Kiss of the Highlander

Drustan opened his mouth and closed it again. Ha, she thought smugly, the offensive had worked.

Dageus’s brows rose and he laughed. “I must say, for being such a wee—”

“I am not a nyaff,” she said defensively.

“—lass, she certainly has fire.”

“And it’s a fire you can keep your hands off,” Drustan snapped. He looked bewildered by his own words and added hastily, “I doona want you to get snared in her trap. ’Tis apparent she’s looking for someone to marry her.”

“I am not looking for someone to marry me,” Gwen said firmly. “I’m looking for someone with a modicum of intellect.”

“Ahem. That would be me, m’dear,” Silvan said mildly, raising an ink-spotted hand.

Drustan scowled at his father.

“Well, that would be,” Silvan said, crossing his arms over his bony frame and leaning back against the doorjamb. “You doona see me standing out there shouting my head off when a few simple questions might clear things up nicely.”

“I’d say that qualifies,” Gwen said, tucking her arm through Silvan’s. She wasn’t going to get anything accomplished trying to talk to Drustan right now. Let him cool off outside for a while. She swept into the castle, towing Silvan along, and kicked the door shut with her heel.

“I can’t tell you,” Gwen told Silvan for the third time, already regretting having come inside with him. The moment they’d entered the castle, the inquisition had begun, and until she talked to Drustan, she dare not tell Silvan a thing. She’d already made one mistake this morning. She was not going to make another. She would tell Drustan and only Drustan. He could tell whomever he trusted.

“Well, what can you tell me? Anything?”

Gwen sighed. She’d taken an instant liking to Silvan MacKeltar—another of those baffling gut instincts—the moment she’d seen him standing in the hall interrogating his son, with so much love in his eyes. She’d felt a twinge of envy, wondering what it must feel like to be the focus of such parental concern. Not only did he resemble Einstein, with his white hair, olive-toned skin, curious brown eyes feathered by wrinkles, and deep grooves bracketing his mouth, but he demonstrated a similar acuity of mind.

Perched on the hearth in the Greathall, she glanced at the door, hoping Drustan would saunter in. Angry or not, she needed desperately to talk with him. “I told you my name,” she hedged.

“Rubbish. That tells me naught but that you’re English with Irish ancestors, and a damned odd accent. How do you know Drustan?”

She regarded him glumly.

“How am I supposed to help you, m’dear, if you refuse to tell me a thing? If my son took your maidenhead, ’tis wedding you he’ll be. But I can’t force him if you doona tell me who you are and a bit about what happened.”

“Mr. MacKeltar—”

“Silvan,” he interrupted.

“Silvan,” Gwen amended, “I don’t want you to force Drustan to marry me.”

“Then what do you want?” he exclaimed.

“More than anything right now?”

“Aye.”

“I’d like to know what the date is.” She hated asking it so baldly, but she needed to know. She drew some comfort from the fact that Dageus was still alive—it meant she’d arrived in time. But she wouldn’t feel entirely safe until she knew precisely, to the minute, how long she had.

Silvan went very still, his dark eyes narrowed, head cocked at an angle. She suddenly had the eerie feeling he was listening with more than his ears, and watching with more than his eyes.

And she knew she was right when he murmured softly, “Och, m’dear, you’re from a far far place, aren’t you, now? Nay, no need to reply. I doona understand what I sense, but I know you’re a stranger to this land.”

“What are you doing, reading my mind? Can you do that?” She might believe anything of a man who’d fathered a son who could manipulate time.

“Nay. ’Tis but a bit of deep listening in the old way, something neither of my sons are adept at, although I’ve tried to teach them. So ’tis the date you’re needing,” he said slowly. “I’ll trade you answers, what say you, Gwen Cassidy?”

“I’m not going to get them any other way, am I?”

He shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips.

“I’ll answer your questions as honestly as I can,” she conceded, “but there are bound to be some that I can’t answer just yet.”