem to breathe and took a step back without looking. Her right foot slid off a rock. Flinging her arms out for balance, she heard a distinctive ripping of fabric before regaining her balance. She looked down at herself in astonishment. Three vertical seams on the front of the bodice had completely unraveled and now gaped open, exposing her breasts.

  She heard his harsh intake of breath before he growled, “Cover yourself.”

  Bryna tried to shield herself with her hands.

  “ ‘Tis not my fault,” she said shakily. She looked up and felt devoured by his gaze. “The gown is old and the repairs no longer hold.” She spun away and tripped again over the infernal rock. With a startled gasp, she pitched forward before strong arms locked around her waist, yanking back into a hard body.

  “Bryna.” His voice came out in an odd rasp near her ear. He leaned over her slowly. His hand grazed the underside of her breast and she could not draw away.

  He cupped her, kneading her flesh, his thumb teasing the rose-tipped nipple.

  She held on to his wrist, her head pressed back into his shoulder.

  “You are more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.”

  Her breast felt heavy in his hand, and the other ached for his touch.

  He turned her around and backed her against the cold wall.

  Bryna could only stare in wonder as he dropped down to his knees in front of her. Warm lips slid over her right nipple, taking her into the moist heat of his mouth. Her legs nearly gave out at the stream of hot pleasure. She tangled her hands in his silken hair, holding him to her.

  He suckled her, igniting flames in her womb.

  She gasped softly, lost in sensations beyond her experience, her body becoming liquid.

  “Tynan,” she sighed.

  He went rigid and released her breast.

  Rocking to his feet, he stepped back, a strange tension outlining his features.

  Bryna stared up at him in puzzlement.

  He reached for the edges of her torn bodice and slowly pulled them closed, his knuckles sliding over her sensitive skin. Her hands covered his, holding the tattered fabric together.

  “Tynan?”

  “I canna take you.”

  She could feel the slow ebbing of pleasure in her body being replaced with the cold hurt of rejection. Pulling back from him, she searched his face.

  “Bryna, I canna forswear my oath to mate with the territorial goddess. My faery brethren and tribe must approve of my mate. Do you understand?”

  She did. He had mistakenly honor-marked her. She was not this goddess but a slave. Turning away, she stared through her tears at the wall. With trembling fingers, she struggled to repair the bodice, knowing it to be hopeless.

  Behind her, heavy breathing warned of his edginess. She possessed no thread and no extra fabric. Glancing down at her skirts, she thought possibly that she could tear a piece from the hem, but then her legs would be exposed.

  The sound of fabric ripping startled her. She looked over her shoulder. He had torn off the sleeves from his green tunic.

  “Here, use these.”

  She did not move.

  “Hold the bodice closed.” He tied the ends of the sleeves together. Leaning forward, he pulled the sleeves under her arms. In several turns, he managed to cover her thoroughly. He then pushed her hair out of the way and knotted the sleeve ends behind her back.

  Bryna looked down at herself and nearly laughed out of nervous tension. He stepped in front of her, inspecting his work.

  “ ‘Tis a peculiar bodice,” she said softly.

  “It will do.” He turned and walked away.

  She stared after him, a great sadness taking hold of her. Turning, she headed in the opposite direction, toward the cave entrance.

  “Bryna?”

  She paused beside the opening thicket. Sunlight streamed in upon her legs.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to go outside.”

  He nodded once. “Let me check first.” He walked past her, the scent and heat of him a momentary flash before he was gone. He returned a few moments later, his gaze hooded and withdrawn. “The land is quiet, but stay close to the cave.”

  She nodded that she would.

  Tynan watched the gentle sway of her hips as she disappeared into the morning light and then turned back into the cave. Some days provided more challenges than others did, and this day was starting high in his estimation. He stared at the makeshift bed of leaves. Shutting his eyes in bitter frustration, he tilted his head back and exhaled loudly.

  Damn the faeries.

  Straightening, he stared once more at the bed of leaves. He would fight the spellbound compulsion with all of his willpower and strength. Never would he lose sight of the ultimate goal to redeem his blood-line and return prosperity to the land.

  Damn his father’s weakness.

  He would not succumb. He would endure. His pride and determination would overcome.

  From beneath lowered lids, he looked sideways at the cave entrance, at the spilling of sunlight across the black, moist soil. It was best his lovely faery waif remained out of his sight for a while. He needed time to regain his self-control and grace.

  Sidhe spells and honor.

  The words tumbled in his brain, a muttered oath of downfall and duty. Grimacing, he reached down and loosened the waist of his pants, easing some of the pressure off his arousal. He needed looser pants.

  His gaze slid to the cave’s shadowed entrance again, drawn to the warmth of the morning light. Yellow and gold streamed through the thicket to the dirt floor. He stared at the blackness of the soil and his thoughts turned inward once again, dim and dark with yearnings long suppressed. Why did you not keep the faery promise, Father? Why? It pained him, the memory of it, the memory of his father’s dishonor and his own abandonment. He rolled his head, a vain attempt to relieve some of the stress coiling in his body, but there would be no relief for him.

