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Authors: Lily Baldwin
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its fullest tonight to light our way. It must be tonight.”
“This is madness, Bridget.”
“I will go without you, even if I risk death sliding down the rope.” She grabbed his hands. “I beseech you.”
Ronan stared at her. She could not guess at his thoughts. Then he released a slow breath and agreed to her request.
“I will go, but I do so alone, Bridget.”
She brought his hands to her lips and kissed his rough skin. “Thank you, Ronan. What you do now is truly life or death. Last night I slept beneath a standing stone not more than a league from the pool.”
“I know the place. We call it the Cillchriosd Stone,”
“Then go and be swift.”
He donned his sword and made for the entrance. “I still say this is madness, Bridget, but I know what it is to lose family. In honor of your parents and my brother, I do this.”
Then he grabbed hold of the rope and disappeared over the edge. Shoney peered down and held her breath as she watched him descend into the shadows and waves. She longed to call after him, already regretting his absence, but instead she prayed to the Mother of all that he find his kinsman before it was too late.
Chapter 4
The pale face inside the full moon looked down on Ronan with what he saw as a mocking grin. It was nightfall and he rode over the purple moors on a baffling errand for an equally baffling lass. He had never felt absurd before, but it appeared as though there was a first for everything. He should be at home with a full belly and a warm fire, yet he still could not turn from his quest. Instead, he urged his mount to ride even faster toward the Cillchriosd Stone. He did not understand what had come over him. He was not given to romantic whimsies like Aidan, and he usually did not have patience for the fairer sex. Nevertheless, shirking all responsibility and no doubt causing his father boundless vexation, he wanted nothing more than to be the man to make Bridget smile—so here he was.
He imagined her wrapped in the MacKinnon colors, likely asleep on his pallet with her long black lashes fanned out against her fair skin. Her golden hair lit by the flames of the fire he built for her, and her full lips slightly parted, waiting to be consumed by his kiss.
Damn her pendant. He wanted nothing more than to turn his horse around, ride back to the cliffs, and have his fill of her. He groaned aloud as he recalled their meeting that morning in the pool. He could still feel her slick, wet body pressed against his own. He longed to savor every curve. He wondered if he could ignite her passion as easily as he did her anger. Sweet Jesus, he had never wanted another woman as he did Bridget, Bridget MacLean. He groaned aloud as he again remembered her surname, a fact that continued to conveniently slip his mind.
His father would be furious if he knew Ronan gave shelter to a MacLean runaway. Worse yet, if he learned of Ronan’s burgeoning desire, his father’s rage would be heard all the way to Skye and rightly so. Surely, the consequence of his affection might be war, especially if she was betrothed to another. Beyond the odd cattle raid or small feud, it had been some years since the two clans had fought on the battlefield, and given the pending war with the Norse, how could he further add to the insecurities facing his clan by picking a fight with their adversaries to the south.
Violet swells of moonlit earth stretched out before him like ocean waves at twilight frozen in time. The moon was large and hung low in the sky, and as Bridget predicted, it shone brightly, illuminating his path. He could even make out the standing stone in the distance. He spurred his horse forward. He felt consumed by the urgency to find Bridget’s treasure. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to make her his.
Jesus above, what was wrong with him?
He was acting like a love-sick maid, and it had to stop. His behavior over the past weeks had been disgraceful. He neglected his duties, consequently
“This is madness, Bridget.”
“I will go without you, even if I risk death sliding down the rope.” She grabbed his hands. “I beseech you.”
Ronan stared at her. She could not guess at his thoughts. Then he released a slow breath and agreed to her request.
“I will go, but I do so alone, Bridget.”
She brought his hands to her lips and kissed his rough skin. “Thank you, Ronan. What you do now is truly life or death. Last night I slept beneath a standing stone not more than a league from the pool.”
“I know the place. We call it the Cillchriosd Stone,”
“Then go and be swift.”
He donned his sword and made for the entrance. “I still say this is madness, Bridget, but I know what it is to lose family. In honor of your parents and my brother, I do this.”
Then he grabbed hold of the rope and disappeared over the edge. Shoney peered down and held her breath as she watched him descend into the shadows and waves. She longed to call after him, already regretting his absence, but instead she prayed to the Mother of all that he find his kinsman before it was too late.
Chapter 4
The pale face inside the full moon looked down on Ronan with what he saw as a mocking grin. It was nightfall and he rode over the purple moors on a baffling errand for an equally baffling lass. He had never felt absurd before, but it appeared as though there was a first for everything. He should be at home with a full belly and a warm fire, yet he still could not turn from his quest. Instead, he urged his mount to ride even faster toward the Cillchriosd Stone. He did not understand what had come over him. He was not given to romantic whimsies like Aidan, and he usually did not have patience for the fairer sex. Nevertheless, shirking all responsibility and no doubt causing his father boundless vexation, he wanted nothing more than to be the man to make Bridget smile—so here he was.
He imagined her wrapped in the MacKinnon colors, likely asleep on his pallet with her long black lashes fanned out against her fair skin. Her golden hair lit by the flames of the fire he built for her, and her full lips slightly parted, waiting to be consumed by his kiss.
Damn her pendant. He wanted nothing more than to turn his horse around, ride back to the cliffs, and have his fill of her. He groaned aloud as he recalled their meeting that morning in the pool. He could still feel her slick, wet body pressed against his own. He longed to savor every curve. He wondered if he could ignite her passion as easily as he did her anger. Sweet Jesus, he had never wanted another woman as he did Bridget, Bridget MacLean. He groaned aloud as he again remembered her surname, a fact that continued to conveniently slip his mind.
His father would be furious if he knew Ronan gave shelter to a MacLean runaway. Worse yet, if he learned of Ronan’s burgeoning desire, his father’s rage would be heard all the way to Skye and rightly so. Surely, the consequence of his affection might be war, especially if she was betrothed to another. Beyond the odd cattle raid or small feud, it had been some years since the two clans had fought on the battlefield, and given the pending war with the Norse, how could he further add to the insecurities facing his clan by picking a fight with their adversaries to the south.
Violet swells of moonlit earth stretched out before him like ocean waves at twilight frozen in time. The moon was large and hung low in the sky, and as Bridget predicted, it shone brightly, illuminating his path. He could even make out the standing stone in the distance. He spurred his horse forward. He felt consumed by the urgency to find Bridget’s treasure. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to make her his.
Jesus above, what was wrong with him?
He was acting like a love-sick maid, and it had to stop. His behavior over the past weeks had been disgraceful. He neglected his duties, consequently
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