“The sun! You must help me get him outside,” she said urgently. “I think sunlight has something to do with it!”
It took their combined strength to carry the enchanted Highlander down the winding stairs, through the library, and out onto the cobbled terrace. They were huffing by the time they deposited her mighty warrior on the stones.
Gwen stood for a moment, just gaping down at him. Drustan was here! All she had to do was figure out how to wake him! Dazed, she slipped astride him and placed her palms flush to his chest, exactly as she’d done in the cave. The sunshine was falling directly on his face and chest.
But nothing happened.
The symbols remained, etched clearly upon his chest. Back in the cave, they’d begun disappearing. Why?
She narrowed her eyes and peered up at the sun. It was brilliant and clear, a cloudless day. She glanced at Maggie. “He didn’t leave any instructions?” She needed him awake now.
The MacKeltars shook their heads.
“It was thought he feared someone might wake him before it was time,” Maggie said. She cast Colleen a wry look. “Like my daughter who’s been infatuated with him since she first peeked through the slit in the tower and saw him slumbering.”
Closing her eyes, Gwen thought hard. What was different? She opened them again slowly and gazed down at his chest. Everything was the same: the sun, the symbols, her hands….
Blood. There had been blood smeared on the symbols from her cutting her hands up when she’d fallen through the rocks. Could it be that elemental? Human blood and sunshine? She knew nothing about spells, but blood figured prominently in myths and legends.
“I need a knife,” she cried.
Colleen dashed into the castle and returned swiftly, clutching a small steak knife.
Mumbling a prayer beneath her breath, Gwen lightly ran the edge over her palm so drops of blood welled up. With trembling hands, she smeared it across the symbols on his chest, then sat back anxiously, waiting.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then one by one, the symbols began to fade….
She sucked in her breath and glanced up at his face.
“Good morrow, English,” Drustan said lazily, opening his eyes, his silvery gaze tender. “I knew you could do it, love.”
Gwen’s eyelids fluttered and she fainted.
28
When Gwen regained consciousness, she was lying on the bed in the Silver Chamber. Drustan was bending over her, gazing down with so much love in his eyes that she gasped and began crying.
“Drustan,” she whispered, clutching at him.
“She’s awakened, Maggie,” Drustan said over his shoulder. “She’s all right.” Gwen heard the door shut as Maggie left, giving them privacy.
She stared up into his silvery eyes wonderingly. He was looking at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
“How?” she managed to ask, cupping his face in her hands. She traced her fingers over every plane and angle, and he kissed them repeatedly as they passed his lips. “How?”
“I love you, Gwen MacKeltar,” he whispered, catching her hand and planting a kiss in the palm.
Gwen laughed through her tears. “I love you too,” she whispered back, flinging her arms around him and holding him tightly. “But I don’t understand.”
In between dozens of kisses, quick sips, long leisurely ones, he told her.
Told her how he’d watched her disappear as he’d lain on the ground, the battle raging all around. Told her how the arrow had been deflected by the metal disc on his leather bands and had been but a flesh wound. Told her how they’d discovered who the “enemy” was.
“That old woman,” Gwen murmured. “She said she’d hired the gypsies.”
“Aye, Besseta. She made a full confession.” He kissed her again before continuing, sucking gently on her lower lip. “Besseta claimed she scryed in her yew sticks that a woman would bring about the death of her son. Since I was soon to wed, Besseta decided my betrothed must be the woman in her vision. She warned Nevin, but he laughed it off and made her promise not to harm me. To her ailing mind, bespelling me wasn’t harming me, so she purchased the gypsy’s services to enchant me so she might prevent the wedding. In the first reality, when Anya was killed by the Campbell, Besseta must have thought the threat had passed. I suspect, however, that sometime shortly after Anya’s death, Besseta must have had her vision again, and realized that as long as I was alive and might yet wed, the danger would never pass. So she proceeded with her original plan to have me enchanted.”
“So she drugged you and sent the message bidding you come to discover the name of the man who’d killed Dageus.”
“Aye. I was enchanted, you found me, and I sent you back.”
“But in the second reality,” Gwen exclaimed, “since Dageus and Anya weren’t killed, she must have heard you were coming home with your betrothed—”
“—and stepped up plans to have me abducted. Unwilling to take any chances; she wanted my “betrothed” gone too. As you were in my bedchamber, they assumed you were Anya.”
Gwen shook her head, amazed. “It was her belief in her vision that made everything happen, Drustan! If she hadn’t believed in it, she would never have enchanted you, I would never have been sent back, and Nevin would never have given his life to save me.”
“Aye. ’Tis why the gypsy are o’ercautious of fortune telling. They make it clear that any future they scry is but one possible future: the most likely one, yet not writ in stone. For Besseta, driven by lifelong fear, it was indeed her most probable future. Fear drove her to have me enchanted. Having me enchanted resulted in me sending you back. Once you were there, Nevin gave his life to protect you. Her fear drove her to fulfill the possibility.”
Gwen rubbed her forehead. “This hurts my head.”
Drustan laughed. “It hurts mine too. I’ll be most happy to ne’er muck with time again.”
