Curious, he thought, for the both of them to feel that way.
“For all that,” she murmured, “I did not know ye when first I saw ye. At least”—she gazed into his eyes—“I did, even as I did not. Does that make sense?”
“It does, to me.”
“These dreams were a long way in the past when you arrived. And I’d long stopped believing in such a love. One that—that could make me feel whole inside.”
“Aye, so.” He closed his eyes for an instant, absorbing the rightness of having her in his arms.
“I saw Mother and Kendrick arguing endlessly despite how they were supposed to love each other, and I thought marriage wi’ a man I did no’ love could scarce be worse. Then ye came.”
“Just barely in time.”
“Just barely. Adair, tell me, how can this be so right, when ’tis so wrong? When I barely know ye. When it has torn both our lives apart.”
“Because it is.” He had no better answer.
She pressed her lips to his, crossing that smallest of distances, as she came closer and closer. The night breeze, like a breath, brushed over them as without conscious thought they shed their clothing, touched one another with reverent care. As there, on the breast of Alba, they made love.
“Beautiful girl,alanna,” he murmured when she held him deep inside her. As it should be, the two of them made one. A thousand things he should say to her, not the least being that they needed to turn back for home. He needed to face the consequences of his actions.
But the enchantment was too strong. He was caught fast in it, in her. For them at this moment, nothing else existed.
He wanted naught else to exist.
“Never leave me, Adair.” Her face was wet with tears.
Never leave her? Never go home? Or else persuade her to go away with him, from this land that, in a curious way, held them both?
“As if I could ever leave ye,” he breathed, and even as she laughed for joy, he fell into her again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bradana crouched overthe grassy bank and peered at herself in the pool of still water. A blur only, did she appear at first, with the sun behind her shoulder. A brightness of gold and blue, until she shifted and her reflection came into focus.
She did not recognize the woman in the water. Hair tangled, no matter how times she tried to plait it. Face gone thin. Clad in the blue gown meant to be her wedding finery, now ruined. Dirty and torn and mere rags.
Eyes wild, like those of some feral creature glimpsed in the dark.
Moreover, she did not recognize the woman she had become inside. Had she not been strong and sensible, as she grew? Put away from her sentimental things? Now one man ruled her heart and the need for him ruled her world.
Rarely was Adair MacMurtray out of her sight. Even now while she washed, she could hear him moving around behind her, loading their few possessions onto the ponies.
She knew what she would see if she rose and turned. Adair, tall and slim, for he too had dropped weight. With her fingers, she could count his ribs. His hair, also tangled, hung down in a rich brown mane.
She knew the look that would be in his eyes if he turned to her, gray eyes speckled with green, that held everything, everything she needed.
There was no more to be had than him. No greater joy than being in his company. No higher pleasure than being in his arms. She did not understand quite the nature of this love that united them, though, aye, she had her suspicions.
She rose and turned.
He stood beside his pony but watched her, his eyes drawn to her just as hers went always to him, and aye, everything else fell away from her, even though they were mired in trouble.
Should she tell him they were lost? That ever since they’d changed direction back at the native settlement, she’d been turned round in her head, following the sun and supposed signs? Everything from a rogue ray of sunlight making a path to the flight of a bird.
She had no notion of where she was, save with him.
“Look at me,” she said ruefully. “This gown was once quite grand. No fit attire in which to travel.”
