The Dark Highlander

by Karen Marie Moning

  Sweet because he had his woman.

  Bitter because he had to stay his tongue, and not make promises he burned to speak. Promises that weren’t his to give because his future was uncertain. To his immense frustration, he couldn’t offer what small truths he possessed either, because Chloe still hadn’t asked him about the “curse.”

  He wanted to tell her. He needed to tell her. Needed to know that she knew what he was and could accept it. Thrice he’d tested the waters, once in her dream, once later, while strolling the gardens with her beneath a silvery half-full moon. In her dream, she’d flinched and evaded. In her waking, she’d done the same.

  The third time he’d begun speaking of it, she’d tugged his head down and used one of his tactics: She’d silenced him with a kiss and made him forget not only what he was about to say but what century he was in.

  It wasn’t like him to fail to confront a difficult situation, but he’d reluctantly ceded to her resistance and let it go for the time being.

  He had no doubt that, eventually, she would ask. Chloe was nothing if not tenaciously curious. He knew he’d burdened her with a great many new things in a very short time: time-travel, Druids, legendary races, new relics, the demands of his insatiable lusty appetites. She’d proven remarkably resilient. If she needed a bit of time to work her way around to beginning to ask questions again, he certainly couldn’t begrudge her the respite.

  So for the past ten days, he’d focused instead on the sweet half of bittersweet, drawing succor from her sunny optimism and endless enthusiasm. Each day that passed, he grew ever more fascinated by her. He’d known she was intelligent, strong, and had a true heart, but it was the small things about her that truly enchanted him. The way her eyes went wide and excited whenever Silvan read a choice bit from one of the texts. The way she’d stood hovering above The Compact for half an hour, hands curling, but refusing to touch because she wouldn’t risk marring the soft gold with so much as a fingerprint. The way she chased his young half brothers around the hall in the evenings after supper, pretending she was “a wee fierce beastie,” until they were shrieking with excitement and mock-fear. The way she teased his cantankerous da, flirting with him in a winsome way, until she succeeded in bringing a blush to his wrinkled cheeks and a smile to his lips, chasing some of the worry from his somber brown eyes.

  He was proud of the woman she was, and savagely possessive of her. He was fiercely glad that he’d been the one to awaken her to intimacy, that he was the one to whom she’d entrusted a small part of her heart.

  Aye, he knew he’d touched her heart. She was not a lass who could hide her feelings, she simply didn’t possess such guards. Though she’d not said the words, he could see it in her eyes, and feel it in her caress. No woman had ever touched him quite the way she did. At times, it seemed she was touching him with near reverence, as if she was as awed as he was that they meshed so perfectly, two interlocking pieces of wood carved from the same tree.

  She had no idea what it did to him to see her dressed in the colors of his clan, strolling through his childhood home. It made him feel all elemental warrior and lover, a man of fierce needs and primitive laws. The only thing that could make it sweeter would be if he, too, could don the Keltar colors again.

  But that was a bearable loss. At a time when he’d expected little from life, she’d given him everything, including a reawakening of the wonder and hope he’d so long ago lost. The heathery fields seemed again fertile with burgeoning life. Everywhere he looked, he saw something of beauty: a wee pine marten questing the breeze, a golden eagle soaring overhead, tawny-crowned and majestic, mayhap simply a stately oak he’d walked past a hundred times but not truly seen. The night sky ablaze with stars seemed again full of secrets and miracles.

  Chloe was a shaft of sunlight that had lanced through the storm clouds he’d lived beneath for so long, illuming his world.

  She’d flung herself wholly and without reservation into their intimacy. She loved to touch, indeed, she seemed to crave it. She was constantly slipping her wee hand into his, or burying them in his hair, grazing his scalp with her nails. Like a wild tomcat who’d had absolute freedom, but known no place to call home, he savored the gentle constancy of the familiar touch of familiar hands.

