by Lily Baldwin
Owen led her to a thick, circular mattress, piled high with blankets in the center of the hall, but he did not sit straightaway. He stood, patiently awaiting the comfort of his people. While she stood at his side, she gazed up at the strength of his profile and the gentle smile that curved his lips, lips that were firm and sensual. In that moment, her mind returned to their kiss in the corridor. His mouth had been so warm and his taste familiar and intoxicating. Feeling her cheeks burn at the memory, she took a deep breath and forced her thoughts back to the present. She squeezed his hand, offering her continued support while her heart brimmed with admiration as she considered the true nobleness of his bearing. There was an inherent strength in his face and a self-assured ease in his stance. He did not command his people, he cared for them.
When everyone was nestled in groups beneath layers of warm fur, he began to speak. “Clan MacArthur, we are people of the mountains. Our land touches the Heavens and the enchanted realms.” He stood straight, his broad shoulders thrown back. “I am yer laird, and I am true of heart. I say this not to be boastful, but to remind myself and all of ye of the courage it takes to love and to hope. Our life here comes with few certitudes but for these—Heaven smiles upon a heart that is true, and only the weak of heart may be tricked by the fae. Outside the enchanted realms, those restless spirits have little power...unless we give ours away.
“Hold tight to yer faith, and never give up hope. Ol’ Mack, Kenneth, Elspeth, and Lady Margaret grow stronger with every passing moment.” He held his arms wide as if encompassing the great room. “Our home in the clouds may seem as though it demands much of us and gives little in return. But even when scarcity is at its greatest and death steals our loved ones away, the mountain provides.” Then he put his arm around Gwynn’s shoulder. Her cheeks warmed when the surrounding faces turned to look at her. “When we needed a healer, from out of the everlasting snow of the secret mountain, one came to us.” He smiled down at her. “For those of ye who have not met her, she is Gwynn. She has lost her home and her people, but I hope you will all join me in welcoming her into yer hearts and into our clan.”
For a moment, fear stole Gwynn’s breath. Her smile faltered. What if Owen’s kin rejected her? What if they doubted she was true of heart and deserved a place among them? Once upon a time, she had been weak and vain. Mayhap, she didn’t deserve their affection.
But then something wonderful happened that lifted her spirit so high she felt as if she were flying among the angels...
Julia stood, letting the fur fall from her shoulders, revealing her bountiful red curls. Her smile beamed as brightly as the sun. She clapped her hands and cheered for Gwynn.
Coming to her feet, Katie, her white hair loose in gentle waves to her waist, called out “Welcome, dear sister!”
Soon everyone stood and gathered close to Gwynn, introducing themselves and welcoming her to their clan. Tears freely fell down her cheeks, as Gwynn opened her heart to the surrounding fellowship. And as the evening unfolded, never had she known such complete fulfillment of soul. It was a gathering both joyous and mournful. A celebration of life and survival and a remembrance for those so dearly loved and lost. There was no masking of pain or unexpressed gratitude, nothing taken for granted or unacknowledged. It was an evening of truth, hope, and love, and most of all—courage.
And when the last of Clan MacArthur departed the great hall to nestle down in their homes with their families, Owen met her gaze and held out his hand. She slipped her hand in his and together they left the great hall.
She knew where he was taking her...to his chamber, and not for a moment did she hesitate to follow.
Chapter Nine
They stood, facing each other, in front of the warm hearth.
No words passed between them—none were needed.
His smoldering gaze held hers, igniting a need deep inside her. Her breaths quickened.
He unbelted his plaid and let it fall to the ground. Breathless, she watched as he yanked his tunic over his head. Her gaze raked over his bare torso, devouring his broad shoulders, strong chest, and the taut muscles of his stomach, which shifted with his quick breaths. Then she dropped her gaze. His hard length made her body burn with hunger. Trembling, she swept her tunic over her head and then her kirtle. Her body was bare to his gaze. She swallowed hard. His gaze journeyed over her curves, making her skin tingle, a touchless caress that tightened her chest around her racing heart.
