The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karen Marie Moning

  Although she’d cornered him on two occasions, he’d jumped upon his horse and galloped away, and until her riding improved, it was an effective escape.

  She felt like a fool, trying to be everywhere, watching for a glimpse of him. She’d picked the lock on his chamber door last night, only to find he’d slipped out the window and scaled the damn castle wall to get away from her.

  When he’d crashed into the prickly bush, she’d stared with wide eyes, any thoughts of laughing firmly squelched by the sight of him nude. It had been all she could do not to fling herself out the window at him. He was magnificent. Watching him stroll around every day was killing her. Especially when he wore a kilt, because she knew from experience that he wore nothing beneath it. The thought of him hung heavy and naked beneath his plaid made her mouth go dry every time she looked at him. Probably because all the moisture in her body went somewhere else.

  Her antics had not gone unnoticed, nor had she missed that several of the maids and guards had taken to loitering about the castle proper, watching with unconcealed amusement.

  Love hath no pride…

  Yeah, well, Gwen Cassidy did, and humbling herself wasn’t a whole lot of fun.

  She suspected that by the time she finally wore him down—as stubborn as he was—she was going to be downright pissed off.

  Didn’t he know how dangerous it was to piss off a woman?

  20

  Gwen had a plan.

  Foolproof so far as she could see.

  She’d had ample time to reflect upon the errors of her ways. Although the list was long and inclusive of virtually everything she’d done since the moment she’d arrived in the sixteenth century, it was not beyond salvaging. She was still astonished by how thoroughly emotions could cloud one’s actions. Never in her life had she done so many stupid things in such rapid succession.

  But she was under control now, and soon to be in control of him.

  She was going to tell him her story again, only this time he was going to listen to every single detail of it: From the moment he’d awakened in the cave to the moment she’d lost him, including what he’d eaten, said, worn, what she’d eaten, said, worn. And somewhere in it, she was convinced she’d find the catalyst that would make him remember. She’d pondered closed timeline curves for hours last night, along with the thermodynamic, psychological, and cosmological arrows of time. She was convinced the memory was imprinted in his DNA, and despite the arrows indicating one could only remember forward, not backward, she wasn’t quite certain she believed that.

  She was going to give it her best shot to prove the theory wrong. After all, the quantum was rarely predictable. Even Richard Feynman, winner of the Nobel prize in physics for his work in quantum electrodynamics, had maintained that nobody really understood quantum theory. Mathematical theory was vastly different than the world implied by such equations.

  She’d concluded that there had never been two Drustans, merely two fourth-dimensional manifestations of a single set of cells. Rather like a solitary beam of light refracted by a prism, where the beam of light was Drustan, and the prism was the fourth dimension. Although the single light aimed into the prism would refract in multiple directions, it was still only one source of light. Were that light a person, why wouldn’t his cells bear the imprint of his alternate journey? If the memory was there, perhaps remembering would be too confusing, so the mind would seek to resolve those “memories” by labeling them “dreams” if recalled at all, discarded as nocturnal fancies.

  Drustan was going to listen to every word, if she had to talk herself hoarse.

  And she knew just how and where he was going to be doing it, she thought smugly, tucking the lance beneath her arm. She might be small, but she was not harmless. Enough shilly-shallying about, feeling wounded and ineffectual. It was time to do battle.

  “Get in there and try it,” Gwen told the guard.

  He cast her a dubious glance.

  “Go on, just try it,” she said peevishly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The guard glanced at Silvan, who was leaning against the wall, arms folded, smiling. At his nod, the guard sighed and did as he was told.

  “Can you get out?” Gwen asked a few moments later.

  There was the sound of muffled thuds, kicks, and punches, then, “Nay, milady, I canna.”

  “Try harder,” Gwen encouraged.

  More thuds. Soft cursing. Good, she mused. Perfect.

  She and Silvan exchanged smug grins.

