“You know I kissed you last night, aye?” he said softly. “That ‘twas not just a dream?”
She nodded, clearly having trouble finding her voice.
“What did ye think of it, lass?” He recalled how deeply he had sunk into that single kiss. “Did ye enjoy the kiss as much as I?”
“I think you know I did,” she whispered. Her gaze fell to his lips. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.” Her curious eyes returned to his. “Is that a wizard thing?”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Nay, ‘tis a Hamilton thing.”
Her mouth curled up ever-so-slightly, and she began to say something, but he took the words out of her mouth with a soft kiss. Then another. Then, because he had to sample just a bit more, another. She tasted of wild berries and places he had never been before. Worlds he had never seen. She drove the shadows away and brought peace, where he had felt nothing but strife for so long.
Then he felt even more.
Not just a rush of desire but a level of excitement and arousal he wasn’t accustomed to. As if she felt it too, she pressed close and twisted her hands in his tunic, clutching him as though she feared them being separated. He understood because he felt it too.
“Chloe,” he murmured against her lips, needing to say her name. He cupped her cheeks and deepened the kiss. Lost himself. Their connection became a cord of sunlight in his mind's eye, wrapping around them, drawing their souls closer than their physical bodies could ever get.
Yet he wanted their bodies closer still.
He wanted to see if the rest of her was as soft as her cheeks. If she made the same little breathy moans when he kissed her elsewhere. When he tasted all she had to offer. He trailed his fingers down the curve of her back and cupped her backside, pressing her against his arousal with a need that was almost too much.
Where did she stand on intimacy before love? Even mayhap, without love?
Regrettably, she caught those thoughts and dragged her lips away. Winded, her heart beating nearly as hard as his, she rested her forehead against his chest and murmured, “I’m from the twenty-first century, Aidan, so I’m pretty open minded about sex before love.”
She sighed and met his eyes. “I am, however, opposed to it with no hope of love...especially when it comes to you.” Having found her footing, she stepped away, leaving him with the same awful emptiness he’d felt in the tent that morning. “More specifically, I’m opposed to it without hope of love for me and me alone.”
“Aye then, lass,” he murmured because he didn’t know what else to say. She was right. “As you said, you deserve such.”
He could tell by the flash of disappointment in her eyes that she thought he might say more. That he would give her hope. Yet it was not that simple. While he had begun entertaining the possibility of loving another, it would take more than a kiss and raging arousal to get there.
“We should get back,” she said softly. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment before she started walking again.
He wanted to say he was sorry, but it wasn’t precisely how he felt. Rather he felt hopeful in a way he never had before. As if a curtain was being drawn back, and it was only a matter of time before he saw what he was meant to see. As if, deep down, there was no reason to be sorry. Not when it came to her.
Not when it came to what he ultimately wanted from her but wasn’t quite ready to admit.
“Not yet,” he whispered. “But soon.”
She stopped and turned back slowly as if she had caught that.
As if she understood how far he had really come.
“And you have, love,” she said, her voice different, like a song on the wind. Her eyes sparkled, and for a moment, he swore her features morphed, but it must have been a trick of the light. “For, I made sure of it.” The woodland around them seemed to pulse. “I made sure she loved you too.”
Then, just like that, Chloe vanished into thin air.
Chapter Seventeen
SHE KNEW THE moment she told Aidan she had made ‘her’ love him that she referred to Maeve. That, however, became the least of her concerns when Aidan faded, and she found herself standing at Brodgar Stonehenge once again.
This time it wasn’t dark and mysterious but bright and sunny. Colors were vibrant. The water shimmered crystalline blue, the plush grass bright emerald green, and the standing stones dazzling silver.
“Ah, you’re starting to remember then, my curious one,” came the woman’s voice from before, seemingly part of the sunlight warming her face. “Which means you’re making your way out of the darkness into the light...love’s light.”
The woman clearly referred to Chloe’s cryptic words to Aidan.
