Just Wait For Me (Highland Gardens Book 3)

by Dawn Marie Hamilton

  Jillian detangled his hair then picked up the scissor. Stepping close, one leg positioned between his legs and the other to the side, her gown brushed over his thigh. He felt the warmth of her womanly mound press against him as she moved in tight and cut a lock of hair. She dropped it to the stone floor then moved in snug for another snip. Breasts at eye level, he could do naught but stare. His cock jerked, and he moistened suddenly parched lips. Her husky laugh made him harder. Needier.

  Clip. Clip. Hair dropped to the floor at his feet. With each snip, she moved, rubbing against him, intimately, causing pleasure-pain, driving him to the edge of tolerance.

  “Are you okay? You seem to be breathing quite hard.”

  “I am fine,” he gritted through clenched teeth. His desire for her would be the death of him.

  She trimmed his hair and then beard, taunting him with each swish of her hips. When finished, she set the scissor aside and collected the container of soap with brush. She moved behind him out of sight. Then she stepped in close and cushioned his head against those breasts he so wanted to suckle.

  Later. He’d pleasure his lady later.

  The lathered soap prickled bare skin and softened his whiskers. When Jillian put the blade to his throat, he inhaled sharply.

  “I’ll be careful. If you hold still, I won’t cut you.”

  “I dinnae fear such. It is just…” He searched for the right words to explain his feelings, yet fell short. “You have come to mean much to me, lass. I thank you.”

  Jillian blushed. “And you mean much to me.”

  Their gazes held for a heartbeat, and then Jillian proceeded to work on his beard. The rasp of the blade, her scent, her heart beating so near, her body moving against his, left him breathless. The intimacy of the moment touched him deeply, softened his heart. Life with Jillian would be good. Days and nights filled with tender love.

  When finished with the task, she handed him a cloth and set the razor on the table then stood away, appraising her handiwork. “You look like a modern man.”

  He shot her a grin before wiping his face and tossing the cloth aside. “Come here.”

  She sidled close, and Stephen wrapped his arms around her waist determined to offer gentleness this night. He guided her onto his lap. She leaned against his chest, dropping her head onto a shoulder. She remained quiet within his embrace for several heartbeats.

  “I’m scared,” she murmured.

  “I ken. Dinnae fash yourself. We will get through this.” He brushed her lips with his—a whisper-soft kiss.

  A heavy knocking at the door startled them both, and Jillian jumped away. Alarm returning to her beloved features. “Who do you think it is? Should I answer?”

  “I will.” Before Stephen stood, the door banged open.

  Duncan strode into the chamber, face flushed, shutting the panel with a loud thud. “Sorry to disturb you, but—”

  “What is going on?” Stephen demanded.

  “Lady Isobell requests you and Lady Jillian join her and the sheriff in the chief’s study. She said ’tis urgent and was quite adamant you hurry else I would not have barged in on your privacy.”

  “Why would they summon us?” Jillian asked. “It can only mean—”

  “Do you have any idea what this is about, Duncan?”

  The big man shook his head, lips compressed.

  “Ach, well, we best find out what the sheriff wants.” Stephen held Jillian’s hand as Duncan escorted them through the passageway. He took the steep stairs to Archie’s work chamber first, acting as a shield in case she were to stumble. Along the entire way the back of Stephen’s neck itched, a likely portent of an unpleasant confrontation.

  Archie’s chamber was much the same as it had been when it belonged to his twin, Patrick. A work table and chair in front of the high window. Two chairs before the hearth. How many times had Stephen sat there with his cousin, Patrick, discussing clan business?

  Jillian trembled and he squeezed her fingers in reassurance, but he had a bad feeling about the proceedings. He hated to imagine why the sheriff wished to meet with him and Jillian. It could only be about one thing.

  Isobell sat at the desk, her facial features impassive. Aine stood behind, wringing age-spotted hands. The sheriff leaned on the hearth mantel, wearing a smug expression.

  “Please be seated.” He nodded to the two empty chairs.

