The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance

Cindy Miles Nia and the Beast of Killarney Wood

County Kerry, Ireland — 1817

Nia of Clare cracked open first one eye, then the other, and peered over the edge of the blanket she had clutched to her chin. The damp cold stung her cheeks, but she cared not.

Tonight was the night.

Only the smouldering embers from the camp’s fire gave off any light to speak of; the moon’s absence would certainly be a hindrance. It would slow her down, aye, but ’twould no’ stop her. As she vaguely made out the silhouette of one of her six guardsmen, her eyes narrowed, and anger simmered beneath her skin. Her da may think her unfit for a husband, but to her idea, she need no’ have one at all. From what she’d learned of husbands, they were bothersome, bossy twits she wanted no part of anyway. Yet here she was packed up and guarded like some prized swine, being sent to the cloisters to live the rest of her days at a secluded abbey filled with grumpy old women.

Nia had other notions.

With a slow gaze she took in what little she could see of the camp. She knew where each of the guardsmen stood — rather, slumped. The buffoons took turns dozing, and it would only take a few moments for her to slither off into the darkness.

She’d stuffed her blanket with all her spare clothes. Rather lumpy, but still — from their drunken eyes, they’d ne’er notice till dawn. Besides, in the shadows of darkness it did sort of look like her slumbering body.

One could only hope.

Now!

Ever so slowly, Nia inched backwards on her belly, head down, cheek to the soil and matted leaves. The heady, earthy smell urged her on; it was freedom in her eyes. She made not a single sound as she eased away from her blankets, and she kept her gaze trained on the sentry about her. No one noticed!

At the edge of the campfire’s ring of light, she slithered back just enough, until finally, shadows engulfed her. Holding her breath, she rose, patted the pouch at her waist containing her coin, pulled the cowl of her cloak down, and moved into the night.

Minutes later, the bark of the guardsmen’s hound shot through the air.

Without another thought, Nia fled. Running blindly into the wood, her heart thumped as the guards shouted, booted feet pounded behind her, dogs howled with excitement, and her moment of freedom narrowed. Through the foliage she ran as fast as her legs could pump. Thorny vines slapped her face and ripped her flesh, but she didn’t care. What harm could they do? With the air in her lungs burning, she swiped at branches, jumped over rocks and a fallen tree, until finally, the shouts behind her grew softer. Distant.

Still, she ran. The guardsmen wouldna follow her — that much she knew. Not into this forest. For deep within Killarney Wood lived a beast of legend. One with a savage thirst for human blood. One without mercy.

One she didna give a frog’s fat figgy arse about!

Nia no more believed in such gory fairy tales than she did in fancy ones where knights on white steeds rescued their maiden fair. Neither existed. Both were ridiculous.

What did exist, though, ’twas her pending capture, so with that thought in mind she continued to run blindly through the shadowy wood. The night air chilled straight through her woollen cloak to her bones, but she didna care a whit—

Suddenly, Nia stopped dead in her tracks. Although she could barely see past her own nose, white puffs of warm air billowed out before her with every breath. Her ears tuned in to the verra noise that stopped her.

Footsteps. Moving through the brush. Faster. Heavy. Closer.

Her heart slamming into her ribs, Nia took off, the frosty air biting her cheeks. She didna look back to see which o’ the guards neared — she merely ran. The muscles in her thighs burned as she made her way deeper into the wood and, just when she thought her predator had given up, a weight of steel crushed her to the ground, the air in her lungs whooshing out in one big breath. A large hand slipped over her mouth and, even though the breath had been knocked clean out o’ her, she shivered at the strange, deep voice whispering in her ear.

«Dunna move.»

Nia didna. She couldna breathe, much less move.

Then, at once, the ground beneath her belly shifted, and an odd cracking sound split the air. Before the next second, the earth gave way, the heavy body atop her swore in a language unfamiliar to her ears, and then they were both falling, tumbling downwards in a passage too small for their bodies. Sharp roots snagged Nia’s cloak, rocks, pebbles and dirt scattered, until she fell no more. With a heavy thud, she landed, the steely body still wrapped about her. Pain shot to her shoulder as she heard a small pop. What air was left in her lungs was crushed out and little lights flickered behind the lids of her eyes like fireflies.

Then everything went pitch black.

