Must Love Kilts

by Angela Quarles

  “Aye. They underestimate women. And think me a simpleton, so…”

  She lowered the gun and stared at him. “They think you’re a simpleton? You’re joking.”

  He laughed, clearly enjoying her outrage on his behalf. “I assure you, I’m not. Simpleton might be too strong a word. But ’tis true no one takes me too seriously. An advantage for the first time in my life.”

  Duncan cleared his throat. “I do not think you have the right of it, Iain. Not after this morning. They followed Ross reluctantly. You witnessed how quickly they listened to you order them to subdue and retreat. If not for you, we could have had a bloodbath on our hands. They know this. You have their respect.”

  Iain glanced away, clearly discomfited by this assessment.

  She spoke up to distract him. “Okay, then show me how to do this right, and I’ll make sure to be horrible.”

  “Your biggest challenge, besides the recoil, is the loading. Duncan, block their view, will you?”

  Iain ran through all the steps involved in loading the ball and powder, and she rehearsed it with him until she had it memorized. “From here on out, I’ll load so they will think you haven’t learned this necessary step. We’ll work on your stance while we discuss how to retrieve your sister.”

  Duncan crossed his arms. “This will not be easy. We cannot involve any of the other men. It is too dangerous.”

  She cocked her head. “Why are you willing?”

  He stared off into the distance, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and answered in a flat voice. “Besides the fact that I believe your plight and feel honor bound to aid you, let’s just say it tickles me to defy the chieftain in this small way, even though he’ll never learn of it. Iain told me that once you retrieve your sister, you will be disappearing, I think was his word. Serves the chieftain right for his underhandedness. Increasingly, he’s not acting as a chieftain should. He hoards the clan’s wealth. Manipulates his followers.” He looked to Iain. “Plus, I owe Iain a debt.”

  “You already paid it with your warning at Invergarry.”

  She figured it was time for another pitiful shot, and so she nodded solemnly and raised her musket into position. She made sure to feel the correct way to hold her body, aided by Iain, and once ready, moved her foot an inch back to put herself off-balance. She squeezed the trigger, and once again flew into Iain’s waiting hold.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” She mock glowered at him.

  “I’ll not deny it pleases me to have you continuously falling into my arms.”

  Duncan rolled his eyes.

  Iain helped her back into position. In the lower voice they used to discuss their plans, he said, “I think in order for this to work, we must pretend you’ve escaped. I’ll order a search party, but if we play this right, the others can be made to go in the wrong direction, and Duncan and I can pursue you. Thusly, we can aid you in getting inside and fetching your sister.”

  “There’s a farmer nearby who has Jacobite sympathies,” Duncan said. “ ’Twas the plan Iain and I favored at the outset. We head there and persuade him that we need to enter the castle.”

  “We could sneak in on a wagon he drives, perhaps,” she added.

  “That might work.” Iain adjusted her stance again. As before, she memorized how she stood and then purposely shot the musket off-balance.

  They fine-tuned their plan, making sure she could recite the exact path to the farm, while over and over she shot off-balance and fell back into his arms. He chuckled each time, adding in a butt squeeze here and there, which she pretended to be outraged about.

  They’d just decided on the diversion she’d need to escape tonight when shouts at the camp drifted over to them.

  Iain and Duncan were instantly alert and drew their weapons. Motioning her to stay quiet and behind them, they nimbly navigated the ravine and ducked behind the last rock shielding them from camp. Duncan scouted ahead.

  Her heart beat, beat, beat because now they were alone, his solid strength and presence beside her, and she could now voice her what if, but she couldn’t because it wasn’t the right time—something could be wrong in the camp.

  Shortly, Duncan returned. “Nothing amiss, but a messenger has arrived. We should join them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  For our brave Scots are all on foot,

  Proclaiming loud, wheree’er they go,

  With sound of trumpet, pipe, and drum,

  ‘The clans are coming, o-ho ! oh-ho !…’

  “The Clans Are Coming,” Jacobite Reliques

  Gripping Traci’s hand in his, Iain strode into camp, Duncan at the rear. Soon he saw what Duncan had reported—James, a member of their clan, dismounted from a horse shaking and sweating from a hard ride. James didn’t appear to have fared much better.

