The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karen Marie Moning

  Chloe blinked, looking wounded. “I just wanted to repeat it so I could remember it.” The little poem had made her feel funny, strangely compelled to say it back for some reason. They were the sweetest words he’d ever spoken, even if only a bit of a poem, and she’d like it safely tucked away in her memory. He wasn’t a man who bandied idle words about. He’d meant something by it. Was that how Dageus MacKeltar spoke of his feelings? By reciting a few lines of a poem?

  Though she’d been drowsy when he’d spoken, she was pretty certain he’d said something like “my life for yours.” If only he might love her like that! She no longer wanted merely to be the woman who got inside Dageus MacKeltar, she wanted to be the one who stayed inside him. Forever. The last woman he ever made love to. She wanted it so fiercely that the mere wanting was a kind of pain.

  And by God, she wanted to hear those words again.

  She opened her mouth to press, but the moment she did, he slanted his mouth hard over her parted lips and—damn the man for being able to kiss a woman into a swarm of hormones buzzing about like drunken little bees!—in a few moments the only thing she was thinking about was the way he was touching her.

  Silvan wasn’t a man given to lurking. Well, he hadn’t been until his sons had gone and taken mates, then it seemed he’d begun doing all sorts of things he’d not done before. Like eavesdropping on an embarrassingly personal and sizzling conversation between Drustan and Gwen that had ended with Silvan dragging Nellie off to bed. And wed to her a short time later.

  He grinned. A damn fine woman she was too. Knew more about the Keltar than the Keltar knew themselves. In her twelve years as his housekeeper, she’d learned nearly every secret in their castle, including one not even he had known: a secret place that had been forgotten for nearly eight centuries, according to the last entry he’d read in the journal he’d found therein.

  She said she’d discovered the underground chamber during a fit of spring cleaning a score of years ago. She’d not mentioned it because she thought he’d known—and besides, she’d added acerbically, that was when ye weren’t speaking to me. Silvan snorted softly. What a fool he’d been, denying his desire for her. So many wasted years.

  Are you wasting yet more time, old man? a caustic inner voice inquired. Aren’t there still things you refuse to say?

  He shoved that thought brusquely away. Now was not the time to brood on himself. Now was the time to focus on finding a way to save his son.

  The contents of the chamber were the reason he currently lurked in the shadows of the great hall awaiting Dageus’s return. There were texts and artifacts, relics Dageus needed to see. The sheer volume of material in the underground chamber was overwhelming. It could take them weeks simply to catalog it all.

  Silvan sensed his son before he entered the great hall, and began to rise, but at the last moment before the door opened, he heard a soft rush of throaty female laughter. Then silence that could only be filled with kisses. Then more laughter.

  Soft, faint, but Dageus’s laughter.

  He went motionless in a half-crouch above the chair. How long since he’d heard such a sound?

  Och, the darkness was still there beneath it, but whatever had transpired this day had granted Dageus a merciful reprieve. He didn’t need to see his son to know that his eyes would be—if not golden—at least lighter.

  When his son swung the door open, Silvan slipped back into the chair, gathering the gloom around him with a few soft words.

  His news would keep till the morn.

  • 20 •

  There’s something I haven’t told you, Chloe-lass, Dageus said, stepping forward from the shadowy circle of stones. His eyes said he wanted to tell her. His eyes said he was afraid to tell her. What might such a man fear? That he feared it, frightened her as well, and diminished her need to know substantially. For a novel change, her curiosity curled up and played dead.

  You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, she prevaricated, wanting the dreamy pleasure of their newfound intimacy to remain unspoiled by difficult truths. From the look on his face, difficult was a mild word for whatever he was withholding.

  The tendons in his strong neck worked and he opened and closed his mouth several times. He took a deep breath. Mayhap you should know—

  A sudden pounding at the door jarred Chloe instantly awake. Her dream shattered into tiny particles of sandman’s dust.

  When she jerked, Dageus’s arms tightened around her.

  “Are ye awake in there?” Nell was calling through the door. “Silvan’s nigh beside himself with impatience. He’s requestin’ ye both belowstairs.”

