“It’s safer.”
“What about the magic of holding yer wee daughter the first time after ye birthed her?”
All the magical times with Gillian flooded her mind: that first ultrasound, the first time she’d heard her heartbeat, her first baby belly laugh, and a thousand other firsts. Her eyes stung with those damn tears that were never far away. “That was magical—not magic—there is a difference.”
He shook his head. “Nay, lass. ’Tis one and the same. Ye but need to realize that and accept it for what it is.”
“Just stop. I hate crying.”
“Forgive me.”
She sniffed in response and swiped at the tears, determined not to speak again until she could think of something to say that wouldn’t trigger a dive into the deep end of her grief or her need for a mindless night of abandon in somebody’s arms.
The cozy silence of the popping fire, the sputtering candles, and the raging storm, occasionally interrupted by Otto’s groaning snores, helped her get a grip on what little sanity she still possessed. “Sorry,” she mumbled, nudging Mathison with her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to go all weepy, emotional on you. I promise I’m not crazy…much.”
“I have known addled folk before,” he said. “Ye’re nay like them.”
“Thank you.” She softly snorted. “I think.” She drew in a deep breath and released it with a heavy sigh. “You’re a good man. Thank you for your patience.”
He surprised her with a tender kiss on her temple. “Ye are a fine woman, Calia.” His whisper was low and husky. It sifted through the ever-increasing cracks of her resolve like sand through a broken vessel. “A woman I am thankful to have met.”
Unable to resist, she snaked her way under his arm, hugged him close, and rested her head on his chest—all the while promising herself that she still didn’t do one-nighters or permanence. But this…this was okay. At least, for a little while.
He accepted her need for closeness with a gentleness that threatened to make her weep again, as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
She closed her eyes and breathed him in. His scent of wild, rain-soaked woodlands and a man she both feared and needed so badly that it hurt seemed so familiar. But how? Maybe they’d met in a past life, if you believed in that sort of thing. She snuggled closer, shooing away the silly thought. Scotland and all its talk of magic must be getting to her.
His heartbeat thumping beneath her cheek relaxed her even more. It was strong and steady. Unlike anything in her life had been other than her love for Gillian, and the sweet, loving trust her daughter had always given in return.
“I don’t do one-nighters,” she reaffirmed more to herself than him.
Stroking her hair as she melted into his chest, Mathison shifted beneath her with a deep breath and the exhale that followed. “What are these one-nighters of which ye speak, lass? I dinna ken what ye mean.”
“You know. Where you share a night of unbridled…intimacy…and then never bother to see that person again because the physical side of the equation is all you share.”
His fingers slowed in their mesmerizing tickling through her hair. “One night with ye would never be enough. I know that without a doubt.” He kissed the top of her head again. “And we share more than the physical. Can ye not feel it?”
She raised her head and propped her chin on her fist, studying him. “I’m a mess, Mathison. A mess you want no part of. I promise.” She longed for him to kiss her, but was so afraid that he would. Never in her life had she been this torn about a man. He was dangerous. “I feel like I know you even though I don’t. Is that what you mean?”
His faint smile as he stared off into nothingness warned her he was about to say something she didn’t want to hear. “Our souls are timeless, ye ken? Our bodies die, but our souls never do, and each of us possesses only half of what we need. If we are fortunate during our lives, we find our other half, the piece that the gods and goddesses splintered away, and we reunite and become whole.”
Even though she didn’t believe in such stuff and nonsense, she adored the way he told the story and wanted to hear more—in spite of herself. “Why would the gods and goddesses splinter our souls into two halves?”
“Because when we reunite and become whole, we are more powerful, and they fear us. Fated mates, soul mates, are capable of a kind of love which the gods and goddesses can only dream.”
“Soul mates.”
“Fated mates who reunite every lifetime.” He barely nodded, his conviction unmistakable. “Their love is so strong it strengthens the Highland Veil that keeps the realms and layers of time separated as they should be. If not for the blessed Veil, every world would plunge into the darkness of chaos.”
This had to be a Scottish legend brought on by the storm and candlelight, but she would play along—especially since, for some inexplicable reason, it felt so right to be here in his arms. But the logical side of her couldn’t help but speak up. “The world is already a pretty chaotic place. Have you not watched the news lately?”
“The current chaos is nothing compared to the soul-shattering darkness of Morrigan and her ilk.” He slid his fingers along her jawline and up into her hair, cupping her cheek in his hand. “Our souls recognize each other even though this is the first time we have met in this life.”
It would be so nice to believe in such a lovely story, and her heart ached at the thought of finding a true partner to stand at her side and help her battle this cold, cruel world. His eyes held a sincerity that almost made her believe that such a thing might be possible. But instead, she forced herself to push away, sitting upright, then standing. “I can’t do this. Not yet. I’m sorry.”
He nodded with a sadness that made her heart hurt. “I understand, lass. More than ye know.”
“I’ll get you a blanket and more pillows.” She had to get out of the room before she weakened and changed her mind. Hurrying to the cupboard, she grabbed what he needed, then piled them on the end of the couch. “I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well, Mathison.”
