Charmed by His Love

by Janet Chapman

  It wasn’t her cute, well-perfected scowl she was wearing when she pushed the sleeping bag down to her chest; it was an outright threatening glare. “Here’s a third choice: After you get dressed, you can hike up the mountain and then a mile down inside it and make sure your … whatever,” she said with a negligent wave, “is still there. If it is, maybe I’ll hobble up the mountain and a mile down inside it, and then cram myself into the last twenty feet of cave and get it for you.” That said, she pulled the sleeping bag back up over her face. “Go away, Duncan. Go catch us a trout for breakfast or something.”

  “I can’t,” he said with a chuckle. “The poor scandalized buggers all jumped over the small dam of the pool last night when they heard ye carrying on like that, and Leviathan is probably having them for breakfast. What was that?” he asked when he heard her muttering something.

  Duncan knew Peg was wanting an apology this morning, or at the very least expecting him to inquire as to how she was feeling. But he hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he could be a real bastard sometimes, so he figured he might as well begin as he intended to go on. Hell, half the reason he loved her was that Peg was the first woman he’d met who could handle a lifetime of living with him.

  He grabbed the edge of the bag and simply rolled her out of it, then picked up the growling woman and stood her on her feet, pointed her toward the pool, and gave her a nudge to get her moving. “Five minutes for a refreshing swim, five to dress, and then we’re headed up the mountain even if you’re barefooted.”

  “What about breakfast?” she grouched as she hobbled to the pool. “I haven’t had anything since supper last night.”

  “I’ll have something ready when you’re ready.”

  She stopped with her toes in the water and looked over her shoulder, saw him blatantly watching her, then waded into the pool without bothering to take off his shirt.

  Duncan turned to hide his smile, squatting down to straighten their bed. Christ, the contrary woman turned him on. He packed up anything he intended to leave here at the campsite—which was just about everything—then went about gathering firewood to save himself from having to do it in the dark when they got back. Satisfied he’d done his manly duty of providing heat and shelter for his woman’s comfort tonight, Duncan dropped a fistful of granola bars beside his sword, then took the wrapper off one and moseyed over to a rock near the waterfall. He sat down to munch away as he watched Peg sitting under the gushing waterfall, letting it pummel the muscles in her back.

  Oh yeah, he could be a real bastard sometimes. “Ye have two minutes before we’re walking up the mountain. Can you really get dressed in that amount of time?”

  “Look, I’m a little tender this morning, okay?” she muttered, not even bothering to open her eyes. “The mountain’s not going anywhere.”

  “You know, ye could have simply asked me to stop last night.”

  That opened her eyes. “I just had to say stop?” she said in a strangled whisper.

  He nodded. “But the truth is ye never asked, and you seemed to be having so much fun, I didn’t dare stop for fear of disappointing ye.”

  He saw a blush creep into her beautiful face even as he noticed her hands braced on the rocks balling into fists. Granted, he’d pushed her beyond what Peg may have thought she was capable of last night, but even if it had killed him, he would have stopped at the first sign she was in distress. But he hadn’t wanted to stop because he’d wanted to make damn sure lovemaking wasn’t something she’d even think about doing all by herself ever again.

  “One minute.”

  “Fine,” she snapped, standing up and wading out of the water. “Oh, here, let me give you your shirt,” she said far too sweetly, pulling it off over her head and slapping it against his bare chest.

  She then turned on her heel and, apparently over her shyness, walked toward the sleeping bag where he’d left her clothes. Duncan decided she looked damn fine for a mother of four children. He took another bite of his granola bar and watched her dress right there in plain sight beside the sleeping bag, noticing she started to put on her bra only to immediately pull it down off her breasts and toss it on the bag.

  He’d have to remember those two lovely ladies were obviously a little tender and find himself a new favorite spot on her body to explore tonight. He took another bite and slowly chewed, remembering that her backside had fit his hands quite nicely.

