A wounded sound of disbelief escaped him.
Jillian gave him the most dazzling smile she could muster and placed her fist to her heart. “And the daughter wed the lion king,” she said clearly.
An expression of incredulity crossed the warrior’s face. His blue eyes widened and he stared at her in stunned silence.
“I love you, Gavrael McIllioch.”
When he smiled, his face blazed with love. He tossed his head back and shouted his joy to the sky.
The last of the McKane died in the vale of Tuluth, December 14, 1515.
CHAPTER 34
“THEY’RE COMING, HAWK!” ADRIENNE SPED INTO THE Greathall where Hawk, Lydia, and Tavis were busy decorating for the wedding. As the ceremony was being held on Christmas Day, they’d combined the customary decorations with the gaily colored greens and reds of the season. Exquisite wreaths fashioned of pinecones and dried berries had been decorated with brilliant velvet bows and shimmering ribbons. The finest tapestries adorned the walls, including one Adrienne had helped to weave over the past year that featured a Nativity scene with a radiant Madonna cradling the infant Jesus while proud Joseph and the magi looked on.
Today the hall was clear of rushes, the stones scoured to a spotless gray. Later, only moments before the wedding, they would strew dried rose petals across the stones to release a springy floral aroma into the air. Sprigs of mistletoe dangled from every beam and Adrienne eyed the foliage, peering up at Hawk, who stood on a ladder, fastening a wreath to the wall.
“What are those lovely sprigs you’ve hung, Hawk?” Adrienne asked, the picture of innocence.
Hawk glanced down at her. “Mistletoe. It’s a Christmas tradition.”
“How is it associated with Christmas?”
“The legends say the Scandinavian god of peace, Balder, was slain by an arrow fashioned of mistletoe. The other gods and goddesses loved Balder so greatly, they begged his life be restored and mistletoe be endowed with special meaning.”
“What kind of special meaning?” Adrienne blinked expectantly up at him.
Hawk slid swiftly down the ladder, happy to demonstrate. He kissed her so passionately that the embers of desire, always at a steady burn around her husband, roared into flame. “One who passes beneath the mistletoe must be kissed thoroughly.”
“Mmm. I like this tradition. But what happened to poor Balder?”
Hawk grinned and planted another kiss on her lips. “Balder was returned to life and the care of mistletoe was bequeathed to the goddess of love. Each time a kiss is given beneath mistletoe, love and peace gain a stronger foothold in the world of mortals.”
“How lovely,” Adrienne exclaimed. Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “So essentially, the more I kiss you under this branch”—she pointed up—“the more good I’m doing the world. One might say I’m helping all of humankind, doing my duty—”
“Your duty?” Hawk arched a brow.
Lydia laughed and tugged Tavis beneath the branch as well. “It sounds like a good idea to me, Adrienne. Maybe if we kiss them enough we’ll lay all the silly feuding in this land to rest.”
The next few minutes belonged to lovers, until the door burst open and a guard announced the arrival of their guests.
Adrienne’s gaze darted about the Greathall as she fretted over anything that might be yet undone. She wanted everything to be perfect for Grimm’s bride. “How do I say it again?” she asked Lydia frantically. She’d been trying to perfect her Gaelic so she could greet them with a proper “Merry Christmas.”
“Nollaig Chridheil,” Lydia repeated slowly.
Adrienne repeated it several times, then linked her arm through Hawk’s and smiled beatifically. “My wish came true, Hawk,” she said smugly.
“What was that blasted wish, anyway?” Hawk said, disgruntled.
“That Grimm Roderick find the woman who would heal his heart as you healed mine, my love.” Adrienne would never call a man “radiant”; it seemed a feminine word. But when her husband gazed down at her with his eyes glowing so lovingly, she whispered a fervent “thank you” in the direction of the Nativity scene. Then she added a silent benediction for any and all other beings responsible for the events that had carried her across five hundred years to find him. Scotland was a magical place, rich in legends, and Adrienne embraced them because the underlying themes were universal: Love endured, and it could heal all.