When Nia cracked open her eyes, everything remained pitch black. Where was she? She couldna see a thing. The pungent smell of earth and peat permeated the cave. And the moment she pushed up on her elbow, she cringed and bit back a yelp as pain shot to her shoulder. No doubt she’d dislodged it again. Amidst the hurt, she managed to sit upright. Whoever had fallen with her may still be about. She drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. «Hello?» A wave of nausea washed over her. She needed to fix her shoulder. ’Twould be difficult to do alone, but she’d managed before. «Is someone there?»

«Who are you?»

Nia jumped as the verra same deep voice from before now sounded at her ear. It was a harsh, unfriendly tone — more like a wild animal growling — and she shuddered. The movement jostled her shoulder, and she winced from the jolt, her heart pounding. She held her arm close to her body, stilling the shoulder. «I am. Nia Donovan. of Clare.»

Silence. Then, «What is wrong with you?»

At first, that annoying fear which niggled at times gripped her. Had the stranger seen her horrid face? How could he have? The wood had been nearly as dark as the place they now were in, and she’d had her cloak pulled tightly about her. Once again, she noticed his voice — cold, angry, threatening and barely under control. Nia couldna decipher why, and it somewhat angered her, as well. «You fell on me, sir,» she said. «And my shoulder is dislodged.» Scooting her booted feet beneath her bottom, she tried to rise without the use of her arms. Before she could manage it, the stranger’s hands were there, intimately on her hips, steadying her until she was standing. Strong, heavy hands remained against her, and Nia was shocked at how her skin flamed beneath her cloak and linens where he touched.

«Which shoulder?»

She could barely speak, so intense was the throbbing. «Right.»

His hands left her hips, only to find her right arm, which hung limp by her side. Rough calluses skimmed her skin as the man felt upwards, until he had her shoulder clasped in his palms.

«’Twill hurt,» he said, his breath brushing her cheek.

«I know,» Nia whispered, and squeezed her eyes shut. A fierce wave of pain ripped through her as he pressed hard, and just that fast her shoulder popped into place.

Nia drew several deep breaths to keep the tears away. When the nausea passed, she rotated her shoulder several times. «Thank you,» she said to the darkness. «Can I know your name, sir?» It seemed strange, being in such close contact with a stranger — a man — without knowing who he was, or even what he looked like. ’Twas a mite unnerving to say the least.

«Cyric.»

His voice, not quite as hostile as before, ran of an accent unfamiliar to Nia. «Thank you again, Cyric.»

«Aye.»

Nia felt a shift in the air as Cyric moved away from her. «Is there a way out?» she asked.

«Nay.»

This Cyric answered just as calmly as he had her other questions, and she now felt the first niggles of irritability settling in. Running away from her tyrant father’s controlling grasp was one thing; dying of starvation in a pitch-blackened cave was quite another.

Her stomach growled loudly, and Nia placed a hand over it.

«When was the last time you ate?»

In the darkness, Nia felt her cheeks grow warm. «It has been a while.»

Air in the cave shifted once again as Cyric silently moved about. How could he see? She held a hand up, a mere breath from her own nose, and wiggled her fingers. She saw nothing but blackness.

«Give me your hand,» Cyric instructed.

Nia stilled. «Why?» What was this strange man about? Did he plan to rape her, mayhap kill her?

«I could do both, but will do neither.»

Anger rushed through Nia’s veins. She’d endured a lot in her twenty-two years, and threats from a stranger weren’t going to rankle her. Small in stature, she would indeed be easy prey — but she’d put up a fight for sure. «Your attempts to frighten me are useless,» Nia said, wondering how she’d managed to say her thoughts aloud.

Silence, then, «Give me your hand. I have food.»

«Oh.» Nia held out her hand.

«Dried meat. ’Tis all I have.»

Well, now she felt like a fool. «Thank you. Again.»

With a sigh, she lowered to the ground and sat. The coolness seeped through the woollen trousers she’d stolen from the guardsmen and now wore, but she couldn’t just continue to stand in the darkness. She ate in silence, grateful to have something in her belly. She only prayed it wasn’t smoked rat. It was well cooked, and salty, so she wouldna complain.

«You were running away.» Cyric’s deep, steady voice reverberated within the cave’s walls.

«I was, aye,» Nia replied. She finished her meat and pulled her cloak tightly about her. «I willna go back, no matter what you do or say. I’d rather die in this cave.»

«That may verra well happen,» Cyric said in a low voice.

Nia ignored the threat. «Why did you jump on me?»

«To keep you from falling into this pit.» His voice was closer now. «Who are you running from?»

Somehow, it caused a shiver to course through her. She wasna sure if ’twas the closeness of his voice, or the fact that she was trapped in a pit. «I’m no sure if my personal matters need be discussed. I dunna know you.»

