The Highlander's Touch
Page 78
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He loved being Adam.
The sun beat down upon his muscled chest, a tropical breeze licked his dark hair. He was a pagan god, savoring his world—there was no better place to be.
Most of the time.
In the bay, a ship sailed past. Adam grinned and waved. The pitiful occupants of the ship could no more see the island than they could fly to the stars. The exotic isle simply didn’t exist, in the usual sense of the word. But fairy isles were like that—in the mortal world, but not of the mortal world. Occasionally, a mortal was born who could see both worlds, but those creatures were rare, and usually stolen quickly after birth by the Tuatha de Danaan, to minimize the risk. Ever since Manannán had given his people the drink of immortality and the Compact had been negotiated, the Tuatha de Danaan had been exceedingly cautious when treading in the world of man.
Still, Adam thought, there were times when even a demigod such as himself couldn’t resist. There was something about the world of man that fascinated him, made him think he had perhaps once been more similar to them than he could clearly recall, his memories dimmed by time’s passage.
“In what merriment have you been indulging?” Aoibheal, Queen of the Fairies, purred behind him.
She joined him, her long, beautiful legs keeping pace with his, and guided him toward a crimson chaise that conveniently appeared before them. She sank into it and patted the cushions, indicating that he should join her. She glistened, sprinkled in gold dust as was her custom. Were he to run his finger down her, it would come away glittering with fine gold powder. He had long suspected the dust contained an aphrodisiac that penetrated the skin of those who touched her, rendering them powerless to refuse her.
When she beckoned him intimately near, he masked his astonishment. It had been an eternity since his queen had invited him to share her pillowed haven. What was she up to? As he sank down beside her, she molded her body against his. He exhaled a low rush of breath, the equivalent of a human shiver. She was the Queen of the Tuatha de Danaan for a reason: Her power was enormous, her allure immense. She was erotic, and many found her frightening; a mere mortal could lose his life in her arms, drained by her appetites. Even among Adam’s kind, males had walked away from her boudoir changed.
“Naught to worry, my Queen, I have been but passing idle time with Circenn.” Unable to resist, he kissed a golden nipple, dragging his tongue across the peak.
Aoibheal watched him, her unusual eyes bright, her head propped upon a delicate fist. She fisted her other hand in his hair and lifted his head from her breast. Her exotically slanted eyes were ancient in her ageless face. “Think you I know not of the woman?” she said. “You’ve done it again. How far do you think you may push our limits?”
“I did not bring her through time. It was not my doing. Circenn cursed something, and, as a result, the woman was brought back to his century.”
“I see.” She stretched her long, slim body languidly, sweeping the curve of her breasts against him. “Please remind me, I seem to be forgetting—who was it that taught Circenn Brodie how to curse things in the first place?”
Adam acknowledged his guilt with silence.
“Assure me, fool mine, that you had nothing to do with precisely when and where that cursed object was found. You did not perhaps nudge it a bit in one direction?”
“I no more nudged the object than arranged the battle in which it was lost.”
She laughed softly. “Ah, another Adam-ism—that which confesses nothing while arrogantly concealing nothing. I have seen her. I went to Brodie and inspected her. I find her quite … interesting.”
“Leave her alone,” Adam snapped.
“So you do have an interest in this, although you conveniently blame it on that Scot laird.” She cocked her head and regarded him coolly. “You will not interfere again. I know you’ve been visiting her in another guise. Eirren will pay her court no more. No.” She raised a hand when he would have protested. “Amadan Dubh, I compel you thusly: You will leave neither my side nor the isle of Morar unless I grant you permission.”
Adam hissed. “How dare you!”
“I dare anything. I am your Queen, though you seem to forget it from time to time. You pay clever tithes to my supremacy with your lips, but you defy me over and again. You have gone too far. You broke one of our most serious covenants with Circenn Brodie, and now you dare to compound it. I will not tolerate it.”
“You are jealous,” Adam said cruelly. “You resent my attachment—”
“It is unnatural!” Aoibheal hissed. “You should have no such attachment! It is not our way!”
