by Allie Mackay
Figures entwined in intimate embraces that couldn’t hold a candle to the kind of wild, uninhibited lovemaking they’d enjoyed in their dreams.
Unfortunately, at the moment, she did feel a bit less bold.
Who wouldn’t?
Hot, earthy sex with a dream man was one thing, getting all touchy-feely within minutes of a first real meeting, was a whole ‘nuther kettle of fish as her mother would say. Her mother also loved reminding her that no man bought a cow if the milk was free.
That Aidan had dream-sampled her offerings, wasn’t the question.
She’d never been a first-date-bedding kind of girl and didn’t want to start now. No matter how strong and wonderful his arms felt around her.
No matter how kissable his lips.
How good he smelled. An intoxicating blend clung to him, a mix of peat smoke, clean wool, cold air, and man. The scent teased her senses, tempting her to lean in and nuzzle her cheek against his plaid-draped shoulder, just for the heady pleasure of breathing him in.
She really did want him.
But she lifted her chin and met his stare, hoping she didn’t have take-me-I’m-yours flashing on her forehead.
The heated look he’d pinned on her indicated she just might.
“So, will you say the words? Tell me true what you remember of our dreams?” He smoothed her hair back from her face, his touch sending a cascade of delicious tingles through her.
“Well?” He lifted a handful of her hair, letting the strands glide over his fingers.
She pulled back a bit, needing to catch her breath. “There are no wells about it. No wondering. You know what I remember. Every bit, I’m sure.”
He gave her a wicked smile.
No, it was an all-conquering Alpha-male hero smile.
“Och, I know fine,” he admitted, his smooth, whisky-rich burr making it all the more difficult not to throw her arms around his neck and cling to him.
He was, after all, a very clingable man.
So curl-her-toes clingable, she slipped out of his arms before she made a spectacle of herself. Much better to give herself a little space and do some pacing.
Besides, it wasn’t every day she could walk on medieval floor rushes. Not knowing how long she’d remain in his time, she dug one toe into the thick layer of fragrant meadowsweet or whatever such herb-strewn rushes were called, then took care to step beyond his reach.
“You cannae deny it, lass.” He folded his arms, watching her. His voice poured over and into her, the beauty of his Scottish accent making the impossible so incredibly real. “Wearing a track in my floor willnae change anything.”
“I know that.” She paced anyway. “But moving around helps.”
She definitely needed help. Never would she have believed such a thing could happen.
A single fleeting glimpse, yes.
But nothing like this.
She slid another glance at him, half expecting him to be gone, but he hadn’t budged. He was still there. Bold as ever and looking more fiercely handsome than the hottest hero she’d ever seen on the cover of a historical romance novel. Above all, he seemed so amazingly real, and she couldn’t wrap her mind around that.
Her Aidan. His Castle Wrath no longer a confused tumble of stones and broken walls, but a thriving, living place where he reigned supreme and had just tossed her over his shoulder and carried her up winding castle steps and into his bedchamber. An act that made the centuries between them as meaningless as a dust mote.
Her throat began to thicken and she swallowed. Never had she felt so overwhelmed.
She stopped her pacing to look at him. “You were angry in the hall. As if you weren’t pleased that I-”
“Angry?” His dark brows arced upward. “Precious lass, I was furious, but no’ at you. I was wroth with my men and their foolery. What might have happened had Tavish not crossed the bailey when he did.”
He came over to her, cupped her face between his hands. “Ach, sweetness, you thought wrong.” He smoothed his thumb over her lips, his tone softening. “Seeing you appear was like having the sun and the stars burst into my hall. I’ve burned for you, searching nightly. Waiting, always waiting, and ne’er giving up hope.”
Kira’s breath caught, something inside her stirring as never before.
Making her bold.
“Hoping what? That I would step out of a dream, materialize before you?” She held his gaze, his touch melting her. Heating her. Even the room’s chill seemed less biting. In fact, it was almost beginning to feel stuffy. Sure of it, she slipped out of her heavy waxed jacket and let it drop onto the discarded plaid.
