A Highlander Christmas Page 17

  “I want to make this so beautiful for you, muirnín.”

  “It already is, because it’s with you.”

  He smiled, cupped her face in his palm, and dragged his mouth across her cheek. “Close your eyes.”

  She did and felt herself being lifted in his arms. “Open them.”

  Her lashes fluttered. Before her was an enormous bed, fit for a prince. It was draped in dark blue and scattered with plush pillows.

  He put her down and she reached for him, sliding her free hand up and along his hard abdomen. Her gaze skimmed along his body, all muscled and beautiful. He was hers now. Nothing could tear them apart.

  He brought their tied hands up and placed her fingers against his cheek. “Touch me, muirnín.” he said in a voice that was little more than a broken whisper. “Touch me.”

  Need had replaced the masterful tone of his voice, and with shaking fingers, Isobel caressed the arch of his strong brow, down to his cheeks which were already starting to stubble with a night beard. The roughness of it grazed her fingertips, heightening her senses. She liked Daegan with an evening beard, she decided. She liked him looking hard and strong. It made her feel secure and safe in a new world where she felt so out of place.

  His breathing was hard when she reached the corner of his mouth. With a gentle glide of her fingers, she brushed them over his lips, startled by the softness of them. Isobel closed her eyes when she felt him reverently kiss her fingers. The strange energy she sensed in him, formerly an even hum, spiked as she touched him.

  “I need your touch—so much.”

  His head dropped down and he rested his forehead in the crook of her neck. She felt the tips of his fingers glide down her throat. “Don’t stop,” he begged. “Don’t ever stop.”

  With her palms, she traced the sculpted contours of his shoulders. He shuddered, let out a low moan of utter pleasure. The energy increased, humming along his body, flickering along his muscles. It made her feel bold, and she pressed her body against his.

  “You feel so good,” she whispered, running her finger down his spine to the waistband of his pants. “So strong beneath my hands.”

  “You make me feel strong.”

  The longer she touched him, the more the energy seemed to flow between them. It was pouring off him in waves, and Isobel knew that this loving would be like nothing they had ever shared before.

  She kissed his shoulder, licked his skin, tasting the salt of him. Her mouth lowered, brushing over his nipple. She flicked the tip of her tongue over it, felt it grow hard. She heard his breath catch, felt his hands comb into her hair and clutch at her curls. And still the energy ebbed and flowed. Like waves on the shore, it came in, then out, drawing them closer and closer, pulling them together so that they were bound to one another.

  He moaned and pushed against her, pressing his manhood into her belly. His mouth found hers and he kissed her. Slowly, reverently. Like a tender lover he took her mouth, showing her that this night was not about lust, but love.

  Over and over she brushed her fingers along his back, delighting in the shudders that wracked his body, loving the way he seemed to cling to her. Emboldened, she kissed his neck and flicked her tongue along his skin, tasting his flesh.

  Daegan could barely think. Isobel’s hands, so small and delicate, skated over his shoulders, building his passion, inflaming his body until he thought he might come. She drew him to her and he let himself go. Let himself be taken in by her.

  Without breaking the contact of their bodies, he picked her up and placed her on the bed so that she was kneeling before him, looking up at him with her big blue eyes.

  Trailing his fingers down the smooth column of her throat, he watched as they reached her breasts that were rising above the bodice of her ball gown, then down lower, to the clan pin that was cradled between her breasts.

  Lowering his head, he inhaled the heady and lusty scent of her, listened to the erotic cadence of her heart beating urgently beneath her breast. The scent of her passion-i nfused blood was so strong it overtook all his senses. He could no longer hear, could no longer see because of the passion that was blinding him. He could only smell, and the erotic scent grew stronger and stronger until his own body was cloaked with it.

  His hands, as if they had a mind of their own, reached for her bodice and pulled it down, revealing her breasts—swollen, heavy. Waiting for his touch. He lifted her, pulled the gown free from beneath, and sat her back on the bed, naked and beautiful.

  Gently he pulled at the end of the cloth tying their wrists together, freeing them, then wrapped it around his wrist where he could see it.

