Healing the Highlander (32 page)

A ragged streak of light had split the colors around her and she'd felt a cool touch to her forehead and heard her mother's voice.

You are stronger than you know, my Lee-Lee. Let it go. Release the negative. Embrace love.

Hallucinations. There could be no other answer. Just as she'd hallucinated Drew sitting at her side each time she'd tried to awaken.

She'd swear it was him sitting there, wringing out a cold damp cloth to place on her forehead, holding her hand, tears tracking down his cheeks.

Hallucinations, all. Drew would never cry, least of all over her.

But hallucination or not, she wanted to be with him. More than anything in her entire life, she wanted to be at his side, as his wife, no matter what it took.

Around her, the mist rose up in mighty waves as a putrid slime oozed from her body and into the beautiful swirling colors. Like whitecaps in an angry ocean, the waves swept over her, washing against the ooze that tried to steal the color from the iridescent river until, at last, all that remained was the sparkling mist, clear and exquisite as a rainbow of liquid crystal.

How long she'd floated in the joy of that mist she couldn't say, but as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. The beautiful apparition that claimed to be her father, the blinding white light with her mother's voice, the soothing fingers of the mist itself. All of it gone.

All except Drew.

She opened her eyes to find him sitting at her side, his head resting against the back of his chair, eyes closed. His hand, large and warm, encased hers.

After so long in the void, her body felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, pushing down into the bed. No hallucination, this, there could be no doubt.

She was back. From where, she had no idea, only that wherever it was, she was back from it and next to her, the man she loved slept in a chair, his hand clasped around hers.

Drew's dark lashes lay against purpled hollows reminding her of the black lace fan she'd coveted as child in the costume store down the street. As she watched, the lashes fluttered and lifted and, slowly, his velvety brown eyes focused.

"Thank the Fates!"

He was on his feet in an instant, gathering her in his arms.

"I thought I'd lost you."

Please don't be a hallucination. But if it was one, she didn't ever want it to end.

"Yer grandmother swore you'd recover, vowed it had not been such as this the last time you'd used yer gift."

No, this had been a new experience, even for her.

"I'd never healed someone so close to death before. I guess it took a little more out of me. And Edward? Is he all right?"

"Yer wee cousin was fine within moments after the ..." He shook his head as if he grappled for the words. "... the event. Yer never to attempt the like of it again, do you ken? Never."

Such a bossy man, her husband, but surely he didn't mean his words. After all, they both knew he'd married her with the full intent that she'd use her gift to heal him. A healing she'd told herself would never happen.

But now?

He'd risked his life for a second time for her. First in the churning waters of the loch when he'd pulled her from the clutches of death and then again when he'd come to MacQuarrie Keep to save her from Richard's plan for her.

She wouldn't refuse him the gift that would make his life better. Especially not if healing him was what it would take to keep him in her life.

She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek but he grabbed it, placing his lips to her palm.

"As soon as yer fully healed, I'm taking you home to Dun Ard, where you'll be safe."

"This is my home, Drew. MacQuarrie Keep." Her responsibility as well as her home with Richard gone.

"As my wife, you belong at Dun Ard," he insisted stubbornly.

"As your wife," she repeated, the awe of his words filling her heart.

She could point out that he belonged here, taking his rightful place as the next laird if he truly meant to be her husband in more than name only. If he wanted her as his wife for more than her gift alone.

She had to know the truth.

"I don't need to go back to Dun Ard with you to heal the injuries to your body, Drew. My gift works anywhere. I can do it right here."

Right now, if that was what he wanted. She was ready. Both her body and mind fully recovered. What she'd been through in healing Edward had shown her she had no reason to fear her gifts. Healing Drew would be simple. Knowing she was capable of that and so much more had lifted all desire to deny her blood right.

It was like being a child again, feeling the wonder of the gift coursing in her veins.

"No!" He all but shouted the word, clasping her hand to his heart. "I meant what I said, dearling. Never again. When I asked it of you, I'd no idea that in order to heal me, you'd have to take on the injury yerself. Watching the woman I love fight for her life these last days was something I dinna want to do again. You'll no ever put yerself through that again. No for me. No for anyone."

The woman he loved! Her. He wanted her for her, not for her gift. The knowledge sizzled through her blood, making her want to spring from the bed and scream it to the heavens.

"I'll no allow it."

Allow?

That one word burst her celebratory bubble quickly enough. She'd tell him what he could do with his allow, all right.

But looking into his eyes, seeing to the depths of his soul and the sincerity of his love for her, she bit back the words she would have said. She could well continue this bickering long into the night, but arguing with him wasn't what she had in mind. The years stretched out ahead of them for her to educate him on the error of his word choice. For now, she felt much too good for either arguing or educating.

