Mists of Velvet

whispered at the same time. She touched him then, his jaw, and smiled. “Why are you showing me now?”
    “Because my magick is most potent when I have no barriers.”
    “And your clothes are barriers?”
    “Yes. Among other things.”
    “And what would those be?”
    “Hiding myself from you. Worrying about what you might think of me beneath my clothing. There can be no more barriers between us, Rowan. No more hiding.”
    “All right,” she whispered softly. “Shall I get Sayer, then, if we’re performing magick?”
    “No.”
    “No?”
    He took a step closer to her, and he was thrilled when she didn’t back up in fear. “No Sayer this time.”
    “But I thought we were taking a mystical journey.”
    “We are. Just the two of us.”
    “Oh,” she murmured breathlessly.
    He touched her, for the first time ever. Keir allowed himself to savor the moment, the contact of his body against hers. His fingertips were on her shoulder, and slowly, he grazed the back of his fingers along her smooth arm. She trembled, and his gaze flicked up from his hand to her face, studying her response to his touch.
    “Where are we going on this journey?” she asked hoarsely. He watched as she licked her lips nervously. “Are we trying to find Carden?”
    “Yes,” he murmured, stepping closer to her, so close that he was forced to lower his head and whisper in her ear. But this journey was something much deeper and more binding than their combined efforts to find Carden had ever been.
    With this magick, he was starting a bond that would never sever. It was a form of magic he had never, ever sought.
    “Will you be with me?” she asked.
    “Yes. Just you and I. Do you want that, Rowan? To be with me?”
    He met her gaze, waiting for what seemed like forever for her to answer. “Yes.”
    He smiled and reached for her, bringing their entwined hands to his chest until she clasped the quartz amulet he wore around his neck. “Then come with me.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

    Assembling the appropriate herbs, Bronwnn placed them in the wooden bowl and kneeled beside the sleeping man. The minute her gaze fell upon his mouth, she recalled the way he had kissed her with those lips. She touched them, marveling at their velvety smoothness. It had been the most incredible experience to feel her breasts touched and licked. Even now, they ached for more. Just staring at him was reawakening the hunger that had ruled her. She wanted him like a woman wanted a man. She ached to feel him moving deeply inside her, but now was not the time to think of such things.
    Taking the pestle, she pressed the hawthorn, rosemary, and elder together to form a paste. The pungent aroma of the rosemary filled the room, soothing her frazzled nerves. She needed to focus on her task of healing rather than on the sexual need she felt running hot through her blood.
    Adding mud and a few drops of water from the reflecting pool, she stirred up the ointment and carefully pressed the green paste onto his chest, whispering softly the words of a healing spell. The man, she noticed, did not flinch or grimace. He was unconscious, completely unaware of her. She pressed closer to inspect his wounds. She had cleansed them with water, then washed the dried blood from his chest. The bowl she used was now red with his blood. But the bleeding had stopped, and the wound appeared clean and not overly deep. Now all there was left to do was to apply the salve and offer up an invocation that he would heal. She knew nothing of wraiths, having never even seen one before. Her knowledge of healing extended to her own kind, of course, and to the Sidhe and the other species of Annwyn under Cailleach’s power. She hoped what she was painting over his chest was not going to kill him.
    The remnants of the ceremonial incense and the thorn-apple were washed away as well, leaving another scent that Bronwnn could not identify. It was completely foreign to her, resembling nothing she had ever come across before.
    Bending over him, she pressed her nose to his neck and inhaled. The smell was strongest over his pulse; unable to resist, she licked him with the tip of her tongue. He tasted of salt, and virility. Yet that elusive scent continued to confound her. She had never smelled anything like it, but it aroused her, drew her in, and made her long to be covered in his scent.
    Drawing away from him, Bronwnn noticed his torc. It was not surprising to see a warrior such as he wearing one. But what was