“We’ve rendered the woman speechless, Madoc.” He walked to her darkened bedroom, but not before securing the locks on the door behind her. “Well done. Enjoy the moment.”
“You’re here,” she finally whispered. “You’re safe. I missed you so much.”
Brigid felt him press a kiss to her forehead. “And the moment passes. Forgive me for breaking in, love. I couldn’t wait to see you. Thought you’d be home earlier.”
“I was at the hospital. Emily… my friend is sick.”
His voice was soft as he tucked her into bed. “I’m so sorry, love.”
She pulled on his hand. “Stay with me.”
Carwyn winked. “If you insist.”
“I insist.”
He slipped in behind her and wrapped her in his warm arms. She felt his breath as he buried his face in her hair and sighed in relief. It was right. She didn’t care about anything else anymore. The world, the church, their families. They could think what they wanted. Carwyn was exactly where he was supposed to be, and she was never letting him go.
Brigid whispered, “Two dozen sheep and a… draft horse, Carwyn.”
“What?” She heard him laugh at her.
“Sheep. Horse. Ask… Deirdre.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Us. Silly. Marry you. You forgot already.”
“Brigid?” His voice sounded so far away.
She sighed and let the dark envelop her. “Love you…”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dublin, Ireland
January 2013
He was frozen, staring at the top of her dark head as she sank into sleep.
“Brigid?”
Carwyn blinked and shook her shoulder. What was she talking about?
“Sheep. Horse…”
He poked her side. “What did you say?”
“Marry you. You forgot already… Love you…”
His heart raced, but she was utterly and completely still.
“Brigid Connor, you can’t say things like that and then fall asleep!”
He rolled her over and stared at her. “Did you just agree to marry me?”
No response.
“I think you did. Did you?”
She was sleeping the sleep of a baby vampire.
“Aargh!” He rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling.
“Love you…”
He rolled back toward her and narrowed his eyes. “Are you really sleeping or are you teasing me?” He poked her side. “Brigid?”
She lay completely still. She wasn’t even breathing. He poked her once more. Again. He might have lifted her eyelid, just to be sure.
“Brigid Connor!” he yelled. She didn’t even flinch. He glanced at the clock. Seven in the morning. She wouldn’t wake for another twelve hours.
“Twelve hours…” he muttered. “Twelve hours?”
Carwyn ran a frustrated hand through his hair and rolled her on her side so he could face her. Madoc stood on the other side of the bed with his head propped on her hip. Carwyn glared at him. “Back off. You’ve already shared her bed.”
He gathered her into his arms, kissing her forehead and singing her name in a coaxing voice. “Brigid, wake up. I brought you something very silly from Florence. Wake up, love. Please…”
Carwyn peppered her face with kisses. He begged. He bargained. And Brigid was just as asleep after twenty minutes of his most concentrated efforts. He rolled out of bed and resisted punching the wall.
“I travel hundreds of miles—in a boat!—and you tell me you love me… I think. And maybe agree to marry me. I think? And then you fall asleep.” He groaned. “Oh, wake up, Brigid.”
He sighed and collapsed on the bed next to her. “You’re not waking up are you?”
He knew, logically, that she wasn’t going to wake. It had taken him decades to wake during the day. Even now, it still took effort during parts of the afternoon. A vampire as young as Brigid wouldn’t wake for at least twelve hours. He would have to be patient.
“Love you…”
“Oh, Brigid.” He settled next to her and cuddled her sleeping body into his chest. “I’m yours. Completely.” He kissed her forehead. “Utterly yours. Even if you’re sleeping.”
Madoc gave a mournful sigh on the other side of the room and Carwyn glanced at him.
“Agreed, my friend, this didn’t fit my plan, either.”
Wait, she’d said something about Deirdre…
Deirdre would still be awake, and no doubt she’d be happy to hear that he was back in the country. She hadn’t been in Wicklow when he’d visited to pick up the dog. He’d traveled up from Waterford after catching a boat in Genoa. Days on a freighter. Days waiting to claim his woman. Only to have her stumble in the door and fall asleep almost immediately. At some point, he was sure to see the humor in the situation.
Eventually.
Restless, he eventually got up and prowled around her small house. The windows had all been equipped with automatic shutters, so he could snoop at his leisure. He poked through her bookcases, randomly offering commentary to the sleeping woman and the dog, who trailed after him, looking on accusingly.
“What?” he scowled at the wolfhound. “If she didn’t want me to snoop, she would have stayed awake.”
The dog huffed.
“Fine, she has no control over that. I’m just being nosey. Aw, love, look at that.” He smiled when he saw a picture of himself and Ioan taken ten years before on a trip to Wales. “Where did you find that? Wicklow, no doubt. Maggie probably sent a copy to Deirdre.”