The Prisoner & The Whisperer

Celtic Love Knots Volume 5 by Jennah Sharpe

Whiskey Creek Press www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Copyright ©2007 by WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

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CELTIC LOVE KNOTS VOLUME 5: SONS OF THE SIDHE: THE PRISONER & THE WHISPERER by Jennah Sharpe WHISKEY CREEK PRESS www.whiskeycreekpress.com

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Published by WHISKEY CREEK PRESS Whiskey Creek Press PO Box 51052 Casper, WY 82605-1052 www.whiskeycreekpress.com Copyright © 2007 by Jennah Sharpe Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. ISBN 978-1-59374-981-1 4

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Credits Cover Artist: Jinger Heaston Editor: Gail Simmons Printed in the United States of America

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Dedication For all those who dream of their own Sidhe warrior.

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SONS OF THE SIDHE: THE PRISONER by Jennah Sharpe The torches in the camp stood tall and unwavering in the still night. The noise of the men was now a soft hush. Many had retired for the night, but Pandora was wide awake. This was the end of her seventh day in this new land. Pandora, her sister and their father had traveled far from their home to assist in converting the inhabitants of these barbaric isles to the ways of Rome. As daughters of the phalanx commander, they traveled in limited luxury. It wasn't what they were used to back home in Rome. Her sister, Arista, felt it most acutely, bundling in furs in the evenings and rubbing her feet with salts at the end of the day. Of course, there were times when Pandora questioned their sanity in traveling to this strange land of mists. There were so many stories of frightening creatures. The men sat around the fires at night, speaking of water sprites, banshees and the powerful Sidhe—fantastical creatures that could make one vanish and never be heard from again. The stories sent shivers of intrigue coursing up her spine in the night as she lay on her furs. Despite her father's assurance that they were just stories, Pandora felt they must take care to not too dramatically tilt the world of those they were subduing. Her father's soldiers would hear none of her talk. She was a woman and was not welcome in the least on this journey. She 7

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was tolerated as the daughter of the commander, as were her sister. It was a night for thinking. The air was quiet, and the scent of the campfires was comforting. She felt safe and protected. It had been many years since the death of their mother. Pandora and her sister chose to travel constantly with their father rather than impose on family in the city. On nights such as this, Pandora knew she'd made the right choice. Pandora's father walked over to her and seated himself at her left. "You think too much, my dear. Of what are you dreaming?' "I do not dream, Father. I worry of the integrity of our fight." She gazed down at her hands in her lap. Her father raised his eyebrows. "Pandora, you doubt the wisdom of Rome?" "No, Father. I worry of revolt." She sighed. "We desire to change these people because they are not like us." "They are barbarians, my dear. We work to civilize them." "The revolts are becoming more organized. I hear the men talking in the night. They talk of Daoine Sidhe warriors, fearsome fighters of incomparable strength." Gaius Livicus patted the shoulder of his eldest daughter. "Trust me, Pandora. I brought you and your sister here because I knew you could endure what the men can. I would not be without you. We are doing the right thing." Pandora looked into the fire before her as if it could verify her father's words. The dying coals sparked and snapped erratically, bathed in their swaths of orange fire. She reached 8

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for another stick of wood beside the log she sat on. She lifted it slowly, careful not to scratch her hand on the rough bark. The flames leaped higher, licking at the dry wood. Still, the fire told her nothing. She closed her eyes. "I do trust you, Father, as does my sister. You've taken good care of us." Her father stood. "I'm going to lie down. Tomorrow will be another long day of travel. Caledonia is many days away yet. Go to sleep, my dear. You need your rest as much as the men." He turned to leave. Pandora watched him walk to his tent, lift the dirty canvas flap and let it fall behind him. His shadow moved around inside until he extinguished the candle. At least he could sleep. Something tickled at Pandora's insides, something she couldn't name. She would not sleep this night. Pandora knew her father had good intentions in wanting her to wed a soldier, but the way these men talked about women in general, and her family in particular, left much to be desired in terms of the qualities she wanted in a lifelong companion. The soldiers made bets around the fires before herself and Arista. Which sister would be the first to choose a husband, and who among them would be chosen? Who among them would be the first to deflower a Livicus maiden? Honey mead consumed, flatbread eaten, they tossed coins to one another in wagers. Inevitably, because they were male, talk would turn to a more sexual nature. What would their breasts feel like? Which would put up a fight and which of the two would lie willingly in the bed of a man? Of course, her father, the great Gaius Livicus, was never present at these 9

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talks. The men greatly respected their leader. Respect for women seemed to be another matter all together. Thus far, Pandora was disgusted with the choosing. A few of the younger boys were fun to tease and play with but they were just that—boys. They had no interest in marriage just yet. They had the whole of Caledonia to conquer. What was a woman? They knew nothing of women. Pandora's younger sister, Arista, liked to play with the men. Her sister was of the opinion that their father's men were mere playthings. Pandora conceded there were a few men who were handsome and would make good husbands; however, there was never the spark she'd dreamed of. When her eyes met theirs, her insides didn't flip nor did she ache for them to touch her. She would leave them to her sister. There wasn't a man for her in these hills. Pandora's eyes became heavy as she sat mesmerized by the flames of the cookfire. Moments later, the yelling began, waking her and sending her thoughts of marriage to the back of her mind. She sat straighter on her log as if that would identify the cause of the ruckus. Squinting in the firelight, she caught a glimpse of men running back and forth between the pavilions at the far end of the camp. "They come! They come!" someone called out in alarm. The cry rose, one voice joined by many. In her peripheral vision, her father's candles burst to life within his tent. He charged out, pulling his battle gear over his nightclothes.

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One of the men ran up to Gaius Livicus, lowering his head in respect. "Commander, the Celts attack." He was panting hard and the words came out in short gasps. Livicus looked around at the numbers of his men flocking to the west. He caught sight of Pandora sitting by the fire. She stood, panic growing like an unfurling bud in her stomach. Hugging her fur cloak tight around her neck, she watched her father run with a slight limp to the commotion with his cumbersome sword.

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"Pandora!" he yelled over his shoulder. "See to your sister. Do not leave your tent." "Yes, Father." But Pandora had no intention of hiding. They had yet to see a battle in Britannia and Pandora was no coward. She smiled at her father. Despite his age, he was battle ready and a formidable foe to his enemies, in this case, the savage Celts who were currently plundering their encampment. With her heart hammering in her chest, she ran to the perimeter of the camp where she skirted the pavilions, hoping for a good view of the fight. She crouched in the dewy grass at the edge of the field. Hidden by the dark shadows of the forest trees, she caught sight of the Celts, dressed in earthy colors of rough cloth and intimidating in their war paints. It was as if they'd taken on a new identity for battle. Were their souls safe if it wasn't really them who slaughtered Romans like unseen ants under a boot? The men were tall and burly compared to her Roman friends and they angrily ploughed through the soldiers. Pandora was too far away to see the killing, but she knew men were falling. Both Celts and Romans. Blood splattered the ground beneath the feet of her father's men but she was too distant to see which ones fell. Knowing would come later. She couldn't find her father in the melee. As the blood flew and swords punctured chests, her insides pained her, and bile rose in her throat, but she needed to know what was happening. She rubbed at her neck in annoyance. Pandora needed to know what the men were going through, why they 12

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were here in Britannia willing to die for the cause. The answers eluded her as she watched from behind an oak tree. A warm breath caressed her neck and Pandora's focus was instantly taken from the battle scene. "Your eyes are not meant for such atrocities, lady." The voice was soothing and warm. It didn't startle her. She turned slowly, expecting one of her father's men to be behind her. It was indeed a man crouching behind her, but no one she recognized. He put a finger to his lips, silencing her. She did as he requested, gazing into his smoky grey eyes the color of the mist as it rose from the hills in the early mornings, or perhaps it was closer to the river waters on a cloudy day. Whatever color they were, they were keeping her from acting as she should. "I mean you no harm, miss, but you should go back to the pavilions," he whispered. Pandora found herself watching his full lips as he spoke rather than focusing on his words. He wet them and her chest constricted in desire. He would kiss well. She knew it and wanted nothing more than to see if she was right. Wearing trousers of deer pelt and a sword hung in a cavalier manner across his back, he was a picture of pagan, Celtic male glory. Pandora's eyes roamed over his chest, muscled from years of swordplay, she imagined. When her eyes finally reached his face once again, he was sporting a grin full of wicked mirth. She bristled at his cockiness. He thought he knew exactly what she was thinking. What bothered her was he'd be right. "I should call my father right now and have you taken prisoner." Her voice was shaky. It wasn't easy to sound in 13

