Laird of Her Heart (Dundragon Time Travel Trilogy Book 1)

by Sabrina York

  When his hand skated upward and cupped her breast, when his thumb scudded over her hard nipple, she moaned aloud.

  He lifted his head. Their gazes clashed. He stared at her for a long moment, motionless and silent. Though his thumb did continue a tormenting scrape over her swelling nub.

  A message passed between them. She was not sure what it was or what it meant, but something in her shifted. It was as though a curtain had been drawn away.

  She didn’t know why she’d been brought here, but she was a firm believer in destiny. Deep in her heart, she believed she’d been brought here—for whatever reason—to meet him.

  And she wanted him. With more passion and ferocity and anguish than she’d ever felt for any man.

  It would be a sin not to take advantage of this opportunity to finally taste him.

  She would never forgive herself if she missed out.

  So when his head descended, and his mouth neared hers…she didn’t turn away. She met her destiny head on.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  She was sweet, so sweet. Her mouth was fresh and she tasted like spring. Beyond that, she shocked him with her response to his kiss. She rose up to it. Met it. Matched him kiss for kiss.

  He’d been caught unawares, having fallen asleep and dreamed of her, and then awoken to find her in his arms, warm against him. His desire had been riding high and he was only incited to further madness by her scent, her curves, her murmurs.

  He wanted her. Wanted to take her here and now.

  Something within him, some maddened beast, demanded he do just that. She was his prisoner. He had the right.

  Another voice, one of irritating reason, argued against such folly. And not just because she was possibly an enemy trying to cozen him and seduce him, and weaken his guard against her—though there was that. But because he did not want to take her against her will. While she was bound and helpless.

  Something deep within him railed at the prospect. He wanted her warm and willing in his arms.

  Although she did not seem unwilling.

  Ah, that was a dangerous thought, was it not?

  She arched up into his kiss, nudging her tongue between his lips and his thoughts flew.

  Good Christ. Where had she learned to kiss like this? The query threatened to gut him but he decided to ignore it and simply enjoy.

  He explored her mouth, her chin, her neck—she really seemed to enjoy that. His hold on her breast never wavered, because it was far too delightful to release. She was perfectly proportioned, sensual and woefully overdressed. He worked at the buttons of her tunic. They were impossibly small, but he managed to get them open, even though she attempted to distract him with maddened kisses to his neck.

  When he separated the placket and gazed down at her breasts, he blinked. She wore another garment, one that covered her in a band. Though he tugged it this way and that, he could not figure out how to remove it. If this was some kind of Cameron chastity belt, it was truly heinous.

  “The hook is in the back,” she gusted in a breathless voice. She leaned to the side, but in the shadows he could not see what he was doing and the odious contraption would not come undone.

  She wailed in frustration at his fumbling attempts. “Untie me. I’ll do it.”

  Dominic stilled. Disappointment flickered through him. It was foolish of him to assume her passion was true. It was an old gambit of captured women, to seduce a man to the point he loses all reason and then lure him into lowering his defenses. Dominic would not be had. “I canna untie you, lass.”

  She rolled back over and glared at him. “Why? Are you into some kind of Fifty Shades thing?”

  His brow rippled. “I doona understand the meaning of this Fifty Shades thing.”

  “Yeah, well nobody does. Not really. Just untie my hands.”

  “I canna untie you.”

  She blew out a breath. “You can tie me back up once I take off my bra. Okay, Mr. Grey?”

  Who?

  But he didn’t ask. He studied her. Though she seemed sincere, he could not slough off the fact that she’d not been completely honest with him. He knew it to the core of his being. He could not take the chance of untying her, even for this.

  Even for the glory this might become.

  He shook his head. “Nae.”

  She growled—something ferocious that sounded like “fine”—and with great effort rolled away from him. He felt a hint of guilt then, at keeping her tied, making her so uncomfortable, but it was consumed by the fire of his passion that, now inflamed, would not recede.

  He lay back, closed his eyes and tried not to think of her taste, her scent, the curve of her breast.

  He tried not to dream of her.

  He failed.

  * * *

  Maggie woke up alone, but wrapped in a warm cocoon. It occurred to her that at some point, the highlander had woken up, untied her and left.

  She tried not to let disappointment ripple through her at the fact he hadn’t tried once more to remove her bra. Hell, that he hadn’t kissed her again.

  The kiss still danced in her mind. She swore she could still taste him.

  She sat up and glanced around the tent. She was gratified to see a flagon of water and something on a plate on the table. She extricated herself from the furs and padded over to see that it was. Her nose wrinkled. An oat cake. She picked it up and nibbled at the corner. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t orgasmic either. At the very least, it stopped the rumbling in her stomach.

  If she kept eating like this, she might lose Survivor kind of weight.

  She pushed her hair out of her face—without her brush she probably looked like a Chupacabra—and peered out the flap of the tent. Other than a few murmured conversations the camp was quiet, but she wasn’t a fool.