  He’d been right in thinking that with her, lovemaking might yield some indefinable result he’d not before experienced. Sex had always calmed and soothed him, easing his muscles, relaxing his mental tension, but now, when he fell sated, holding Chloe close, his heart was also at ease.

  But if his present was a vast and sunny blue sky, his future was filled with the ominous roll of crashing thunderheads.

  And he dare not forget that.

  He dragged his gaze away from Chloe and inhaled deeply, forcing his thoughts back to less savory matters.

  In the past ten days, though he and Silvan had discovered a wealth of long-forgotten information about their clan in the chamber library, and learned more about their purpose as Druids than they’d ever known, they’d still found no mention of the thirteen and scant information concerning their benefactors. Silvan was hoping they might find some way to contact the Tuatha Dé in the old records, but Dageus didn’t share his da’s optimism on that score. He wasn’t convinced the ancient race was even still about. And if they were, why would they bother to appear to a Keltar who’d fallen from grace when they’d not bothered to appear to any other Keltar? He wouldn’t be surprised to learn they’d planted their traps in the in-between and gone away thousands of years ago, never to return.

  The search was taking too long. In the twenty-first century there’d been a dearth of information, now there was too much, and sifting through it was an epic undertaking.

  That wouldn’t have fashed him, except he’d recently noticed something that had made him realize time was critical: His eyes were no longer returning to gold, not even with their constant lovemaking. Nay, his eyes were now burnished copper, and darkening further each day.

  Though he was using no magic, though he was tooping incessantly, though the ancient ones had not spoken again, the darkness inside him was changing him anyway, in the same manner that wine inevitably soaked into and permeated the cask that held it.

  He could feel the thirteen growing stronger, and himself growing more comfortable with them. They’d been a part of him for so long that they were beginning to feel like another appendage—and why wouldn’t he use an extra hand? Now, instead of catching himself only a few times a day about to use magic for something simple like filling the bath, he was catching himself a score of times or more.

  At least he was still catching himself. He knew that anon he wouldn’t. And in even yet more time, he wouldn’t care. That fine line he mustn’t cross was getting increasingly difficult for him to see clearly.

  Rubbing his unshaven jaw, he wondered if it might be possible to strike some kind of deal with the thirteen.

  Strike a deal with the devil? his honor hissed. Like what? They get to use your body part of the time? The devil cheats, you fool!

  Aye, there was that worry. The beings in him were not honorable, could not be trusted. The mere fact that he was considering trying to barter with them proved how critical time had become.

  And proved how desperate he was to find a way to secure some kind of future with Chloe.

  Sighing, he turned his attention back to the text. Now more than ever, ’twas imperative he exercise utmost discipline. Though he’d far prefer to sweep Chloe into his arms, carry her from the chamber and show her more of his world, live only in the moment, he knew he had to revert to the schedule he’d kept in Manhattan.

  Work from dawn till dusk, love Chloe only in the night, then work again whilst she slumbered.

  He had his eye on much more than a few moons with his mate. He was determined that he would have his full measure of life with her.

  When she got up and slipped from the chamber, he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the tome in his lap.

  Chloe strolled bli
ssfully through the gardens, marveling that already a week and a half had sped by. They’d been the finest days of her life.

  Her time had been divided primarily between exploring the contents of the chamber library and exploring the newfound pleasure of passion. The explosive heat between her and Dageus was evidently palpable enough that on several occasions Silvan had ordered them to leave the chamber library, telling them dryly “to go . . . walk a wee or . . . some such activity. The two of you are like a pair of tea kettles, steaming up my tomes.”

  The first time he’d said such a thing, Chloe had blushed furiously, but then Dageus had given her what she’d come to think of as The Look and she’d swiftly forgotten her embarrassment. He had a way of canting his head low and looking up at her, his dark gaze heated and intense, that never failed to make her weak-kneed with desire, thinking about all the things he was going to do to her.