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charge and sure of herself, when she was eye to eye with a Celt. He reached out to gently hold her shoulders. Her knees weakened. "I am no danger to you. I fight with my family, my brothers to protect our homeland from the invading Romans. I can see that you're along for the journey and so it is only with your men I have my quarrel. Go back to your tent, princess." He straightened, standing tall and powerful above her. Pandora slowly rose to face him, but her eyes only reached his chest and she forgot what she was about to say in response to his command. No words came to her. She wanted only to reach out to touch that chest, to run her fingers over the ridges of muscle, to stroke the fine, dark hair that called out to her as it traced a path from chest, past his navel, deep into his groin. Her eyes lingered there at his waist for only a moment. Her fingers itched and she licked her dry lips. "Do you hear me, woman? Go back." Her gaze shot to his face. "I hear you. Who are you to speak to me this way? Why do you not fear my father's men? I have only to scream and your heart will be ripped from your chest." Oh yes, that gorgeous, strong chest. No, she would not let anyone mar the silky plateau that should be her pillow. "I'm only warning you. It's not safe here." He leaned closer, a lock of dark hair curtaining his eyes. She reached up to brush them back. His hand caught her wrist. "Mind yourself, girl. Don't toy with me." He lowered her arm. "What is your name?" 14

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"Pandora Livicus, daughter of Rome." She almost smiled. This man was nothing like the boys in camp who let her touch them or caress them without a word. This one intrigued her. "I thought as much. I was asked to retrieve a prisoner, Pandora. Are you the one I should take?" Pandora reared back. Horror filled her as she imagined life in a barbaric prison cage, cave or whatever it was these pagans used. "You wouldn't dare," she spat. He took a step back. "No, I wouldn't. A woman would not last long as a prisoner of our camp. Instead, I ask you to warn your commander of our intent to disembowel your army." Pandora flinched at his words. "That's all, lady. Take this warning to your father. I am Samuel Dannon of the Daoine Sidhe. Tell him my name." Pandora gathered her cloak, hiking it up in preparation to run. She took a couple of steps toward the camp. As she took the first leap of a run, the man smacked her behind. The nerve! She ran as fast as she could, leaping over roots and uneven ground. Only once she looked behind her. He stood there, leaning against the tree she'd hid behind. He wasn't visible to the battle weary men below but he was to her ... and he was smiling, a hand resting on a hip, the other arm propped against the oak as if nothing in the world could bother the man. As if the battle in the valley below was a figment of her imagination. She blew out air in a huff. She needed to find her father. He would need to know there were men around the camp, watching, planning. Samuel Dannon. He didn't have a 15

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common Celtic name. He had a plainly Christian name. Why? His name rolled around her mouth, sliding over her lips like silk. She slowed to a walk, then rounded the corner of a tent and headed to her own. Her father slowly trundled up to the now smoky fire they'd left what only seemed like moments earlier. When he caught sight of his daughter, pine needles stuck in her cloak and dirt on her cheek, anger flashed across his face. It dissipated as quickly as it had come. He quickened his step, suddenly eager to hold her against him. She was swept against his chest. He smelled as he always did, of sweat, wood smoke and blood. "Are you all right, Pandora? Where is your sister?" He took hold of her arms and held her back to look at her. She smiled, trying to reassure him. "She's fine, father," she said, suddenly realizing she had no idea where Arista was. "She's in her tent." She desperately hoped she wasn't lying. Surely her sister was still fast asleep on her own furs. "Good. We lost a few men, but nothing we weren't expecting. We beat them back but I'm sure that won't be the last we see of them. They were organized. Not like the rabble we've been up against thus far." She knew she should tell him about Samuel. He was the enemy. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to tell him. She lowered her eyes. Perhaps he'd cast a spell on her, an ancient Celtic magic that prevented her from revealing his whereabouts. The thought buzzed around in her head. 16

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"Arista? Come out here!" Her father bellowed in the voice his soldiers knew meant business. Having Gaius Livicus for a father, the two girls knew the tone as well. Arista emerged from the tent; her dark curls gleaming in the firelight, her delicate face creased from sleeping. "Father? Pandora?" She quickly realized something wasn't right. Her eyes opened wide, trying to take in the scene of sombre men walking through the camp, her father's tattered appearance and the bitter scent in the summer breeze. "What's happened?" She rushed to their side. Their father drew her into his arms as he had Pandora moments earlier. "It was a minor skirmish with a local tribe. We're fine. We had some losses, but they lost more, and the enemy was pushed back for now." Arista's concerned young eyes blinked in the night, trying to adjust. She was most like their mother, patient, quiet and extremely stubborn. She had their mother's eyes. They were light as if made from cream with only a tinge of the darkness Pandora had inherited from their father. "I'm sorry to have woken you, my dear," their father said. "I needed to see that you were unharmed. It was hasty of me to call out. Thank you for coming." Arista responded, "Papa, you're tired." She took his hand, gently leading him to his tent. "Go inside and sleep. There are men on watch and whoever isn't will be alert tonight regardless." He followed her, head down and shoulders slumped. 17

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"It's affecting him, isn't it?" Arista commented more than asked as she stood next to Pandora. "Yes, I think it is. Despite his battle wisdom, he isn't young anymore and he's dragging the worry his two daughters bring along." "What can we do?" Pandora shrugged. "I don't know that we can do anything. He needs this campaign to end and it's only just begun. We'll watch him. That's all. Go to bed, sister." Pandora patted her sister's back. "I'm not ready for sleep yet myself." "All right. I'm not sure I'll sleep though," Arista muttered as she turned toward her pavilion. Pandora whispered after her, "I think it's going to be a long night for all of us." Pandora was still huddled by the fire when she saw Arista slip from her tent wearing only a light shift, the moonlight making her form visible beneath the thin material. Pandora had been lost in the vision her mind created of Samuel Dannon, wondering what exactly had kept her from delivering his message to her father. She knew she would have to do it, but then her father would know she'd lied. Her heart was torn. She envied Arista her abandonment. Pandora knew Arista yearned for the company of a boy tonight, someone to take her thoughts to another place. Pandora knew because she felt the same way and would have acted in the same manner, had she not Samuel Dannon's handsome face fixed in her mind. It was him she wanted, but she had no means to find him. Even if she did, he was the enemy. 18

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Pandora turned at the sound of footsteps behind her. She watched quietly as Arista put a finger to her lips, gave Pandora a knowing smile and slipped into a nearby tent. Pandora was close enough to hear a rustling, followed by her sister's giggle and the throaty laugh of a young soldier. They would keep each other company tonight and Pandora was glad for them. When Pandora awoke to the call of crows in the treetops, she was curled up by the remains of a smoldering fire. She'd fallen asleep with her thoughts before realizing she should be inside her pavilion, nestled deep in her bear fur. She was warm enough despite the sputtering coals and morning dew, but she ached. Oh, how she ached. Lying on the hard ground had frozen her limbs in painful positions. She forced herself to rise and grimaced when pain shot through her hips. Apart from the squawking birds, the camp was quiet. Looking around, she brushed the hair from her eyes, and then she realized she was far from being the first awake. Several soldiers walked serenely from tent to tent, lighting fires, cooking food for the morning and cleaning their battle gear. An older man, carrying several quivers of arrows in need of new tips, waved at her. She flushed, embarrassed by her dishevelment, and waved her fingers in return. She was still brushing pine needles from her cloak when two soldiers walked by, caught up in their own conversation. She looked up at the sound of their voices. They seemed to be in high spirits and talked of the men they'd captured, and were holding in a cave to the north of the camp. Pandora was immediately intrigued. She hadn't imagined they'd actually 19

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been able to take prisoners. Her father's men usually didn't leave survivors. She walked to her father's tent. "Papa, are you awake yet?" she asked as she peered around the tent flap. He stood, regal and powerful in his traveling clothes, packing for the continuing journey. Pandora's curiosity piqued. Would the prisoner be traveling with them? This was a precedent setting situation. "I am awake, daughter. What do you need?" "Nothing, Papa. I hear of a prisoner held in a cave. Is it true?" Her father let a sliver of a proud smile grace his aging face. "That it is. The Celtic bastard will lead his people no more." "A leader?" Could it be him? "Are we taking him with us?" Livicus looked his eldest daughter in the eyes. "It is absolutely no concern of yours, but yes, we are taking him with us. He is valuable and could one day mean a great deal more to us alive than dead. He is one of the Daoine Sidhe. Have you heard the stories around the campfires?" Her father turned his attention to his trunks, folding clothing and pressing them hard inside. Pandora had heard the stories. The Daoine Sidhe were descendants of the once great and powerful Tuatha Dé Danaan, the faeries, the fey. She'd heard various names. Many were druids, people who the great Caesar deemed barbarians and cannibals. She shivered, despite her intense fascination with the prisoner. A real faerie. There was nothing more exciting. 20

