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“You find them all over Britain. Stone circles, like at Stonehenge.” I nod, vaguely remembering a series of stones standing like dominoes, some connected, some alone. “When the Samhain ritual is complete, the shielding effect spreads from each group of stones until the whole country is covered. This is the closest set of stones, so its effects are the most potent.”
And I remember Rory’s words so clearly as we wandered the grounds of his estate this summer to reach the mountain and spy the eagle chicks –This isn’t Lochkelvin forest. There is no magic here, only nature.I remember the calm sincerity in his tone, of me learning, unsettled, that he believes in magic for real.
And now I have to, too. Because it’s true. I can’t deny the silver rain scarring the sky, or when impossible boulders are mine to lift.
Magic is here, and that’s the truth.
I lick my lips. My heart is still racing wildly. “So if we were to go outside the island…?”
“It’d be raining as normal.” He gestures at the loch, where large circles spread across the water. “Here, we’re at our most protected. The ritual is about protection and this island is the heart of it.”
“Huh.” My mouth twists, and weakly I joke, “So I really didn’t need that rubber, yeah?”
Rory raises an unimpressed eyebrow at me. “I’m telling you grand secrets of the Lochkelvin estate that would freak out the rest of the world, and you’re asking about how you can use it for contraception?”
“Well, can you?” I fire back.
Flummoxed, Rory shrugs. “I… don’t think so. The ritual doesn’t trump biology. It just keeps Lochkelvin students safe.”
An idea hits me, bright and sparkling, and my chest fills with excitement. “Why don’t we hide Luke out here? At least until all this blows over?”
“Because it’s a remote island, little saint,” Rory drawls, “not the Beaumont Hotel.”
We lie in silence again, the silver streak shifting through the darkness like a group of tiny starlings. The way it shifts and changes, it looks like the aurora borealis quivering above us.
“This is mad,” I state quietly, seriously, and my tone finally sounds sincere. “You realize that, right?”
Rory cocks a dark blond eyebrow at me. “You thought I was mad when I went on about the ritual. Now you think I’m mad when I’m showing you the results. How can something be mad when it’s real?”
I dwell upon his question for a long time. All I know is that there is something deeply, preternaturally unnatural about what’s happening in the sky above us.
“Lochkelvin water, Lochkelvin stone,” I murmur.
“This is what I’m in charge of,” Rory continues hesitantly. “Understanding and knowing about this is what it means to be a lord of Lochkelvin. To be in charge of the elemental parts of the land we own. The secrets we have to hide.” He pauses, his gaze drifting to my lips. “It’s what you’d marry into.”
My stomach swoops. TheM-word.
Rory’s brows furrow, a pinch appearing at the bridge of his nose. “Or at least, I thought marriage would be necessary. A legally binding contract for you to become one of us. But if you can see this as clearly as I do… and youdidlift that boulder at the Highland Games…” His gaze flicks up to me, his silver eyes pinning me harder than hands against wrists ever could. “Well. Perhaps we’re already bound. Perhaps something of great importance has already been exchanged without my noticing.”
It’s true that Luke’s the most romantically minded of the chiefs. But it’s when Rory says something like this in that soft, reverent tone that I think he’s coming for Luke’s entirely metaphorical crown. It’s why I have trouble accepting Rory as the hardened, cruel prince that he so likes to pretend he is.
He strokes my cheek gently. I hold his palm there. “Did you have a good time?” he asks, and I get that he’s asking about tonight.
I nod, the memory of tonight filling me with pleasure. “You?” For some reason, I feel shyer about this than in discussing crushing grief and strange magic rituals.
“Of course,” Rory says with a smirk. “Best use of a man’s time.”
I roll my eyes. “Best use of a man,” I snark, and Rory blows out a warm breath of laughter, making a face like I’m not completely wrong.
His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “This isn’t just about me anymore,” he points out. “Is it?” It’s phrased like a question but it’s spoken like an answer. “It’s about all of us. It’s about you — and all of us.”
He’s right. All five of us together tonight had been explosive. And maybe it was the magic of this island, or maybe it was an altogether different kind of magic, but I find a teasing smirk crawling up my face as I ask Rory, “I’m sorry — is your ego crying?”
But Rory isn’t teasing. He looks more serious than I’ve ever known — more serious, even, than when he’d spoken of his grief, or when he’d revealed the truth of the ritual. He gives me a soft look and in a low voice whispers, “Is it bad I’ve never been happier?”
My heart clenches. He’s being fully open with me, all of his hopes and fears and insecurities blasted and exposed for me to pick through and cherish.
I shake my head, scared my voice won’t work. “So why don’t we just keep this as it is? Why don’t we say fuck the world and leave it behind?” I tuck a strand of metallic hair behind Rory’s ear as he listens intently. “I don’t think the rest of it matters — chasing power, not having power. I think we’re good enough as we are. Because when we’re together… we create power. Love. We’re kings and queens of our own realm. Nothing else matters more.”
Rory regards me in contemplation. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe we don’t need anything more than this. It’s so different from how I’ve been raised, to always have ambition, to always be competitive, to be the best. I’m expected to competeandcome out on top every time. But… I feel complete already, now. So perhaps there is merit in saying no. In fucking off out of here, all of us together.LetBritain fall. It’s what the rest of the country seemingly wants.” He turns back to the glittering sky. “We can go to your America,” he adds, sounding entertained by the idea. “Get a ranch in the country, rural fuckingIdahoor wherever, just be together… Raise some stallions.” A large smile splits his face. “We can call it Stallions For Stallions. We’ll sling toothpicks and chew guns and drink in…saloons.”
I laugh at this mixed-up daydream. “You have a very quaint, old-fashioned view of America.”
“Then you’ll have to correct it for me,” Rory says pointedly, and his meaning is clear: what we have — all of us — is long-term. It’s trips-across-the-Atlantic long-term. It may even be meeting-your-mom long-term, though the idea of that still freaks me out rather than thrills me. The point is, we have a future together, a future that involves getting to know my heritage.
It’s quite the shift from someone who addressed me asYank bitchlast year.