He glanced at the jacket, then at her. “Sweet, lass, you shouldn’t ask what I hoped for, no’ if the answer will frighten you.”
“I’m not afraid.” She flipped back her hair and assumed her most confident air. “I only need time to adjust.”
He shook his head slowly, clearly not buying her denial.
He was touching her hair now, his fingers skimming along her nape. “Would a kiss put you at ease?”
Kira blinked, not sure she’d heard the softly spoken words.
“A kiss?” She spoke quickly before her courage fizzled.
He nodded.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “I don’t think a kiss is a good idea.”
In fact, she knew it wasn’t. Just his thumb sliding back and forth across her lips had set her on fire. His fingers caressing the sensitive skin beneath her ear proved even more disconcerting. Liquid heat slid through her, pooling low by her thighs. Each word he spoke in his deep, smooth-as-sin burr, stole her breath and made her fear she might even drown in the richness of his delicious Scottish voice.
A kiss would be the end of her.
Especially if whatever magical glitch that brought them together ripped them apart in that very moment.
She wouldn’t be able to bear it.
“No kisses.” She shook her head.
“Ach, lass, dinnae think it willnae cost me. If I kissed you but once, I’d burn to do so for hours. Even days.” He looked deep into her eyes, his gaze fierce. “But I mean to court you properly, as is fitting. For the now, I’ll only kiss you. Naught else until you’re ready.”
Kira almost choked.
She glanced aside, not wanting him to see how very eager she was.
He captured her chin, tilted her face upward. “I’d also chase the worry from your eyes. You ought to know I would ne’er let anyone harm you.”
Kira’s heart skittered. “It isn’t a person I’m worried about.”
“Then what?”
“Something far more impossible than our dreams.”
He frowned. “It cannae be as impossible as you being here.”
“It has everything to do with me being here.”
She looked down, searching for words and ending up plucking at her clothes. The fine weave of her top and the stretch-wool of her pants at such odds with his rough Highland garb. Her wristwatch, a gleaming incongruity in his world of rush-strewn floors and smoking torch-lights, his massive timber-framed bed and the colorful tapestries covering his walls.
Centuries old adornments she’d only ever seen on her one long-ago visit to Scotland. Or, more often, in the glossy pages of coffee-table books on castles.
Ancient edifices that belonged to a world as distant to hers as the moon.
She nudged the floor rushes again, remembering the times he’d loved her so fiercely the heat of their passion ripped away her apartment walls, letting her see through her dreams and into the time and place he called his own.
This place, where she’d never thought to stand.
She bit her lip, her eyes burning. Any moment she could be whisked away, swept out of his arms and back to her time. The place she did belong, but that would feel so empty now, having finally felt his arms around her for real.
She swallowed and broke away from him, not wanting him to see her upset. But he must have because he moved with lightning spee
d, his strong fingers clamping around her arm and drawing her back against him.
“You needn’t look so troubled, Kee-rah.” His embrace almost crushed her. “Whate’er it is that fashes you, has yet to face a MacDonald.”
She shook her head, about to tell him that all of Clan Donald’s medieval might couldn’t conquer the hands of time, but before she could, he gripped her face and let his mouth crash down over hers in a searing, demanding kiss.
A deep, soul-slaking kiss full of hot breath, sighs, and tangling tongues. A beautiful melding to cross time and space and ignite a man and woman in a pleasure so exquisite, she would have melted into a puddle on his rushy floor if he weren’t squeezing her to him in such a fearsome hold.
Clutching him just as tightly, she opened her mouth wider, welcoming the deep thrustings of his tongue. The hot glide of his hands up and down her back as he explored her curves and hollows, his skilled fingers working magic, then seeking and holding her hips.
“Och, lass. I knew you were near.” He pulled back, breathed the words against her lips. “I’ve felt you close for days, looked for you.”
“Yesss….” She curled a hand around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair. “I’d hoped that was so, dreamed it, ached for this to happen.”
“Kee-rah.” He kissed her again, claiming her lips with open-mouthed hunger.
