gaze fixed on the closed bedroom door to the room in which that worrisome woman had disappeared. He worried with the new growth of beard shadowing his face as he sank deeper into the plump cushions of the over-stuffed couch. Remorse nagged deep in his gut. He hadn’t meant she looked old. Hell’s fire. Did the lass not even know her own beauty? He just wanted to make sure he didn’t insult any possible husband or perhaps even her laird. Painful memories flooded into his mind: visions of Eilean tucking her chin and sharing heated glances with any attractive male visitor who happened to share their table.
Eilean. His clan had found her on one of the other islands. They’d gifted him with the beautiful woman as thanks for protecting their lands. Torin raked shaking hands through his hair, trying to shuttle the memories back to the closed-off corners of his mind. She’d been so full of life and so accepting even though his flesh was riddled with battle scars. Torin drew in a heavy breath and stared unblinking at the orange flames flickering through the slits of the grating.
It hadn’t taken long for the tattling of the tales to begin. The impossible-to-ignore whispers followed him through the castle’s halls. It had been such a struggle not to heed the warning signs of Eilean’s roving eye but eventually, her increasingly blatant behavior mocked him almost more than he could bear.
When she’d finally told him she carried his child, he’d been overjoyed, forced himself to believe the babe in her belly was his. Surely now, she’d settle into her place as devoted wife and mother. But no. Torin blew out the breath he’d been holding. She’d died. Eilean’s life ended because of her own vanity, just as the Cailleach had said. He rose from the couch to circle the tiny room, running away from the nagging voices chanting inside his head, the voices murmuring the painful truth. She’d died by her own hand, used herbs to void her body of the child and accidently ended both their lives.
Now here he stood, trapped in a terrifying future with a breathtaking woman who didn’t even realize her heritage or her place in the universe. The voice of the amulet at her throat spoke to him, claiming guardian blood flowed through her veins. Staring at the curved brass latch of her bedroom door, Torin clenched his teeth until his jaws ached. He needed to see her, explain to her that he hadn’t meant the words the way they’d come out. She needed to know her claim to power, her connection to the stones, the magic hidden in her touch.
Torin worried with the dagger strapped to his thigh then brought his fingertips slowly up to trace them along the ridge of the scar running down his throat. The foolish woman also needed to acknowledge the reality of her beauty. Such a difference from the vain woman who’d crushed his heart. Perhaps Emma’s ignorance of her own charms enhanced the pleasure of looking on her face even more. He had to explain to her, make her understand that he hadn’t meant to cause her any pain.
Pushing down on the latch, Torin frowned as the locking mechanism bounced the handle back into his palm. She’d bolted the door? Did the woman actually fear him? Frustration swelled through him as he frowned down at the gleaming metal. Surely, she must know that he’d never cause her harm. Concentrating on the handle, Torin released enough energy into the metal to bend it to his will. The lock released with a click.
He eased the door open into the darkness of the room, honing in on one of the flameless torches glowing beside her bed. Such strange things filled this time. A gleaming brand trapped inside a tiny clear bauble created the same amount of light as a hundred burning candles.
The rhythm of her breathing revealed that she slept. Torin crept closer, peering down at Emma’s still form. Her flaming hair spread across the pillows like rivulets of flowing amber. Her pale skin glowed in the circle of light from the
Eilean. His clan had found her on one of the other islands. They’d gifted him with the beautiful woman as thanks for protecting their lands. Torin raked shaking hands through his hair, trying to shuttle the memories back to the closed-off corners of his mind. She’d been so full of life and so accepting even though his flesh was riddled with battle scars. Torin drew in a heavy breath and stared unblinking at the orange flames flickering through the slits of the grating.
It hadn’t taken long for the tattling of the tales to begin. The impossible-to-ignore whispers followed him through the castle’s halls. It had been such a struggle not to heed the warning signs of Eilean’s roving eye but eventually, her increasingly blatant behavior mocked him almost more than he could bear.
When she’d finally told him she carried his child, he’d been overjoyed, forced himself to believe the babe in her belly was his. Surely now, she’d settle into her place as devoted wife and mother. But no. Torin blew out the breath he’d been holding. She’d died. Eilean’s life ended because of her own vanity, just as the Cailleach had said. He rose from the couch to circle the tiny room, running away from the nagging voices chanting inside his head, the voices murmuring the painful truth. She’d died by her own hand, used herbs to void her body of the child and accidently ended both their lives.
Now here he stood, trapped in a terrifying future with a breathtaking woman who didn’t even realize her heritage or her place in the universe. The voice of the amulet at her throat spoke to him, claiming guardian blood flowed through her veins. Staring at the curved brass latch of her bedroom door, Torin clenched his teeth until his jaws ached. He needed to see her, explain to her that he hadn’t meant the words the way they’d come out. She needed to know her claim to power, her connection to the stones, the magic hidden in her touch.
Torin worried with the dagger strapped to his thigh then brought his fingertips slowly up to trace them along the ridge of the scar running down his throat. The foolish woman also needed to acknowledge the reality of her beauty. Such a difference from the vain woman who’d crushed his heart. Perhaps Emma’s ignorance of her own charms enhanced the pleasure of looking on her face even more. He had to explain to her, make her understand that he hadn’t meant to cause her any pain.
Pushing down on the latch, Torin frowned as the locking mechanism bounced the handle back into his palm. She’d bolted the door? Did the woman actually fear him? Frustration swelled through him as he frowned down at the gleaming metal. Surely, she must know that he’d never cause her harm. Concentrating on the handle, Torin released enough energy into the metal to bend it to his will. The lock released with a click.
He eased the door open into the darkness of the room, honing in on one of the flameless torches glowing beside her bed. Such strange things filled this time. A gleaming brand trapped inside a tiny clear bauble created the same amount of light as a hundred burning candles.
The rhythm of her breathing revealed that she slept. Torin crept closer, peering down at Emma’s still form. Her flaming hair spread across the pillows like rivulets of flowing amber. Her pale skin glowed in the circle of light from the
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