Astrid sank down into the chair by the fireplace in Domhnall’s chamber, reeling. Behind her, Domhnall paced the length of the chamber, raking his hand through his hair.
“I cannae believe it,” Domhnall breathed.
“Neither can I,” Astrid returned, shaking her head as she recalled what they’d just discovered from Neacal.
“My mother was a stiuireadh. A fiosaiche,” Neacal had told them, his eyes intent on Astrid. “She told me I would one day meet one of yer kind; she didnae tell me how or why. But as soon as I saw ye . . . I kent there was something different about ye. I sensed it.”
“Then you know how important it is that we work together. My magic guided me to this time to help stop what’s coming,” Astrid had said, when she could finally work past her shock.
She’d told him of the Pact and of the version of history she knew. Neacal had listened intently, his brow knitted, before agreeing to work with them. But only after Domhnall made him promise to keep Astrid’s true identity a secret, which he had, looking offended that they’d assumed otherwise.
Though relieved that they had an ally, they’d left Neacal’s castle reeling with the revelation that Neacal knew about Astrid’s true identity.
Now Astrid expelled a breath, gazing into the leaping flames of the fire. Domhnall had told her that Neacal was Siomha’s cousin. Given that magic often ran through bloodlines, it made sense he would have a close relative who was a witch and would know about the stiuireadh.
“It makes me wonder how many other leaders of the isles already ken about the stiuireadh,” Domhnall said, pulling her from her maelstrom of thoughts. “Should I have kent?”
“No,” Astrid said, getting to her feet, approaching him with a vigorous shake of her head. “Only a small percentage of people know of the stiuireadh even in my time. And these are still dangerous times for witches, it’s better that people know as little as possible.”
Domhnall looked relieved at this, tension visibly ebbing from his shoulders. “’Tis good that he kens, that we have him on our side.”
“It is,” Astrid said, trying to tamp down her anxiety over yet another person knowing of her true identity to focus on the positive. “And Domhnall, I know it’s not my place to say this, but maybe it wasn’t wise to threaten one of his nobles. Maybe you should have just let him think I was your personal whore. Even though Neacal knows about me, the more I stay in the background for now, the more we—"
Domhnall interrupted her with a growl, glowering down at her. “Ye are nae a whore,” he snapped. “And ye willnae call yourself that.”
Astrid flushed, meeting his eyes. He looked fiercely possessive, his blue eyes flashing with heat as he met her eyes. A thrill coursed through her at this, and she struggled to keep her voice even. “I know I’m not,” she said. “I just think—"
“Not even for show,” he interrupted. “Ye’re more than that. If my men—if other men—think ye’re just a whore, nae only will they nae show ye respect, but they’ll want ye for their own.”
A ripple of delight swept over her at the obvious jealousy in his eyes. He took a step closer, forcing Astrid to tilt her head back to look up at him. Desire at his proximity claimed her, fierce and hot, sending jolts of awareness throughout her body.
“I ken I have no right tae ye, lass. But I feel possessive of ye. As if ye were mine.”
Warmth flared within Astrid as her breath hitched. In that moment, she realized how much she wanted to be his . . . and how much she wanted him to be hers.
Domhnall reached out, taking her gently by the nape before pressing his lips to hers. The warmth within her transformed into the heat of an aching need. She opened her mouth as his tongue explored hers, moisture seeping from between her thighs as the kiss deepened.
Domhnall let out a sexy groan as he trailed kisses down her jawline to her throat, then lower, to the hem of her bodice. He raised his eyes to meet hers before yanking down the bodice and taking a nipple into his mouth, causing her to arch toward him and gasp at the delicious sensations that claimed her.
“Lass,” he gasped, releasing her nipple and looking at her with raw hunger. “If ye want me tae stop, tell me now.”
Astrid locked eyes with Domhnall, knowing that she should tell him to stop. But that would have been akin to forcing herself not to breathe.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t stop . . .”
Domhnall let out a strangled groan, lifting her into his arms and crossing to the bed. But he didn’t deposit her there, instead setting her down on her feet, his hungry gaze raking over her.
