Chapter Fifteen #3
Familiar wall tapestries and her husband’s own bearskin rugs greeted her, not to mention the untidy pile of her well-packed
MacKenzie strongboxes.
On the far side of the room, a birch-and-peat fire blazed on the hearth and Buckie sprawled in its glow. At ease, though still
wholly alert, he’d rested his head on his paws and was staring at the bed, his rheumy gaze unblinking.
Gelis’s heart squeezed seeing him there, some memory she couldn’t quite place making her eyes water and burn.
But the man bending over her and stroking her hair so lovingly was the true reason a tear spilled free to track down her cheek.
He was caressing her lovingly.
And the look in his eyes said everything.
“Ronan.” Her voice cracked on his name. “I thought you were going to die.”
“And I feared you had!” He drew a great breath, his eyes dark. “Sakes, lass, but you scared me.”
He shoved a hand through his hair then and glanced over his shoulder at Buckie, his own voice a bit huskier than usual. “You
frightened us both.”
His ears perking on the words, the old dog pushed to his feet and hinked across the room to join them, his hips swaying and
his claws clicking wherever the floor rushes proved a bit thin.
“I’ve ne’er seen Buckie enter this room.” Ronan looked down when the dog bumped against him.
He dropped a hand to rub Buckie’s ears, but the dog took no heed. Pressing closer to the bed, the beast thrust his head past
the curtaining to nudge Gelis’s arm with his nose.
Ronan stepped aside when Buckie’s tail began to swish enthusiastically.
Gelis smiled, certain the world was melting.
The Raven grunted and — she was sure — tried to appear unmoved.
“He hasn’t left your side since you fell to the rushes in the hall,” he said then, speaking above the popping of the fire’s
birch logs. “If you’d hear the right of it, he prowled back and forth in front of the bed until his legs wouldn’t carry him
anymore and then he went to rest before the fire.”
“He . . . ach, fie on me!” Gelis lifted a hand to swipe the dampness from her face. “MacKenzies never cry!”
“Neither do MacRuaris, but you brought me close.” He looked at her, his expression dark, almost desperate. “ I — damnation,
lass! Whate’er have you done to me!”
With a groan, he flung back the bed drapes and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her hard against him. He kissed her roughly,
digging his fingers into her flesh and squeezing tight, holding fast as if he feared she’d slip from his arms any moment,
disappearing into nothingness.
“Dinna e’er do that again.” He drew back to breathe the words against her lips, his heart pounding so fast, she could feel
its furious beat through his plaid.
She appeared to be naked.
Something she only now became aware of, with his arms tightening around her and the slightly scratchy wool of his plaid rubbing
against her nipples.
They peaked and tingled and a distinct molten dampness touched her inner thighs, that part of her, too, reacting to his embrace.
The way he kissed and nipped along her jawline, then dipped his head to nuzzle her neck.
“You undressed me.” She shivered on the words.
“Sweet lass — I had to.” He sat beside her on the bed and pulled her even closer, one hand now smoothing circles up and down
her bared back. “For all I knew, there could have been more than one blackheart in the hall. I had to make certain you were
unharmed.”
“I am . . . well.” She leaned into him, sure her heart would burst any moment.
“Was it your gift, then?” He kissed her brow, rubbed his face against her hair. “Just tell me that whate’er befell you wasn’t
something you ate or drank in the hall.”
He looked at her, his gaze earnest. “That was Sorley’s plan, see you. He —”
“It had naught to do with him.” She closed her eyes, not wanting to think about the scene in the hall.
How frightened she’d been and, aye, how certain that Ronan was doomed.
After all, she’d seen his death foretold when her taibhsearachd had shown her the blackness slowly engulfing him.
Or so she’d believed.
Now she knew better.
And her relief watered her knees.
“It was my second sight, aye.” She touched a finger to his golden neck torque. “One of several taibhs I’ve had in recent times. I thought they were all of you. Though” — she took a deep breath — “now I know they were not, leastways
not the last two.”
He sat back at once, his jaw hardening. “You have visions of other men?”
Gelis scooted away from him and scrambled off the bed, heedless of her nakedness.
In truth, she felt like whirling and jigging, so greatly did his jealousy thrill her.
But the soul who’d appeared to her deserved and needed her help.
Whirling and jigging could wait.
So she took another deep breath and tossed back her hair.
“Not other men,” she said, setting her hands on her hips. “But one who looked very much like you. I believe he was your forebear, Maldred
the Dire.”
The Raven shot to his feet. “That’s no’ possible. He’s been dead since pagan times . . . since before these great hills were
young.”
He frowned. “Nae, it canna be. He —”
Gelis tilted her head. “Will you deny the kisses we’ve shared in the mists of my visions?”
She let her gaze slide down the front of him. “Our passion?”
“That’s different.” He shook his head, clearly caught off guard. “Aye, that was very, very . . . other.”
“How so?” She stepped up to him, twined her fingers in his hair. “If you can hold and kiss me in such a place, why can’t Maldred
appear to me there as well?”
“Because I am alive.”
“That proves naught.” She smiled, flashing her triumph. “Save that we were meant to be.”
His face went all stony.
He looked anything but convinced.
She let go of his hair and slid her fingers over his neck torque. “Know this, then.” She laid on her smoothest tone. “It is
a great and difficult feat for a living soul to appear to another in such a way. A soul —”
He huffed, cutting her off.
“A soul,” she went on regardless, “one already dwelling in the saoghal thall — the Yonder World — can achieve the like much easier.”
Stepping back, she placed her hands on her hips again. “That is the way of it.”
“I still dinna like the idea.” He crossed his arms. “And why would Maldred appear to you?”
“Perhaps because he knows everyone else wants nothing to do with him.” She lifted her chin, sure of it. “He needs me and knows
I will help him.”
The Raven snorted.
“The saintliest saint couldn’t help that one,” he said, frowning again.
“He could not appear to me or any other soul, if the Old Ones wished to deny him.”
Ronan harrumphed again.
Crossing the room, he snatched a folded plaid off a chair and returned to swirl it around her.
“I’ll no’ have you standing naked when we’re speaking of the man,” he groused, knotting the plaid at her shoulder. “He was
said to have been irresistible to women.”
Once again Gelis felt a ridiculous urge to dance and jig.
Instead, she stood still while the Raven fussed and straightened the plaid, smoothing and tucking in its folds for her.
She clenched her fists, not quite ready for him to see that each brush of his fingers against her skin sent tingly firelicks
of heat rippling across her nerves.
Sweet tingly heat that set her belly all a-quiver and lit a fire in the secret place low by her thighs.
Then he stepped back, looking satisfied.
“That’s better.” He dusted his hands and glanced around the candlelit room almost as if he expected to see his ancestor leap
out of the shadows at him.
“No need to tempt the old marauder — if he is about!”
“He isn’t concerned with women.” She tried to reassure him, his words reminding her of the spirit’s sadness.
The piercing stare Maldred had fixed on her.
“He needs us to help him and” — she drew a breath to present her coup de grace — “he wants to help us.”
The Raven’s eyes widened. “Howe’er can he help us?”
“ ’Tis simple.” Gelis smiled. “I am quite sure he showed me where the Raven Stone is hidden.”