CHAPTER 23
The keystone dropped from her hand. Malcolm snatched it up, pocketing it into his sporran. Then he swept her into his arms and rose from the floor, holding her slight weight against his chest. There was some commotion between Evie and Callum, but he ignored it.
“She’s out. I’m taking her to my chamber.”
He stomped by them without waiting for a response from either Evie or his brother. When she first came out of the vision, her body quaked against him in a violent shiver. Even now as he carried her through the great hall and up the stone stairs, her body was cold.
“Malcolm, wait!” Evie called out, but he ignored her.
He didn’t want to turn back. His first priority was to get Chloe warm. The only way he knew to do that was to put her in his bed.
He kicked open the door, crossed the room in two long strides, and lowered her down to the soft mattress. She didn’t even stir when he pulled off her shoes, then covered her with the heavy blankets. Then he quickly built a fire in the hearth. A faint moan from the bed got his attention.
He hurried over to her, sitting on the side of the bed. Her eyes fluttered open, fixing on his. First confusion, then worry as she tried to sit up.
“Rest, lass.”
“The keystone—”
“I have it. It’s safe.”
Relieved, she melted back into the pillows and closed her eyes. “I know what happened, Malcolm. The night of the Shattering. I know why his great axe was glowing.”
He stiffened, a coldness settling over him. He brushed a lock of her auburn hair off her forehead.
“Ye dinnae have to tell me now.”
“I do,” she insisted. “His great axe can open a time portal.”
He stilled. “How?”
“I don’t know. I only know he tried to open one the night of the Shattering.
It’s a portal to the Realm of Chaos, causing a temporal rift.
That’s why the Triple Goddess broke the keystone into three pieces.
They used the power to mend the rift and close the portal.
Or they tried to. The rift was only stitched back together. ”
He didn’t understand what a temporal rift was or where the Realm of Chaos was located. But he did understand it didn’t sound good. Her voice was weak. She sounded exhausted.
“Rest now.”
She rose up, gripping his wrist with cold fingers. “They had to stop him. Don’t you see? If they hadn’t, then all would be lost. The MacDonald clan would control Time. The lightning in the tapestry was from his weapon, not from Moira as we thought. I have to tell Evie.”
Fear embedded deep into her eyes. Fear at what she’d witnessed. He understood then. If Brodie MacDonald had used the power of the great axe over five hundred years ago, what, then, would stop Rory MacDonald from using it in this time?
She tried to get out of the bed, but he pushed her back down.
“Ye need rest. Yer too weak to move.”
He started to rise and leave the bed when she reached out for him, grasping him by the hand and squeezing tight.
“Don’t leave me, Malcolm.”
It gave him pause. He lowered back down to the edge of the bed. She blinked up at him with her big green eyes fringed in dark lashes and some long-burning question buried deep inside them. Her thumb traced over the back of his hand.
“Do you believe in prophecy?” she asked, her voice quiet in the silence of the room. “I need to know.”
He could tell it was a question that haunted her. A question she needed him to answer, to put her mind at ease.
“Och, lass, ye sound like Callum. He dinnae believe, either, until yer sister arrived. Do ye no believe?”
She released his hand and turned away. “I don’t know what to believe.”
He took a deep breath, loosed it. “I grew up hearing stories from my da about the keystone, the night of the Shattering and that we were destined to be the protectors of this stone. He liked to tell it after he’d been deep in his cups.”
He chuckled, recalling the many times his da had told the tale in a drunken stupor. As a young boy, he had been enamored with the stories. He had envisioned himself as a knight protecting the keystone. He’d never envisioned the keystone would be brought to him by a bonnie lass such as Chloe.
She rolled to her side, then, and propped up on one elbow, gazed up at him. “What about destiny? Do you believe in that?”
He thought he understood then where this was all coming from. Mayhap she wanted some reassurance that everything happening was for a reason. That she was destined to hold the keystone and he was destined to protect her with his life.
