Ashley fanned her overheated face and mouthed “Wow.”
I gave her a halfhearted smile. “Let me know if you need any more pieces.”
“Sure. Will do,” she said, still gawking.
“See you later.” I blocked her line of vision, grabbed hold of Gavin’s hand, and pulled him back out of the store. I wished I had a bag to toss over his head. Or better yet, a sign to stick to the front of his shirt letting all the women in town know that he was with me. Although, I doubted it would even matter—he was too good-looking not to notice.
“Where to now, lass?” he asked once we were outside standing on the sidewalk.
“That was the last shop. We can head home now.”
Gavin got a squeamish look on his face.
“It’s not that bad.”
He gave her car a wary look. “Tis not normal ta travel thusly.”
“It beats the hell out of riding a horse.”
Gavin frowned and shook his head. “Nay. A horse is a normal way ta travel.” He pointed his finger at her car. “This…this…metal beast o’ yours is not.”
I smiled and unlocked the door for him. “We will be home before you know it.” I opened the door.
Gavin gave her a doubtful look before reluctantly climbing in.
Smiling, I shut the door, walked around the back of the car and climbed in the other side.
Shutting my door, I put the keys in the ignition and started the car. “Buckle up.”
Reaching over, Gavin grabbed the seatbelt and buckled it.
I put the car in gear and backed out of the space.
Gavin grabbed the dashboard and shut his eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
BLOWING ROCK, NORTH CAROLINA
The Cottage - Present Day
“How did you like the spaghetti?” I stood with the plates and crossed the room.
Gavin rubbed his flat belly. “It was good but what about dessert?”
I gave him a look of surprise. “You are still hungry? He ate two big plates of spaghetti as well as three pieces of bread.
His eyes twinkled. “Not for food.”
“Oh—OH!” I felt myself warming from the look he was giving me.
“Come here lass,” he said, leaning back in the chair.
I set the plates in the sink, wiped my hands on a towel, and walked back over to the table. “You want to do it here?”
Gavin gave me a winning smile and pulled me down onto his lap.
One thing turned to another and soon we were right back where we often ended up—in each other’s arms.
♦
“Och, lass…”
His hot breath murmured against my ear.
“What ye do ta me.”
Gripping my hips, he rocked back on the chair with my legs straddling him.
He was rigid, his body slicked with sweat pressed against mine, buried deep within my womb, filling me completely.
“I can’t…,” I gasped on the verge of the precipice he was pushing me towards.
“Ye can.”
His hands moved slowly upward from my hips to my breasts, cupping them ever so gently as he lowered his mouth.
The rasp of his beard scraped against my sensitive flesh, making me body arc like a bow.
“When we go, we should go together, aye?”
“I can’t,” I argued, although the point was moot. He controlled my every movement.
“Yes,” I finally agreed, clinging to his broad shoulders.
“Aye, that’s more like it,” he boasted, feeling the threads of his own release bubbling to the surface like molten lava waiting to escape an erupting volcano.
His mouth closed over my nipple.
I couldn’t take it.
Ignoring his command, I purposefully shifted and impaled myself further.
He let out a feral groan.
“Och, lass, I told ye ta wait.”
Too bad, I thought.
Lifting myself, I slowly eased upward. I was the one in control now and I reveled in it. Leaning forward, I nipped at his neck, his shoulder, tasting the saltiness on his skin as I lowered back down again.
“That’s it, lass.”
He fondled my breasts as they jiggled in his hands.
His hips jerked upward.
I gasped from the pressure building and then it was too much, I couldn’t wait. Losing all control, my body became taut, and then shattered in a million wonderful pieces.
Gavin groaned. Pumping harder, faster, he too finally found the release that they had both painstakingly sought from one another.
♦
Later that night, with the lass snuggled beside him, in a bed far too soft for his liking, he stared up at the darkened ceiling, like he had many a night in the past. He still had found no trace of the damnable gypsy. Each lead they found led them to another dead end.
He had yet to tell the lass why he was looking for the gypsy, Morag. And as far as he was concerned, she didn’t need to know…which is what he told himself repeatedly when his guilt began gnawing deep in his belly.
Once the Highland Games returned to the mountain and he found that witch, he would be returning to his own time. He had to for the sake of his men, for the treasure he owed a King, and for the love he had lost so long ago. Yes, Gavin had it all figured out.
Or so he told himself…
Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes, enjoying the creature comforts this time provided as well as his time with the lass… his lass, for a wee bit longer.
