you.”
Now she looked him right in the eye. “Why me? Why me and not Helene?”
She wanted wooing.
It came to him more easily than he expected. “I admire you.” He surprised himself. This wasn’t a glib falsehood, devised to lure her to his bed. It was the truth. “Your body appeals to me. Your courage and thirst for knowledge do as well. And your desire to protect your friends. And because when you look at me now, stripped of my glamour, you still desire me. But I won’t touch you again unless you’re holding cold iron, and you ask me to.”
T he fog that descended over her mind when he was using his glamour had burned away like morning mist when she grasped the key. And she still wanted him. His face was alien and cruel and so beautiful it hurt, but she still wanted him. She missed the warmth of his body pressing her into the stone wall, missed the heat of his breath on her neck, in her ear, missed the feel of his taut muscles and the hard planes of his chest.
But without the compulsion, Mrs. McClaren’s warning rang in her mind. “The landlady in Clonmel said that one of the Aes Sídhe seduced her sister. That he left her on the streets of Dublin, starving, in rags. That when they brought her home she wouldn’t eat or drink. That she wasted away and died.”
He stiffened, spoke cautiously. “Are you asking me for another fairy story, Beth?”
“I’m asking if that is what you would do to me.”
He stepped back awkwardly. It was the first time she’d seen him anything less than graceful. “You are not the landlady’s sister. You’re not a farm girl from Clonmel. It is unlikely the Fae who took the girl chose her for her lively mind or her broad interests. He wanted her body. No doubt she was a great beauty, if she attracted the attention of a Fae. Many women are content to be admired as such. Content with that.”
“And the ones who aren’t?” she asked.
He looked away.
She shuddered, recalling the way her ears had popped when he’d freed her. The weight of his mind on hers had been crushing, like being buried underground. The thought of enduring that for months brought her headache roaring back and made her feel sick to her stomach. There would be nothing left of her after that kind of mental imprisonment. “Is it so easy for the Fae? Controlling humans?”
“Yes.” There was a chord of guilt in his voice. It surprised her.
“And me?” she probed.
“No. It is not easy to control you. You have a trained mind. It defends itself, throws up barriers to keep me out. Our usual prey, however, are rarely so learned. It’s easier to slip inside their minds, to take over their will. But even with a simple mind, maintaining control requires a measure of effort, and we are an indolent race. The Fae who took the landlady’s sister probably saved himself the trouble of keeping constant hold on her mind and simply marked her with a geis .”
She’d read, naturally, the entire body of Irish mythology, knew what gaesa were. “You mean like Cú Chulainn. One geis forbade him to eat dog meat, and the other forbade him to refuse food from a woman. When the Morrigan assumed the guise of a woman and offered him dog meat, he had no choice but to break one geis or the other. He ate the meat.”
“And fell to his enemy. Breaking his geis weakened Cú Chulainn,” said Conn, his eyes growing distant, as though he had been there. “Made him vulnerable in battle. Brought him to his death.”
“Stories with gaesa don’t usually end well,” Beth said.
“To violate a geis is death and destruction. The most powerful gaesa are written on the body. This,” he parted his shirt, traced the pattern of scars that mantled his shoulders, “is a geis .”
The marks she’d traced with her fingers. The pattern she now realized had graced the walls of the mound in Clonmel. They danced over every inch of his chest and shoulders, fine white scars incised with masterful skill. Her twenty-first century mind had
Now she looked him right in the eye. “Why me? Why me and not Helene?”
She wanted wooing.
It came to him more easily than he expected. “I admire you.” He surprised himself. This wasn’t a glib falsehood, devised to lure her to his bed. It was the truth. “Your body appeals to me. Your courage and thirst for knowledge do as well. And your desire to protect your friends. And because when you look at me now, stripped of my glamour, you still desire me. But I won’t touch you again unless you’re holding cold iron, and you ask me to.”
T he fog that descended over her mind when he was using his glamour had burned away like morning mist when she grasped the key. And she still wanted him. His face was alien and cruel and so beautiful it hurt, but she still wanted him. She missed the warmth of his body pressing her into the stone wall, missed the heat of his breath on her neck, in her ear, missed the feel of his taut muscles and the hard planes of his chest.
But without the compulsion, Mrs. McClaren’s warning rang in her mind. “The landlady in Clonmel said that one of the Aes Sídhe seduced her sister. That he left her on the streets of Dublin, starving, in rags. That when they brought her home she wouldn’t eat or drink. That she wasted away and died.”
He stiffened, spoke cautiously. “Are you asking me for another fairy story, Beth?”
“I’m asking if that is what you would do to me.”
He stepped back awkwardly. It was the first time she’d seen him anything less than graceful. “You are not the landlady’s sister. You’re not a farm girl from Clonmel. It is unlikely the Fae who took the girl chose her for her lively mind or her broad interests. He wanted her body. No doubt she was a great beauty, if she attracted the attention of a Fae. Many women are content to be admired as such. Content with that.”
“And the ones who aren’t?” she asked.
He looked away.
She shuddered, recalling the way her ears had popped when he’d freed her. The weight of his mind on hers had been crushing, like being buried underground. The thought of enduring that for months brought her headache roaring back and made her feel sick to her stomach. There would be nothing left of her after that kind of mental imprisonment. “Is it so easy for the Fae? Controlling humans?”
“Yes.” There was a chord of guilt in his voice. It surprised her.
“And me?” she probed.
“No. It is not easy to control you. You have a trained mind. It defends itself, throws up barriers to keep me out. Our usual prey, however, are rarely so learned. It’s easier to slip inside their minds, to take over their will. But even with a simple mind, maintaining control requires a measure of effort, and we are an indolent race. The Fae who took the landlady’s sister probably saved himself the trouble of keeping constant hold on her mind and simply marked her with a geis .”
She’d read, naturally, the entire body of Irish mythology, knew what gaesa were. “You mean like Cú Chulainn. One geis forbade him to eat dog meat, and the other forbade him to refuse food from a woman. When the Morrigan assumed the guise of a woman and offered him dog meat, he had no choice but to break one geis or the other. He ate the meat.”
“And fell to his enemy. Breaking his geis weakened Cú Chulainn,” said Conn, his eyes growing distant, as though he had been there. “Made him vulnerable in battle. Brought him to his death.”
“Stories with gaesa don’t usually end well,” Beth said.
“To violate a geis is death and destruction. The most powerful gaesa are written on the body. This,” he parted his shirt, traced the pattern of scars that mantled his shoulders, “is a geis .”
The marks she’d traced with her fingers. The pattern she now realized had graced the walls of the mound in Clonmel. They danced over every inch of his chest and shoulders, fine white scars incised with masterful skill. Her twenty-first century mind had
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