«You may no’ ever leave this dark place alive, Nia of Clare. But suit yourself.»

«There is no way out?» Nia asked.

A sigh escaped Cyric. «Aye, but ’twill take time.»

The thought of dying didn’t exactly appeal to Nia, but somehow, she wasna fearful. And she wondered briefly why he referred to her dying, yet no’ himself. «Who are you, Cyric? Do you live close by?»

Silence filled the cave for several moments — so verra long that Nia thought the man wouldna answer. Then, he did.

«I’ve lived in Killarney Wood the whole of my life.»

Nia pondered that. Certainly he didna mean in the wood. «Then you must have heard of the legend, then? Of the Beast?»

A low laugh — more like a growl — escaped Cyric. «Aye. I have.»

«Have you e’er seen him?»

All at once, the warmth from Cyric’s body grew intimately close, crowding Nia in the already small enclosure. His breath grazed her neck as he whispered in her ear. «I am him.»

Another shiver coursed through her. «I am no’ amused, sir, nor scared.»

Cyric gave another low laugh. «You should be, girl. And I dunna mean to amuse. But we are trapped here for now. I am confessing a secret to you, Nia of Clare, and you are the only soul I’ve e’er told.» Silence, then, «I am what they call the Beast of Killarney Wood. And wi’ good reason, I suppose.»

Nia’s heart quickened. «The Beast I’ve heard tales of skinned men alive and ate their innards. It craves human flesh and fights with a fierce rage,» she said softly.

Cyric laughed. «Aye, and the Beast rips the heart out of a man wi’ its bare clawed hand as well.»

«Aye,» muttered Nia. «That too.»

Silence filled the darkened cave, only their joined breathing made any sound at all. What if his claim was true? She’d never believed in such childish lore before, even when it was used to frighten her as a small girl.

«Nia,» Cyric said, his voice low, even, «do you think me a beast?»

«Give me your hand,» Nia said. The air moved beside her, and she reached out. Her fingers grazed Cyric’s arm, and she slid her hand down until she grasped his hand in hers; she inspected it with her fingertips. Large, strong, with long fingers, she gently searched. «No claws,» she said as she touched his blunt nails, and ran her fingers over his palm. «Calluses I see,» she said, and examined the back of his hand. With her middle finger she found a plump vein, pressed it and noted its spring, and then traced it up his arm. «You seem rather strong like a beast,» she confided. «But I am no’ easily convinced of fairytale creatures.» She let his hand drop. «Or of brave knights who would die for the woman they loved, for that silly matter. Neither exists to my notion. Nay, methinks you are merely a man o’ the wood.»

Only then did Nia notice how Cyric’s breathing had quickened, and how verra close he sat to her. She was aware of his body and, somehow, she wanted more than anything to feel his touch. It surprised her to know she was fiercely attracted to him, without even laying eyes on him. Heat flamed her cheeks at the thought of it, and she smothered a smile.

«Why do you wish my touch?»

Nia’s mouth slacked open. Had she said the like aloud? Again? «If we weren’t in a life or death state o’ affairs, Cyric the Beast of Killarney Wood, I would die right here of mortification. Why must you sit so close that you hear my whispered words?»

Again, Cyric gave a light laugh. «I heard no’ a whisper — ’twas in your head that I heard your confession. What else might you wish to tell me?»

Nia blinked in the darkness, speechless. Slowly, she placed her fingers over her lips and pinched them shut — just to make sure she didna speak aloud. Then, she thought, If you can hear me, Beast of Killarney, then tap the top o’ my head.

A chuckle, then a single, solitary tap to the top of her head.

Nia jumped where she sat. «Oh! How did you do that?» He could hear her thoughts? He’d certainly just given her proof ’twas true. She’d have to be much more careful now.

«I dunna crave the innards of men,» said Cyric, his tone grave, «but I am no’ an average man. I do have a beast within me.»

Nia found she wasna fearful of this. She instead fancied his voice. It sounded young, vibrant — and ancient at the same time. Odd. «That much I can see. What are you, then? And cease entering my thoughts. ’Tis rude.»

«Why do you accept such witchery so fast?» he asked. «Most would either run away screaming, or no’ believe me at all.»

Nia sighed. «I see no reason no’ to believe. You’ve already proven you can read my thoughts. Besides, what grown man would make up such nonsense to a complete stranger if it weren’t true? Now, tell me your story.»

