Page 13 of Highland Warrior

He needed no further demands from her, and his hands found her hips, drawing her close until there was no space left between them. The world fell away until all that remained was the wild rhythm of their hearts, beating in time, and their names murmured on each other’s lips in exquisite release.

He held her close, the warmth of her body seeping into his own until he couldn’t tell if the trembling was from cold or from everything he hadn’t meant to feel. As they lay in the grass, completely sated from their heady romp, Natalie turned to Ian.

“Can we take a walk and talk?”

Ian nodded, and they dressed slowly. The seriousness of her request tied up his tongue.

The loch stretched before him, silver and still, the sky streaked with gray and gold as if heaven itself mourned the coming loss. Wind off the water carried the bite of winter, rippling through the reeds and snapping at the edge of Natalie’s cloak. She stood near the shore, small against the vastness, her hair whipped wild by the gusts.

Ian’s boots crunched through the frost as he approached. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her back against him and pretend the world beyond the mountains didn’t exist. But he stopped a few paces away, hands fisting at his sides. “Tell me, lass.”

“I can’t stay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Every part of me wants to but…”

“So it’s decided then?” he asked. His voice sounded steadier than he felt.

She didn’t turn. “I have to go back, Ian. I can’t just vanish. My parents… my friends…” Her words faltered, carried off by the wind. “They’ll think I’m dead.”

Her admission hit him like a punch to the gut, and with it a wave of disappointment followed. His brother Donell had found happiness and love through magic. Ian had sworn never to believe in either. Yet, with this strange, golden-haired woman in his bed, even disbelief began to sound like a lie. And now that it was about to end, he knew it for the truth. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in the clean, cold air.

When he spoke again, the ache slipped through despite him. “And yet your heart is here.”

At that, she faced him. The look in her eyes nearly broke him—love and pain tangled together. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s what makes it so hard.”

He stepped forward until the space between them was gone. Lifting his hands, he cupped her face, his thumbs tracing the soft line of her jaw. The thought of her fading from this world made his chest tighten like a vise. “Then go,” he said quietly. “Set your world to rights. But know this, there will always be a place for ye here. For as long as I draw breath.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “What if it doesn’t work again? What if I can’t find my way back?”

“Then I’ll come for ye,” he told her. It was not a boast, not a promise of magic, simply the truth. He’d move hell and earth if he had to. “Across time, across death itself if I must.”

A laugh escaped her, thin and trembling. “You’re infuriating.”

He leaned close until their foreheads touched, her breath mingling with his. “Aye,” he murmured. “But ye love me for it.”

She gave a slight, helpless nod. The wind surged around them, whipping her cloak like wings, carrying the scent of heather and peat and something bright he’d come to think of as hers. For a heartbeat, the world held still—the loch, the hills, even the pulse of his own heart.

Then she kissed him.

He met her halfway, his hands sliding to her waist, memorizing the feel of her. The kiss was soft but desperate, filled with everything they couldn’t say aloud. When she drew back, his vision blurred.

“Until we meet again, my love.”

The air shimmered, bending like heat on stone. Light flared, wind roared, and before he could reach for her again, she was gone.

The loch fell silent, and Ian stood alone, the cold gnawing through his boots, the echo of her kiss still warm on his lips.

He looked down at the empty space where she had stood and whispered, “I’ll find ye, lass. Even if I have to chase the sun through time itself.”

10

Natalie paced her tiny apartment in Boston.

Outside her window, the city hummed. Sirens, footsteps, a dog barking somewhere down the block. It should have felt familiar, grounding. Instead, the noise only made the silence inside her louder.

The hum of the refrigerator startled her. The walls felt too smooth, too white, the air too sterile after weeks of peat smoke and heather. Even the city light seemed artificial, missing the honest darkness of the Highlands.

She ran her fingers along the curve of the silver brooch on her nightstand. Its surface was cool, but when she closed her hand around it, warmth pulsed faintly beneath her skin. For a moment, she swore she smelled peat smoke, that sharp, earthy scent that clung to Ian’s plaid and lingered on her hair.

Maybe it had all been a dream. A fevered escape from loneliness and too many late nights with a glass of wine and an empty apartment. But the thought didn’t sit right. Dreams faded. What she’d felt there hadn’t.