“I dinnae. No at first. But then, yer sister arrived by falling from the sky. I wouldna have believed it myself if I hadna seen it in the tapestry. But there she was within the fibers of the wall hanging. And then when ye appeared…well, I dinnae need another sign.”
“But—”
“Rest,” he said again, interrupting her.
He rose from the bed and sat in the chair by the hearth to stare into the fire.
***
Chloe remained where she was as he walked to the chair, lowering himself down in it with a heavy sigh. Firelight flickered over his face as he folded his massive forearms over his chest. His handsome face was pensive. She admitted she liked him without the beard.
It was hard to squelch the déjà vu erupting through her.
The strange dream she had had of the man—which she had not thought of since it happened—flooded back to her.
He’d had chiseled features like Malcolm.
He’d had incredible sea-green eyes like Malcolm.
He had held his arms out to her in invitation.
She’d slid into his arms and allowed him to wrap her in his warmth.
Och, lass, I cannae resist ye.
It was him. Malcolm was the man in her dream.
The jolt zapped through her, electrifying her memories and her senses.
She sat up, the blankets falling away as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.
His gaze flickered back to her, his expression softening as he looked at her.
When he did, a vaguely sensuous light passed between them, calling her, beckoning her.
Indecision flashed through his incredible sea-green eyes and then, he held his arms out to her in invitation.
She was unable to resist. She pushed off the bed and went to him, sliding into his arms as he wrapped them around her, surrounding her in his warmth. He nuzzled her neck.
“Och, lass, I cannae resist ye,” he said. It was the same thing he’d said in her dream.
It was all coming true.
His sweet words rumbled through his broad chest. His breath was warm against her skin, sending tingles through her entire body. She tilted her head back.
“I can’t resist you either,” she whispered. “You do catch me every time I fall.”
And she was falling hard.
His lips met hers in a tantalizing kiss. It took her breath away. Her arms slipped around his neck, her eyes closed, and in that moment, nothing in the world mattered other than Malcolm kissing her.
She allowed herself to believe in destinies and prophecies, in the idea they were meant for each other.
Because no one else had made her feel safe like Malcolm did.
It was more than comfortable safety—it was euphoric.
As if the stars aligned just for her. As if the universe brought her this man who was meant to love her.
And while she wanted to believe in love at first sight—it had not worked out for her—she was a level-headed, down-to-earth, logical, intelligent woman.
A level-headed, down-to-earth, logical, intelligent woman who was smitten with a sexy Highland warrior who had taken her breath away the moment they met.
Here, in his arms, she allowed herself to feel.
There were no destinies or prophecies. She was a woman kissing a man who kissed her back with the same fervor.
A man who, as she perched on his lap, clearly wanted her for who and what she was.
There was no deception. There were no lies.
There was only truth and honesty.
She did not deny she wanted him, too. Nor would she deny that for herself anymore. When she broke the kiss, as he gazed down at her with fire in his eyes, she knew exactly what she wanted.
“Malcolm?”
“Aye, lass?”
Oh, how she liked when he called her that. It was a leap of faith, telling him what she wanted. She wasn’t the kind of girl to do that. But here, now, in his arms, she took a deep breath and said what she wanted.
“Take me to bed.”
A sexy grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Aye, lass.”
He picked her up, carried her to the bed, and then she knew she would be lost to him for the rest of the day.
Gently, he placed her on the bed. She sat on the edge, and held her arms out to him, inviting him to stand in front of her.
When he did, she slipped her hands under his thick tunic, up and over the hardened muscles of his chest, over the sprinkling of coarse hair that sent a tingling sensation through her.
Chloe tipped her head back to look up at him.
When their eyes met, she was acutely aware of the deep desire and need sparking in his eyes.
It sent her senses reeling. At that moment, she decided there was no other man for her.
No other man who made her feel so alive.
No other man who caught her when she fell.
His hands slipped into the length of her hair—she had refused to braid it like her sister, preferring it long and loose. He seemed to like that as much as she liked him running his fingers through the long locks. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of him, and leaned into his hands.
