Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(36)
I pulled away, taking a deep breath. “Does it react to you?”
He nodded, his brows furrowing slightly.
“Other people have seen the wall, haven’t they?” I asked. With the room unlocked, I was certain that I hadn’t been the only person to walk in there.
“Aye,” he replied, “but the castle’s been home to us our entire lives. Those things are no stranger to them than a bird takin’ to flight.”
“Does it react to anyone else? Your sister?”
“Nay.” Iain’s tone had turned severe. He tilted his face, staring at the ground, preoccupied. I waited, but I knew I’d lost him. Never having had a serious relationship, unless one counted a love affair with all-things-old-and-buried, I had trouble gauging his demeanor. If he spent the silence determining how to reveal something, it had dragged on long enough. I’d push no further. With our new, fragile relationship, I refused to allow my curiosity to interfere with the happiness of our wedding night.
My eager need to time travel back to modern-day California had been nullified by a desire to stay with Iain in my new home. It dampened the urgency of my fact-finding investigation. The moment for sharing would wait until both sides wanted to increase the bond of trust. I sensed he wanted to, but couldn’t.
Perhaps more than the secrets themselves bound his tongue.
*
The days following the wedding evolved into one time-consuming activity after another. As the official Lady of Castle Brodie, from sunrise to sunset, I’d inherited the responsibilities of running the operation. Regardless of my knowledge of history, I still hadn’t imagined a lady would need to work her ass off to fulfill her duties.
I puffed out my cheeks, blowing an errant lock of hair from my face, and wiped a damp brow on my sleeve. A last pull of the heavy oak front door marked the end of a productive day and the beginning of another night of quality time with my new husband.
Iain spent his days training, hunting, and resolving disputes. Nearly every night, he’d come into our bedchamber after I’d already eaten, sparing just enough time for us to make love once or twice before our bodies surrendered to the deep slumber of exhaustion.
Not a word of complaint left my lips, however, as I absorbed the details of a lost era. I’d become a bloodhound locked onto a scent, even if the opportunities to follow my favorite trail were only stolen moments. My priority in my new role, once I’d mastered the daily routine, had been not only to learn my duties, but also to analyze those of everyone else. I sought to streamline the drag on the ship in every way possible.
“Goodnight, Agnes.” I smiled, turning away from the delightful young woman extinguishing candles in the great hall. She’d come into the fold at Brigid’s suggestion. One by one, I’d made new friends, and Agnes had become a welcome ray of sunshine in an ordinarily mundane day.
“G’night, Lady Isobel. May the nights be filled with echoes of your passion and your belly filled with bairns,” she replied.
I laughed, caught off guard with another of her uncensored proverbs.
My foot touched the first step leading up to our bedchamber when I heard a rustle of papers. I turned, stalking down the dark hall to investigate.
The door to Iain’s map room was ajar. Light streamed out through the crack, guiding my way. I paused, almost doubling back, wanting to respect Iain’s privacy. We’d had an amazing week of wedded bliss, and I wasn’t sure we were ready to talk about the biggest mystery plaguing my thoughts. However, fear of the unknown—of how Iain would react when pressed—would not rule my actions; I refused to establish a habit of avoiding confrontation.
Despite my determination, my pulse accelerated, and bile threatened to rise into my throat. Through sheer will, I banished the anxiety and pushed the heavy door open.
Iain stood with his back toward the door. He pulled out a scroll from the organized shelves, pushed it back in, and retrieved another, sliding it from the cubby where it had been stacked. He turned, his chestnut hair flowing like a silken waterfall over one shoulder.
“Isa.” A warm smile softened features that had been hardened in concentration. He rested the tied parchment behind an obsidian weight on the worktable and closed the distance, embracing me. I purred with contentment. Wrapped in his arms had become my new addiction—one I craved throughout the day . . . where I enveloped myself at night.
“What are you working on?” I peered around his shoulder. Several large maps were layered over the tall surface. Iain glanced back, shrugging.
He kissed the top of my head. “Doona be concerned with my dabblin’. ’Tis late. I want my bed warmed with you, woman.”
Beyond him, the wall came alive. The surface rippled in gentle vibration, beckoning my touch. Its compelling magnetism pulled at me, even with Iain between us. The sparkling gray stone shimmered, its celestial spider web of lights pulsing brighter and brighter the longer I watched. Iain glanced back to see what held me transfixed.
I opened my mouth, the question hanging on my lips. He turned back to me, placed his hands on my shoulders, and spun me right out the door.
“Bed. Now.”
His dominant command left no room for negotiation. My thumping heart and hungry body overrode brain function with the most basic Pavlovian response, and I obeyed the order without hesitation.
We raced up the stairs, bursting into a darkened room where all my erotic fantasies had become a phenomenal reality. From the beginning of our marriage, we’d shared his well-appointed bedchamber and sumptuous bed. Every little thing he’d done from the instant we united proved how much he wanted me to be a part of his life and belong in his world.