by K H Lemoyne
But she needed him closer. He knew it, caging her in his arms and bringing her to him. His empathic nature would have sensed her emotions. Her wants. He’d already proven he could seduce her with kisses, as easily as he could erase her fears and stoke fire in her blood with a practiced glide of his fingers between her legs.
She wanted the same power over him. To pleasure and satisfy. She searched for clues as she raked her nails over his skin and grazed her teeth along his shoulder. His growls and a bitten-back curse as she licked his nipple rewarded her. His hips ground against her core, the brush of his erection distracting her.
As if he felt he was losing too much ground in their seduction, he rolled her nipples in his fingers. “My turn.”
She tried to hold back a response just to torment him. Whimpers gave her away. He didn’t ease off and the spring of need inside her curled tighter. With one hand, he searched through the clothes she’d removed from him. From within his leather pouch, he removed a small packet and ripped it open with his teeth. She frowned as he palmed the contents of the packet and rolled it over his erection.
“What is that?”
“Protection.”
Against her?
His hands braced her jaw so she wouldn’t turn away. “So you won’t get pregnant.” His thumb tried to sweep away something on her face, perhaps a trace of her frown that worried him. “I want you to enjoy this. Not have to be worried about the consequences.”
Done with explanations, he dotted her skin with kisses until all thoughts of protection and children were the farthest things from her mind. She looped her arms around his neck to bring him closer. The hairs on his chest tickled her breasts and a wiggle positioned him at her entrance.
He nipped along her jaw line, and his hand drifted to her thigh. Tenderly soothing along her folds and opening her to him with his fingers, he flexed his hips and pushed up into her enough for her to register his hardness The thickness induced a heat just shy of satisfaction and she moved for more. She needed him closer.
“Slowly. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He suckled her breast and her body pulsed faster with need. “Logan.”
He pressed in a bit and withdrew. With a moan, she swiveled her hips trying to reclaim him.
“Bri, you’re killing me here. I need to stay in control.” His fingers delved again where his erection already claimed her, and caressed her again.
She gripped his hair to make him look at her. “I need you to stop teasing.”
He drove again with a tight laugh. “Whatever you want, love.”
It was the second time he’d let the expression slip. Bri felt the tingle of the word in her heart almost as much as she felt the fullness inside of her. “More.”
He caught her nipple in his teeth before he pushed up and brought her hips down until he was seated fully inside of her. His muscles remained taut.
She held her breath, clutching his shoulders. Full and tight, but without pain. Was this all? This act lacked the blinding passion she’d felt earlier. A subtle move on her part and the pleasure streaked through her again. She closed her eyes. Oh, yes, there it was. Gold swirled inside her mind and silver raced beside it, thread for thread, a chase and a dance in one.
She gasped as he withdrew. The sensation sizzled and built when he pressed inside her again. “More.”
His lips pressed against her temple. “Hold on, love.” He cupped the back of her head, and spun her back to the blanket so that he covered her. His hips moved, and Bri struggled to find a rhythm to the madness. His hand on her hip guided her with him, until their motion spiraled her higher. Strands wove and twisted like fabric, unlike the loose fencing she’d conjured to protect Logan against the minion attack.
This weave held substance and texture, as beautiful as it appeared to be strong.
He moved faster and the gold multiplied. For each glimmer of gold, a silver thread wove around it, reflecting light until the two were indistinguishable. A shine too bright for her to view, yet she clung to the beauty as he pushed her to a new height.
Goddess, she thought what he’d done before was good.
So close, and yet he held off, twisting her insides into a hard spring of desire until she wasn’t sure she’d unwind.
The threads of silver and gold vibrated against each other, echoing with a delicious chime.
“Now. Come for me.” He drove harder into her, surely to the very depths of her soul, and the tight cord snapped. Rushing up and out it streaked, a tidal wave washing over every nerve in her body. A physical peal of metal rang in her ears, locks closing as gold and silver snapped together, the mesh one solid, brilliant weave that matched the sweet percussion of her climax.