  “We’re awake, Nell,” Dageus replied. “Would you mind having a bath sent up?”

  “Dageus, yer da will get himself in a fankle. He’s been waiting to show ye what he’s found since early yestermorn and ye know he’s ne’er been the most patient man.”

  Dageus exhaled loudly. “A quarter hour, Nell,” he said, sounding resigned, “then we’ll be down.”

  “I wouldn’t be disturbin’ ye, were it left to me.” A soft laugh, and her footsteps faded down the corridor.

  Dageus rolled Chloe over on her side to face him, capturing one of her legs between his, cupping her full breasts possessively.

  “G’morning,” she said drowsily, flushing from the memory of what he’d done to her through the night. What she’d encouraged him, even begged him to do. She smiled. She was achy and sore and felt scrumptious. She’d spent the entire night in his arms. Funny, she mused, of all the things that were so difficult to believe, the past twenty-four hours with him seemed the most astonishing. Since she’d given herself to him, he’d been a completely different man. Warm, sexy, playful. Oh, still every inch dominant, basely sexual man, but infinitely more approachable. Where, previously, sometimes it had seemed he was there but not quite there—a part of him somewhere else entirely—in bed he was one hundred percent there. One hundred percent focused and involved.

  It was devastating to be the focal point of such raw, relentless eroticism. He was everything she’d fantasized Dageus MacKeltar might be in bed and more. Wild and demanding, battering past all her inhibitions.

  Just as she was thinking how nice it was to see him at ease, his body as relaxed as a lion lazily sunning himself, he smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Oooh! Stop that. When you smile at me I want all of it.”

  “What?” He looked confused.

  Chloe slid her hands to his ribs, wondering if such a strong, disciplined man might be ticklish. He was, and it delighted her to discover that in some small way he was as helpless and as human as the rest of the world. She tickled mercilessly until, laughing, he captured her hands in his.

  “I punish wenches who tickle me,” he purred, stretching her arms above her head.

  “How?” she asked breathlessly.

  He ducked his dark head and caught one nipple in his mouth, suckling gently before releasing it and dragging his tongue over her breasts to capture the other. “You have perfect breasts, lass,” he growled huskily. “As to the punishing, I’ll need to think on that,” he purred against her skin. “None has e’er tickled me before.”

  “Gee, I wonder why?” she managed. When he circled a budded nipple with his tongue, her back arched and she inhaled sharply. Her breasts felt swollen, chafed by his shadow beard, and exquisitely sensitive. “Could it be because you’re always so reserved and in control? They were probably afraid to,” she said, gasping.

  He released her nipple and looked up at her, startled. “But you’re not, are you, Chloe?”

  “Smile,” she panted, not wanting to answer that. Not wanting to admit that some part of her was afraid of the intimidating man who danced between centuries. Not exactly of him, more afraid of the power he had over her because she had such intense feelings for him. With all the scorching, incredibly intimate things he’d done to her, he’d not said any of those words lovers were wont to say, words hinting at a future tog
ether. As he’d told her yesterday, he made no excuses and offered no pretty lies. No promises either.

  She wouldn’t mind one or two. Or ten.

  Taking her cue from him, she’d kept her feelings silent, resolved to be patient; wait and watch, try to catch some of those subtle little signs that were all Dageus ever revealed.

  He arched a brow and smiled as she’d requested.

  “Oh, that one was much better,” she said, smiling back. It was impossible not to smile back when he truly smiled. When he slid his hands down her arms, over her breasts, then to her hips, she shook her head warily. “Huh-uh. I can’t. Not now.” She deliberately teased him with, “It could be a week before I can again.” She topped it with a demure batting of her lashes.

  Growling, he tossed his head, his black mane spilling like dark silk over her skin. “Och, nay, lass, I doona think so. A bath will hasten your recovery.” He prodded her in the thigh, hard and ready. Did the man never tire? she wondered blissfully.