  And then she began touching him, rubbing her palms along his sensitive skin, loving him with gentle caresses.

  Together they touched each other’s bodies, quietly listening to the hitching of breaths and the softness of their moans. When he cupped her breast in his palm, he felt the stab of need snake through her body down to the juncture of her thighs, where she was wet and smelling sweet for him.

  “You need me,” he said as he nuzzled the tender spot beneath her ear. “I can feel it, that need.”

  Her head tipped back and her hair fell down from its pins, spilling out behind her. Daegan had never seen a more erotic or beautiful sight than his wife beneath the moonlight, her eyes closed, her lips parted in ecstasy as he gently fondled her breast.

  Needing to taste her, to feel her energy inside him, he took her breast into his mouth. Loving her slowly, he watched her uninhibited response. Seeing her arch, hearing her cry of pleasure made his blood roar in his veins, made the electricity in his body arc wildly.

  His erection bobbed, seeking pleasure against her lush belly. He pushed once, feeling the swollen tip of him being cushioned by her soft skin.

  “You’ve made me your disciple, muirnín. I’d follow you to hell, you know.”

  “Make me your wife, Daegan,” she asked as she rocked against him. “Make it real.”

  He followed her down as she slid her legs around his hips, opening herself for him—welcoming him inside her.

  She was beautiful there: dark and wet, slick in the moonlight, ready for his penetration. He slid his thumb down her folds, feeling her slickness coating his skin. She writhed, widening her hips, lifting her bottom.

  Her gaze found his and she smiled, opening her arms to him. “Come to me.”

  In a moment of sheer weakness, he fell onto her, seeking her love. It was a possession he’d never experienced before. A passion he never could have believed existed.

  He slid into her, slow and easy, watching the wonder on her face as he filled her full. His hands came beneath her, cupping her bottom, angling her so that he could penetrate her deeper with each slow, measured thrust. And she took him in, her thighs clutched his hips, gripping him, pulling him farther into her.

  In the quiet of his chamber, hidden away, they made love. There were no words. Only gentle caresses and the sighs of lovers whispered between them. It was magic, it was sacred, and Daegan knew, as he found completion deep inside her, that he had at last found his redemption—in his wife’s arms.

  As the energy crested within Daegan, Isobel felt hers rise. She clung to him, holding him in, but then it left, that beautiful energy, and became something dark and cold.

  “Cailleach!”

  Daegan pulled away from her and reached for the dirk that was on the altar. Covering her with the blankets, he spread his arms wide, as if he was protecting her.

  “You do not intend to use that sacred knife on me, do you?”

  A woman appeared then, seemingly out of a mist. She was tall and shapely, her long hair silvery blond. She was stunningly perfect, yet cold as ice.

  “You have made a grievous error by bringing her. Did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think to hide her from me?”

  “Daegan, who is—”

  The woman turned on her. “I am Cailleach, the Supreme Goddess of Annwyn. You, mortal, do not belong here.”

  Isobel
clutched Daegan’s arm. “I am his wife.”

  Cailleach laughed. “He is Prince of the Sidhe. My consort. Not a human’s mate.”

  Isobel started to retort when Cailleach held up her hand, and Isobel felt her mouth frozen. “Tell your mortal to hold her tongue, or I will cut it out.”

  Isobel gave a strangled whimper and Daegan whispered, “Trust me, my love.”

  “Now be a good girl and leave here,” Cailleach ordered.

  “Do not harm her,” Daegan barked, “or you will do battle with me.”

  The goddess gave him a look of pity. “Over her?” Her gaze flickered to Isobel and back. “She is nothing. She is not even pretty. You could have any female in Annwyn.”

  “I want Isobel.”

  “Well, you can’t have her.” Cailleach raised her hand and sent a pulse of pain through Isobel’s body. “Back to your realm, little mortal, with no memory of my prince.”

  “No!”

  It was Daegan’s voice and the last thing Isobel heard before awakening in her room.

  It was Christmas Eve. The ball was under way, and she was late.

