Tall, Dark and Kilted (37 page)

“You what?”
The ground dipped beneath Hardwick’s feet. His sword hand began to itch again. “Dinna tell me you—”

“Your lady can explain later.” Impatience edged the Dark One’s voice. “Press me and I shall leave you without an explanation. As is”—he glanced once more at the sea—“suffice it to say that it was not wise for me to see her. She reminded me of someone I knew long ago. Someone—”

“Someone you loved and lost.” Cilla finished for him.

Hardwick scowled at her.

The Dark One nodded. “It was many years past.” He looked at Hardwick, his obsidian gaze going deep. “Longer centuries than even you could count. But I never forgot. Her loss pains me to this day.”

He drew a long breath and released it slowly. “I nearly undid your curse that day I appeared to your lass at Dunroamin. Even”—he gave a bitter-sounding laugh—“felt bad for having frightened her. Imagine! But once I returned to my temple, I caught myself. . . . Until you strode into my inner sanctum, offering your all for one night in her arms. When you refused my offer of her soul for the pleasure—a test, no more—I remembered how I’d held my own woman’s cold and limp body, begging gods who wouldn’t listen to restore her to me. And I . . .”

He looked aside again, his expression hardening.

“You were moved to give us a chance.” Cilla’s voice broke on the words.

She reached for Hardwick’s hand, twining their fingers.

He frowned, not believing a word. “There’s more. Even if you were
moved
by my lady’s resemblance to someone you knew thousands of years ago, I’ll ne’er accept you’d release a soul so easily.”

The almost imperceptible tightening of the Dark One’s lips proved it.

Wanting the truth, Hardwick yanked his hand from Cilla’s and whipped out his sword again. Raising it with lightning speed, he pressed its tip beneath the Dark One’s chin.

“Tell me now how it really was, or I’ll do my best to prove you can be killed.”

“Do you wish to spoil a romantic tale in front of your lady?” The Dark One cocked a brow, a look of mock surprise on his handsome face. “A pity . . .”

“Speak.” Hardwick pressed his sword tip harder against the Dark One’s neck.

As if swatting at a fly, the Dark One flicked a hand and the blade vanished, reappearing in its sheath at Hardwick’s side.

Smiling coldly at his little victory, the Dark One took a step forward. “The truth, Seagrave, is that I had no choice. There are powers in the Otherworld even greater than myself and my master. You evoked them yourself when you refused Cilla’s soul to be taken in exchange for your boon.”

“I broke my own curse?” Hardwick still couldn’t believe it.

“Call it what you like.” The Dark One shrugged. “Your selflessness unleashed the only power I cannot battle. The eternal strength of a pure and loving heart. In the moment you roared
‘Nae!’
at me, your love for your lady ripped open the entrance to the redemption tunnel and, much as I would have wished otherwise, I could not have prevented you from hurtling into it.”

Hardwick stared at him, too stunned for words.

Somewhere deep inside him, something coiled tight and then sprang free, releasing his doubt. His heart thundered wildly and his throat worked, the emotion clogging it making it difficult for him to deny his foe’s words.

Now he knew why he’d been plagued by such weariness of late. The all-too-mortal maladies he’d brushed aside as lust-dizziness.

“By all the saints!” He grabbed Cilla and pulled her against him.

She sobbed, flinging her arms around him and holding tight. “I told you it was true! I also believe he loved a woman who looked like me.”

She threw a glance at the Dark One. “You did, didn’t you?”

For a moment, his eyes darkened and a shadow crossed his face. But rather than answer her, he turned to Hardwick.

“Your journey from here, Seagrave, is your own.” Looking his formidable self again, he gripped Hardwick’s shoulder, squeezing hard. “Use it wisely. You know I’ll be watching.”

And then he was gone.

Only a stir in the wind and a faint whiff of sulfur indicating he’d even been there at all.

Chapter 18

“Wow.” Cilla began to shake all over.

The Dark One, or whoever he’d really been, might have vanished, but he’d upturned her world in his passing. Tiny whirlwinds still eddied across the courtyard’s grass-and-weed-clogged expanse, little twirling gusts of dried leaves and whatnot settling onto the ancient, muddied ground.

Her pulse leapt and skittered, showing no sign of slowing down.

She could still feel his presence.

The portent of his revelations hung heavy in the air. So thick, she almost choked on the hope he’d left with them. A tight, hot-throbbing knot grew in her throat, and her eyes began to burn.

