He tasted the wine and the warmth—and a recklessness he hadn’t anticipated. That, he knew, was his mistake.

She was ready for him this time. Her hands were in his hair, her mouth open and avid. She didn’t melt against him in surrender, or shudder from the onslaught. She strained for more.

Need clawed at him, one more demon sent to torture him.

She wondered the air between them didn’t smoke, wondered how it was both of them didn’t simply erupt into flame. This was fire, in the blood, in the bone.

How had she lived all of her life without it?

Even when he released her, pushed her back, it stayed inside her like a fever.

“Did you feel that?” Her whisper was full of wonder. “Did you feel that?”

The taste of her was inside him now, and everything in him craved more of her. So he didn’t answer, didn’t speak at all. He slipped into the dark and was gone before she could take another breath.

Chapter 5

S he awoke early and energized. All through the day before she’d dragged such weight with her, as if it had been shackled to her leg. Now that chain was broken. It didn’t matter that rain poured out of moody gray skies that smothered even a hint of sun. She had the light inside her again.

She dressed in what she thought of as her Irish clothes—jeans and a sweatshirt. The time for ceremony and decorum was past, and sensibilities be damned until she could spend time soothing them again.

She might be a queen, she thought as she twisted her hair into a long, single braid, but she would be a working one.

She would be a warrior.

She laced on her boots, strapped on her sword. This woman Moira saw in the looking glass, she recognized and approved of. She was a woman with purpose, and power, and knowledge.

Turning, she studied the room. The queen’s chamber, she thought. Once her mother’s sanctuary, and now hers. The bed was wide and beautifully draped in deep blue velvet and frothy snow-white lace, for her mother had loved the soft and the pretty. The posts were thick, polished Geallian oak, and deeply carved with Geall’s symbols. Paintings that graced the walls were also of Geall, its fields and hills and forests.

On a table near the bed stood a small portrait in a silver frame. Moira’s father had watched over her mother every night—now he would watch over his daughter.

She glanced over toward the doors that led to her mother’s balcony. The drapes were still pulled tight there, and she would leave them that way. At least for now. She wasn’t ready to open those doors, to step out on the stones where her mother had been slaughtered.

Instead, she would remember the happy hours she’d spent with her mother in this chamber.

She went out, making her way to the door of Hoyt and Glenna’s chamber where she knocked. Because it took several moments, she remembered the hour. She’d nearly stepped away again, hoping they hadn’t heard her knock when the door opened.

Hoyt was still pulling on his robes. His long dark hair was tousled, and his eyes heavy with sleep.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she began. “I didn’t think—”

“Has something happened? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing. I didn’t think how early it was. Please, go back to your bed.”

“What is it?” Glenna moved into view behind him. “Moira? Is there a problem?”

“Only with my manners. I was up and about early, and wasn’t considering others would still be abed, especially after last night’s festivities.”

“It’s all right.” Glenna laid a hand on Hoyt’s arm, signaling him to step aside. “What did you need?”

“Only a private word with you. The truth of the matter is I was going to ask if you’d have breakfast with me in my mother’s—in my sitting room, so I could speak with you about something.”

“Give me ten minutes.”

“Are you certain? I don’t mind waiting until later in the day.”

“Ten minutes,” Glenna repeated.

“Thank you. I’ll see food’s prepared.”

“She looks... ready for something,” Hoyt commented when Glenna went to the bowl and basin to wash.

“Or other.” Glenna dipped her fingers into the water, focused. She might not be able to take a shower, but she’d be damned if she’d wash in cold water.

She did the best she could with what she had as Hoyt beefed up the fire. Then, giving into vanity, she did a subtle glamour.

“It might be she just wants to talk about today’s training schedule.” Glenna fixed on earrings she’d have to remember to take off for training. “I told you she’s offered a prize—one of our crosses—to any of the women who takes her down in a match today.”

“It was clever of her to offer a prize, but I wonder if it would be the best use of the cross.”

“There were nine of them,” Glenna reminded him as she dressed. “Five for us, and King’s, of course, making six. The two we agreed to give to Larkin’s mother and pregnant sister. There’s a purpose for the ninth. This may be it.”

“We’ll see what the day brings.” He smiled as she pulled a gray sweater over her head. “How is it, a ghrá, that you look lovelier every morning?”

“You’ve got love in your eyes.” She turned into his arms when he moved to her—and looked wistfully at the bed. “Rainy morning. It’d be nice to snuggle in for an hour and have my way with you.” She tipped her head up for a kiss. “But it looks like I’m having breakfast with the queen.”

Moira was, as was her habit, sitting by the fire with a book when Glenna entered. Moira looked up, smiled sheepishly.

“Shame on me, taking you from your husband and your warm bed at such an hour.”

“Queen’s privilege.”

With a laugh, Moira gestured to a chair. “The food will be along. One day, if the seeds I brought and potted thrive, I’ll be able to have the orange juice in the mornings. I miss the taste of it.”

“I’d kill for coffee,” Glenna admitted. “Then again, in a way, I am. For coffee, apple pie, TiVo and all things human.” She sat and studied Moira. “You look good,” she decided. “Rested, and as Hoyt said, ready.”

“I am. Yesterday, there was so much inside my head and my heart, so it was all so very heavy. The sword and the crown were my mother’s, and only mine now because she’s dead.”