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Authors: Barbara Longley

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His proximity disturbed and thrilled her at the same time. His delicious scent filled her senses. How could a man smell so damn good, like the outdoors—fresh air, sunshine and pine-scented forest? His body, mere centimeters from hers, caused jolts of hyper-erotic sensation from her head to her toes. Goose bumps and flutter, shortness of breath—maybe he’d cast a spell over her. Did Druids do that sort of thing?

He’d managed to keep her off balance since they’d met. The faerie had warned her to stay away, and Sidney had tried. Never in a million years would she have thought he’d pop up at her gym. He reached around her with one arm and drew her against his body. Her heart raced.
Knees, don’t fail me now.

“Want to know a secret?” he whispered into her bud-less ear and stopped the treadmill.

She shivered. “You have only one?”

“Nay. I have many. Only one I wish to share right now.”

“Must you?” His warm breath against her ear turned her insides to liquid.

“I must.” His hold tightened as he whispered in her ear again. “I want you, lass. I want to make you mine.”

His words brought her back to her senses like nothing else could. She turned in his arms to face him. The taunting and sarcasm fell away and she couldn’t help searching his eyes for…something. “Do you have the courage to make me yours?” Where the question came from, she had no idea, but she awaited his reply with bated breath. He said nothing.

Where did this sadness come from? Why did her words and his lack of response break her heart? “I don’t know you, Dermot. I’d never laid eyes on you before you walked into my shop. Yet, I feel such anger toward you…and sadness. I don’t understand it.” She searched his face for answers, while all the images she’d sketched went through her head like a slide show. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t connect the dots.

“You’ve reasons enough, lass. Today is not the day for that tale.” He ran a knuckle down her cheek. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”


Not
a good idea.”

“Wear something pretty. A dress. I want to see you in a dress.”

“I don’t own a dress.”

“I’ll have one sent round to your flat.”

“I decide what I wear, not you. Are you always so pushy?”

“I’m not pushy at all.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Be ready at seven sharp.”

A shiver ran down her spine. “On one condition.”

“Does it have anything to do with wearing a dress to please me?” Dermot’s gaze roamed over her face, settling on her mouth.

His eyes had gone a darker shade of gray, and there was no mistaking the evidence of his desire. Surrounded by his heat and scent, her body responded with a rush of throbbing need. “I’ve no wish to please you, MacMud.” She pushed at his chest to put some distance between them. He didn’t budge. “If you promise to tell me why you’re here, I’ll have dinner with you. If I have
reasons enough
for this anger and sadness, I have a right to know what they are.”

“Agreed.”

“I mean it, Dermot. If I don’t hear the truth, I’ll walk out of the restaurant and file stalking charges against you, and that will be the end of it. No more following me around. No more popping up wherever I am. Now let me exercise in peace.” She couldn’t believe she’d capitulated so easily. Was it raging hormones, or the need to know the source of all these feelings ricocheting inside her?

“Monday evening, seven sharp, Sidney.”

His lips brushed across hers, sending ripples of sexual current through her. Her knees buckled and she leaned against the treadmill for support. “Go away, MacMud, and give me back my iPod.”

 

The moment Sidney left his arms, every cell in Dermot’s body cried out in protest. He had to force himself to move away from her. The ability to think rationally had escaped him the moment he’d seen her across the room in those skimpy track shorts. The sight of her long, shapely legs had been worth the price of a year’s membership in the gym—even though he’d never set foot in the place again.

Despite his best efforts, he meant what he’d said. He wanted her, and the curse be damned. When had he ever allowed himself the luxury of taking what
he
wanted? Never. They’d have a fortnight together, hardly long enough for her to become emotionally attached. Besides, he’d tell her about the curse first. The decision would be hers, and he’d be absolved of any wrongdoing. Right? He turned back to take one more long look at her. Gods, never had he wanted a woman the way he wanted Sidney St. George.

He stopped midstep.

When had he ceased thinking of her as Mairéad? For that matter, when had he ever desired to shop for a woman’s dress? Dermot shook his head. What had she said? He didn’t have the courage to make her his? Nay, it wasn’t courage he lacked—it was willpower. Hadn’t he vowed to leave her alone? His body and mind battled for supremacy, and his mind had lost. Aye, he’d lost his mind, and with it, all control. “Excuse me, miss.” He stopped a young woman walking down the stairs. “Can you tell me where I might shop nearby for a fancy dress?”