  Chapter Ten

  Out in the grove, beneath the moonlight, Daegan fell to his knees before the goddess. He was not afraid of what Cailleach would do to him. But the fear that Isobel would not remember him was a dagger to his heart.

  “Why did you take her memories of me?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “So she wouldn’t come back.”

  Cailleach circled him, the athame pointed at his throat. “You have betrayed us, Daegan. All of Annwyn will now suffer because of your need to mate with this human.”

  “It is much more than a need to mate,” he said, lowering his head. “I am certain she was fated to be my own.”

  “She is fated to marry another: a human male who will not be happy to know that his bride comes to his bed sullied by another—and a Sidhe at that.”

  “No!” he cried, moving to rise from his knees, but the razor-sharp point of the athame pricked his skin. “She will not wed St. Clair. She is mine.”

  “You think so? Because you shared the sacred ritual of lanamnas with her?”

  Eyes pressed shut, Daegan remembered the scene in his chamber. The binding, which he felt around his wrist. The lovemaking that had been more than magic. He had bound Isobel to him for eternity. Theirs was not a simple handfasting, but the most sacred of all unions, for lanamnas was an eternal vow taken with a soul mate. Isobel was his soul mate.

  “Our rituals do not govern mortals,” Cailleach sneered impatiently. “To her it was a night of pleasure. It was a dream. Your bonds, your vows have no hold over her.”

  “She will honor the ritual,” Daegan growled, knowing it for the truth. “We are fated. She is my wife.”

  “Not in the mortal realm.”

  His fingers dug deep into the earth as he struggled to maintain his submissive posture. The cloak he wore surrounded him in blackness almost indistinguishable from the ground and the black cover of night. He must bow to the laws of his world and his people. He had done wrong in their eyes, yet it had felt right. It still felt right. He felt Isobel in his heart. With every beat, he felt her presence growing stronger and stronger.

  “You have broken our laws. Before I pronounce sentence, what have you to say for yourself, Daegan, Prince of the Sidhe?”

  “Only this: that the soul longs for its mate just as the body does. My body longed for Isobel’s, but not as much as my soul did. There can be no regret in that.”

  There was silence. Daegan was aware of the athame wavering above him. Cailleach’s hand was unsteady, as was her breathing.

  “You have paid much for her. What will she pay in return?”

  His eyes blazed as he looked up at Cailleach, but he kept his voice respectful. “I would ask that she be spared such payment.”

  “Why? She has taken from us our king. My consort. There is a price to pay Annwyn.”

  “I will pay it.”

  “She has blinded you with her body. Now you will suffer, and for what? One night with her?”

  “Better to have one than none at all.”

  Swooping down, Cailleach knelt in front of him. With the tip of the athame she lifted his chin. “Do not do this, Daegan. Do not surrender yourself for her.”

  Their gazes collided. “Who better to sacrifice myself for than my soul mate?”

  A crystal teardrop fell from her eyes and skated down her cheek. A shred of hope rose in his breast. “Have you never loved, Cailleach? Has your soul never yearned for another?”

  She looked away, but he saw the sadness in her eyes. “Yes. But I forsook him and my love. I could not be woman, lover, and goddess. My duties as ruler came first. It is the same for you.”

  “No.”

  Her gaze swung back to his. “It pains me to do this, but as Supreme Goddess, I must. You bring imbalance to Annwyn. The Dark Times will come, and I cannot allow it to happen. You know what will come next?”

  “Yes. I will offer you a sacrifice.”

  “You will give me adbertos, yes, but I will choose it.”

  Nodding, Daegan lowered his head until it almost touched the ground. He was at Cailleach’s feet, humbling himself. But it was for Isobel. For their love. It was right to offer adbertos to Cailleach. It was right to do this for Isobel.

  “You have created chaos, upset the balance of our world. You have allowed darkness to creep into a place where only light should rule.”

  He accepted the truth. He had done those things, but he had been helpless. The heart and soul knew what they wanted, and his wanted Isobel.

