by Gill, Tamara
"What the hell is a chauvinist, lass?" He'd never heard of the word before, and he doona like being called things he did not know the meaning.
"It means you would like a woman to do as you say, know her place, and yield to your whims. That will never happen with me, and not any woman who turns up here to marry you if she has any backbone to speak of. Any pride left running through her core."
"Aye, really?" he said, stepping close and placing them nose to nose. With his temper running high, his mind had one thought and one thought only. How damn beautiful she was when fired up, angry as hell, and willing to defend her beliefs. As odd as they were. She was as free and untamed as the Highlands. "Better a maid than a woman who's been with half of England and Scotland combined. No wife of mine will have been so free with her liberties."
The crack of her hand hitting his cheek echoed through the room. Maya fisted her hand at her side, pulling it away, hating that he'd poked her to the point she lashed out. Damn him. She'd never hit anyone in her life, and she hadn't wanted to hit him either. "I'm sorry," she said, swallowing hard as a red handprint formed on his cheek.
"Hit me again, lass, and I'll have you over my knee with your ass reddened within a breath."
She gasped, stepping back. "You wouldn't dare."
Boyd strode to the door. "Strike me and find out."
Chapter 14
O’Cain Stronghold, Duntulm Castle, Skye
Dougall stood in the hall of castle Duntulm and watched as his clansman, bloodied and worn from his flight from Druiminn, strode into the hall. The other men who were sent out to raid Macleod lands nowhere in sight. An ominous view that could only mean one thing, that their mission had failed.
He crossed his arms, pushing down his temper that yet again, his men had failed, that his clan had lost lives. Good, fighting men whom Clan O’Cain could not afford to lose. If his men could not raid and claim their spoils successfully, Dougall would be forced to do the raiding himself. Not that he minded such a feat. It had been some time since he'd had a good, bloody sword battle with a rivaling clan. And he would like nothing more than to lob off the head of Boyd Macleod, to see for himself if he were immortal as everyone in the Highlands thought him to be.
"My laird, we were attacked. Macleod and some of his men caught us at Druiminn before we could get away. Everyone was killed."
"You survived it would seem," he said, narrowing his eyes on the lad. He'd sent some of his best men, confident they would return with cattle and mayhap a few pretty lasses to warm the men's beds. That they were bested once again by the bastard Macleod would not stand.
"Narrowly. I hid in the forest and made my way back here once darkness fell. The men," he said, wiping his face as if to clear his vision of what he had witnessed. "They were murdered, struck down without the opportunity to defend themselves. Macleod ordered their bodies to be burned."
Dougall fisted his hands at his sides. No matter how he intended to use them, the thought of his men being killed was never something easy to hear. Macleod was growing bold, and it was time the ancient laird died. He'd heard the rumors, of course, that the laird was immortal, but no man survived when his heart was ripped from his chest and his head put on a spike. Macleod would be no different.
"Macleod spoke of losing patience with the O’Cain clans. Do you think he'll incite war?"
Dougall laughed, hoping it would be so, and if not, then he would encourage one himself. He wanted the rich, fertile lands Macleod held. He wanted to grow his clan and be the greatest landholder in Scotland. His people would be well-fed, happy to follow his lead. The Macleod's time at Druiminn was limited.
"That is my hope," he said, staring at the battered clansman and feeling nothing but annoyance at his failure. "And if he does not, then I shall have to do the honors. He will not know what has hit him after I have finished," Dougall said more to himself than to his clansmen. Macleod would die when they met in battle, and nothing, not even the Fae, would change Macleod's fate. Not this time.
Macleod stood at the stone wall at Druiminn Castle, looking out over the ocean that continuously rocked against the castle walls below. At night, the sea sounded angry and annoyed. He was livid over what was happening on his lands. The danger the O’Cain clan posed for his people. The raiding, stealing of his assets that kept them all fed. They did not just steal his cattle and sheep, but they destroyed crops in their raids. It had to stop.