Rolling to her side, she pushed up to sit, slapping his hands away when he tried to stop her.

"You need yer rest, dearling. Yer injuries need time to heal."

How little he understood.

"They are healed. Completely."

In reply, he arched a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Seriously. That's how it works. Once it's gone, it's as if it never happened."

His look of utter skepticism said more than any words could.

Fine. Two could play the silence game.

Reaching up, she loosened the ribbons holding the neck of her nightdress, sliding one shoulder out to free her left arm.

"What do you think yer doing?" he demanded, rising to his feet at her bedside.

She smiled her reply, edging the other shoulder down until her right arm was free as well. Her next move was to push the gown to her waist and remove the bandage from her rib cage.

"I'm simply showing you that there's nothing left to heal."

His hand lifted and his finger traced the spot where the wound had been.

"Just hours ago," he whispered, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "You . . . you need yer rest," he stammered, like a man who hadn't yet accepted the reality confronting him.

"I don't need rest," she corrected, urging his hand up from her unblemished ribs to cover her breast. Her breath caught in her throat at the contact, her body instantly heating with desire. "What I need is you."

And then he was there beside her, his lips moving from her face to her neck, his strong hands holding her close to him as he whispered in her ear.

"In that case, dearling, you've my oath as yer husband. You'll always have what you need."

As he would, if she had anything to say about it.

His shirt and plaid disappeared in record time, not that she was keeping track of time, really. Time didn't matter. It was her ally. She needed only to have her wits about her when he lost his.

Hanging from his neck, her stone.

When she reached up to touch it, he pulled it off over his head, dropped it down over hers, tracing its marking as it lay between her breasts.

"Where it belongs," he whispered.

He made love to her slowly, sweetly, taking his time until she thought she might scream from the beauty of it all.

When the time came, after he'd sent her cascading over the edge of her own need and brought her back again, she was ready.

As his back arched into his release, she slid her hand from his abdomen down, digging her fingers into his damaged thigh, latching onto the scar he thought to keep her from healing.

He shouted when the magic hit, driving deep inside her with the force of the magic behind him. The power sparkled behind her eyes, ricocheting from her body to his and back again, melding them together until at last it shattered around them into a billion glittering shards.

Her highlander was healed.

EPILOGUE

MacQuarrie Keep

The Highlands of Scotland

Autumn, 1305

Wild Woman! Bring yer man some tea!" Drew propped his head on his arms, watching the emotions dance across his wife's face as she made her way toward him.

Her ties hung loose and open, allowing him a lovely view of the stone she always wore, gently swaying back and forth between her breasts, enticing him to crawl back under the covers.

"Sorry, my sweet. The Wild Woman's got things to do today and so do you."

It was undeniable fact she spoke.

"And so I do," he answered, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. "Dispute Week."

It was all he could do not to groan with the knowledge of how his day would go.

First week of each month was set aside at MacQuarrie

Keep for the hearing of disputes. As new laird, it was his responsibility to pass judgments and settle petty problems to keep the people happy.

With each complaint he heard, he had a greater understanding as to why Hugh had "done him the honor" of naming him laird right away. It left crafty old Hugh all the time in the world to sit in a boat with Walter, fishing and tilting back a jug of whisky while he was the one sitting in a dank hall listening to whiners.

"Maybe you'll get lucky and everyone will be happy with each other for a change."

"Maybe." He took the steaming mug she offered and set it on the table next to the bed, reaching out quickly to catch her wrist before she made her escape.

She squealed as he pulled her back down on top of him, but there was no fight in the woman, only giggles.

"Drew! There's no time. They'll be waiting for you in the Hall."

"Let them wait," he countered, burying his nose in her hair. She smelled of spices and herbs, like some exotic dish he couldn't get his fill of. "I find I canna leave my bed just yet."

"You're a spoiled, spoiled man, Laird MacQuarrie," she teased, biting her way up his neck.

Yes, he was. Spoiled and happy beyond belief. He had a home and a loving wife and one day, if the Fates saw fit, MacQuarrie Keep would be filled with all the little MacQuarries Margery nagged about regularly.

"Are you happy, Lady MacQuarrie?"

In response she smiled, covering his hands with hers. "Ecstatic, my laird. And you?"

"Beyond happy, dearling."

On that first night they'd spent together at Sallie's, he'd held Leah as she slept and he'd known then she would be the instrument through which he would reclaim the future the Fae had stolen from him.

What he hadn't expected was the manner in which that future would be returned to him.

Leah had given him so much more than the Fae had taken away. She hadn't just healed his body; she'd healed his heart as well.

With her at his side, for the first time in his life, his soul was complete.