  “The consequences will be far-reaching. Annywn will never be the same. You have brought sin where there was never any. Your actions will affect another. Do you realize that? Do you care?”

  I will accept his actions as my own.

  Bran. Daegan looked up to see his nephew emerge from the woods. He was naked and defenseless. But his eyes, they raged. The Unseelie blood in him roiled to the surface, barely tethered. Bran had no need for weapons, not when his black blood was boiling.

  “Leave us, Raven,” Cailleach ordered. “This is not your fight.”

  “It is not yours, either, but you made it that way.”

  “On your knees,” she spat, her eyes narrowing to angry slits. She pointed the tip of the athame to a spot on the ground. “You will pay for that insolence.”

  Bran fell to his knees beside Daegan. His mismatched eyes did not betray his emotions.

  Cailleach glared at Bran. “You ungrateful dog. Did I not give you what you wished for? Is Morgan not banished to the Wastelands for her crimes against your brother? Did I not give you clues to discover where he has been hidden?”

  “You have.”

  “Then why are you here instead of searching for Carden?”

  “I made a pact with Daegan, and I will see it through.”

  “And what did you barter, Raven?”

  “My brother for his woman.”

  “How dare you interfere in business that does not concern you?”

  “He has served you well, my goddess.” Bran reminded Cailleach. “Can you not forgive him this trespass?”

  “Perhaps, if he would never see the girl again. But I know, I feel it: He will not leave her be.”

  “No,” Daegan murmured, “I will not. Even if I agreed, I could not keep my promise. It is not within my power.”

  “Annwyn has no use for a king who is weakened by a mortal.”

  “I accept your judgment,” Daegan answered. “I offer you an adbertos, Cailleach, and will abide by what you choose for this sacrifice.”

  “As will I,” Bran said. “I will offer you an adbertos as well. With two of us offering sacrifices, you can spare the girl. Our law allows it.”

  Cailleach looked momentarily surprised; then she began to circle them once more.

  “So be it. Daegan, Prince of the Sidhe, you are forever banned from Annwyn. You will be cursed to live as a mortal, without
your magic. Your firstborn male child will be taken from your arms so that your blood might never again rule Annwyn. You will know the pain of mortals. You will mourn. You will die. You will be forever forced to recall what you gave up for your mortal. I hope she will prove worth your sacrifice. Rise.”

  Daegan got to his feet and stood to his full height, looking down into Cailleach’s face. “Go now,” she hissed, “never to return.”

  His gaze turned to Bran. He felt sorrow for what he had done, but still, if he had the chance to do it all again, he would not have forsaken Isobel.

  “Go,” Bran said through gritted teeth, “I will accept what she chooses for me. Go.”

  Daegan hesitated and Bran glared at him. “I do this willingly. Go. Love your mortal. Have what I will not—a soul mate.”

  Cailleach laughed, a cruel sound that did not hide the pain she kept to herself. “No, Raven, you will not have a soul mate, but you will have something else, something you could not possibly desire.”

  As he walked away into the deepest part of the forest, Daegan heard Cailleach’s husky voice chanting an incantation. It was followed by a brilliant flash of white light, then the agonizing roar of Bran’s scream.

  “The Legacy Curse is upon you now, Raven,” Daegan heard. “There will be no peace for you, or within you.”

  Daegan closed his eyes. He would find a way to break the curse. He would repay his nephew’s sacrifice if it was the last thing he ever did.

  Isobel was restless. She could not dance, because she couldn’t concentrate on keeping time. She had no desire to sing carols, or sip a cup of wassail by the Christmas tree. Her insides were in knots and she didn’t know why.

  The room was stuffy, and she was hot. Gliding over to the terrace doors, she opened them and slipped outside. The night air was cold and crisp. Snow gently fell, and the skies were black except for the moon and the bright dot that was the Christmas Star.

  Inhaling deeply, Isobel brought the cold air into her lungs. It soothed her, cleared her mind, and settled her jumbled nerves. Closing her eyes, she made a silent wish for a miracle that would save her from having to marry the Earl of St. Clair.