The sun beat down upon his muscled chest, a tropical breeze licked his dark hair. He was a pagan god, savoring his world—there was no better place to be.
Most of the time.
In the bay, a ship sailed past. Adam grinned and waved. The pitiful occupants of the ship could no more see the island than they could fly to the stars. The exotic isle simply didn’t exist, in the usual sense of the word. But fairy isles were like that—in the mortal world, but not of the mortal world. Occasionally, a mortal was born who could see both worlds, but those creatures were rare, and usually stolen quickly after birth by the Tuatha de Danaan, to minimize the risk. Ever since Manannán had given his people the drink of immortality and the Compact had been negotiated, the Tuatha de Danaan had been exceedingly cautious when treading in the world of man.
Still, Adam thought, there were times when even a demigod such as himself couldn’t resist. There was something about the world of man that fascinated him, made him think he had perhaps once been more similar to them than he could clearly recall, his memories dimmed by time’s passage.
“In what merriment have you been indulging?” Aoibheal, Queen of the Fairies, purred behind him.
She joined him, her long, beautiful legs keeping pace with his, and guided him toward a crimson chaise that conveniently appeared before them. She sank into it and patted the cushions, indicating that he should join her. She glistened, sprinkled in gold dust as was her custom. Were he to run his finger down her, it would come away glittering with fine gold powder. He had long suspected the dust contained an aphrodisiac that penetrated the skin of those who touched her, rendering them powerless to refuse her.
When she beckoned him intimately near, he masked his astonishment. It had been an eternity since his queen had invited him to share her pillowed haven. What was she up to? As he sank down beside her, she molded her body against his. He exhaled a low rush of breath, the equivalent of a human shiver. She was the Queen of the Tuatha de Danaan for a reason: Her power was enormous, her allure immense. She was erotic, and many found her frightening; a mere mortal could lose his life in her arms, drained by her appetites. Even among Adam’s kind, males had walked away from her boudoir changed.
“Naught to worry, my Queen, I have been but passing idle time with Circenn.” Unable to resist, he kissed a golden nipple, dragging his tongue across the peak.
Aoibheal watched him, her unusual eyes bright, her head propped upon a delicate fist. She fisted her other hand in his hair and lifted his head from her breast. Her exotically slanted eyes were ancient in her ageless face. “Think you I know not of the woman?” she said. “You’ve done it again. How far do you think you may push our limits?”
“I did not bring her through time. It was not my doing. Circenn cursed something, and, as a result, the woman was brought back to his century.”
“I see.” She stretched her long, slim body languidly, sweeping the curve of her breasts against him. “Please remind me, I seem to be forgetting—who was it that taught Circenn Brodie how to curse things in the first place?”
Adam acknowledged his guilt with silence.
“Assure me, fool mine, that you had nothing to do with precisely when and where that cursed object was found. You did not perhaps nudge it a bit in one direction?”
“I no more nudged the object than arranged the battle in which it was lost.”
She laughed softly. “Ah, another Adam-ism—that which confesses nothing while arrogantly concealing nothing. I have seen her. I went to Brodie and inspected her. I find her quite … interesting.”
“Leave her alone,” Adam snapped.
“So you do have an interest in this, although you conveniently blame it on that Scot laird.” She cocked her head and regarded him coolly. “You will not interfere again. I know you’ve been visiting her in another guise. Eirren will pay her court no more. No.” She raised a hand when he would have protested. “Amadan Dubh, I compel you thusly: You will leave neither my side nor the isle of Morar unless I grant you permission.”
Adam hissed. “How dare you!”
“I dare anything. I am your Queen, though you seem to forget it from time to time. You pay clever tithes to my supremacy with your lips, but you defy me over and again. You have gone too far. You broke one of our most serious covenants with Circenn Brodie, and now you dare to compound it. I will not tolerate it.”
“You are jealous,” Adam said cruelly. “You resent my attachment—”
“It is unnatural!” Aoibheal hissed. “You should have no such attachment! It is not our way!”
