Page 34 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

Orla knew that if Owain’s father or the nobles of the Kingdom of Edam knew that Owain had witch blood in his veins, that he could cast spells, use potions, and carve runes, he would be even more reviled than he already was. They balked at potentially having a bastard as their ruler. There’s no way they would accept a half breed to boot.

“If being a bastard was hard in Edam, being part witch would be even worse. Thank you for telling me. I’m sure it’s not an easy secret to keep.” She paused before continuing. “Why did you decide to share that with me?” Orla twisted from her seat on the bed to look at him fully.

“I wanted you to know. To know me.”

Playfully, he said, “Let’s call it a bargain. I told you a secret, now you tell me one.” She rolled her eyes. Gods, Elves and their bargains.

“What do you want to know?”

“How does a nymph become the most feared warrior in a kingdom?”

“Do you want the short version or the long version?”

He reached, taking her chin in his hand as he tilted her face up to meet his gaze. “The long version, naturally.”

She obliged.

They spent the next several hours talking. Orla had already told Owain how difficult it was to grow up half nymph in an Elven world. Something she now knew he could also understand. What she hadn’t told him before was how insignificant she had felt for so much of her life.

Orla hadn’t always dreamed of being a warrior. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t what she wanted to be at all. What she wanted to be was respected, to be taken seriously, and to have a life beyond the small border village she had grown up in. She told him about how her father made her feel less than, even when he wasn’t meaning to. Orla shared the depths of her feelings of isolation that her mother had left her and that she had never had a true friend until she joined the king’s army.

Even going so far as to admit that before she had met Rhyan and Cessly, she didn’t think it was possible for anyone to love her. Sure, she knew her father loved her, but she never felt it from him. When Duncan had died, she had felt more alone than she thought possible. Alone in their tiny cottage on the edge of the kingdom, she wished she was powerful and loved. She wished that someone, anyone, would respect her. There was only one way she could get that respect as a fifteen-year-old girl with no command over her magic; she could fight for her kingdom.

Owain listened as she told him about her first few years in the army. How she was strong but small and got her ass handed to her again and again by the other cadets. She felt herself light up when she told him about her first meeting with Rhyan and later meeting Cessly. Rhyan, she said, had trained her, and Cessly helped her to feel more confident. One thing drove her through the years: the glory of being a decorated warrior. Orla remembered the pride she felt when she survived her first battle and the elation that came when others would acknowledge her accomplishments.

Faltering, she pushed through to tell him about Fontina. In hushed tones, she told him about how she felt it was her fault that Rhyan had died. That she had gotten distracted and that’s when Prince Gwayne had struck. But she continued on, telling him about the aftermath. How she had gotten it all and hated every second after she had it. She told him how she was back to feeling so alone. Though this time it was shame and guilt that led her to being so soul-crushingly lonely. She even told him how much she hated the dreaded moniker Hero of Fontina. That she didn’t feel like a hero for what happened in Fontina. Most days, if she thought about that battle, she felt like a monster.

Tears streamed down her face as she spoke. Through it all, he never let go of her hand.

“You are not a monster, Orla,” he said in a soft voice, though a note of authority rang through his words. She didn’t know when she had moved, but she found herself resting her head on his chest, his arm slung over her shoulder. “You couldn’t control your magic. Not because you are a monster, but because no one taught you.” She sniffed, eyes brimming with tears.

“I don’t know if this is the right time, but I got you something.” Slowly, as if he didn’t want to let her go, he released her hand as he reached towards the drawer in the bedside table and pulled out a small parcel, a little larger than the size of her hand. Placing the parcel on the bed, he nudged her to open it. While still tucked against his firm chest, she reached for the parcel and tore open the brown wrapping paper. There were two items inside. One was a small golden filigree ring, accented with tiny emeralds. It fit perfectly on her middle finger.

The other item was an old book titled A Nymphs Guide to Flora. She opened it and found lists of plants and herbs and their uses.

“The book is a collection of magical plants that are particularly attuned to the magic of nymphs. I thought that if you practiced with plants that have roots to nymph heritage, it might make mastering your magic easier.” He paused.

“And the ring?” she asked.

“The ring is runed and is supposed to help channel magic more effectively. I’ve never seen one like it, so I’m not exactly sure how it works, but it’s also beautiful. I wanted you to have it.”

Orla was stunned by his thoughtfulness. No one had ever given her such thoughtful gifts. Orla’s struggles with her magic had been a weight around her neck for her entire life. That Owain found things to help her lift that burden meant more to her than she could put into words.

Before she thought more about what she was doing, Orla placed her hand on the back of Owain’s neck and brought his face down to hers, meeting his lips in a kiss. It was their first since Chrys caught them in the garden nearly a week ago. The kiss was slow and soft. Orla gently exploring Owain’s mouth with her own.

Owain broke off the kiss, holding Orla’s face in his calloused hands. “I could kiss you forever, Orla. But I don’t want you to think I got you these things expecting anything in return. I just wanted you to have them.”

“I know, that’s why I want to kiss you.” He grinned before returning his lips to hers.

Chapter Nineteen

This time, their kiss was hungry and passionate. Placing his hand on Orla’s hip, Owain pulled her into a straddle position on his lap. Their kiss intensified, becoming a swirl of tongues and teeth as they discovered what turned each other on. As they kissed, Orla’s hands worked to explore Owain’s body. She pushed her hands under his shirt, feeling every inch of his taut muscular frame. The dips and hollows of his body were nothing short of erotic. She was desperate to feel him, to have his skin on hers. Owain explored Orla in equal measure. She loved the sounds he made as he gripped her soft curvaceous ass and ground her along the hot hard length of his clothed cock. Orla could feel her core getting wetter with every touch of their bodies.

Orla moved her mouth to kiss down the column of Owain’s neck. Gods, the taste of him; she could kiss him into oblivion and never get enough. Orla ran her teeth along the side of Owain’s neck, eliciting a low moan that set her pussy on fire. She needed more of him. Needed him to relieve the ache that was building between her legs. As she continued her ministrations, Owain pulled her nightdress down off her shoulders, exposing her large breasts.

“You are a goddess, Orla,” he said, somewhere between a breath and a moan and he ran his palm over her breasts. “You have the most beautiful body I have ever seen,” he said before taking one of her dark nipples in his hand. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger until it hardened. He pinched the tight bud, causing Orla to inhale sharply, before he took her into his mouth. He licked, nibbled, and sucked one nipple while his free hand played with the other.

“Gods, I need you,” she panted, breaking his hold on her breasts and pulling his shirt over his head. As she drank in his impeccable body, stroking her fingers along his defined abdomen and the dips along his hips that disappeared into the waist of his pants, she noticed a large circular scar on his chest a few inches away from his heart. There were several other smaller scars with the same circular shape. Orla wondered what would have caused such uniform wounds. She bent down and kissed the largest scar.