by Eno, Laura
Matters of the heart? Deanna broke out in a cold sweat. She'd only been here a day, didn't belong here…and yet the woman's words pierced open the dark secret Deanna had tucked away in a hidden corner of her mind.
Ian Mackay drew her to him like no man ever had before. Not even Nick, the man she thought she'd love for the rest of her life. What was it about the aggravating Scotsman that had her willing to drop into his bed at the crook of a finger? Deanna didn't like pig-headed oafs.
It was a nice day, she conceded as she stepped outside. The air smelled fresher than anything she could remember. Walking in the opposite direction from the stables, Deanna studied the curtain wall surrounding the bailey, which had been missing on the modern version.
Rising thirty feet in the air, Deanna wondered what the view must be like along its walkway. Pretty spectacular, no doubt—not that she'd get the chance to see for herself. Guards stood at intervals along the top with their backs to her as they watched the valley below. The only way in or out was through the portcullises, wood and iron gates that were raised at the moment but could be lowered at the first sign of trouble.
The curtain wall must slope down towards the back of the uneven property, Deanna thought, since she could see over the top and view the river from her third-story window. Would the guard at the back gatehouse let her pass by and walk down to the river? It'd be worth a try. They all thought of her as a Cameron spy though, so he probably wouldn't let her through.
The rest of the bailey held barracks and other buildings whose purposes were unknown to her…and the stables, of course. She walked back to the wall of the keep itself and placed her hand on the cool stone, its rough facing pitted by hundreds of years of weathering the elements.
"If you're looking for something to pet, I can think of more suitable pleasures." The challenge in Ian's voice dared her to turn around and face him. He stood too close, letting his body heat warm her backside. Images of him from her dreams rose unbidden and her face flushed.
Blood pulsed in her ears, the frantic pounding of her heart blocking all other sound as she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck. She turned to face him and knew she'd made a mistake. Deanna took a step back, the cold stone sandwiching her in place while his gaze flamed the front of her body. How could one look make her want to tug off that kilt—the one now rising in her direction? She jerked her eyes back up to his face and saw a satisfied grin play across his lips.
His hands came up to rest on the wall, caging her in, a look of devilment in his eyes. "I've decided to get to know you better, lass."
Deanna silently cursed her weakness as her eyelids fluttered closed of their own volition—a sure sign to him that she wanted to be kissed. He took advantage of the invitation and it was all she could manage not to moan as his lips brushed against hers. A spark of familiarity swept through her staggering emotions, as if they'd done this before.
He pulled back and she watched him study her face, his eyes widened in surprise. So he felt it too—that jolt of awareness every time he touched her that said she already knew him.
"Who are you?" His question held a sense of wonder in the tone and Deanna sank into the depth of his eyes.
He kissed her again and she felt his body shudder as he drew her close, his hands coming down to trail fingers through her hair. The sensations of his touch coursed through her veins; her clothes hung too heavily on her body and became cumbersome.
"Stop. Please." What a crazy thing to say when all she wanted was for him to continue.
"Why?" His lips nibbled down her neck, leaving feathery kisses along her throat. "Doesna this please you?"
"Yes. No." Her voice faded into a moan. "You need to stop. I need to get back to my own time. Your mother says you keep the brooch locked up but I think holding it might send me back."
He pulled back slowly and regarded her in silence, then spun on his heel and walked away. Deanna slid down the wall until she sat on the ground, trying to figure out what to do next. Flee back into the castle and hide in her room? Run after Ian and tell him she changed her mind? Click her heels together three times? She needed to get her hands on that brooch.
Her eyes stung and she gave them an angry swipe. She must look absurd, sitting here on the ground. Deanna stood up and dusted off her dress, heading away from the direction that Ian took. He was the last person she needed to see right now. She couldn't think straight around him.
As Deanna turned the corner more trouble stomped her way, sporting wild copper hair and a look of murder smoldering in baleful brown eyes.
