Woodenly, she undressed and crawled beneath the covers. Tomorrow was another day. Eventually she’d get through to him somehow, and if she couldn’t, she’d just have to save the MacKeltar clan all by herself.
And then what will you do? her heart demanded. Catch the bouquet at his freaking wedding? Hire on as their nanny?
Grrr…
“Well?” Silvan demanded, strolling into the Greathall. “Does she still claim you took her maidenhead?”
Drustan leaned back in his chair. He quaffed the remains of his whisky and rolled the glass between his palms. He’d been gazing into the fire, thinking of his future wife, trying to keep his mind off the temptress in the chamber that adjoined his. As the spirits had slid into his belly, his worries had eased a bit and he’d begun to see dark humor in the situation. “Oh, aye. She even has a reason why I remain blissfully unaware of my breach of honor. ’Twould seem I tupped her in my future.”
Silvan blinked. “Come again?”
“I tupped her five hundred years from now,” Drustan said. “And then I sent her back to save me.” He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He tossed his head back and laughed.
Silvan eyed him strangely. “How does she claim you came to be in the future?”
“I was enchanted,” Drustan said, shoulders shaking with mirth. It really was quite amusing, now that he reflected upon it. Since he wasn’t currently looking at her, he wasn’t worried that he might lose control of his lust and could see the humor more easily.
Silvan stroked his chin, his gaze intent. “So she claims she woke you and you sent her back?”
“Aye. To save me from being enchanted in the first place. She also mumbled some nonsense about you and Dageus being in danger.”
Silvan closed his eyes and rubbed his index finger in the crease between his brows, a thing he did often when thinking deeply. “Drustan, you must keep an open mind. ’Tis not entirely impossible on the face of it,” he said slowly.
Drustan sobered swiftly. “Nay—on the face of it, it’s not,” he agreed. “ ‘Tis once you get into the details that you realize she’s a wee bampot with little grasp on sanity.”
“I admit it’s far-fetched, but—”
“Da, I’m not going to repeat all the nonsense she spouted, but I assure you, the lass’s story is so full of holes that were it a ship, ’twould be kissing the sandy bed of the ocean.”
Silvan frowned consideringly. “I scarce see how it could hurt to take precautions. Mayhap you should pass some time with her. See what else you might learn about her.”
“Aye,” Drustan agreed. “I thought to take her to Balanoch on the morrow, see if anyone recognizes her and can tell us where to find her kin.”
Silvan nodded. “I will bide a wee with her myself, study her for signs of madness.” He cast Drustan a stern look. “I saw the way you looked at her and know that, despite your misgivings, you desire her. If she’s daft as you say, I won’t abide her being taken advantage of. You must keep her out of your bed. You have your future wife to think of.”
“I know,” Drustan snapped, all trace of amusement vanishing.
“We need to rebuild the line, Drustan.”
“I know,” he snapped again.
“Just so you know where your duties lie,” Silvan said mildly. “Not betwixt an addlepate’s thighs.”
“I know,” Drustan growled.
“On the other hand, if she weren’t daft—” Silvan began, but stopped and sighed when Drustan stomped from the room.
Silvan sat in pensive silence after his son had gone. Her story was nigh impossible to believe. How was one to countenance someone knocking upon one’s door, claiming to have spent time with one in one’s future?
The mind summarily rejected it—it was too chafing a concept for even a Druid to wrap his mind about. Still, Silvan had swiftly run through a few complex calculations, and the possibility existed. It was a minuscule possibility, but a good Druid knew it was dangerous to ignore any possibility.
If her story were true, his son had cared for the lass so much that he’d taken her maidenhead. If her story were true, she knew Drustan had powers beyond most mortal men and had cared for him enough to both give him her virginity and come back to save him.
He wondered how much Gwen Cassidy truly knew about Drustan. He would speak with Nell and have her casually mention a few things, observe the lass’s reaction. Nell was a fine judge of character. He would spend time with her himself as well, not to question her—for words were without merit, lies easy to fabricate—but to study the workings of her mind as he would study an apprentice. Between the two of them, they would discern the truth. Drustan was clearly not demonstrating a levelheaded response toward the lass.