She was weeping openly now. "And I canna bear never to see you again!"
He crushed her to him, his anguish a palpable entity in his embrace. She sobbed into his chest, freeing all the fears and doubts she'd been holding in for so long. She also wept for the sorrows Darach had borne and the doubts and fears he carried on his broad, but terribly human shoulders.
He carried her to the bed and sat on the edge, cradling her in his lap. He rocked her in his arms and let her cry until her sobbing halted and her tears slowed. She sat up and wiped her eyes.
He shook his head. "What am I to do wi' ye, Julia Addison? Ye come into my life like a clap o' thunder and ye commence to turn every corner o' it upside down. Hae ye no shame or pity in ye?"
"No." She gave him a teary smile. "I majored in Shameless in college with a minor in Pitiless. Graduated with honors and distinction in tormenting big, bad Scotsmen."
His face grew more serious. "But lass, ye know ye canna stay. I dunna know what the Moreston might do to ye, but I'm no' about to wait around and find out. Craigen is out to get the mountainthe mountain where our women and bairns are hidin'. His witch has already threatened your life twice. The pair o' them will try again."
"I'm not going and you can't make me."
"Julia, do ye no' ken"
"I ken plenty! Now do you love me or no'?"
"I love ye to distraction! But"
"No buts." She took his face in her hands. "I love you to distraction, too, Darach MacStruan. And I willna be parted frae ye." She set one fist on her hip. "So are ye man enough to stand by me, ogre?"
He pushed her over onto the bed and pinned her shoulders. "Ogre, am I? Ogre for lovin' ye, lass? Or for carin' about ye?"
She grinned up at him. "Aye."
"I ought to" She got her fingers up under his plaid and tickled his ribs. He twisted, laughing, trying to escape her torment. She scrambled off the bed and bolted for the door.
He was across the room in a flash, his big hand slapping the door shut just as she reached for it. She ducked under his arm and fled, giggling, toward the far side of the bed.
He stalked her, his heavy boots clumping ominously. She grinned at him. "Now, Darach, remember your blood pressure. And that old football injureee"
He lunged for her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alasdair waited at the standing stone. He paced around the old rock with its worn carvings and kicked at the smaller, fallen stones that ringed its base.
Days, he thought to himself. It had been days since he'd first seen Celandine in the woods. They'd scarcely talked that first time, only stared at one another in wonder, exchanging names and promises to return, until a distant sound had frightened her into fleeing.
He'd come to this spot every day, hoping just to see her again. By now he was desperate, fearing she might never return. Or that it had all been a dream.
He heard a rustle in the woods. He looked up expectantly, but drew his knife all the same.
Once again she seemed to materialize beside him. The golden strands in her hair shimmered in the late-afternoon light, and her eyes sparkled with unconcealed joy. On impulse he grabbed her and kissed her.
He pulled back, looking down into her lovely, gamine face. Her eyes remained closed, lips parted like a new-opened rose.
"Again," she whispered. "Oh, please, again."
He placed his hands on her shoulders. Desire and honor warred within him. Saints, she was so lovely, so tempting, he thought. And she was utterly guileless in her passion and in her demeanor.
"Come," he said, taking her by the hand. "We must talk."
"All right." She went with him and together they sat on one of the broad, flat stones of the circle. "What would you know?"
"First, who are ye?"
She laughed, a silvery, rippling sound that enchanted him. "I am Celandine, remember? Celandine Talcott. Does my name mean nothing to you?"
He thought hard and then shrugged. "I'm sorry."
She frowned. "I thought surely you knew who I was when last we met. YouWell, it's no matter." She lifted his hands and pressed them beneath her chin, smiling at him once more with her moonbeam of a smile. "I'm the betrothed of Craigen Moreston."
Alasdair thought he was going to be sick. He yanked his hands loose from hers and jumped to his feet. She stared up at him in alarm and confusion. "Alasdair? What is it?"
"Ye! Ye're a Moreston?"