He stepped closer. Her breath caught. Slowly, he lowered his head, his hungry gaze never leaving hers until the instant before their lips touched, their kiss whisper soft. Trembling, a short, desperate moan escaped her throat, and then he seized her, crushing her against his chest. Her body melted into his. He groaned. Their tongues met in an explosion of passion. She clung to him, desire coursing through her body. His lips were demanding, his tongue searching, full of wanting.
Lips never parting, they moved across the floor and fell onto the bed.
An ache, hot and sweet, raged inside her. His hand moved over her breast, massaging, teasing, his hands strong and rough. They broke their kiss. He drew a swollen peak into his mouth. His tongue caressed her nipple, flicking, tasting, suckling, making her back arch into his mouth.
His hand seared a fiery path over the swell of her hips and down her thighs, which parted, beckoning his touch. His hard, muscular body covered hers. Her legs wide, she pressed into him, yearning, aching for release. He entered her. She cried out and clung to him, burying her face against his neck. He thrust deep, stroking the heat of her. She soared ever higher, pulsing, wanting. Sweet agony coursed through her. She was going to burst, to break. She needed relief, and then she felt his body seize. He cried out, sending an explosion coursing through her that pushed her over the edge of ecstasy. She cried out again and again as she shattered in his arms, quaking until her pleasure was spent.
She lay, surrounded by his warmth, her quick pants matching his, their sweat pooling, and limbs entwined. Never could she have imagined such fulfillment. Her body still burned. She rose up on her elbow, wishing to tell him what was in her heart, but then a noise cut through the haze of her fulfillment, a noise that made her hot blood run cold.
A fierce howl rent the night. She froze. She knew that sound, the way it seemed to penetrate the keep, Owen’s chamber, her very soul.
A chill raked up her spine as she jerked upright. Again, the howl violated the night. She shuddered. Owen sat up, surrounding her with his arms, his expression intent as he, too, listened to the unwelcome intruder.
Dark and foreboding, the call shattered her bliss. She closed her eyes to block out the truth, but there was no place to hide.
Cranor had found her.
She opened her eyes and met Owen’s gaze. She swallowed the knot in her throat. “It must be a wolf,” she said weakly.
He shook his head. “That is no wolf cry. ‘Tis a wulver. I’d wager my life on it.”
She stiffened in surprise. “Ye know of wulvers?”
“We are no strangers to the fae, the light and the dark.”
“Doesn’t that frighten ye?”
He shook his head. “This is MacArthur land. Here, the fae may ply the weak-hearted with tricks and illusions, but little else.”
Remembering Cranor’s fierce strength and cruel ways, she couldn’t help but doubt Owen’s words. “Are ye certain of that?”
He nodded. “They find little sport among my people. We are as strong as the rock upon which our homes are built. Whatever this wulver seeks in our realm, he will not find it.”
She swallowed hard and downcast her gaze. “I wasn’t truthful with ye.” Her head jerked upright. “But not because I wanted to lie out of shame...I didn’t think ye’d believe me.” She took a deep breath, finding her courage. “I did not get separated from a clan moving west over the mountains. I came to be on top of Beinn Dìomhair, because I fled from my master.”
He looked her hard in the eye. “Who is yer master?”
�
��The wulver that haunts this night. He comes for me.” Again, she dropped her gaze. “Once, a long time ago, I was tricked by an illusion. I was, as ye said, weak-hearted and believed his lies, and he lured me into his realm.” Her nostrils flared as she once more met his gaze. “I am bound to him for all eternity.”
She stood and moved away from the bed and began to dress. “I know ye must hate me now, hate my weakness. I will go.”
Owen stood up, his naked body glorious and strong. “Ye listen to me, Gwynn MacArthur. No man may master another. I don’t care what happened long ago.” He crossed to her side and cupped her cheeks. “I see ye as ye really are, yer strength, yer heart.” He turned then and started dressing. When he finished buckling his plaid, he reached for the sword that hung over the hearth.
“What are ye doing?” she cried.
