Chapter 15
Knee-deep rivers of heather meandered in purple waves across the green meadow. Billows of glossy kingcups lifted buttery faces to the sky. Never had there been such a glorious day, Caitlin thought as she emptied another armful of fragrant flowers into the overflowing basket at her feet.
She turned to cast a loving glance toward Niall's mother perched upon a mossy stone half a hillside away.
The woman who had spent years dozing amidst dust and spider's webs and ashes of dreams now delighted in the sunshine, her once-empty days filled with chatter as cheery as the blossoms she plaited into her hair.
Reverend Mother had often said such days were a gift, God's warm hand upon the shoulders of those who suffered. Yet living behind the abbey walls, Caitlin had never foreseen that there were other gifts she would find far more precious.
Hidden treasures Niall had unearthed in her body and her spirit. He had all but dragged her through the abbey gates into a world bursting with glorious emotions too great to hold. A splendor Caitlin could never have dreamed of behind the cloistered walls.
The restlessness that had made her body ache and her blood boil for so long had a name now. The willful voice that urged her to such wild abandon had finally revealed that mysterious something she was so desperate to run to.
Niall. The earthy miracle of his hard male body and the astonishing secrets he had unveiled in the tender hills and valleys of her naked form.
Caitlin shivered with delight. Six nights had passed since she and Niall had danced under the moonlight and her world had been changed forever. Nay, it had changed the instant he had roared into her life, snarling beside the druid altar.
He had introduced her to laughter and anger and passion. He had brought her to Daire, offered her the chance to experience the sweet affection of his mother. He had shared the reluctant amusement and frustration Fiona's antics produced in everyone around her.
Without intending, he had granted Caitlin's dearest wish, showing her the joy and hurt, the sadness and strength that came from being part of a family.
Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Aye, he had changed her so much she barely recognized herself any longer.
Abandoning the basket full of heather for a moment, she drew near the rippling surface of the stream that burbled nearby and smiled at her reflection for the third time that morning.
Sister Luca would call it vanity. But Caitlin could not resist. She was entranced by the woman who stared back at her. Blue eyes shone with anticipation. Morning sun warmed cheeks glowing in a way they never had before, while her mouth was soft and eager with longing for nightfall to come again.
Darkness sang its siren song, enticed her into pagan worlds where the pull of her own passion grew more powerful than any sorcerer’s spell. Her heart danced to those primal rhythms, awakening earthy cravings the abbey had tried to shut out with its high walls.
But no barriers made of stone or of innocence could curb the magic her body was fashioned to feel or rob her of sensations so exquisite she seethed with impatience for the darkness that would bring Niall to her bed.
Throughout the day, he would ride afield, as if he could not bear to be near her without touching her, kissing her. At dusk, he would return, fighting to conceal the fever in his blood, devoting himself to pleasing his mother and trying with small success to mend things with Fiona.
When at last everyone retired to their chambers, he would pace beneath Caitlin's window until he was certain the rest of the castle slept. Then, when she was wild with impatience, he would steal up the stairs to the Sea Chamber with all its beauty and imagination.
Niall's hot hands would strip away the layers of cloth that draped her body, while she tore at his own garments until they paused, breathless, their naked bodies gleaming in the flickering rushlight.
And as Caitlin traversed the deliciously familiar cliffs and ledges of Niall's body, she would rejoice in the wonder of his response to her: his strong hands trembling, his heart thundering beneath her palms, his ragged gasp of pleasure when at last her slender fingers cradled the hard length of his shaft.
Beguiled, she would marvel at the pleasure she had almost missed, her fascination with Niall's naked body matched only by her amazement at the unexpected wonders she discovered in her own.
And as day faded into night again and again and again, she lived for the time when he would steal to her chamber like a shadow lover, a shape-shifter. When he would take her in his arms and make silent, desperate love to her.
Nay, Caitlin thought with a throb of sadness.
It was not love Niall brought to her bed, only a craving for her body and the fire they could make together.
The mere fact that this proud, wounded man succumbed to any emotional need at all was a miracle, she knew.
That Niall should risk admitting to love was too great a bounty to hope for.
