Fiachra's Kiss

MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE Erotic-aah Romp ISSN 1555-5496 Vol.R06-10

Fiachra’s Kiss By

Brenda Williamson

MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE www.midnightshowcase.com

Fiachra’s Kiss Published in the USA by Midnight Showcase PO Box 300491 Houston, TX 77230 www.midnightshowcase.com Fiachra’s Kiss, Copyright © 2006 Brenda Williamson

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. ISSN 1555-5496 Vol.R06-10

Credits Editor, Nancy Schumacher Copy Editor, Jane Carver Cover Layout by Mae Powers Format Editor, Jewel Adams

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Fiachra’s Kiss

Fiachra’s Kiss By Brenda Williamson

Fiachra flees her village of Kerne when she learns she's to marry a druid prince on the eve of Samhain. Her disappearance could start a battle between two clans. Is the handsome warrior, Bowen of Druce her ally or her kidnapper? Will he return her to Kerne before a war breaks out? BrendaWilliamson.com

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Fiachra’s Kiss

Fiachra’s Kiss By Brenda Williamson

CHAPTER ONE 466 A.D. Ireland Fiachra threw up her hands, frustrated with her father and his plans for an arranged marriage. “It will be a good match for me, daughter,” her father declared. As the druid king of Kerne, Airic was a wise man. As her father, Airic’s unreasonable demands bordered on craziness. “Selling me into a loveless marriage is not a good match in mine eyes!” She paced the small room of their modest hut. “He is the son of our enemy, I know, but the druid king of Druce has pledged an alliance by this marriage.” “They have strange practices in their beliefs,” she argued. “They could say the same of us.” “I have heard horrible rumors they eat their young.” She exaggerated, but she had heard gossip of lesser evils. Her father’s riotous laugher filled the hut, his amusement obvious at her stretching a rumor. She didn’t want him jolly. The seriousness of her impending future lay within his power to change. Fiachra had to make him see that this marriage would not be good for her. “But I have not even seen this druid prince,” she whined, attempting to cover all levels of emotions. Airic must rescind the agreement that bound her life to a man not of her choosing. “What if 4

Fiachra’s Kiss he is some horrid, wart-speckled toad? Ye would condemn me, thy own flesh and blood, to such an appalling man?” She knew her father had deliberated extensively on the matter already. She further knew he could not put her happiness above that of the welfare of their people. Nonetheless, it was her future, and she had to fight for some rights to it. “He is due to arrive sometime today and will be here this evening for the start of Samhain. Ye will get to know him then, and the handfasting will take place in the morn.” “Ye want me to marry a man I have never met? A man, I might remind ye, who has worked to slaughter our tribe. And ye wish it done on the most joyous day of the year!” “What better time to put the past behind us and look forward to the future? Samhain is the rebirth of time, and the New Year looks to be a good one with this union. “ What better time to disappear or die with grief. Fiachra fixated on the latter. If her father meant her to move from their village then maybe she could oblige by doing so on her own. When all the fires were extinguished around the land, she would slip away into the dark night and leave Kerne forever. A tap on the wood-planked door prompted her to turn and greet their visitor. The door opened. She stepped back at the sight of a large man who had no manners to wait for an invitation to come into their home. “King Argus.” Her father rushed forward. “Come, join us in our humble dwelling, and meet me daughter, Fiachra.” The man glanced down at her. He didn’t look very approving, and that made her more determined not to become a victim of circumstance. “Pardon me.” She bowed her head. “I have festivities to oversee.” Fiachra couldn’t get out of the hut fast enough. King Argus’ coldness sent shivers up her spine with his dark disturbing gaze. Outside, men stood guard—those that saw to her father’s safety and those that apparently accompanied the Druce king. She held her chin high as she paraded past the group of men. Not making eye contact with them worked until she reached the last man. He stepped in front of her, and she had to look up. “Please, let me by,” she commanded. He didn’t move. She pushed at his bulk and swept around him. The crunch of his 5

Fiachra’s Kiss heavy steps on the gravelly ground alerted her that he followed. Fiachra took longer strides—hurried paces to make the space between them grow. His paces outstretched hers, and his hand clamped down heavily on her shoulder. “There’s a pretty wee lass, making me chase her for the sport of fun.” “I did nay such a thing.” She shrugged off his grip. “Let me be.” He reached to grab her again and she tripped in a rut on the ground. She fell on her backside, landing hard on her bottom. The brute had the nerve to laugh, showing her no sympathy. She kicked him in the shin for his outrageous behavior. He growled a low curse yet stepped back instead of forward. He snatched her up from the ground as she thought he would. “Ye are a swine, sir.” “That he is, dear lady.” A velvety, masculine voice agreed. Fiachra turned her head and looked up at the silhouette, looming against the backdrop of a sunny sky. The shadow of a hand wavered before her, and she slipped her fingers into the work-roughened palm. It didn’t occur to her not to let him help her up. With a tremor of excitement, something in his unfamiliar accent riveted her. She never thought of her days as boring or lacking any heart-pounding thrills until that moment. “She is just a servant, Bowen.” The swine grumbled. “She is a lovely lass, aye, but uninterested in thy lack of gentility.” He pulled her from the ground while speaking to the brute. “Go away, Orn, and find someone else to bother.” Fiachra tugged her hand just a little, but, when it didn’t come free, she remained unruffled by her valiant rescuer’s boldness. The brute left them, standing alone. She glanced apprehensively up at the man. By far, more handsome than anyone she knew, his gallantry captured her complete interest. For a moment, they stared at one another—her with a speechless catch to her breath and him with a delightful twinkle in his brown eyes. “Ye have come from Druce?” she asked, flustered and blushing at his intense gaze. “Aye.” His stare lingered below her eyes, on her mouth, she decided. It made her body tingle, as if lightning traveled beneath her skin. The warmth spread throughout her limbs, paring her thoughts down to one. She looked at his lips, full and ripe for the tasting. She would 6

