Passion Over Time

by Natasha Blackthorne

  Her body shook and Victoria concentrated on the night sky, forcing her eyes to locate the Summer Triangle. In the westernmost point lay the blue-white star of Vega, the main star of the constellation, and Lyra, the brightest of all the stars in the triad. Lyra, the lyre. She fought the tears that stung her eyes and followed Vega to the east to Deneb, the dimmest of the stars. To the south was Altair.

  Might these old friends yet guide her home? Loneliness assailed her at memory of home, the home she had known before Montrose Abbey and long before Richard. Victoria forced back tears and traced a mental line from the familiar Lyra to Cygnus the Swan to Aquila, then the Eagle, and still farther west to Hercules. She located the Dog Star, Sirius. Judging by the constellation high in the sky, a hard ride would bring her to the abbey before her jailer woke.

  Victoria looked at the guard. He leaned against a tree at the edge of the clearing, wrapped in the blue and red plaide of his clan, head slumped against his chest. With a final glance at the MacPherson lord, she wriggled down the length of the pallet onto the wet grass. Dew penetrated her dress and chilled her knees. She paused, but aside from soft snoring, all remained quiet. With shaky hands, she pulled her skirt to her thighs, and slithered away.

  Victoria crawled until she reached the tethered horses, then rose and approached the gelding that served as the packhorse. She eased nearer until he permitted a hand on his back. The moon ducked behind a cloud, and the animal allowed her to lead him into the forest.

  Inside the murky depths, she spied a large rock and edged across the rough ground until her fingers met cold stone. Gooseflesh raced down her arms. Reward for her freedom was sure to be a case of pneumonia. She scrambled atop the boulder, then steadied the gelding.

  “It will be a shame to see those tender hands bound.”

  Victoria froze, leg mid-air. She detected no movement in the darkness, but her heart leapt. He is near. She swung her leg across the horse, but before she could spur him into action strong fingers gripped her arm and yanked her into Iain MacPherson’s arms.

  A chuckle, deep and warm, sounded near her ear. “We are alone, sweet, if you wish to beg my forgiveness…”

  She shoved at his chest, surprised when he released her.

  Silence stood between them for a moment before he spoke again, this time his tone dry. “You prefer the punishment then?”

  Victoria backed away. Her heel butted up against a large branch, and she fell back with a cry. She braced for the weight of his body on top of hers.

  * * *

  When they stopped the next afternoon, Iain retrieved the dirk in his boot and cut the ropes that bound the lass’ wrists. She snatched her hands back and massaged the rope-chaffed skin as she backed away from him.

  Iain stretched out against a tree and watched her through half closed lids. She paused in her inspection of the thinly wooded surroundings to examine a dog rose bush, then brushed her fingers across the dark pink flower. As if aware of his scrutiny, she looked his way, but when he didn't move she seemed satisfied he was dozing.

  At the order to mount, he hoisted her onto his horse and stepped into the saddle. Arm wrapped around her, he trailed one of the dog roses he had picked from the tree along her cheek. She stiffened.

  Iain leaned close and whispered in a thick Scottish brogue, “Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness, delightsome lily of every pleasure, richest in bounty and in beauty clear, and in every virtue that is held maist dear, except only that ye are merciless.”

  He placed the rose on her lap.

  His captive fought drowsiness, but at last melted into his arms two hours before Iain stopped for the night. He lowered her to one of his men, then dismounted. Iain took her and caught sight of something fluttering to the ground in the bright moonlight. He squinted and his chest tightened upon recognizing the dog rose he had given her that afternoon.

  The flower had been purposely crushed. He shifted his gaze to her face cradled against his chest, the words of the poem echoing in his mind, ‘except only that ye are merciless.’ Aye, only a woman as lovely and delicate as a rose could cut the most hardened warrior in two and never lift a weapon. Her eyes fluttered open. Tenderness gave way to desire, then amusement with her indignant intake of breath.

  “Put me down.”

