Kanyth (Immortal Highlander, Clan Skaraven Book 4): A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Hazel Hunter

  The same beauty he’d seen looking at Perrin in the great hall, Kanyth recalled.

  Hours passed as he sat and watched her sleep, dozing himself now and then. He only roused when the fire in the hearth began to die, and the chamber grew cold. Unwilling to leave her to fetch more wood, he found blankets in a chest and brought them to the bed. As soon as he bent over her she turned to him and took hold of his tunic.

  “Don’t go,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.

  If he answered he’d wake her, Kanyth suspected, and carefully sat on the edge, gritting his teeth as the bed frame creaked. He felt her shivering, and reached down to draw off his boots before he lay beside her. Perrin rolled into him, pressing herself against his chest and belly and sighing. She was all over him now, her nearness drenching his senses as might a sweet, warm rain. He could even smell the honey on her breath.

  Would she taste of it?

  He’d never kissed a female.

  Pillowing his head with one arm, he encircled her with the other, taking care not to touch her with either hand. Breathing in her scent blended with his own brought a pervasive heat from his belly to stiffen his cock. By the Gods, she smelled as sweet as a glen filled with heather. He’d never held a female so close, either, and he marveled at the strange delight of it. Even memories of taking his release with a pleasure lass paled before the satisfaction he felt, simply holding her.

  The nearness of his body soon warmed hers, and when she stopped trembling Kanyth knew he should untangle himself and go back to the chair. He closed his eyes, awash in doubt. What if she woke in his arms like this? How would he explain it? You tugged me onto the bed and said no’ to go.

  Perrin went rigid against him, and said, “Oh.”

  Kanyth kept his eyes closed. It was cowardly to pretend to be asleep, but she wasn’t pummeling him or crying out for help. If he didn’t move she might go back to sleep, and then he would get off the bed and drag the chair to the other side of the chamber and stay there until–

  Her mouth brushed against his, soft and warm, and he tasted her breath mingling with his. A silken dampness stroked across his lower lip, and his cock went from stiff to engorged. She made a soft sound before she drew back, and he waited, hoping for more.

  Perrin touched his face with her fingers before she snatched them away. “Oh, God. This is real. You’re real.”

  “Most days, aye.” He opened his eyes, and saw the fear and wonder in hers. Remembering what Emeline had said, he smiled. “Forgive me, lass. I but slipped and fell into your arms. You wouldnae release me. I’m made your prisoner.”

  Not a word came from her, but she didn’t pull away. She seemed fascinated now, not frightened. What an arse he’d been, to treat her so severely. The next time he saw Ruadri’s mate he’d bow to her until his brow smacked the flooring.

  “I ran away from you.” She touched the side of her head. “Then I saw…something terrible. I can’t remember what.”

  Again, he heard her screaming in his head. “Dinnae trouble yourself to think on it. ’Twill be time to fathom it on the morrow.”

  She gave him a wary look. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Emeline left to see to Lady Elspeth. Do you ken, the last time the McAra held me prisoner, I slept on stone.” Kanyth stretched a little. “I confess I prefer this bed.” And the delicate curves of her body against his. And the heady, soft warmth of her, like nothing he’d ever relished. “I think I shall never leave it now. I’ll message Brennus, and have him move the forge here. Why do you frown so?”

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you.” She sounded shamed now, as if she’d instead beaten him. “I thought I was dreaming.”

  So, in her dreams she begged him stay and put her mouth on his. He wondered what more she did in her dreams.

  “’Twas too brief a kissing for me to judge the true worth.” He looked at her lips. “And since I’ve never been kissed, I’ve naught to compare.”

  Perrin blinked. “No one has ever kissed you but me?”

  Kanyth nodded slowly. “You’re the adept here, my lady. Mayhap another could decide me. Or ten. Aye, I reckon ten should settle it.”

  Her expression grew solemn. “You really want me to kiss you ten times?”

  “I’ll count for you,” he promised.