  Drustan crept down the stairs, his bare feet silent on the stones. It was four in the morning, and although she was asleep, stealth was ever wise with her in residence. He’d heard her enter her chamber last eve, try the connecting door, then sigh and lean against it when she found it still barricaded. The bed ropes had squeaked for a time as she’d tossed, but finally all had grown quiet.

  He’d stretched out on his back in his bed, hands folded behind his head, refusing to think about her sleeping nude on the other side of the wall. But the tricky part about refusing to think about something was that you had to think about it in order to remind yourself what not to think about.

  And he knew she would. Sleep with nothing on, that is. She was a sensual wee lass who would enjoy the silky slide of velvet coverlets against her fine, smooth, creamy skin. Slipping with tender velvety abrasion over her puckered nipples, twining about her hips, probably twisting and turning to enjoy—

  Exasperated, Drustan gave a vicious shake of his head. Christ, he was going mad, that was all there was to it.

  Probably from being spied on all the time. She thought he didn’t know she lurked about watching him all the time, but he knew. She was a living heat, strolling about his castle, all lush curves and temptation.

  Thus such stealth to do a man’s business. He could have gone outside, but it irritated him that he’d even briefly considered it. It was his castle, by Amergin! She was making him positively irrational.

  As he rounded the corner, he stubbed his toe and cursed in five languages. Glancing down, he made a mental note to have the pile of lances moved out to the armory. He couldn’t imagine why they were lying beside the staircase in the first place.

  Shaking his head and muttering beneath his breath, he walked the few paces down the corridor and slipped into the garderobe.

  Aha! Gwen shouted silently. Finally! She dropped down from the stone arch in the corridor. People rarely looked up, and the darkness in the corridor had provided further camouflage. She landed lightly on the balls of her feet, hurried to the hall, and plucked up several steel lances that were piled flush to the wall of the stairs.

  Creeping silently back to the door of the garderobe, she braced one end of the steel lance against the stone wall and then gently, oh-so-quietly, wedged it into place. She understood bracing and pressure points with the best of them.

  Two, then three, then five—although only two had held the helpful brawny guard just fine. Drustan was a large man, and she wasn’t taking any chances that he might crash the door down on her head.

  A small giggle built inside her. Trapping the laird of the castle in his own garderobe appealed to her sense of humor. Then again, the fact that she’d been going without sleep for the past three nights, waiting for him to make a nocturnal journey, probably had a bit to do with it too.

  She stepped away from the door and ducked into the Greathall, thinking to give him a few minutes of privacy and time to discover he was locked in and get the worst of it out of his system.

  She soon found out she’d woefully underestimated how bad “the worst” would be.

  Drustan raked a hand through his hair and fumbled in the dark for the door. When it didn’t budge, a part of him was unsurprised. Yet another part of him met the fact with a kind of glad resignation.

  She wanted battle? Battle she would get. It would be a pleasure to have it out with her finally. Once he’d ripped the door from the framing, he would exact vengeance upon her wee body with gleeful abandon. No
more honorable I-won’t-touch-you-because-I’m-betrothed.

  Nay—he’d touch her. Any damn place and any damn way he wanted to. As many times as he wanted to.

  Until she begged and whimpered beneath him.

  She’d been trying to drive him mad? Well, he was giving in to it. He would act like the animal she made him feel like being. The hell with Anya, the hell with duty and honor, the hell with discipline.

  He needed to tup. Her. Now.

  He slammed his body against the door.

  It scarce shuddered.

  Howling, he flung himself at it again. And again, and again.

  It didn’t give a hairbreadth. Furious, he slammed his fists on the door above his head. Another shudder, but nothing significant.

  He stepped back, eyeing it warily, telling himself he did not feel a bud of respect blossoming. Might the canny wench have wedged braces between the wall and the door, all the way up? Christ, he’d never get out! He knew how sturdy the door was, it had been hewn extra thick for privacy.

