“Say something!”
“At least she chose to bind with ye,” Keeva said, sounding like a child trying to justify unseemly behavior. She shuffled to one side, moving to stand in front of a stack of black cases as if her spindly frame would hide them.
Magnus pointed at the pile. “What the feckin’ hell is that?” As if he didn’t already know.
“She will want them,” Mairwen said, “They will help her.”
“They will endanger her!” He charged forward, barely resisting the urge to destroy whatever the cases held. “If they are more music makers, she does not need them. She already has the three others along with the apinlyre. That is enough.”
“She will not think so.” Keeva nodded at the stack. “These are her favorites.” She gave a nod of certainty. “I know. I studied her before we guided her to Seven Cairns.”
“Then why did the old one bring the other three first?” He’d never liked the younger Weaver. The woman smacked of uncertainty and lack of belief in herself.
“I brought the three instruments chosen by my cards,” Mairwen replied with irritating aloofness. “Did they not produce the desired result?” She arched a brow, daring him to lie. “We heard the celebrations. The Thirteenth Realm’s joy vibrated across all the known realities, and the power from yer union has made the Highland Veil glow as brightly as the sun.”
Hating the pair more than he’d ever hated them before, because they’d done nothing but make matters worse by bringing more music makers, Magnus glanced back at the closed door to the hallway leading to the bedchamber where his beloved lay her head. “I canna bear the thought of anything happening to her. I have never felt such fear.”
Mairwen smiled. “Ye love her, chief. No longer is she merely the missing half of yer soul or the one promised by the prophecy. She is everything to ye—the entirety of yer heart.”
That observation was less than helpful and not a damn bit consoling. He jabbed a finger at her. “Ye are staying here until she awakens. However long it takes. She wishes to speak with ye, and whatever she wishes, she gets—unless it endangers her.”
With a nod, Mairwen seated herself beside the hearth. “Thank ye for yer hospitality, mighty chief. We look forward to the visit.”
He threw up his hands, spun about, and charged back to the bedchamber, barely calming and quieting himself as he stormed into the room. Halting in place, he sucked in a deep breath, held it, then let it ease out. He must not awaken his precious Lyla. She needed her sleep because when she awakened and discoveredthe Weavers in their midst, there would be no convincing her to rest any further.
Chapter
Fourteen
Without opening her eyes, Lyla pulled in a deep breath and smiled. Warm cinnamon rolls. But not in the form of her favorite pastry—in the form of her favorite man. No, not a mere man, but a magical thirteenth-century Highlander from a parallel world with a dragon brother. She snuggled closer, soaking in his delicious heat as she pressed against his hard, ridged, muscular form. Magnus emitted the heat of a crackling bonfire. Or maybe molten lava poured into the sculpted mold of a Greek god.
His heartbeat thudded against her cheek with a steady, reassuring rhythm. She tightened her arm around him, unable to get enough of the feel of him. His arm flexed and tightened around her, but his breathing assured her he still slept. She lazily forced her eyes open to the dimly lit room. Something was soothing about the way the candles caused shadows to silently dance across the walls. Maybe the lack of electricity wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
The fire in the hearth popped and hissed as if carrying on a quiet conversation with itself. The tapestries covering thewindows barely shifted, causing her to remember what Albionna had told her about it being bad luck to sleep with the windows shut tight, even in the dead of winter. Healthy spirits needed fresh air and the sound of the sea, she’d said in a tone that left nothing to debate.
“Is aught amiss?” Magnus shifted against her, clumsily checking her forehead for fever.
“Aught is not amiss,” she whispered, loath to break the comfortably soft silence of the room.
“Then, sleep.” He hissed in a deep breath and groaned it out as if already back inside his own dreams.
“I want you.” She held her breath, wondering if he’d heard her, and if he had, how he would respond.
“No.”
“No?”
“Ye are not yerself yet.”
“If I am not myself, then who am I?” She was still just a little tired. They didn’t have to attempt a rollicking all-nighter. A slow, gentle coming together would be perfectly acceptable. In fact, it would be awesome. When he didn’t answer, she nudged him. “I know you’re awake.”
“How can I not be with yer nakedness against me?”
“Do you realize we’re lying here talking like an old married couple, and we haven’t even had sex yet? Doesn’t that bother you?” It bothered her. Here she was, about to explode into a bazillion little pieces of wanting him, and they sounded like they were trying to decide what day of the week they’d settle on for their weekly, three-minute sex session. Wasn’t this realm supposed to be a magical place? What was magical aboutthat? “Magnus?”
He rolled over on top of her, kneed her legs apart, and propped his forearms on either side of her shoulders. Nose to nose with her, he growled. “I dinna wish to hurt ye. The firstjoining after fated mates say the binding vow is verra…powerful. I dinna ken if yer weakened state could bear it.” He rumbled with another frustrated growl. “Ye have made me love ye, damn ye. Dinna ask me to put ye in harm’s way.”
“You love me?” she whispered. “Already?”
