She reached for him, but Garrett moved lower, his tongue flicking into her navel before he parted her thighs and closed his mouth over the heat he had kindled. This was a kiss intended to drive her mad, and Annelise moaned when she felt his tongue flick against the hard bead of her desire. She opened her legs wide, inviting his touch, wanting to know all of such lovemaking.
She closed her eyes and surrendered to the desire he summoned so readily. She could only reach to run her hands over his muscled shoulders, so she did so, feeling that he was as solid and reliable as ever a man could be. His touch was both gentle and demanding. Annelise heard herself moan as a tide of heat gathered within her. She felt as if her skin was on fire, that desire boiled within her, that the heat of passion would overwhelm her completely. She gasped as Garrett tormented her with pleasure, uncertain that she could bear any more until he compelled her to do so. She felt his tongue and his breath against her, and knew there could be no more seductive sensation—until he grazed the kernel of her desire with his teeth.
Annelise cried out as a torrent broke over her, breaking every sensation loose. It was more fierce and more pleasurable than it had been before, as if her body would strive for a greater release each time. Annelise’s heart thundered and her body shook. Her breath caught and heat surged through her body in a triumphant and glorious sensation.
She opened her eyes to find Garrett leaning over her, bracing his weight on his elbows. The hardness of him was between her thighs, and there were stars in his eyes. He smiled at her, clearly content with the pleasure he had given her, and Annelise knew she had a debt to pay to him.
She smiled and wrapped her legs around his waist, inviting his possession even as she twined her arms around his neck. “I am yours and no other’s,” she whispered, and saw the flash of joy in his eyes. “I love you, Garrett MacLachlan.”
Garrett smiled, then bent his head and kissed her so thoroughly that Annelise thought only of pleasure for quite some time.
*
“Can you tell me what happened when you went to Killairig?” Annelise asked some time later. She and Garrett had washed and dressed and were sitting in the sunshine before the hut. It was blessedly quiet and the wind was pushing small clouds across the blue sky. Annelise offered him a piece of bread from the monastery and began to peel the rind from the cheese with her eating knife.
Garrett grimaced. “It was terrible.” He wanted to tell her, but needed to speak with care. The sun was sinking low and he listened by habit to the surrounding forest, but heard no predators.
Annelise nodded. “Of course, it was terrible. Because you could not bear the sound of all their thoughts in your mind, so you collapsed, much as you did that first time at Seton Manor.”
“I am not proud of the spectacle I made.”
“But you did not anticipate it,” Annelise mused. “Was it worse than previously?”
He granted her a look but said naught. As before, she found the key without his confession. He liked that he did not have to imperil her for them to solve the riddle.
“You did not expect to be so stricken, because you never had been so before. You were surprised by the vehemence, or maybe the volume.”
She was correct, but he feared to tell her exactly what he had experienced. Garrett waited, hoping his lady continued to use her wits.
Annelise wagged the knife at him. “In the tale in my dream, the dark sister cursed the son she wished to see discredited, so that others would think him mad. And at Killairig, they cast you out, perhaps even saying you were a madman.” She ate a piece of cheese. “Which was far simpler than considering your claim, whether there was a curse or no. I thought you did not even make your case?”
Garrett shook his head. “I arrived and was announced. The lady offered me a cup of ale in welcome. She was most kind.”
Annelise pursed her lips as she considered this. “And then?”
“I drank it.”
“Why? Were you not suspicious of her?”
“Why would I be? She was gracious in her greeting and there was no malice in her manner…”
“Could you hear her thoughts?” Annelise demanded and Garrett stared at her.
He had not.
“She is Fae,” Annelise spoke with conviction. “She is the dark sister. Do you not see, Garrett, it must all be true!” She put down the cheese and the bread, her appetite evidently as banished as his own.
“The tales are mingled truth and fable,” Garrett said gently. “There is no telling where one ends and the other begins.”
