Choosing the Highlander (23 page)

Clans accepted and honored this arrangement, treating the couple as handfasted until an officiator could draw up a marriage contract. ’Twas even considered good luck to the warrior. A man with a new wife to return to would surely fight to the best of his ability.

Tonight, he intended to wed and bed his Constant Rose. ’Twas for her protection and his peace of mind. ’Twas also to sate his loins because he was growing weary of battling his body’s craving for her.

“Take off your dress,” he told his beloved.

“Won’t we be colder without our clothes on? It’s not like last night when we were indoors out of the weather.”

“Tonight, we lie down together. Inside my plaid. The fewer clothes we have on, the better we’ll share our warmth.”

’Twas the truth. ‘Twas also convenient, because the time was most assuredly right to claim what was his. He wouldn’t wait another day, not another hour.

Her eyes widened. “Of course. All right. I’ll just…” Her words trailed off as she stood and began unbuttoning her bodice. The lass was nervous.

He was as well. But he would lead her in this. His father had prepared him for the marriage bed. He knew what to expect. He knew how to bring his lady pleasure.

Once she was in naught but her shift and he in his shirt, he spread his plaid lengthwise over the saddle blankets near the smoldering fire. “Lie down just here,” he commanded, motioning toward the very edge of the plaid farthest from the saddle blankets.

While she obeyed, he used his dirk to slice off several sheaves of winter heather from the nearby bushes and placed them on the fire. The flames leapt to new life. The blaze wouldn’t last long, but ’twould provide a last bit of heat as well as a heady perfume to accompany their lovemaking.

’Twas tradition to incorporate flowers when wedding by bedding. Wilhelm would see this done right. Constance deserved no less.

“Like this?” she asked, a doubtful slant to her brows.

“Aye.” He would lie atop her and roll them up in the wool, leaving just enough room inside for movement.

Her brows relaxed. She propped herself up on her elbows. This made her breasts push against her shift. ’Twas too dark to make out much detail, but he would learn the shape and feel of those glorious mounds soon.

Had she recovered the undergarments she’d used to thwart that wolf? He hoped not. Once he joined her and rubbed his hand up her silky thigh, he longed to find her bare, hot, and wet, as his father had told him a woman would be when ready to be taken.

He knelt beside her. Beneath his shirt was naught but his already thickening manhood. “Are you ready for me, my Constant Rose?”

Her eyes widened. “Ready for what, exactly?”

The cold made his skin pebble. Hers too. Closer now, he noticed the points of her nipples. Saint’s teeth, he wanted to touch them. Taste them.

“I’m about to give you my pledge,” he said, moving to straddle her with one knee on either side of her hips. Bending over her, he made a cage of his arms and legs. “Hold onto me. I shall roll us together.”

Her arms came tentatively around his waist. “Your pledge?” She made it easy for him as he scooped her to his chest and rolled them toward the fire, wrapping them in his plaid as they went.

“Aye, lass,” he said when they came to a halt on their padded bed.

No chill would find them here within layers of wool and sharing their heat in each other’s arms.

“You are under no obligation to return it, you ken. But I shall pledge myself to you in such a way that you shall be protected by the Murray clan should aught ill come to me in Inverness.”

Her hands tightened on him.

Already, the cold was leaving his skin. They lay on their sides facing each other, their legs tangled. She was so warm and soft against him he felt he would melt against her. But her forehead creased with worry.

“Please, don’t worry about me. I’ll be—” She came to a halt mid-thought and bit her lip. “Heavens. I won’t be fine. Not at all. If something happens to you, I won’t be fine.” Her eyes grew shiny.

“You will. My father and mother will look after you.”

She began to protest.

“
Whist,
lass. They will. I ken you have secrets. You’ve kept them from me. You will likely keep them from my parents as well.”

He stroked her hair to ensure she felt no ill will from him as he stated this truth.

“’Tis my hope you will one day trust me, but if I am not able to be at your side to earn your trust day by day, as I pledge this night to always be, I would ken you are at least protected.”

