Night Visitor
Page 24
“Well, worry then as ye may.”
“Men!” he thought he heard her say, and he laughed softly.
Chapter Fifteen
The inn was silent as the first faint lifting of darkness appeared in the sky. Horrified, yet fascinated, Taffy turned her head to stare out the tiny widow in her room.
Malcolm was already turned on his side, staring fixedly at the small square of glass.
At first, there was only a soft line of gold penetrating the morning mist to warn that the night’s reign was over and day was ascending. But minutes passed inexorably, and it was soon plain that the heaven’s powers had shifted. The morning’s faint fog would not prevent the sun from climbing over the horizon and mounting the sky.
Resigned and grim, Malcolm gently disentangled himself from their blankets and Taffy’s arms, and rose silently from their bed.
Going to the casement, he pulled back the window’s half-closed shutter. Taffy quickly followed after him, wincing at the unpleasant chill of the bare boards on her naked feet.
Together, they stood at the window. Watching, waiting, hoping…
Forerunners of the true sun shot up into the sky, a halo of beautiful golden light that touched the eastern firmament end to end. Stars winked out—thousands at a time. The fog burned away, and the gates of heaven opened to admit the sun. It was beautiful—and horrible—to see.
Neither of them flinched as the fiery ball crept over the land and rose in the eastern sky. They did not move back from the tiny window as the fingers of burning sun approached, though Taffy could see the pulse in Malcolm’s throat hammering his flesh with brutal force, and her own heart was likely to fail from its frantic thundering against her ribs.
Up the gray-stone wall, the burning fingers crept, rising higher by the moment as they painted the building with flaming light.
Colder than she had ever been, Taffy slipped a trembling arm about Malcolm’s waist and moved closer to his living, breathing warmth.
It couldn’t end this way! Malcolm was here—real! The stories they had heard were nothing but folktales. Legends. Stop! She called to the sun. Stop for just one more moment….
Ignoring her, the heartless golden dawn crept coyly over the windowsill and reached hungrily for Malcolm’s unprotected belly.
Nothing happened.
Up it crept onto his chest making his dark hair glint with red fire.
But nothing else happened.
On it went to touch his face—chin, lips, cheeks, and eyes—and all the while he stood unflinching, not even lowering his lids against the cruel light.
Up it went and spilled golden light all over his unbound hair.
And still nothing happened.
Finally it reached beyond him, touching the walls and ceiling with golden radiance.
Taffy released a pent-up breath and slumped against him.
“Thank heavens,” she began and then jumped in alarm when the kirk’s bell began to toll. Recalling that a church’s chime was the other thing that killed those returning from that faerieland, she waited an eternity for the last knell to sound.
Silence fell.
“Nothing happened,” she whispered in near disbelief, as dawn firmed its hold in the sky and the inn began to stir around them.
“Nay.” Malcolm started to smile.
“Oh, thank heavens!” Taffy wrapped her arms around him and began to cry weakly.
“Taffy, lass?” he asked, his smile dying, as he pulled her close into his body and began stroking her naked back. “What is wrong, love? Is it the bairn?”
Malcolm searched quickly and found his daughter sleeping peacefully. She, at least, was not upset with the dawn, for which he gave silent but heartfelt thanks.
“No. I’m fine—truly! It is just that I have been so afraid and so very tired. I just can’t believe that we are actually safe. That the still-folk kept their word and let you come.” She sniffed pathetically and looked about for a handkerchief.
“Well, ye shall fear no more, lass,” he promised, scooping her up in his arms and returning her to bed where he dried her tears with the corner of the laundered sheet.
Taffy snuggled against him, allowing all the ugly dread to drain away and her tears of relief to dry up.
“Lass, ye’ve conquered Campbells, Covenanters, Colkitto’s army, and even the sun—”
A polite scratching at the door interrupted him.
“A moment, cu,” Malcolm called softly. “I didnae think the hound would stay away so long as this, even wi’ his upset at the bath.”
Taffy gave a watery laugh as she recalled Smokey’s look of hurt reproach when he was summoned to the tub for a much needed bathing.
“What shall we do today?” she asked with a small yawn as she nuzzled Malcolm’s chin.
“Sleep,” Malcolm said promptly. Then, as his stomach rumbled: “And eat.”
He tucked her carefully beneath the blankets and then went to the door to admit Smokey. The hound had felt his mistress’s worry and came up immediately to offer comfort and protection.
Malcolm patted him gently on his brindled—and now clean—head. “Yer a loyal beast.”
“And make love?” Taffy asked sleepily, also patting Smokey as he turned to her and thrust his damp muzzle beneath her hand.
“Aye. That as well.” Malcolm finally pushed the hound aside and slipped in beside her, tucking himself into the narrow cot like a spoon. “And play my pipes. I must write a new song about our adventure.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Whatever we wish, love. We’ve the whole world to see, Taffy, lass. And plenty of time tae see it.”
Taffy smiled sleepily at the propitious truth. They had the world—and time.
Exhausted though they were, together they watched the sun until it was well up in the sky. And only then, when the luminary giant had completely cleared the horizon, did they close their weary eyes against it.
Slipping toward a deep, healing sleep, they let their thoughts mingle, and began dreaming happily of what would come.
Likewise content, Smokey made a quick check of his little mistress, resting inside her mother’s belly. Then he also went to sleep.
Far away in Caislean na Nor, Tomas Rimer smiled at the picture in his auguring bowl before brushing the image away with a delicate finger.
Their daughter had been prevented from making a potentially dangerous visual record of their sacred lands, but she had not been sent away without a memento. When she thought to examine her picture box, she would find a small gift there. The babe she carried would be able to see the faerie mathair who had fallen in love with a mortal MacLeod and given birth to their line. Malcolm’s grandmother.
And though they did not know it, both Malcolm and Taffy would have a little more than the average human lifetime to enjoy her world, raise their babes, and write beautiful songs. The effects of their time in the sacred glen would be with them for years to come.
“Long life, my children,” he said quietly. “And much happiness upon thee.”
Epilogue
Bishop Mapleton sat in his study, watching the clock on his desk and feeling happily amazed. The dreaded hour had come and gone and there had been no playing heard in the battlements. It seemed that his exorcism had finally done the trick. Or perhaps it was taking the piper’s bones and burying them at the edge of the property and setting that massive boulder atop them. Whatever the cause, he was reveling in the silence.
He was so happy, in fact, that the news the archaeologist’s daughter had married a piper and the man had come for a visit did not disconcert him.
He could tolerate a highlander’s “agony bags” so long as they weren’t being played in his castle. He might even pay a call upon the couple and welcome the man to the neighborhood.
Other Love Spell Books by Melanie Jackson:
MANON
IONA
Copyright
A LOVE SPELL BOOK®
March 2001
Published
by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
276 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10001
Copyright © 2001 by Melanie Jackson
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0869-9
The name “Love Spell” and its logo are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Visit us on the web at www.dorchesterpub.com.