Night Visitor (22 page)

“Thank you,” Taffy murmured with genuine gratitude for the show of caring that should have come from her father, but hadn’t. “We are both very chilled.”

It was only an hour later that they managed to close their door to the outside world. Taffy’s room was small, but she had insisted that it would do for the two of them for that one night.

Once dressed in clean clothing—Malcolm’s
borrowed from a still stunned Davis—they had sat down to dine. Though hungry, they had only eaten lightly of the offered soup, finding the salt flavor overwhelming after the blandness of their previous diet.

Finally, their various immediate needs seen to, they had managed to escape their curious audience who had crowded into the inn to stare and listen while they ate. They retired to bed in Taffy’s small chamber.

“Phew!” Taffy leaned back against her door, wishing it had a bar.

“Aye!” Malcolm agreed, drawing the shutter over the window. He did not bother to light the lamp. “Yer father was beginning tae bestir his thoughts and ask questions of me. And that Jamesy man was casting a strange eye o’er my face and ears.”

“He isn’t stupid—my father,” Taffy said, coming away from the door. “Just very involved in his work. Actually, we will have to be careful of Jamesy, too. He knows all the local legends, including yours.”

“Including
mine,”
Malcolm repeated and then shook his head in bemusement. He began to strip off his borrowed clothing, starting with her father’s trews, which Taffy could tell he did not like.

“Well, you and Colkitto are rather large legends
in these parts,” she explained, also removing her briefly donned clean apparel.

“I dinnae feel legendary. Except perhaps when ye look at me,” he added, raising his gaze to her body. He noted at once the slight changes that had taken place; a thickening at the waist and slight swelling in the breasts. “Then I feel like a king—with ye as my queen.”

Taffy blushed, but did not cover herself with a nightrail.

“Well, you certainly look the part of a legend,” she said, walking the paces that were between them and wrapping her arms about his lean hard waist. She rested her head upon his breast and listened to the reassuring beat of his heart, keeping time beneath the cage of his ribs and impressive muscles.

He touched her hair.

“It occurs tae me, Taffy lass, that yer likely as large a legend as I am.”

“What?” she looked up, startled.

“Did ye no’ hear the MacColla talking o’ the wild stories of a Sassenach lady come tae rescue me?”

“But…” She thought about the strange looks Jamesy had been giving them. “Dear heaven above! Perhaps you’re right. Well, that’s all the more reason for us to depart on the morrow.”

There was a slight pause.

“Aye. We’ll depart on the morrow.”

Taffy stared into Malcolm’s eyes, trying to read
what was there. For the first time since their reunion, he was holding something back from her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked with alarm. “You don’t think that the still-folk will try and stop us somehow?”

“Nay. Their door is closed now,” he assured her, gathering her close and then laying her on the narrow cot. “They willnae interfere, nor would I think they’d want to.”

“Malcolm?” she coaxed.

“Did I no’ hear ye wishin’ for some coverpanes and a proper bed? Behold! Yer wish is granted.” He lowered his lips to hers. His kiss was coaxing and hungry, and feeling the anticipation building in her own body, Taffy decided to let her questions rest until later.

His hands slipped over her hips and he pulled her into his body as he carefully fitted them onto the narrow cot. He looked down at her pale breasts and then gave a sigh.

“So bonnie,” he murmured, sliding down her to set lips to her nipples, which he laved tenderly.

Taffy arched, pressing closer. Her head swam giddily as she rubbed against the man she knew and loved so well. Malcolm paused long enough to look up and smile at her. As always, the sight of his rarely expressed happiness made her heart turn over in her breast.

Malcolm’s clever fingers moved up the edge of her legs and then slid slowly to the soft flesh of
her inner thighs. Though loving the feel of her beneath his hands, he did not dawdle there, so great was his desire to find her warmth and make a place for himself there.

“Ah,” he breathed with satisfaction when he found her damp and ready.

Taffy shivered, her heart thundering in her chest so hard that it interfered with her breath. Her body, always sensitive to Malcolm’s touch, was now acutely aware of his every movement and driven wild by them.