She squeezed them shut and took several long, deep breaths, trying to ground herself.

But it didn’t do any good.

The wild, giddy exhilaration coursing through her wasn’t going anywhere.

So she did the unthinkable.

She started to cry, this time not bothering to check her tears.

“Cease your crying, sweetness.” Hardwick grasped her by the arms, holding tight. He was scowling again, the distrust back in his eyes. “There may no’ be a reason to rejoice, and if there isn’t, I canna stand the sight of your pain.”

“But it
is
true!” She blinked up at him, her heart thundering wildly. “All of it. I know it here,” she cried, pounding a fist against her breast. “I see it on you, too. There’s something different!”

And there was.

A sliver of doubt where only confidence had been before.

“You must believe!” She leaned into him, winding her arms around his neck, willing him to have faith. “If you don’t, maybe the undoing of the spell won’t work. It could be reversed, or the redemption tunnel might pull you back up into it.”

“I’m no’ sure anything has happened to
be
reversed. And I’m more than skeptical about the so-called redemption tunnel.” He shook his head, denial all over him. “There’s only one way to know for sure, and I’ll no’ risk that.”

“I say we do . . . try!” Swallowing against her tears, Cilla lifted up on her toes, kissing him hard and fierce before he had a chance to pull away.

She wound her arms around his neck, clinging to him in case he tried. “Please . . .” She let her tongue glide deep and pressed herself against him, well aware that the feel of her breasts rubbing across his chest might sway him.

He did groan, the hot slide of his own tongue tangling with hers. His sexy sandalwood scent drifted around her, flooding her senses and making her swoon. “Lass . . .” He pulled back to nip and lick her lips, then splayed his fingers across the back of her head, angling her face to kiss her more deeply.

“See.” She breathed the word against his mouth. “We’re kissing and nothing is happening.” Breaking away, she let her tongue glide along his jaw and then swirled its tip across the bottom of his ear. “No bogeymen jumping out of the shadows, no red devils, no—”

She jerked back, her eyes widening at the sudden rock-hard swell lifting his kilt. Hot, heavy, and demanding, it thrust urgently against her, making her burn even through the thick woolen folds of his plaid.

“Oh, my . . .” Her breath caught and her heart galloped. Leaning in for another kiss, she rubbed herself against him, already melting.

“O-o-oh, nae.” He set her from him forcefully, scowling darker than she’d ever seen. “As you’ve noticed, something
is
happening, and we must end it here and now.”

He stepped back, breathing hard. “I shouldn’t have forgotten myself, and I’ll no’ be endangering you—”

“Does that mean you won’t trust me, either?” Cilla stepped back, too. But she shrugged off her jacket as she did so, tossing it onto the grassy, rubble-strewn ground. “I thought we’d moved past all that. Have you forgotten the bliss you’ve given me? How I’ve lain open before you, begging, then quivering beneath your kisses?”

She lifted her chin, knew her eyes were blazing. “Yes, I mean
those
kisses.”

She wouldn’t have believed it, but he flushed. “Lass . . . dinna do this.”

“Or”—she glared at him, on a roll—“how you gave me those looks during my broken-china class, making me feel your fingers playing with me, even slipping beneath my panties to dip in and out of me and then rub my clit until I could hardly see straight, much less hold a workshop!”

“Cilla . . .” He shoved a hand through his hair. “You’ve seen the dangers. The Dark One’s word canna be trusted. I’ll no’ risk—”

“I believe him!” Grinning now, she reached for the buttons of her blouse, undoing them with a speed and deftness that surprised her. “As for trust, there are some who’d say I’m the one who’s needed the most trust in this twosome!”

Her blouse landed near her jacket.

The tilt in his kilt jerked.

She tossed back her hair, sent her bra flying. “Well?”

He turned away, his hands clenched at his sides.

Cilla bit down on her lip, drawing blood. Then she bent to tug off her shoes and socks. Straightening, she grabbed her belt buckle, undoing it so swiftly she broke a nail. Heart pounding, she ripped open her waist snap and yanked down the zipper. It took her less than a wink to rid herself of her pants and panties and kick both aside.

The moment she did, Hardwick tensed. As she looked, a great shudder ripped through him and his fisted hands tightened visibly, his knuckles now white.

She drew a deep breath and straightened her back.

It was now or never.

