"Christ," he swore, "'tis nearly too late!" Rolling her off him, he leaped to his feet, grabbed his plaid, and raced to the stone slab. "Come," he commanded.
Befuddled by her rapid dismount, still feeling sexy and sleepy and soft, she stared blankly at him.
"'Tis nearly midnight," he said urgently. "Come."
She reached for her clothing, and he snapped, "No time to dress. But you must bring your pack, Gwen."
Puzzled by his comment, and not completely comfortable with her nudity, she grabbed her backpack and hurried to join him at the slab nevertheless, the scientist within her intensely curious to discover how he planned to prove his claims true. Besides, she told herself, there would be time for more lovemaking afterward.
He worked swiftly, stealing intermittent glances at the sky as he dipped his fingers in the paint and sketched the final symbols on the slab.
"Take my hand."
She slipped her hand into his. He studied the designs a moment, then shook his head and exhaled loudly.
"Pray Amergin, let them be right. Stand close to me, Gwen. Here."
Gwen positioned herself where he indicated and tried to peer around him to see the last symbols, but he angled his body between them, blocking her view.
"What do you think is going to happen, Drustan?" she asked, glancing at her watch, surprised that anything had remained on her body in the frenzy of their love-making. She nearly laughed when she realized that it, and the strap of the pack over her shoulder, were all she now wore. The second hand moved with an audible tick-tick-tick.
"Gwen, I—" He broke off, and looked at her.
Her gaze flew to his. Had he felt it too when they'd made love? Being inexperienced in lovemaking, she was uncertain if the emotion she felt when she looked at him was a temporary side effect of physical intimacy. She suspected it was of more significant duration but wasn't in any hurry to make a fool of herself. But if he was feeling it too, she might believe that what existed between them was every bit as real and valid as any mathematical equation. His gaze swept over her body, in such a way that he made her feel beautiful, not short and… all right, a little plump. She'd always felt inadequate in a world that plastered leggy, slim cover models on every magazine and in every movie.
But not with him. In his eyes, she saw a reflection of herself that was perfection.
"Would that we had an eternity," he said sadly.
Her fingers tightened around his hand, silently encouraging him to continue. When her watch chimed the hour of midnight with tiny metallic tings, she flinched. One. Two. Three…
"You are magnificent, lass," he said, tracing his finger down the curve of her cheek. "Such a fearless heart."
Five. Six. Seven.
"Have you come to care for me, if only a bit, Gwen?"
Gwen nodded, her throat suddenly thick, not trusting herself to speak. He looked so sad that she was afraid she might blurt out silly sentimental things and make a fool of herself. She'd already said one thing during their lovemaking she'd never thought would slip past her lips, and now if she wasn't careful she'd get disgustingly mushy on him.
Nine.
"That, and my faith in you, must be enough. Would you aid me, were I in danger?"
"Of course," she said instantly. Then, more hesitantly, "What about me?"
"My life for you," he said simply. "Lass, doona fear me. No matter what happens, promise me you will not fear me. I am a good man, I vow I am."
Stricken by the pain in his voice, she brushed his jaw with her fingers. "I know you are, Drustan MacKeltar," she said firmly. "I don't fear you—"
"But things might change."
"Nothing can change that. Nothing could make me fear you."
"Would that it could be true," he said, his eyes dark.
Twelve.
Thirteen?
He cried out then, dragged her roughly into his arms, and kissed her, a deep soul kiss—and the world as Gwen Cassidy knew it began to unravel at the seams.
She began gyrating in his arms, bobbing and spinning like a cork in a whirlpool, up and down, side to side, back and forward… then a new direction that wasn't a direction at all.
Space-time shifted, her very existence within it changed, and somehow she melted from Drustan's arms.
Her backpack slipped from her shoulder and went sailing off into a vortex of light.
As if from a great distance, she saw her hands reaching for it, but there was something wrong with them. They had an added dimension her mind couldn't comprehend. She wiggled her fingers, struggling to grasp their new quality. Her palms, her wrists, her arms were so… different.
She thought she saw Drustan spinning past and then she thought she heard a distant sonic boom, but a sonic boom would have meant that she was moving faster than the speed of sound, and she wasn't moving at all, unless one counted the fact that she felt as ineffectual as a butterfly batting fragile wings against the gale-force winds of a tornado. She fancied she could feel the tips of those delicate appendages tearing off. Besides, she thought dimly, struggling for some core of sanity, the person moving faster than the speed of sound didn't hear the sonic boom. Only those standing still did.