Free Highland Moon Sifter (a Highland Sorcery novel) by Clover Autrey

splashed them. Oh man. She buried her forehead in the crook between his neck and shoulder. His skin smelled of just turned earth and the cool electrical air during an ice storm. If magic and moonlight had a scent, this would be it.
    “And do not believe I did not notice how ye favor yer side.”
    She frowned. The man noticed everything.
    As happy as she was to reach the top without falling to their deaths, she missed the warmth when Shaw set her down. Yeah, that was it, his warmth. It was cold on top of the wind-swept cliff.
    She held her bangs out of her eyes and her other hand on his forearm just to steady herself. “Where to now?”
    The muscle beneath her hand went rigid. “Toren will know what to do.” His expression turned inward. “’Tis time I face my brother.”

    Chapter Ten

    “You know, you don’t look so good.”
    Shaw glanced down at the lass walking at his side. Bekah. Her name was Bekah. ‘Twas a strong name that fit the strength of her character, fit the life she had endured, and the journey she had taken to right it. Hers had not been an easy path. Déithe , the tale she spun of the future. It had been hard to hear, especially his part in it about nearly being the undoing of the entire human race.  
    Yet she was willing to spare him, to give him the chance to make it right. His fellow Scotsmen, the clan chieftains, had not been so ready to hear him out and forgive. Nor had he been eager to forgive himself, he realized. But Bekah, this strange lass from the future who had endured so much, did not see a monster when she looked at him.
    ‘Twas a rare gift he did not intend to let slip away. He would not let her down as he had let down his family and clan.
    She was looking anxiously up at him as they walked side-by-side through the forest, both keenly aware of the monsters that at this very moment could be shadowing them. Monsters of his creation. Fae’s blood, how did he create monsters? He would not know how to go about such a thing.
    He’d given her his own boots, though they were much too large. And noisy. The lass could barely walk without stepping out of them.
    He grinned. By the rood, she was a stubborn one. And fierce. She had left everyone and everything behind to travel through time and fix the wrong that he himself had bestowed upon future generations. He’d called her right. Fear-dìon , his wee defender .
    Billions dead. The grin tipped into a scowl. He would fall onto his sword this instant if he thought ‘twould stop it.
    He glanced sidelong at the lass.
    She shook the errant white strands out of her face only to have the locks slope across one eye. ‘Twas thought uncomely for a maid to shorn her hair, usually only done as a form of punishment for adultery or witchcraft, yet the short locks suited his wee defender. He found his gaze constantly roving over the exposed curve of her neck, imaging his lips skimming behind her ear, down the slope of her neck to the dip at her shoulder. There, there, and there.
    And the way her hair shone silver while in the moonlight, hiding her gaze until a breeze or movement of her head exposed thick-lashed eyes of golden brown. She was an ethereal creature spun of velvet night and starlight, a goddess who should be bathed only in moon glow and thoroughly worshipped upon an altar of earth and lavender.
    Shaw’s loins tightened at the fanciful image.
    “What are you thinking about?” She stopped walking and stared up at him, her pert little nose scrunched. “I can’t figure out that expression.”
    Oh, but he’d like to help her figure it out…and often.
    Once more his mood dampened. ‘Twas likely any future years he had could be counted on one hand, possibly less. The forest opened before them. The gray stone walls of MacTavis Keep perched on the edge of a small burn overlooking the sweep of the dark ocean. Torchlight danced within the long arched windows of the small keep and around the walls of the yard.
    “You’re sure your brother’s