Kiss of the Highlander
Page 101

“I’m not trying to get out of it—”
“You’re not?” he exclaimed.
“You want to be married to me? Without even remembering?”
“ ‘Tis too late. We are. Nothing can undo it. Best you grow accustomed to it.” He punched the door for emphasis.
“What about your betrothed?”
He muttered something about his betrothed that warmed her heart. “But that’s another thing I doona understand, lass. If what you claimed happened did indeed happen, I doona understand why I wouldn’t have woven a spell for you to carry to me. I would have known the possibility existed that I might not make it back. I would surely have given you a memory spell.”
“A m-m-memory sp-spell?” Gwen sputtered. Could it have been that simple all along? Did she have the key to make him remember, but he’d not told her how to use it? What hadn’t she told him so far? She’d deliberately withheld a few details so she might have something to test him with should he suddenly claim to have regained total recall. Closing her eyes, she thought hard, sifting through details. Oh!
Have you a good memory, Gwen Cassidy? he’d asked her in the car as they’d approached Ban Drochaid. “Oh, God. Like something that rhymed?” she shrieked.
“It may have.”
“If you’d given me such a spell, would you have told me how to use it?” she said accusingly.
There was a long silence, then he admitted, “Like as not, I wouldn’t have told you until the last possible moment.”
“And if at the last possible moment you melted?” she pressed.
There was a harsh intake of air, then an extended silence behind the door. Then, “Speak your rhyme if you have one!” he exclaimed.
She turned around and faced the door, then laid her palms and cheek against it.
Quietly but clearly, she spoke.
Drustan was facing the door, his palms spread against the cool wood, his cheek pressed to it. He’d whispered the Druid wedding vows back the moment she’d said them. There was no way she was getting away from him now. His former betrothal meant naught. He was well and truly wed. Druid binding vows could never be broken. There was no such thing as Druid divorce.
He braced himself, waiting for her words, hoping and fearing.
Her melodic voice carried clearly through the door. And as she spoke, the words shivered through him, mixing past and future with a cosmic mortar and pestle.
“Wither thou goest, there goest I, two flames sparked from but one ember; both forward and backward doth time fly, wither thou art, remember.”
He hit the floor doubled over, clutching his head.
Och, Christ, he thought, my head will surely split. It felt as if he were being ripped in two, or had been ripped in two and some unseen force was trying to crush two parts back together again.
It was purest instinct to fight it.
Words from a dream place buffeted him: You don’t trust me.
I do trust you, wee lass. I am trusting you far more than you know. But he wasn’t. He was afraid he’d lose her.
Then images:
Another flash of those blue trews, a naked Gwen beneath him, above him. A crimson scrap of ribbon in his teeth. The white bridge.
You would fight me to the death. The counterfeit’s lips moved soundlessly. I see. I see now why only one lives. ’Tis not nature which is innately indifferent, but our own fear that causes us to destroy each other. I beg you, accept me. Let us both be.
I will never accept you, Drustan roared.
He’d fought, viciously and victoriously.
Let us both be.
Drustan drew upon his Druid will, forcing himself to relax his defenses, forcing himself to submit.
Love her, the counterfeit whispered.
“Och, Gwen,” Drustan breathed. “Love Gwen.”
Gwen eyed the door warily. There’d not been a sound from behind it since the moment she’d said the rhyme.
Worried, she scratched at the door. “Drustan?” she asked nervously.
There was a long silence.
“Drustan, are you okay?”
“Gwen, lass, open this door this very instant,” he ordered. He sounded winded, out of breath.
“You have to answer some questions first,” she hedged, wanting to know exactly who would be stepping out of the garderobe. “What was the name of the store—”
“Barrett’s,” he said impatiently.
“What did you want me to buy you in the store to wear?”
“I wanted purple trews and a purple shirt and you gave me a black T-shirt and black trews and hard white shoes. I didn’t fit in your blue trews and you threatened to help me fit with my sword.” His voice deepened smugly. “But I recall your threats ceased once I kissed you thoroughly. You became quite the amenable lass after that.”