by Jackie Ivie
“The woman...comes with me!” Cedric shouted.
‘Oh. Hell, no.’ Elena replied in her head.
“No.” Morrigan stated it without inflection and then he added words that sent another dose of warmth through her entire side. “The woman stays here. Beside me.”
“She’ll freeze.”
‘I already am, Cedric. Duh.’ Elena continued adding silently to the script.
“I will handle the woman. You go handle the beat.”
“This is not finished!”
“Go. Get us to shore.”
‘Yeah. Go do that, Cedric. Make yourself useful.’
Cedric glared at Morrigan for a second before the ship motion sent him stumbling away. He didn’t return this time. Elena watched him make his way to the back of the ship until he reached the drummer-guy.
“Here, lass.”
Morrigan released his arm from about her. Her attire gave an audible thump as it hit the stage.
Crap. Her outfit weighed a ton.
Elena instantly grabbed onto his fur covering, receiving a handful of water from it. Morrigan sheathed his knife. Gave a heavy sigh. It lifted the fur she held. And then he slid the robe off his shoulders, turned to her, and wrapped it about her. It took time for the folds of frozen material about her to thaw. But it happened. Elena’s eyes actually filled with tears at the sensation of warmth. Comfort. Security.
But, she couldn’t take his covering.
Before she voiced it, Morrigan lifted her, took two rocking steps, and then dropped to a knee. He set her down and pushed. Elena scooted back, stopped as her back met the indentation of the ship’s bow. She bent her knees, pulling her lower legs into the warmth with her. Something solid smacked her ankle. She winced and rubbed at it. She knew they used to weigh skirts to keep hems from flying up, but this was ridiculous.
Elena snuggled further into the fur. His cloak almost completely covered her. She was fine. She even had a ridge above her head, protecting her from spray that jetted over the bow. She could see it.
But she could also see he was getting saturated. She started pulling the fur off. He stopped her motion with a hand atop hers. Elena’s heart dropped. She stilled as all kinds of sensations suffused her entire body.
Oh. This was bad.
She didn’t dare feel anything. Not for a fictional character.
“You cannot understand me, but you need to be quiet.” He made the universal sign for silence, a forefinger atop his lips. Elena nodded. “Do not fear. I will protect you. You have my word.”
A drumbeat started up. She watched with wide eyes as he stood. He wasn’t dressed for the elements. He wore a white shirt. Dark trousers. A heavy-looking jacket. None of it disguised him. She’d been dead-on about his physique. He was really well-built. Strong. And handsome enough to send any female’s heart racing. She shouldn’t feel annoyed that it happened to hers.
She watched him take a step, swivel, and sink onto a bench. He reached for an oar. He had a partner. The man was smaller.
Hmm.
He had his back to her, and that showcased some really wide shoulders. Nice arms and back. Muscles got delineated as he pulled at the oar. Lifted it. Pushed forward. Pulled back again. She could feel the boat’s movement beneath her. Hear the drum cadence. Smell the fresh ocean water. But the view was really incredible.
She’d been so wrong.
Whoever had written this script needed a raise.
CHAPTER FOUR
Gut instinct had rarely failed him to this extent. Nor this quickly.
Morrigan worked the oar, feeling the wood shift rhythmically in its oarlock beside him, while everything else diminished in importance. Even the elements. The storm was still raging, sleet hitting his back. Shoulders. Arms. Moisture plastered his hair to his head and neck. He disregarded it. All of it. His vision never wandered from Cedric, but his mind was a whorl of thought. This foray into the ocean changed things. It was time to leave. He had to. Cedric wouldn’t survive another confrontation.
Morrigan had hoped to stay hidden until spring. Approach his maternal uncle then for help. He’d already sent two missives, one when he’d fled his ancestral home. The other he’d snuck out with a visiting priest. Neither had been answered. That didn’t mean his uncle wouldn’t assist him. Grant him enough men he could return to KilCreig Castle. Clear his name. Claim his inheritance.
First though, he had to get through the next few hours.