She turned slowly, looking for the source of the voice, but saw nothing.
“Are you Goddess Étaín?” she asked. “Do you know me? Better yet, did you know me in another life?”
“I have known you many times for you have stayed when I have gone,” whispered on the wind. “Yet every time I see you, you grow ever brighter. Ever more beautiful.”
She noticed the voice had not confirmed its name.
“What do you mean I stayed and you went?” She shook her head, thinking like a fantasy fiction buff rather than a journalist. “Do you mean I was immortal?”
“All Fae are immortal, dear one,” the goddess responded, hers more of a sing-song voice dancing around Chloe now. As if that were how the deity laughed. “Until, as in your case, they are not.”
“I don’t understand.” Yet tears welled when unexplainable grief washed over her. “Or do I?”
For a split second, she sensed more answers, but they were just out of reach.
“What did I do, Goddess?” She sank to the cool grass. “What awful thing did I do to Aidan and Maeve when I was a faery?”
Because she had done something. She was sure of it.
“Love is not awful,” Étaín said gently. Her voice sounded farther and farther away. “Especially when done out of love, for love.”
“I don’t understand,” she said softly, knowing the goddess would hear her no matter what. That she was with her in a unique way. That she always had been. “I just don’t understand.”
“But you will curious one,” echoed on the wind. “Do what you do best. Seek your truth. Find your answers. Embrace your love.”
Another round of grief washed over her, and she hung her head. What was this? What made her feel so strongly? She sobbed under the weight of emotions she didn't understand. Feelings that made no sense. She was so far gone in misery she never saw it go from day to night nor feel the chill of falling rain. She didn’t see lightning flash or hear thunder rumble.
She was only vaguely aware of being swept up into Aidan’s arms then set down by a fire in a tent. Only vaguely aware of him peeling off her wet clothes and wrapping her in a fur. By the time her overwhelming grief finally subsided, the fire had nearly dwindled.
It felt like she awoke from a dream as she inhaled his spicy scent and felt the warmth of him all around her. Still wrapped in a thick, cozy fur, she was on his lap with her cheek resting against his chest.
“What happened?” she tried to say, but her voice was too raspy and parched. Like she hadn’t drank anything in a millennium.
“Drink, lass,” he urged, holding water to her lips.
Rather than meet his eyes quite yet, she took in their surroundings. The tent was larger this time, allowing for a small fire pit, vented on one side with an open flap. Rain fell in heavy sheets, and lightning continued flashing. “Where are we?” She swallowed hard and forced herself to look at him, surprised by the fear and worry in his eyes. “What happened?”
“We’re right where we were when you vanished hours ago,” he revealed. “Julie and Tiernan are in a nearby tent. Cray continued on with Robert and Donald.”
“We should go.” Yet she felt so damn weak. “We’re supposed to look after King David.”
“And we will soon enough,” he assured. “We’ll leave at da
wn. ‘Twill put us there by mid-day.” His gaze remained worried. “Until then, you will rest...and recover.”
“Recover,” she whispered, fighting back another wave of grief. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover, and I have no idea why.”
“Yet I sense you know more than you did when you vanished,” he said softly. “What happened, Chloe? Where did you go?” He hesitated before continuing, his expression troubled. “And what did you mean you made sure ‘she’ loved me?”
Though she’d much rather crawl under the fur and vanish, she knew she had to tell him everything. So she did. All of what had happened at the Stonehenge and her growing suspicions about Maeve.
“Could it have been the Disinherited mimicking Étaín’s voice?” he asked. “Might they have been playing tricks with your mind?”
“No.” She shook her head. “This time at the Stonehenge felt totally different than before. Far less sinister. It was peaceful and beautiful...just like the voice...the Goddess.” She met his eyes and bit her lower lip, fighting a fresh wave of sadness. “Everything she told me was true, Aidan. I just don’t understand all of that truth yet other than I...” God, saying it was so damn hard, but she kept going. “When I was a faery, I made Maeve...”