Yet she yearned for it, dreamed of it in the hateful brink of dawn, when he stole away to preserve their secret for yet another day.
The reflection that peered back at her from the stream suddenly grew pensive, touched with sorrow. Caitlin shoved the emotion away. She would have the rest of her life to grieve over the fact that Niall could not love her. She would not waste one moment of this precious idyll.
Yet she knew that if she had a lifetime in Niall's arms, she would never get her fill of him—his gruff tenderness, his fierce honor, his desperate striving to please her, to drive her to higher, wilder peaks of bliss.
She would never stop hungering for the haunting beauty in his rugged face when the crest was past and he lay beside her, stroking her hair until she slept.
It broke her heart, that nameless longing she sensed in him, the quiet terror, his astonishment that she could want him again and again.
It made her wish she had forever to help this battered warrior see himself through her eyes.
A man of honor who admitted his mistakes and tried to right them.
A man of courage who risked his life to defend those weaker than himself.
A man of such generous spirit he had championed a woman who was all but a stranger and surrendered his future to save hers.
A rustling in the heather made Caitlin look up to see Aniera walking toward her, her newest flower crown perched on her soft hair. A bunch of small white blossoms was clutched in her hands.
Caitlin smiled. "I have another basket full of heather to sweeten the fresh rushes on the castle floor," she said, struggling to banish memories of nighttime and Niall. "I thought I would start back. Will you come?"
Aniera shook her head, casting a glance at the hollow from which she had come. Her vague eyes shone as if a lover awaited her in the lush grasses. "I will stay awhile with Ronan. We often lingered by this stream."
"Very well," Caitlin agreed. "But you must not tire yourself, lest Niall grow angry with me."
Aniera's laugh, light as fairy bells, tinkled out, rare and sweet. Caitlin wished she could hear so much more of it.
"As if my boy could ever be truly angry with you, cailin." Aniera's whole face sparkled with a teasing light. "You both play at fooling me. You think I am too old to see the way his eyes follow you at every moment."
Caitlin's cheeks burned. It was absurd, her sudden dread that the older woman might sense the illicit pleasures Caitlin and Niall had shared. Caitlin laughed in an effort to make light of it. "How can his eyes follow me every moment when he is gone from dawn to dusk?"
"I am old now. And..." Aniera looked down at the flowers, a shadow of sadness crossing her delicate features. "And my Ronan awaits me in Tir naN Og. But I remember love's face."
Caitlin laid her hand upon Aniera's arm, grieving with the woman for a loss still so fresh, a love still so precious. "Of course, you remember Ronan's face," she said gently.
"Aye, I do. I see him each time I look into Niall's eyes. But that is not what I meant. You love my son."
Alarm jolted through Caitlin, mingling with the sweetest pain. "You must not speak of such things to Niall. He—he... has been hurt."
Sweet Lord, Caitlin thought, a flutter of panic in her breast. How could she possibly explain this to Aniera, who eased her own pain and loss in the mist where she had sought refuge since Ronan's death?
Being forced to face any scrap of reality might hurt the fragile woman more than Caitlin could guess.
"Aye. He has a hurt, my Niall. But you make his eyes shine, child, the way Ronan's did when he gazed at me."
But when you and Ronan fell in love, he had not suffered as Niall has, Caitlin wanted to argue.
He had not withstood the betrayal of the father he adored or suffered the scorn that left such hideous scars on Niall's fierce pride.
He had not been tormented by the suspicion and self-doubt that made it impossible for Niall to trust anyone—be it his lover or himself.
And as for you, Aniera, Caitlin thought with gloom, you were not condemned by prophecies of disaster, hunted by a chieftain who wished you dead.
But Aniera sensed none of her turmoil. "Before Ronan was taken away, he told me the babes would be safe," she said softly.
"He would see to it, no matter what else befell him.
They were strong, he said, born of a love stronger even than death.
" Aniera raised her gaze to Caitlin's, her face so tender.
"I am shamed to admit I had begun to doubt him, until I saw Niall look at you. Then I knew it."
"Knew what?" Caitlin asked, her voice trembling with yearning.
"That my Niall is safe from harm at last."