Celtic Fire(86)

A fierce hunger came over her, an untamed craving so great she was powerless to resist it. She probed Lucius’s lips with the tip of her tongue, hesitantly at first, then with growing passion, demanding entrance.

He opened to her at last, allowing her plunder and taking his own. His hands cupped her buttocks, lifting her slightly, then sliding her cleft along the hard ridge beneath his tunic. He repeated the motion, raising and lowering her in a sensuous rhythm until she thought she would go mad.

Her fingers caught the tangled curls at his nape and held tightly. She wrapped one leg around his, rubbing like a cat, desperate to get closer. Her arousal grew unbearable. She moved in sinuous rhythm against him, wanting him inside her, needing him to assuage her need.

A cautious rap sounded at the door. Rhiannon went rigid, passion draining as quickly as it had come. Dear Briga! What was she doing? Marcus lay sleeping but a few steps away. She fought Lucius’s arms. “Release me.”

He permitted her to turn but didn’t let her step out of his embrace. He slipped one arm across her torso and pulled her against his body. Her spine pressed into his chest and stomach. His arousal prodded the small of her back.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened, admitting Demetrius. The healer had visited the bath sometime during the night. His soiled tunic and mantle had been exchanged for clean garments and his hair and beard had been washed and combed. His eyes, however, were red-rimmed, and Rhiannon guessed he’d had little rest. Rhiannon, rigid in Lucius’s arms, felt her face go hot, but the healer’s attention barely touched her before swinging to Marcus. He hastened to the bed and placed his hand on the lad’s brow.

“The gods be praised,” he said.

“The fever broke before dawn,” Rhiannon said.

“Should we wake him now so he may take some nourishment?” Lucius asked.

Demetrius shook his head. “Better that he rest.” His gaze strayed, at last, to Rhiannon, still held firm against Lucius’s body.

She resisted the urge to squirm under his knowing gaze. “Sleep is healing,” she told Lucius, trying desperately for calm. “He may eat when he wakes.”

“Then we’ll retire as well,” Lucius said.

“Yes,” said Demetrius dryly. “Please do. I will stay with the boy while you two, ah …”

Rhiannon blushed even more.

“… rest,” he finished.

Lucius tightened his hold on Rhiannon, hand splayed on her stomach, pressing her even more firmly against his arousal. “We’ll return soon.”

“No need. Take your time.”

Lucius shifted Rhiannon to his side, positioning her between him and Demetrius. “I’ve no wish to display my rod before the old goat,” he said against her ear.

Demetrius snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve seen it before.”

Rhiannon nearly choked.

“Your hearing is far too sharp for an old man,” Lucius muttered darkly. He propelled Rhiannon toward the door and lifted the latch.

“I suggest a shave and bath before you fall into her bed, Luc,” Demetrius said, chuckling.

Lucius half turned as he shepherded Rhiannon out of the chamber. “As always, Magister, I bow to your wisdom.”

The healer let out a bark of laughter. “Begone, boy. I’ll tend your son while you tend your woman.” He waggled his bristly brows. “Make your ancestors proud.”



Lucius moved his hands over Rhiannon’s body, dipping into her gentle curves and exploring her sleek, muscled limbs through the soft fabric of her tunic. The feel of her spun through his soul like an intoxicating fire. It would consume him, leaving little more than ash, but he no longer cared.

With Rhiannon in his arms he felt alive in a way he’d never before experienced: more vital than dawn, his mind sharper than the instant before a battle horn sounded. When he looked at the world through her eyes, the narrow path of his life split open. A myriad of possibilities spread out at his feet, each choice glittering like a gem. The expectations heaped upon him at birth faded. With Rhiannon by his side he would have the courage to become the man he longed to be, not the figurehead tradition and family demanded.

He nuzzled her breast.

She tried to push him away. “Lucius! Someone will see.”

No doubt. They stood on the upper passageway in full view of anyone who might venture into the courtyard. Dawn’s light painted the sky in shades of rose and violet. After the long, dark hours shut in Marcus’s chamber, its effect on Lucius was like that of a drug.

“If some curious eye cares to watch, let it,” he said, “as long as Marcus and Demetrius are safely occupied.” He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent—mist and flowers underlaid with the fiery musk of her arousal. He could hardly wait to lose himself inside her. But where? The chamber adjoining his own? No. He would not let Demetrius amuse himself by listening. On the stair?