Unbound by Christy Healy

Author:Christy Healy [Healy, Christy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing

PART II

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ULAID, ÉIRE, 753

Midir rode along the white-sand beaches of Ulaid, his brown mare snorting as she sprinted over the dampness of the shore, his shoulder-length golden hair streaming in waves behind him.

By the harp, he loved the sea.

He loosened his grip on the reins, and the mare slowed to a gentle lope along the shoreline, and he closed his eyes against the brilliance of the sun reflecting off the shimmering water, drinking in the salt scent of the waves as they rolled in on the ocean breeze.

Here it didn’t matter that he was but a minor lord, an oft-overlooked prince in comparison to the might of his far more formidable half brothers. Here, he was a king, the lord of the sea and sand, and his heart quickened with the thrill of the sweet-citrus tang of the ocean air on his tongue.

He rode for a long time, the tide lapping at the shins of his glossy brown mare, and he savored the heat of the midday summer sun on his golden skin, relishing his freedom while it was still his and not at the beckoning of a black-haired, orange-eyed, soon-to-be wife.

Midir banished the image of Fúamnach from his brain, tall and sinuous creature that she was, and focused his attention on the seemingly endless stretch of shore that wound its way down the brilliant-white beach in front of him, unbroken for as far as even his immortal eye could see—

Except, he realized, for her.

He tugged on the leather reins in his hands, and his mare again slowed to a stop. His attention latched onto the slim form wading into the water in front of him, tossing aside her gauzy white gown with careless abandon as she strode into the waves, naked and unashamed as the day her mother must have borne her into this world.

He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, even as he ached to steal a glance at the lithe form he had glimpsed before he had averted his eyes, but he rebelled at the idea of spying on such an obviously maiden-like figure as she frolicked among the waves.

He should warn her, he decided, announce his presence so that she could protect her modesty from other, less conscientious stares. The Dagda forbid that someone else should see the pale shapeliness of her legs, the supple slant of her shoulders, the way her black hair cascaded down her back toward her—

Midir cleared his throat and nudged his horse forward. “My lady,” he called, “pardon me. I cannot help but notice that you have lost your gown.”

“I haven’t lost it, you fool,” she called back as she floated in the waves of the low tide, her feet waving gracefully in the air. “I left it there on the beach, unless you have since stolen it away.”

“Of course not,” he huffed, affronted. “I would never so shame a maiden.”

“How do you know I’m a maiden?” She stretched her arms above her head, and he snapped his attention away from the sight of her exposed skin, her curves, mingling with the waves.

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