by Leela Ash
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she stammered.
John reached up and took hold of her face before he kissed her passionately and deeply on the lips. She allowed her body to submit to him and for him to take her roughly in his arms as he lay her back against the rock. She was as timid as a virgin should be, and although she had never felt or known passion like it, her wedding night nerves still thumped through her and held her back from truly letting go.
“John,” she panted as she broke his kiss and looked deep into his eyes.
He was the most amazing man she had ever met… and yet there was something so otherworldly about him… and it frightened her. As his passion grew and stirred deep within him, she saw the beast rising to the surface.
His eyes turned icy blue and his whole frame seemed to vibrate with power and lust, as the intense heat raged within him.
“My Lady,” he panted before he looked up at the moon. His face cracked into something primal and wild, and Muriel finally let herself go. She rode along with him, spurred on by his intensity and the power raging within him.
As he shifted from human into wolf form, he took her breath away. The power that radiated from him was so incredible and frightening she was sure he was about to rip her limb from limb. The wolf growled and ran a hot, wet tongue up the side of her neck and cheek. His claws pawed at her and ripped at the wedding dress and he looked up and howled at the moon.
Muriel was so turned on, she couldn’t believe what was happening to her. Her body was a mess of want and need and as John shifted back into his human form, the clothes torn from his body and revealing his nakedness, he pressed down hard on her and spread her legs with his thighs.
As he slid the tip of his manhood into her dripping wet sex and claimed her properly, Muriel squealed with delight and pleasure that reverberated throughout the highlands.
As John powered himself into her, he got harder with each stroke and built up to his powerful release.
Muriel had waited for this moment her entire life and it couldn’t have been more perfect. Her husband was like nothing she had ever known or could even have dreamed of, and as he thrust into her one last time and spilled his red hot seed, she unraveled around him. As she experienced her first orgasm, it was so intense she thought that it may tear her in half.
Afterwards she lay in his arms, nuzzled into his burning hot chest and traced lines with her fingertips up his naked torso.
“You are amazing John Campbell,” she whispered. “You have no idea what you’ve just done to me…” she giggled.
“Oh I do,” he kissed her on the forehead as he pulled her closer. “I’ve deflowered you… and hopefully impregnated you with a cub.”
Muriel felt a twinge in her belly.
A cub…
A baby for them both…?
“This is the beginning,” he whispered, “This is the start of the rest of the world. Together we are going to change Scotland forever…”
Muriel looked deep into his eyes and smiled. She knew he was right and hoped that she did have a baby growing inside of her.
“The stars,” she whispered as she looked up again, “Do you really believe this was written there?”
“Most certainly,” John smiled.
The ground began to freeze around them, but Muriel barely noticed. The heat coming from her wolf husband was keeping her warm and she could still feel it pulsing throughout her.
Less than forty-eight hours earlier she had just been a normal highland lassie waiting for her life to begin… and out of nowhere she had been thrown into an almost unbearable situation with the evil Lord Rose… rescued by the handsome John Campbell and married with the possibility of a baby on the way. It had certainly been an unbelievable day, but one she wouldn’t change for a moment. She had found something with John… even if it was just the beginning, she knew it was a journey she wanted to be on.
She looked over at Cawdor Castle and smiled. She had never wanted to leave before John had burst into the Great Hall, but now she had a husband of her own, one that she wanted to be with, she knew what Elizabeth and her mother had meant. Her destiny was being fulfilled… she had been chosen by a shifter clan and together they were going to begin something legendary. John said that it would depend on her… and she wanted to go. Together they could find their own home and start their own clan… The Campbell-Calder’s would be the most powerful family in the whole of the highlands.
She nuzzled into John’s shoulder and looked up at the stars. Above them trails of silver shot across the sky and Muriel took it as a sign from the Gods that she was on the right path. She was where she was meant to be and destiny had finally found her.
“I love you John Campbell,” she whispered as she locked her fingers with his, “And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”
John turned to her and kissed her deeply for one last time before they feel asleep together under the stars as wild wolves howled beneath the moon.
THE END
Highlander Time Travel Romance
The Highland’s Call
Jessica Savage
Copyright ©2015 by Samantha Leal. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Thank you so much for your interest in my work
Chapter 1
Andrea clutched the small stone in the palm of her hand. It felt cool and smooth and somehow strangely comforting. Her Grandmother Betty had insisted that her only granddaughter be given this small artifact on her death. That had happened over a week ago, as Andrea was driving through New York. It was almost as if she knew. An image of her beloved Gran had flitted through her mind at the exact moment she took her last breath.
Betty was her father's mother. Her dad Joe had died a few years ago and her mother Pat had remarried. She had never approved of her stepdad, Pete; he could never replace her beloved father.
Perhaps she was being unfair, but she had always sided with her dad against her mum, and now the two women seemed poles apart, no longer able to communicate with each other. Pat didn’t even attend the funeral. Not that Betty would have minded. She had never approved of the union in the first place.
