BRAM LAY IN THE STILLNESS listening to Lily breathe. The worst of the storm had passed now, the light patter of rain against the thatched roof the only sign it had been there at all.
That and the woman in his bed.
He knew he should not have taken advantage of her. She could not be thinking clearly after all that had happened. And yet when she had turned to him, he could not stop himself. Holding her had been like holding something precious. Something that he could never replace. And he'd only wanted more. And so when she had offered, he had accepted, meaning only to steal a kiss. To feel her lips beneath his. But one kiss had not been enough and now—well, now he felt as hungry as before. As if there could never be enough.
Not with her. Not with Lily.
She stirred beside him, her eyes fluttering open.
"You are awake," he said, stating a blinding glimpse of the obvious, but then she had a way of stealing his words.
She nodded and ducked her head, clearly embarrassed.
"Dinna turn from me, Lily. There is no shame here." And as he said the words he knew that they were true. This was his woman. He knew it in his heart and in his soul. She belonged to him. And he to her.
"I'm not ashamed," she said, offering a small smile. "Just feeling a little odd. As if I've woken in your arms a million times before. It's silly, I know…"
"But 'tis the truth," he whispered. "I feel it, too."
She lifted her face, her eyes meeting his. "Then this isn't a dream?"
"If it is, then I hope never to waken." He pulled her close against him, feeling the steady beat of her heart.
They lay like that for moments or hours—time didn't seem to matter. But then she stirred again, rolling away to prop herself on one elbow. "It isn't fair. You know my name but I don't know yours."
He smiled into the darkness. "Bram Macgillivray," he replied with a flourish of his hand. "At your service, my lady."
Her laughter rang through the room. "Actually, I'm the one indebted to you." Her expression sobered. "I've a feeling you saved my life."
"Well, you owe me naught. I am just glad you've recovered. 'Tis a nasty bruise you have on your forehead. What happened to you out there?"
She shivered at the memory and he reached for her hand. "I wasn't paying attention, I guess. The storm had turned fierce. Then the river rose out of nowhere and I lost control and hit a tree and slammed my head on the wheel. But I saw the light and made my way to the cottage. And you were here and..." She trailed off, clearly remembering exactly how that had all ended up.
"And I got you warm again," he finished for her. "So where were you going?" He'd not ask why she'd been alone. If there was a story to tell, she'd do it in her own time. He'd not press her now.
"I was on my way to the castle when the storm hit and the river washed out."
"The castle?" He frowned.
"Duncreag," she replied, her pronunciation awkward. "I think you call it a tower."
"You know Katherine and Iain, then?" The idea appealed. If she knew his cousin then she could not have been sent by his enemies. He hated himself for even having the thought. Her plight had been real, that much he was certain of. And what had passed between them this night was real as well. He pushed his traitorous thoughts aside.
"If you mean the new laird and his wife—" she said, thankfully unaware of the turn of his thoughts, "—then no. I don't actually know them. My aunt—well, actually she's my mother's best friend—she's the one who knows them. Or at least some of the people that live there. She arranged for me to come. She thought that maybe the Highlands would be good for me."
"And how is that turning out for you?" he quipped with a smile, his worries forgotten as his body responded to the memory of their lovemaking.
"I'd have to say that despite a soggy start, really well, so far." Again she laughed, the joyous sound doing wonders for his tortured heart.
"And what was it that you needed to get away from?" he asked, realizing suddenly that if someone had hurt her, he'd hunt them down to the ends of the earth.
She chewed on her lip, clearly considering how much to tell him, but then she blew out a sigh. "My mother and father were killed in an accident a few weeks ago."
This was a pain he knew only too well.
"There were complications," she continued. "More than I could deal with actually. So Valerie, my mom's friend, suggested I come here."
"'Tis as good a place as any, I suppose. You're no' from the Highlands, I take it?"
"No." She shook her head. "Connecticut."
'Twas an odd word. "I dinna know it," he said.
"It's only a little state and it's very far from here." She lay back, and as she did so the silver necklace she wore slipped over her shoulder. He caught it between his fingers.
His heart twisted. 'Twas a wedding ring.
"Is this yours?" he asked, his voice so low that he feared she had not heard the question. He held his breath, waiting, praying that it wasn't true.
"No." She shook her head, her gaze locking with his. "Of course not." There was a multitude of meaning behind her denial, but for the moment he simply accepted the words for what they were, relief washing through him like the western tide. "The ring belonged to my father." She reached out to take it from him, her thumb caressing the silver band gently. "My mother gave it to him when they were married. I thought if I wore it, I'd feel closer to them somehow."
"Your father would be honored."
"I hope so." Her voice was sad and a little wistful.
"I lost my father, too," he said before he had time to think about it. He only wanted to help. To make her feel better somehow.
"I'm sorry." She reached up to touch his face. "I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone. Was it recently?"
"Aye." He nodded, staring at the ceiling. "'Tis been no more than a se'nnight." He'd actually lost track of time, between running and hiding.
