Chapter 6 #3
After pouring himself a generous dram of whiskey in a matching goblet, he returned to the hearth, lowered himself to one knee beside her, and placed the cup in her hands. “Ye might be more comfortable in the chair, my lady. The heat of the fire should still reach ye there.”
She took the cup from him, all the while eyeing the woolly hide she sat upon. She flinched as she nodded at it. “Is this real?”
“Real?”
She glared at him. “Did an animal die to make this rug?”
“Aye, but it was an old, cantankerous ram who deserved such an ending.”
Her blue eyes snapped with righteous fire as she pushed up from the floor and moved to the chair. “I could say the same about some people I know.”
Pleased that she still possessed such fight to her even when so vulnerable—or when she felt so vulnerable—she had yet to realize that he would allow nothing to harm her, he nodded in agreement.
Even though he sensed it would probably anger her even more, he grinned as he seated himself in the large, pillow-strewn chair facing her.
“Ye will find I am rarely cantankerous, my lady.”
Shifting her unhappy glare back to the fire, she sipped her drink, then frowned down at it. “What is this?”
“Heather ale and dragon tears.” He held his breath, dreading her reaction even though he knew the truth was always best.
“Dragon tears?”
“Aye.”
“What is that? Some kind of Scottish cocktail mix?”
It had nothing to do with cocks or tails, but he sensed that wasn’t what she meant. “Waters known for their healing properties.” It was the simplest way to explain them without going into too much detail. He lifted his own cup. “I chose whisky. Would ye like a taste?”
“No, thank you. I’m very familiar with whisky.” She took a longer sip of her drink, then curled deeper into the chair, tucking her feet under her and holding fast to her blanket. “Where is my robe?”
“Albionna took it to be laundered.” He didn’t know whether or not the maid had taken it, but the clothing had disappeared. That could be the only explanation. “Worry not, my lady. Ye are well covered in yer blanket.”
The line of her delicately sculpted jaw hardened. The lady was clenching her teeth. “What is the nearest village or city to the Thirteenth Realm? One that I might have heard of?”
“The Thirteenth Realm is not a village, a city, or a country,” he explained with some reluctance. “The Thirteenth Realm is a reality. A plane of existence. An alternate Scotland kept separated from the others by the blessed Highland Veil.”
She stared at him, slowly blinking as if struggling to focus on the words he had just uttered. “What?”
He leaned forward, propping his forearms on his knees.
“The blessed Highland Veil keeps the various planes of existence and timelines of creation’s many worlds and realities separated.
If it didn’t, all existence would dissolve into the darkness of chaos, and evil would rule the universe.
Mairwen and her assistant, the one ye know as Keeva, are immortal Weavers sworn to tend to the Highland Veil’s need for strengthening by the reunited loves of fated mates. ”
She continued to stare at him as though he’d sprouted a second head. “What?” she repeated. Both of her delicate brows arched a bit higher.
He nodded at her. “Yer plane of reality is a parallel of this one.” Noting that her coloring had once again gone quite white, Magnus flinched, hoping he hadn’t shared too much too soon.
“Many halves of souls from the various realms were cast there, into yer plane of existence, when the gods split our spirits during our first incarnation.”
Confusion shouted from her. “What?” That single word seemed to be the only thing she could say.
“Ye were brought here through the Seven Cairns portal because ye are my fated mate.”
“Your what?”
He supposed the two-word question was better than the one word she’d kept uttering. “My fated mate. The other half of my soul. Together, we make a complete being.” He downed his whisky and set his cup aside. “Can ye not feel the pull, my lady? The yearning to be whole again?”
“I feel…confusion.” She stretched to slide her goblet onto the table next to his.
“More?”
“No, thank you.” She hugged herself, shivering as if cold again. “I’ve had enough.” She squinted at him as if seeing him for the very first time. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”
“Ye are not dead. I promise.”
“Then, I’ve gone off the deep end, and they’re keeping me over-medicated.” The blanket sagged off one of her shoulders, revealing the tempting creaminess of her skin.
Magnus swallowed hard and wet his lips. How could she not feel it? “I dinna ken what it means to go off the deep end. The waters brought ye through the portal. The sacred waters and the storm. Both are powerful forces controlled by the Veil.”
She scrubbed her face with both hands, then rocked back and forth like a grieving widow keening her sorrows to the winds.
“Nothing you’re saying can possibly be true.
” She dropped her hands to her lap and leveled another hard glare on him.
“I need to get back to Seven Cairns. Now. Tonight. Not tomorrow.”
This was not going well at all. Desperation raked its claws across each of his worn and ragged nerves.
“Grant me a fortnight to prove that all I say is true. A fortnight for ye to believe in the mate bond that ye must surely feel but are too frightened, too confused to acknowledge at the current time.” She had to stay.
Had to give the realm a fighting chance.
Not only did his heart and soul depend on her acceptance, but the lives of all who had fallen ill with the sickness depended on her, too.
She was the one of the prophecy. He felt it more surely with each passing moment.
He had sensed the powerful magic in the melody she’d hummed, even though her voice was hoarse and broken.
He hadn’t planned to tell her everything so quickly, but the need for her had caused the words to freely tumble from him.
“I beg ye, Lady Lyla. Grant the Thirteenth Realm—and myself—fourteen days of yer presence. Please.”
“No—and I am not Lady Lyla. I am Lyla Ibrams.” She shook her head slowly at first, then jerked it harder. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m done. Take me back to Seven Cairns. Now. This very minute.”
While she possessed the power of choice, he possessed the power of chance.
His soul deserved the right to be made whole again, even if it meant keeping her here against her will for a wee bit of time.
As the Grand Master of the Thirteenth Realm’s Defenders of the Highland Veil, he knew he was well within his rights to keep her here for fourteen days.
By no means could he or would he ever force himself or the binding upon her, or keep her here forever, but the sacred tenets of the Veil granted him fourteen days to convince her that this was where she belonged.
Few knew of this particular tenet, but he did—and fully intended to make use of it.
He rose from his chair and sadly looked down at her.
“No, my lady. Fourteen days and fourteen nights are mine by right of the mate bond. Here ye are, and here ye shall stay until that time has passed. If, at the end of that time, ye still wish to return to yer reality, then I shall return ye to the portal at Seven Cairns.” Unable to resist, he caught her up by the shoulders and covered her mouth with his, pouring every raging bit of yearning and loneliness into the kiss, willing her to feel all that he felt, willing her to open her mind and heart to all the possibilities, and last but not least, willing her to give them a chance.
A determination to make her see settled in his heart and rooted in his soul.
He would not lose this woman. Too much depended on their bond, and the longer he remained in her presence, the more he knew beyond any doubt that life would be unbearable without her.