“Turn around.” Her voice brooked no refusal. “I’m naked.”

“Damnation!” He whirled to face her, closing the distance between them in two great strides. “I’d sworn no’ to touch you again. You shouldn’t have done this,” he growled, reaching for her, pulling her so hard against him she gasped. “ ’Tis too late now. . . . I canna help myself.”

He snaked an iron-strong arm around her waist, crushing her even more. “Ach, sweetness, did no one e’er tell you what a naked woman does to a Highlander?” Gripping her face with his free hand, he slanted his mouth over hers, claiming her lips in a rough, hungry kiss.

The swift, hard, devouring kind that showed no mercy.

She cried out, spreading her hands across the broad width of his plaid-draped chest. Her entire body trembled, her legs almost giving out when he broke the kiss to look down her. Holding her gaze, he reached for the large Celtic brooch at his shoulder, ripping open its clasp.

The instant it sprang free, he tossed it aside and whipped off his plaid, tossing it across the cold stone of the window ledge.

“Are you doing that for the reason I think?” Her gaze flitted to the plaid, then back to him.

Hope leapt inside her.

Her heart raced and a blaze of tingles caught fire between her legs. Every hot, curling tongue flick he’d given her swirled across her again, making her belly clench and her knees weaken. She wanted those long, slow licks now. The sweet, shattering releases he gave her.

She wanted
him
, the long, hard length of him gliding hotly in and out of her.

“You’ve pushed me too far, lass.” His gaze heated, sweeping the length of her. It was bold, possessive, and almost predatory; the sliver of doubt she’d glimpsed earlier was nowhere to be seen. “You know fine what I’m after. I told you”—he reached for her breasts, first palming, then squeezing and plumping them—“a Highlander once tempted will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

He swept one hand down her side and around behind her, digging his fingers into the rounds of her buttocks. “And if you didn’t know, it’s no’ just any bare-bottomed lassie that fires our blood.”

Taking his other hand from her breasts, he caught her chin and lifted her face so she couldn’t look away. “ ’Tis the smooth, shapely warmth of a big-bosomed, round-hipped lass that stirs us. If such a well-made woman is also eager and hot-blooded for a tumble and”—he leaned close to brush his lips lightly over hers—“just happens to be the lass a man loves more than life itself, well, then, you can be assured there’s no stopping him.”

Cilla’s heart latched on to one word.

She pulled back, blinking. The wretched tears were jabbing into her eyes again. “Are you saying you love me?”

He arched one brow. “If you have to ask, sweet, I’ve been doing something wrong.”

“Oh, my . . .” She gulped. Her lower lip quivered before she could stop it.

“I’ll no’ be asking you the same fool question.” His hands went to his kilt belt and before she could blink again, he’d undone it, sending both the belt and his kilt sailing.

Nothing remained to clothe him except the wide gold armband winking at her from just below his right shoulder.

Her eyes rounded.

So the rumors were true.

That one time she’d caught a fleeting glimpse of him hadn’t been a fluke. And he was more than just naked beneath his kilt. He was flat-out magnificent.

Even more so than she remembered.

She swallowed hard, flushing.

He stood back, letting her admire him. “Nae, I’ll no’ make you declare yourself,” he said, a note of pride thrumming on the words. “I’ve known for long that you love me.”

His declaration made, he gathered her in his arms and plunked her down onto the plaid-covered window ledge. Spreading her knees, he stepped in between her thighs, his arms sweeping round behind her, holding her secure.

“I have but one regret.” He looked down at her, his expression clouding. “I—”

“You’re still worried that the Dark One lied.” She reached to curl a hand around his neck, not liking the crease marring his brow. “I swear he was on the level. I’m sure—”

“Sweeting, I no longer care what happens . . . after.” He slid a hand beneath her, lifting her so that her slick, wet heat slid against him. “Only that I have you now. But if you’d know what bothers me, ’tis only that . . .”

He made a broad sweeping gesture. “I’d have rather loved you in this chamber when it was at its finest. My greeting room”—he fought back the memories, the images searing him—“this was where I welcomed guests arriving by sea. Far below, where you now see only black rocks and angry, swirling waves was once a landing platform e’er watched and kept at the ready. This room awaited such visitors, filled with all the comforts of my day. Furred rugs covering the floors and richly colored tapestries on the walls; this very window ledge, cushioned and private, protected from curious eyes by heavily embroidered hangings of—”