by Allie Mackay
Her eyes narrowed, just as he’d known they would. “I don’t see what that has to do with it.”
“Och, it has everything to do with it.” He ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. “See you, there are things a man notices more swiftly if he’s kilted.” He looked at her, waiting for comprehension to flicker across her face.
Nothing happened.
She only peered at him, her face an innocent blank.
“Ach, lass.” This time he rammed both hands through his hair.
He’d have to be blunt.
He cleared his throat. “A kilt allows for an easy swing,” he said, rushing the words. “That freedom means a man notices unwanted stirrings almost before they happen.”
Her eyes rounded. “You’re talking about arousal, aren’t you? When a man gets-”
“Aye, just so.” He nodded.
Her face bloomed pink. “You’re saying that you, that I-”
“I’m telling you there’s a reason I almost kissed you a few times and didn’t.” Going back to her, he gripped her arms. “I broke away from your touch a moment ago because I had to, no’ because I wished to.”
He risked a quick kiss to her brow. “You cause stirrings in me that I’ve ne’er felt for any woman. Aye, I mean the urges you think. But there are other feelings. Deep ones I’ve no right to-”
“Oh!” She flung her arms around his neck. “You should’ve told me,” she cried, peering up at him with shining eyes.
She smiled, hope all over her. “It doesn’t matter that you’re a ghost,” she said, clearly not understanding. “You’re as real and solid as any man. You can touch me and I-”
“Nae.” He shook his head. “We cannae touch.”
Her face fell. “But-”
He reached up and circled her wrists, lifting her arms from his shoulders. “If my ghostly status were the only difficulty, we could. I have seen one or two such relationships prosper. But our situation is different. Our meeting came too late.”
Her chin shot up. “If meeting you as a ghost isn’t too late, how can anything else be?”
“My life, such as it is, is no longer my own.” He waited a beat, hating what came next. “I bargained it away to the Dark One in exchange for eternal peace.”
“Eternal peace?” She stared at him. “Isn’t that what you found when you became a ghost?”
“Nae.” He shook his head, slowly. “I havenae known a moment’s peace since the day. Leastways no’ until I came to Dunroamin.”
She bit her lip. “If you bartered away your existence, how can you be here?”
“Because,” he began, “the Dark One doesn’t grant bids without stipulations.”
“And yours was not to touch a woman?”
“Something very like that, aye.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I see.”
“Nae, you dinnae.” He grasped her chin when she started to glance away. “You’re thinking of Mac and his thousands of Ameri-cains.”
She flushed. “They do come to mind.”
“Grant A. Hughes III comes to my mind and I’d love to cross blades with the man. He deserves a few cuts and bruises to teach him ne’er to treat a woman so shabbily again.”
She puffed a hair off her forehead. “You’re changing the subject.”
“Nae, I’m leading into it.”
“Oh?” Her eyes were starting to glitter.
Damning himself for being the cause, he steeled himself against how much he wanted her. Then he reached for her, pulling her into his arms.
“I am no’ that man, Cilla. Nor any other who might have hurt you.” He spoke gently, laying bare his heart. “But I did have my share of women in my time. I lived no differently than other men of my position. Being unmarried, I saw no harm in enjoying myself.”
She stiffened but made no move to pull away, so he continued.
“My hall was a merry place and visitors came to Seagrave from far and wide.” He paused, bile beginning to rise at what was coming. “At times, great nobles and their entourages called, often visiting for weeks. It was during the stay of such high-born guests that my troubles began.”
“What did they do?”
“They didn’t do aught.” He could see them still. How they’d lined his high table, wine chalices raised in good cheer. “They were fine men.”
“If they were good, what happened?”
“They had bitter foes.” He tightened his arms around her, remembering. “A wandering lute player had been trailing them for days when they arrived at Seagrave. We’d had it on good authority that this man was a paid assassin. When, a few days into their stay, such a man appeared at my gates, I turned him away.”
“What else could you have done?” She pulled back to look at him.
“I could have welcomed him to my hearthside, offering a warm pallet and hearty viands for as long as he wished a bed. Such was the custom.” He released her and moved to the windows, needing air. “I violated the ancient code of hospitality. Unfortunately, I unwittingly did so to a man who was no’ only a minstrel but a powerful wizard.”
“He cursed you.” She spoke at his elbow.
“He did.” He turned to face her. “It was to seek relief from his curse that sent me to the Dark One.”
“And he banished you here?” A glimmer of hope lit her eyes.
“Nae,” he said, dashing that hope. “I chose Dunroamin on my own. It seemed the best place for me to spend my proving period.”
She blinked. “Your what?”
“My testing time.” He drew a long breath. “The Dark One agreed to grant me an end to the minstrel’s curse and the eternal peace I desired only if I could spend a year and a day without becoming aroused by a woman.”
“I see.” This time she did. “You thought Dunroamin would be free of such distractions.”
“That was the way of it, aye.”
“Then I arrived.”
“Aye, and what an entrance you made.” He smiled, unable to stop himself. “I would no’ have missed you, lass. No’ for anything.”