Gwen was silent a moment, thinking. “What happened to Besseta?”
Drustan’s eyes darkened. “After you disappeared, she plunged into the battle, and though the men strove not to harm her, she was determined to die. She impaled herself on Robert’s claymore.” He frowned. “She confessed before she died, and we were able to piece the story together.”
Fresh tears gathered in Gwen’s eyes.
“You would weep for her?” Drustan exclaimed.
“If not for her, I should never have found you,” Gwen said softly. “It’s sad. It’s sad that she was so afraid. But at the same time, I’m so glad I found you.”
He kissed her again, then told her the rest of it. How he’d grieved, how he raged. How he’d stormed to the stones and stood arguing with himself for hours.
Then his mind had struck upon an idea—so temptingly possible that it had taken his breath away.
The gypsies. They’d made him sleep once for five centuries. Why not again? And so he’d tracked down the wandering tribe and commissioned their services. The gypsy queen herself had performed the spell for a pouch of coin.
“For a pouch of coin!” Gwen exclaimed. “How dare they charge you? They were the ones who—”
“Who sold a service, nothing more. The Rom hold themselves to a strange code. They maintain that blaming them for Besseta commissioning them to enchant me would be akin to blaming the blade for drawing blood. ’Tis the hand that wields the dagger, not the dagger itself.”
“Fine way to evade personal responsibility,” Gwen grumbled. Then she sucked in a shallow breath. “Your family! Silvan and Nell and—”
He cut her off by kissing her. “My choice was painful to them, but they understood.”
He’d not once wavered. He’d spent several months saying his good-byes before being enchanted. And implementing plans that would bear fruit five centuries later, plans to ensure a fine life for him and his wife. But there would be time to tell her of that tomorrow, or the next day or the next. “They bid me give you their love when we were reunited.”
Gwen got misty-eyed again, then thumped his chest with her fist. “Why didn’t you leave instructions for Maggie to find me weeks ago?” she cried. “My heart broke. I’ve been back for over a month—”
“I wasn’t certain when you would return to your time. I couldn’t decide if the month would pass for you in both centuries.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice.
“And I wasn’t willing to take any chances of summoning you before you’d met me. Och, but what a fankle that would have been. You wouldn’t have known how to wake me. You wouldn’t have even known me if we’d sent for you too early. Seemed safer to let you come.”
“But what if I hadn’t come? What if I’d never come back to Scotland?”
“I left instructions that if you hadn’t arrived by Samhain, my descendants should find you and bid you come. They were to look for you in America and bring you here.”
“But—”
“Are you going to talk me to death or kiss me, wife?” he asked huskily.
She opted for the kiss.
When his lips claimed hers, her body quickened with desire. He paused only to strip off his linen shirt, while Gwen made short work of his plaid.
“Lay back,” she commanded when she had him completely naked. “I think I should like to be on top.” He complied, flashing her a sexy grin that dripped promises of fantasies about to be fulfilled. She sat back on her heels, gazing at him, sprawled across the bed. His bronze skin and silky dark hair gleamed against the white linens. Six and a half feet of Highland warrior lay before her, awaiting her pleasure.
Yum.
Years of not understanding the equation of life culminated in one perfect moment of clarity—life equaled love plus passion squared. Loving and being passionate about what one did was what made life so precious. She would be perfectly content to devote the rest of her life to the proof of that equation.
“Touch me,” he purred.
She touched. Lightly, gliding her hands up his muscular thighs. Tracing each muscle, each ridge, then lowering her head to taste in her hand’s wake. She cupped him and swept her tongue up the underside of his hard shaft, delighted when he bucked beneath her.
“Gwendolyn!” he thundered, cradling her head with his hands. “I willna last a minute if you do that!”
“Och, nay, my braw laird,” she said in a lilting Scots accent. “Be still. ’Tis my pleasure you serve—ack!” She burst into laughter when in one swift motion he rolled her onto her back.
“I bid you recall I’ve been needing you for five hundred years, whereas you’ve been waiting only a month.”
“Yes, but you didn’t know time was pass—” she began, but he kissed her words away. He covered her body with his own, sliding her shirt up, kissing each breast as he bared them. Alternately returning for a searing kiss to her lips, then moving lower.
When at last he buried himself inside her, he groaned with ecstasy. He’d have waited a thousand years, nay, eternity, to have this woman as his own.
Much later, Drustan held her in his arms, marveling at how she completed him. She’d had her way, and had the top—the third time—informing him he was her “own private playground,” then explaining what a playground was. He had much to learn to fully integrate himself into her century. He suffered no fear on that score; rather, was exhilarated by the challenge.
Emotion flooded him, a sense of rightness and completion, and he kissed her, putting all his joy into the kiss. He was surprised when she pulled away, but then she took his hand and gently placed his palm over her belly.
He shot straight up in bed, searching her eyes. “Are you telling me something?” he exclaimed hoarsely.
“Twins. We’re having twins,” she said, bubbling over with joy.