Fiachra’s Kiss enjoy being kissed by such a glorious mouth, and an image of his lips pressed to hers had a genuine appeal. “What is thy name, fair one?” The coarse pad of his thumb persistently brushed back and forth over the back of her hand. “Fiachra,” she said it, breathless, for she had trouble inhaling. “Well, me beautiful Fiachra of Kerne, I am Bowen of Druce.” When he bowed, his dark brown locks swung around to obscure his face. However, she didn’t need to see, in order to feel. Intense heat rushed through her veins. He turned over her hand and surprised her by tickling her palm with a well-placed, warm, delicious kiss. Faint with the acceleration of blood pulsating in fiery bursts through her blood vessels, she took short, unmeasured intakes of air, scented by his masculinity. Her tightening nipples drew her awareness to an ache riding a veined thread from her heaving breasts to the scorching liquid center of her sex. “Bowen of Druce.” She repeated, panting, excited and nervous, “I must see to the feast.” His presence rattled her, and to move from the arousing scent of the man seemed best. “As thy guest then, thee should see to me first.” “Aye, of course, and how shall I be of service to ye, sir.” Dimples deeply dented his cheeks, and his eyes darkened with a mystery she wholeheartedly wished to investigate. However, his devilishly handsome and captivating grin curled her toes to the point of jarring her from her lustful fantasies. “Thee ask a lot of a man, me lovely maid.” He slipped his free hand to her waist and guided her toward him. “How so?” She moved on a cloud of eager wishes, aimed for his kissable lips. “Aye, lass, how so indeed.” His face moved nearer. She went cross-eyed, with his nose almost touching hers. “Thee tempt a man to ravish thee right in the middle of the village fairway,” he whispered. Fiachra took a sharp gasp of air and stepped back from his hold. She gazed around her, shocked he had such an influence over her senses. She forgot her surroundings. Recalling they were in public put a heated blush in her cheeks. Warm all over, her palm perspired in the grip of his strong hand. “I must go help with the festival.” She yanked her arm to remove her fingers from his loosened clutch. 7

Fiachra’s Kiss “I shall also help.” “‘Tis unnecessary.” She spun away, hoping no one noticed Bowen following her. “Mayhap unneeded, but it doth not mean I should be useless in thy company.” His pace kept him uncomfortably close. The heat of his magnificent body inundated her with shivers of excitement when she needed to keep her wits about her. Even the fragrance of his sweaty skin appealed to her. The sensual masculine scent clung to her nostrils. Fiachra stopped at a long wooden table, laden with food. She made a chore of straightening the arrangement of bowls and platters, containing breads, cheeses, and fruits. Her effort to ignore him didn’t work because he tried equally hard to keep her mind engrossed with his presence. He touched her shoulder with a lone finger, and she trembled. He slid the tip up, lifting her hair and stroked the bareness of her neck. “The fluff of a rabbit’s belly can nay compare to the softness of thy skin,” he whispered, making the fine hairs of her neck flutter. She looked around to see who noticed the boldness she allowed him. His words possessed a charm, too captivating to ignore. “Thee are very beautiful.” The tantalizing freshness of his breath circled her nose. “I thank thee for the compliment. Now, please, go away,” she pleaded, not wanting his distraction. “I think nay, me lovely lass. Am I not due some reward for chasing off the swine that tried mauling thee?” She turned her head, and his warm lips caressed her cheek. The searing heat of desire swept up from her neck to her face. “Thou art bold, sir.” “Do thee take offense?” “Aye, ye have nay right to...to...” She couldn’t think. Bowen’s hand eased around her middle and lay gently over her belly. His fingers squeezed repetitively, almost like a calming caress, yet her insides turned to a fireball of unsteady reactions. “Thou were saying?” His lips brushed her jaw. “Ye are an arrogant, brazen man, and...” She twisted in the circle of his arm. She should have chastised him for his forwardness. Still, she sought his kiss, and her gaze went to his mouth before she lifted her 8

Fiachra’s Kiss lashes to look into his mesmerizing brown irises. Over his shoulder, the sight of her father, emerging from their hut, stopped her movements. “I have an errand. Pardon me, please.” She had to disappear before her father made her socialize with the Druce king—before she found herself trapped with the Druce King’s son. “Fiachra.” Bowen grabbed her arm, his impermanent grip slipped down until her fingers tangled with his. “I will go with thee,” he declared. “Please, I can nay be seen with ye.” “Why?” She glanced back at her father and the man with him. They talked to the brute that had manhandled her, and it confirmed her suspicions that he might be the son of King Argus. A repugnant bitterness, at the thought of marriage to such an oaf, made her ill. Her father and the others looked in her direction, making her decision firm. “I have to go.” She tugged on her fingers while fighting the panic of his entrapment. “Why?” he asked again. “To avoid a marriage.” He looked where she did and then smiled at her with some strange amusement. His hand lifted, and he caressed her cheek with a tender graze of his knuckles. “Where will thee go?” He cradled her chin in his palm. “Far from here.” “Then trust me to help.” She twisted away from him and felt the loss of his touch, as if he had always been part of her attire. She lifted the hem of her dress and pranced lightly through the melee of people, starting to celebrate Samhain. When Bowen followed, the thrill of his presence came with a mixed emotion of distrust. A warrior, meant to serve his king and his clan, she could not hope to think Bowen of Druce would help her disrupt a treaty between her tribe of Kerne and his of Druce. She went to the outer edge of the sparse woods and turned her head to glance up at the hilltop of Tlachtga. A massive heap of wood had long been prepared for the morrow’s Samhain fire. Her father would light the blessed blaze to mark the New Year, and she would miss the joyous event. 9

Fiachra’s Kiss “Thee will miss the lighting?” Bowen’s fingers folded over her shoulder. “Aye, ‘tis me favorite time of year.” “Mine, as well, lass.” A touch of sorrow in his voice infected her with a longing to be loved by him, a silly notion to say the least, yet an intuitive feeling she trusted more than clear reason. They had just met. She was betrothed to another. What chance did she have at the happiness, so near her heart, she could reach out and touch with her fingers? Fiachra moved on, deeper into the forest, further from Kerne. “Thee could change thy mind and go back.” Bowen told her. She didn’t listen. No matter what he said, she’d not let him return her to his king. With his size, he could overpower and tote her back to the disastrous doom of becoming a swine’s wife. As she continued to trudge through the brambles, she wondered what stopped him. Why had Bowen not forced her to go back?

