Still, how could she have imagined something she never even experienced in her dreams anymore?
Are you not well? he asked.
And she read the meaning on his lips, in the concern now masking his features, but she did not hear.
How could she answer?
They had just shared a pleasure beyond belief and she was allowing the imaginings of her mind to ruin it. She was not well, but it was no ones fault but her own.
She forced a smile and pulled his face toward her, intent on hiding behind a kiss. How could I be anything else?
How indeed?
And he cooperated in helping her hide, kissing her with a tenderness and leftover passion that assuaged the pain of her self-delusion.
He did not take her to soak in the hot spring this night, but led her on another sensual journey that did not end with any inexplicable experiences. Then he kissed her afterright into slumber.
Talorc woke with his arms wrapped protectively around his mate. Not just his angel in a flight of fancy, but his true and sacred mate. If he could believe the evidence of his mind and senses. How was it possible?
The arguments against the probability of finding a sacred mate the way he had were just as valid as the day before, but none of them mattered in the face of one inescapable fact: He had heard her voice inside his head . They were capable of mindspeak. Not all true mates were, but it was an indisputable sign that the mating was blessed.
It also meant that until Abigail or he died, they would be physically capable of mating with only each other. Not that he would have considered doing otherwise. The Sinclairs, particularly the Chrechte among them, placed high importance the physical act of sex. Most members of the clan, warriors and women alike, considered it a sacred bond, not to be broken.
Even more important, the sacred mating bond meant that not only could Abigail have Talorcs children, but most likely she would have them. What had seemed an impossibility the night before now had a strong chance of happening. Talorc would send his wolf nature into the next generation if he was blessed with Chrechte offspring rather than human.
It was enough to make him howl in delight. However, his joy was tinged with melancholy.
He could not tell Abigail of his full nature and risk her revealing the secrets of his people to outsiders. Thus he could not share some of the benefits
of the true mate bond with her, like mindspeaking. Since he had accepted a while ago that he would most likely not find his true mate, that should not bother him. But it did.
Knowing the mental intimacy they were capable of made him long to participate in the ancient Chrechte act. Yet part of him was relieved he had a reason to avoid it. The true bond was disconcerting enough; the deep intimacy of mindspeak was not something he was comfortable sharing with a woman he had met only a few days before. Particularly a human who had been born and raised in England.
He must be careful not to speak into her mind as he had done when shouting her name during his first climax the night before. He could not risk revealing the true state of their mating before he was ready. If that time ever came.
Abigails first view of the Sinclair holding was more than a little imposing. Her sisters letters had described a keep similar to their fathers, with timber fence surrounding the motte and bailey. Not so now. In the almost three years since her sister had first gone north, that timber had been replaced with stone, and the Sinclair keep looked more like a castle. A solid, impenetrable fortress, to be precise.
A wide moat surrounded the high stone wall. The water was dark, indicating a depth that would prevent easy crossing.
Horse hooves clattered as their party went over the single access point, a narrow bridge that led to the only opening she could see in the wall. Clanspeople had come out of their cottages to welcome their laird home and followed the horses across the bridge. They were joined by more men and women in the bailey.
Some called out, many cheered and children ran in games of tag around the men mounted on their huge steeds. It was a much different picture than the one Emily had painted of her first view of the Sinclair holding. Both warrior and warhorses showed their superior training because the children were never in danger of being trampled.
Talorc maintained their forward movement, however, crossing the bailey to guide his horse onto a path up the motte. Stone walls rose high on both sides, casting a shadow over them all, those riding and on foot alike.
Abigail could not tell if the steep hill was man-made like her fathers motte or a happenstance of nature. The path beneath her horses feet was composed of dirt and moss-covered stones. It felt solid, indicating the hill had been created many years ago, whether by God or man. No rainstorm would wash away its foundation as tragically happened back in England on occasion.
Sybil had worried and lamented about such a thing happening since she had taken her daughters to live in the Hamilton keep.