He turned to her. “I’m going to face yer so-called master.”
She grabbed his arms. “Nay! Owen, ye mustn’t. He’s a monster. He’ll rip ye to shreds.” She gripped her head with her hands. “I never should have come. I knew I could only bring ye heartache. Now, I’ve put yer life at risk, yer clan.” She shook her head and turned to him. “Don’t ye see...I’m not worth fighting for.”
He stopped, his brow wrinkled with compassion. “Gwynn, everyone is worth fighting for.”
Tears stung her eyes. She melted into his arms and let him soothe the pain of self doubt burning in her heart. And then she remembered the words he had spoken to his clan in the great hall...Outside the enchanted realms, those restless spirits have little power...unless we give ours away.
The truth of his words struck her heart—for lifetimes, she had given her power away.
At the enchanted pool, the fairy had said that she had made herself small and that was why Cranor had been able to dominate her so fully.
It was not Cranor who had controlled her all this while, but her own self-doubt...It was Gwynn who froze the pool to block her own way from following after Owen, and in her nightmare, it was not Cranor who chased her through the forest—it was herself.
Choking back her tears, she straightened and reached for Owen’s sword. Taking the hilt firmly in her grasp, she looked him hard in the eye. “I’m done punishing myself. I am worth fighting for, and I’m going to start right now.”
She turned on her heel and threw open the chamber door. Nostrils flared, jaw set, she stormed through the corridor, down the stairs, and into the great hall. At the wide door of the keep, one of the guards stepped in her path.
“Let her pass,” Owen commanded behind her.
The guard looked over her head at his chieftain. “My laird, there is a fae voice on the wind, surely ye’ve heard his howl.”
“Aye, and Gwynn is going to send the beast back from whence he came.”
Eyes wide, the guard stepped out of her way.
Head down, eyes looking straight on, sword gripped tightly in her hand, she walked out of the keep and into the courtyard. “Cranor,” she bellowed. “Show yerself to me!”
A massive black wolf stalked out from the shadows—hackles raised high, his long, pointed snout low to the ground, and his yellow eyes glinting in the night.
For a moment, her heart quaked at the sight of his fierce eyes but she refused her fear.
His strength was an illusion.
Stepping her legs apart, brandishing Owen’s sword, she made her own stance strong. “I command ye to show yerself to me!”
With a growl, the wolfish creature rose up on his hind legs and transformed into a man—lean, strong, and bewitchingly beautiful. His naked body moved with confident elegance. He smiled at her, a slow predatory grin spreading across his face. “Shall I tempt ye as I once did?”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “Ye didn’t tempt me, ye tricked me.”
He stepped toward her, raising a rakish brow. “Ye conveniently shift blame for yer actions. Never forget that ye chose me.”
Fury coursed through her. “I was ten and five, barely more than a child!”
He stiffened, tension filling his broad sinewy shoulders. “Ye were weak and vain.”
“I’m not anymore.” She glared at him. “But ye still are, and ye’re in my world now. Ye yield to me!” She raised her sword high. “Show yerself to me, yer true form.”
An ugly sneer twisted his fine features, and she saw something in his eyes she never would have believed possible.
Cranor was afraid.
Finding a trace of magic still hidden in her heart, she called out, “Show yerself!” Her voice erupted from her throat. The power of her words echoed around them and knocked Cranor to the ground. He jumped to his feet and she gasped. His back was hunched over and crooked. His sallow skin was sparsely covered with wisps of long, thin hairs. His gnarled fingers covered his face, but not before she glimpsed beady yellow eyes and an ugliness only to be matched by his heart.
She had shattered his illusion and now saw him for what he truly was, neither wolf nor man.
He dropped his hands away from his face and growled at her, gnashing his jagged teeth with fury while he scurried back out of the moonlight into shadow.
Sword raised high, she stormed after him. “Flee, ye monster, and never come back!”
Panting, she stared into the wood, watching, waiting but nothing stirred. Lowering her sword, she turned on unsteady legs and met Owen’s proud gaze.
“Remember this moment, Gwynn. Ye yield to know no one.”
