Highland Guardian

by Melissa Mayhue

  On he moved, nibbling and tasting his way to her soft, tender thigh. He left a wet trail on her delicate skin with his hot tongue before lifting his head and blowing a gentle puff of air, feeling her shiver under his hands as he did so.

  She gasped when he turned his head, exhaling his warm breath over another part of her.

  “No, wait,” she panted. “You don’t have to—”

  “Oh, but I do.” He needed this, needed to know every intimate detail her body had to share.

  Her hands fisted in the covers as if she fought the sensations he gave her, but she pressed into him, her involuntary moan of pleasure sending a rush of arousal to every fiber of his being. He wanted more, wanted to send her over the edge of the precipice where she held herself.

  Stroking the inside of her thigh, he slipped his finger into the warm depths of her as he tormented her sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue.

  She yelled out his name, her body bucking against him as he felt the muscular spasms around his finger.

  He slid up her body, covering her gasping breaths with his mouth, nipping at her lips, capturing her tongue with his own.

  Centering himself, he entered her, pushing deeper and deeper as she wrapped her legs around his back, lifting her body to meet his, thrust for thrust.

  Again and again, until once more she reached her peak and broke around him like a wild ocean wave crashing against the shore.

  Blond curls clung to her perspiration-dampened face and he brushed them back. Her eyes fluttered open and the passion he saw in them inflamed his desire for her.

  He pushed into her again, slowly at first, then faster and harder as she urged him on, until at last he gave in to his own frenzy of sensation, taking her with him once more.

  She laid in his arms, cuddled next to him as he kissed her face, her eyes, her mouth.

  This was what he wanted. To see her satisfied. To claim her. To know she belonged to him.

  No matter what it took, he would think of something, find some way to reconcile the two halves of his life.

  Eighteen

  Every muscle in Sarah’s body ached. From all the minute stinging sensations, she was sure she would discover tiny little burns in all sorts of sensitive places, all caused by Ian’s sexy five o’clock shadow.

  She had never felt so good in her entire life. Ever. Period.

  She lay very still, enjoying the rhythm of his slow, steady breathing.

  His hand rested possessively across her stomach, her back snuggled up against his front. She felt each exhale against the top of her head. Surely this was heaven.

  Stretching slowly, she wiggled out of Ian’s grasp and slid off the bed. She turned for one last look at him before leaving the room. He was incredible, even in the dim moonlight sifting through her curtains. So what if he thought himself descended from Faeries. Weren’t there plenty of people who thought they had lived prior lives as famous people? It was only an oddity, an off-the-wall belief. And while one day she might have to give it more thought, for now she didn’t want to, didn’t want to deal with it.

  Instead she toyed with the idea of waking him, exploring what new delight he might have in store for her, but he looked so peaceful sleeping on her pillow. Besides, he’d worked hard tonight. He’d earned his rest.

  She tiptoed across the room, doing her best not to wake him. A blush heated her face when her hand encountered her underwear hanging from the door handle, but practicality quickly beat out embarrassment and she grabbed the panties, slipping them on after quietly pulling the door closed behind her.

  She padded into the central room, looking around for something to put on. Ian’s shirt hung haphazardly from her laptop where his toss had deposited it. She retrieved the silky T-shirt and slipped it over her head. Smelling of aftershave and man, it felt sexy against her bare skin. Exactly like Ian.

  She grinned.

  Oh Lordy, do I ever have it bad. And she felt wonderful. She pulled the neck of the shirt up over her nose and breathed deeply, delighting in his scent. He made her feel…She stopped in the center of the room, frozen. She hadn’t felt anything.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She had felt amazing physical sensations, exhilarating fulfillment, unbelievable joy. She had felt cherished. But she hadn’t felt anything coming from Ian.

  Perhaps she’d been so wrapped up in what was happening she’d missed it? Although that had never happened before. Ever. Even at Glaston House she’d felt trickles of his emotions. Nothing overwhelming, simply a light undercurrent of what he’d felt. But this time, the only emotions she’d experienced had been her own.

