He traced the shape of her cheekbone, letting his finger trail over her chin, then down the length of her throat.
He halted and stared at the empty piece of leather tied loosely around her neck.
The cherrywood burl was gone.
Morgan turned to look at the pool. The waterfall dropped from the cliff at the far end, sending a cloud of mist into the air that settled over the entire grotto. The water gently rippled with floating stardust that glittered and winked in the unearthly light that scattered its rainbow through the mist.
The magic was spent, the burl destroyed.
And Mercedes’ life had been saved in the process.
Morgan turned back to his wife, continuing his inspection with a still trembling hand, needing to assure himself that she really was okay. His gaze went immediately to where the gaping wound had once been, but he saw only smooth, milky-white flesh that carried just the hint of a blush from her own inner heat. His hands settled around her waist, and Morgan closed his eyes with relief.
She was perfect. Flawless. Completely healed.
With a sharp intake of breath, Morgan pulled back, staring at Mercedes’ body. He reached out, lifted her right hand, and turned her palm toward him.
No scars. Nothing but pink, healthy skin. He looked back at her left arm, then turned her just enough to see her back. There was no puckered skin. Nothing but flawless flesh.
Mercedes was completely healed.
Completely.
Morgan sat down on the ground and scrubbed at his face, shaking his head and grinding his palms into his eyes.
Now how in hell was he supposed to explain this?
His wife was going to wake up to find herself lying in this magical gorge, completely naked and flawless. It was bad enough he wouldn’t be able to explain why she hadn’t died from her bullet wound. But her old scars?
Morgan twisted to see the scar he had on his shoulder from a battle that had been waged more than eight hundred years ago. And he turned more, to feel for the long ridge of flesh on his waist, where a sword had nearly cut him in half.
They, too, were gone. Disappeared.
He looked out over the still shimmering water and shook his head again. Was he dreaming? Why hadn’t thedrùidh’s magic taken his old scars away the other day in the stream, when it had healed his thigh?
The light had been green then, not the pure, blinding white of today. The magic was more powerful here. Special. The strength of Daar’s thick old staff flowed into this grotto and was soaked up with the mist to nourish the towering trees.
It also had nourished both himself and Mercedes and given them perfect bodies.
And now he was left with the task of explaining to this modern-born woman just what had happened to her. And to do that, he would have to explain his own magical existence here.
Chapter Nineteen
She was dead.
She remembered the force of the bullet slamming into her back. Remembered falling against Morgan. Remembered the disbelief, the pain, and the regret that she would not get to spend a long and happy life with this man.
She’d died instead.
But Sadie didn’t know if she’d landed in heaven or hell.
Or maybe this was the purgatory she’d heard about.
It was hot. She was hot. But she was in the most beautiful place she’d ever seen.
Towering cliffs of gray-speckled granite formed a half-circle around her. Mist hung overhead in a suspended cloud, blanketing her in muggy summer heat. The roar of water falling from a great height echoed off the tall granite walls, and she was bathed in a fog-amplified white light.
She still had all five of her senses. She could hear, see, feel the tickle of moss beneath her, smell the warmth of the mist-soaked spruce mingled with pine. And she could even taste Morgan lingering in the back of her mouth.
Sadie slowly rolled over to face the sound of the falling water and widened her eyes as her gaze traveled up and up and up, following the stream of crystalline water that appeared to be shooting out of the side of the cliff like a giant faucet turned all the way on.
She scrambled to her knees and stood up, turning in a circle with her head thrown back, looking at the cathedral-like room surrounding her. Spruce and pine and oak and cedar rose so high over her head that their tops disappeared into the mist. Ferns grew so lush in long-feathered spikes that they looked prehistoric. The moss she’d been lying on was as thick as sheep’s wool and so green it was almost fluorescent.
It should have been dark from the abundant canopy of growth, but there was light shimmering everywhere, the source coming from the water instead of the sky.
Sadie raised her right hand to brush the hair off her forehead, only to halt with her hand suspended in front of her face. She stared at her palm, at the perfect flesh that should have been covered with ugly scars.
She looked down at her body and gasped again at the realization that she was naked.
She instinctively covered herself, folding her hands over her breasts.
And that was when Sadie noticed her arm.
The scars on the inside of her left arm were gone.
She twisted enough to see her back. The wide, jagged patchwork of skin grafts was gone.
She tucked her chin and peered at her right shoulder. There was no scar peering back at her. Pink, flawless skin covered her back from her shoulder to her waist.
Sadie folded her legs and sat down, covering her face with her hands.
Shewas dead.
She would never see Morgan again. He was back in their valley—all alone, mourning her, cursing his inability to protect her.
Sadie pulled her hands from her face just enough to look down at her hand. What was the point of having such a perfect body if Morgan was not here to enjoy it with her?
Sadie threw herself facedown on the sand and burst into tears. She didn’t care anymore that she’d been scarred. Better to have flaws and have Morgan than to be perfect without him.
Sadie cried loud, wrenching tears, mourning all that she’d lost. She’d come to this beautiful place, becoming beautiful herself, to spend eternity alone.
And that was when Sadie decided she’d landed in hell.
She lifted her head at the thud of something hitting the ground. She looked up to see Morgan, fully clothed, standing beside where the pool spilled out between the towering trees. At his feet was her bundle of clothes and her boots, his pack, and his sword.
Sadie jumped up and ran toward him but came to a stop several paces away when she noticed the look on his face.
He was as pale as snow, the skin drawn back on his cheeks in tight lines of tension. His eyes were the color of winter spruce, and his fists were clenched at his sides.
Sadie threw herself at him. She kissed his face, his hair, his mouth, whimpering her approval when his arms tightened around her.
“I think we’re dead,” she whispered into his ear. “I’m sorry, Morgan, that we’ve died, but I’m so happy you’re here with me. I love you so much,” she continued, kissing him again.
It took Sadie a full minute to realize he wasn’t kissing her back. And that he’d gone even stiffer the moment she’d started to speak.
He didn’t know yet, that they’d both died. He didn’t understand what had happened to them.
She unwrapped her legs from his waist and stood, dancing away from him and twirling in circles with her hands out.
“Look, Morgan. I’m whole. I’m as naked as the day I was born and just as perfect.” She spun to present her back to him, showing off her flawless skin. “The scars are gone, Morgan. I’m me again,” she said with a laugh over her shoulder.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He didn’t so much as blink.
Sadie rushed back to him and unbuckled his belt. “Let me show you,” she said, unsnapping his pants and pulling them down to his knees. “You’re going to be perfect, too.”