LILY PUSHED THROUGH the brush with only moonlight to steer her. In the distance she could hear the sound of laughter. Either Comyns or the Mackintosh men, neither of whom seemed willing to talk with the other, regardless of the fact that Alec had satisfied both Iain and Bram that there had been no attacks from his people on either Bram or Dunbrae.
If Frazier Macbean was to be believed, the fault lay with Bram's uncle Malcolm. Lily ducked beneath the low-hanging branch of a rowan tree. Not that that knowledge had seemed to resolve anything. In point of fact, it had only seemed to make Bram angrier and more determined to exact revenge.
Not that he'd shared any of his feelings with her.
For a moment, before Frazier attacked Bram, when he had questioned Bram's allowing Lily to stay, she'd believed Bram might actually stand up for her. But then he'd issued those hateful words. "Lesser of two evils." Lesser of two evils, her ass.
She shoved a length of overgrown ivy out of the way, mumbling beneath her breath. But then when Frazier had held her captive, she'd seen something in his eyes. And felt a spark of hope. Until he'd declared for all to hear that she wasn't his lady. Not that she wanted to be anymore. If he wanted to be ruled by some centuries old blood feud, so be it.
Of course, none of that explained why she was out here in the dark looking for the stupid man. It's just that she couldn't help herself. She wanted—no, needed—to be certain he was all right. It had all been rather a lot today. For all of them. But for Bram most of all. His trusted advisor had turned out to be a traitor. And his best friend, though seemingly returned from the dead, still had a long road to recovery. Add to that the fact that his uncle had apparently orchestrated his father's death and well, it was more than most men could handle. Even Bram.
Not that she was excusing him for remaining angry about her heritage. For God's sake, it wasn't as if she'd known she was related to Alec. And now it turned out the man wasn't even the enemy Bram had believed him to be. Although based on the conversation around the campfire earlier, she wouldn't exactly call them bosom buddies either.
She sighed and skirted a large lichen-covered boulder, the fungus shining silver in the moonlight. At least the blasted mist had dissipated. She paused for a moment, trying to get her bearings. According to Iain, Bram had gone to the river, and if she stood perfectly still she could hear the rushing waters in the distance.
Damn the man. Why couldn't he have just confronted her head on? Instead of glaring at Jeff and avoiding her altogether. It would have been funny—except that it wasn't. His rejection hurt. It was like Justin all over again. Except this time she wasn't willing to let it go without a fight. Maybe it was too late. But as far as she could see, she hadn't come all this way just to give up at the first little hurdle.
She blew out a breath, admitting that it was more than a small obstacle. But it wasn't something that couldn't be overcome. Not if they truly loved each other. She had his freakin' pin, after all. Her hand covered the brooch on her borrowed plaid. The fact that he'd left it behind had to mean something. Right? And it wasn't as if she didn't have a bone to pick with the man. He'd left her behind. After promising that he wouldn't. Sort of. If she could get past that, surely he could deal with the fact that she happened to carry Comyn blood.
If the prophecy had any reality at all, surely he'd see that her having the ring meant everything. If nothing else, it proved poor Tyra's innocence in the blood bath that had occurred so long ago. She'd kept Graeme's ring. Cherished it so much that she'd passed it down to their child, who'd passed it on to his or hers, like the freakin' shampoo commercial, until it wound up in Lily's hands. So that she could travel through time, fall in love with Bram and make things right again.
If she wasn't living this, she'd laugh at the complete absurdity of the idea. She stepped over a fallen log, grateful to hear that the sound of the water was much closer now. Her body still ached from the stupid journey to get here, not to mention riding the damned horse across rocky terrain. And then there was the major cut across her throat thanks to some crazy-ass Highlander with a revenge fantasy against Bram's father.
At least he was under lock and key—or at least burly Comyn and Mackintosh guards. Her heart stuttered at the memory of Bram grappling with Frazier on the ground, the damn knife descending as Frazier tried to ram it home. Thank God they'd managed to stop him before anything had happened to Bram.