  Despite her extreme soreness, desire flared, hot and greedy, stirring all those battered nerve endings to life. He made her feel insatiable. Having sex with him made a woman feel like she was doing something forbidden somehow, and she could get downright obsessed with it. Though she felt bruised and tender, if they had the time, she’d be all over him, or rather, he’d be all over her, for he certainly liked the dominant position. “You heard Nell. We’re not getting a bath. Silvan wants us.” Chloe felt a sudden flush of embarrassment. She’d slept with Silvan’s son in Silvan’s castle. Though she hadn’t felt awkward about it with Nell at the door, for some reason she felt uneasy about it when she thought about Silvan, perhaps because he was of her grandda’s age.

  “Doona worry, lass,” he reassured her, guessing at her thoughts from her expression. “Silvan saw us come in last eve. He’ll no’ think less of you. Verily, he’ll be delighted. I’ve no’ had a lass in my chamber before.”

  “Really?” she asked a bit breathlessly. When he nodded, Chloe smiled radiantly: At least here in his bedroom, she was the only one. Though not what she’d prefer (like a declaration of undying love or a request that she have his babies), it was something. Then her eyes narrowed. The sun was spilling in the window behind her and Dageus’s eyes were golden, dappled with darker flecks. Smoky and sensual, fringed by thick dark lashes, but gold nonetheless. “What is with your eyes?” she exclaimed. “Is it part of being a Druid?”

  “What color are they?” he asked warily.

  “Gold.”

  He flashed her another unguarded smile. It was like basking in the sun, she thought, tracing her fingers over his beard-shadowed jaw, smiling helplessly back.

  He prodded her again. “You’re good for me, lass. Now get off your back woman, lest I start something you refuse to let me finish.” He sat up, bringing her with him, kissing her, nipping at her lower lip. The kiss turned heated and fierce while he was trying to stand and they fell out of bed, so she landed on the floor atop him. He promptly rolled her beneath him and kissed her till she was gasping for breath.

  He gave her a cocky smile a few moments later as he helped her to her feet. “I’ll wager you won’t be sore long,” he purred.

  Definitely not, she thought, damn the teasing, torturing man! Muscles in the inner parts of her thighs she’d not known she had, protested when she tried to walk. And still, she wanted more.

  Only much later did she realize that he hadn’t answered her question.

  “ ’Tis nigh time,” Silvan grumbled when they entered the great hall.

  “Da, where’s the fifth Book of Manannán?” Dageus asked without preamble.

  “There is no fifth Book of Manannán,” Chloe said matter-of-factly. “There are only three. Everyone knows that.”

  Dageus gave her a cool smirk. “Ah, the nefarious everyone. I’ve long wondered who comprises that group.”

  Silvan looked amused, cocked his head and glanced inquiringly at Dageus. “Think you she needs a distraction? I thought you’d been distracting her quite thoroughly.”

  Chloe blushed.

  “ ’Tis in the tower library,” Silvan added. “But hurry back, we’ve much to discuss and Nellie has shown me a most amazing thing.”

  When Dageus loped out of the hall, Silvan patted the seat beside him. “Come, m’dear,” he said with a warm smile. “Bide a wee with me and tell me of yourself. How did you meet my son?”

  When was she ever going to come up with a suitable answer for that? Chloe wondered wryly. She glanced away from his penetrating gaze, blushing a bit.

  “The truth, m’dear,” Silvan said softly.

  Chloe glanced back at him, startled. “Am I that transparent?”

  He smiled reassuringly. “Knowing my son as I do, I doona believe ’twas an ordinary meeting.”

  “No,” she agreed with a gusty little sigh. “We didn’t exactly meet. We … er, well, it was more like we collided. . . .”

  Her story made him laugh aloud and Silvan couldn’t wait to repeat it to Nellie, who would savor every word of the outrageous tale. The lass was a fine storyteller, melodramatic enough to keep things lively and exploit the good parts for all they were worth. Funny, too, with a self-effacing sense of humor that was most appealing. The lass had no idea how bonny and unusual she was. She considered herself “a bit of a nerd.” After she’d defined the word, Silvan decided a nerd was a fine thing to be. (That he himself fell into the “brainy, not particularly graceful, and a little bit backward” category might have influenced his opinion a wee.) Aye, the telling of the tale was a lovely bit of word-weaving, and the tale itself reeked of the fated meeting of a Keltar and his mate.

