Why do I seem to know her so well?
* * *
Haven flung aside the tent flap then threw herself onto the bed of furs. Pounding them with both fists did little to alleviate her anger. She didn’t like being laughed at, especially by men. Cal often laughed at her. Irritation ate at her soul and sent her into a fury.
“Damn you, Cal.” She threw Kirk’s boot at the wall of the tent. The side billowed outward and the boot dropped with a dull thud to the grass. A metal tankard followed it. “When am I going to stop thinking of that man?”
“Soon, I hope.”
She rolled to her side. The owner of the deep, gravelly voice stood in the tent’s entrance, the sun’s rays surrounding him like a halo. She pushed to one elbow and stared at his angelic beauty. Cool air tickled the skin where her bodice had splayed open, so she yanked some long strands to cover herself.
I hope he doesn’t think I gave him a free show on purpose.
“I don’t want to talk about him and I certainly don’t need anything from you but my privacy,” she said.
“I do not care to talk about yer past lovers, either.” He bent down. Kirk picked up the boot, and the tent flap closed behind him, throwing them into semi-darkness. Ignoring the thrown tankard, he strode to the edge of the rustic bed and placed the boot beside its mate.
Haven scurried to the far end of the pile of furs. Even this close she could barely recognize his face. The whisper of clothes hitting the ground made her scramble to a sitting position.
A trickle of fear shimmied down her spine at the same time an acute awareness of his intentions became clear. Haven bolted to her feet and stuck out her hand, shoving at his chest. He backed away then returned bearing a tiny candle. Flickering light reflected in his dark eyes. A slight smile pulled his scar into a taut, dark line. His teeth shimmered like pearls, big and even. His tongue flicked out and wet his lips.
“Please, my lady. Let me fill yer thoughts with more pleasant images. Sleeping alone can become tiresome.”
“Talking about personal experience?”
The hand cradling the candle lowered, and his dark eyes turned black to match the shadows. Perhaps she shouldn’t anger him with her sarcastic talk. At least, not while she stood inches from the most masculine man she’d ever met. Instead of reaching for her and stripping the clothes from her liquefying bones, he sighed.
And looked at his feet.
What the Hell?
“Weariness precludes me from taking advantage of the situation, dear lady.”
His words made her drop her hand from his chest. “I’m tired, too. I think I’ll rest. You might want to do the same, and elsewhere.”
His eyes blazed.
Her words sounded churlish even to her, but it was the middle of the day and they’d just met. This man had walked in planning to…
I’m not quite sure what he’d planned to do.
Assuming their conversation had concluded, she sank to her knees and snuggled beneath the furs. When the weight of Kirk collapsed beside her, her fingers clutched the furs tightly to her chin. He settled with his back to her, then tugged a small fur up and over his shoulder. Within seconds, soft snoring filled the tent.
“Fine,” she whispered.
Both claimed to be tired and there were plenty of furs as a buffer. Exhaustion from their unusual trek clawed at her. Muted conversation outside the tent added to her bedmate’s snores, yet she managed to drift off to sleep until drums echoed through the tent. Haven slowly drifted out of a most pleasant dream.
Two naked bodies awash with sweat and the tang of sex, clung together as one. The image slipped from her mind. She sprung fully awake. A hard, hot body pressed against her back. Wiggling to right herself, she sidled away from the hard ridge of his full arousal.
Her legs tangled in her long gown and the furs. Her bedmate rewarded her movements with a growl. She scooted out of bed, then tugged on the bodice of her filthy gown to cover her breasts. Relieved to get away, Haven flew out of the tent.
Spying Reid, she asked him to accompany her to the stream. The young boy’s face lit up as if she’d offered him the world on a platter. Before he followed, he grabbed a short sword from the weapons pile. Haven smirked.
These actors sure take their parts to heart.
After relieving herself behind a tree, she washed her face and hands in the stream’s icy water. Haven followed Reid back to camp and asked about his injury. He’d shrugged it off as a nuisance.
“I promised my laird I would be hale and hearty by the time we reach Castle Ruadh.”
