Beyond the Highland Myst(651)
He'd still spoken no words of either feelings or future. Nor had she.
Though the queen herself had guaranteed Gabby's safety when this was through, she was having a hard time seeing past their date with Darroc. She knew she'd not be able to truly draw a deep breath until it was over.
Then she would face her future.
Then she would try to decide— assuming she had any decision to make, that he didn't simply abandon her once he was all-powerful again— how in the world a mortal and an immortal could have any kind of life together.
* * *
"Promise you'll come back. I mean it, and soon," Gwen demanded, hugging her tightly. "And you have to call us and let us know the minute Darroc shows up and this is over. We're going to be worrying. Promise?"
Gabby nodded. "I promise."
"And bring Adam back too," Gwen said.
Gabby glanced at her tall, dark prince. The day had dawned swathed in a thick white fog, and though it was already ten in the morning, none of it had burned off. And how could it? If there was a sun anywhere in the sky, she certainly couldn't see it. Above her, the world had a solid white ceiling. Beyond Adam, who stood a dozen feet away, near the rental car they'd arrived in, was a white wall.
Adam. Her gaze lingered lovingly on him. He was wearing black leather pants, a cream Irish fisherman's sweater, and those sexy Gucci boots with silver chains and buckles. His long, silky, black hair spilled to his waist, and his chiseled face was unshaven, dusted with a shadow-beard. Regal gold glinted at his throat.
He was heart-stoppingly beautiful.
She glanced back at Gwen and was horrified to feel a sharp sting of tears pressing at her eyes. "If he's still in my life, I will," she said softly.
Gwen snorted and she and Chloe exchanged glances. "Oh, we think he'll still be in your life, Gabby."
Her meticulously erected defenses on that very topic trembled at the foundation. She stiffened mentally, knowing that if she wasn't very, very careful, she could turn into an emotional basket case. If she let herself feel even the tiniest of the many fears she was suppressing, they would all break free. And there was no telling what she might do or say: The Banana Incident, case in point. Emotion did unpredictable things to her tongue. Bad, bad things.
Despite her resolve to keep her fears at bay, she heard herself say plaintively, "But how? For heaven's sake, he's going to be immor—"
"Don't," Chloe cut her off sternly. "I'm going to share something with you," she said with a glance at Gwen, "that a wise woman once told me. Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith. Just do it. Don't look down."
"Great," Gabby muttered. "That's just great. It sure seems like I'm the one having to do all the leaping."
"Somehow," Gwen said slowly, "I think before all is said and done, Gabby, you won't be the only one doing it."
* * *
"Turn left," Adam instructed.
"Left? How can you even see a left in this pea soup?" Gabby said irritably. She could barely make out the road ten feet past the hood of the compact car. But it wasn't just the fog that was aggravating her; the farther they got from Castle Keltar, the more vulnerable she was feeling. As if the most magnificent chapter in the Book of Gabrielle O'Callaghan's Life was coming to a close and she wasn't going to like what she found when she turned the page.
She understood now why her friend Elizabeth, with her near-genius, analytical mind gave wide berth to murder mysteries, psychological thrillers, and horror stories, and read only romance novels. Because, by God, when a woman picked up one of those steamy books, she had a firm guarantee that there would be a Happily-Ever-After. That though the world outside those covers could bring such sorrow and disappointment and loneliness, between those covers, the world was a splendid place to be.
She glanced irritably at Adam. He was looking at her. Hard.
"What?" she snapped belligerently, not meaning to sound belligerent but feeling it to the core.
He said softly, "You aren't falling for me, are you, Irish?"
Returning her gaze fixedly to the road ahead. Gabby clenched her jaw, incapable of speaking for several moments, her stomach a stew of emotions, a veritable pressure cooker about to blow. She muttered a few choice words Grain would have shuddered to hear.
"Why do you keep asking me that?" she snapped at last. "I'm really sick of you asking me that. Do I ask you that? Have I ever asked you that? That is such a patronizing thing to say, like you're warning me or something, like you're saying. 'Don't fall for me, Irish, you helpless, weak little woman,' and what's with this frigging 'Irish' bit? Can't you call me by name? Is that one of those depersonalizing touches? Like it removes you a bit from the immediacy of the moment, somehow makes me less of a human being with feelings? I'll have you know, you arrogant, overbearing. thickheaded, underdisclosing, never-ask-me-any-questions-because-I-sure-as-hell-won't-answer-them-to-you-O-mere-mortal prince, that I took my fair share of psychology courses in college, and I understand a thing or two about men that applies to ones who aren't even of the human persuasion, and if were falling for you, which I'm here to tell you I'm not, because falling implies an ongoing action, an event that's taking place in real time, here and now— "