“Och, lass, ye dinnae ken what that does to me.”
The sound of his voice was low against her hands as it rumbled through his broad chest.
“Tell me.” Her voice was a roughened whisper. “What does it do to you?”
“I’d rather show ye.”
She rose, pushing her hands under his tunic to his shoulders. “I’d rather you show me, too.”
When she nudged the material further, he complied, helping her remove it. He dropped it to the floor at their feet.
As she kissed him again, she realized with some deep satisfaction, his face was covered in stubble. It was rough against her face and, she realized, she wanted to feel it chafing her skin. The moment the thought sprang to her mind, she shivered as a little mewl escaped her.
“Do ye like the way I kiss ye, then?” he whispered against her mouth.
“I thought that was obvious.” She raked her knuckles over the coarse hair on his chin. “Are you growing it back?”
He lifted a brow in question. “Do ye no want me to?”
“I kind of like this in-between state.” She gave him what she hoped was a lazy, sexy grin.
“Then it stays for as long as ye like.”
“Good.”
She wanted to say, now let’s get on with it so I can feel that stubble on other intimate places, but she refrained. It seemed too brazen even for her.
Instead, she quickly stripped down to her shift while he shucked his boots, kicking them aside. Then she got busy removing her woolen stockings. She understood the need for all the layers, but it was doing nothing but causing a delay in what she wanted most.
Moments later, they were both undressed and slipping under the thick blankets together, bare skin sliding against bare skin. For a man of the Middle Ages, his was smooth. His hands, though were rough and calloused. Especially his sword hand, which landed on the flat plane of her abdomen.
Chloe stretched out, opening her thighs to him and arching her back.
His hand slid between her legs, moving inside her.
Her eyes fluttered closed the moment he touched her.
She rocked against him, long and slow, enjoying every touch, every breath that whispered over her skin, every kiss he placed along the long column of her throat.
Her hand fumbled between them until she found his hardened length and wrapped her hand around him.
They moved together, coaxing each other higher and higher.
The force built deep inside her, pounding through her.
She arched her back, letting him move deeper.
Her pleasure came in a pounding, wild beat, shuddering through her until she cried out.
Malcolm moved on top of her, pulling her to him with his strong hands and then slid inside her before her climax subsided. She cried out as he moved against her, bringing her to the edge once again.
She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down to her. Their mouths fused in a heated kiss. In a perfect moment, they came together. When it was all over, he collapsed to the bed, pulling her to him and cradling her against him.
She rested her head on his shoulder, her hand flat on his chest to feel the rapid beat of his heart.
Her own heart matched his, beat for beat.
They had come together in a way she had never expected to come together with anyone.
He loved her like no other. He looked at her as though she were the most beautiful woman in the world.
He treated her as though she were precious, to be cherished and loved all the rest of her days.
And when she thought this, she realized the truth. She would never be able to return home. She understood, then, how her sister felt about Callum. She also understood the power of the prophecy and that their destinies, no matter how she wanted to deny it, were intertwined with each other.
Her life would never be the same.
***
The keystone under Evie’s pillow hummed so loudly it woke her from a deep sleep. Her heart pounded a wild, erratic beat as she sat up to reach under the pillow for the stone.
“What is it, lass?” Callum’s sleep-filled voice asked next to her.
But as he said it, and her hand closed around the stone, the vision pounded through her mind with a furious energy she had never felt before. She’d seen the outcomes of Callum’s death when he fought the battle against Rory. She knew if she didn’t intervene then, he would die.
Now, she saw the potential outcome of what was to come in the present.
The glowing great axe. The MacDonald using the power of that great axe.
The army transporting themselves to Dundale without marching for days.
The castle under siege. The battering ram pounding the gate.
The army pouring inside to find her and Chloe.
She sucked in a breath as the vision ended as quickly as it had started. Callum was sitting up straight, reaching for her. Her gaze found her husband’s, glittering with concern.
“They are coming,” she whispered.