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He glanced down at her hand, cradled in his own. His voice choked with emotion, Ronan stammered, “I cannot bear the thought of losing you, Issylte.” He raised her face to his with a curved, gentle finger. The intensity of his eyes bore into her soul.

“You must stay here in Avalon. Where I can protect you. Where you are safe. With me.”

As if a torrent had been released, he pulled her to him, crushing her in his arms. His mouth devoured hers; his hungry lips kissed her neck, her shoulders, her throat. He was famished, ravenous, starved.

He yanked down one shoulder of her gown to expose a soft breast, his greedy lips devouring it as Issylte melted in his arms. A deep hollow ached within her, yearning to be filled. Her whole body quivered in his arms.

His pleading eyes met hers, asking permission to continue.

She responded by taking his lips into her own, pouring her longing for him into a desperate kiss.

He stood, raised her from the settee to stand before him, and lowered the other shoulder of her gown, reveling in the sight of her bare breasts.

A guttural moan came from deep in his throat.

He kissed and suckled first one, then the other, his warm lips and tongue making Issylte swoon.

Ronan took her by the hand and led her into his bedroom, where he removed his tunic and turned to face her.

His savage look was fierce with longing.

She touched the dark blond hair on his chest, nuzzling it with her nose and mouth, breathing in the scent of him—smoke from the forge, a touch of leather from the cord in his hair, the hint of pine from the forest. She kissed his neck and shoulders, tasting the salty flavor of his fresh sweat. Liquid fire flowed in her loins.

He lifted her gown over her head, followed by her chemise, so that she stood nude before him. He raked his eyes over every inch of her. “By the Goddess, Issylte. You are exquisite.”

He laid her down on the bed before him, reveling in her naked beauty.

Lowering himself over her, he kissed her lips, neck, breasts, and finally, the womanly softness between her legs.

His tongue caressed her tender skin, sending ripples of pleasure with each delicate stroke.

He lifted himself back up onto his knees to face her as he licked his fingers and slid first one, then two, deep inside her.

He returned his mouth between her legs, his tongue flicking, as he thrust his fingers in and out in a slow, steady rhythm.

Issylte moaned with desire, writhing under his touch, feeling her body tightening in a pleasure so intense it was nearly painful.

When she could bear no more, Ronan increased the pace of his caresses, until her body released, convulsing with pleasure, contracting on his fingers, quivering into his mouth.

When her trembling subsided, he stood and removed his breeches.

Issylte gasped at the enormity of the warrior whose desire stood boldly and magnificently before her.

Pushing her legs apart with his strong knees, he lowered himself to her, prodding the entrance he sought.

Tilting her hips up with his powerful hands, Ronan thrust deeply into her, moaning, increasing his pulsing movements until he, too, collapsed onto her, contorting with pleasure, filling her to the brim with his seed.

He laid down beside her, cradling her in his arms, and whispered, “I have not lain with a woman since the death of my wife.” He kissed the top of her head, nestled on his chest. “I had forgotten the intensity of the pleasure…and the joy.”

Issylte kissed the thick blond hair on his chest and murmured contentedly, “I have never lain with a man before. I had no idea it could be so … wonderful.”

Twilight was falling, so they returned to Le Centre, making plans to spend time together as the Yuletide season approached.

The weeks passed, their lovemaking frequent and intense.

On days when Ronan needed to work and was unable to visit, Issylte often went into Briac to deliver herbal remedies, to treat illnesses or injuries, or to procure supplies needed by the priestesses.

One afternoon, she went into a silversmith shop to deliver an elixir.

She asked the shopkeeper if he could craft a pendant for an amber gemstone that she’d brought with her.

The smith examined the stone and assured her that he could encase the crystal in a simple silver bezel and bale.

She left the gem there, with plans to retrieve it in two weeks.

The pine boughs, garlands of holly and mistletoe decorations brought cheer to both patients and healers at Le Centre with the arrival of the Yuletide season.

Many of the local villagers brought baskets of gifts to support the center for healing and to thank Viviane and her priestesses for the exceptional care they’d received.

Meals in the dining hall often featured some of the delicious tartes and fruit preserves that had been offered to Le Centre as gifts.