“And you waited till now to tell me?” he roared, then threw his head back and whooped. He swept her into his arms and danced her about the room. He twirled her, kissed her, danced her more, then stopped and gently placed her back on the bed. “I shouldna be tossin’ you about like that,” he exclaimed.
Gwen laughed. “Oh, please, if our loving didn’t jostle them, a little dance certainly won’t hurt. I’m a little over two months along.”
“Two months!” he shouted, leaping to his feet again.
Gwen beamed; he was so elated. It was what every woman should get to experience when she told her man she was pregnant—a man utterly ecstatic to be a father.
He stood grinning like a fool for a moment, then sobered and dropped to his knees before her. “Will you be weddin’ me in a church, Gwendolyn?”
“Aye, oh, aye,” Gwen sighed dreamily.
And this time when they made love it was tender and slow and sweeter than e’er before.
“Where will we live?” she asked finally, combing her fingers through his silky hair. She simply couldn’t stop touching him. Couldn’t believe he was here. Couldn’t believe the sacrifice he’d made to be with her.
He grinned. “I took care of that. The estate was divided into thirds in 1518. My third is to the south. Dageus oversaw the construction of our home. It awaits us even now. Maggie and Christopher assured me they opened it and all is in readiness.”
Dageus, Gwen thought. She needed to tell him about Dageus vanishing, but there would time for that later. She didn’t want anything to spoil the moment.
“You doona mind living in Scotland, do you, lass?” he teased lightly, but she sensed a hint of vulnerability in his question. It would be hard for him to adjust to a new century. It would be even more difficult if she dragged him off to America. In time, she suspected he would like to travel, for he was a curious man, but Scotland would always be his home. Which was fine, she had no desire to go back to the States.
The enormity of what he’d done, how much he’d given up for her, overwhelmed her.
“Drustan,” she breathed, “you gave it all up—”
He pulled her onto his chest and brushed his lips against hers. “And I would do it all over again, sweet Gwen.”
“But your family, your century, your home—”
“Och, lass, doona you know? Your heart is my home.”
Dear reader:
I’d like to share with you a letter that neither Gwen nor Drustan have yet seen. I’m sure you noticed the connection between the two portraits missing in the MacKeltar hall, and Dageus “vanishing” in 1521.
There are actually two legacies handed down over the centuries, but rather than spoil Gwen and Drustan’s reunion, Maggie and Christopher agreed to hold off on revealing the second one.
You see, they have a letter addressed to Drustan and Gwen, from Silvan, as well as two shocking portraits of Dageus to show them. Yet they wished for Gwen and Drustan to have a few more stolen moments for loving before their new journey begins.
Scroll down the page for a peek at Silvan’s letter, from Dark Highlander, coming in the fall of 2002….
* * *
Drustan, my son:
I have missed you. I wish you could have met your brothers and sisters, but your heart was with Gwen, and ’twas where it wisely belonged. I wish the two of you every happiness, but rue to tell you your trials are not yet o’er.
First, the gentler news. Beloved Nell consented to be my wife. She has made every moment a joy. We left a few things for the two of you in the tower. Count over three stones on the base of the slab, second stone from the bottom. Life has been rich and full, more than I e’er dreamed. I have no regrets but one.
I should have watched Dageus more closely after you went into the tower. I should have seen what was happening. There you slumbered, enchanted, waiting for your mate, here I sat, with mine.
Yet Dageus grew e’er more solitary. Blinded by my own happiness, I didn’t see what was happening until it was too late. I shall be scant with the details, but suffice it to say as time passed, he became…obsessed with you. He worried that something would happen to prevent you from surviving until you found Gwen again.
And it did. I have
no memory of it, mayhap an odd wrinkle in my mind, but he confessed to me that three years after we placed your enchanted body in the northeast tower, that wing of the castle caught fire and you were burned and died.
Dageus broke his oath, went back in time through the stones to the day of the fire, and prevented the fire from occurring. He saved you, but in so doing, turned Dark. The old legends were true.
If you are reading this, he succeeded in his course, for he appointed himself your dark guardian, his sole purpose to see you safely to Gwen. He vowed to watch over you, then disappeared. Dageus is a strong man, and I believe such a vow has kept him sane.
I hope it has, for I tasted the evil within him.
I believe, however, the moment you awaken and are reunited, there will be nothing to hold his darkness at bay. His purpose accomplished, the thin thread that binds him to the light will snap.
Och, my son, ’tis sorry I am to be sayin’ this, but you must find him.
You must save him.
And if you cannot save him, you must kill him.
* * *
SOURCES
Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, Edwin A. Abbott, Dover Publications
A Brief History of Time, Stephen Hawking, Bantam Books
Infinity and the Mind, The Science and Philosophy of the Infinite, Rudy Rucker, Princeton University Press
The Fourth Dimension: A Guided Tour of the Higher Universes, Rudy Rucker, Houghton Mifflin Company
Stephen Hawking’s Universe: The Cosmos Explained, Stephen Hawking, Basic Books
The Handy Physics Answer Book, P. Erik Gundersen, Visible Ink Press
[Highlander 04] - Kiss of the Highlander Page 33
