Plunging her hands into his thick dark hair, she rose up against him, crying his name over and over.
Gavrael.
And after she’d run out of demands—or simply had been sated beyond coherent thought—he knelt on the bed, pulled her astride him, and wrapped her long legs around his waist. Her nails scored his back as he lowered her onto his hard shaft one exquisite inch at a time.
“You can’t harm the baby, Gavrael,” she assured him, panting softly as he held her away, giving her but a tiny taste of what she so desperately wanted.
“I’m not worried about that,” he assured her.
“Then why … are … you … going so slow?”
“To watch your face,” he said with a lazy smile. “I love to watch your eyes when we make love. I see every bit of pleasure, every ounce of desire reflected in them.”
“They’ll look even better if you’ll just—” She pushed against him with her hips and, laughing, he held her away with his strong hands on her waist.
Jillian nearly wailed. “Please!”
But he took his sweet time—and how sweet it was—until she thought she could no longer bear it. Then, abruptly, he buried himself deep within her. “I love you, Jillian McIllioch.” His accompanying smile was uninhibited, his white teeth flashing against his dark face.
She laid a finger to his lips. “I know,” she assured him.
“But I wanted to say the words.” He caught her finger between his lips and kissed it.
“I see,” she teased. “You get to say all the love words while I have to say all the bawdy ones.”
He made a rumble low in his throat. “I love it when you tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“Then do this …” Her low rush of words dissolved into a satisfied cry as he fulfilled her demand.
Hours later, her last conscious thought was that she should not forget to mention to Adrienne that the “general consensus” about Berserkers could not even begin to touch the reality.
EPILOGUE
“I DOONA UNDERSTAND IT,” RONIN SAID, WATCHING THE lads. He shook his head. “It’s never happened before.”
“I doona either, Da. But something is different about me from any of the McIllioch males before. Either that, or there’s something different about Jillian. Perhaps it’s both of us.”
“How do you keep up with them?”
Gavrael laughed, a rich sound. “Between Jillian and me, we manage.”
“But with them being, you know, the way they are so young, aren’t they constantly getting into mischief?”
“Not to mention impossibly high places. They’re forever pulling off incredible feats, and if you ask me, they’re just a little too damned smart for anyone’s good. It’s almost more than any one Berserker could be expected to keep up with. That’s why I think it would be useful to have their grandda around too,” Gavrael said pointedly.
The flush of pleasure on Ronin’s cheeks was unmistakable. “You mean you want me to stay here with you and Jillian?”
“Maldebann is home, Da. I know you felt Jillian and I needed the privacy of newlyweds, but we wish you would come home for good. Both you and Balder; the lads need their great-uncle too. Remember, we McIllioch are the stuff of legends, and how will they come to understand the legends without the finest of our Berserkers to teach them? Quit visiting all those people you’ve been dropping in on and come home.” Gavrael studied him out of the corner of his eyes and knew Ronin would not leave Maldebann again. The thought gave him great satisfaction. His sons should know their grandda. Not merely as an intermittent visitor, but as a steady influence.
In a contented silence that bordered on awe, Gavrael and Ronin watched the three young boys playing on the lawn. When Jillian stepped out into the sunshine, her sons looked up as one, as if they could sense her presence. They stopped playing and ranged in around their mother, vying for attention.
“Now, there’s a beautiful sight,” Ronin said reverently.
“Aye,” Gavrael agreed.
Jillian laughed as she tousled the heads of her three young sons and smiled into three pairs of ice-blue eyes.
A NORSE LEGEND
(THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS)
Legend tells that Ragnarok—the final battle of the gods—will herald the end of the world.
Destruction will rage in the kingdom of the gods. In the last battle, Odin will be devoured by a wolf. The earth will be destroyed by fire, and the universe will sink into the sea.
Legend holds that this final destruction will be followed by rebirth. The earth will reemerge from the water, lush and teeming with new life. It is prophesied the sons of the dead Aesir will return to Asgard, the home of the gods, and reign again.
In the mountains of Scotland, the Circle Elders say Odin doesn’t believe in taking any chances, that he schemes to defy fate by breeding his warrior race of Berserkers into the Scottish bloodlines, deeply hidden. There they await the twilight of the gods, at which time he will summon them to fight for him once more.
Legend tells that there are Berserkers walking among us, even still….
She opened the door and began to step in, when he suddenly spun her around into his arms.
Without a word, he brutally closed his mouth over hers.
Too shocked to resist, Lisa stood motionless, her lips parting at the insistence of his tongue. He was angry, she could feel it in the bruising crush of his lips, and it fed her own anger.