If she lost him…
And that then was the crux of the matter. When Justin had dropped her like a hot potato, she'd accepted it as fact. And if she were honest, she'd had absolutely no desire to chase after him, despite the injury to her pride. But with Bram it was completely different. She was willing to follow him anywhere.
Even through a medieval woods in the middle of the freakin' night with nothing to guide her but the sound of falling water and a wash of moonlight.
Double damn the man.
She burst through a stand of pine trees to find herself in the middle of a small clearing, the river curving as it rushed on its merry way. And there, sitting on a large boulder near the bank, was the man of the hour. She froze, her anger vanishing in the wake of stronger emotion. Need and desire. She wanted this man like she'd wanted no other. And the idea scared her to death.
He lifted his head, the shadows of the night keeping his expression hidden, but she could see the light in his eyes. And for a moment, she imagined that he had been wishing for her as much as she had been wishing for him.
"Go away. I dinna want company."
So much for fantasy. But his response was enough to banish her fear. He wasn't going to get away that easily. At least not without the two of them attempting to talk things over.
"I don't care what you want," she said, her voice ringing out across the little clearing as she closed the distance between them. "We have things to say to each other."
"Yes. I'm a Macgillivray and you're a Comyn." He pushed to his feet, anger sparking in his eyes, and she had to force herself not to take a step back. He towered over her.
She let out an inelegant snort, and took another step closer. "Big freakin' deal. It's not like we have any control over who our relatives are. The only thing that matters here is us. And if you're still angry because I didn't tell you, I would have if you'd given me the chance."
"With thirty-odd Comyns looking on."
"Again, not in my control. Besides, it's not exactly like you've been Mr. Honesty. You swore you wouldn't leave me. Twice, in fact. And yet at the first opportunity that's exactly what you did."
"I did that to keep you safe."
"And look how well that worked out." Even as she said it, she knew that the point was actually his. But damned if she'd admit it. "At least I never lied to you. When we were first together I didn't know I was related to your Alec."
"He bloody well isn't my Alec. He's yours."
"I've known the man less than forty-eight hours. I'd hardly say that makes him mine."
"Then what about Jeffrey St. Claire? The two of you certainly seem to be close." They were standing toe to toe now.
"He's a friend. A married friend, I might add. And for a man who doesn't care about me you certainly sound jealous." The idea sent a warm shiver racing through her. That and the fact that his breath was fanning her face.
"I'm no' jealous. You can flirt with whomever you please."
"Then it pleases me to flirt with you." Not that she was exactly doing that at the moment—more yelling at him like a fishwife.
"I'll no' have a woman I dinna trust in my bed." He poked her in the chest with his finger, his ice-blue eyes narrowed in anger.
"I'll not have you in my bed period until you apologize for the way you've been acting. I came through time for you, damn it." The minute the words were out she felt a rising bubble of hysteria. God, she was living a freakin' movie. And unfortunately if she was playing the part of Kyle Reece, it didn't bode well for happily ever after.
His frown deepened. "So now you're laughing at me?"
"No." She shook her head, sobering in an instant. "I was reduced to quoting movies."
"Quoting what?" He was bellowing now.
"Nothing. Just something from my time. It doesn't matter. Or maybe it does. Maybe the whole point here is that I came through time for you. Just a few weeks ago I lost my entire family. I was completely alone in the world. And then something wonderful happened. I met all these amazing people. Mrs. Abernathy and her husband, Jamie. Elaine and her husband, Jeff. My cousins Reggie and Tildy. Not to mention Katherine and Iain. And Robby and Alec. Suddenly I have more family than I can count. But most miraculously of all, I found you. And nothing, not even your biases and fears about my relatives, is worth standing in the way of that."
He growled deep in his throat, then opened his mouth in protest, but she laid her fingers over his lips. "I don't want to have to choose between you and Alec. But if you make me choose, then I choose you. And I'll choose you every single time. I came through time for you, Bram Macgillivray, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you push me away because of some stupid blood feud between your family and mine. Just because you think you understand what happened all those years ago doesn't mean you have the right of it." She reached beneath her plaid to pull the ring free.
