10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set
Page 132
I hope he chokes on a mouthful of haggis.
The sheep’s stomach filled with heart, liver, and lungs as well as onions, oatmeal, and suet sounded nasty.
She sniffed the afternoon air, salivating at the aromas carried on the breeze. Haven walked closer to the trail that led down toward the lower meadow while keeping an eye on the fire. The oily aroma of fried fish and roasting meat blended with the spicy tang of pine trees and sheep.
Iona and Jake had better get back here unless they want a mutiny on their hands.
She leaned against a tree, bent over, and rubbed her sore toes while wishing better footwear had come with the costume. The image of the strange man came to mind.
A strange, magnificent man who had kissed her senseless; whose hands had caressed her intimately. His wet clothes had pressed against her and dampness made her dress cling like a second skin. Her breath caught at the memory.
His eyes had widened in surprise as he approached surrounded by mist and a raging storm. He wore knee-high leather boots over muscled calves. She’d glimpsed a naked thigh when a gust of wind—wind she never felt—blew his wool garment high above one knee as he waved a huge sword.
She shook the image from her mind and returned to the forge. A family of two adults and four kids swarmed a little too near the glowing coals.
“Hi,” she said, quickly gaining their attention. “Our blacksmith is enjoying an afternoon respite, but he asked me to offer these gifts to ye’.” She passed out rings to all but a little boy. His attention locked on the water bucket. She dove to intercept him at the same moment he tipped over the rustic wooden barrel.
Splash!
“Oh my, are you okay?”
She turned to answer the mother of the curious little hoodlum, but the woman scooped up her wayward child without a peek in Haven’s direction. As the family headed down the mountain, like a flock of agitated geese, she answered.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. No problem.” She sighed. The splash had soaked her dress from chest to toes.
“Guard the forge,” she yelled to another volunteer. Grabbing the hem of her sodden dress, she marched to her tent. “Think pleasant thoughts, think pleasant thoughts.”
Haven repeated her mantra instead of screaming. The kid acted like a kid. She shouldn’t blame his innocent curiosity. Curiosity frequently got her into jams as well, but she wished the mother had been more in control. When she had kids, she would certainly…
“Who am I kidding?” She slipped through the flap of her small tent while she remembered she needed a man in order to create a family. Standing in the absolute middle, the only place she could stand without hitting her head on the tent’s ceiling, she looked around. Sunlight streamed easily through the lightweight linen now that Jake had pulled off the waterproof canvas. Last night’s rain would have soaked through or dripped through seams. Taller than its width, the tent had plenty of room for one.
A perfect little sanctuary for a newly-single woman.
Several blankets and her grandmother’s wool plaid covered a tiny army cot, an uncomfortable piece of twenty-first-century furniture—trying to act ancient—which she hoped never to encounter again. The old blanket’s pattern in the MacKay colors of navy and green, crosshatched with black, brought a smile to her lips.
She missed her family. Her parents were long dead. The grandmother who raised her died soon after she met Cal. Her shoulders shook with distaste. Her aunt was all she had left and they weren’t on speaking terms. Her aunt hated Cal Murchie and said so to Haven’s face.
Her aunt’s personal opinion about Cal had turned out correct, and she told Haven whenever the opportunity arose. The man was trouble and had shattered her heart. When would she stop referring to the passage of time using their pitiful relationship as a basis? Instead of thinking of Cal, she needed to find a decent man, wherever he might be.
“I wish I was within my true love’s grasp right now.” After massaging her sore foot, she scrounged under the cot, pulled out a towel, and patted her bodice. As she flapped the side of her skirt to dry the damp material, her nose caught an unusual scent. A puff of smoke rose and the odor of burning herbs swirled around her head moments before fog rolled about her feet.
* * * * *
Clashing swords and the screams of dying men reverberated against the backdrop of tall trees and distant rocky crags. Horses whinnied and blood flowed, turning puddles crimson. Each flash of lightning told a tale of pain and rage. The battle turned in Kirk’s favor the moment the fog had lifted, the woman disappeared, and he had crashed his steed into The Mackenzie.