  For now, his body was burdened with twice the obligation and twice the desire. He would endure.

  Outside, pleasing sunlight warmed her chilled skin. Bryna tipped her face to the resplendent blue sky, soaking in the wonder of puffy, white clouds and the clearness of the day. Summoning an inner calm, she listened to the whispery movement of the clouds, unaware that no mortal had ever heard such a breath of sound or seen such shades of blue and white.

  The small clearing beckoned her admiration. In the previous day’s twilight it had remained hidden but now, all its beauty unfolded. Two large oaks stood on the outskirts, dwarfing all beneath their outstretched branches. Silver-capped boulders, positioned by faeries no doubt, gouged the land in a strange circular pattern. It was said that clearings were sacred to the druids and she reasoned that it must be so, for never had she seen such natural splendor. At the base of each boulder, fuchsia bloomed in riotous colors of pink, lavender, and white. Vibrant green bushes
splashed the landscape with berry-laden branches causing her mouth to water from the glistening harvest. She walked over to one of the bushes and with care, gathered red berries in her palm. At the end of branches, tiny white flowers fluttered musically in the cool morning breeze, a greeting of sorts from one to another. Drenched with morning dew, the berries tasted ripe with sweetness. She plopped a few more into her mouth and let the juice trickle down her throat.

  Inhaling the fragrance of the new day, Bryna walked along the tufts of grass growing in the black soil. She glanced upon a small violet flower and paused, gazing down into the exact shade of Tynan’s eyes.

  From above, a piercing kee-kee cry rent the air, startling her. Bryna looked up, shielding her eyes from the morning sun. A large, rust-colored kestrel settled on the top branch of the oak. The bird looked down at her with a mythical wisdom not of his kind, and she sensed a shadow come over the clearing.

  “She will not eat you,” Tynan said, watching his faery waif with a strange possessiveness.

  “I know. She seems to want something, Tynan.”

  He met the bird’s black beady eyes and felt the chilly air of her warning.

  “She gives us caution,” he replied, and nodded to the kestrel which then took flight, disappearing into the blue sky.

  “Do you talk to birds?”

  “Nay, they talk to me.” Tynan scanned the immediate area for this new threat. There were three men, mayhap more, moving quietly along the outskirts of the clearing. He glanced back at Bryna and held out his hand for her to come to him. He wished she would not look at him with such feminine curiosity, and instead went to her and took her arm.

  “My berries, Tynan,” she protested.

  “Listen, faery.” He tilted his head, indicating the shrubbery on the west side of the clearing.

  “Is something out there?”

  Tynan reached out with his fey senses, a slow smile curving his lips. “Men,” he answered, the tension leaving his body, “and mayhap food.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know. Trust me.”

  “Trust has little to do with it.”

  “Does it not? You are safe with me and shall always be safe with me.” He looked over her bright head toward the sound of footfalls. Emerging from the dark shrubbery, a young man with red hair approached them.

  “Edwin.” Tynan smiled warmly at his younger tribesman.

  “Sire.”

  “You scout ahead, Edwin?” He scanned the area for the arrival of the rest of the group. His tribesmen never traveled alone.

  “Aye. Once again, our leaders bade us search for the mysterious feypaths.”

  Tynan looked at his silver-eyed faery. She knew at least one of the feypaths, and he vowed to gently coax the rest of the secrets from her, but that would come later.

  Bryna watched Tynan speak with the broad-shouldered youth. The young man wore forest green breeches and long-sleeved tunic that matched the land. About his neck rested a thick, gold neck ring. She heard the adornment referred to as a torc. On his green tunic, several gold brooches glittered and gold bracelets wrapped each thick wrist.

  She looked back to Tynan. The morning light caught at the blue-black length of his long hair. Again, the feeling of ancient faery magic radiated from him. It saturated her, making her feel luminescent, changing the morning gold to shades of purple twilight.

  “Bryna, come meet my tribesman, Edwin.” He gestured for her to come forward. “This is Bryna of Loch Gur, Edwin.”

  “Lady,” The youth replied, and bowed his head. Bryna smiled warmly and suddenly five warriors emerged from the berry bushes carrying bows and axes.

  “Easy, faery,” Tynan said when she backed up into him. “They are my tribesmen. Doona fear.”

  Leather-wrapped scabbards strapped to their backs held swords with solid wood handles flanked with brass tang guards and tips. All wore the same green and brown clothes, subdued and mixing with the colors of the land. Sheathed at their waists, Bryna saw the glint of six-inch daggers with black, leather-wrapped handles. Some wore gold beads woven in their long braids; others wore their hair unadorned. They were the tallest men she had ever seen, and she felt a trifle overwhelmed by their imposing presence.

  The tallest of them came forward. Long, brown hair fell to his shoulders with thin braids on either side of his temple. Sheathing his curved dagger in his belt, he bowed his head in acknowledgement.

  “Cousin,” the tall man said pointedly.

  “Eamon,” Tynan responded just as coldly. To Bryna, this greeting felt more like an encounter between enemies than tribesmen.