It was a traditional wedding, if such could be between a woman and a man of legend—a Berserker no less, with two more of the epic warriors in attendance. The women fussed and the men shared toasts. At the last minute, Gibraltar and Elizabeth St. Clair arrived. They had ridden like the devil the moment they’d received the message that Jillian was to be wed at Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea.
Jillian was elated to see her parents. Elizabeth and Adrienne helped her dress while they resolved that both “das” should escort the bride to the groom’s side. Ronin had already been solicited for the honor, but Elizabeth maintained that Gibraltar would never recover if he wasn’t allowed to escort her too. Yes, she knew that Jillian hadn’t expected them to be able to make it in time, but they had and that was the end of it.
The bride and groom didn’t see one another until the moment Gibraltar and Ronin escorted Jillian down the elaborate staircase into the Greathall, after a long pause at the top that permitted all and sundry to exclaim over the radiant bride.
Jillian’s heart was thundering as her two “das” lifted her hands from their forearms and tucked her arm through the elbow of the man who was to be her husband. Grimm looked magnificent, clad in ceremonial tartan, his black hair neatly queued. Jillian didn’t miss it when Ronin’s gaze flickered over the plaid. He looked momentarily astonished, then elated, for Grimm had donned the full dress of the McIllioch for his wedding day.
She hadn’t thought the day could be any more perfect until the priest began the ceremony. After what seemed like years of traditional benedictions and prayers, he moved onto the vows:
“Do you, Grimm Roderick, promise—”
Grimm’s deep voice interrupted him. Pride underscored each word. “My name is Gavrael.” He took a deep breath, then continued, enunciating his name clearly. “Gavrael Roderick Icarus McIllioch.”
Chills swept up her spine. Tears misted Ronin’s eyes and the hall fell silent for a moment. Hawk grinned at Adrienne, and far in the back of the hall where few had as yet seen him, Quinn de Moncreiffe nodded, satisfied. At long last, Grimm Roderick was at peace with who and what he was.
“Do you, Gavrael Roderick—”
“I do.”
Jillian nudged him.
He arched a brow and frowned. “Well, I do. Must we go through all this? I do. I swear a man has never ‘I do’d’ more fervently than I. I just want to be married to you, lass.”
Ronin and Balder exchanged amused glances. Keeping them apart had certainly heightened Gavrael’s enthusiasm for the matrimonial bonds.
Guests tittered, and Jillian smiled. “Let the priest have his turn, because I would like to hear you say it all. Especially the ‘loving and cherishing me’ part.”
“Oh, I’ll love and ravish you, lass,” Gavrael said close to her ear.
“Cherish! And behave.” She teasingly swatted at him and nodded encouragingly to the priest. “Do continue.”
And so they were wed.
Kaley Twillow jostled for room, rising to her toes and peering over heads anxiously. Her precious Jillian was getting married and she couldn’t see a dratted thing. It just wouldn’t do.
“Watch where yer pokin’,” an irate guest barked as she strategically jabbed her elbow in a few tender spots to squeeze past.
“Wait your turn to greet the bride!” another one complained when she stepped on his toes.
“I practically raised the wee bride, and I’ll be damned if I’m sitting in back unable to see, so move your arse!” She glowered.
A small path appeared as they reluctantly permitted her passage.
W
edging her ample bosom and hips between a cluster of guards created a small furor as dozens of men eyed the shapely woman with interest. Finally she pushed through, crested the last wave of guests, and surfaced beside a man whose handsome height and girth took her breath away. His thick black hair was streaked with silver, revealing his mature years, which, in her experience, meant mature passion.
She peered coquettishly at the black-haired man from the corner of her eye, then turned her head to savor him fully. “My, my, and just who might you be?” She fluttered her long lashes admiringly.
Balder’s ice-blue eyes crinkled with pleasure as he beheld the voluptuous woman who was obviously delighted to see him. “The man who’s been waiting for you all his life, lass,” he said huskily.
