The Parchment Scroll

by C. A. Szarek

  “Amen, sister,” Jules muttered.

  Hugh threw her a black look, though there was no way he’d know what her phrase meant.

  “I’m Mab, this one’s aunt. I raised ‘im up, I did.”

  “I’m Jules.” She didn’t mind giving her name to the woman who could put her barbarian in check.

  Mab paused, cocking her head to one side.

  “It’s short for Juliette.” She smiled at Hugh’s aunt.

  “Bonnie name, bonnie lass.” Mab circled her body, looking her up and down.

  Jules squirmed, chiding herself to stand still. “Thank you,” she managed.

  “No’ from ‘round here, are ye?”

  “No.” Jules sought Hugh’s gaze for some reason.

  Her barbarian gave a slight nod.

  “I’m from the future.”

  He straightened those broad shoulders and dropped his arms as Jules voiced what she hadn’t said aloud even during their civil conversation on his horse’s back.

  “The future?” Mab asked.

  Chapter Seven

  Both MacDonalds listened intently as she explained meeting Bree and coming back in time. They didn’t even look at her like she was crazy when she told them Claire had come back before her.

  Jules didn’t admit she’d come to grab her sister and get home, but she’d already confirmed to Hugh Claire had married Duncan MacLeod.

  He wasn’t stupid. Could probably put two and two together. His shrewd gaze watched her as she spoke.

  Mab kept nodding and cocked her head to one side as she listened. “The Fae are nothin’ but trouble,” she declared finally.

  “But you believe me?” Jules asked.

  “Aye.”

  Hugh was quiet as he regarded her.

  No matter how Jules tried to avoid his dark eyes, she couldn’t. Their gazes collided over and over.

  Mab looked at her nephew. “On the morrow, ye’ll take the lass ta Dunvegan.”

  “Nay. Juliette is my prisoner,” Hugh growled.

  She glared and struggled to her feet. Mab faced her nephew, cane poised like a weapon. “Nay. Doona’ be daft, lad. I will no’ let ye start another war wit’ Clan MacLeod. We’ve peace. We’re goin’ ta keep it tha’ way.”

  He glowered from his seat next to the fireplace. “There’s no harm in a little ransom. I willna defile or wed Juliette as was done in years past.”

  Jules snorted. “Damn straight you won’t.” But she had to swallow a gulp. He’d been completely serious.

  She’d read that rape and forced marriages were common—and accepted by society when a woman was stolen for ransom. Clan law was paramount. Consequences for non-payment were high—and final. Not even the kings had really bossed Highlanders around.

  Neither MacDonald even spared her a glance. Their eyes—and glares—were deadlocked on each other.

  “I am yer laird.”

  “And I wiped yer arse.”

  Jules laughed, she couldn’t help it. “Sorry,” she muttered when Hugh turned his scowl in her direction. However, she’d inadvertently broken the tension.

  Mab turned in her direction and smiled. “I like this lass.” She patted her shoulder.

  She flashed a smile for the old lady. “Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself.”

  Hugh’s aunt’s face crinkled as she returned Jules’ grin.

  He harrumphed and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. Shame he’d found a new shirt. Barbarian or not, he was nice to look at.

  “Did ye think ta ask tha lass wha’ she wants?” Mab asked.

  “’Tis no’ my concern. She’s a captive.”

  Jules rolled her eyes. “What if I run away?”

  “Ye’ll no’ last a day ou’ there on yer own, let alone find yer way ta the MacLeods.” He pitched his big body forward, dark eyes daring her.

  “Try me.” She glared.

  Hugh chuckled and shook his head. “I’m keepin’ her.”

  “Ye. Are. No’.” Mab punctuated each word of her shout with ramming her cane to the stone floor with a thud.

  “Doona’ try me, old woman. I am yer laird.” His tone was hard, and Hugh narrowed his eyes at his aunt.

  Jules fidgeted and sat straighter on the huge bed. Mab had wrapped her in a MacDonald tartan with the promise of clothing when they were done speaking.

  Her heart skipped and she sucked in a breath. For some reason, she was nervous, but not really afraid.