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Fiachra’s Kiss

CHAPTER TWO Bowen trailed Fiachra into the dark forest. The delightful way her slender hips swayed brought an ache to his crotch. He tried not to dwell on his thoughts of the many ways she might sate the sudden onslaught of his lust. Her glorious lips, pressed anywhere on his flesh, would burn a mark of pure pleasure on his soul. “If thou are serious in this quest to run off, why do thee not take any belongings?” he asked, coaxing her into venting the pent-up frustration he saw, hovering in the background of her lovely green eyes. “I only learned today of me father’s disagreeable plans.” “The marriage to the son of King Argus doth not suit thee?” “Nay pig of a man would suit me, if he is from Druce!” “Thou wound me, dear maid.” She turned her head, and he gave his best impression of a pained man. He found the task rather easy, given the exquisite sensations she caused to stir his blood. In all manners of interaction with women, he took to them no more than he did his horse. But Fiachra altered the very universe, as he knew it. From within her, radiated an extraordinary gift to charm him with the simple tilt of her head. “I did not mean it to sound as if all men from Druce were rutting boars.” “I think thou did, but I take nay offense. Thee see things for what they nay doubt are, and ‘tis commendable. However, if thee allow me a chance to show thee I am not as thee have imagined all Druce men to be, I would be indebted.” “I will not marry the son of King Argus.” “And thou are settled on this matter?” “Aye, I am.” She continued to walk. “Then I shall go with thee.” He seized her hand. “I shall be thy 11

Fiachra’s Kiss protector in thy travels.” “I can nay ask it of ye.” “I offer, fair maid.” He cupped the side of her smooth face and brushed a thumb over her silky cheek. “I shall be a servant, to do thy bidding.” “Ye will not return me to King Argus?” He shook his head. For the present time, her plans and his meshed, with a good many advantages. “Thee will find it good to have me around.” Bowen took the lead, and she followed. “Oh?” Her curious smile spun wicked visions that danced in his head. “I can be quite useful, lass.” “Do ye think I might request ye to be me bed warmer?” “Keeping thee warm at night might be arranged.” She stopped with her hands perched on her hips. One finely crafted brow arched, and the corner of her mouth cocked. He never suspected the Kerne woman his father ordered him to marry could endanger his freedom. But the fiery enthrallment, by her presence alone, put him on shaky ground. “Thou doth know I really thought to serve thee by me skills at hunting.” “I need nay a hunter, I can forage berries on me own.” She coyly smiled. “Then thee can find a way for me to serve thy other needs.” “I have many needs, Bowen of Druce.” Her delightful laugh seized the air in his lungs. The threat of enchantment forced him to recommit to the plan of preventing his marriage to her. Not divulging his true identity worked best with her unknowing cooperation. One day of her missing would force her father to break the contract with his father. Fiachra twirled around him like a wondrous forest fairy. Her bright scarlet curls bounced over her shoulders. Unable to resist her energy, he grabbed her swinging arm and pulled her up against his thrumming heartbeat. “So thou doth intend on me seriously becoming thy blanket?” He lowered his face and brushed his nose to the side of hers. “If I should become cold, it may be something I request of ye.” He could taste her breath, panting in short, sweet puffs. Angling his head in the opposite direction, he nudged the other side of her 12

Fiachra’s Kiss nose. Slow methodical moves from side-to-side, without kissing, delayed the pleasure they’d share. He pulled back, and Fiachra’s green eyes glimmered with an inner happiness. Oblivious to her situation as his captive couldn’t be a better position for him. She had no idea he meant to steal her away for a day or two. He appreciated she’d not waste her vigor in trying to outwit him. After all, she had put up a challenging defense against Orn, and he well appreciated her intelligence. “Oh, lovely Fiachra, tell me of thyself. I wish to know thee beyond the bounds of a stranger.” “There is not a passing thought in me head that I can share.” “None?” “Be that ye are a stranger, me thoughts are too intimate.” “Intimacy is what I had in mind.” His breathless hesitation met with an unexpected reward. Fiachra pressed her perfectly shaped and exquisitely moistened lips to his. His longing deepened to know the woman with such a vivaciously generous spirit. Bowen caressed her back, drawing the length of her trim figure tight into him. The tip of her tongue probed his lips, and he gave her immediate access, like a spider exposing a hidden web. Her hum enjoyably echoed down the tunnel of his throat. His tongue curled around hers, and he experienced her sweet whirr, rushing deep into his lungs. The passion grew, as did his wishes to have her under him on the leaf-strewn forest floor. Savage hunger tore at his willpower, and he battled two oppositions in his mind—her virtue against the wishes of his rampant arousal. He gripped her slender waist, fitting his hands to her slight hips and set her back at arm’s length. “Doth me kiss not please ye, Bowen?” She looked at him wildeyed, with a lust identical to his own. Bowen didn’t allow his heart to linger on her aching words. He dragged her back and attempted to devour the lost seconds he missed of her sweet, delicious kiss. She put a delicate hand to the back of his head. Her claiming fingers twisted his hair into a controlling grip. Her luscious bosom heaved from excited gasps, teasing him with an incessantly taunting pressure on his chest. The seductive sensations penetrated his ribs, constricted his lungs, and tried crushing his memory of not wanting her. 13

Fiachra’s Kiss When the temptress rocked her hips, grinding herself into his groin, he felt his cock ready to rip through the cloth to get to her virginal splendor. His mind waged a war between desire and survival. “Thee know, if thee leave and not marry King Argus’ son, it would ultimately mean war between our people.” Only a fool would bring up such a topic when kissed by a beautiful woman. He considered it might be that Fiachra’s kiss had turned him into a bumbling idiot. He didn’t know what he’d say next. His words were not deterrents. He needed her to stay far from Kerne. She sucked harder at his mouth, and her tongue swept inside. One of her legs folded around his. He reached for it and, catching it under her knee, brought it higher. “Hell fires can nay be as hot as this day has turned out to be, me scrumptious minx.” “Do nay talk, Bowen. Ye spoil our time with serious thoughts.” “I do like the way thee think, me sweet lass.” He jerked her leg higher so he could force his cock against the point of entry. He groaned with the idea of how clothing could be a nuisance. She pulled free from his arms and turned away. “Lass?” “Ye are right about going back. I don’t know what I was thinking. Perhaps, I didn’t think at all.” Bowen slipped his arms around her waist and nudged the hair from her neck with his nose. He kissed her smooth skin and nibbled her delicate earlobe. Stick to the plan, his head told him. “It could be thou would live a miserable life as his wife if thee should marry the man.” He whispered the warning to her, wavering decision about going back. Following the contour of her jaw, under her chin, and down the length of her neck, his lips paraded. The pulse caught his kiss, and he sucked on the rapidly pumping vein. “Nay, ye are right.” She jerked herself from him. “I should get back to the village before all the fires are extinguished. I must obey me father’s judgment.” His mind teetered on indecision. Let her return to her father and her duty, or prevent her from making him follow through with his task. Bowen fingered the purpling of his hard kiss on her neck. His mark never meant so much before. Never had a woman infatuated him into a dazed stupidity. 14