  She pulled her sweatshirt down over her head, then glanced toward the pool—specifically the lower end—before looking at him. “I … um, I lost my panties in the current of the falls last night when I slid out of my jeans. Is the pair you shoved in your pocket the only pair you brought?”

  He took another bite of his bar and nodded.

  “Did you bring a change of underwear?”

  He nodded again, chewing to hide his smile when her face darkened, then used what was left of his bar to point at the backpack—even as he felt himself growing hard at the idea of her wearing his boxers. “They’re in the bottom pouch.” Only he jumped up and strode over to her when he remembered what else was in that pouch, realizing she was going to get that apology after all. “I’ll get them.”

  “Too late,” she said, pulling out the box of condoms. Except instead of throwing them at him like he expected, she tossed the box on the ground with a snort and stood up holding his boxers. “You in the habit of making love to a woman without a condom?” she asked as she slipped first one leg and then the other into the shorts and pulled them up under her sweatshirt.

  He took hold of her shoulders when she started to bend down to get the jeans. “I swear to God, Peg, I had every intention of protecting you last night.” He ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “My only excuse is that I went … I was a little …” He blew out a sigh. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  She must have read his sincerity, because her face softened and she patted his chest. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to get pregnant. I had my tubes tied after the twins.” He saw her cheeks flush with heat. “So I can’t ever have any more babies,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to his chest. “If I ever wanted to … remarry, the man would never be able to have children of … his own.”

  Duncan pulled her into his arms. “Ah, lass; any man would be privileged to share the four ye have now. But there’s something ye need to know, Peg. Providence decides when a soul’s needing to be born, and if it decides you should be its mother, you will get pregnant.” He lifted her chin to smile down at her. “The only foolproof way to prevent a baby is abstinence.”

  “Then why did you even bother to bring condoms?” she asked softly. “They’re less reliable than what I had done.”

  “We can’t stop the inevitable, but we can postpone it sometimes. Ye remember my telling you about Laird Greylen MacKeage? Well, he had seven daughters,” he continued when she nodded. “And although I’m fairly certain some of them had lovers before they married, I do happen to know that each of Grey’s girls got pregnant the very first time they made love to the men they were destined to marry despite using contraceptives.” He gave her astonished lips a quick kiss, then bobbed his eyebrows. “You’re not the only one living under a family curse—although I do believe all seven girls eventually saw it as a blessing.”

  Her cheeks flamed red and she went back to looking at his chest. “Um, what if Providence decides I should get pregnant?” she asked in a barely audible whisper.

  He lifted her chin and brushed a thumb over her hot cheek. “We pray it’s not triplets.” She gasped so hard, he had to catch her when she nearly tripped over the sleeping bag, and Duncan hugged her to him again. “Together we can handle anything life throws at us, Peg, including three or four or five more little heathens.”

  He grunted when she poked him in the belly. “You’re not the one carrying them inside you for nine months.”

  “Nay, but I’ll carry them the rest of their lives.” He gave her a squeeze.
“As well as you.” He set her away, bent down and picked up her jeans, then tossed them at her. “Now, if ye don’t want to go meet my mountain up close and personal barefoot and half naked, I suggest you speed things up a bit.”

  He turned and dug a dry shirt out of his pack and slipped it on, then settled his sword over his shoulders while she sat down and pulled on her boots. “You’re not wearing your jacket?” she asked as she laced them up.

  “The cave gets warmer the farther down we go. We’ll sit outside it for a bit to make sure ye haven’t worked up a sweat on the hike before we go inside.”

  “Do you have a second headlamp and extra batteries?” she asked, standing up and taking a deep breath as she glanced at the top half of the mountain.

  He grabbed her hand and led her toward the falls to follow the stream up. “Trust me,” he drawled, “we’ll have plenty of light to see where we’re going.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Duncan wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt that he’d had to take off before he died of heatstroke—which had nothing to do with the temperature in the cave. He’d broken into a sweat the moment Peg had crawled into the narrow passage, and now that she was out of sight his heart was pounding so hard that he was in danger of being passed out cold if she needed him.