Time stopped, no longer of importance. He tightened his arms around her, his kiss making her forget everything except their passion. Her raging need to be one with him and have him touch and taste her, to forget the world and just lose herself in the madness of his raw, sensual heat.
Heat she knew so well and wanted again.
This time for real.
She sighed, the heavy silk of his hair spilling through her fingers as he kept kissing her, each delicious swirl of his tongue against hers, making her burn.
Sweet, hot tingles raced across the softness between her thighs, igniting a blaze that made her wild. She leaned into him, the feel of his thick, rigid arousal electrifying her. The sexy Gaelic love words he whispered against her throat, driving her beyond reason.
Until one of his roaming hands slid across her wristwatch, his seeking fingers hooking around the elastic metal watchband. Breaking the kiss, he stepped back and lifted her arm to the light of a softly hissing oil lamp. His brow pleated as he peered at the timepiece.
“It’s a watch.” Kira looked at him, his frown making her stomach clench.
Clench, and growl.
Loudly.
After all, she hadn’t eaten since leaving Ravenscraig’s One Cairn Village. Substantial as her full Scottish breakfast had been, she was now so ravenous, she’d gladly devour every crumb of Lindsay’s crushed and crumbling organic chocolate chip cookies.
Instead, more pressing matters plagued her.
Namely, the way Aidan was eyeing her bargain basement imitation of a Swiss masterpiece.
“Where did you get this?” He fingered the smooth glass of the watch face. “You didn’t wear it in our dreams.”
“It’s my watch.” Kira glanced at her wrist. “I take it off before I sleep. That’s why you’ve never seen it. It tells the time.”
He scoffed. “I’m no fool, lass,” he countered, his sexy burr still making her burn, no matter how fiercely he glowered at her watch. “I know it’s a timepiece. My grandfather had one no’ unlike yours. A second century bronze Roman sun dial, small enough to fit in the scrip he wore from his belt.”
“Scrip?” Kira didn’t know the word.
“Aye.” He slanted his mouth over hers in another swift, bruising kiss, then jerked his head toward an iron-studded strongbox at the foot of his bed. “Yon is my scrip.”
Kira followed his gaze, noting a rough-leathered sporran atop the chest’s domed cover. The sight of it reminded her how far back in time she’d spiraled.
And of the fine MacDonald sporran she’d hoped to make into a purse.
A treasure that would have made a fine gift for Aidan, had it not gone missing when she’d been swept into his world.
She stared at the scrip for a long moment, then looked again at her watch, not wanting to think about the centuries dividing them.
Apparently feeling the same, Aidan unlatched the watch with surprised ease and tossed it onto her jacket. “It willnae do if my men see you wearing suchlike.” His voice came low and husky, a deliciously deep burr that made a little thing like an imitation Swiss watch seem ever so insignificant. “While I might no’ have trouble accepting the Fae can fashion such a timepiece, my men might disagree. To be sure, they’d see it as proof you’re a witch.”
Kira swallowed, the significance of her watch returning like a fist to the gut.
“I told you,” she said, amazed by the steadiness of her voice, “I am neither a faery nor a witch. I’m Kira Bedwell of Aldan, Pennsylvania. I’m a far-seer. A paranormal investigator. And I come from the future. The early twenty-first century to be exact.”
“Indeed? So many years ahead?” He arched one raven black brow, clearly not believing her. “Sweetness, I already ken you aren’t of these parts and I’ll personally take down the first man who calls you a witch. But dinnae craft such foolery to hide the truth. There’s no wrong in being of the Fae. I doubt there’s a Highlander walking who’d deny them, and many are they who’ve even wed with them. We all ken the tales.”
He pressed two fingers to her lips when she tried to protest. “Be that as it may, I’d warn you no’ to say aught about them to anyone but me. Above all, dinnae mention any tall tales about para-whate’er or the future. If my men heard you speak the like, even I might have difficulty controlling them.”
