Kiss of the Highlander (31 page)

Drustan sucked in a breath.
That
wasn’t commonly related in the legends, that the stones could be used only on the solstices and equinoxes.

“And how did I use the stones?” he pressed.

“You’re skipping ahead of me,” she complained.

“Well, tell me, then go back. How did I use the stones?”

Above her, behind the balustrade, Silvan and Nell sat on the floor, listening. Nell was flushed from her many dashes from Gwen’s side into the kitchen, up the servants’ stairs, and around to join Silvan. All quiet as a mouse.

“I doona think you should hear—” Silvan whispered, but cut off abruptly when Nell pressed her mouth to his ear.

“If yer thinkin’ I’ve lived here twelve years and dinna know what ye are, old man, yer dafter than Drustan thinks Gwen is.”

Silvan’s eyes widened.

“I can read too, ye know,” Nell whispered stiffly.

Silvan’s eyes grew enormous. “You
can
?”

“Shh. We’re missing it.”

“You’d collected paint rocks. You broke them open in the circle and etched formulas and symbols on the inside faces of the thirteen stones.”

A chill brushed Drustan’s spine.

“Then you drew three more on the slab. And we waited for midnight.”

“Och, Christ,” Drustan murmured. How could she have knowledge of such things? The legends hinted the stones were used for travel, but no one—save himself, Dageus, and Silvan—knew the how of it. Except now, Gwen Cassidy did.

“Do you recall the symbols?” he asked roughly.

She described several of them to him, and her descriptions, although incomplete, bore enough accuracy to unsettle him deeply.

His mind rejecting it, he floundered for something solid to think about. Something less disturbing. He grinned, striking upon a fine topic. He had no doubt she’d try to change it quickly. “You claimed I took your virginity. When did I make love to you, lass?” he said huskily, turning his mouth toward the door.

Gwen sat on the other side and turned her mouth toward the door. She kissed it, then felt utterly foolish, but from the sound of his voice, it seemed as if he, too, was sitting with his back to the door. And his voice had sounded closer that time, as if he’d turned his mouth toward hers.

“In the stones, right before we went through.”

“Did I know you were a virgin?”

“No,” she whispered.

“What?”

“No,” she said more loudly.

“You deceived me?”

“No, I just didn’t think it was important enough to mention,” she said defensively.

“Bullshit. Sometimes not telling the whole truth is the same thing as lying.”

Gwen winced, not liking having her own words tossed back in her face. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make love to me if you knew,” she admitted.
And you were afraid I’d leave you if I knew the truth about you. What a fine pair we were.

“Why were you still a maiden at twenty and five?”

“I…I just never found the right man.”

“And what would the right man be for you, Gwen Cassidy?”

“I hardly think that has anything to do—”

“Surely you can find it in your heart to grant me a few boons, seeing where you’ve kept me trapped for the day.”

“Oh, all right,” she said grudgingly. “The right man…let’s see, he’d be smart yet playful. He’d have a good heart and be faithful—”

“Faithful is important to you?”

“Very. I don’t share. If he’s my man, he’s mine only.”

She could hear a smile in his voice when he said, “Go on.”

“Well, he’d like simple things. Like good coffee and good food. A family—”

“You want children?”

“Dozens,” she sighed.

“Would you teach them to read and such?”

Gwen drew a deep breath, her eyes misting. Life required a delicate balance. Her own had been painfully unbalanced. She knew exactly what she’d teach her children. “I’d teach them to read and to dream and to look at the stars and wonder. I’d teach them the value of imagination. I’d teach them to play every bit as hard as they worked.” She sighed heavily before adding softly, “And I’d teach them that all the brains in the world can’t compensate for love.”

She heard him draw a harsh breath. He was silent a long time, as if her words had meant much to him. “You truly believe love is the most important thing?”

“I know it is.” She’d learned all kinds of lessons in Scotland. A career, success, and critical acclaim—none of it amounted to much of anything without love. It was the necessary ingredient that had been missing all her life.

“How did I make love to you, Gwendolyn Cassidy?”

Gwen’s lips parted on a soft moan. The simple words he’d just said had sent heat lancing through her body. He was beginning to sound like her Drustan. This intimate talk was melting her; perhaps it was melting his defenses as well.

“How, Gwen? Tell me how I made love to you. Tell me in much detail.”

Wetting her lips, she began, her voice lowering intimately.

Silvan grabbed Nell’s hand and tugged.

Nay,
she mouthed.

We can’t eavesdrop on this,
he mouthed back.
’Tis not proper.

Proper be damned, old man. I’m not leavin’.
Her lips were pursed, her gaze stubborn.

Silvan gaped but, after a few moments, sat back down.

And when Gwen spoke, he found himself ceding her a sort of privacy by imagining it was Nell telling him in such detail how he’d made love to her. At first he kept his chin firmly down, eyes averted, but after a time he stole a surreptitious peek at her.

Nell did not look away.

Brown eyes met blue and held.

His heart pounded.

“And then you said something to me, there at the end, that I’ll never forget. You said the sweetest words, and they kind of shivered through me. You said it in that funny voice you have.”

“What did I say?” Drustan moved his hand on his cock. His kilt was tossed to the side, his legs spread, palm around his shaft. He was so aroused that he thought he was going to explode. She’d told him in detail how he’d made love to her, and it had been the most erotic experience of his life. Sitting in the dark, watching the images in his mind’s eye, he’d felt as if he’d been reliving it. His mind had filled in details she’d not mentioned, details that may have sprung solely from his imagination or from some deeply buried memory. He knew not.

He cared not.

It no longer signified if she was lying or telling the truth. He wanted Gwen Cassidy in a way that defied reason, in a way he refused to further question.

He admired her tenacity; he desired her with every fiber of his being; she made him laugh, she made him furious. She stood her ground; she believed him a Druid and desired him anyway.

By Amergin, he—thrice-jilted Drustan MacKeltar—was being pursued by a woman who knew what he was.

He could no longer recall why he’d ever resisted her to begin with.

He struggled against an intense desire to bring himself to completion, to find release—a release he’d desperately needed since the moment she’d entered his home. But, nay, not in so empty a fashion. He wanted it with her. Inside her.

“What you said was
so
romantic,” she said with a little sigh.

“Um-hmm,” he managed. When she spoke again, it took him a few moments to realize what she was saying.

And when he did, he leaped to his feet, roaring, but she kept speaking: “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. I am Given. That’s what you said.”

As she finished, Drustan doubled over. A spark of heat and light built inside him and spread, enveloping him. He couldn’t talk, he could scarce breathe, as wave after wave of emotion crashed over him….

Gwen doubled over, as a wave of intense emotion crashed over her. She felt funny, really weird, like she’d just said something irrevocable….

“Och, Christ, Nellie,” Silvan whispered, stunned both by Gwen’s words and by the realization that he was holding Nell’s hand, and she was
letting
him. “She just married him.”

“Married?” Nell’s fingers tightened on his.