“If I recall my Gaelic, this means the red castle?”
“Aye. ‘Twas built of red sandstone. A tower, bailey, stables, and village. It overlooks the sea.”
When the boy neglected to explain further, she chalked it up to part of the act. They stepped into the clearing near Kirk’s tent, where he munched on a dried piece of meat.
“Would ye like a bite?” He held the dark, stringy item between two raised fingers, jiggling the meat.
“No thanks. What I would like is my own tent tonight. Can you arrange this or shall I sleep with the horses?”
Reid gulped, spun around, and disappeared. Kirk’s brows arched under a thick lock of his dark red hair. A sudden urge to run her fingers through his tousled mop caused a burn to spread beneath her cheeks. As if he understood, he stepped closer.
“As ye wish, dear lady.”
She instantly regretted her decision.
* * *
The afternoon passed in an orderly haze and more men returned with their kill. Many of the dead animals were not native to New England. This puzzled her further and only made the ache between her eyes intensify. Haven rubbed the bridge of her nose, then managed to locate another piece of clean cloth.
Well, a cloth less dirty than my feet.
The afternoon heat made her perspire. She located Reid near the horses and asked him to accompany her once more to the stream. She washed her feet while Reid disappeared in order to relieve himself. She limped to a white willow she’d recognized earlier. Using her little dagger, Haven cut off a chunk of bark. She chewed on the long-known natural headache remedy. Haven shuffled through the packets in her pocket and decided to make a poultice for Reid.
Still angry with Kirk, and confused as to why he wouldn’t help her find the Highland games, she turned down supper and retired. Reid produced a skin of fresh water and another cloth. She removed her gown, but not her chemise. She washed where she could and then retreated beneath the warmth of the silky furs.
Her headache lessened as all camp noise ceased. A stiff breeze blew against branches overhead, and tapped the top of the tent. Leaves rustled on the forest floor beyond the back of the tent and, surrounded by uncertainty, she slept.
Dreams wracked her sleep, and left her weary and feverish. When the fog lifted, she remembered only snatches; naked limbs, tousled hair, and a giant who kissed her senseless.
When she exited the tent, again clad in her filthy gown, Kirk’s men were packing up their gear and lashing bundles onto the backs of small horses. They kept their voices low as they worked, though a few bestowed her with a small smile. Last night’s fire smoldered, raising hopes for a hot meal of bacon and eggs, but Reid trotted over and offered her water and oatcakes.
The water tasted like moss, but the oatcakes were so dry she guzzled it. As she chewed and fought against choking, Kirkwall appeared out of the trees. He grunted something to Reid and the boy raced toward their hobbled mounts.
Reid led the big, brown monster of a horse to Kirk. Within moments, Kirk swung her into his arms and mounted. Her rear nestled in his lap, between two hard thighs and his swelling arousal. She leaned forward and grabbed a tuft of the animal’s tangled mane to gain some balance. To her chagrin, her actions pushed against Kirk’s rigid erection once again. Did the man stay perpetually hard in her vicinity?
“If ye do not stop yer movements, my lady, I will be forced to throw ye down beside th
is trail and take my frustrations out upon yer warm, supple body.”
She gasped and immediately straightened. To her horror, he continued his low-level tirade. She hoped none of his men heard his threat.
“I am an honorable man, but first and foremost a man.” Hot breath whispered in her ear. A gentle press of his lips on the sensitive curve of her neck made her tremble. “And I am a man who has not lain with a woman for far too long. Sit still.”
Her cheeks were undoubtedly red since heat flashed beneath every excited inch of her skin. Haven focused her attention on the sunrise staining the horizon a rosy pink and did her best not to move.
Below craggy mountains, the dirt trail led them between tall boulders and a wide river. They stopped for lunch and munched on dried meat and hard bread. Kirk called the chunks of yeasty bread bannock. Water from a skin refreshed her parched lips, once she held her nose. The thought of eating the offered meat jerky made her nauseous. Instead, she fantasized about cold, fresh milk and Jake’s Oreo cookies.