Andrea had inherited her Grandma's creative talents and she had been close to Betty when she was a child, closer than to her own mother, but after college she had been offered a three-year contract with a major advertising company in New York, and it had been too good an opportunity to turn down. Betty had understood that she needed to fly the nest. She had been a young woman once, although that seemed such a long time ago.
Andrea had only seen her Gran when she flew home for Christmas and important family occasions. Then she had met Steve and her life in the US seemed to take on a more permanent footing, until the death of her Grandma had made her suddenly homesick for the English countryside. She loved the buzz and fast-paced life of New York but now longed for some peace and time to reflect and find herself again, and she certainly couldn't do that on Fifth Avenue.
Steve had stayed behind. He was in the middle of an important project but was willing to travel with her on a trip home for the funeral. For once Andrea didn't feel the need to be accompanied; this time she wanted to be alone with her thoughts and memories. Her insistence on being alone had caused a strain between them, the first serious rift since they got together almost two years ago, and it would be the first time they had spent any real time apart.
The pressure of the stone against her palm brought her back to the present. It had been almost five days since she left JFK airport, and Steve hadn't phoned her since. Not even yesterday after the funeral to see how she was coping. It saddened her to think the man she had grown to love could be so stubborn and heartless, and she began to question her commitment to the relationship. Did she really know him? He
had seemed to be perfect for her, and she had enjoyed his company; yet when she looked back at the continual rounds of friends and parties, drinks and dinners, it seemed somewhat shallow. Lately she had started to feel broody; her body clock reminding her that time was ticking away. She had mentioned it to Steve once in a light-hearted way, and he had held up his hands in mock horror. That would never be the deal with him; his career was way too important, and her needs would always come second.
Did she and Steve really have anything in common?
The day was grey and coarse; the wind whipped up sharply from behind the trees and caused her to shiver. She had forgotten the English weather and hadn't prepared nor packed for it.
Opening her palm, Andrea looked down at the stone in her hand. She remembered seeing it as a child, taking prize position behind the glass in the old china cabinet in her Gran’s front room. Occasionally she had been allowed to take it out and hold it in her small palm. It was pale in color, not quite white and not quite beige. Several markings had been etched deeply into the surface, and she’d been told it once belonged to a white witch with magical powers. As a child, she had held the small token and made a secret wish that she would never grow up, that she would always remain a child. Of course, that hadn't happened. Not physically, anyway—but perhaps in her heart?
Grandma Betty had always been so full of life, her small blue eyes twinkling on the wrinkled and careworn face. There had been some sadness in her youth, but no one had talked of it and Andrea had never asked, but sometimes she saw a wistful shadow slightly dimming those sparkling eyes.
And now the stone was hers—that and an old battered leather diary from 1956. Before her death, Grandma Betty had written her a letter, the hand-writing barely legible on the expensive vellum cream paper. It had taken her a while to read the spidery hand.
Andrea,
My darling Granddaughter, I fear that I may not see you again. I do hope that is not the case, but I have to be practical. There is so much I should have told you and so much left to say, but my time is running out. Remember the wishing stone you used to ask me about as a child? I leave that to you. It's my most valued possession. You must promise that you will do something for me? The stone needs to be returned to its rightful home on the Isle of Iona, just off the Isle of Mull. You must take it into the Abbey and enter the little graveyard of St. Oran's chapel. Take the stone and place it on the third grave on the left-hand side. I can't explain everything to you in this letter. Most of it I don't understand myself. But you must promise me this, this small pilgrimage of mine. The diary may help? Call it an old woman's ramblings, but as you loved me please do this one last thing for me. The thought of you, my only remaining flesh and blood carrying out this last request, brings peace to my mind as I near my end.
I will never stop loving you even when I am far away.
Grandma Betty x
Tears trickled down her face as she imagined the dear old lady sitting up in bed, scribbling her last instructions to the world. It must have taken a lot of effort to write the letter. She had been in a very weak state in the end and therefore must have considered it extremely important to write.
Andrea had promised Steve she would be back in a few days, but what would a few more matter? It wasn't as if he was speaking to her anyhow. She would visit Iona. It was the last thing she could do for her grandmother, and although it would mean a further 1000 mile round trip, it would give her some peace of mind to follow her last wishes.
The phone vibrated in her jeans pocket, and pulling it out, she could see it was Steve calling from New York.
"Hey." His voice was deep and apologetic across the miles, and her heart thumped loudly at the sound of him.
"Hey, back." She tried to sound light as she finished their usual greeting.
"So, how are you?"
She could tell he was struggling to find the right words.
"Not too bad, under the circumstances. It was the funeral yesterday." Andrea could feel herself start to choke on the words; she had been bottling things up for too long.
There was a pause as Steve caught his breath. "Yesterday? Andrea, I'm so sorry, I would have called. I thought it was today."
