Chapter Three
Kingdom of Munster
Ireland, 1060
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“KEEP QUIET,” A DEEPmasculine voice with an Irish lilt warned when Riona nearly screamed, “or ‘twill be the end of us both, lass.”
While tempted, she sensed rather than saw he could be trusted. He wasn’t Declán or Raghnall. Moments later, the world flipped over once more, and she was thrust into complete darkness.
“Aodh?”she thought, hoping she could figure out this telepathic thing that was supposed to exist between these kings and her and her sisters. More so, hoping he caught her thought.“Is that you?”
“’Tis,”he confirmed. “Now, be quiet, so I can listen.”
She had experienced a lot of unusual things in her life, but nothing quite like the sound of someone talking within her mind. It was different but not unwelcome. Liam had tried to speak to her this way over the past few days, but it never worked.
Seconds felt like hours as she waited. Kept quiet.
Finally, he spoke. “’Tis all right, Riona. You are safe.” His voice grew guttural. His accent thickened. “Despite what ye see when I light this flame, ye’re safe.”
She understood what he meant when a small flame sparked to life in his palm, and she saw his golden catlike eyes. His inner dragon. Yet, for all his clear frustration with it, his gaze remained steady on her face. A face that, while different, was similar enough to his brothers that there could be no doubt who he was. Aodh was bigger, though. More intimidating with his sheer size, which said something, given the others weren’t exactly small.
Like Cian when he first arrived in New Hampshire, Aodh was dressed entirely in black, with boots, black trousers, ortriús, coupled with a tunic and a long leather great coat, orcóta mór, cinched at the waist.
“Hello,” she managed, not sure what else to say. Shedidknow what to feel when she realized he was as wounded in real life as he had been in her camera lens. “You’re hurt.”
And losing too much blood.
“Don’t,” he ground out, closing his eyes when she shifted closer. “’Twill be fine.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” She frowned at the light sputtering in his palm. “You would usually be able to heal this kind of wound, wouldn’t you? Because of your inner dragon?”
“Nay, ‘tis—”
“A wound that your inner beast should be able to handle,” she reiterated. Going off pure instinct, a need to help, she yanked off her hoodie and pressed it against his wound.
“What did you just say?” he asked, jarring her from a reverie she hadn’t realized she had slipped into until her eyes snapped open to darkness.
“What?” she stuttered, confused.
“You chanted something.” Fire flared to life in his palm again, only this time it was more steady. “In another language. An older form of Gaelic, I would say.”
“I don’t know.” She fought a wave of fear, confused. “As far as I know, I didn’t say anything.”
“’Tis all right, lassie.”
She didn’t realize she was trembling until he pressed his hand over hers and a soothing warmth spread through her.
“’Tis all right,” he repeated, glancing from their hands to her. He might still look ferocious despite his eyes returning to normal, but his voice was soothing. Calming. “’Twas just a language you once spoke. Nothing to be frightened of.”
“How do you know that?” she whispered, unable to find her voice. “As far as I know, I said nothing.”
“But you did.” Far gentler than she thought a man like him could be, he carefully removed her hand and sweatshirt. “See?” He pulled up his sleeve enough that she could view his wound more clearly. “’Tis nearly healed thanks to you.”
“Oh,wow.” She touched the area, surprised by the heat of his skin. “I did that? Seriously?”
“Ta.” He considered her. “Because you are a druidess, yes? An Unnamed One?”