“Um…”

The odd look she gave him made him chuckle. “I wish to buy my woman something nice to wear for a special occasion.”

“Oh, sure.” She nodded in understanding. “There’s a Macy’s down the road about four blocks east and a block north. Take a right as you leave the building.”

“My thanks.” Dermot smiled as he punched the elevator button to leave. A new experience—hard to come by when you’ve lived as long as he had. Dermot MacKay, the Druid Laird and stuff of legend…shopping for a dress. He laughed out loud, uncaring of the looks he got from people on the sidewalk. Courage, indeed.

Chapter Six

“Drive another block north until you see Macy’s department store, and look for parking.” Dermot shifted to peer out the windshield as they drove.

Lachlan glanced at him and tapped the wheel with a finger. “Macy’s?”

“Aye. We’re going shopping.” The brick department store came into view. He nodded toward the ramp adjoining the building. “Here.”

“Begging your pardon, Laird, but you have found Mairéad, aye?”

“Aye.”

“The anniversary of her murder is a mere sixteen days away.”

“Spit it out. What’s on your mind?”

“We’ve precious little time left. I’m wondering what you could possibly need at Macy’s.”

“A dress.”

“A…dress?” Lachlan’s eyebrows shot up, and he hit the brakes. Drivers on the ramp behind them hit their horns. He inched forward again, his expression pensive. “I always wondered what you did locked away in that stillroom of yours.”

“By the gods…” Dermot scowled at him. “I’m—”

“Oh, I understand. You’ve kept your secret all this time.” He gave him a sympathetic look. “It explains a lot. I’ll no’ tell a soul, and we’ll get you the poshest frock they have at this Macy’s.”

“It’s no’ for me, man!” Dermot shook his head.

“Of course it isn’t.” Lachlan nodded, a satisfied half smile on his face. “The size will no’ be a problem.” He looked Dermot over. “Length will be a challenge though.”

“It’s for Sidney. I’m buying a dress for Sidney St. George.” He glared at his companion.

“If you do no’ mind my asking, why would you buy
her
a dress?” Lachlan scanned the ramp for empty spaces.

“Why would I buy
myself
one?” Dermot snorted. “I’m taking her to dinner tomorrow night.”

“It’s true, then, you are dating her. Is that wise? Are you no’ encouraging her affections? Once we’re gone, if she’s attached to you…”

“Nay.” His gut twisted with guilt. “I’m gaining her trust so she’ll return to Scotland with us willingly.”

Lachlan frowned. “Why no’ compel her?” He pulled the SUV into an empty spot and shut off the engine. “It’s what you would’ve done a few centuries ago.”

“I canna. Her grandfather forbade Áine from interfering, and me from the use of compulsion.”

“Aye, but the king’s command won’t stop Áine. She’s already interfered, hasn’t she? Otherwise, you would’ve found Sidney when she was still a wee bairn instead of a grown woman.”

“No matter. I won’t interfere with her free will.” He was grasping at straws and knew it. He could compel Sidney and keep her in a trancelike state until after his soul departed this world. Not even the high king of the
Tuatha
could condemn him for it once he knew his daughter had already broken her word. Why didn’t he? For that matter, he could compel her into his bed.
Tempting.

“Still,” Lachlan persisted. “A dress is an intimate gift. One a man might give his wife or girlfriend.”

“She mentioned she doesn’t own a dress.” Dermot swung out of the SUV. “So I’m providing her with one.”

“You could provide her with a sizable portion of your fortune once you’re gone. After all, she was once your wife.” Lachlan got out of the truck and faced him over the hood. “She could buy any number of dresses for herself then. Have you put your affairs in order?”

“I’ve no’ had the time.” The thought of his approaching demise unsettled Dermot. A twinge of regret pricked him. For centuries he’d longed for the end, and now he dreaded it. “Come. I’ve set out to buy a dress, and so I shall. Let us speak no more of what is to come. Today is no’ the day we die.”

Lachlan grumbled to himself as he followed him into the building. The scent of leather, perfume and newness permeated the first floor. Dermot approached a salesclerk behind a glass counter displaying cosmetics. “Excuse me, could you direct me to women’s finer dresses?”

“Up the escalator to the second floor, and straight ahead.” She smiled up at him. “Through intimate apparel.”

Lachlan in tow, Dermot headed up the moving steps and disembarked. He stopped in the middle of the lingerie section. Beside him, Lachlan inhaled sharply and stared at the mannequins in their bits of satin and lace. Dermot’s gaze lit upon a rack of teddies. Dare he buy one for Sidney? Gods, what he’d give to see her in such a garment.