Cyric grunted. «Aye, ’tis so.» Silence, then, he said softly, «I am the last of my kind. And cursed to the wood for eternity.»

Nia kept quiet, waiting breathlessly to hear the rest.

«The English called us ‘berserkers’. Your ancestors called our blood-frenzy ríastrad. Our bloodlust becomes as such that we recognize neither friend nor foe. We just fight. Fight to kill.»

Well. That certainly was something. Hardly believable, but something indeed. She couldna imagine this gentle man, who’d cautiously popped her shoulder into place turning into a bloodthirsty beast. «So with all that, you canna get us out of the cave?»

Cyric laughed. «Nay. I’ve ne’er been able to control my strength. It seems only to become useful whilst I am in battle.» He seemed to think for a moment. «We were from the painted warriors. The Picts. And wi’ all that strength and fury, nay, I canna get us out of the cave.»

Nia pondered that. ’Twas nigh unto inconceivable, the thought o’ it. She’d heard of the Picts. An ancient Celtic race of fierce males. «I remember stories of the Beast of Killarney from childhood,» she said. She leaned back against the cave wall and rested her head. «Do you have markings of indigo upon your skin?»

«Nay,» Cyric said. «Black.»

«I see. Have you been here long?» She rubbed her arms vigorously. ’Twas getting colder in the cave and she began to shiver.

The sound of earth and pebbles grinding met her ears as Cyric moved next to her. Immediately, his warmth comforted her. «Centuries.» He moved closer still, and his hand found hers and stilled it. «Your skin is like ice.»

Nia ceased rubbing her arms. «Centuries? How is that possible?» She couldna fathom it. «You’ve. no one?»

«Nay.»

That admission saddened Nia to the bone. Didna matter that she, too, had been alone most o’ her life. Especially since her mother died.

Nia began shivering again, and this time her body shook uncontrollably. Then Cyric slid behind her, pulling her body against his, and he wrapped his arms about her. She let him.

«I will keep you warm,» he said, his deep voice against her ear. «Rest, Nia o’ Clare.»

Never had Nia been so intimately close with a man the whole of her life, and yet with ease she settled against Cyric’s chest, soaking in his warmth. She could tell he was quite powerful, as hardened muscles pushed against her own softness. Steel arms wrapped about her, and powerful thighs held her in place. If he was centuries old, he must look like an old man indeed; yet he felt very strong, vibrant, and she cared not about his looks. He was kind to her, and now sat trying to keep her warm. But would they truly just sit in the dark until death claimed them? Rather, claimed her?

She wondered briefly if he’d continue, should he know the truth of her own face.

With nothing but the sound of their joined breathing, and a faraway drip-drip-drip of water, Nia closed her eyes as slumber overtook her.

The verra last thing she remembered before drifting off to sleep was Cyric’s fingers entwining with her own. She discovered not only did she like it, but that it felt completely natural.

Cyric dared not move; he didna wish to disturb the wee sprite sleeping in his arms. While the cold cave didna bother him, he knew she would freeze without his warmth. Yet the feel of her soft body against his was something he hadna prepared himself for.

How long had it been since he’d held a woman close? Nearly as long as he’d been cursed to Killarney Wood. How had the Elders ever suspected he’d find his Intended whilst banned from roamin’ his beloved Ireland? No one ventured into the wood except vagrants, thieves and gypsies. He’d made little contact with mortals over the years, but still they’d turned his mere presence into a legend of terror. The Beast of Killarney Wood. Aye, if enraged, he truly was a beast; he remembered naught when he slipped into anger, and many times in the past he’d awakened with blood on his hands and body.

He truly was a beast. A berserker. And Nia’s life was in more danger than she knew.

He didna feel like a beast, though, with Nia snuggled against his chest. So trusting and unafraid, he wondered, if she survived, what she would think of his appearance? Never before had he wondered that, but he did now. He discovered he wished powerfully to touch her. With only the slightest hesitation, he lifted a hand and found a lock of Nia’s hair. He rubbed the long strands between his fingers and thumb, and was amazed at its softness. He wished he could see it in truth. Lifting the long strand to his nose, he inhaled. It smelled clean, sweet and fragrant, like the clover honey he stole from the hives in the wood. Then, he found her face in the pitch-darkness. But the moment his fingers grazed her cheek, she jumped.

«What are you doing?» Nia asked, scooting away.

«I didna mean to frighten you,» Cyric said. «I wanted to comfort you. Or, myself. Mayhap both.»

«Oh,» she replied, her voice calmer. «I. dunna like people touching my face.»

