Lord of the Highlands (Highlands #4)

Lord of the Highlands (Highlands #4) Page 41

“Don’t go to the King,” she whispered, stroking her palm over his broad, smooth chest. “Stay with me. We can run away.”

“You know I would.” He shut his eyes, breathing in deep. “But you know I cannot.”

They were together now. He was by her side, right then, and she’d regret wasting a minute of their remaining time together.

Felicity hitched her hips closer, seeking him out. “Be with me, Will. I want you.”

He kissed slowly along her neck, traced his finger and his tongue along her collarbone as if he’d memorize her.

“I want you, Felicity. I’ve always wanted you.” He kissed his way down her throat, took a breast in his mouth, sucked and teased with teeth and tongue. She felt empty and needful, wanting only for him to fill her.

Tracing his hands along her thighs, Will brought his fingers to her, stroking where water still dampened the hair between her legs.

“Now,” she moaned. “I need you. Now.”

“Aye,” he said between gritted teeth. He lifted Felicity onto him and glided into her. “Now.”

She planted her feet on the ground and began to move, tilting and rocking, bringing him in and out. But Will stopped her. Gripping her hips, he drove himself into her and held Felicity tight to him.

Holding her hips immobile, Will ground her pelvis against his. A pleasure so acute swamped her, she dropped her head to his shoulder, letting him rub and grind her against his body.

“Yes,” she whispered. Felicity trembled, barely holding on. He kept her there, in a place just beyond fulfillment, shifting inside, yet not moving from her.

Will raked a hand through her hair and cupped her head, tilting it to face him. He brought his mouth to hers for a fierce kiss.

And then neither could hold on, and he kept her clutched hard and close through their climax.

Felicity, rooted to her Will.

Chapter 30

“And you’re certain this woman is trustworthy?” Will asked, leaning on his cane as if it were a stake he’d planted defiantly in the ground. They stood outside the low cave, and Felicity was finding the stare-off between him and Ewen fascinating.

Will’s face was furrowed, and it made her love him all the more. She knew it was partly wariness she saw mapped there. But physical pain was there too. She recognized it, bracketing his mouth. They’d had to tie off their ponies, and the tightly winding path they’d taken the rest of the way couldn’t have been easy for him.

“Och, Rollo.” Ewen raked a hand through his hair. “Trust me when I tell you, the witch Gormshuil is the only way. Though, as long as I live, I’ll find the whole business difficult to fathom.”

“You and me both,” Felicity chimed in. That other women had traveled back in time? So strange—and kind of annoying. She’d wanted to think she was special.

Her eyes went to Will. He was watching her, an unreadable look on his face. Her Viking. She’d wished for her one and only love, and she’d been sent straight to this man.

No, she decided. She was special. What they shared was special. It was a relationship decreed by the fates.

She thought of those other women and frowned. They all got to stay in the past, regardless of the dangers. Why not her?

“How can we be certain Felicity will be safe?” Will asked, not taking his eyes from her.

“It seems like you’re unsure,” she said, realizing her opportunity. “So we’d best just head back. Who knows who this witch might be?” she mused dramatically. “Better to be safe than sorry. And,” she added, turning her attention to Ewen, “we should probably go soon. Lily is looking pretty far along. You must hate to leave her when the baby could come, like, any minute now.”

Will’s eyes narrowed. “Nice try, love.”

“Indeed,” Ewen added. “And to answer your question, I know who this woman might be. Gormshuil is trustworthy, and she will help.”

The Cameron laird led them into the cave. It took a minute for Felicity’s eyes to adjust to the darkness and to the cloud of pipe smoke that drifted languidly through the air like incense.

“Come, come,” someone called from the shadows. The voice cracked, the timbre that of an old woman, yet something stronger ran through the sound, something tensile, as if girded by fiber or tendon.

Felicity stepped closer and the woman came into view. Gormshuil was smaller than the sound of her voice. She was wizened, with paper-thin skin and a watery gaze, and yet Felicity saw at once the ghost of the young woman she’d been. Petite, with wide, round eyes. She somehow knew at once that a man had loved this woman.

Gormshuil cackled. “I see you too, girl.”

A shiver ran up her spine.

Felicity felt her legs moving, drawn to her. She walked to Gormshuil, sat by her side. Patting Felicity’s leg, the witch tittered again, and for a moment she sounded almost youthful.

Some deep-rooted tension unclenched, and Felicity sighed. The woman’s touch made her feel tingly and at ease. She inhaled deeply, and the sensation spread. She wondered distantly just what it might be the woman was smoking.

