by Carmen Caine
He wouldn’t be baited.
Especially not in front of Cilla. With surety, not when she was crying.
He frowned, catching the brightness in her eyes out of the corner of his own. The way her lower lip quivered and her breathing seemed to have gone shallow.
“Don’t you see?” She ran forward and grabbed his arms. “He’s lifted the curse!” She shook him, her voice breaking. “You’re whole again, as before! That’s why he’s here. He came to tell me.”
“That cannae be.” Hardwick dismissed the notion. “You forget I sifted myself here. Were I flesh-and-blood, I would no’ have been able to do that.”
“You’ll ne’er be able to do it again.” The Dark One spoke from the window, his deep voice echoing in the ruin. “Transporting yourself here used the last reserves of your otherworldly powers. They've been dwindling ever since you hurtled back to life through the redemption tunnel.”
“‘Hurtled back to life?’” Hardwick swung to face him, furious. “Ne’er have I heard such rot.”
The Dark One arched a brow. “Perhaps because you were cursed and forbidden entry?”
“And after all these centuries, you sent me into such a miracle-spending place?” Hardwick tamped down the urge to cast aside his sword and smash the fiend’s nose with his fist.
He didn’t like seeing Cilla filled with false hope.
His temper rising, he sheathed his blade. His hands itched more, aching to pound his nemesis to a pulp. “I dinnae believe it.” He glared at the fiend. “No’ one word. I ken your trickery.”
The Dark One looked him up and down. “Have you no’ felt weak of late? Easily wearied and desiring mortal needs such as sleep and other pesky habits?” He paused to piece a speck of stone dust from his thigh. “Perhaps felt an appetite for Dunroamin’s famed breakfasts?”
Hardwick set his jaw, not about to admit the like.
But the fiend’s words were intriguing, even stirring hope in his weary, disbelieving soul.
It couldn’t be.
Still…
As unobtrusively as he could, he slipped his sword hand behind his back and flicked his fingers to summon his shield.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, this time using more vigorous wriggles. But he failed anew. His shield didn’t appear.
“You see, it’s true.” The Dark One’s voice was smooth, triumphant. “So stop insulting me with your doubt - if you persist, I’ll regret my largesse so much that I’ll reverse your good fortune.”
At his words, Cilla gasped. “No, please!”
“He’s a master trickster, lass.” Hardwick glanced at her, hating that she’d blanched. That the hand she’d pressed to her mouth trembled. She really did believe the whoreson. And that knotted his innards, making him ache to the marrow.
Learning the truth would shatter her.
The Dark One might have to power to undo any man’s curse. But he wouldn’t help him.
Not even if all the stars fell from the heavens.
“Close your ears to his lies, Cilla-lass. He wants to crush us.”
“No, it’s true.” She pressed a fist to her heart, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I know it here.”
“I wish it were so, sweet.” A pain, sharp and stinging, squeezed Hardwick’s heart.
He turned back to his foe. “If this is true, to what do I owe the honor?”
“Not yourself, be sure!”
“What then?”
The Dark One glanced aside, his gaze skimming out over the dark waters of the North Sea. When he again looked round, he wore a grieved expression so surprisingly sincere Hardwick almost felt sympathy for him.
Knowing better, he waited.
The Dark One pushed off the window ledge, a whiff of sulfur swirling around him. “It was your lady, Seagrave.” He glanced at Cilla. “I should ne’er have gone to Dunroamin-”
“Nae!” The ground dipped beneath Hardwick’s feet. His sword hand began to itch again. “Dinnae tell me you-”
“She can explain later.” Impatience edged the Dark One’s voice. “Press me and I shall leave you without an explanation. As is…” - he looked once more at the sea – “I’ll own that it was no’ wise for me to see her. She reminds me of someone I knew long ago. A woman-”
“A lady you loved and lost.” Cilla finished for him.
Hardwick scowled, not following either of them.
He resented the look they exchanged, almost as if they were long, lost friends.