  Stephen seated Jillian and then sat beside her facing the sheriff. The man tossed the leather wrapped parcel he’d taken from one of the guards earlier onto Stephen’s lap. “What do you make of this, MacEwen?”

  He unwrapped the package, and his stomach plummeted. Jillian gasped, revealing more than she should. ’Twas the silver cloth from the future.

  Stephen moved the cloth from side to side, light from the fire flashing on the shiny surface. “Unusual.”

  “Aye, ’tis. Does this belong to you, Lady Jillian?” the Sheriff’s harsh voice demanded.

  “I—”

  “What is this about, Ninian?” Stephen wanted to direct the sheriff’s attention away from Jillian.

  “Ciaran of Dunadd has accused the lass of witchcraft, claiming she conjured that strange cloth to use for ill. What is the cloth for, Lady Jillian?”

  So Calyn’s brother had stolen the silver plaide from Jillian’s chamber at Dunoon. How had he known it was there? Had he found it by accident?

  Stephen didn’t wait for Jillian to answer the sheriff’s question. “You cannot believe what the lad says?”

  “This cloth is not of our world,” Ninian said with a stubborn jut of the chin.

  “How do you ken that?”

  “Just look at the fabric, MacEwen. Nae Highland weaver creates cloth such as this—”

  “It is late.” Isobell interrupted. She rose from her chair and stood beside Jillian, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We are all tired. I will have a chamber prepared for you, Ninian.”

  “I am arresting Lady Jillian for practicing witchcraft.” The sheriff locked gazes with the lady of the castle.

  “Fine. You can post a guard outside her door.” Isobell gave a quick nod to Aine, who curtsied and left the chamber, then the lady of the castle grasped Jillian by the hand. “Come. You must be exhausted from your travels.”

  Jillian nodded and walked to the door with their hostess. She glanced at Stephen as she passed. Worry lines marred her beloved face. Damn Ciaran! Damn Ninian!

  “I am ordering several men to guard her door,” the damned man threw out, voice rising.

  “Do as you wish. Just ensure the lads are quiet,” Isobell serenely responded.

  The women left the chamber, a couple of the sheriff’s guardsmen following. Stephen nodded at Duncan, and the red-headed warrior shadowed the others.

  “I can’t believe you are taking this path, Ninian. You are accusing Lady Jillian of witchcraft over a piece of cloth.”

  “Stay out of my way or I will name you an accomplice.”

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “Heed my warning, MacEwen.”

  “You have nae jurisdiction here.”

  “I do until Archibald returns and he is far gone, chasing Maclay.”

  “Lady Isobell governs in his stead.”

  “She will not wish to gainsay me.” Ninian shifted feet, his gaze wavering.

  Enough of this. The man was well known as a stubborn beast. Stephen clenched his fists and vacated the chamber, leaving the idiot sheriff to contemplate his navel. He stalked the passageway, but thought better of joining Jillian in his chamber. Might complicate matters if the sheriff was reminded of his affection for the lass. Instead, he headed to the armory, intent on sharpening the blade of his claymore. A blade he was very tempted to use on the pompous arse.

  The emerald in the cross section glistened in the light from many candles as he laid the sword on the work table. When they reached Jillian’s future place, he’d have a matching betrothal ring commissioned for her. He had to believe they’d straighten out t
his trouble with the sheriff and travel together to the future. He had a sack of fine jewels—an inheritance of such from his father—he’d been hording for a time. Patrick would surely assist him in finding a quality jewelry maker. With sharpening stones and strop from a nearby rack, he sat on a stool and went to work on scratches and nicks on the blade.

  Isobell sought him out as he finished and set aside the strop. “You must take her away from here into hiding before it is too late. There are two days until the full moon and, without fae intervention, it is the only time to travel to the future.”

  Stephen wrapped the sword in a rough pelt to make it less noticeable as he skulked through the castle. “Must find the bairns then.”

  “I am sorry. Aine mentioned they disappeared when the sheriff arrived. I doubt you will find them within the castle or anywhere on the grounds.”

