destinies.”
Malcolm mulled over all the things she’d told him, understanding now why there had seemed to be such tension between the two women, though his instinct was still to protect Jeanette and reprimand Rowan for causing her cousin such distress, but that was not his place. He and Jeanette had shared a few kisses, though that was hardly enough to make him lay claim to her and her troubles as his own, and yet, just as much as he ached for more kisses, he wished to ease her heartache. Jeanette shivered and Malcolm wrapped an arm about her, pulling her close and arranging the plaid to better shelter her from the damp night air. They sat quietly together for a time, staring into the crackling fire that was starting to burn low. After a while, she turned enough to rest her cheek in the hollow of his shoulder and pulled part of the plaid across him as she rested her arm across his waist. Her breathing slowed. She tucked her hand under her cheek and Malcolm found himself living his own dream. Only this time, instead of her making him restless, he pulled her even closer to him, breathing in the scent of her, and slipped into sleep.
J EANETTE WANDERED HIGH up on the ben, picking her way along a rocky path between huge pines, silvery birch, and the occasional rowan tree. A stag with one jutting antler, and one bent at an odd angle, stepped out of the shadows into the path before her and stopped, turned to stare at her for a long moment, then continued on his way, disappearing quickly and silently back into the forest shadows. She tried to follow him, but the trees were too densely packed, the underbrush too full of thorns, and so she turned to see where he had come from.
In that direction the trees seemed to open for her, displaying a breathtaking view down the benside, laying out the glen below her. It was thickly blanketed in shades of springtime green, broken by the darker green of the pines that had yet to shed their winter needles. She could just make out a wisp of smoke drifting up through the tree cover and she knew that marked the cookfire outside the main cave.
The thought drifted through her mind that they must be more careful to keep the fire small so no one hunting them could find them by its telltale plume. But as quickly as the thought came, it drifted away from her and she found herself farther up the ben, standing on a barren shelf of stone. The stag stood once more before her, as if he had been awaiting her arrival. He looked at her, then looked at the massive stone next to him. It jutted from the face of the mountain, broken by a slash of darkness that beckoned her to step into it.
And then the stag was gone.
Jeanette approached the place where he had stood, but she could not see him anywhere. She looked down the ben again, but the glen was much farther away, as if she’d climbed twice as high as she had been the first time the stag crossed her path, though she did not feel tired, nor could she remember traveling so far. The cookfire smoke was still visible, but only if she looked hard for it, and it was off to her right now.
She turned to look at the massive boulder behind her and found a picture of a resting stag incised into the stone. She ran her fingers over the curve of the stag’s antlers and over the back, and then remembered the slashing cleft in the boulder. She tried to slide into the break in the stone but could not. Again and again she tried. Each time she could smell fresh air wafting through the darkness, a coolness floated over her heated skin, taunting her with the mystery of what was within.
“Lass?”
A warm, callused hand stroked her face. A kiss feathered against her forehead. She whimpered, aching with her frustration. But she did not look away from the entrance to whatever lay beyond the stone. She knew she must get through that stone.
“Jeanette, angel.”
A deep voice floated around her, surrounding her in warmth and an itchy sort of need akin to, but not the same as,
Malcolm mulled over all the things she’d told him, understanding now why there had seemed to be such tension between the two women, though his instinct was still to protect Jeanette and reprimand Rowan for causing her cousin such distress, but that was not his place. He and Jeanette had shared a few kisses, though that was hardly enough to make him lay claim to her and her troubles as his own, and yet, just as much as he ached for more kisses, he wished to ease her heartache. Jeanette shivered and Malcolm wrapped an arm about her, pulling her close and arranging the plaid to better shelter her from the damp night air. They sat quietly together for a time, staring into the crackling fire that was starting to burn low. After a while, she turned enough to rest her cheek in the hollow of his shoulder and pulled part of the plaid across him as she rested her arm across his waist. Her breathing slowed. She tucked her hand under her cheek and Malcolm found himself living his own dream. Only this time, instead of her making him restless, he pulled her even closer to him, breathing in the scent of her, and slipped into sleep.
J EANETTE WANDERED HIGH up on the ben, picking her way along a rocky path between huge pines, silvery birch, and the occasional rowan tree. A stag with one jutting antler, and one bent at an odd angle, stepped out of the shadows into the path before her and stopped, turned to stare at her for a long moment, then continued on his way, disappearing quickly and silently back into the forest shadows. She tried to follow him, but the trees were too densely packed, the underbrush too full of thorns, and so she turned to see where he had come from.
In that direction the trees seemed to open for her, displaying a breathtaking view down the benside, laying out the glen below her. It was thickly blanketed in shades of springtime green, broken by the darker green of the pines that had yet to shed their winter needles. She could just make out a wisp of smoke drifting up through the tree cover and she knew that marked the cookfire outside the main cave.
The thought drifted through her mind that they must be more careful to keep the fire small so no one hunting them could find them by its telltale plume. But as quickly as the thought came, it drifted away from her and she found herself farther up the ben, standing on a barren shelf of stone. The stag stood once more before her, as if he had been awaiting her arrival. He looked at her, then looked at the massive stone next to him. It jutted from the face of the mountain, broken by a slash of darkness that beckoned her to step into it.
And then the stag was gone.
Jeanette approached the place where he had stood, but she could not see him anywhere. She looked down the ben again, but the glen was much farther away, as if she’d climbed twice as high as she had been the first time the stag crossed her path, though she did not feel tired, nor could she remember traveling so far. The cookfire smoke was still visible, but only if she looked hard for it, and it was off to her right now.
She turned to look at the massive boulder behind her and found a picture of a resting stag incised into the stone. She ran her fingers over the curve of the stag’s antlers and over the back, and then remembered the slashing cleft in the boulder. She tried to slide into the break in the stone but could not. Again and again she tried. Each time she could smell fresh air wafting through the darkness, a coolness floated over her heated skin, taunting her with the mystery of what was within.
“Lass?”
A warm, callused hand stroked her face. A kiss feathered against her forehead. She whimpered, aching with her frustration. But she did not look away from the entrance to whatever lay beyond the stone. She knew she must get through that stone.
“Jeanette, angel.”
A deep voice floated around her, surrounding her in warmth and an itchy sort of need akin to, but not the same as,
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