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Seeing her father was occupied with other thoughts, she slipped from his tent. "Pandora?" She stopped abruptly, leaning her ear toward her father's tent. "Yes?" "See to it your sister is ready to leave camp within the hour. We continue further north. Within three days we will be in Caledonia." "Yes, Father." Pandora turned her head in the direction of her sister's tent. There was no movement, no sound. She wondered if Arista was still asleep beside her warm, young soldier. Deciding they could use a few minutes more of sleep, Pandora turned north and walked slowly along the paths between the tents. Keeping her eyes on the men who were unaware of her thoughts anyway, Pandora followed the talk and found herself at the entrance to a dark cave. It was unguarded. Her gaze skirted the woods and the camp behind her. Where were the guards? She'd expected them, but hadn't really thought of why she was looking for the prisoner or what she would do when she found him. Curiosity merely pulled her in the right direction, toward a dark entrance into the hill at the edge of the forest. She found herself swallowing hard, as if her voluntary faculties had left her body. Bending low to see if she could see anything inside the cave, her hand grasped the rough lip of stone, as if it could prevent her from being pulled inside.

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From within came a startled shuffling noise. An animal? A guard? She blinked her eyes as they adjusted to the dim light of the morning sun penetrating the darkness. "That's twice you've been reckless with your life, woman," said a voice she recognized immediately. It was low, smooth and sultry, bringing images to her head that had her fighting to keep her wits about her. "Are you looking for death, lady?" he prompted. "You would not harm me," she said as she slowly entered the cave. Samuel Dannon lay with this legs outstretched, his back against the solid wall at the back of the cave. Her eyes took in both his whimsical grin as well as the heavy shackles at his wrists and ankles. She followed the chains to the wall behind him where massive nails had been pounded into the rock to keep him secure. "No, perhaps not," he answered. "But you didn't really know it was I who was held here, did you? It could have been any manner of Celtic beast and you went ahead and stuck your pretty little head in the lion's den." "Lion's den, indeed. You're shackled," she bristled. "Did your father not tell you who was held here? I am Daoine Sidhe. I am here for a purpose." Pandora took a reflexive step backward. "You are here because you want to be?" "You're very bright, which is what could get you into trouble. Yes, I am here to learn more about your father. I don't mind telling you this because I've learned what I needed already. He cannot kill me. He can only release me." 22

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"You're arrogance is not attractive, sir." She felt her face flush with the lie. "Is that right?" he teased. She watched breathlessly, as he slipped his broad hands from his shackles in a movement so quick her eyes missed it. He pushed himself to standing and held out his hand to her. Once again, Pandora felt no fear around this man. Samuel Dannon would not let her come to harm. A small thought, deep inside her mind told her she was safe. She stepped forward into the dark of the cave, her hand outstretched to take his. He clasped his fingers around her hand. They were warm, calloused and strong. Pandora took a quick breath at the intimate touch. Slowly, he pulled her closer, wrapping his free arm around her lithe waist. His scent enveloped her. Freshly cut wood, heather and a more animalistic scent mixed in, had her head muddled as she leaned against his chest. He released her hand and tilted her chin upward so she could see his eyes. Her lips parted but before she could think of anything to say, her mouth was covered by his. She was lost in the kiss she'd been imagining since the previous night. Her knees weakened and she fought to remain standing without help. His lips were soft, softer than the hands that told of rough days. His breath was warm, and when his tongue pushed warily into her mouth, she sighed. Her sigh had an immediate effect on Samuel. He crushed her tighter against him, one hand centered on her back, the other trailing down her throat to her chest. It stopped there momentarily before cupping her right breast. He caressed her there while her hands wound into his hair. 23

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Their breathing grew harsh. Samuel's arousal was plain as it pushed against her hip. She reached down with one hand to gently press against him. He groaned into her mouth then took her wrist in his hand. "You must stop, woman. This cannot happen here." Pandora's eyes remained closed. "Why can't we? There is no one around." "I must leave. There isn't time. If I remain here much longer there will not be time to warn my people of your father's plans, or to tell my brother of his weaknesses." Pandora's eyes opened and she stared into Samuel's face. "What weaknesses?" His face turned cold and hard. "His daughters." There was no trace of emotion in his voice. Pandora pulled away, her mouth still swollen from his kiss. She rubbed at it. "And what would your brother do with this information?" "That is not for you to know, lady." He touched her chin with his finger but she quickly turned away. "I must leave now. I have freed my wrists but I need that key for my ankles." He pointed to a key hanging from a rusty nail pounded into the wall of the cave. Pandora said nothing as her fingers plucked the key hanging from the inside wall of the cave and removed the shackles that held his ankles. Samuel walked past her to the entrance of the cave and tentatively looked around the corner, ensuring no guards were nearby. "I believe they think you well tied. They will likely not come until they think they should feed you," she told him. 24

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She felt the guilt already. She could not name the reason she'd so easily agreed to Samuel's request to release him. Perhaps it was some faerie magic. It may even have been the fact that it was unnerving to see a man of his strength, his life force, shackled by her father's men. It seemed the only thing to do, so she'd done it. She couldn't bear to think of the consequences. Surely her father would disown her. Samuel turned back to look at Pandora. "Perfect," he said with a grin then broke into a run. He disappeared over the hill and into the forest before anyone could have caught a glimpse of him. Pandora rushed from the cave, ignoring the comments from passing guards that quickly became yells. "Stay away from there, girl! What are you doing?" She ran. Throwing her cloak from her shoulders, she leapt over logs and rocks to follow Samuel. "Wait! Take me with you!" She caught sight of him leaping over a small stream. "Samuel?" He turned, a look of confusion on his face. "What are you doing? Go back to your camp." Panting, she reached him and grabbed his arm. "Take me with you, Samuel. There will be punishment for what I've done. It's paramount to treason. Let me come with you. I want to learn the ways of the Celts. You're not the barbarians my father thinks you are." Samuel lowered his voice, hearing the voices of the Roman men nearing. "Our life is not what you're used to. It's much harder. We rely much more on nature and her ways." 25

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"Don't leave me here, Samuel. I beg of you. I'll follow you anyway." Pandora let a brief thought of her sister pass through her mind. To never see her again would be unbearable. She quickly made up her mind that it would be easy enough to keep track of her father's journey if she were traveling with Samuel and his men. Samuel caught hold of her hand. Giving one last glance behind them, he turned and lifted Pandora over the stream. The density of the woods provided cover, and the light sound of the trees rustling in the breeze drowned their footfalls. It wasn't long before the voices of the soldiers could no longer be heard. They slowed to a walk. Pandora's heart thumped wildly in her chest. Physical exercise was not among her recreational pursuits. She could ride a sturdy horse for many miles but running on her feet was another matter altogether. Despite her discomfort, she dared not ask Samuel for a rest. She knew he'd shortened his long strides for her benefit and she was determined to show him he hadn't made a mistake. They walked in silence for quite some time before stopping. Samuel raked a hand through his hair in frustration. What on earth had possessed him to take the daughter of Gaius Livicus with him? Now he'd be wanted for kidnapping on top of escaping and simply being a Celt. The enemy had Livicus' eldest daughter. On the other hand, he'd been hard since he first laid eyes on her a day earlier. There was no way he had it in him to deny her going with him. Of course he wanted to take her ... in more ways than one. Who wouldn't? He had trouble keeping his eyes off her round breasts and luscious hips. He owed her. She assisted him in escaping for 26

