Chapter 14
No star had ever shone as bright as Caitlin's eyes when he touched her. Niall lost himself in the dark-lashed depths.
She had never danced before, and yet as her willowy body swayed and dipped, it seemed as if the ancient ones were alive in her, matching her every movement to the pounding beat of his heart.
Her hair rippled in fairy-kissed waves about the glowing oval of her face, her soft white brow creased in earnest concentration, and her lips, pink and delicate as new roses, parted in a smile so sweet he longed to taste it.
Never as a youth and seldom as a man had Niall joined such festivities—first because he had guarded his dignity so fiercely, those surrounding him all too ready to jeer at the awkward fumbling of the infamous Ronan's son.
Later, he had scorned the dance because he saw nothing in its movements but danger, the seductive allure of that most perilous of temptations—the wiles of a woman's body. That lust had fueled his father’s obsession and driven him to an act so terrible it sickened Niall.
Made mockery of his father's honor and shattered Niall's family forever.
Aye, he would do better to drink poison than need a woman, Niall had often reasoned. The draught was far more honest about the destruction it could leave in its wake, and it killed only the one who drank it. It did not drag any innocents along its path into hell.
Yet this night with Caitlin was as she had said—like touching heaven.
Not that solemn place filled with sober-faced angels priests told about, but a mingling of the joy and magic of Tir naN Og and the wondrous imagination of the One who had created, not merely dry duty and saintly toil, but life in all its chaos and brilliant colors, its beauty all the more precious because it was fleeting, changing swiftly and certainly as the face of the sky.
Because in this wondrous place, one day a man's soul could be parched, abandoned, filled with futility, and the next day a fairy maid could awaken him to a world so green, so lush, he scarce dared to believe it was real.
But this was real. Niall clung tight to the knowledge, the hard shell that had caged his heart for so long splitting, allowing breath and life and light to touch it after so long.
For just one night, Caitlin of the Lilies, bold Fintan's daughter, belonged to him.
The music swelled, soaring toward its climax, the power of it bursting in a shattering release of strings and drums and wailing of pipes. Niall caught Caitlin in his arms and flung her skyward, her laughter replenishing his soul as certainly as spring rain after endless winter.
He drank in the vibrant waters of her spirit as he caught her midair, but he could not set her on her feet as the dance demanded.
He pressed her lithe, warm body against his so tight he could feel every supple, feminine curve, every secret hollow melding to the landscape of his own much larger frame.
Shuddering bursts of warmth brushed his cheek as she struggled to catch her breath, her heartbeat racing like a wild thing, caught in his arms—a fairy maid plucked from her bower by a mortal too enchanted with her beauty to let her vanish into mist.
Aye, Niall thought, he was stealing this moment with her as certainly as if he had taken her from the realm of fairies. He had no right to do it, and yet, never had anything in his whole worthless life felt so true.
The music began again, soft at first, a plaintive strain as if the wind itself were weeping.
A gangly boy with a voice clear as a secret stream sang of the greatest love Ireland had ever known.
Heroes and maidens shivered to life in his song, suffered impossible passion and excruciating loss, the blessing and curse of the bleak destiny that had driven its cruel blade between the two lovers.
Suddenly chilled, Niall lowered Caitlin to the ground. So light was she, her feet made scarce a sound, but in that instant, he could hear the sky crashing down around them.
He had heard the love legend a hundred times in all its beauty and tragedy, but never had the tale of Deirdre and Naisi touched him until this night.
Ill-fated lovers racing across Ireland, hunted by a king, only the night sky and the standing stones to shield them.
But in the end, they had died, their hearts broken by fate.
The tale moved Caitlin as well. He could feel it as she pressed one cheek against his heart, her arms twining about his waist. Holding her, both unmoving in the moonlight, Niall listened, ached.
And as the boy's haunting voice mourned the tragic lovers' deaths, Niall felt Caitlin's hot tears soak through the wool of his garments.
His arms gathered her even closer, some irrational part of himself thinking that if he could only hold on tight enough, nothing could ever make this precious woman cry again.
His warrior's body, which had endured the bite of countless sword blades, the stab of spears in battle, could finally suffer wounds that mattered, wounds gained in shielding this miracle he held in his arms.