Morrigan’s face was set in a frown. His gut churned. That emotion transferred to strength. His oar shove lifted his partner more than once. The man had glanced toward him each time. Morrigan ignored him, keeping his gaze on Cedric. His oar-partner hadn’t looked at him for long.
The man didn’t know Morrigan. Nobody in the village did. He had his reasons for not accepting Cedric’s challenges. None of them were any more palatable than the last time he’d considered them.
Anyone removing Cedric from this earth needed to take over as village chieftain or select a replacement. No other man seemed capable, and none appeared willing. The situation with the woman was further proof. The only man who’d tried to help had been the translator, and he’d proven too weak. The man was rowing now near the mast, his head bowed, his face averted, but at least he’d tried. The rest of them had been silent. Inactive. Passive.
Cedric might be arrogant and cocky, but he was the son of the prior chieftain. He had right of blood on his side. He possessed some leadership ability. He must. The entire village had enough wood cut for their fires. Meat had been butchered and salted. Grains and vegetables gathered and stored. Nobody went without.
Cedric was also a family man. He claimed more than one wife, multiple daughters, and three young sons. Another babe was due any day. Taking his life made widows out of his women, and orphaned his children.
Morrigan didn’t have much choice. But it still irked.
Sneaking away was a poor option, but the best one. He’d need a diversion but some things were already on his side. It was night. They were all tired. No one would expect it. Everyone in the village, even those waiting onshore, should be occupied with offloading the bounty they’d brought from the shipwreck. He wouldn’t participate. He’d slip away. Get to his croft. Gather foodstuffs. Pack enough to survive. Only the desperate traveled during the winter months, but snows hadn’t come yet. He had a strong horse. He could be on his way toward KilCreig Castle before anyone noticed his absence. With luck, he’d reach it within a sennight. Mayhap sooner.
Except that now he had to do it with a woman. Worse still, she was a foreign woman. He already knew she couldn’t understand him. Chances she’d obey quietly were dismal.
Maybe he should stay. Help transfer the trunks to shore. At least see what they contained. Take his share. He needed funds to pay for an army. That alone was worth stifling any urge to respond if Cedric challenged him again. For that to happen, he needed to get the woman to his croft first. Stoke the fire. Find her something to wear while her attire dried...
At the thought, Morrigan pulled the oar with a hard yank that unseated his bench-mate again. The fellow grunted something that sounded like irritation. He didn’t voice it, despite the time Morrigan gave him. The man turned away finally, continued rowing. Morrigan went back to considering things.
Keeping the woman was fraught with complication. Something had happened out there when he’d pulled her from the sea. Something...unreal. Her nearness affected him. Direct contact went beyond his experience. It sent a strange sensation – like little sparks shooting through every limb. He’d experienced them as he’d held her, dripping wet and shaking. Nothing had abated, either. He could swear he felt the same thing now...and she wasn’t even in sight.
All women were trouble.
This one was worse.
It started with her comeliness. He’d been around many lovely women, all self-absorbed and vain. Few compared with this woman, however. Even bedraggled from a near-drowning, her beauty was obvious. She had a mass of
dark hair. Riveting dark eyes surrounded by lush lashes. Unblemished, pristine skin. She also possessed womanly curves. Impressive ones. Morrigan hadn’t given her his fur simply to protect her from the elements. He had to cover up a large bosom, a tiny waist, and all kinds of other allures that kept snagging his attention.
He shook his head at the madness of this. Concentrated for a moment on pulling the oar. Lifting it. Pushing it forward. Dropping it into the water. It didn’t help.
Readying this woman for travel would test a saint. Even if she understood, she’d probably argue. Loudly. Noblewomen usually did. He didn’t know her exact status, but he knew clothing. She was richly dressed. That woman wore heavy satin. It had been trimmed with something that had sparkled. Drawing the eye to the tops of her bosom...
Argh.
Morrigan nearly voiced it. The emotion transferred wordlessly to his stroke again. His oar-partner’s buttocks left his seat again. The drumbeat slowed. The rowers matched it. And then Cedric shouted above the other sounds.
