Her chin bumped up a notch, and she looked straight into his eyes. "It seems your name fits you far better than I had guessed," she told him. "Niall of the Seven Betrayals. You betray every gift life has offered you."
She started to pull away, to return to the castle, but his grip tightened.
"What gifts has life offered? Betrayal, hatred, lies—"
"Love and laughter and the beauty of the sun rising each morn. The gift of a new day, unblemished, fresh and clean, where everyone can begin again no matter what mistakes we have made. We all make mistakes, Niall. Hurt people, fail them. But when morning comes, we get the chance todecide whether to cling to the hurts or free our hearts to joy. Let the pain go."
"Is that what you are doing, Caitlin, with those fairy-blue eyes of yours? Daring me to take these gifts of yours? Perhaps you are everything Conn feared, a powerful enchantress bewitching me. Wakening in me this hunger, a magic spell cast so I would betray my chieftain and spare your life."
Storms raged through him. She could feel them pulse into her through the palms of his hands. For a heartbeat, she wanted to flee, afraid of the tempest she had stirred inside him. But she plunged into the center of Niall's inner storm, just as she had plunged into the sea.
"I wish I was a sorceress! Possessed of enough magic to make you open your eyes, see what you have become! A coward too afraid to feel anything but hate."
"You want to know what I feel, woman?" A low snarl breached Niall's lips. "I feel this, curse you! Aye, Caitlin, I feel this!" With an oath, he dragged her against him. His mouth closed over hers, hard and hot, more dizzying than the currents that had nearly pulled her out to sea. She reeled at the wonder of it, passion sweeping an unquenchable fire through her.
Niall's mouth burned its contours into hers,maddened with a hunger so fierce it terrified her. Inflamed her. Knees weak, body trembling, Caitlin wound her arms around his taut waist to keep from crumpling to the ground. The soft globes of her breasts yielded against his chest and she felt the hammering of his heart like a wild stag trapped, as his hands swept over the hollow of her back, the flare of her hip, the thin cloth of her leine scarce a barrier between them.
He buried one hand in the tumbled black waves of her hair, tipping her head back to bare her throat. His mouth coursed down her cheek, nuzzling that vulnerable white skin, nipping at her neck with fierce tenderness. One large hand swept up between them to where her breasts were aching.
Nay, Caitlin thought, this was wrong. What had seemed a dare had gone too far. She should not allow this to happen. But she had not allowed it. She had embraced it. Needed so much more. She could not breathe, waiting for the shift of Niall's big hand onto her breast. She dared not turn her body into that caress, knew she should move away. But she only froze, so still, wanting... wanting.
A low groan reverberated from Niall's chest as his fingers edged up, brushing the outer curve ofher breast, then his battle-hardened palm slid over the aching globe, enclosing it. Pleasure so intense that it stunned her pulsed through Caitlin. She moaned softly as his thumb skimmed over her nipple with exquisite tenderness. "Niall... ah, Niall... never did I even imagine..."
Niall froze. As suddenly as the storm had broken, it was over. He grasped her shoulders, pushing her away.
"Nay, Caitlin! We will not do this! I am sworn to protect you, not—"
His voice caught. His eyes burned black in the moonlight with rage, with wonder, with need and a denial that cut Caitlin deep. “Woman, what have you done to me?"
Caitlin met his gaze, praying her quaking legs would support her. "What have I done?" She gave a ragged laugh. "Reminded you of something, Niall. When I was—was in your arms and..." She stumbled on the words, her cheeks burning at the memory of the passion that had flared between them. But she raised her chin, defiant. "That is what it feels like to be alive."
She pulled away from him and all but ran back to the castle, scrambled up to her room, heedless of the bumps and bruises she gained on the way.
But no matter how long she tossed and turned upon Aniera's sea-spun bed, sleep eluded her. The night was filled with a mouth hot as fire, hands impossibly strong, and eyes burning with loathing for the woman who had dared to discover the greatest enemy Niall of the Seven Betrayals had ever faced.
Despair.
Chapter 8
Niall watched Caitlin disappear into Castle Daire, the soft linen of her leine rippling behind her, her hair a dark tangle tumbling down her back. And he wondered, was she so innocent that she did not know? No matter how many walls she put between them, neither she nor Niall could ever escape what they had done. Kissed beneath Caitlin's stars as if their very souls were starving, aye, and his body...
Niall stalked a few steps toward the castle. Forced himself to halt. Every muscle strained toward her, demanding that he follow her, scoop her up into his arms. Carry her up to the sea bed and show his convent-bred lady just what she had aroused in him.
Need sharper than any sword blade that had ever bitten into his flesh. Passion so hot it burned reason away. Yet had she not stolen his reason days ago in that frozen instant when he had looked into her terror-wide eyes and known he could not kill her?
Why? Not because of honor, nobility, not even because of mercy. But because from the first moment he had seen her, she had stolen his breath away.
Beauty. He had heard bards sing about it, trailing their fingers over their harp strings as they spun tales of ages-old lovers who had cast their lives to the fates because of passion. Yet Niall had always scorned those star-crossed lovers. Succumbing to such passion was just another excuse for weakness. A warrior should not be slave to the shape of a woman's mouth, her eyes beckoning him. Loyalty, courage, duty were the only goddesses a fighting man should worship.
That had been enough. He had simple, carnal hungers like any man. He dealt with them as he had dealt with countless foes across a battlefield: swiftly and with finality. He had made certain any lady he dallied with understood he had nothing to give her butone night in his bed. Stripping away such needs had been simple, leaving him with nothing but vague dissatisfaction and a hard-edged amusement after the encounter was done.
But there had been no time to rally those defenses when Caitlin had glided toward him like a fairy wraith in the night. She had lanced deep into hidden places, dark, secret pain. She had dared him to feel.
And when they had crossed swords, there in the night, she had won. Never in all his years had he felt such sensation, as if all the life that pulsed within Caitlin's lithe body had rushed into his veins, filling him, showing him exactly how empty he was.
Niall gave a bitter laugh. As if he needed anyone to show him that, here, standing in the crumbling ruins of Castle Daire, with his mother's face still haunting him and his sister's hatred digging into the heart he had pretended not to have for so long.
Had Caitlin known? Had she sensed that he lay in the shadow of that tree, torn by an agony he had all but forgotten? Blessed by some fairy magic as her exalted father had been, had she bent her ear to the tiny window in the SeaChamber and heard the voices that would give Niall no peace?
