“I can make it to the fire, thank you.” Holding fast to the blanket and weaving like a warrior deep in his cups, she staggered to the hearth and dropped her knees in front of it. Head bowed, she huddled like a lost soul praying for redemption. “I can’t spend the night here,” she said more to herself than him. “I can’t.”
“Ye must, my lady. ’Tis safest.” His heart broke with her agony. Magnus wished he possessed the wisdom to make this easier for her. “The Thirteenth Realm can be a dangerous place, but I assure ye, Kindred Fortress is impenetrable. Ye are safe here with me.”
She shot a surprisingly angry look his way. “Look, I have never heard of a city in Scotland called the Thirteenth Realm, and I did some pretty thorough research before I came here. I’ve also never heard of Kindred Fortress.” She jerked away and fixed her attention back on the fire. “And could you cover yourself? Please? I’m not a prude, but I’m also not used to carrying on a conversation with a naked stranger I somehow woke up with in his bed, and I’m just as naked as he is. Could you please put some pants on, for heaven’s sake?”
Pride and hope filled him. She had to feel the pull of the mate bond. Why else would his current state disturb her so? Determined to calm her so that the shock of all she needed to know might be easier for her to bear, he softly uttered, “Bracae.” Immediately, the lower half of his body became encased in hismost comfortable pair of black leather trews. “I am suitably covered now, my lady.” He left his chest bare to tempt her. If he didn’t use the lusty strength of the fated mate bond to its fullest advantage, he risked losing her. “Might I offer ye a drink to help warm ye? One that will settle ye?”
The distrust in her eyes backed him up a step. “Whisky, my lady. Or wine. Or a fine, soft ale, if ye wish. Nothing nefarious, I assure ye.”
With a hand at the base of her throat, she visibly swallowed hard. “The ale, please. I need to keep my wits about me.”
“As ye wish, my lady.” He went to the cabinet and added a hearty slosh of heather ale to the goblet of dragon’s tears, just enough to change the taste and color. The tears would strengthen her, heal her, and with any luck, calm her enough so they might speak of all they could become. He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer to any power that might be listening. A gift of wisdom would be most appreciated right about now.
After pouring himself a generous dram of whiskey in a matching goblet, he returned to the hearth, lowered himself to one knee beside her, and placed the cup in her hands. “Ye might be more comfortable in the chair, my lady. The heat of the fire should still reach ye there.”
She took the cup from him, all the while eyeing the woolly hide she sat upon. She flinched as she nodded at it. “Is this real?”
“Real?”
She glared at him. “Did an animal die to make this rug?”
“Aye, but it was an old, cantankerous ram who deserved such an ending.”
Her blue eyes snapped with righteous fire as she pushed up from the floor and moved to the chair. “I could say the same about some people I know.”
Pleased that she still possessed such fight to her even when so vulnerable—or when she felt so vulnerable—she had yet torealize that he would allow nothing to harm her, he nodded in agreement. Even though he sensed it would probably anger her even more, he grinned as he seated himself in the large, pillow-strewn chair facing her. “Ye will find I am rarely cantankerous, my lady.”
Shifting her unhappy glare back to the fire, she sipped her drink, then frowned down at it. “What is this?”
“Heather ale and dragon tears.” He held his breath, dreading her reaction even though he knew the truth was always best.
“Dragon tears?”
“Aye.”
“What is that? Some kind of Scottish cocktail mix?”
It had nothing to do with cocks or tails, but he sensed that wasn’t what she meant. “Waters known for their healing properties.” It was the simplest way to explain them without going into too much detail. He lifted his own cup. “I chose whisky. Would ye like a taste?”
“No, thank you. I’m very familiar with whisky.” She took a longer sip of her drink, then curled deeper into the chair, tucking her feet under her and holding fast to her blanket. “Where is my robe?”
“Albionna took it to be laundered.” He didn’t know whether or not the maid had taken it, but the clothing had disappeared. That could be the only explanation. “Worry not, my lady. Ye are well covered in yer blanket.”
The line of her delicately sculpted jaw hardened. The lady was clenching her teeth. “What is the nearest village or city to the Thirteenth Realm? One that I might have heard of?”
“The Thirteenth Realm is not a village, a city, or a country,” he explained with some reluctance. “The Thirteenth Realm is a reality. A plane of existence. An alternate Scotland kept separated from the others by the blessed Highland Veil.”
She stared at him, slowly blinking as if struggling to focus on the words he had just uttered. “What?”
He leaned forward, propping his forearms on his knees. “The blessed Highland Veil keeps the various planes of existence and timelines of creation’s many worlds and realities separated. If it didn’t, all existence would dissolve into the darkness of chaos, and evil would rule the universe. Mairwen and her assistant, the one ye know as Keeva, are immortal Weavers sworn to tend to the Highland Veil’s need for strengthening by the reunited loves of fated mates.”
She continued to stare at him as though he’d sprouted a second head. “What?” she repeated. Both of her delicate brows arched a bit higher.
He nodded at her. “Yer plane of reality is a parallel of this one.” Noting that her coloring had once again gone quite white, Magnus flinched, hoping he hadn’t shared too much too soon. “Many halves of souls from the various realms were cast there, into yer plane of existence, when the gods split our spirits during our first incarnation.”
Confusion shouted from her. “What?” That single word seemed to be the only thing she could say.
“Ye were brought here through the Seven Cairns portal because ye are my fated mate.”