She sighed with pleasure as he settled upon her and wrapped her arms and legs about him. Malcolm gently kissed the curve of her jaw, feathered over her cheeks and ears, and then returned to her beautiful mouth. There he plundered happily while the tide of growing desire surged through their bodies.

When uncontrolled shivers wracked her body and her breast and loins were so tight that they ached, Malcolm finally fitted himself against and pushed his way inside her. His hands grasped her buttocks, pulling her closer to him.

“In the time we have left here,” he whispered, “I can think of no better place tae be than inside ye.”

The breath left Taffy’s lungs. Her hands quivered as they moved up and down Malcolm’s sweat-slicked spine. Heat was pouring off of him, off of her, melting them both into a state of
thoughtless desire where even speech was an impossible feat. The riptide of passion was moving through them, hastening them toward their goal.

He moved in and out of her with increasing speed until their bodies writhed. Such intensity of need and desire could not be long sustained. Taffy felt as though her lungs had stopped moving, that her heart was going to burst in her chest.

He rolled his hips against her, and with that the passion became too much to bear. Crying out, Taffy was catapulted into fulfillment.

Malcolm’s hoarse shout said that he too had let go of this world.

Slowly, Taffy regained her senses and she could feel the aftermath of passion being wrung from Malcolm’s body. After a few moments, his muscles finally unknotted and he gradually subsided upon her.

Taffy, feeling fiercely protective and suddenly shadowed with worry, touched him gently. Her hands were tender as they stroked up and down his back.

“Love?” she whispered.

“Aye?” Malcolm turned onto his side, bringing her with him, refusing to uncouple them.

He looked into her dark blue eyes framed with tussles of silky honey hair. They still carried the sparkle of the incandescent joy they had shared, and he hesitated to speak any words that might
dim them with worry. He wanted to spend this night lost in the depths of her pliant body, reveling in her sweet-scented skin and looking at the love that shone out of these beautiful, ocean-deep eyes.

The mere sight of her caused hunger to grow in him again. It would not take an effort of mind or body to again lose himself in making love to her. The worry which crouched nearby could wait.

“Forgive me, Taffy lass, but ‘tis a greedy man ye’ve married.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“That was a masterful piece of distraction,” Taffy said gently, as Malcolm finally pulled a blanket over them. “But I have not forgotten anything. Well, I didn’t forget for long.”

He grunted, but didn’t answer.

“You may as well tell me the truth. My imagination will run amok else. And if I cannot sleep, I promise, you shall not either.”

“I’ve no mind tae be sleeping this night,” he said, meeting her eyes.

“Are you concerned about the future?” she asked. “Worried of what will come when we leave here?”

“Nay. I’ve no fear of departing this place wi’ ye, Taffy lass.”

But he did fear the future. Or rather that they
might not have one. Taffy either did not know, or had forgotten what happened to people that had been long in the faeries’ world. Her well-being he did not fear for; the faeries would have exercised the greatest care in seeing that she was not harmed. But he had no way of knowing how long he had been lost underground, wandering in the ancient faerie tunnels, and what would happen when the sun rose upon them on the morrow.

There was always the possibility of obliteration by the sun’s cruel rays that kept him from being able to plan any of the days that might stretch before them. The only certainty was that they had this night. He would not waste any of their precious time in sleep.

But should he speak to her of his worries? What if sorrow clouded the only time they had and made it bitter and grieving instead of joyous?

“Malcolm, you cannot hide your concern from me. I sense it. Will you not speak to me of whatever is troubling you? Please.”

“Let us no’ speak of the future until after the dawn has come. Sometimes the light of the sun changes what one may plan.”

Taffy’s gaze probed his.

“I don’t see how. Do you think that I will love you less when I get a look at you in morning light?”

“I bloody well hope not,” he muttered, frustrated
with himself for being unable to hide his unease and letting it spoil their night.

“And will you love me less with the passage of a few hours—Or do you love me at all?” she asked, her gaze direct. “You’ve never actually said.”

“Of course I love ye,” he answered, shocked.

“That relieves my mind.” Taffy rose up on her elbow and pushed her hair back from her face. Mane disposed of, she laid a hand along Malcolm’s cheek. “Very well, then. Let’s have the truth and no more messing about.”

