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“Avert yer eyes, or I’ll pluck them out,” Malcolm growled harshly, ripping off his robes and spreading them around Sean’s perfect skin.
With a few guffaws, the Vikings complied.
“Malcolm,” Kenna croaked, pushing herself up on weak elbows.
Her blood still stained the stones, but through the blemished hole in her dress, new, healthy skin appeared. Morgana had been able to heal her, and Malcolm had never doubted that she would, even for a moment.
Shame settled in his gut, though not regret. “Kenna, I—”
“I forgive you,” she interrupted.
“I don’t!” Niall stood, his enormous shoulders taut and ready for a fight. “How dare you allow my mate to come to harm. I’m going to rip your limbs off with my bare—”
“Look at them, my love.” Kenna admonished. Struggling to push herself up for a second before her mate leaned down and lifted her. “Would you not have done the same for me in such an instance?”
Niall’s hard blue eyes softened down at his mate. “I’d slay every last soul alive if you asked me to.”
Kenna rested her head on his shoulder. “Then how can you be angry?”
Niall’s brows drew together, but he was silent as he studied Malcolm and Sean, as if restructuring a few things in his brain.
Bael took Morgana into his arms, as well, sharing a silent and desperate embrace with his mate. Keeping a hand locked with his, she went to the Grimoire and retrieved it, unsurprised that it was completely intact.
“You heard what the Horseman said.” Morgana ran fingers across the pages. “It is our descendants who will be the prophesied Four. The de Morays who will… who will break the Seals.”
Malcolm nodded. “I’ll do everything I can to make certain that they are ready when the time comes, to defeat the Horsemen if need be.”
“Is such a thing possible?” Sean murmured.
Malcolm blinked down at him, his heart too full for him to form any words for an answer.
He looked almost like the goddess, herself, swathed in his robes of green and gold, his ebony curls flowing over Malcolm’s own colors.
He knew he looked like nothing more than an average man left in only his kilt and tunic. Stripped of all artifice, pomp, and duty, he could be only a man. A man who devoted his everything to Sean. A man who could give him what he’d given no other living soul. Could do what he’d done for none other.
Slowly, he bent his knees, lowering himself until they rested on the cold stones and he was kneeling at Sean’s feet.
A King, and yet his loyal subject.
“Though I rule this land, I know it will not be thus forever.” He took the trembling hand, his blood quickening at the adoration shining down at him from Sean’s eyes. That indefinable spark passing between them as it had in the very beginning. “Our ways will die, but our line never will. Do ye ken how I know that?”
Wordlessly, Sean shook his head, as fresh tears spilled from glittering eyes.
“Because my worship of ye is the most sacred magic there is, and if de Moray progeny is raised in a home with such love, then they will have every chance to write their own destiny.”
“As we have.” Sean smiled.
“No, mo ghaol, my love.” He rose and gathered him close. “Ye were always my destiny. And I’ll not see that change. Ever.”
About the Author
Kerrigan Byrne is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of several novels in both the romance and mystery genre.
She lives on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington with her wonderful husband, two Rottweiler mixes and a very cuddly cat. When she's not writing and researching, you'll find her kayaking, on the beach, eating, drinking, shopping, and attending live comedy, ballet, or too many movies.
Kerrigan loves to hear from her readers! To contact her or learn more about her books, please visit her website: www.kerriganbyrne.com
When She’s Shy
