by KH LeMoyne
Unable to form a wall against the onslaught, she bolstered his body, stroking at one memory, then the next, until the tension in his muscles eased.
The process worked, but she couldn’t waste her energy on reducing the effects of the attack and not resolve the issue. They needed a wall, a fortress to hide behind until she could figure out a way to end the attack.
Her gold struggled for purchase. Threads wafted like streamers, seeking, occasionally touching, but finding no footing to protect his mind. She fought for calm, ignoring her own flash of desperation, and opened her power further.
The effort, painful at first, like a tendon stretched too tight, eased as she dropped deeper into Logan’s consciousness.
Your gift lies in the heart—the nexus. Within, not without. You are the strength, her mother had insisted with her last words. Now Bri needed to believe.
Easier in theory than practice, but she opened herself more and sent her plea.
A hostile lashing attack startled her, the singe of lash marks stinging her actual flesh. Only her determination to remain rooted beside Logan kept her from being washed away.
Then a bright sheen of cerulean blue strands whipped through the open fencing the gold threads had meshed over silver. Turns and spins, a knit of complicated knots wove between the shining strands.
The infection’s next assault bowed the new fencing, yet it held tight even when the screech increased to a deafening pitch.
Not in a position to debate whether the cerulean power she’d allowed into Logan’s mind was safe, Bri dove into his nearest memories, hoping to build an emotional backlash strong enough to repel the future attacks.
Words, not images, raced through her mind.
A balance of two—to release a power greater. Your bloodline created the portals, the essence of the portal is within you…when you have need, we will seek you and you will use us.
The voice was familiar but the rumble of power and authority, less so.
The Makir and their partners will bow beneath our need or fall. Those harsh words and vehemence struck fear into Bri’s heart. Not thinking, she delved farther. Dipping into the edges of his consciousness, she tugged for entry in the newest creation of Logan’s mind.
The fringes yielded to her request. A fog of white parted, and she floated above a scene.
Logan, naked, the roped muscles of his back and buttocks visible as he knelt on thick covers of white. His hands cupped ivory breasts, his fingers rolling a dusky-pink nipple as his mouth and tongue caressed another.
Bri’s heart slammed in her chest.
It was her dream-body experiencing his touch, her face angled back. Her expression of pleasure was unfamiliar, yet she felt each of his strokes and touches as if his caresses were on her actual flesh. A dream, surely a dream, but her body felt languid with his attentions. Gold and silver glowed between them, lighting every movement and taut muscle.
Logan’s face was tight with the same pleasure. Bri wondered at it. He was giving, yet his lids were heavy with passion, his cheeks flushed while he explored her body.
His arm beneath her buttocks pulled her up until he lay between her legs. Bri felt the fire between her thighs as she watched him move against her with slow, precise movements.
A tremor and screech resounded in the distance, but her only reality was the image before her, growing larger with every move of Logan’s body. The gold and silver glow expanded with each second.
Heat furled in her belly, need curling so tight it almost hurt. He brought her body to a peak and then pulled back. She gasped, so close to experiencing something glorious she could hardly keep her eyes open as his mouth moved from one breast to the other.
His knees shifted as his fingers explored the folds of her flesh between her thighs, inciting the swirl of desire again.
Another screech echoed, farther away.
Nothing distracted the couple, too entranced in their joining to care.
Filled with his fingers, riding his thumb where it circled closer to a finish, Bri watched the face of her dream self. A light flush painted her cheeks, her mouth open in a pant and cry of pleasure as the rhythm of his tongue and fingers brought her over the edge.
A long spike of pleasure speared through her. Logan’s growl extended her deep contractions until she forced herself to look away from the scene. She shuddered, a wealth of emotions fighting inside her, a battle between her duty to protect Logan from the sorcerer and a longing to stay for more.
She sighed and she listened for their enemy. Nothing.
