Silver Silence Read Online Free Page A

eyes, both craving and dreading the moment when he would look in her direction. It came soon enough, first with a stiffening of Rhys’s shoulders, then with a slight frown as their gazes touched. In the next instant, his expression went blank, as if a dirty rag had wiped the joy of his homecoming right off his face.
    There was no gift or exuberant hug for Breena; there was not even a handclasp or a smile. A slight dip of his chin was all the acknowledgment she received.
    Breena swallowed hard and somehow kept her eyes dry, even though her heart was cracking to pieces. Why did Rhys treat her this way, when he knew how much she loved him? He gave his love and friendship to the other Druids. He’d given his passion to a nameless tavern wench. What did he give Breena?
    Nothing.
    Their gazes had held too long; the others were starting to notice. Marcus, especially, was narrowing his gaze. Rhys flicked a glance in the direction of his brother-by-marriage. Then he looked back to Breena, his careful smile as empty as a cracked jug.
    “Breena,” he said. “Well met.”
    “Blessed be your coming,” she replied hollowly.
    Rhys turned back to his twin. Arm in arm, they led the procession back to the village common, where Mared and Padrig waited. Rhys bowed to each Druid elder in turn. Mared raised her hand and murmured the blessings of the Great Mother and the Carpenter Prophet. Padrig followed with a prayer of thanks to all the gods and goddesses of Annwyn for Rhys’s safe homecoming.
    Rhys was soon relieved of his pack, and drawn into conversation with the men of the village. The women gathered to begin preparations for an impromptu feast. Breena did not join them. Instead, she returned to Mared’s roundhouse and pounded roots until her hand ached.
    But she could hardly miss the evening meal. Despite the chill, a large fire was built in the center of the common, and benches and plank tables set up all around, so the entire community could celebrate together.
    Gwen claimed a seat at Rhys’s right. Breena sat at another table entirely. Penn took the seat beside her, as he often did.
    “Rhys does not look so well,” he remarked in a low voice.
    “He is very tired, I think.”
    “Aye. More weary than I have ever seen him. His is a hard life, and it can do him no good traveling in the wet and cold. I hope he stays through the winter in Avalon.”
    As the meal progressed, Rhys regaled the gatheringwith tales of his year of wandering—some humorous, others filled with suspense. The children listened with round eyes.
    When the meal was done, the calls for a song began. Rhys agreed with a smile, and his harp was soon brought to him. He cradled the instrument in his arms with all the care of a lover. His head bent, and his long fingers caressed the strings.
    It was as if he were plucking Breena’s body, causing it to ripple with sensation. She prayed desperately for numbness, but it was no use. Where Rhys was concerned, she couldn’t not feel. Neither could she hold onto the anger she’d harbored since the night she’d seen more than she’d wanted.
    Each note he played, each syllable he sang, stripped away a bit of her resentment, until there was none. Until there was only love, and longing, and that sweet, aching pull in her belly. And an even fiercer yearning between her thighs.
    She hardly knew what Rhys sang. A ballad, perhaps. Or a song of Annwyn. She only knew that when his beautiful tenor touched her, she softened. Opened. For him.
    His hair glinted silver in the dancing fire. Its light cast into stark relief the angles of his face. He sang one song after another. But as the night deepened, so did the shadow in his eyes, and Breena wondered if he wouldn’t rather seek his bed.
    And she wondered what woman he would dream of.
    The shore was cold and damp. The seat of Rhys’s breeches was wet where his arse touched the ground. The discomfort was welcome. Or, if not exactly welcome, tolerated. It allowed Rhys to focus on