by Tamara Gill
“Thanks, Duncan.”
“No bother, lass.” Duncan contented himself by rubbing her back.
They didn’t speak.
There was so much he wanted to tell her, plans they needed to make. Strategy to search for what he hadn’t been able to find for the past six months.
No words formed in his mind to be born, his tongue was thick in his mouth.
Duncan just held the lass he’d found lost on the beach. Tried not to think about how satisfied he was with cradling a beautiful stranger.
Soon, her breathing settled into a deep, even rhythm and a sense of rightness washed over Duncan he promptly ignored.
He’d never held a lass while she slept, not even a former lover. When the rutting was done, he left, especially with the widow, Meg. She preferred he not even kiss her, so Duncan didn’t.
She was a beautiful woman, so he wouldn’t be opposed, but he respected her. When they came together it was for pure need on both their parts, but he made sure she was as physically sated as he was.
His heart might be content with his current state of innocence regarding Claire’s nearness, but his cock certainly wasn’t. He was hard and throbbing, his arousal pushing against the fabric of his trews, but it wasn’t the kind of friction he wanted.
Duncan wanted to roll her over. Kiss her. Push her chemise up and off. Stare at her gorgeous curves before feasting on every inch of her body. He’d even light a new fire so he could see her.
Claire made a noise in her throat and nestled even closer. Her arm fell across his waist as if she owned him—and he didn’t mind the idea. She rubbed her cheek on his chest.
He swallowed a groan and his cock pulsed.
A little lower and her hand would rest much too close to his tender parts.
By God, it’s going to be a long night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I’m going with you.”
A week had past and neither of them was closer to what they wanted.
Home for Claire and Alex for Duncan.
She still couldn’t remember anything before ‘waking up’ on the beach of Skye. Or how she’d got to his time. Even though he was convinced she’d travelled through the Faery Stones.
And Duncan was supposed to leave in the morning to continue his quest for them.
He laughed long and hard. “A lass on a pirate ship. Sorry, but it’s not a pleasure cruise. I’ve told ye what I seek. We’ll figure out another way ye can help.”
“Right.” Claire took a deep breath. “Your purpose is my purpose. You want to find your brother, and I want to get home.”
But did she?
Claire was already fond of this huge Highlander.
More than fond?
Her heart stuttered, but she ignored it. Duncan had been nothing but kind and honorable with her, even if his whole clan—his whole family—assumed she was sleeping with him.
Sleeping yes—as in his bed.
Every night.
Sex?
Not so much.
God, I wish.
Duncan said nothing, but he stared at her like he always did.
Claire took a step toward him, closing the distance between them in his office—ledger room—he’d called it. “We’ve talked about this. You need my help, and I want to help. Besides, maybe I can sense something, or something will jog my memory. And I can figure out how I got to that beach. It’s worth a shot.”
His massive chest rose and fell as he let out an audible breath.
Claire was holding hers.
Duncan was her familiar in this very foreign land of the past since she’d been here. She couldn’t imagine being left in the castle while he was gone for possibly months.
She adored his sister, liked his father all right, and of course little Angus, but... the thought of Duncan leaving her churned her stomach.
Historical romance novels hadn’t covered just how difficult life in this time was. Hard work, and boring with no TV, movies, not even her damn MP3 player. What was worse, she couldn’t read or speak Gaelic or Latin, so the books here were out, too.
No automation. Everything was manual labor, even cooking and laundry. Being a guest, she wasn’t expected to help Janet and the female staff with the castle day-to-day, but she didn’t want to sit around and be useless.
So Claire had been scrubbing floors on all fours, using a washboard to clean clothing and bed linens. Even smacking the dust out of tapestries.
She was a decent cook, so the previous night she’d helped in the kitchens, preparing a stew the men had seemed to enjoy, but she’d drawn the line at killing, even if she’d cooked and eaten the meat.
The archaic defined roles of the sexes were irritating but not a surprise.
On the other hand, the simplicity of life here appealed. And smiles meant the same. Love was the same.
Duncan’s people were kind and had welcomed her. Not even questioned her presence at Dunvegan, or in his rooms...in his bed.
“I see yer wisdom there.” He crossed his arms. “I don’ like it. My men...are ruffians.”
His thick brogue, leaving off the t whenever he said ‘don’t’ still made her heart beat harder. The man was pure sex.
Claire took two more steps. She could feel the heat coming off his body. “You’ll protect me.” She wanted to inch even closer. If he reached for her, she could be in his arms in seconds. A tremor shot down her spine.
“Will I now?” One corner of his mouth shot up. Amusement wrapped Duncan’s words and Claire’s heartbeat kicked up another notch.
“Aye.” She winked as she said his word.
Duncan smiled, and her stomach fluttered. “How’s that?” He bent his head low.
She gasped.
His lips hovered over hers.
Please, God.
Let it happen finally.
Please kiss me.
“Because you’re going to tell them I’m yours.”
Duncan growled—honest to God growled. Then his mouth crashed down on hers.
Claire moaned and moved into his chest as well as into his kiss.