Fiachra’s Kiss “Kiss me, Fiachra, and we shall think of a solution together.” She put her soft fingertips on his lips. “I like kissing ye, Bowen.” She smiled. “But I should save me kisses for a husband I could nay possibly love.” “Love or not, I would grow envious knowing any man had the pleasures I have enjoyed.” She rubbed her cheek her nose, her lips next to his, and then she retreated. “I must stop.” The whisper of her breath made him a beggar. “Please, me lovely. Kissing can nay do harm if thee do not return to Kerne.” “I can nay think when thy heart beats so close to mine. Ye are like the sun and the moon, the wind and the water. Blessed be, Bowen, for ye have touched mine soul with something special. Something wondrous.” “Damn,” he muttered. She blinked and stepped back in astonishment. He reached for her, and she wheeled away. “I don’t know what thy anger with me is, but it frightens me heart.” A little something of pride stole the last of his reserve. Fiachra, as his wife, could not be as bad as he had conjured in his mind. No, she would be worthy of his undying devotion. He’d have much to explain to the Druce elders when they learned his final decision was not the one of their making. The mere recollection of past conversations led him on a path toward the realization that maybe they had manipulated him. He knew, first-hand, that one lovely maiden of Kerne held not a vein of evil in her.

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CHAPTER THREE Fiachra tilted her head to the side and studied Bowen. His noble offering of friendship, the divine pleasures he gave her when they kissed, all seemed right for a parting with an old life. It also saddened her, knowing she’d miss him, stranger though he was. “I must go back,” she said again. He nodded in agreement and offered his hand. “Tonight is Samhain. Bad spirits walk the earth so I should accompany thee straight to thy father, King Airic.” “I am nay a child, Bowen. Ghosts and goblins do not scare me. Besides, t’would be foolish of me to go home with ye.” “Fear not of thy future, sweet lass. Trust me, and I will soon explain how I can escort thee safely to thy betrothed. Under the protection of me sword, thee are the life I hold dearer than me own.” He tapped the hilt of the heavy blade hanging at his hip. She glanced at the afternoon sky and wished for more time with Bowen. His kiss all but devoured her resolve before. They met, with an instant attraction, and she didn’t know how to stop the strong feelings she had for him. What she knew about his life couldn’t fill a sentence; nonetheless, grief crept in on her newest resolve to return home and marry a clansman Bowen served. A breeze nipped her skin, and she shivered. She hadn’t even left with a shawl when she made her imprudent trek into the woods. “Here.” Bowen draped his cloak over her shoulders. She turned around within the circling of his hands. He cupped her face, and the world of reality dropped away. His kiss wet her lips with his petition. Her heart soared as his long fingers rotated her face to scatter affectionate splashes of adoration over her cheeks. She dropped down to the mossy ground with him. On their knees, he continued to plunder her willing body. His hands roamed beyond boundaries to the indecency, and met her willingness to lay with a 16

Fiachra’s Kiss perfect stranger. A hand at her back and one kneading her breast left her speechless in his hold. She slid her hand under his arm and up the center of his back. There she held a fistful of his shirt while he jerked the laces open on her dress. “Quickly, Bowen, before I come to me senses.” He jerked the dress from her shoulders and attacked her skin with harsh kisses. His teeth scraped her flesh and left a tingling path of heat on every trail he took. The journey made her breathless. He tugged the garment further down to her elbows so it acted as a restraint to her movements. Her breasts sprung free, and she cried out as his lips and teeth pulled at her nipples. He sucked hungrily, igniting a heated ache that spread throughout her every limb. Her heart hammered inside her chest with a frantic urgency to have him shed his clothes, too. She pulled at the cloth and got nowhere. “I want to touch ye, Bowen.” She gripped his hair and pulled him from her bosom. “I want to taste thy maleness against me thirsting lips.” He broke free of her and tore the shirt over his head. She pressed her palms to his hard chest where his tight, erect nipples attracted her thumbs. He moaned at her feathery brush over the stiff brown nubs. “Doth it please ye, when I touch ye like this?” “Immensely.” He pushed her back and laid her on the ground. “Everything about thee pleases me, Fiachra.” He tugged the skirt of her dress up her leg and ran his hand over her skin. He gripped her bottom and squeezed a cheek while licking her yearning breasts. “I like ye touching me, as well, Bowen.” “Even here?” She shuddered against the curve of his hand pressed between her legs. “Aye.” He stretched out over her and rocked against her hip. She held his arm and squirmed to the sensations he tickled inside her. Her breasts glided up and down against his chest. “I want to join with thee, Fiachra.” His finger dipped into the entrance of her sex. “I yearn to make thee a permanent part of me.” “Oh, Bowen, I want the same.” 17

