[Highlander 04] - Kiss of the Highlander

by Karen Marie Moning

  He stepped back, eyeing it warily, telling himself he did not feel a bud of respect blossoming. Might the canny wench have wedged braces between the wall and the door, all the way up? Christ, he’d never get out! He knew how sturdy the door was, it had been hewn extra thick for privacy.

  “Open up!” he roared, pounding it with his fist.

  Nothing.

  “Lass, if you open up now, I’ll leave you in one piece, but I swear to you, if you keep me in here one more moment I will tear you limb from wee limb,” he threatened.

  Silence.

  “Lass! Wench! Gwen-do-lynnnnnn!”

  Outside the door, Gwen eyed the five lances lodged at varying angles between the door and the stone wall. Nope. No way. He was never getting out of there. Not until she was good and ready.

  But it was pretty darned impressive how much the door shuddered each time his body hit it.

  “You might have to let him yell himself hoarse, m’dear,” Silvan said, leaning over the balustrade.

  Gwen tipped her head back. “I’m sorry, Silvan. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He grinned, and Gwen realized where Drustan had gotten his mischievous grin. “I wouldn’t have missed seeing my son getting barricaded in the privy by a wee lass for anything. Bonny fortune with your plan, m’dear,” he said with a smile, then ambled off.

  Gwen eyed the shuddering door, then clamped her hands over her ears and sat down to wait him out.

  “I brought ye coffee, lass,” Nell shouted.

  “Thanks, Nell,” Gwen shouted back.

  They both jumped at the next enraged roar from behind the garderobe door.

  “Is that you, Nell?” Drustan thundered.

  Nell shrugged. “Aye, ’tis me. Bringin’ coffee to the lass.”

  “You’re dismissed. Fired. The end. Hie you from my castle. Begone.”

  Nell rolled her eyes and smiled at Gwen. “Be ye wantin’ breakfast, lass?” she said sweetly, loud enough that Drustan could hear it.

  Another roar.

  By ten o’clock she thought he might soon be ready to talk. He’d threatened, blustered, even tried to sweet-talk her. Then the bribery had begun. He’d let her live if she let him out immediately. He’d give her three horses, two sheep, and a cow. He’d give her a pouch of coin, three horses, two sheep, not just a cow but a milking cow, and set her up anywhere in England, if she would just leave his castle and not bother him again for the rest of his life. The only offer/threat that had perked her momentary interest was when he’d shouted that he was going to “toop her ’til her bonny legs fell off.”

  She should be so lucky.

  But he’d been silent for fifteen minutes now.

  Gwen eyed the door, knowing that she shouldn’t instigate their little discussion. It would undermine her position as the one in control. No, he had to address her in a reasonable tone first.

  And it wasn’t long before he said, “ ‘Tisna verra pleasant in here, lass.” He sounded pouty. She smothered a laugh.

  “ ‘Tisna verra pleasant”—she imitated his accent—“out here either. Do you realize I’ve stayed up for the past three nights waiting for you to go to the bathroom? I was beginning to think you never did.”

  Growl.

  She sighed and pressed her hand against the door, as if to soothe him. Or be closer to him. This was the closest they’d been in days, with only a door between them. “I know it’s not very pleasant, but it was the only way I could think of to get you to listen. You escaped your chamber; where else could I trap you?”

  “Let me out, and I’ll listen to whatever you wish to say,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

  “I’m not falling for that, Drustan,” she said, lowering herself to the stone floor. In a pair of someone’s outgrown trews, she crossed her legs comfortably and leaned her back against the door. She’d been wearing them nightly, with a flowing linen shirt, as she’d clung to the stone arch above the garderobe.

  “Plenty o’ cream, as ye like it, Gwen,” Nell said, placing a bowl of porridge, cream, and peaches beside her.

  A roar from behind the door. “Are you serving her porridge?”

  “ ‘Tis naught of yer concern,” Nell replied calmly.