  Stephen frowned. Could this hell-spawned night get any worse?

  He strode from the armory. Even if they could prove her innocent, he refused to see Jillian suffer the indignity of a witch trial.

  Jillian paced the room, panic a breath away. She was well aware of what they did to those accused of witchcraft in this time. And if convicted…

  Shivers wracked her body.

  She tried the latch for the umpteenth time, but the door had been bolted from the outside. Dammit to hell! She was truly trapped. Where was Stephen?

  She wanted him. Needed him.

  Candlelight flickered over the muted colors of the dragon tapestry on the wall. Secret passageway? Duff had joined them earlier by way of a hidden corridor behind that wall hanging. Jillian grabbed a metal holder with lit taper from the mantel and lifted the corner of the tapestry, shining the light behind the textile. Nothing but gray stone. There must be an entrance. Duff had definitely come from behind the tapestry.

  As she’d once seen in an historical movie, she moved a hand over the stones, digging fingertips into and around the edges, searching for a trigger. About to give up, a metallic squeal stayed her hand. Several stones rasped to the side, exposing a dark opening. Thank you, God!

  She glanced around Stephen’s room. She didn’t have a clue how this adventure would play out, but it would be best to be prepared. With haste, she changed into warmer clothes, tied the laces of the fur-lined boots and wrapped the fur-lined cape around her shoulders, fastening the braided frog near her throat. Prepared to escape the castle, she entered the tunnel and, gripping the candleholder, waited until her eyes adjusted to the dimness.

  How to close the passage access? She ran tense fingers around the edges of the stone that had previously opened the wall and then several other stones in sequence. Nothing. Nothing but a gaping hole. Crap. She was losing precious time, but she didn’t want the sheriff or anyone else, excepting Stephen, to learn how she escaped and follow. Crap. Crap. Crap. She had no way to get in touch with Stephen. How she wished they had cell phones. Jillian tugged the tapestry into place as best she could and hoped it was enough to hide her route from anyone who didn’t already know about the castle’s secret passages.

  With her first step along the corridor, a creepy sensation whispered over her cheek. Cobwebs. Yuck. She shivered and brushed the silky strands from her face and hair. She hated tight spaces. Might there be spiders? Mice? Rats? A ghost or two? She swallowed uneasily.

  Don’t get all girlie, Jillian.

  With one hand on the wall for balance, the other locked on the candleholder, she made slow progress along the corridor, carefully placing each foot as she plodded forward. At least, she hoped the sheriff didn’t know about the hidden passageways. But really, if he had, he wouldn’t have allowed her to remain in the bedchamber. Right?

  A briny smell teased her nostrils as she navigated the tight space. She fought a threatening sneeze, not wanting to give her position away, in case others could hear through the stone walls. The tang became stronger and, after several more steps, the passage split into three. Shit! Which way to go? The tunnel to the right had the strongest scent of the sea. Perhaps it led to the beach and freedom.

  As she stepped in the new direction, a large body shoved her sideways, pressing her against the damp wall. A hand clamped over her mouth as another tightened on the wrist holding the candle.

  “Dinnae fight me and dinnae scream.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Fury radiated from Caitrina as she raced through the maze of hidden passageways within Castle Lachlan, her essence embedded in a blistering draft of air. Spiders and small creatures scurried to safety with her passing, hiding within cracks in the mortar, not wishing to be burned by the sizzle and spark.

  She’d missed the arrival of the sheriff while taking a leisurely bath, only to learn too late of his intent. The bairns had gone into hiding. Jillian had disappeared from Stephen’s chamber. Stephen was missing. What a mess.

  And the impudence of Maclay to get in her way. He had told Ciaran of the woman from the future. It only took a moment of rifling through Jillian’s bedchamber in Dunoon for the lad to find evidence. Why had she kept the damn space blanket with her? Dugaid’s effort to protect Jillian by securing her backpack behind dark magic had been for naught.