“So what happens if you, if we-”
“If I let my feelings for you run full course?”
“That, too, but I meant what if you fight it?” She stood straighter then, her chin lifting. “We have a saying in my world that two heads are better than one. Maybe two hearts are more powerful than a single wizard?”
“Such druids wielded great magick.” Hardwick looked at her, unable to lie.
She hadn’t yet asked what his curse was. For sure, he wasn’t keen to tell her. But her willingness to stand by him did something to him that he’d never thought would happen. She’d snared his heart. A cold, stony, tightness in his chest began to ease, unfurling to sweep him with the most wondrous joy.
However ill-fated, no matter much it would crush him to let her go…
He was falling in love.
And the longer he looked at her, seeing so much hope and confidence lighting her eyes, the easier it became for him to hope, too.
Two hearts where before there’d only been one.
He did like the notion.
Better yet, it just might make a difference.
Chapter Twelve
Cilla knew the minute she’d won.
Relief swept her and she drew a deep breath, trying to stay calm. She could so easily toss back her hair and pump a fist in the air. Maybe whoop with triumph or try her luck at one of Uncle Mac’s whirling, fast-footed jigs.
Hardwick was hers.
He stood watching her, his dark eyes smoldering with a heat that confirmed it. If she didn’t want to push her luck, she’d march over to him, grab his plaid and pull his head down to hers, kissing his kilt right off him.
She’d do a lot more.
Maybe seize his face and hold tight, gentling her lips back and forth over his until he couldn’t take it anymore and yanked her hard against him, demanding deeper and hotter kisses. She’d tease him with her tongue, making him crazy as he sw
ept his hands up and down her body revealing that he needed intimate contact with each and every inch of her.
She shivered, wondering what he’d do if she maneuvered him onto a chair and then yanked up his kilt so she could swing one leg over him and then settle onto his naked lap, riding his rock-hard thighs and, hopefully soon, something even more granite-like.
At the least, she was sure that the next time he made an attempt to kiss her, he’d follow through. And with much more than deep, soul-searing kisses, full of tongue, breath, and silky-hot sighs.
But first they needed to do something about whatever curse the bard had cast over him. She couldn’t let that go. Not so long as her name was Swanner and she had fine, strong Philadelphia, Pennsylvania blood coursing through her veins.
Philly women were strong.
They powered on, always. She wasn’t going to be the first to tarnish that proud tradition.
She already had ideas about how they could break his curse. So she rubbed her hands together, determined to convince him.
He’d taken up his usual stance at the hearth, legs crossed at the ankles and one arm hooked on the mantel. His gaze held hers, his rock-solid, male body glowed in the firelight, and the black silk of his hair glistened like a raven’s wing. The sheer masculine beauty of him almost overwhelmed her.
There was just something about a man in a kilt. A smile from a kilted Highlander, and a girl’s knees turned to water. If he then kissed her, she was a goner.
Cilla swallowed, pure female want welling inside her until she could hardly breathe.
Unfortunately, he didn’t appear to share her excitement. His lack of enthusiasm caused something to twist inside her. Her heart skittered. There had to be a way to make him believe that together they could meet any challenge. She bit her lip, considering. She’d seen the quick burst of hope that had flared in his eyes when she’d shared her two hearts analogy.
He was interested in the possibilities.
He just didn’t trust in them.
“You’re skeptical.” She opted for bluntness. “If I would be, too. But I can assure you that” – she placed a hand over her heart – “I know something of curses. These are different times than yours. People are more open. They share information about all kinds of things. Including how to break a-”
“My curse doesn’t need to be broken.”
“I’ve read about such things.” She spoke over him, warming to the topic. “There are books on everything from the evil eye and spells to the effects of negative energy. Just as curses are known to exist, so are there ways to block or lift them. White candles and sea salt come to mind. For a fee, some people will even come and-”
She snapped her mouth shut, staring at him. “What did you say?”
“Just now?”
“Yes.” She hoped she didn’t sound worried. “You said your curse doesn’t need breaking. How can that be?”
“Because” – he spoke softly – “my curse already has been broken.”
“What?” She blinked. “I don’t understand.”
He tensed visibly. “The Dark One lifted the curse before I came here. I now I have other difficulties to contend with, as I’ve explained.”
“You mean about having to stay uninterested in women for a year and a day?”
“That is the way of it, aye.” He left the hearth to stand at the windows. As before, he braced a hand on the carved stone of the window arch and stared out at the darkness.
“It’s a strange stipulation.” Cilla persisted. “Maybe you should tell me what the curse was?”
He frowned.
Even though he stood half-turned away from her, she could tell.
She joined him at the window, ready to prod even though the stiff set of his shoulders and the dark look on his face warned her to leave him in peace.
“You dinnae want to hear about the curse, lass.” His voice sounded final. “The tale isn’t fit for your ears.”
“I think I’d like to decide that.” She wanted to reach out and hold him, but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate her embrace. Not now. “There isn’t much that shocks me.”
He shot her an annoyed glance.