The wedding celebration began the moment the vows had been exchanged. Jillian longed to slip off with her husband the instant the ceremony ended. With Balder and Ronin strictly monitoring her time with Gavrael for the past two weeks, they’d been able to spend no time alone at all. But she didn’t wish to hurt Adrienne’s feelings when she had obviously taken great care to ensure Jillian’s wedding day was the stuff of dreams, so she dutifully lingered and greeted and smiled. The moment she and Gavrael had sealed their union with a kiss, she’d been snatched from his lips, tugged in one direction by the joyous crowd and able to do nothing but watch helplessly as her husband was dragged in the other.
They were married, the older and wiser had counseled, and they would have plenty of time to spend with each other. Jillian had rolled her eyes and pasted a smile on her face, accepting congratulations.
Finally, the flatbread was broken and the feasting commenced, drawing attention away from the newlyweds. Adrienne helped Jillian slip out of the hall, but instead of showing her to their chambers as she’d expected, the stunning, unusual woman had led her to Dalkeith’s study. The light from oil globes and dozens of candles coupled with a cheery fire made the room a welcoming and warm haven despite the banks of fluffy white snow drifting outside the windows.
“It looks like we may get a real doozy.” Adrienne eyed the drifts as she bustled about, poking up the fire.
Jillian blinked. “A what?”
“Doozy. Oh …” Adrienne paused, then laughed. “A big storm. You know, we might get snowed in for a time.”
“You’re not from this part of the country, are you?” Jillian frowned, trying to place her strange accent.
Again her hostess laughed. “Not quite.” She beckoned Jillian to join her before the fire. “Just tell me, are those two of the hunkiest men you’ve ever laid eyes on?” Adrienne eyed a picture above the hewn-oak mantel and sighed dreamily.
Jillian followed her hostess’s gaze upward to a beautifully rendered portrait of Gavrael and the Hawk. “Oh my. I don’t know what ‘hunkiest’ means, but they certainly are the most handsome men I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s it,” Adrienne agreed. “Do you know they complained the entire time this was being painted? Men.” She rolled her eyes and gestured at the painting. “How could they blame a woman for wanting to immortalize such raw masculine splendor?”
The women spoke quietly for a time, unaware Hawk and Gavrael had entered the study behind them. Gavrael’s eyes lingered on his wife and he started to move forward, determined to claim her before someone else dragged him off.
“Relax.” Hawk placed a restraining hand on his sleeve. Enough distance separated the men from their wives that the women hadn’t heard them yet, but Adrienne’s voice carried clearly:
“It was all that fairy’s fault. He dragged me back through time—not that I’m complaining a bit, mind you. I love it here and I adore my husband, but I’m originally from the twentieth century.”
Both men grinned when Jillian did a double take. “Five hundred years from now?” she exclaimed.
Adrienne nodded, her eyes dancing. Jillian studied her intently, then leaned closer. “My husband’s a Berserker,” she confided.
“I know. He told us right before he left for Caithness, but I didn’t get a chance to ask him any questions. Can he change shapes?” Adrienne looked as if she were about to reach for paper and ink and start scribbling notes. “In the twentieth century there’s a great deal of dispute over just what they were and what they were capable of.” Adrienne paused as she became aware of the two men standing in the doorway. Her eyes twinkled mischievously, and she winked at her husband. “However, there was a general consensus on one thing, Jillian.” She smiled impishly. “It was commonly held that Berserkers were known for their legendary stamina—both in battle and in the b—”
“We get the point, Adrienne.” Hawk cut her off, his black eyes sparkling with amusement. “Now, perhaps we should let Gavrael show her the rest himself.”
Gavrael and Jillian’s chambers were on the third floor of Dalkeith. Adrienne and Hawk escorted them, dropping not-so-subtle hints that the newlyweds could make as much noise as they wished; with the intervening floors, the revelers below would be none the wiser.
When the door closed behind them and they were finally alone, Gavrael and Jillian gazed at each other across the downy expanse of a wide mahogany bed. A fire leapt and crackled in the hearth while fluffy snowflakes fell beyond the window.