  She glanced at the clock on her desk. The digital clock blinked 2:12 in big red numbers. She couldn’t have slept for more than thirty minutes. She should go back to bed.

  Instead she leaned over the desk and, out of habit, pressed the ON button of her laptop. The screen jumped to life, wiggling through its various gyrations until it was ready. Waiting.

  She clicked again and the blank page, the page that had haunted her day and night for months, appeared on the screen. The cursor, her enemy, suddenly looked much friendlier than she remembered, the blinking regularity inviting rather than mocking. Colors, snatches of dialogue, faces danced behind her eyes.

  Without thought, she slid into her chair and placed her fingers on the keys. The characters flooded her mind. Their words, their thoughts, their feelings hit her in a jumble. She began to type, giving them life on the page before her. The page that was no longer blank.

  * * *

  Ian awoke with a start, forcing himself to remain perfectly still. He fought the urge to search the area, overcome with the feeling that something was missing.

  Sarah.

  He sat up in bed. The murky predawn light revealed his surroundings. Her room. Her smell. Her essence surrounded him. For the first time in his memory he felt complete.

  A faint tapping noise attracted his attention and he crawled out of bed to investigate, stopping only to pull on his pants before opening the bedroom door.

  He spotted her immediately, sitting at the desk, typing away at the little computer. So much for the tapping noise. She sat, one bare foot tucked under her, wearing only his T-shirt, her curls a golden riot around her head. The woman looked like she belonged in his clothes. Or maybe it was only that he felt more like she belonged to him when she dressed that way.

  His first inclination was to cross the room, remove his shirt and lay claim to her again, proving she was his. But he resisted the urge.

  He leaned against the door frame, rubbing a hand idly over his chest as he watched her work. He’d seen her sit and stare at the screen before. He’d watched her pace and search for what she couldn’t find. He’d never seen her write. It was a fascinating scene, every emotion she put on paper working its way across her face.

  He wandered into the kitchen and put coffee on to perk. Only when it was ready, and he had filled a cup for her, did he approach. Leaning over her, he kissed the spot behind her ear he found so irresistible.

  “Ummm,” she purred leaning into him. “When did you get up?”

  “Just a bit ago, luv. What about you? Why did you no wake me?”

  She rose from the chair, turning to snake her arms up his chest before answering. “You looked so perfect sleeping in my bed, I didn’t want to disturb you. Besides”—her cheeks took on the pink glow he enjoyed—“I thought you might be tired.”

  He laughed. “Tired because I worked so hard, or because I worked so well?”

  The pink color deepened. “Both.” Her hand slid across his chest, reminding him exactly how satisfying that work had been.

  “Take yer coffee, luv, before I spill it. With yer hands on me like that, I’m no to be trusted.”

  Her delighted smile at his words traveled directly to his heart.

  “I’ve got to get back to the main house, Sarah. I’d like to be gone before daybreak.”

  “Why?”

  He smiled at her innocence. �
��So pryin’ eyes dinna get the wrong impression about my spending the night with you.”

  Prying Faerie eyes, belonging to one particularly nosy Faerie to whom he didn’t particularly want to explain any of this.

  “Wrong impression?” She laughed. “Are you afraid they might mistakenly think we were doing something like…well…like what we did?”

  “Exactly.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her. Kissed her until he felt her body relax and mold into his. He held her away, looking down at her face. Her eyes were still closed.

  He loved that she responded to him as she did. He had put that look on her face, that dreamy, faraway expression, and he felt powerful at having been the one to do it. And thankful. Thankful that she’d allowed him in.

  “If daylight were no so close, I’d show you right now how I feel about being with you.”

  She smiled. “I don’t care if people know.”

  “But I do. I’m no willing to risk yer reputation.”

  “Oh, Ian.” She ran her hands up his chest again. “You are perfect, you know that? My perfect hero.”

