A spray of white foam shot through the cave as though fighting for more space. “Brid has forbidden me to reclaim my sweet Ronan. I dare not touch him lest she banish me from this realm permanently. But there is no protection for the one he desires, and the one ye seek is yet to be punished for breaching the sacred law set forth by the Fates.”
Deep, rumbling laughter filled the salty air, vibrating through every tunnel and turn. “We will work together, yerself and I, Clíodhna. In so doing, we shall each gain that which we desire.”
“Aye, old friend. We shall each have our mortal amusements to bide us through the epochs of time.” Then the tide reversed, and the gods washed out of the cave as quickly as they washed in.
Ronan slowly loweredhis arms to his sides, erasing the images from the Mirrors of Time. His heart ached at what he had just witnessed. How could anyone treat his precious Harley in such a callous manner? Blatantly lie to her? Humiliate her and play her for a fool? He rubbed his chin while replaying the scenes of Harley’s past through his mind. That cur she almost wed had wounded her deeply. It explained a great deal about her leeriness toward men.
Then MacCallen had trapped her with the guise of an elderly man. Ronan clenched his fists, envisioning his hands wrapped around that fickle bastard’s throat. When the locket had sucked her soul into its wee prison, his frustration with his thoughtless sister made him hunger to cast her into the locket’s chamber to see how it felt. Aveline was fortunate they had been able to restore Harley and free her, else her transgression against the sacred laws would have been deemed even worse. The Fates and Goddess Bridhad yet to pass down their punishment, but Ronan knew without a doubt they had not forgotten about Aveline and what she had done.
He loved his sister dearly, but she had never learned that with great power comes great responsibility. That basic tenet had been ingrained in all the MacKay children at an early age. But with headstrong Aveline, the lesson had been lost.
Now that he had looked into Harley’s past, Ronan knew exactly what to do. She needed to be wooed. Both her trust and her heart would have to be won, and he was determined to do it. He didn’t know for certain when he had decided to make Harley his own. Perhaps it was when he opened his eyes to find her lying in his arms upon her release from the locket. Or maybe it was the way she had fought him on the beach. Remembering her fire made him smile. It didn’t matter when he came to the conclusion he needed her. All that mattered was that what he felt for Harley was more than just a passing desire. She was his other half. His one true mate—and he didn’t need the MacKay curse to know it.
Ronan took the stairs two at a time up to her room. He stared at the door a long moment before knocking on it. Muffled stirrings came from the other side. She must’ve been lying down. He resettled his footing, wishing she would hurry and open the door.
Ellen jerked open the door. “And just what do ye be wanting, Master Ronan?”
Disgruntled at finding himself facing the elderly maid rather than Harley, he peered past her into the room. “Where is Mistress Harley? Did she not retire after the evening meal?”
Ellen scowled at him, then planted her fists on her bony hips. “The mistress has gone for a stroll of the grounds. She thought it might calm her mind and help her sleep.”
“A stroll of the grounds?” He narrowed his eyes at the wily matron’s smug expression. “She is out there alone?”
“Did I say she was alone?” Ellen clucked like an old hen, then toddled back across the room and started tugging and smoothing the bed coverings.
“Then who is she with?” He charged after her, taking every stepshe did as she flitted about the room, preparing it for the evening. “Ellen—I bid ye answer.”
She snorted. “Ye bid me answer? I used to help yer mam clean yer bum when ye shite yerself. Dinna be thinking about pushing yer bidding with me, Master Ronan. I answer to my laird. Ye ken that well enough.”
“Who is she with?” He struggled not to raise his voice, knowing it would make the old cow dig in and be even more unhelpful.
“’Tis none of my business. Your father has spoken to us more than once about engaging in idle gossip. He’ll not have it, he said. Wise man, our laird. He knows how tales can fester and boil until they scorch some poor, innocent soul.” She ignored Ronan while filling a pitcher with hot, lavender-scented water.
“Ellen—it is not idle gossip if ye are the one who saw who went with her on her stroll.” Reasoning with the old woman had always been a chore, and it had become none easier with age.
Ellen shook her head as she plumped the pillows and stacked them against the headboard. “Nay, Master Ronan. If ye wish to know who’s keeping Mistress Harley company, ye will have to find that one out for yerself.”
With an exasperated snarl that did nothing to make him feel better, Ronan stormed out of the room, down the back stairs, and shot outside. He scanned the outer bailey to see if Harley was there. She had taken to checking in on her little mare before she went up to bed each evening. But the only movement in the yard was a bit of straw blown about by the rising wind. Harley and her companion must be in the gardens. The thought of her meandering through the torchlit plots of vegetables, herbs, and flowers with a man other than him set his blood to boiling. If Latharn or Faolan thought to pursue her, he would have their heads on a pike.
“She is mine,” he growled soft and low through his clenched teeth.
As he rounded a wall leafy and lush with vines of ivy, he heard the low murmuring of voices. Keeping to the shadows, he leaned in close and strained to pick up every word of what the eveningstrollers had to say. He peered through the leafiness of the vines, relieved that it was not another man with Harley, but his mother.
“So, there is no such thing as condoms yet?” Harley sat beside Rachel on a stone bench, plucking leaves from a stem and dropping them into a bowl in her lap.
“I’m sure there are in China—but not Scotland yet. Scots have no idea what a condom is for.” Rachel leaned forward and snipped off a bushy top from a nearby herb that Ronan couldn’t make out. “The next best thing I found was a bit of sea sponge soaked in oil of tansy. Make sure it’s inserted deeply before…” Rachel smiled and tipped her head. “You know. If not for that little trick, there is no telling how many little MacKays would’ve been running around here, creating chaos along with Aveline and the boys.”
“A sea sponge soaked in tansy oil? Seriously?” Harley frowned down into her bowl, picked up another stem, and stripped the leaves from it.
Insert where?Ronan wondered. There could be only one place, and he couldn’t imagine Harley putting it there. And what the devil was a condom? What did all those things have in common? He shifted positions and strained to hear more. This must be some sort of new spell his mother had worked out on her own. Some sort of spell to do with womanly things—but what? Their monthly courses?
“I’ve also heard talk about using beeswax,” Rachel said. “But I’m just not too sure I’d trust that in the heat of the moment. If you know what I mean?” She playfully nudged Harley with her elbow.
“Well, that sort of is another problem. Idon’tknow what you mean.” Harley blew out a heavy sigh, almost cringing as she looked at Rachel.
Ronan frowned. Why would she cringe like that? She and Mother appeared to be getting along well enough.
“Surely, you’re not still a virgin?” Rachel asked.