"Aye. At least, I shall be."
"Are yeare ye a witch?"
"No, of course not." He regarded her warily. She nodded reassuringly. "I am not a witch."
He drooped with relief.
"I'm one of the Fair Folk."
"God in heaven."
She trotted after him as he began pacing once again. He turned back to her at last. "Listen to me, lass. Is this some game ye're playin'? A prank?"
Her look was all innocent wonder. "A game? You want to play a game?"
"No. No, I dunna want to play any games." He clenched his fists. "Are ye serious? Ye're Faerie? And ye're to marry wi' the Moreston?"
"Aye. Edana, she's my guardian since my parents died, she says that I must wait to be wed until next month when the signs say I'll be most ready to receive his seed."
He closed his eyes. This was getting wilder and wilder by the moment. And Darach thought he had problems with a mere mortal Sassenach like Julia.
"Do you believe me?" Celandine asked, touching his arm.
"Do ye want to wed wi' Craigen?" The words came hoarsely from his throat.
She hung her head. "No."
He gripped her shoulders. "Then ye must come away wi' me. Even if ye're as mad as auld Mad MacPhee, I can't leave ye to that mongrel Craigen. Saints, Celandine! He's been keepin' ye like a prize fowl, fattening ye up for the kill."
"But Edana"
"Ye owe no allegiance to the Morestons, lass." Alasdair stroked her hair, his hand trembling with fear for her. In a matter of hours, she had entered his heart. He had to be with her, keep her safe.
"It's not the oath I made to him. It's a promise I made to her."
"To this Edana? Is she no' a Moreston?"
She shook her head. "I may not tell anyone. But I have promised. Edana has been good to me. Like a sister."
He growled deep in his chest. "'Twould be a cruel sister who'd hold ye to such a promise. I'll kill Craigen before he touches ye," he said fiercely.
An owl called in the woods. Celandine raised her head like a startled deer.
"I must go," she whispered, pulling away from him.
He pulled her back and kissed her, hoping to both silence her and persuade her. She kissed him back with equal fervor, but when the kiss ended, she had slipped out of his grasp somehow and was running for the trees.
"Celandine!"
"Wait for me, my love!" came the soft reply.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Julia went up and over the bed and dropped to the other side, racing for the tapestry that hung from the wall. She ducked behind it, her laughter muffled against the heavy weave. Darach's booted footsteps followed right behind her.
"Ye're trapped, lass. Ye'd best give in."
"Never!"
She felt his hands moving along the hanging, coming closer and closer. She inched toward the far end.
"Julia," he called softly. "Are ye no' forgettin' somethin'?"
She held still, listening. What sort of trick was he planning to play?
"Aren't ye forgettin' that ye said ye couldna bear to be parted frae me?" "Why, you rat, you!" she exclaimed. She leapt for the edge of the tapestry. He caught her in an instant, scooping her up and hauling her to the bed. She shrieked and kicked at him playfully. "That was a dirty trick," she huffed. "Taking advantage of a poor, helpless woman."
"Poor, helpless woman?" He guffawed. "The day ye're any of those will be the day that Dugan gives up his victuals."
"Are you saying I'm not a woman?" She pretended offense. "Then you're not a man, Ogre MacStruan."
>
He pulled her across his lap and kissed her hard. She succumbed immediately to his heated demands, returning his kiss in kind. After a long, long moment, he lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow at her.
"So, lass, you think I'm no' a man a'tall, eh?"
"I didn't say that. But I think you're awfully touchy for a man who goes about dressed in a skirt."
His face darkened but then he caught the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice dropping low. "And what of a lass who goes about in breeches?"
She smiled. "I haven't had any complaints."
"No, that ye haven't. Do ye no' like my plaid?"
She reached up and toyed with the heavy brooch that fastened the long piece of wool at his shoulder. "I do like it," she said softly.
His hand trailed over the plush knit of her sweater. "And this tunic of yours. It has its merits, I vow." She shivered at the sensation of his big, hard hand caressing her back with such gentleness. ''You like it?"