It seemed he held her forever. Forever was too short a time. And in those moments, he knew what Naisi felt, the desperation, the terror, as his love was ripped from his arms.
He groaned a protest as Caitlin pushed herself away from him, but he released her, knowing it was a fleeting privilege she had allowed him when she had melted into his arms seeking comfort.
She raised her tear-streaked face to his and rubbed at the damp spot she had left on his chest. "Forgive me. I could not help but weep." She bit her lip as if to steady herself. "The tale was so beautiful, so sad."
Niall wiped away the droplets that still clung to her cheeks. "I wished only joy for you this night. I would I could spare you tears."
"You cannot, Niall, no matter how much you might wish it.
" Her face grew pensive, earnest, heartbreakingly resolute.
"There could be no joy without sorrow, just as there could be no day without the dark of night.
When I was at the abbey, I never wept. Everything there was so quiet, so safe.
Even death was nothing to mourn. It was a gentle journey from the trials of earth to heavenly bliss. "
Niall could not imagine such a serene existence, a peace his questing spirit had never known. To him, death had always glistened blood-bright on the blade of a sword, a gateway to the glory of legends or to the anonymity of an unmourned grave.
"And as for our days," Caitlin continued, "each one was so much alike, I could scarce tell one from another."
"You loved it there." Why did that make him feel somehow bereft?
"Saint Mary's was the most gentle of dreams, Niall. But I was asleep behind its walls. There were so many things I never felt until I rode through the gate in your arms."
Niall touched her hair, guilt clenching him tight in its fist. "I taught you well in the days since I took you from the abbey, did I not, Lily Fair?
Taught you about treachery and betrayal, hatred and fear.
Unveiled all the ugly dark corners of men's souls.
If I could, I would take all those shadows back again, so you could be free and happy, as you were before I charged into your life. "
"Nay!" Her gaze flashed to his, almost alarmed.
"I would not turn back to that quiet dream for something so fleeting as safety.
I would run to meet whatever fortune offered, the way Deirdre did in the boy's song.
Joy, adventure, and a love so great no sword blade ever forged could sever it—they would be worth any forfeit destiny could demand.
If I could not have forever, I would drink in whatever the fates allowed me, and I would be grateful. "
A flush spread over her cheeks, visible even in the uncertain light of the moon. She looked away, silent.
Niall could not allow her to hide herself away. He cupped her chin in his hand, turned her face up to his. "You would be grateful for what is good, is that not what you believe?" It was an echo of what he had said to Fiona days before.
Caitlin shrugged. "I would rather embrace life than hide from it. But there is no help for that in the days to come. Conn's power is far-reaching. Word travels between clans. I cannot place anyone else in danger as I have done to you."
"Caitlin—" He started to object.
"Nay, Niall. We both know it is true. I will have no choice but to secret myself away. I only wish..." Her lips trembled.
"Wish what?" Niall asked, vowing to capture the moon if it would make her smile.
"I wish that before I leave the world of the living again, I could know what it feels like to... to be loved by a man as Deirdre was. Feel passion and life and magic just once before I have to hide away, alone."
Niall peered down at her, so innocent, so beautiful. Aye, it was a tragedy. Caitlin, so full of love never to be bestowed on any man, never to be lavished on a bevy of blue-eyed babes with thick black curls like her own.
Caitlin, who embraced life with such passion, never to know what it felt like to share her body as well as her valiant spirit.
From the first moment he had seen her in the druid glen, he had known she was more of earth than heaven, more fairy than angel.
A woman destined to revel in the sweet bounty of her body's pleasure, and that of a man with the courage to match her, gift for gift.
Regret burned through Niall, the impossible wish that he could somehow transform himself into the kind of man Caitlin needed, the lover she deserved.
But that longing was as futile as the yearning he had felt at his father's cairn, when he had wished he could turn back time until he could see his father again as the bold, noble hero he had once believed in.
He started to look away, the music saddened, the dancing dimmed, the pleasure he had sought in Caitlin's company seeming only a taunting dream. Then he saw the plea dove-soft in her eyes.