She pursed her lips, her lovely, kissable lips, in dismay. It seemed she didn’t like to depend on another. Mayhap where she hailed from, she was a leader of women. He would not be surprised if she’d been a leader of men as well. She had the strength of spirit to lead an army, his lady.

Mayhap she was the chatelaine of some holding, responsible for the running of the house. Mayhap she instructed at university, for her learnedness showed in everything she did. Unfortunately, that learning had not been sufficient to keep her out of trouble. If she was not protected and protected well, Ruthven would find her and attempt to complete her execution. Or if not Ruthven, some other ignorant lob.

“This is a foreign land for you, love. For all your wits and bravery, ye canna be left on your own. You need protection. You need a friend to help you carry your burdens. I would be that friend. I would go with you to your home, wherever ’tis. I doona care how far. But ken you this, ’twill be for a visit and naught more, because you
are
mine.”

She stiffened.

He didn’t relent. “I would meet your father and your mother or whomever I must ask for your hand. I would remain with you there until you’ve had time to say your goodbyes. Do you understand, lass? I have not the patience nor the time to court you properly, but you and I both ken we are already as good as wed.”

“Wilhelm.” She softened at this. Her fingers curled in his shirt, knuckles pressing his side.

“You and I both ken it,” he stated again.

When she didn’t disagree, his heart leapt.

“But I doona ken whether I will have the freedom to do these things, love. Do you understand what I’m saying? I shall bind you to me tonight in an ancient tradition. ‘Wedding by bedding,’ ’tis called.”

He smiled apologetically, kenning the phrase lacked grace.

“My clan will accept us as handfasted. You will be one of the Murray, and they will see to your health and happiness in my absence, should we become separated.”

A lump formed in his throat at the thought of separation from Constance.

Throughout his speech, her eyes swam with somat he dared to thing might be wonder, but at his mention of taking her home, the fragile hope in her eyes dimmed. “Wilehlm,” she said, and the sound was beyond sad.

“What is it, lass? You can tell me anything. You can tell me everything.” He kissed her worrit brow. Then he bestowed a light kiss on her lips.

She sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she had a look of despair about her that sent his heart to beating like a drum against his ribs.

A shaky breath came from her parted lips. She smelled of cloves from the spiced wine they’d shared.

“When I was tied to that stake, I said I wasn’t a witch. You remember?”

“Aye.” He kissed the corner of her mouth.

She must feel his staff against her stomach. She must feel the need pulling taught every muscle in his body. Did she need him as well? How he longed to touch her intimately and find out.

“That was the truth,” she said.

“I ken it, lass.” Another kiss.

“But it wasn’t the whole truth.”

He studied her.

“I—I came here by magic, Wilhelm. I didn’t mean to. Oh, heavens, I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this. But you have to know. You have to know why we can’t be married. You have to know why we can’t sleep together. I mean we can
sleep
, but we can’t have sex.” She gasped as if this statement pained her.

“Go on,
mo luaidh.
” He recognized the truth of her words, as she must ken he would. Unease stirred behind his breastbone.

“You’re going to think I’m completely crazy, but I can’t keep pretending. Not with you.” She cupped his face with both her hands. “I’m from the future, Wilhelm. From five-hundred years in the future. I was born in 1953. Only days ago for me, it was the year 1981. I was visiting Scotland with my sister. By the time my feet touched Scottish soil, you would have been dead for centuries.”

She firmed her jaw and lifted her chin, seeming to brace herself for his disbelief. At the same time, her lower lip trembled. She was so bonny, such a mesmerizing combination of bravery and vulnerability.

At her admission, truth shot him through like a whole quiver of arrows. This time she told him the whole truth, and ’twas so bizarre no wonder she’d kept it to herself.

This explained everything.

She’d said she was from Vinland, but she was nothing like the Inuit peoples described by explorers. Her speech was understandable, but queer. He’d never heard anything like it before. The items in her travelling sack were queerer still, especially the documents describing Scotia not only in word but in impossibly realistic renderings.

He blinked, letting this new knowledge alter all he had assumed about her.