“Steady up, men! We’re home!”
Home?
Morrigan didn’t even know where that was anymore.
He lifted the oar automatically, feeling it skim along the water, following his partner’s lead. Waves returned from shore, washing against the boat, rocking it. Morrigan glanced up. Back down toward Cedric. The cliffs of the cove loomed directly above them. Cedric’s orders had nearly beached them. And a moment later the bow smacked into sand. Wood groaned at the collision. Morrigan slid onto his backside. His boot slammed into a bench support, stopping any further skid, although his shoulder smacked into something. That hurt. His oar-partner hadn’t been as lucky. That fellow had joined the jumble of bodies amidst the trunks. Morrigan couldn’t even tell where Cedric had gone. And then, over everything else, he heard the woman speak. English words. Easily understood although she said them strangely.
“All right. That’s it! Whoever put him in charge should be shot. Drawn. Quartered. Or whatever you do in this movie. I’m leaving!”
And then she said a very unladylike word that shocked. Morrigan’s mouth dropped open as he looked over his shoulder.
“This dress weighs a ton! And don’t just sit there. Do something!”
She looked like a little bear, crouched down. Every time she tried to stand, she sank to her knees. She had both hands on her skirt material. She glared across at him like it was his fault. And that’s when it dawned on him. Her fortune had been sewn into her clothing!
Of course! It made perfect sense. He was such a dunce. Gut instinct was well and thriving. He didn’t need the trunks. He just needed the woman.
Well.
Actually, he only needed her clothing.
Morrigan jumped to his feet with new-found alacrity. Wrapped his arms about her legs and heaved her onto a shoulder. He expected the weight, but it still made his knees waver momentarily. She gave a choked sound.
No one answered. Morrigan regarded the mass of men and trunks, some groaning but most moving. He didn’t need to wait for a ramp. The ship’s bow was beached. The rest of the ship swayed slightly but where he stood was solid. And about four feet above ground. Diving over the side with his burden took a feat of strength he wasn’t certain he possessed. He almost failed. He managed a squatted landing, his feet sinking into wet sand, while his buttocks met the same. But then he was up. And jogging.
He was almost singing.
CHAPTER FIVE
All right. This was getting out of hand.
Not the fact that she was being kidnapped.
That would have made sense.
If this was a movie, it would be a box office bomb. Nobody would pay to watch an hour or so of men rowing. She hadn’t brought her watch on this trip, so she couldn’t tell time. It felt like at least an hour. The director should be fired. He was slow-witted and slower acting. No one needed this much time for the perfect shot. And it had started out with such promise!
Elena had been sodden, but nicely warm within the fur. Scrunched beneath the bow edge hadn’t been uncomfortable, and it was sheltered. And she mustn’t discount the obvious – that incredible view.
Morrigan was quite the male. His acting needed work, but his physical attributes more than made up for it. He had a fantastic upper body, and she was only watching his back and shoulders. The guy probably had washboard abs. This was obviously the gratuitous shot of a gorgeous male, to tempt women into a theater. And it would have worked if it hadn’t gone on for so long.
She knew it worked because she’d experienced it.
Sweet heaven.
She had breasts again!
They’d tingled and swelled, and her nipples had even tightened against her bodice! It was such a wondrous feeling. She thought she’d never have it again. That alone was reason to stay locked in this weird realm. Watching Morrigan. Experiencing waves of shivers. Thoroughly enjoying each one. But...it had gone on too long. The sound of storm and oarlocks and drumbeat had mixed together and faded to a dull hum. Her eyelids had drooped. Why...she might even have dozed off before Cedric woke her with his shouting.
She didn’t know where she’d had the presence of mind to grab onto the wooden rail above her. She was just grateful. That saved her from joining the heap of bodies in the center of the boat. If this was a movie, it was a disaster in the making. If it was a dream, she really needed to wake up.
