“Bullshit.” She sniffed again, refusing to beat herself up. “I do deserve him. I am just having commitment issues because the cost is so high.”
Grimalkin meowed like a housecat.
“Do not do that,” Emily said. “You have no idea how confusing it is to see you in all your greatness eke out a meow that belongs to a two pound kitten.”
The massive cat nudged her head under Emily’s arm, purring as she pushed. Then she bit a fold of Emily’s sweater and tugged.
“What?” Emily pushed the panther away. “Let’s just sit here a while. Okay? I’m tired and feeling sorry for myself. Let me have a little bit of a pout, and then we’ll get back to looking for Gryffe and a way out of this place.”
Grimalkin grumbled with a low, throaty growl, bit into the sweater again, and pulled harder.
“Stop! You’re going to ruin my sweater, and I can’t get another one like this.” And then the tears bubbled over, fueled by the gutwrenching homesickness that always simmered just below the surface. “Dammit!” She wiped her eyes but cried even harder. “I am not a spoiled brat, you know, I’m just close to my parents. And even when I didn’t see them for a while, we talked almost every day, and if not every day, at least once a week. They have always been there for me. Always. And my overbearing brothers. And Jessa. And after I moved to Scotland, Ishbel and Lilias from Seven Cairns.” She sobbed harder, covering her face with her hands. “And now I’ll never see any of them ever again. I miss them so much. I wish I could go back and hug them all tight—tight enough to never let them go. I’m not used to being so alone.”
“Ye’re nay alone, lass. Ye have me.”
She jerked her head up from her hands, her heart leaping, but then it plummeted at the pain in Gryffe’s eyes. The pain she had put there. He had heard her babbling. Every. Last. Word.
He angled his chin higher, but sorrow slumped his shoulders and lent a rawness to his voice. “I wish I were enough for yer happiness, Emily. I am sorry.”
When she opened her mouth to explain, he shook his head and held his hand for her to take. “Come. Nicnevin and Ferris search for ye as well. We must let them know ye are found, and that we can exit the Dreaming if it will release us.”
Chapter 12
Ferris handed Gryffe a glass filled with a generous amount of whisky. “What will ye do?”
“I dinna ken.”
“But ye are fated mates. Ye spoke the binding oath.”
“I spoke the binding oath.” Gryffe sipped his drink while keeping his gaze locked on the fire crackling through the logs in the fireplace. “She told me she loved me and repeated so mote it be.” His heart had soared at the time…but now?
With a weary groan, Ferris lowered himself into the depths of the other leather chair angled in front of the hearth. “I wonder if the two of ye are not fully bound, then? Do the both of ye have to repeat each word of the vow?”
“Again—I have no knowing about all the feckin’ intricacies and rules the powers set for us. All I know is that I felt the binding as soon as I spoke the words, and even stronger when I took her that first time.” He shook his head. “I thought she felt the melding, too, but more often of late, it’s as though something pulls her away from me.” He swirled the golden liquid in his glass, almost mesmerized by the firelight glowing through it. “And then I heard her in the Dreaming. The loss in her voice. The loneliness.” He swallowed hard, trying not to choke on the knot of pain threatening to cut off his wind. “She would leave me, if she could. The only reason she is still here is because she is trapped.”
Ferris growled and shook his silvery head. “I dinna believe that. I have seen the way she looks at ye—and heard the two of ye in the throes of passion from clear across the loch.”
“Satisfying lust does not prove love.” Gryffe tore his focus from the fire and turned to study his friend. “Ye ken that well enough. How many times have ye told me that not a single one of yer sons’ mothers were yer true fated mate?”
“Perhaps not everyone has a fated mate.” Ferris tossed back the rest of his drink and rose for another.
“That is not what the goddesses say,” Gryffe said with a wry snort. “Feckin’ immortals.”
“At least Nicnevin’s gone back to the kingdom.” Ferris returned but sat on the edge of the seat with his forearms resting on his knees, leaning forward as if about to leap into the fire. “One less worry for ye to deal with, I reckon.”
“Aye. One less worry.” As if he would grant room in his heart and mind for any worry other than Emily not loving him with all of her being. “Do ye mean to stay here at the keep for a while?”
“If ye wish it.”
“I wish it.”
“Then it shall be so.”
“Where is he?” Emily asked.
Gryffe had escorted her to their bedchamber upon their return from the Dreaming and disappeared, slamming the door behind him. She observed Inalfi closely as the maid bustled around the room, tending to whatever endless duties she always did. Knowing the maid hid her thoughts and feelings poorly, Emily counted on Inalfi’s input to help her figure out a way to make things right. She had wounded Gryffe just as surely as if she had stabbed him in the heart with a jagged blade, and that had not been her intent.
The Dreaming had reduced her to a sobbing, babbling mess, spouting an exaggerated rant that needed to be ignored. In time, she would adjust to this reality, and accept this place as home. If not, she would learn to live with it. After all, what choice did she have? The only thing she knew for certain was that she truly loved Gryffe, and she needed him to understand that she loved him above all else. “Inalfi? Where is Himself?”