They had battled on foot and Kirk all but won the day until the man’s mercenaries appeared. They grabbed the bastard up out of the mud and stole him away.
The coward.
Kirk wiped the end of his plaid across his damp face then mounted with one quick step. Another bolt of fire, from the black clouds above, sizzled as it hit the muddy ground. The marvelous scent of wildflowers drifted closer, washing away the smell of fire and brimstone. A pleasant fragrance made him spin his mount around until he again faced a blooming bubble of mist. The familiar cloud enshrouded a memorable form.
She is here!
* * * * *
Within the mist’s embrace, heat flared along Haven’s leg then suddenly burst inside her pocket. She patted the smoldering fabric while her thigh tingled and her vision clouded.
Her hair, freed from the braid by gusts of an unknown wind, blew about her face. It added to her blindness, but she sensed the moment the tent walls dissolved into nothingness.
“Devil’s own luck. What the…? ” Beating the folds of her soggy dress with one hand, lightning crackled far above. She turned to run and hide, but some power glued her feet to the tent’s dirt floor.
Haven coughed and sputtered. Wiping the back of her hand over her nose, the acrid odor refused to budge. When her eyes watered, she snapped them shut. The earth shuddered beneath feet frozen in place. A thunderous din sounded near.
She slid open one tear-filled eye.
One moment she’d been inside her tiny tent during a sunny day in Northern New England. The next, she stood in the open under the gathering grayness of early evening. When she forced open her other eye, she once again spied the silhouette of a man. A really big man.
The image erupted from the mist and into view. She couldn’t blame simple imagination or weariness this time. Haven saw him clear as day. He sat astride a large horse. When both man and beast barreled toward her, she waved both hands.
“Stop!”
He didn’t.
* * * * *
Kirkwall’s attention never wavered as he reined in his steed. His gaze focused shamefully on the mystery woman’s rounded bodice of pale green linen that hugged her curves beneath a vest of smooth, tanned deerskin. Thin rawhide laces wove along the sides from armpit to waist and again down the valley of her womanly mounds.
Did the vest alone support her ample bosom? Her breasts shook while her arms and hips moved in a twisting motion as she tried to run away. Sliding to a stop within an arm’s length of the outer edge of the swirling gray mist, he drew his sword.
“Who be ye and why have ye returned?” he bellowed.
She froze in place. Her frantic hand waving stopped in mid air and she cocked her head as if listening. With the storm ebbing and the rumbling clouds beating a retreat, had she heard his challenge?
While raindrops dripped down his face and shoulders, her slender hands visibly shook as they adjusted the folds on the front of her green skirt. Then the lovely vision glared straight at him. When he dismounted and approached, her eyes widened.
He could still taste her on his lips. He remembered the pale green orbs that blazed back at him in horror. Guilt fused his feet to the ground until her intoxicating fragrance drifted over him, pushing aside the smoke and mist. Her eyes locked on his the moment she recognized his face. A tingle slid down his spine as he fought the rising desire in his loins. Wan
ting to put her at ease, Kirk lowered his weapon.
“What be yer name, lass?” he asked, keeping his voice soft and disarming. Before the woman uttered another word, the mist began to dissipate, and her image wavered. Surging forward, he reached for her. She grasped his outstretched arms and flung herself into his chest.
“God’s teeth, I thought yer were a’leaving me again so soon.”
She smiled up at him and all breath escaped his lungs.
Her smile killed him with its naivety. Kirk cupped her chin, lowered his head, and kissed her with all the gentleness and emotion he could muster. She softened, leaned into his embrace, and hesitantly slid her tongue between his lips.
Startled by the sensuousness of her reaction, Kirk’s hold loosened. Her eyes flickered nearly shut, but not before he noticed they glistened with tears. Shocked senseless, he made no attempt to grab her when her mouth-watering image vanished into nothingness, leaving behind the subtle fragrance of mountain wildflowers. Once more, he had been too late. How would he ever know why the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever beheld haunted him if she would not stay long enough to tell him her name?