While it was nice that she had hair and breasts again, it was still fake. Totally imaginary. She had to face reality, just like she’d had to three years ago in the oncologist’s office...
Morrigan slowed his paces, swiveled, and then smacked his unburdened shoulder against something solid. Elena swayed with the move. He dipped them forward and entered someplace warm. Dimly-lit. And protected. He was heaving for each breath. He bent forward and set her on her feet. Elena’s legs immediately wavered. She would have fallen if she hadn’t grabbed at the post beside her and wrapped her hand about it. The clumsiness wasn’t her fault. It was the combination of huge fur cape thing he’d given her as well as the damn dress.
“Quick, woman! Divest yourself of your clothing!”
Morrigan said it over his shoulder. Elena’s mouth dropped open but he didn’t see it. He moved toward the back of the space and a fire. It was in stone-built hearth. The walls behind it were lined with something that gave off a dull silver finish. Flames reflected in it as they crackled to life, sending flickers of light, and a lot of blessed heat. Morrigan turned, opened a bin beside his fire pit and started tossing things onto a long bench set against the wall on her left.
If that was a wall.
Elena narrowed her eyes. The wall looked like chunks of grass and mud had been shoved into place between wooden slats. The mud had dried into a light-colored uneven surface, but strands of old grass could be seen. They flaked off occasionally in visible bits as he kept chucking things onto the bench. It was covered with burlap. Barely padded. A quick scan showed she stood in a small room, maybe ten by twelve feet. There weren’t many furnishings. A three-legged stool sat beneath a small table against the wall on the right. The fire-pit was in the far corner. The door was obviously behind her. She couldn’t tell the floor surface. It was covered with a lot of overlapping woven rugs, all in dull shades. She held onto the only post. There was a depression around the base of it. Shining with a puddle of...was that water? A glance upward showed a cross-hatching of beams above their heads, some dark objects at the sides that could be anything, and above that a vaulted ceiling made of straw with a hole in the center. Elena lifted her hand just as water slid over her hand. And then she had to lock her knees to keep from falling with the weight of her attire.
Good Lord.
This was beyond primitive. And he expected her to undress?
Morrigan was ignoring her, despite his words. He kept gathering things and tossing them. Most were basically identifiable. It might be chunks of stale bread. There were a lot of those. A couple of large hunks of jerky. She recognized potatoe
s, and what looked like squash. He added a couple of blankets. A pair of socks. He reached over his head and brought down two shadowy objects that turned out to be folded woven blankets. He reached up again to pull down a large leather bag that had been hanging from a hook. He really had some well-developed shoulders and arms. She barely stopped a sigh.
Elena dropped her gaze and watched him start shoving most of the items from his pallet into the bag. He left the blankets in place, and then he turned his head to look at her. A frown sculpted little lines across his forehead. He stood next, lowered his chin, put his hands on his hips, and just regarded her.
Holy shit.
Her heart sped into instant palpitations. She must not have seen him in good light before. He was beyond gorgeous. His looks alone would stop traffic. He looked to be late twenties...maybe early thirties. The firelight burnished the sparse beard on his face and his hair into a reddish shade. And then she had to factor in the rest of him.
Oh, Elena. Elena.
Praise heaven.
If this was a dream, why on earth did she want to wake up?
His jacket hung open. It was saturated. Two streams of water dripped from the open edges. His shirt was just as wet, but that just made it nearly see-through. It was glued to all kinds of muscle, too. Large pecs. Defined abs. The perfect ‘V’ of his obliques. Below that was just more magnificent male. He wore tight leather pants that didn’t disguise anything. The man was well-built – everywhere.
And he didn’t look remotely disinterested in her.
Good heavens!
She thought she’d turned into a passionless, frigid woman after her surgery and the rounds of chemo. Wrong! She was close to panting. She needed to get her mind involved before she did something totally against-type, like lunge across the space for him.
She moved her focus upward. He took a deep breath that enlarged his chest. All kinds of havoc went through her. Alarm bells were sounding somewhere in her head.
“I know you can understand me,” he finally said.
