Her heart soared when he whispered, “Mo chridhe.” But try as she might, she just didn’t have the strength to speak. All she could do was think to him and know he would hear her. Believe. If she had the energy, she’d smile. She, who had only believed in what she could see and touch, now believed in everything. And she knew Gillian was happy. Tears welled and seeped from the corners of her closed eyes, but she didn’t care. They were tears of gratitude and peace. Her precious baby was happy and flying without wings.
A dry, raspy tongue licked her face, cleaning the tears away. Then a soft, familiar whisper tickled her ear. “We are here for ye, sister.”
Sister? Then she realized where she’d heard that whisper before. It was one of the baby dragons. They must have hatched.
Mathison’s fingers closed around hers and squeezed. She tried to squeeze his back and failed, but did manage to move her thumb in an awkward caress.
“I love you,” she thought to him, fueling the sentiment with the ferocity of all she felt for this man at her side.
“I love ye more, my beloved.” His thought rumbled just as deeply as his voice, caressing her mind with tenderness. “Never again will we ever be parted.”
“Never again,” she echoed, promising it to herself as well as him. “You are my home as I am yours. Together we are whole.”
“Aye, my love. We are one.”
Chapter
Nineteen
Six Months Later
Wraith Tower
Scotland’s Ninth Realm
Even though they each still used their staffs to lean upon as they walked through the forests near Wraith Tower, Mathison had never been happier or more content. Otto bounced along ahead of them, snuffling through the colorful leaves that had fluttered to the woodland floor in preparation for winter. The dog loved their daily outings.
“I miss the triplets,” Calia said with a wistful sigh as they strolled along. “But Bresag insisted they return for their lessons since they’re getting so big now.”
The trio of young dragons had been visiting the Tower for the past month and nearly burned it down twice. Both had been accidents, of course, but still, the damage had not been minimal. It had taken every ounce of control Mathison possessed to keep from roaring at the troublesome trio of winged lizards and sending them home to their parents with orders to never come back.
“They are good-hearted, but Duni, Draygar, and Denligan need to learn more control,” he said. “Surely, ye canna deny that.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Will the west wing be rebuilt by winter?”
“It is my hope.” He caught hold of her hand and gently tugged her to a stop. “Are ye happy, my own? Truly?”
She pulled in a deep breath and resettled her grip on the tall, twisted walking stick of blessed elder that Noirgarth had presented to her as soon as she’d become strong enough to use it. It matched Mathison’s staff of magical rowan.
“I am happy.” But her voice echoed with unmistakable doubt, and the faintest stench of an untruth floated in the air.
“Dinna lie to me, woman. Ye know I can smell it.”
She locked eyes with him. Her once hazel eyes were now the shimmering gold of a dragon’s, a result of her closeness with the hatchlings and her embracing their ability to battle with fiery fury while in the Dreaming. That power had stayed with her—an apparent gift from the goddesses. “I’m forty now, you know. Last month was my birthday.”
“Ye’re a mere lass.” He wasn’t certain what was worrying her, but he saw something in her expression—a definite sadness.
She looked away, seeming unable to meet his gaze any longer. “You need an heir…or heirs, and my biological clock might not necessarily cooperate on that front. It’s winding down and getting ready to shut down production.”
“What are ye saying, Calia?” Whenever she spoke with terms from her time, it confused the devil out of him.
Her eyes glistened with a sudden sheen of tears. “We may never have babies. The older I get, the more difficult it is to conceive, and even then, the odds of not miscarrying and having a healthy baby are not in our favor.” She twitched a disheartened shrug. “I don’t know that I can ever give you an heir.”
“Ye have given me the other half of my soul.” He pulled her closer, tipping her face up to his. “I love ye, my own, and as long as I have ye by my side, I am completely at peace and more content than I have ever been in over three hundred years.”
“Then who will protect the Ninth Realm after we are gone?” Her voice had fallen to a whisper, and the concern in her eyes pulled at his heart. “The clans are finally at peace. Most of them, anyway. Will it fall to Noirgarth and Bresag to keep everyone behaving?”
He brushed a kiss across the sweet seam of her lips and breathed her in as he pulled her closer. “We are not going anywhere for a long, long while, my love. Stop yer worrying, aye? ’Tis a terrible habit ye brought from yer world that is better off forgotten.” He kissed her again, deeper this time, then raised his head and looked her in the eyes. “Would yer Gillian not advise ye to walk the path destiny laid out for ye and allow fate to play itself out?”