* * * * *
“Hello camp!” Iona Mackenzie’s voice drifted up the trail. Amid the lowing of Highland cattle and the bleating of sheep, Iona’s familiar tone brought Haven a welcome sense of relief. She’d been knitting since the incident with the fog. Knitting kept her mind off the man who’d kissed her. Why this kilted dressed man stirred her was a mystery. All she need do was glance around. Kilted men by the thousands walked the games.
Then an unwanted wave of dizziness swept over her. The second attempt at a love spell, even accidental, had taxed her equilibrium, but she relaxed her shoulders and gave her friend a welcoming wave.
“Finally.” Haven stowed her knitting basket under the three-legged wooden stool. Standing, she tapped one foot and waited for her friend to reach her. Since regaining control of her senses, Haven had pondered why it sent her back to the same man on horseback. Back to a man who all but attacked her with a sword. Back to his molten kisses.
Earlier, after her dress dried, she’d emerged from the smoke-filled tent, and her brain tried to work out what happened so it would not happen again. While knitting, she’d even lost count of her stitches when she tried to recall what preceded the second vision.
A vision I never planned.
What if someone had seen the fog and smoke? Iona would have a fit, all because Haven wished for a chance at true love. What happened? Herbs in small packs lay inside her pocket. The water accidently splashed on her clothes had dampened the pocket then mixed with the herbs. Had the addition of water as a catalyst caused her vision?
The second vision had arisen quicker and clearer. Still, something was missing. Something powerful, like the ability to materialize and stay put. First, she had materialized in front of a man who kissed her before she had faded away. When smoke and the strange mist had enveloped her a second time, the same man appeared. He had questioned her, and asked her for her name. Could he turn into the lover for whom she’d searched since Cal had broken her heart?
Mesmerizing in his ancient plaid and perched astride a great brown steed, his savage face lent him an air of mystery. His icy stare initially caused her throat to constrict with fear, even as her body heated with desire. She hadn’t been able to answer his question. Why not? She would speak to him if they met at the office or at a party.
Weird.
Something about the mounted warrior seemed out of place. On display at the games were sheep, border collies, shaggy Highland cows, and geese. Not one horse.
Haven twirled a loose lock of hair then smiled at her beautiful friend. She ought to get her mind back on the present situation. Iona carried a rustic basket full to the brim with thick coils of raw wool ready for spinning. Her emerald eyes sparkled and her dress fluttered behind her, her clan plaid draped casually across her chest.
“You don’t work these games, Ms. Mackenzie. You live them.”
“Ms. MacKay! Has the afternoon gone well? Did you have to handle many visitors? I found myself enthralled by all those lusty warriors playing at swords and wearing not much more than their own sweat.”
“Did you talk to any?”
“Who, me? No. No time for men. And why are you stamping your foot?”
“You’re late.”
“Forgive me. Hungry?”
“I am out of my element here. And, yes, I’m hungry.”
“For food? Or a man?” A sly smile spread across Iona’s face, and her brilliant white teeth sparkled.
“Men are not on the menu.” Haven regretted her words the moment they left her mouth. Iona knew about Cal’s mistreatment.
“This weekend’s venue is the perfect place to meet a nice guy. Although Cal broke your heart and left a wound a mile wide, I refuse to watch you suffer.” Iona stared her down and gave Haven no opportunity to change the subject.
“I’m not sitting around mourning him.”
“Good. We’re both of Scottish descent and this place is swarming with Scots. Rich ones, too. The chieftain’s tent is bursting at the seams with wool kilts on silver-tongued devils sporting long, thick… daggers.” She giggled. Iona actually giggled?
“I can’t afford a dagger.” Admittance at the chieftain’s tent required a sizable donation and she didn’t wear the coveted ribbon to allow access. A smile tugged at her mouth when she thought how walking past the tent on her way to lunch would cost absolutely nothing.
“I figured you’d say something like that. Here.” She held out her open palm to reveal a small leather sheath. The handle of a knife peeked out.
“What’s this?”
“A dagger. Actually, this example is referred to as a sgian dubh and is small enough to fit in a pocket or down your…” Iona pointed to her bodice.
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why do I need a weapon?”