“It was many years past,” the Dark One was saying. He looked again at Hardwick, his gaze going deep. “More centuries than you could count, Seagrave. But I never forgot. No’ in all eternity. Her loss pains me to this day.”
He drew a long breath and released it slowly. “I nearly undid your curse when I appeared to your lass at Dunroamin.” He gave a bitter sounding laugh. “I even felt bad for frightening her. Imagine! But once I returned to my temple I caught myself.
“Until you strode into my inner sanctum wanting to surrender your all for one night in her arms,” he admitted. “When you refused my offer of her soul for the pleasure, I remembered how I’d held my own woman’s cold and limp body. How I begged the gods to restore her to me. They refused. And I…”
He let the words tail off, his expression hardening.
“You were moved to give us a chance.” Cilla’s voice broke on the words.
She reached for Hardwick’s hand, twining their fingers.
He still didn’t believe. “There’s more. Some catch, I can smell it. Even if you were touched by my lady’s resemblance to someone you knew thousands of years ago, I’ll ne’er accept that you’d release my soul so easily.”
The almost imperceptible tightening of the Dark One’s lips proved him right.
“Well?”
“The truth, Seagrave, is that I had no choice.”
Hardwick folded his arms. “That’s no answer.”
The Dark One ran a hand over his hair, looking annoyed. “There are powers in the Otherworld even greater than myself and my master. You evoked them when you refused Cilla’s soul to be taken in exchange for your boon.”
“I broke my own curse?” Hardwick’s brow lifted, his jaw dropping.
“Call it what you like.” The Dark One shrugged. “Your selflessness unleashed the only power I cannae battle. The eternal strength of a pure and loving heart. When you roared ‘Nae!’ at me, your love for your lady ripped open the entrance to the redemption tunnel. Much as I wished otherwise, I couldnae have stopped you from hurtling into it.”
Hardwick stared at him, too stunned for words.
So it was true!
Somewhere deep inside him, something coiled tight and then sprang free, releasing the last of his doubt. His heart thundered wildly and his throat worked, the emotion clogging it all too human for him to deny his foe’s claims.
Now he knew why he’d been plagued by such weariness. The all-too-mortal maladies he’d brushed aside.
His sleepiness and hunger, his inability to sift properly.
“By the gods!” He grabbed Cilla and crushed her to him.
She flung her arms around him, holding him just as tight. “I told you it was true! He loved a woman who looked like me.” She reached up, traced her fingers along Hardwick’s jaw. “Do you not see? He remembers heartache, what it was like to lose her. That’s why he helped us.”
“Humph.” Hardwick stiffened, not ready to credit the fiend with mortal feelings.
Cilla threw a glance at the bastard. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
“I was a man, once,” he allowed, a shadow crossing his face. “That time is long past, so distant that even Scotland’s oldest stones wouldn’t remember. But you, my lady…”
He didn’t finish, turning instead to Hardwick.
“Your journey from here, Seagrave, is your own.” Looking his formidable self again, he gripped Hardwick’s shoulder, squeezing hard. “Use it wisely. You know I’ll be watching.”
/> And then he was gone.
Only a stir in the wind and a faint whiff of sulfur indicating he’d been there at all.
Chapter Eighteen
“Wow.” Cilla began to shake all over. “Did that really happen?”
Hardwick took her hands in his. “Something did, aye. I’m just no’ sure what-”
“I am!” She was, beyond doubt. “You’re whole again, the spell against you broken.” The wonder of it swept her with a rush of emotion. She glanced about the rubble-filled bailey, half-expecting to see the Dark One in a shadowed corner, watching them.
Whoever he truly was, he was gone.
But he’d upturned the world in his passing. Tiny whirlwinds eddied across the courtyard’s grass-and-weed-clogged expanse, twirling gusts of dried leaves and what-not settling only slowly onto the ancient, muddied ground.
The portent of his revelations hung in the air. So thick, she almost choked on the hope he’d left with them. A tight, hot-throbbing knot grew in her throat and her eyes burned.
She took several deep breaths, trying to ground herself.
