Page 32 of A Little Highland Magic

Varrick smiled and accepted the gem, placing it in his left hand. “That I can do.” With metal tongs in his right hand, he reached for the object he’d been pounding on the anvil and submerged it in the quenching tub. “I ’ave what I need tae get started. Ye can wait in me cottage, just around the front of the shed. ’Tis nothin’ fancy, but me wife will get ye somethin’ tae eat. Then send ’er out tae help me. She’s got an artist’s eye and will ken ’ow big an infant bracelet should be.”

Graeme nodded. “Thank you, Varrick, for your assistance and in advance for the meal.”

After a breakfast of feather-light scones, exquisite raspberry preserves, and rich Scottish tea with cream, Graeme asked, “Since we are so close, would you like to see a part of MacLeod history having to do with the sweetest milk on the isle?”

“I am curious, but do we have the time?” Aria asked.

“We will take the horses and return shortly.” He held out his hand. “I thought as a MacLeod you might want to learn more about your history.”

Aria released a breath and put her hand in his. “I do want to know more, actually everything that I did miss over the years.”

After informing Varrick and his wife where they were headed, Aria mounted her horse and fell into step beside Graeme as he rode south. Graeme set his horse off at a trot, but Aria urged Angel into a gallop that Graeme then matched. They covered the ground swiftly, heading through woods and meadowlands on their way to the coast. When Loch Bharcasaig came into view, Aria slowed to a trot to avoid injuring a flock of squawking gulls, fighting over a few fish that the more industrious of the bunch had retrieved from the waters below Idrigill Point.

They stopped and dismounted at the edge of the cliffs. The weather was clear, and Aria soon spotted three sea stacks rising from the water below. “What a breathtaking view,” she said with a hint of awe in her voice at the rugged scenery before her. “But how does any of this relate to milk?”

Graeme laughed as he stood beside her. “According to the legend passed down from your human family, these rock formations are believed to be the bodies of three sisters who were turned to stone by a witch. The sisters were the daughters of an ancient MacLeod chieftain who lived on Skye before Dunvegan was built. The MacLeod Maidens were known for their beauty and for the delicious milk produced by their cows. One day, a witch approached the sisters and demanded they share their milk with her. When the sisters refused, the witch became angry and cursed them, turning them to stone.”

Graeme pointed to the one larger and two smaller female outlines stretching from the shoreline. “The three sea stacks are said to be the petrified bodies of the sisters, who were frozen in time as a reminder to others of the dangers of greed and selfishness. Yet they are also a symbol of the enduring connection between the MacLeod clan and the land of their ancestors—your ancestors, Aria.”

There had been other vistas in Scotland that had taken Aria’s breath away, but this one—shrouded in the legends of her family—struck her heart in a new way. She had longed for a connection to the MacLeods for years, and what Graeme had given her today was a true gift. “Thank you,” she said, though the words seemed insignificant compared to the enormity of emotion rising in her chest.

Graeme brought a finger to rest against her lips, sending tingles of sensation along her sensitive flesh. “There is no need for words. I can see your feelings reflected in your eyes.”

She lowered her lashes to hide her gaze from him. How could he read her thoughts so easily when she had hidden her innermost feelings from others all her life? What else could he read in the depths of her eyes? Could he see the war of emotions developing between her desire for him and her past vows to protect herself and her heart from potential harm?

Aria tried to form words to express her thoughts when he reached for her, pulling her against the solid wall of his chest. Her pulse quickened. Her senses heightened, especially as his fingers traced the curve of her chin, running across the sensitive nape of her neck as though he were trying to commit her every nuance to memory. Was he worried about the outcome of their journey to Fairyland? Was there an underlying urgency in every aspect of his touch?

Before she could ask, Graeme’s fingers moved on, to delve farther down until his hands cupped the fullness of her breasts. His thumbs brushed the hardened peaks of her nipples. She gasped but did not pull away. Instead, she shut her eyes and gave herself over to the pleasurable sensations. No one had ever dared to touch her like this before. Just as no one had ever told her that a touch, a slow caress, a meeting of two bodies could bring forth such longing.

All thoughts and any protests died as she moved her hands down Graeme’s back to his tight, trim waist, then farther down, to his buttocks. The feeling of muscle and strength beneath her bare palms made her bold. She cupped his buttocks as he had her breasts, pleased by the groan of pleasure that escaped his lips.

“Is this an invitation? An invitation we can both remember . . .” His words drifted off, but it was not sadness that came to his eyes.

Aria pulled back, studying his face. “Are you afraid of dying in the shadow realm, Graeme?”

He looked away, then back at her, his features now under his usual control. “Oberon is the mightiest enemy I have ever faced. I have no magic to fight back as you do.”

“You have the Fairy Flag to protect you.”

He shook his head. “That magic is Alastair’s to use in a time of need or to pass it on to his son, Rory, when he becomes laird of the clan. If Alastair agrees, which he still has not, we can only take the replica with us into the shadow realm, and then Fairyland.” Graeme studied her closely. “Are you not concerned for your life?”

She shrugged. “I’ve gone toe to toe with Oberon my whole life and I am still alive and happier than I can ever remember being in spite of the troubles that chase us.”

“Living for the moment does have a benefit,” he said, pulling her close once more.

This time, instead of waiting for Graeme to touch her, Aria slid her hands up to the brooch pinning the tail of his tartan, letting the cloth fall as she pulled his linen shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the ground. She loosened his belt, and yards of tartan cloth slid to his feet. Free for her exploration, she trailed her hands up his back while he deftly untied the laces at the front of her dress. The garment was lifted over her head and discarded on top of his shirt, leaving her in only her thin chemise that billowed in the breeze.

He pulled her to him and slowly lowered their bodies to the spongy moss covering the ground. A gasp escaped her when her breast brushed against his broad chest, at the possessive way he caught one of her legs between his own, at the rigid maleness pressed intimately against her thigh.

Light-headed and disorientated, she tried to control the passion that washed over her. But she could not hold back a moan of pleasure as he pulled her closer, trapping spirals of untamed heat between them. The sensation was both exquisite and consuming.

And even though she knew she should not, she wanted more of it.

“Say you want this, Aria, as much as I do.” The warmth of his laboured breath curled against her cheek in silent invitation.

She looked into his eyes, eyes that held both infinite patience and heated desire. Her gaze moved to his lips, hovering above hers, ready to descend if she gave him the slightest encouragement. She wanted him to continue, but the instinct to protect herself, her heart, made her pause. She drew a shallow breath, then another, praying her desire would cool and logic would take over.

Over the last few days, a shift had occurred between herself and Graeme. Emotions she had always feared had blossomed, not overwhelming her, or making her less than. Instead, they made her stronger, more courageous.