She struggled to push it past her lips but just couldn't. Not yet. It was too hard. Clearly sensing she needed a moment, he offered her food, but she shook her head, not at all hungry. So he handed her another skin and urged her to drink what turned out to be whisky, remaining patient as she gathered herself. She could tell by the look in his eyes he feared what she was about to say. What it might mean for them. And he was right to worry because it was downright life-altering. Terrible. Hard to imagine.
But it needed to be said, so she finally just blurted it out.
“Though I have no idea why, when I was a faery, I used my magic to ensure Maeve loved you.” She kept her eyes with his because he deserved it. “I’m so incredibly sorry.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine why I would’ve done such a thing.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I must’ve been a monster.”
He seemed stunned for several moments before he finally spoke, not angry words but curious, rather calm ones.
“One must wonder what kind of monster wishes love on another,” he whispered. His gaze turned to the fire, the look in his eyes heartbreaking. “So, she never truly loved me?”
“She did love you.” She wiped away another tear, feeling his pain like it was her own. “She just needed help getting there, I guess.”
What woman in her right mind wouldn’t have loved him right away? It made no sense. He was everything a girl could ask for. More, in her opinion.
“It was already too late, wasn’t it?” he said softly, his eyes on the fire, his tone so certain she knew his magic had picked up on something. That he saw the truth. “Her heart was already lost to Cray.”
While she knew he wondered if it would have been different had Maeve just gone to Hamilton Castle before MacLeod Castle, he didn’t voice it.
“Because it no longer matters.” His gaze returned to her. “Nor does what you did in another life when you were another creature entirely.” He touched her chin gently. “What matters is getting to the root of what put you in this darkness Étaín claimed you have come back from. And what made you lose your immortality as a faery.”
“’Tis a verra good question,” came a disembodied voice before Grant appeared, not young this time but old. He seemed to be part of the fire as it sizzled back to life.
“Aye,” another man agreed, manifesting in an ethereal state just beyond the flames. Somewhere in his fifties and well-built with white hair, white robes, and a gnarly cane, he was undoubtedly Tiernan’s father. He smiled at Chloe and nodded. “I’m Adlin. ’Tis verra nice to meet you, lass.”
Aidan’s brows swept up. “Since when can you astral project, Uncle?”
“’Tis a new perk.” Adlin looked skyward in thought. “Or mayhap an old one that found its way back to me with my cane and robe.” He sighed. “Not that it’s a sure thing nowadays with our magic fluctuating and all.” He waved it away. “But that is neither here nor there right now.” He gave them a pointed look. “What matters are the discoveries you two are, well, discovering.”
“Discoveries they are discovering?” Grant looked at Adlin in amusement. “Might that not be a wee bit redundant old friend?”
“Mayhap a wee bit,” Adlin conceded with a grin. “But what harm is there in a little repetition?”
“None,” Aidan interrupted. “Though mayhap ‘twould be best to chat about that later?”
“Aye,” Adlin agreed, growing serious before he grew quite curious, his gaze once again on Chloe. It seemed, like Grant, he was all caught up on things. “So you were once immortal then, as far as you know, you made sure Maeve loved Aidan then lost your immortality.”
“I don’t know that it happened like that,” she murmured, yet deep down, she knew he was right. It had happened precisely like that. “Wow,” she whispered, looking at Adlin as curiously as he looked at her. “How did you know that...then I knew that?”
“Because you knew it first.” A merry light lit his eyes. “You just didnae know you knew it until I said it and reminded you.”
Perplexed, she frowned. “Come again?”
“Och, nay, you dinnae want to promote another explanation, lass.” Grant chuckled. “Best to stay on course.”
Adlin arched a brow at Grant. “You make it sound like I’m long-winded.”
“Because you are.” Grant grinned. “But ‘tis half your charm.”
Adlin returned his grin. “Aye, then?”
