The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (19 page)

She wondered briefly if he’d continue, should he know the truth of her own face.

With nothing but the sound of their joined breathing, and a faraway
drip-drip-drip
of water, Nia closed her eyes as slumber overtook her.

The verra last thing she remembered before drifting off to sleep was Cyric’s fingers entwining with her own. She discovered not only did she like it, but that it felt completely natural . . .

Cyric dared not move; he didna wish to disturb the wee sprite sleeping in his arms. While the cold cave didna bother him, he knew she would freeze without his warmth. Yet the feel of her soft body against his was something he hadna prepared himself for.

How long had it been since he’d held a woman close? Nearly as long as he’d been cursed to Kil arney Wood. How had the Elders ever suspected he’d find his Intended whilst banned from roamin’ his beloved Ireland? No one ventured into the wood except vagrants, thieves and gypsies.

He’d made little contact with mortals over the years, but stil they’d turned his mere presence into a legend of terror.
The Beast of Killarney Wood.
Aye, if enraged, he truly was a beast; he remembered naught when he slipped into anger, and many times in the past he’d awakened with blood on his hands and body.

He truly was a beast. A berserker. And Nia’s life was in more danger than she knew.

He didna feel like a beast, though, with Nia snuggled against his chest. So trusting and unafraid, he wondered, if she survived, what she would think of his appearance? Never before had he wondered that, but he did now. He discovered he wished powerful y to touch her. With only the slightest hesitation, he lifted a hand and found a lock of Nia’s hair. He rubbed the long strands between his fingers and thumb, and was amazed at its softness. He wished he could see it in truth. Lifting the long strand to his nose, he inhaled. It smel ed clean, sweet and fragrant, like the clover honey he stole from the hives in the wood. Then, he found her face in the pitch-darkness.

But the moment his fingers grazed her cheek, she jumped.

“What are you doing?” Nia asked, scooting away.

“I didna mean to frighten you,” Cyric said. “I wanted to comfort you. Or, myself. Mayhap both.”

“Oh,” she replied, her voice calmer. “I . . . dunna like people touching my face.” Cyric thought that to be odd. Did a woman not appreciate the stroke of a man’s hand on their skin? Then again, what did he know? He wasna even a man in truth. He was a beast. He’d been merely acting on instinct, the desire strong enough to urge his hand to seek Nia’s skin. The attraction was that powerful between them, and, aye, he could feel that Nia felt it, as wel . A voice as sweet as hers surely had a face to match. “Why is that?” he asked. “You al owed me to touch your hand.”

“Wel ,” she began, “’tis an intimate gesture meant for lovers, the touching of one’s face. Aye?” The thought was more than curious to Cyric, and whilst he was confessing to a mortal who probably would no’ survive, he continued. “I’ve never had one.” The silence stretched between them for several moments. Then Nia said, “You’ve . . . never had a lover? Ever?”

The surprise in her voice shamed him. “I’ve known nothing but blood, battle and war,” he said quietly. “You have had lovers, then?”

Nia gave a soft laugh. “I was betrothed once, but . . . no, Cyric. I’ve never had a lover.” Somehow, that soothed him. He knew no’ why, but it did. And for some odd reason, he wished to tel her. “That . . . pleases me,” he confessed. “Tel me more about yourself, Nia of Clare. What of your mother and father?”

She was silent for several moments. “My mother died in a horrible fire when I was very young,” she said. “I . . . barely escaped death myself. I believe my father resented me from then on, as he loved my mother fiercely. To lose her completely crushed him.” In the darkness, Cyric’s mouth slacked open. “Was he no’ gracious that you had survived?” He couldna fathom a father blaming a child for her mother’s death. Although he could wel imagine the sorrow of losing a woman he loved.

A slight sigh broke the darkness, and Nia shifted where she sat. “I’m sure he was simply overly distraught.”

Overly distraught? He frowned, although he knew she couldna see it. “You’re verra protective of a man who has mistreated you. ’Tis why you were running away. From him.”

“You’ve no idea why,” she said quietly. “And I no longer wish to discuss my family matters.” Anger seeped deep into Cyric’s bones, and he had no clue why it affected him so much.

Mayhap he was being irrational? Who was he anyway? An immortal beast who couldna control his fury. He was no better than her da. He reached for Nia’s hand. “I am . . . sorry. I feel powerful y protective over you.”