Then it occurred to her that kissing was quite a useful and fascinating way to express anger, so she worked diligently at putting every bit of her irritation and displeasure into her response. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back so uninhibitedly that he stiffened abruptly, stepped back, and gazed at her with a startled expression.
Briefly, he looked pleased, then his eyes narrowed swiftly. “I doona like you, and I will not tolerate you complicating my life.”
“Ditto,” she clipped through swollen lips.
“Then we understand each other,” he said.
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “Perfectly.”
“Good.”
They stared at each other.
“Doona forget who’s in control in this castle, lass,” he snarled before stalking off down the hallway.
If that was how he asserted his control, she might just have to challenge his authority more often.
Contents
Master - Table of Contents
The Highlander’s Touch
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Part 1 – Falling…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part 2 – Rising…
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Part 3 – Soaring…
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Author’s Note
Published by
Dell Publishing
a division of
Random House, Inc.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2000 by Karen Marie Moning
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or tra
nsmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Dell® is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-307-55671-4
v3.0
For the love of it…
I am that merry wanderer of the night
I jest to Oberon and make him smile …
—A Midsummer Night’s Dream/Shakespeare
HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND
CASTLE BRODIE—1308
ADAM BLACK MATERIALIZED IN THE GREATHALL.
Silently, he observed the towering warrior who paced before the fire.
Circenn Brodie, laird and thane of Brodie, exuded the magnetism of a man born not merely to exist in his world, but to conquer it. Power has never been so seductive, Adam thought, except, perhaps, in me.
The object of his study turned from the fire, unruffled by Adam’s silent presence.
“What do you want?” Circenn said.
Adam was not surprised by his tone. He’d learned long ago not to expect civility from this particular Highland laird. Adam Black, the deadly jester in the Fairy Queen’s court, was an irritant Circenn suffered unwillingly. Kicking a chair close to the fire, Adam lounged in it backward, resting his arms over the slatted back. “Is that any way to greet me after months of absence?”
“You know I despise it when you appear without warning. And as to your absence, I had been savoring my good fortune.” Circenn turned back toward the fire.
“You would miss me if I were gone for long,” Adam assured him, studying his profile. Sinful that he looks such a powerful beast, yet comports himself with such decorum, Adam thought. If Circenn Brodie was going to look like a savage Pict warrior, then by Dagda he should act like one.
“The same way I might miss a hole in my shield, a warthog in my bed, or a fire in my stables,” Circenn said. “Turn around in your chair and sit like a proper person.”
“Ah, but I am neither proper nor a person, so you needn’t expect me to conform to your requirements. I shudder to think what you would do without all your rules for a ‘normal’ existence, Circenn.” When Circenn stiffened, Adam grinned and extended a graceful hand to a maid who’d been lingering in the shadows at the perimeter of the Greathall. He tossed his head, casting silky dark hair over his shoulder. “Come.”
The maid approached, her gaze darting between Circenn and Adam, as if uncertain which man posed the greater threat. Or which the greater lure.
“May I serve milords?” she said breathlessly.
“Nay, Gillendria,” Circenn dismissed her. “Off to bed with you. It is well past the goblin’s hour”—he shot a dark look at Adam—“and my guest has no needs I care to see filled.”
“Aye, Gillendria,” Adam purred. “There are many ways you may serve me this night. I will take pleasure in teaching you all of them. Off to your quarters while we men talk. I will join you there.”
The young maid’s eyes widened as she hastened to obey him.
“Leave my wenches alone” Circenn ordered.
“I don’t get them pregnant.” Adam flashed his most insolent grin.
“That is not my concern; it is the fact that they are all but witless once you have finished with them.”
“Witless? Who was witless tonight?”
Circenn tensed but said nothing.
“Where are the hallows, Circenn?” A glint of mischief kindled in Adam’s remote eyes.
Circenn turned his back fully to the fairy.
“You did protect them for us, did you not?” Adam asked. “Don’t tell me you lost them?” he chided when Circenn failed to reply.
Circenn turned back to face him, legs wide, head cocked, arms folded; his usual position when quietly furious. “Why do you waste my time asking me questions when you already know the answers?”
Adam shrugged elegantly. “Because the droppers at the eaves will be unable to follow this splendid saga if we do not speak of it aloud.”
“No one eavesdrops in my castle.”
“I forgot,” Adam purred, “no one misbehaves at Castle Brodie. Ever-spotless, ever-disciplined, perfect Castle Brodie. You bore me, Circenn. This paragon of restraint you pretend to be is a waste of the fine breeding that forged you.”
“Let us have done with this conversation, shall we?”
Adam folded his arms across the back of the chair. “All right. What happened tonight? Templars were to meet you at Ballyhock. They were to entrust the hallows to your care. I heard they were ambushed.”
