Page 101 of Queen of the Shadow

Cuchulainn looked up at her and his eyes widened as he took in her wet hair and pink cheeks. “I understand your scream now.”

“I didn’t scream,” she said as she stood as close to the fire as she could get and combed her fingers through her long, thick hair. “It was a squeak. Of surprise.”

Cuchulainn stood and grinned. “Well, if it was just a squeak, then the water couldn’t be that cold.” He picked up his cloak and the mead skin, which he handed to her. “This will help warm you. I’ll be back before the pork has finished cooking.” As he passed her, Cuchulainn drew in a deep breath. His amber eyes sparkled. “You smell more delicious than the pork.” Then he disappeared into the fog blanket.

Scáthach sat cross-legged before the fire. She used a stick to turn the meat on the heating stones, arranged the cheese and bread to also warm, and then continued to comb through her hair between long drinks of mead.

Her stomach felt odd—fluttery and unsteady.

Cuchulainn’s sharp shriek made her smile, which added to the strangeness in her stomach.

Was she nervous?

Scáthach snorted a laugh. She was definitely planning on having sex with Cuchulainn. That night. Finally. But why this nervousness? She’d taken many lovers over more years than Cuchulainn had lived. She’d never been even the slightest bit nervous with any of them. Why now?

She was pondering the question when Cuchulainn jogged through the fog barrier to the campfire. His hair was drenched, his teeth chattered, and his hands shook as he held them out to the flames, but when he met her gaze, his smile was filled with warmth.

“You were right,” he said. “You gave no more than a little squeak. Almost nothing at all. Just like me.”

She laughed with him and the answer to her pondering came to her. It was simple. Scáthach was nervous because she desired him as much as she loved him, and that was something she’d never known with any man before him.

She tossed him the skin of mead. “This does help.” She followed the mead with steaming pork and melted cheese between thick slices of bread. They had to blow on the meat, but eating it hot warmed their insides as much as the mead.

When they were done with the meal, Scáthach leaned back against her pack and continued to work her fingers through her drying hair. Cuchulainn came to her. He crouched beside her and smiled shyly. “May I do it? May I comb through your hair?”

She met his gaze. “Yes.”

He said nothing, only smiled in response and spread out his cloak beside them. He went to his travel pack and took out a wooden comb before returning to offer her his hand. She allowed him to help her stand and then to reposition her in the middle of the fur-lined cloak. He sat behind her, fixing his legs so that she could lean back against him. Then he began to slowly work the comb through her damp hair.

She melted back against him with a sigh. “That feels so good,” she murmured.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m glad. I remember the first glimpse I had of you. You were on the sentry platform, standing between Tabiti and Uathach. The sun was sinking behind you, and it lit your hair like tinder, turning it to tawny flame. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I still think so.”

Scáthach turned so that she faced him. She leaned forward. He met her halfway and they kissed—softly, gently. He pulled back before the kiss could deepen. She didn’t speak. Instead the Queen of Shadow took his hand in hers and waited.

“That night. The night Aife drugged me and—” He hesitated, swallowed, and then continued. “And raped me. I thought she was you.”

“I know,” Scáthach said softly.

“She weaved a spell when she drugged me, and during the casting of it she asked who I most desired. It was you, Scáthach, my Queen of Shadow. From the moment we met, it has been you. I think it will always be you.”

“I know,” she repeated. “Sentanta, I want to be with you—want to make love with you—but I know you’ve been hurt, misused by Aife. I don’t ever want to cause you pain. If you aren’t ready for this intimacy, I understand. I will wait.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want you, Scáthach. Only you.” He looked down at their linked hands. “But I’m afraid that when I—whenwedo more than just kiss, it will bring it all back. The pain. The confusion. The humiliation.”

She cupped his chin and lifted his face. “Then I shall follow your lead. Show me what makes you feel safe. Teach me how to fulfill your desire without hurting you. Nights in this realm are long. We have time. Talk to me.”

“I want to try. I’m just afraid I’ll make a stupid mistake and mess up tonight or, worse, break what has formed between us.”

Her thumb traced his full bottom lip. “You cannot break what is between us. Nor can you mess up tonight. Tonight is for us. Think only of that. Think only of your pleasure.”

His smile was tentative. He kissed her thumb and then sucked it gently into his mouth to nip at it, which made her gasp and shiver. “I don’t want to think only ofmypleasure. I want to think of yours as well.”

Her lips parted as she stared at his mouth. “I’m very glad to hear that.” Her gaze flicked to his. “May I kiss you now?”

As an answer he pulled her into his embrace; their lips met. The kiss wasn’t teasing or hesitating or gentle. It was fire and heat and desire. Their tongues touched, searching and lingering. Cuchulainn moaned and closed his eyes, losing himself in their kiss. Scáthach moved closer to him and was suddenly straddling Cuchulainn.

Abruptly his eyes opened. His body tensed. He began to tremble. Scáthach pulled back, understanding immediately that she was in the same position Aife had been in when she’d molested him. Scáthach slid from his lap, taking his hand in hers again. His breath was shaky and came in quick pants.