“That whatever happens now or in the future, whether I live or die—I will return to ye, Liadan. Somehow, I will find ye. Even if I have to search this world and the other world.”
She made a gusty sound in her throat. “That sounds like a promise.”
“It is. A promise. A vow. One the gods themselves will help me to keep.”
“Och, Ardahl, I will wait for ye—forever if I must. This also do I promise.”
“Aye, then, lass. Aye.”
His relief at the words given was overwhelmed when she moved into his arms, when her mouth met his. He went over backward with her atop him, a wondrous armful of warmth.
“But for now, Ardahl, we are together. And we have all the night long.”
Chapter Forty
The night didnot prove long enough, at least not in Liadan’s estimation. Even though she had her mouth all over Ardahl, kissed him from head to toe. Even though she begged him—begged—to give all of himself to her, that she might keep part of him. Even when she had him more than once inside her, filling her in a way she could not begin to understand, satisfying spirit as well as flesh.
Even though the scent of him became part of her. Morning would come. It was not enough. Especially if—
If this were to be their last night ever. For Liadan did not know what would happen. And she had learned that terrible things might come at any time.
They lay twined together, naked beside the hearth, when dawn came creeping under the door curtain, for they had never made it any distance from the fire. Ardahl dozed with her cradled against his chest, and she lay listening to his heart while the morning stole in.
Such a strong and yet fragile thing to keep a man alive, a heartbeat. So easy to stop. His, so essential to her world.
“Ardahl.” She spoke just to say his name.
“Um?”
“Your mam will be coming home soon. We should arise.”
“Aye. And I do not doubt I will be assigned to a place in the guard.”
“Away from me.”
“Away.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “Yet no’ away.”
She raised her head and looked into his face. His beloved face. His glorious face, so perfect, so dear to her with its sculpted planes and the sad, sweet smile hovering in his eyes.
“Tell me, how am I to behave when I meet ye beyond these walls? As if ye do not matter? As if I canna still taste ye on my lips? As if ye be no more than a brother to me?”
“Och, lass.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Ye will because ye must.”
“If I act indifferent to ye, if I turn away and behave coldly, ’tis only because I am afraid that if I look at ye, what I feel will show.”
“I understand.” A rueful smile quirked his lips. “I will remember.”
“Remember,” she urged. “Remember every part of this night.”
“Until I am dead, and beyond.”
“Do no’ speak that word.”
“Forgive me, lass. Death and a final parting do not exist between us.”
“So they do not! We have agreed. I belong to ye, Ardahl MacCormac, in a way I never imagined belonging to any man. My body does, as ye ha’ been assured this night. My life. My very spirit.”
“Och, Liadan, lass.” He closed his eyes for an instant as if absorbing the beauty of it. “Then wha’ have we to fear?”
