True to the Highlander(106)

“Do you want to walk to the lake?” she asked.

“Nay, too many people celebrate my father’s return this eve, and the ale and wine are flowing too freely. We’ll go to our chamber.”

Once inside the privacy of their room, Malcolm removed his weapons and began to disrobe.

“You said you wanted to talk, Malcolm.”

“I do. Later. Right now I want you in my arms.” He started undoing the laces of her gown. “I need to feel your skin next to mine.”

She didn’t want to talk either—or to think. Alethia stepped out of her clothing and into Malcolm’s arms. He had the right idea after all. Lost in his kiss and moved by his touch, she could forget the decisions facing her.

Enveloped in Malcolm’s heat, she reveled in the sensation. She ran her hands over his muscled body, memorizing each dip, each and every contour. His masculine scent, tinged with the outdoors and peat smoke, surrounded her. She took it deep into her lungs to savor. “Malcolm, did you resolve things with your father?”

“You’ve naught to worry about.”

Shivers danced over her skin as he kissed his way down the center of her torso. His hands ran over her rib cage to cradle her hips. “Yes, but did you resolve your differences?” She held her breath. Would he tell her of his decision to give up his birthright?

“Alethia.” He raised his head look at her. “I’ve no wish to speak of my father at present.” He placed several kisses where their babe grew inside her. “Can you no’ see I’m busy?”

As dire as things were, she couldn’t help but smile. She tangled her fingers in his hair. “I can see that you are,” she whispered, and let the magic of his touch take her far from the problems facing her.

Later, she lay snuggled next to his side with her hand over his heart to feel its steady beat. What were her choices? If she stayed and became his mistress, his wife would surely hate her and see her as a threat. Their daughter would be illegitimate. Not a good thing in the fifteenth century—she’d have no future to speak of. And if something happened to Malcolm, what would become of them? It was all moot anyway. She could not bear his being married to someone else.

“Alethia, in a fortnight the priest will arrive. Our marriage will be blessed, and immediately after we shall make preparations to travel to the land of your people.”

“For a visit, you mean?” She raised herself up to look at him, holding her breath. Would he tell her about his argument with his father?

“Mayhap we’ll stay for a time. That would please you, aye?”

She nodded. She couldn’t allow him to throw his future or his birthright away. It was not a choice. “I love you, Malcolm. Never forget that I love you.”

He rolled her over, pinning her beneath him. Nudging her thighs apart with his knees, he entered her again. His forehead came to rest on hers, and his breathing fanned her face with warmth. Love and loss welled up inside her, and she closed her eyes against the threat of tears.

“And I love you, mo anam. Never doubt it.”

Again he brought her to the pinnacle of pleasure, only this time it was bittersweet. This time was the last time she would ever hold him in her arms. And once he fell asleep beside her, she let the tears come. She had to leave, and the sooner the better. Malcolm would be all right. Hearts healed. He would go on, marry, and fulfill his destiny without her.

But what about Hunter? Should she take him with her? For that matter, she wasn’t certain Giselle would or could send her back to her own time. She hadn’t come for her after the battle at Castle Rait as she’d expected. She only knew she must confront the old witch. And if she took Hunter with her, perhaps something could be done about his hearing. He was young enough to adapt, and so bright. She had no doubt he’d thrive in the twenty-first century.

Didn’t Giselle’s presence in Inverness mean the time had come for her to go home? Surely Giselle knew she’d completed the task she’d been given. She’d saved Malcolm’s life more than once, and Mairen’s. Her hidden talent, the visions, had all come at precisely the right time, and she hadn’t had a single one since. Wasn’t that proof?

Covering her womb with her hands, a fierce love for her child filled her. She could not allow her to suffer the stigma of being a bastard. Their daughter deserved more, and she would see that she got it. This baby girl would be all she had of Malcolm once she returned to the twenty-first century. She was certain her uncles and aunties, her cousins and Gran would welcome her child with open arms.

Unable to sleep, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the window. Lifting the latch to the hinged pane of glass, she swung it open to breathe the cool night air. Her eyes turned toward the sky. She’d never seen stars like she saw them here in Scotland—like diamonds against black velvet. If she tried hard enough, maybe she could find the answers she sought somewhere in that blueprint to the universe.