  “I am yer blood kin. Doona’ be daft. Think on it, Hugh. Peace with the MacLeods has been long awaited. Yer da did tha’ righ’, if nothin’ else. Doona’ risk yer clan. Yer life. For one lass.”

  Should I be insulted?

  Mab shot her a glance, as if she’d read her mind. “I mean no insult, lass. My nephew is stubborn, but he’s a good laird. He’ll do the righ’ thing. Ye arena’ captive. Worry no’.”

  “She is a captive.” Despite his words, Hugh’s voice lost some steam and his big shoulders loosened.

  Jules could see he realized his aunt was right, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud. She was torn between chiding him and admiring his resolve. He certainly hadn’t let go of the tough guy routine.

  Mab scoffed and shook her head. She met Jules’ eyes. “Come, lass, we’ll get ye somethin’ ta wear and food in yer belly.”

  “She stays here wit’ me,” Hugh barked.

  Jules rolled her eyes.

  He’s totally pouting now.

  His aunt opened her mouth to speak, but Jules beat the old lady to it.

  “Fine, my laird. As long as you promise to take me to Claire in the morning. I’ll even promise not to run away.” Maybe if she threw in his title and made him think she respected him, he’d agree.

  “Ye wouldna get far.” That dark gaze raked her face and Jules’ stomach flipped.

  She chided herself not to wiggle on the bed or squeeze her thighs tight as she was inclined. There wasn’t anything remotely sexual about the way he was looking at her, yet her body tingled. All over. Jules wanted to roll her eyes at herself.

  Knock it off. He’s still your kidnapper.

  Hugh relaxed in the chair and grunted.

  Mab clapped her gnarled hands. “’Tis settled then. Juliette is our guest.”

  He said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes. Hugh disagreed with his aunt’s take on things.

  Jules fought the urge to gulp.

  What does that mean for me?

  * * * *

  The door was thrown open, and Hugh didn’t pause to catch it before it slammed into the wall. He said nothing as he shoved it shut moments later.

  The thud made Jules jump.

  He prowled toward her, those big shoulders swaying as he went. He moved with grace for a guy his size, and his appeal was undeniable.

  She had to swallow hard, then screamed at herself for it. Jules shifted her weight from foot to foot, unable to dart away as she should.

  Her barbarian stopped a few feet from her, still silent as he appraised her. His long dark locks were wet and his clothing fresh. No sword was belted to his waist, either.

  Sandalwood and peat tickled her nose. Hugh must have bathed.

  Awareness crackled in the air between them and Jules felt naked, despite the yards of fabric that made up the chemise Mab had given her. It was thick and off-white, with a high neckline and long puffy sleeves all the way to her wrists. It fell to her feet, too, so there was no way he could see any of her body. She had nothing beneath it, since underwear was pretty scarce in the seventeenth century. Hugh would know that.

  The gown was heavy and hot; she was already starting to sweat, despite the bath she’d had.

  Hugh closed the distance been them, still saying nothing. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled Jules close.

  “What are you doing?” The words were supposed to be a demand, but left her lips as a breathless whisper that made her curse herself to hell and back.

  Those dark eyes bored into hers, and her mouth wen
t dry. She couldn’t tug out of his arms. Could feel his heart beating steadily against hers.

  His mouth crashed down on hers, and she moved into him instead of away. When Hugh slanted for a deeper kiss, she met his tongue with hers. Warmth spread across her chest, slid down her belly and settled between her legs. Her sex bloomed, yet he hadn’t touched her anywhere near there.

  Big hands slipped down her back, cupping her bottom. He pinned her to his chest when her thighs quivered, and it was a damn good thing, because Jules was melting. She’d be a puddle at his feet in moments.

  All she could do was cling to him and kiss him back. He plundered her mouth, his tongue shoving against hers, pushing, and rubbing. Battling as if they were dueling.

  Hugh kissed her until tingles darted all over her body, and Jules was a shivering mess of desire. Every place with a nerve ending throbbed for more. He was on the same page, if the hardness pressing into her stomach was any indication.

  She rested her palms against his hard pecs, her head spinning as their mouths moved together. Since when was she turned on by a kiss? Was this a dream?