  “Open up!” he roared, pounding it with his fist.

  Nothing.

  “Lass, if you open up now, I’ll leave you in one piece, but I swear to you, if you keep me in here one more moment I will tear you limb from wee limb,” he threatened.

  Silence.

  “Lass! Wench! Gwen-do-lynnnnnn!”

  Outside the door, Gwen eyed the five lances lodged at varying angles between the door and the stone wall. Nope. No way. He was never getting out of there. Not until she was good and ready.

  But it was pretty darned impressive how much the door shuddered each time his body hit it.

  “You might have to let him yell himself hoarse, m’dear,” Silvan said, leaning over the balustrade.

  Gwen tipped her head back. “I’m sorry, Silvan. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He grinned, and Gwen realized where Drustan had gotten his mischievous grin. “I wouldn’t have missed seeing my son getting barricaded in the privy by a wee lass for anything. Bonny fortune with your plan, m’dear,” he said with a smile, then ambled off.

  Gwen eyed the shuddering door, then clamped her hands over her ears and sat down to wait him out.

  “I brought ye coffee, lass,” Nell shouted.

  “Thanks, Nell,” Gwen shouted back.

  They both jumped at the next enraged roar from behind the garderobe door.

  “Is that you, Nell?” Drustan thundered.

  Nell shrugged. “Aye, ’tis me. Bringin’ coffee to the lass.”

  “You’re dismissed. Fired. The end. Hie you from my castle. Begone.”

  Nell rolled her eyes and smiled at Gwen. “Be ye wantin’ breakfast, lass?” she said sweetly, loud enough that Drustan could hear it.

  Another roar.

  By ten o’clock she thought he might soon be ready to talk. He’d threatened, blustered, even tried to sweet-talk her. Then the bribery had begun. He’d let her live if she let him out immediately. He’d give her three horses, two sheep, and a cow. He’d give her a pouch of coin, three horses, two sheep, not just a cow but a milking cow, and set her up anywhere in England, if she would just leave his castle and not bother him again for the rest of his life. The only offer/threat that had perked her momentary interest was when he’d shouted that he was going to “toop her ’til her bonny legs fell off.”

  She should be so lucky.

  But he’d been silent for fifteen minutes now.

  Gwen eyed the door, knowing that she shouldn’t instigate their little discussion. It would undermine her position as the one in control. No, he had to address her in a reasonable tone first.

  And it wasn’t long before he said, “ ‘Tisna verra pleasant in here, lass.” He sounded pouty. She smothered a laugh.

  “ ‘Tisna verra pleasant”—she imitated his accent—“out here either. Do you realize I’ve stayed up for the past three nights waiting for you to go to the bathroom? I was beginning to think you never did.”

  Growl.

  She sighed and pressed her hand against the door, as if to soothe him. Or be closer to him. This was the closest they’d been in days, with only a door between them. “I know it’s not very pleasant, but it was the only way I could think of to get you to listen. You escaped your chamber; where else could I trap you?”

  “Let me out, and I’ll listen to whatever you wish to say,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

  “I’m not falling for that, Drustan,” she said, lowering herself to the stone floor. In a pair of someone’s outgrown trews, she crossed her legs comfortably and leaned her back against the door. She’d been wearing them nightly, with a flowing linen shirt, as she’d clung to the stone arch above the garderobe.

  “Plenty o’ cream, as ye like it, Gwen,” Nell said, placing a bowl of porridge, cream, and peaches beside her.

  A roar from behind the door. “Are you serving her porridge?”

  “ ‘Tis naught of yer concern,” Nell replied calmly.

  “I’m sorry, Drustan,” Gwen said soothingly, “but this is all your fault. If even once you had been willing to sit down and drink some coffee or have breakfast with me and talk, I wouldn’t have to be doing this. But time is slipping by and we really need to get some things cleared up. Nell’s leaving now, and it’s going to be just you and me.”

  Silence. Stretching, taut.