Mellow music from flutes filled the conservatory with seasonal joy as heartfelt gratitude reflected on the faces of patients and priestesses alike.

Ronan and Issylte decorated his cottage with boughs of fir and pine from the forest, adorning the mantle above the fireplace with fragrant Yuletide greenery.

Clumps of holly with bright red berries cheered the cozy cottage, and garlands of fragrant white hellebore blossoms perfumed the air.

A cluster of mistletoe, sacred plant of the Druids, hung over the entrance door, offering the blessing of the Goddess for a prosperous new year.

This afternoon, the setting sun streaked the sky a brilliant pink as Ronan and Issylte sat before his blazing hearth, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the sweet spice of mulled wine.

He offered her his Yuletide gift, carefully wrapped in white linen and tied with a dark green ribbon.

The sight of the emerald silk strand flooded her with memories of her father’s wedding and the attendants plaiting her hair.

Issylte swallowed a lump in her throat, focusing instead on the joy of the season with Ronan as she unwrapped his gift.

His Elven eyes sparkled in the firelight.

The sweet flavors of honey and brandied wine warmed her as much as the joy which blazed in his forest green eyes.

Issylte gasped in delight at the deep green hooded cloak, made of finest wool and lined with soft white rabbit fur. Her hand caressed the emerald fabric and the decadent fur, tears filling her eyes at the thoughtfulness and beauty of his precious gift.

She stood, wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, as Ronan rose to his feet and fastened it beneath her chin.

He wrapped his strong arms around her, rocking her gently back and forth.

With a luscious kiss and a smile that melted her heart, he grinned, “This will keep you warm throughout the winter. And replace the green cloak you had to sacrifice when we first set sail for Avalon.”

She remembered the couple they’d met in the woods. The woman who had exchanged cloaks with her, enabling Issylte to escape. And now, here she sat with her Avalonian Elf, sipping spiced mulled wine before a roaring Yuletide fire. The joy in her heart glowed as she flashed Ronan a brilliant smile.

“Thank you so much. It is absolutely beautiful, and I will treasure it always.” She kissed him softly, his warm lips sending a tingle up her spine.

She stood, removed the cloak, and folded it neatly over her arm.

She smiled at him, scurrying into the kitchen to place it on the oak table.

Inside her bag was a small parcel, wrapped in green cloth that she’d embroidered with gold thread.

It sparkled in the firelight. Quickly tiptoeing back to the settee before the hearth, Issylte offered Ronan his Yuletide gift.

His rugged face lit up like a child’s as he took the gift from her trembling hands.

Carefully unwrapping the embroidered green cloth, he discovered the amber crystal that she’d had the silversmith craft into a pendant.

She’d suspended the golden gem from a brown leather cord that she’d braided for him to wear around his muscled neck.

“I selected that amber stone because of the star pattern of the crystal formation,” Issylte whispered, pointing to the center of the gem.

“It reminds me of la Grotte de l’ étoile, where you showed me the sacred spring in the hidden sea cave.

” His dark green eyes glowed like deep emeralds.

The white winged dove fluttered in her chest.

She rose onto her knees behind him on the settee, tying the cord behind his neck, as she inhaled his pine and leather scent deep into her lungs.

Her verdant magic thrummed in response. Still kneeling behind him, she kissed the side of his face and whispered into his pointed ear.

“Amber has many healing properties which will protect you. And I will be with you every time you wear it.” She buried her nose in his hair, eliciting moans of pleasure from him as she sucked the back of his neck and gripped him tightly with her thighs.

Ronan turned to face her, pulling her into his arms with a passionate kiss that led to a memorable Yuletide thank you in his large, comfortable bed. And the promise of many more over the next few months before he had to leave again for Bretagne.

Issylte was careful to take herbs to prevent pregnancy, as did many of the other priestesses who had romantic relationships with local villagers or Avalonian Elves.

Cléo remarked one day, as Issylte prepared her contraceptive tea, “You are most fortunate to share Ronan’s bed.

Many of the priestesses have tried and failed.

” With a soft smile, she added, “Including me.” Issylte, at a loss for words, responded with a shy smile.