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some unknown reason. Why she thought it safe to be with a Celt, let alone a male, was beyond him. Did the Romans not think his kind savages? They certainly treated the Celts as such, what with the raids, the merciless killings that had taken place in the past several years. Why would she give herself to the hands of a barbarian? When she noticed him glance her way, she blushed and smiled before looking away. The daughter of a Roman commander—what the hell was he doing? "I'll take you to the camp, but rest assured you'll be treated as a spy. You will not be able to leave. My brother will not trust you, nor will our men. Do as I say and you'll come to no harm." He heard Pandora take a quiet breath before she responded. She was obviously nervous and unsure how to act. Perhaps even unsure of the path she'd chosen. A daughter of Rome among Celts by choice? Samuel could not accept her decision. As he watched her, her gaze scanned the forest floor, her feet stepping lightly over the fallen leaves and needles of the pines. Her feet were small and delicately encased in soft shoes, despite her travels through the wilds of his island. He longed to hold them in his hands, to lay kisses on those feet as he caressed her calves. He could picture them so vividly. They would be smooth and white, having never seen the light of day. Samuel felt his cock come alive at the thought. His thoughts led him to imagine her unclothed, and his loins ached with the pressure of intense arousal. His men would draw and quarter him for bringing a Roman woman to camp, but he felt sure they would understand when 27

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they saw her. Then it came to him. She would have to act as his prisoner to be safe. His own brother, Elijah, was no threat to a woman. Their mother had raised them to treasure women. However, his men could possibly treat her as nothing more than a whore. He had to keep her safe. With the camp in sight just over the rise of a small mound, he laid a hand on Pandora's upper arm to stop her. "My lady, you must listen to me now." "What is it?" Her eyes were bright, taking in her surroundings with an intense curiosity. For a moment, he was lost in those eyes, forgetting what he meant to say. "Is something wrong? That's your camp just over there, isn't it?" she inquired, pointing in the direction of the tower of campfire smoke. "You aren't safe here, Pandora. You're Roman. They won't take kindly to you." A glimmer of panic lit her eyes. "There's only one way I can think of to keep you safe until they trust you," he continued. "That is, if you intend to stay here. Is that your intention?" Pandora gave in to her fatigue at the question. She lowered herself to the soft earth, absently picking a daisy. The forest was thinning, making way for a vast field, dotted with small tents and men going about their daily business. She looked up at the strong, quiet man looming over her. "I've been listening to the stories of the Celts since I was a child. I can recite verses telling of banshees, berserkers and the faeries, but I've never had the opportunity to immerse myself in that world. It's called to me for such a long time. 28

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I've never thought of the Celts as barbarians as my fellow Romans have. When I first saw you, Samuel, I knew my thoughts were true. You're no savage. You're a man." He raised his eyebrows at her. "All right, you're more than a man," she conceded. "You're a Daoine Sidhe and that makes you even more intriguing and ... well ... sexy." Under the cover of the brush and trees, he took hold of her, forceful enough to make her gasp. Her eyes were suddenly fearful, but that spark melted into desire when he pulled her against his body. His eyes changed like the mists. They seemed to swirl, as the emotions he felt grew more intense. Pandora's gaze flicked from his lips to his eyes and back again. She wanted him to kiss her, but he held back. He needed his wits about him when they reached the camp. A kiss from her would send him over the edge and he'd need more. Samuel knew his brother as well as his brother knew him. Elijah Dannon would know if he'd just been inside a woman. He always did, just as Samuel knew when Elijah had been carousing in the villages. If he intended for Pandora to act as a prisoner, then he could not allow himself to kiss her. Not now. Elijah also knew he would never take a woman without consent. Would a Roman woman consent to lying with a Celtic warrior? Never. Pandora moistened her lips and Samuel thought about giving in. Certainly he could make up a story about how he'd convinced the woman he wasn't a barbarian. 29

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Samuel leaned down as he tilted Pandora's chin toward his own lips. He tasted her, marveling at the sweetness. Just the scent of her set off warnings he decided to ignore. Yes, he'd take her now. Damn what his brother thought. Samuel felt his breathing become shallow, his face flush at the rush of blood and the ache of his cock as it strained against its confines. He pressed Pandora to him, trying to assuage the need to be touched. She did not hesitate. She reached behind her to tug at the laces of her skirt and the hem of her tunic. With Samuel's help, the skirt puddled around her ankles, leaving her in a thin, cotton shift used to protect her from the itch of the woolen skirt. Slowly, she pulled that down around her shoulders. Samuel accepted her open invitation. His hands touched her smooth round shoulders, luxuriating in the warmth of her skin. Her hands reached for the hem of his own roughly made tunic, sliding it up over his torso. He reached behind his head, grabbing the collar and slid it off the rest of the way. Pandora was much too small to reach that far, but as he rid himself of his shirt, she started on the ties of his tight-fitting trousers. She stopped, unsure what to do with the hardness that stood out so proudly, twitching at her attention. Gently, she tugged at the tight linen fabric until it came free. She slid her palms down his backside, enthralled by the tightness of his behind, taking the trousers with them. They slid to his ankles where he kicked them off. Pandora slipped off her remaining clothes as Samuel arranged her skirt and tunic in a small pile for them to lie on. 30

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With one hand on her lower back and the other on the nape of her neck, he lowered her to the ground, following until she lay on her back with him hovering above her. She was perfect. Her skin was smooth and white, untouched by the roughness of manual labor. Only her cheeks held any evidence of sunlight. She seemed almost ethereal, as if he wasn't the only one in the woods that morning who was of the fey. Surely, she had the blood in her as well. No human could possibly be as beautiful as she. As she stroked the hair on his chest, he stared into her eyes. They told him she was willing to go where he went, to do what he did, compliance graced by an independent spirit. Absorbed in the moment, he failed to notice her hand reach down and take hold of his hot, hard cock. He jumped at her touch, startling her. She smiled wickedly when she realized how her touch had affected him. He groaned and let his forehead fall against her shoulder. He held his weight with his arms, afraid of hurting such a delicate creature. Feeling her nipples pebble against his chest, he leaned to the side and brushed the flat of his palm over the tip of her breast. She inhaled a quick breath, filling his cock with blood. One hand stroked the length of his back while the other worked his cock. After slipping a knee between her legs, he pressed against a creamy thigh and she spread her legs wide enough to accommodate him. He rubbed his length against her folds, warm and moist. She was waiting for him. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, leaving a trace of kisses down to her 31

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nipple. As he took it between his teeth, tugging ever so gently, he heard her gasp. "Did I hurt you?" he whispered as he looked into her eyes. Her eyes remained closed. "No," she breathed, "Don't stop, please, Samuel." He drew her taut nipple into his mouth once more. Suckling her gently, he reached lower to guide himself to her moist cleft. She arched against him as the head of his shaft manipulated her lips to find its home. She snaked her fingers through his hair as he let go of her nipple and reared above her. Samuel slipped into her with ease and groaned. As he stroked against her at an increasing pace, he watched her face as she writhed beneath him. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips pulled tight as she closed hotly around his flesh and her eyes squeezed shut as she grabbed his thrusting hips and reached her climax. When her mouth opened and a muffled scream escaped her, Samuel could hold back no longer. He pumped into her, faster and harder until his seed began to leak into her and blackness tinged with tiny lights was all he could see. With one final thrust he let go and released into her, collapsing on top of her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. They lay motionless, panting for a few moments before Pandora whispered, "That's never happened before." He raised his head, tossing his hair off his forehead. "What's never happened before? You aren't virgin."

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"No, I'm not. The boys at the camp were more than happy to see to that. Not against my will though," she added when she saw his eyes darken. "But that feeling, that convulsion..." "You've never experienced your release?" he asked in awe. "No, I knew that's what it was, but it was amazing," her breath was warm and sweet when he leaned closer to nip her lower lip. "Can we do it again?" Samuel laughed. "We can, sweet, but not now. We aren't far from the camp, and it was risky enough doing it once. I won't risk discovery again." Pandora feigned a pout before responding. "All right. Let's dress then. I want to meet these people whom the emperor fears so greatly." "Are you not afraid, Princess of Rome?" Samuel asked as he reached for his clothing. Pandora slipped her shift over her head, then picked a couple of pieces of dried grass from her hair. "Strangely not. I never have been. Something drew me to your people. I've listened to the stories and wanted nothing more than to meet a Celt." Samuel smirked. "You got your wish." "I certainly did." She smiled back at him in a way that melted his insides once more. Samuel wondered if being apart from Pandora could ever be an option for him. He only knew he didn't ever want to try it. Thoughts as to how he could explain this tryst to his brother poured through his mind, but he could come up with 33