  “What do you want from me, lass?” he finally said wearily.

  “What I want is for you to listen. I’m going to tell you everything I can remember about our time together in the future. I’ve thought about it a lot, and there’s got to be something that will make you remember. It’s possible that I’m simply missing whatever it is.”

  She heard a huge sigh from behind the door. “Fine, lass. Let’s hear it all this time.”

  Drustan sat on the floor of the garderobe, his feet stretched out, arms folded over his chest, his back against the door. He closed his eyes and waited for her to begin. He’d worn himself down raging. Grudgingly, he admired her persistence and resolve. The fit he’d had would have terrified any lass he’d ever known. While he’d raged and flung himself at the door, he pictured her standing outside it, arms folded beneath her lovely breasts, tapping a foot, waiting patiently for him to quiet. Waiting hours—he felt half a day might have passed.

  She was formidable.

  And by Amergin, a bit too clever to be completely addled.

  You know she’s not addled, why doona you admit it?

  Because if she’s not addled, she’s telling the truth.

  And why does that fash you?

  He had no answer for that. He had no idea why the lass turned him into a babbling idiot.

  “I’m twenty-five years old,” he heard her say through the door.

  “That old?” he mocked. “My bride is but five and ten.” He smiled when she growled.

  “That’s called statutory rape in my century,” she said with an edge in her voice.

  Statutory, he mused. Yet another unclear phrase.

  “That means you can go to prison for it,” she added.

  He snorted. “Why would I care how old you are? Does that have aught to do with your tale?”

  “You’re getting the long version with a bit of background. Now, hush.”

  Drustan hushed, finding himself curious what she would tell him.

  “I took a vacation to Scotland, without knowing it was a senior citizens’ bus tour…”

  In time, Drustan relaxed back against the door and listened in silence. He fancied from the sound of her voice that she was seated much the same, back to the door, talking over her shoulder to him.

  Which meant, in a way, they were touching, spine to spine. The thought was intimate as he sat in the dark, listening to her voice.

  He liked the sound of her voice, he decided. It was low, melodic, firm, and confident. Why hadn’t he ever noticed that before? he wondered. That her voice contained a degree of self-assurance that had to have come from somewhere?

  Mayhap because w
henever she’d spoken to him, he’d been hopelessly distracted by his attraction to her, but now—since he couldn’t see her, his other senses were heightened.

  Aye, she had a fine voice, and he’d like to hear her sing an old ballad, he thought, or mayhap a lullaby to his children—

  He shook his head and focused on her words, not his idiotic thoughts.

  Nell silently handed Gwen yet another mug of coffee and slipped away.

  “And we drove up the hill to the stones, but your castle was gone. All that was left was the foundation and a few crumbling walls.”

  “What date did I send you through the stones?”

  “September twenty-first—you called it Mabon. The autumnal equinox.”

  Drustan sucked in a breath. That wasn’t commonly related in the legends, that the stones could be used only on the solstices and equinoxes.

  “And how did I use the stones?” he pressed.

  “You’re skipping ahead of me,” she complained.

  “Well, tell me, then go back. How did I use the stones?”

  Above her, behind the balustrade, Silvan and Nell sat on the floor, listening. Nell was flushed from her many dashes from Gwen’s side into the kitchen, up the servants’ stairs, and around to join Silvan. All quiet as a mouse.

  “I doona think you should hear—” Silvan whispered, but cut off abruptly when Nell pressed her mouth to his ear.

  “If yer thinkin’ I’ve lived here twelve years and dinna know what ye are, old man, yer dafter than Drustan thinks Gwen is.”

  Silvan’s eyes widened.

  “I can read too, ye know,” Nell whispered stiffly.

  Silvan’s eyes grew enormous. “You can?”

  “Shh. We’re missing it.”

  “You’d collected paint rocks. You broke them open in the circle and etched formulas and symbols on the inside faces of the thirteen stones.”