Reluctantly, she retreated to the fringe of his mind and crossed the mesh of gold and silver. Then she noticed the cerulean unknot and retract from the wall, and her confidence faltered. Alone, she had no chance of keeping Logan safe.
But the silence continued even with the last cerulean strand’s departure. The final wisps waved as they defused into gray.
She waited, her threads at the ready. With her arms around Logan’s body, she prepared to fend off the next attack.
Nothing.
She lost count of the minutes.
Finally deciding to risk withdrawing to check his wound, she backed in delicate steps to the edge of his consciousness.
When she opened her eyes, the moon hung lower in the sky. Long white streams of light filtered between the tree branches, but the night still owned many hours until dawn.
Her body had shifted during the battle. Logan’s head now cuddled between her breasts.
Given the steady rise and fall of his breathing, she decided just to stay curled with him.
But the raw sensation of her nipples against his skin and the dampness between her thighs made her wonder. She could have rationalized her body’s reaction, but she couldn’t discount the dream’s vividness.
Her feelings must have swept her away with what she’d witnessed. That was the only explanation.
Then Logan shifted, nestling against her, his hand moving to cup her breast. The faint scent of her on his fingers sent shudders, and a secondary ripple of pleasure, through her body.
He snuggled her closer and the blanket fell from his injured leg where it covered hers. With a gasp, she stared. Sometime during the attack, his bandage had worked its way free and she couldn’t believe what she saw.
But the moonlight didn’t lie. His jagged wound had sealed.
The firm evidence of his erection against her hip also proved he’d experienced more than just chill or pain.
Had it been real?
Bri let out a long, slow breath. Maybe yes. Maybe no.
More importantly, they’d won this round.
Logan squinted against the sun on his face. With a groan, he rolled to his elbow on the blanket and noticed the empty space beside him.
“Bri.” He whipped his head around, catching the laughter on her face and a subtle blush. What was that about? A quick scan of her face and neck revealed more than a blush—more like a faint tinge of whisker burn. His hand scrubbed at his few days’ growth and paused at the sweet, musky scent on his fingers. Before he could consider more, he found himself suddenly dressed in clean clothes, and his hand stripped of any evidence.
With a frown, he looked at Bri, but she was busy feigning interest in packing the damn basket. “Did I hurt you?”
“Never.”
“It was bad?”
She crawled to him. “It’s passed, and you’re still here.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb across the delicious pink swell of her lower lip. If he didn’t know better...but no, the last thing he remembered was pain and cold, both too overwhelming to fight. He’d expected death while he lay in her arms.
Reluctantly, he moved away and ran his hand over his thigh. The scar was tender, but no more than if he’d strained it training. “Powerful medicines.”
“We had help.” She stood and waited for him to join her. “Your lineage carries powerful ties.”
He moved to a squat, tested the
leg, and stood slowly to gauge pressure and pain. Nothing. But the change of position sparked a memory—the faint command of Agnes’s voice followed by the delicate feel of Bri’s skin against his.
“If I asked you to tell me what happened, would you?”
She ducked her head and grabbed her basket. “I’ll tell you in time. For now, we need to get back. There’s Fiona. And Hefin will be worried, and—” Her voice faltered.
He pulled her around and cupped his hands over her cheeks. “You can tell me anything.”
Her smile was surprisingly timid, but her lips responded beneath his. The quick acceptance as she opened for his exploration swept aside his doubts, her wordless communication speaking volumes. She eased into his arms. The rapid thundering of her heart, the corresponding thickening of his erection, all confirmed that whatever had happened last night hadn’t come between them.
Damn, if only he could remember.
He didn’t know how long they would be together, whether she would still choose her own path and seek her brothers, or consider joining him. With luck, events wouldn’t force them to decide soon.
He ended the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. “Tell me when you’re ready. It’s enough for me that you’re here. If you linked with me like you did with Fiona, it won’t change how I feel.”
“Definitely not like Fiona, or anyone else.” A sparkle lit the light gray of her eyes.
