Page 43

Finally, Ronan said, “Come—the fire should be ready now.” Again, he took Issylte’s hand in his and again, his touch sent a ripple of pleasure through her as they exited the cave and walked back to the firepit on the sandy beach.

“Perfect,” Ronan said, bending over the fire. “In a few minutes, it will be reduced to embers.” To her surprise, he took a bag from his sack and opened it to reveal a large cluster of fresh mussels. “I harvested, cleaned and prepared these for us today.”

A gleam of excitement lit up his handsome face. “Look what I made in my shop with pieces of scrap metal.” Reaching back into his bag, he produced a strange tool with tongs that clamped a finely woven metal grill. Extending from either side of the grilled enclosure were two long metal handles.

As she watched in wonder, Ronan put the large clump of mussels inside the tongs and suspended the small grilled area over the embers by placing the long arms of the tool on top of the rocks which outlined the firepit.

“We’ll roast the mussels until their shells crack open, which only takes a few minutes.

” He reached into his sack and produced two silver cups and a flask.

Pouring some deep red liquid into each cup, he offered one to her and placed one on the rock beside him.

She sat down on a flat rock near the fire as he closed the flask, then sat down at her side.

“Elderberry wine.” Ronan grinned as Issylte tasted the delightful fruity beverage.

“A shopkeeper in the village makes it from the berries of the elder tree. It is delicious,” he promised, reaching for his cup.

His eyes locked onto hers, Ronan raised the chalice and whispered, “To new discoveries, and shared treasures.”

Issylte smiled brightly, her heart full. “And to friendship.” They clinked glasses, drank the earthy, rich wine. The warmth slid down her throat and spread deliciously though her body.

Ronan stood and walked over to the firepit. He wrapped his hand with a cloth, removed the tongs from the embers and placed the grill on a nearby rock to cool.

As they sipped the elderberry wine, waiting for the mussels to reach the right temperature for eating, Issylte told Ronan, “I put the shells we collected the other day on the table in my room that faces the fountain.” She took another large swallow of the heady wine, savoring the richness and the mellow glow in her body.

“Every day when I see them, I remember the day on the beach when we found them.” She met his deep green gaze, luminous in the afternoon sun.

A thrill raced down her spine. “And now, the fountain that I see from my bedroom window will remind me of the sacred spring we saw today in la Grotte de l’ étoile .

” The satisfaction on his face and in his smile warmed Issylte as much as the elderberry wine.

Ronan stood, retrieving two stoneware plates from his bag. He took the cooked mussels out of the metal grill and placed some upon each of the two plates. The aroma of fresh seafood and the salty tang of the sea delighted her nose as much as the fruity fragrance of the delicious wine.

Ronan turned towards her, a plate of steaming mussels in each hand, a delighted grin plastered across his rugged, blond stubbled face. He served her first, then himself. As Issylte placed the plate of steaming mussels upon her lap, Ronan sat down close beside her to demonstrate how to eat them.

“Be careful not to slice your fingers on the shells,” he said gently, unsheathing his dagger.

He wiped it clean and cut some of the tender meat for her with the sharp blade.

He offered the delectable treat to Issylte, who cautiously took it from his knife, popping the warm delicacy into her salivating mouth. “Delicious,” she hummed contentedly.

He ate directly from his blade, expertly cutting more for her. This time, she carefully placed her mouth on the blade and ate the mussels as she’d seen him do, thinking of how his lips and tongue had just been where hers were right now. Ronan watched her, delight shining in his deep green eyes.

When she had eaten her fill, he finished the rest of the mussels and refilled their glasses.

The fire was warm, the setting sun glowed on the ocean, and Issylte, a bit heady from the wine and the sultry taste of the fresh seafood, was blissfully content and very aware of how close Ronan was beside her.

As she gazed up at him, he reached over to push a strand of hair from her face. “You are very beautiful, Issylte,” he said, meeting her eyes with a look of longing. As he leaned his face close to hers, she could feel his breath on her cheek. Her body tingled with anticipation.

He moved closer to her on the rock and placed one arm behind her.

With his other hand, he gently lifted her chin and lowered his mouth to graze hers.

