10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set

by P. L. Parker, Beth Trissel, L. L. Muir, Skhye Moncrief, Sky Purington, Nancy Lee Badger, Caroline Clemmons, Bess McBride, Donna Michaels

  The blond giant—Cameron—glanced her way. His gaze was ablaze with sexual attraction, not anger.

  Interesting.

  With her thoughts on Kirkwall Gunn, she shrugged both shoulders and turned away, but not before the older man ventured in her direction. Alone. She peered at Kirk, but he had resumed a conversation with the Viking.

  “Well then, would my lady care for something to eat?” he asked. When she nodded, the man called Balfour offered his arm. A smile lit up his grisly face. Hiding her surprise at his old-world gallantry, she curved her hand around his forearm.

  Haven controlled her shaking limb as they strolled toward the center of the small clearing. He had softened after Kirk had spoken to him, then regaled her with comments from camp including several anecdotes full of other’s mishaps. His words tempted a smile to pull at her lips.

  Kirk must have said something nice on my behalf.

  She glanced back at Kirkwall. He glared back. Tightening her grip on Balfour’s naked arm, she leaned her head closer to catch his words then laughed. The man had a wry humor reminiscent of a New Englander, yet his thick burr rolled off his tongue.

  If I didn’t know better, I feel like I’m walking the Scottish Highlands with a native.

  Maybe she ought to stick close to Balfour and stay away from her giant. They walked past a half a dozen empty carts parked nearby. They probably carried tents and supplies. Three others, covered with canvas, looked filled to capacity and two armed men stood beside them. Natural curiosity had her wondering what lay hidden.

  “Probably more dead meat,” she mumbled, turning toward one of the fires. A small figure knelt beside the edge. Was that a woman? She couldn’t see her face from this angle as she knelt in the dirt near a heavy earthenware cooking pot. The pot looked sturdy and old, charred black from perching so close to coals and flames. The young woman had tied her lush brown hair back with a threadbare length of plaid.

  She wore a frock even plainer than the simple green day dress Iona had given Haven. The woman’s costume consisted of a mud-brown skirt over an off-white underskirt, topped by a faded peasant-style blouse. She’d laced together a vest of fawn-colored leather. The laces wove back and forth from waist to breast and she’d pulled them too tight to be comfortable. Their tightness forced the tops of her breasts to nearly spill over into the coals.

  When Haven and Balfour approached, perspiration dotted the woman’s fine cheekbones. Dirt or shadow lent a ruddy coloring to the otherwise pale skin of her neck and nearly naked breasts. Rosy lips curved up at the corners when Kirk strutted nearby, heading somewhere.

  Hmm. What’s their relationship?

  Haven’s attention locked on the slender knife in the cook’s hand. When she paused in the middle of cutting vegetables, Haven gave her a little wave.

  Ignoring Haven and Balfour, the other woman tossed the cut chunks into the steaming liquid. A sizzle erupted when some of her soup or stew splashed into the flames. Hunks of meat went in next. Haven could not discern what type of animal adorned tonight’s menu. Rising to her feet, the cook bent over and stirred the bubbling liquid. Her crude spoon seemed carved from some type of bone.

  “Lord, I hope that’s a cow’s thigh bone and not one of your dinner guests.”

  Balfour laughed out loud, but did not answer.

  As dusk gave way to night, Haven’s nervousness grew. A twisted knot formed in the middle of her stomach. The games would officially end soon.

  Is anyone looking for me?

  She’d left most of her meager belongings behind, but brought along most of her powders and potions. The tiny dagger Iona gave her was safe. She rubbed her hand along its silhouette, where it hid inside her pocket, a safer resting spot than her bodice.

  Easier to grab, too.

  She’d lost the flashlight during the storm and never thought to carry her ID and wallet to the ceilidh. She didn’t even have the key to her car parked at the ski area. With no money and no driver’s license, how would she be able to get home?

  “Home? What a joke.” An apartment filled with hand-me-down clothes and thrift shop furniture meant nothing to her. Her jobs? Interesting, but fighting with her aunt about men made her sad. And the silly column at the paper? A dead-end.