  “Edwin has told me that you search for the fey-paths, Eamon.”

  The tall warrior called Eamon snorted. “Aye, again we search for the accursed feypaths! I tell Rose they do not exist, but does she listen to me?” He shook his head in disgust. “She insists, so we search. I grow tired of this endless searching. It is a waste of my time.”

  Beside her, Tynan said nothing. She felt uneasy with his prolonged silence. So, too, did the other men, it seemed.

  “You come from Kindred?” Eamon quickly changed the subject.

  With that question, honesty and truth slipped away and Bryna felt the full force of her accursed gift. Horrible sweetness spilled from the man’s mouth, a beginning of lies yet unspoken. She stifled back a cough, her throat closing reflexively.

  “Aye, we come from Kindred,” Tynan answered in measured tones, almost as if he too sensed Eamon’s falsehoods.

  “I heard telling of a spider’s spell.”

  Bryna watched as something sly crept across Eamon’s features. She felt a hand on her shoulder; Tynan’s gaze searched hers for an explanation of her discomfiture, but she could only give him a wane smile, shaking her head. How could she explain it?

  Her chieftain turned back to his tribesmen. “How do you know of the Sorcerer’s spider spell, cousin?”

  So simple a question, indeed, was loaded with meaning.

  “We have heard talk,” Eamon answered, evasive and unrevealing.

  “What talk?”

  Bryna saw hatred burning behind Eamon’s eyes, hatred and jealousy of Tynan. The red scar across his chin crinkled, giving him a hunted look.

  Lies and deceit were being spun here and Bryna felt caught between the two. Suddenly, the youth Edwin stepped in front of her.

  “Thirsty?” He held up a water flask in offering. His eyes implored her to take the flask and defuse the volatile situation developing between Tynan and Eamon.

  Bryna reached for the silver flask. “My thanks, Edwin. I am thirsty.” She looked up at Tynan for approval.

  He nodded curtly to her. “Drink, faery.”

  Bryna brought the narrow neck of the flask to her lips, very much aware of the men’s attention on her. Chilled water streamed into her mouth, hurting her teeth.

  “Slowly.” Tynan pulled the flask away from her mouth. “Cold water hurts an empty stomach and we have not eaten. Drink it slowly.”

  She nodded and did so.

  The men continued to watch her, their gazes skirting her jawline in knowledge and question before gliding away. They were curious of her place beside their chieftain.

  When she had finished drinking, she handed the flask to Tynan.

  Raising it to his own lips, he drank what remained of the water.

  Beside her, Edwin cleared his throat. “We have food, sire, if you wish to eat before traveling.”

  Tynan nodded and handed the flask back to Edwin. “My thanks, Edwin.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let us eat before journeying home. My stomach feels empty.” He gestured toward the cave’s hidden entrance. “There is a cave beyond the thicket. Let us eat in there.”

  Bryna felt his hand centered on her back, guiding her forward.

  A damp coolness resided in the cave. Along the uneven walls, shadows mimicked the men’s movements.

  Tynan took Bryna’s arm and guided her to sit next to him on his right. His t
ribesmen formed a circle outward from them and settled down to eat, Eamon to his left, and Edwin to Bryna’s right.

  His faery waif knelt beside him with her hands folded in her lap, a posture of an obedient slave that irked him for no reason.

  “Will you introduce us to the maid, cousin?” Eamon asked.

  “Bryna,” Tynan began his introductions, “this is Eamon, my cousin.”

  “Lady.” Eamon dipped his head.

  “The blond ones that sit across from us are the brothers, Declan and Lachlan. Ian is the one holding the longbow. Adian sits to Edwin’s right and is his first cousin on his mother’s side. You already know Edwin.”

  She dipped her head to all of them.

  He suspected that Bryna had no idea why they addressed her as “Lady.” His tribesmen had already recognized his honor-mark on her and waited for his explanation, an explanation he did not intend to give this day.

  “Is the Yn Drogh Spyrryd still at Kindred?” Eamon prompted, leaning forward to unpack supplies.

  Tynan detected a trace of resentment in the other man’s voice.

  “Aye, the Evil One lives in the castle’s ancient tombs.”

  Beside him his faery stared at the ground, her cheeks suddenly pale as if battling some sickness.

  He touched her leg and she shook her head adamantly. He grew concerned at her odd behavior.

  “The maid looks ill, cousin. Mayhap your honor-mark is false.”

  Tynan turned to his cousin, his face darkened in anger. “Be forewarned, Eamon.”

  “I am only concerned for her.”

  “Your concern gives you credit if that is all of it. She is mine, Eamon.”

  “My apologies, Dark Chieftain. I meant no disrespect.”

  “Temper you tone and mayhap the apology would be more believable.” Tynan glared his displeasure a moment longer. “Let us eat. The day passes and I am anxious to journey home.”

  He glanced at his faery and then looked away.

  Staring at the dirt floor, Bryna froze, coming to an abrupt awareness.

  Eamon had called Tynan Dark Chieftain.

  Dark Chieftain.

  She had never truly believed it.

  Never wanted to believe it.