Fiachra’s Kiss He took her hand and placed it on the front of his britches. With his guidance, she caressed the bulge of his trapped cock. New, exciting, seductive, she craved knowing him with the allure of a bonding. Wrong as it may be, with a man she knew less than a day, she fell under the spell of love. Fiachra untied the laces holding his britches. She freed him for her touch. Soft and firm, thick and long, she stroked the great maleness of his body. His responsive cock jolted. She held it tighter in her fist and felt the beat of his heart, pulsing against her palm. “Bowen,” she gasped. He kissed her hard, passionate and lustful. He kissed her the way she always dreamed, and she tugged him closer. Her innocence craved his skill and experience. No fumbling fingers or awkward caresses impressed upon her his confidence, giving her a secure feeling. “Fiachra, me precious lass.” His heated breath swept over her face. She shivered at the touch of his hand, inching her skirt up to her belly. “Don’t be frightened, dear one.” “I am not frightened, Bowen. Ye bring me a special happiness in me heart and an excitement I have never felt before.” She watched his face. His brown eyes darkened, and his smile, somewhat serious, softened. “I feel the same way.” He moved over her. “Thou are what will make this a special time we share.” His hard cock slid over her thigh and dropped between her legs. Mindlessly, she stroked his arms until he lowered. She closed her eyes to the pressure of him, entering her. Each inch he lowered, she stretched inside to his fit. “Oh!” she cried at the prickle of pain. She dug her fingers into Bowen’s upper arms. It didn’t surprise her that he took her, involuntarily clenching without a single flinch, even while her short nails cut into the flesh of his strong taut muscles. Thoughts of kissing him waned to the momentary distraction of his slow thrusts. “Bowen,” she whimpered. “Aye, Fiachra.” He put his forehead against hers. Her thoughts retreated from the surety of her actions. His pause gave her a chance to accustom herself to the raw reality. His tender 18

Fiachra’s Kiss kisses pulled her coaxingly back into the loving splendor of their coupling. He ground his hips against hers, and she strained to accept every inch of his swollen cock. He drew his hips up and flexed them, pressing her to the ground. His rhythmic stabs were slow but steady. Each pounding thrust pushed grunts of delight from her. “Thou are an angel, pure and true, me beauty.” The channel expanded, fitting him more comfortably. The constant rasping numbed whatever tore deep inside her. She didn’t want to think about the soreness she would suffer on the morrow. His whispers were endless testaments of adoration. A ripple of ultimate bliss swam with her pulse. She arched to the glorious skitter of sensations, twitching her insides into an uncontrollable frenzy. As the tweaks subsided, she threw her arms around Bowen’s neck. She hugged him with her adulation and the abandon of her wicked soul. “Hold me tight, Bowen. Never let me go,” she cried into the warmth of his sweaty neck. His exhilarated roar accompanied a burst of liquid heat, filling her. “Bowen,” she sobbed. “Oh, Bowen.” The threads of love choked her, and she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to think no two people could ever fit the way they had. He jerked against her a few times, strained grunts keeping him speechless, and then he went still. Fiachra continued to weep as silently as she could. The hiccupping sobs, however, reported her anxiety. He lifted, and a gush of fluid oozed from her vagina. The trickling current followed the crevice of her bottom. He moved off her and then rolled her to him. “Dry thy tears, me fair maid. ‘Twas a beautiful time we shared.” His kisses were a profound depth of caring, and she cried with the belief she’d never experience anything so absolute in the form of intimacy. She held his face and kissed him with her love. She sprinkled her adulation over his cheeks, his chin and his lips. “Give me a reason to stay away from Kerne.” A sob broke from her. “I will not find happiness more than at this moment.” “Thee will go back, Fiachra. I promise, I shall make thy life bearable.” “Even with me married to the Druce king’s pig of a son?” He laughed, and it delighted her to hear the lightheartedness in his tone. 19

Fiachra’s Kiss “Even with thee married, I will take the time to entertain thee with whatever amusements that will content thy heart.” “Ye content me heart with thy smile.” She sighed and rubbed her cheek to his. “Then thee will see it everyday.” She sighed with the vision he offered. His brown eyes held joy. She wanted nothing to slake the shine, by dwelling on the fact she knew he could not fill her every waking minute with what they shared. “It will be dark soon.” He caressed her back. “We should get on foot so we might reach thy home before the real darkness of night settles upon us.” He got up and adjusted his britches. She watched with a delicious thirst for his naked flesh. “Thou are shameful, Fiachra.” He held his hand out to her. She giggled and got up with his help. He tugged her dress up her arms. “Tell me of Druce.” She watched his nimble fingers gather her bodice and lace it closed. “Like what?” “Is it anything like Kerne?” “Very much.” “I know ye do nay have the same beliefs as we, but will me husband force me to follow every way he doth?” “I assure thee, me love, he will treasure every thought thee has.” He slid a finger down the side of her face. “He will cherish thee with all his heart.” “I think I should wash up before our travels.” “Then I shall find us something to eat while thou makes ready.” She left him and went to the creek. She didn’t care to wash, as much as she needed some time alone to think.

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CHAPTER FOUR Bowen stood silent behind the tree and made it a point not to let Fiachra know he watched her. Her graceful ethereal moves captivated him into a mute stance. She drew handfuls of water up between her legs, bathing away the residue of their lovemaking. He watched, spellbound by her beauty, both external and internal. Women used that sort of information as weapons of control over a man. While he hadn’t experienced it first-hand, he’d witnessed it with friends. Fiachra finished her cleansing and walked along the edge of the pond, tossing pebbles into the clear water. She left her shoes off, and she shivered because of the chilly water, splashing over her toes. He inhaled deeply, giving him the fortitude to step out of hiding. Sadly, it would be the last time she would look at him with an innocent smile. He didn’t like the situation he found himself faced with, but he had to repair the trust she gave so freely. She didn’t know it yet, but soon she’d look at him with all the misgivings she had for the men of Druce. So much had changed. Here, on the start of Samhain, he renewed his own outlook on life. He thought he could go against his father’s plans of marrying for an alliance. He stupidly planned to abscond with the enchanting woman and become a man hunted by Fiachra’s family. Both prospects were grim-sided. The first he finally embraced with a wholehearted need to do right—to have her and bring peace to their lands. Captivated by her pensive stance, he didn’t see the men sneaking around the trees until they closed in on her. “Stop!” he yelled. Fiachra reduced his senses down to the one that wanted to possess her. It allowed someone to sneak up behind him, as well, and hit him over the head. He fell forward, stunned and miffed at his lack of awareness. “Bowen!” Fiachra’s shriek cut into him. 21