The O’Cains were growing bold, leading up to something, but what he did not know, but he could guess.
They wanted a war. And war they would get if Dougall O’Cain needed one so badly. The young laird had only inherited last year. Boyd supposed the green lad needed to show how big his balls were. He would ensure they were shoved down his throat when he killed him, if only for his own amusement. They need only to come at him and his people one more time, and he would be forced to strike back, hard and deadly.
"Boyd?"
He inwardly groaned, steeling himself to look upon Maya. Another distraction he did not need. Along with his growing infatuation with the lass that left him distracted when he needed to be on edge, watchful, and ready to strike at a moment's notice. His name on her lips left an ache to thrum deep inside his chest, and he wanted, damn it, to hear it again and again.
He had left her earlier this night, knowing he needed to clear his head from the day’s troubles. That she had hit him and his words afterward were dishonorable. He’d never hit a woman in his life, even on their ass and he would not start now.
"Maya lass, what are you doing out so late? I thought you went to bed hours ago."
She leaned on the stone wall, looking down at the waves below. He instinctively took a step toward her, the thought of her tumbling to her death spiking fear in his soul.
"I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about what I did to you. I’m sorry I hit you,” she said, looking at him quickly.
He grinned, trying to dispel the despair he read in her eyes. “Doona worry, lass. My skin is as hard as leather. You dinna hurt me, but I should apologize as well. I would never hit you, lass. I hope you know that.”
She watched him a moment before looking back over the inky-black ocean. “I may not have known you long, but I know that is true.” She sighed, the sound lost. “I keep thinking about home, and if the tapestry shouldn't work, doesn't send me back, then what? What shall I do?"
"You will stay here with me." He would not send her away, even if he was never to have her warm his bed. He could not do that to a woman without a family or clan to protect her.
"You would let me live here with you. Forever?" She watched him a moment, grinning a little. "You have a kind heart, Macleod. Are you sure you want me to know that about you?"
He shifted on his feet, not sure he liked the term. Kind of heart did not sound strong or warrior-like at all. It sounded English, weak, and feeble. "Doona confuse who I am, lass. I doona have a heart. Not anymore." Not since the Fae had stolen his wife from him a hundred years before.
"You lie, but I shall keep your secret.” She smiled a little at him. “Thank you for letting me stay here. Even if I shall grow old while you remain young, and I'll forever be jealous of your good looks while mine leave me."
Boyd hadn't thought of that. Good God, should Maya be stuck here for the rest of her life, she would grow old and, in time, die. The idea of the sweet English rose aging while he did not made his stomach churn. Of course, he'd lost friends in such a way before. At 127 years of age, that happened, but something about seeing Maya age and pass on disturbed him more than it ever had before.
What did that mean?
"We shall figure out a way to get you home, lass. Doona concern yourself."
"And what about you? Have you thought more about finding a sweet Scottish lass that you can love to break the curse? Don't you think it's time?"
He narrowed his eyes on her, mulling over her words and not in the mood to have such a conversation. "What do you know of Clan Macleod in your time? Tell
me."
She leaned her petite bottom against the stone wall and crossed her arms. Her straight, white teeth bit her bottom lip, and his cock twitched in his trews. He sat atop the wall and focused on the stone castle before them, a tower of strength of solid stone, a reminder of his power and ability to deny himself the lass beside him.
"There are ancestors, a Laird Macleod in my time, so you must have children at some point. I wish I could tell you who it was that breaks the curse for you, but I do not know. But it is rumored that your family has gifts." She looked up at the stars, their flickering lights reflecting in her orbs. She was a pretty lass. Sweet and kind. He could see himself courting such a woman.
"What kind of gifts?" he asked, knowing that other than his immortality, there were no gifts for the Macleods. Only curses. Seeing everyone around you grow old, year after year, was no reward.
"I hadn't been working at the castle long, so I do not know exactly."