"I like it." His hand stopped in the middle of her back. "But I'm no' too sure about this."
She felt herself warming as his finger hooked into the back of her bra. "It's considered the proper thing to wear where I come from. And men often find them quite . . . exciting . . . to look at."
"Do they now?" His eyes sparkled. "Is that when they're on or when they're off?"
She chuckled. "On."
"Hmm. 'Tis an interesting notion." His fingers slipped around to the front of her sweater. The soft fabric slid upward. "I wouldna want to go against your customs too much," he said.
"No?"
"No."
She closed her eyes as the sweater continued to slide upward. She raised her arms and Darach slipped the garment off over her head. She opened her eyes to see him gazing at her in fascination and appreciation.
His fingertips traced the lacy edge of the brassiere, sending sparks flying through her. She straightened with pride at his warming regard.
"I see why yer menfolk want to see their women dressed in these," he said. "At least, why they'd want to see the likes of ye in one." His hand cupped her. "'Tis a fair silken package for sae sweet a gift."
He bent his head and kissed the place where her breasts began to swell above the pastel peach lace. Julia wondered if there was a Victoria's Secret to be found in this place. The things she could show him . . .
"Is there more to see?" he murmured, tasting her neck.
"What do you mean?"
"Is there aught else beneath?"
"Why don't you find out?"
He lifted his head and smiled the most delightfully wicked smile. "I thought ye'd never ask."
He lifted his hands to her bra. He paused, frowning. He toyed with one of the straps, lifting and pulling it.
She twisted around so her back was to him. "See the clasp there?" she asked, lifting up her hair. "Just unhook it."
"Unhook it," he murmured. "Just unhook it."
Mastering the clasp took a while. Thorough as he was, he insisted on hooking and unhooking it until he was sure he could snap it free with one hand. At last, satisfied with his new skill, he freed her and sat back.
She lifted her hands to her shoulders and smoothed the straps down her arms. He took them the rest of the way, setting the bit of lace and satin aside on the bed.
"Ah, Julia Addison," he said. "Ye're the finest thing I've ever seen in my life." He bent to kiss the swells of her breasts, his lips grazing over her skin, causing her to shiver with delight.
He sat back again. "So. What else do the women wear in your world?"
She tilted her head and raised her brows. "Why don't you find out for yourself?" she asked again.
He accepted her challenge. Lifting her easily about the waist, he placed her on the floor, standing between his knees. He studied her slacks for a long moment.
"You undo the button at the waist first."
"Buttons. These I know of." He made short work of it. He squinted at the zipper. "Ye're sure ye're no' a witch?"
She laughed. "Aye, I'm no' a witch," she said, imitating his lovely soft burr. "I'm a woman."
"Amen to that."
She took his hand and guided his fingers to the little tab at the top of the zipper. Slowly, slowly, they eased the zipper down.
"Ahh," he said wonderingly. "Such a device. But thank God no man has to wear such a thing near his privates."
She laughed again. "I've got news for you. In my world, they do."
His mouth fell open. "Ye can't mean it!" He shook his head. "Damn me, but the men in your land must be made of iron, to go about with their family jewels in peril all the day long!"
"Well, I think they'd say the same about you in your plaid."
"I'll ne'er understand it. But it does beat laces. Ye're not bound into your kirtle so as to keep a man out of where he wants to go."
He placed his hands on her hips and began to ease the slacks downward. They slipped past her hips, fell to the floor, and she stepped out of them. She took a step back, allowing him to see what she wore beneath.
He gave a low whistle. "Lass, that wouldna keep ye warm on the hottest summer day." He made a circular motion with his hand and she revolved for him. "And what do ye call that?"
"Panties," she said. "Or briefs."
"Brief's the word, I'll grant ye that."
"You don't approve?" She turned back around to face him.
