against his thigh.
“I have nothing left.” She licked her lips. “The magic is gone.”
“Even when I do this?” Cormac’s hand drifted downward, covering her breast. He palmed her roughly. She gasped and arched into his hand.
He felt no surge of magic. Saw no crackle of red about her body. Felt no urge to drop to his knees and pleasure her.
He could walk away if he wished. Leave her.
The knowledge made him bold. He tweaked her nipple, earning a throaty moan. She stared up at him, her face flushed with arousal.
He flashed her a grin and bent to open his pack.
She bit her lip. “Do ye have food?”
“Are ye hungry?”
“Aye.”
He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “ ’Tis a pity ’tis nay time for a meal.”
He withdrew a coiled length of rope from his pack.
Blodwen’s eyes grew as wide as two moons.
They were beautiful eyes, Cormac thought, despite the fact they occupied a face covered with scars. But what did he care for scars, anyway? Scars didn’t affect a woman’s ability to take a man’s cock in her mouth, nor did they hinder the spreading of her thighs.
He grabbed Blodwen’s wrist and tied the rope about it. The other end he looped about his hand. “Ye’ll come with me,” he told her. “Do what I say and ye’ll keep a full belly.”
She nodded.
He stood, whistling a jaunty melody, some bawdy tune he’d once heard. If he remembered correctly, the song concerned a farmer, his wife—and a very thick carrot.
He chuckled as he led Blodwen down the trail.
She came willingly. Cormac squared his shoulders. A man could get used to such an obedient wench.
Indeed he could.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I thank ye,” the tall, silver-haired Druid said, inclining his head. “Ye have returned the Lost Grail to Avalon.”
Owein shifted, uncomfortable with Rhys’s gratitude. “ ’Twas nay I who brought the cup to the sacred isle. Nor is the cup in the hands of the Druids of Avalon. The grail is lost once more.”
Rhys shook his head. “Hidden, perhaps, but nay lost. The red spring flows from the earth where the grail is buried. Mared senses healing magic in the water.”
“As do I,” Clara said. “I’m glad my mother’s cup has returned to the place where it was made.”
“There’s a place for ye here as well. Both of ye. Will ye remain?”
Owein shifted. A home, away from the Romans, among his own kind. It was what he’d dreamed of for so long. But for Clara? He looked around the village complex, seeing it through her eyes: a haphazard arrangement of mud and wattle huts, huddled together on a windy slope. Sheep and pigs roamed freely in the common area enclosed by the palisade wall. The women here were sturdy and tall, with faces weathered beyond their years. They were no strangers to hard labor. Indeed, with only twenty or so in the village, every pair of hands was needed for weaving, tending crops, cooking, making clothes, hunting, fishing, herb-gathering … the list went on and on.
Try as he might, he could not picture Clara living such a hard life. She was so delicate and fine. It was far more likely the fat sow nuzzling the ground would sprout wings and fly to the rooftops. What was worse, Owein had a feeling that during the frequent visits Clara had paid to the docks in the last few days, Marcus Aquila had told her the same thing.
Rhys was watching him, waiting for an answer. Owein searched the Druid’s gray eyes. He sensed a friend, a man whose loyalty never wavered. How long had it been since Owein had counted such a man as kin? He inclined his head. “I would be honored to remain in Avalon.”
Rhys clapped a hand on Owein’s shoulder, his smile broad and welcoming. “I am glad of it.” He turned to Clara. “And will the Daughter stay as well?”
Owein felt Clara’s eyes upon him. “I will,” she said.
He met her gaze squarely, with raised eyebrows. “What of your fortune in Isca?”
“What of it? Without my father, it means little. I plan to send a petition to the governor, requesting Lucius Aquila be appointed my guardian. If it’s successful, I’ll give all my property to Marcus Aquila.”
Marcus Aquila. Owein’s gut twisted. He hated the way Clara’s voice grew soft whenever she uttered the man’s name. If Marcus had agreed to accept Clara’s property, did he not expect to get Clara in the bargain?
“Marcus will use my inheritance to free slaves,” Clara said