Kiss of the Highlander
Page 49
Gwen shuddered against him, listening to his strange accents, and somehow she knew that every word he uttered was praise. When he finally stilled against her, she stroked his back and shoulders, marveling, buoyant, elated and sated beyond compare.
“You are beautiful, lass,” he whispered, brushing his lips back and forth over hers tenderly.
She squealed when he thumped inside her, a final flexing from their love play.
“Did I hurt you, sweet Gwen?” he asked, with such concern in his eyes that it touched her heart.
“A bit,” she confessed. “But no more than I expected after seeing that…sock you have there.”
He smiled, his eyes dancing. “I told you it was God-given. You would hear none of it.” He sucked her lower lip. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, lass. I fear I was without sense for a time there.”
“No more than I. I think I said something really bad,” she worried, nibbling her lip.
“It aroused me immensely,” he growled. “Never have I had a woman say such a thing to me, and it made me hard as stone.”
“You are always hard, MacKeltar,” she teased. “Don’t think I don’t see that permanent bulge in your clothing.”
“I know,” he said smugly. “Your glance drifts there often.” He sobered suddenly. “But now I know why you were naysaying me. Gwen, why did you not tell me you had known no man before me?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I was afraid you would say no,” she finally admitted. “I wasn’t sure you would make love to a virgin.”
Make love, she’d said. She’d saved herself from all others but chosen to give herself to him. You care for me, he thought, hoping she would say the words. He was disappointed when she didn’t, but in her touch—her hands tracing gentle circles on his chest—he felt a tenderness that meant much to him.
And she’d given him her maidenhead.
He felt himself hardening again, moved by the depth of her gift. Although he hadn’t given her proof that he was telling the truth, she’d given of herself freely to him, that which she’d given to no other man. She had feelings for him, he was sure of it, as sure as he was that Gwen Cassidy didn’t give of herself lightly.
She’d honored him in so many ways.
There was no question in his mind: She was the one for him. The woman he’d wanted all his life—and so what if he’d had to come five hundred years into the future to find her? He would give her the words and begin the Druid binding, and mayhap in a few hours, if all was well, she might freely give the words back to him.
And if all doesn’t go well?
He shrugged mentally. If all didn’t go well, and he didn’t survive tonight, the sixteenth-century version of him would find her druggingly irresistible, even before she said the spell to merge their memories. He could see no harm in that, doubted it would come to pass anyway.
She’d given him a precious gift; this was all he had to offer her in return. The gift of his eternal love.
He placed the palm of his right hand on her chest over her heart, the palm of his left above his, and looked deep into her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low and firm: “If aught must be lost, ’twill be my honor for yours. If one must be forsaken, ’twill be my soul for yours. Should death come anon, ’twill be my life for yours.” He drew a deep breath and finished it, completing the spell that would haunt him for life. “I am Given.” He shuddered as he felt the irrevocable bond take root within him—a bond that could never be severed. He was now connected to her by gossamer strands of awareness. Were he to walk into a room of people, he would be drawn to her side. Were he to enter a village, he would know if she was in it. Emotion welled up within him, and he struggled to hold it back, astonished by the intensity. Feelings crashed over him, feelings he’d never imagined.
She was so beautiful—made a thousand times more so by his having opened himself completely to her.
Her eyes were wide. “What did you mean by that?” she asked, with a shaky little laugh. He’d spoken in that strange voice again, the one that held the resonance of a dozen voices, the soft rumble of spring thunder. It had sounded terribly romantic—a little serious and scary too. His words had been almost like a living thing, brushing her with warm fingers. She had a nagging sensation that there was something she should say back to him but had no idea what or why.
He smiled enigmatically.
“Oh, I get it. It’s another one of those things—”
“That will become clear in time,” he finished for her. “Aye. It’s rather like, I will protect you should the need ever arise.” It’s more like, you are mine forever, should you agree and give me the words back. And now I am yours forever, whether you agree or not. It was a risky thing he’d just done, of a certain, because if she never agreed, Drustan MacKeltar would ache endlessly for her. His heart trapped by the binding spell, he would sense her eternally, would love her eternally. But should she one day choose to freely give the words back, the bond would intensify a thousandfold. He could live for such a hope.
