"Are ye not cold, lass?" Artair bit out, as the innkeeper scampered away.
She looked at him, raising her eyebrows innocently. "Cold?"
"Aye," he continued. "Given that so much of yer skin is on display."
"Artair," Liosa scolded, but Diana just gave him an easy smile and shrugged.
"Not at all. In fact, I’m quite warm," she said, her eyes glittering with defiance.
"Artair, I ken we discussed this before, but I wanted to ken for certain—how many men do ye think will return with us?" Keagan asked, forcing his gaze away from Diana’s distracting bosom.
"I donnae ken. As many who are willing tae make the journey."
“The local farmers are also willing tae help. They may not be fighting men, but Tamhas’s men have terrorized them as well, and they want it tae stop,” Liosa added.
Keagan reached out to place his hand over Liosa’s.
"'Tis all right," he murmured. "We'll reclaim our home, make it safe for us and the locals."
Liosa smiled, leaning in to kiss him. It warmed Artair’s heart to see his sister so loved and cared for. But he also felt another unexpected stab of envy at their closeness. His gaze drifted to Diana, who was now focused on her ale.
“I’m going to bed,” Diana said abruptly, getting to her feet. “It’s been a long day.”
“I’ll walk ye tae yer room,” he said, getting to his feet as well and shooting a warning glare to several men whose eyes eagerly followed Diana’s movements.
To his annoyance, Diana looked as if she would protest, but she gave him a reluctant nod, bidding Liosa and Keagan a good night.
After he escorted her to her door, Diana hurried inside.
"Good night, Artair," she said quickly, and closed the door on his face before he could reply.
He stared at the door, stung by her rejection. She'd been acting distant since they arrived.
Did she regret making love to him? Dread coursed through him at the thought. He raised his hand to knock on her door, to demand answers, but he decided against it, dropping his hand to his side.
She doesnae belong in this time, he reminded himself.
Ignoring the shard of pain that pierced his chest, he turned and forced himself to walk away.
Chapter 18
Diana immediately regretted closing the door on Artair. She forced herself to remain in her room, finally drifting off to sleep with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She should have sated her need and desire for him instead of turning him away. Now, she had a need for him that throbbed deep within—and it wasn’t just a sexual need. It was an emotional one.
Because she loved him.
She’d never been in love before, not even close, and at first, she’d dismissed her growing feelings for Artair as desire amplified by the mad situation they were in.
But he consumed her thoughts. Her heart lightened whenever he entered the room, and his very presence calmed her. She loved him for his fierce love for his sister. She loved him for his sense of honor, even his stubbornness. She loved him for the lighter parts of himself he seemed to have kept shuttered away—his wicked sense of humor, his laughter, his innate kindness.
She recognized that she loved him in the aftermath of Iomhar's death, when she realized that she'd have killed a hundred men to save his life. Ironically, it was her magic—the force she'd tried to ignore for so long—that made her aware of her love for him. That wave of protectiveness and fury that swept over her at the sight of Iomhar's attempt on his life had propelled the power of her spell. Kensa had told her that magic was entwined with emotions. Her love for Artair had been the force that powered her spell, the force that raced through her with a dizzying sense of power.
She'd mulled over her realization of her feelings for Artair during the ride north, and when Artair had come into her room to check in on her the previous day, it was those thoughts that had raced through her mind.
I love you, she’d wanted to tell him. I love you, and that terrifies me.
The thought of leaving him behind no longer filled her with just a pang, or an ache. It filled her with despair. It was a sense of self-preservation that made her shut the door on him.
But avoiding him wouldn't keep her powerful emotions at bay. Nothing could. Not even the abyss of time that would soon separate them.
As they rode away from the inn the next morning, a shard of grief tore through her at the thought. In her own time, Artair would be long dead. As would Liosa, with her fierce spirit. Keagan, with his inherit kindness and the burning love he had for his wife.
Tears sprung to her eyes, but she forced herself to blink them back, to focus on guiding her horse down the muddy, well-trodden road that led out of the village. It relieved her that Artair rode a few yards ahead with Keagan. But Liosa rode at her side, her perceptive gaze trained on her face.
When they stopped for their first rest break, Liosa approached her with a concerned frown.
“Are ye all right, Diana?” she asked. “Ye’ve been pale and quiet since we left the inn.”
“I’m fine,” Diana said quickly. Too quickly.
Liosa arched a skeptical brow, glancing back at Artair and Keagan. They stood yards away, out of earshot, tending to their horses. Liosa stepped closer, lowering her voice.
“If ye’re sad over having tae leave Artair . . . then perhaps ye shouldnae.”
Diana stared at her. “What?”
“My brother loves ye. We may have been apart for long, but I still ken him. And I can tell by the way he looks at ye. ’Tis not common for him tae open his heart. If ye leave him behind, I fear he will become the shuttered and closed off man I left behind all those years ago. I think ye’re good for him, Diana.”