“Cease your crying, sweetness.” Hardwick grasped her arms and looked down at her. The distrust was back in his eyes. “There may no’ be a reason to rejoice. I ken what happened, right enough. But I still dinnae trust him.
“If he’s tricked us, your pain will gut me.” He pulled her close and tightened his arms around her, resting his head against her hair. “For myself-”
“But it is true!” She blinked up at him, her heart thundering wildly. “All of it. I know it to the roots of my soul,” she cried, her voice thickened by emotion. “You do, too. I see it on you. There’s something different!”
And there was.
His medieval sword was gone, even the low-slung sword belt she’d found so sexy.
“Look – he took your sword!” She pulled back, victory hers when he followed her gaze, his eyes widening when he saw that his weapon had vanished.
“Odin’s balls!” He scrunched his eyes, then looked again.
But rather than admit a miracle, he scowled. “That craven will stoop to any trick.”
“You must believe!” She leaned into him again, willing him to have faith. “If you don’t maybe the undoing of the spell won’t work. It could be reversed, or the redemption tunnel might pull you back up into it.”
“I’m no’ sure anything has happened to be reversed. Thon beast has a gifted tongue, capable of spelling anyone he addresses – even me in a vulnerable moment.” His frown darkened and he shoved a hand through his hair. “I did believe for a beat. Now that he’s gone, my doubts have returned.”
He shook his head. “There’s only one way to know for sure and I’ll no’ risk that.”
“I say we do!” She knew what he meant, so she lifted up on her toes and bracketed his face. “Now, here in this place that was once your home.”
“Nae.” His refusal was swift.
“Yes.” She kissed him hard and fierce, letting her lips plunder his before he could pull away.
She wound her arms around his neck, holding to him in case he tried. “Please...” She pressed closer, hoping her warmth and curves might sway him.
Capitulating, he turned their kiss into a hot, open-mouthed assault, all tongues and mingled breath. His sandalwood scent swirled around her, flooding her senses, exciting her. Shivers rippled through her, heating her blood.
“Precious lass.” He gripped the back of her head, angling her face to kiss her more deeply.
“See.” She breathed the word against his mouth. “We’re kissing and nothing is happening.” Breaking away, she let her tongue glide along his jaw and then swirled its tip across the bottom of his ear. “No bogeymen jumping out of the shadows, no red devils. Only us, kissing and kissing, holding each other, and” – a particularly strong tremor raced the length of her – “the delicious tingles stirring between my legs, because I want you there.”
“Have done!” He swept his hands down her back, splaying his fingers across her hips. “Dinnae speak so – I cannae bear it.”
“That is my hope. I-” She broke off, her eyes widening at the sudden swell beneath his kilt. Hot, heavy, and demanding, his hardness thrust against her, making her burn even through the thick wool of his plaid.
“Mercy!” Her heart galloped. Leaning in for more kisses, she rubbed against him, already melting.
“Nae, lass.” He set her from him, scowling darker than she’d ever seen. “I’ll no’ risk it. This ends here and now.”
He stepped back, breathing hard. “I forgot myself. I’ll no’ be endangering you-”
“Does that mean you won’t trust me either?” Cilla shrugged off her jacket, tossing it onto the grassy, rubble-strewn ground. “I thought we’d moved past that? Have you forgotten the bliss you’ve given me? How I've lain open before you, quivering beneath your kisses?”
She looked at him, knew her eyes were blazing. “Yes, I mean those kisses.”
“Lass.” Regret darkened his face. “Dinnae do this. You dinnae ken what can happen, the dangers.”
She glared at him, on a roll. “What about those looks you gave me during my broken china class? You made me feel your fingers stroking me, even slipping beneath my panties to dip in and out of me, probing and rubbing.” She paused for breath, her breasts rising with her agitation. The memory scalded her, sending hot, tingly heat to her center. “You kept on until I could hardly finish my workshop.
“No man has ever touched me that way.” Nor will I ever allow anyone else to do so! “It wasn’t just hot, titillating and orgiastic. It was beautiful, melting my heart, my soul, every bit as much as the wee bit of nerves between my thighs.”