She frowned. "A week. Oh, Bram, I'm so sorry." She reached for him, her voice filled with sympathy. "What happened?"
Bram swallowed, the bitterness rising in his chest. "He was murdered."
"Oh my God. How awful." Her fingers twined with his. "I don't know what to say. Do you know who did it?"
"No' for sure, but I have an idea." The words felt ripped from his chest.
"Someone you knew then?"
"The son of an old enemy of my father's. But he would have had to have help. Which means my father was betrayed."
"Which makes it all the worse. It must be tearing you apart." She pushed close, as if somehow she could wipe the agony away with merely her physical presence. And he blessed her for it, pulling her tighter against him.
"I have no' had the time to really think it all through yet. It happened so fast. I barely got out of there alive."
"You were there?" Her eyes widened, her fingers tightening on his arm.
"Aye. And they were coming for me next."
"But you escaped."
"For the moment, yes. But they know that as long as I live, I'll seek vengeance."
"And so this enemy wants you dead?" She frowned, a tiny line forming between her eyes. "Surely the authorities can do something."
"Mayhap. I dinna know. That's why I came to Duncreag. I need Iain's help."
"Then surely he'll give it to you."
"That he will. It's just a matter of whether it will be enough. But I dinna want you to worry. And I need you to know that whatever happens, being here with you has helped me to forget—at least for a little while."
She nodded. "Me, too. I mean, you've helped me too. It's almost as if we were meant to find each other. As crazy as that sounds."
Despite the gravity of the conversation, he laughed. "Well, if you are a wee bit daft then I must be as well."
For a moment he simply let his mind drift, relishing the feel of her lying next to him, and then he bent his head, first kissing her eyes and then the line of her nose and the curve of her brow. Then finally kissing her lips, the sweet intoxication almost more than he could bear. She opened her mouth and he traced the line of her teeth with his tongue, her taste at once familiar and exotic.
He wondered if he could ever truly get enough of her. Or if he would forever be doomed to wanting more. He smiled against her mouth, realizing there were far worse fates.
There was magic in the bright green of her eyes and Bram marveled at the emotions rocketing through him. Emotions that she inspired. There was desire, certainly, more than he had ever known, but there was so much more than that. There was a kind of fierce possessiveness, a protective urge as old as time itself. Something he had never felt before.
And even more surprising, there was a gentle tenderness, the need to cherish and revere, the power of his need almost unmanning. And finally, there was a selflessness as foreign to him as breathing under water. He knew in that instant that he would give anything, do anything, if it would make her happy.
She smiled up at him, her eyes like a spring meadow. And with a groan, he captured her mouth with his, his tongue and lips communicating all that he was feeling. It was a take no prisoners kiss, both of them taking and giving.
Then he shifted, kissing her cheeks and eyes, the soft curve of her ear and the gentle slope of her neck. He trailed kisses along the cleft between her breasts, then he pulled one swollen peak into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the taut nipple until she cried out, the sound filling him with pleasure.
Sucking harder, he caressed the other breast, unable to get enough of her, secretly willing the night to last forever. Her fingers twined in his hair, urging him onward, her body like a fine bow, primed and waiting. Waiting for him. He smiled at his own rhetoric, wondering when he had become a bard.
Slowly he inched downward, his tongue tasting first the soft skin of her belly and then, lower still, trailing soft kisses along her inner thighs, his tongue stroking her skin, his desire demanding he take more, that he taste all of her, that he make her once and forever his.
Shifting slightly, he pushed her legs apart and bent to kiss her, lapping at her delicate softness, drinking in her sweetness. Her hands tightened in his hair, her body arching joyfully upward, meeting him, wanting him.
Using his tongue and his fingers, he drove her closer and closer to the edge, feeding on the soft sounds of her passion. And then her body tensed, arching up off the bed.
"Bram," she cried.
Needing her now more than life itself, he slid upward again, covering her mouth with his as her hand closed around him. Fire raged through him and he thrust his tongue into her mouth, the moist, hot feel almost his undoing.
God's blood, he wanted this woman. Wanted her with a fury unlike anything he had felt before.
Her hand slid up and down, stroking, squeezing, caressing, the pain sweet, his need burgeoning into white-hot desire. With a groan, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. With a crooked grin, she sat up, straddling him. And then slowly lifted and slid down again, taking him deep inside her.
He sucked in a breath, wondering if there could be anything better than the feel of her hot and wet against his taut skin, only to lose the thought as she began to move, her hands on his shoulders, her long, wild hair falling like a screen around them.
Grasping her hips, he helped her set the pace, slow and easy, each upward motion almost separating them. She licked her lips, her eyes glazing over with passion.
"Now, Bram."
Her words bit into him, as much an aphrodisiac as her movements. He increased the pace, driving deeper, harder, with each stroke. She threw back her head, her body glistening from the exertion.
Lost in the moment, she rode him for all she was worth, her eyes closed, her face beautiful in her abandonment. He stroked her breasts, his hands cupping and fondling as together they climbed higher and higher. In, out, in, out, harder and faster, until there was nothing but the motion, the friction, and the incredible union of their bodies—their souls.
