Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (40 page)

“You need your rest,”
he
told her quietly.

Shiovra
sat up
carefully
, holding her blankets to her
brea
s
ts
as she
shook her head. “I cannot,” she whispered
, suppressing a chill
. “Sleep only brings fire and death.”

Th
e Milidh man was quiet a moment
and then
said
in a low voice
, “
Just this once, let me help
you forget.”

“How?” she questioned.

“I will show you,” he replied. Putting a hand and knee onto the foot of the bed, he began to crawl towards her
, letting the curtain fall shut behind him.

S
hiovra started, shifting
back a bit, hands clutching the blankets tighter
as her
pulse quickening. His movement pulled against the blanket
s and they
shifted, sliding off her left leg to reveal bare skin.

Odhrán continued to crawl towards her,
slipping
one leg between hers while the other flanked it. He lifted a hand up and caught a lock of her hair, letting it slip slowly from his fingers.

She knew she should push him away, but her body would not respond.
The weight of his body threatened to pull the blanket from her grasp, threatened to reveal
her state of undress.

When the last strand escaped his grasp, Odhrán slipped his fingers down her neck and along her shoulder.
Leaning
slowly towards her,
he brought
his lips to hers as his hand slid up to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer.

The kiss was deep and passionate, far more intense than any other he had given her.
Shiovra
found she was overwhelmed with several feelings; the heat of his breath and touch, the worry of Eiladyr waking, the fear of treading into the unknown. Managing to break the kiss,
Shiovra
turned her head away. “Odhrán…” she began quietly, her plea falling short.

“You want to forget
?” came his reply as h
is lips roamed her jaw and neck, sending heat rushing to her cheeks.

“We cannot,” she refuted. “The alliance…”

“Does not matter right now,” he interrupted, tugging on the blankets and pulling them from her grasp.
His eyes drifted briefly over her nude body, lingering.
“At this moment there is only you and me. No promises of unions, no titles, nothing but a man and woman.”

Fear tumbled through her entire body and still she could not push him away.
“You know we cannot do this
,
”
she breathed.

“I told you I do not care.”

She could hear huskiness to his voice, heard
the quickness to his breath
. Closing her eyes,
Shiovra
remained still as the blanket was pulled fully away and his mouth trailed over her skin. The beat of her heart was deafening in her ears, quickened by the
fiery
path his lips took. And, when his mouth found her breast, her breath hitched in her throat.

“Odhrán…”
H
is name passed her lips in a whimper. The heat flooding
Shiovra
’s body was nearly as tremendous as the genuine fear that she felt.

Odhrán’s hand left her hair,
running along her side to slip
between her legs to caress the soft skin of her thigh.

Shiovra
trembled, her hands tightly clenched as another protes
t died
on her lips. And, when his hand left her thigh, it took her a moment to realize that he unlaced his breeches. Her breath quickened as he brought his other leg between hers and paused, kneeling above her.

“Wait…” she breathed in a moment of panic, her hand
s
flying up to rest on his chest but not pushing him away.

Brining his mouth to her ear, Odhrán
whispered, “Just this once, allow me to help you forget. Let me show you what you do to me.”

His words, spoken with great want and affection, lessened her resolve. Wetting her lips, she nodded slowly.

“I will not lie,” he told her, breath hot against her skin as he tenderly pushed her back onto the bed. “
This will hurt for a bit, b
ut I will be as gentle as I can.”

Shiovra
only
had
a moment to ponder the meaning of Odhrán’s words before his hand pressed against her mouth, stifling the soft cry
of pain
that escaped her lips as he push
ed
into her.
She fought back tears, her nails digging slightly into his skin.

Odhrán retaliated by biting her neck lightly and pushing in deeper.

Hesitantly, she moved her hands from his chest to wrap her
arms around him
, her grip tightening with each
slow, careful
thrust
of his hips
.

His hand remained clamped over her mouth till she no longer cried out in pain, moving to bury deeply in her hair.

She had never imagined coupling with a man would feel quite that way; the heat that filled her body, the pleasure she had begun to feel once the pain waned away. She knew well what they did could seriously endanger the union with Dún Fiáin should it be found out.
Yet
f
or that moment,
as he filled her body with
wondrous new sensations
,
sending ripples of
gratification
to her very core,
promises that were made did not matter.
All that mattered was h
e wanted her and she needed him.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The air around Tara had become chilly and
heavy
gray clouds filled the sky. An
un
earth
l
y quiet had settled over the
village
as a thick milky fog drifted
in and lingered
.
Shiovra
made her w
ay through Tara, a dark
woolen cloak securely fastened about her shoulders. The
fog
swirled and parted before her as she made her way through the village towards Dana’s shrine
. She paused before the entrance, almost hesitant
. A moment of pause was brought to her step before she slipped through the door.