  Iain, Duncan, and Traci merged with the others as they formed a circle to hear the news James surely brought.

  James took a long draught of whisky and wiped his chin. “Dundee’s on the move.”

  Shouts and murmurs rose, and Iain dropped onto a nearby rock. “I thought we were to rendezvous with his men on the twenty-ninth.”

  “Aye. But word arrived that Mackay’s forces are threatening to arrive at Blair Castle earlier than we’d supposed. The chieftain orders all his tacksmen to ride there posthaste so we can augment our clan’s army. He’s promised two hundred from our sept alone, including himself.”

  More cursing followed, for Blair Castle was a good two days’ ride. That was all his men were concerned about, but Iain was frozen in place as Duncan gave him a weighted stare and shook his head slightly. For the first time in his life, Iain couldn’t understand Duncan’s intentions.

  Inside, he was at a loss as well. Defying this small group to aid Traci was one matter, but to defy his uncle and chieftain so openly?

  Before he could analyze his own feelings, he must know Duncan’s. He lurched to his feet, ignoring Traci’s confused stare. She couldn’t understand what was being said, but he couldn’t translate for her in front of everyone. “I’m taking a piss.”

  He pushed through the men, making sure to bump Duncan’s shoulder, and stomped away for fifty yards. Keeping up appearances, he emptied his bladder.

  On the return trip, as he’d hoped, Duncan was making for the same spot with the same excuse. As they drew closer, he said loudly enough for the others, “Couldn’t resist emulating me, cousin?” Under his breath he said, “Where do you stand?”

  Duncan clapped him on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I cannot do aught but follow my chieftain now. Be careful, whatever you decide.”

  Iain swallowed hard but laughed as if they’d shared some joke. He ambled back to camp as if he had not a care in the world, but his emotions and thoughts were a jumbled mess. He couldn’t blame Duncan, but at the same time, his quick decision threw Iain into even more turmoil. To Duncan, there was no doubt. And there shouldn’t be for Iain either. His duty was to his clan and chieftain.

  What was he to do?

  Traci began to shake. Something serious was happening, and never before had she felt as helpless as she did now, surrounded by all these rough warriors babbling in a language she had no hope of understanding.

  She tried to read Iain, but he’d joked with everyone and went to pee, if she interpreted his posture in the distance correctly.

  Whatever had happened had galvanized everyone in the group but him; he appeared unconcerned.

  Everyone else began packing their belongings and saddling their horses.

  And she just sat there feeling completely helpless.

  Iain finally strolled into camp and said something with a smile on his face to the new arrival. If she wasn’t mistaken, they were making lewd jokes, for the others stared back and forth between her and Iain.

  Then he sauntered up to her, a grin on his face. He held out his hand. “Up with you,” he said in English. “I wish to exercise my marital rights.” He winked at her.

  “What!” She pushed to
her feet, ignoring his hand, while everyone chuckled and ribbed Iain.

  He leaned back on his heels, mock affront on his face. “Ah, mo ghràidh, you know you want it. You were practically begging me this morn.” But he darted his gaze off to the right, and his eyes held a different message.

  Now she faked offense but followed his lead to take the opportunity to be alone. Finally, she’d learn what was happening.

  He looped an arm around her shoulders and steered her down the ravine, thankfully in the opposite direction from where he and Duncan had peed.

  As soon as they rounded the sharp corner in the ravine, she drew away and faced him. “What’s going on, Iain?”

  All pretense at lightheartedness disappeared, and he began to pace, though he kept out of sight of the camp. “Nothing good.” And he filled her in on the messenger’s news.