  Wait.

  This is no dream.

  Sense started to descend, pushing the foolishness out of her brain. Hazy passion faded as she fought for coherent thought.

  Hugh MacDonald is kissing me.

  Jules gasped and yanked away from him.

  Barbarian.

  Kidnapper.

  She panted, bending at the waist and grabbing her knees so she wouldn’t tumble to her ass. “Don’t—”she had to clear her throat, “do that again.”

  His smile was slow and sexy—damn him. “Ye werena complainin’ a few minutes ago.” His lips were swollen and flushed red from hers and she couldn’t look away.

  Jules straightened and growled. “Don’t touch me again. You won’t like what happens.”

  “Oh aye? On tha contrary, I’d verra much like ta know.” He took a step forward and reached for her, but Jules slid back, extending her arm.

  “I’ll kick you in the balls, for starters.”

  Hugh threw his head back and laughed. “Nay, lass. You wouldna.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Try me.”

  “I plan ta try ye, as ye say.”

  “The hell you will. You won’t get very far, except for a sore dick. Just leave me alone.”

  He shook his head, amusement darting all over his expression. He was genuinely delighted with her threats. Hugh looked carefree and hot as hell.

  Jules pinned her fists to her sides so she wouldn’t punch the look off his face.

  He chuckled and grabbed her wrist. “The things ye say, lass.”

  She glared at the twinkle in his eyes.

  He’d shaved—there was no stubble on his cheeks, and she wanted to drag her fingers against his skin.

  Dammit.

  Just stop it.

  “Let me go,” Jules ordered.

  “I’ll have ye in my bed.”

  She shook her head, but Hugh wrapped his arms around her and picked her up. Instead of tossing her over his shoulder, he held her like a baby against his hard chest and carried her to that oversized bed. His eyes bored into hers.

  Fear chased away her ire. “Hugh.” She wanted to demand he release her, but the words wouldn’t form. He was bigger and stronger, as he’d proven all day long.

  What if he wants to rape me?

  “Juliette.” His voice was a whisper and he set her down with surprising gentleness.

  Jules scrambled to the headboard and hugged her knees to her chest.

  Hugh paused, arching an eyebrow. “I willna hurt ye.”

  “I don’t want to have sex with you,” she blurted.

  He cocked his head to one side. “Ye want me, lass.”

  “No.” Jules’ denial was too quick—and they both knew it.

  His shoulders loosened and he joined her on the bed. Hugh moved toward her, and Jules’ pulse thundered in her ears.

  She didn’t look away from his eyes. She couldn’t.

  Hugh cupped her cheeks. “I wouldna force ye, Juliette. Never tha’.”

  “Thank you,” Jules whispered. Her heart pounded as his hands fell away from her face. She slowly unfolded her body and lay down, but she couldn’t relax.

  Waited for Hugh to do or say something.

  Anything.

  Her barbarian extended his big body in the bed, pulling the blankets higher, covering them both. One corner of his mouth shot up. “Ye want me, lass. No matter wha’ yer sayin’ now.”

  Jules’ stomach fluttered but she didn’t dare answer. She might agree. “I’m leaving tomorrow. Like you promised.”

  Hugh grinned and dragged his hand down her arm.

  She trembled, even though he hadn’t touched bare skin. “I am going, Hugh.”

  “I’m a man of my word, lass. I’ll see ye ta Dunvegan. But, when tha time is righ’, ye’ll return ta me. And there willna be a need ta force ye. Ye’ll come ta my bed willin’. I’ll have ye, Juliette.”

  Jules gulped at the promise in his eyes, in his voice. She stared as he turned over, settling his head deep into a thick pillow, his dark hair fanned out.

  She didn’t move as she watched him.

  Soon, Hugh’s breathing became deep and even, but Jules couldn’t loosen her body or concentrate on much-needed sleep. She was tense, gripping the MacDonald plaid with both hands as she tugged it to her chin.

  Crushing her eyes shut, all she could see, remember…feel was his mouth moving over hers.

  Jules cursed and sucked in a breath.