  The effect of her haughty tone was undone by the breathless rise and fall of her breasts. She struggled and Iain lowered her to the ground. This time he ignored the rose, crushed beneath her feet.

  She gave no outward show of noticing when, once again, a pallet was laid out for her between him and Eric. Iain envisioned her snuggling close to him in the night, her round buttocks pressed against him as it had been last night. He hardened with the picture of her lifting her skirts and nestling close—the erotic picture vanished with the appearance of the guard assigned to patrol the forest surrounding the meadow where they camped.

  Their eyes met, and Iain read the message that intruders had been spotted. His men surrounded Victoria with him in the forefront. Twigs rustled beneath horses’ hooves a moment before four men emerged from the dark cover of trees.

  Iain recognized the Fraser plaide and would have relaxed but for every man’s attention moving past him to his captive. “It is me you need attend to, not the lass,” he said, bringing all but one man’s eyes to him. “Is your companion stupid?”

  The warrior at the head of the band twisted to look back at the offender. “Idair,” he snapped.

  Idair’s gaze lingered an instant longer before shifting to Iain.

  Iain focused on the leader. “What is your business on my land?”

  “We are passing through on the way to Easedale.”

  “How is your laird, Liam?” Iain asked. The peace Iain had negotiated with the Frasers came after a thirty-year feud waged by Iain’s father on Liam Fraser for running off with Iain’s mother before they were wed. The treaty was still too new for Iain to be certain Liam had forgotten—or forgiven—the fact that Iain’s father had forced Lily to marry him despite the fact she loved Liam.

  “He is well.” The man’s voice broke through the memory. “Have you any food to spare?”

  “Bread and cheese. You are welcome to it. If you choose, you may stay the night.”

  The man nodded his thanks. “Aye, we will.” He motioned to his companions and they dismounted.

  Iain faced the lass, breaking the formation of his men around her. He tucked her beneath his arm and started toward their pallet. Her wary gaze tracked the Frasers as they led their horses to the MacPherson tether line.

  “Who are they?” she asked.

  “Frasers.”

  “They are friends?” She looked up at him.

  “We made a recent treaty with them.” He halted in front of the tartan. “No shenanigans tonight, love. Resist, and they would assume no one had claimed you.”

  She blew out a short breath. “Claiming does not denote ownership, Iain McPherson.”

  He gave her a gentle nudge. “Aye, love, here it does.”

  “Father Brennan said I have the right to choose.”

  “Not all men honor such edicts.”

  She sloughed off his hand and lowered herself onto the pallet. Iain lay down beside her, slid an arm around her waist, and curved her body into his. She tried to scoot away, but he held firm.

  “Make the most of this while you can,” she said. “There will be no other such opportunities.”

  “Never fear, sweet,” he whispered against her ear. “I will not need them.”

  * * *

  Startled, Victoria’s sleep-clouded mind slipped into consciousness when her arm bumped something hard. She reached out in drowsy curiosity, her hand closing over the defined muscles of a man’s chest. Her eyes shot open and she startled at the sight of Iain MacPherson, propped up on an elbow beside her. He rolled onto her and his dark hair fell forward on either side of her face.

  “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he whispered.

  She stared. “You are mad.”
>
  “Do as I say.” Iain threw a leg over her thighs and tugged the tartan over their heads.

  Victoria stiffened. “What in Hades are you doing?”

  He began nuzzling her neck. “Pretending to make love to you.”

  Victoria jammed her hands between them and shoved.

  “Lay still,” he said in a strangled voice. “I only want our guests to think it. I am not actually doing it.”

  “But you are,” she bit back.

  Iain chuckled. “Nay, love. But never fear, we shall remedy that.”

  Victoria shoved harder. He groaned and she opened her mouth to scream.

  He clamped a hand over her mouth. “I did not mean now. Christ.”

  She pushed against his shoulders and his leg clamped even tighter around her.

  “Enough,” he said. “Two of them have been watching you all night.”

  “Watching—” Victoria froze at the feel of his hard length pressing against her abdomen. She turned her head aside.