“Haven, you know how I worry. You’re always alone, ever since Cal left you and—”
“I left him! Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” She had heard the rumors. Cal was a bastard with a big mouth. In order to save her dignity, she ignored his lies even when friends snickered behind her back.
“Fine. Not another word. Wear it. Sell it…I don’t care.”
“Fine. Thanks.” She accepted the gift and shoved it between her breasts. Warmth, transferred from Iona’s palm, eased her pain at the memory of Cal’s treachery, the slime, but she’d found out too late to save her heart…or her precious virginity. “How’s your dad?”
“He flew in late last night. His tent is up and his clan books and souvenirs arrived, but I need to go back and help finish up his display. I know I can count on you to man the fort.” Iona smiled again.
“But, I want to do some shopping before the vendors close for the night.” The sun hovered low in the west between two peaks. A breeze had picked up. The aroma of roasting meat wafted up from the vendor tents. Her stomach growled. Plus, having wasted a huge amount of herbs on her love spell, she needed to restock her supplies. The second unplanned attempt depleted her entire stash of several hard-to-find herbs. If she hoped for a repeat, she’d have to go shopping.
“Go get some food. Finish your shopping. Dad can wait.”
She left Iona at her spinning wheel and escaped down the slope. As she headed into the crowd, the battle din grew to a thunderous roar. Thousands of people ringed the athletic field. Squealing children petted the cows or watched shepherds put their sheep dogs through their trials.
More visitors traversed clan village. Food tents belched smoke, and traveling minstrels added to the ear-numbing noise. Men passed by and several gave her a second look. Maybe if she had more experience with men their stares wouldn’t unsettle her.
Heat pulsed beneath her cheeks. She kept her gaze low and ended up away from the raucous crowd. Nearing the vendors who dotted the landscape, she scanned their banners. Anything related to Scottish life lay under large, billowing tents.
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br /> Including handsome, kilted men.
The breeze tossed escaped tendrils of her hair. Fingering them back behind an ear, she scrutinized the single gray cloud above. It blocked the sun and lowered the temperature several degrees, but the air still felt unseasonably warm for late September. Perspiration dripped down her back and made her coarse gown even more uncomfortable.
She returned her attention to the first tent. Maybe she’d find a bargain. Tingling with anticipation, she might find an antique cooking spoon or a tarnished silver ladle.
It’s sad that old spoons are my passion. I’d rather have a family.
An enticing aroma filled the air. Her stomach growled and her parched tongue licked her upper lip. She found the end of a line that snaked toward the aromatic smells emanating from a food vendor’s tent. Twenty minutes later, she nibbled on a meat pie while forgoing the addition of any steak sauce or vinegar. She balanced the paper plate with her bottled water then scouted for a place to sit up on the deck that overlooked the athletic field.
“Sit here, pretty lass.”
A booming voice caught her attention.
CHAPTER 4
Startled, Haven turned toward the voice. As she spun around, her open water bottle flew out of her hand.
“Careful, lass. This kilt cost a small fortune.”A familiar smile beamed from a nearby picnic table on a deck nearest the athletic field. Sporting a black Glengarry, complete with a bobbing, bright red pom-pom atop a head of salt and pepper hair, his curved mustache lifted at the corners of his mouth as he smiled.
A blue and green wool vest crisscrossed with red stripes, the Mackenzie plaid, peeked from beneath his bottle green jacket. As chieftain, he’d draped a broad sweep of the same cloth across one shoulder, anchored in place with a silver brooch. The sparkling ruby was as big as her thumbnail. His left hand leaned on a cane.
“Why thank you, Mr. Mackenzie.” She choked back a giggle at the drooping feather on his hat. The decoration also signaled his status as leader of his clan.
He stood, grabbed her plate, and set it on the table. He clasped his beefy arms around her shoulders. Towering over her, he blocked the sun better than the recent passing cloud. When he released his grip, she noticed his sporran. Trimmed with silver, the black leather and rabbit fur pouch sparkled. His kilt stopped an inch above the center of his knee and his beige kilt hose rose up his beefy calves. Bright green flashes peeked from the folded over cuffs while an ornate knife grip protruded from the top of one sock.