Her hands trembled. The sword thudded to the ground. She closed her eyes. “I yield to no one,” she repeated. Her legs felt as if they were going to give way.
Owen was beside her in an instant and scooped her into his arms. “I never doubted ye.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. “I knew ye had a courageous heart from the moment I first laid eyes on ye.”
Trying to calm her racing heart, she took a deep breath. “I feel as though a weight has been lifted off my shoulders...chains of my own making.” Tears flooded her eyes. “But my heart is true, after all.”
His face grew serious as he set her on her feet. “A true-heart deserves a true name.” He dropped to one knee. Looking up at her with yearning warmth in his eyes, he clasped her hands in his. “I went to the mountain to shoot a stag, or so I believed, but now I know that I went to the mountain to find ye. I love ye, Gwynn. I feel as though I’ve loved ye all my life. I want ye by my side, now and always. Will ye be my wife?”
She threw her arms around his neck, knocking him back onto the snow-blanketed ground. Covering his mouth with hers, she kissed him with all her joy, all her courage. Without a moment’s doubt, she knew she would answer his question with a resounding aye...but not before she kissed him with the many lifetimes worth of love filling her heart.
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
One Year Later
Owen stirred from sleep, aware of a persistent nudging.
“Awaken! ‘Tis Christmas day!”
Owen opened his eyes. Gwynn’s freckled nose and excited brown eyes hovered over him.
“’Tis our wee bairn who usually wakes us,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. Then he smiled up at his beautiful wife. “What has ye so anxious to rise?”
She shook him playfully. “’Tis Christmas Day, our son’s first. Come, husband. There are so many wonderful preparations to be made. Yuletide is upon us, and we’ve twelve days of feasting and merry-making ahead of us.”
He reached for her. She squealed with laughter as he pulled her down onto the fur-covered mattress. “There is no enticement that could tempt me more than ye, nor is there merrier merriment than what we can make ourselves right here, right now.”
She swatted him gently. “Did ye not hear my words, husband? ‘Tis Christmas day. We’ve much to do.”
His body aching with desire, he stroked his hand slowly over the curve of her hip as he absently said, “Ye’ve hung holly and mistletoe on anything that has remained still long enough to withstand yer gentle attention, including Ol’ Ma
ck.”
Gwynn chuckled. “He should have known better than to fall asleep around half a dozen women armed with ropes of evergreens. Anyway, he’s been wearing his holly crown with pride.” She wove her fingers through his golden hair, then pressed her lips to his, kissing him slowly, tenderly before pulling away slightly. “Now, rise, dear husband, or else I’ll make ye a crown twice as grand as Ol’ Mack’s.”
He groaned. “How can ye expect me to leave this bed after ye’ve just kissed me like that?”
Smiling, she nestled close. “Mayhap, we needn’t race off just yet.”
He crushed her close, pulling her beneath him and seized her lips in a passionate kiss, but then a whimpering cry made them both freeze. Their lips parted.
Owen smiled. “Ye’re not the only one excited for Christmas Day.”
Gwynn hastened off the bed, crossed the room to the crib, and scooped their wee bairn into her arms. Owen’s heart swelled as it did every time he saw his wife cradle their infant son.
A moment later, a sudden rapping sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Owen called.
Katie opened the door. Smiling, she swept her long, white plait off her shoulder. “My laird, my lady, ye must come and quickly.”
They hastened after Katie, following her to the great hall. Upon entering, Owen’s eyes widened, and at his side, Gwynn gasped softly. “’Tis so beautiful,” she breathed.
Clan MacArthur filled the room, surrounding a fallen silver birch tree. Every man, woman, and child wore a crown of holly just like the one she had made for Ol’ Mack, and in their hands they gripped flickering candles that bathed the festively decorated room in warm light.
“Happy Christmas!” they cheered.
Julia came forward and pressed a kiss to Gwynn’s cheek. “We wanted to make the first morrow of Yuletide especially wonderful for ye as this is yer first Christmas as Lady MacArthur.”
