Damn this existence to which Cailleach na Mointeach had awakened him.And she had saddled him with a fiery woman whose image rivaled the Goddess Brid and his long dead fickle wife. But by the fires of old, the lass’s beauty couldn’t compare with the venom of her mouth. She had a tongue as sharp and cutting as a wailing banshee.
And Damn this strange chaotic time.Noisy, stinking horseless wagons jarred your insides until ye felt ready to empty your gut. Torin glared out the window at the lashing storm beating sheets of water against the glass. And even after all this time and all the lies, he still missedher. Missed her with a gnawing burn, even though he knew in his heart that her love had never been true. Surely, if he’d had more time with her, he could have changed her wandering ways.
Torin closed his hands into tensed knots until his forearms ached. He shook his head and forced his fingers open. Why hadn’t the centuries of oblivion washed her from his mind? What would it take to dull the memory of how she had died in his arms? Torin swallowed hard. If only she’d lived. If only he’d had one more chance. Pressing his palm against the smooth coldness of the glass, Torin whispered into the darkness. “Ye might as wellcease your stirring of the energies. A bit of rain willna keep me from leaving this place and finding my way free of this accursed reality.”
The cottage shuddered as a blast of wind responded with a battering wail against the outer walls. Torin shook his head and turned away from the window, wandering back to the warmth of the hearth. Damn, the stubbornness of the Cailleach.He pulled a brick of peat from the lop-sided basket resting beside the hearth. He hefted the weight of it in his palm, staring into the dark grain of the rough-cut block before yanking open the cast iron door and tossing it to the flames. Selecting another chunk of peat from the pile and bringing it to his nose, he closed his eyes and pulled in a deep whiff.
Millennia of decayed vegetation tickled across his senses. The bogs of this strange new Isle of Lewis held eons of history compressed and cut into turf blocks of fuel. By all rights, his body should be a part of those bogs by now. His soul free of its scarred prison, elevated to the next level well beyond humanity’s veil. A bitter laugh rumbled from his chest. How brightly would his remains have burned? How lively would’ve been the flame?
Settling on the couch, he fixed his gaze on the closed bedroom door to the room in which that worrisome woman had disappeared. He worried with the new growth of beard shadowing his face as he sank deeper into the plump cushions of the over-stuffed couch. Remorse nagged deep in his gut. He hadn’t meant she looked old. Hell’s fire.Did the lass not even know her own beauty? He just wanted to make sure he didn’t insult any possible husband or perhaps even her laird. Painful memories flooded into his mind: visions of Eilean tucking her chin and sharing heated glances with any attractive male visitor who happened to share their table.
Eilean. His clan had found her on one of the other islands. They’d gifted him with the beautiful woman as thanks forprotecting their lands. Torin raked shaking hands through his hair, trying to shuttle the memories back to the closed off corners of his mind. She had been so full of life and so accepting even though his flesh was riddled with battle scars. Torin drew in a heavy breath and stared unblinking at the orange flames flickering through the slits of the grating.
It hadn’t taken long for the tattling of the tales to begin. The impossible-to-ignore whispers followed him through the castle’s halls. It had been such a struggle not to heed the warning signs of Eilean’s roving eye but eventually, her increasingly blatant behavior mocked him almost more than he could bear.
When she had finally told him she carried his child, he’d been overjoyed, forced himself to believe the babe in her belly was his. Surely now, she would settle into her place as a devoted wife and mother. But no. Torin blew out the breath he’d been holding. She’d died. Eilean’s life ended because of her own vanity –just as theCailleachhad said. He rose from the couch to circle the tiny room, running away from the nagging voices chanting inside his head, the voices murmuring the painful truth. She’d died by her own hand, used herbs to void her body of the child, and accidentally ended both their lives.
Now here he stood. Trapped in a terrifying future with a breathtaking woman who didn’t even realize her heritage or her place in the universe. The voice of the amulet at her throat spoke to him, claiming guardian blood flowed through her veins. Staring at the curved brass latch of her bedroom door, Torin clenched his teeth until his jaws ached. He needed to see her and explain to her that he hadn’t meant the words the way they had come out. She needed to know her claim to power, her connection to the stones, the magic hidden in her touch.
Torin worried with the dagger strapped to his thigh, then brought his fingertips slowly up to trace them along the ridge of the scar running down his throat. The foolish womanalso needed to acknowledge the reality of her beauty. Such a difference from the vain woman who’d crushed his heart. Perhaps Emma’s ignorance of her own charms enhanced the pleasure of looking at her face even more. He had to explain to her, make her understand that he hadn’t meant to cause her any pain.
Pushing down on the latch, Torin frowned as the locking mechanism bounced the handle back into his palm. She’d bolted the door? Did the woman actually fear him? Frustration swelled through him as he frowned down at the gleaming metal. Surely, she must know that he would never cause her harm. Concentrating on the handle, Torin released enough energy into the metal to bend it to his will. The lock released with a click.