He forced his tongue into her mouth, but she had no intention of fighting him. She slanted her lips under his and kissed him back as Duncan wrapped his arms around her.
She’d not bothered with a chemise that morning, and the stupid wool of her skirt made her thighs itch as it brushed her skin.
His massive hands cupping her ass and lifting her scattered Claire’s thoughts and she whimpered into Duncan’s mouth.
He slammed his pelvis into hers and she melted, pushing right back.
God, she wanted him.
Burned for him.
Sleeping in his bed, but not in his arms just left her with blue balls, especially the two nights he’d held her instead of avoiding contact.
Was it finally going to happen?
The Highlanders in her damn books never had as much control as Duncan MacLeod.
Unless he didn’t want her—scratch that. An erection was pressing into her stomach.
Claire rocked into him, kissing him harder and squeezing her arms around his neck.
“Jesu, lass.” Duncan yanked away from her mouth, resting his forehead against hers. His hard chest pushed into her breasts as he panted. His high cheekbones were flushed with color.
“Duncan, I want you.”
He closed his eyes, groaning. “Not shy, are ye?”
“Do you want me to be?”
“Nay. I need ye, lass. My blood boils to take ye.”
“Then do it.”
Duncan shook his head.
Claire flushed to her toes, cold despite his unwavering grip. Her heart plummeted to her stomach, and her temples throbbed. Pain washed over her. She slipped out of his arms, fighting tears.
He’s rejecting me?
Do not stand here and cry.
“Lass...”
Claire shook her head and averted her gaze. “Forget it, Duncan.”
His large calloused hand swallowed hers and he whispered h
er name.
She choked back a sob. She would not cry in front of him.
Duncan squeezed her fingers and tugged.
Their gazes collided, and Claire gasped at the tenderness she saw in his eyes.
“I want ye, lass. Don’ doubt that. I’ve never wanted a woman like I want ye.”
“Then...why?”
Duncan pulled her back to him, cupping her face. He pressed a light kiss to her lips.
Claire had to give a little smile, he was so gentle for a man his size. But the kiss was too quick. She wanted more.
“I’ll not take ye, lass, until we’re married.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Claire’s mouth opened and closed, but no words graced his ears. She blinked.
His stomach churned, but he gave her time to gather her thoughts. Duncan stared down at her, watched her pale out. He grabbed her arm when she wavered on her feet.
Aye, she thinks you’re crazy.
Exactly what had just come out of his mouth?
Marriage?
With a woman not from his time?
A woman who had already made it clear she wanted to return to her home.
He’d promised to help her in that quest, for Godsakes.
Duncan had proposed?
Aye.
He had to have her.
Duncan couldn’t explain it, even in his own head. She made his blood sing. Every night she’d slept next to him since she’d arrived. Claire’s sweet clean scent tickled his nose, made his cock ache.
He’d lain there, forcing his hands to remain at his sides, except for that first night he’d held her and the night before last when he’d been unable to resist doing so again.
She’d come into his arms, nestling against his chest without question both times. He’d struggled to keep his hands to himself, keep his touch innocent.
Last night, Duncan had resorted to making himself lie facing the wall, instead of toward her. His self-control would have snapped otherwise.
He knew how she felt in his arms one too many times. Claire’s perfect softness against the hardness of his body.
She fit him and he was having a hell of a time resisting her.
He’d burned to kiss her, take her. Over and over. Until she screamed his name and shattered in his arms.
Duncan wouldn’t touch her unless they were wed. Wouldn’t risk having a bastard child. Couldn’t stand the way people looked at his nephew with pity. And the poor lad wasn’t even illegitimate. They just couldn’t tell anyone the truth.
Does it matter?
Claire’s going to leave as soon as you find the Faery Stones.
If she got with child, she’d take his blood away with her.
No.
He wouldn’t let her go.
Claire didn’t need to know that right now.
Would she still want to go if they married?
She wanted him. Claire had made that plain.
“Marry you, Duncan?”
“Aye.”
Claire’s fair brows drew tight. “Why?”
A plan formulated in Duncan’s mind as he looked into her beautiful green eyes. “It’s the only way.” She didn’t need to know he was embellishing.
“The only way for what?” She crossed her arms over her breasts, and he tore his gaze from there.
Duncan knew what it felt like to have them flattened against his chest as she wrapped herself around him, holding onto him and kissing him back with fervor.
‘Twas worse than when he’d held her in his bed and kept his hands on her back, and above her waist.
“I canna’ bring you aboard my ship if we’re not wed.”
“Why?”
“For your protection, lass.”
Claire frowned. “So you don’t really want to marry me?”
Duncan wanted to marry her more than he’d ever wanted a lass in his life. He cleared his throat. “Aye, I do want to wed ye. Had I not, I wouldna asked.”
She looked even more confused. Then her green eyes went misty, and Duncan ignored how his stomach jumped. “But Duncan, I need to get home. I have to leave. I will leave. You know that, right?”
He cupped her face and drew her back to him. “Aye, I know.”