♥
Paige and Gavin’s story continues with ‘Lost in the Highlands’, the Thirteen Scotsman,
Book Two – Now Available
PART ONE
THIRD PERSON VERSION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
RAVENHURST SERIES
ABOUT LORRAINE
PROLOGUE
GRANDFATHER MOUTAIN,
North Carolina, Present Day
Taking a deep breath, Paige looked out the windshield of her car at all the brightly striped tents set up on the grassy plateau sprawled out in front of her. Dark swirling heavy, clouds surrounded the area. In the middle, where the tents were set up, spears of light streamed down from above, giving the entire area a sort of magical vibe.
The Highland games had been coming to Grandfather Mountain for years now and she had yet to get up enough to attend one event.
“I’m here today,” she reminded herself. Grabbing some money, she stepped out of her car and shoved it in her pocket. She told herself she was just scouting out a new venue for her art, but that wasn’t altogether true. She wanted a Highlander for her own and by golly, she would get one if she had anything to say about it…
Or so she hoped.
♦
Smoothing her hand over the front of her plaid, Paige Walsh stepped out of the changing room and spun around for her audience of one.
“Paige, aren’t ye a bonny l
ooking lass, wearing that plaid as if it were yer verra own.”
Tavner let out a low appreciative whistle. He was one of the original council members for the Highland Games here on Grandfather Mountain.
“Tavner, you’re going to make me blush.”
“Aye, I like ta do more than that if only I was a wee bit younger.” He winked.
“Oh, stop.” Her face heated.
“Now get on with ye, lass, and get yer reading done before the line gets too long.”
“Reading? Why do I need a reading?”
“It’s a custom since ye are a virgin,”
“What?”
“Not that kind of virgin, lass.” He chuckled heartily, making his beard quiver. “It just means ye are new to the games. The gypsy will tell ye which clan ta give yer favors ta in the games.”
“What’s the difference? Can’t I just give them to who I want?”
“Nay, lass, that is no how it works.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s only a game.”
Tavner’s expression turned grim as he made the sign of the cross over his barrel chest. “Och lass, it is more than a game to us Scotsman.”
“Well, of course,” she tried to recant. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” The last thing she wanted to do was insult him.
A strange look crossed his face and then he stepped up to her. “It’s all right, lass. Mistakes happen all the time.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“So, um, where’s this fortune teller’s tent I need to visit?”
“Ye will no have a problem finding it. It will be the one with a line of lasses like ye waiting outside of it.”
“Don’t you think there should be more than one? I mean, if she is that popular.”
“Only a true wanderer can give ye a reading, and she is the only one here that I know of.”
“Alrighty then,” Paige sighed and swiped a piece of hair back from her face. “I guess I will go and get this reading done. I don’t want to make another highland faux pas.”
“Ye will be fine, lass. Stop off and get yerself some mead on yer way down.”
“What’s mead?”
“It’s a drink made from fermented honey. Ye will like it.”
“Thanks, Tavner.”
“No, I thank ye, lass.”
♦
The brightly striped tents set up looked much larger close up then they had from her car. After Paige got herself a large mug of mead, she made her way to the fortuneteller’s tent.
Tavner was right.
There was a very long line of girls waiting outside the boldly striped tent. Sipping her mead, she stepped to the back of the line and waited her turn.
♦
Over an hour later, a flock of giggling girls ran out from the tent waving banners of different colors of what clan they would represent in the games.
“At this rate, there won’t be any clans left for me,” she grumbled and took another large bite of her turkey leg. After the first fifteen minutes of waiting, Paige asked the girl standing behind her to hold her place. She agreed and Paige went off in search of some more mead and a turkey leg.
Unfortunately, by the time she got back, the girl she asked was long gone. Paige tried to explain that to the other girls in the general vicinity of where she was standing before, but she could see on their faces that they were not going to budge.
Giving up, she went to the back of the line. Of course, this wouldn’t have been so bad, but after several trips to the mead tent and then to the bathroom, Paige was relegated to the back of the line a few more times.
Finally, she was at the front and the burly Scotsman that had been giving her strange looks off and on as she waited in line leveled his eyes on her. “Morag will see ye now.” He pushed back the tent flap.
Stepping up to the tent, she tossed her empty cup and turkey leg bone into the trash. Giving him a sidelong glance, she ducked under his arm into the dim interior.
“Come in, lass,” said a crackling disembodied voice. “Have a seat and give me yer hand, lass.”
The ancient woman stared straight ahead. Paige felt like she was looking past her at someone behind her. The woman was blind, or almost. After she sat down, she reached out and gave the gypsy her hand.
♦
“It’s a deal then?” The gypsy stuck out her gnarled age-spotted hand for Paige to shake, once they were standing outside of the tent.
“Yes. We have a deal.” Afraid she might hurt her, Paige grabbed her hand gently. She seemed so frail all stooped over, bracing herself on her cane.
