Chapter 13 #3
“Aye, and it will kill ye in the making of it. I’ll not have it.
” Magnus clutched her tighter and uttered, “Tutum.” When they materialized in the bedchamber, he hurried to ease her down onto the bed and sat beside her, unwilling to be far from her.
“Ye will not go back to the tower, ye ken? ’Tis too open.
The sluagh na marbh could snatch ye away. ”
Breathing easier now, but still visibly spent, she reached up and rested a hand on his chest. “What is a sluagh na marbh? How could they possibly get past our guards? Past the dragons?”
“They are the accursed, the damned ones, flying through the sky like ravens, swarming their enemies to snatch away their souls.” He gathered her up in his arms again, unable to console himself by merely sitting beside her.
He couldn’t breathe if he didn’t feel her heart beating against his.
“Ye must not go to the tower again. Not ever. Swear it.”
She caught hold of him, burying her fingers in his hair and forcing him to lean back and look her in the eyes. “When I am stronger, we will fight him together. Your magic, the dragons’ magic, and my music. It’s our chance to finally free the Realm of his evil. Don’t you want that?”
“I want ye safe more than anything else.” He’d never felt such fear before, and he hated it.
This terror shamed him, as a man, as a mate, and as a leader.
Is this what being mated was like? The constant dread that something was about to rip the most precious thing in your life away?
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I need ye safe. Alive and well. I need ye—beyond reason. I canna explain it.” Did she not feel the same?
Almost as though she’d heard his thoughts, she pulled at him, silently urging him to lie down beside her. “That’s why I don’t want you to fight. I can’t imagine trying to survive without you. Lay beside me and hold me. I’m feeling better already. Your touch heals me.”
With his powers, he thought away their clothes, then settled her more comfortably in his arms and rested her head on his chest. “Ye’ve gotten cold again. Ye always grow cold when ye weaken.”
She pressed tighter against him, testing his resolve to go no farther than holding.
“You’re nice and toasty. I’ll be warm in no time.
” She kissed his throat and nuzzled her mouth along the ridge of his neck between his jawline and his shoulder.
“In fact, you’ve already set me on fire.
Are you certain consummating our vows wouldn’t make us a more effective power couple? ”
“Not until ye’re stronger, minx.” He pecked a kiss to the top of her head and prayed for more control than he’d ever known was possible. “Be still now and sleep, aye?”
Thankfully, she shuddered in his arms with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Oh my, I am sorry. How rude was that? Trust me, if you had taken me up on my offer, I would not be yawning.”
While he nay wished her weariness to continue, he did wish she’d go to sleep so she’d stop wiggling and rubbing against him like a kitten wishing to be cuddled. The silkiness of her flesh sliding against his was pure torture. His manparts raged for the relief only she could provide.
At long last, she went still, breathing with the slow, steady rhythm of one safely ensconced in their dreams. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the perfume of her warmth, her trust, and the sweet floral essence of the soaps and oils she’d used in the bathing solar.
His mate. His wife. Wife. He had never used that word, but it rolled easily off the tongue.
He’d known of it, recognized it from Scotland’s parallel realm of her time.
Something about it felt right. Felt perfect.
Just as he relaxed and toyed with the notion of closing his eyes, Albionna silently appeared in his line of sight on the other side of the bed. She pointed at the door and mouthed, Weavers.
Feckin’ hell. The old one would show up now.
He’d have to laud her on her damn timing.
Taking care not to awaken Lyla, he eased out of the bed, clothed himself in a black tunic, the leather trews usually worn under his armor, and boots—all black to match his mood—then fixed a stern scowl on the maid as he pointed at his beloved mate and said in a low tone, “Guard her well.”
Albionna nodded.
While not thoroughly comfortable with leaving Lyla, Magnus comforted himself with the knowledge that the maid had devotedly served his brother’s mate for many years. Talia swore Albionna could be trusted. Magnus sincerely hoped so.
He strode down the short hallway and stormed into the solar. “Where were ye when she lay at death’s door?” He stabbed a finger in the air, jabbing it first at Mairwen and then at Keeva. “Where were ye when she needed warning that a traitor was in our midst? A traitor who tried to kill her?”
“We are only allowed to meddle so much,” Mairwen said, her demeanor entirely too calm for his liking. She offered a gracious nod. “Congratulations on her choosing ye and the speaking of the binding vow.”
“Aye, but now she wishes to battle Kcirred with her music. The feckin’ Scale of Rurik has turned against me, endangering her with visions of the songs of war and burning her music makers with fires that dinna consume them. She is too weak yet. It will surely kill her.”
The pair of Weavers studied him, their expressions pained and less than reassuring.
“Say something!”
“At least she chose to bind with ye,” Keeva said, sounding like a child trying to justify unseemly behavior. She shuffled to one side, moving to stand in front of a stack of black cases as if her spindly frame would hide them.
Magnus pointed at the pile. “What the feckin’ hell is that?” As if he didn’t already know.
“She will want them,” Mairwen said, “They will help her.”
“They will endanger her!” He charged forward, barely resisting the urge to destroy whatever the cases held. “If they are more music makers, she does not need them. She already has the three others along with the apinlyre. That is enough.”
“She will not think so.” Keeva nodded at the stack. “These are her favorites.” She gave a nod of certainty. “I know. I studied her before we guided her to Seven Cairns.”
“Then why did the old one bring the other three first?” He’d never liked the younger Weaver. The woman smacked of uncertainty and lack of belief in herself.
“I brought the three instruments chosen by my cards,” Mairwen replied with irritating aloofness.
“Did they not produce the desired result?” She arched a brow, daring him to lie.
“We heard the celebrations. The Thirteenth Realm’s joy vibrated across all the known realities, and the power from yer union has made the Highland Veil glow as brightly as the sun. ”
Hating the pair more than he’d ever hated them before, because they’d done nothing but make matters worse by bringing more music makers, Magnus glanced back at the closed door to the hallway leading to the bedchamber where his beloved lay her head.
“I canna bear the thought of anything happening to her. I have never felt such fear.”
Mairwen smiled. “Ye love her, chief. No longer is she merely the missing half of yer soul or the one promised by the prophecy. She is everything to ye—the entirety of yer heart.”
That observation was less than helpful and not a damn bit consoling. He jabbed a finger at her. “Ye are staying here until she awakens. However long it takes. She wishes to speak with ye, and whatever she wishes, she gets—unless it endangers her.”
With a nod, Mairwen seated herself beside the hearth. “Thank ye for yer hospitality, mighty chief. We look forward to the visit.”
He threw up his hands, spun about, and charged back to the bedchamber, barely calming and quieting himself as he stormed into the room.
Halting in place, he sucked in a deep breath, held it, then let it ease out.
He must not awaken his precious Lyla. She needed her sleep because when she awakened and discovered the Weavers in their midst, there would be no convincing her to rest any further.