Torches dimly lit the shrine
while offering had been laid out on the altar.
Kneeling before the statue, Shiovra closed her eyes
. “
Dana of the light, Danu of darkness, I seek your guidance,”
she said quietly. “
Ainmire’s life hangs before me and I fear I will not be able to save it. I know not when the enemy will strike, nor by what means they will use. I fear there is naught I can do.” She paused, bowing her hear. “Please, if you can help me…if they is any knowledge you can lend. Then perhaps he can be saved.”

W
ind gust into the shrine, cold and bitter, followed by the gentle hum of a woman’s voice.

Opening her eyes, Shiovra rose slowly to her feel and turned.

A thick, stifling fog rolled
through the doorway.

Frowning, Shiovra took a step back and looked down as wisps of fog reached out to lick at her skin and clothing.
Something was not right, she could feel it.

The humming grew louder, a song
a mother
would
sing
to sooth a child’s fears.

Catching movement in the corner of her eye, Shiovra
looked up quickly, her heart racing.

A shadow shifted through the fog.

S
he took another step back
, her eyes narrowed on the figure
.

The shadow moved closer, slowly taking shape as the gentle hum quickly turned in the mad laughter of a man. Suddenly the fog parted and a m
an stepped through. His hair had been washed with lime and his green eyes danced with madness. She had never seen the man before, but his name whispered in her mind:
Deasún.

Throwing his head back in laughter, he suddenly lunged for her.

Shiovra cried out, brining her arms up quickly to ward off an attack that never came.
Shaking with fear, she remained frozen for a long while.

“Shiovra?”

Struggling to calm her breathing, she cautiously lowered her arms.

The man was nowhere to be seen and the fog gone. Only Odhrán stood in the doorway, looking at her in concern.

“What happened?” he pressed, walking to her and placing his hands on her arms.

“I know who takes Ainmire’s life…” she breathed, meeting his gaze fully. “I must speak with Ceallach!”

Odhrán nodded. Keeping one hand on her arm, he walked with her from the cottage.

Shiovra walked as quickly as she could without breaking into a full run. She needed to get to Ceallach as swiftly as possible, but she did not want to bring alarm to the villagers. Odhrán’s hold on her arm helped keep her pace steady.
Without casting a glance at the warriors standing guard, she rushed into the main cottage.

The Fomorii man stood in the cottage, but he was not alone. Three warriors from Dún Fiáin stood with him, deep in discussion.

“Ceallach,” Shiovra said breathlessly.

Pale eyes turned to meet hers.

“I must speak with you,” she urged. Her eyes drifted over the faces of the warriors. “Alone.”

Ceallach nodded. “We shall continue later,” he told the warriors, gesturing for them to leave.

Shiovra watched as the men nodded and left without question.

Odhrán closed the door and stood guard before it.

Ceallach stepped close to Shiovra, reaching his hand out and tilting her chin up as he searched her eyes. “What have you seen?”

“Ainmire’s murderer,” she replied.

His eyes narrowed on hers. “You are trembling,” he said in a low voice. “Such fear I see in your eyes.”

Shiovra remained still under the Fomorii man’s gaze. His hand was cold on her chin, but it was nothing compared to the chill she had felt only moments before. “Deasún.” The name fell bitterly from her lips.
She felt Ceallach’s hand tense on her chin.

“Perhaps the cruelest and most twisted Milidh huntsmen in Ailill services
,” he murmured. “He is dangerous, a mad man who lunacy knows no bounds
.”
Ceallach dropped his hand and turned away. “He will strike at night, that is how Deasún moves. Already Fomorii fog fills the village and I do not have the strength to turn it away. He will attack and very soon.”

“What do we do?” she asked.

“We wait,” he replied simply.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Samhain had come upon Tara and the fog which
had settled in the village
become thicker. Offerings to the Morrigú had been placed on makeshift altars marking the end of the harvest season: fruits, grapes, and even smooth stones. Large fires had been lit, giving the fog an eerie glow to it. The unusual quiet and whispering which had settled over Tara had been lifted, repl
aced with the merry celebration
of remembrance for the dead.

Dressed in a long sleeved shift under a dark woolen tunic,
Shiovra
tossed a cloak about her shoulders and secured it with a simple clasp. Taking up a torch in hand, she made her way to the Mound of Hostages, the burial mound of the chieftains of Tara
. Coming
to a stop outside the
entrance, a soft breeze drifted out to
circle her, the torch flames dancing in response.

The entrance to the Mound of Hostages
was dark and unwelcoming. The wind moaned
a
s it drifted past the opening while t
he grass covering the
mound rustled and whispered
.

Shiovra
stood alone, looking down the dark tunnel
.

“My daughter…”

She spun
at the voice, one
she had not heard in a long time. One that brought both fond and painful memories.

The transparent form of a woman with long golden-brown hair and bright blue eyes stood before her. Her blue woad honor marks stoo
d stark against her pale skin and a
sad smile touched her lips.
“Merry meet, daughter,”
she said, voice echoing.