Silver's Lure by Anne Kelleher

Author:Anne Kelleher [Kelleher, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harlequin Mills & Boon Ltd
Published: 2011-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

On the road, Morla was still angry. Bran wasn’t sure why, and he wasn’t sure at whom, but he could feel the emotion emanating off her in waves of heat, burning around something she carried deep inside. It interfered with his recollections of all he’d experienced in TirNa’lugh.

He looked at her and remembered the message he was supposed to give her from her husband, but he didn’t dare. He felt sick and weak, as if his skin were stretched tight as a drum over his bones, thin as a horn pane, brittle as a shell, as if his body were hollow and he might collapse upon himself. But he had to find a way back over the border.

Besides, although Morla answered his initial questions regarding their destination with a brusque “yes” or “no,” once they reached the main road, she made it very clear she was in no mood for any kind of chatter. She especially ignored the Fiachna, who bantered back and forth between themselves and tried to include the two of them. She caught Bran, once or twice, eyeing her, and the second time, she snarled, “Get out of my head.”

He jerked upright in the saddle, startled out of the reverie the horse’s motion had lulled him into. He hadn’t been in Morla’s head—had he? He’d been thinking about her, that was true…but…He thought back, to the last few minutes or so, trying to remember what he’d been thinking.

“Get out of my head,” she said again, and this time, she smacked his upper arm hard enough to sting.

What is she talking about? he thought in a moment of pure, sheer panic. I’ve no idea what I’m doing. His pulse began to race and he found he had to concentrate very hard on his breathing. He felt too…too thin, somehow, as if his skin were as fragile as a butterfly’s wings. He glanced at Morla, wishing he were young enough to fling himself into her arms and bury his head on her shoulder as he remembered doing when he was small. Morla immediately turned her head and glared at him. He cringed, glanced away, jerked on the reins accidentally and the horse tossed its head in objection. What’s wrong with me? The back of his throat felt dry, his head was spinning, he felt hollow and weak. He glanced at Lochlan, who met his eyes and said mildly, “Anyone give you anything to eat?”

Bran looked up at the big knight. “Bread and honey before we left.”

“That’s not enough.” The knight reached behind his saddle and rummaged around in his saddlebag. Finally he held out a little wrinkled apple. “Here. Eat this. You look like you’re about to blow away. Most find they’ve a prodigious appetite after a round with a sidhe.”

Bran accepted the apple gingerly, hesitant to bite into it. It was from last year’s harvest, a hard, pathetically shriveled thing, its flesh like leathery pulp. But its concentrated sweetness exploded on his tongue, thick and rich and nourishing, and before he knew it, he was licking at the core.

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