Why did she think such thoughts? Ones so similar to his own? Regrettably, her sentiment had been but a glimpse because he sensed nothing more for the remainder of the day. Yet it had been there. A sadness that might not run as deep as his, but ran deep enough.
By the time they set up their tents on the outer edge of Robert Bruce’s encampment, men were in their cups, and the Bruce was eager for their company. Or more accurately put Chloe’s company. So much so, that he sat her beside him around the fire rather than next to her ‘husband’ where she belonged.
It seemed the gown she had worn, then allowing Robert to escort her without her ‘husband’ at Edinburgh Castle had done her no favors after all. As he'd feared, it had sent a very direct message.
She was open to a dalliance.
Though inclined to set the record straight, Aidan wasn’t about to confront Robert in the midst of his own men. Not yet, anyway. It was up to her to make things clear. Or, if she so chose, to become the royal bastard’s lover en route, which was clearly what the Bruce intended.
“Are ye going to just sit there and let him flirt like that?” Cray asked, surprising them both when he was able to speak telepathically to Aidan. “If so, then I will put an end to it myself.”
Why did Cray care if Robert wanted her? Unless he wanted her for himself.
“Stand down, dragon.” Though jealous and irritated with Robert, he refrained from resting his hand on his sheathed dagger in warning. He was glad he refrained, too, because he suddenly sensed more to this. Something he had not picked up on as they traveled. “Robert is seeking something...”
“Aye, the heat betwixt her thighs,” Cray replied. Not nearly as discreet as Aidan, he sharpened his blade, and cast disgruntled glances at Robert.
“Mayhap,” Aidan murmured. “Or mayhap not.”
When Cray glanced at him curiously, he explained.
“He might have sat Chloe beside him, but he doesnae necessarily behave like a man trying to get her into his bed.” Aidan noted Robert’s mannerisms. “He doesnae randomly touch her or have trouble looking away as he should.”
“Aye,” Cray conceded, testing his limits with Aidan. “He should have trouble looking away from such loveliness. And bloody hell, he should have at least touched her tempting thigh by now.”
He would have held his tongue had it been any other man, but with good reason, Cray got under his skin more easily than most. So he threw caution to the wind, put his hand on the hilt of his dagger and turned a tempered but displeased look Cray’s way.
“Ye’ll want to watch yer tongue, MacLeod,” he warned, his inner voice threatening. “Or as Laird MacLomain so recently said ye’ll see what an arch-wizard can do to a mere dragon wizard, fluctuating magic or not.”
Cray sniffed in derision, and his pupils flared with challenge before Chloe’s words shockingly enough, cut into both of their minds.
“You two need to stop squabbling and pay attention,” she said. “Because Robert knows what we are. He just doesn’t know if we’re the enemy or not. Worse yet? I think he’s prone to coming to his own conclusions fast and acting without thought.”
Chapter Nine
CHLOE HAD NOT been sure what to make of Robert Bruce sitting her beside him until his murmurs in her ear took a very pointed turn. While he appeared to be flirting with her, he was doing anything but. Seating her apart from Aidan had been a divide and conquer that had nothing to do with him lusting after her.
Though she never gave him a direct answer, he seemed to come to his own conclusions anyway because he asked everyone to leave but her, Aidan and Cray. Then he proceeded to ask a number of questions that told them he had done a great deal of thinking since that morning.
More so, that he had come to conclusions none of them anticipated.
“So ye are precisely what da said ye are,” Robert concluded after Aidan answered his questions more honestly than she expected. In turn, the Bruce took everything remarkably well. He steepled his fingers and eyed the men with a mix of wonder and disbelief. “Ye really are wizards sent through time to help my wee brother? To help our country against Balliol?”
“Aye,” Aidan confirmed. “We are from our Lord's year thirteen forty-six.”
“So seventeen years from now,” Robert murmured absently.
