Page 41 of Cottage in the Mist
Or if not, then forever lost.
“Lily, come to me.”
The words echoed in her head and she willed him to appear, staring into the shadows in the far reaches of the room. He’d come to her here once. Or at least she’d believed he’d been here. Surely if he was a part of her imagination she could conjure him at will. And if he were real?
Well, then she needed to find her way back.
There was nothing for her here anymore. No reason to stay. Perhaps Mrs. Abernathy and Elaine had been right. Maybe everything that had happened had led here, to this place. This man. Maybe it was all about having faith. Trusting her heart over her mind. Believing in the magic. Or at least accepting the possibility.
Pushing to her feet, she walked to the window and looked out across Duncreag’s courtyard to the river and the valley floor beyond. The wind howled through the trees, the sound eerie as it swirled around the stone tower.
Turning back to the room, she closed her eyes, again willing him to appear. To find her. To come to her. But the room remained empty. She sighed, her heart twisting. She was chasing a ghost. A man long dead and buried. And yet, a man, impossible as it seemed, who now held her heart.
She’d been right the first time—she’d lost her mind.
Not that it was surprising. Less than a week ago, her life had been upended in the most catastrophic of ways. And now she stood in a medieval Scottish castle letting the magic of the Highlands color her perception of everything.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, turning back to the window. Her gaze automatically moved to the distant fields, where she knew the ruins of the cottage lay. The countryside was dark, the fallen stones lost to the night.
Deserted. Destroyed.
She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, emotion threatening to overwhelm her. Desolation, a loss as great as that of her parents, threatened to consume her. It had to be real. He had to be real.
Fighting tears, she opened her eyes, her gaze moving again through the darkness, settling on a tiny pinprick of light that hadn’t been there before.
The cottage.
Bram.
“Come to me.”
14
“I command you to come to me.” Bram fisted a hand and brought it down on the mantle in angry frustration. How many times did he have to say it? The fire burned brightly, filling the cottage’s single room with flickering shadows. He’d done everything but get down on his knees, but despite all entreaties, he was still alone.
He tried to tell himself that it was for the best. That she’d be safer in her time, at least until he’d ridden against Alec Comyn. But the thought brought no respite. His need for Lily only burned stronger. With only one full night between them, the damned woman had somehow become more important to him than breath.
It wasn’t as if he had no experience of women. He’d lain with more than his fair share, but none of them had mattered beyond the short time he’d spent with each of them. The encounters had simply been a matter of finding mutual pleasure. This was something more. Much, much more.
Perhaps theywereenchanted.
Bram shook his head at the notion. He’d never been one to fall for that sort of nonsense. He believed in what he could see.What he could touch. And yet, he’d done more than touch Lily. He’d held her, kissed her, loved her until they’d been shattered by the glory of it all. He might not believe in magic and time travel. But he believed in her.
“Please,” he pleaded on a whisper, his eyes locked on the flickering flames, his heart tight with longing. “Come to me.”
The fire popped and hissed as the door behind him swung open. Spinning on his heels, he reached for the claymore leaning against the hearth.
“Lily.” Her name came out on a groan as the sword clattered to the floor. Heart pounding, he took a step toward her.
Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, curling in wild abandon, moonlight gilding it with silver. Her slippers were faded gold, her gossamer gown the palest of green. He let his eyes caress the curve of her hips, the taut plane of her belly, moving up to the smooth skin of her neck and the slope of her shoulders. Then let them drop again to settle on the sweet swell of her breasts as they rose and fell beneath her garment. His mouth ran dry, his body tightening in anticipation.
Then he lifted his gaze to hers, their eyes locking as they communicated without need for words. For a moment, they stood caught in the magic, and then with a little cry, she launched herself at him and his arms closed around her, reveling in the feel of her as he pulled her tightly against him. He breathed deeply, her scent surrounding him. Fresh and earthy. Like a warm summer day.
For a moment he simply held her, marveling in the fact that she was real. That she was here in the cottage with him. He could feel the rise and fall of her breasts, his own breathing matching hers. And then she pushed back, reaching to run the back of her hand over his cheek as if reassuring herself that he was indeed real.
“I thought I’d lost you.” She swallowed, her eyes searching his face. “The men in the pass?—“
“Were vanquished,” he finished for her. “Thanks to you. To your warning.”
