When she beckoned him intimately near, he masked his astonishment. It had been an eternity since his queen had invited him to share her pillowed haven. What was she up to? As he sank down beside her, she molded her body against his. He exhaled a low rush of breath, the equivalent of a human shiver. She was the Queen of the Tuatha de Danaan for a reason: Her power was enormous, her allure immense. She was erotic, and many found her frightening; a mere mortal could lose his life in her arms, drained by her appetites. Even among Adam's kind, males had walked away from her boudoir changed.
"Naught to worry, my Queen, I have been but passing idle time with Circenn." Unable to resist, he kissed a golden nipple, dragging his tongue across the peak.
Aoibheal watched him, her unusual eyes bright, her head propped upon a delicate fist. She fisted her other hand in his hair and lifted his head from her breast. Her exotically slanted eyes were ancient in her ageless face. "Think you I know not of the woman?" she said. "You've done it again. How far do you think you may push our limits?"
"I did not bring her through time. It was not my doing. Circenn cursed something, and, as a result, the woman was brought back to his century."
"I see." She stretched her long, slim body languidly, sweeping the curve of her breasts against him. "Please remind me, I seem to be forgetting—who was it that taught Circenn Brodie how to curse things in the first place?"
Adam acknowledged his guilt with silence.
"Assure me, fool mine, that you had nothing to do with precisely when and where that cursed object was found. You did not perhaps nudge it a bit in one direction?"
"I no more nudged the object than arranged the battle in which it was lost."
She laughed softly. "Ah, another Adam-ism—that which confesses nothing while arrogantly concealing nothing. I have seen her. I went to Brodie and inspected her. I find her quite… interesting."
"Leave her alone," Adam snapped.
"So you do have an interest in this, although you conveniently blame it on that Scot laird." She cocked her head and regarded him coolly. "You will not interfere again. I know you've been visiting her in another guise. Eirren will pay her court no more. No." She raised a hand when he would have protested. "Amadan Dubh, I compel you thusly: You will leave neither my side nor the isle of Morar unless I grant you permission."
Adam hissed. "How dare you!"
"I dare anything. I am your Queen, though you seem to forget it from time to time. You pay clever tithes to my supremacy with your lips, but you defy me over and again. You have gone too far. You broke one of our most serious covenants with Circenn Brodie, and now you dare to compound it. I will not tolerate it."
"You are jealous," Adam said cruelly. "You resent my attachment—"
"It is unnatural!" Aoibheal hissed. "You should have no such attachment! It is not our way!"
"It was done long ago and cannot be undone. Do not think to constrain me. I will only find a way around it."
Aoibheal arched a gilded brow. "I think not, Amadan, for you are at my side until I release you. My command was clear. Ponder it. There is no weak spot for you to exploit."
In his mind, Adam sorted through her words. Her command had been simple, direct, and flawless. His eyes widened as he comprehended how completely she had snared him with so few words. Most who tried to command him composed lengthy written canons, like that boorish Sidheach Douglas at Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea, who'd written a veritable book. But sometimes, less was truly more, and she had chosen her words well. He could leave neither her nor the island unless and until she said so. "But they will sully my creation."
"I care not. From this moment on, you are powerless in their lives. Amadan Dubh: I take from you the gift of sifting time."
"Stop!"
"Obey me and cease your tiresome protests."
"You bitch."
"For that I take from you your ability to weave worlds."
Adam fell silent, his face ashen. The Queen could strip everything from him, if she so desired.
"Are you quite finished?" she asked silkily.
Adam nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"Good. When it is done, I will release you. When they have played out their choices. Now come, lovely fool: Show me you still know how to please a Queen, and make it your finest effort, for you have offended me most egregiously and I shall require much in the way of… mmm"
* * *
Robert the Bruce was fuming. The travel-stained, weary messenger who stood before him shuffled miserably, awaiting the fatal blow. He eyed the Bruce's sword, knowing that the moment his king pulled it from its scabbard, he would likely lose his courage and dignity and beg or, worse, run.