As it turned out, former King Robert the Bruce and his bastard son had been far closer than anyone—including the MacLomains—knew. While it was obvious King Robert had been proud enough of his son, having knighted him after the Battle of Bannockburn, it was unbeknownst to most, that he'd spent much time with his bastard. Most especially during his last days. It also became obvious that Robert held no ill will toward his younger brother for becoming king when he could have, had he been born to the right mother.
“He told me of ye MacLomains,” Robert said. “But ‘twas hard to believe.” He shook his head. “Honestly, though I humored him, I didnae really start to believe him until yer arrival.”
Aidan and Cray glanced at each other before Aidan got to the point. “What specifically did yer da tell ye about those of us with MacLomain blood?”
“Everything.” Robert glanced from Chloe to them. “And whilst I was at the Battle of Bannockburn and saw the foreign lasses who came to our aid, my youth, I imagine, made it impossible to believe even then.” His gaze returned to Chloe. “Until today. Until I met ye.”
“Why her?” Aidan replied before she had a chance to respond. He shifted closer to her and rested his hand on the back of her chair. He was claiming his territory, wasn’t he? Making it clear to Robert she was taken even though minutes before he didn't seem to care. His steady gaze stayed on the Bruce. “Why did my wife make ye, at last, believe?”
“Is she then?” Robert looked from Chloe to Aidan. “Is she yer wife any more than other Brouns were to their MacLomains prior to traveling back in time?”
Though not crazy about being called something she wasn’t, she wanted to keep things the way they were and had no idea why. Not really.
“I am his wife,” she replied, saying what she sensed needed to be said. What felt right, no matter where it landed her. If nothing else, at least it let Robert and Cray know she wanted more with Aidan, whether or not she did. Which should eliminate all potential tension. “Aidan and I are married.”
Rather than look at Aidan or Robert, she locked eyes with Cray and nodded once, trying to find conviction in her lie. He, in turn, narrowed his eyes but said nothing, no doubt baffled by her behavior. Or her in general. It was impossible to tell. Either way, he backed her up, which was more than she expected. Mainly because he didn't strike her as the type to give up so easily when it came to women.
“Aye, they are married, Laird Bruce.” Then, because Cray likely couldn’t help himself, he shrugged a shoulder. “Such as it is.”
Robert frowned. “Such as it is?”
Damn Cray. What made sense? She thought fast.
“Yes, such as it is coming to the king's aid so soon after our nuptials.” She threaded her fingers with Aidan's and rested her shoulder against his. “Traveling newlyweds and all.”
Robert's brows flew up in surprise before he raised his mug. “Then, congratulations are in order!”
Cray snorted and raised his mug, swigging it down before they had a chance to raise theirs as well. In turn, Robert did the same.
Though one couldn’t tell by looking at him, she felt Aidan's mixed emotions. Thankfulness she was willing to play the part to keep the peace. Distress that despite the charade, he was somehow being unfaithful to Maeve.
Fortunately, the subject changed, and they spoke of other things.
She was surprised by how well Robert responded to confirmation that time travel existed. More so, that they would not reveal the future. Because like any Scotsman in his right mind, he was curious about the fate of his beloved country.
“I can’t believe he took everything so well,” she commented later after they bid Robert goodnight. She was grateful for the bla
nket Aidan had put around her shoulders as they headed back to their tent. The rain had stopped, but it was still raw and gusty. Tall pines creaked in the wind overhead, and the flickering light from Cray's torch cast spooky shadows through the trees.
“Robert is much like his father,” Aidan said. “More open minded than most.”
“Aye,” Cray agreed. “I know verra little about him from history other than he battles well and loves his country.”
“Aye, he does that, lad,” came a male voice out of nowhere. “’Tis good he knows of you, but ‘tis verra important he remains in the dark about why you are here.”
She stopped short, confused, and more than a little alarmed. “Where did that voice come from?”
“From me, lass,” the voice responded. Seconds later, a tall Scotsman appeared. His ethereal form sporadically caught on the wind. “My name is Grant.” He looked fondly from Aidan to her. “Aidan’s great-granda.”