  As he finished his story, her sense of dread grew. And only increased when he told her Duncan would no longer participate in their scheme. When he finished, she shoved off the rock. “What about you?”

  He threw up his hands. “Ach. I don’t know. I’m torn in two. This is a direct order from the chieftain. If I disobey, I’ll be a broken man, don’t you understand?”

  At first, she thought he meant he’d be upset about it, but he’d said it as if it had an extra meaning. “Broken man?”

  “Aye. What we call a man who has no clan to claim. If I helped you, I’d be cast out. Broken men are considered as nothing better than outlaws, forced to steal from others to live. They usually meet their fate at the end of a rope. ’Tis not without reason that we have the old proverb, Cha duine, duine ’na aonar: A person by himself is not a person.”

  She opened her mouth to say, We could move somewhere and start over, because she was finally alone with him and her What If question still burned to come out, but she snapped her mouth shut in horror when his words caught up to her—if I helped you.

  Good God.

  She’d…she’d…she’d fucking done it again!

  If I helped you.

  Not one word about them as a couple.

  Not one word about a future for them after her sister was recovered.

  She’d let her stupid, giddy, squishy, goddamn heart believe a whole hell of a lot more was going on than it really was. Again.

  All the old humiliation crashed into her, filling her, making her doubt herself, Iain, everything.

  Tears choked up her throat as she watched him struggle about whether to help her or not. Playboy or not, he was an honorable man, and so would be torn about keeping his promise.

  And then she pictured what he described for Broken Men. To live apart from his clan was unthinkable to him.

  She swallowed hard, willing the hot tears threatening to burst forth, to just go away already.

  Never let them see you pine.

  She could do this alone. His help wasn’t needed. He’d be spared worrying about which path his honor demanded, and she would never let him see that she thought their interaction had ever been more than an extended bit of harmless fun.

  Iain paced in front of Traci. Restless and groundless, as if the world had been knocked askew, and he had no idea how to click it back into place. Events were slipping past him, and he couldn’t take control of any of it. The unfairness of it all roiled through him, tightening his muscles, making his strides jerky as he paced across the rocky ground.

  He’d barely had enough time with her, and he’d known it was limited. He wanted more time, damn it.

  Plus, he’d promised to help Traci, and now he either kept that promise—and forever gave up his clan—or broke that promise to prove himself to his clan in battle. And never saw her again.

  For if he left now, he’d have no more chances to convince her to stay before she’d find her sister and return to her own time.

  Clan or Traci, repeated over and over in his mind, and it worked him into a frantic state. This right here, this was exactly why he couldn’t be depended on, for a huge part of him clamored to do the impulsive thing and aid her no matter what. But he must think of the long term—even if he did aid her and they were successful, then what? She’d still be lost to him, because she planned to leave, and he’d have even less to offer her as an inducement to remain. He’d be a man with no clan. A Broken Man.

  He stopped and stared at Traci. She stared back at him, seemingly calm. A hot wash of shame spread through him. There wasn’t a single sign that she even cared about his dilemma. He’d been building agitated castles in the air, while she merely wished to do what she’d always said: rescue her sister.

  She no longer wanted his help. She clearly didn’t think he was dependable.

  If he had any room for doubt, she destroyed it with her next words.

  “Well, Iain. This is goodbye then.” She smiled brightly, which cut right through him, as sure as any blade. “We both knew it would come to this eventually, and I want you to know how much I appreciate all of your help. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you, that’s for damn sure.” And then she winked. Winked! “And we had fun along the way, didn’t we?”

  She strode forward and clasped his arm. “One last kiss?”

  Anger and lust slammed through him in equal measure. He grabbed her by the hips and yanked her against him. She yelped, but he captured her mouth in a searing kiss.

  So. He could now add her to the ranks of all the others who thought him only a good fuck. She wanted a last kiss? He’d give it to her. That and more.

  He crowded her against the rock, cupped her face, punished her with his mouth. God. Her taste. This was it. He wanted to take and take and take until he had her taste, her scent, her everything seared into every part of his being.