"You worked at the castle. What was your use?"
She chuckled a little, meeting his gaze. "I was a cleaner—a maid. I only started working there a couple of weeks before… Before," she waved her arms toward the castle, "all this happened."
"Such a beautiful, intelligent woman as yourself should not be waiting on the laird. You should be sitting beside him. Married to him."
She barked out a laugh, and he frowned. "I doona mean for my words to be amusing, lass."
She chuckled still. "I'm sorry, but no. I'm no better than anyone else, and I like working as a cleaner for the estate. I meet so many people from around the world, visiting and taking in the Scottish Highlands. While it would be lovely to be married to the current Laird Macleod, he's already taken. I'll just have to perv on him from afar, I'm afraid."
Perv? "You speak in a foreign tongue, lass."
"I just mean," she went on, "that he's handsome, and while I do enjoy seeing him when we're lucky enough to catch a glimpse of him, I'm not going to try and steal him from his wife. I love my job, and I would like to return to it if I should ever be lucky enough to return home."
Boyd studied her. The time she spoke of seemed strange and unreal. He could not think of the castle having anyone other than himself living within its walls. "What is Scotland like? Have we claimed our independence yet, lass?"
She threw him a dubious look, unsure how to answer such a question, especially when she knew he would not like what she told him. "There was a vote a few years ago, but unfortunately, Scotland decided to stay part of the United Kingdom."
"Gods blood, what?" Boyd stood, the scowl on his face deep set. "We had a chance of independence. To pull free from the English reign of terror, and we dinna go?"
Maya stood, coming over to him and laying a hand atop his arm. His face had blanched, and she'd never seen anyone look quite so ill so quickly before. "The country does have its own parliament, so it isn't all bad."
He didn't look convinced, and she supposed, nor would he. To hear such a thing, knowing that his clansmen, all the Scottish people alive today, would love to be free from England. To hear that his homeland voted to stay would be a knife through his heart. Hers went out to him. "I'm sure one day Scotland will be free. But times are so different from how they are now. There is no clan warfare, hasn't been for hundreds of years. Scotland is peaceful, one of the most beautiful and most visited places on the planet. England is not looking for war any longer. I think should you see it, you would like the Scotland of my time. What your Scotland has turned out to be."
As beautiful, rugged, and magical as the man who stood before her. What wasn't there to love about that?
Chapter 15
Maya came downstairs into the Great Hall the following morning late after her night-time chitchat with the laird. A conversation she would forever remember and cherish when she thought about it. That he was interested in her time and thought she should be married to the current Laird Macleod was a compliment that few women would not think sweet.
She spied him sitting at the dais, leaning back on his chair, one foot lazily sitting atop the table.
His breakfast seemed consumed, but he continued to look out over his clansmen and women who sat eating, breaking their fast. Maya started toward him, pushing down and ignoring the fluttering that always rose within her when she saw him. Of late, and especially after their kiss, her attraction to him had grown. Her hope that she could help him find love and break the curse seemed an unachievable dream, so she would have to settle for biding her time, enjoying his company as friends and hope that he bestowed one or two more of his delicious kisses.
His gaze slipped from the hall and landed on her, his dark, hooded eyes watching her every step.
Maya took a deep, calming breath. Never had she ever reacted to a man as she responded to this laird. His eyes, dark and hungry, held promises of nights of pleasure. She had little doubt that the women who lived under his care here at Druiminn thought him hot. She found him hot as hell. His chiseled jaw and cheekbones were enough to make a woman want to touch them. He always sported a little stubble growth over his jawline, giving him a rugged, dangerous appearance. Her fingers twitched at her sides, and she fisted her hands to still them.
She swallowed, not quite believing that the powerful laird kissed her. Her. A normal English woman of no particular expertise or standing in the world. Just a normal person like so many others, but Boyd Macleod had wrenched her into his arms and kissed her.
It was quite marvelous really.
