Prince of Passion by Donna Grant Page A

turned from the fire to find a woman beside him. Her hair was the color of honey streaked with gold. Ringlets had come loose from her thick braid and framed her face.   He wondered what her hair would look like falling around her and if it would feel as smooth and soft as it appeared.  
    “My lord?” she asked.  
    Keiran cocked his head to the side as he gazed into her unusual gray eyes. There was something almost familiar about the girl, as if he should know her.  
    Finally, he nodded. “Aye. I’d like another.”  
    The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile before she turned on her heel and moved to the bar. Keiran watched her hips sway as she walked and felt himself respond to her curves. She walked with the grace of a queen and the command of a general, a heady mix for a man who had been without for too long.  
    But there was something in her face that told Keiran he had seen the girl before. But where? He had ventured near this village when he’d left Drahcir, but not once had he stopped at the inn.  
    He looked more closely, noting the way her honey-colored brows gently arched over her large eyes that tilted upward every so slightly at the corners. Her cheekbones were high, her determined chin telling him she was from good breeding. His gaze lowered to her mouth, marveling at the full, dusky lips that begged for attention.  
    She was of average height and had an easy smile, as though the world hadn’t yet beaten her down. Her soft curves in all the right places made Keiran take notice. Her skin was the color of cream, glowing warm in the firelight as she approached.  
    “Here you go,” she said and set down the mug.  
    Keiran flipped her a coin, amazed as she caught it deftly in her hand. “What’s your name?”  
    She refused to meet his gaze. “My name?”  
    He hadn’t missed the way her brows had furrowed before she questioned him. “Aye. Your name?”  
    “Senga, my lord.”  
    He liked the sound of it. “Well, Senga, why are you no’ at home tending your husband?”  
    A slow smile spread as she briefly met his gaze. “Because I have no husband, my lord.”  
    He was more than surprised. Senga was a very comely girl, the kind most men would marry in a heartbeat. Keiran glanced around the nearly deserted dining area. “I find that difficult to believe.”  
    “Not so difficult actually,” she said and turned her gray eyes to him. “I won’t settle for just any man.”  
    Something inside Keiran roared to life at her words. He sat up and held her gaze. It had been a long while since he had eased his body with a woman, and he was certainly up for the challenge.  
    “And what kind of man is that?” he asked.  
    She lifted one slim shoulder in a shrug. “One who loves me and doesn’t want me simply to birth his children so he’ll have someone to tend the fields with him.”  
    Keiran chuckled. It had been so long since he’d felt like laughing. “I gather that’s a problem here?”  
    “More than you could imagine.”  
    He sat forward in his chair, intrigued. “Sit with me,” he urged and scooted out the chair opposite him with his foot.  
    Her eyes twinkled. She glanced at the chair and licked her lips. “I cannot.”  
    There was something about her accent that wasn’t quite right. He could hear the Scottish brogue, but he didn’t think it came naturally.   “Sure you can.   There are few of us left, and if someone needs you, they can give you a shout. Sit with me. Please.”  
    She twisted her white apron in her hands and glanced around the room before she sat.  
    Keiran leaned his forearms on the table. “Where are you from?”  
    “A village near here.”  
    His gaze narrowed. The more he spoke with her, the more he thought he knew her. Impossible. “You’ve only lived here?”  
    “I’ve moved around,” she confessed.  
    “Often?”  
    She leaned back and raised one brow at him. “Why the interest in where I’ve lived?”