In spite of himself, Malcolm smiled at her gentle command. His shy lass had learned well how to straightforwardly order things in life to her liking. He could not help but be pleased that it was so, though it made keeping secrets from her inconvenient.

He wondered, if he rolled her beneath him again, could he perhaps shake her thoughts loose from her tenacious line of questions?

“It won’t work,” she told him, feeling him stir.

The challenge hung in the air between them.

“And you are a cowardly craven to even think of trying it,” she informed him with a glower.

“Aye, that I am,” he agreed, running an appreciative hand over her smooth flesh. “But why trouble ye with a foolish fancy?”

“Because it might not be foolish,” she answered promptly. “And I do not care for unpleasant
surprises. What is there about the sunrise that—”

She stopped speaking, and Malcolm saw realization dawning on her face. Instantly, he pulled her close and began to speak soothingly.

“ ’Tis only a chance—an old wives’ legend,” he assured her.

“It would be just like the faeries though, wouldn’t it?” she said, burying her face in his chest. “To spite me for what I said. About taking their child.”

“Aye, it would,” he admitted. “But this wasnae a faerie plot. They made no devious plan. Mischance brought me here, so I think we needn’t fear any trickery from the still-folk.”

“But that still leaves mischance,” she said, wrapping her arms about him and holding him as tightly as her muscles would allow.

“Aye.”

“What happens to people when—when—” He could barely hear the unfinished question, her voice was so strangled and muffled by the linens that she was hiding under.

“They turn instantly to dust. Or salt,” he answered, thinking truth kinder than a lie at this point.

“How long until dawn?” she asked at last.

“Only a bit. An hour, no more.”

Impossibly, her arms tightened.

“Be at ease, Taffy lass. Strangling me will no’ hold back the sun.”

“I hate the sun,” she muttered, but relaxed her grip slightly. Holding Malcolm’s strong body against her own, it did not seem possible that anything as fragile as dawnlight could harm him.

“Well, I’ve no great liking for this sunrise,” he admitted, settling her into her blanket cocoon and turning his gaze to the window. “Try and rest, lass.”

“You must be jesting,” she muttered.

“Well, worry then as ye may.”

“Men!” he thought he heard her say, and he laughed softly.

The inn was silent as the first faint lifting of darkness appeared in the sky. Horrified, yet fascinated, Taffy turned her head to stare out the tiny widow in her room.

Malcolm was already turned on his side, staring fixedly at the small square of glass.

At first, there was only a soft line of gold penetrating the morning mist to warn that the night’s reign was over and day was ascending. But minutes passed inexorably, and it was soon plain that the heaven’s powers had shifted. The morning’s faint fog would not prevent the sun from climbing over the horizon and mounting the sky.

Resigned and grim, Malcolm gently disentangled
himself from their blankets and Taffy’s arms, and rose silently from their bed.

Going to the casement, he pulled back the window’s half-closed shutter. Taffy quickly followed after him, wincing at the unpleasant chill of the bare boards on her naked feet.

Together, they stood at the window. Watching, waiting, hoping…

Forerunners of the true sun shot up into the sky, a halo of beautiful golden light that touched the eastern firmament end to end. Stars winked out—thousands at a time. The fog burned away, and the gates of heaven opened to admit the sun. It was beautiful—and horrible—to see.

Neither of them flinched as the fiery ball crept over the land and rose in the eastern sky. They did not move back from the tiny window as the fingers of burning sun approached, though Taffy could see the pulse in Malcolm’s throat hammering his flesh with brutal force, and her own heart was likely to fail from its frantic thundering against her ribs.

Up the gray-stone wall, the burning fingers crept, rising higher by the moment as they painted the building with flaming light.

Colder than she had ever been, Taffy slipped a trembling arm about Malcolm’s waist and moved closer to his living, breathing warmth.

It couldn’t end this way! Malcolm was here
—
real! The stories they had heard were nothing but
folktales. Legends. Stop!
She called to the sun.
Stop for just one more moment…
.

Ignoring her, the heartless golden dawn crept coyly over the windowsill and reached hungrily for Malcolm’s unprotected belly.

