Magnus didn’t care. The fragile woman in his arms was his only concern. “Rest easy, my lady,” he whispered as he brushed a kiss across the cold smoothness of her pale forehead. “Ye are safe here and ever will be.” He cast aside her icy white cloak, then removed her equally frozen slippers. By the mighty Draig’s beard, flying her here might have been faster, but would riding across the land not have been a better choice to keep her from freezing? How could he have been so thoughtless? “I was a damned fool,” he told her, willing her to hear him even though her eyes remained closed. “I swear it will not happen again.
“A warmed blanket, my chief.” Albionna tucked it around the entirely too still lady, then hurried to fill a copper pan with red, glowing embers from the hearth. “I shall soon have the bed as toasty as can be.”
“I shall warm the bed and her as well.” He might not be able to breathe fire as his dragon kindred did, but his body gave off the heat of an inferno. His soul’s connection to that of a dragon’s had turned his blood to the molten liquid that sometimes spewed from the realm’s southernmost regions. One of the women the Weavers had mistakenly brought to him had feared him for that very reason, swearing his flesh burned hot from some fever that would surely infect her.
He eased the shivering Lyla down into the bed, then shed his armor with a spell. “Aufero.” Climbing in beside her, he curled her into his arms and pressed his heated flesh against her, almost groaning at the ecstasy that the feel of her cool skin evoked. Lore a’mighty, what he wouldn’t give to keep this woman in his bed forever—and what he wouldn’t give to have her choose to share the gift of her passion with him.
She nuzzled her face to his throat and tucked herself tighter against his chest, seeking his warmth like a cold, orphaned hatchling adopted by a caring mother.
He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, willing his cock to stand down and behave. Now was not the time for such things. Sadly, his stubborn manparts didn’t listen. He wanted this woman with a ferocity like no other. It had to be the mate bond burning him to complete their union. As ruler of the Thirteenth Realm, he also led this plane’s Defenders of the Highland Veil. Many a tale had been told about the strength of the fated mate yearning. He had scoffed at it. From now on, he would scoff at it no more. The yearning was fierce.
“I shall be in the alcove, weaving her wardrobe,” Albionna whispered as she added another blanket across the foot of the bed. “Summon me if aught is needed.”
The selkie maid hurried away without waiting for his dismissal, and he was glad. His mate would need a maid who knew what needed to be done and did it without waiting for instructions.
His mate.The thought, the natural acceptance of the bond, had come to him as easily as breathing. Aye, this treasured lady in his bed was his one. Now, to convince her that giving up everything she had ever known was worth a life with him, a life brimming with all the joy she could ever hope to know.
Ever so gently, he stroked his fingers through her wet, tangled hair, carefully splaying it out across the pillows so it might dry rather than lie clammy against her skin. But when she flinched and curled tighter against him, he stopped, fearing he’d pulled it and caused her pain.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he whispered. He smoothed his hand down the silkiness of her back, willing the heat he commanded to warm her. A fearfully wonderful contentment stirred withinhim as she responded with a softly rasping groan and tucked her face up under his chin, nestling into the curve of his throat.
Then more raspiness came from her. Not words but a gently rising and falling whisper, a lilting hum that vibrated with a grating huskiness that wasn’t at all unpleasant. In fact, he found it soothing. Concentrating hard so as not to miss a moment of whatever this sound was that she made, it hit him that he had heard it before. It was the same sound, the melody she had coaxed from the strange box in her timeline. The one with the white teeth interspersed with black. What had the Weaver called it? “Piano,” he murmured aloud as the word came to him. Then he held his breath, hoping she continued. He loved the song even though it came out harsh and broken by her tortured voice. He didn’t care. If anything, her brokenness made the melody even more ethereal. Unable to resist, he softly closed his eyes and lost himself in the magic of her music.
Then she rendered him well and truly bewitched as she paused and pressed a tender kiss to his throat.
“Lyla,” he uttered in a growling whisper, both hopeful and afraid she was recovering from the plummeting swoon that had rendered her helpless and unaware.