“I want tae disrobe ye,” he rasped, “tae see the body I’ve ached tae claim ever since I discovered ye on that shore.”
Her pulse began to race at his words, her breathing growing ragged as Domhnall stripped her of her gown, then her underdress, his eyes taking in every inch of her. She flushed at his intense appraisal, her heart beating a furious staccato rhythm in her chest.
“My witch from the sea. Sea witch. Bana bhuidseach mara,” he murmured, using the Gaelic word for “sea witch," his eyes lifting to meet hers. “Ye’re lovelier than I dreamed.”
He kissed her again, holding her naked body so close that it seemed as if their hearts beat in tandem. She moaned into his mouth, allowing her heady pleasure to take hold, to consume her.
When he released her, Astrid reached out to disrobe him of his tunic; her mouth watering at the sight of his muscular chest, gleaming in the firelight. He stepped out of his breeches, and Astrid swallowed as she took in the glorious size of him, standing proud and erect. He was even more gorgeous than she’d allowed herself to believe, and a heated anticipation swept over her.
He gave her a wicked grin as he devoured her mouth once more, reaching out to grasp her by the buttocks as he pulled her in close. He released her, only to sink down to the floor before her as if in worship, raising his eyes to meet hers.
“Look at me, sea witch,” he commanded. “Look at me while I taste you.”
She obeyed, letting out a ragged moan as his mouth clamped on to her center. The feel of his tongue probing inside her caused a glorious ache to seize her entire body, and tendrils of pleasure coiled around her, causing her to whimper and quake, until her legs could no longer hold her upright and she fell back onto the bed.
Domhnall remained clamped on to her center, humming against her as he continued to feast. Astrid writhed and gripped the sheets as her pleasure became too much to bear, and it built to a crescendo until her climax claimed her, finally giving her a glorious release. Domhnall remained between her thighs, continuing to lap at her as her tremors subsided.
Only when she stilled did he lift himself above her, kissing her jaw, down to her breasts, again laving each breast until tendrils of pleasure once again coiled around every part of her.
“Domhnall,” she gasped, arching toward him. “Please . . . "
He gave her another devilish grin as he positioned his body above hers. “I confess I do like it when ye beg, sea witch,” he rasped. “What do ye want?”
“You,” she moaned, not caring how desperate and wanton she sounded. She just needed him, all of him. “I want you, Domhnall. Plea—"
Before she could finish her plea, Domhnall sank inside her and she gasped, moaning at the delicious feel of him inside her.
When he began to move, thrusting with firm but gentle force, Astrid wrapped her legs around him. Their eyes locked as they moved together, and Astrid was once again swept up in a torrent of pleasure. He felt perfect inside her, their bodies moving together in a sensuous rhythm. Domhnall reached out to grasp her hands with his as she threw her head back and moaned, wanting this sense of completeness, of pleasure, to never end.
“Look at me,” Domhnall commanded, and she did, taking in his masculine beauty, at the blue eyes that were trained so intently on hers. “Ye’re so verrae bonnie, my sea witch. And ye feel as if ye were made for me.”
His words caused a burst of joy to explode insi
de her belly, and as her eyes searched his, seeing the depth of need and desire in them, a revelation struck her.
She was falling in love with him.
It was as if her body awakened to this realization, and another climax shook her. She started to throw her head back to let out another cry, but Domhnall reached out to hold her head still, making her meet his eyes as her orgasm tore through her. He kept his eyes on hers as his own climax claimed him.
Astrid watched hungrily as he let out a guttural moan of pleasure; it was a beautiful sight to watch the man she was falling for succumb to desire, desire he felt for her.
When they both stilled, Domhnall remained inside her, his arms wrapped securely around her, as they both caught their breath. After a moment, he slid out of her, leaving her with an almost painful feeling of emptiness.
He reached for her, and Astrid burrowed herself into his arms, aching to still be near him. Domhnall smiled, reaching out to stroke her face.
“Ye’ve bewitched me, lass,” he murmured.