  The Macintosh would not have untied her unless he was certain she couldn’t run. She glanced at the woods and had a momentary urge to flee, but pushed it away with a sigh.

  Fact was, she didn’t want to leave him. Not really. After that kiss, she wanted only one thing.

  More.

  Whatever this was, this adventure—or hallucination—she owed it to herself to explore it. Her only regret was that she really wanted her locket back. It meant the world to her.

  She sighed and stepped out of the tent. A sudden movement at her side captured her attention and she glanced over as the large Viking-like man—the blond she’d smacked yesterday—leaped to his feet. He’d been sitting on a stool by the tent, whittling a stick down to a nub.

  She forced a smile. “Good morning,” she chirped.

  He frowned at her, clearly put out by her affability. But then, he offered a begrudging nod.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, gesturing to his stick.

  He held it up and touched the pointy end with a finger. “Spear.”

  Ah. It was charming the way he responded with one word answers so she could understand him, being a woman as she was. “I thought you forged steel tips for your spears.”

  He gaped at her. “I…aye. But I was bored. And curious.”

  “Curious about what?”

  “If this would be effective.”

  “No doubt it would be. It is very sharp.”

  “It is.” You’d think she’d complimented his sexual prowess, the way he grinned.

  “But short.”

  His glee deflated.

  “You’d have a hard time getting close enough to get a good bead on your prey.”

  “Bead?”

  “Good aim.”

  He studied the stick. “Aye. I think you’re right.”

  “But you could lash it to a longer stick.”

  “Aye.” He cast around for a longer stick.

  “You’re Ewan, aren’t you?” She thought she remembered his name, but she wasn’t sure. He nodded. “And how did you get guard duty, Ewan?” she asked in a teasing tone.

  A flush rose on his cheeks. He mumbled something.

  She tipped her head to the side
and waited.

  “I doona have the best…bead.”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The best aim. The others have gone hunting and I was chosen to stay behind because my aim is poor. I always undershoot.”

  “Ah. You need to aim for where it’s going to be, not where it is.” Yeah. Great advice. She’d learned that from a sage old man…in a movie. Too bad she couldn’t remember which one.

  His eyes widened. He stared at her. “Aye. Aye. I see what you mean.” His face broke into a grin.

  Well fricking finally. Finally one of them was smiling at her. It was a breakthrough of monumental proportions…until Declan stormed through the trees and glared at Ewan.

  “What are you doing?” he barked.

  Poor Ewan blushed again. “We were just talking.”

  “Don’t talk to her. She’s the enemy.” He glared at her wrists. “How did you get untied?”

  Annoyance prickled her, which was probably why she fluttered her lashes and cooed. “You have to ask your boss.”

  “My what?”

  “Your laird. Apparently he felt I didn’t need to be chained like a dog.”

  “I left Ewan to guard her.” A deep voice, threaded with irritation, rode to her on the skeins of the air. Her head snapped in his direction. Her breath caught at his magnificence as he strode toward her. Good God. She hadn’t imagined anything last night. He was the epitome of the Alpha male. “And I knew we wouldna be gone long.” He turned to her; his features were taught, but there was a glimmer in his eye as he surveyed her. “Did you sleep well?”

  “No.”

  His lips quirked up in a smirk only she could interpret.

  “And I have to widdle.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “I need to use the ladies room.”

  The men exchanged confused looks.

  She sighed. “I need to take a piss.”

  “Oh.” They all lurched back as though she’d just announced she’d like to have some maggots for breakfast, thank you very much. Then the befuddled looks returned. Apparently none of them had considered the prospect that their prisoner might have the natural human need to evacuate her bladder at some point.

  “I can go in the woods.”

  Dominic’s expression darkened. “Not alone.”

  “I’m not peeing with an audience!”

  “You’re no’ going alone.” He rubbed his lips as he thought. And damn, they were fine lips. “I was going to the loch to wash up after the hunt. I’ll take you with me.”

  The loch? It sounded lovely.

  “I’ll need to tie you up again, of course.”

  And yeah, her mood dropped.

  He did. He did tie her up, although it was a loose configuration around her waist. And though he led her through the woods on a leash, she didn’t mind so terribly because he talked her as they went. When she asked about an unfamiliar bird in the trees, he named it and pointed out others, and then when she asked about the hunt, he told her about that, and its importance to his people.

  She listened and asked questions but tried not to share her own observations, because jabbering on as she had a tendency to do, she might share something disastrous. It almost felt like they had some kind of rapport by the time they came to the loch.

  She was filled with visions of a nice soak in the sparking waters of the loch, of scrubbing her hair and washing off the sweat of the past two days, but when she saw it, her anticipation died a slow death.

  It was not a loch so much as a muddy pond. She propped her hands on her hips. “That’s the loch?”

  “Aye.” He bent down and began washing his hands in the water. He glanced up at her. “Did you need to…widdle?”

  Oh, hell. Yes she did. She glanced around the clearing searching for a good spot.

  He gestured to a bush. “There.”

  Her nostrils flared. “You’ll be able to see me.”