“I should perhaps seek…ah…” Lachlan stammered. “I mean, we’ve so little time left. ’Twould be a shame not to…There are willing women aplenty. Lovely women…”

Dermot turned to stare at the man he’d known for almost two millennia. Crushing remorse overwhelmed him. “It has been difficult for all of you, no’ being able to form attachments or to have the things in life that bring a man comfort, a wife and family, a home.”

“It has, and that’s a fact. I watched my own children grow old and die, and their sons and daughters as well.” Lachlan reached out and rubbed the edge of a pair of lace panties between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve never stopped missing my wife. Brief flings and the companionship of a professional are no match for the love and trust between a husband and wife.”

Dermot nodded. “Moving around so frequently to avoid notice, forming no bonds beyond those you share with the rest of the men, no’ a day goes by I don’t regret what happened.” The familiar oppressive guilt settled in his chest.

“None of us blame you.” He put his hand on Dermot’s shoulder. “You are no’ the one who cursed us. Has it no’ been hard on you, as well?”

Two large men drooling over women’s intimate apparel and engaging in a maudlin conversation. Dermot gave himself a shake. They were attracting attention. “Come, women’s dresses lie ahead.”

He turned away from the flimsy underthings. Lachlan and the others had never accused him of being to blame for their cursed existence. Yet it was he who’d agreed to wed Mairéad against his better judgment. As laird, the welfare of his people was his responsibility. The blame rested solely upon his shoulders, and it fell to him to make it right.

 

Zoe snuggled into the down mattress pad covering the hotel bed and luxuriated in the feel of 800-thread-count cotton sheets and Thomas against her bare skin. Great sex. The best she’d ever had. Lord, the thought of waking every morning in the shelter of his arms made her ache. She wanted it so badly, wanted so much to let go, take the plunge and give Thomas her unconditional love. If it weren’t for the possibility he’d turn into a pile of dust soon, she would. Zoe sighed.

Thomas cupped her breast and spooned closer, throwing one bare leg over hers. He nuzzled her hair and inhaled. “I hope that’s a sigh of contentment, love.”

“Oh, I don’t even have the words to tell you how wonderful that was.” Zoe turned in his arms to face him.

“I want to put a ring on your finger before I return to Scotland.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Don’t you think it’s a bit soon to talk about rings and marriage? We’ve only known each other a week.”

“Nay. I’m ready to commit my life to you.”

“Until you disintegrate into dust you mean?” She disentangled herself and sat up. “Maybe we should wait and see what happens.”

“Do you no’ want me, Zoe?”

“Oh, I want you.” She met his gaze. “And I don’t want to lose you. Knowing I might, well…” She shrugged, and studied the gold duvet. How could she explain? She needed to protect herself, didn’t she?

“Knowing you might lose me in a couple of weeks makes you reluctant to give your heart.”

Zoe nodded and bit her lower lip.

“Aye, well, you’ve given me your sweet body.” He ran his hand down her spine. “I thank you for that.” He grinned. “You’re holding your love back until you see if I live through all of this. I canna blame you, lass.”

“It’s going to hurt like hell if you die. I can’t help holding back. It’s like walking into the dentist’s office knowing he’s going to drill. You know you have to get through it, but you don’t walk real fast toward that big vinyl chair.” Zoe felt like crying. She blinked and studied the room.

How could he be ready to commit his life to her when they’d only known each other for a handful of days? Wait.
She’d
known him for a few days. He’d known her forever. No. He’d known the former
her.
The present her needed more time.
Cripes, I’m talking about myself in third person!

“Let’s no’ discuss this now.” Thomas drew her close and brushed his lips across her forehead. “Where were we in the story?”

“Mairéad agreed to give up her immortality to marry Dermot, and her mother was not pleased with either of them.”

“Less pleased with Dermot. It was his idea.”

“So then what happened?”

“Once Áine realized she couldn’t change her daughter’s mind, she agreed to the union on one condition.” Thomas paused to fondle her breast, and her body went into overdrive.

“Thomas, please.” She removed his hand from her chest. “Continue the story. What was the one condition?”

“We have the whole afternoon. There’s no reason we canna—”

“Something’s been bothering me.” Zoe pulled the covers up so nothing showed to tempt him…or her. Everything in her life had become very intense since she’d met him. There had been way too much to absorb in too short a time. The closer they became, the more anxious she became. And confused.

