Page 102 of Shadow Spell

She rose up, swimming up and over a wave of pleasure so absolute it seemed to fill her body with pure white light.

Then it was him filling her, giving her more, and more and more until tears blurred her vision. As she peaked, as she clung for glorious moments to that bright and brilliant edge, she heard his voice, once again, in her mind.

This is more,he said to her.This is love.

***

“WHY DOES IT MAKE YOU SO UNEASY?”

“What?” Meara stared at him, then looked around. “Where are we? Is— Is that Sorcha’s cabin? Are we dreaming?”

“More than a dream. And love is more than the lie you try to believe it is.”

“It’s Sorcha’s cabin, but it stands under the vines that grow around it. And this isn’t the time to talk about love and lies. Did he bring us here?”

She drew her sword, grateful the dream that wasn’t a dream provided it.

“Love’s the source of the light.”

“The moon’s the source of the light, and we can be glad it’s full wherever and whenever we are.” She turned a slow circle, searching shadows. “Is he near? Can you feel him?”

“If you can’t yet believe you love me, you should believe I love you. I’ve never told you a lie, or not one that mattered, in your life.”

“Connor.” She sheathed her sword, but left her hand on the hilt. “Have you lost your senses?”

“I’ve gained them.” He grinned at her. “It’s your senses lost because you haven’t the nerve to pick them up and hold them.”

“I’m the one with the sword so mind what you say about my nerve.”

He only kissed her before she shoved him away. “Not a weak thing in or about you. Your heart’s stronger than you think, and it’s going to be mine.”

“I’m not going to stand here, of all places, and talk nonsense with you. I’m going back.”

“That’s not the way.” Connor took her arm as she turned.

“I know the way well enough.”

“That’s not the way,” he repeated. “And it’s not yet time, as here he comes now.”

Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her sword. “Cabhan.”

Connor stilled her sword hand before she could draw, and took the white cobble out of his pocket. It glowed like a small moon in his palm.

“No. It’s Eamon who comes.”

She watched him ride into the little clearing, not a boy now, but a man. Very young, but tall and straight and so like Connor her heart jerked.

He wore his hair longer and braided back. He came quietly astride a tough-looking chestnut who, to her eye, could have galloped halfway across the county without losing its wind.

“Good evening to you, cousin,” Connor called out.

“And to you and your lady.” Eamon dismounted smoothly. Rather than tether the horse, he simply laid the reins over its back. The way the chestnut stood, like a carved statue in the moonlight, it was clear it wouldn’t stray or bolt away from its master.

“It’s been some time for you,” Connor observed.

“Five years. My sisters and their men bide at Ashford. Brannaugh has two children, a son and a daughter, and another son comes any day. Teagan is with child. Her first.”

He looked to the cabin, then over to his mother’s gravestone. “And so we’ve come home.”

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