Down the darkened stone passageway with its wooden floorboards and iron wall sconces, she walked, the immense joy in her heart making her want to skip and sing. Her love for Ronan overflowed her heart and never had she felt so alive.
“About time you surfaced.” Jeremiah stepped out from within a darkened niche at the top of the stairwell, his fiery red hair brushing his wide shoulders and his expression thunderous. Dirt clung to his green rawhide pants and his black war coat swayed against his legs. Heavily armed, his claymore sat snugly in a baldric across his back and a dagger glinted from where he’d tucked it into one knee-high boot.
“What are you doing here? I—I—how did you get in?”
“I hear you’re one of the fae, dear sister, an unskilled one, although you still hold strong fae blood and I want it gracing my own line.” His beady black eyes narrowed. “Father told me the truth about you and your abduction and he agreed I could claim you as my bride. ’Tis time for us to get to know one another better.”
He shoved her back into the nook and she hit her head on the rough stone wall.
Black dots danced before her eyes. Nay, she had to hold onto the present.
“Sleep now, lass.” Jeremiah thrust an odorous rag over her nose and rasped in her ear, “You’ll soon be mine to wed and bed, and I willnae allow you to sway me to any other decision. I will rule over you. Make no mistake about that.”
“I—” So woozy. Everything spun, and her legs dropped out from under her.
Jeremiah heaved her up and her belly thumped into his rock hard shoulder, the sedative lacing the cloth one she’d never mistake for any other. Belladonna. She tried to search for Ronan and connect with him along their merged link, to warn him of Jeremiah’s arrival, only all went dark and she sank into complete and utter oblivion.
Pain slammed though Ronan’s chest and he jerked awake, clutched his sword where it sat propped against the headboard and bounded to his feet. He swung his blade within the stillness of the chamber, the light flaring through the window bright and the fire still well ablaze. ’Twas as if someone had struck him through the heart with a sword, the pain of his loss slicing deeply within him. He patted his chest to be sure, then went to reach for Kyla but the bed lay empty.
“Kyla?” He stalked around to her dressing screen. Not there. He marched to her ambry and flung the golden curtain aside. Gowns hung in an assortment of colors, but no Kyla. Surely she hadn’t dressed and left without him stirring to the noise? He held the battle skill and as such always maintained an alert state, even when he closed his eyes to rest.
He stormed to the door. The bolt had been pushed back, unlocked from within and only Kyla could have done that. Hell, he must have been beyond exhausted when he’d fallen asleep. Certainly joining with his chosen one had been an incredibly soul-satisfying moment, one that had made him languid and at such ease afterward. He rubbed his head as he tried to open their fused link. He should be able to now it remained a solid pathway either of them could open at will, only nothing but a stark darkness lay where she should be. Only a few things could cause that. If she spoke to another through her skill, if she rested or such, or if she’d chosen to keep him locked out. Since she’d clearly snuck out of their chamber after he’d fallen asleep, that left the last option as the most viable one. Aye, what could his wife be up to that would require such secretiveness, that she’d leave their bed and close her mind to him?
Well, he wasn’t having that. He nabbed his bag, swung it on top of the rumpled bedcovers and lifted the flap. Black leather pants in hand, he hauled them on, donned a blue tunic over top and tucked his shirttails in. He no longer needed to wear the MacKenzie kilt, the added protection of blending in now unnecessary since all within this keep would soon know his true name. Duncan had ensured his men here would never harm one of the fae either, which included him and as they’d soon learn, Kyla too. With her marriage to him, her secret would soon be exposed to her fellow kinsmen within these walls.
He pulled his boots on and strapped his sword in place. Time to find his wife. Mayhap she’d gone to check on Gordon, the healer in her too strong to halt. If she had, he’d toss her over his shoulder and march her straight back to their bed. She’d soon learn how deep his need for her ran, her continued protection as well.
“Ronan?” A knock rattled the door. “’Tis Duncan.”
“Come in.”
Duncan marched inside, his fists clenched as he searched the chamber. “Where’s Kyla?”