“What is it?”

“I’m afraid.” She covered his mouth with her hand when he started to respond and propped herself up on one elbow. “I’m afraid of what I feel for you, and I’m afraid because I might lose you. This is all happening so fast.” She shook her head. “All we ever talk about is Dermot, Mairéad and the damned curse.” Tears welled up. Swallowing hard, she looked directly into his beautiful blue eyes. “What if once the story is done we find we have nothing else to talk about? What if our past is all we have in common?” she whispered.

Thomas enfolded her in his arms and ran his hands over her back. “I swear to you, we’ll have plenty to talk about after this is over. We’ll make plans together, start a family. Maybe I’ll come work with you in your wee shop, and we can talk about work.” He tightened his hold. “Would you like that?”

“Working with you?” She thought about it for a minute. “I don’t know. What would you do otherwise? What would you like to do?”

“Make love to you day and night.”

She snorted. “Be serious.”

“I’ve had almost two millennia to accumulate wealth and property all over the world. I have no need to work, and neither do you.” He leered at her. “And I
am
being serious.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “I like working.”

“Then continue. I’ll be content with whatever you choose.” Thomas kissed her shoulder and nuzzled her neck. “You’ve no idea how much it means to me, and how much I want an ordinary life with you.” He made a muffled noise against her skin, his voice breaking. “You worry we’ll have nothing to talk about? My God, woman, being quiet for hour upon hour would be heaven so long as you’re beside me. I’ve been so sodding lonely without you for such a sodding long time.”

“Oh, baby.” Zoe ran her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay. We’re together now. Let’s finish the story. Let’s get this over with so we can bore each other to tears.” God, this man had such an effect on her. His pain went straight through her like some kind of emotional osmosis. “You said Áine set conditions before agreeing to the union. What were they?”

“Can you no’ guess? Dermot had to form an elite cadre of warriors to act as personal guards for Mairéad and himself. We all had to swear to protect them with our lives. Once we took the oath before Áine and her father, Dermot and Mairéad were wed.”

“I get it. You
all
swore to protect her, not just Dermot.”

“Aye, and things went well for a time. We flourished and our holdings grew.” Thomas wrapped a curl around his forefinger and rubbed it with his thumb. “Naturally, neighboring clans began to covet what we had. Compared to most, we were very wealthy.”

The obvious pride in his tone made her smile. “Go on.”

“Raiders from the north started to harry our borders, stealing and plundering where they could.” He closed his eyes as if calling up the images from his past. “Many villages and smaller holdings were hit hard by their forays into Scotland. Weaker clans sought our protection, and our numbers increased. We had recently built a new keep, a timber structure set upon a hill for defense. Mairéad was with child, almost to term, and Dermot wanted her kept safe.”

“Wouldn’t a castle made of stone have been better?” Zoe asked. “I thought castles had like, twelve-foot-thick walls of stone or something.”

“We lived in the fifth century.” He shot her a look like she should know this. “Castles of stone didn’t come about until much later. Our folly.” He shrugged. “Wood burns.”

“Oh. I don’t know much about the fifth century.”

He patted her arm. “Of course you don’t remember. Dermot says we all drink from the well of forgetfulness before we can be reborn. He also says—”

“Focus, Thomas. You do have a tendency to drift off topic.”

“Aye. Sorry.” He shifted his weight next to her. “The Sutherlands, a neighboring clan with a grudge against us, formed an alliance of sorts with mercenaries from the north.” He shuddered. “Vikings you’d call them.”

“What did you call them?” Zoe asked, perplexed.

“Whore-sons, soulless spawns of the devil. They took slaves when they raided, burned homes and destroyed crops. They killed cattle, raped and murdered women and children…I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” His expression changed, as though haunted by the images in his mind. “There’s nothing more foul than the stench of burning flesh, or to see a woman or a child you knew dismembered, their parts strewn about in the dirt.”

He might as well have left the room he seemed so far away. Thomas trembled and reached for her hand, gripping it so tight it hurt. “Ouch.”

“Och, I’m sorry, love.” He relaxed his hold. “I’m remembering things best left forgot.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened to
me
that day?”

“Nay.” He sat up and swung his feet to the floor, his back to her. “I canna even bear to think about it. Dinna ask it of me.” His voice came out in a hoarse rasp. He swallowed several times. Zoe rested her hand on his shoulder. Thomas turned and crushed her to him, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She stroked his hair and murmured words of comfort. His entire body shook as he relived the losses from that day.

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