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“Are you surprised, after that night?” She surprised herself by blushing, hot color rushing to her cheeks as she remembered the raw, frenzied mating.
He began to laugh, gripping her hips to hold her in place. His head arched back and he howled with laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Grace demanded, frowning down at him. She was glad she was pregnant, but she didn’t think it was amusing.
“All these years,” he gasped, tears of mirth shining in his eyes. “I’ve held to my oath, hating the responsibility, holding myself apart from the things another man would expect—and now I’ve no choice! Thank God!”
The words echoed in the room and he stilled, the laughter gone as if it had never been. “Grace,” he whispered.
She touched his face, her fingers tracing the beloved lines. “I don’t know,” she whispered in reply. “You told me yourself, we can’t know.” Perhaps she had been sent to him, the pain in both their lives healed by the magic that brought them together, the fever and obsession and devotion neither of them could resist.
He pulled her down, cupping her face in both hands as he kissed her, long and slow and very thoroughly. “I won’t question fate,” he murmured. “Mayhap I question your sanity, leaving behind the life ye did—I read the books ye left. It is a truly wondrous time.”
“So is this time, in a different way. You are here, and that’s wondrous enough for me. You’re the Guardian; you had to come back, you have to remain. So I came back too. It was an easy decision, once—once I had said good-bye.”
“To your husband?” His tone was understanding. Niall knew what it was to lose those he loved.
“To him, and my brother. I’ve no family left there. But the start of a new family is growing inside me, and I want to be with you… if you want me.”
“Want ye?” he growled. “Grace—I wanted ye months before ye finally came to me. I burned for ye. How could I defend myself against a lass who wasn’t there? If ’tis the words you want, then aye, I love you. Did ye doubt it? After I found ye wi’ the Treasure, instead of killing ye as was my duty, I came near to killing myself loving ye! I’m glad ye came to stay, because I willna let ye go again no matter your wishes.”
Startled, she realized that Niall’s dereliction of duty was indeed unprecedented; why hadn’t she realized that at the time? “You loved me then?”
“Of course,” he said calmly. “Now, lass, I think ye should have your way wi’ me.”
Having her way with him took quite a long time. Alice brought food to them that night, grinning at the way Niall sprawled in his big chair, modestly covered by his plaid, but his eyes heavy-lidded and drowsy with an abso
lute surfeit of physical satisfaction.
Grace lay on his lap, wearing only his shirt. The garment would have reached her knees, if Niall had left it alone, but he seemed to be incapable of doing so. If he wasn’t feeding her or holding a cup of wine to her lips, he was stroking her thighs, sometimes reaching a bit higher.
Her stomach was peaceful now, lulled by the plain, unseasoned food. She had had one bout with nausea, right after Niall had dragged her down to the great hall and they had pledged themselves in marriage to each other in front of all the residents of Creag Dhu, and everyone had insisted on toasting them. The second cup of spicy mulled wine had been too much. And after that, of course everyone had to toast the coming bairn.
The wine she drank now was weak and sweet, but added to the events and exertions of the day, she was exhausted and sleepy. She rested her head on his shoulder, her heart peaceful.
When a section of the wall beside the fireplace began moving, Grace merely blinked at it, thinking the wine must be stronger than she had thought. Then a man strode through the opening and stopped still, his pupils flaring. “I sent you a message,” he said in French.
“Aye,” Niall said drowsily in Scots. “Ye did. Ye waste your time speaking French, for she does too. And Latin. And Greek. If ye’ve something private to say, best do so in Gaelic; she can’t speak that yet.”
“Why is she here?”
“Why, because I married her.” Niall smiled at Grace, his thumb tracing her lower lip. “Sweetings, my brother Robert. He’s king of Scots. Robert, this is Grace, my wife and the mother of my bairn.”
Robert looked startled, Grace even more so. She scrambled off Niall’s lap and stood before the king of Scotland wearing nothing more than her husband’s shirt, her legs and feet bare, her hair hanging loose past her hips. She blushed.
Robert the Bruce was a big, powerfully built man, though not as tall as Niall. He was ruggedly attractive, probably approaching fifty in age, and wore the look of a warrior. He eyed Grace with some appreciation, his gaze lingering on her legs. Niall scowled and came to his feet, placing himself in front of her.
“Ye’ve told her everything?” Robert asked disapprovingly.
“Nay, she already knew.” Niall reached back and made certain Grace was still modestly tucked behind him. “Would ye like wine?”
Robert began to laugh. “Ye rogue,” he said with exasperated fondness. “Ye kill a clan chieftain, decimate the clan, and ask me would I like wine? The nobles are demanding that I raise an army to rid Scotland of the renegades of Creag Dhu.”
“Huwe attacked me,” Niall said, his voice hardening. “And I freed all those Hays who survived the battle.”
“Aye, I know. I came only to ask—to beg, and me a king!—that ye try not to shed more blood for a time.”
“If ’tis in my power, I’ll live a verra peaceful life from this day onward,” Niall said. “Will ye wish me happiness?”
