The idea of carrying Iain’s child . . . of having his children . . . filled me with a great sense of fresh purpose. But it surprised me. I’d only ever had one goal. A singular objective had governed the entire course of my life: unlocking history’s secrets that I inherently knew lay in wait for me. An imaginary magnet had drawn me along a clear journey toward archaeological discovery, but some unexplainable force had plucked me off that path and dropped me onto a new one. And the detoured road seemed paved with infinite possibilities.
The expression he held—a fragile smile, barely raised eyebrows—gave me something more, something he radiated and I absorbed . . . hope. A family born of his seed would strengthen my developing roots. No longer would I be a wanderer in a foreign land. Our essences from the past and future blended together would irrevocably become our present.
“Isa, you’ve had a rough adjustment with the magick snatchin’ you from your home, imprisonin’ you here. I dinna know that would happen. But what I need you to know is that you’re everythin’ to me. I had no idea I’d been lookin’ for you all my life . . . ’til I found you.”
He gently kissed my forehead, captivating me with his heartfelt words.
“My life is enriched now that you’re in it. I doona know how I survived before you and have no idea what I’d do if I lost you. Hopefully, the joy of your new life will replace the loss of your old one.”
A tight knot choked the base my throat at his candid profession of love. No Hallmark card had anything on my man. I struggled to reply, overwhelmed by the most profoundly beautiful thing I’d ever heard. “Iain, it already has. You mean more to me than everything in my past. Your people, this place, and all that you are have laid claim to my heart. I don’t want to leave. I’ll never need to go back home . . .” I leaned forward, brushing my lips across his, whispering, “Because I’m already there.”
Iain threw his body over mine, nearly knocking the wind out of me with a strong embrace. I wrapped my arms around him, gripping him tight, emotions welling up inside of me at the rugged warrior who’d ripped his chest wide open, exposing his beating heart. Air barely entered my crushed lungs, but I didn’t care. Elation sustained me. He needed me like I needed him—like the very oxygen I’d soon need to breathe.
My budding love for the man in my arms blossomed, the sensation of being lost in time and space fading away, no longer affecting me. Any last threads of hope to return had been severed by my need to stay. Every part of me belonged here. With Iain. He owned my body, heart, and soul.
With my gentle push, we rolled to the side. My lips grazed up his neck to the shell of his ear. “Nothing could tear me away now, Iain.”
I resolved in my heart that nothing ever would.
CHAPTER Twelve
Life threw me curveballs when I least expected them. Ten days ago, I had been thrown the pitch of the century, and yet, I’d cracked that ball into the stratosphere.
I opened my arms and tilted my face to the sky, basking in rays of warm sunshine as morning’s splendor greeted me. On the wings of indescribable joy, I soared high into the clouds. For the first time in my academically cloistered life, I’d fallen in love.
The irrevocable change that had seeded deep inside burst forth, radiating into the entire world. Logic told me nothing outside my personal self had changed, and yet . . . everything had. Colors shone more vividly, each a brilliant, distinct hue; scents held greater depth, teasing my nose in sensual invitation; an ordinary breeze that misted across sun-warmed skin turned extraordinary, skittering invigorating chills over my body.
I inhaled deeply, detecting Iain’s natural woodsy cologne, which hit me a microsecond before he did as he wrapped his warmth around me from behind. I squealed, turning in his arms.
“Iain!” I kissed him soundly. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have clan officiating to perform?”
He laughed. “I handle disputes when needed. I’m teachin’ them to deal with each other first.”
A leather satchel hung from his shoulder. I glanced toward the stables and saw Dubhar had been saddled, meaning a long journey. A dozen horses had been outfitted, the energized animals pawing at the ground. Armed soldiers gathered around them, strapping on supplies.
“You’re leaving.”
Iain captured my lips in a brief kiss, smacking my ass through the layers of my skirt. “First, I’ve a surprise for you. But, aye. We’ve assembled a huntin’ party. The time’s come to find our missin’ guardsmen. I plan to unleash hell on whatever force delayed their return.”
Fingall, Gawain, and Seamus had been missing for a week now, with no word of their situation. “Please be safe.” I dropped my gaze, my fingers tracing a raised white line along his forearm. “I’m quite happy with the number of scars you currently have on your body.”
He hooked a finger under my dropped chin and gently brought my lips up to meet his. With a tender kiss, he soothed my worry. “A scratch from a fight is naught but a souvenir. I’ll be givin’ plenty before they ever have a chance to mark me. Come, I’ve somethin’ to give you.”
Iain led me to a stone addition built onto the back side of the kitchen. We stepped into a cool, dark room, and Iain opened the connecting door, watching me intently as a familiar rich scent floated in.
I gasped in surprise. “Coffee!”
He grinned, lifting a steaming ceramic bowl from a kitchen table. “Aye. You like? Mairi fussed over you drinkin’ out of a bowl, but I insisted.”
Like a parched wanderer at the end of a desert odyssey, I seized the offered bowl and took a coveted sip. Although it was no Jamaican Blue Mountain, the aromatic drink had a deep buttery flavor. I loved it from the very first taste.
I explored the cold store, enjoying my first coffee in almost two weeks. Huge burlap sacks and wooden barrels lined the walls. As I leisurely perused the inventory in the ten-by-ten space, distinct aromas of spices tickled my nose. A large bag, lying open on a stack of others, held dark brown coffee beans.
“Where did you get access to all this?”
He smirked. “Weel, a few late crusaders stole a bit of Arab treasure for dear King Henry. While on a ‘diplomatic’ trip to the English royal court, we liberated the crusaders of their burden—in totality.”
“Awww . . . my very own java pirate.”
I peered at my man above the rim of my chic medieval coffee mug. There stood a warrior whose face had transformed from its usual “hard and menacing” to ruggedly handsome with a single grin at having pleased me. With his arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe, his entire bearing reminded me of the afternoon I arrived here. Only instead of seeing an adversary in a kill-the-messenger way, I saw the Highlander who stood before me for what he was—the man of my dreams.
As I sipped the aromatic brew, my gaze drifted to an open bag that contained a rusty powder. I bent down, inhaling the sweet scent of cinnamon. With a pinch of my finger, I stole from the stash, dropping the spice into my cup. I swirled it in, and the next slow sip rolled decadent flavors over my tongue. Something so simple gave such immense pleasure. My gaze trailed below the open bean sack to count five more burlap-type bags. “So I guess we have coffee until the supply runs out.”
“Woman, I would travel to the ends of the Earth to bring that smile to your face.”
I stepped into his side, wrapping my free arm around his slender hips, and beamed up at him. “Iain, all this face ever needs to smile is you.”