Fiachra’s Kiss Like salt in a wound, her panicked scream rubbed at a raw spot in his soul. He crawled up to his knees and grabbed the tree bark to pull himself to his feet. The men had horses. These were clansmen of Druce, sent to help him with the abduction. He couldn’t get to the one with Fiachra fast enough, but he snagged the reins of another. “Let her go,” he yelled to the riders, vanishing into the forest. No one listened to his orders, and he quickly guessed the elders never believed he would take Fiachra. He jerked the horse around and yanked the rider off. “What are they going to do to her?” He demanded. “What have the elders told thee to do to Fiachra?” “She is to die, milord Bowen.” Bowen shoved the man away and vaulted up on the back of the small horse. “Where have they taken her?” The man looked up, confused. “Where!” Bowen shouted, impatient and scared for her safety. “The Dresden fields, on the other side of Gilbane forest.” A kick to the flanks of the horse and Bowen went swiftly over the mossy ground. He broke out of the woods and rode hard across the green pasture, scented with wild heather. Darkness fell before he made it through Gilbane forest. Then he moved slowly, not wanting the men to know he snuck up upon their encampment. Tents, circling the small clearing, further indicated how the elders made him a pawn in their quest to fuel the war between clans. He had traveled from Druce with a half dozen men, and, yet, he stared at a camp of a hundred or more. He crept low and close to the backside of the tents less frequented. One had a guard posted, and he suspected it housed Fiachra. “Check on the woman.” He heard someone order. The muffled sounds of voices drew him closer to the tent. A hole allowed him to look through and see Fiachra tied up. “Thou are a beauty,” a man said. Bowen didn’t recognize him. “What are ye going to do with me?” Fiachra asked. “What we do with all witches. Burn thee at the stake.” “I am nay a witch,” she gasped. “All Kerne women are witches. Whores for demons, thee are.” “‘Tis a lie! Idle gossip for the weak-minded.” 22

Fiachra’s Kiss “Nay, thou are a witch if ever I seen one. The fires of hell could not be hotter then the flames of thy hair.” The man left, and Bowen quickly stabbed his knife into the canvas of the tent. The cloth tore, and he squeezed through the slit. His gaze met Fiachra’s green eyes, wide in disbelief. “What are ye doing here?” Her stare showed little fear. “Rescuing thee, me fair one.” “Ye can nay fool me, Bowen of Druce. These are thy clansmen, and ye plan to murder me.” “Nay, precious, shamed as I am to admit it, they are from Druce. However, their plans and me own are quite different.” “They mean to burn me at the stake as a witch!” Her voice rose. “Shhh…thee will bring the guard.” He crawled near her. She leaned near as he circled his arms around to reach the knots, binding her hands behind her. Her cheek brushed his, and the moisture of her glistening skin felt warm. “Do ye think I’m a witch?” The warmth of her whispering breath caressed his ear. “Thee has put a spell on me, lass.” He jerked on the rope, and she pulled her wrists free. “Ye think it for real?” “Nay, I think me head is caught in a whirlwind of emotions. It puts me body in a riotous turmoil.” “And what is that supposed to mean?” “I am a dog with me cravings. Every time I look at thee, parts of me prepare to mount thy luscious form. Thou thought men of Druce were pigs, and mayhap thou are right.” He sat back on his heels and cupped her face in his palms. Her rosy cheeks glowed with her smile. Never had he seen a woman so beautiful that she made his heart stall. “We must get thee out of here and back to Kerne. Everything has turned far more serious than I planned.” He pulled her up. “I knew it!” She twisted away. “Ye are in league with the ruffians.” “Listen to me.” He held her hands. “I did want to prevent thy marriage, but for reasons I do not have time to get into right now.” He led her to the slit in the tent and opened the gap to look out. “Bowen.” Orn stood waiting for him when he stepped outside. “I see we did not have to wait long for thee to have a change of heart. The king will be pleased.” 23

Fiachra’s Kiss Orn gave a signaling nod of his head. He turned at Fiachra’s outcry from inside the tent. “Leave her go.” “Nay, the plan is set. ‘Tis a new day, a new year, and Kerne will fall to the slaughter. King Argus will expand his empire and take yet another tribe into his service.” “Thou would have me believe mine father a part of this? After he convinced me an alliance of marriage was necessary for mine future?” He saw the men taking Fiachra across the camp to the line of horses. She struggled in their grip, and, when she broke free, he took a swing at Orn. “Thou are a stupid man, Orn.” His fist landed on the man’s jaw. Bowen didn’t wait to see the results. He ran in the same direction as Fiachra. All the men appeared brainless that day. Not one considered getting on a horse, none except him, when he saw the speed of Fiachra’s flight. Swift and serene, she leapt the low brambles and outmaneuvered the men, giving chase. Bowen vaulted onto a horse and galloped into the woods. He kicked a man aside that got too close to catching her. “Give me thee hand.” He held his arm out toward her. She stopped running, but he saw the reluctance to trust him in her stare. “Come, fair maid. I promised to return thee to Kerne, and I shall.” The men closed ground. A volley of arrows rained down around them, and Fiachra rushed to him. In one hearty tug, Bowen hoisted her up. Once her slender legs dropped behind his and her arms circled his waist, he delayed their standstill no further. Bowen charged the horse out of the enclosing group of men and rode hard until he reached the fringes of the dense Gilbane forest. Fiachra’s fingers pressed hard into his chest where she hung on tight. In his wake, he looked back and saw the warriors, now over their surprise and retrieving their mounts. “Hold on,” he ordered Fiachra. “Do ye think I would let go now?” He nudged the horse forward and chose his path, the gathering darkness swallowing them from sight of the men who were fast approaching. “This way will not get us to Kerne.” She made her observance known. 24

Fiachra’s Kiss The rising sun’s rays filtered through the trees and laced the ground with sparkles of morning light. Anyone with a sense of direction would know what she announced. “Aye, thee are correct, but we will ride further north and circle back.” He gripped her hand and held it to his heart. “They will ride for Kerne, looking for us on the direct route.” “They wish to start a war.” “Aye.” “Ye wanted the same.” “Aye, but not now.” “Why? How do I know this is not a plot to keep me away?” Bowen stopped the horse. They weren’t nearly as far from the others as he wished. Yet, he needed Fiachra to trust him. When they showed up in Kerne, it would take them both to stop what surely would begin at sunrise. He dismounted and held his hands up to Fiachra. She slipped down from the horse into his arms, and he hugged her. “Have thee eaten?” He hadn’t, and his stomach grumbled with demand. “Nay, ye were going to fetch something when the men grabbed me. Now ye have me whisked from the camp before a bit of food has neared me mouth.” She wiped a hand over her dry lips. He looked at the horse and saw they did have water with them. “Here, take a drink.” He held the water bag up and put the rim to her lips. When she finished, he took a swig and hung it back on the rigging of the horse. “Are thee all right to go on for a while? We should get a few hours along before stopping to eat.” She nodded, and he helped her up on the horse. The sadness in her eyes told a story he didn’t want to touch upon. He knew in his heart, she had the same guilt he did for leaving Kerne. He didn’t think she realized yet, that he was the son of King Argus. Until absolutely necessary, he saw no reason to upset her more. “Ye are an important man in thy clan,” she said. Bowen swallowed hard. “I heard talk.” “Oh, what kind of talk?” “They fear ye.” “Is that all?” 25

Fiachra’s Kiss “It just made me wonder why. Are ye a fearsome man? I can nay see it in ye.” She put her face upon his back. “Ye are too gentle and kind to be frightening.” His smile formed with the sigh, expelling from the tightness in his chest. “Aye lass, I am a reckoning storm they nay wish to face today if they have their wits about them.”