  Because she was unable to read a lot of the stuff in the chamber and was insatiably curious about the sixteenth century, while the men had worked, she’d stolen away frequently. She’d thoroughly explored the castle, leaving no part untouched: the buttery, the larders, the kitchens, the chapel, the armory, the garderobes (though scrupulously cleaned daily, those she could have done without), even Silvan’s tower library—where she was grateful to discover she could translate some of the more recent works. The elderly man had copies of every philosophical, ethical, mathematical, and cosmological treatise of historical significance on his meticulously organized shelves.

  Also during those hours away from Dageus, she’d gotten to know Nell and had met his young half brothers, Ian and Robert, precious dark-haired two-and-a-half-year-old boys with sunny dispositions. She could hardly look at them without thinking what beautiful babies Dageus would make.

  And that she’d like to be the one he made them with.

  A delicious little shiver raced over her skin at the thought of making a family with him, building a future.

  For the past ten days she’d watched him carefully and had concluded that he definitely cared about her. He treated her the same way Drustan had treated Gwen that day at Maggie’s castle, anticipating her desires: slipping from the chamber library to fetch her a cup of tea or a snack, or a damp cloth to wipe dust from her cheek. Disappearing into the gardens and returning with an armful of fresh flowers, leading her to bed and covering her naked body with them. Lazily, tenderly bathing her in the evenings before a peat fire, helping her plait her hair like Nell’s. She felt treasured, cosseted, and though he didn’t say it, loved.

  She’d realized, while watching him and reflecting upon all she knew of him, that Dageus MacKeltar would probably never speak of love, unless someone spoke to him about it first. Gwen had essentially told her that much back in the stones.

  Dageus doesn’t look for love from a woman because he’s never been given any reason to.

  Well, Chloe Zanders was going to give him the reason to. Tonight. Over a romantic dinner in their bedchamber, which she’d already filled with urns of fresh-cut heather and dozens of oil globes that she’d pilfered from other rooms in the castle.

  She’d set the scene, embellishing it with romantic touches, Nell had arranged the menu, and all she had to do was speak her heart.

  And if he doesn’t say it back? a niggling little doubt tried to surface.

  She thrust it firmly away. She would entertain no doubts, no fears. A few days ago, over mugs of cocoa in the kitchens, she and Nell had had a long talk. Nell had openly shared her own experience with Silvan, and had told her about the twelve years they’d wasted. Chloe couldn’t imagine loving in silence for so long.

  Twelve years! Sheesh, she wasn’t going to be able to wait twelve more hours.

  When Chloe had been a teenager, not knowing anything about kissing, she’d practiced on a pillow, feeling inordinately silly, but how else was a girl supposed to get a feel for it? She’d read books, and avidly watched movies to see how lips met and where noses went, but it wasn’t the same as actually trying to press her lips to something. (Personally, she harbored the firm conviction that there wasn’t a person alive anywhere in the world that hadn’t practiced kissing on something. A mirror, a pillow, the back of their hand.)

  Since her first kiss had been reasonably successful, she decided that practicing saying “I love you,” wasn’t a completely idiotic idea.

  As there weren’t exactly a plethora of mirrors around the castle, when she left the gardens, strolled into the great hall and spied the shiny shield hanging on the wall near the hearth, she yielded to impulse, dragged a chair over to it and hopped up, peering at her reflection.

  She wanted the moment tonight to be just right. She didn’t want to stutter or stammer around.

  “I love you,” she told the shield softly.

  It hadn’t come out quite right. It was a good thing she’d decided to practice.

  She wet her lips and tried it again. “I love you,” she said tenderly.

  “I love you,” she said firmly.

  “I love you,” she tried a sexy voice. Reflecting a moment, she decided it was probably better that she just speak normally. She didn’t do throaty well.

  Saying it felt good, she thought, staring at her reflection. She’d been holding it so tightly inside her that she had begun to feel like a pressure-cooker about to blow her lid off. She’d never been able to keep her feelings to herself. It wasn’t part of her make-up, any more than casual sex was.

