The Dark Highlander
Page 94

Aye, he knew he’d touched her heart. She was not a lass who could hide her feelings, she simply didn’t possess such guards. Though she’d not said the words, he could see it in her eyes, and feel it in her caress. No woman had ever touched him quite the way she did. At times, it seemed she was touching him with near reverence, as if she was as awed as he was that they meshed so perfectly, two interlocking pieces of wood carved from the same tree.
She had no idea what it did to him to see her dressed in the colors of his clan, strolling through his childhood home. It made him feel all elemental warrior and lover, a man of fierce needs and primitive laws. The only thing that could make it sweeter would be if he, too, could don the Keltar colors again.
But that was a bearable loss. At a time when he’d expected little from life, she’d given him everything, including a reawakening of the wonder and hope he’d so long ago lost. The heathery fields seemed again fertile with burgeoning life. Everywhere he looked, he saw something of beauty: a wee pine marten questing the breeze, a golden eagle soaring overhead, tawny-crowned and majestic, mayhap simply a stately oak he’d walked past a hundred times but not truly seen. The night sky ablaze with stars seemed again full of secrets and miracles.
Chloe was a shaft of sunlight that had lanced through the storm clouds he’d lived beneath for so long, illuming his world.
She’d flung herself wholly and without reservation into their intimacy. She loved to touch, indeed, she seemed to crave it. She was constantly slipping her wee hand into his, or burying them in his hair, grazing his scalp with her nails. Like a wild tomcat who’d had absolute freedom, but known no place to call home, he savored the gentle constancy of the familiar touch of familiar hands.
He’d been right in thinking that with her, lovemaking might yield some indefinable result he’d not before experienced. Sex had always calmed and soothed him, easing his muscles, relaxing his mental tension, but now, when he fell sated, holding Chloe close, his heart was also at ease.
But if his present was a vast and sunny blue sky, his future was filled with the ominous roll of crashing thunderheads.
And he dare not forget that.
He dragged his gaze away from Chloe and inhaled deeply, forcing his thoughts back to less savory matters.
In the past ten days, though he and Silvan had discovered a wealth of long-forgotten information about their clan in the chamber library, and learned more about their purpose as Druids than they’d ever known, they’d still found no mention of the thirteen and scant information concerning their benefactors. Silvan was hoping they might find some way to contact the Tuatha Dé in the old records, but Dageus didn’t share his da’s optimism on that score. He wasn’t convinced the ancient race was even still about. And if they were, why would they bother to appear to a Keltar who’d fallen from grace when they’d not bothered to appear to any other Keltar? He wouldn’t be surprised to learn they’d planted their traps in the in-between and gone away thousands of years ago, never to return.
The search was taking too long. In the twenty-first century there’d been a dearth of information, now there was too much, and sifting through it was an epic undertaking.
That wouldn’t have fashed him, except he’d recently noticed something that had made him realize time was critical: His eyes were no longer returning to gold, not even with their constant lovemaking. Nay, his eyes were now burnished copper, and darkening further each day.
Though he was using no magic, though he was tooping incessantly, though the ancient ones had not spoken again, the darkness inside him was changing him anyway, in the same manner that wine inevitably soaked into and permeated the cask that held it.
He could feel the thirteen growing stronger, and himself growing more comfortable with them. They’d been a part of him for so long that they were beginning to feel like another appendage—and why wouldn’t he use an extra hand? Now, instead of catching himself only a few times a day about to use magic for something simple like filling the bath, he was catching himself a score of times or more.
At least he was still catching himself. He knew that anon he wouldn’t. And in even yet more time, he wouldn’t care. That fine line he mustn’t cross was getting increasingly difficult for him to see clearly.
Rubbing his unshaven jaw, he wondered if it might be possible to strike some kind of deal with the thirteen.
Strike a deal with the devil? his honor hissed. Like what? They get to use your body part of the time? The devil cheats, you fool!
Aye, there was that worry. The beings in him were not honorable, could not be trusted. The mere fact that he was considering trying to barter with them proved how critical time had become.