Things just got stranger by the moment around here, didn’t they? If she didn’t believe in ghosts before, she certainly did now.
“Nice to meet you, Grant.” The family resemblance between him and Aidan was remarkable. “I’m Chloe.”
“Aye, I know.” He smiled at her. “’Tis good to finally meet you.”
Finally meet her? As if he knew she was coming? She eyed him curiously. “So, you expected me?”
“But of course.” Before she could ask more questions, his attention turned to Aidan, his focus on other things. It seemed he followed them well enough whether or not he was here. “You’ve already had a run-in with a Disinherited, aye?”
“Aye.” Aidan shared what had happened to him and Chloe while in a dreamlike state earlier. “How did you know?”
“Because something happened when Julie and Tiernan visited the Stonehenge in Ireland,” he started to explain but stopped short. As if sensing something, he peered at Chloe with sudden interest. “You’ve come across something new in all this, aye, lass?”
“New?” She frowned and shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“I dinnae quite know,” he murmured, eyeing her curiously. “’Tis not from the afterlife but...Ah!” His gaze widened. “’Twas of the gods!”
What? When? “The gods?”
“Aye, a goddess by the feel of the energy still around you.” He cocked his head, considering her. “Of the Celtic variety, I’d say and ‘twas quite recently.”
“Sorry, but if I was around a goddess, I think I would've noticed.” Or would she have? What exactly did a goddess look like? How would she have presented herself? She imagined a glowing, glorious entity with her arms outstretched, radiating peace and light.
Like warm sunshine.
“No way.” She rounded her eyes at Aidan, recalling the sunlight streaming through the window at Edinburgh Castle. The mysterious voice and faery Godmother gown. “You don’t think...my dress...”
“’Twas a lovely dress,” Grant mentioned absently, thinking things over. He nodded once and grinned as if his question had just been answered by some unknown source. “Aye, ‘twas most definitely a gift from a goddess.” Curiosity lit his eyes. “Tell me more, Chloe. What did she say?”
When had he seen her dress? She supposed it didn’t much matter. His confirmation that she had been contacted by a goddess was more important. So she told him about the exchange. How the voice had claimed to be a friend and seemed supportive of her being a witch.
“Why do you suppose she claimed to be a friend?” she asked Grant, all the while aware of Aidan’s growing discontent. She frowned at him. “And why do you look so upset?”
His expression smoothed. “I am nae upset.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Nay—” he began only for Grant to cut him off.
“He’s upset because he didnae continue asking about your dress, and just assumed your magic had manifested it,” Grant revealed. “More than that, he's frustrated that his magic has waned so much that he didnae sense a goddess had reached out to you.” He looked at Aidan with compassion. “But he need not feel that way for two reasons. Not only do I hail from the afterlife, a place one step closer to the land of the gods, making it easier for me to sense them,” his gaze flickered to her Claddagh ring, “but Aidan has not harnessed the power of his one true love yet, which would allow him to sense them, too.”
When Aidan nearly replied, “My one true love is dead,” but bit his tongue instead, she did her best not to respond to his thought. It was private, and she had no right.
Grant, however, had no such issue.
“Mayhap, my lad, ‘tis time for you to reevaluate a good many things.” His pointed but compassionate gaze went from her to his great-grandson. “If not for your kin and country, then for yourself, ‘tis time to come to terms with the fact that mayhap true love can happen more than once.”
His inner defiance obvious, Aidan straightened a little but offered no response. Meanwhile, Cray kicked in with his own two cents. Compassion for her flashed in his eyes so quickly she nearly didn't catch it.
“We learned well enough that love can happen twice, Cousin,” Cray reminded, sounding more convinced of that than he looked.
“Aye, it can,” Grant agreed. Yet the way he gazed at her ring told a slightly different story. While true love could happen twice, the particular brand of love found via the Claddagh ring was one of a kind.