“Are you sure you’re not a witch? Because I think it's the other way around,” Astrid returned.
He let out a light chuckle before his smile faded, his hand dropping. “Ye told me ye’ve no husband. But . . . ye’re nae a virgin.”
There was no mistaking the jealousy in his voice. Astrid couldn’t help but smile; no other man could ever hold a candle to Domhnall.
“I’ve had a couple of boyfriends in my time,” she said. “But I didn’t want them nearly as much as I do you.” Nor did I have the depth of feelings I have for you, she added silently.
Domhnall’s scowl only deepened. Astrid chuckled, delighted at his possessiveness. “At least you didn’t have any former lover of mine taunt you,” she said, her smile fading and her own jealousy spiking as she thought of Moirna.
Domhnall’s scowl disappeared, his expression turning contrite. “I told ye she’s nothing compared tae ye,” he murmured. “My sea witch, ye enchant me in a way that no other lass has—or will.”
Or will. Her heart clenched at his words, a stark reminder that her time here with him was temporary, that she was falling for a man who lived centuries in time behind her. A sudden, sharp pain pierced her at the thought of returning to a time where Domhnall Flachnan didn’t exist.
“Astrid?” Domhnall asked, sitting up and frowning with concern at the change in her expression. “What is it?”
I’m falling for you, and I can’t bear thinking about living in a time where you don’t exist.
But she wasn’t going to tell him that. As far as he knew, she desired him and nothing more. She wasn’t going to complicate things further by confessing her growing feelings for him.
She took a breath, closing her eyes briefly to force the painful thought of Domhnall’s lack of existence in her time to the back of her mind. Despite her feelings, she needed to remember why she was here in the first place.
“What if I fail?” she whispered, deciding to focus on something else that worried her, something that had nothing to do with her feelings for him. “What if I don’t unite the witches and lairds, and history changes? What if the Norse return and this time they succeed?”
Domhnall’s face softened. “Before I became laird, I was terrified of failing in my duty tae the clan. When I told my father of my fears, he told me it was my fear which would ensure my failure.”
At Astrid’s look of confusion, he continued, “He was right. It was my fear that was leading me toward failure, making me focus on my self-doubt. Once I just focused on the task of becoming the best leader I could, I was able tae defeat my fear.”
“You’ve always known you were going to be laird. I turned my back on magic. I only came here because—"
“Ye came here tae help because ye’re a good person, and as I’ve told ye before, stronger than ye realize.”
He held her gaze, his blue eyes so intense that warmth once again enveloped her. How did he have so much confidence in her? Maybe his unwavering belief in her was one of the reasons she was falling for him.
“Your father sounds like he was a wise man,” Astrid said finally, shifting her gaze away from his penetrating stare as if looking away would shield her feelings.
“He was,” Domhnall said, his voice heavy with grief.
“What was he like?” Astrid asked, hungry to learn more about his family, to know more about the man she was falling in love with.
Domhnall held her close as he told her more about his father, a stern but kind man who had raised him with a firm hand, and his Norse mother, whom he’d gotten his coloring from, how loving yet fierce she’d been.
And Domhnall listened intently as she told him about her uncle, her heart clenching in grief as she recalled the man who had taken on the parental role in her life, who’d shown her love and normalcy after the darkness of her childhood.
“Ye and I are similar,” Domhnall mused, stroking her hair. “Ye’ve been torn between life as a stiuireadh and a life without magic. I’ve been torn over loyalty between my Norse and Gaelic sides.”
“I was never torn—I wanted no part of being a witch,” Astrid protested. “Your Norse and Gaelic ancestry—it’s who you are, Domhnall.”
“And a witch is who ye are,” Domhnall returned, giving her a gentle smile. “I struggle over loyalty tae my Norse kin, but I donnae deny that being Norse is also in my blood. I accept it. I think ye’ll find peace by accepting that ye’re a stiuireadh.”
Astrid wanted to protest, but considered his words. Wasn’t she hundreds of years in the past, something she had used her magic to do? Wasn’t it possible to be both—a doctor who appreciated science, and a witch who practiced magic? Both sounded incongruous, but they were both what she was. Magic was in her blood whether she wanted to accept it or not.
