Chapter 14 #2
She wanted him. The knowledge reverberated through every fiber of his being.
With eyes guileless as the first woman desiring the first man in the magical innocence of the beginning of time, Caitlin was asking him to take her away.
To lay her back in the soft, sweet grass and strip away the layers of cloth between them.
She was asking him to make love to her for the first time, perhaps the only time.
The only chance this bright, loving woman might ever have to feel a man's touch.
And he wanted to give her everything she desired. God help him, he did. "Caitlin." He fought to keep his voice steady. "It would be madness to make love to you. Too dangerous."
"Dangerous?" She gave a sad little laugh that twisted his heart. "I could be dead tomorrow, Niall."
The very thought lanced through him. "Nay!"
"You know it is true. If Conn should find me alive—"
"I will die before I let him take you!"
She smiled, such a fragile, heartbreaking curve of her mouth. "But that would be the most tragic loss of all. For then our chance to share this one night would be gone forever."
Something tore inside Niall. The grief, the futility, the hate and the anger that had seethed inside him forever suddenly seemed a hideous waste when a woman like Caitlin had the courage to open her arms to him.
But did he dare risk what he had feared for so long?
The terrible need for someone else? Someone who could fail you, destroy you, vanish from your life, and leave your heart bleeding?
Did his fear show in his eyes? He was the champion of Glenfluirse, renowned for his courage, and suddenly his hands trembled. He wanted to look away, shamed, but he could not. Caitlin's smile grew too tender.
"I have decided not to waste time being afraid any longer," she said earnestly. "Whatever comes will come, whether I fear it or not. But I have now. This moment to cherish. It is all any of us can be certain of."
He swallowed hard, fear a knot in his gut. It was true what she said. How many men had he seen struck down between one heartbeat and the next?
Sucking in a deep breath, Niall took the most terrifying chance of his life. He cast aside the betrayals that had branded him with his hated name. He banished fear and doubt.
Sweeping Caitlin off her feet, he carried her in his arms, away from the music, away from the dancing, toward a haven where they could tend fires of their own making.
She curled herself against him with a trust that terrified him.
Trust that he would not hurt her, faith that he would know what to do.
But his couplings in the past had been hasty mating driven by nothing more than mutual lust—coarse appetites that turned to ash the instant he spilled his seed. Caitlin would be different.
Far from the festivities, he found a hidden glen, gilded with moonlight, as secluded and untouched as the place where the first man and woman made love.
Niall swept off the folds of wool wrapped about his body, until only a thigh-length shirt of billowing linen covered his nakedness. With the greatest of care, he spread the soft piece of wool on the ground to make his lady a bed. Then he took Caitlin's hand, guided her down upon it.
He could scarce breathe as he looked at her, ebony hair rippling like furled wings about her shoulders, her face pure as the lily she was named for.
Since he was a boy, he had been scorned because of the legacy his father had left him.
Even as a champion, he had seen only lust, coarse curiosity, in the faces of women who desired him—as if his touch might somehow taint them despite the quests he had performed.
But the blue pools of Caitlin's eyes shone with trust.
For her sake, he asked once more. "You are sure you want this?
Want... me?" He only half believed this magic could be happening between them.
For a moment, she was so quiet fear gripped his heart, fear that she would change her mind, turn him away.
Never had he opened himself to such a crushing rejection.
Yet despite the clamoring of his loins, he knew if she said the word, he would take her hand, lead her back to Daire and her own virginal bed.
But Caitlin dashed away his doubts. Threading her fingers through the dark hair at his nape, she drew his lips down to meet her kiss.
Warm and soft and seeking, she explored his mouth with the earthy innocence of a queen of the fairies, bestowing upon her love the kiss of immortality. And Niall drank in the healing magic of her touch, a trait as instinctive to her as the warrior's blow of death was to him.
He had built his entire existence around taking life, battle and violence and destruction disguised under the deceitful name of valor. But never had he imagined what he had stolen from the men who had felt the heedless blows of his sword.