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nothing plausible. He'd have some explaining to do when they reached camp and faced Elijah Dannon. The atmosphere around the camp was sullen. Men stared as Samuel moved closer to the fire. One of the men, tall with striking blue eyes stood, his mouth open. It was a moment before he spoke. Pandora watched this exchange with fascination. They were obviously surprised to see both Samuel and her. The man took a step forward, "Samuel? We thought you dead!" He moved quickly, taking Samuel in his arms. The two men held each other momentarily before slapping each other on the back and stepping away. Samuel laughed. "Dead? I'm sorry, Elijah, but the Romans will have to do better than that to kill me." Samuel watched Elijah eye Pandora who stood warily behind him. "A prisoner, Samuel?" "She's the daughter of the commander, Elijah, but she's here of her own doing." Elijah looked at Samuel for a long moment, before turning to Pandora. "Welcome to our camp." His tone was curt so Pandora did little more than nod her head in his direction. Elijah walked away, hands clasped behind his back. "He's accepted you, Pandora." Samuel planted a generous kiss on her lips. She quivered, still feeling the aftershocks of their lovemaking in the woods. He took her by the hips and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss as he did so. When he finished, Pandora touched her swollen lips with her fingers. "You call that acceptance?" 34

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"Yes, I do. Elijah is a man of few words. He may not like my decision but he knows he must live with it." He smiled, gently tracing the length of her neck. One by one the other men of the group stood, welcomed Pandora and smacked Samuel on the back. They seemed to see Pandora as nothing more than a sexual conquest but Pandora knew Elijah saw through to Samuel's heart. Winning him over would take time but she was sure she could do it. She'd prove to him she could be a solid match for his brother and would work as hard as she could to learn Celtic ways. Samuel took her hand in his. "Neither of us expected this, Pandora. How are you really?" His intense eyes questioned her, giving her one last chance to flee for home. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm meant to be here with you. I've always known that, but it wasn't until I saw you the day of the battle that I knew for sure." He tilted his head and she continued. "I'll miss my sister most of all." She felt a pain in her chest but when she looked up at Samuel, it disappeared. "I'll miss her, but she'll understand." "Right then. We break camp today, sweet." "Are you headed in the same direction as my father?" Samuel brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "These are not easy times. That battle will not be the last we see. That may not be the last time I'm taken prisoner. The Romans are enemies of the warrior Daoine Sidhe. You'll be safe with me, but you must never venture far from camp until we find some clothing for you." 35

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He paused and Pandora sensed he had one final thought to impart. She moved closer to this enigmatic man who'd seduced her just by being. "We will be fighting Romans—" "Don't you think I know that, Samuel?" she interrupted. "This is what I want. It's what I always wanted. I wasn't meant for Rome. I wasn't meant for conquest, and I surely wasn't meant to marry a soldier of my father's choosing. I chose you, Samuel." He kissed her, wrapping his arms around her body as she slipped her hands through his dark hair and down the nape of his neck. She was his Celtic Princess now and anxious to begin her new life.

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SONS OF THE SIDHE: THE WHISPERER by Jennah Sharpe Arista lay in the bed of the young man she'd sought during the night. He was warm and welcoming, everything she needed. Her sister slept by the fire. Her father, the commander of the Roman phalanx, was within his pavilion awaiting the morning. They would break camp today and reach Caledonia, the land of the Celts. Arista watched the boy's face as he slept naked under his woolen blanket. He seemed so young, so innocent. To think that one of these days he might die in a battle at her father's command was more than she could stand. Moisture welled up in her eyes as she traced his fair, stubbled jaw with her finger. He didn't move. His breathing remained soft and even, undoubtedly worn out from the scrimmage the day before and Arista's own demands that night. She snuggled under his raised arm, breathing in his scent. He smelled of wood smoke. His name? No, she couldn't recall. It was then she decided to leave before he awakened. She couldn't bear the embarrassment of not remembering his name. Besides, if her father caught her leaving the tent of one of his men, he'd no doubt have the boy flogged, or worse. She slowly pulled the blanket to the side, exposing his lean, toned body to the morning air. His penis lay quiet at the juncture of his strong thighs. She reached out a hand to 37

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stroke the thigh closest to her. With delight, she watched his cock twitch as he began to wake. She resisted the urge to take him in her palm and begin the stroking she so loved. To watch a man react to her ministrations always thrilled her. She replaced the blanket, pulling it across his solid chest. Arista closed her eyes, taking one more moment of warmth and relaxation from the boy slumbering beside her. He'd been a good lover, tender and giving. She'd return, perhaps tonight, if all went well on their travels. His tent was easy to find no matter where he chose to erect it. He was one of the few who enjoyed the privacy of his own small quarters. Luck of the draw. The soldiers respected each other's privacy, especially when it came to the opportunity of a woman. Often, the soldier didn't have to choose. He knew Arista would come to him, and he saved himself for her. They'd talked about their relationship. It wasn't as if the young soldier was waiting for Arista to agree to a betrothal, and neither was she waiting for him to ask. He knew why she came to him. It wasn't for love. It was for comfort, companionship. War was a lonely road. Arista felt relaxed around him because they both knew the terms of their lovemaking. Would there ever be more? Not between herself and the boy, but Arista wondered if she'd ever find love. She was getting older, past the average age of marriage among her contemporaries in Rome. Certainly it was impossible to find the man she wanted as long as her father carted her and her sister, Pandora, to Britannia and Caledonia. She'd never be 38

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able to settle down to raise a family with the kind of life she led. As she lay with her lover, a commotion began outside the tent. She propped herself up on one elbow, drawing the blanket up over her ample, bare chest, lest anyone pull aside the tent flap. Men were shouting, calling to each other, but she couldn't quite make out the words. The distraction seemed to be centered west of the camp. Her father's voice bellowed above the others. "Get her back here! Don't come back until you do!" The boy startled then, instinctively reaching for his knife, which he kept under his pack. When Arista touched his chest to calm him, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What's going on?" he asked in a low, hushed voice. "I don't know. Father said her. I have no idea what that means. You'd better go see if they have need of you." Without a word to Arista, he pulled his tunic over his head, and cinched it around his waist, then grabbed his spear and headed outside. A fresh breeze of cool morning air blew in the door and chilled Arista. She wrapped her arms around herself, waiting for the chill to disappear before dressing. Sneaking back to the pavilion she shared with her sister wouldn't be easy with all the men awake and alert. She needed to wait until her father was out of sight. A shiver crept up her skin when she thought of what he'd do if he found out his youngest daughter was not a virgin. He'd been hunting for years for a suitable husband for her among his men but she was uninterested in a husband who would never be with her. 39

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The campaigns of her father's phalanx seemed never-ending. Arista had no desire to continue this life of camps, horse riding and battle. She wanted a quiet place in the forest either here on Britannia—for it was lovely if not settled—or back home in the countryside of Rome. She told her father once that she wanted children and didn't think she needed to be married to a man to make that happen. She had been young and her father, furious. Only later had she realized her mistake. She still felt that way and if she became with child by one of her father's men, she truly wouldn't mind. She'd be exiled and left on her own but she would be happy. This particular young man was intrigued that she wasn't afraid of lovemaking without marriage. It truly set her apart from most women. When the noise outside died down, Arista stuck her head slowly out of the tent. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her body and outside. A breeze carrying a hint of autumn sweetness caught her in the face and she grimaced. If this damn commotion hadn't happened, she'd still be warming herself with her soldier. What was going on? She looked quickly and seeing no one who would care, she made a dash for her pavilion. Arista tore open the door flap on her tent and once inside, flopped down on her bed furs, winded by the exertion. "Arista? Arista, wake up!" She heard her father return and recognized the panic in his voice. "Arista, are you in there?" Arista rose again, thankful she'd been quick enough, and opened the tent flap to her father. He entered but averted his 40

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eyes from her bare shoulders, knowing she wore nothing beneath her cloak. "Arista, they've taken Pandora. Have you talked with her recently? Do you know why she would visit the prisoner?" He was breathing heavily, sweat beading on his forehead, agitation prominent in his steady gaze. "You have a prisoner?" Panic blossomed in her stomach. Pandora was taken? She was Arista's only true friend and companion among this rabble of men, aside from being her dear sister. "We took a leader from the Celtic tribe we fought last eve. He was kept in a nearby cave and Pandora was seen headed in that direction. It now appears he's escaped, taking Pandora with him." He paused, waiting for Arista to answer, or at least respond in some fashion. Secretly, Arista wondered if Pandora had left with the man. She'd always held a fascination of the Celtic tribes and had shared this interest with Arista on more than one occasion. "Father, I'll help with the search. Let me dress." "Thank you, Arista. Take a soldier with you. I'll not have you lost as well." Her father left in a rush. Arista struggled into her tunic and pulled a long skirt over it before flinging her cloak around her shoulders. As she ventured toward the forest of pines, she felt only peace and wondered how a tribe of savage Celts could possibly live in such gorgeous, alive surroundings. In her 41

