Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord

had offered her body to bear him an heir, a child to secure both their futures. He had used her for a time with all his considerable patience and skill.
    But their union was barren, and after repeated failures, Enya had chafed at staying at Sanctuary to breed.
    Her return to the sea had been a relief to them both.
    “We cannot predict what her children would be,” Conn said smoothly. Our children. Mine. His surge of possessiveness shook him. “But she is heir to the prophecy.”
    “Then you have put her at risk by bringing her here,” Morgan said. “You put us all at risk. Gau is coming.
    If he discovers her presence—”
    “Who’s going to tell him?” Griff growled. “You?”
    Conn leashed his own fury and fear to speak calmly. The leader of the finfolk accepted Conn as liege in his father’s place, but among his own people Morgan was a prince, with a prince’s pride. He gave Conn fealty; Conn tendered respect in return. “So far the demons have not considered her a threat.”
    “If she is not a threat to them, then she is of no use to us.”
    “She has power. More than they know.” Almost to himself, Conn added, “More than she is aware of herself.”
    “Then how do you know she will not use it against us?” Morgan asked.
    Six pairs of eyes turned to Conn with varying degrees of accusation and trust. He was strangely reluctant to share what had happened between them. And yet his wardens had the right to know.
    “I have bound her,” he said bluntly.
    Ronat grinned.
    Morgan’s golden eyes glinted. “At least I understand now why you brought her here.”
    “Sex?” Enya’s voice was shrill with scorn. “You could have sex with anyone.”
    And have , her tone implied.
    Conn looked at her without speaking. It was true. He could have anyone. But he did not want anyone else.
    He only wanted Lucy.
    The cold beat against the windows like the sound of the sea. Inside the stone chamber the fire pulsed like a heart, pumping heat into the room and through her veins.
    Lucy had washed her bra and panties in the tub and draped them over the back of one of the thrones to dry. Her damp hair hung over her shoulders. Despite her layers of clothing—padded turquoise robe, fine silk nightgown, thick wool stockings—she felt ridiculously underdressed.
    She tightened her sash around her waist. Her stomach growled.
    She glanced at the table set by the fire. Iestyn had carried away the bath and brought her dinner on a tray. As if she were sick. Or in jail. Her gaze lingered on the covered silver serving pieces and heavy-footed tureen. Definitely not prison dishes. There were knives.
    And two wineglasses.
    Nerves danced in her stomach. The high-backed chairs stood empty. Waiting. Where was Conn?
    Madadh’s tail thumped lazily on the threshold. Lucy’s heart beat a little faster. She looked up.
    Conn filled the doorway, broader than Caleb, taller than Dylan. The firelight gleamed on his sleek, dark hair, slid greedily over his proud, strong-featured face.
    She felt a pull in the pit of her belly and dropped her gaze.
    “You have not eaten.” An observation, not a question.
    She fidgeted with her belt. “I was waiting for you.”
    “ I will answer all your questions, ” he’d said. “ Tonight. ”
    He strolled forward. “I was detained.”

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    He did not apologize. Did not explain what had detained him. The fire crackled. The quiet hummed like the silence in her father’s house, thick with secrets and resentments.
    Lucy took a deep breath. She was a big girl now, she reminded herself. She could ask whatever she wanted. “You said we would talk,” she reminded him.
    He gestured toward the tray. “Over dinner.”
    She wanted food almost as much as she wanted answers. She surveyed the array of fancy silver dishes, the tall crystal pitcher full of water, the dusty bottle of wine, and offered him a smile. “It’ll be a treat to eat something I didn’t fix myself.”
    He gave her an unreadable look. “Let us hope you think so after you have eaten.”
    Puzzled, she lifted the lid of the scrolled and scalloped tureen. A cloud of steam escaped.
    Lucy blinked. Oatmeal?
    She set the silver cover down again. And . . . She uncovered another dish. Apples. A whole fish, gutted and grilled, and a dozen orange mussels gaping from their shells.
    “You will want wine,” Conn murmured, raising the bottle.
    She was afraid the