Cyric thought that to be odd. Did a woman not appreciate the stroke of a man’s hand on their skin? Then again, what did he know? He wasna even a man in truth. He was a beast. He’d been merely acting on instinct, the desire strong enough to urge his hand to seek Nia’s skin. The attraction was that powerful between them, and, aye, he could feel that Nia felt it, as well. A voice as sweet as hers surely had a face to match. «Why is that?» he asked. «You allowed me to touch your hand.»

«Well,» she began, «’tis an intimate gesture meant for lovers, the touching of one’s face. Aye?»

The thought was more than curious to Cyric, and whilst he was confessing to a mortal who probably would no’ survive, he continued. «I’ve never had one.»

The silence stretched between them for several moments. Then Nia said, «You’ve. never had a lover? Ever?»

The surprise in her voice shamed him. «I’ve known nothing but blood, battle and war,» he said quietly. «You have had lovers, then?»

Nia gave a soft laugh. «I was betrothed once, but. no, Cyric. I’ve never had a lover.»

Somehow, that soothed him. He knew no’ why, but it did. And for some odd reason, he wished to tell her. «That. pleases me,» he confessed. «Tell me more about yourself, Nia of Clare. What of your mother and father?»

She was silent for several moments. «My mother died in a horrible fire when I was very young,» she said. «I. barely escaped death myself. I believe my father resented me from then on, as he loved my mother fiercely. To lose her completely crushed him.»

In the darkness, Cyric’s mouth slacked open. «Was he no’ gracious that you had survived?» He couldna fathom a father blaming a child for her mother’s death. Although he could well imagine the sorrow of losing a woman he loved.

A slight sigh broke the darkness, and Nia shifted where she sat. «I’m sure he was simply overly distraught.»

Overly distraught? He frowned, although he knew she couldna see it. «You’re verra protective of a man who has mistreated you. ’Tis why you were running away. From him.»

«You’ve no idea why,» she said quietly. «And I no longer wish to discuss my family matters.»

Anger seeped deep into Cyric’s bones, and he had no clue why it affected him so much. Mayhap he was being irrational? Who was he anyway? An immortal beast who couldna control his fury. He was no better than her da. He reached for Nia’s hand. «I am. sorry. I feel powerfully protective over you.»

In the darkness, Cyric heard Nia’s breathing ease, although she said nothing. He entwined his fingers with hers, marvelling at the slight bones in them, the softness of her skin. He stroked her wrist and slid his thumb over the quickened rhythm that matched her heart. He could hear it in the darkness, her heartbeat. The more he touched her skin, the more it raced.

His did, as well. ’Twas a feeling he wasna used to at all.

Then, Nia did something he didna expect. She slid closer, her hand resting on his arm. «Can I touch your face?» she asked quietly. «I’d like to know what you look like, sir.»

Cyric blinked in surprise. «Did you no’ say ’twas a gesture meant for lovers?» he said, truly surprised his centuries-old voice didna squeak like a young boy. His own heart quickened pace.

«Aye, I did indeed say that,» she answered, her slight hand inching upwards over the linen tunic he’d stolen from a gypsy.

Her hand burned his skin, and he was shocked at the feeling it caused in the pit of his stomach. He dared no’ move.

«But I suddenly feel overpoweringly compelled to touch you,» she said on a shaky whisper. «I know that sounds wicked, but. may I?»

So close was Nia that her sweet breath slipped over his throat. «Aye,» he answered, completely entranced.

The moment Nia’s fingertips grazed his jaw, Cyric closed his eyes and exhaled. Ne’er had a woman touched him intimately, and without scorn or hatred. He didna know how much he craved it. until now.

Nia’s insides shook as she slowly explored Cyric’s face in the dark. The contact of her fingertips against the scruff of his jaw excited her, and ’twas a feeling she’d ne’er experienced in her entire life. She had no idea what compelled her, but nothing felt more. right. She let her fingers move over his cheekbones, his temples, the bridge of his nose, all while Cyric sat motionless. She fingered the long column of his throat, his ears. Only their rapid breathing sounded in the cave.

When her fingers gently caressed first his chin, then his lips, a low groan sounded from somewhere deep within Cyric. Full lips, perfectly shaped, and the sudden urge to taste those lips overcame her.

In the next instant, Cyric captured Nia’s exploring hand with his own. He held her hand still. «Is that what you wish, Nia?» he whispered, his mouth close to her ear. «Shall I kiss you?»

«Yes,» she whispered back, her voice shaky, excited. «Kiss me.»