Diana’s heart picked up its pace. She badly wanted Liosa’s words to be true, but they weren’t. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Artair desired her, that he cared about her, but love? If he loved her, he would have been the one to suggest that she stay. Instead, he seemed determined to send her away.
“Artair desires me, that’s all,” Diana said. “And—I can’t stay.”
“Why not?” Liosa challenged. “What’s waiting for ye back in England?”
Modern conveniences. My job. My old life. She tried to summon up some enthusiasm for those things, but none held any appeal for Diana. If she was truly honest with herself, she'd become a solicitor simply as a means of getting a job that was as from magic as possible.
Relief filled her when Keagan called for them, saving her from having to answer the question.
This time, she rode a few paces behind Liosa, avoiding her lingering looks. For all of Liosa's attention, Artair didn't pay her any mind at all, speaking only to Liosa and Keagan as they rode. She wondered with a sharp pang if he was taking her distance a step further and conversing with her as little as possible until it came time for them to part ways.
When they finally arrived in Edinburgh, some of her tension dissipated; now there was something else for her to focus on. Diana took in Edinburgh as they approached, awe coursing through her. It was certainly not the Edinburgh of the twenty-first century—it was much smaller, more like a large village than a city, surrounded by massive city walls that were long gone in her time. She could see Edinburgh Castle perched on the same hilltop crag—Castle Rock—that it rested upon in her time, though like Edinburgh itself, it was smaller.
They entered Edinburgh through one of the open gates along the southern wall, and Diana took in the patchwork of narrow closes and wynds, the markets, homes and shops, the residents bustling to and fro. The houses ranged from simple cottages to finer merchants' homes. The stench of refuse and sewage hit her nostrils, as did the succulent smell of roasting meats from taverns they passed. Church bells sounded in the distance along with the shouts of laborers and the hum of conversation of passersby. Around them, packhorses stockpiled with vegetables and grain made their way toward the markets.
They came to a stop at an inn in central Edinburgh, one t
hat was larger than the other inns they’d stayed in so far, filled with many more travelers. She heard both Lowland and Highland accents, along with English and Norse.
When they'd paid for their rooms and escaped the bustle of the other guests, Artair fell into step beside her as they headed upstairs to their rooms.
“Would ye like for me tae escort ye around Edinburgh tomorrow? We plan tae stay for a day tae change horses before we make our way north tae Inverness. I thought ye’d want tae see more of the fourteenth century than just muddy roads and inns.”
Delight rippled through her at his words. Though she was curious about what Edinburgh was like in this time, she mostly wanted to spend more time with Artair.
“I would love to.”
* * *
When Diana and Artair headed out the next morning, Liosa and Keagan opted to remain behind, telling them they wanted to rest at the inn but urged them to enjoy themselves. By the twinkle in Liosa’s eyes, Diana suspected that they were giving them alone time on purpose.
They made their way through the narrow streets to St. Giles Cathedral, which he called the "High Kirk of Edinburgh.” She could tell that it was partially burnt and in the process of reconstruction; Artair told her that a fire had torn through it several years ago. His eyes widened in surprise when she told him that the cathedral still existed in her time.
This became a bit of a game between them, with Artair pointing out certain landmarks and Diana telling him whether it existed in the future. It didn't surprise him that Edinburgh Castle still existed, but he did seem surprised to learn that Nor Loch, at the base of Castle Rock, would eventually get drained and become a public park.
Artair reached for her hand as he led her down the wynds of St. Mary's and Blackfriars. A shiver of excitement roiled through her at his touch; she had to concentrate as she told him that these wynds would eventually get demolished and become wider streets. They soon made their way through the bustling markets of Grassmarket and Cowgate, both of which existed in her time—but as neighborhoods rather than markets.
"It sounds like Edinburgh of the future hasnae changed much," Artair mused as they headed away from Cowgate and back to the inn.
"The older part—this part—of Edinburgh becomes a neighborhood called Old Town. Much of the city's historical character has been preserved. It's popular with tourists."
"Tourists?" Artair asked with a baffled frown.
"Someone who travels to a destination for a holiday. It's like—what we're doing right now. In this time, only royalty and the wealthy travel for pleasure. Traveling is easier for the common people in my time."
"Ah," he said, nodding with understanding as they stepped aside to allow a horse-drawn cart to pass by. "It seems like things have changed for the better in the future, from all that ye told me. We'll have tae make certain tae get ye back tae it."
His tone was light, but his words pierced her with hurt. She set it aside to face him.
"Artair," she said. "I'm sorry. For my distance yesterday."
"'Tis all right," he assured her, though she noted the relief that filled his face. "Are ye all right?"
I love you.
"Yes," she said, forcing a smile. "It's just . . . everything that's happened has been so overwhelming."
"I understand," he said, reaching out to pull her into his arms. "I say we only focus on enjoying each other and our time together while we can."
While we can, Diana thought, a painful ache searing her chest. But she gave him a bright smile.
"All right," she replied.
He surprised her by placing his hand on her nape and pulling her in for a kiss, right there on the street.