  “The point.”

  She glared at him and stomped over to the bush, noting her leash was just barely long enough. Turning her back to him, she yanked down her jeans and, squatted and—good gravy, it felt good to Release the Kraken. But then she winced as she realized… she was peeing in the woods.

  “Is there any toilet paper?” she asked, although it was a foolish question. “I mean something to wipe with?”

  He tipped his head to the side and studied her as though she were an animal in the zoo. He ripped a bunch of leaves from a branch and handed them to her without a word.

  Leaves.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and did what she had to do. But honestly, in that moment, she didn’t like the thirteenth century in the least.

  * * *

  She was a funny thing.

  So confident and intelligent, but at the same time, so utterly clueless, as though she really did not belong in this place, in this world whatsoever.

  As a child Dominic had been told stories about the fairies who visited from another realm to cause mischief, steal babies and occasionally mate with the human folk. If he’d had a whimsical bone in his body, he could have believed she was one of them.

  But she was no fairy.

  She was flesh and bone.

  Human.

  It had killed him watching her tug down her breeks, exposing her long legs and that delicious ass. He wanted to see her whole body, bare before him. Writhing.

  If he had any sense, tonight he would strip her naked before he tied her up.

  And hell.

  What hell that thought unleashed in his gut.

  She stood and fastened her pants—much to his regret—and then turned to face him. He tried to conceal his thoughts from her, but probably failed, because her eyes widened. Memories of the night before, holding her, kissing her, testing the exquisite weight of her breasts, howled through him. Her lips parted. Her tongue peeped out and hunger boiled.

  Slowly, they approached each other, step by step.

  He reached up and tucked a wild curl behind her ear. Lord she was lovely. Her eyes were clear, her complexion flawless. Her expression welcoming.

  He bent his head, savoring the moment, savoring the anticipation of tasting her again.

  A growl behind him made his heart stop

  The little hairs of his neck stood on end.

  He ripped his gaze from hers and whirled, keeping her behind him, shielding her from this menace.

  An enormous, scarred beast stood in the shadows of the trees, its teeth bared, saliva dripping from its maw. A wolf.

  Shite.

  What had he been thinking, coming out into these woods alone? That he might steal a kiss?

  Fool.

  Wolves were a constant danger to hunting parties; the scent of blood drew them.

  And Dominic had left his weapons in camp. All he had on him was a dirk.

  Fear flickered in his breast. Not for himself. For her.

  He at least had a chance.

  She was utterly helpless before such savagery.

  “Stay back,” he murmured softly, positioning himself to meet this threat. The woman did not obey him. She crept along behind him, clutching his arm. He pulled out his dirk and waved his arms wide to make himself look bigger.

  The wolf was not impressed. It padded closer and closer still, licking its chops. It growled again.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  He dared an incredulous glance at her. Be careful? “Stay back,” he snapped. “I want you to run when I attack.”

  “You’re going to attack? That’s a wolf. And a big one too.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Throw it a chunk of meat.”

  “In case you havena noticed, the only meat I have is still attached to my body.”

  “Well you can’t attack it—”

  But he didn’t have to. The wolf did the honors, leaping at him with a blood-chilling snarl.

  They met in a macabre embrace. The force of the lunge knocked him to the ground. Sharp cla
ws gouged at his leather jerkin and jagged teeth sprayed drool across his face as they snapped in a frenzy. It took all Dominic’s strength to hold it back. The only thought in his head was that he had to prevail… or she would die.

  He could not allow that.

  He could not let his failure be the cause of her destruction.

  But it was clear. He was outmatched. His only hope was to take a swipe at the beast with his knife and hope he hit some vital spot. Trouble was, he needed both hands to hold it off. He tried to roll over, to pin the creature beneath him, but it weighed more than he did, and had all the leverage.

  Slowly, but surely, the gaping maw closed in, near and nearer to his jugular.

  A horrendous roar resounded through the clearing. Something that sounded like “Hii-ya!” and the wolf went flying sideways into the dirt. It rolled and then leaped to its feet again, but its attention was not on Dominic. It was on Maggie.

  And it was really angry now.

  “I told you to stay back,” he snapped.

  “You were losing.”

  “I wasna losing.”

  She sniffed and muttered, “Were too.”

  The wolf lunged again, straight at Maggie. Horror clutched at his chest, locked his throat, screamed in his veins.

  To his astonishment she held still before this oncoming monster and then, at the last second, stepped to the side, slamming the butt of her palm into the wolf’s face.

  It yelped, but whirled around to attack again. This time she hunched down and rolled to the side, landing another blow to the beast’s belly as he passed.

  It occurred to Dominic that he was standing there gaping, which was not a very manly thing to do, so he leaped into the fray. Between the two of them they fended off another attack. The wolf, now panting, narrowed its eyes on them, contemplating the next incursion, but apparently it decided it had had enough.

  It turned around and limped back into the woods.

  His breath came in harsh gasps. His pulse raced. Sweat beaded his brow.