  Her love life? Non-existent, as long as one discounted the treacherous lies spouted by Cal Murchie.

  New determination urged her forward. She had to admit a simple truth. She’d experienced more fun in the last twenty-four hours than she had during the last five years.

  Kirk waited for her on the opposite side of the cook fire. Balfour bowed as he released her arm. Haven giggled. She followed Kirk through the rest of the camp to a small wooden table made from a slab of wood set on two barrels. Makeshift chairs made from stumps sat near a smaller fire.

  The young cook appeared and shoved a wooden tankard into her hands then placed a piece of faded linen in her lap. She smiled seductively at Kirk as she presented him with the same.

  “Our thanks, Gavina. Ye may go,” Kirk said.

  Mumbling, the woman retreated to her cook fire. Haven thought she heard her say something about whores and trollops.

  A fat, yellow candle sputtered between them and leant an air or romance to the meal. The cook returned and laid a crude plate, filled with boiled meat and vegetables, on her lap. Haven set her tankard aside before she had a chance for a sip, then inhaled the tantalizing aroma of meat, onions, and thick brown sauce. Too hungry to care what filled the plate, her mouth watered. Kirk passed her a piece of stale bread.

  “Dip the bannock in the stew, lass. Like this.”

  “Is this pine martin?”

  “Nay, ‘tis venison. Eat up.”

  She watched him scoop up meat and vegetables along with the rich, dark liquid then pop the whole bundle in his mouth. She stared at his lips. His tongue snaked out to lick the excess. Before realizing it, she reached out and wiped his chin with her thumb.

  “Excuse me,” she gasped, “I don’t know why I did that.”

  Kirk answered with a soft chuckle followed by several louder guffaws from his men, but his laughter did not reach his eyes. His intense gaze held her in their thrall until a piece of firewood popped. Gaining her composure, Haven turned her attention to the camp. Darkness had fallen and the murmurs of Kirk’s men and the giggling of one or two women bubbled up along the fringes of the camp.

  “I am happy for a chance to sit on something besides your horse.”

  “Ye should drink the ale, lass. Will help ease the pain.”

  “I’m fine. Really. My ass… I mean, my rear hardly hurts and my feet feel better.”

  He nodded then finished his meal with a few more swipes of the crusty bread. The aroma of yeast and honey joined the scent of leather and sweat.

  He’s sitting much too close.

  “Excuse me, dear lady.” He stood over her for a handful of seconds before he left to join several men nearer the largest fire. Ravenous, she figured she might not get a chance to eat again once they parted company. She swallowed a bite in near-orgasmic bliss. Pleasure-filled shivers racked her body. She’d tasted venison several times, but this was so much better than she remembered.

  Too soon, thoughts of traveling without money or normal clothing filtered in. She didn’t look forward to parting from Kirk and finding her own way home.

  She tried to show a brave front, but her courage faltered. She glanced around the darkened camp as she chewed. Kirk had moved to the other side of the main fire and now talked quietly with the young woman who’d prepared the stew. Gavina?

  An odd name.

  Gavina’s wide eyes were filled with rapt attention and her long eyelashes fluttered in Kirk’s direction. She stepped closer and brushed something from his naked shoulder. What did Haven expect? The man oozed sex appeal. The woman, no more than eighteen, beamed at the much older man—what was he, about thirty?—but romances that start during these games were not difficult to fathom. People who enjoyed similar pastimes easily en
joyed each other. Isn’t that how people shared friendships?

  And more?

  So why did I fall for Cal Murchie?

  She’d lost her heart and her virginity to the jerk. When she got out of this jam she would have it out with her so-called friends at the newspaper. Someone must have known about the wife and kid. No wonder many of their dates were simply sex in the car or sex in her apartment. They didn’t have a romantic relationship.

  We had an affair.

  A sudden commotion on the far side of the camp had Kirk running. Haven stood. Cringing at the pain of her sore toes, she padded toward the crowd gathered near the fire. Sparks rent the sky, and several voices rose.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Balfour tripped with a huge load of firewood,” Gavina said, suddenly at Haven’s elbow.

  “Is he hurt?”