“You know,” Felicity blurted out, “I’m kind of like a witch too.” She felt warm, and a little buzzed.

“Are you now?” she heard someone ask. It was Ewen, chuckling.

“You have such a deep voice,” Felicity marveled, turning to the laird.

“You’re no witch.” There was steel in Will’s tone, and it stung her. She’d only ever heard him use that voice with other people. “Do not share such thoughts again,” he commanded. “Ever, with anyone.”

His words were like a gust of cold air in her muzzy brain. “Don’t get testy,” she said. She felt more alert, wakened from her haze.

“You make a mistake,” the witch warned.

“I know.” Felicity scowled in Will’s direction. “Tell him, not me.”

“You’ll regret leaving your man. And,” Gormshuil said with a nod to Will, “you’ll regret letting her go. Mark me. ’Tis a grave error you make.” Her eyes flashed to Felicity’s belly. “Especially with the child.”

“I knew it!” Felicity exclaimed. She’d noticed her belly had grown thicker. Pregnant, she thought, beaming. A baby. Of course. They had been doing it like a couple of bunnies, after all.

“Now I can’t leave,” she told him triumphantly.

“Now more than ever you must,” he replied quietly.

“This is”—Ewen hesitated—“better discussed later, I think.” He turned to Gormshuil. “Will requires not your judgment, but your instruction. You helped me once, saw fit to let me make my own decision. I ask that you do no less for my friend.”

Gormshuil sucked on her pipe. The stem clacked dully between her teeth, sending up a fresh plume of gray smoke. “So it shall be,” the old woman said in a voice suddenly thin with age. “I shall help your friend.”

She tugged a small pouch from her belt. A leather thong tied it shut, and Gormshuil bit the strip between her teeth, pulling it open. A small mound of dried, crumbled leaves spilled into her palm.

A low droning began to reverberate off the cave walls. Felicity realized it was Gormshuil. She’d begun to chant. Foreign words, sounding strange and thick, as if from the back of her tongue.

Felicity looked to Will. His eyes cut to her, as if he’d felt her gaze on him. She wanted a smile, a nod, but he simply sat stiff and erect, the look on his face unreadable.

There was a rapid movement on the edge of her vision. The witch had thrown something on the fire. The flames bloomed, swelling to life like a cresting wave, crackling angrily and spewing gray smoke through the cavern.

She felt ill from the stench of it. Pregnant, she thought. She was pregnant and nauseous. She swallowed hard.

Her mind grew muddled. She tried to focus on the woman’s ceremony, but her mind spun away, thoughts slipping like sand through her fingers.

She clung to the sight of Will. They were having a baby. He was going to be a father. He couldn’t let her go now. The thought transfixed her, a lone spotlight as her conscious mind meandered through the fog, Gormshuil’s chanting drifting over her like so much pipe smoke.

The witch clapped her hands. Felicity’s eyes snapped to her, finding Gormshuil staring. Smoke hung in the air, reddening the woman’s pale eyes, making them seem rheumy and ancient. “I see the way, girl.”

The witch turned her attention to Will. Her voice was stern as she intoned, “Heed me, William Rollo. If this woman leaves, she will never return. She shall be lost to this time forever. Cho fad’s a bhios muir a’bualadh ri lic. As long as sea beats on stone. Lost, to us, forever.”

Tears stung Felicity’s eyes, anguish and fear stealing the breath from her lungs. She looked at Will. Surely he’d fight this. He’d change his mind. She peered at him through the smoke, but all she saw was the face of a war hero. Grim and still as he’d ever been.

The woman’s voice keened from the shadows. “Sìth do d’annam, is Clach air do Chàrn.”

“A proverb, lass. For you.” It was the Cameron chief, his voice low and kind. “The witch bids peace to thy soul, and a stone to thy cairn.”

They journeyed back to Tor Castle in tense silence, Ewen having made it clear he’d tolerate no lovers’ quarrels in his presence.

The thought that he might be embroiled in something so banal as a lovers’ quarrel thrilled and gutted Will in equal measure.

The enforced silence was just as well. He needed to think. That Felicity carried his child rocked him.

It was a miracle. How strange and wondrous to think on what they’d created. Would the child have hair dark like his, and her brightly chattering ways? Would he or she be good with horses; be tall like him, or petite like her?

He fought the impulse to see it as a sign that she’d been right all along, that they were destined to be together. Was sending Felicity back still the right course? That his seed had quickened so soon in her belly sowed doubt in his mind.