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

by Sabrina York

  And such familiarity of the political underpinnings of the clan was not common knowledge. He had no idea how she had come to have this information, but he could not deny that her warnings made sense.

  “Dominic.” His brother’s voice behind him scuttled this thoughts.

  He turned with a sigh. “Aye?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  He scrubbed his face with a palm. “I’m thinking you may have been right about her.”

  To his credit, Declan did not smirk. “I’m sorry.” A simple statement, it should not have wounded him as it did.

  “I do believe she’s telling the truth about MacPherson, though. I do believe danger awaits us at the meeting.”

  Declan nodded. “Aye.”

  “I think it would be wise if we take all the men, except for Ewan and Harry. They can return to the castle with the cart and…”

  “And?”

  “And Maggie. She canna come with us.” Not only was it unsafe, he couldn’t take the chance that she might, indeed, be an agent of the enemy. The thought slayed him.

  “I think that is wise.” His brother clapped him on the shoulder.

  “We need to prepare the men.” This was no longer a political mission. They were now in battle mode.

  “Aye.”

  And as for Maggie? Tomorrow he would say his farewells to her. But tonight?

  Tonight he would indulge in her.

  If she was right about the ambush, it might well be their last night together.

  * * *

  Maggie didn’t understand Dominic’s expression when he pushed into the tent. He stood there and stared at her as though he could not stare at her enough. The intensity, the harshness in his gaze sent a shiver of excitement through her.

  Without a word, he pulled off his jerkin and his tunic. They fell to the ground. His breeks followed. He stood before her—magnificent, beautiful, irresistible—gaze aflame. Though the sight discombobulated her, she rushed to follow suit, unbuttoning her blouse and wriggling out of her bra and jeans.

  When she was naked she went up on her knees before him. Her attention was locked on one thing and one thing only.

  His cock.

  It stood high before him, though with its weight—fully engorged as it was—it leaned a little to the left. It was perfect. Long, hard, ready. A bead of dew glistened at the tip.

  She needed to taste him.

  She set her hand on his stony thigh and drifted upward. His muscles bunched and he hissed a breath as she made her intentions clear. Though his body was delectable, though his skin was smooth and prickled with manly hair, she did not dally. She scudded her palm up and over his belly, and she enclosed him in her fist.

  Damn.

  He was like an iron rod, wrapped in velvet.

  She pumped him once, slowly, gently. His growl rumbled through the tent. Or it might have been a plea of some kind. Easing up on her knees, she leaned forward and lapped at that tempting tip. He lurched. His fingers threaded through her hair, locked against her scalp.

  He spoke not a word, but she knew what he wanted.

  She wanted it too.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she took him in. Took him deep.

  “Christ.” A whisper.

  Never before had she tasted something so delicious, so enticing, so heart-wrenchingly sweet. He filled her mouth with his manhood, filled her senses with his scent. Filled her soul with his essence.

  She played with him, toyed with him. Nibbling and sucking and licking. All the while, she held on to him at the root, working him ruthlessly. She could have nursed him, tormented him all night with this leisurely lust, but he was not patient in the least.

  As she clenched his ass for leverage, as she reached around and touched a tender spot, he roared and wrenched away.

  “Nae.” A growl.

  She affected a pout. “But I want to.”

  “Nae.” He came down before her on his knees and cupped her cheeks. Kissed her. “Where did you learn such wicked things Maggie-mine?”

  She grinned. “I read it in a book.”

  His eyes widened. “What kinds of books do they have in Seattle?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “No doubt I would.”

  But this was small talk, a distraction, a conversation that meant nothing and went nowhere. Simply a chance for him to regain his composure, his control as he laid her back on the furs and began a wicked torment of his own.

  His mouth was like a forge, heating her, enflaming her everywhere it touched. And it touched her everywhere. He touched her everywhere. Her shoulders, her hips, her toes. He spent much time on the tender underside of her knees, which had her writhing before him. This, of course, only incited him to greater mischief.

  He turned her over, and explored her back side; to her dismay, he seemed obsessed with the same tender spot she had dandled.

  With a laugh, she rolled back and grinned at him. “Nae,” she said. And then she opened her legs to him and his attention dropped. Locked. His nostrils flared. He flicked a look at her—one that sent a fire raging in her belly—and then settled between her thighs.

  She sucked in a breath as he opened her with this thumbs. He blew a breath on her heated skin and she moaned. But that delight was nothing to the slow and steady lap of his tongue. Ah, heaven. He teased her clit, making agonizing circles around the straining flesh. She fisted her fingers in his hair and yanked when he teased her too long. It was more than she could bear. It was hellish and heavenly and she needed, wanted—

  Ah God. Yes.

  He closed his lips around her and sucked. Her body seized. It was a small orgasm, but came from deep within. A pre-shock, perhaps, of the temblor to come.

  He continued to work her, kiss her, nibble and lap as he slid two fingers into her. They filled her. Filled her deliciously.

  “Ah,” he murmured around her. “So wet. So ready.”

