THE NIGHTMARE STARTED as they often did—with Forcus’s voice.
Nearly two years on, the sound of his voice terrified Eithni still. She hated the commanding, brutal edge to it. Then came the hot blast of his breath in her ear as he took her—hurting her with each savage thrust—his hands rough and brutal. Then the pain that knifed through her and made her want to claw her way out of her own skin. It had hurt her terribly the first time, for she had been a maid, and he had not been gentle, but the pain was worse afterward. Far worse. He had taken pleasure from that too, his gaze devouring the agony that twisted her face.
Don't touch me! Leave me be!
“Eithni!”
The voice—a different voice—came from far away, seeming to reach her through a tunnel.
“Eithni!”
The voice was louder this time, puncturing the shroud of darkness and fear that held Eithni fast. She clawed her way out of sleep into wakefulness. A man's hands held her shoulders, and panic crashed over her in a great wave.
“No!” she shrieked. “Get off me!”
“Eithni … it’s me … Donnel.”
The darkness drew back. Suddenly Eithni realized that the hands gripping her by the shoulders now were not rough; this man’s fingernails did not dig into her flesh. Instead his hands merely held her firm, protecting her.
Eithni’s eyes flickered open, and her gaze met Donnel’s.
The fire pit inside their hut had burned low and was on the verge of going out. However, the last coals still emitted a red glow, illuminating Donnel’s worried face.
Eithni stared up at him, her heart galloping in her chest.
“M'eudail,” he said softly. “Are you well?”
My darling.
Eithni swallowed, her gaze holding his. “It was a bad dream,” she gasped. “The worst in a long while.”
“You dreamed of him again?” Donnel asked, his brow furrowing.
Eithni nodded and inhaled deeply, her pulse steadying as the last remnants of the dream drew back. Having Donnel here, hearing his voice and feeling the firm reassurance of his touch, made her feel much better.
“Come here, lass.” There was a tremor in Donnel’s voice that she had never heard before, and an aching tenderness. Donnel pulled her gently into his embrace and wrapped his arms around her. Eithni felt him kiss the crown of her head, before he kept his lips there and buried his face in her hair. “I will keep the night demons at bay, m'eudail.”
Eithni relaxed against the warmth of his body and felt that heat soak into her own. She was suddenly aware that Donnel was naked to the waist. It was usual to sleep naked, although while Donnel and Eithni lived together, they had both taken to sleeping partially clothed. As such, Donnel wore plaid breeches.
Melting into him Eithni breathed in the clean scent of his skin mixed with a male musk that made excitement curl in the pit of her belly. She loved that smell. Tentatively she reached out and wrapped her arms around his muscular torso.
Donnel inhaled sharply in response. He breathed her name, and the tattoo of his heart against her cheek increased in tempo. He was no longer merely comforting her; something between them had subtly shifted.
Eithni drew back and looked up. Their faces were just inches apart, and in the dim light his grey eyes looked almost black. She drank him in; he was so beautiful it hurt her to breathe. She raised a trembling hand, her fingertips tracing the lines of his finely drawn mouth. All the while he watched her, his breathing growing shallow and his body becoming still.
“Eithni,” he groaned her name. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
She shook her head. It was the truth. When it came to Donnel, she had no idea how he really felt about her. He was shrouded by layers of armor. It was difficult at times to reach the man beneath.
She wanted to understand him. This was the closest she had ever come to doing so.
Their gazes held for long drawn-out heartbeats. Eithni did not speak, for she did not want to shatter this moment. However, she ceased breathing when he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.
The kiss started gently, heartbreakingly so. It was as if he was afraid she would shatter in his arms. Yet the feel of his lips on hers, the taste of his mouth, had the opposite effect. The last of the night demons fled, and with a gasp she moved her arms up to link around Donnel’s neck and kissed him back.
A growl rose up in Donnel's chest. He pulled her hard against him, his hands sliding down the length of her back over the thin tunic she wore to sleep, to finally cup her bottom. A moment later he pulled her onto his lap. Her tunic rode up as she moved to sit astride him, but Eithni paid it no mind.
She was lost in this kiss. She did not understand why it felt so good, only that she never wanted it to end. Just a short while earlier she had been in the throes of a nightmare, suffering the touch of a man who had left deep scars upon her. Yet in the arms of this warrior, she felt unleashed. She was no longer the timid mouse Forcus had reduced her to. Instead she was a goddess.
Donnel’s hands tangled in her unbound hair as he deepened the kiss. His mouth was not gentle anymore; it was hungry and demanding. Eithni felt the hardness of his shaft pressing against her lower belly, and a sensation leapt within her—an odd blend of excitement and fear.
He wanted her.
Donnel broke away then, breathing hard. He stared down at her, his high cheekbones flushed, his lips bee-stung, and his eyes shining. “I shouldn't be doing this,” he said, his voice rough. “I shouldn’t be touching you now … especially after that dream.”
Eithni shook her head. She did not want him thinking that. She had to make him understand that his touch healed her. “I want you, Donnel,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop.”
His eyes widened, and he stared down at her. Perhaps he had expected her to shrink back from him, fear and repulsion in her eyes. Yet it was taking all Eithni’s self-control not to throw herself at him. Watching Donnel—her heart hammering against her ribs—she waited for his desire to cool, for his shields to go up as they had the day when she had brought him that feast in the forest. She would not blame him for it although she was not sure she could suffer the agony of disappointment. The agony of not having his hands on her body.
