She took a deep breath, and her arms slipped around her middle, the self-protective gesture he’d seen so often. She scooted back, putting distance between them, facing him. He’d let her have her space for the moment.
“Is that what this is all about? My feelings?”
“No, luv, that’s only a part of it. I told you, we need to discuss everything.”
He couldn’t stand the look of hurt in her eyes, couldn’t stand the thought he had caused that hurt. He set his own glass away and, reaching down, he captured the foot she’d left on the floor and lifted it to his lap, removing her remaining sandal in the process. He started a slow circling massage with his thumbs on the sole of her foot.
“Was it about the time you turned seven, by any chance?” Her head snapped up, the look of wariness he saw confirming what he already suspected would be true.
“How did you know that?” Barely a whisper of sound.
“It’s the age when the gifts normally manifest themselves. Seven.”
“Gifts?”
“The gifts of yer heritage, Sarah. Gifts of yer blood.”
She tried to pull her foot away, to sit up straight, but he wasn’t ready to relinquish control of it yet. He wasn’t ready to break the physical contact either. He wanted to touch her. When her forehead wrinkled in a frown he barely managed to resist the urge to smooth it away.
“Oh, please tell me we are not talking about Will’s Faeries here, are we?”
Without releasing her foot, he leaned forward and handed her glass back to her before resuming the slow massage.
“Just listen and think about what I’m telling you, about a mysterious people whose stories have been told for centuries in widely different cultures all around the world. Strangely similar stories of powerful beings who appear to Mortals only when and where they choose to, in a variety of shapes and sizes. Sometimes they’re helpful, sometimes harmful, depending on the story. They’re called Fatua in Italy, Fées in France, Amazula in Africa, Tylwyth Teg in Wales. To the Irish they’re known as Tuatha dé Danann. They’re the Phi race of Thailand, the Lele of Romania, the elves of Scandanavia. Even yer own Native Americans have a variety of names for these beings.”
“Those are just fairy tales,” she scoffed, her eyes widening as she realized what she’d said.
“Aye, they are that, luv. Tales of the Fae. A race more ancient than you can imagine. Though they dinna live with us anymore, they are still among us. They still live through many of us.”
“No.” She shook her head slowly. “That’s too fantastic, Ian. It’s bad enough coming from a six-year-old, but surely you don’t believe that fantasy yourself.”
“Accept it for the moment, just for the sake of argument. We’ll come back to yer believing it later.” He held up a hand to silence her protest. “Will told you of the great internal war of the Fae and how some of them were banished from their home, aye?”
She nodded, the look of skepticism still strong in her eyes.
“Those are the ones who are a danger to descendants of the Fae. To you.”
“Look, Ian, even if I did believe there were actually something as extraordinary as Faeries at one point in history, I certainly can’t accept that I descend from them. There’s nothing at all special about me.”
“Oh, aye,” he taunted. “Yer a normal woman, walking the face of the earth, touching people and knowing everything they feel. Everyone can do that, can they no?”
She had no reply, so he answered for her.
“No. Everyone canna do that. Yer special. You’ve Fae blood in you. And as a result, yer in danger from those evil ones who roam the Mortal Plain, looking for a way back to the Faerie Realm so they can continue the destruction they started all those centuries ago.”
“Why would they want me? What could I possibly do for them?”
“You’ve the power to see the Portals they need. With you they could find their way back into the Faerie Realm. Once that happens, life as we know it here, now, will be altered.”
“Okay, if what you say is true, then why is Will able to feel things? Didn’t you say all those Faerie gifts kick in when you’re seven? He’s barely six.”
“I told you seven is the age the gifts normally manifest themselves. On the rare occasion a child is born who’s more powerful in the gifts for one reason or another. Will is such a child.”
Her head bowed, she stared at her hands in her lap for what seemed an eternity to him before looking up. “And you know all this how?”
“Because I am Fae as well.”
“I thought you said you were a Highlander?”
“I am. My mother was a daughter of the laird of the McCullough clan. My father was full-blooded Fae.”
She stared at him incredulously, shaking her head. “You actually believe this, don’t you? I have no idea what to say to you. And even if I could suspend belief for this discussion, I still don’t see what any of that has to do with what’s gone on between us today.”
“It’s everything to do with it. I dinna handle today at all well. I know that and I’m sorry for it. But when I thought you in danger this morning, when I came out of the shower and you were gone, it frightened me, Sarah. And I’m no a man who knows fear or how to deal with it.”
“Oh, Ian.” She did pull her foot away then, moving forward onto her knees and placing her palm on his cheek.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, burying his face in her hair.
Strawberries. She smelled of strawberries. His favorite.
The aroma lightened as she pulled back to look at him.
“I never meant to frighten you. But I’m not going to allow anyone to tell me what I can and can’t do. And besides, I told you. There was nothing at Glaston House to fear.”
His jaw dropped. “I canna believe you, of all people, could sit here and say that. What of the evil you touched for yerself just last night?”