Another lengthy pause ensued. Usually they had so much to talk about.
"At least you'll be home tomorrow,” he added. “I've missed you."
And now it was crunch time.
"Steve, I won't be coming home tomorrow. I've extended my stay by a week." She could hear disappointment in the silence that followed.
"I have to go up to Scotland, to Iona. It was Gran’s last wish."
"What?"
His voice sounded incredulous, as if he hadn’t quite heard her right.
"It's just something I have to do; it was her dying wish that I visit the chapel there."
"But honey, you don't have to do that now. Not right away, anyway. You haven't forgotten the opening night for my exhibition, have you? It's in four days. I want you by my side. You promised."
Andrea had forgotten, and she closed her eyes as if that would make things go away. She had tried that as a child; it hadn't worked then, and it didn't help now. It just gave her a few more seconds to think.
"Andrea?"
"It was her last wish, Steve. I've got to do it."
She could feel his exasperation as he breathed heavily into his phone.
"Are you crazy? You know how much this exhibition means to me. You're not really going to put your senile old grandmother ahead of me, ahead of us?"
"Grandma Betty wasn't senile!"
"I know, honey. I know how much she meant to you, but you've got to be reasonable."
She was three and a half thousand miles away, and “reasonable” was something she didn't have to be. The word irritated her, and she could feel the anger rising in her throat.
"Andrea?"
She pressed the end call button and put the phone back in her pocket. End of call, end of relationship, she guessed. She shouldn’t have felt angry; she knew the exhibition meant everything to him. She should be the one feeling sorry and calling him back to apologize, but Andrea didn't feel any of these things. Her grandmother dying and her trip home had sparked something inside her, some longing and need that she couldn't quite grasp. The only thing that she was certain of was that she needed to travel to Iona as soon as possible.
Chapter 2
The next day she was leaving Yorkshire, traveling by train up North to the Inner Hebrides of Scotland and would complete her journey by ferry to the tiny Island of Iona.
Although still cold outside, the sun was shining brightly in a vain attempt to warm the chill October air. Inside the carriage, Andrea was cozy, sipping a cup of coffee and watching the world race by. The scenery of the Northumberland coastline stretching its way up North was breathtaking, the sunlight dancing and glimmering on the waves as they brushed against the solitary, rocky bays.
She felt truly liberated.
It would take most of the day to reach Iona, so Andrea settled back in her seat. She had no book to read but then remembered the small pocket diary from 1956 in her bag and eagerly pulled it out.
The pages were yellowing and the diary entries didn't start until June that year. The writing was faint, but she could just about make it out.
June 13th, 1956
Arrived on Iona after a long journey. Fishing boat brought me over from the main Island of Mull. Mother still not pleased with my decision to take a few months away, but I need some time to paint and think. There is plenty of time to become a housewife.
Andrea smiled. She had married Grandpa Joe in 1958, so not too many years of being free and single.
Little pencil sketches filled the margins of the paper: a fishing boat (maybe the one she had traveled across the water in?) and a hut or shack standing alone. It looked bleak.
June 14th, 1956
Digs are basic and chilly. The walls are made of corrugated metal so very cold at night. Porridge and kippers for breakfast, which I
have surprisingly enjoyed. It’s much warmer outside in the early summer air than in my poky little room. Glad to get out in fresh air and now am going to walk over to the Abbey.
19:15- Had a lovely day. The Island is truly breathtaking. The Abbey is a very special place and it felt strange yet welcoming, almost if I had come home. My great, great-grandfather’s family were Scottish—one of the Great McDonald Clan—maybe that is why? I must go back and do more sketches tomorrow in the early light. Have been told the sunrise here is spectacular.
June 15th, 1953
Up early. The sky is still dark, but I want to set up my easel in the little chapel grounds so I can start to capture the first rays of light against the Abbey, and get a feel for the colors and the peace at that time of day.
The rest of the diary entries ended there. But towards the back of the book the scribbling started once again, not in any particular date order, but just what seemed like a collection of thoughts.
I’m not sure what happened at the Chapel? I seemed to have passed out in the cemetery. I had found an ideal spot for my sketches amongst the ancient burial places, and the last thing I remember was finding a strange looking carved stone in the grass. After that, it all becomes a little bit dreamlike and it can’t have been too long after that I must have fainted or something. I can’t remember feeling ill. When I came to, which must have been only seconds later, I was seized with an awful pain within my stomach and had a bitter taste in my mouth. I was crying and wretched and was violently sick and that seemed to make things a little better, but I felt weak and tired. Maybe it was something I ate for breakfast? Perhaps the kippers don’t agree with me, after all? I have these strange images in my head—hallucinations or dreams—and the people I see are so vivid. I feel disoriented as if I have been snatched out of a deep sleep. I don't seem to have any physical injuries except a cut to my right ankle. The strange stone was still in my hand. I am very tired and feel a sense of deep loss.