With a suddenness that surprised him, she shoved away, yelping like a terrified beastie. “What in the ever-loving hell?” Eyes wide and filled with panic and rising hysteria, she shot backwards across the wide bed, hit the floor, then glanced down and seemed to suddenly take in the perfection of her nakedness. Keeping her gaze locked with his, she lunged for the blanket on the foot of the bed, snatched hold of it, and threw it around her body. With the demanding authority of the queen that she was, she stared at him and bared her teeth. “Who are you? Where am I? Where are my things? What did you do? Drug me or something?”
While lifting both his hands so she could see them, he eased out of bed and stood on his side of it. Perhaps she would feel safer with the massive bit of furniture between them. “I am Chief Magnus MacRaith, ruler of Scotland’s Thirteenth Realm, my lady, which is where ye currently are—here in my castle. Welcome to Kindred Fortress.”
She stared at him, slowly backing away until her backside bumped into the cabinet that held multiple decanters of his favorite whiskies. Clutching the blanket tightly across her breasts, she jutted her chin higher. “How did I get here? Last thing I remember is a storm.” The frail hoarseness of her voice trailed off, and her eyes narrowed. “And you riding toward me, chasing me down and scaring the living daylights out of me. Then it got dark—and freezing cold.” She wrinkled her nose, cringing as she clenched the blanket closer. “Am I dead? Are you the Grim Reaper?”
“Grim Reaper?” He had not heard that name before, but got the gist of what she meant. “I am not death, if that is what ye ask—and no, my lady. Ye are not dead.” He tipped a sideways nod at the hearth. “I brought ye here for yer safety and to heal ye, and in so doing, I fear we encountered the coldness ye mentioned.” He wasn’t about to tell her that the coldness had been among the clouds while Talon flew them to the fortress. “The storm soaked ye through, and the air iced ye. Out of fear for yer well-being, I stripped yer icy robe away and took ye to my bed to warm ye.”
Her gaze swept down his body, then shot back up to his face. He prayed that the sudden rosiness to her cheeks meant she found his form impressive and desirable.
“I don’t make it a habit of getting into bed with people I don’t know,” she said, forcing her words through clenched teeth. “I’d like my robe back now and a ride back to Seven Cairns, please.”
She could not leave. Not without knowing everything. But to tell her all that she needed to know, he neededtime.The rumbleof thunder outside the tall, arched bed chamber windows came to his rescue.
“We canna travel now,” he said with a jab of his thumb at the darkening windows. “Not only has the storm found renewed strength, but ’tis nigh on evening. Much too dangerous to cross the Highlands to get back to yer Seven Cairns.”
Nervously adjusting the blanket around her, she kept glancing from him to the door as if trying to decide whether she could successfully escape.
“Where would ye go, lass?” he asked her ever so quietly. “Ye dinna know this land or its dangers.”
Her chest now heaving, she chewed on her bottom lip, obviously fighting to hold fast to whatever shreds of control she still possessed. “I can’t stay the night here. Cars have headlights. Once we get to Seven Cairns, I’ll reimburse you for the gas. I promise.”
“I dinna have a…car.” He wasn’t even sure what such a thing was, nor whatheadlightswere. Although he assumed they were some sort of torch that enabled one to see clearly at night. “Ye need food, rest, and healing tears. All are plentiful here.”Shite.Perhaps he should not have mentioned the healing tears of dragons, since the dragons in her realm remained hidden, she’d not know what they were.
“I can’t stay the night here,” she repeated, her voice softer but vibrating with even more panic. “If you’ll let me use your phone, I’ll call a taxi or my friend from Seven Cairns.”
“I dinna have a…phone either.” Whatever aphonewas. While relieved that she’d apparently missed his mention of the healing tears, he feared his relief would be short-lived when he kept telling her what hedidn’thave rather than what he could offer her. Could she not feel the mate bond? Was it not calling out to her even a little? “When morning comes, after ye’ve had food and rest, all will be better. I promise.”
She stared at him, then shivered. Hard.
Without thinking, he tossed a hard glance at the fire already crackling in the hearth and murmured, “Infuro.” The flames danced higher, becoming a roaring blaze. He started toward Lyla, but halted when she jerked as though startled and stumbled away from him. “I mean ye no harm, my lady.” He thumped a fist to his chest. “I swear I was only coming closer to help ye toward the fire. Ye seem weak as a lamb.”