The party remounted and headed east once more. She fidgeted, then froze when she remembered she sat between thighs of rock belonging to a man who smelled like leather and unbridled desire.
“What troubles ye, lass?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m a little tired and sore.”
Silent hours dragged on until they circled around a bend. When the trail spilled into a large meadow split down the middle by the rough waters of the darkened river, she stretched a bit taller to see better.
Only shards of sunlight remained and several large campfires lit the night. Tents of undoubtedly better quality ringed a much larger camp, and several groups of men sat on logs, eating and talking.
Kirk pulled his mount to a stop. A young man approached and he threw the reins his way. Kirk slid off. Haven remained on the horse, staring at the camp and listening to the multitude of voices, until grabbed around the waist and yanked from her post.
“Please, Kirk, I am certainly able to get off this mangy horse by myself!”
The camp’s entire population grew silent.
“Who dares yell at our laird with such a tone?” a voice bellowed. A huge barrel-chested man approached. Long gray hair, tied at his nape with a piece of black leather, framed a square face. In the waning light, his irises appeared black as onyx. He grew closer. Reflecting the flames of the nearest campfire, his wide opened eyes glowed.
Great. Here we go again.
He strode toward her, naked to the waist. She guessed his age around fifty. He wore a faded plaid, belted with black leather. A very long sword hung from his side. Raw, red welts crisscrossed his chest and upper arms. He’d been injured. Glancing behind him at several other men, Haven froze. Most had older scars and a few had bandages wrapped around numerous body parts. The loud one, who now stood too close for comfort, appeared as tall and as proud as her giant.
My giant?
“Easy, Balfour. This is Lady Haven and she is under my protection. Ye must learn to forgive her strange tongue.” Kirk stepped aside to talk with him while another man led his horse toward a small pen of twigs and stumps. At the far side of the camp, other hobbled horses grazed.
Balfour glanced her way. His icy gaze made goose bumps skitter down her arms.
Guess I’ll keep my distance from that one.
Joined by the man who Kirk earlier called Cameron, they spoke in low whispers.
The blond giant—Cameron—glanced her way. His gaze was ablaze with sexual attraction, not anger.
Interesting.
With her thoughts on Kirkwall Gunn, she shrugged both shoulders and turned away, but not before the older man ventured in her direction. Alone. She peered at Kirk, but he had resumed a conversation with the Viking.
“Well then, would my lady care for something to eat?” he asked. When she nodded, the man called Balfour offered his arm. A smile lit up his grisly face. Hiding her surprise at his old-world gallantry, she curved her hand around his forearm.
Haven controlled her shaking limb as they strolled toward the center of the small clearing. He had softened after Kirk had spoken to him, then regaled her with comments from camp including several anecdotes full of other’s mishaps. His words tempted a smile to pull at her lips.
Kirk must have said something nice on my behalf.
She glanced back at Kirkwall. He glared back. Tightening her grip on Balfour’s naked arm, she leaned her head closer to catch his words then laughed. The man had a wry humor reminiscent of a New Englander, yet his thick burr rolled off his tongue.
If I didn’t know better, I feel like I’m walking the Scottish Highlands with a native.
Maybe she ought to stick close to Balfour and stay away from her giant. They walked past a half a dozen empty carts parked nearby. They probably carried tents and supplies. Three others, covered with canvas, looked filled to capacity and two armed men stood beside them. Natural curiosity had her wondering what lay hidden.
“Probably more dead meat,” she mumbled, turning toward one of the fires. A small figure knelt beside the edge. Was that a woman? She couldn’t see her face from this angle as she knelt in the dirt near a heavy earthenware cooking pot. The pot looked sturdy and old, charred black from perching so close to coals and flames. The young woman had tied her lush brown hair back with a threadbare length of plaid.
She wore a frock even plainer than the simple green day dress Iona had given Haven. The woman’s costume consisted of a mud-brown skirt over an off-white underskirt, topped by a faded peasant-style blouse. She’d laced together a vest of fawn-colored leather. The laces wove back and forth from waist to breast and she’d pulled them too tight to be comfortable. Their tightness forced the tops of her breasts to nearly spill over into the coals.