"I have the damn ring. The one that changes everything. The one meant to unite the Macgillivray and Comyns. The one meant to unite us." She waved the ring at him, her voice echoing off the cliffs across the river. "Mo chridhe gu bràth—my heart forever. That's what it says. All those years ago Tyra had it made for Graeme. And my mother gave it to my father. And now I've got it—and I met you. I don't know what else I can say…"
"That I'm a great stubborn oaf." He framed her face with his hands, his gaze colliding with hers.
"Well, that goes without saying," she snapped.
"Then since we're agreed, why don't you close your beautiful mouth so that I can kiss you?"
Said mouth gaped open like a fish as she stared up at him, his fingers warm against her skin, his breath stirring the tendrils of her hair around her face. Her heart stuttered, and her stomach clenched as he lowered his head, his lips covering hers.
All rational thought was swept away by the intensity of his touch. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and with a sigh, she opened for him, feeling as if finally, finally she'd come home. He tasted of whisky and smelled of smoke and peat, the heady combination sending sparks of heat dancing across her skin.
No matter how foreign, no matter how far from her world, this was where she belonged. Here. With Bram. His arms tightened around her as the kiss deepened, the two of them locked in a timeless dance of giving and taking—melding together until it became impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
His hands ran down the length of her arms, his fingers feathering against her skin until they settled on the curve of her hips. He pulled her closer still, and she could feel the hard length of him as he pressed against her. With a soft sigh, she relished the proof that she wasn't alone in her desire. Her hands skimmed across the breadth of his chest, and then dropped lower to his taut stomach and then lower still to trace the hard line of his burgeoning heat. He shuddered at her caress, groaning against her lips.
"Ach, lass, I canna breathe when you touch me like that."
"Then let me touch you skin to skin," she whispered, her body trembling now with need. "Please, Bram. Love me, now."
He groaned again, and with a flick of his hand removed his plaid, laying it down upon the ground at their feet. Then he pulled her until they knelt face to face upon the soft woolen blanket, his crystalline blue gaze meeting hers. "Are you sure this is what you want? I'm afraid I've naught to offer you but the man you see before you."
"What I see is more than I ever could have wished for."
He reached for her hands, their fingers lacing together by their sides. "And you meant what you said? That you'll always choose me?"
She nodded, emotion clogging her throat. "Always."
"And there will ne'er be anyone for me but you. This I swear."
"Bram?" She swallowed, tears filling her eyes. "Are you… are we…" A vague memory of the notion of handfasting flitted through her brain.
"Aye." He nodded, uncertainty chasing across his face. "If you're willing. I know 'tis no' the perfect time. But I canna—"
She reached up and covered his lips again with her fingers. "Yes. Yes, Bram, I will marry you. Here. Now. I promise you my life and my loyalty. I am yours, for all time, if that is what you wish."
"I've never wanted anything more."
She nodded, pulling the fine silver chain from around her neck and releasing the clasp to free the ring. "I've no idea how this is done, but it seems this is a good place to start." She waited, her heart in her throat, her gaze still locked with his.
He covered her hand with his, the silver ring warm between their palms. It seemed to Lily that the world had shrunk to include only the two of them and the soft sound of the river flowing by.
"From this day on it shall be only your name I cry out in the night and into your eyes that I smile each morning. I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the next," Bram said, his voice hoarse with emotion.
"I too give you my body and my heart. Forever and a day. I love you."
"And I you, mo ghràidh."
The words seemed to wrap around them like a warm cocoon, protecting them from all that threatened their happiness. Or maybe it was their love. Lily wasn't sure of anything more than the fact that this was where she was meant to be. In this time. With this man.
With shaking fingers, she slid the ring onto Bram's finger, the silver gleaming in the moonlight. "It's done then."
"Aye, you belong to me."
She smiled then. "And you belong to me."
"But I have no ring for you."
"It doesn't matter. I don't need a reminder. Not when you're right here in front of me."
A shadow passed across his face, and she knew he was thinking about the looming confrontation with his uncle. But this wasn't the time. This moment belonged only to the two of them.
She stroked his cheek, the warmth of his skin sending heat spiraling through her. "And when you're not with me, I'll have you here." She touched her chest. "In my heart. See? Your father's pin guards the way." The little silver cat winked up at them.
