A Passionate Magic by Flora Speer

would ever run from a quarrel,
his mother was not going to accept the presence of another lady of
rank at Penruan. Life was going to be easier for Emma, and for him,
if she stayed away from his mother. Thus, his willingness to allow
Emma free rein in the stillroom, where he hoped she would occupy
most of her hours.
    She bestowed a trembling smile on him, and
again Dain was aware of a tightening in his chest, and of a harder,
more urgent tightening in his lower body.
    Perhaps he ought to take his wife to bed at
once, and fill her belly with his seed before his mother came home.
Surely even Lady Richenda’s pride would bend enough to accept the
woman who bore in her womb the next heir to Penman.
    No! He could not bed Emma. He did not want
this cursed marriage that had been inflicted on him, and he was
determined to leave open the possibility of having it annulled for
lack of consummation.
    With a smothered oath he turned away from
Emma and started back toward Penruan.
    ”Dain, wait a moment,” she called after
him.
    “Why?” He halted, not looking at her.
    “Did you see anyone on the cliff before I
appeared?” she asked.
    “No,” he responded sharply. Then, thinking it
an odd question for her to ask and wondering if she had seen
something that could pose a danger to Penruan, he added, “I arrived
home just a short time ago. Sloan did not mention the sentries
noticing anything out of the ordinary. It was he who told me you
were on the beach.”
    And like a love-smitten page running after
the girl who had enchanted his heart, Dain had left his men-at-arms
and squires, ignoring Sloan’s attempts to make a full report of all
that had occurred while he was gone, and had run to the top of the
cliff path to meet Emma. It was not like him to make such a foolish
gesture.
    ”You rode directly here from Trevanan?” Emma
asked.
    “I did.” He could not continue to speak to
her when his back was turned, so he faced her again. He was glad to
see she had moved away from the edge of the cliff. The
late-afternoon sun shone full on her face, making her skin glow as
if it was translucent. The wind lifted the sides of her simple
white linen head scarf, allowing him to see the thick black braid
of her hair.
    His fingers itched to tear off the scarf, to
pull out the hairpins and untwist the braid, letting the smooth
length of her hair flow through his hands. He remembered with
painful clarity how Emma’s hair felt, how clean it smelled. He
longed to take her face between his hands, to feel again the
softness of her cheek against his callused fingers. He ached to
press his mouth over her rose-petal lips. At the mere thought of
touching Emma, of holding her in his arms, his body surged into
eager readiness.
    Sweet saints in heaven! What was wrong with
him? After his first, youthful foray into lust, and his recognition
of how easily untrammeled masculine passion could create a new
life, he had never again found it difficult to restrain his bodily
desires. He ought not to find it difficult now. She was, after all,
his enemy’s daughter. He was not – definitely not! – going to bed
her.
    “What is it you want to know, Emma?” he
asked, rather more sharply than he intended.
    “If you rode straight from Trevanan, you must
have had a full view of the cliffs all along your way,” she
said.
    “So I did. And all along the way I saw no
one. That is what you asked, is it not?” He frowned at her because,
after first looking nervously in the direction of Trevanan, she was
now staring straight into his eyes, and it was all he could do to
keep his hands at his sides.
    “While I was on the beach, I thought I saw a
figure dressed in white standing at the edge of the cliff,” she
said.
    “Ah,” said Dain, understanding. “You’ve seen
the lady.”
    “Blake told me that you have seen her,
too.”
    “Blake talks much too freely.”
    “Does she live in the cave just below?”
    “So you’ve been exploring Merlin’s cave, have
you?”