  Warm breath fanned her cheek as he pressed his mouth to her face and whispered, “Do not fuss. Go to sleep.”

  When he planted a soft kiss on her ear, the smile she felt against her cheek turned to a stifled oath at the hard pinch she gave his stomach.

  * * *

  Victoria glanced heavenward. Hanging low in the afternoon sky, the Highland clouds dropped a light mist. The best part of the day had been waking to find the strangers absent. Their presence had been unnerving, and the safety of the two men she had slept between held more comfort than she liked to admit. Victoria hazarded a glance at Iain MacPherson, who rode a few feet ahead. How safe was she? A shiver ran down her spine. Dangerous. Too much like another man she’d once known.

  Iain looked over his shoulder at her, and Victoria dropped her gaze. She pulled the tartan tighter around her shoulders. The MacPherson lord couldn’t have read in her eyes what even her husband Richard hadn’t guessed. There had been another man. Had Richard discovered the truth, the fact that the man was his brother wouldn’t have stopped him from running a sword through Edwin’s belly. Though Edwin would have been the victor—as he would have been in her life, had she not stopped him. Richard’s possessions weren’t all Edwin had expected to inherit when Richard died. She doubted Edwin had recovered from finding the one possession he hadn’t yet fully claimed gone. She wondered which would be worse: staying locked in a Scottish castle the rest of her days, or the prison her brother-in-law would erect around her.

  “Halt,” Iain command.

  Victoria jerked from her thoughts. He dismounted and strode toward her. She didn’t resist when he lifted her from the saddle. She scanned the tiny clearing for the rushing water that echoed in faint murmurs.

  “I hear water.”

  He motioned westward. “Inlets from Loch Ericht run throughout the land.”

  “I need to bathe.”

  “As you wish,” he said. “But do not dally. It will be dark soon.”

  Victoria turned. Another night and day farther from Montrose Abbey.

  AVAILABLE AT YOUR FAVORITE DISTRIBUTOR

  About the Author

  Award winning author Tarah Scott cut her teeth on authors such as Georgette Heyer, Zane Grey, and Amanda Quick. Her favorite book is a Tale of Two Cities, with Gone With the Wind as a close second. She writes modern classical romance, and paranormal and romantic suspense. Tarah grew up in Texas and currently resides in Westchester County, New York with her daughter.

  Website:

  http://www.tarahscott.com

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/TarahScottsRomanceNovels

  Twitter:

  @TarahScott

  Blog:

  http://tarahscott.tarahscott.com/

  Also by Tarah Scott:

  Lord Keeper

  The Pendulum: Legacy of the Celtic Brooch

  When a Rose Blooms

  Seduced

  An Improper Wife

  Untamed Heat

  Double Bang!

  Born Into Fire

  MacLean Highlander Novels

  To Tame a Highland Earl

  Highland Lords Series

  My Highland Love

  My Highland Lord

  COMING SOON

  The Highlander’s Courtesan

  Death Comes for a Knight

  My Highland Chief

  Award Winning Titles:

  Lord Keeper

  Golden Rose Best Historical of 2011

  First place in the 2004 RWA CoLoNY Happy Endings contest

  Third place in the Greater Seattle Chapter RWA's 2003 Emerald City

  My Highland Love

  Indie Romance Convention Readers Choice Award 2013

  Eternal Rapture: Ancient Awakening

  KyAnn Waters

  Long ago on the shore of the Sea of the Arabah five brothers were born...all immortal. To defend their destiny they must protect their eternal love.

  Selene Farrell isn't herself...or is she? Since arriving at Anthony Mager's remote castle to appraise ancient emeralds she's been thrown back and forth in an erotic history lesson. In each memory the man of the castle kisses, touches and passion intensify her connection to him. She can't take another orgasm--real or imagined.

  However, she's also remembers her death. How is that possible? And will discovering the truth once again put her life in danger?

  Chapter One

  Long ago on the shore of the Sea of the Arabah five brothers were born…all immortal. To defend their destiny they must protect their eternal love.