  Perrin hadn’t felt reality turn so surreal since she’d been snatched off stage by a huge man made of wood. She’d been convinced waking up in bed snuggled against Kanyth had to be another lusty dream. Doing something she’d never do awake was the whole point of dreams, so she’d kissed him. She’d wanted that thrill of being audacious and sexy, and she believed she was asleep. Why not? Then came the heat and smell and taste of him, immersing her in sensations too vivid to be generated by her imagination.

  Now he was joking with her. Joking. As if cuddling and kissing in bed was no big deal for either of them. Even more bizarre, she didn’t feel all that mortified. She’d kissed the Skaraven’s weapons master, who had always treated her like an annoyance, and he’d asked for more.

  “You don’t have to count,” she said, and touched his mouth with her fingertips before she replaced them with her lips.

  Perrin’s experience was almost as limited as Kanyth’s—Gaspard hadn’t cared much for necking—but she knew enough to keep it soft and slow. She let him feel the pressure of her mouth as it clung to his. He had such smooth, firm lips that she couldn’t help stroking them with the tip of her tongue before she drew back.

  Kanyth dragged in an unsteady breath. “I’d do that to you, if ’tis permitted.”

  He really didn’t know anything about kissing, Perrin thought. “You’re allowed to do whatever feels good. Go ahead.”

  He didn’t hesitate, but leaned in and covered her mouth with his. The kiss he gave her matched hers, and then grew hotter as she parted her lips for his tongue. He licked the delicate curves and ran his tongue along the edge of her teeth before breaking it off.

  “Gods.” The word shaped his groan. “I wish to… I’ve seen my brother and his wife at this. They kiss deeply, and take much time with it.”

  “I imagine they do.” A flood of liquid heat bloomed between her thighs, and without thinking she moved closer, pressing her hips against his. “Would you like to try that?”

  Kanyth’s arm tightened around her. “Aye.”

  Perrin felt breathless now as she rubbed her thumb across his mouth, and then used it to part his lips. “It might feel a little strange at first.”

  He kept his eyes open as she brought her mouth to his, but when she tasted him with her tongue his dark lashes meshed. A deep heat welled up from her hand and raced up her arm, but she ignored it. She kissed him as she had never done her French lover, with all the desire and loneliness she’d kept bottled up inside.

  The kiss went on and on, and Perrin didn’t care. Everything about this man made her crazy with wanting. How could she have ever thought she wasn’t a sexual person? Just kissing him made her want to tear off her clothes so she could feel his hands on her skin. To stroke all that glorious muscle while he pulled her under him, and put himself inside her, and stroked her until they both exploded–

  Kanyth pushed her over onto her back and lifted his head. He was panting now, and staring at her as if he didn’t recognize her anymore.

  “Was it too strange?” she asked, not worried at all.

  “Strange.” He cleared his throat. “No, lass. ’Twas unseemly. Carnal beyond anything I ken. You stole the very breath from me.”

  Perrin felt a little smug. “Sorry.”

  “Aye.” His gaze shifted to her mouth. “And I must do the same now to you, and steal it back. Else I fall senseless, and the clan hears of it. ’Twould cause a great scandal.”

  Perrin drew his head down to hers. “We wouldn’t want that.”

  “Aye, for they’ll cast me out. ’Tis very cold in the Great Wood. I’ll no’ last a night.” The last word he breathed against her parted lips.

  For a man
who had never been kissed Kanyth learned very fast. He braced himself over her as he took over her mouth, being careful not to squash her, not that she cared. He instantly mastered the glide of tongues and catching breaths, and then found the perfect rhythm, so strong and sure she gripped his shoulders in helpless delight. When she arched under him he shifted between her legs, pressing the throbbing length of him against the aching vee of her sex.

  It woke up her body, which started issuing demands to relieve her frantic, pounding arousal. Tutoring time needed to be over. She had to get them both naked, immediately. Where were his hands, and why weren’t they touching her breasts? Both felt like land mines about to blow, and as hard as her nipples had puckered he might lose an eye.

  Did she really just think that?

