Forbidden Warrior (Midsummer Knights)

“I….” She swallowed and tried again. “We should not have… I didn’t know you meant to—”

“Aye, you did.”

She squeezed the fabric, pleating it into irreversible wrinkles. “You are a devil.” She bit the words off. “You have no honor—”

“You already knew that, Cassia. And you wanted it anyhow.”

She choked.

“You are a woman. I am a man. You beg for fire, you will get burned.”

“I do not beg.” She spat the word.

He smiled coldly. “Yet.”

Fueled by the roiling, volcanic chasm of emotional intensity inside her, she stepped forward and slapped him.

In the next second, she knew what a terrible mistake she had made.

Terror washed through her, as violent as the desire had been. She tried to stumble away but he took both her hands and drew her closer, until she was as close as she'd been when he was dragging passion out of her body.

He would ravish her. Attack her. Punish her. Teach her the folly of toying with Irishmen from enchanted forests.

He bent his head and whispered, “Do not move.”

She froze.

He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was aimed over her head, at the walls of the tent. He was listening.

She listened too, confused.

Distant sounds of the camp drifted in: people talking; the neigh of a horse; someone’s campfire crackling, but nothing urgent—

A small boy’s head popped through the tent. Máel whipped around.

“They’re coming,” the boy hissed.

Máel bent and snatched up a few of his packs then ran for the tent flap, pulling her after him. He shoved her through it and followed close on her heels.

Gasping with this new shock—and there had been so many on this day; surely the adventure must end soon—she tried to slow the moment down.

“What is happening?” she demanded.

“We must go. Now.”

He snatched the reins of his snorting horse, who trotted quite obediently after, and their small group hurtled out into the darkness.

Terrified and confused, Cassia followed him as he urged her onward. They ran silently, past the nearby tents, out into the greater darkness. He kept her moving for a hundred yards or more, up a long hillside, to the eaves of the great forest encircling Rose Citadel. When they were under the cover of trees, he finally drew to a halt.

She bent over, panting. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

“Your father has returned.”

She looked up in confused, angry astonishment. “You are full mad. Is that not what you wanted?”

“I don’t think he’s bringing what I want.” He stood, staring back into the camp.

She straightened. “Why else would he come back if not to—”