  “I’m a long way from perfect, luv, but we’ll discuss that tonight. I have to go now.” He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her one more time. Enough to last him until he saw her again this evening.

  His hand was on the door when her touch on his back stopped him.

  “Wait, Ian. You can’t leave dressed like that.” She grasped the bottom of the shirt she still wore to pull it over her head.

  He grabbed her hands, stopping her.

  “Stop. I prefer to walk away with the picture of you wearing that in my mind to keep my thoughts busy all day.” At her raised eyebrow he continued. “Besides. Are you wearing anything under that shirt?”

  She shook her head. “Not much.”

  “I dinna think so. You pull that off, luv, and I’ll never make it out of here by daylight.”

  He turned and walked out, closing the door behind him. Only outside, standing on the cold stones of the path, did he realize he hadn’t even thought to put on his shoes. The woman rattled him something awful. He grinned and sprinted toward the manor house. There was no way he was going back in for them. He’d never be strong enough to walk away from her twice this morning.

  The house was quiet as he stealthily crept up the stairs and into his room. He thought about turning on the light, but decided against it, instead opting to lie down on his bed, using the dark as an ally.

  In the stillness, with his eyes shut, the scent and feel of Sarah fresh in his mind, he could almost imagine she was here with him, just out of reach.

  He would allow himself that pleasure for now. When he awoke again, he would deal with the mess he had made. He would face then the decisions he didn’t want to face now. Later, after he had slept, he would need to figure out what to do next, how to keep Sarah without losing who he was, or, for that matter, whether he even cared who he was as long as he had her.

  For now he would simply enjoy the memory of his night with Sarah and the knowledge of how much he needed her. For now he would enjoy the anticipation of being with her again.

  Nineteen

  The first thing Ian heard was the rain. Pattering softly, steadily down, it washed away all color, leaving behind a cold gray backdrop.

  Anola sat huddled in the corner, her profile clearly visible to him, long dark curls cloaking her shoulders, reaching well below her waist. She had always been such a beautiful woman.

  She turned, not seeing him yet, dabbing the end of her apron at her eyes. Dark, exotic gypsy eyes, exactly like his own.

  It stabbed at his heart to realize she was crying. Before Larkin’s death, he’d never seen her cry. Afterward, she had never stopped.

  “Mother?”

  The voice of a child. His voice, as it had been.

  She turned slowly, trying as she always had, to conceal her tears.

  “Ian? Is that you, lad? You’ve grown so. Yer a fine strong man to be proud of.”

  She reached out her hand to him and he started forward only to be blocked by an invisible wall.

  “Mother? Are you really here?” How could it be Anola, dead over six hundred years?

  Of course. One of his dreams.

  Her hand dropped to her lap and she shrugged, a gesture he remembered well.

  “Och, I forgot. You canna come to me. It’s all right, me wee brave bairn. I’ve spoken to yer father. I’ve begged and pleaded, but he’s ever the willful, stubborn Fae.” She smiled, though her tears began to fall again.

  “Dinna cry, Ma. What is it? What can I do?”

  The rattle of armor was the only warning before a burst of light, brighter than the sun, filled the room. When it abated, Ian looked up to find Larkin standing over him, his face contorted with rage.

  For a moment he thought to cringe, but he was a man now. His father’s anger wouldn’t frighten him anymore.

  “I warned you. And you swore to me.” Larkin dropped his head into his hands. “Swore to me. And now look what you’ve done.”

  “I’ve done nothing but what I promised you, Father. I’ve guarded the Fountain. I’ve protected the Mortals.”

  Larkin’s head snapped up. “Nothing?” he shouted. “Nothing, you say? Protected the Mortals, have you? You bedded the woman. I warned you to use caution or you’d have to choose. Now it’s come to that. You’ve tipped the scales of fate with your actions.”

  “Sarah? This is about Sarah?” Ian’s stomach lurched, and for the second time in as many days the unfamiliar pain of fear lanced through his system. What did this warning have to do with Sarah?