  “Burnt.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The emotionless tone of Gavina’s voice, before she slithered closer to lover boy Kirk, made Haven’s brows draw together. Haven pushed aside a tiny pinprick of jealousy and strode into the middle of the commotion.

  Best see what I can do to help.

  The crowd pulled back at her approach. Kirk kneeled close by, but only Reid was helping the injured man. As Reid poured water over Balfour’s left hand, Haven could see the burned flesh. Even in this bad light, the skin’s second degree burn bubbled.

  “May I help?” Haven asked.

  Kirk jumped to his feet beside the seated patient. Balfour moaned.

  “Can ye ease his pain?”

  “I can do that and more. I’ll need clean pieces of cloth. Not wool. Find me some fresh water and something in which to mix herbs.” Taking Kirk’s emptied spot, she kneeled beside the big man and drew his injured hand between hers. The size difference made her whistle.

  “Aye, it looks bad,” Reid said. He passed her a skin of water.

  “Actually, I’m amazed at the size of his hands, not his injury.” She shivered when a stray thought caused a flash of desire to rip through her body.

  Kirk’s hands are this size.

  Kirk issued orders while she had another idea.

  “I need a phone.” She wanted to call 9-1-1. Silence surrounded her. Even Balfour had gone quiet. She looked up into a dozen faces.

  “What be a fone?” Gavina asked. The young woman looked at Haven as if she’d spoken a different language.

  “A cell phone. To call for help.”

  Gavina covered her mouth with her hand and laughed. Kirk pushed her aside and crouched beside Haven.

  “The only help in the Highlands is what you see. You, specifically. Your requested supplies are coming.” Kirk raised an eyebrow as if he worried Haven had gone off the deep end.

  “Fine.” The herbs she carried worked on burns. She didn’t carry antibiotics, but would do her best to clean the wound to prevent infection, and make him comfortable until he saw a doctor.

  When the requested supplies arrived, she created a poultice from herbs mixed in water while she assuaged the big man’s fears by speaking soft and low.

  “‘Tis not me sword hand, but I want to feel a bonny lass again. Will I?”

  “Should one want you to touch her, I don’t see why not.” Everyone laughed. “This poultice will repair the skin and keep the pain under control.” She fingered the paste over the burnt areas of his palm. Haven wound several wide strips of cloth around and over his wrist and palm. Tying them tight, she dumped her supplies and dirtied toweling into the fire then stood.

  Kirk lunged to her side, then helped her up.

  Interesting.

  “I suggest you get some sleep. Keep the bandages dry and change them once a day.”

  “I will assist him, my lady,” said a wrinkle-faced woman with long blonde hair, slightly gray at the temples. She knelt beside Balfour.

  “Anice, my sweet, no need to trouble yerself for me.” Balfour rose to his feet, and swayed. Anice grabbed Balfour’s forearm, rolled her eyes heavenward, and pulled him into the shadows.

  Haven returned to her seat by the other fire and candlelit table. Bending down, she rubbed one aching foot and wondered why she hadn’t thought to use her numbing herbs on her own pains.

  She didn’t have much left. Haven would save the rest for more serious injuries. In the middle of nowhere, anything could go wrong. Releasing her foot, she picked up the tankard she’d set aside. Suddenly thirsty, she bent her head back and swallowed.

  And choked.

  * * * * *

  “Ye are to drink the ale, not breathe it in,” Kirk said, appearing out of the dark like an eerie specter. He slapped her on her back.

  Haven jumped to her feet, anything to escape his searing touch. Working to catch her breath, she pushed him away as politely as possible. Haven coughed twice more before returning to her perch on an upended log.

  “What is this stuff?” She pointed to the crude tankard while she licked her lips in a futile attempt to remove the taste. A low growl made her gaze snap toward Kirk. His hungry expression aroused her, making her breasts tingle and both nipples bud. He stared at her mouth, luckily missing the free show a bit lower.

  “Ale. ‘Tis a wee bit more potent than most. Balfour is our master brewer, known around the keep for his talent at brewing strong drink.”

  As he stared, Haven squirmed on the hard seat and clenched her thighs together. Her gown made her feel open, vulnerable, and at a disadvantage until she glanced toward his ancient kilt.

  He’s wearing much less.