The silky touch of his lips sent a wave of pleasure through her, making her thighs tremble.

Wanting more, Issylte was disappointed when he stood, brushed himself off, and glanced out at the ocean, cast in shadows.

“I need to take you back to Le Centre . The sun is setting. Soon it will be dark.”

He gathered the cups and plates they’d used and brought them, along with the grill, to the water’s edge.

He rinsed them out, tossing the empty mussel shells for the crabs to pick over and nibble.

Ronan returned to Issylte and gently wiped the sand from her feet with his bare hands, sending waves of delight up her long legs.

He put the shoes on her clean feet, then donned his own boots.

As if sensing her disappointment in having to leave, he offered, “Would you like to visit Marron and my horses at the stables next week? She’ll be glad to see you.

” His grin told Issylte that Marron was not the only one who’d be glad to see her.

Issylte’s spirits brightened. “That would be lovely. I can’t wait to see her again!

” They packed up the supplies, extinguished the fire, and climbed back up the steep slope to the tethered horses.

As they rode home through the forest, she sensed Ronan’s eyes lingering on her through the dimming light dappling through the trees.

Her face flushed as she remembered the feel of his lips on her own.

She flashed him a brilliant smile, grateful for another glorious day with her handsome blond Elf.

****

The following week, when Ronan brought her through the village of Briac, they stopped at the vegetable stand to purchase carrots for the horses.

As they remounted to head towards his stables, Issylte asked, “I noticed you paid the merchant with coin, rather than bartering, as my Tatie always did. Do you sell items from your shop?”

Ronan replied as they rode through the forest. “Avalon is inaccessible to anyone other than the inhabitants of this realm. But many of our merchants do travel elsewhere to sell their goods.” He cast her a glance as he urged his horse into a trot.

“I do the same, traveling every few months to sell the tools that I craft, as well as the swords and armor that we forge in my blacksmith shop.” With a proud grin, he beamed. “The weapons forged by Avalonian Elves fetch a very good price. Our swords are the finest in the Celtic realm.”

Marron was indeed glad to see Issylte, especially after Ronan handed her a carrot, which the mare happily crunched from her hand.

The other horses came trotting over to greet her as well, and Ronan continued providing Issylte with carrots to feed their inquisitive muzzles.

Atop Maeva who loved to run as much as her rider, Issylte galloped beside Ronan across the wide, open field.

Her wind-kissed cheeks were warm in the late spring sun.

When they returned to the stables, Issylte watched Ronan do much of the stable hands’ work himself.

He cleaned out stalls, replaced fresh hay, and brushed the horses, allowing—even seeming to enjoy—her help.

Together, they fed the animals fresh oats and provided clean water from the nearby well.

Issylte, remembering the years that Liam had taught her to care for Luna, was delighted to be able to groom horses once again.

In many ways, Ronan reminds me of Liam—gentle, patient, strong, hard-working.

And though both males were handsome, Ronan had the rugged, forged body of a warrior, which Issylte found herself thinking about more and more frequently lately.

In fact, right now, as he brushed Noz’s glossy black mane, she found her eyes wandering over Ronan’s bent back, the muscled arms covered with hair—exposed from the rolled-up sleeves of his tunic— blond hair tied back at the nape of his neck.

Remembering the kiss on the beach, Issylte’s lips longed for his touch once again.

When they finished with the horses, they washed their hands and drank from the underground spring which fed the well. “The water is so sweet.” She sighed with pleasure.

Smiling, Ronan nodded his agreement. He replaced the bucket at the well, walked up to her, and gazed down into her eyes. “Your love for horses shows in the gentle way you care for them.” He lifted her chin to meet his gaze and said softly, “Thank you,” as he planted his lips gently on hers.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Immense joy at being with Ronan, yet longing for Luna, Liam, her father, the castle, Gigi—as if caring for the horses today had revived the wounds in her heart.

She missed T atie so much her stomach twisted.

A wave of shame washed over her. Her face reddened at the pleasure she’d shared with Ronan, as if she’d forgotten her grief and guilt.

She hid her face from him, ashamed, as painful memories of the past compounded her grief with tremendous guilt.