“Cilla.” He shook his head, his eyes sad. “Say no more.”
“You touched me.” Her voice thickened, emotion roughening the words. “A thousand men can put their hands on a woman. Only one can touch her.
“Until he does,” – she drew a shaky breath, dashed at her cheek – “until that moment, she is as a virgin.”
“Stop now.” He turned aside, shoved both hands through his hair. “You’ve seen the fiend’s power.” He whirled back to her, his face dark. “He cannae be trusted. No’ with someone as precious as you.”
“I believe him!” Determined to prove it, she reached for the buttons of her blouse, undoing them with a speed that stunned her. “As for trust, there are some who’d say I’m the one who’s needed the most trust in this twosome!”
Her blouse landed near her jacket.
She tossed back her hair, sent her bra flying. “Well?”
“I told you, lass. Have done.” He turned away, his hands clenched at his sides.
Too bad for him, doing so let her see the unmistakable rise in his kilt.
He wanted her, and badly.
She bit down on her lip, bent to tug off her shoes and socks. Straightening, she grabbed her belt buckle, undoing it so swiftly she broke a nail. Heart pounding, she ripped open her waist snap and yanked down the zipper. It took her less than a wink to rid herself of her pants and panties and kick both aside.
The moment she did, Hardwick tensed. As she looked, a great shudder ripped through him and his fisted hands tightened visibly, his knuckles now white.
She drew a deep breath and put back her shoulders.
It was now or never.
“Turn around.” Her voice brooked no refusal. “I’m naked.”
“Mother of all the gods!” He whipped around, closing the distance between them in two great strides. “I’d sworn no’ to do this, but I have no more restraint.” He reached for her, pulling her hard against him. “Now it’s too late. I cannae help myself.”
He wrapped an iron-hard arm around her waist, crushing her even more. “Och, sweetness, did no one e’er tell you what a naked woman does to a Highlander? Have you any idea what you do to me?” Gripping her face with his free hand, he sealed his mouth over hers, claiming her lips in a rough, hungering kiss.
The devouring kind that showed no mercy.
She cried out, spreading her hands across the broad width of his plaid-draped chest. Her entire body trembled, her legs almost giving out when he broke the kiss to look down her. Holding her gaze, he reached for the large Celtic brooch at his shoulder, ripping open its clasp.
He threw it aside and whipped off his plaid, tossing it across the cold stone of the window ledge.
“Are you doing that for the reason I think?” Her gaze flitted to the plaid then back to him.
Hope leapt inside her.
Her heart raced and a blaze of tingles caught fire between her legs. Every hot, curling tongue flick he’d given her swirled across her again. Her belly fluttered, deliciously, and her knees weakened, her desire palpable. She wanted those long, slow licks now. The sweet shattering releases he gave her.
She also wanted him, the long, hard length of him gliding in and out of her.
“You’ve pushed me too far, lass.” His gaze heated, sweeping over her. It was a bold, possessive, and hungry look. The sliver of doubt she’d glimpsed earlier was gone. “You know fine what I’m after. I told you” – he reached for her breasts, first palming, then squeezing and plumping them – “a Highlander once tempted, will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”
He swept one hand down her side and around behind her, clutching the fullness of her buttocks. “If you didn’t know, it’s no’ just any bare-bottomed lassie that fires our blood.”
Catching her chin, he lifted her face so she couldn’t look away. “‘Tis the lush, shapely warmth of a well-made lass that stirs us.” He leaned close to brush his lips over hers. “If she happens to be the lass a man loves more than life itself, there’s no stopping him.”
Cilla’s heart latched on to one word. “Are you saying you love me?”
He arched a brow. “If you have to ask, I’ve been doing something wrong.”
“Oh, dear...” She gulped. Her lower lip quivered before she could stop it.
“I’ll no’ be asking you the same fool question.” His hands went to his kilt belt, sending both the belt and his kilt sailing.
Nothing remained to clothe him except the silver bands on his powerful arms.