Unable to resist, he tasted her lips one more time. Then he grabbed the basket with a sigh.
“You never said much about your discussion with Agnes,” she said, heading toward the path.
“Seems like days ago.” He scrubbed his face with his hand again. “She’s an unusual woman. Have you known her long?”
“Grainne doesn’t visit her often. I can count my visits on one hand.” The trail broke into a clearing. She stopped and rolled her lips. “I didn’t link with you like I tried to with Fiona, but I did bind you to me. I think I intruded in your dreams.”
He didn’t know what specifically that entailed, but a connection with her wasn’t something he’d ever refuse. However, her expression was suddenly uncertain. He brushed his knuckles along her jaw reconnect. She didn’t flinch or move, but stared at him. “I don’t have a dream you aren’t welcome to join, Bri.”
Again she blushed. What had he done, and why couldn’t he remember? He desperately wanted to remember what had caused such a delicate pink hue on her cheeks. He wanted to relive it.
Sliding his hand in hers, he pulled her down the trail. “Did your parents ever tell you stories of their lives before you were born?”
At her puzzlement, he tugged her closer and slid his arm across her shoulders.
“My parents rarely spoke of their past. My brothers and I used to joke that the fairies created them in the leaves of the cradle cabbages in the forests.”
“Babies in the cabbage patch. You’re joking.”
She glanced up with a wicked smile. “My brothers had me going for several years with that story.”
“I suspect your parents’ story is more exciting than the cabbage patch.” He gave her a squeeze. It was a long trip back, time enough to share Rhiamon’s history. He suspected the visions had reached an end. They’d achieved their purpose in explaining Owain’s threat to Logan’s family and Bri. Agnes’s information added more complexity.
Whether he and Bri had shared intimacy last night or not, he didn’t want her surprised by secrets from her past or his.
And since he was alive where Quinlan had died of his wounds, Logan owed her his life, too.
“I’ll tell you about Agnes, but let me start with another story. You know I get visions sometimes, right?”
14
Grainne hung the towel she’d used to bathe Fiona near the fire. “Dear Goddess, I don’t know what we can try next. The girl spends more time asleep than awake. Though Agnes’s potions have always worked in the past. Still, I’d expected two days of treatments to have more success than merely rousing the child—a relief though that was.”
Bri swallowed a smile. Grainne had tried to lull Fiona out of her shyness. The effort had taken the patience of a saint. Surprisingly, Robert had been the first to detect Fiona’s subterfuge of playing possum. Now the game had fallen into a routine.
Another magical pinecone hit the fire near Fiona. The musical notes spiraled toward the rafters in orange and green. Bri glanced at Robert. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he gestured back to the child. Two more pinecones and a full melody later, Bri noticed as her eyelids fluttered.
“She’s been awake for the last two hours.” His smile widened before he ducked out the door. Hefin followed behind him with a grunt.
Logan stood at Robert’s near-whisper, though he looked from Bri to Grainne and gestured with his head that he intended to leave too.
“Stay, MacKenzie,” Grainne said. “I hate to think three women have scared off all our male protectors. I must also allay your fears with regard to the laird and his mages.”
Fiona’s eyes had popped open as Logan spoke. While she hadn’t uttered a word, she’d first fixated on Logan as her compass for safety, his presence seeming to give her confidence. He’d carefully weaned her of his constant presence in the room, and her acceptance with the others in the group was growing. Though she tested her boundaries more easily with him around. Given the efforts he’d gone to in saving the girl, Bri could understand Fiona’s trust.
“I’ll stay if you wish, Grainne. My concerns have less to do with the mages than the laird.”
Bri sat beside Fiona and the girl startled like a scared rabbit.