“But the tale I dreamed is most true.”
Garrett raised a hand. “Wait. You say that Mhairi was Fae, but she is dead,” he said “The Fae are immortal.”
Annelise shook her head. “My younger sister, Elizabeth, can see the Fae. They are not mortal. It is their nature to live outside of time, to endure forever if all should be well. But they can be killed by other Fae or mortals or animals. If they die, they are lost to their fellows, just as mortals who die are no longer seen by other mortals. And truly, if I had to entrust the upbringing of a child to anyone, I should try to ensure that the adoptive parent understood the child’s nature fully. I should try to make a match.” Annelise stood up and brushed off her kirtle. “You can hear the thoughts of others, both mortal and animal. This is held to be the gift of the Fae, so that must be your legacy from your birth mother.”
“The wolf,” Garrett murmured.
Annelise nodded. “Remember Mhairi’s tale? The witch burned her clothes, ensuring she could not turn back to her human form. I think it most evident that the son disappeared because he was entrusted to the care of another Fae close to the birth mother.”
Still Garrett struggled to accept her conclusion. “Annelise, this is a fabrication beyond belief.”
She granted him a stern look. “Is it? Why then did Mhairi show kindness to the white wolf? Why did she expect it to live longer than a wolf? Why does it yet follow you and defend you?”
“You do not know that it is the same wolf,” Garrett protested. “And I do not intend to risk your safety, or even that of Yseult, by suffering any wolf to live in the vicinity…”
“Then we will ask the wolf for the truth.” Before Garrett could make sense of that, Annelise had retreated into the hut. She returned with the green silk dress, shaking it out so Garrett could see that it was completed. She crossed the clearing and laid the garment on the mound of earth that covered Mhairi’s and Seamus’ graves.
Then she returned to Garrett’s side and sat beside him, as if they waited for a troupe of musicians to entertain them.
“Who is the madman?” Garrett teased softly and Annelise laughed.
“I doubt it is you, and I know it is not me.” She leaned against his shoulder, her eyes sparkling.
He took her hand in his, pleased beyond compare that this lady was his own. He felt blessed as he never had before.
“So, when you went to Killairig, the dark sister knew who you must be. She tricked you, and cursed you, making your torment worse. She ensured you could not plead your case.”
“And then?” Garrett prompted, earning himself a glance. “There must be something of it in the tale from your dream,” he said, for he was coming to see that she had dreamed the truth. He could not explain it, but that did not make it untrue.
“She sent the daughter after you in wolf guise, as I told you, and sent word to the son.”
“And who is the son?” Garrett mused. “Did you see him? Do you know his name?”
“He was a knight, at least on the chess board. The dream faded most abruptly and I did not see his face.” Annelise sighed. “I think Elizabeth knew him, though.”
“Orson or Andrew,” Garrett concluded. “Did they not ride from Kinfairlie?”
“They did!” Her delight at his recollection made him smile. “Your symptoms were always worse when one of them was present.”
Garrett took a deep breath. “Hatred is most disconcerting.”
/> Annelise eyed him. “When it is directed at you, and you hear it at ten times its potency. One of them despises you, perhaps because you could cheat him of his inheritance.”
Garrett nodded, remembering what the dark sister had chosen for her son. “No special Fae gifts, beyond good looks and longevity.”
“It could be either of them,” Annelise acknowledged. “Though I would think Andrew the more fair. But where are their holdings? Do you know?”
Garrett pursed his lips, considering the thoughts he had overheard and sifting through them. All his life, he had resented his gift or ignored it, and since visiting Killairig, he had despised it. He had never considered it to be a tool, much less a gift, but Annelise brought him this understanding as well. “Orson has none, for he wished the Earl of March to bestow a holding upon him in reward for wedding you.”
“I knew he had a scheme!”
“And Orson knew Andrew was heir to a holding in the west, but perhaps did not know its name. He was jealous of the injustice of a younger knight having a legacy while he did not.”
