The Dark Highlander
Page 70

They froze in that intimate moment for what felt like a miserable eternity, then Dageus shuddered and with a hand beneath her bottom, leaned her against the stone and dislodged her hand. She had a hard time making herself let go and they waged a short, silent, silly little battle that he won, which she reluctantly conceded was probably only fair since it was part of his body. He stood still, inhaling measured breaths, then lowered her to the ground.
It took him several minutes to refasten his jeans. Dropping his dark head forward, lips to her ear, he said in a burr thickened by desire, “There will be no takin’ this back, lass. Doona even think to be tellin’ me later that you willna hae me. You will hae me.” Then abruptly, wrapping one strong arm around her waist, he turned them both to greet the intruder.
Still dizzy and breathless with desire, it took Chloe a few moments to focus. When she did, she was startled to discover that the fog had vanished as utterly as the storm, leaving the night bathed in pearly luminance by a fat moon hovering just beyond the mighty oaks that towered around the circle of stones. She refused to dwell on the fact that a short time ago there had been no oaks around the circle of stones, only a vast expanse of manicured lawn. If she thought about that too long, she might start to feel sick to her stomach again.
So she concentrated instead on the tall, elderly man, with shoulder-length, snowy-white hair, clad in long blue robes, who stood about a dozen paces away, his narrow back to them.
“You can turn around now,” Dageus barked at him.
“I was but ceding you what privacy I could,” the man muttered defensively, his posture rigid.
“Had you wished to cede me privacy, you would have steered yourself right back into the castle, old man.”
“Aye,” the man snapped right back, “so you could off and disappear again? I think not. I lost you once. I’ll no’ be losing you again.”
With that, the elderly man turned around to face them and Chloe’s eyes widened in astonishment. She’d seen him somewhere before! But where?
Oh, no. As quickly as it occurred to her, she denied it, shaking her head. Earlier in the day, in the portrait gallery at Maggie MacKeltar’s castle. She’d seen several portraits of him displayed in a section where half a dozen other paintings around them had been removed, leaving great dark spots on the wall. That was part of what had drawn her eye to them. Maggie had told her that the others from that particular century—the fifteen hundreds—had been taken down and sent out to be restored.
This man’s face had lingered in her mind because she’d been captivated by his uncanny resemblance to Einstein. With his snowy hair, rich brown eyes feathered by fine lines, and deep grooves bracketing his mouth, the man looked unnervingly like the great theoretical physicist. Albeit with a slightly wizardish cast. Even Gwen had agreed with a sunny smile when Chloe had remarked upon it.
“Wh-who is th-that?” Chloe stammered to Dageus.
When Dageus didn’t reply, the elderly man raked both hands through tufts of white hair and scowled. “I’m his da, m’dear. Silvan. ’Tis thinking, I am, that he told you no more than Drustan told Gwen afore he brought her here. Is that so? Or did you even tell her that much?” He shot an accusing glance at Dageus.
Dageus was as still as stone beside her. Chloe looked up at him, but he wouldn’t look at her.
“You said your father was dead,” she said uneasily.
“I am,” Silvan agreed, “in the twenty-first century. But not in the sixteenth century, m’dear.”
“Huh?” Chloe blinked.
“Rather odd when one ponders it,” he allowed with a pensive expression. “As if I’m immortal in my own slice of time. Gives a thinking man the shivers.”
“The s-sixteenth c-century?” She tugged on Dageus’s sleeve in a plea for him to jump right in and clear things up anytime now. He didn’t.
“Aye, m’dear,” Silvan replied.
“As in, you mean that since I’m seeing you—which means either you’re alive or I’m dreaming or I’ve lost my mind—that if I’m not dreaming and haven’t lost my mind, I must be, er … where it is that you aren’t dead?” Chloe asked gingerly, making certain she didn’t spell it out too clearly because then she’d have to entertain it as a valid thought.
“A brilliant deduction, m’dear,” Silvan said approvingly. “Though a bit roundabout. Still, you’ve the look of a clever lass about you.”
“Oh, no,” Chloe said firmly, shaking her head. “This isn’t happening. I’m not in the sixteenth century. That’s not possible.” She looked up at Dageus again, but he was still refusing to look at her.