Cyric’s warmth enveloped Nia as he grew close in the darkness and gently pressed his lips to hers. Softly they melded together, and they sat verra still for seconds. Nia’s heart raced wildly, and then Cyric leaned into her, his mouth searching hers, tasting. Low in her abdomen, Nia burned for him. She’d ne’er burned for another.

Nia lifted one hand to Cyric’s neck, then found his hair with her fingers. Long, wild, with a single narrow braid, she threaded her fingers through it. When Cyric’s tongue touched hers, she gasped, so powerful the touch. Cyric groaned, and lifted a hand to Nia’s jaw.

She instantly jumped back.

Both were out of breath.

Then, before either could react, a hissing sound streaked downwards from the pit’s opening above. Cyric yelled in another language and pushed Nia against the wall. Then, the small cave filled with angered voices, heavy thumps and swords being drawn.

Nia couldna see a thing, but she verra well knew what was happening. The guardsmen had discovered her and were here to take her away.

Out of the inky darkness a hand viciously clamped over Nia’s mouth, and another yanked her hard around the waist. In the next second she was being lifted straight up. Her mind reeled and silently shouted, Cyric! Please!

Nia could barely see a thing as she and the guardsman holding her tightly cleared the opening. The moon was nothin’ more than a sliver in the sky, and it caused more shadow than light. She was shoved to the ground as the battle ensued, that idiot of a guard firing arrows into the pit! So fearful for Cyric, her brain was a scrambled mess as she searched blindly on the forest floor for a weapon. Finding a heavy branch, she smacked the guardsman so hard his helm flew off. He fell to the wood floor with a curse and a grunt.

The sound that next came from the cave below chilled Nia clear to the bone. First, ’twas the screams of the guardsmen. Next, the pained roar of. something. Someone.

Cyric?

In the hazy moonlight, a guardsman’s body flew from the hole as though launched by a medieval catapult. His limp and bloodied self landed no’ too far away, and ’twas just enough light for Nia to see his mangled flesh. Two more bodies followed, and then, with another loud roar, a creature exploded through the hole, earth and roots and rock spraying about. Without thinking, Nia knew what it was. Who it was. Feral, and nigh unto unrecognizable as a man, yet she knew.

«Cyric!» she called. «Cyric, please! Run!»

The beast turned, faced her and stilled. The guardsmen were dead — that much Nia knew.

«There will be more to come,» she warned, stepping closer. «You have to flee!»

With a blood-curdling roar, Cyric jumped towards her. In the shadows Nia could see a hulking form, long, wild hair, claws and a face covered in animal-like fur. Fangs jutted like tusks, and still, she showed no fear.

For admittedly, only to herself, she’d fallen in love with Cyric of the Wood.

«Run!» she hollered. «Go, now!» With a fist, she pounded his chest. Sobs shook her and escaped her throat. How she hated to cry. «Please,» she said, softer. «I can’t bear to see you hurt.»

Again, Cyric lurched. His face, so animal-like, stared at her intently with human eyes that shone in the moonlight. He searched her face, so it seemed, and it was only then that Nia remembered her own disfigurement. She turned and quickly covered her face with her hands.

The empty night was filled with Cyric’s harsh breathing, and now Nia’s stifled sobs. Even as a beast, she didna wish for him to see her hideousness. But, she knew he had. Shame filled her and, for the first time since encountering Cyric, fear as well.

Fear of the disgust she’d seen in so many others eyes — including her verra own da’s.

A shout broke the silence, followed by the shrill whistle of an arrow.

With a deafening roar, Cyric charged the guard and killed him. Then, he turned back to Nia, scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder and ran. With each step he grew faster, and the weight of his clawed hand pressed against the backs of Nia’s legs to hold her steady as they forged into the shadowy wood of Killarney.

Nia could do little more than hold on.

Nia knew not how long they ran through the wood; exhaustion had overtaken her and she’d fallen asleep against the beastly back of Cyric. She lay still now, alone, on something soft, and without opening her eyes she listened to a strange sound. It was one she’d dreamed of hearing one day. Could it be?

With a long pull of air, she tasted the salt of the sea on her tongue. Slowly, she opened her eyes, sat up and looked about. She lay on a soft bed of thick furs in what once had been a grand castle. Hollow windows allowed the fierce breeze to blow in, and lichen covered the walls of the roofless stone shell that probably housed a hundred different memories. Standing, she moved to the window. Outside, green grass covered a rocky hill, whilst the sea’s waves crashed against the sheer cliffs of the castle’s dais. She gasped as she took in the view. A gust of wind pushed the cloak from her head, tossing her hair back. She closed her eyes and inhaled again, revelling in the feel of the sea breeze against her skin. A shrill scream sounded and she cracked open her eyes to watch a gull dive and screech.

