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He half-closed his eyes and watched her. Firelight lit the front of her face as she sat motionlessly. Then, very slowly, she shuffled around and situated herself between his knees.
She sat stiffly, as far as could be from his body.
He reached out and closed his hands around her hips and slid her back, bringing her up, rather firmly, against his chest.
Shock froze her in position.
“Now sleep,” he murmured, removing his hands from her waist and resting his forearms on his bent knees.
She held herself stiff as a piece of wood. “I have never slept like this,” she announced.
“I’d tip you over and lay us down if I did not think you’d scream bloody murder.”
“Oh, do you think anyone would hear?” she asked, sounding hopeful.
“There’s not a soul for miles, lass. Settle in.”
She leaned back hesitantly, still stiff, but at least partially reclined. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the feel of her body pressed against his.
“Talk to me,” she whispered.
“About what?”
“I do not care. I do not want the silence.”
He wracked his mind for something from his dark and dirty life that might interest this woman of privilege.
“Tell me about your home,” she suggested when the silence continued.
“I have no home.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Yes, you do. Your enchanted forest.”
He leaned his head back against the log and closed his eyes. “I haven’t been there for a hundred years.”
“Your sword…it is part of your home?”
“Aye.”
“Tell me about it, and this Aengus fellow.”
He smiled a little. “The sword is Moralltach. Legend says it leaves no stroke or blow unfinished at the first trial. Aengus was its owner.”
“Was Aengus a king?”
“He was son of The Dadga.”
“Who were the Dagda?”
“The Dagda,” he corrected. “Just the one. He was one of the Tuatha Dé Danann.”
Her body turned toward him slightly. “And who is he?”
“They. They dwell in the Otherworld. They are the people of the goddess Danu. Gods.”
She tilted her face up, as if truly interested. He didn’t recall the last time someone had shown any interest in Ireland. Or in him.
But then, he’d barely spoken to a soul in years, let alone to speak of Ireland. He spoke to share information, take orders, deliver goods and threats. Never to…connect.
