Spark of Chaos (Spark of Chaos #1)

Chapter 2

Isiilde melted into the coarse sand beneath her body. Her bones soaked in its heat, storing the memory of bliss for the long winter to come. She sighed, content, at peace, then opened her eyes to a blazing sun. It was in a rare mood today.

She stretched with languid pleasure and rose to her elbows, squinting at the sea. A small army of little lugsail fishing boats drifted offshore—their nets mostly ignored and rarely gathered up.

A throaty bark disturbed the ebbing tide. Isiilde turned to a herd of walruses who shared her beach. Two of the bulls were arguing over a swath of sand, uncaring that a mile of vacant beach stretched in either direction.

"Put some clothes on, Isiilde!" Another familiar bark interrupted her peace.

Isiilde rolled onto her stomach and squinted across the beach. Oenghus stood by the woodpile of their cottage, his hands planted on his kilted hips. But he wasn't alone—a tall, slim man stood in his shadow.

"Marsais," she breathed, hopping to her feet.

"Not without your bloody clothes!" Oenghus bellowed over the grassy dunes.

Isiilde found her wrap in a sandy heap. She wound it about her waist, tucked it in place, and darted towards the cottage.

The perfect day was now exquisite. If the Feast of Fools and the Sylph's Fortnight were put together, it wouldn't have excited her more. The Archlord of the Isle, her master and closest friend, had finally returned.

Her feet flew across the beach, over dunes, and through tall grass. She stopped in front of Marsais, near bursting with delight.

"Hello, Isiilde."

His words were as gracious and gentle as the sun's caress, and his smile warmed her from the inside out. She nearly hugged him, but caught herself. The Archlord held himself apart from others. But he stepped back and favored her with an elegant bow. Despite travel-worn clothes, he seemed a king at court.

Isiilde returned his bow with a bobbing curtsy. Questions warred on the tip of her tongue, but a swirl of emotion captured them.

"How many times have I told you to keep your blasted clothes on?" Oenghus asked.

His demand knocked her tongue loose. "No one else was on the beach."

"What do you call that fleet of fishing boats leering at you offshore?" Oenghus growled.

"They weren't leering—they're fishing." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are we going to offer Marsais some food?"

"Not dressed like that. Get inside and put something presentable on. A loincloth doesn't count as clothing."

"I'm dressed the same as you," she pointed out.

"I'm not a bloody woman," he bit back.

"My hair is covering my breasts."

Oenghus' beard twitched dangerously. "I'll send him away."

Isiilde huffed at the giant. But her anger stilled when she looked at Marsais. His grey eyes danced with amusement, and she gave him a small smile before walking inside.

Her black cat, Mousebane, was curled on her bed. Taking care not to disturb his nap, she searched through the small chest at the foot of her bed. Isiilde swore under her breath. Everything she owned was for cold weather.

Mousebane cracked an irritated eye open.

"You should be outside, you lazy cat."

She finally settled on wrapping a cotton scarf around her breasts. It was only Marsais, and she didn't have a lot to cover. She threw a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, and the last of her strawberries into a basket before hurrying outside.