Beyond the Highland Myst(558)

And then what? She wouldn't remarry because he was gone? She would spend the next score or two of years alone? The thought of her lying with another man made him nigh crazed, yet the thought of her lying alone in bed for so many years made him equally crazed. Nellie should be loved, cherished, petted, and caressed. She should be savored and… and… and—och! 'Twas an impossible conundrum!

It should be her choice, his conscience prodded.

"I'll think on it," he grumbled.

And if you die before you finish thinking on it?

Scowling, he slipped the tome into one of the clever pouches Nellie had stitched for him inside the blue robes he favored and was about to rise when he became aware of a presence in the room, standing just behind his shoulder.

He went motionless, reaching out with his Druid senses to identify the intruder, but whoever or whatever it was that stood behind him, defied his comprehension.

"Sit, Keltar," a silvery, lilting voice said.

He sat. He wasn't certain if he'd chosen to comply, or if her voice had robbed him of will.

As he sat tensely waiting, a woman stepped forward from the shadows behind him. Nay, a… och, a being. Wonderingly, he cocked his head, staring up at her. The creature was so brilliant, so lovely that he could scarce gaze upon her. She had eyes of iridescent hues, colors impossible to name. Hair of spun silver, a delicate, elfin, inhumanly beautiful face. He suddenly wondered if he'd gotten a bit of bad beef for dinner and was suffering some instability of the mind induced by poisoned digestion. Then a worse fear gripped him, one that made his head feel alarmingly light and his blood pound too fast inside his chest: mayhap'twas his time, and this was Death, for she was certainly beautiful enough to lure any man to that great unknown that lay beyond. He could hear his own breath coming too fast and harsh, could feel his hands going curiously tingly, as if they were about to go numb. A cold sweat broke out on his skin.

I canna die now, he thought dimly. I haven't claimed Nellie. He wouldn't be able to bear it, he thought, blinking enormously heavy eyelids. They might never find each other again. He might be forced to suffer a hundred lives without her. 'Twould be the purest hell!

"Aoibheal, queen of the Tuatha Dé Danaan, bids you greeting, Keltar."

His vision blurred alarmingly, and his last thought before… er, before the stress of the moment temporarily leeched him of his wits, was relief that he wasn't dying, and fury at himself for missing even a second of what was surely the most thrilling event in his entire life.

The legendary Tuatha Dé Danaan had come! And what did the grand Keltar laird do?

Fainted like a willy-nilly peahen.

*****

A few minutes later, Chloe was sitting on the sofa with her head between her knees, trying desperately to breathe.

Dageus was at her feet, his hands wrapped around her calves. "Lass, let me get a paper bag, you're hyperventilating."

"Don't you"—pant-pant—"DARE"—pant-pant—"leave me!" She clutched at his shoulders.

"I doona plan to leave you ever again, love," he said soothingly, stroking her hair. "I'm but going to the kitchen for a bag. Try to relax, sweet."

Chloe nearly screamed again out of sheer frustration. Relax. As if. She needed to hold him, to kiss him, to demand to be told what in the world was going on, but she couldn't get a deep enough breath to manage anything.

Standing there at the door, when she'd heard his voice slicing through the darkness, she'd nearly fainted. The sword had clattered from her suddenly lifeless hands, her knees had turned to butter, and her lungs had simply stopped functioning properly. She'd thought hiccups were awful, but she'd take them over hyperventilating any day.

And she'd cut him! There was a thin line of blood on his neck. She tried to dab at it, but he caught both her hands in one of his, pressed them gently to her lap, then began moving toward the kitchen. She craned her head sideways and watched him go. How could this be? How was he alive? Oh, God, he was alive!

She couldn't take her eyes off him, and twisted around, following his progress, not letting him out of her sight for a minute. He was here. He was really here. He was real. She'd touched him.

She knew, from how ashen his face was, that her inability to get a deep breath was scaring him. It was scaring her too, so she forced herself to concentrate on unknotting inside.

By the time he returned with the paper bag, although she was still trembling visibly, she was managing complete breaths. She stared up at him, tears of joy spilling down her cheeks.

"How? How is this possible?" she cried, flinging herself into his arms.

"Och, lass," he purred, catching her in his embrace. He ducked his head and brushed his lips to hers. Once, twice, a dozen times. "I thought I'd lost you forever, Chloe," he groaned.