  “What troubles the lass, my chief? Did ye growl at her again?” Reid chortled and shook his head side to side before settling down in the grass beside their table. He crossed his legs and tipped back a tankard full of the bitter brew. After a long swallow, he winked.

  She pulled her tongue back inside her mouth and coughed, again. Young Reid’s interruption broke Kirk’s hot gaze. She might want to keep the jovial Reid close at hand. Balfour, too. With a quick glare at her tankard, she lowered it to the ground.

  “Shall I have a skin of water fetched?” Kirk turned toward his foster son. Without waiting for her to answer, Reid hopped up and soon reappeared with the water skin.

  Haven forced a smile toward the young man. She coughed again and accepted the skin. Reid quickly disappeared, leaving her alone with Kirk. She ignored a sudden image of Kirk beside her, in bed.

  Hell, I never spent time in an actual bed with Cal.

  Haven tilted the skin to her lips. A rush of cool water soothed her mouth and throat. She’d either gotten used to the mossy smell, or the nearest river ran clean. A moan escaped when icy drops rolled down her chin and sprinkled the top of her breasts.

  Kirk’s gaze followed the droplets of water soaking the top edge of her frock. Her skin prickled beneath his notice. Gathering her wits long enough to ignore the giant sitting close beside her, she glanced through the shadows descending on the camp. When her attention fell on the nearby camp fire, a calloused thumb wiped the spill from her sensitive skin, just above her barely hidden breasts.

  Haven gasped, then pulled back and nearly fell from the stump. The fingers leapt to her arm, and held tight.

  “Please don’t touch me.”

  Kirk let her go.

  Distant sounds surrounded them. Low-burning flames crackled, harmonizing with the whispers of people enjoying dinner. Her own raspy breaths hushed as her eyes grew accustomed to the low lighting. Several couples leaned back against blanket-covered logs or saddles. Many had finished their dinner and now drifted close as if they planned to…

  “Oh, my. Those couples are—”

  “Do not be offended. My hunting party has been away from camp these past nights. My men miss their companions.”

  “Are they married to these—what did you call them—companions?”

  “No. No one in my party is wed. Ye do not approve?”

  Did he really care about her opinion? More likely he had an ulterior motive, proven when she spied the bulge li
fting his kilt. Her attention flicked back to the nearest couple. Moans and giggles joined their frenzied movements beneath a large blanket.

  They’re having sex? In the open?

  Did he mean to see if she’d be a willing participant under his blanket? Haven closed her eyes at his audacity. Kirk probably hoped she shared his feelings about unwedded copulation.

  “It’s not my place to approve or not.” Haven straightened her posture then opened her eyes and turned to meet his. “Is it wrong to find comfort in one another’s arms on a cold night? What they do with their free time is up to them. Is this what you hoped to hear?”

  He hesitated as if suddenly uncomfortable with the subject.

  “Aye. I provide my people with safety, food, armor, and mounts. In turn, they provide me with their loyalty. A happy clansman is a strong supporter. The women are here of their own accord.”

  “There do not appear to be enough ladies to go around.” She’d only seen two.

  “If a fight for one of them occurs in my camp, she would be ordered to sleep beside her pony. We would also banish her from future trips. Needless to say, fights rarely occur.”

  “That’s horrible! Why is the woman the punished party? And why are we having this conversation?” She jumped to her feet. “I will not sit here and watch others making love. Do you or do you not have a bed for me?”

  Her question burst forth unexpectedly. His expression bordered on shock. Midnight blue eyes opened wide and he shot to his feet, spilling his tankard. He towered over her, yet the man stood frozen, and speechless. Again, she’d spoken without considering her words.

  “I will sleep alone, sir.”

  “As you wish. I have a query about Balfour, first.”

  “What about him? He’s healing, right?”

  “Aye. As laird, ‘tis my right to keep my people from harm. Be ye a witch?”

  “A witch? Why do people keep thinking that,” she mumbled. “No. Of course not. I know all there is to know about the healing properties of plants, flowers, and herbs, but I don’t think—”

  “Fine. I understand,” he said, bowed slightly, never taking his gaze from hers. “I thank you for helping Balfour.”