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.
Her eyes widened further when she felt him stiffen inside her. "Again?"
"Are you too tender?" he asked gently.
She arched a brow. "I told you, I'm tougher than you think," she said, running the tip of her pink tongue over her lower lip.
He groaned and caught it between his lips. "Then, aye, lass, and again and again," he said, as he began to glide back and forth inside her. "We MacKeltars were bred for stamina."
And since he knew she was the disbelieving type, a woman disinclined to accept anything but firm proof, he proceeded to give her hard evidence of his claim, telling her with his body all the words he so longed to say.
* * *
september 21
Three Minutes to Midnight
Chapter 10
Gwen stretched languorously, her hands skimming the muscles of Drustan's back. She felt sleepily sated and sexy and tender and, oh… so much more complex than she had before. She felt brand new somehow.
Gwen Cassidy had finally been well and truly plucked.
An indefinable sense of peace and rightness nestled in her belly, her heart was full, her mind at ease.
But breathing beneath his weight was a challenge even the new and improved Gwen wasn't up to, so with a gentle nudge she eased him off her. He rolled onto his back and she slipped astride him, straddling him the same way she had the day she'd found him but with one highly erotic and delightful difference: They were both nude. There was so much she wanted to do with him. She wanted to make love on top of him, beside him, with him behind her. .
"Drustan," she murmured, studying his face, so beautiful in the silvery light of the moon. His eyes opened, hot-metal silver, lazily seductive. "Thank you," she said softly. He'd made her first time a beautiful, passionate, intense experience, and if for some unfathomable reason she never got to make love with him again, she knew he would be the standard by which she judged men for the rest of her life.
She was falling head over heels in love. And it felt incredible.
He caught her face in his hands and pulled her down for a hungry kiss. "Never thank me, lass. Only ask me for more. That's the finest praise a man can hear from a woman. That and this"—he slipped a hand between her legs—"woman's dew that tells a man how much she desires him."
He smiled at her, and at precisely the same moment noticed the carriage of the moon in the sky. His smile faded abruptly and his body tensed beneath hers. The passion receded from his eyes, replaced by panic.