Perhaps Domhnall was right. If she stopped fighting the magical side of her, she would find peace, and it would make her more likely to succeed in what she’d come to this time to do.
“I must confess, sea witch,” Domhnall said, bringing her back to the present, his voice turning husky as leaned in close. He brushed his lips along the base of her throat, causing sparks of awareness to dance along her skin. “I enjoy both yer magic and non-magical side.”
“Do you?” she asked, letting out a soft whimper as he nibbled at her flesh.
“Aye,” he growled, lifting his gorgeous body above hers and giving her a rakish grin. “And yer body is quite bonnie. I need tae worship ye once more.”
Astrid let out a moan of pleasure as he proceeded to do just that.
Chapter 14
A multitude of emotions coursed through Astrid as she followed Fyfa toward a grove of trees.
It was just after midday the next day, and Fyfa had kept to her word, using a Transport spell to take her to the islet where her coven met.
Though she was nervous about meeting with Fyfa’s coven, memories of the night before flooded every corner of her mind. Her body still throbbed with pleasure as she recalled Domhnall’s hands and mouth worshiping her body, how he’d taken her two more times, bringing her to glorious climaxes each time.
As much as she’d enjoyed their lovemaking, she’d loved their quiet moments in between each lovemaking session even more, their voices echoing around the chamber as Astrid spoke more of life in her time, and Domhnall told her of life on Barra. It was an intimacy that went beyond the physical; an intimacy she longed for more of.
Astrid shook her head as if to clear it from thoughts of Domhnall. How was she going to concentrate on the monumental task of convincing a coven from another time to ally with her when she was so distracted? You have to, she urged herself. Fyfa had warned her that the witches of her coven may not trust her, that she would do her best to help convince them, but Astrid needed to be prepared.
She glanced over at Fyfa, whom she noticed also looked tense with nervousness. She and Fyfa had spoken little during their brief journey here. While Fyfa had slightly warmed to her since she’d helped heal her ail
ing father, there was still a wariness there. Astrid suspected it would be some time before Fyfa fully opened up to her.
Astrid took in the small islet that surrounded them. It was called Eilean Nan Draoidhean, isle of the druids, in Gaelic. Before they’d left, Fyfa told her the stiuireadh had used this islet for generations; it was a sacred place for their druid ancestors. A large, sandy shoreline snaked around the isle, and lush green groves dominated it. Surrounded by a churning waters, there was indeed something magical and otherworldly about it. She could imagine generations of stiuireadh practicing their spells here.
A handful of women and one older man emerged from a grove of trees as they approached, forcing Astrid back to the present. Nervousness flaring once more in her belly, Astrid halted next to Fyfa. This must be Fyfa’s coven, and as Fyfa had predicted, they all stared at her with blatant hostility.
Her gaze landed on one of them—a tall, severe-looking woman with silver-blond hair and slate-gray eyes. An odd sensation pierced Astrid’s chest at the sight of her, and she forced her gaze away from the woman’s penetrating stare.
Another one of the women, tall, formidable and sharp-eyed with long gray-streaked auburn hair stepped forward, her eyes narrowed.
“Who is this, Fyfa?” she demanded, shooting Astrid a glare. “Ye ken that no one is tae come tae our coven gatherings.”
“She is a stiuireadh, like us, Lachina,” Fyfa said, ducking her head in submission. “She’s come here from another time. There’s something urgent she needs tae discuss with ye all.”
All of the witches stiffened with surprise, but the suspicion on their faces didn’t fade. Lachina froze momentarily before stepping forward, her eyes trailing over Astrid from head to toe with harsh appraisal.
“Are ye from the past or from a time that has yet tae come?”
“A time that has yet to come,” Astrid replied, holding her gaze evenly though her heartbeat pounded a frenetic rhythm. Lachina’s widened at her modern accent as Astrid continued, “Eight centuries from now.”
Domhnall's Honor: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate, Lairds of the Isles Book 3) Page 8