She screamed his name. He captured her cry with his mouth while his body impaled hers with final, deep strokes. Then he followed her with a clench of muscles. The deep groan of her name vibrated against her neck.
They lay there for a second, breathing—or trying to. The thrum of his heartbeat pulsed against her breast, and heat mingled with sweat between their bodies.
For the first time in her life, she was glad she’d waited for the right time, not rushed to experience this before she was ready. She wanted to lie here, a part of him, forever.
All too soon, he rolled off of her, and removed the protection. With the end of his knife, he dug a small hole in the dirt and buried it. The evidence of their act, hidden, like so much—
“Bri, you’re thinking too much. This is no different from you cleansing the minion’s blade. With all the magic in this realm, I have no idea whether our body fluids could be used against us, and I’m not willing to find out.”
She held off speaking until he lay beside her and had pulled her back into his arms. “You’re very knowledgeable about all the particulars.”
His thumbs rubbed at the corners of her mouth, trying to entice a smile. “I’m keeping us safe. It’s a compulsion of mine. One you appreciated in the past.”
Her gaze dropped away.
“Don’t shut me out. Tell me what you’re thinking?” He wrapped the second blanket around them.
The joy, the pleasure—it had all been so good. Too good, or maybe everyone felt this way.
“Your conflict and doubt, I know that wasn’t what you were feeling a moment ago. Please. Talk to me, Bri.”
“Is the act always…?”
He was silent, but his arms tightened around her. “The mechanics, yes. The way we felt, how I want you, what I feel from you—no.”
She wanted to believe him and turned in his arms to search his eyes. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just too naïve to know for certain.”
“Use my power—don’t be shy now. You’ve shared it before. Reach out now and use it. Know me.” He shifted slightly, his erection pressing against her hip. “It’s obvious I still want you. But even without us making love again, I could taste you, touch you, hold you throughout the night, and it won’t ever be enough.”
She ran her hand over his chest and then lower to his hard length, and watched his eyes close in pleasure as a hiss escaped through his teeth. She reached for an elusive grasp of his power. The vibration of magic sizzled along her skin, but only swirled in a faint layer around her. What she encountered confused her. Then she discerned the glow of braided gold and silver floating between them with her eyes open. Stunned, she realized he could actually see the emotions resonating from each of them. He could feel them, as well. And for a moment, so could she. She inhaled, reliving the swell of emotions, but there was no doubting the purity and joy in either of their colors.
“Let’s do it again. While I can still see.” Though the effects were fading fast, leaving her a little drained.
With a strangled laugh, he placed her hand over his heart. “You’re dangerous with power. But I think you’ll be too sore to do this again right now. Let me hold you.” He leaned into her, and kissed her lightly on the lips. She sighed as his hands stroked over her body. “I need you to put cl
othes back on us so I can resist temptation.”
She unwillingly complied, but she felt sated in his arms, and even clothes didn’t dispel that luxury. She closed her eyes, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. His whisper followed her into her dreams.
“Sleep my love.”
Bri woke to cool, brisk air and the sun already high in the sky.
She blinked and rose on one elbow, and puzzled over the fact that she was no longer cocooned in Logan’s arms. Beyond that, she wasn’t even on the hill where they’d made love. He’d carried her back to the fire ring, and she’d slept through the whole thing. She ran her fingers along the bottom blanket and found a warm spot. At least he’d slept by her side and hadn’t been gone long.
She sat up and gasped. A dusting of white morning glories and tiny wild roses dusted his side of the blanket. Gingerly, she picked up the fragile flowers and breathed in the scent. She didn’t need magic to decipher his message.
With a blush, she tucked a blossom inside her plaid, and folded the blankets before she headed to find Mary.
