Chapter 6 #2
His mate. The thought, the natural acceptance of the bond, had come to him as easily as breathing.
Aye, this treasured lady in his bed was his one.
Now, to convince her that giving up everything she had ever known was worth a life with him, a life brimming with all the joy she could ever hope to know.
Ever so gently, he stroked his fingers through her wet, tangled hair, carefully splaying it out across the pillows so it might dry rather than lie clammy against her skin. But when she flinched and curled tighter against him, he stopped, fearing he’d pulled it and caused her pain.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he whispered. He smoothed his hand down the silkiness of her back, willing the heat he commanded to warm her.
A fearfully wonderful contentment stirred within him as she responded with a softly rasping groan and tucked her face up under his chin, nestling into the curve of his throat.
Then more raspiness came from her. Not words but a gently rising and falling whisper, a lilting hum that vibrated with a grating huskiness that wasn’t at all unpleasant.
In fact, he found it soothing. Concentrating hard so as not to miss a moment of whatever this sound was that she made, it hit him that he had heard it before.
It was the same sound, the melody she had coaxed from the strange box in her timeline.
The one with the white teeth interspersed with black.
What had the Weaver called it? “Piano,” he murmured aloud as the word came to him.
Then he held his breath, hoping she continued.
He loved the song even though it came out harsh and broken by her tortured voice.
He didn’t care. If anything, her brokenness made the melody even more ethereal.
Unable to resist, he softly closed his eyes and lost himself in the magic of her music.
Then she rendered him well and truly bewitched as she paused and pressed a tender kiss to his throat.
“Lyla,” he uttered in a growling whisper, both hopeful and afraid she was recovering from the plummeting swoon that had rendered her helpless and unaware.
With a suddenness that surprised him, she shoved away, yelping like a terrified beastie.
“What in the ever-loving hell?” Eyes wide and filled with panic and rising hysteria, she shot backwards across the wide bed, hit the floor, then glanced down and seemed to suddenly take in the perfection of her nakedness.
Keeping her gaze locked with his, she lunged for the blanket on the foot of the bed, snatched hold of it, and threw it around her body.
With the demanding authority of the queen that she was, she stared at him and bared her teeth.
“Who are you? Where am I? Where are my things? What did you do? Drug me or something?”
While lifting both his hands so she could see them, he eased out of bed and stood on his side of it.
Perhaps she would feel safer with the massive bit of furniture between them.
“I am Chief Magnus MacRaith, ruler of Scotland’s Thirteenth Realm, my lady, which is where ye currently are—here in my castle. Welcome to Kindred Fortress.”
She stared at him, slowly backing away until her backside bumped into the cabinet that held multiple decanters of his favorite whiskies.
Clutching the blanket tightly across her breasts, she jutted her chin higher.
“How did I get here? Last thing I remember is a storm.” The frail hoarseness of her voice trailed off, and her eyes narrowed.
“And you riding toward me, chasing me down and scaring the living daylights out of me. Then it got dark—and freezing cold.” She wrinkled her nose, cringing as she clenched the blanket closer. “Am I dead? Are you the Grim Reaper?”
“Grim Reaper?” He had not heard that name before, but got the gist of what she meant.
“I am not death, if that is what ye ask—and no, my lady. Ye are not dead.” He tipped a sideways nod at the hearth.
“I brought ye here for yer safety and to heal ye, and in so doing, I fear we encountered the coldness ye mentioned.” He wasn’t about to tell her that the coldness had been among the clouds while Talon flew them to the fortress.
“The storm soaked ye through, and the air iced ye. Out of fear for yer well-being, I stripped yer icy robe away and took ye to my bed to warm ye.”
Her gaze swept down his body, then shot back up to his face. He prayed that the sudden rosiness to her cheeks meant she found his form impressive and desirable.
“I don’t make it a habit of getting into bed with people I don’t know,” she said, forcing her words through clenched teeth. “I’d like my robe back now and a ride back to Seven Cairns, please.”
She could not leave. Not without knowing everything. But to tell her all that she needed to know, he needed time. The rumble of thunder outside the tall, arched bed chamber windows came to his rescue.