“I’m not lying, not making up anything.” Kira puffed her bangs off her forehead, the last of her Scottish accent inspired tingles flying out the window. “If you believe in witches and faeries, why can’t you accept someone who can step into a time slip? Look into the past as I do? Or see ghosts, for that matter.”
“I’ve no’ problem with bogles.” He waved a dismissive hand. “These hills are full of haints. It’s this twenty-first century, far-seeing Penn-seal business I’m concerned about.” He angled his head, the skepticism in his eyes warning that he wasn’t likely to budge on the matter. “That is hard to-”
“I know it sounds crazy.” Kira sighed, a hot tight knot forming at the base of her neck, just between her shoulder blades. “But it’s true. And I do not far-see Pennsylvania. It’s my home, where I was born. Far-seeing is a gift I have, as do many others. It runs in my family, on my mother’s side, though I’m the only one to have it in generations. I discovered I’d inherited the ability when I saw you years ago, that very first time. Now, I use the skill to look into haunted sites and legends. Supernatural phenomena. Destiny Magazine employs me and I-”
“You’re wearing those wretched raiments again.” He stepped back and folded his arms, the medieval laird in him blocking his ears to everything she’d said. “All I care about is how it is I saw you at the top of my stair all those years ago only to have you vanish out of my arms. Then” – his gaze held hers, dark with smoldering passion –“you appear in my dreams, night after night, making me burn for you and no other. And now you’re here.”
Kira moistened her lips, certain her entire body would start humming with anticipation if he kept his heated gaze on her. What his sexy Scottish voice was doing to her, didn’t bear dwelling on. If she did, she’d soon melt into a puddle at his feet.
She straightened, trying to remain unaffected. “I’ve been trying to tell you what happened that day. My gift let us see each other on the stair.” She saw the disbelief return to his face and rushed on, hoping to convince him. “How can I explain it? I’m able to see things, to look beyond what’s actually there and into the distant past. I don’t know how the dreams worked. Or why I’m here now. I never really believed in time travel until-”
“Time travel?” The note of amusement in his voice made her frown.
She n
odded all the same. “How else but through a time-slip could I be here?”
His lips curved into a slow, indulgent smile. The kind that would have been insulting were he not, well, medieval.
“You should sleep,” he declared, clearly tired of their conversation. “Aye, a good long rest will serve you well.”
Definitely meaning it, he scooped her into his arms and carried her across the room, lowering her onto the soft fur coverings of his bed. “A fine slumber without those raiments. Ne’er have I cared for the like and you cannae wear them here.”
“They’re all I have.” She shifted on his bed, scooting back against a sea of cushions, tired indeed. “I don’t think I’ll be around long enough for them to bother anyone.”
“You’ll no’ be going anywhere.” He looked sure. “I’ll no’ allow it.”
Kira frowned. “I don’t think that would matter much. Not against Father Time.”
“As for your raiments,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken, “they bother me enough to twist my head in knots. I’ll no’ have my men going gog-eyed o’er them.”
He reached to finger the button above her zipper, his brows snapping together when it popped off and arced through the air.
“By thunder!” He jerked his hand back, staring first at the suicidal button, resting so innocently on the floor rushes, then at the metal teeth of her zipper.
Kira winced. She could well imagine what it must look like to him.
“It’s just a zipper,” she said, the strange word making his head throb even more.
He watched as she clasped her hand over it and scrambled away from him across the bed. Almost as if she feared he’d harm the thing. Aidan almost snorted, and would have, had the wee disk flying off her hose not rattled him to the core. Ne’er had he seen the like. He frowned and rammed a hand through his hair. Och, nae, by a thousand red-tailed devils, he wasn’t about to touch the zip-her.
Nor would it do to let her see how much her outlandish garb disturbed him.
He was, after all, a man with a reputation to uphold. A brave-hearted chieftain who’d faced death on the battlefield more times than he could count. And he’d defy the flames of Hades and all its winged demons to keep this woman safe, flying disks and zip-hers or nae. So he attempted his most worldly pose, standing as tall as only a MacDonald could, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.