  Oh yeah. “Fuck me, Dominic.”

  She should have kept quiet. His head jerked up. He stared at her. “What did you say?”

  “Fuck me. Now.”

  His nostrils flared. His ferocity surged. Even as she watched, he turned from man to beast. He rose up over her, but he did not sink in as she had hoped. Instead, he flipped her over, gripped her hips and yanked her up against him. “Like this?” he growled. “Do you want me to fook you like this?”

  Excitement screamed through her. “Yes.” She rubbed against him, against the hard, hot length of his cock, dampening him with her arousal. “Fuck me like this. Do it—”

  Oh. He did.

  He did.

  Easing back, he fisted his cock and set it at her opening. And then he drove deep.

  The wolves in the woods probably heard her scream. She did not care.

  It was glorious, delirious and maddening. He touched her core, but did not fulfil her. Something deep within ached, cried out for more.

  He withdrew and lunged again; she met him halfway, rocking her hips in a frenzy of passion. Again. And again and again. Wilder. Harder. Deeper.

  Faster.

  Passion rose quickly, taking them both to the top of the cliff, right to the edge. They clung there, together. Both trying to stave off the calamity, but both rocketing inexorably closer to disaster.

  The sound of flesh slapping flesh surrounded them, conjoined with the wet percussion of his thrusts, with their moans and sighs and exhortations, one to the other.

  “Do it. Harder.”

  “God, woman. You drive me wild.”

  “Shut up and fuck me.”

  “I am.”

  “Harder. Yes. More. More. More.”

  And then…and then. Ah. His body bunched. His cock swelled. His groan echoed in her ear. One final thrust, one magnificent in its fury and desperation and breadth. And he hit that spot. Hit it hard and completely and perfectly.

  And the orgasm that had been stalking her, pounced. Devoured her. Took her fully.

  Glory and bliss rained thro
ugh her. She devolved into a quivering mass of muscles and bones. She was aware of his groans, the continued surges of his hips as he emptied into her, but the physicality of it seemed far away, removed from her as though she barely clung to her body. As though her soul had ascended. And he was there with her. A manic and glorious comingling, a spiral of colors and sensations and intimacy that far transcended the simple act of joining bodies.

  In that moment, in that shard of time, she knew.

  She knew.

  She loved him with all her heart.

  With everything in her.

  She loved him and she would do so until the day she died.

  Which was a pity really.

  Because tomorrow he would hate her.

  * * *

  She waited until he was asleep before she found her clothing and dressed.

  It took every ounce of self-control not to kiss him before she left. But she couldn’t wake him. That would spoil her plan, and her plan could not fail. His life depended on it.

  Sucking in a breath, she slipped from the tent and skittered through the shadows of the night. But for the snores rising from the tents, and from the lone guard by the fire, it was quiet. She made her way along the tree line to the spot where the horses were tethered. Keeping one eye on the sleeping camp, she untied them one by one, and then led them to the south.

  Perhaps it was a foolish plan, stealing their horses. But if God was with her—and she had to believe he was—they would not find where she’d hidden them until it was far too late to make the meeting at Urquhart. Or at the very least, cause them to miss the massacre.

  She couldn’t contemplate the thought of losing Dominic. Not now that she knew him as a person, as a man. Her heart could not bear it.

  It had been bad enough that she’d mourned his death when he’d only been a sketch to her. If he died in the bloody attack of the Camerons, she would simply not want to continue living.

  And if her betrayal cost her his esteem, it was a sacrifice she was willing to make. Hell, had to make.

  He had to survive.

  She needed him to.

  Dawn was just breaking as she made her way back to camp. She should not have been surprised to find it in an uproar. Dominic was pacing and Declan was roaring and the men were skittering around in a flurry.

  Some of them caught sight of her and a cry rose up.

  She was glad she’d circled around, through the woods to the south, to throw them off the scent. Perhaps when they began looking for the horses, as they would, they would head in the wrong direction.

  Declan stormed up to her, his fists tight. His expression was furious. She lurched back at his approach, certain he meant to punch her. But he did not. He spit through clenched teeth, “What have you done?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  This enraged his fury.

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “What have you done you Cameron bitch?”

  “Declan.” Dominic’s tone was flinty and cold. “Unhand her.”

  It was a relief when those hard fingers released her, but her trepidation flared as she glanced at Dominic. His fury was under control, but barely.

  “She stole our horses!”

  “Technically, I hid them.” Probably foolish, but she felt the distinction was relevant.

  Dominic stared at her; she hated the hint of disenchantment in his eyes. But she had to ignore it. She had to. It was for the best. “Why did you do that?”

  “You know why, Dominic. I couldn’t let you go.”

  “That again?” Declan blew out a snort. He raked his hair. “Bluidy hell, Dominic. I told you we should have tied her to a tree.”

  “Aye. You did.” Oh lord. His tone sent shivers through her belly. He turned to her, indomitable, cold, hard, but his voice was incongruously gentle. “Where are the horses Maggie?”

  “I hid them.”

  “Where?” This, from Declan.