Chapter Eighteen
"Keep yer filthy hands to yerself and off my betrothed or I'll throw you in the midden, so I will." The girl stood several inches shorter than Deanna but looked capable of carrying out her threat. With her fists locked on her hips, the girl stared a challenge that looked serious.
Deanna shook her head in bewilderment. She didn't have any experience with catfights. "Who are you talking about?"
"Are ye daft? The Laird—or have ye been kissing so many ye canna keep them straight?"
"Ian? Betrothed?" Deanna snapped her mouth shut, annoyed with her one-word sentences. She sounded like a parrot.
Apparently deciding her warning had been sufficient, the girl flounced away with one last glare over her shoulder. Her hair flew in a wild tangle with the wind, reminding Deanna of a copper-haired Medusa.
How could Ian kiss her like that if he was betrothed? The nerve of the man! She'd have a few things to say to him the next time they met—right after she forced him to give her the brooch.
Deanna rounded the corner of the keep, still fuming at Ian's poor behavior, when a whiff of sewage brought her up short. This was the side the garderobes opened up to. It smelled worse than being inside one of them. She supposed it still beat having to empty out a chamberpot though, and hurried to retrace her steps.
The other side held a small garden, redolent with the smells of herbs and Deanna took an appreciative breath. Roasting meat turned on a spit behind the garden, tended to by a waifish boy who gave her a broad smile as she passed by. Someone from the keep yelled at him and he spun back around to watch the meat. Deanna hurried her steps, sorry she'd distracted him.
The graveyard sat back here and Deanna stepped into it, searching the ground where she'd found the brooch before. It wasn't there—not that she'd expected to find it again.
The spot where the Bean Nighe had been was vacant now. Deanna wished she had taken the time to see whose grave she'd knelt in front of. In 2012, there had been a headstone there. Had it been Ian's?
Thinking of him brought her anger rushing back. She liked him better as a ghost. At least then he wasn't practically married.
Going back up the hill, the door she found at the rear of the keep led her into a small sitting room next to the dining area. Isobel happened to be there, going over lists at a desk.
"Did you enjoy your walk around the bailey?" she asked.
"It was very informative." Deanna grimaced but didn't explain her comment when Isobel cocked an eyebrow at her. For all she knew, Ian's behavior was socially acceptable. Deanna didn't need to alienate Isobel by complaining about her son's behavior. "My head still hurts. I think I'll go lie down for a while."
She left before Isobel could ask any questions and ran up the stairs to her room, hiding her face in a pillow on the bed. She detested tears; they didn't serve any useful purpose.
Growing up without a mother, she'd learned early on that tears made her father uncomfortable and had suppressed them. They'd shared their mutual grief in stoic silence through the years, never giving each other cause for concern.
What would her father make of all this, she wondered? He'd followed his wife around the country for the sake of her career, his own profession of English teacher carrying him to a new high school every couple of years. He'd sacrificed a long-standing position in a stable community for love. Dad would probably tell her to listen to her heart.
That was a prob
lem. Deanna had just shed tears over a man she didn't even know, yet images of Ian flooded her head. He had a magnetic quality that pulled her ever closer with each moment she remained here. If she didn't leave soon, she never would. And there was the slight problem of him already belonging to another woman…
Did any of that matter? She didn't belong here. Deanna understood that she must fight to get back home, even if her heart chose to stay. She stood up, ready to go ask for the brooch again. It was the only right thing to do.
The door banged open and she toppled back onto the bed in confusion. Ian strolled toward her, his movements graceful and unhurried.
"Don't you ever knock?" Her ire kicked up a notch at his arrogance.
"'Tis my home. I'll go where I please." He stepped in front of the bed and gazed down at her but didn't come any closer. Deanna's heart thudded as she struggled to keep her eyes away from his lips. "We have unfinished business. Are you ready to tell me who sent you here?"
