“’Tis glad I am that our kin have departed,” he murmured, pulling her close and nuzzling her neck.
“As am I,” Evelyn replied, tangling her fingers in Conall’s thick, wavy hair. “It was wonderful for them to come for the wedding, and to bring all the gifts and supplies.”
Conall agreed wordlessly, running his mouth along her jaw. “My mother wouldna have missed it. Thank you for welcoming her as you did. We’ll need visit soon, else she’ll be heartsick for Gregory. And I’m sure ’twill be only a matter of weeks before Dunc and Betsy wed.”
“I’m so thankful for Angus,” she whispered thoughtfully. “For all the Buchanans—and the MacKerricks. To think that they were all gathered here together, in this place…”
“’Tis a miracle, for certain.” Conall’s hand slid languorously down Evelyn’s hip to clasp her buttock. “Ronan and Minerva would be proud.”
Evelyn pushed her hips into Conall’s insistent erection. “I am proud of us.”
He kissed her mouth then, slowly, deeply, tasting her fully. Evelyn groaned when he pulled away.
“Are you certain, Eve?” he asked somewhat timidly for Conall. “It’s nae too soon? I doona wish to hurt you.”
“It’s nae too soon,” she mimicked with a smile. “I need you, Conall.”
That was all the encouragement he required. Rolling Evelyn onto her back, Conall knelt between her legs, laving her full breasts with his tongue, suckling her as Gregory did.
“Take me,” she whispered at his ear, needing the feel of him inside her.
He slid into her slowly, gently, pausing to give her body time to accommodate him. And within moments, Eve was lost in pleasure, in the wonderful sensations of her husband loving her with his body, as deeply as he had shown her with his heart and with his words. She felt she was at last at home.
Evelyn climaxed first, the twinges pleasantly and erotically strong, and Conall soon after spilled himself into her. They lay in each other’s arms for a long time, staring at the fire. The howling from the wood beyond their walls was no longer menacing, but like a comforting lullaby, and rain beat down upon the cottage in the vale like laughter.
The moonlight brightened the wood like noontime, turning the rocky pyre into a bright haven. A lanky figure leaned against the wide oak, outlined in shadow and silvery, sparkling moonlight.
The woman approached, slowly, tentatively, hopefully. Then she stopped in self-conscious fear, looked down at gnarled, spotted hands, her age-wrinkled skin. It had been so long, and she was so old…she could not face him now. Even after longing for him for so many, many years.
“Minnie,” he called softly to her, and the sound of his voice—oh, like sweet music!—brought a sob bubbling at her lips.
“Ronan?” she whispered into the dark.
The figure straightened from the tree and when he stepped from the pyre, the moonlight fully revealed him. His hawkish features, his high forehead beneath auburn hair, his sparkling green eyes, his lanky gait—all of it so like their son’s.
Minerva fell to her knees with a cry and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Ronan! Look not upon me, I beg you! I am an old woman now, and doona wish for you to see me.”
She felt his light upon her scalp as he came to stand before her and she wept into her palms when she realized he could see clearly her thin, gray hair, her wrinkled neck and bony back through her patched old healer’s gown.
“Minnie,” he said gently again. “You are a beauty—the most beautiful lass in all of Scotland. Have I nae always told you that?”
“I am old and worn and wretched,” she sobbed. “Too old for you now. Used up and wasted!”
“Nae, never wasted, nae for a single instant,” he said firmly and to her horror, he knelt and took her old, wrinkled hands in his. “Look at me, Minerva Buchanan.Look at me.”
She raised her face reluctantly, hating that he would now see the full truth of her words: her lined and ashen face; her dull, black eyes, glazed by hard years without him; her flat and bony bosom; wide, jutting hips, like an old mare.
But his face—his eyes—were rapturous and full of tears.
“You are,” he said hoarsely, emphatically, “stillthe most beautiful lass in all of Scotland.” He held her hands out to her sides as if they would take up a dance together. “Just look, Minnie—look!”
Then shedidlook, and saw that her gown was not the old, patched gray wool, but a vibrant green velvet, with a smart gold, braided belt. Her hands were smooth and pink, her thighs full beneath her skirt. Her chest jutted boldly over a curving waist and rich, red, curling locks spilled over her shoulder to her hip.
She gasped and looked into Ronan’s beautiful eyes. There she saw her face reflected—strong jaw, smooth skin, slim nose. Her lips were full once more and parted in wonder, her eyes clear and bright and ringed with thick lashes.
“Ronan,” she whispered. “Kiss me!”
Then he did and when their lips met, the bright moonlight was outdone by the blinding luminescence of a thousand bolts of lightning, a million sparkling stars, heavenly, bursting sunlight of an endless dawn.