“Then, why? Our marriage would be...temporary.”
Duncan’s mind rejected her statement, but he wasn’t going to voice his disagreement. She wouldn’t marry him if he did. “I need to find my brother as much as ye desire yer Texas. But I need to protect ye, if yer to come with me. And if I’m true to ye, I want ye, lass. So, know this. If we wed, it shall be true in tha’ sense; I’ll have ye in my bed.”
Claire smirked, and he had to order himself not to take her mouth again. “I’m already in your bed, my laird.”
Duncan growled. “Not like I want ye to be.”
Crimson stained her cheeks. “I don’t have to marry you to be with you. I want you.”
“Not without marriage.” He shook his head.
She frowned again. “Is it really for my protection or is there more to this?”
His heartbeat stalled. The more was simply he wanted her. His men—Riley O’Malley’s men—wouldn’t touch her, with only a word from him.
He couldn’t be completely honest with her, because she’d never marry him. What woman wanted to hear about a man’s deepest fears?
Claire would see him as weak if he admitted that he feared physical desire would result in a child out of wedlock. His lack of self-control with her was bothersome enough. Besides, he didn’t know if she wanted children. What if the mention of her belly rounded with his bairn scared her into saying no? Something that might not even happen at all?
“For yer protection, of course.”
“They won’t just believe you if you tell them I’m yours?”
“Aye, they would. But marriage is the only thing that will keep you untouched.”
Claire shuddered. “On second thought, maybe I should stay here.”
Coward.
You’ve already told her how badly you want her.
Stop being dishonest.
Don’t scare her unnecessarily.
“If we wed, I’ll have ye by my side.”
Her eyes snapped to his face, and her breasts heaved with an audible breath. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Duncan repeated the odd word. Over the week she’s been in his time, he’d gathered it meant all right or at least some form of acquiescence. She used it diversely, but the more he spoke to her, the more he understood her speech patterns and choice of words.
“I’ll marry you. If it’s the only way.”
Duncan’s heart flipped and he couldn’t hold back his grin. He cupped her face. “Ye have to want this, lass. I’ll not wed ye, if yer unwilling.”
Claire nodded, but didn’t dislodge his gentle hold. “I do. I want this. I want you, Duncan MacLeod.”
He leaned down and sealed her aye with a kiss that melded into more. By the time they parted, she was plastered to his chest and they both struggled for breath, panting hard, breasts against chest.
“It’s settled. We wed on the morn. We’ll tell my family and have a priest summoned.”
“So soon?” She swallowed and Duncan had to force his eyes to hers, not kiss her throat like he wanted.
If he gave in, the press of his lips on her neck would lead to more. He’d have to taste every inch of her.
He’d perch her on the edge of his desk, push her skirt up, rip her leine off and take her in the bright afternoon light coming into his ledger room.
Duncan’s cock pulsed. He ignored it but pulled her closer instead of putting her away from him like he should.
He needed physical space to clear his head. However, his limbs refused to adopt that notion.
“Aye. The ship is already docked. I—we—must get back to the quest.”
“Okay.” She didn’t move out of his arms, but tremors racked her frame.
He rubbed her back and Claire nestled closer, resting her head against hi
m and sighing.
Duncan kissed the crown of her fair head, ignoring the ache in his loins.
He had to marry her as quickly as possible.
Wouldn’t survive another night with her in his bed and not be able to have her.
CHAPTER NINE
Claire watched the priest—who was really dressed like a friar, all in brown—wrap her and Duncan’s joined hands in MacLeod plaid.
Her heart sped up.
I’m really doing this.
Marrying a man she’d known for eight days. A man who was born four hundred years before she was.
She’d dated older men before, but this took the cake.
Although, Duncan was two and thirty—as he’d put it. Only five years older than Claire.
Still didn’t absolve her from crazy.
She had to go home.
Back to Texas.
But for what?
Claire hated her job as an office manager for a small law firm. Her sister Juliette—Jules—was a cop, what Claire had always wanted to be, but had never had the guts to seriously pursue.
Jules. What about my sister?
Other than Jules, Claire had nothing and no one in the world she’d grown up in.
Doesn’t matter.
I told him this was temporary.
I have to go home.
She put worries about the future and her only blood relative out of her mind.
Claire looked up into Duncan’s sapphire eyes. Her gut said she was making the right decision.
She’d still walk away if she ever managed to get home. Duncan had accepted that, so there were no worries.
Claire ignored the voice that asked, do you want to?
Could she live happily in the tail-end of the seventeenth century for the rest of her life?
What if I can’t get home?
What if there’s really no choice?
The questions remained.
Damn, she missed TV. Her laptop. Her stupid MP3 player.
Duncan had been looking for what he called the Faery Stones half a year. He was convinced that was how Claire had ended up in 1672 on Skye.
What if they never found them?
All the more reason to marry him.
He wasn’t wrong when he’d said she needed protection.
This land was truly wild compared to Claire’s modern-day life.
Who knew what could’ve happened to her if Duncan, his father and little Angus hadn’t intended to fish that cold morning.