“You are beautiful, lass,” he whispered, brushing his lips back and forth over hers tenderly.
She squealed when he thumped inside her, a final flexing from their love play.
“Did I hurt you, sweet Gwen?” he asked, with such concern in his eyes that it touched her heart.
“A bit,” she confessed. “But no more than I expected after seeing that…sock you have there.”
He smiled, his eyes dancing. “I told you it was God-given. You would hear none of it.” He sucked her lower lip. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, lass. I fear I was without sense for a time there.”
“No more than I. I think I said something really bad,” she worried, nibbling her lip.
“It aroused me immensely,” he growled. “Never have I had a woman say such a thing to me, and it made me hard as stone.”
“You are always hard, MacKeltar,” she teased. “Don’t think I don’t see that permanent bulge in your clothing.”
“I know,” he said smugly. “Your glance drifts there often.” He sobered suddenly. “But now I know why you were naysaying me. Gwen, why did you not tell me you had known no man before me?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I was afraid you would say no,” she finally admitted. “I wasn’t sure you would make love to a virgin.”
Make love, she’d said. She’d saved herself from all others but chosen to give herself to him. You care for me, he thought, hoping she would say the words. He was disappointed when she didn’t, but in her touch—her hands tracing gentle circles on his chest—he felt a tenderness that meant much to him.
And she’d given him her maidenhead.
He felt himself hardening again, moved by the depth of her gift. Although he hadn’t given her proof that he was telling the truth, she’d given of herself freely to him, that which she’d given to no other man. She had feelings for him, he was sure of it, as sure as he was that Gwen Cassidy didn’t give of herself lightly.
She’d honored him in so many ways.
There was no question in his mind: She was the one for him. The woman he’d wanted all his life—and so what if he’d had to come five hundred years into the future to find her? He would give her the words and begin the Druid binding, and mayhap in a few hours, if all was well, she might freely give the words back to him.
And if all doesn’t go well?
He shrugged mentally. If all didn’t go well, and he didn’t survive tonight, the sixteenth-century version of him would find her druggingly irresistible, even before she said the spell to merge their memories. He could see no harm in that, doubted it would come to pass anyway.
She’d given him a precious gift; this was all he had to offer her in return. The gift of his eternal love.
He placed the palm of his right hand on her chest over her heart, the palm of his left above his, and looked deep into her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low and firm: “If aught must be lost, ’twill be my honor for yours. If one must be forsaken, ’twill be my soul for yours. Should death come anon, ’twill be my life for yours.” He drew a deep breath and finished it, completing the spell that would haunt him for life. “I am Given.” He shuddered as he felt the irrevocable bond take root within him—a bond that could never be severed. He was now connected to her by gossamer strands of awareness. Were he to walk into a room of people, he would be drawn to her side. Were he to enter a village, he would know if she was in it. Emotion welled up within him, and he struggled to hold it back, astonished by the intensity. Feelings crashed over him, feelings he’d never imagined.
She was so beautiful—made a thousand times more so by his having opened himself completely to her.
Her eyes were wide. “What did you mean by that?” she asked, with a shaky little laugh. He’d spoken in that strange voice again, the one that held the resonance of a dozen voices, the soft rumble of spring thunder. It had sounded terribly romantic—a little serious and scary too. His words had been almost like a living thing, brushing her with warm fingers. She had a nagging sensation that there was something she should say back to him but had no idea what or why.
He smiled enigmatically.
“Oh, I get it. It’s another one of those things—”
“That will become clear in time,” he finished for her. “Aye. It’s rather like, I will protect you should the need ever arise.” It’s more like, you are mine forever, should you agree and give me the words back. And now I am yours forever, whether you agree or not. It was a risky thing he’d just done, of a certain, because if she never agreed, Drustan MacKeltar would ache endlessly for her. His heart trapped by the binding spell, he would sense her eternally, would love her eternally. But should she one day choose to freely give the words back, the bond would intensify a thousandfold. He could live for such a hope.