This wild, hot wonder, this tenderness and hunger that melted the jagged edges of a man's war-torn spirits and spilled light into the most consuming darkness. The chance to touch, just for this one night, redemption.
Niall opened his mouth against hers, deepening the kiss, drinking her in as if she were drenched in a fairy nectar that could make him forget—forget pain and betrayal and a lifetime of being alone. She moaned, her lips parting as his tongue traced her mouth, dipped inside.
She tasted of honey and half-forgotten magic, realms of lost legends and dreams Niall had not dared to believe in for so long. And he wondered if he could ever taste enough of her, ever feel enough of her to sate the cravings she aroused not only in his body but in his soul.
Heart pounding with an eagerness he had never felt before, Niall lowered his body atop hers, his warrior's frame hard and hot and ready, wild with impatience.
He was nearly mad with the need to thrust into her generous warmth, afraid that the fates who had played so many bitter jests upon him would snatch Caitlin away.
Even so, he fought back his own needs, grappled for control.
But it was almost impossible to hold himself in check as he unlaced the tight bodice binding her breasts, then slipped the billowing folds of her leine over her head.
Moonlight spilled over the lush curves of her body, adoring it like a lover.
Niall could not breathe as he gazed in hunger at the gentle hills of her coral-tipped breasts, the tender hollow of her navel, the dark, dewy curls peeking shyly from between her thighs.
Naked in spirit as well as in flesh, she peered up at him, an unspoken question old as time in her eyes. Do you think me beautiful? Was it possible this enchantress could doubt it?
It was all he could do not to grab her in his arms, pound into her body with all the fierceness of the warrior he was. But he delved deep inside himself, trying to find tenderness for her.
"I am a man of weapons, not of words," he ground out. "But I wish I were a bard this night. I would weave a song that would make your beauty live until the end of time."
A smile brighter than morning dawned upon her face. She ran her fingertips across the swell of his bottom lip. "And I would sing of how much I..." She hesitated, her voice breaking, just a whisper. "How magical it is to be here in your arms."
It was not what she meant to say. He sensed it.
But he was too dazzled to question her. The huskiness in her voice inflamed him, unnerved him, made him crave so much more than just this one joining.
But with fierce resignation, Niall resolved he would take what chance had given him, make this night as perfect as he could for her.
Slowly, he cautioned himself, he must not frighten her.
And he moved with tender care as he stroked the hollow of her throat, the delicate wing of her shoulder, the dainty, pale place where her breast began to swell.
Smooth as new cream she was, and when she shivered in need, he could no longer resist tasting her.
Trailing his mouth across new places, secret places, Niall let his tongue discover dips and hollows and swells no other man had ever explored.
Caitlin whimpered with pleasure, clutching restlessly at handfuls of his leine as he let his mouth open over the rosy temptation of her nipple. He drew her deep into dark heat, suckling her with a tender fervor that set her atremble.
Had any woman ever responded this way in another man's arms? He could not believe it. This was as new as the first mating, the lovemaking that had created all life to come.
A low cry tore from her lips, and she writhed against him, in wild innocence, only driving him to be more tender, more selfless in his onslaught against her senses.
He cupped her other breast in his hand, circling his palm against the hardened bud of her nipple as he suckled its twin. Then, slowly, he trailed his fingers down the fragile cage of her ribs, the faint, impossibly soft swell of her belly, to where her body wept with need for him.
She gasped, arched instinctively into his touch, but he stilled at the pleading cry she uttered.
"N-Niall." She choked out his name, half sob.
It took more strength than he had ever spent to draw his hand away. "What is it, alannah?" he murmured.
She was trembling, so lovely, long skeins of her hair like ebony rivers against the flawless shores of her skin. "I want to—to touch you. Your skin, your body, the way you touch mine, with nothing between us."
Niall growled low in his throat and levered himself to his knees, yanking the billowy linen garment that covered his chest free with a force that tore the stitches.
The crisp night air bathed his sweat-sheened body, but it could do nothing to cool the ardor clamoring inside him as he saw the astonishment, the curiosity, the admiration that wreathed Caitlin's face as she gazed at his nakedness.