Grainne pulled a skein to her lap and circled several fingers, looping yarn until it was as thick as it was wide. “The mages protect Laird Mackinnon’s power. In turn, for those at risk he provides protection. His mages—” She extracted the wound yarn from her fingers to wind loops in a second direction, the rough outline of a ball forming in her hands. “Frightening though they might seem, none are from these parts. It’s likely frightening for them as well. When battles are won, lives are always traded. But the destinies of all who work for the laird have improved under his guardianship.”
Logan picked up Robert’s bowl of pinecones and pitched one into the fire. “You have proof of the mages’ fair treatment, or just rumors?”
“I can ease your worry.” Grainne handed the yarn and skein to Bri. Fiona stilled at the exchange, but watched the yarn loop around the ball with fascination. After a few seconds, she touched the yarn and Bri offered her the ball. The little fingers had trouble palming the ball, but she held it to her middle with success. The loops worked slowly, her fingers uncertain and clumsy. Bri turned and smiled at Logan.
His gaze riveted on Fiona, he watched with obvious concern as her welfare prompted his discussion with Grainne. Not a debate Bri planned to enter. Fiona needed a long-term plan, and safety from someone with knowledge and defense for her special skills. As helpful as Grainne and Hefin had been for Bri, Fiona’s age and trauma required more.
Taking her through the portal wasn’t an option. She belonged in this world. According to Logan’s recounting on the way home, Agnes had confirmed the Makir and his sentinels could travel the portals and pay the price, but not this frail child. She needed a solution here. A strong protector.
Logan would find her one. More importantly, Fiona would accept his decision—his and no one else’s.
Grainne reappeared with a thick round circle of metal. Three large symbols were visible on the metal, but a missing section left the circle incomplete. She placed the hoop in Logan’s hands.
Fiona struggled to sit up, taking a sudden interest in the object. She glanced at Bri’s offer of a hand up, her expression filled with fear and distrust.
With a sudden spark of understanding, Bri leaned away. A delicate shower of water misted in the air over her hands, droplets falling into a bowl at her knees. After several flicks to get rid of the excess magical static likely to affect Fi
ona, Bri offered her hand again.
Fiona gingerly touched her fingers. Her eyes narrowed as if she braced for a shock, then widened when nothing happened. Her tentative grip tightened on Bri’s hands.
“No magic will harm you here. I promise.”
The child sat with her legs tucked under, leaning against the fire circle’s rock wall. They turned back to the silence behind them.
Bri nodded to the metal Logan still held. “The female mage at Quinlan’s house—that was her slave collar.” As the furrows between his brows deepened she rushed on, afraid he’d mistaken her comment. “The laird had it removed after she arrived. She and several others were the spoils of his war at his southern boundaries. No one here wears such barbaric things.”
Logan brushed the etching and glanced up. The lines on his face hadn’t eased, but Fiona seemed unaware or unconcerned with the rising emotions. However, his concern swirled in a tight knot of worry spanning the distance between him and Bri. As if she’d absorbed his skill. A possible side effect of her binding last night?
“Her slave number is on the collar,” she continued. “Granted, she’s not friendly, but she may have her reasons.”
“Our laird provides for them,” Grainne said. “Mages in service are no different than warriors, fisherman, or other clansmen. Aye, the laird can be a hard man, but he’s fair and prefers his people live in peace.”
“His people are free to leave or abstain from service then?” Logan asked.
Grainne shrugged. “None of us is free to abstain from life. But we all can use our skills to benefit our lives, the lives of those around us. There are worse fates.”
“Yet you hid Bri.” He shook his head and tossed the collar to the ground. “Compassion is a good thing. That doesn’t mean we trust him. The mages I saw were adults.”
“Aye. We took her as ours. But he is not heartless, MacKenzie. The Mackinnon has a reputation for fostering children. In truth, Fiona’s power is of no use to him now. You’re a smart man. You can present choices that position her future in his favor. He commands many men from these lands. His counsel is often requested for agreements between Scotland and the English queen. He will know what is best.” She paused. “As well as how to protect his assets.”