Nothing happened.

Up it crept onto his chest making his dark hair glint with red fire.

But nothing else happened.

On it went to touch his face—chin, lips, cheeks, and eyes—and all the while he stood unflinching, not even lowering his lids against the cruel light.

Up it went and spilled golden light all over his unbound hair.

And still nothing happened.

Finally it reached beyond him, touching the walls and ceiling with golden radiance.

Taffy released a pent-up breath and slumped against him.

“Thank heavens,” she began and then jumped in alarm when the kirk’s bell began to toll. Recalling that a church’s chime was the other thing that killed those returning from that faerieland, she waited an eternity for the last knell to sound.

Silence fell.

“Nothing happened,” she whispered in near disbelief, as dawn firmed its hold in the sky and the inn began to stir around them.

“Nay.” Malcolm started to smile.

“Oh, thank heavens!” Taffy wrapped her arms around him and began to cry weakly.

“Taffy, lass?” he asked, his smile dying, as he pulled her close into his body and began stroking her naked back. “What is wrong, love? Is it the bairn?”

Malcolm searched quickly and found his daughter sleeping peacefully. She, at least, was not upset with the dawn, for which he gave silent but heartfelt thanks.

“No. I’m fine—truly! It is just that I have been so afraid and so very tired. I just can’t believe that we are actually safe. That the still-folk kept their word and let you come.” She sniffed pathetically and looked about for a handkerchief.

“Well, ye shall fear no more, lass,” he promised, scooping her up in his arms and returning her to bed where he dried her tears with the corner of the laundered sheet.

Taffy snuggled against him, allowing all the ugly dread to drain away and her tears of relief to dry up.

“Lass, ye’ve conquered Campbells, Covenanters, Colkitto’s army, and even the sun—”

A polite scratching at the door interrupted him.

“A moment,
cu,”
Malcolm called softly. “I didnae think the hound would stay away so long as this, even wi’ his upset at the bath.”

Taffy gave a watery laugh as she recalled
Smokey’s look of hurt reproach when he was summoned to the tub for a much needed bathing.

“What shall we do today?” she asked with a small yawn as she nuzzled Malcolm’s chin.

“Sleep,” Malcolm said promptly. Then, as his stomach rumbled: “And eat.”

He tucked her carefully beneath the blankets and then went to the door to admit Smokey. The hound had felt his mistress’s worry and came up immediately to offer comfort and protection.

Malcolm patted him gently on his brindled—and now clean—head. “Yer a loyal beast.”

“And make love?” Taffy asked sleepily, also patting Smokey as he turned to her and thrust his damp muzzle beneath her hand.

“Aye. That as well.” Malcolm finally pushed the hound aside and slipped in beside her, tucking himself into the narrow cot like a spoon. “And play my pipes. I must write a new song about our adventure.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Whatever we wish, love. We’ve the whole world to see, Taffy, lass. And plenty of time tae see it.”

Taffy smiled sleepily at the propitious truth. They
had
the world—and time.

Exhausted though they were, together they watched the sun until it was well up in the sky. And only then, when the luminary giant had
completely cleared the horizon, did they close their weary eyes against it.

Slipping toward a deep, healing sleep, they let their thoughts mingle, and began dreaming happily of what would come.

Likewise content, Smokey made a quick check of his little mistress, resting inside her mother’s belly. Then he also went to sleep.

Far away in
Caislean na Nor,
Tomas Rimer smiled at the picture in his auguring bowl before brushing the image away with a delicate finger.

Their daughter had been prevented from making a potentially dangerous visual record of their sacred lands, but she had not been sent away without a memento. When she thought to examine her picture box, she would find a small gift there. The babe she carried would be able to see the faerie
mathair
who had fallen in love with a mortal MacLeod and given birth to their line. Malcolm’s grandmother.

And though they did not know it, both Malcolm and Taffy would have a little more than the average human lifetime to enjoy her world, raise their babes, and write beautiful songs. The effects of their time in the sacred glen would be with them for years to come.

“Long life, my children,” he said quietly. “And much happiness upon thee.”