Kiss of the Highlander (32 page)

“Aye, the Druid vows. I didn’t work that spell, even when I wed my wife.”

Nell’s lips parted on a “why,” but then they both peeked breathlessly over the balustrade, desperate to hear what would happen next.

         
21
         
 

“Ahem,”
Drustan said after a long time. “Do you
know you just married me, lass?”

“What?” Gwen shouted.

“Would you please let your
husband
out of the garderobe?”

Gwen was stunned. She’d married him with those words?

“Those were the Druid wedding vows you just said to me, a binding spell, and I doona understand how you knew it, but—”

God, he still didn’t remember! she realized with a sinking sensation, even though she’d told him all of it, down to the minute details. “I knew it, you dolt, because you said it to me! And I didn’t
know
I was marrying you—”

“Doona be thinkin’ you’ll be gettin’ out of it,” he said testily.

“I’m not trying to get out of it—”

“You’re not?” he exclaimed.

“You
want
to be married to me? Without even remembering?”

“ ‘Tis too late. We are. Nothing can undo it. Best you grow accustomed to it.” He punched the door for emphasis.

“What about your betrothed?”

He muttered something about his betrothed that warmed her heart. “But that’s another thing I doona understand, lass. If what you claimed happened did indeed happen, I doona understand why I wouldn’t have woven a spell for you to carry to me. I would have known the possibility existed that I might not make it back. I would surely have given you a memory spell.”

“A m-m-memory sp-spell?” Gwen sputtered. Could it have been that simple all along? Did she have the key to make him remember, but he’d not told her how to use it? What hadn’t she told him so far? She’d deliberately withheld a few details so she might have something to test him with should he suddenly claim to have regained total recall. Closing her eyes, she thought hard, sifting through details. Oh!

Have you a good memory, Gwen Cassidy?
he’d asked her in the car as they’d approached
Ban Drochaid.
“Oh, God. Like something that rhymed?” she shrieked.

“It may have.”

“If you’d given me such a spell, would you have told me how to use it?” she said accusingly.

There was a long silence, then he admitted, “Like as not, I wouldn’t have told you until the last possible moment.”

“And if at the last possible moment you melted?” she pressed.

There was a harsh intake of air, then an extended silence behind the door. Then, “Speak your rhyme if you have one!” he exclaimed.

She turned around and faced the door, then laid her palms and cheek against it.

Quietly but clearly, she spoke.

Drustan was facing the door, his palms spread against the cool wood, his cheek pressed to it. He’d whispered the Druid wedding vows back the moment she’d said them. There was no way she was getting away from him now. His former betrothal meant naught. He was well and truly wed. Druid binding vows could never be broken. There was no such thing as Druid divorce.

He braced himself, waiting for her words, hoping and fearing.

Her melodic voice carried clearly through the door. And as she spoke, the words shivered through him, mixing past and future with a cosmic mortar and pestle.

“Wither thou goest, there goest I, two flames sparked from but one ember; both forward and backward doth time fly, wither thou art, remember.”

He hit the floor doubled over, clutching his head.

Och, Christ,
he thought,
my head will surely split.
It felt as if he were being ripped in two, or
had
been ripped in two and some unseen force was trying to crush two parts back together again.

It was purest instinct to fight it.

Words from a dream place buffeted him:
You don’t trust me.

I do trust you, wee lass. I am trusting you far more than you know.
But he wasn’t. He was afraid he’d lose her.

Then images:

Another flash of those blue trews, a naked Gwen beneath him, above him. A crimson scrap of ribbon in his teeth. The white bridge.

You would fight me to the death.
The counterfeit’s lips moved soundlessly.
I see. I see now why only one lives. ’Tis not nature which is innately indifferent, but our own fear that causes us to destroy each other. I beg you, accept me. Let us both be.

I will never accept you,
Drustan roared.

He’d fought, viciously and victoriously.

Let us both be.

Drustan drew upon his Druid will, forcing himself to relax his defenses, forcing himself to submit.

Love her,
the counterfeit whispered.