  She’d called back that the tunnel actually opened up slightly after the curve, the proof being that she’d turned around and crawled back out just enough to blind him with her headlamp before disappearing back around the curve.

  He wiped his forehead again. “Well?” he quietly called into the tunnel when he noticed the beam of her light had gone steady thirty seconds ago. “What did ye find?”

  “The cave just stops. All that’s here is a hole the size of my fist about three feet up from the ground.”

  “When ye shine the light in it, what do you see?”

  “Nothing. It curves to the right so I can only see about a foot in.”

  Duncan scrubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, wanting to roar. “Whatever ye do, don’t stick your hand in there, okay? Let me think for a minute.”

  “Too late.”

  “Goddamn it, get back out here. Now!”

  He was answered by silence, and if he wasn’t mistaken, even the mountain seemed to be holding its breath.

  “Peg!” he roared. “Answer me, dammit!”

  “I … um, I’m stuck.”

  He closed his eyes to lean his forehead on the granite above the tunnel. “Stuck as in ye just need to relax and you’ll get free,” he asked softly, “or stuck stuck?”

  “As in ‘the mountain closed around my wrist’ stuck. Um, Duncan, why can’t I hear it breathing anymore?”

  Christ, she sounded scared. Calm, but scared. “I don’t know, lass.” He sat back on his heels and studied the granite to the right of the cave again. “Ye said the tunnel curved back on itself, so that means you’re only … what? A few feet from me?”

  “I’d say that’s about right.”

  “And the hole your hand is stuck in, is it coming toward me?”

  “Yup.”

  “Is the mountain hurting ye, Peg?”

  “No, it’s just holding me. I can feel something, though. My fingers are touching … metal, I think. Large hoops, like bracelets or something. Two of them; both thick and wide, but one feels slightly smaller.”

  “Stop touching them and see if the mountain releases you.”

  “Nope; still stuck.” He heard a nervous laugh. “Have we offended Providence?”

  “Nay, Peg. It takes a lot to offend such a benevolent force.” He sat down to rest his arms on his knees, blowing out a heavy sigh when he realized the truth of his words. They hadn’t pissed off Providence; it was just wanting something more from them before it released its prize—which as far as he was concerned was Peg. “Do ye believe in the magic yet, lass?” he asked softly.

  He heard a muffled snort. “Pretty much. Um, do you?”

  Duncan stilled. Did he?

  He certainly didn’t doubt it existed, having seen it in action more times than he cared to remember. But did he believe he had the magic in him? Because if he did, he sure as hell didn’t need anything to work it other than belief itself; the magic didn’t come from an instrument of power, it came from the heart of the person needing the miracle. The object—be it a staff or sword or bracelet—was just a symbol of potential, a tangible means to turn that potential outward from the heart into the physical world.

  “A-are you still there?”

  Duncan scrambled to his knees and slowly ran his hands over the granite where he estimated she was trapped. “I’m still here, Peg. And in about one minute you’re going to be here with me. Close your eyes, lass, and turn your head away.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, the calm having left her voice.

  “Hush. Listen. Do ye hear that soft thumping?” he asked conversationally as he pressed his palms against the granite and felt it begin to pulse in rhythm with his own thumping heart. “I’m waking the mountain up from its nap, Peg.” He pressed harder, feeling his hands heating up as the granite slowly softened to the consistency of putty.

  Duncan closed his eyes against the brilliant swirls of white energy that suddenly pulsed around him, but not before realizing it was coming from him instead of the walls of the cave. He put the backs of his hands together and slipped them inside the yielding granite, then spread the wall with no more effort than opening a curtain.

  Peg slammed into him with the force of her entire weight, sending him sprawling onto his back as he wrapped his arms around her with a laugh.

