Farlan turned and looked at Rory, brown eyes wide and grave. “I belong here in Glen Bronach. And there—that side—is the same. Rory, why canna all be one?”
Leith stepped up and gazed at Rory also. “Home is home. Home is where yer heart longs to be.”
The black-haired lad tried to scoff. He squared his shoulders and fisted his hands, and glared across the waters.
All he could see was the smallest lass’s hair, a nimbus of light.
Chapter Forty-Five
Rory woke slowlyby inches, the dream falling gradually away from him. He could tell where he was by the bliss that held him fast. His own chamber. The warmth of Saerla’s arms.
Even the troubling dream could not serve to destroy his sense of well-being. The peace of it ran far too deep.
He lay there thinking about that word.Peace. Both Farlan and Leith had refused to cease tossing it at him. As if it were some valuable commodity worth pursuing.
Naught could mean more than this woman in his arms.
That thought shocked him, because he’d determined long ago that naught could mean more than possessing all the glen.
Before he could hope to make sense of it, Saerla stirred against him. The air filling the chamber was not yet light, but he could see her, a small crease of a frown dancing between her brows. Trouble in her face.
He did not want her to wake so. He did not want her ever to know a day of trouble. Sadness. Distress. It was not possible, though, and not reasonable to hope he might keep her from it.
Her eyes opened, mist-blue as the sky over the loch on a rainy day, and she regarded him gravely. “Rory.”
Did she too seek to orient herself upon waking? To remember all they had shared together last night? To make sense of what had become of their world?
Nay, but there was no sense in it. He would never have believed a single person, a woman, could change everything.
She whispered, “I had a dream. About the three o’ ye—yoursel’, Farlan, and Leith. As young lads.”
Amazement touched him. “As did I.” But why should he be so surprised? He had breathed her air all night. Lived upon her heartbeat. Why should he not share her very dreams?
“We ran together in the glen. Down to the loch. Farlan—Farlan wanted to row across.”
“And I and my sisters stood on the other side.”
“Aye.”
“We could see ye. But we did no’ fear ye then. There was no hate in it.” She repeated, almost under her breath, “There was no hate in it.”
He did not want her to fear him now. He certainly did not want her to hate him. It struck him that he’d done all he could these past months to ensure she did both.
He said, telling himself as much as her, “’Twas but a dream.”
“Was it?” Soft with mist, her eyes met his again. “There are dreams, anddreams. Surely one shared maun mean something beyond the ordinary.”
“Nay,” he said shortly. Even though Farlan had grown up to make the passage across the loch and not come back to him. Even though Leith had opened his heart and admitted a part—the very center—of that place.
“Nay,” he repeated, and sat up, even though leaving her arms was the last thing he wanted to do. Though he wanted to kiss her soft lips, touch her tender breasts, and start the lovemaking all over again.
Lovemaking.
“I maun go.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. It would not do for anyone to see him leaving here early this morning.
Yet he could not make himself move any farther. He sat there seeking to convince his muscles to act against his longing, and felt her fingers on his back.
They brushed his skin gently, like the touch of a warm breeze, and circled the hole there, the one that would not quite heal.
