A Highlander Christmas (20 page)

She was built so perfectly and lush, with full breasts and hips. The Sidhe females were tall and lean, small breasted and narrow hipped. The males of his race had to challenge each other for them, and the male who won spent the rest of the night proving his worthiness to be her mate. It was as much a battle of wills as it was pleasure. But this, with Isobel, was true magic. She was soft and feminine, yielding to his skills. Her desire and acceptance made him feel more virile and masculine than his hardest-won conquest—a conquest he could no longer remember.

As he looked down at Isobel lying beneath him, he realized that this would forever be his, this pleasure, this lazy and perfect loving. And this woman. Mortal or not, she was the only female he wanted.

Daegan reached for her hands and pinned them in his, holding them above her head. Her breasts brushed his mouth, teasing him with taut, coral nipples. His erection was riding hard between her soft thighs, driving him forward, urging him to part her. To take her in an act of raw possession.

He gave in, parting her with his shaft, allowing himself to slide along her, feeling the slickness of her desire covering him. Her tongue came out to wet her lips and he captured it with his mouth, imitating what his body would soon be doing inside her.

And then he was inside her, filling her as she continued to tremble, his strong hands fitting her thighs against his waist as he pushed farther and farther into her body.

Isobel moaned his name, unable to disguise the desire—God help her, the love in her voice.

“Say my name again,
muirnín,
” he whispered.

“Daegan,” she whimpered as he pushed past the last remaining barrier of her virginity.

And then he was moving atop her, the muscles of his shoulders and arms bunching and tightening with his exertion. His strokes were slow and intentional, forcing her to take all of him, and she did, took everything he had to offer and gave what she could of herself, including her budding love. She didn’t know how it could happen so fast. It was impossible. But anything was possible in dreams, she reminded herself, even making love on a bed in the middle of an enchanted forest!

Wrapping her legs around his lean waist, Isobel followed him, rising up to meet his thrusts. There was no pain, only pleasure as he loved her, held her tight and kissed her cheek.

“My God, it’s never been like this,” he groaned into her ear. “You feel so good. So right.”

Isobel felt his seed start to spill inside her. His breath came in harsh pants as he rested his head between her breasts. Isobel drank in the scent of her perfume mixed provocatively with Daegan’s spicy scent. Thinking he was finished, she hugged him tight, but he rolled with her, bringing her atop him.

He smiled as she squeaked in surprise, “You didn’t think I was done with you?”

She moaned, unable to say anything when his fingers circled the top of her sex. The strange vibration she felt when she touched him was magnified when he touched her there.

“Come for me, Isobel.” He encouraged her in a husky whisper before he captured her breast and began to suckle. The rhythm of his finger and his mouth synched, and her hips rocked. He was still hard and filling her deep as he showed her how to move.

She clutched at his shoulders and cried out, unable to bear the sensations rushing at her, and all along he brought her higher, wouldn’t let her stop or push his hand away. Then she was trembling and shaking and clutching him wildly, hoping she would never awaken from this dream.

Isobel snuggled up to Daegan and closed her eyes as he trailed his fingers along her naked shoulder. She thought her dream would have ended by now, yet here she was, still in the forest, and in bed with Daegan.

“How do you feel?” he asked, and she smiled at the concern she heard in his voice.

“Alive,” she murmured, purring like a well-f ed kitten.

“I fear I was too rough for your first time. I went too fast, took what I wanted before thinking of you, and what you desired.”

“I got what I wanted,” she said as she yawned, “you making love to me.”

He gathered her close and squeezed her tight. Her hands wrapped around his waist, and she marveled at the strength in him. “What’s this?” she asked as her fingertips brushed a ragged edge in his side. Pulling away, she saw the angry red mark below his nipple.

“Do you not remember the arrow?” he asked, puzzled.

“The arrow hit the stag,” she murmured, drawing away from him. “In the same spot.”

“Isobel,” he whispered, reaching for her. “Do not be afraid.”

“What are you?” she cried, kicking at him from beneath the fur blankets. She wanted to wake up—
now
.

“I am Daegan, Prince of the Sidhe. You are in Annwyn.
My
world.”

The breath left her lungs as she grappled with what he was saying. “No,” she cried, trying to wake up from this dream that was turning into a nightmare. “I don’t believe—”

He caught her face in his hands. “You must believe. Look around you, Isobel. You’re not at home, in your bed. You’re in my world.
My
bed.”

“This is just a dream. You’re not real. The Otherworld isn’t real.”

“Does this not feel real?” he asked, kissing her. “Was it not real when we were making love?”

It had certainly felt real. But how was any of this possible? It wasn’t logical.

“There are many things that mortals do not understand, Isobel. My kind is only one of the mysteries out there.”

“You’re an animal,” she gasped, her gaze dropping to the scar left by the arrow.

“I am a Sidhe who can, by birth and magic, shift into the shape of a white hart.”

“You’re . . . you’re not a man.”

“No. But I feel as a man feels. I hurt as a man does when the woman he desires, the woman he has loved for so long, rejects him.”

Some of her fear and disbelief left her. If his words were untrue, would she have seen the sincerity, the hurt shining in his violet eyes?

“You don’t have pointy ears,” she blurted out as she stared at him. “And you’re not small.”

He smiled and brushed her hair over her shoulder. “Pixies are small, as are brownies. They’re mischief makers. I am of the Sidhe, a fairy race that looks mortal. I do not have pointy ears, or wings. But I can weave magic.” He waved his hand to encompass the grove. “I used magic tonight to make it warm for you. I placed an enchantment spell on your clan pin so that you will return to me and these woods night after night.”