  It’s gonna be a long night.

  Chapter Eight

  When he rolled over, he remembered he wasn’t in bed alone. Hugh swallowed a yawn as he came around and blinked to clear his vision. The room was dim, but not wholly dark and he could see a sea of honey waves spread on his pillow.

  Her face was turned toward his as she slept, and he restrained himself from touching her.

  Hugh didn’t want to let her go.

  He’d promised his aunt he wouldn’t ransom her, but could he keep Juliette some other way?

  She’d kissed him back when he’d stormed into his rooms after his bath in the stables. But the fear in her eyes had given him pause. She’d actually thought he’d rape her.

  Hugh growled.

  He’d never forced himself on a lass, no matter how many lovers he’d taken since—

  Still couldn’t say her name. His eyes instinctively avoided the blasted painting that hung in the corner by the fireplace. Every time he’d taken it down, someone—probably his Aunt Mab—had returned it to the spot it’d been in since he’d gotten married eleven years before.

  As if he needed assistance with his guilt.

  Juliette stirring washed the dismal memories from his head—thank Jesus.

  She moaned as she stretched, arching her back, and Hugh stilled, unable to rip his gaze away. She was temptation alive and he fought a shudder and the heat that settled in his groin.

  “Lass, ye—”

  Her beautiful green eyes flew open and she froze. “Oh my God.”

  Hugh quirked an eyebrow.

  She shook her head. “Dammit.”

  “Somethin’ wrong?” He propped himself on one elbow, looking down at her and restrained himself from doing more than looking.

  Juliette’s cheeks were flushed pink, and her body was sleep-warmed. Hugh wanted to reach for her. Touch her.

  Then take her.

  “Everything is wrong. I am here. It wasn’t some horrible nightmare.” She snorted and sat up, scooting away from him. “Odd, that I’d wish for a nightmare, but I’d rather have night terrors than be here.”

  Hugh frowned and stroked her cheek, he couldn’t help it. “Am I so bad?”

  She leaned away, her familiar glare back in place. “Yes.”

  He didn’t know whether to admire her resolve or let the insult inching up from his gut take over. “Weeeel, I am glad ta wake and find ye in my bed.”

&nb
sp; Juliette narrowed her eyes. “I told you I wouldn’t run away. You just have to come through with your end of the bargain.”

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  She studied him, saying nothing. The golden waves of her hair kissed her shoulders, disheveled from sleep.

  His fingers itched to smooth them, and taste her lush lips again. Perhaps she’d even kiss him back like last night.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Juliette snapped.

  Hugh startled, forcing a breath and reclining into his carved headboard. The bite of wood at his shoulders was refreshing. His cock twitched and he was glad for the blankets still covering him.

  Aye, I am insulted.

  No lass he’d ever pursued had refused his advances.

  Was that why he was so intrigued with this one?

  He pushed off the wood behind him and shot to his knees, leaning toward Juliette. Intentionally towering over her. Hugh blocked her in, resting his palms against the headboard.

  Instead of the fear he’d seen in that emerald gaze the night before, anger darted across her countenance. “Get away from me.”

  “Nay.” Hugh grinned. “Before I take ye to yer sister, ye will admit you wan’ me.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Ye doona’ want me, or ye willna admit it?”

  “I hate to break it to ya, dude. You’re far from God’s gift to women.”

  Her phrasing was odd, and he had no idea what dude meant, but the rest of her statement was clear. Hugh threw his head back and laughed. He’d assure her he’d never had complaints, but it would only rouse more ire. He liked her feisty, but he was enjoying her company. Wanted to talk to her more.

  Juliette shoved him backwards, both palms to his chest. She scooted from his bed before he could react, but Hugh threw his palms flat behind him and avoided falling on his arse—barely.

  “Get out of here so I can get dressed.” His foundling perched both hands on her shapely hips, but the sleeping gown still hid too much of her form.

  Not that Hugh had any trouble remembering her naked on the beach. More heat shot to his groin and he swallowed. He slid his legs over the side of his bed and stood, then stalked to her. “Nay. I am the laird, and these are my rooms. Ye willna put me ou’.”