Page 40 of Cottage in the Mist
“How can I?” Bram asked, shaking away from his rioting thoughts. “She is no’ even here in this place.”
“Perhaps not at Duncreag. But you know where you’re most likely to find her.” There was challenge in Katherine’s voice. One he couldn’t ignore. Still he fought against the idea. Now was not the time for distraction.
“What if this is your only chance?” she urged.
“Leave him be,mo chridhe,” Iain said. “He’s right. A man canna go into battle when his mind is on his woman.”
Again Katherine swallowed a smile. “I believe, my love, that it is precisely because of said women that most men head into battle in the first place.” She’d shifted the challenge from Bram to Iain, and based on Iain’s grin, the challenge had been accepted.
They rose of one accord, but as they walked away, Katherine shot a knowing look over her shoulder. “Don’t throw away what fate has given you. For that, most definitely, is a pathway to regret.”
Ranald drained his tankard, watching the two of them depart. “I wish I could tell you she’s wrong,” his cousin said. “But when you find the woman you want, there’s naught to do but claim her. And hope to hell that she claims you in return. That much I’m certain of.”
“But Iain’s right. Now is no’ the time for me to be making promises. I canna ask her to place herself in the middle of the hellish mess that has become my life. ’Tis far better that we win the day and then I make my claim.” For the latter at least he was certain of. No matter the distance that separated them, Lily was his. For now and for always. No matter what century.
“I canna disagree.” Ranald shrugged. “Until you’ve finished this, the woman is safer in her own time. But is there a reason why you canna at least go to the lass and say goodbye?”
“You make it sound as if I’ve but to walk o’er to her holding and knock on the door. ’Tis a bit more complicated than that.”
“Is it?” Ranald’s eyebrows shot up in question. “Last I heard, when there was a need, the two of you seemed to find each other well enough. First at the cottage, and then here at Duncreag.”
“So what? I go to bed and just wait?” He hated the petulance in his voice. But it all seemed so bloody impossible. Both the harsh reality of his situation and the admittedly passionate fantasy.
“Were I a betting man, I’d say that Katherine has the right of it and you’re far more likely to find your fairy woman at the cottage. And because I am no’ a foolish man, I suggest you take a couple o’ men to stand watch beyond the clearing.”
Bram frowned. “You think there are Comyns still about?”
“Nay. I think if there were others nearby they’ve gone. But ’tis never wise to take a chance.”
“Then maybe it’s best I don’t go to her.” The idea of going had been building inside him from the moment Katherine had first mentioned it, gathering momentum as the need for Lily quickened inside him, urging him onward.
“I’m no’ telling you not to go. I’m just cautioning you to have a care. When have you ever balked at a little risk?” Ranald smiled, pushing to his feet. “And dinna pretend you ne’er walked the parapet at Dunbrae. Ban or no’.”
Bram grinned at his cousin, moving to stand. “I suppose I’ll be off then.”
“I’d expect no less. We’ll see you here at first light.”
Bram sobered, the enormity of what they were undertaking hitting him full force. Perhaps he did deserve a send-off. A night of unbridled passion. A night only one woman could possibly give him.
Lily.
He strode across the great room, praying with his entire being that she’d still want him. That she’d be there.
“Come to me, mo ghràidh. Come to me.”
Lily’s heart pounded as she was yanked from sleep.
Her gaze swept across the room, searching for some sign that he had found her again. But the room was empty and, basedon the hissing radiator, very much an occupant of the current century.
Frustrated, she swung her legs to the edge of the bed. Outside, the shadows of night shifted beyond the window. She pushed a hand through her unruly hair, mentally trying to recapture the sound of his voice. She’d been so sure that she’d heard him. His entreaty had pulled her from sleep as effectively as if he’d reached out and touched her.
She shivered, remembering the feel of his fingers against her skin. Then closed her eyes at the memory of his lips, his hands, his lean hard body. The power of his touch stroking, caressing, driving her higher and then higher still. The strength of their joining, him thrusting deeper—filling her, stretching her—driving her on to immeasurable pleasure.
“Come to me.”
Her eyes flickered open, his voice washing over her like a physical touch. Her body had tightened with need, her breasts swollen, her nipples taut, heat pooling between her thighs. She swallowed, desire making her throat dry. Never had she wanted anything—anyone—more.
Tears of frustration filled her eyes as she reached toward the emptiness of her room. This, then, was madness. All the talk of Highland magic aside, this wasn’t normal. To want someone she’d just met more than life itself was crazy enough. But add to that the idea that her lover didn’t even exist in this time and surely that meant that she was certifiable.