Finally, standing at the edge of the precipice, he dropped his hands back to her hips, timing their movements for one last powerful thrust. She cried his name as she tightened around him, and he felt the spasm of her release, the ecstasy driving him higher, taking him over the edge until there was nothing but heat, and light—and Lily.
*****
Lily yawned and snuggled closer into the warmth of the bed, lost for a moment in the magical seconds between sleep and the conscious world, a place where everything was possible and nothing bad could ever happen. But, as always, it slipped away as her mind became fully awake, reality slamming home with painful finality.
Her parents were dead.
Her life would never be the same again. And now, now she was truly alone.
But then another thought pushed its way front and center.
Bram.
She'd spent the night making love with Bram.
On the surface it was insane. But in the cold, pale light of morning, she felt no sense of regret. Last night had been magnificent. And no matter what happened next, she wasn't sorry.
Sucking in a deep breath, she opened her eyes and rolled over, but Bram wasn't there. The bed was empty. Her heart constricting, she sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. Everything else was as she remembered. The fireplace. The bed. The only thing missing was the man.
The gray dawn through the cottage windows proved that the storm had passed, although there was still no sign of the sun. She could see coals glowing in the fireplace, and her clothes had been spread across a chair to dry. So it hadn't been a dream. The cottage was real. And that meant that Bram was real, too.
And he'd left her there.
Except that even as she had the thought, she rejected it. Bram wouldn't just leave her on her own. No matter how he felt with the morning's light, he wouldn't just walk away. Would he?
With a shiver, Lily pulled the fur closer around her, running through the things they had said. The things they had done. Her cheeks burned as a blush stole across her face, and she shook her head, trying not to let her thoughts grow maudlin.
Last night had been amazing. Never in her life had she considered that lovemaking could be like that. So powerful, so explosive, yet at the same time so gentle, almost worshipful. With Bram she'd been fearless. Willing to trust him in a way she'd never dared trust anyone else.
But there had been no promises. No words of love. She and Bram had both admitted feeling a strange connection. As if they'd known each other for more than just a few hours. But even as she had the thought, she realized how foolish it sounded. How was it possible to establish that kind of intimate connection with someone in so short a time?
Her fingers closed around her ring, and she remembered her mother telling her once that she'd known Lily's father was the man for her the first time she'd set eyes on him. And that she'd never doubted that first impression. She'd known, even then, that they would spend the rest of their lives together.
So maybe this was her moment. Her man.
Except that said man was currently missing.
The cynic inside her whispered that he was long gone. Taking what he wanted and then heading for the door. But her heart wasn't as certain. Their lovemaking had been too powerful for it to have been all an act.
Something beyond the physical had passed between them. Something that bound them together in a way she had no words to explain. Which meant that he was coming back.
Feeling decidedly more positive, Lily threw off the covers and quickly crossed the room to pull on her clothes. Her skirt and blouse were thankfully dry, although stained with mud and grass. She doubted they'd ever come completely clean. One of her shoes lay by the edge of the bed, but even after kneeling to look at the floor underneath, she couldn't find the other one. And impatience was beginning to gnaw at her stomach.
She needed to find Bram. To prove to herself that he felt the same as she did about last night. And the simplest course of action seemed to be to go outside and look for him.
To heck with the shoe.
And so, clutching the one she had found, she strode barefoot across the room and threw open the door. The mist still swirled across the clearing, but it had been relegated to the ground now, and was already beginning to dissipate. The air was crisp and fresh. Cleaned by the rain.
There was nothing left to show the fierceness of the storm but a few puddles and a broken branch or two on the neighboring trees. She supposed she ought to go and check on the rental car. But only after she'd found Bram. She hadn't seen his car last night, but she presumed there must be one. Maybe he'd gone to get help. Or maybe he'd gone for breakfast.
Or maybe he'd just gone, the little voice in her head insisted.
"Bram?" she called, her voice sounding hesitant. Why couldn't she just sing it out? If she believed he was here, then why was she suddenly so afraid? Because Justin left you, the little voice goaded.
"But this is different," she whispered fiercely. This was Bram.
Again she felt as if the words held more meaning than just the things that had happened between them last night. Even now, she couldn't shake the feeling that somehow they had always known each other.
"Bram?" she called again, this time with more conviction.
From somewhere within the trees that surrounded the cottage she heard a noise. An answer. With a smile she walked across the clearing, stepping into the shadow of the trees, just as the sun burst out from behind the clouds.
For a moment everything was quiet, and then the hairs on her neck stood on end. Turning slowly back toward the cottage, she found herself holding her breath without understanding why.
For a moment the clearing before her looked the same, and she started to turn away, to call for Bram again. But then her mind made sense of the reason she'd felt so uneasy, and she turned again to face the clearing.
The empty clearing.
Where only moments ago there had stood a stone cottage, there was nothing but vines and weeds accentuated by a tumble of stone where once, at least in her mind's eye, there had been a chimney.