After a startled beat, Diana responded, wrapping her arms around him, not caring who was watching. He released her, his breathing ragged with desire, before taking her hand and leading her inside the inn, barely breaking stride as he took her to her room. He closed the door behind them and pressed her against the wall, his eyes roaming over her face.
“I donnae intend tae just make love tae ye. I enjoy yer company; today was nothing but joy for me. But I'll not lie, lass. 'Tis hard tae be around ye and not want tae touch this skin,” he growled, reaching out to lower her bodice and capturing a taut nipple in his mouth. “Tae not taste this sweetness . . . “
Diana’s body quaked with anticipation and need as he hiked up her gown, sinking to his knees before her. She gasped as he snaked his tongue inside her, moaning with pleasure.
“Artair . . . " she whispered, tendrils of pleasure coiling around every part of her body.
“Ye may have the power of witchcraft, but ye donnae ken the power ye have over me, my golden witch,” he whispered, removing his tongue from her center and standing.
He maneuvered her back to the bed, stripping her of her gown and himself of his clothing as they moved.
Diana took control, straddling him when they reached the bed. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she sank down onto his hardness, throwing her head back with pleasure as he gripped her breasts and they began to move together. When their pleasure reached a mutual crescendo, and they shuddered together in climax, she thought the words she couldn't allow herself say.
I love you, Artair.
Chapter 19
After their night together in Edinburgh, Artair realized that something had shifted in his relationship with Diana. There was a closeness, an intimacy that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps it was the knowledge that they should savor each moment they had together and no longer deny their intense attraction.
Now, during their days of riding, he rode at her side, pointing out natural landmarks which he was familiar with, and Diana would tell him if it was still there in her time—though she told him that much of Scotland’s countryside had changed little over the centuries.
To his relief, it didn’t snow during their days of riding, but it did rain, forcing them to seek out shelter for the night in the nearest inn they could find.
Whenever they stopped to rest, eat or water the horses, he and Diana would find a tucked away loch or grove and walk along it, their hands entwined, sharing passionate kisses he had to force himself to end for fear of taking her right there in the open.
His sister and Keagan seemed pleased by their open intimacy, often riding ahead to give them privacy, or politely telling them they were going to water their horses a few yards away to give them alone time together. For this he was grateful, not just because he wanted as much time with Diana as possible, but because he didn’t want his sister to overhear them discussing Diana’s witchcraft or the future.
During the nights, they thoroughly explored each other's bodies. Artair couldn't get enough of her; every time he made love to her, he only wanted her more.
He learned how to work every inch of her body—to the spot at the base of her throat that he would nip at, causing her to whimper, her rosy nipples that he loved to suckle, to the taste of her sweet quim as he feasted upon her until she moaned and quivered her release.
But there were other aspects of their nights together that he enjoyed as well. He loved watching her sleep. She slept like a lad, with her arms and legs spread, her mouth open, and snores erupting from her lovely lips. Her face flamed and she gave him a playful shove when he told her how she slept.
What he enjoyed most about their nights was the feel of her in his arms after they made love. Her softness as he held her close to his chest, a multitude of emotions churning within him as he felt her heart pounding in tandem with his own, relishing in how right she felt in his arms.
The day before they reached Inverness, they stopped on the outskirts of a small patch of forest to water their horses by a stream and eat their food stores. After he tied up his and Diana’s horses, they made their way into the forest, finding a small grove.
“Sometimes my parents would drive me to Scotland and take me to old groves like these where druids used to practice their rituals,” Diana said, as they walked hand in hand. “They would show me s
imple spells and I remember feeling such . . . awe.”
“Show me one,” he said, turning to face her.
He knew that she practiced spells whenever she had an idle moment, usually after supper at whichever inn they were staying at, when he lingered behind to converse with Liosa and Keagan. There had been times when he'd entered their room to find her murmuring a spell beneath her breath as she used her magic to light a candle or open a window or door. He would lean back against the door, just taking her in with quiet awe. She seemed increasingly comfortable with her magic, with who she was and what she was capable of as a witch.
Now, Diana bit her lip, looking around the grove. She moved a few steps ahead and knelt down to the ground, covered in early winter’s frost, and held out her hand.
He watched in amazement as a wildflower bloomed, its yellow petals incongruously bright amid the darker forest plants and soil.
“I cannae believe ye didnae use yer witchcraft in yer own time, lass,” he murmured. “Tis a gift.”
“I’m starting to realize that now,” she said, straightening. “It was grief and pain that made me turn my back on it. But . . . I’m more open to it now. I don’t know how I’ll go back to being a regular solicitor when I return.”
Her return. To the future. It was unspoken between them, but the closer they got to Inverness, the closer they got to Tairseach—to going their separate ways. He swallowed, forcing a smile as he reached out to take her hand.
“We should get back.”
“Let me try one more,” Diana said, turning back to face the grove. “You might want to stand back for this.”
Artair took a cautious step back, and Diana raised her hands. He watched as she closed her eyes, murmuring the words of a spell in Latin.
Artair's Temptress: Highlander Fate Book Five Page 11