“There is nothing wrong with this,” she whispered finally, her chest aching from need. “Whatever the wounds of the past. I’m a woman, you’re a man … and we want each other. There’s nothing more natural—”
Donnel’s mouth came down hard on hers, cutting off the things Eithni had been about to say. She had only just begun to open her heart to him; she had been ready to get down on her knees and beg him to touch her.
However, it seemed that Donnel mac Muin was not made of stone after all.
His kisses were wild now, and Eithni matched him. It did not even feel as if her body, her will, belonged to her any more. She was not sure who this woman was who raked her fingers down his back, who tangled her tongue with his. She liked this woman though—for this was how Eithni had dreamed of being.
Once, when she had shared her hut with Lucrezia, she had confided to her friend about her past. There had been great sadness in her that day, for she had seen the burgeoning passion between Tarl and Lucrezia and had believed she would never experience the same herself.
Breathing hard, she pulled back from Donnel and yanked her tunic over her head, exposing herself to him. His gaze was hot as it raked over her. He then lifted her to her knees and pulled her close so that he could touch her. Eithni sighed, closing her eyes and giving herself up to sensation. He ran his hands over the length of her body, before his mouth fastened upon her breasts.
She gasped and looked down to see he was suckling one. Her breasts were small and peaked. She had always lamented her lack of bust—comparing herself unfavorably to Tea. She had thought men would not find her attractive, yet now Donnel worshipped her breasts.
“Perfect,” he mumbled, releasing one swollen nipple before he fastened on its twin.
Eithni groaned, closed her eyes, and gave herself up to sensation once more. Her knees were starting to wobble under her.
Donnel reared back and started to unlace his breeches. Watching him, Eithni stifled a gasp.
The Mother and the Maiden save me. Could there be a man alive more beautiful than this one?
Naked he was more breathtaking than she had imagined. Even his shaft—a part of the male body she had deliberately avoided thinking about—was magnificent. It was swollen and hard, straining against his belly.
“You can touch me … if you want, Eithni,” Donnel said. The rasp in his voice excited her beyond measure. Her lower belly felt molten, and a strange ache pulsed between her thighs.
Nervously she reached out, her fingertips trailing up the hard length of him. “Your skin is so soft,” she whispered. “But you’re so hot … so hard.”
Her words inflamed him. With a growl he pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. They fell back on the furs, Eithni beneath him, and she moaned at the velvet feel of his skin sliding over hers. Without even realizing she was doing so, she parted her thighs for him, wrapping her legs around his hips.
A heartbeat later she felt the tip of him pressing against her core.
And for a moment the shadows of the past intruded, dimming the passion that had made her fearless. Eithni’s body went rigid under Donnel’s.
He stilled, propping himself up on his elbows so he could look down at her. “I would never hurt you,” he whispered. “If you wish it … I will stop.”
“No, don’t,” she gasped. The memories faded, and she was with him again. “It was just a surprise that’s all.”
He smiled down at her, before reaching out and stroking her face. “Let me make it a good surprise then.”
Donnel entered her slowly. He was large, and she was still tense, so he took his time allowing her to get used to his size—to stretch around him.
Eithni forced herself to breathe, to relax her body, and to her surprise it did not hurt at all. Instead she felt a wondrous aching fullness. When he was buried deep inside her, Donnel moved his hips in a circular motion, and a shaft of pleasure arrowed through Eithni’s lower belly.
She gasped, and when he did it again, she gave a soft cry of pleasure.
“Is that good, mo leannan?” he murmured.
My lover. His words caressed her, like his hands that had returned to her breasts, like his shaft that was now buried to the root within her.
“Aye,” she groaned. “Please … don’t stop.”
He reared back, withdrawing from her slightly while he lifted her legs, placing them over his shoulders. Then he began to rock back and forth, sliding deeper into her with each movement.
Exquisite pleasure rippled out from her core.
Each movement of his hips lifted her higher and higher toward some nameless goal. Eithni let out a choked gasp and whispered his name. She opened her eyes, gazing up at him under heavy lids. Donnel towered above her, his naked skin gleaming with sweat in the dying light of the embers.
She noted the tension in his shoulders, the fierce expression on his face, and realized that he was reining himself in. He was going slowly and gently on her account. A feeling of safety settled over Eithni at the sight. This powerful, passionate man was afraid of hurting her. He was holding back for her pleasure.
“Please,” Eithni breathed. “I need more, Donnel … I need you.”
His face twisted, a nerve flickering in his cheek. “I can’t,” he ground out. “I don’t want to—”
“I want it,” she cried as the pressure mounted within her.
With a curse he parted her legs wide and thrust deep between them.
Eithni cried out, shivering as excitement mounted within her and uncontrollable tremors began radiating out from her loins. She arched back against the deerskin and dug her fingers into his broad shoulders as he rode her.
He was her rock in a harsh cruel world.
Donnel’s self-control snapped then, unraveling like a ball of yarn cast down a hill. He plunged deep, and Eithni felt him release inside her as she climaxed once again, her cries splitting the night.