He cocked his head, meeting her gaze levelly. “Nay. My idea of a good woman would be one I loved to look at, not because another found her lovely, but because her unique characteristics spoke to me.” He brushed the corner of her mouth with his fingers. “Mayhap she would have a dimple on one side of her mouth when she smiled. Mayhap she would have a witch-mark”—he slid his hand up to the small mole on her right cheekbone—“high upon one cheek. Mayhap she would have stormy eyes that remind me of the sea I so love. But there are other characteristics far more important than her appearance. My woman would be one curious about the world, and like to learn. She would want children and love them no matter what. She would have a fearless heart, courage, and compassion.”
He spoke from the heart, his voice deepening with passion. He freed what was bottled up inside him and told her exactly what he wanted. “She would be one who would talk with me into the wee hours about anything and everything, who would savor all the tempers of the Highlands, who would treasure family. A woman who could find beauty in the world, in me, and in the world we could make together. She would be my honored companion, adored lover, and cherished wife.”
Gwen drew a deep breath. The skeptical look in her eyes faded. She shifted uncomfortably, glanced away from him, and was silent for a time. He didn’t interrupt, curious to see how she would respond to his honest declaration.
He smiled wryly when she cleared her throat and glibly changed the subject.
“Well, if you’re from the sixteenth-century Highlands, why don’t you speak Gaelic?”
Give nothing away, lass, he thought. Who or what hurt you that makes you so conceal your feelings? “Gaelic? You wish Gaelic?” With a wolfish smile, he told her exactly what he wanted to do to her once he removed her clothing, first in Gaelic, then in Latin, and finally in a language that had not been spoken in centuries—not even in his time. It made him hard, saying the words.
“That could be gibberish,” she snapped. But she shivered, as if she’d sensed the intent behind his words.
“Then why did you test me?” he asked quietly.
“I need something to prove it,” she said. “I can’t just go on blind faith.”
“Nay,” he agreed. “You doona seem to be a woman who could.”
“Well, you had proof,” she countered, then added hastily, “of course, pretending that what you claim is true. You saw cars, the village, my phone, my clothing.”
He gestured at his attire, his sword, and shrugged.
“That could be a costume.”
“What would you consider sufficient proof?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
“I can prove it to you at the stones,” he finally said. “Beyond any doubt, I can prove it to you there.”
“How?”
He shook his head. “You must come and see.”
“You think your ancestors might have some record of you, a portrait or something?” she guessed.
“Gwen, you must decide whether I am mad or I am telling the truth. I cannot prove it to you until we reach our destination. Once we reach Ban Drochaid, if you still doona believe me, there at the stones, when I have done what I can to offer you proof, I will ask nothing more of you. What have you to lose, Gwen Cassidy? Is your life so demanding and full that you cannot spare a man in need a few days of your time?”
He’d won. He could see it in her eyes.
She looked at him in silence for a long time. He met her gaze steadily, waiting. Finally she gave a tight nod. “I will make sure you get to your stones safely, but that doesn’t mean for a minute that I believe you. I am curious to see what proof you can offer me that your incredible story is true, because if it is…” She trailed off and shook her head. “Suffice it to say, such proof would be worth hiking across the Highlands to see. But the moment you show me whatever it is you have to show me, if I still don’t believe you, I’m done with you. Okay?”
“Okay?” he repeated. The word meant nothing to him in any language.
“Do you agree to our deal?” she clarified. “A deal you agree to honor fully,” she stressed.
“Aye. The moment I show you the proof, if you still doona believe, you will be free of me. But you must promise to stay with me until you actually see the proof.” Deep inside, Drustan winced, loathing the carefully phrased equivocation.
“I accept. But you will not chain me, and I must eat. And right now I am going for a short walk in the woods, and if you follow me it will make me very, very unhappy.” She hopped down from the fallen tree trunk and skirted around him, giving him wide berth.