Highland Muse

Her violet gaze darkened but stayed strong. She showed nothing of feminine emotion only that of a tigress. Her plaid, his colors, worn despite her earlier misgivings, mocked him. Her slim arms and feminine muscles, ready to attack, intrigued him. She dressed for war, his war. "I don't need to earn your love, you'll give it willingly. When you're ready, you'll let your past go. When you do, I'll be here."

With her statement she twisted the blade away. Her eyes scorned, entreated him with a brief side sweep of thick red lashes. "And your battle with Ares has become mine. I am a goddess, he is a god. You are mortal. You're powerless. Your obligations are now mine."

All of a sudden, though she was a goddess, he wanted to hide her away in a corner of the castle. Keep her fiery, rebellious and prideful spirit hidden and safe. Away from obligations made. Obligations she had nothing to do with. His thoughts brought a chuckle to his lips. His chuckle incited more fury from her.

The tips of her cheeks reddened and her freckles became pronounced. She stepped closer; her head tilted back, eyes venomous. "You laugh!"

His heart stopped. Time froze. How perfect she appeared at this moment, hair aflame and eyes direct, the blade in hand. He'd never met another like her. The light and courage behind her powerful regard was truth. More valiant than he'd seen in his best warrior. And in a woman!

He knew naught what to do with the moment. Fight her? Cut her down with words? Bring her to the floor and ravish her? Aye, that's what he'd like to do.

Instead he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against his body until her curves were part of him, her skin one with his. He rested his head on top of her cypress ringed red cap and stared into the flames once again. What to do? How to temper her?

She shivered and rippled against him. Made him think of how she had looked nude and wet. He shut his eyes to the flame and saw only her, perfectly formed. How hard it’d been to not take her then, all the lust, anger and emotion. He wasn't fond of emotion. Since he'd met Melpomene there'd been naught but it. Had she been with him his whole life as she'd claimed? Whispering, singing, inspiring? Another voice? A comrade?