Her fingers tightened on her hand until the point it was becoming painful. Tugging on her hand, she tried to get her to release her hand but she was surprisingly strong.
With one last finger-crushing squeeze, she looked deeply into her eyes. “Are ye sure yer up to the task, lass?”
“Yes. I’m sure.” What did she want her to do, write it in blood or something?
On cue, Paige felt a prick on her third finger.
“Ow!” She yanked her hand. “What did you just do?”
“Och, tis only a wee scratch, nothing ta worry yer little head over.”
Blood dripped from her finger onto the ground. “I’m bleeding.” She tried to pull her hand away again.
“Not so fast, little lassie.” She was overly excited; her breath was coming out in rushed hitches as she continued to squeeze my hand.
Her fingers were going numb.
“Now, that ye have spilled yer blood…”
“I didn’t spill my blood…you did….”
She waved away her answer with her free hand. “Och, do ye want a Highlander for yer verra own or no?” She hitched up her brow and it disappeared under the patterned scarf tied around the top of her head.
“Of course I do.”
“With yer selfless offering of yer own blood, on this day, we now have a binding deal.”
She released her hand.
“Well, that wasn’t exactly…”
She didn’t seem to hear Paige.
Cackling merrily, she broke into a little jig, dancing in circles. Arms flapping, shuffling her feet, the stacks of bracelets on her arms made a jangling sound. She lifted her skirts and swung them back and forth. Without missing a beat, she hooked her arm through Paige’s; then whirled her back and forth in each direction before she started a little do-si-doe move on her own.
It was the most bizarre thing she had ever seen. Before Paige signed the paper, the woman looked like she was going to keel over at any moment, not now though. Now she was as spry as ever, which made her wonder as to why she would act in such a way.
Unfortunately, Paige didn’t have the chance to ponder that question for very long because when she stopped dancing, she rounded on her. Hands placed on her hips, she walked circles around where Paige stood, like she was sizing her up for something.
“Good, good.” She patted Paige’s body affectionately, which kind-of felt more like a frisking at a police station.
“Yer a plump one, aren’t ye lass?” She smacked Paige’s behind with a surprisingly amount of force, pitching her forward.
Rubbing her bottom, Paige frowned down at the woman. She reminded her of the wicked witch from Hansel & Gretel, and that Paige was the unwitting victim about to be tossed in the oven for her dinner.
“So what of it?” Paige asked feeling riled.
“Oh, not ta worry.” She waved her hand dismissively in the air. “Strapping Highlanders like their woman folk wit a bit o’ flesh on them. So ye will do jes fine.”
She smiled widely, which revealed another empty space in her mouth. Paige had seen four spaces so far, giving more credence to the witchy character that she had envisioned the woman as being.
Teetering on her feet, Paige grabbed the maypole that was set up off to the side of one of the vast open fields where the games were held. All the young pretty girls/maidens she had seen earlier were now long gone having been picked off one by one by a slew of
young handsome admirers. Paige wasn’t allowed to participate. Tavner said she picked the colors for the ‘13’ and in doing so sealed her own fate. Whatever that was supposed to mean—so as a conciliatory prize she got herself another cup of mead. Tavner told her the drink was made from fermented honey. What he didn’t say was how good it would taste. So, one cup had turned to two, then two had turned to three, and the rest of the evening had become a blur and now, somehow, she ended up here, with this wicked witch, err, gypsy.
“Come on, lass, the light is waning.”
The gypsy grabbed her hand none too gently and led Paige, which was more of a dragging, across the flat of the hill over uneven clumps of grass to the base of a rather imposing mountain.
“Do ye see the steps there, lass?” She pointed her gnarled finger to the stone steps cut into the face of the mountain leading up into a bank of clouds at the top.
Paige felt like Jack, from ‘Jack and the beanstalk’ as he made way to climb the great beanstalk to steal the golden egg from the Giant living in the castle in the sky.
“Uh…”She hiccupped and her vision blurred.
“Lass, can ye manage it or no?”
The woman sounded mad, or was that fright she heard in her crackling voice as she leveled her rheumy blue-green gaze on Paige.
Apparently irritated with her slow response, the gypsy grabbed her arm and shook it, making her head rattle on her shoulders. “Yes, yes, I can manage it.” Paige really wasn’t too sure but she would have said anything to get away from the woman.
Paige wobbled forward.
“Och, lass,” she screeched. “Don’t go leaving the basket behind.”
“What?”
“Take it, lass.”
She shoved a rather hefty basket into her hands. Once she let go the weight nearly made Paige fall on her face. Staggering back, she pulled the heavy basket up.
Lost in the Highlands, Volume One Page 16