In the darkness, Cyric heard Nia’s breathing ease, although she said nothing. He entwined his fingers with hers, marvel ing at the slight bones in them, the softness of her skin. He stroked her wrist and slid his thumb over the quickened rhythm that matched her heart. He could hear it in the darkness, her heartbeat. The more he touched her skin, the more it raced.

His did, as wel . ’Twas a feeling he wasna used to at al .

Then, Nia did something he didna expect. She slid closer, her hand resting on his arm. “Can I touch your face?” she asked quietly. “I’d like to know what you look like, sir.” Cyric blinked in surprise. “Did you no’ say ’twas a gesture meant for lovers?” he said, truly surprised his centuries-old voice didna squeak like a young boy. His own heart quickened pace.

“Aye, I did indeed say that,” she answered, her slight hand inching upwards over the linen tunic he’d stolen from a gypsy.

Her hand burned his skin, and he was shocked at the feeling it caused in the pit of his stomach.

He dared no’ move.

“But I suddenly feel overpoweringly compel ed to touch you,” she said on a shaky whisper. “I know that sounds wicked, but . . . may I?”

So close was Nia that her sweet breath slipped over his throat. “Aye,” he answered, completely entranced.

The moment Nia’s fingertips grazed his jaw, Cyric closed his eyes and exhaled. Ne’er had a woman touched him intimately, and without scorn or hatred. He didna know how much he craved it

. . . until now.

Nia’s insides shook as she slowly explored Cyric’s face in the dark. The contact of her fingertips against the scruff of his jaw excited her, and ’twas a feeling she’d ne’er experienced in her entire life. She had no idea what compel ed her, but nothing felt more . . . right. She let her fingers move over his cheekbones, his temples, the bridge of his nose, al while Cyric sat motionless. She fingered the long column of his throat, his ears. Only their rapid breathing sounded in the cave.

When her fingers gently caressed first his chin, then his lips, a low groan sounded from somewhere deep within Cyric. Ful lips, perfectly shaped, and the sudden urge to taste those lips overcame her.

In the next instant, Cyric captured Nia’s exploring hand with his own. He held her hand stil . “Is that what you wish, Nia?” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear. “Shal I kiss you?”

“Yes,” she whispered back, her voice shaky, excited. “Kiss me.” Cyric’s warmth enveloped Nia as he grew close in the darkness and gently pressed his lips to hers. Softly they melded together, and they sat verra stil for seconds. Nia’s heart raced wildly, and then Cyric leaned into her, his mouth searching hers, tasting. Low in her abdomen, Nia burned for him. She’d ne’er burned for another.

Nia lifted one hand to Cyric’s neck, then found his hair with her fingers. Long, wild, with a single narrow braid, she threaded her fingers through it. When Cyric’s tongue touched hers, she gasped, so powerful the touch. Cyric groaned, and lifted a hand to Nia’s jaw.

She instantly jumped back.

Both were out of breath.

Then, before either could react, a hissing sound streaked downwards from the pit’s opening above. Cyric yel ed in another language and pushed Nia against the wal . Then, the smal cave fil ed with angered voices, heavy thumps and swords being drawn.

Nia couldna see a thing, but she verra wel knew what was happening. The guardsmen had discovered her and were here to take her away.

Out of the inky darkness a hand viciously clamped over Nia’s mouth, and another yanked her hard around the waist. In the next second she was being lifted straight up. Her mind reeled and silently shouted,
Cyric! Please!

Nia could barely see a thing as she and the guardsman holding her tightly cleared the opening.

The moon was nothin’ more than a sliver in the sky, and it caused more shadow than light. She was shoved to the ground as the battle ensued, that idiot of a guard firing arrows into the pit! So fearful for Cyric, her brain was a scrambled mess as she searched blindly on the forest floor for a weapon. Finding a heavy branch, she smacked the guardsman so hard his helm flew off. He fel to the wood floor with a curse and a grunt.

The sound that next came from the cave below chil ed Nia clear to the bone. First, ’twas the screams of the guardsmen. Next, the pained roar of . . . something.
Someone
.

Cyric?