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CHAPTER FIVE The long night, tied up in the Druce camp, left Fiachra tired and worried. The faith she lost in Bowen eased back into place when he turned south toward Kerne. The pace they rode put them within a half day ride when they stopped to rest the horse and eat. “I will hunt up a nice plump rabbit, and thee can start a fire,” he directed. “Nay, ‘tis Samhain.” “None will know.” “Is this something ye take lightly in Druce? I could never think to have a fire when others go without. “Tis a bad deed ye ask.” “Thee doth nay believe in ghosts and goblins, but thee fears superstition.” He chuckled and put the bow back on the horse. “What manner of edibles do thee intend for us then if cooking is forbidden?” “We will hunt berries.” “We have covered this topic before when thee were running away from, what did thee call him, the pig son of King Argus?” She laughed, hearing it from him. “Aye, all Druce men, remember?” “Even me?” “Especially ye, Bowen. If ye had stopped me at Kerne, thinking to woo me from mine duty, everyone would be safe.” When his smiled dropped, she put a hand on his arm. He snaked his arm around her with the ease of fox. The idea of eating disappeared from her thoughts when he towed her up against the hardness of his body. “I can nay change the fact. However, I can be thankful thee are safe.” She leaned in to relish the maleness of his heated breath, fanning her face. “We are both safe.” She rose her arm up over his shoulder. “I 27

Fiachra’s Kiss dare nay think it, but they wanted ye dead as much as me.” “Aye, and that disturbs me.” Bowen scooped her up and carried her to a clearing of grass. Their mouths never separated. She tasted his tongue, and he tasted hers. She couldn’t get enough of his kiss. “Thou were a brave woman against Druce warriors.” “I was afraid.” She confessed quietly. “Thee need never be afraid. I will see harm doth nay befall thee.” “I was frightened I would never see ye again.” She buried her fingers in his hair and pulled his head closer. “I still fear me future without ye when I am bound to a man I do nay know.” “Oh, Fiachra, thee have nothing to worry over. Any man would be thine to command, with the curl of thy little finger.” He lifted her hand and kissed her pinky. He kissed all her fingers and the center of her palm. His large hand rubbed her hip, her side, and covered her breast. She squirmed against him. His hot breath and wet tongue slurped over her lips, making her thirst for the passion he offered. The kisses he gave freely traveled her neck, her shoulders, and downward. Her dress fell away, and he continued in his venture, over her eager body shivering from his light touch. He kissed under her breasts, nuzzling them each with his nose. “Oh, that tickles.” She laughed. “There are other places I plan to tickle thee, as well.” His tongue licked over his lips. Her legs naturally fell open, and he bent down. She fingered locks of his hair while he kissed her belly. Her dress floated up her thighs. His lips brushed over the insides, down into the crease where her leg met her tingly center. Vaginal muscles clenched eagerly, but he rose and hovered over her. Fiachra’s fingers slipped from his head to his shoulders and down his powerful arms. She didn’t want him to stop. She feared to think of how her heart would break from the separation of their lives, once they reached Kerne. She took his face in her hands and pulled him down. Kissing him with her fierce love, she reveled in the responsive passion of his returned kiss. She needed someone like him—a warrior not afraid to express affection. His tongue flicked over hers, sinfully wicked, delightfully sensual. His weight spread over her, and the roughness of his tunic teased her nipples. The weltering weight of him pressed her into the 28

Fiachra’s Kiss grassy bed. She could hardly breathe. The sounds, gurgling in her throat, halted when she gulped. She needled his flesh with her fingernails. Somehow, his hand came between them, and he dipped two fingers into her shuddering center. “Bowen. Aye, Bowen.” She clung to him. She froze on the verge of a climax. So close and, yet, not close enough, his fingers retreated. He lifted up and unfastened his britches. It seemed an eternity before he plunged his massive cock into her. She locked her knees to his sides and held onto the love of her life. The incoherent grunts of sound, she imagined as professions of his devotion. The motion of their entwined bodies, clinging to each other with eager limbs, took her into the sweet bedevilment of rapture—into a magnificent ecstasy, she’d die to suffer forever. “Thee feels good to hold, Fiachra.” She stroked her fingers at the back of his head. His body heaved harder. Muscles tensed in the arms he used to bind her. Even his jaw stiffened, and his lips pressed firm. Tiny explosions prickled her insides with a burst of heated moisture. Bowen clung possessively to her, and she cherished the surge of soothing comfort. She felt safe. “Don’t let me go,” she pleaded when his embrace loosened. “Why would I want to do that, lass?” He kissed her gently. “I am quite content to stay like this for a long time.” He nuzzled her face with his whiskers. The bristles tickled her skin and heightened her awareness of his body disengaging from her. She kissed his cheek and his jaw. Burrowing her face to his heated neck, she savored the final minutes of their lovemaking. With limbs entangled, every drop of energetic moisture from their bodies mingled. “Why would the Druce warriors want to kill ye?” She looked into his eyes. The lovely shade of brown melted her heart in a way no one’s gaze ever did before. He shook his head and frowned. His lips turned down with a displeasure she kissed away with heated urgency. Soon they would leave, and that meant giving him up. “Thee keep kissing me like that, Fiachra, and, I swear, I will not have a reason to get up.” “Then stay. Stay here with me forever, Bowen. We can live in the forest; eat berries and meat that ye hunt. I will even let ye have a fire on Samhain if it be thy wish.” 29

Fiachra’s Kiss “Shhh.” He put his finger over her lips. “Thee are going to Kerne with me. Thee will talk nay more of nay going back. All right?” “Aye.” She snuggled against him. “Aye, Bowen, I will do as ye say.”