18
Flanked by six of the laird’s men, Logan followed Hefin and Thomas into the castle’s inner courtyard. Respectfully, the men granted Hefin distance. However, Logan and Robert were hemmed in between men they’d trained with yesterday. The same men who’d helped him find Bri’s kidnappers were now guards, yesterday’s camaraderie frozen into cold, stoic expressions of clansmen serving their laird’s commands.
The young man beside him sported a sparse blond beard, though he couldn’t be more than sixteen. Tall and lean-muscled, his rigid posture almost hummed with the wild energy of a seasoned fighter.
Escorted through thick double doors and deposited in a two-story, vaulted great hall, they came to a halt before another imposing set of doors.
“You’ll be called to the laird’s chambers when he’s ready,” stated one of the warriors before he and several others disappeared through the doorways and shut them behind them. Two warriors remained, positioned on either side of the doors.
Logan looked over his shoulder and noted a stairway near the outer doors that climbed along the wall toward the mage tower. Another stairway flanked the opposite wall, but connected to a gallery above, and presumably private quarters. The interior of the hall was dark, despite a fireplace embedded in the far wall. Several tables long enough to hold a hundred people filled the space. Windows set high above had yet to capture enough sunlight to brighten the room. Deep colors and dark ink detailed man-sized, animal-hide maps covering much of the walls flanking the chamber doors.
Logan narrowed his eyes as he searched the shorelines on the map. The eastern and western borders of Mull mimicked those he knew, but where islands heading north should exist between the Inner and Outer Hebrides, a continuous spit of land ran from Mull’s southern tip to the northernmost shores of Skye. More disturbing, a huge mountain range replaced the English Channel, connecting Scotland with Europe. A small channel split a combined Briton, Wales, and Ireland from Scotland. A vast difference from his world’s geography.
“That explains several anomalies we’ve encountered,” Robert said, his arms crossed over his chest as he, too, scrutinized the details.
“But it doesn’t shed new light on who would benefit the most from abducting a magical princess.”
“I doubt geography can help us with that.” Robert glanced discreetly over his shoulder. “The Plagiar I took down yesterday recognized the medallion, since I’d worn it around my neck to keep it close.” He handed it to Logan. “The man said one word: D’Erley.”
“I can’t place it, offhand—English, French, take your pick,” Logan said, mentally tracking through his knowledge of history.
Robert grunted and stepped closer to the map. Logan turned and caught a glimpse of the silent mage he’d seen outside of Quinlan’s cottage making his way through the double doors into the Great Hall.
The door cracked open again. The young soldier gestured toward them with a brisk nod. “Accompany me.”
Logan followed him into the windowless room. Straight-backed chairs and narrow tables graced the walls, but it was the man sitting in a heavy armchair at the far end who captured his attention. Seated with a six-foot-high fireplace at his back, Mackinnon didn’t appear to cast a large shadow.
An illusion. For the laird’s wide shoulders and the huge, calloused hands cupping the carved armrests marked him as a warrior, one of toughness and strength. Logan detected a keen intellect and heightened discipline as evidenced by the colors around him. Respect from the eight men standing at the ready along the wall, seemingly at ease, was evident. But Logan reminded himself—as he’d found out on the training field, those same men hefted their weapons with incredible speed and dexterity. All they needed was an excuse.
No one would make it past them to their laird.
Behind the laird’s shoulder stood a diminutive figure. A pale-green cloak and hood shielded the identity and gender, but the position denoted a resource for the laird’s ears only. A seer? A rhythmic pulse echoed from the robed individual, the resonance mild, but Logan recognized the rhythm. So, one of Agnes’s people served the laird.
The dark mage was nowhere to be seen, though Logan also sensed his presence. Probably close enough to aid the seer or the laird, yet not reveal information to the others.
Logan’s first impression of the Laird Mackinnon matched any of his memories of the portraits covering the Duart walls at home. What coincided between the two dimensions appeared random. Names—sometimes places—were similar, but while the history paralleled at points, magic had created its own timeline and twists in this world.
