“Don’t do what? Nearly crush you to death? Spill myself the moment I enter you? Or tie you down?”
“Yeah,” she drowsily muttered into his chest. “Don’t do that.”
He lifted her head away from his shoulder to look at her, fearing she might fall asleep. “So are you ready to come home now?” he asked, brushing her hair back.
She suddenly scrambled off the couch as if he had pinched her. She blinked at him like an owl, until she realized she was beautifully naked. With a gasp she turned and bolted into the bedroom. Grey was left staring at the dying fire.
Now, what had he said? They’d established the fact that she loved him and that he loved her. What more was there? She belonged at Gu Bràth. In his bed. Preferably tonight.
He rubbed his forehead and blew out a tired sigh. He was never going to understand Grace Sutter. He looked back at the fire and suddenly smiled. He hoped not. That was half the fun of loving her.
Grey finally got up and found his own clothes. As he slowly dressed, he tried to think of an argument that would convince Grace she belonged at Gu Bràth. He added some kindling and a few logs to the nearly dead fire, then walked into the kitchen.
He found a now fully dressed Grace glaring at the cold kettle on the stove. She twisted the switch as if she were expecting a fight and looked surprised when the flame suddenly came on with a gentle whoosh.
“We’re back to where we started yesterday,” he said, leaning against the door frame. “You still don’t have any electricity, running water, or sufficient heat. You’ll be more comfortable at Gu Bràth.”
“It’s not decent. We’re not married. I can’t just move in with you.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye.
“I’d keep waking up in your bed, wouldn’t I? And Father Daar would make me kneel in a corner someplace and say a novena for nine days straight.”
“Then we’ll get married tonight. The old priest can perform the ceremony.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And you can invite MacBain and Baby, if it pleases you.”
She straightened from watching the burner and gaped at him, so she didn’t see the flame under the kettle go out. “You want us to get married tonight?”
He nodded. At Grace’s horrified look, a thought suddenly struck him, and he pulled away from the door.
“You’re not afraid, are you, Grace? Of us. Of Callum and Morgan and Ian and me?”
She continued to gape. “Afraid of what?”
“That we…” Damn. What to say? He didn’t want to go where this conversation was heading. But it needed to be said. “That we came from another time,” he said in a near shout, more because of his own anxiety than anger.
“You were never going to tell me, were you?”
He knew as soon as he said the words another time that he was bringing up a subject he wasn’t ready to discuss.
“No,” he told her truthfully, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring back. He was standing firm on this.
His honesty startled her. “Why not?”
“Because none of it matters. If I was born thirty-five or eight hundred and thirty-five years ago, it doesn’t change who I am.”
“You live in a castle, MacKeage. And you carry a sword.”
“There are plenty of eccentrics running around in this world today. I could just be one of them for all anyone knows.”
“But you’re not.”
He closed his eyes and wiped his face with his hands, then rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at her. Damn. Her lower lip was quivering again, and she was blinking her eyes as if to hold back tears.
He sighed and walked over to take hold of her shoulders. “Grace. I want you to use that intelligent brain of yours. Think, lass. Think hard about this from my perspective. If you were the one to have such a secret, would you be willing to chance losing what we’ve found together?”
She stared up into his eyes for the longest time. “You thought I would leave you if I knew.”
“Mary ran from MacBain.”
She stared at him again, her expression thoughtful. “You don’t think much of me, do you?” she whispered.
He pulled her to his chest so forcefully he heard the wind rush out of her. He didn’t care that he was probably squeezing her so hard she couldn’t breathe. By God, he had to make her understand.
“I will not allow this to come between us,” he growled into her hair. “You will not run away.”
She muttered something against his chest just as her little fist suddenly poked him in the ribs with surprising force. He let her go and stepped back. He was expecting another scorching glare for manhandling her, but what he got was another thoughtful look instead.
“How many times have I given you my blind trust this last week?” she asked, resting her hands on his chest. “How often did I do as you asked, without question, and put my welfare in your hands?”
He closed his fingers over hers to stop her from drawing distracting circles on his chest. “That’s different,” he snapped, knowing where this was leading and not liking it. He could feel his hard-won resistance beginning to crumble, and he didn’t like that, either.
“Blind trust, MacKeage,” she said, her mouth curling into a grin. “I think I’ve earned it.”
“It’s a moot point. You already know.”
“And I’m still here.”
Aye. She was still here. And she had said that she loved him after the incident at the pond. And she had also just made love to him like a woman possessed. He smoothed down her hair with an unsteady hand, taking a calming breath as he pulled her, very gently this time, against him. She cuddled into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever given anyone your trust before, have you?” she asked with a sigh against his chest. “It probably would have gotten you killed eight hundred years ago.”
He was silent to that, surprised that she could even comprehend such a thing, much less be willing to accept it. He rubbed her back in slow, gentle circles, savoring the feel of her in his arms, her warmth, her smell, her softness.
“I trust you,” he said, and realized that he did. It was a very liberating truth.
He especially trusted her to trust him, and that was probably the greatest gift two people could give each other. He set her away enough to look her in the eye. She was grinning like the village idiot.
“You’re going to have to be patient with me, lass. I might forget sometimes that I trust you.”
She patted his chest and left her hands there, drawing those distracting circles again. “I’ll try and remember that the next time I’m tempted to brain you with your sword.”
Grey decided it was time to get back to his original question. “So you don’t have a problem with marrying an eight-hundred-year-old man?” he asked.
“I don’t understand any of this,” she said, digging her nails playfully into his chest. “But I will by the time we get married.”
“And when will that be?” he asked, releasing the breath he’d unconsciously been holding.
“Summer Solstice.”
He stepped back so fast he bumped into a chair. “That’s four months away!”
“Do you know I have six brothers?” she asked softly, not even flinching at his shout.
“Six? I knew you and Mary had half brothers. Six?” he repeated. He wondered what kind of gauntlet he’
d have to run to get their approvals. And where her questions were leading now.
She nodded. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
His gut tightened. “Just Morgan now,” he told her.
Her mouth fell open. “Morgan is your brother?” she asked in a squeaky voice.
“My half brother. Different mothers.”
Her mouth still hanging open, she shook her head at him. “You two don’t act like brothers.”