  Perrin turned her head to one side and gasped as Kanyth began kissing the side of her throat. He didn’t need lessons in that either, but they’d have to work on the touching. She reached for the hand he had clenched in the coverlet, planning to guide it to the nearest breast.

  “No.” In a single movement he flipped over and landed on his feet beside the bed. When she sat up he put his arms behind his back and shook his head, backing away from her until his shoulders hit the opposite wall. “I cannae.”

  It took Perrin a few moments to catch her breath, and while she did she tried to work out what had happened. Emeline had filled her in on how as mortal slaves the Skaraven had been with women through some weird ritualized chaining thing, so he knew what sex was.

  Maybe he was worried that she didn’t.

  “I’m not a virgin, if that’s why you stopped.” She should have started stammering on about Gaspard, but he didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t feel nervous, either, just achy and disappointed and confused. “Or did I do something wrong?”

  “I did. ’Tis no’ for me. ’Tis naught to do with you, lass.” He rubbed his hand over his neck. “Master Flen shall ken how to release you from the forge. I’m sure of it.”

  Her overheated body began to cool, all except for her hand. Glancing down she saw the old scars had formed a circle of flames that flickered like the real thing. She closed her fingers over it, and felt a zing like an electric jolt. When she looked over at Kanyth she saw his eyes and tunic still glimmered with faint blue light.

  “Emeline said that your battle spirit marked me.” Perrin shook as a stream of memories came rushing back into her mind. “I think it healed me, too.”

  “The forge can be frightening when it manifests.” He straightened and cautiously approached her, stopping just out of reach. “’Twas why you couldnae stop screaming.”

  “That wasn’t it,” Perrin said. She felt the back of her head but didn’t have even a twinge of soreness. “I had a vision of this castle going up in flames. We were trapped inside the great hall. You, me and the entire McAra clan.” She’d never remembered a vision in such horrifying detail, and the room grew blurry. “We couldn’t get out of here, so we burned to death. All of us.” She wiped the tears from her eyes before she looked up at him. “That’s why I was screaming.”

  “’Tis frightening when a battle spirit rides a mortal. It took over your body.” He moved to the big chair and sat down. “What you saw came from that, my lady.”

  Perrin shook her head. “I see the future. It’s my druid power. Unless we do something about it, we’re going to die here with the McAra.”

  “I shall consult with Flen in the morning. He’ll ken what meaning we should take from it.” He stood and looked away from her, moving as if he didn’t know which direction to go. “I should go fetch more wood for the hearth.”

  As he started walking out she grabbed a pillow and threw it at his back. The impact made him stop and look at her, his dark eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t care about the damn hearth,” Perrin told him flatly. She sounded like a harpy, but she had to make him understand. “That’s our future. I saw it. You have to listen to me.”

  Kanyth nodded. “As you say.”

  He thinks I’m full of crap.

  “Your brother would be dead now if I hadn’t told Althea to save him,” she pointed out. “If Cadeyrn had ignored me, he would never have gotten us away from Hendry and Murdina. Why won’t you believe me?”

  “The McAra built this stronghold of stone, lass, which doesnae burn. The great hall possesses entries and halls on the sides, and I ken no’ how many windows.” His mouth tightened. “And you’ll no’ be here, nor I. Once the druid has undone this, I’m taking you back to Dun Mor.”

  Chapter Eleven

  STANDING CLOSE ENOUGH to eavesdrop through the chamber door gave Ana no time to hurry away when the Skaraven opened it. Instead she took some steps back, turned to the side and moved as if approaching the chamber like any of the maids. She drew up the pail of wood splits that she carried in front of her.

  “Milord.” She bobbed with practiced ease, and kept her head tilted down so the sides of her veil shadowed her face. “I’m sent to tend the fire.”

  His hand reached for the pail, and then dropped. “Be quick about it. The lady needs rest.” He strode off.

  A lady, now, was she? After coaxing the god-faced demon into her bed, and coyly teaching him how she wished to be sloustered?