“So what happened at the Irish Stonehenge?” Aidan asked, plainly ready to change the subject. “Why have Tiernan and Julie not joined us yet?”
“They will soon enough,” Grant assured, suddenly distracted. As though something else had caught his attention. “Right now, ‘tis best you get some rest and be mindful of your dreams.” He looked from her to Aidan, his ethereal form fading almost as if he had no control over it. “Stay close together when dreaming for you are...”
Before he could finish, he was gone, an ethereal wisp on the wind vanishing into the darkness, his last words left unsaid. If that weren’t enough, he’d never gotten around to telling them what had happened at the Irish Stonehenge.
The very reason he’d been here to begin with.
Chapter Ten
HE COULD TELL by the uncertainty on Chloe’s face that even though she had watched him set up the tent earlier, she’d figured she would be sleeping elsewhere. Had she thought it would be with Cray? Had she wanted it to be? He tried not to grow frustrated.
He should want her to look elsewhere. Be with someone else.
“Yeah, anyone but Cray,” she muttered under her breath, surprising him with how easily she had heard those thoughts. How much of him she was sensing in general. It was unsettling if for no other reason than he wasn’t as adverse to it as he should be.
She plunked down on the plaid as he lit a candle and set it between them. They removed their boots, and he gave her another plaid to use as a blanket.
“I am sorry, lass,” he said softly because he was. “You deserve better.”
He might not know her very well, but he knew that. She was inherently kind-natured and deserved the kind of love he had shared with Maeve. The kind he still shared though she wasn't here anymore. She would be someday, though. He would see her in the afterlife, and all would be well again.
He notched his chin determined to keep that in mind when he felt himself drifting toward Chloe. He would be reunited with Maeve someday. Until then, while he might feel affection for his Broun, he must be careful not to fall in love. Not to betray Maeve's memory.
“I do deserve better,” Chloe said just as softly, drawing him from his thoughts. “But, I get where you’re coming from and have no interest in coming between you and your memory.”
Memory, not memories. But he understood why she phrased it that way. Or at least he thought he did. He pulled two skins of whisky out of his satchel and sat on the other side of the candle. “You say it as though ‘tis but one memory when ‘twas many betwixt me and Maeve.”
“That I don’t doubt.” She thanked hi
m for the whisky, sipped it and flinched, but made no comment. “Would you tell me about her?” When he started to shake his head, she rested her hand on his forearm and pleaded with her eyes. “Please. One way or another, she's clearly part of all this, so I want to know her better. She seems so real to me though I’ve never even met her.”
“Because of your dreams?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I suppose...and maybe because of you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” She seemed to search for the right words. “The more I get to know you, the more real she becomes if that makes sense.”
She could only be referring to the magical connection growing between them. Because whether he liked it or not, they were connecting in a whole new way. Not just telepathically but more. Her thoughts and emotions. Her likes and dislikes.
“Maeve was quiet,” he murmured before he could stop himself. “She had an inner peace that was hard to describe. Right up to her death.” He took a deep swig of whisky, unwilling to think about the end. Her gaunt body. Her near lifeless eyes. Instead, he focused on when they first met because she was healthy. “She was sixteen winters old when she first traveled to Hamilton Castle.” He shook his head, recalling how bashful she’d been. “She wouldnae even look at me when we were introduced.”
“But she looked at you eventually,” Chloe prompted when he trailed off. She propped herself on an elbow, her curious gaze on his face, her tone gentle. “Tell me about that. About when she finally came out of her shell.”
“’Twas more like she was caught coming out of her shell.” He rested on his elbow as well, more comfortable talking about this than he would have thought. “I discovered her on a wall walk atop the castle, raising her arms as though she could leap off and fly.”
Her brows arched, and her mouth curled up. “I take it you said something to her?”
“Aye,” he murmured. “I asked her if she realized she possessed no magic and couldnae fly like a bird.”
“Can wizards fly then?”
A Scot's Devotion (The MacLomain Series: End of an Era, #2) Page 6
