Grimm smiled wickedly. “When I was younger I stayed with Gypsies for a time.”

Jillian lay back against the pillow, wondering what this had to do with the earth-shattering explosions he’d been lavishing upon her.

“They had a strange ceremony they practiced to induce ‘Vision.’ It didn’t rely upon a mixture of herbs and spices or the smoking of a pipe. It relied upon sexual excess to achieve a state that transcended the everyday frame of mind. They would place one of their seers in a tent with a dozen women, who repeatedly brought him to climax until he was begging for no more pleasure. The Rom claim climax releases something in the body that causes the spirit to soar, ripping it free from its earthly mooring, opening it to the extraordinary.”

“I believe that.” Jillian was fascinated. “It makes me feel as if I’ve drunk too much sweet wine—my head gets swimmy and my body feels weak and strong at the same time.” When his fingers found the juncture of her thighs, she shivered. With a few deft movements, he had her tingling, hungering all over again, and when he brought her to a swift release with his hands, it was even more exquisite than the last. “Grimm!” Heat erupted inside her, and she shuddered. He didn’t remove his hand, but cupped her gently until she calmed. Then he began again, moving his fingers in a light teasing motion over the sensitive nub.

“And again, my sweet Jillian, until you can no longer look at me without knowing what I can do to you, where I can take you, how many times I can take you there.”

For Grimm there was no rest that night. He paced the stone floor, kicking at the lambskin rugs, wondering how he was going to bring himself to do the right thing this time. Never in his life had he allowed himself to get too attached to anything or anyone, because he’d always known that at any moment he might have to leave, fleeing the hunt the McKane perpetuated against any man suspected of being Berserk.

They’d found him in Durrkesh. Quinn was right. What was to prevent them from coming to Caithness? They could have easily followed the lumbering cart upon which they’d transported the sick men. And if they descended upon Caithness again, what harm would this blessed place suffer? What harm might they do to Jillian’s home and Jillian herself? Edmund had died as a result of the last McKane attack. Maybe he’d caught a lung fever, but if he hadn’t been wounded to begin with, he would never have caught the disease that had claimed his young life.

Grimm couldn’t live with the thought of bringing harm—again—to Caithness and Jillian.

He stopped by the bed, gazed down at her, and watched her with his heart in his eyes. I love you, Jillian, he willed to her sleeping form. Always have, and always will. But I’m Berserk, and you—you’re the best of life. I have an insane old da and a crumbling pile of rocks to call home. It’s no life for a lady.

He forced his dark thoughts away, scattering them with his formidable will. Sinking into her body was all he wanted to contemplate. These past two days with Jillian had been the best two days of his life. He should be content with that, he told himself.

She rolled over in her sleep, her hand falling palm open, fingers slightly curled. Her golden hair fanned out across the white pillows, her full breasts spilled above the downy linen. Just one more day, he promised himself, and one more blissful, magical, incredible night. Then he’d leave, before it was too late.

CHAPTER 19

QUINN AND RAMSAY SACKED THE KITCHENS OF CAITHNESS at dawn. Not one piece of fruit, not one slab of meat, not a single savory morsel was spared.

“Christ, I feel like I haven’t eaten solid food in weeks!”

“We damn near haven’t. Broth and bread don’t count as real food.” Ramsay tore off a chunk of smoked ham with his teeth. “I haven’t had an appetite until now. That damn poison made me so sick, I thought I might never want to eat again!”

Quinn palmed an apple and bit into it with relish. Platters were piled haphazardly atop every available surface. The maids would faint when they discovered the men had wiped out all the food that had been prepared for the coming weekend.

“We’ll hunt and replenish.” Quinn felt mildly guilty as his gaze swept the decimated larder. “You up to a bit of hunting, Ram, my man?”

“So long as it’s wearing a skirt,” Ramsay said with a gusty sigh, “and answers to the name of Jillian.”

“I don’t think so,” Quinn replied acerbically. “Perhaps you didn’t notice, but Jillian obviously has a bit of a tendre for me. If I hadn’t gotten sick at Durrkesh, I would have proposed marriage and we would be betrothed by now.”