"Och, life with ye is ne'er simple, is it?" she exclaimed. Then she smiled radiantly. "Aye, Silvan. I'll be saying the words."
Silvan's voice was firm and deep. "If aught must be lost…"
*****
"So, how does one marry a Druid?" Chloe asked breathlessly. She couldn't stop touching him, couldn't believe that he was alive, that she had him back and everything had worked out.
With a finger beneath her chin, he tipped her face up for a soft kiss. "It's fairly simple, really. You nearly did it once," he said, flashing her a smile. A smile that fully reached his golden eyes, filling them with warmth. A smile that promised heated lovemaking the moment they completed his Druid rites. And she was definitely in need of some heated lovemaking. She felt as if she might burst from happiness.
His words penetrated a bit belatedly. She frowned, perplexed. "I did?"
"Aye." He placed one hand over her heart, the other over his own. "Place your hands atop mine, lass."
When she complied, he kissed her again, this time slow and sweet, holding her lower lip hostage for a long, delicious moment. Then he said, "Repeat after me, love."
She nodded, her eyes sparkling.
"If aught must be lost,'twill be my honor for yours…"
*****
"I am Given," Nellie said, blinking back tears. Emotion swelled inside her, crashing through her like an ocean wave, and she might have fallen to her knees had Silvan not caught her in his arms.
"Aye, lass, now you're truly mine," he said fiercely. "Forever."
*****
"You married me that day in the heather?" Chloe shouted. "And you didn't tell me? Ooh! We are going to have to have a serious talk about how we communicate!" She scowled up at him. "And while we're on that subject, we still haven't discussed you leaving that night without telling me!"
"After the loving, lass," Dageus purred, lowering his dark head to hers. "There will be plenty of time to speak of such things then."
And the loving, he vowed, as he slipped her sweater over her head, was going to take a very, very long time.
He was no longer dark; time was no longer his enemy. He'd claimed his mate, and the future loomed ahead of them, resplendent with promise.
The Immortal Highlander
Karen Marie Moning
Damn, it’s good to be me.
· Adam Black, on being Adam Black
Tuatha Dé Danaan: (tua day dhanna)
A highly advanced race of immortal beings that settled in Ireland thousands of wars before the birth of Christ. Called by many names: Children of the Goddess Danu; the True Race; the Gentry; the Daoine Sidhe; they are most commonly referred to as the Fae or Fairy. Although frequently portrayed as shimmering, dainty creatures of diminutive size that flit about exuding effervescent good humor and a penchant for mild mischief the true Tuatha Dé are neither so delicate nor so benevolent.
— from the O'Callaghan Books of the Fae
Adam Black:
Tuatha Dé Danaan. a rogue even among his own kind His favored glamour is that of an intensely sexual Highland blacksmith with a powerful rippling body, golden skin, long black hair, and dark, mesmerizing eyes Highly intelligent, lethally seductive. Alleged to have nearly broken The Compact on not one. but two occasions. He is, by far. the most dangerous and unpredictable of his race.
WARNING: EXERCISE EXTREME CAUTION IF SIGHTED.
AVOID CONTACT AT ALL COST.
· from the O'Callaghan Books of the Fae
London, England
PROLOGUE
Adam Black stood in the central chamber of the stone catacombs beneath The Belthew Building and watched as Chloe Zanders stumbled about, searching for her Highland lover, Dageus MacKeltar.
She was weeping as if her very soul were being ripped apart. Incessant and piercing, it was enough to split a Tuatha Dé's head.
Or a human's, for that matter, he thought darkly.
He was getting bloody tired of her constant wailing. He had problems of his own. Big problems.
Aoibheal, queen of the Anatolia Dé Danaan, had finally made good on her long-running threats to punish him for his continued interference in the world of mortals. And she'd chosen the cruelest punishment of all.
She'd stripped him of his immortality and made him human.
He spared a quick glance down at himself and was relieved to find that, at least, she'd left him in his favored glamour: that of the dark-haired, muscular, irresistibly sexy blacksmith, a millennia-spanning blend of Continental Celt and Highland warrior, clad in tartan, armbands, and torque. On occasion she'd tinned him into things that didn't suffer the light of day well.
His relief, however, was short-lived. So what if he looked like his usual self? He was human, for Christ's sake! Flesh and blood. Limited. Puny. Finite.