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imagination she pictured them living a miserable existence in rocky scrub, not luscious green woods. The soldiers were long gone, each taking a different path through the woods in their search for her sister. Arista walked for what seemed like an hour without seeing another human, soldier or otherwise. It was as if she were on a hidden path. She felt a touch of trepidation when she recalled stories of faeries that stole whomever they chose and delighted in wreaking havoc among humans. Arista rounded a berry bush, gently trailing her fingers over the ripe, red berries. For several hundred yards, she'd not paid any attention to where she was walking or how far from camp she was. She didn't see the wolf until she was close enough to reach out and touch the fur on its neck. Taking in her situation within seconds, she noted its fur was matted, dark grey, not soft at all. Its teeth, as it tasted the overly ripe berries, were long and yellow. Strangely, the first thought she had was why was it eating berries? Wolves didn't eat berries. He must be starving. In the same second she realized the danger she was in. A starving wolf that couldn't hunt for food was a very dangerous creature. When it turned its head to look at her, Arista's heart just about stopped. Its upper lip curled into a snarl and it lifted a front paw to step in her direction. Arista crouched, ready to run, knowing she wouldn't get far. When the wolf lunged, she heard a scream that echoed through the trees around her.

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The wolf knocked her flat on her back, its mouth open and salivating. Hungry drool dripped hot on her chest. She closed her eyes. Death was inevitable. Then, still straddling her, the wolf closed its mouth. It looked up and sniffed at the air, and a moment later, it jumped off and loped away. **** The woods surrounding him spoke in a way that was strangely unfamiliar. They seemed to scorn his every thought and yet, his brother had done the unthinkable. How was he to reconcile that with his beliefs? Elijah Dannon sat at the edge of a small brook. His deer hide boots removed, he dipped his tired feet in the cool water. His hands dangled between his knees as he watched the water flow over the pebbles and rocks that made up his favorite stream. He often sat in places such as this, when he needed to think. The stream wasn't far from where he'd been raised and now, it was less than two hundred feet from his tribe's camp. Every so often, Elijah reached beside him for a small, smooth pebble and tossed it into the stream to watch the ensuing ripples rush to the shore. He didn't want to go back to camp, but if he didn't he'd miss his evening meal. The men in the camp were adept at catching rabbits. Even the thought of a roast made Elijah salivate. But that girl... His own brother, Samuel Dannon, a Daoine Sidhe, had brought a mortal woman back to camp. Roman on top of that! He'd made love to her with her consent. Of that he was sure. 43

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The edge of Samuel's lip twitched every time he looked at the woman as if he was about to smirk. His eyes spoke of ownership. He'd claimed the woman as his own and Elijah couldn't bear the thought of his brother with the enemy. Romans intent on wiping out the entire Celtic culture had invaded Caledonia. Here in northern Britannia things weren't any better. Nor did he see peace in the future. Both he and his brother were Daoine Sidhe Warriors. They had a reputation to uphold and a promise to keep to their people. They would do everything in their power to keep the Romans from ransacking their lands. Elijah and Samuel led the men of their tribe into battle, slaughtering the Romans as quickly and thoroughly as they could. How could Samuel bring one back as his mate? The Daoine Sidhe, as descendants of the legendary Tuatha Dé Danaan, were above that sort of irresponsible behavior. Or so Elijah had thought. He pulled his feet from the water, swung his body so he lay on his back on the edge, knees bent with his feet drying in the sun. His head rested on his hands as he looked up at the canopy of leaves above him. Soon they would begin to fall in the cooler air of autumn. Traveling would get harder, his body more miserable in the cold nights. Once again, he thought of his brother Samuel, this time with a tinge of jealousy. His brother would have a woman beside him in his bed. Elijah was not normally competitive when it came to women. He'd always been a loner, walking alone in the woods, speaking with the creatures there. His mother had hinted at druid blood in him but being a Daoine 44

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Sidhe was enough for him. She'd wisely given them Christian names in the hopes the invading Romans would stop to think for a moment before slaying her sons. However, she never gave them the impression that one day they would find mates and the hand-fasting ceremonies would be celebrated up and down the hills. It didn't seem to be in the stars for Elijah. He had gifts that went beyond the druidic order. He had no inclination to be the type of leader a druid was expected to be. If anyone should be a druid it should be Samuel. He was the warrior, the leader. His men bowed to him. He was a natural. Elijah wanted none of that. The pines whispered to him in the breeze but today, he couldn't make out what they foretold. He sat up when he heard a noise that wasn't the wind. Listening closer, his hand rubbed at the back of his neck. Was that a cat or ... perhaps a woman? Someone was screeching rather loudly. Someone was in trouble. Elijah ran in the direction of the call. Birds and squirrels squawked at him as he ran by, leaping over fallen trees, pushing his way through the tangled mess of the forest. Keep away, keep away, they called. He ignored their warnings. A hungry animal of the forest was no threat to him. When he saw the wolf lean back on its haunches, ready to strike a deadly blow to the pale throat of the slight woman lying beneath it, Elijah stopped, pointed a serious finger at the wolf and called, "She-wolf, you do not want a woman to fill your belly. There are rabbits in the upper fields. They will 45

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satisfy your hunger much better than the bony hide of this young thing." The wolf stopped in its tracks, as if suspended in midair, turned to face Elijah and placed its paws back on the pine needle cushioned floor. The woman didn't move. "Go, she-wolf. Find your dinner elsewhere. I won't let you harm this girl." His voice was little more than a whisper on the breeze. The wolf closed its yearning mouth and turned. It gave him a look of desperation, its eyes hollow and tired. She'd obviously been exiled from her pack for a reason known only to her. With one last look at Elijah who stood less than ten yards away, the wolf loped into the trees, its raggedy tail tucked between its legs in submission. Elijah took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He never knew whether a creature would heed his demands or not. A hungry wolf was an even greater enigma. He was thankful this one was female, and seemed to take him to be of a higher ranking than she was. "Are you hurt?" the smooth, low male voice asked, moving closer to her. She lay on her back on the forest floor, eyes closed, afraid to move lest the wolf still watched her, waiting for another chance to strike. Arista slowly opened her eyes, sensing someone quite close was watching her. When she looked it wasn't a wolf looming over her but a man. She didn't feel fear. Anything was better than a wolf. 46

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He was tall, lean with a strong, rugged jaw line and piercing blue eyes. He looked at her with a concern that surprised her. She guessed he was bronzed from spending days in the sun. He wore tight trousers accentuating his physique, much different than the togas, tunics and trews she was used to seeing men wear. His hair was cropped short and his face smooth in the manner of all Celtic men. When she let out a breath, one corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. He held his hand out to her. It was strong and warm. She let it pull her to her feet, which was accomplished with no strain on his part. Wobbly from the shock, she clung to his shoulders as he held her waist until she was steady. It wasn't until she was stable and he straightened that she realized he was at least a foot taller than she. She lost hold of his shoulders as he reached his full height. "I thought ... dear God ... I thought I was dead." Arista fought to calm her breathing but the handsome man before her had stolen the breath from her lungs. Reluctantly, she withdrew her hands from his skin. This man dripped sensuality. He moved gracefully and with purpose, gently dusting grass from Arista's upper arm. She tingled at his touch. Longing to reach out and stroke his bare chest, she clasped her hands behind her back. "You almost were. She was hungry, but I told her where to find rabbits," he responded casually. "You ... you ... told her?" Arista took a step back, suddenly realizing she needed to look beyond the sudden attraction she 47

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had for this man. Perhaps he was not in full possession of his faculties. His hair was dark brown, streaked by the sun with lighter tinges of auburn and amber, but she was once again drawn to his blue eyes. They were almost inhuman and that's when she noticed the Celtic motif tattooed around his upper arm. A small icon she knew represented the pagan goddess Dana was interwoven with rowan branches. Her sister's stories came back to her in a flood of descriptions. A central spiral decorated his bicep with four rays flowing into a tetraskele, the symbol of luck, light, love and life. This symbol was thought to bring forth harmony and balance. There was no doubt in her mind. She'd managed to find herself in the presence of none other than a Daoine Sidhe warrior. She sucked in her breath, in awe of what stood before her. "You're a Celt, aren't you? Why haven't you killed me?" The trembling she felt after her encounter with the wolf returned. Perhaps death was closer than she thought. "I don't kill for sport," he answered with some disdain. His gaze roamed unabashedly over her from her toes to her hair. Arista felt a flush climbing her chest. "I see you're a Roman woman. Best you get back to your camp before someone with more vile intentions finds you. You're not safe in these woods." When he turned to leave, she reached for him, grazing his upper arm. "Wait, I'm looking for my sister." He stopped, and turned back to face her. "Have you seen her? Are you the one who took her?" 48