In the hazy moonlight, a guardsman’s body flew from the hole as though launched by a medieval catapult. His limp and bloodied self landed no’ too far away, and ’twas just enough light for Nia to see his mangled flesh. Two more bodies fol owed, and then, with another loud roar, a creature exploded through the hole, earth and roots and rock spraying about. Without thinking, Nia knew what it was.
Who
it was
.
Feral, and nigh unto unrecognizable as a man, yet she knew.

“Cyric!” she cal ed. “Cyric, please! Run!”

The beast turned, faced her and stil ed. The guardsmen were dead – that much Nia knew.

“There wil be more to come,” she warned, stepping closer. “You have to flee!” With a blood-curdling roar, Cyric jumped towards her. In the shadows Nia could see a hulking form, long, wild hair, claws and a face covered in animal-like fur. Fangs jutted like tusks, and stil , she showed no fear.

For admittedly, only to herself, she’d fal en in love with Cyric of the Wood.

“Run!” she hol ered. “Go, now!” With a fist, she pounded his chest. Sobs shook her and escaped her throat. How she hated to cry. “Please,” she said, softer. “I can’t bear to see you hurt.” Again, Cyric lurched. His face, so animal-like, stared at her intently with human eyes that shone in the moonlight. He searched her face, so it seemed, and it was only then that Nia remembered her own disfigurement. She turned and quickly covered her face with her hands.

The empty night was fil ed with Cyric’s harsh breathing, and now Nia’s stifled sobs. Even as a beast, she didna wish for him to see her hideousness. But, she knew he had. Shame fil ed her and, for the first time since encountering Cyric, fear as wel .

Fear of the disgust she’d seen in so many others eyes – including her verra own da’s.

A shout broke the silence, fol owed by the shril whistle of an arrow.

With a deafening roar, Cyric charged the guard and kil ed him. Then, he turned back to Nia, scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder and ran. With each step he grew faster, and the weight of his clawed hand pressed against the backs of Nia’s legs to hold her steady as they forged into the shadowy wood of Kil arney.

Nia could do little more than hold on.

Nia knew not how long they ran through the wood; exhaustion had overtaken her and she’d fal en asleep against the beastly back of Cyric. She lay stil now, alone, on something soft, and without opening her eyes she listened to a strange sound. It was one she’d dreamed of hearing one day.

Could it be?

With a long pul of air, she tasted the salt of the sea on her tongue. Slowly, she opened her eyes, sat up and looked about. She lay on a soft bed of thick furs in what once had been a grand castle.

Hol ow windows al owed the fierce breeze to blow in, and lichen covered the wal s of the roofless stone shel that probably housed a hundred different memories. Standing, she moved to the window. Outside, green grass covered a rocky hil , whilst the sea’s waves crashed against the sheer cliffs of the castle’s dais. She gasped as she took in the view. A gust of wind pushed the cloak from her head, tossing her hair back. She closed her eyes and inhaled again, revel ing in the feel of the sea breeze against her skin. A shril scream sounded and she cracked open her eyes to watch a gul dive and screech.

“Nia.”

Nia turned before she thought, and the moment her eyes met Cyric’s, she hastily turned away and covered her face with her hands. “Please,” she begged. “Please, leave me.” She didna want him to look upon her marred skin, ever again. ’Twas bad enough he’d done so in his other form.

Both Cyric and the Berserker were one and the same; they’d looked upon her with the same pair of eyes and the same memory. They’d seen. Cyric had seen. And it shamed her fiercely.

Uncontrol ed quivers began inside her, and no matter what she did, or how many deep breaths she took, they wouldna cease. Angered, Nia swore.

A light chuckle sounded behind her.

“Nia, turn round.”

Nia shook her head. “I wil na, so leave me.” She pul ed the cowl of her cloak closer about her face.

Then, a pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders, and Cyric’s deep voice washed over her.

“You’ve ne’er seen the sea?” he asked gently.

Nia wouldna answer. What was he about? He’d seen her face, and stil he tormented her? He acted as though he wasna affected by her fire-marred skin. No man wasna affected by it. No’ even her own father.

“Nia, look at me.”

Final y, she’d had enough. Al the resentment and anger of being shunned the whole of her life emerged. Nia turned then, and flung her cowl off her head. Bravely, she met his gaze with her own.

“There! Are you happy now?”