“Wait! The son had a beauteous voice. Remember when Andrew told that tale at Seton Manor?”
“Beauteous but not beguiling.” Garrett nodded. “And he recounted tale that showed the fair sister to disadvantage.”
“And the older son, too.” Annelise’s eyes lit. “We must go to Killairig!”
Garrett stayed her with a touch as he heard the thoughts of creatures in the forest. They scurried out of the path of a predator, a creature with thoughts Garrett could not discern. Because of the reactions of the other animals, he was aware of it moving closer to the hut and the clearing.
“The wolf comes,” Annelise whispered.
“The other animals fear it.”
“But you cannot discern its thoughts.”
Garrett smiled at Annelise, liking her insistence and her confidence. He kissed her then, slowly and deeply, savoring all she gave him, for he could do naught else. They resolved this together, which was the best possible portent for their future. She was flushed and her lips were swollen when they parted, the sparkle in her eyes making Garrett think of celebrating their hand fast anew.
That gave impetus to his plans. “We will not linger here and await your wolf,” he said. “It is a long ride to Killairig, and I would begin in daylight.”
Annelise nodded. “I agree that sooner is better.” She stretched up and kissed his cheek, her confidence tempering his fear. “But you will not need to defend us against the wolf. You will see.”
Garrett said naught to that. Annelise went into the cabin to pack her things, then returned to him. Garrett listened while she was gone, then saddled Yseult. He looked around the place he knew so well, said a silent farewell to Mhairi and Seamus, then lifted Annelise into the saddle and rode out.
He watched for the wolf every step of the way, but never caught a glimpse of it.
*
To Stewart’s thinking, there was something uncanny about Killairig.
Andrew told the others when their party crossed into his father’s lands, but Stewart saw the difference with his own eyes. He could not explain it, but the forests were darker in Killairig and the shadows deep within them gave the impression of being crowded. When he stared into the forest, though, he saw naught but leaves and trees.
The streams forded by the horses gushed so loudly that they seemed to be making comment, and the birds that swarmed the road at intervals seemed to be chattering. Stewart could not shake the sense that a thousand creatures watched their progress, and many reported upon it to someone. It made no sense, for the creatures of the forest did not routinely care so much about a small party of travelers, but Stewart could not shake his sense of pending doom.
He watched as Andrew grew taller in his saddle, that knight’s gaze brightening in anticipation of something that might have been more important even than home. Stewart realized how little he knew of the younger knight, for Orson had monopolized all conversations. Perhaps Andrew had a betrothed who awaited him here. That would explain the glint in his eyes.
Orson, for his part, became quieter, which was a change to be celebrated.
Sadly, Stewart felt little other cause to celebrate. At his first glimpse of Killairig’s keep—a robust stone tower silhouetted against the sparkling blue of the sea—his heart should have leapt, for it was most fine. Instead, he swallowed as his heart plummeted to his toes and he fought the urge to turn his steed and flee.
It was most curious. Stewart was not a whimsical man, and he was not one to put much stock in portents. This perhaps was because he seldom felt one himself, but he felt trouble in the air as surely as the weight of a hand on the back of his neck.
Killairig’s village was oddly desolate. For a holding in such a beautiful setting, surrounded by forests that should be abundant, there were remarkably few residents in the village. Those he glimpsed were hollow-eyed and gaunt, like specters come from a ravaged land. Stewart reasoned that these were not the residents in truth, for they were few and the number of homes was larger. He decided that the true residents must be at the board within the hall, sharing in the laird’s bounty.
Then he noticed that the crucifix on the chapel was broken. It looked to have been broken for some time, struck by lightning perhaps, given the burning of the wood. Why had no one repaired it? He might have asked, but Andrew spurred his horse to reach the gates more quickly, and Orson followed suit. Stewart exchanged a glance with Percy, but said naught.