When Haven and Balfour approached, perspiration dotted the woman’s fine cheekbones. Dirt or shadow lent a ruddy coloring to the otherwise pale skin of her neck and nearly naked breasts. Rosy lips curved up at the corners when Kirk strutted nearby, heading somewhere.
Hmm. What’s their relationship?
Haven’s attention locked on the slender knife in the cook’s hand. When she paused in the middle of cutting vegetables, Haven gave her a little wave.
Ignoring Haven and Balfour, the other woman tossed the cut chunks into the steaming liquid. A sizzle erupted when some of her soup or stew splashed into the flames. Hunks of meat went in next. Haven could not discern what type of animal adorned tonight’s menu. Rising to her feet, the cook bent over and stirred the bubbling liquid. Her crude spoon seemed carved from some type of bone.
“Lord, I hope that’s a cow’s thigh bone and not one of your dinner guests.”
Balfour laughed out loud, but did not answer.
As dusk gave way to night, Haven’s nervousness grew. A twisted knot formed in the middle of her stomach. The games would officially end soon.
Is anyone looking for me?
She’d left most of her meager belongings behind, but brought along most of her powders and potions. The tiny dagger Iona gave her was safe. She rubbed her hand along its silhouette, where it hid inside her pocket, a safer resting spot than her bodice.
Easier to grab, too.
She’d lost the flashlight during the storm and never thought to carry her ID and wallet to the ceilidh. She didn’t even have the key to her car parked at the ski area. With no money and no driver’s license, how would she be able to get home?
“Home? What a joke.” An apartment filled with hand-me-down clothes and thrift shop furniture meant nothing to her. Her jobs? Interesting, but fighting with her aunt about men made her sad. And the silly column at the paper? A dead-end.
Her love life? Non-existent, as long as one discounted the treacherous lies spouted by Cal Murchie.
New determination urged her forward. She had to admit a simple truth. She’d experienced more fun in the last twenty-four hours than she had during the last five years.
Kirk waited for her on the opposite side of the cook fire.
Balfour bowed as he released her arm. Haven giggled. She followed Kirk through the rest of the camp to a small wooden table made from a slab of wood set on two barrels. Makeshift chairs made from stumps sat near a smaller fire.
The young cook appeared and shoved a wooden tankard into her hands then placed a piece of faded linen in her lap. She smiled seductively at Kirk as she presented him with the same.
“Our thanks, Gavina. Ye may go,” Kirk said.
Mumbling, the woman retreated to her cook fire. Haven thought she heard her say something about whores and trollops.
A fat, yellow candle sputtered between them and leant an air or romance to the meal. The cook returned and laid a crude plate, filled with boiled meat and vegetables, on her lap. Haven set her tankard aside before she had a chance for a sip, then inhaled the tantalizing aroma of meat, onions, and thick brown sauce. Too hungry to care what filled the plate, her mouth watered. Kirk passed her a piece of stale bread.
“Dip the bannock in the stew, lass. Like this.”
“Is this pine martin?”
“Nay, ‘tis venison. Eat up.”
She watched him scoop up meat and vegetables along with the rich, dark liquid then pop the whole bundle in his mouth. She stared at his lips. His tongue snaked out to lick the excess. Before realizing it, she reached out and wiped his chin with her thumb.
“Excuse me,” she gasped, “I don’t know why I did that.”
Kirk answered with a soft chuckle followed by several louder guffaws from his men, but his laughter did not reach his eyes. His intense gaze held her in their thrall until a piece of firewood popped. Gaining her composure, Haven turned her attention to the camp. Darkness had fallen and the murmurs of Kirk’s men and the giggling of one or two women bubbled up along the fringes of the camp.
“I am happy for a chance to sit on something besides your horse.”
“Ye should drink the ale, lass. Will help ease the pain.”
“I’m fine. Really. My ass… I mean, my rear hardly hurts and my feet feel better.”
Highland Games Through Time Page 13
