villain, but being the daughter of the villain made her as much of one.
An elbow in his ribs drew his attention. He turned and found Gregor glaring at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Are you so blind you don’t see what’s happening to Glenna?” he asked, appalled. “Again.”
Conall studied Gregor for a moment before he turned to Glenna. Her skin was nearly gray and a fine sheet of sweat covered her face. He had seen her look this way once before.
“Glenna,” he whispered. He kept his head down so as not to draw attention to her.
“Please. Get me. Out. Of. Here.”
In one movement he was out of his chair with her in his arms. She needed air and privacy. He raced to the battlements. Once there he rested his hip on a crenel. He leaned against the solid part, or merlon, and shifted Glenna so he could move the hair from her face.
A soft breeze cooled her skin, but her pallor remained gray. “Glenna. Talk to me. What’s happening?”
“The hatred,” she mumbled, her eyes tightly closed.
Gregor had been right, he thought. She was affected by his clan’s hatred, he just hadn’t realized how much until this eve. And his stupidity had nearly killed her.
“What do I need to do?”
“Keep me. Out here.” She paused, and said, “Please talk.”
And so he sat with her in his arms, her hair dancing around them. With the aid of the moon and a nearby torchlight he was able see the color return to her little by little.
“I talked with Frances MacBeth earlier. She said it was her daughter’s wish for me not to know, though I don’t believe it.”
He saw the faint smile on her lips and rejoiced.
“Mary was quite taken with me, you know,” he teased.
“Arrogant.”
The faint whisper made him chuckle. “Frances had the gall to demand Ailsa be returned to her. I will get answers from her. No one denies me.”
She slowly opened her eyes and attempted a weak smile.
“You should’ve told me that happened to you.” He smoothed the hair from her face.
She licked her lips. “I couldn’t. It built until I couldn’t move.”
“Are you saying you couldn’t have stood and left?”
“Nay. The hatred was so strong, especially from one source.” She sighed and nestled closer to him.
He found his gaze drawn to her plump mouth and hastily jerked them back to her eyes. “Who?”
“I couldn’t find them. The hall was too crowded.”
“You’re safe now,” he whispered, and found himself lured by her parted lips and half-closed lids. The sound of a lute reached him, the music sensual and romantic as it floated on the night’s breeze.
A longing filled him to taste the nectar from her mouth, to quench the thirst racking his body. He lowered his head until their lips were breaths apart. His eyes found hers. A part of him said to take her. She was his prisoner. His.
Mine .
Aye, she was his, and he knew she wouldn’t push him away. He saw the hunger burning just below the surface of her eyes. And words from his father he hadn’t recalled in years came to mind.
“A Druid always knows his mate, lad. And even though ye aren’t destined to be a priest, the Druid blood courses through yer veins.”
Mate? Was something telling him Glenna was his mate? That couldn’t be. For if he kissed her, if he let himself feel anything, then he wouldn’t send her back to the MacNeil. And he wouldn’t have Iona returned.
He brushed aside a dark lock of hair. “I love your hair down. You look wild and untamed.”
“Yet I am anything but those two things.”
He smiled for he knew better. “You just don’t know it yet.”
* * * * *
Moira turned and looked at Frang when he approached. The elder Druid chuckled when he spied what she looked at.
“It seems Glenna and Conall will find their love on their own.”
“He’s fighting it,” Moira said, and turned back to the couple.
“She’ll help him see the way.”
Moira nodded and continued to watch as Conall helped Glenna to her feet.
An elbow in his ribs drew his attention. He turned and found Gregor glaring at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Are you so blind you don’t see what’s happening to Glenna?” he asked, appalled. “Again.”
Conall studied Gregor for a moment before he turned to Glenna. Her skin was nearly gray and a fine sheet of sweat covered her face. He had seen her look this way once before.
“Glenna,” he whispered. He kept his head down so as not to draw attention to her.
“Please. Get me. Out. Of. Here.”
In one movement he was out of his chair with her in his arms. She needed air and privacy. He raced to the battlements. Once there he rested his hip on a crenel. He leaned against the solid part, or merlon, and shifted Glenna so he could move the hair from her face.
A soft breeze cooled her skin, but her pallor remained gray. “Glenna. Talk to me. What’s happening?”
“The hatred,” she mumbled, her eyes tightly closed.
Gregor had been right, he thought. She was affected by his clan’s hatred, he just hadn’t realized how much until this eve. And his stupidity had nearly killed her.
“What do I need to do?”
“Keep me. Out here.” She paused, and said, “Please talk.”
And so he sat with her in his arms, her hair dancing around them. With the aid of the moon and a nearby torchlight he was able see the color return to her little by little.
“I talked with Frances MacBeth earlier. She said it was her daughter’s wish for me not to know, though I don’t believe it.”
He saw the faint smile on her lips and rejoiced.
“Mary was quite taken with me, you know,” he teased.
“Arrogant.”
The faint whisper made him chuckle. “Frances had the gall to demand Ailsa be returned to her. I will get answers from her. No one denies me.”
She slowly opened her eyes and attempted a weak smile.
“You should’ve told me that happened to you.” He smoothed the hair from her face.
She licked her lips. “I couldn’t. It built until I couldn’t move.”
“Are you saying you couldn’t have stood and left?”
“Nay. The hatred was so strong, especially from one source.” She sighed and nestled closer to him.
He found his gaze drawn to her plump mouth and hastily jerked them back to her eyes. “Who?”
“I couldn’t find them. The hall was too crowded.”
“You’re safe now,” he whispered, and found himself lured by her parted lips and half-closed lids. The sound of a lute reached him, the music sensual and romantic as it floated on the night’s breeze.
A longing filled him to taste the nectar from her mouth, to quench the thirst racking his body. He lowered his head until their lips were breaths apart. His eyes found hers. A part of him said to take her. She was his prisoner. His.
Mine .
Aye, she was his, and he knew she wouldn’t push him away. He saw the hunger burning just below the surface of her eyes. And words from his father he hadn’t recalled in years came to mind.
“A Druid always knows his mate, lad. And even though ye aren’t destined to be a priest, the Druid blood courses through yer veins.”
Mate? Was something telling him Glenna was his mate? That couldn’t be. For if he kissed her, if he let himself feel anything, then he wouldn’t send her back to the MacNeil. And he wouldn’t have Iona returned.
He brushed aside a dark lock of hair. “I love your hair down. You look wild and untamed.”
“Yet I am anything but those two things.”
He smiled for he knew better. “You just don’t know it yet.”
* * * * *
Moira turned and looked at Frang when he approached. The elder Druid chuckled when he spied what she looked at.
“It seems Glenna and Conall will find their love on their own.”
“He’s fighting it,” Moira said, and turned back to the couple.
“She’ll help him see the way.”
Moira nodded and continued to watch as Conall helped Glenna to her feet.
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