She folded her arms. “If you won’t speak of it, maybe I should? Let’s take this testing time, for instance. Why such an odd penance? There must have been a reason.”
He turned his gaze back on the window, apparently determined not to look at her.
In case he did, she pretended to inspect a loose thread on her sleeve. “Did you know,” she began, plucking at the thread, “that in my country, we say that where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
“And I say that those who jab sticks into wasps’ nests get stung.”
“Be that as it may” – she kept examining the thread – “I am not a wasp.”
“Then be satisfied to know that my penance wasn’t wholly unjust.” He turned to face her. “Truth be told, it was more than fitting. The minstrel’s curse demanded that the Dark One require me to spend my proving time as he did.”
Cilla frowned. “So the curse had something to do with women?”
Now she knew why he didn’t want to tell her.
“Whatever happened is long over.” She was surprised by how easily the words passed her lips. “The now is all that matters.”
***
Hardwick still didn’t speak. The truth, for she deserved nothing less, sat like a clump of granite in his gut. Equally annoying, his head was beginning to ache.
He gave her a tight smile, the best he could do. “Leave be, sweeting.”
“No.” She stepped closer and put a hand on his arm, her touch warming him.
Her persistence and caring made his heart pound. He wasn’t sure any woman had ever shown him compassion. Lust, aye. But not heartfelt concern and he wasn’t sure he knew how to accept such goodness.
He did know he shouldn’t.
And more for her than him – she deserved better.
“I want to hear what happened.” She looked at him, her gaze clear, ready.
Innocent.
He lifted a hand and slid his thumb over her lips, needing to touch her. “You guessed rightly, lass. The curse had to do with women.” He spoke true, already seeing the edges of his world curl and blacken. “Topping his outrage that I’d shut my door in his venerable face, the bard-wizard envied my supposed renown with the fairer sex.”
She took a slow breath. “So you were a ladies’ man.”
“Aye, and so I was, though no more than any other man of my station.” He paused, remembering. “The bard saw it otherwise and, once riled, took punishment on me in a way he knew would forever ruin my pleasure in women.”
Her eyes rounded. “He ruined your ability to- … ah … you know, enjoy yourself?”
“Nae, the opposite.” He forced himself to hold her gaze. “He cursed me to be in a permanently aroused state, damning me to pleasure a different female every night for all eternity.”
“What-”
He raised a hand, silencing her when she tried to speak. “The dalliances weren’t a pleasure. Leastways” – he wouldn’t lie – “no’ after the first fifty years or so. Thereafter, what should have been bliss turned into a living, or un-living, nightmare.”
She paled slightly. “I see.”
“You must.” He gripped her arms, guilt ripping him. She looked so frozen. “I couldnae go on, sweet. My weariness of the task is why I asked the Dark One to relieve me of the curse. His required payment is why I am now unable to touch or kiss you as I would so love to do.”
“I thought you were weary of women?”
“I believed I was.” He tightened his hold on her, his heart hammering at the admission he was about to make. “After so many centuries, so many nameless, faceless women, I’d come to think eating an ash dinner each night would suit me better. Until the day I decided to relieve my boredom by sifting myself about Dunroamin and you happened to enter a room I’d just arrived in.”
“You hid in th
e poster.” A smile tugged at her lips. “I thought you were a symptom of my jetlag.”
The word came as a jolt, a reminder of the vast differences between them. But the long centuries of guarding his bed had taught him much, including the strangeness of her world and the wonders it held.
So he didn’t blink, just slid his arms around her, pulling her close. “And I thought I’d wakened from a seven-hundred-year sleep. You took my breath, lass.”
She drew back to look at him. “Even after so many other women?”
“Especially because of them.” It was a truth that didn’t surprise him in the least.
The endless parade of lovers hadn’t brought him one woman he ached to see again. There wasn’t a woman amongst them who’d made his heart beast faster. Cilla had done that and more, making him want him in ways he’d never have believed he could come to care for a woman.
Yet he did for her, and it both humbled and terrified him.
He wanted to court her rightly, to claim not just her beautiful well-made body, her golden hair and sapphire eyes, but to possess her heart and soul.
All of her, if only he could.
“But…” She glanced aside, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
He cupped her chin, turning her to face him. “I speak true, lass.”
“Oh, I believe you.” She met his gaze, her eyes clear and shining. “It’s just a great deal to consider. Having to believe you’re a ghost, solid and real as you are. Now-”
“You’ve accepted my ghostdom.” And I thank the gods that is so.
“How could I not, after all I’ve seen?”
“Then accept me as a man.” He looked at her deeply, willing her to do so.
“I do,” she said, not even hesitating.
Hope flashed through him, and he was scarce able to believe it. Half afraid he might say something that would change her acceptance, her willingness to trust him. Undo the joy that, despite all, he was able to touch and feel her. The softness of her skin, the pliant warmth of her curves, the sweetness of her smile. He couldn’t bear to lose any of that, not now.
So before the world tilted and tipped him off its edge, he prayed to whatever powers might aid him.
He didn’t want to slip back into the empty dark he’d dwelt in for so many uncountable years.