“Och, Gwen,” Drustan breathed. “Love
Gwen.
”

Gwen eyed the door warily. There’d not been a sound from behind it since the moment she’d said the rhyme.

Worried, she scratched at the door. “Drustan?” she asked nervously.

There was a long silence.

“Drustan, are you okay?”

“Gwen, lass, open this door this very instant,” he ordered. He sounded winded, out of breath.

“You have to answer some questions first,” she hedged, wanting to know exactly who would be stepping out of the garderobe. “What was the name of the store—”

“Barrett’s,” he said impatiently.

“What did you want me to buy you in the store to wear?”

“I wanted purple trews and a purple shirt and you gave me a black T-shirt and black trews and hard white shoes. I didn’t fit in your blue trews and you threatened to help me fit with my sword.” His voice deepened smugly. “But I recall your threats ceased once I kissed you thoroughly. You became quite the amenable lass after that.”

She blushed, remembering exactly how wantonly she’d responded to his kiss. A tremor of excitement raced through her. He was
her
Drustan again! “So what was the saleslady’s name in Barrett’s? The bitchy, unattractive one,” she added, wrinkling her nose.

“Truth be told, I haven’t the veriest, lass. I had eyes for only you.”

Oh,
God
, what a great answer!

“Open the bletherin’ door!”

Tears misted her eyes as she leaped up to hit the top lance and knock it loose. It clattered to the floor, followed by the second one.

“And what was I wearing when you made love to me?” she said, kicking the third and fourth out of the way, still unable to believe that she had him back.

“When I made love to you?” he purred through the door. “Nothing. But before that you wore tan trews cut off at the thigh, a chemise cut off at the waist, boots named Timberland, socks named Polo Sport, and a red ribbon I—”

She yanked the door open. “Removed with your teeth and tongue,” she cried.

“Gwendolyn!” He crushed her in his arms and kissed her, a deep soul kiss that seared her all the way down to her toes.

When Gwen wrapped her arms around his neck, he cupped his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her, pulling her legs about his waist. She locked her ankles behind him. He was
never
getting away from her again.

“You want me, lass. Me. Knowing all that I am,” he said incredulously.

“Always will,” she mumbled against his mouth.

He laughed exultantly.

Their coming together was not a gentle thing. She tugged at his kilt, he tore at her trews, clothing flew this way and that, until, gasping for breath between kisses, they both stood naked near the staircase in the Greathall. Gwen glanced up at him, eyes widening, breath coming in short pants, as she belatedly realized where they were. Then her gaze drifted over his incredible body, and she forgot not only where she was but what century she was in. There was nothing but him.

Silvery eyes glittering, he grabbed her hand, tugged her down the corridor into the buttery, slammed the door shut with a kick, and flattened her up against the wall, leaving their clothing strewn about the hall.

Gwen pressed her palms against his muscular chest and sighed with pleasure. She couldn’t get enough of touching him. During the time he’d not known her, it had been the worst sort of torture, looking at him every day, unable to caress and kiss him. She had a lot of lost time to make up for, and began by tracing her hands up over his shoulders, down his back, skimming to his muscular hips. His skin was velvet over steel, he smelled of man and spice and every woman’s fantasy.

“Ah, God, I missed you, lass.” He took her mouth roughly, hands bracketing her face, kissing her so deeply that she couldn’t breathe, until he filled her lungs with his own breath.

“I missed you too,” she whimpered.

“I’m so sorry, Gwen,” he whispered, “for not believing you—”

“Apologize later. Kiss now!”

His laughter rolled erotic and rich in the dark buttery. He pushed her back atop sacks of grain and lowered himself over her, suspending his weight on his forearms. And he kissed her. Slow, intensely intimate kisses, and mad rushes of deep kisses. She drank him in as if he were the air she needed to survive.

Melting back against the sacks, she moaned when his muscular thigh slid between her legs. He traced hot, wet kisses down her neck, over her collarbones, across her shoulders. She wrapped her legs around his, rubbing against him wantonly, savoring the slick slide of him.