world and left him in his, where he was the hope of his clan and must always, always put duty first.
Connor sucked in his breath as sparks flew from her fingers. What would it be like to touch this ethereal, magical lass? To run kisses along her swanlike neck? To bury his face in her hair...to feel her breasts pressed against his bare chest...to feel the sparks from her fingertips on his skin...
His eyelids grew heavy as he watched the slow sway of her body and listened to the sweet melody of her voice. He was not sure if he was awake or dreaming as he lay her down on his plaid and she wrapped her slender legs around him while he kissed her deeply. If he was dreaming, he did not want to wake.
* * *
The feather-light fabric slid sensuously over Ilysa's skin as she dipped and whirled in slow, arcing movements around the fire. At first, she felt self-conscious dancing with her hair loose and nothing on beneath the thin gown, but no one else would venture into the faery glen and see her. Ilysa had braved coming to this special place to enhance the potency of her spell. After seeing the black danger around Connor in her vision, she understood that no simple charm could guard against it. Tearlag, who knew such things, said that the faery glen retained the power of the old magic.
Ilysa had never before attempted the fire dance, which called upon the power of the faeries, but Tearlag had told her what to do. She concentrated on her movements, which, like her dress, were meant to flatter the faeries by emulating them.
The old seer claimed to have received the gown, which was made from cloth that had lain outside on three successive full moons, as a gift from the faeries when she was a young lass. Ilysa found it easier to imagine that the gown had been made by faeries than to imagine Tearlag had ever been young.
As she swayed and twirled, Ilysa forgot herself and became lost in the freedom of the dance. Instead of the quiet, constrained lass no one noticed, she was a beautiful and beguiling faery princess. The power of the spell coursed through her as she sang the words.
Blades may cut you,
Yet none shall kill you.
False friends may deceive you,
Yet none shall kill you.
Allies may desert you,
Yet none shall kill you.
Enemies may trap you,
Yet none shall kill you.
Seun Dhe umad!
Lamh Dhe airson do dh矛ona!
Spell of God about you!
The hand of God protect you!
As she dipped and whirled, she sprinkled the special herb mixture into the fire with both hands, causing it to snap and shoot sparks into the darkness. This, too, was to please the faeries, who were known to like anything that sparkled or shone.
When she finished the dance, Ilysa collapsed onto the ground and stared into the fire. Doing the fire dance once would afford Connor a strong measure of protection. But to gain the full power of the spell, she must do it a second time, also on a full moon.
She had done everything just as Tearlag had instructed. Still, she decided to add one more measure of protection and got to her feet. She had seen her mother do this many times in the years her brother, Connor, Ian, and Alex were in France - and the four of them had come home safely. It was a simple spell, just a charm really. The only important part was to make the circle in the right direction.
Ilysa moved around the fire left to right, deiseal, the direction that brought good fortune, dragging a stick along the ground.
"Protect him, heal him, bring him home."
She kept the image of Connor in her mind while she chanted the words over and over and made the circle, once, twice, thrice.
Weary and chilled to the bone, she put out the fire and wrapped her heavy cloak about her. She would have to hurry to make it back to the castle before the household woke.
With an expertise born of years of practice, she coiled her hair and tied a kerchief over it. Though it was the same one she always wore, the cloth felt rough beneath her fingers. The feather-light robe against her skin was the only reminder that, for a little while, she had been a beautiful faery princess.
* * *
Connor awoke to the gray light of predawn feeling stiff and wet from the rain that had fallen in the