  The mere thought of the Dark Prince made Caitrina’s spirit prickle with something more frightening than fear. She hated the attraction suffered in Dugaid’s presence. ’Twas an intrusion into her feelings for Douglas. Her human side preferring her human lover. Her fae side—

  Her growl reverberated off the stone walls. She prayed to Danu to never again cross paths with the Prince of Darkness.

  If only foolish Jillian hadn’t hung onto the silver cloth from the future, they wouldn’t be in this horrible mess. Flaming balls of fire! ’Twas too late to change things now. Caitrina whizzed around a corner and raced along a straight away, sparks sputtering in her wake.

  As for Maclay to have inspired the impressionable Ciaran to seek out the sheriff and make accusations of witchcraft. She’d see Maclay paid dearly for the interference. Just as soon as she made things right with Jillian and Stephen. She had to win this last match against the queen. Losing was not an option.

  The fault that Jillian traveled through the time gate with her backpack rested firmly on Caitrina’s shoulders. She’d gotten cocky with each win. Jillian wasn’t only her business partner but a friend. She’d wanted Jillian to have some sense of security upon finding herself transported to another place and time. Have some of her own things. Big mistake. Caitrina would make no more.

  Hurling around another corner, her essence slammed into two human bodies, fragmented, and rushed past Jillian and her captor.

  * * *

  “’Tis me. Stephen,” he whispered close to Jillian’s ear then released the hold on her wrist, easing his hand away from her mouth, praying she didn’t scream. She swirled to face him, her mouth agape. “We must move fast before the sheriff learns of our attempt to escape.”

  When she moved her mouth to speak, he pressed a finger to her lips. “Say naught until we are clear of the castle.”

  She gave an abrupt nod, lips pressed tight together. They had only taken a couple of steps when an eerie howling echoed within the tunnels. An unearthly heat scorched the air.

  “What the devil—” Some unseen force smashed into Stephen, pushing him back a step, forcing the breath from his lungs. Jillian seemed similarly affected.

  “Hurry.” He propelled her forward. Not waiting to determine the source of the unearthly occurrence, they dashed over smooth stone, then rough stone. Jillian’s small candle sputtered, barely lighting the way. Finally, they came to the wooden door that opened onto the beach where the currachs were kept.

  He pushed against the old wood. The door hesitated then creaked, exposing only a wee gap. Shoving with his shoulder, using all his might, produced snaps and pops and cracking sounds. With another heave, the door flew open amidst flying debris from overgrowth. He inhaled a welcome breath of tangy fresh air, the bay’s salty savor wetting his lips.

  “I gue
ss this door isn’t often used.” Jillian accepted his assistance to climb through the remaining vines too tenacious to relinquish their hold.

  “Nae, there has seldom been a need.”

  She grasped his sleeve, holding him in place. “What just happened to us in there? I felt incredible heat and pressure.”

  “I dinnae ken. Castle Lachlan is prone to unusual occurrences. Fae activities. I try to ignore them.”

  “Probably best.” Her skeptical expression made him doubt the sincerity of the statement.

  “We must hurry.” They ran to the water’s edge, and he dragged one of the currachs into the surf, holding it secure at the edge of the shingle for her to board.

  “Where are the children?” Jillian asked as she clambered over the gunwale.

  “Gone.”

  “We can’t leave without them.” She jumped back out of the craft.

  “We must.” Exasperation crept into his voice. “Get back in the boat.”

  “But—”

  “Jillian, they have gone into hiding. Scooted into a hidey-hole. There is nary a chance of finding them before the full moon without being caught by the sheriff. We must leave now.”

  Begrudgingly, she climbed into the boat and sat on the bench, back stiff.

  He joined her, secured his claymore, and took to the oars. “Dinnae be angry with me.”

  “I’m not. I’m angry with the sheriff.” He flinched at the tears in her voice. “I promised to take them with us. I wanted Keita to…”

  “I ken, but you must understand we cannot risk the time to search for them. The sheriff will…” His voice trailed off. There was no point in stating the obvious.