Page 17 of Her Highland Destiny

Cassandra followed likewise, helping him put up his clothing beside her own kirtle. “Because of magic.”

“Aye. Over ten years ago.” His jaw clenched.

An ache settled in Cassandra’s chest. If ten years had passed and he still mourned her, the affection between them must have been strong. “You must have loved her,” she offered weakly.

Immediately she regretted having said such words. She did not want to hear of his love for his wife, no matter how foolish it made her.

His brows furrowed and the creased lines of perpetual worry there deepened. “She understood me,” he answered slowly. “And I failed her.”

“What did magic have to do with it?” Cassandra was pressing now, practically begging for information, and yet she could not stop herself. This girlish infatuation with the dark knight, the man tied to the same fate as she, the draw between them, was too great to ignore. It wasn’t just that she wanted him. She needed him. The way one needed air.

He gazed down at her with his dark eyes and all the emotion roiling within. His hand lifted, palm up in silent invitation. He wanted her to touch him.

She lifted her fingers and their skin touched. Power shot through them both, firing through their veins simultaneously.

The memory swirled through her and consumed her thoughts. The crackle of magic, the helplessness, Allisandre’s scream while she clutched her belly. The hard look of accusation as she was dragged away. She blamed him.

Cassandra blinked and stared up into Fergus’ eyes with understanding of what made him hurt.

“It wasn’t your fault.” She squeezed his hand. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“I failed her.” The force of his disappointment blazed through her. It wasn’t love that cradled her to his soul, it was guilt.

His brow furrowed with pained concentration. “She’s dead because of me.”

“That was your son in her womb. And now he’s ill.”

Fergus pulled his hand from hers. “Aye.” He backed away from her, as though he meant to put as much distance between himself and the conversation as possible. “She died where they held her, after having given birth to him.”

“I will do anything to help you save him,” Cassandra vowed. “Anything.”

He looked away and she wished they were touching so she could read his thoughts. How she envied his ability.

“It isna always good to read minds,” he replied. “I canna keep from doing it. They fill my thoughts even when I dinna want them to.”

“Could you read my thoughts earlier?” she asked.

“Earlier,” he said in a gruff tone. “In the birlinn.”

“More recent than that.” She let her memory glide back to the image of him naked, to the heat of her desire even as her body had been so cold while she’d dressed. How she had wanted nothing more than for him to come to her, to touch her.

Her nipples were pleasantly hard and the rasp of the rough fabric against them caused sensitive little ripples of delight. The intimate place between her legs pulsed with mind-numbing need. She wanted his mouth on hers again. She wanted to see the front of his body, to touch it, to explore what the energy they shared between them might do when they were mated together.

“I can hear yer thoughts now,” he said tightly.

Touch me. Kiss me. Satisfy this ache within me. She called out to him with her mind. She willed him to take her and yet he did not move.

The cold shame of realization washed over her. He may not want. Her burgeoning confidence wobbled. How foolish to have not even considered—

“Ye’re a maiden, Cassandra.” His gaze raked over the massive dress she wore and settled on her breasts. “Ye’re a knight’s daughter.” There was more. Something he wasn’t saying.

“I have no hope for an advantageous marriage as my sisters do, nor do I desire one. This is my path. It has always been my path.”

“Cassandra.” Her name came out in a growl.

“The stone and us, we are tied together as one.” She put her hands to his chest.

He knew he would fail her too.