“Since my wife died, Nellie.”
She gasped.
“Would you kiss such an untried man?” he asked softly.
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
His first brush was soft and tentative, much how she felt. And he didn’t try to plunge right in, nay, Silvan kissed her as if she were made of fine china. Kissed her lips, brushing back and forth, kissed her nose, her chin, then her lips again. Kissed the corners of her mouth.
Then pulled away and regarded her soberly.
She tried a tentative smile.
His second kiss was warm and encouraging. By the third touch of his lips to hers, a part of her she’d thought dead was dancing a Scottish reel. And remembering how to kiss as if she’d never stopped. He certainly hadn’t forgotten!
His fifth was deep and hungry with passion.
When he finally broke that kiss—she couldn’t have for anything—he drew back and said softly, “Och, Nellie, there is a question I’ve been wishing to ask you. And if I am prying, well, then prying I’ll be. ’Tis long past time we spoke freely with each other. Would you tell me, sweet lass, what on earth happened to you the night I found you?”
When tears misted her eyes, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly.
“There, lass,” he whispered. “I’ve been a damn fool for far too long. So many things I should have said, but I was…afraid.”
“Afraid?” Nell whispered incredulously. “What might Silvan MacKeltar fear?”
“Och, the possibilities were endless, the fears myriad. That I couldn’t make all your hurt go away. That I might make a fankle of things with you, and you’d leave, and my lads loved you so. That you might think me strange—”
“Ye are strange, Silvan,” Nell said seriously.
He sighed. “That you wouldn’t love me, Nellie.”
Words she couldn’t bring herself to say trembled on her lips. Words that frightened her, words that would make her heart vulnerable again.
So she offered those words to him silently by pressing her lips to his, hoping they might roll off in the kiss and find their way into his heart.
Dozens of candles shimmered in the laird’s bedchamber.
Drustan had made love to her yet another time, so many times, she’d lost count. Gwen’s body felt deliciously swollen by kisses and thorough loving from head to toe. In the candlelight, his dark skin shimmered golden, his silky black hair gleamed. She gazed at him, marveling. She had her Drustan back. She still couldn’t believe it.
“You really meant it when you said you were going to ‘toop me until my legs fell off,’ didn’t you?” she teased, wondering if she would be able to walk by morning.
“By Amergin, Gwen, it was killing me watching you walk around the castle! I was obsessed with you. As much as you spied on me, I watched you. And had you stopped, I like as not would have begun stalking you instead.”
“A shame I didn’t stop, then. I was getting rather sick of humiliating myself.”
He winced and stretched himself atop her, propping his weight on his elbows. Smoothing a wisp of hair behind her ear, he whispered, “Och, lass, forgive me.”
“For what? Being a stubborn medieval man and refusing to believe me right away?” she teased.
“Aye, for that and many other things,” he said sadly. “For not preparing you better. For being afraid to trust you fully—”
“I understand why you didn’t,” she cut him off gently. “Nell told me about your three betrotheds. She said they were frightened of you, and I realized the reason you didn’t confide in me was that you thought I’d leave you.”
“I should have believed better of you.”
“For heaven’s sake,” she protested, “you’d just woken up to find yourself five centuries in the future. Besides,” she admitted, “it wasn’t as if I trusted you either. I tend to hide my intelligence. If I’d been more honest, you might have been too.”
“Never hide it from me,” he said softly. “ ‘Tis one of the many things I adore about you. But, Gwen, there is more for which I must seek your forgiveness.”
“Marrying me without telling me?” she said lightly. “Have you any idea how flattered I am? We’re really married?” she pressed. “Could we get married in a church too? Formally, with a long dress and everything?”
“Och, we’re more married than the church could do, but aye, lass. I should like a church wedding,” he agreed. “You’ll wear a gown fit for a queen, and I’ll wear the full Keltar regalia. We’ll feast for days, invite the whole village. ’Twill be the celebration of the century.” He paused, his silvery eyes flickering with shadows. “But there’s still something more for which I must seek your forgiveness. There is the small matter of me abducting you and trapping you in my century.”