Kresley Cole - If You Dare

She pushed him back to face him. "Then I thank it! But I must respectfully demand its exit from our lives. What we could have together is stronger than anything dire in that book."

He shook his head. "So much of it has come true. None of us with children because the book ends with our generation—"

"It ends with your generation because our children will make their own fate!"

His dark eyes revealed his regret. "Anna, you know that I will no' have—"

She took his hand and placed it on her belly.

Court grew very still. "What are you sayin'?" His hand on her began shaking. He'd kissed her there, caressed his fingers over her, and he knew that there to the touch was the slightest rounding.

She pushed his hand away. "I'm saying the book seems to be getting everything wrong when it comes to you. And that you're getting more than you bargained for."

"You're…" He swallowed hard. "You are…"

She put her chin up. "I'm carrying your child."

I bind you to me. The first night—the first night he'd made love to her. He had bound her to him and claimed her. At the same time, he'd felt that everything he was became hers as well. They'd done this then.

She was carrying his child.

He stood, staggered. She was right. He was getting more than he'd bargained for. He'd only had a faint hope today of finding a way to be with her, and yet he'd discovered that she loved him. How the hell she did, he couldn't imagine, but he knew better than to question such fortune.

The babe would be his permission to keep her, and proved that the Leabhar had something else in store for him entirely. He felt the weight of that worry lifting for the first time since he'd read it. Suddenly, falling to the ground seemed like a bloody fine idea.

"Your mother says early spring."

"She knows?"

"Yes. She is very sorry about the past and wants to speak with you soon."

The only way he'd do it would be if Anna asked it of him, but he feared she might just. "How is she reconcilin' it, then?"

"Olivia came up with a theory." Impersonating Olivia's accent, she said, "'The ten lines begin with death and misery, loneliness and suffering, et-cet-era, et-cet-era, until the last two, which obviously say all of these unpleasant things will occur, until the blockheaded Scot comes to Andorra to pluck the spoiled little ninny from a mountain.'" She grinned. "Your mother believes it's something along those lines but nicer—perhaps about binding with the woman fate meant to be yours."

"And what about the man meant for you? Would you want tae be marryin' someone like me?" His voice was gruff.

"I can't say." She turned from him and said over her shoulder, "I need to know what type of life we would live. I won't have you going away all the time risking your life."

"Then I'm retired," he quickly said, striding in front of her.

She gave him a soft smile. "That's what I wanted to know."

But he continued on, "I've got a place in Scotland. Beinn a'Chaorainn, it's called. A long-neglected keep that needs work, but a lot of land. It's hilly, with mountains in the back, so you might like it. I vow I will make it so you do."

"Are you trying to convince me, Courtland?" She jabbed her finger at his chest. "Do you honestly think there is any way you will be leaving here without me?" He was stunned and didn't bother to hide it. At his expression, she grinned and ran that finger up and down his chest. "What does the Beiiinnn-something mean?" She was touching him playfully as if she'd missed simply being with him, an idea more gratifying to him than she could know.

He felt the corners of his lips curl. "Beinn a'Chaorainn means…Land of Marsh and Pestilence."

"Oh." Her face fell, but then brightened. "You said it needs work." She asked hopefully, "Does that include draining swamps?"

He put his hands on her shoulders and stroked the sides of her neck. "I'm teasing you, mo cridhe. It means Hill of the Rowan Tree."

She cuffed him with the back of her hand, then returned it to his chest. "Hill of the Rowan Tree. Pendant del Roure," she said, rolling the r's in that voice he'd longed to hear, making his home's name her own. As she should.

"I do think you could like it there, but if you doona, then I'll take you wherever you can be happy."

She went to her toes to nuzzle her face against his neck, again stunning him. "I'm happy where you are."

His eyes closed from the tenderness in the gesture. She wants to be with me, he thought in amazement. Damn, if she doesn't want to.

She drew back and said, "But on the way there, we'll need to stop in Paris."

He swallowed and nodded. "Anna, I'll deny you nothing." If money was the only obstacle between them, he'd bloody well rob trains.

She tilted her head. "Oh, you think I want to go shopping."

He made his expression stoic.

But sadness flashed in her eyes. "Thank you for the offer, but I'll have to decline. This stop is of an entirely different nature." When his brows drew together, she said, "I'll tell you on the way. But if we're going to Scotland, then you have to get me over the mountain before I get too big to fit through the pass." She glanced around and added conspiratorially, "Trust me, you do not want to be stuck here for the winter with Aleix and Olivia mooning over each other."

He grinned and leaned down to put his forehead against hers. "Anna, I'll take you away whenever you please. I still canna believe that you…that we…I thought I'd lost you."

She twined her arms around his neck. "I don't suppose you can lose the woman fate decided was to be yours. You only needed to find her."

"I have found her. And I'll no' be lettin' her go." He laid his hands on her cheeks and gently kissed her.

"Actually," she murmured against his lips, "I found you."

Not to marry, know love, or bind, their fate;

Your line to die for never seed shall take.

Death and torment to those caught in their wake,

Unless each dark one finds his forechosen mate.

For his true lady alone his life and heart can save….