  “Larkin,” Anola cautioned. She stood beside her husband, her hand on his chest. “Be gentle with the lad.”

  “It’s not my doing it’s come to this. His own actions have set him on this path. I’m doing everything I can. More than I should.” He trailed his hand down her dark hair before turning back to his son. Calmed by the touch of his beloved wife, sorrow replaced the anger. “You will see for yourself, my son, and you will have to choose. I can say no more.”

  “I dinna understand, Father.” Ian reached toward Larkin, but the light faded, gray closing in all around him, wrapping him in an impenetrable blanket of mist.

  The rain still fell softly, chilling his exposed skin. He was in the forest now, within sight of the Portal at Thistle Down. His parents had disappeared, but there were others ahead on the path. He couldn’t see who they were, all their faces and words indistinct. All except her.

  Sarah’s golden curls shone like a beacon. The others, those whose visage blurred when he tried to identify them, faded away. Only Sarah remained.

  His stomach clenched as he recognized her fright. He felt it, and anger, twining together, curling around him like a tangible thing. He needed to protect her, tried to run to her, but it was as if something physically held him back, pushed him to the ground and barred his path to her. He could only watch as a pulsating red sphere formed around her, the glow emanating from within her, surrounding her.

  He felt danger growing, yet he couldn’t move, couldn’t call out to warn her.

  The crack of a shot rang out and he watched helplessly as the red glow instantly evaporated and she crumpled to the ground, blood flowing freely around her where she lay.

  Whatever force held him disappeared as suddenly as it had come and he ran to her side, scooping her into his arms, cradling her to him.

  “Sarah, luv, open yer eyes. Speak to me.”

  Dark lashes fluttered against pale cheeks.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Ian,” she whispered. “But it’s all right. I couldn’t allow him to harm you. It was my choice to take the risk.”

  “No,” he roared, clutching her body to him as the soul within drifted away. He couldn’t lose her. Not this way.

  “Yes,” a quiet voice responded. His father’s voice.

  The forest gone, his arms empty, he was back in the gray room, his father standing
before him.

  “Now you’ve seen what her choice will be. You, too, must choose. If you love the woman enough, you will make the right choice.”

  The rain stopped. The clouds lifted and the gray mist evaporated, burned away in the radiant sunlight that shone off Larkin’s silver armor. The light grew brighter and more intense until the room itself disappeared in a brilliant flash of white light.

  “Choose wisely, my son.”

  The words echoed in his mind.

  “No.” Ian’s own bellow brought him awake, his body damp with perspiration. He lay on the bed breathing heavily, as if he’d just completed a long run.

  The dream again. Another warning of danger. But this time, finally, he knew what it meant. Sarah was the one in danger and he was responsible for her predicament. Somehow his being with her would bring about her death. He should have known he couldn’t have her. Now he had a choice to make to save her life.

  He sat up on the side of the bed and scrubbed at his face with his hands, praying to the Earth Mother that it wasn’t too late.

  Sarah completed him. He needed her more than he needed his next breath, but he would do what he had to do, what he should have done to begin with.

  In the final analysis, what did his need for her matter when balanced against her life? He wouldn’t risk that. He wouldn’t risk her. Better he should spend eternity alone, in his own private hell, than risk harm to Sarah.

  His choice was made.

  * * *

  “You’re sure this is what you want to do?”

  As he watched Dallyn stand and cross to the opening of the gazebo, Ian briefly considered that Sarah’s ability to read another’s feelings would be useful now. The Fae was a master at hiding his true thoughts and feelings.

  “Want?” Ian shook his head. “Hardly. It’s what I must do. My choices are limited.”

  “Then you believe this to be the choice you must make?”

  Ian nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. He’d related the entire dream to Dallyn, the warning, everything. Well, not everything. He hadn’t told him about last night. There were some things the Fae didn’t need to know.