«Nia.»

Nia turned before she thought, and the moment her eyes met Cyric’s, she hastily turned away and covered her face with her hands. «Please,» she begged. «Please, leave me.» She didna want him to look upon her marred skin, ever again. ’Twas bad enough he’d done so in his other form. Both Cyric and the Berserker were one and the same; they’d looked upon her with the same pair of eyes and the same memory. They’d seen. Cyric had seen. And it shamed her fiercely. Uncontrolled quivers began inside her, and no matter what she did, or how many deep breaths she took, they wouldna cease. Angered, Nia swore.

A light chuckle sounded behind her.

«Nia, turn round.»

Nia shook her head. «I willna, so leave me.» She pulled the cowl of her cloak closer about her face.

Then, a pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders, and Cyric’s deep voice washed over her. «You’ve ne’er seen the sea?» he asked gently.

Nia wouldna answer. What was he about? He’d seen her face, and still he tormented her? He acted as though he wasna affected by her fire-marred skin. No man wasna affected by it. No’ even her own father.

«Nia, look at me.»

Finally, she’d had enough. All the resentment and anger of being shunned the whole of her life emerged. Nia turned then, and flung her cowl off her head. Bravely, she met his gaze with her own. «There! Are you happy now?»

A slow smile started on his beautiful mouth. «I am indeed.»

Nia blinked. Only then did she take in the features of Cyric of the Wood. For a moment, she nearly forgot the anguish he was causing her by looking at her face, so overcome was she by his. Her gaze searched his features. She’d never been more intrigued in her entire life.

Standing well over six feet, Cyric was bare to the waist. Broad shoulders cut into a muscular chest, narrowing into a rock-hard abdomen. His skin was flawless — where you could actually see skin at all. Intricately etched black markings covered his body and sinewy arms — even up the left side of his jaw and face. To some, ’twould be menacing. Frightening. A beast. To Nia, he was—

«Beautiful,» Cyric said, barely above a whisper. «My God, Nia.» He moved closer and stared directly into her eyes, searching. «How could you think yourself otherwise?»

Nia, still mesmerized by the ancient Pict warrior before her, continued her perusal, ignoring him completely. Cyric’s hair was as black as the markings burned into his flesh, and hung wild and tousled nearly to his waist. The front was braided into two long strands and hung on either side of his temples. She even noted how the markings crept up into part of Cyric’s lip. How she remembered those lips tasting hers.

A slight grin lifted one corner of Cyric’s mouth.

Still, Nia ignored.

Green eyes. Cyric of the Wood had the smokiest green eyes she’d e’er seen on a man, with long, black lashes and perfect black brows. She could do little more than stare at his all-too perfect features.

Again, the corners of his mouth lifted. Nia noticed for the first time a deep dimple in either cheek. God Almighty, no’ only was he mythical, he was bloody beautiful.

That awarded Nia with a deep-throated laugh.

Even his teeth were straight and white. And those lips?

Heat flooded Nia’s face. She knew the fool listened inside her brain. She didna care. She wasna finished yet.

Slowly, Nia walked around Cyric, inspecting each and every inch of his exposed skin. The markings fascinated her. Ancient markings started at his chest and wound around his abdomen, his back and spine, and disappeared below his waistline. Down the length of his muscular arms and on to his hands — even down each long finger.

Nia couldna imagine the pain he’d endured to receive such intricate markings.

She thought him to be the most beautiful creature she’d ever laid eyes upon.

«Are you quite finished yet, madam?»

Nia, surprised at the ease she felt in Cyric’s presence, faced him. She tilted her chin. «Aye. And now you see why I didna wish for you to neither see nor touch my face.»

«I wish to now,» he said, those green eyes burning into hers.

«Drink your fill,» Nia said, a bite to her words even she could hear. She held her gaze to his, and Cyric did exactly that.

She watched his green gaze slowly move over her face before he lifted a hand to her cheek. Inwardly, Nia flinched, but she wasna going to shirk his inspection. He’d saved her life. If he wanted to see the horror of her scars for himself, she’d let him. Then, she’d leave.