  “I’m sorry, Drustan,” Gwen said soothingly, “but this is all your fault. If even once you had been willing to sit down and drink some coffee or have breakfast with me and talk, I wouldn’t have to be doing this. But time is slipping by and we really need to get some things cleared up. Nell’s leaving now, and it’s going to be just you and me.”

  Silence. Stretching, taut.

  “What do you want from me, lass?” he finally said wearily.

  “What I want is for you to listen. I’m going to tell you everything I can remember about our time together in the future. I’ve thought about it a lot, and there’s got to be something that will make you remember. It’s possible that I’m simply missing whatever it is.”

  She heard a huge sigh from behind the door. “Fine, lass. Let’s hear it all this time.”

  Drustan sat on the floor of the garderobe, his feet stretched out, arms folded over his chest, his back against the door. He closed his eyes and waited for her to begin. He’d worn himself down raging. Grudgingly, he admired her persistence and resolve. The fit he’d had would have terrified any lass he’d ever known. While he’d raged and flung himself at the door, he pictured her standing outside it, arms folded beneath her lovely breasts, tapping a foot, waiting patiently for him to quiet. Waiting hours—he felt half a day might have passed.

  She was formidable.

  And by Amergin, a bit too clever to be completely addled.

  You know she’s not addled, why doona you admit it?

  Because if she’s not addled, she’s telling the truth.

  And why does that fash you?

  He had no answer for that. He had no idea why the lass turned him into a babbling idiot.

  “I’m twenty-five years old,” he heard her say through the door.

  “That old?” he mocked. “My bride is but five and ten.” He smiled when she growled.

  “That’s called statutory rape in my century,” she said with an edge in her voice.

  Statutory, he mused. Yet another unclear phrase.

  “That means you can go to prison for it,” she added.

  He snorted. “Why would I care how old you are? Does that have aught to do with your tale?”

  “You’re getting the long version with a bit of background. Now, hush.”

  Drustan hushed, finding himself curious what she would tell him.

  “I took a vacation to Scotland, without knowing it was a senior citizens’ bus tour…”

  In time, Drustan relaxed back against the door and listened in silence. He fancied from the sound of her voice that she was seated much the same, back to the door, talking over her shoulder to him.

  Which meant, in a way, they were touching, spine to spine. The thought was intimate as he sat in the dark, listening to her voice.

  He liked the sound of her voice, he decided. It was low, melodic, firm, and confident. Why hadn’t he ever noticed that before? he wondered. That her voice contained a degree of self-assurance that had to have come from somewhere?

  Mayhap because whenever she’d spoken to him, he’d been hopelessly distracted by his attraction to her, but now—since he couldn’t see her, his other senses were heightened.

  Aye, she had a fine voice, and he’d like to hear her sing an old ballad, he thought, or mayhap a lullaby to his children—

  He shook his head and focused on her words, not his idiotic thoughts.

  Nell silently handed Gwen yet another mug of coffee and slipped away.

  “And we drove up the hill to the stones, but your castle was gone. All that was left was the foundation and a few crumbling walls.”

  “What date did I send you through the stones?”

  “September twenty-first—you called it Mabon. The autumnal equinox.”

  Drustan sucked i
n a breath. That wasn’t commonly related in the legends, that the stones could be used only on the solstices and equinoxes.

  “And how did I use the stones?” he pressed.

  “You’re skipping ahead of me,” she complained.

  “Well, tell me, then go back. How did I use the stones?”

  Above her, behind the balustrade, Silvan and Nell sat on the floor, listening. Nell was flushed from her many dashes from Gwen’s side into the kitchen, up the servants’ stairs, and around to join Silvan. All quiet as a mouse.

  “I doona think you should hear—” Silvan whispered, but cut off abruptly when Nell pressed her mouth to his ear.

  “If yer thinkin’ I’ve lived here twelve years and dinna know what ye are, old man, yer dafter than Drustan thinks Gwen is.”