“We canna travel now,” he said with a jab of his thumb at the darkening windows. “Not only has the storm found renewed strength, but ’tis nigh on evening. Much too dangerous to cross the Highlands to get back to yer Seven Cairns.”
Nervously adjusting the blanket around her, she kept glancing from him to the door as if trying to decide whether she could successfully escape.
“Where would ye go, lass?” he asked her ever so quietly. “Ye dinna know this land or its dangers.”
Her chest now heaving, she chewed on her bottom lip, obviously fighting to hold fast to whatever shreds of control she still possessed. “I can’t stay the night here. Cars have headlights. Once we get to Seven Cairns, I’ll reimburse you for the gas. I promise.”
“I dinna have a…car.” He wasn’t even sure what such a thing was, nor what headlights were.
Although he assumed they were some sort of torch that enabled one to see clearly at night.
“Ye need food, rest, and healing tears. All are plentiful here.” Shite.
Perhaps he should not have mentioned the healing tears of dragons, since the dragons in her realm remained hidden, she’d not know what they were.
“I can’t stay the night here,” she repeated, her voice softer but vibrating with even more panic. “If you’ll let me use your phone, I’ll call a taxi or my friend from Seven Cairns.”
“I dinna have a…phone either.” Whatever a phone was.
While relieved that she’d apparently missed his mention of the healing tears, he feared his relief would be short-lived when he kept telling her what he didn’t have rather than what he could offer her.
Could she not feel the mate bond? Was it not calling out to her even a little?
“When morning comes, after ye’ve had food and rest, all will be better. I promise.”
She stared at him, then shivered. Hard.
Without thinking, he tossed a hard glance at the fire already crackling in the hearth and murmured, “Infuro.” The flames danced higher, becoming a roaring blaze.
He started toward Lyla, but halted when she jerked as though startled and stumbled away from him.
“I mean ye no harm, my lady.” He thumped a fist to his chest. “I swear I was only coming closer to help ye toward the fire. Ye seem weak as a lamb.”
“I can make it to the fire, thank you.” Holding fast to the blanket and weaving like a warrior deep in his cups, she staggered to the hearth and dropped her knees in front of it.
Head bowed, she huddled like a lost soul praying for redemption.
“I can’t spend the night here,” she said more to herself than him. “I can’t.”
“Ye must, my lady. ’Tis safest.” His heart broke with her agony. Magnus wished he possessed the wisdom to make this easier for her. “The Thirteenth Realm can be a dangerous place, but I assure ye, Kindred Fortress is impenetrable. Ye are safe here with me.”
She shot a surprisingly angry look his way.
“Look, I have never heard of a city in Scotland called the Thirteenth Realm, and I did some pretty thorough research before I came here. I’ve also never heard of Kindred Fortress.
” She jerked away and fixed her attention back on the fire.
“And could you cover yourself? Please? I’m not a prude, but I’m also not used to carrying on a conversation with a naked stranger I somehow woke up with in his bed, and I’m just as naked as he is.
Could you please put some pants on, for heaven’s sake? ”
Pride and hope filled him. She had to feel the pull of the mate bond.
Why else would his current state disturb her so?
Determined to calm her so that the shock of all she needed to know might be easier for her to bear, he softly uttered, “Bracae.” Immediately, the lower half of his body became encased in his most comfortable pair of black leather trews.
“I am suitably covered now, my lady.” He left his chest bare to tempt her.
If he didn’t use the lusty strength of the fated mate bond to its fullest advantage, he risked losing her.
“Might I offer ye a drink to help warm ye? One that will settle ye?”
The distrust in her eyes backed him up a step. “Whisky, my lady. Or wine. Or a fine, soft ale, if ye wish. Nothing nefarious, I assure ye.”
With a hand at the base of her throat, she visibly swallowed hard. “The ale, please. I need to keep my wits about me.”
“As ye wish, my lady.” He went to the cabinet and added a hearty slosh of heather ale to the goblet of dragon’s tears, just enough to change the taste and color.
The tears would strengthen her, heal her, and with any luck, calm her enough so they might speak of all they could become.
He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer to any power that might be listening.
A gift of wisdom would be most appreciated right about now.