  She probed and sucked and bit right along with him, her hands frantic as they clutched and scratched up and down his back while her hips ground against him.

  He tore his mouth from hers and, avoiding her eyes, lifted her by the waist. Pushed her against the rock. Raised her skirts and fisted them in one hand. With his other, he yanked on the belt holding his plaid.

  She scraped her fingers into his hair and tightened, and he relished the slight sting. Her breaths fanned across his ear. “Yes,” she breathed.

  Cock now free, and not even waiting to see if she was ready, he probed her sex and plunged into her. Deep and hard. Oh, Jesus, fuck.

  “Iain!”

  Aye, he’d make her scream his name. Again and again. If this was goodbye, he’d damn well make it a good one. Ruin her for any other man.

  Her mouth slammed into his, a fractured moan escaping around the edges of their desperate kisses. She hiked her legs around his waist, taking him even deeper. He used the motion to thrust his arms around her, one hand gripping the nape of her neck, the other wound tight around her waist. He drove into her, his forearms scraping against the rock, pulled out, and thrust again, over and over, with aggressive, greedy strokes. Each fevered slide into her hot, tight channel spiraled his lust into a compact, furious ball in his lower back.

  Each stroke an attempt to shatter past her defenses, shatter past her calm dismissal of him. If he was only good for fucking, well… He’d fuck her. Good and hard.

  His climax, it was barreling down on him. “Not yet…” he gritted out. He stopped inside her. Body shaking, her sumptuous breasts crushed against his chest, he eased out, then surged into her, hard. Slow, delicious drag-out, her warmth clutching him the whole way. Slam. Drag out. Slam.

  But the change in pace only delayed the inevitable. He’d never been much of a talker during sex, but desperate times…

  He pressed his temple to hers, his mouth by her ear, the sweet-salty taste of her damp skin kissing his lips. “Is that how you like it, Traci?”

  “Yes,” she gasped on his next thrust. Those gasps, timed with each hard drive into her, they scrambled his mind, his defenses. His desperation.

  “You like a good fuck? A Good.” Thrust. “Hard.” Thrust. “Fuck?” Thrust.

  “Jesus, I
do now. Give it to me. Harder.”

  “As you wish.” Again, anger seared through him that she still only saw him in this way.

  She cinched her knees lower on his hips, changing the angle of his penetration. God, he couldn’t hold out… She bit his shoulder and cried out, violent shudders wracking her body, her sex milking his shaft as he pumped into her. His control shattered. He pounded into her furiously until the hot ball of his lust seized him fully, and he bucked and exploded inside her, his mind going blank and white, his body shaking.

  He was only dimly aware of their bodies plastered in sweat, their breaths coming in deep lungfuls and his knees about to buckle.

  He pulled her away from the boulder and collapsed onto the ground with her in his lap and his rod—only partially soft—still fully embedded.

  Under the pretense of needing to regain his breath, he clutched her to his chest and memorized every spot where they touched, how her body felt molded to his, how it felt to be inside her. How she smelled. Like well-fucked woman, but his well-fucked woman.

  His heart beat frantically against hers, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He took no small gratification in noting that she held onto him just as tightly.

  God. So this was it.

  Goodbye.

  When his breathing could no longer be an excuse, he began to ease away. But when his mouth neared her temple, he paused. She stilled in his arms, her breaths now more even as well.

  He ached to move his mouth, just a fraction, to kiss that sweet skin, still damp with perspiration. To taste her one last time. To edge down to the corner of her mouth.

  The ache was intense, as if he were being torn in two.

  Her breathing stuttered as he shifted his head to bring his mouth that much closer. No. He squeezed his eyes shut and fisted his hands, bunching up the fabric of her dress he still gripped in his hands.

  And he began to harden.

  Fuck.

  He changed his motion into a quick peck and edged back to look in her face, making damn sure he had the brightest, most disarming smile plastered on his own.