He eased the door open into the darkness of the room, homing in on one of the flameless torches glowing beside her bed. Such strange things filled this time. A gleaming brand trapped inside a tiny clear bauble created the same amount of light as a hundred burning candles.
The rhythm of her breathing revealed that she slept. Torin crept closer, peering down at her still form. Her flaming hair spread across the pillows like rivulets of flowing amber. Her pale skin glowed in the circle of light from the curious torch beside the bed.
An opened binding of some sort of parchment rested across her chest. Her arms closed around the bulk of the strange book with the tightness of a lover’s embrace. Loose sheets of what he could only assume were parchments from the binding, some with strange scribblings across the white pages, lay scattered across the bed. Colored images of children’s faces looked up at him from more of the sheets layered across her legs.
Torin fingered through the stiff white pages spread across her body after a glance at Emma’s face assured him that she still slept. What magic did she hope to accomplish with all thisparchment strewn about the bed? These sheets held strange glyphs scratched out beneath the images of the children’s faces. What sort of spells did she hope to cast?
Emma stirred. A soft moan escaped from between her slightly parted lips as her head rolled back and forth on the pillow. Torin jerked his hand away from the papers. Perhaps she’d invoked a protection spell around the scattered writings. His breath caught and hung in his throat as his gaze traveled down the smoothness of her throat to the lace-trimmed bodice stretched tight across her chest. Rose-colored nipples taunted him through the thin material. The twin temptations strained into inviting buttons at the tips of her round full breasts.
Torin shifted his stance as his body flared to attention. He darted his tongue across his lips against the sudden dryness of his mouth. His groin tightened, reminding him with a dull, insistent ache that it had been too long since he’d last enjoyed a woman’s caress. Staring at the coverlet crumpled around her waist, Torin sent up a silent wish that she’d toss the bedclothes aside. He remembered the tanned length of her legs and envisioned himself enjoying the sweetness waiting between them.
“No!”
Torin jumped back from the side of the bed, bracing himself for the inevitable tongue-lashing he knew he deserved for creeping into her room. When no words came, he peered closer at her face. Emma’s eyes were still closed. She shook her head back and forth against the pillow as though struggling against a foe that only she could see.
“Shhh.” Torin edged closer to her side. Perhaps he could soothe her away from the fears of the dream and stop her from thrashing into wakefulness.
“Don’t let go. I’ll be back for you.” Emma flailed her arms through the air, pumping them back and forth across her chest with an uneven rhythm.
Torin flexed both hands as he moved closer, toying with the haft of his dagger. The familiar touch of the worn leather straps wrapped about the handle brought clarity to his mind. The lass lay trapped in the terrors of her mind. Peering closer at the flinched expression coloring her face, Torin tensed. His heart lurched as tears squeezed out from the corners of her closed eyes and streamed tiny shining paths down her flushed cheeks.
“By the fires of hell,” Torin muttered as he pulled her thrashing body into his arms.
“Don’t let go,” Emma cried out again, pounding her fists through the air.
Folding her fluttering hands against his chest, Torin cradled her tighter into his embrace and tucked her head beneath his chin. Gently rocking her in his arms, he whispered into the sweet softness of her hair. “It will be all right, lass. Open your eyes, sweet Emma. The demon ye fight is but a dream.”
“What?” Emma hiccupped into his chest. “Wh-what are you doing in here?” Struggling her way out of his embrace, she kicked against the covers and scooted back against the headboard of the bed.
“Ye cried out.” Torin rose from the edge of the bed and shuffled a few steps away. He wasn’t about to tell her he’d been watching her while she slept. “There must’ve been a terrible evil in your dream. Ye cried out with fear.” He tried to keep his gaze averted from her heaving chest and focused on her wide green eyes. Holy blazes. Her round breasts begged acknowledgment. The tempting orbs cried out to be touched. Torin swallowed hard and focused on the headboard just above Emma’s head. Damn, the aching part between his legs. His hardened cock ordered him to return his gaze to Emma’s luscious parts, the impossible-to-ignore, tempting parts straining through the lace. Would the woman never catch her breath?
“It was just a bad dream. I have them sometimes. But I’m all right now, so you can go back to the couch. I’m sorry I disturbed you.” Emma scattered the pages across the bed, tucking the sheet up under her chin as she hugged her knees to her chest.
“I meant ye no harm.” Torin flexed his hands against the rough weave of his kilt.Damnú air.His ability to talk to a woman hadn’t improved any over the centuries, and neither had his memory. Why the hell had he come in here in the first place? Emma’s warm body against his chest had immediately emptied his head. The sight of her unadorned hand jolted the blood back into his brain and jogged his faulty memory. “I also wanted ye to know. I dinna think ye are old or look to be past your best years.” Torin glanced down at his feet, shuffling them a bit wider apart as he clenched his hands behind his back. “I think ye look quite fine.”