  Silvan’s eyes widened.

  “I can read too, ye know,” Nell whispered stiffly.

  Silvan’s eyes grew enormous. “You can?”

  “Shh. We’re missing it.”

  “You’d collected paint rocks. You broke them open in the circle and etched formulas and symbols on the inside faces of the thirteen stones.”

  A chill brushed Drustan’s spine.

  “Then you drew three more on the slab. And we waited for midnight.”

  “Och, Christ,” Drustan murmured. How could she have knowledge of such things? The legends hinted the stones were used for travel, but no one—save himself, Dageus, and Silvan—knew the how of it. Except now, Gwen Cassidy did.

  “Do you recall the symbols?” he asked roughly.

  She described several of them to him, and her descriptions, although incomplete, bore enough accuracy to unsettle him deeply.

  His mind rejecting it, he floundered for something solid to think about. Something less disturbing. He grinned, striking upon a fine topic. He had no doubt she’d try to change it quickly. “You claimed I took your virginity. When did I make love to you, lass?” he said huskily, turning his mouth toward the door.

  Gwen sat on the other side and turned her mouth toward the door. She kissed it, then felt utterly foolish, but from the sound of his voice, it seemed as if he, too, was sitting with his back to the door. And his voice had sounded closer that time, as if he’d turned his mouth toward hers.

  “In the stones, right before we went through.”

  “Did I know you were a virgin?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “No,” she said more loudly.

  “You deceived me?”

  “No, I just didn’t think it was important enough to mention,” she said defensively.

  “Bullshit. Sometimes not telling the whole truth is the same thing as lying.”

  Gwen winced, not liking having her own words tossed back in her face. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make love to me if you knew,” she admitted. And you were afraid I’d leave you if I knew the truth about you. What a fine pair we were.

  “Why were you still a maiden at twenty and five?”

  “I…I just never found the right man.”

  “And what would the right man be for you, Gwen Cassidy?”

  “I hardly think that has anything to do—”

  “Surely you can find it in your heart to grant me a few boons, seeing where you’ve kept me trapped for the day.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said grudgingly. “The right man…let’s see, he’d be smart yet playful. He’d have a good heart and be faithful—”

  “Faithful is important to you?”

  “Very. I don’t share. If he’s my man, he’s mine only.”

  She could hear a smile in his voice when he said, “Go on.”

  “Well, he’d like simple things. Like good coffee and good food. A family—”

  “You want children?”

  “Dozens,” she sighed.

  “Would you teach them to read and such?”

  Gwen drew a deep breath, her eyes misting. Life required a delicate balance. Her own had been painfully unbalanced. She knew exactly what she’d teach her children. “I’d teach them to read and to dream and to look at the stars and wonder. I’d teach them the value of imagination. I’d teach them to play every bit as hard as they worked.” She sighed heavily before adding softly, “And I’d teach them that all the brains in the world can’t compensate for love.”

  She heard him draw a harsh breath. He was silent a long time, as if her words had meant much to him. “You truly believe love is the most important thing?”

  “I know it is.” She’d learned all kinds of lessons in Scotland. A career, success, and critical acclaim—none of it amounted to much of anything without love. It was the necessary ingredient that had been missing all her life.

  “How did I make love to you, Gwendolyn Cassidy?”

  Gwen’s lips parted on a soft moan. The simple words he’d just said had sent heat lancing through her body. He was beginning to sound like her Drustan. This intimate talk was melting her; perhaps it was melting his defenses as well.

  “How, Gwen? Tell me how I made love to you. Tell me in much detail.”

  Wetting her lips, she began, her voice lowering intimately.

  Silvan grabbed Nell’s hand and tugged.

  Nay, she mouthed.

  We can’t eavesdrop on this, he mouthed back. ’Tis not proper.

  Proper be damned, old man. I’m not leavin’. Her lips were pursed, her gaze stubborn.

  Silvan gaped but, after a few moments, sat back down.