“You heard correctly,” Circenn replied evenly.
“Do you understand how important it is that the Templars be given sanctuary in Scotland, now that they’ve been disbanded?”
“Of course I understand,” Circenn growled.
“And how imperative it is that the hallows do not fall into the wrong hands?”
Circenn waved Adam’s question away with an impatient hand. “The four hallows have been secured. The moment we suspected the Templars were going to come under siege, the spear, the cauldron, the sword, and the stone were rushed back into Scotland, despite the war going on. Better they rest in a country torn than with the persecuted Templars, whose Order is being ripped asunder. The hallows are safe—”
“Except for the flask, Circenn,” Adam said. “What of it? Where is it?”
“The flask is not a hallow,” Circenn prevaricated.
“I know that,” Adam said dryly. “But the flask is a sacred relic of our race, and we could all be in danger should it fall into the wrong hands. I repeat, where is the flask?”
Circenn plunged a hand into his hair, pushing it back from his face. Adam was struck by the sensual majesty of the man. Silky black hair was gripped between elegant fingers, revealing a face composed of strong planes, a chiseled jaw, and dark brows. He had the olive-toned skin, the intense eyes, and the aggressive, dominant temperament of his Brude ancestors.
“I doona know,” Circenn finally said.
“You doona know?” Adam mimicked his brogue, aware that such an admission must have tasted foul on Circenn Brodie’s tongue. Nothing was ever out of the laird of Brodie’s control. Rules and more rules governed everything and everyone in Circenn’s world. “A flask containing a sacred elixir, created by my race, disappears from your very grasp and you doona know where it is?”
“The situation is not so dire, Adam. It is not permanently lost. Think of it as … temporarily displaced, and soon to be regained.”
Adam arched a brow. “You split hairs with a battle-ax. Skillful prevarication is a woman’s art, Brodie. What happened?”
“Ian was carrying the chest that holds the flask. When the attack came, I was on the south side of the bridge waiting for Ian to cross over from the north. He took a blow to the head and was knocked off the bridge, into the river below. The chest was whisked away by the current—”
“And you say that is not so bad? Anyone could have it now. Would you like to see the English king get his hands on that flask? Do you understand the danger it presents?”
“Of course I do. It will not come to that, Adam,” Circenn said. “I laid a geas upon the flask. It will not fall into another’s hands, because the moment it is discovered it will be returned to me.”
“A geas?” Adam snorted. “Puny magic. A proper fairy would have simply spelled it back out of the river.”
“I am not fae. I am Brude-Scot and proud of it. Count yourself fortunate I cursed it at all. You know I have no fondness for the druid ways. Curses are unpredictable.”
“What clever invocation did you choose, Circenn?” Adam asked silkily. “You did choose your words well, did you not?”
“Of course I did. Think you I have learned nothing from past mistakes? The moment the chest is opened and the flask is touched by a human hand it will be returned to me. I cursed
it very specifically.”
“Did you specify whether the flask would come by itself?” Adam asked with sudden amusement.
“What?” Circenn regarded him blankly.
“The flask. Did you consider that the mortal who touches it might be transported with the flask, if you used a binding spell?”
Circenn closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
“You used a binding spell.” Adam sighed.
“I used a binding spell,” Circenn admitted. “It was the only one I knew,” he added defensively.
“And whose fault is that? How many times have you refused the honor of training among my people? And the answer is yes, Circenn, the man will be carried by the binding spell. Both man and flask will be delivered to you.”
Circenn growled his frustration.
“What will you do with this man when he arrives?” Adam pressed.
“Question him, then return him to his home with all haste.”
“You will kill him.”
“I knew you would say that. Adam, he may not even understand what it is. What if an innocent man finds the chest washed up on the bank of the river somewhere?”
“You will kill the innocent man, then,” Adam said easily.
“I will do no such thing.”
Adam rose with the graceful surety of a snake uncoiling for the death strike. He crossed the space between them and paused an inch from Circenn. “But you will,” he said softly. “Because you cursed it foolishly, with insufficient thought as to the outcome. Whoever comes with the flask will arrive in the midst of a Templar sanctuary. Your curse will bring him, innocent or not, into a place where none but your fugitive warriors may trespass. You think you can simply send him away with a fare-thee-well and never-speak-of-this, stranger? And a by-the-bye, please don’t mention that half the missing Templars linger within my walls, and don’t be tempted by the price on their heads.” Adam rolled his eyes. “So you will kill him, because you pledged your life to put Robert the Bruce firmly on the throne, and to take no unnecessary risks.”
The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle Page 61