He took her again, building and building until her need paced his own. Then burying his face in her hair, emptied himself into her.

She might have lain there, spent, for the rest of her life, but he lifted her. Simply scooped her up, she realized, and stood with her in his arms all in one effortless motion.

And her heart did a little jig in her chest.

“It’s foolish,” she said as she nuzzled his neck, “and I’m thinking it’s female. But I love it that you’re so strong, and that for a moment when we love each other, I make you weak.”

“There’s a part of me, mo chroi, that’s always weak when it comes to you.”

My heart, he’d called her, and it made her own dance again. “Oh, don’t,” she said after he’d laid her on the bed and turned to close the drapes. “Not yet. There’s so much night left.” She rolled off the bed again and grabbed her night robe. “I’m going to get the wine. And the cheese,” she decided. “I’m half starving again.”

As she ran out he went to the fire, tossed on another brick of turf. He closed his mind to the part of him that asked what he was doing. Every time he was with her, there was another scar to his heart, for the day that would come when he’d never be with her again.

She’d survive it, he reminded himself. And so would he. Survival was something humans and demons had in common. Nothing really died of a broken heart.

She came back, carrying a tray. “We can eat and drink in bed, full of decadence.” She set the tray on the bed, and climbed up after it.

“I’ve certainly given you enough of that.”

“Oh?” She brushed back her hair and gave him a slow smile. “And here I was hoping there’d be more to come. But if you’ve shown me all you know, I suppose we can just begin repeating ourselves.”

“I’ve done things you can’t imagine. Things I wouldn’t have you imagine.”

“Now you’re bragging.” She made herself say it lightly.

“Moira—”

“Don’t be sorry for what’s between us, or for what you believe can’t be, or shouldn’t.” Her gaze was clear, direct. “Don’t be sorry when you look at me for whatever you might have done in the past. Whatever it was, each time, it was a step to bringing you here. You’re needed here. I need you here.”

He crossed to the bed. “Do you understand I can’t stay?”

“Yes, yes. Yes. I don’t want to speak of it, not tonight. Can’t we have an illusion for just one night?”

He touched her hair. “I can’t be sorry for what’s between us.”

“That’s enough then.” Had to be enough, she reminded herself, though with every minute that passed there was something inside her going wild, and wilder still with grief.

She lifted one of the goblets, offered it with a steady hand. When he saw it was blood, he lifted a brow at her.

“I thought you might need it. For energy.”

He shook his head and sat on the bed with her. “So, should we talk about plumbing?”

She hadn’t been sure what he’d say, but that was the last on any list she might have made. “Plumbing.”

“You’re not the only one who’s made studies. Added to the fact that I was around when that kind of thing was being incorporated into daily life. I have some ideas how you could install some basics.”

She smiled and sipped her wine. “Educate me.”

They spent considerable time at it, with Moira going off for paper and ink so they could draw basic diagrams. The fact that he took such an interest in something she imagined people of his time took for granted opened another facet of him for her.

But she realized she shouldn’t have been surprised by it, not when she considered the extent of his library in Ireland. And in a house, she remembered, he didn’t visit more than once or twice a year.

She understood, too, that he could have been anything he’d wanted. He had a quick, curious mind, clever hands, and from the way he’d played music, the soul of a poet. And a way with business as well, she reminded herself.

In Geall, in her time, he would have been prosperous, she was certain. Respected, even renowned. Other men would have come to him for advice and counsel. Women would have flirted with him at every opportunity.

But she and he would have met, and courted, and loved, she was sure of it. And he would have ruled by her side over a rich and peaceful land.

There would be children, with his beautiful blue eyes. And a boy—at least one boy—with that little cleft in the chin like his father.

And on nights like this, late and quiet, they’d talk of other plans for their family, for their people, for their land.

She blinked herself back when his fingers brushed her cheek.

“You need sleep.”

“No.” She shook her head, tried to refocus on the diagrams again—to hold off those minutes that drained away her time with him. “My mind was wandering off.”

“You’d’ve been snoring in a minute.”

“Well, what a lie. I don’t snore.” But she didn’t argue when he gathered up the papers. She could barely keep her eyes open. “Perhaps we’ll rest a little while.”

She rose to snuff candles as he moved to close the drapes. But when she moved back toward the bed, he was opening the doors and stepping out.

“For heaven’s sake, Cian, you’re next to naked.” Plucking up his shirt, she hurried out after him. “At least put this on. You may not mind the cold, but I mind having one of the guards see you standing here in your altogether. It’s not proper.”

“There’s a rider coming.”

“What? Where?”

“Due east.”

She looked east, but saw nothing. Still, she didn’t doubt him. “A single rider?”

“Two, but the second’s being led by the first. They’re coming at a gallop.”

With a nod, she strode back into the bedchamber and began to dress. “The guards are instructed not to pass anyone in. I’ll have a look. It may be stragglers. If so, we can’t leave them outside the gates and unprotected.”

“Invite no one,” Cian ordered as he yanked on his jeans. “Even if they’re known to you.”

“I won’t, and neither will any of the guards.” With a small pang of regret, she put on her circlet and became queen again. And as queen, she lifted her sword.