She drew back, a frown wrinkling her brow. “I didn’t feel any of it this morning. I mean, who knows? Maybe the whole thing was my imagination. Simply the product of everything that happened.” Both feet were tucked under her this time. “Maybe…maybe the excitement, the alcohol, the stress of seeing Brad there. All that combined might have contributed to it. Like a migraine or something. I still find it almost impossible to believe something like that could have been real.”
“Oh, it was real, Sarah. Verra real. I canna believe you still try to deny all that you’ve seen for yerself. Reynard Servans is evil personified. He’s a Nuadian Faerie. And I want yer promise to stay away from him and his brother.”
If that’s even what he is.
“Ramos was a perfect gentleman. I didn’t feel anything evil or bad about him.”
“But you did with Reynard. You must trust those feelings. I’m telling you, yer in great danger from that man.”
“Honestly, Ian. You can’t seriously expect me to believe the man is a Faerie, for God’s sake, just because I had some bizarre response to him.”
“Verra well. Let me ask you a question. Do you remember where Reynard Servans told you he was from?” He’d already said more than he’d intended, and still she wasn’t convinced. He might as well share with her what it was he’d remembered while at Glaston House.
“Switzerland. Why? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Going back to my earlier story for a bit, do you know what they call those of the legend in Switzerland?”
When she shook her head in response, he answered his own question.
“Servans. They’re called Servans in Switzerland.”
* * *
Sarah wasn’t ready to accept the truth yet. He felt sure of it. She stubbornly clung to her myth of reality, refusing to acknowledge the truth of what he told her.
If she couldn’t accept she was Fae, couldn’t accept that he was, how could he expect her to believe she was his Soulmate? There was no point in discussing it. He’d have to wait.
For now, he shou
ld do the right thing. He just hated to let go of her.
After their talk, and her agreement not to see the Servans brothers again, Sarah and Ian had sat in silence, drinking their wine, each lost in their own thoughts. At one point, he’d pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her. She snuggled there still, in the protection of his body, her head on his chest. He could feel her shivers against him now. The gauzy dress he found so fascinating was no protection against the chill of a damp Scottish night.
The right thing would be to take her back to her cottage and let her go inside, but that would mean the loss of her body next to his. The loss of her essence surrounding him, lulling him into a sense of…what?
Completion. When he held Sarah, it felt like she belonged there, as if she were a part of him, an integral extension like his arm or his leg…or his heart. His own heart pounded in his chest at the thought.
Another shudder, this one more pronounced, and his common sense overruled his desire.
He’d do what was right. As he always did. It was his destiny. He was, after all, a Guardian.
“Come on, it’s gone cold. Let’s get you home.” He lifted his arm but she wrapped both of hers around his chest, holding on.
“Not yet. I’m not cold.” Her next shiver belied her brave words.
“Sarah, luv, yer shivering hard enough to rattle the damn bench.” He kissed the top of her head, flooding his senses with the aroma of fresh strawberries. “Come on now. Get up, lass.”
She shook her head against his chest and gripped him more tightly. “No. I’m not ready.”
“Not ready for what?” He looked down at her quizzically.
“For tonight to be over. I don’t want to let go yet.”
As if that’s what he wanted.
“Did I say anything about tonight being over? We just need to get you inside.” He grinned as a thought occurred to him. “And if letting go is yer problem, I can fix that.”
He turned in her grasp and slid his free arm under her legs, standing as he did so.
Her gasp was accompanied by her arms flying up to clutch around his neck. He didn’t even try to prevent his chuckle at the little squeaky sound she made.
“Put me down. You can’t carry me all the way to the cottage. I’m too heavy.”
“You were the one who dinna want to let go.” He grinned. “Besides, yer a mere feather, darlin’. I’m no putting you down till we get there, so put an end to yer wiggling and hang on.”
She studied him for a moment as if to judge the depth of his sincerity before laying her head on his shoulder. With her every exhale, a little puff of air stirred the hair against his neck sending tingles throughout his body, awakening need deep within his core.
He paused at the door to the cottage, shifting her weight as he fumbled with the handle and her head popped up.
“My sandals. I left them in the gazebo.”
“I’ll bring yer shoes down tomorrow. Dinna fret yerself over it.”
Inside, he kicked the door shut with his foot before leaning down to deposit her feet on the floor. Sarah’s arms remained locked around his neck as he straightened, drawing her up next to him. His own arms closed around her reflexively.
Time stood still as he searched her eyes, open and accepting.
“Is there an ‘us,’ Ian?”
In response, his hands slid up to her cheeks, framing her face, his fingers moving, as if of their own accord, up into the silken curls. He rubbed the strands between his fingers, watching her mouth, the quick nervous move of her tongue to moisten her lips.
Just a taste. He could still do what was right, follow his destiny.
He lowered his head and nibbled her lips, the lips he’d hungered for all evening. They were every bit as satisfying as he’d remembered. At the lightest touch of his tongue they parted, allowing him full access. He tasted the wine they’d shared earlier, so much better now, shared this way. Beyond that, he tasted Sarah. Savored her.
It wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
He trailed kisses down the creamy softness of her neck, stopping to nip at the tensed muscles there, following their path to her shoulder. His fingers drifted to the rounded neckline of her gauzy dress. He pushed out and the elastic willingly gave way, gliding down the sides of her shoulders, exposing more of the skin he wanted, needed.
He was nibbling his way down one of those shoulders when his breath caught in his throat.
Sarah was busy, too. He hadn’t noticed when she’d let go of his neck or how she’d slipped those delicate hands under his shirt, but as her fingers moved up his chest, a shiver went through him and the hair on his body rose with chill bumps.
Hair wasn’t the only thing on his body that had risen.
She groaned and he smiled against the soft skin of her shoulder. They’d been here before. He knew what she wanted, but he needed to hear her say it.
“What, Sarah? What do you want?”
“Would you do something for me?” Her fingers clenched against his skin as if she were soaking up the very texture of him.
“Ask it, luv. Anything you want.”
“Take off your shirt for me, Ian. Just that one thing,” she whispered.
“Aye.” He tugged the shirt over his head and tossed it away, his hands returning immediately to her shoulders.
“But be warned, luv, as the saying goes, one thing leads to another.” He gently pushed the elastic neckline a second time and said a quick prayer of thanks for the ingenious Mortals who’d invented the stretchy miracle as the material slipped easily down her arms.
She took her hands from his chest only long enough to pull them from the sleeves and then they were on his back, stroking, exploring.
One more push and the opening grew larger, slipped again, falling to her waist. His hands guided its progress, appreciating the soft bare skin he found there. One last push channeled it over the swell of her hips, and the gown fell to the floor, pooling at her feet.
“That must have been the ‘another’ you warned me about,” she murmured.
A witty comeback formed in his mind, but it fled his conscious thought completely when her tongue brushed across his nipple. Once, twice before settling there, tiny little flicks lighting a fire in his body, in his very soul.
He’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
Back to her shoulder, he nibbled his way across. A bra strap impeded his journey and he grasped it with his teeth, his hands too fully occupied exploring the newly exposed terrain of her lower back. Soft, flawless territory, open to the lacy bit covering her perfect heart-shaped bottom.
He pulled the strap off her shoulder and traced with his tongue the spot where it had lain. His hands, moving up, hit the material stretched across her back, smooth and unbroken as his fingers trailed across it. He pulled her away from him.
Ah, as he’d thought. Front latch.
He lowered his head to her breast, sliding his hands down her back, cupping that perfect bottom and pulling her close. One suck through the material of her bra and her hands stilled on his back. A second and her breath caught in a small gasp. Moving his head, he popped the fastening open with his teeth, freeing the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen. His mouth moved over one, his tongue lavishing it with the same care she had shown him. She moaned and slipped her fingers into the waistband of his pants, sliding down, down, her fingers trailing fire in their wake.
To hell with the right thing.
This was his destiny. Sarah was his destiny.
He slid his arm behind her legs and straightened, lifting her for the second time that evening. He headed for the bedroom, but stopped outside the door.
“This is the ‘another’ I warned you about.” He searched her eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation. “We dinna have to do this if you dinna want to.” He wasn’t sure he’d survive it if she told him to stop, but he had to know after everything that had passed between them today. If she wasn’t ready to accept her heritage, she might not be ready to accep
t him. He had to give her the opportunity to make that choice.
“No, I want this, too.”
He carried her to the bed, lowering her gently. Sitting down next to her, he removed his shoes and socks, feeling his nerves spark to life before standing to fumble with his belt buckle. His hands stilled as he looked at her lying there, watching him, her tilted green eyes heavy with desire.
His Faerie goddess.
He wanted this to be better for her than any she had ever experienced, ever imagined, and here he was, suddenly as nervous as if it were his first time.
She moved to the edge of the bed on her knees. Reaching over, she grasped his belt and undid the buckle with trembling fingers, but stopped at the zipper.
“You want to do this part, right?”
He lowered the zipper and worked himself free, watching her eyes widen.
“Problem?”
She shook her head. Reaching out a finger toward him, she hesitated, then withdrew, putting her hand in her lap.
“Wow. That’s pretty impressive when you take the time to look.”
He laughed. As quickly as the nervousness had come, it was gone. He stepped free of his pants and climbed onto the bed, covering her with his body.
He ran his hand across her stomach, stopping at the lace barrier of her underwear. Once more he searched her eyes. The excitement he saw there mirrored his own.
“These are quite lovely,” he said, running the tip of his index finger along the band of lace. He delighted in the chill bumps that sprang up under his fingers as she responded to his touch. He slid the lacy barrier down her legs and tossed it across the room.
“But no half so lovely as what you hide underneath the lace.”
The heat of color bloomed in her cheeks and spread down her neck. He watched it for a moment before giving in to the desire to bury his face in that heat, tracing its progress with his tongue.
Lost in the softness of her, he left the color behind, making his way down her body, stopping for a time at each perfect breast, caressing and tasting until her breath came in quick little puffs.
Farther down, onto the pale, flat expanse of stomach, he rubbed his cheek against her smooth skin, savoring its texture and scent. The smell of her skin intoxicated him.
Highland Guardian Page 18