“You requested this meeting,” the Mackinnon barked as he stared at Hefin. “Be quick with it.”
The Mackinnon’s brusque tone covered an underlying emotion, one Logan deciphered as intense distraction. A reaction more suited to impending battle than nuptials of one of his men, or even this minor meeting. Logan wondered what politics boiled across the Mackinnon’s border. More important, could he ensure Fiona didn’t become embroiled in the middle?
Logan kept his hands relaxed at his side as he moved beside Hefin. “I need your counsel in private.”
“I have no secrets from my men. Nor do I engage with strangers unguarded,” the laird rumbled, violence shimmering beneath the surface.
Hefin advanced several steps toward his laird. “’Tis a matter of life and death.” He held his stance, not buckling before the intimidating scowls from the laird’s guards. Logan’s respect for Hefin doubled.
Fingering Fiona’s locket in his pocket, Logan contemplated his next step. The knowledge of her presence couldn’t be avoided and presenting the real story here was crucial. With Mackinnon’s attention obviously fading to other matters, Logan had few options.
“Hefin.” He withdrew his hand to pass the necklace to Hefin, but the youngest warrior stepped forward, knife extracted from his plaid, ready for defense.
Logan raised both hands, the necklace laced in his fingers.
Mackinnon frowned, but gestured with an open palm. “Bring it to me.”
The young man moved forward, his knife still ready, as he lifted the necklace from Logan’s fingers and then passed it to his laird.
The expression on the Mackinnon’s face turned dark with menace as he lifted his head and glared at Logan. Then Mackinnon leaned forward in his chair, scrutinizing the artifact before turning to his closest warrior. “Clear the room. Baven, Nial, remain.” The cloaked figure whispered again, and the laird gestured toward the young soldier. “Connor, as well.”
Then he turned the locket over in his hand, with a harsh exhalation of breath. “What trouble have you brought to my lands?” He fell silent, his focus intent on the locket. The slow movements of his thumb across the gold inlay the only sign he hadn’t dismissed them. He glanced up at Logan with a cold look. “I granted you the woman’s hand, and you repay me with war.”
“We did not b
ring this problem to your shores, Laird Mackinnon.” Logan stepped forward, knowing full well the Laird was already preparing for war. That wasn’t his problem. “The child was near death when we found her at her captor’s hands.”
“Better that than have knowledge of her held hostage within my borders breaking free. Or is your intent to bring the Viking horde and the Northern king raining down upon us?”
“That piece is for your eyes only. As is our information.” Logan deliberated for a brief second. The seer pushed back her hood, her ears gracefully hidden in a coil of silver hair. Nothing hid the cerulean gleam in her eyes as she whispered again to Mackinnon.
The threat the laird felt from Fiona’s presence was real, but it didn’t take Logan’s powers to discern that he was plotting how to turn this to his advantage. His seer would have knowledge of Fiona’s potential. Forced stoicism couldn’t hide the Mackinnon’s satisfaction of a new mage under his control.
But Logan wasn’t free and clear, yet. “One day her strengths may be of value to you.”
A quick narrowing of the laird’s eyes preceded a stronger furrowing of his brows. “If she is the mage my seer has foreseen, then why do you not take her? The MacKenzie clan has no less need than mine.”
“My journey isn’t safe, with no place to hide a child and protect her from the enemies who pursue her. Her family wasn’t even strong enough to safeguard her. She requires powerful stewardship. A protector for her identity, with the proper resources for her talents.” He looked pointedly at the seer. “You have powerful resources.”
“And what do you get for this boon, MacKenzie?”
“I made a promise to protect the child.” He glanced at Robert and Hefin. “My destiny, and that of my family, depends on her safety. A point your mages already know. By all accounts, you are a strong, respected leader—her best option.”
“This is a double-edged sword, the doom of a hanging blade if my clan does not safeguard this child, a sure condemnation if we are discovered and found complicit.”