  She smiled radiantly at the shield, pretending it was Dageus. The three simple words just didn’t seem like enough. Love was so much larger than words.

  “I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you more than chocolate. I love you more than the whole world is big.” She paused, thinking, searching for a way to explain what she felt. “I love you more than artifacts. I love you so much it makes my toes curl just thinking about it.”

  Pushing her hair back from her face, she donned her most sincere expression. “I love you.”

  “You can have the confounded shield if you love it that much, lass,” Dageus said, sounding utterly bewildered.

  Chloe felt all the blood drain from her face.

  She swallowed hard. Several times. Oh, God, she thought dismally, was it humanly possible to feel any more stupid?

  She shifted awkwardly on the chair, cleared her throat and stared down at the floor, thinking frantically, trying to come up with some excuse for what she’d just been doing. Back rigidly to him, she began to babble. “It’s . . . er, not the shield, um, you know. I wasn’t really talking to the shield, I just couldn’t find a mirror and this is just a little positive reinforcement thingie I do sometimes. I read it in a book somewhere that it boosted self-confidence and . . . er, engendered a general sense of well-being, and it really does work, you should try it sometime,” she said brightly.

  She realized she was talking with her hands, gesturing a bit wildly, so she clasped them firmly behind her back.

  He remained silent behind her, stressing her out completely, and she began babbling again. “What I’m saying is that I really don’t want the shield. I mean, I think you’ve given me more than enough artifacts already, and I couldn’t ask for anything else, so if you’ll just go away now I’ll resume my exercises. It’s important that one does them alone.”

  More silence.

  What on earth was he thinking? Was he going to burst into laughter? Was he smiling? She peered in the shield, but since she was up on the chair, he was several feet lower than she was and she couldn’t see him.

  “Dageus?” she said warily, refusing to turn. If she looked at him now, she might start crying. She’d so wanted the moment tonight to be tender and romantic, and damn it all, now if she said it to him tonight, he’d know she’d been practicing and he’d think she was a total dweeb!

  “Aye, lass?” he said finally, slowly.

  “Why aren’t you going away?” she asked tightly.

  A long pause, then a cautious, “If you doona mind, lass, I�
�d like to watch.”

  She closed her eyes. Was he making fun of her? “Absolutely not.”

  “With all the things we’ve done together, there’s something you wouldn’t let me watch? I think ’tis a bit late to be getting self-conscious around me,” he said. She couldn’t decide if she was picking up a hint of lazy amusement in his voice or not.

  “Go. A. Way,” she gritted.

  He didn’t. She could feel him standing there, his regard an intense pressure on the back of her skull.

  “Chloe-lass,” he said then, softly. Tenderly. “Turn around, sweet.”

  He knew, she thought, absolutely mortified. Nobody would fall for that pathetic excuse she’d made up.

  But this wasn’t the moment she’d picked. She’d had it all planned out and he was ruining it for her!

  “Chloe,” he repeated softly.

  “Oh!” Something in her suddenly, simply snapped, and she spun about to face him. Plunking her fists at her waist, she shouted, “I love you! Okay? But I didn’t want to say it that way, I wanted to say it just right and you

  ruined it.”

  Scowling, she leaped from the chair and stormed from the hall.

  22

  Dageus stood motionless in the great hall.

  That had been singularly the most unforgettable moment of his life.

  When he was his da’s age—in the event he had the luxury of living that long—he had no doubt he’d still be replaying the vision of Chloe perched on that chair before the shield, practicing how to say she loved him, just right.

  At first when he’d come abovestairs to fetch fresh candles for the chamber library, and he’d walked into the great hall, what she’d been doing hadn’t made sense to him. He’d genuinely thought she was gushing over the artifact.

  He teased her, and only then had he noticed the tension and misery emanating from her. She’d begun to babble, which was always a dead giveaway that she was upset. When she’d given him her absurd spiel about positive reinforcement or some such nonsense, he’d realized what she’d really been doing.