"Approve? Lass, if I get any more enthusiastic I'll shame m'self." He reached out for her and drew her back between his knees. He stroked the scrap of lace-trimmed satin, causing Julia to jump with the shock of pleasure.
"Easy," he crooned. "I was just testin' the dry goods."
She couldn't help laughing. "You say the damnedest things."
"I? I say? List' who's talkin'! Mistress Laser Beam Coffee Maker Dumpster Radio herself." He ran his hands around her hips. "Does this have one of those confounded clasps?"
She shook her head. He looked relieved.
She slipped her thumbs under the elastic and slid the panties away. He sat back on the bed and began to study her, inch by inch, from her toes to her hair. She thought she'd feel embarrassed. No one had ever looked at her in such a tangibly lustful way before. But she felt utterly at ease with Darach. And proud. And more aroused with each passing moment.
"Saints, Julia. Ye're somethin' out of a dream."
He pulled her to him and kissed her. She pulled back and eyed him squarely. "Now you."
She climbed up onto the bed and knelt before him. His deep blue eyes held hers as she placed her hands on his shoulders.
"How does this work?" she asked.
He tapped the brooch. "Try this."
She worked the slender, carved pin out of the circle of his brooch and freed the length of plaid at his shoulder. He shrugged and it fell to his waist. She pulled his arm free of the loop it made. "No buttons, eh?" she asked, fingering the laces at the cuffs of his shirt.
"No buttons. No clasps. No teeth fasteners to slide up and down and catch at a fellow's . . . skin."
She undid the laces at his close-bound cuffs. Then, on impulse, she leaned in toward his chest and undid the lacings at his neck with her teeth. He caught his breath. She sat back, smiling smugly.
"Ye're a tease."
"Am I?"
"What if I'd done that wi' those silky wee briefs of yours?"
A quick flush of excitement raised her temperature even more as she thought of his mouth touching such a sensitive area. He gave a soft growl and held out his arms. "Well?" he demanded. "Are ye goin' to leave me thus?" She sat back on her heels and put a finger to her chin. "Hmm. I don't know. It's a bit like Christmas. I want to unwrap the package but then it won't be a surprise anymore."
"Leave the surprises t'me."
"All right." She gathered his shirt up and pulled it off over his head. She let it fall to the floor as she gazed once more with fascination and delight at the sight of him. "I love to look at you," she said softly, touching he
r fingertips to the thick mat of dark hair that covered his chest.
"I'm glad ye like what ye've seen thus far."
"And what else do the men of your country wear?" she asked.
"What d'ye mean?"
"You know," she said, smiling impishly. "Underneath."
"Why don't ye find out for yourself?"
She reached for his belt buckle. The good, heavy leather slid away from his waist. All that remained was his plaid, wrapped loosely about his lower body. She reached for the fabric. "You'll need to stand up."
He slid to the edge of the bed. Gently she tugged at the long length of wool and off it came, slipping to the floor to join the tangle of clothing already cast there.
And there he was before her, his warrior's body revealed to her in the bright light of the fire. She smiled up at him. "I could gaze upon you for hours."
He came and sat beside her on the bed. "Forgive me, sweet, but I'll have to indulge that wish another time. I need to touch ye. Now."
His urgency ignited hers. She slid toward him and wrapped her arms about his neck. "Touch me, then," she whispered. "Touch me everywhere, anywhere. I'm yours."
He pressed her tenderly into the feather bed and pillows, loving her. He lifted her over him and watched her find her pleasure, his eyes sparkling. He carried her in his arms to the tapestry that hung on the wall and, bracing her back against it, he loved her as he stood, holding her easily as they rocked together in slow, wild rhythms. He lay down beside her and cradled her into his body, playing languidly with her until she was beside herself, then turned her and loved her once more, staring down into her face with complete delight and passion.
Julia cuddled against him, tired and utterly sated. She stroked his cheek and wound his leg with hers.
"I love you," she whispered. "Do you know that?"
He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. "As I know my name, sweet. As I know I love ye, my ain Julia."
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