She threw her hands up. “I don’t know. Waited for a while, I suppose.”
That twitchy place under his eye was back. “Just a while?”
She stalked over to a pile of cushions, unbuckled her rucksack, and flopped down. “Christ, Fionn. I’m tired. I’ve had a hell of a couple of days. Can’t you just tell me you’re happy to see me and leave it at that?”
“No.”
She thought about asking why not and then decided she didn’t really want to know. Next, she thought about asking if he wanted her and Rune to leave. She glanced about for the wolf. He and Bella chatted companionably in a corner. It appeared the raven had offered a far warmer—and less complicated—greeting for her fellow bond animal than Fionn had managed for her. Nah, even if he told me to leave, I couldn’t go anywhere without sleep. “How about if we both get some rest?”
“Not until you tell me what happened.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Won’t it keep till morning?”
Fionn shook his head so hard, unbound hair fell into his face. He pushed it back with an impatient gesture.
“Okay, I give up,” she said. “It shouldn’t take all that long. We could spend more time arguing about it than it will take to tell…” Fifteen minutes later, she was just finishing her description of Orione and her discovery that she could understand the Old Ones’ language, when he held up a hand.
“I know you’re tired. And I’m sorry I pounced on you, but could you describe the dragonesque thing again. Close your eyes, take your time. I need every detail you can remember.”
“Can you get me something to drink?”
“Sure.” He got up and went into an alcove. In a few minutes, he handed her a cracked cup of something decidedly alcoholic.
She took an experimental sip that exploded on her tongue. It tasted of flowers and summer. She met his gaze for the first time since he’d raised his voice. “What is it?”
“Mead.” In answer to the question in her mind, he added, “I made it from honey.” He gestured with two fingers for her to concentrate. “The dragon?”
She did the best she could describing Orione. It seemed to satisfy Fionn, because he didn’t ask any more questions. Somehow, her cup was empty. The warmth of the liquor relaxed her tense muscles. Her eyelids drifted toward half-mast.
He laid a hand on her knee. “Let me hold you, lass. Morning will be here before we know it.”
A feeble protest rose to her lips that she really was too tired to do anything other than sleep, but he shushed her. He helped her to her feet, and leaning on him, she let him lead her to the bed. He pulled off her boots and then lifted her legs onto the low platform fragrant with pine boughs. She curled into a ball on her side and felt him fit his body behind her. His breath was warm and soothing on her neck. It felt good to be held and cherished. But it felt awful to have to answer to anyone else. Her brain tried to find words to express the dilemma, but drowsiness befuddled her tongue. All she could do was murmur his name. She didn’t know why, maybe because she was so tired, but she called him by his whole name, the one she’d been supposed to breathe into the green-flecked quartz crystal: Fionn MacCumhaill.
“Aye, lass,” he murmured against her ear. “Ye are bound to me, just like ye are to yon wolf. And like him, I will protect you forever.”
She fell asleep trying to tell him she belonged to no one but herself.
When she woke in the depths of the night, his body was still curved around hers. She turned to face him and called her mage light. It played over the bones in his face and reflected the blue of his eyes when he opened them.
“You’re awake,” he said softly, Irish lilt all but gone from his voice. Maybe she’d imagined it just before she’d fallen asleep. “I would have thought you’d sleep till morning.” Reaching out with tenderness at odds from his earlier ire, he smoothed hair away from her face.
She smiled sleepily. “Nice to wake in your arms.”
The arms in question tightened about her. He found the hollow in her neck with his mouth and trailed kisses downward until he ran into the opening of her shirt.
“I can take it off,” she murmured. Heat ran like molten silver through her veins. She’d never met anyone who got her going so quickly, except the dark gods, and they didn’t count.
“Let me help you.” His voice was hoarse.
As soon as she pushed the wool top over her breasts, he moved her bra aside and closed his mouth over a nipple. His teeth grazed sensitive flesh. She pressed her body against him. He sucked harder, bringing her nipple to a hard, aching point of sensation. Fionn switched to the other breast. Knowing fingers twirled and tugged, replacing his mouth. She felt a climax build and embraced the exquisitely sensitive nerve endings driving her toward it. She started to shove a hand between her legs and then knew she wouldn’t have to. The combination of his mouth and fingers was plenty. She came, grinding her crotch against him, hands and teeth digging into his shoulders.