“Cian, I need you to concentrate.” Meg crossed her legs and tried to relax. She sat in front of him on the big bed they had shared the night before. Taking his hand in hers, she took a deep breath to settle her nerves. “Do you remember why we’re here?”
His lips curled into a tempting curve. He was shirtless and wore nothing except a pair of white linen pants. His long, black hair fell well past his shoulders. It shone in the afternoon light. “I think I can guess. Do you want to be on top?”
Meg shook her head and stayed patient. “We’re not having sex, Cian. We’re bonding. I’m your bondmate. Beck sent me to you. We need to bond so you can think straight.”
That seemed to get through to him. His eyes cleared for a moment, and his hands tightened on hers. “You’re my wife?”
Meg knew her face was slightly sad as she responded. “So I’ve been told. It’s okay, Cian. I won’t hold you to it. We just need to bond, and then we can be friends.”
He shook his head vigorously. “No. Too far gone. Hurt you.”
“It will be fine, Cian,” Meg assured him. She wasn’t sure, but she tried to instill a sense of calm resolve in her voice.
His gorgeous eyes filled with frustration. He was trying to make her understand and couldn’t seem to form the words. “Please, go. No hurt.”
Meg moved closer so their legs were touching. “It won’t hurt me, Cian. It’s going to be all right. Do you remember how to do this?”
His face cleared like a cloud had passed over and now the sun was shining. He smiled again. “Cad è mar atà tu?”
Oh, crap. He’s gone into Gaelic and now I can’t even understand his delusions. She tightened her hands around his. She was going to have to make the connection on her own. She leaned forward, and luckily, Cian seemed game. He leaned forward, meeting her in the middle. She touched her forehead to his.
“Is tù mo ghrà,” he said, his accent lilting around the traditional Gaelic that went with the ceremony. Her bonding with Beck had been devoid of any of the ceremonies that went along with bonding, but Cian seemed to remember. “You are my love,” he had said. She remembered it from the DLs. Meg tried to tell herself it was just words.
He pulled back and looked down at her as though waiting.
“Is tù mo ghrà,” she repeated.
If Cian wanted all the trappings, then she would give it to him. If he really was the other half of Beck, then she feared she meant those words.
He smiled, satisfied, and put his head to her forehead once more. He rubbed his head lightly against hers as though he loved the connection.
If they had been on the twins’ home plane, there would have been a great deal of pomp and circumstance involved in the ceremony. There would have been witnesses and a decorated altar. The downloads she had read on the subject talked about the beauty of the ceremony. There would have been flowers—marigolds, St. John’s wort, and shamrocks. There would have been a length of ornate rope to bind their hands together for the handfasting ritual.
The twins’ father would have overseen the marriage, and bells would have been rung throughout the city to let the people know the heirs had been bonded. Music would flow out of the palace all night long.
The little cottage was quiet. There were no flowers, but Meg felt the weight of what she was doing all the same. She was binding her life to this man. It wasn’t something she could walk away from, though. Liadan had advised her to run, but how could she? She could no more walk away from Cian than she would be able to watch a person drown and do nothing to save him.
It was more than that. She could never abandon half of Beck to fate. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t love her. She loved him. That was all she could control. She firmly intended to fall out of love, but she couldn’t let his brother die.
Then she stopped thinking, or rather she ceased thinking, her own thoughts. Cian’s brain assaulted her.
She was flooded with memory and thoughts, dreams and fancy, and everything that was Cian. Now Meg understood what the blonde had been trying to tell her. She was overwhelmed with him. Sights, sounds, even smells and emotions battered her system. She felt her body sag under the onslaught, but Cian’s strong hands held her in place.
She saw a young girl. She was chasing her through a gleaming white palace. She was his sister. Bronwyn. The name was as clear in Meg’s mind as the image was. In the vision, she was Cian, and she was a seven-year-old boy, full of mischief. Bronwyn had been a brat. She had tossed a mud pie straight in his face, and he was going to get retribution. Meg could feel the cool marble under his bare feet. The palace was filled with light. Cian wasn’t really mad. He was just playing a game. In Cian’s body, Meg ran past Beck. He was coming out of a room with his father. Beck looked so serious. He was somber, but she could feel him. She could feel how much he wanted to join his twin and their sister. Beck wanted to play, but he simply nodded at his twin and followed their father.
Math. She was hit full-force with a load of equations she grasped for a moment, and then they were gone. Cian’s head was filled with math and science and theories on everything. He was so smart. His mind worked a thousand miles a minute. Meg couldn’t process it all. Her brain hurt. Poems and stories and articles on anthropology and engineering written in several different languages flew in and out of her head.
She felt a pounding pressure begin.
And the women…so many women. He loved sex. He craved it. He needed it to feel whole and complete. He got lost in his mind sometimes, but his body always insisted on having its fair share of time. There were blondes, brunettes, and girls with hair the color of the sunset. He was affectionate toward them all. He liked them one or two at a time, and he loved it when he shared a female with his other half. Cian liked to hold a lover in his arms while Beck fucked her. It had been so long since they shared a truly intimate experience. Beck had become so rigid in his sexuality. He hadn’t stopped sharing women with his brother. He had done something worse. He had stopped sharing himself with anyone. Beck had closed off entire sections of their being, and Cian felt the loss.
Meg felt her pulse pound as she was flooded with memories of Cian’s lovers. She had a brief vision of a beautiful blonde with her hand possessively on Beck’s arm. They walked into a brilliantly lit ballroom, and everyone cheered. Cian was left out. It was the night of his formal engagement, but he didn’t want to be there. He couldn’t stand the woman. Cian was sure she felt the same way about him. He was in the way, and he knew it. Beck was resplendent in his formal court attire, but his face was pinched with duty. Beck didn’t love her, either. How were they going to get out of this? Meg was swamped with Cian’s panic as he realized he was trapped.
Meg heard herself moan as the siege continued. Her hands tightened on Cian’s arms. She held on for dear life. Tears squeezed out of her eyes as she became sure her skull was going to split. She hoped it did. It would relieve the overwhelming pressure.
No, she felt Cian protest deep in her soul as the scene in her brain changed. He didn’t want to remember, but it was coming, anyway. It was far too strong to be denied.
Smoke was everywhere. Meg lifted her head and put a hand to her ears. It was so loud. She was in the middle of a battle. There was fire, heat, and the sound of metal on metal. She looked down. A teenage girl was lying in her lap. She looked up with soft brown eyes. They were filled with tears.
“Mama?” the girl asked. She wasn’t confused, Meg realized. She was asking a question.
“She’s gone, Bron.” Meg heard Cian’s voice speaking, saw through his eyes, was assailed with his memories. His voice was filled with sorrow. His mother was dead. He’d seen her die at the end of a soldier’s blade. He hadn’t been able to get to her. “Father’s gone, too.”