Grimm regarded her tenderly and his eyes slipped down, as they’d frequently done lately, to the scarcely noticeable swell of her abdomen. Jillian caught the possessive glance and gave him a dazzling smile. Ever since the night of the attack, when she’d told him they were going to have a baby, she’d caught him smiling at odd times with little or no provocation. It delighted her, his intense delight about the baby growing inside her. When she’d told him, after they’d returned from the caves to Maldebann, he’d sat blinking and shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe it was true. When she’d cradled his face in her hands and drawn his head close to kiss him, she’d been stunned by the glimpse of moisture in his eyes. Her husband was the best of men: strong yet sensitive, capable yet vulnerable—and how she loved him!
As she watched him now, his eyes darkened with desire, and anticipation shivered through her.
“Adrienne said we might get snowed in for a while,” Jillian said breathlessly, feeling suddenly awkward. Being chaperoned these past weeks had nearly driven her crazy; to compensate, she’d tried to push her unruly steamy thoughts into a secluded corner of her mind. Now they resisted their confines, broke free, and demanded attention. She wanted her husband now.
“Good. I hope it snows a dozen feet.” Gavrael moved around the bed. All he wanted to do was bury himself inside her, reassure himself that she was indeed his. This day had been the culmination of all his dreams—he was married to Jillian St. Clair. Gazing down at her, he marveled at how much she had changed his life: He had a home, a clan, and a father, the wife he’d always dreamed of, a precious child on the way, and a bright future. He, who had always felt like an outcast, now belonged. And he owed it all to Jillian. He came to a stop inches from her and flashed her a lazy, sensual smile. “I doona suppose you have any noises you’d like to be making while we’re snowbound? I’d hate to disappoint our hosts.”
Jillian’s awkwardness melted away in a flash. Skirting all niceties, she slipped her hand up his muscular thigh and tugged his plaid away from his body. Her fingers flew over the buttons of his shirt, and within moments he stood before her as nature had fashioned him—a mighty warrior with hard angles and muscled planes.
Her gaze dropped lower and fixed upon what must have surely been nature’s most generous boon. She wet her lip, a wordless gesture of desire, unaware of the effect it had on him.
Gavrael groaned and reached for her. Jillian slipped into his arms, wrapped her hand around his thick shaft, and nearly purred with delight.
His eyes flared, then narrowed as he moved with the grace and power of a mountain cat, dragging her down onto the bed. A rough sigh escaped him. “Ah, I missed you, lass. I thought I was going to go crazy from wanting you. Balder wouldn’t even let me kiss you!�
� Gavrael worked swiftly at the tiny buttons on her wedding gown. When she tightened her fingers around him, he quickly secured her hands, trapping them with one of his. “I can’t think when you do that, lass.”
“I didn’t ask you to think, my big brawny warrior,” she teased. “I have other uses for you.”
He tossed her an arrogant look that clearly warned her he was in charge for the moment. With her distracting hands temporarily restrained, he lingered over her buttons, tracing kisses over each inch of skin as it was revealed. When his lips returned to hers, he kissed her with a savage intensity. Their tongues met, retreated, then met again. He tasted of brandy and cinnamon; Jillian followed his tongue, caught it with her own, and drew it into her mouth. When he stretched full length on top of her, muscled body to silken skin, her softness accommodating his hardness in perfect symmetry, she sighed her pleasure.
“Please,” she begged, shifting her body enticingly beneath him.
“Please what, Jillian? What would you like me to do? Tell me exactly, lass.” His heavy-lidded eyes glittered with interest.
“I want you to …” She gestured.
He nibbled her lower lip, drew back, and blinked innocently. “I’m afraid I doona understand. What was that?”
“Here.” She gestured again.
“Say it, Jillian,” he whispered huskily. “Tell me. I am yours to command, but I follow only very explicit instructions.” The wicked grin he flashed loosened the last of her restraints, leaving her free to indulge in a bit of wickedness of her own.
So she told him, the man who was her own private legend, and he fulfilled her every secret desire, tasting and touching and pleasing her. He worshipped her body with his passion, celebrated their child in her womb with gentle kisses, kisses that lost their gentleness and became hot and hungry against her hips and blazed into flowing heat between her thighs.
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