"I already told you what happened. No one sent me." Deanna sat up, suddenly aware that she'd been lying across the bed like a woman waiting to be ravished. "I can't imagine what your betrothed sees in you. You're stubborn and pig-headed, never listening and always thinking you're right. Well, she's welcome to you. I wouldn't take you if you were tied up with a bow on your head."
"A bow on my head? What does that mean? I'm no betrothed. You speak in riddles, lass."
Deanna watched the furrow in his brow deepen as he studied her like she'd gone off the deep end. The girl must have had some reason to say that to her, though. "Okay, your girlfriend. Maybe you're not betrothed yet, but she seems to think so."
"What are you blethering about?" Ian ran a hand through his hair then crossed his arms over his chest. "Who told you this?"
"She didn't give me a name. Wild copper hair and a bitchy attitude. She told me to stay away from you—which won't be a problem."
Ian snorted. "Alyth. She's no my betrothed, or anything else but a pain in my backside. Alyth was betrothed to Alec. Now she thinks I owe her the honor."
"Why would she think that? Who's Alec?" Deanna was interested in spite of herself.
Ian's eyes grew dark but he remained silent. Deanna shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, realizing she'd asked the wrong question but not understanding why. She tried changing the subject.
"I need to hold your brooch. It's the only way I can think of to get back to my own time. Would you please let me try?"
He snapped out of his trance. "Nay. That brooch stays locked up." Ian turned and walked back to the door. When he reached it, he paused for a moment and looked back at her.
"Alec was my brother." With that, he left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Chapter Nineteen
A falcon soared overhead and Ian watched as it dove at the ground, gracefully snatching its prey. He envied the majestic hunter—free to do as it pleased without mixed emotions to batter its soul.
What was he to do with this Cameron woman? His mother still insisted the lass had naught to do with the Camerons of Achnashellach. Her story of time travel wasn't beyond reason either. As a Druid, Ian understood the power of unseen forces and magic. It still didn't explain her purpose for being here, though. He didn't believe in accidents.
Deanna… She had a nice name. Mayhap if he called her that and quit thinking of her as 'that Cameron woman' his head would clear and he'd discover more about her. Or he'd be drawn further into the emotional muddle he seemed entangled in….
The Cailleach. He'd take Deanna to see the Goddess of Winter who lived within the standing stones, though the risk was great. Some believed she practiced dark magic, while others insisted she was Fae. Either way, it had to be done. Ian couldn't penetrate the magic surrounding the Cam—Deanna. He owed it to his clan to discover if she came to harm them. He owed it to himself, for he wanted her in a way he'd never experienced before and it worried him, even as his lust rose each time he laid eyes on her.
"I'm taking the lass to see the Cailleach," he told Tomas and Munro as he gathered supplies for the journey. "See to things while I'm gone, aye? We shouldna be more than a sennight."
"Do you need some company?" Munro asked with a grin. "I find the lass verra charming."
"Nay." Ian chopped one hand in the palm of the other. "Dinna you have a home to go to?"
Munro gave him one of his barrel-chested laughs that boomed through the confines of the stables. "My son is managing the clan quite well. I think I'll stick around and see how this turns out. Besides, I told Mairi I'd be here for her wedding."
"Suit yourself." Ian turned to Tomas. "Try to keep our friend out of trouble."
Tomas clapped him on the shoulder. "Aye, I'll try but it willna be so easy. You know trouble follows him."
The three friends laughed, then Munro sobered and locked eyes with him. "Take care and come back safe—the both of you."
Ian nodded, grateful for good friends and family. "That is my intention."
***
Right after the midday meal, Ian announced their trip to Deanna. The vixen refused to go with him. "You will go, one way or another, even if I have to tie you to your horse."
"Horse? I don't know how to ride a horse."
Ian stared at her. She seemed more panicked by the horse than going somewhere alone with him. "Dinna you have horses where you come from?"
"Yes, some people have horses for recreation but we don't use them for transportation. We have cars and planes that fly in the air to take us places."