Cyric’s eyes flashed as he firmly but gently grasped her chin. «Do you think so little of me, Nia of Clare?» Slowly, he released her, and let the back of his knuckles drag slowly over the very skin marred by the fire that took her mother’s life. His eyes softened, and when they moved to her lips, turned even smokier. «You’ve no right to judge me by others, Nia,» he said quietly. His thumb grazed her lower lip, and his eyes followed the motion, seemingly fascinated by it.

Then, he cupped her face on either side with both of his hands, tilted her head just so, and lowered his mouth to hers.

She allowed it.

His lips were a whisper away from touching hers when he stilled. «You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,» he said, his lips brushing hers softly with each word. «The way you look at me — you didna fear the beast.» He brushed his lips over hers. «I’ve waited for you my whole life, Nia of Clare.» He pulled back and searched her eyes. «I think you were meant to be mine.» He kissed her again, his thumbs brushing the puckered skin on her face. «Ne’er has any mortal been able to tame the Beast, but you did. I knew who you were last night,» he said. «And you feared me not. You were so verra brave.»

Nia was lost in his touch and his words. Ne’er had she been looked upon with such love. «My da deemed me unworthy of a husband because of my face,» she said. «I was being sent to the abbey to live a life worshiping God, alone.» She cocked her head. «Why have so many men before you seen my face and thought me ugly, yet you find me beautiful?»

Cyric’s gaze stared down at her, and the sincerity Nia saw in the green depths rocked her to the core.

«Fools, for one,» he began, and lowered his head once more. He brushed a light, teasing kiss across her lips. He leaned back, just far enough so his eyes weren’t crossed at being so close. «And I’ve seen inside your head,» he said proudly. «What’s in there has a powerful beauty, as well.» He cocked his head and stared directly at her scars. For once, she didna cringe. «When was the last time you saw your face, Nia?»

Nia had to think — quite difficult whilst being held in the arms of a half-naked marked man, centuries old. Then, she laughed. «I don’t recall.»

Cyric smiled. «Come. Let me show you something.» He tugged her hand and pulled her away from the window. Then, he suddenly stopped, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, lowered his head, and covered her mouth with his. Everywhere his hands touched, her skin burned, and Nia slid her hands over his marked skin to clasp her fingers behind his neck. He moved her slowly until her back was against the aged wall, and they kissed until breathless.

Finally, Cyric pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. «Come,» he said. He pulled her out of the ruined room, down a stone corridor, then down a narrow flight of steps. «Careful,» he warned, leading the way.

Nia smiled at that. Cyric could turn into a bloodthirsty, frothing-at-the-mouth fanged beast that could rip a man in two, and he was telling her to be careful of the stone steps.

Finally, they reached the bottom. The roof of the castle was mostly gone, with wooden beams and sky exposed overhead. Cyric guided her to a wall where an old knight’s shield hung askew. He reached up, grabbed it and, with the tail of Nia’s cloak, polished it. He stared into it, grinned, and turned it around and held it up.

«See for yourself.»

Nia stared into Cyric’s mischievous eyes, then slowly let her gaze settle on the polished metal. Although no’ a perfect mirror by any means, she could certainly see her reflection.

Nia blinked and drew closer. She felt her mouth slide open in surprise, and she lifted a hand to her marred cheek.

Rather, the cheek that was once marred. Now, ’twas just a bit pinkish and ever so slightly puckered.

’Twasna nearly as bad as it used to be.

Then, Cyric’s image edged into the shield as he looked on with her. «Beautiful,» he whispered and, for once in her life, Nia felt it to be true.

He then set the shield down and walked Nia to what once was a massive landing overlooking the sea. He pulled her close and tucked her head beneath his chin. «You and I make quite a pair,» he said, holding her tightly. «I dunna ever want to let you go.» He lifted her chin, forcing Nia to meet his gaze. «Will you stay wi’ me? I canna offer much, other than warmth, food and safety»—

«Aye,» Nia said, joy filling her soul. «I never dreamed of finding someone who loved me as much as I loved them.»

A wide smile stretched across Cyric’s breathtaking face. Nia noticed how it curled one tip of the black Pict marking in his lip. «You love me, then? Beast and all?»

Nia wrapped her arms about Cyric’s waist. «I do love you, Cyric, Beast of Killarney Wood.» She raised on tiptoe and pulled his head down to her. She kissed him. «I’ll love you forever.»

Cyric embraced her tightly, then kissed her back with just as much fierceness as she. «I love you too, Nia of the Wood.»

With a deep laugh that reverberated off the walls and cliffs of the sea, Cyric scooped Nia up and kissed her some more.