“Nay.” He tilted his head so that his forehead rested against hers. Their eyes closed, breath intermixing. She could sense his struggle and his despair.
“None of us are perfect, Darach,” she murmured softly, knowing well he would hate her for what she is if he knew. So, this was a truth he should never learn.
His hands rose to frame her jaw on both sides. “I’m more imperfect than most, lass.”
“Nae to me.”
He groaned, and then she kissed him. The feeling of his mouth against hers sent a sweet shock through her. She remembered how he'd done it to her, and she kissed him just the same way. It was stunning, the feel of her lips moving against his. The world glowed around her, sparkling warmth. Passionate and urgent, her lips told him all she couldn't communicate with words.
He was not a beast. He would never be. He was a man whom she had waited for her whole life—a man she would never have.
Jane's heart broke. She now knew Darach Robertson would never love her, for she is a witch, a Nicnevin cut from the same fabric of darkness of the one who had inflicted a lifelong pain on him. The prophecy would soon come true if he found out who she was. He would truly bring her demise, and even then, she wouldn't be able to blame him.
She had to leave; she knew now. She had to escape the castle as soon as possible, even if being away from him would tear her apart. Jane wanted to scream out in anguish, but she held it back and poured all her pain into the kiss.
This might be the last time she tasted his lips, and she was determined to give him a kiss he would never forget.
She knew she wouldn’t forget it.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
In the next few days, Darach grew much stronger and was finally able to rise out of his bed on his own. He woke up one morning to a silent chamber; Jane was not with him. His mind mulled over how much he missed her when a rap came on his door.
“Enter!”
Arran promptly came into the chamber. “Glad tae see ye recovering well, my laird.”
Darach nodded. “What brings ye here this morn?”
“I have news, my laird,” Arran said in a grim voice. Sensing the primacy in his commander’s tone, Darach looked up with a frown as Arran strode toward him, looking a bit breathless from what must have been a hasty ride.
“What is it about?” Darach demanded. Time was of the essence. He had instructed Arran to keep a rigid watch over the walls and beyond for MacThomas's attack and any other intruder or murderer that might want to slip into the keep again.
They had reported their findings to him directly for the last three days, but there had not been something important enough.
“A rider is approaching. It's Kenn McTavish,” Arran bit out.
“With company?”
“Alone, according tae the scouts.”
That sounded almost too good to be true.Did MacThomas speak the truth when he said me advisor had escaped?
“How far away is he?”
“He would arrive under the hour.”
Darach's lips spread in a smile. This was very welcome news. He would have his advisor back along with his brother, and the clan would be back to full strength.
“Have ye told my brother yet?”
Arran shook his head. “Nae one, my laird. Yer ears are the second after mine heard the news from the scout. I wanted yer permission if we are tae hold him back and interrogate him.”
Darach closed his eyes.Interrogation? It would not be ideal to have a high-ranking officer stopped at the gate and pulled in for interrogation so quickly, and Kenn surely knew about half a dozen other ways into the keep, so if he had chosen to ride through the main gates, it was a message.
He understood the skepticism that being in the enemy's capture for so long had placed on him and was trying to communicate that he was ready for inquiry. But Darach would rather listen to Kenn's account of the events in his captivity himself.
“Ready a few horses and ride tae meet him,” Darach ordered. “Tell the maids tae set the table for breakfast. We’ll welcome him in the great hall.”