Their gazes held for another moment, as the power of their pledge flowed through them both, and then Bram leaned forward to kiss her, his touch gentle and reverent. For a moment, Lily savored the feel of his lips against hers, and then with a shiver of anticipation she opened her mouth and with a groan, she felt his control shatter.
His hands cradled her face as his mouth slanted over hers, their tongues dancing together—thrusting and parrying, advancing and retreating. And she wondered if she could ever possibly get enough of him.
As if he read her thoughts, his mouth lifted in a slow crooked grin and he bent his head, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along the soft line of her throat, pausing to kiss the angry mark Frazier's blade had left.
"I'll no' let anyone else hurt you, Lily," he growled softly, nipping at her earlobe. "You belong to me now. You're mine."
And then his fingers found her breast through the thin material of her borrowed shirt, first caressing and then teasing her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the resulting sensation sending heat pooling between her legs. With an economy of motion, he removed her plaid and her shirt, cupping both breasts with his hands.
She tilted back her head, eyes closing as she offered herself to him. His mouth closed over one breast, the wet warmth sending her arching upward to press her body even closer. He sucked harder, pulling her deeper into his mouth, his fingers teasing the other nipple. She ground her pelvis against his, needing more. Wanting more.
His hand circled lower, and then lower still, slipping into the waistband of her leggings, beneath the elastic of her panties. Slowly, so slowly, his fingers stroked through the curls between her legs, circling just above the place she longed for him to touch. Moaning, she arched upward trying to force his play, but instead she felt his smile as he lifted his head.
"Patience, mo ghràidh."
He kissed her on the lips—hard, and then helped her remove the rest of her clothes. Then with trembling hands, she pulled the long linen shirt over his head.
"You're hurt." She reached out to run her finger across the skin adjacent to the angry slash on his chest.
"'Tis no' but a scratch, I swear to you."
"Well, I'll not let anyone hurt you again either."
His smile was crooked and slow, stealing her breath away. He helped her remove the rest of his clothes, and naked, they lay down against the soft wool of his plaid, the stars twinkling through the trees above them.
Bracing himself on his elbows, he lowered his big body to cover hers, the hair on his chest brushing seductively against her breasts. His mouth found hers, his tongue taking control as he circled her wrists and lifted them above her head. He kissed her eyes, her nose and the corners of her lips. Then he sucked her earlobe into his mouth, his hot breath torturing her with the promise of what was to come.
He kissed his way down the valley between her breasts and across the taut plane of her stomach. And then he freed her hands, pushing her legs apart, her thighs braced on his shoulders. She shuddered again with need as his fingers held her open and his tongue dipped unerringly into her core, stroking, sucking, laving. She bucked against him, feeling the sweet tension begin to rise. Her hands braced against his shoulders as he took her higher and then higher still, his tongue driving her toward the precipice.
And then just as she reached the pinnacle, he withdrew, and she bit off her protest as he slid up her body, his mouth finding hers as the head of his erection pressed against her opening. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she lifted as he thrust deeply, filling her with his heat. For a moment they held still, the fragrant night air surrounding them, the soft sounds of the river providing a private symphony.
Then he began to move. Slowly at first then with more urgency and power. She found his rhythm and rose to meet each thrust, their bodies moving in tandem, pleasure intensifying until it was just this side of pain. Together they moved. Higher and harder. Faster and deeper. And Lily felt her world began to break apart, the power of her climax sending her crashing over the edge.
Flying on pure sensation, she cried out his name and felt her body contracting around his as he thrust into her, his breathing guttural as he too found his release. Her heart pounded against his, her body singing in pure delight—as if she were an instrument that had been well-played. His mouth found hers, his kiss deep and thorough.
Then, with a sigh of contentment that echoed her own, he rolled off of her, pulling her into his arms, her head cradled on his chest. They lay together quietly, hearts beating in tandem. He stroked her hair and tugged her plaid across them both to keep them warm. She felt cherished. Loved.
And as she drifted off to sleep, it occurred to Lily that if she were to die now, in this moment, she would die happy. Truly, blissfully, honestly happy.