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The man turned to face her. "Your sister? If I'm correct, she's with my brother and of her own accord." Arista lowered her eyes. "I wondered about that. She's always been intrigued by the Celtic culture." He laughed, low and sultry. "A Roman interested in the Celts? Perhaps she's a spy." "Of course not!" Arista shot back. "It's all right. I don't really believe that. It seems your Pandora is besotted with my brother, and he with her. They're together at our camp and intend to remain that way." "You'll take me to them, won't you?" "If you insist. It means nothing to me either way." He breathed in and wiped his brow. "My name is Elijah Dannon." "Hello, Elijah Dannon," Arista smiled. "I'm Arista, daughter of Gaius Livicus." She paused, wondering whether or not to ask the next question. Her curiosity won out. "You mentioned you talked to that wolf. And that tattoo..." She paused. "Are you really a faerie?" Elijah took her hand and gently tugged her to the west, in the direction of his camp. "Of a sort. I'm of the Daoine Sidhe. I don't know how I came to have this gift but the animals are able to understand me. It's certainly not considered typical among the Sidhe tribes. The wolf was just hungry." Arista didn't know how to respond and so followed Elijah quietly through the woods. The animals understood him? He kept hold of her hand, instilling thoughts in Arista that had her imagination overflowing. The picture she created in her mind of what a man like him could do to her in bed was almost more than she could stand. He was bigger than most 49

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men she'd encountered ... all over. This was a man, not an inexperienced boy away from home for the first time. Cavorting with the enemy, her father called it when warning his men against seeking out local women. Arista intended to cavort with this enemy. To bear a child of his would be something amazing. With her dark ringlets and his eyes, the child would be nothing less than stunning. The thought was momentary. She only had eyes for Elijah Dannon's taut backside as he walked through the woods ahead of her in his form-fitting trousers. In three more steps, he quickly crouched low, pulling Arista down with him. "Stop," he whispered. The finger at his lips told her to remain quiet. "Someone is coming this way." He spoke so soft Arista could barely make out what he was saying. "I don't hear anything," she whispered. "No, but that sparrow does." He pointed to a nearby oak. "He's given us a warning." Elijah glanced around. Spotting a nearby pine surrounded by bushes, he sprinted for it, pulling Arista clumsily behind him. Behind the tree and sheltered by the bushes, she felt Elijah relax. While they sat in silence on the fallen, brown needles, Arista heard the talking. "I don't know why we bother. We all know they went on their own. They weren't meant for the life of a soldier. It's plain rebellion." The voice was seasoned and gruff but the one that followed, Arista recognized. It was young and seemed hollow as a reed, as if spoken with guarded emotion. 50

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"I'm not so sure about that. I doubt Arista thought life in the camp with us was so bad," It was her young soldier. She felt a blush crawl up her neck as the memories of their last night together came flooding back. She desperately hoped Elijah hadn't noticed. "Perhaps she was bored with the pickings," the older soldier elbowed the younger man and laughed heartily. So, they knew about her nights. No matter, it was in the past. She had forgotten about other men since Elijah rescued her. She was so close to him now that she caught his scent. She breathed him in, sweat and leaves. Strange. He smells of leaves. Arista forgot the reason they sat behind the bushes and tentatively reached out to touch the dark tattoo twisted around Elijah's left bicep. His head swung around and the look he gave her sent a shiver to her core. Realizing he knew the meaning of her touch, she brazenly ran her small hand down the length of his arm. "Be careful, woman. You don't know what you're doing," he warned, the dark centers of his eyes dilating. "You don't think so?" They both turned momentarily as the soldiers trundled by, heading south. When they'd passed, Elijah answered, "You're Roman. I would use you, nothing more." Arista pressed closer. "Of course you would. I am well aware of that." She paused, looking at him meaningfully. "Use me, Elijah," she purred.

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"Men don't often reject you, do they?" he questioned as he placed his hands softly on her shoulders, pushing her down onto the bed of pine needles and moss. Her grin was full of mischief. "No, they don't." Elijah didn't respond, but he did pull her tunic swiftly over her head, exposing her breasts. With one warm palm covering one breast and the other holding his weight, his tongue became a quick and efficient reminder of what she'd gotten herself into. When he finally released her mouth and traced a searing path down the curve of her neck, she struggled out of her tunic. The cool air of late summer had her already erect nipples straining even harder. A hiss of breath escaped her lips as Elijah took the tip of her breast into his hot mouth. He nipped and gently tugged until she arched up against him, begging for more. He muffled a groan of satisfaction when she did. Flicking her nipple with the tip of his tongue one last time, he reached down to hike up her skirt. She accommodated him by lifting her bottom, allowing the skirt to settle around her waist. Elijah's arousal was evident, straining against his tight linen pants. Keeping his blue eyes focused on her breasts, he rubbed his cock against her thigh, eliciting moans from Arista. She dug her fingers into the hard flesh of his shoulders, urging him on. As he bent down, he wrapped one arm around her neck and the other around her lithe waist and rolled. Arista let out a squeal of surprise that had Elijah slamming a hand over her 52

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mouth and hushing her. Her eyes widened in momentary fear, until she realized his intent. "Woman, there are Romans in these woods. Hush now." "I know there are. I'm one of them. There is no danger here for me," she whispered. "I wasn't speaking of you. I'd be killed on the spot if one of your brethren caught me despoiling you." "Hardly for that reason." She giggled, tossing her hair as she sat astride him. "Unless it was my father who caught us. If you were killed, it would simply be for being a Celt." "That's enough for me." Elijah shifted, releasing his cock from its confines. Arista took the hint, rose up on her knees, but then caught sight of his cock for the first time. With a reverence she'd never felt for a man's sex, she lifted it from his abdomen, her fingers unable to meet around its girth. She held it straight as she slowly slid down, filling herself with more man than she'd ever experienced. As she stretched and swelled around him, bolts of lightening shot through her core and out to her very limbs. Her mouth opened and stayed that way until she was impaled to the core. She felt him touch the entrance to her womb and flinched. Taking a full breath, she relaxed and allowed it to caress her deep inside, keeping her bordering on the line between pleasure and pain—her favorite place to be. She rocked against him, delighting in the ecstasy clearly displayed on his rugged face. His hands held her hips, allowing her most of the control, but not all.

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Now, finally, she could place her palms on his beautiful, muscled chest. The soft, springy hairs curled around her fingers. Elijah's face was closed to her now, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his lips pulled back in a grimace only she understood. He began to thrust harder, in rhythm with her, bending his knees so that her behind came in breathtaking contact with his thighs. Keeping one palm on the center of his chest, Arista reached around behind her to cup his warm balls in her hand. Swollen and tight against him, she tugged on them gently, eliciting a growl from somewhere deep within him. He responded by releasing her hips, pushing his fingers between her legs to caress her exquisitely sensitive nub. Unable to concentrate on massaging his testicles, she fell forward onto his chest. Her body strained until her muscles felt as if they would pull from their tendons. Elijah pounded into her, spilling his seed deep inside. As they lay breathless and limp, his semen leaked out from around his cock. She looked up at Elijah's face when she felt the warm sensation. He smiled at her, one that was genuine, and not full of the mocking image he'd presented earlier. "What am I to do with you now?" he quipped. Arista smiled in return, turning his chin to face her when he looked to the side, listening for something she hadn't heard, nor was likely to. "Take me with you," she said in a low voice lest Roman search parties were close by. In their passion, they'd been oblivious to the goings on around them. 54