“Why?” she asked in a breathless whisper, her heart beating madly in her chest.

“Because I have loved you for many years, Isobel, and have only been waiting until the right moment to reveal myself.”

“And why is this the right time?”

“I could not bear to see you married to another. Not when I want you as my wife.”

Isobel swallowed hard. He was everything she had dreamed of in a husband. He loved her, he was considerate and passionate. There would be pleasure with him. But even if she could bring herself to believe his story, what future could there be for them? He was magical. And she was a mortal without any special powers. She could never have him for her husband, not really.

He must have known what she was thinking, because he reached for her and brought her into his arms. “I have taken your virginity, Isobel. That makes you mine. That is the way of mortals, isn’t it?”

“No, it is not. I am the Earl of St. Clair’s. The contract is already drawn up. There is nothing that can stop it.”

With a growl, he pulled away from her, his eyes black. “Do you think a mere mortal can stop me from having you? I am stronger and smarter than any human. My magic knows no bounds. Nothing could stop me from keeping you here, with me.”

“No,” she cried. She was well afraid now, afraid of being trapped in something she did not understand.

“You’re mine,” he raged, reaching for her hands. “And a Sidhe never gives up what is rightfully his.”

“I am no pawn, Daegan, for either man or Sidhe.”

“You’re bound to me, not by magic, Isobel, but by love. Only allow yourself to admit the truth.”

“It can never be, Daegan. I’m sorry!”

“Isobel!” he cried, reaching for her but clutching only thin air. She seemed to be floating away, and the last thing she saw was Daegan on his knees calling for her to come back.

With a jolt, she awakened in her own bed. The dawn was breaking, the sun an orange disc rising slowly above the white clouds.

She was awake. Alone. Dressed, she realized, in her nightgown and wrapper. The remnants of her dream came back to her, and she realized that her breasts felt swollen and her thighs were stiff, as if she had been in the saddle too long. And then she saw it. The small, circular red stain on her nightgown, and knew her night with Daegan was no dream. It had been real. She had given her virginity to an immortal who could never be hers.

She cried then, her feelings finally unguarded. What was she to do now? How would she explain her loss of virginity to St. Clair?

Even as she thought it, she knew she could not marry the earl. As strange and as impossible as it sounded, she loved Daegan. How had it happened? She barely knew him—no, that wasn’t the truth. Somehow she had felt him as a presence in her life these past years.

Lying down, she snuggled her cheek into the pillow and sniffled away the last of her tears. Sunlight crept in through her bed curtains, illuminating the clan pin that lay on the empty pillow beside her. Daegan had enchanted her pin. He’d told her that the spell would bring her back to the forest—to Annwyn—night after night. The pin was the link to him, the spell that drew her.

Jumping up, Isobel snatched the pin from the pillow and shoved it to the back of a drawer in her wardrobe. She would forget about the pin. Would never touch it again. Putting it out of mind would free her from the spell, and Daegan’s hold. For she needed to break the hold he had over her. They could never really be together. A mortal and a Sidhe? No, it would never work.

“I saw the white hart this morning,” St. Clair announced at supper that evening.

“The beast is still alive, is it?” Ewan grumbled.

“Strange, to be sure,” the earl murmured. “The animal stood his ground with me, again. I may have imagined it, but the beastie appeared to be challenging me.”

“What’s this about a white hart?” her father asked as he rested his utensils against his plate.

“Magnificent stag,” Ewan declared. “Would look right at home with its head mounted on a plaque above our hearth.”

Isobel thought of Daegan and closed her eyes. He didn’t deserve to be hunted, to be killed. The thought of her brothers running after him, shooting at him, made her feel violent.

“Let us gather a hunting party for the morning,” her father announced. “Fifty pounds to the man who fells this stag and brings me his head. He shall have the place of honor over the hearth.”

Ewan slid his gaze to her. “What do you think of that, Issy? A bounty on your hart?”

She glared at her brother before turning her gaze to her father. “I would ask that you spare this animal, Papa. He has done nothing to harm anyone here. He does not cause mischief, or eat from the gardens. He is a beautiful creature, meant to be left alone, not hunted.”

“I, for one, will not take part in such a hunt,” St. Clair announced. “The white hart is a mystical creature. A sign that the Otherworld is near.”

“Afraid of a few fae?” Ewan snickered. “I’m surprised, St. Clair; you seem to be such a steady bloke.”

The earl cleared his throat. “I have seen one myself.”

“What?”
the entire table asked in shock.

Good lord, was St. Clair touched in the head?

“I was five, and I saw him crawl in the library window—”

“Did he have black hair and violet eyes?” Isobel asked, interrupting him.

The earl looked at her strangely. “No, he was fair, his skin as pale as a ghost’s, and his eyes were black. He—he took my mother, and she was never seen again.”

“What makes you think it was a Sidhe and not a man,” Ewan challenged.

“No man carries this.” St. Clair reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a dirk, very similar in design to the one she had seen on the altar last night. “ ’Tis called an athame. It is a ritual knife used in their sacred marriage ritual. I’ve done extensive research into Druid religion,” he said, passing the dirk to Stuart, who sat on his right. “The ancient Celtic priests carried similar objects and similarly worshipped the moon. The Sidhe, the Druids said, gave them this religion.”