  Ana allowed herself a smirk. Mistress Thomas deserved to be stripped naked and whipped so all could know her as a hoor. Ana would reveal her discovery with an artful slip of the tongue while among the other chambermaids. For now, she had to continue her pretense, else the Skaraven return. She scratched at the door before entering, and saw the druidess huddled on the bed.

  “Fair evening, milady.”

  Bobbing again, she went directly to the hearth, where the fire had burned low. With a little smirk, she tossed the scrolls she’d stolen from the dovecote onto the embers. As the flames revived, she covered them with wood. Leaving the pail to one side, she went to the center of the room and folded her hands.

  “Might ye need else? Or your master, when he returns?”

  “No, and he’s not my master.” Perrin lay down and covered herself with the Skaraven’s blue and black tartan.

  Slipping her hand into her skirts, Ana curled her fingers around the hilt of the dagger she carried. If she killed the slut now, it would take from the Skaraven his chosen mate. How it would gratify her to do that. He’d not yet bedded her, and he seemed completely cock-ringed by her wiles, so doubtless he would suffer. But it would not end him to lose his wench, and the murder might expose her own presence in the household. She’d also heard him speak of Bhaltair Flen, expected on the morrow. She would not risk for a few moments of idle pleasure what might be her last chance to cut the old bastart’s throat.

  ’Tis no’ time to be Oriana Embry again.

  “Sleep well, milady,” she said as she withdrew, and walked down the passage leading to the solar.

  The laird had yet to retire, but she did find his wife in their bedroom. That they still shared one bed each night disgusted her. Small wonder they spawned like voles. But she kept her expression sweet with simpering deference.

  “I thought I’d look in on ye before I found my bed, milady,” she said as Elspeth glanced up from whatever nonsense she was embroidering. “Ye being so poorly of late.”

  “In truth I’m feeling a little better tonight.” The lady smiled and nodded at a small tray on the table beside her. “Lady Emeline prepared some broth for me, and for once I’ve kept it in my belly.”

  “’Tis a pleasure to hear, milady.”

  Her smile grew forced as she silently seethed. That facking healer did nothing but meddle every time she came, and now she was cooking for the stupit cow. She went over to retrieve the tray, and looked at the empty goblet beside the bowl. Small flecks of herbs still clung to the sides. She’d not only made her broth, she’d given her a healing brew.

  “Shall I bring ye some fruited oatcakes again?” she asked, alarmed now. “’Twill help keep your belly settled through the night.”

  “No, lass.
I reckon I’ll sleep well.” Elspeth went back to her stitching.

  Clenching her hands on the tray stopped them from shaking. Now thanks to the healer she couldn’t give the laird’s wife her nightly dose of purge potion. She wouldn’t be sick in the morning, which gave Ana the chance to attend to other matters. After she curtseyed and left the chamber she stomped all the way back downstairs.

  Lady Emeline would have to leave, and sooner than in twoday.

  Wynda nearly collided with her as she came out of the kitchens. “Where’ve ye been, Ana? Cook’s been asking after ye half the night.”

  She brushed past the young maid without answering. Inside, the cook looked up with one of her fiercer scowls.

  “Ye didnae light the torches in the back this morn again, ye lazy wench.”

  “I forgot. Milady needed fresh linens brought from the laundry, and a change of gown.” She thumped down the tray by a pile of unwashed crocks. “’Tis near all I do since she’s spewing from dawn to dusk.”

  The older woman eyed her. “’Tis part of yer duties as tending hearths is not.”

  Ana almost glanced over her shoulder. So Wynda had not kept silent. There would need to be a remedy for that.

  “See it done,” the cook continued, “or pack your things and go back to your village, if ’tis no’ been burnt.”

  Again, Ana had to smile and nod and scrape the floor with her skirts until the cook seemed satisfied.

  She went out into the great hall, where the laird stood deep in conversation with two of his men. They ignored her as she timidly stopped and hovered near them—for here she was nothing but a maid—but ended their talk a short time later. The guards finally left, and Maddock languidly beckoned her to approach.