  “I’ve never seen such exquisite examples of emeralds from the Ptolemy Dynasty.” Selene Ferrell adjusted her glasses. “You have an impressive collection.”

  Anthony Mager leaned against the wall of his office, cloaked in shadow, and quietly watched. The still air around him pulsed with anticipation. The woman had her dark hair pulled into a conservative knot at the nape of her neck. And if she was whom he believed her to be, there was a highly sexual woman simmering beneath her reserved outward appearance.

  She hummed a soft tune and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  Anthony relished the sight of her trim hips and rounded backside. She had a small waist and narrow shoulders. The faint scent of her perfume drifted on the air—he closed his eyes long enough to deeply inhale—he could also detect the essence of her feminine musk. His heart pounded. “I’m glad you’re impressed.”

  She leaned forward for a closer look at the stones displayed on black velvet on the desk. “Well, yes, when I received your letter I couldn’t resist your invitation to this castle.” She glanced around the dark-paneled room, masculine elegance with leather furniture and lived-in comfort. “And the chance to examine Cleopatra’s emeralds,” she grinned, “was simply too tempting. I should tell you that I hadn’t really believed they were genuine.”

  “I assure you, the pieces did belong to Cleopatra.”

  “Were they part of the 1817 find in northern Etbai?”

  The answer to her question was no, but she wasn’t ready to hear the reason why these emeralds had never been documented. If all went as planned, within a few hours she wouldn’t need his explanation. She would remember.

  He didn’t need the appraisal. The emerald pieces were genuine artifacts from Cleopatra VII’s Emerald Mines. Commissioning Selene to appraise the emeralds had been an easy guise to lure her to the castle. His heart rate jumped. Even now, watching her at his desk, he could scarcely believe his soul mate at last sat before him. As he’d followed her through eternity, weaving in and out of many shared lifetimes, she had been the only salvation in his immortal life. And now she was here, in his castle for the weekend…for another lifetime.

  Selene selected a ring with an oval stone in the center. She twisted it in the light, scratched some findings on a sheet of paper, then numbered and photographed the piece with her compact digital camera. None of her efforts were necessary because Anthony would never part with the stones regardles
s of their value.

  Selene set her camera to the side and picked up the long tubular artifact. “This is beautiful.” The piece was ten inches in length and had a nearly three-inch diameter. A rounded, natural emerald capped the top. The stones along the sides were polished until smooth, yet the emeralds shone with a brilliant green in the sunlight streaming through the window. “I believe the base is made from bone.”

  “Yes,” he replied. The piece she held in her hand was one he had given to Cleopatra on a warm spring night. The memory returned in vivid detail.

  He lived as Mark Antony then, and had found his eternal love in Cleopatra VII.

  He stood over her, motionless, understanding the silent command of her gaze sliding up his body. His cock pulsed in response, and a hint of approval tilted the corner of her mouth upward. She threw an arm over her head and stretched, cat-like against the bedding, spreading her legs enough to invite, yet keeping her deepest secret hidden. He raked his gaze along every curve of the lithe, naked body until he could stand it no longer.

  Antony stretched out on his side next to her, devouring every delectable curve. He caressed the soft flesh of her arm, tickled the inside of her wrist with his thumb, until finally pressing their palms together. When he brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them, she sighed. Slipping her fingers into this mouth, he sucked them one by one while staring into her smoldering eyes. Pleasure tilted Cleopatra’s lips into a promising smile. His breath quickened.

  Antony nibbled along the inside of her arm, then gently sucked on the smooth skin of her shoulder and the swell of her breasts. Her heavy globes filled his hands. Craving a taste of her raspberry-hued, taut nipple, he opened his mouth over the crested peak.

  Cleopatra moaned and arched. Mark sucked more of her creamy flesh into his hot mouth before trailing wet kisses down the soft, smooth skin of her rounded belly. She opened her thighs for him. “Taste me.” She reached down and slid her fingers into the damp curls, parting her luscious nether lips. Erect and dark pink, her clit strained for his attention. He breathed in her musk before tasting, savoring her flavor.