“Go on,” she said. “Say it. ‘You’re quite mad, my Constant Rose.’” She imitated his English, making him smile despite the shock of what she’d just confessed.

“Why would I say such a thing, love?”

“Because you don’t believe in magic. I just told you I came here by magic, and you’ll know I believe this to be true. Therefore, you must think I’ve lost my mind.” She wouldn’t quite look at him. Her gaze travelled all around his face but never landed.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She obeyed. His formidable lady did not obey just any man. That she listened to him made his chest burn with affection for her. Truly, unequivocally, she was his.

“I doona think you wode, if that’s what ye fear.”

She bit her lip. Her brow furrowed.

He kissed both, brow first, then her mouth.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“But—”

“I said I doona believe in magic,” he interrupted. “But, lass, I never said I doona believe in miracles.”

Chapter 20

Connie’s heart did a free fall. One of the architects she worked with liked to jump out of planes. For fun. She would tell Connie how exhilarating it was when the yank of the opening parachute turned the primal terror to overwhelming relief. Connie couldn’t imagine finding pleasure in such helplessness. Until now.

Confessing her true origins to Wilhelm had been her last-ditch effort at stopping her free fall. She yearned so badly for him in every way from intellectual to emotional to physical, but if she gave in, she knew—she just knew—her determination to return home would lose purchase.

The truth will push him away,
she’d thought even as she’d clung to him in their cozy bedroll that smelled of Wilhelm, smoky peat, and toasted flowers. She’d pulled the cord.

But no chute opened.

Instead of arresting her free fall with shock and disapproval, Wilhelm had tightened his arms around her and kissed her tenderly. He’d uttered words of reassurance that soothed her soul every bit as thoroughly as his touch aroused her body.

I never said I doona believe in miracles.
 

With a single sentence, he’d declared his support and strengthened the bond of love between them. Now, there was nothing left to hold her back as she hurtled toward a destination that was going to take her breath away when she reached it.

But it’s not going to be the end of me. Maybe a new beginning?
 

She couldn’t believe she was considering such a thing: a new beginning with Wilhelm. Marriage. A lifetime in the past.

Leslie would clap her hands in glee if she could eavesdrop on Connie’s thoughts. Her twin had wanted her to find love. But would she have still wanted it if she’d known they might never see each other again?

Panic seeped into their intimate cocoon, but before it could take hold, Wilhelm distracted her with a brush of his hand over her temple. “When you say you wish to return home, what ye mean is your future time, aye? Not a place I can take you by horse or by ship?” He stroked her hair. The comfort of his touch spread through her body.

“Yes,” she said. “I don’t belong here. This is all a big mistake.” Her reserve parachute. Even as she made one last-ditch effort to talk them both out of a future together, she hoped the gravity of their connection would win out.

The fire was fading again, but they still had enough light that she could see Wilhelm’s silvery eyes fixed on her. They studied her thoughtfully.

“I disagree, lass.”

“Who’s being disagreeable now?” She attempted a joke, but her mouth twisted with sadness.

Giving in to Wilhelm would mean turning her back on her past and accepting a new present. With him. Was she brave enough to do that? To dive headlong into a life she hadn’t planned out in exacting detail?

Wilhelm did not crack a smile. Rather, his jaw set with determination. “I shall always disagree, lass, if you attempt to convince me we are not meant for each other. My very marrow recognizes you as bone of my bone. Each beat of my heart acknowledges you as blood of my blood. I pursue justice with a certainty that runs truer and deeper than the currents of my humors. There is no accepting or rejecting this calling. ’Tis part of me. In the same way, I ken that you are mine, and I am yours.”

He’d just compared his feelings for her with his passion for justice. This humbled her and weakened her resolve. Her heart would have to be made out of stone for such passionate words not to penetrate.

“Wilhelm,” she squeezed out past lungs locked up with affection.

“I love you, lass. Whether you’re here with me or away in a future where I canna reach you, I will always love you.”

She closed her eyes against a wave of pain through her middle. The thought of leaving him to go home caused her actual, physical pain.