He fought a strange sense that they rode into a trap when their horses stepped beneath the portcullis of Killairig. That feeling was not aided by the gate being dropped shut behind them with a resonant clang, or the way the guards never met his gaze.
Such thinking was folly. Stewart scoffed at the nonsense in his own mind. The hall was well made and graciously proportioned. There were staff aplenty to take care of the steeds, and if Zephyr balked at being led away by them, it was likely due to the location being unfamiliar.
He could not shake his irksome feeling, not even when the Lady of Killairig came to greet them. She was a gracious beauty, her hair as dark as a raven’s wing and her eyes darker still. She wore a long-sleeved gown of deep blue, richly embroidered in silver, and silver slippers on her feet. Her cuffs fell over her hands to her knuckles, hiding the skin in a way that seemed demure. Perhaps it was to make the gems in her rings appear to flash more brightly. She kissed Andrew with all the affection one would expect from a mother, but still there was something in her gaze that made Stewart shiver.
“I am Lady Rowena,” she murmured to Stewart, her voice low and rich. “I beg of you to call me Rowena.”
Stewart swallowed, knowing that he never would do so.
The laird, it seemed, was too ill to leave his bed. The lady Rowena invited them all into the hall, making many pretty apologies for her sickened spouse. To Stewart, it seemed he moved through a dream, with all talk at a distance. The hall was decked in greenery, as if it were Christmas, and fires roared on two hearths. The musicians played more sweetly than any he had ever heard and a golden wine flowed in quantity. It must be mead, for there could be no grapes in this vicinity. All appeared to be lovely, but not quite right. Stewart felt that if he squinted, or turned his head quickly, he would see behind this guise of a normal hall to the truth.
Or perhaps an impoverished one. He could not rid himself of the memory of the village.
He was about to chide himself anew when the lady Rowena offered him a chalice of the golden mead, her hands cupping the bowl as she held it to him. The cuffs of her long sleeves fell back ever so slightly at her move, and Stewart only just hid his reaction.
For he saw a blue-black pattern on the lady’s skin. There were whorls and tendrils curling over her flesh, the tips of which appeared on the backs of her wrists. Stewart had seen such marks before and knew their import.
Their hostess was Fae.
Not one morsel would cross his lips in this place. He smiled at
her and bent as if to sip from the welcome cup, keeping his mouth resolutely closed. The mead touched his mouth but he did not taste it, and as soon as the lady lifted the cup away, Stewart wiped the mead from his lips. He watched the rest of his party drink and knew himself a man apart.
And perhaps the only one who might willingly choose to leave.
*
Rowena had no use for mortal men who defied her. She had one sick abed, thanks to the potion she had administered to him, and now one in her hall who thought he could outwit her.
She could be rid of them both, very simply.
She ensured the meal was laid to her specifications and that the new arrivals were seated comfortably. She pretended not to notice that the warrior Stewart did not eat or drink, but moved through the company, chatting with those in attendance. She certainly did not reveal that she could hear the warrior’s suspicious thoughts.
She dispatched her most reliable maid to take the evening potion to her lord husband. “If he slumbers, leave it by his bed,” she dictated and the girl hastened to do as bidden.
After another turn around the room, Rowena sat beside Stewart and turned her smile upon him. “You are quiet, sir,” she said. “I hope the company does not displease you.”
“Of course not, my lady. I apologize that I am tired after so long a ride.”
“And the fare does not please you? I have not seen a morsel cross your lips.”
His gaze flashed, his fear of her clear for that moment, but Rowena continued to smile at him. “When I am so tired as this, my lady, I cannot even eat or drink.” He yawned in a feeble attempt to reinforce his lie, but Rowena was not fooled.
“You are too tired even to talk? It must have been quite a ride. My son must have been in a great hurry to arrive home.” She nodded to Andrew, who lifted his cup in salute to her.
“I am not so young as once I was, my lady.”
True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse Page 24