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CHAPTER SIX Bowen stopped Fiachra from running headlong into the fight outside the village of Kerne. It appeared recently started, with little loss to warriors, and he took the guilt to heart for his delay. He let Fiachra nap when they should have made haste. “We have to stop them.” She tugged her arm in his grip. “Thou are nay going to do it by getting killed.” He dragged her behind a hut. “I need thee to find thy father.” “There.” She pointed to him, standing a safe distance from the melee of bodies clashing. “Bowen.” Orn swung his sword at him just as he turned. “I order you to stop this battle.” Bowen pushed Fiachra away and charged at Orn. “Thy witch will die, and all Kerne will be destroyed by Druce warriors. King Argus is a fool to think we will ever merge the two clans.” Bowen spun, bringing the edge of his blade around to hit Orn’s. Steel clashed against steel. Fiachra threw a pot and, in his move to avoid it, Bowen lost his balance. Instead of Orn coming at him, he went for Fiachra. Hoping for a good aim, Bowen flung his dagger at Orn. It glanced off Orn’s sword and fell on the ground. Fiachra dove toward it, rolled and, as Orn bent to grab her, she sliced into his arm. It gave Bowen a chance to get to her and stop Orn from plunging his sword into her chest. “Watch out, Bowen!” Fiachra flung herself at him. Orn came at them both, and the knife she held found a place in his stomach. He staggered back and fell to the dirt. Bowen twisted Fiachra away from the sight and held her face to his chest. “Go to thy father, and wait.” 31

Fiachra’s Kiss “But, Bowen,” she cried. “Go!” He released her, and she did as he asked. He ran toward the guard, protecting his father, but, when he looked to be sure Fiachra made it to King Airic safely, he saw one of his Druce warriors emerge from a hut and grab her. Bowen rushed to save her. “Stop!” he shouted to Collin, his sword drawn. “Bowen?” Collin looked at him, questioningly. “We heard thou was dead—killed by this woman.” “I am not dead, and thou are to stop this fight, at once.” He waved his arm at the brawl behind him. “But the woman?” Bowen took Fiachra’s arm and pulled her away from the danger. “Go stop that fight!” He ordered Collin again. “Bowen, he can nay do it alone.” She held both his hands and then let go. “Go to thy father.” He nodded. Her brave smile did not fit with her sorrowful eyes. Love tugged at his heart to stay, yet the shooing of her hands gave him permission to leave.” He avoided swinging his sword when possible. He worked through the fray to reach his father, only to lose sight of him. “Bowen,” his father shouted from behind somewhere. “Bowen!” He turned and saw him, holding Fiachra’s arm. She did not struggle. Her beautiful gaze held his as he made his way back through the fight. “Stop this at once!” Bowen pushed men apart. “I order Druce to sheath their weapons!” His father, King Argus, held up his arm at the same time. Men ran from Fiachra’s father, as well, to signal Kerne’s people to halt. “Let her be.” Bowen demanded. “I will not let thee start a war.” “They kidnapped thee,” his father charged. “Orn said thou were dead.” “Nay, the elders convinced me to kidnap Fiachra.” He took her hand and pulled her from his father. “What I did nay know was how they, in Orn’s command, planned to kill me and make it look like Fiachra’s clan started this fight.” “So thou were not in danger from Kerne warriors?” “Nay, mine danger lay in trusting our own men.” “Where is Orn?” 32

Fiachra’s Kiss “In the pits of hell.” Fiachra answered before Bowen could. “Ye can punish me for sending the swine there.” “Punish?” Bowen’s father lifted a brow. The time had come for all truths, and Bowen turned her in front of him. “Fiachra, forgive me. I delayed in telling thee I am King Argus’ son and want to beg thy pardon for the deceit.” “Ye are the man that I am to marry?” “Aye.” Bowen lifted her hand to his lips. “After all that has happened, I pledge allegiance to the protection of thee and thy clan. I do so, without any other commitment.” “None?” “Nay, I will not demand thee become me wife, simply to be thy ally.” “Good because I would refuse.” “And I accept thy choice.” He watched her lips pinch, maybe a little frustrated, maybe a bit disappointed, he really couldn’t tell. “Why are ye not going to demand thy rights?” she finally asked. “Because I believe, me fair lass, I believe in begging.” “Beg! Ye expect me to ask ye to be me husband after your trickery?” He leaned close and whispered. “I love thee, Fiachra. Please make this easy on me in front of people we might rule together.” A small sharp gasp wheezed out of her. She turned her head and looked back at her father. When she returned her gaze to Bowen, her watery eyes displayed the hope he needed. He lowered to bended knee and bowed humbly. “I beg thee, me sweet Fiachra of Kerne, to let me be thy husband.” Her fingers hovered over his head. Slowly, she put her hand on top where her fingers sifted through his hair. When he lifted his face, her touch swirled over his forehead, down his temple and to his cheek. He closed his eyes and savored her consideration. Suddenly, her hand snapped away. “Get up from there.” She chastised. “I could nay possibly respect a man that would grovel.” “But thou would nay have me treat thee dishonorably, either, would thou?” Bowen tugged her to him and brushed his hand over her fiery waves of untamed hair. She smiled and shook her head. 33

Fiachra’s Kiss “Good then what is thy answer?” “I am ready for our hand-fasting, Father,” she announced over her shoulder. Bowen smiled and repeated the same to his father without taking his gaze from hers. “I love ye, Bowen.” She stretched her arms up and wrapped them around his neck. “One night with ye has made me believe in magic.” “Then mayhap ‘tis I that is the witch in this union,” he laughed. “I would not care.” He angled his head and fit his mouth over hers. “Obviously, we have missed something, Argus,” Fiachra’s father said. “Aye,” Argus agreed. “I would say we missed their entire courtship.” Bowen ignored their fathers. Lifting Fiachra off her feet, he spun her around. Laughter filled the air with the music of her love, offering the profound contentment of peace and serenity in his life. He stopped the joyous dance to welcome the warm delicious breath of Fiachra’s kiss.

The End

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