  And when Gwen spoke, he found himself ceding her a sort of privacy by imagining it was Nell telling him in such detail how he’d made love to her. At first he kept his chin firmly down, eyes averted, but after a time he stole a surreptitious peek at her.

  Nell did not look away.

  Brown eyes met blue and held.

  His heart pounded.

  “And then you said something to me, there at the end, that I’ll never forget. You said the sweetest words, and they kind of shivered through me. You said it in that funny voice you have.”

  “What did I say?” Drustan moved his hand on his cock. His kilt was tossed to the side, his legs spread, palm around his shaft. He was so aroused that he thought he was going to explode. She’d told him in detail how he’d made love to her, and it had been the most erotic experience of his life. Sitting in the dark, watching the images in his mind’s eye, he’d felt as if he’d been reliving it. His mind had filled in details she’d not mentioned, details that may have sprung solely from his imagination or from some deeply buried memory. He knew not.

  He cared not.

  It no longer signified if she was lying or telling the truth. He wanted Gwen Cassidy in a way that defied reason, in a way he refused to further question.

  He admired her tenacity; he desired her with every fiber of his being; she made him laugh, she made him furious. She stood her ground; she believed him a Druid and desired him anyway.

  By Amergin, he—thrice-jilted Drustan MacKeltar—was being pursued by a woman who knew what he was.

  He could no longer recall why he’d ever resisted her to begin with.

  He struggled against an intense desire to bring himself to completion, to find release—a release he’d desperately needed since the moment she’d entered his home. But, nay, not in so empty a fashion. He wanted it with her. Inside her.

  “What you said was so romantic,” she said with a little sigh.

  “Um-hmm,” he managed. When she spoke again, it took him a few moments to realize what she was saying.

  And when he did, he leaped to his feet, roaring, but she kept speaking: “If aught must be lost, ’twill be my honor for yours. If one must be forsaken, ’twill be my soul for yours. Should death come anon, ’twill be my life for yours. I am Given. That’s what you said.”

  As she finished, Drustan doubled over. A spark of heat and light built inside him and spread, enveloping him. He couldn’t talk, he could scarce breathe, as wave after wave of emotion crashed over him….

  Gwen dou
bled over, as a wave of intense emotion crashed over her. She felt funny, really weird, like she’d just said something irrevocable….

  “Och, Christ, Nellie,” Silvan whispered, stunned both by Gwen’s words and by the realization that he was holding Nell’s hand, and she was letting him. “She just married him.”

  “Married?” Nell’s fingers tightened on his.

  “Aye, the Druid vows. I didn’t work that spell, even when I wed my wife.”

  Nell’s lips parted on a “why,” but then they both peeked breathlessly over the balustrade, desperate to hear what would happen next.

  21

  “Ahem,” Drustan said after a long time. “Do you know you just married me, lass?”

  “What?” Gwen shouted.

  “Would you please let your husband out of the garderobe?”

  Gwen was stunned. She’d married him with those words?

  “Those were the Druid wedding vows you just said to me, a binding spell, and I doona understand how you knew it, but—”

  God, he still didn’t remember! she realized with a sinking sensation, even though she’d told him all of it, down to the minute details. “I knew it, you dolt, because you said it to me! And I didn’t know I was marrying you—”

  “Doona be thinkin’ you’ll be gettin’ out of it,” he said testily.

  “I’m not trying to get out of it—”

  “You’re not?” he exclaimed.

  “You want to be married to me? Without even remembering?”

  “ ‘Tis too late. We are. Nothing can undo it. Best you grow accustomed to it.” He punched the door for emphasis.

  “What about your betrothed?”

  He muttered something about his betrothed that warmed her heart. “But that’s another thing I doona understand, lass. If what you claimed happened did indeed happen, I doona understand why I wouldn’t have woven a spell for you to carry to me. I would have known the possibility existed that I might not make it back. I would surely have given you a memory spell.”