“Uncle, might we focus on what you mean?” Aidan kicked in, clearly growing exasperated. Which was better than sad she supposed. She, in turn, was no longer saturated in grief but quite taken with Adlin. He had a way of lifting her spirits without intending to. Or did he intend to?
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Adlin looked at Aidan curiously before his gaze landed on Chloe and lit with awe. “Ah, that’s right. What do I mean?” He glanced from Aidan to her. “What I mean, to narrow it down, is that whatever you did to ensure Maeve loved Aidan, had long reaching effects on Clan MacLomain indeed.” He shot Grant an incredulous look. “In fact, you willnae believe just how long-reaching, my friend.”
Chapter Eighteen
HE AND CHLOE remained silent for several moments, processing what they’d just been told. Grant had literally poofed away in a crackle and pop of flames, seemingly taking Adlin with him.
But not before they shared a few things.
“Did I hear that correctly?” Chloe finally murmured. “Whatever my former faery did to lose her immortality is directly connected to Adlin and his foster sister, Iosbail, losing their immortality in their previous life?”
“Aye,” he confirmed. “’Tis precisely what Adlin said.”
“And Grant responded by saying Adlin and Iosbail lost their immortality when they found true love,” she said. “That’s when they started aging.”
“Aye, correct.”
“And what do you make of that?” she prompted when he didn’t say anything further.
“I dinnae know.” He shook his head, lost in thought, trying to come to grips not only with what she’d shared before his elders arrived but by the sheer panic he’d felt when she vanished earlier. “All I know, and Adlin and Grant agree, is that this connects you to Adlin’s creation in another life.”
“When he was conceived at the Irish Stonehenge by the Druidess and the Celtic King?”
“That’s right.” He met her eyes. “Somehow, you, as a faery, influenced his magic, Chloe. Or, more pointedly, influenced true love.”
“Well, we all know that now, don’t we,” she said dryly. Her sad gaze settled on the fire. “Just look at what I did to you.”
While some might be furious, he was not. Did it hurt that Maeve’s heart was never truly his? Of course. But in some small way, it was freeing too. As if the veil h
e had sensed before was pulled back even further. That he drew ever closer to some great truth.
Though he knew better than to touch Chloe any more than he already was, nude with nothing but fur between them, he needed her eyes with his. He needed her to see his true feelings. So he tilted her chin until her gaze found his.
“What you did for me, not to me, Chloe, was satisfy my longing,” he said softly. “I loved Maeve and ‘twould have been unthinkable had she not loved me back.”
She nodded, clearly muted by overwhelming emotion.
“Truly, lass.” He searched her eyes. “You are not, nor have you ever been a monster as you put it. I have no doubt that your reasons were pure and that you only had my best interests at heart.”
He meant that too. He felt it.
“I hope you’re right because it sounds like I was going somewhere that only belongs to God,” she murmured. “It sounds like I interfered where I had no right.”
“I dinnae know about that,” he murmured, more confident by the moment that his sense about this was correct. “I get the feeling ‘twas your place, lass. That...”
“That what?” she said when he trailed off, caught by the strong certainty that washed over him.
“That ‘twas, as Grant guessed, your love for me at work,” he said softly, searching her eyes again, following the sparkle that had ignited deep within. “That whatever you did, mayhap even that you made Maeve love me, was because your love for me was so true...because you wanted only happiness for me.”
“I think that’s what Maeve was trying to tell me when I dreamt about her right before you and I met.” She sat up a little as if something had just clicked in her mind. “Before I ever traveled back to Tiernan and Julie at the Callanais Standing Stones on their adventure.”
Where before he might have leapt at any message from Maeve, now he felt a welcome sense of peace. Closure of a sort. So much so that it caught him unaware. As if, strangely enough, he had been under a spell with how deeply he’d cared about her. How intensely he had fought letting her go even in death. Suddenly, it didn't seem so natural but over the top. Too much. Why would that be, though? Then again, his magic was fluctuating, so mayhap that’s all this was.
A Scot's Devotion (The MacLomain Series: End of an Era, #2) Page 11