Maya bit back a grin at her wayward thoughts as she stepped up on the dais. He turned in his chair, facing her. "Good morning, lass. You look handsome today."
Maya looked down at her yellow kirtle and didn't think the color helped her pale skin, but she smiled in any case, liking that he liked her gown. "Thanks. And you look very relaxed this morning."
"I have several tenants coming to see me today, requesting an audience about matters around my lands. I thought that maybe you would like to sit with me and watch."
"Really?" she asked, breaking some bread a maid placed before her before dipping it into a bowl of porridge that she'd come to like more than she thought she would. Especially when it looked like white glue with chunks in it, nothing like the porridge she ate in her time.
"’Twould give you a chance to see what I do for my people, try to stop any disagreements from the outlying farmers who seed and tend my land."
Maya couldn't stop the smile from bursting forth. "I would love to sit by and listen. Being stuck in this time with you, and your people, I do want you to know that I'm enjoying it much more than I thought I would."
He threw her a crooked smile. She sighed, knowing how easy it would be to fall into lust with the man who, with one look, could make women shuffle up their skirts.
"You dinna think you would enjoy living here at Druiminn? What worried you so much?"
She chuckled, chewing her bread. "Besides the fact that there are no toilets, no showers, no toilet paper? Those are just a few things to start. Not to mention there is no deodorant."
He slipped his legs off the table and turned fully to face her. "While I doona pretend to know what any of those things are, deodorant has me intrigued."
His brogue made the word almost unrecognizable, and Maya chuckled, leaning toward him. "You spray it under your arms, so you don't stink."
He frowned, sniffing his underarm. "I doona stink, I hope."
"Oh no, you smell lovely." Maya froze as the words slipped past her lips before she could wrench them back. Heat burned her cheeks, and she knew there was no stopping the blush covering her face.
"Really?" His tone was cajoling and charmed. "I smell nice, do I, lass? Well…" he said, his head too close to hers. His breath tickled her ear, and she gasped when his lips brushed the whorl of her ear. "You smell as fresh as the rain on a cold Highlands morn, as sweet as a rose newly bloomed." He breathed deep beside her and didn't rush to back away.
Maya could not move, nor did she want to. If she were hone
st with herself, she'd wanted to hear such things from his lips, to have him kiss her again. She craved it nearly as much as she craved coffee.
Her hand reached out, settling on his muscular, long leg and the soft leather trews he wore. Her attention snapped to the clan, eating their breakfast before them, and was relieved to note none knew what was happening at the dais. It was Boyd's turn to still, his breath hot and heavy.
"What are you doing, lass?"
She faced him, placing them nose to nose. "Touching you."
His nostrils flared, a muscle in his jaw worked, before he wrenched his chair back, standing. "Eric, let us prepare for the tenant farmers," he yelled out to the young man who often accompanied Boyd. His secretary or squire, she supposed.
Maya huffed out a disappointed breath, missing already the feel of his body under her hand. She listened to him talk to his clansmen, watched as his men organized chairs and the hall to accommodate those who would attend today. As the hall was divided into seating rows, facing the dais, she supposed Boyd would sit here when he discussed their grievances or ideas, whatever it was they did during these events.
"Maya lass, good morning to you." Jeane sat beside her, her cheeks rosy. Maya frowned, reaching up into Jeane's hair and pulling out a long piece of straw. She held it up before Jeane, grinning. "Late night?" she asked, smiling when Jeane's cheeks turned an even darker shade of red.
"Shhh, lass. Boyd will find out, and there will be hell to pay. He thinks I'll never marry again, but that isn't the case, not when the devilishly handsome Douglas Albany kisses me as he does."
"Really?" Maya said, happy for her only friend. She cast a glance out into the hall and spotted the very man himself watching his Scottish lass with nothing but devotion in his eyes.
"He looks nice, Jeane." Maya squeezed Jeane's hands in support. "I'm happy for you."