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"We weren't spotted," he said, ignoring her comment. She looked up into the trees. "I don't see any sparrows. How do you know?" He looked at her seriously now. "I can't explain everything about what I sense or hear. You'll have to trust me." He rolled her off him, and slowly stood. He fumbled with his pants. The way he hurried, it almost seemed to Arista that he was suddenly aware of his nudity. Arista remained on the ground, stretched out and completely naked. The cool air breezed across her skin giving it a pink glow. Elijah wasn't able to keep his eyes off her as he dressed. Arista was used to that from men. She knew she was attractive, beautiful even, but when Elijah looked at her that way she almost choked on her breath. From the ground looking up, Elijah was spectacular. The sheen of sweat on his skin had her salivating. She took his hand and pulled herself up. Holding him to steady her numb legs, she let him catch her as she leaned in and slowly licked his chest in a sweet path over the soft hair in the center to his nipple. It rose to attention when she took it into her mouth. "Ah, woman," he hissed. "Are all Roman women as highly sexual as you? All right," he said in a low, smooth voice. "Come with me." Arista knew the offer was made in lust, but she didn't care. She wanted him to ache for her. If her sister could leave with a Celt, so could she. Sick and tired of life in her camp, Arista was ready for an adventure. Her heart skipped in her chest as she hurried into her clothing while Elijah, waiting patiently, kept a lookout. 55

Celtic Love Knots Volume 5 by Jennah Sharpe

"Come, woman," he commanded as he held out his hand to her. She slid on her shoe, stood and took his hand. Immediately, they set off into the forest. "My brother will be moving the tribe by now. I intended to catch up with them, but we'll have to move quickly now that the Romans are on the move as well." "Yes, my father was headed north," she blurted between gasps for air as she struggled to keep her footing. "Not only that, but they are searching for you and your sister. They won't be traveling in a cohesive group. That will be a little more unpredictable. We must warn Samuel." "Samuel is your brother?" she asked. "He is." As they slowed to cross through a particularly dense area of bush, Arista asked a question that had been on her mind for quite some time. "Why were you alone in the forest? Are you a spy?" "No," he said softly as if remembering something. His eyes remained on an unseen path ahead. "I was walking." "You aren't where you want to be, are you?" "What do you mean by that?" He glanced at her with a scowl on his face. In Arista's opinion, it only added to his mystery and depth. "I mean, this isn't where you want to be in life. You want something else." "Don't we all?" "Yes, I suppose. When it comes to Pandora and myself that's particularly true. I want to know about you, Elijah." 56

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"It's not hard to understand. I want to be on the side of a loch, deep in the Highlands. I may be of Daoine Sidhe warrior heritage, but I wasn't meant for this life." "Why aren't you there?" she asked, feeling she'd hit upon a nugget of information that could reveal more of who Elijah was. "I am a warrior Sidhe, as is my brother. We have a duty to our people." He cast his gaze into the distance. They'd emerged from the trees and stood on the edge of a vast, open field. The sky had clouded over to a pewter grey. Arista could make out a mist in the distance that was very likely rain. Thus far, they'd had luck with the weather. It had been sunny for more than seven days, an oddity on this island—or so she'd been told. Within minutes, they were exposed on the field. Elijah kept his eyes on the surrounding bushes. He was certain they were safe, going in a different direction than the troops. "We'll catch up with Samuel and the men very soon. They can't be more than a mile ahead of us. The Romans will be returning to their camp in preparation for the march." Arista felt a kink grab at her heart. "Father will leave without us? You don't think he'll leave someone to search for Pandora and me?" Elijah glanced at her face. She knew he recognized the gathering sorrow in her expression. Her father wasn't looking for her. It wasn't that she wanted to be found only that she'd overestimated her father's love.

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Elijah quickened his pace. Arista knew the rush was necessary still she fought to keep up with Elijah's longer, muscular legs. "He knows who took Pandora. He very likely knows the same tribe has you. He's a smart man. I'm sure he has a plan to get the two of you back." "Do you think it will work?" Elijah did not answer for a few moments. Arista didn't prompt him for an answer. When the mist turned heavier, filling Arista's cloak with water, she saw Elijah shiver. He was still bare-chested, clear raindrops running in rivulets around the ridges and grooves of his muscles. Arista realized from the far away expression on his handsome face that he was thinking. "Do you want it to?" she asked in a lower voice. Elijah wiped a hand back and forth over the top of his head, spraying water like a shaking dog. "Samuel and your sister are happy. She came to him of her own free will. As for you, my little Roman, you've surprised me. I find myself wanting you to stay with me, despite your heritage." Arista smiled. Elijah was too busy looking around to glance her way. "We're almost in the trees again. I'm sure the camp is just on the other side of this field from what Samuel told me." "Really? We'll be behind my father's troops? Is that part of your plan?" "Yes," he answered, helping Arista over a fallen log at the edge of the woods. She jumped down into his welcoming 58

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arms. "We don't want him to know where we are at all times of the day." He stopped and looked at her pointedly. "Is this the type of information he sent you to gather?" Arista gasped. "How could you think that? Do you really think he'd send his only daughters into the enemy's hands for the purposes of spying?" He chuckled. "No, I don't, but it hardly matters. He won't defeat us." "How can you be so sure?" She caught sight of a pure smile tugging at his lips as he once again walked in front of her, pulling her along by the hand. "Because things are going too right to turn wrong now." That was a good enough answer for Arista. Descending a gentle slope, she saw the wood smoke of the Celtic camp filtering through the trees. Elijah gave a short, trilling birdcall to which she heard an answering caw. She saw Elijah's shoulders relax, and felt less exhaustion from the day's travels, knowing he felt safe. She was certain he would know if danger was nearby. "Samuel knows we're here. You'll see your sister soon." Walking up to the tents, they were greeted by several men who'd accepted a Roman woman traveling with them. They nodded to Arista and slapped Elijah on the back in brotherly affection. Rounding the curve of a small tent, Arista saw the beds laid out around the fire. Then Pandora stepped out from under a piece of material strung between the trees for rain protection. 59

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"Pandora!" Arista cried, running into her sister's waiting arms. Pandora caught her in an embrace and held her. Then, holding her at arm's length, her expression became fearful. "What are you doing here, Arista? What's going on?" "It's all right. I'm here with Elijah." "Are you staying?" Pandora's gaze scanned the faces of the men she'd come to know, searching for some sign of how much they knew. "Yes. As long as Elijah will have me," answered Arista. Pandora laughed. "What is it with these men? If Father had only known their draw, their virility, he never would have brought us here." Arista glanced at Elijah and Samuel who were chatting companionably at the sputtering fire. The rain was beginning in earnest so Pandora pulled Arista under the shelter. "No, you're right. He wouldn't have. But he did, and look what we've found," she said, gesturing toward the men. At the same moment, Elijah stood and walked in her direction. His gaze was penetrating, his eyes full of that liquid desire she'd seen that morning. He held out his hand, "Come, my little Roman," he whispered. She accepted his lead, smiled knowingly at Pandora and followed Elijah to a small, well-traveled tent. Inside, he discarded her cloak, roughly stripped off her tunic and skirt before lowering her to the blankets on the floor. She sighed, closing her eyes. "You're staying with me, Arista. It's too late to go back now." 60

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"Don't worry, my fey warrior, I'm not going anywhere." Already, Elijah was between her legs, licking the tip of his greedy tongue over her inner thigh. Arista felt the warmth of the moisture gathering between her legs. He welcomed the arousal with his tongue, lapping her folds, suckling and prodding. Arista's breath came in short pants. His hands went beneath her bottom, raising her hips toward him. She wound her fingers as tightly as she could among the soft, short hair on his head. Very quickly, she found herself on the edge of a very appealing abyss. Before she realized he'd changed positions, he was rising over her, glowing in his nakedness. Arista had missed him shedding his clothing. He took her hand, guiding it to his cock, swollen and rigidly standing of its own accord. She stroked him twice before he stilled her hand. "That's enough," he whispered in a hoarse voice. He lowered himself to place his face against the curve of her neck and entered her in one smooth, quick movement. She arched against him, letting his thrusting push her deeper into a glorious oblivion. "Be my wife, Arista. Tell me you'll stay with me. I have no need of a Highland loch when you're with me," he whispered into her curls. "I would never say no to you, Elijah. I never had a doubt since the moment you rescued me that I was meant to be with you." He exploded at her words, releasing a stream of warmth within her. She clasped him close to her, wrapping her legs 61

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tightly around his lean hips and her arms around his back. There was a need in his lovemaking that was unmistakable. He worked at branding her as his and ensuring she was real. Any woman would have recognized it. He'd been waiting for her just as long as she'd been waiting for him.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Jennah Sharpe is an author, mother and traveler who can be easily seduced by mint chocolate. Her imagination often keeps her up at night but it certainly makes for an entertaining life. She lives in Canada with her soul mate and two young children. Visit her interactive website for chats, photos and contests at www.jennahsharpe.com.

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