  “Ohmigod. Ohmigod,” she muttered. “How did you do that?”

  He kissed the top of her head, squeezing her so hard she squeaked. “By magic.”

  She looked at him, then reared away as far as his embrace would allow. “You … Your eyes are … they’re … ohmigod, they’re green.”

  He gave a chuckle. “I’m fairly certain they’ve always been green.”

  “No, green green. A brighter … scarier green.”

  He pulled her down and kissed her, not stopping until he felt her soften against him, only to sigh when he realized she wasn’t returning the kiss.

  She was back to being contrary, he guessed.

  She sat up straddling him the moment he stopped and held out her hand. “Here; I believe these are what you were after?”

  Duncan lifted his head just enough to see the two dark cuffs she was holding, then dropped back with another sigh. “You can keep them, as I just realized I don’t need them after all.”

  She slapped them down on his chest hard enough to make him grunt, then leaned forward until her face was right over his—he assumed so he could better see her scowl. “I just risked dying a slow, gruesome death to get your instrument of power, and you’re telling me you don’t need it?” she said far too softly.

  He shook his head, fighting back a grin. “Nay, I wouldn’t have let ye rot in there, Peg. It’s just not in me to give up.” He finally let his grin escape. “I would have kept bringing ye food and water until Mac got back and freed you if I couldn’t jackhammer the granite to get ye out.”

  “Two months?” she whispered, her own eyes growing a bit scary. “You expected me to sit there with my hand stuck in a hole for two months?” She picked up the cuffs and shook them in front of his face. “I have no idea what in hell these are, but you’re going to wear them if I have to hit you over the head with a blunt object and put them on you myself.”

  He took them from her and sat up, only allowing her to scramble back as far as his thighs. He grabbed her left wrist and, ignoring her gasp, slipped the smaller cuff on over her hand—watching with satisfaction as it immediately molded itself to her arm just above her wrist.

  She gasped again when she tried to get it off but couldn’t. “Ohmigod,” she whispered, lifting huge worried eyes to his. “What did you just do?”

  He started to slip his own cuff down over his rig
ht hand, but then quickly switched it to his dominant left hand and felt it gently close over his arm. “I believe I just sealed our fates together—forever.” He took hold of her face to lift her gaze to his. “Ye know a man who works around heavy machinery can’t wear a wedding band.”

  “A … a … wed … a wedding band?” She tried to look at his wrist only to lift her arm to see her own cuff when he wouldn’t let go of her face. “Aren’t you supposed to … Do you honestly expect me to believe …”

  Duncan nodded when she fell silent, and he brushed his thumbs over her pale cheeks. “We’ll have a ceremony for the sake of the children, of course, but ye need to know it’s only a formality.”

  “You’re supposed to ask,” she snapped.

  “Will ye marry me, Peg?”

  “No.”

  “Christ, you’re contrary—which is exactly why I didn’t ask,” he said, watching a flush of red spread across her cheeks. He leaned down until his nose was touching hers. “Too late, lass; you became mine last night.”

  She went back to scowling at him as she lifted her arm to see the cuff again, and her eyes suddenly widened and she snapped her gaze to his. “Hey, does that mean this is my instrument of power? Can I … do stuff, too?”

  Duncan pulled her into his embrace to hide his horror even as he gave a bark of laughter. “Absolutely not. Ye have to be born a magic-maker,” he blatantly lied. Holy hell, just the idea of Peg being able to do stuff sent chills down his spine—just like it had Ian’s, his nephew had said, when he’d realized Roger de Keage had given Jessie a small staff.

  “Then why do I have to wear a bracelet?” Peg muttered against his chest.

  “For the same reason you’d wear a wedding band; to know who ye belong to.”

  He felt more than heard her sigh. “You are so old-fashioned.”

  “And charmed,” he whispered against her hair, giving her another squeeze. “Let’s not forget what a bastard I’m going to be growing old with you. Are ye ready to go home now, Peg?”