Ian struggled with her unfamiliar words. Her lips were held in a smirk as she gazed at him. He decided she must be joking and called her bluff. "Then you'll ride with me."
He watched her tremble but her blue eyes blazed at him. "And if I refuse?"
"I can turn you out, condemn you as a spy, send you back to your clan—any manner of things that might be verra unpleasant for you. All I'm asking is for you to take a short trip with me. If you've been telling the truth about your origins, it will be revealed. Have you been honest about it?"
"Yes, damn you to hell. I'll go." Her bottom lip jutted out and Ian wanted to draw it into his mouth and suck. She must taste like honey.
"Such words from a lady." He grinned at her passion, even if right now it was turned in anger toward him.
"When do we go?"
"Right now." He saw her cheeks grow pale but she didn't say anything, only nodding while refusing to look at him. It should be an interesting trip.
***
Deanna eyed the horse—although it looked more like a shaggy pony to her—with trepidation. It turned its head toward her and bared its teeth. She didn't know if it was smiling or wanting to take a bite out of her. Did horses smile? She had no idea.
Ian tied the reins of the second horse to his, then mounted, hauling her up in front of him in one fluid motion. The ground seemed far away and she had nothing to hold onto except his muscular thighs…thighs that were currently molded tight against her behind. Sweet mother of earth, how was she supposed to ignore the heat of his body pressing into her hips? Deanna's heart hammered out a tune of longing as something hard nudged her spine.
He held the reins in one practiced hand while his other arm slid across her belly in a slow movement meant to be noticed.
"Lean back against me," his voice breathed in her ear, caressing her neck with a sultry breeze. "I willna let you fall."
Deanna did so, forgetting that she'd meant to stay angry with him. The gentle sway of the horse rocked his erection against her back with each step as they passed through the portcullis and out into the open countryside. His thigh muscles tightened beneath her hands as he locked his knees against the sides of the horse. Her mind wandered, imagining her hands running up beneath the kilt and trailing her fingers across bare skin.
"Are you planning to unclothe me?" A low chuckle brought Deanna back to her senses. Her hands had clutched wads of tartan, hiking it up by several inches. Embarrassed, she moved her hands and
folded them in her lap.
"You wish," she replied tartly. "I'm nervous about riding the horse."
He didn't make any more comments so Deanna slowly relaxed back into him again, enjoying the breeze at her face that helped cool her off. A flash of one of her dreams floated through her memory; the one of him kissing her in the moonlight while standing in the heather, wearing the same tartan he wore now. Had it been precognition and not a dream?
"How long until we get there?" She felt him shrug against her back as his arm hugged her closer to him.
"On the morrow."
"Tomorrow? You didn't tell me that!" Deanna glanced over at the second horse, noticing the bags of provisions and blankets for the first time. She groaned inwardly. How was she going to survive the nights out here in the wilderness—with him?
Chapter Twenty
"You tricked me!" Deanna crossed her arms, her shoulder blades poking him in the chest.
"I didna trick you. Do you see anything close out here?" He waved his free hand across the open countryside and felt her bobble, grabbing at his thighs like she thought she'd fall. He'd never let that happen but put his arm back around her so she'd feel safe. Her wee hands felt good on his legs and Ian was happy that she kept them there.
"I guess not. I'm not used to so much empty space without a fast way to travel through it."
They were passing through a wild tangle of alder trees, heading south along the River Naver. Ian listened to the rustle of new leaves sprouting from the dark gray bark, enjoying the solitude and not thinking it empty at all.
"Tell me about the way you travel." Maybe if she talked for a while, Deanna would relax more. It might help him push past that magic curtain she had cloaked about her.
As she started describing her century, Ian found most of it impossible to believe. Giant metal birds with five hundred people sitting in its belly? Ridiculous. Her voice had a pleasant cadence to it though, so he dismissed the words and listened on a deeper level.