  While she spoke, he deep-listened. He sensed a pure heart in her, a heart like Dageus’s, more sensitive than most, wildly emotional, hence carefully guarded. He heard her love for his son in the slightly husky timbre of her voice. A love so strong that it fashed her a wee, and she was not yet ready to speak of it.

  That it was there was enough for Silvan. His son had indeed found his mate. He pondered the irony of the timing, even as he blessed it.

  One thing gave him pause, however: She still didn’t know what was wrong with Dageus, and there was a newly blossomed bit of fear in her heart.

  He understood that well. When a heart realized it loved was also, paradoxically, when a heart learned to fear most deeply. She wanted to know what was wrong with Dageus, yet she didn’t want to hear aught that might spoil their joy, and Silvan suspected she’d have a bit of a battle with herself before she finally got around to asking.

  When Dageus handed Chloe the fifth Book of Manannán, the senior MacKeltar decided he was besotted with her. She handled the tome with utter reverence, touching naught but the barest tips of the edges of the thick pages, staring with huge wondering eyes.

  And sputtering. “B-b-but this isn’t s-supposed to even exist and—oh, God, it was written using the early L-Latin alphabet! Do you think I could trade one of my relics for this?” she breathed, turning a gaze on Dageus that Silvan himself would have been hard-pressed to deny.

  Och, aye, the lass could happily pass hours as he himself was wont to do, puzzling over the ancient texts, delighting in the stories therein. Nerd, indeed. And Dageus, well, Dageus seemed fair frozen by the prospect of denying her aught. He rescued his son swiftly. “I’m afraid it has to stay here, m’dear. There are reasons certain tomes have ne’er been made available to the world.”

  “Oh, but you must at least let me read it!” she exclaimed.

  Silvan assured her she could, then focused his attention on Dageus. The discovery of the chamber library had invigorated him, made him feel a score of years younger and given him a whole new sense of what it meant to be a Keltar. And in that chamber, surely there were answers to their problems. He could scarce wait to show it to his son. Enjoying the moment, he said with studied nonchalance, “I’m assuming I’m no’ the only one that wasn’t aware of the chamber library beneath the study?”

  Dageus made a c
hoking noise and his startled gaze flew to Silvan’s. “Beneath the study?”

  “Aye.”

  Dageus grabbed Chloe’s hand, tugged her from the chair, fought a little battle with her as she tried to hang onto the text, plucked it from her hands and firmly deposited it on the table, then dragged her along as they hastened after Silvan.

  When Silvan applied pressure to the left brace beneath the mantel on the hearth, the entire side of the hearth swung out, revealing a passageway behind it. He explained how Nellie had, one day in a fit of energetic cleaning, stumbled upon it whilst sweeping cobwebs from beneath the mantel and scrubbing black soot from the stone face of the hearth. She’d grasped the brace while scrubbing and the next thing she’d known the fireplace was moving, with her clinging to it.

  “And why didn’t she tell us?” Dageus said, incredulous.

  Silvan snorted. “She thought we knew and believed she wasn’t supposed to know.”

  Dageus shook his head. “And ’tis another library?”

  “Och, son, it looks to be our entire history, undisturbed for centuries.”

  Stunned, and she suspected a bit forgotten by the two Keltar men for the moment, Chloe followed Dageus and Silvan into the dark void, down steep stone steps into a cavernlike chamber that was roughly fifteen feet across and twice that long. The chamber was lit by dozens of candles in wall sconces. It was lined from floor to ceiling with shelves, dotted with tables, chairs, and trunks.

  Chloe’s head whipped left and right, back and forth at a dizzying speed.

  Focus, Zanders. You’re going to make yourself sick from excitement.

  No archaeologist entering a heretofore sealed and forgotten tomb could have felt any giddier. Her heart was racing, her palms sweaty, and she was not managing deep breaths very well. She strode forward, pushing past the two men, determined to see all she could before they remembered her and perhaps thought twice about letting her see it. She was in an ancient underground chamber, surrounded by her most favorite things: dusty relics from ages long past. Relics that would send the scholars in her century into paroxysms of joy, giving them topics to gnaw on and argue contentedly about for the rest of their lives.