"Fiachra," she answered, taking a deeper breath.

"Well, me beautiful Fiachra of Kerne, I am Bowen of Druce."

When he bowed, his dark brown locks swung forward obscuring his face. Intense heat rushed through her veins. He turned her hand over and tickled her palm with a delicious kiss. She took short, unmeasured intakes of air scented by his masculinity. Her nipples tightened, drawing her awareness to a deeper ache.

"Bowen of Druce," she repeated. "I must see to the feast."

His presence rattled her and to move from the arousing scent of the man seemed best.

"As thy guest, thee should need to see to me first."

"Aye, of course, and how shall I be of service to ye, sir."

Dimples dented his cheeks and his eyes darkened with a mystery she wholeheartedly wanted to investigate. However, his devilishly handsome features, and his captivating grin, curled her toes to the point of jarring her from her lustful fantasies.

"Thee ask a lot of a man, me lovely maid." He slipped his free hand to her waist and guided her closer toward him.

"How so?" She moved on a cloud of eager wishes aimed for his kissable lips.

"Aye, lass, how so indeed." His face moved nearer.

She went cross-eyed with his nose almost touching hers.

"Thee tempt a man to ravish thee right in the middle of the village fairway," he whispered.

Fiachra took a sharp gasp of air and stepped back from the seducer's hold. She gazed around, shocked he had the kind of influence over her senses that made her forget her surroundings. Recalling they were in public put a heated blush to her cheeks. Her palm perspired in the grip of his strong hand.

"I must go help with the festival." She yanked her arm to remove her fingers from his loosened clutch.

"Shall I be of assistance?"

"'Tis unnecessary." She spun away, hoping no one noticed Bowen following her.

"Mayhap unneeded, but it does not mean I should be useless in thy company."

His pace remained uncomfortably close. The heat of his magnificent body inundated her with shivers of excitement when she desired to keep her wits. Even the smell of his sweaty skin appealed to her. The sensual masculine scent clung to the insides of her nostrils, making her suffer the effects of the continuous pleasing fragrance.

Fiachra stopped at a long wooden table laden with food. She made a chore of straightening the arrangement of bowls and platters containing breads, cheeses, and fruits. Her effort to ignore Bowen didn't work because he tried equally hard to keep her mind engrossed with his presence.

He touched her shoulder with a lone finger and she trembled. He slid the tip up, lifting her hair, and stroked the bareness of her neck.

"The fluff of a rabbit's belly can nay compare to the softness of thy skin," he murmured, making the fine hairs against her neck flutter.

His words possessed a charm too captivating to ignore. She once again glanced about for witnesses to her wanton allowances. Who saw her succumbing to his magic? What would happen if the druid prince saw one of his subjects, paying court to his bride? While it might free her from a marriage, she had to think of the devil teasing her with his stroke.

"Thee are very beautiful." The tantalizing freshness of his breath circled her nose.

"I thank thee for the compliment, now please go away," she pleaded, nervous she had led him too far.

"I think not, me lovely lass. Am I not due some reward for chasing off the swine that attempted mauling thee?"

She turned her head and his warm lips caressed her cheek. The searing heat of desire swept up from her neck to her face.