  She forced a smile, although one was not called for. “The point of hiding things is not telling where you hid them.”

  He lunged at her. He nearly reached her, but Dominic held him back. He shot a dark look at each of them, one after the other.

  “Send the men to find the horses,” he snapped at his brother. She can’t have taken them far. “And you?”

  She blinked at his vehemence.

  “You come with me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Fury scoured him.

  He doubted he’d ever been so enraged. But then, he’d never felt so betrayed.

  Odd that. Living in the highlands, surrounded by clans who stole his cattle and raided his crofts, beset with neighbors who would not think twice about kidnapping a wayward lass or lying straight to a rival’s face…he’d never felt so betrayed.

  Probably because he’d trusted her. Against his better judgement, he’d trusted an outsider.

  He would never make that mistake again.

  Without a word he led her to his tent. When she slowed, dragging her feet, he took her arm in a firm grip and hustled her along. He didn’t have much time before his wrath worked free, before his rage erupted, and he didn’t want his men to see him like that. Didn’t want them to see him flay her.

  It would only incite them. They were all furious with her as well. No telling what they might do or say if he did not remove her from their presence.

  A man’s horse was inviolate. It was an unwritten rule they would never be touched or harmed or stolen.

  Anyone who dared to break such a convention knew his peril.

  Horse thieves were hanged.

  The thought of her pretty neck snapping beneath the weight of her crimes horrified him. It did not, however, supplant his anger.

  He pushed her into the tent, with perhaps too much force. She skidded backwards and landed on the pallet. She stared up at him with wounded eyes, but he refused to feel a hint of remorse. She’d landed on the soft furs, after all. The furs where, but a few hours earlier, they had tangled.

  He had to look away. His glance fell on the whiskey.

  With harsh movements, he uncorked the bottle and poured himself a stiff draught. It burned on the way down.

  “Dominic—”

  “Silence!” She dared speak? Did she not know what menace she taunted?

  She lurched back as though he’d slapped her; a sliver of guilt skewered him. He brushed it away. Weakness was foolish. He should have known.

  “What are you going to do with me?” This she asked in a tiny voice, one that made him shudder.

  He stared at his drink, refused to look at her. “That depends on whether or not we find the horses.”

  “If you don’t?”

  “You’ll hang.”

  She made a noise, something strangled and wounded. “Hang?”

  She would never hang. He wouldn’t allow it. But she had to understand the weight of what she’d done. Not only had she delayed a very important journey, she’d committed the most heinous crime of all. “’Tis what we do with horse thieves.” He dared a glance at her. “Is this not so in Seattle?”

  “We don’t have many horses in Seattle.”

  He wanted to ask how they got around in this mythical place, but he didn’t. He did not want to engage in a conversation with her. He did not want to diffuse his ferocity. He could not allow himself to be fooled again.

  “We hang horse thieves here.”

  “I didn’t steal them.”

  “Did you no’?”

  “I just hid them. You’ll find them.” Her lashes flickered. “Eventually.”

  “And did it occur to you that we may no’ find them?”

  “You will. I’ll take you to them tomorrow.”

  His muscles locked. Irritation at her nonchalance prickled his nape. He glared at her. “Tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Tomorrow.”

  He whirled and paced, raking his hair with shaking fingers. “And what is the point of all this?”

  Her answer was soft, tremulous,
but he heard it. “To keep you safe, of course.”

  He whirled around. “Goddamn it Maggie! I am perfectly safe. My men have been warned. They’ve been trained. They are prepared to meet any foe.”

  “If you go there, you die.”

  “I should turn you over my knee.” Oh, he wanted to. So badly. But he’d never struck a woman and he feared his anger would overcome his restraint. In so many ways. He could not allow himself near enough to touch her or disaster might prevail.

  That she shot him a minxish grin didn’t help.

  Damn her. She was too alluring by far.

  He pushed out of the tent and bellowed at Ewan, though he was near enough that bellowing was not necessary. “Tie her up,” he said. “And make damn sure she doesna get away, or I’ll have your guts for garters.”

  And then he stormed off, in the wake of his men, who were heading to the south to find their damn horses.

  On foot.

  * * *

  It was dusk by the time they found the beasts. It took all day because apparently, Maggie was even more duplicitous than he’d imagined. She hadn’t taken them to the south. She’d taken them to the north.

  After a long, tiring, frustrating morning, marching through the summer heat, they’d returned to the camp and done what they should have done earlier. Examined the tracks more carefully.

  Yes. They did lead off to the south, but then they veered off into a burn and didn’t appear again. When they followed the little stream to the north, they eventually found another trail curving toward the west, and into the woods. And there by a small pond, surrounded with a lea of fresh grass, they found their horses, safe and hale.

  At least she’d had the heart to make sure they had water and food.

  But that was small consolation.

  As they mounted up and led the string of horses back to camp, Dominic realized she’d gotten what she wanted. He would not make it to Urquhart in time for the meeting. Damn it all.

  They would leave at first light, and ride hard, though. Perhaps they would not be too late to salvage something.