“Unhand me, or I shall snap yer neck like a chicken bone!”
Someone cried out. “That hurts!”
Cameron forced open his eyes. Suddenly wide-awake, he looked down into the flashing jewel-like green eyes of a very frightened woman. “Iona?”
“Get off me!” She shoved against his chest, but he kept her beneath him because he liked how she felt. He lay upon soft, pillow-like breasts. His manly bits hardened. Her sweet fragrance swept over him and blotted out the odor of hay.
* * *
Iona screamed the moment the lump in the corner jumped and shoved her to the ground. Dirt and hay dust flew into her mouth. She spit out what she could while she pushed against the weight that pinned her down. Heat and curses peppered the air. Odd smells and something familiar settled over her at the moment the large, shadowy form stopped thrashing.
The voice spouting Gaelic curses sounded too much like someone she knew. “Get off me!”
The lump hesitated then disappeared in a storm of hay and feathers. She took in a big gulp of air along with several of the feathers, and coughed. She lay next to a caged chicken.
“Probably breakfast. Ugh.” Her stomach growled. A jolt to the stomach in the middle of the night could do that to a girl.
Stupid of me to touch a sleeping Highlander.
Where was Cameron? She rolled to her side, trying to get to her feet without dirtying her hands anymore than she already had.
No such luck. More feathers drifted into view, because someone had opened the back door. Moonlight flooded the barn and the eerie shadows danced. The shadowy figure moved around outside.
“Cameron? Please tell me it’s you,” she said as she brushed her clothes, “and not some nineteenth century farm boy after my virginity.”
Oh my! Did I really say that?
Maybe he hadn’t heard. When the moonlight disappeared, his shadow reentered the barn. She was disheveled and embarrassed. Hay and muck stuck to her, the only set of clothes she possessed. Iona straightened as the voiceless shadow swept her into his arms.
“Eek!”
“Easy, lass, ‘tis me for sure,” Cameron whispered before his lips found her neck. The area under her left ear tingled as he planted gentle kisses over the sensitive skin. As his mouth followed the edge of her chin, Iona silently urged him toward her lips.
“Good. For a minute, there, I thought I’d have to find Haven by myself.” Unsure what caused the sudden revival of his attention, she felt his muscles stiffen.
Hmm, not good.
She didn’t plan to allow him to escape before she had a chance to sample all he cared to give, but he now acted like she’d driven a wedge between them.
“ ‘Tis true, lass?”
“What?” Iona had a hard time deciphering his heavy brogue. He seemed to lay it on thick when he was kissing her.
“Yer a virgin?”
Embarrassed rage fueled an angry scream that nearly brought down the rafters. The caged chicken squawked, and three horses kicked their stall walls as they neighed in unison. When she kneed him in the groin, Cameron dropped her like a hot potato.
* * *
Cameron and John shook hands while Rebecca filled the potato sack with fruit, bread, and cheese. Iona had changed her outer frock into a borrowed bit of muslin, something resembling clean.
He watched as Iona wadded up the other and rolled it into a ball before pushing it inside her satchel along with the blanket. Now empty of John and Rebecca’s precious bits of silver and jewels, he had already added bedding, extra clothing, and some soap. If they came across a stream, Iona might care to stop and wash. She certainly had a need to wash her other gown; the one he muddied when he dropped her.
Her underclothes, what little she wore, might last another day or two. Her scream had shocked sense back into his thick skull as had her kick to his sac.
He was in sore need of a dip under a cold waterfall after their earlier tumble in the hayloft. The chill would go far to sooth his bruised manly bits. A cold swim would also keep his ardor in check. He had nothing with which to calm his thoughts and desires, and when she had mentioned Lady Haven, he’d asked her a very personal question.
How could he have forgotten about Lady Haven? She was his woman, his future mate, the woman he journeyed to save. Haven MacKay was the only reason he found himself tumbling through time on his way to kill his own kin.
A death sentence awaited him the moment anyone recognized him near Keldurunach, but he had to take a chance in order to win back the woman he craved.
And Iona? Was she worth dallying with until he could lie between Lady Haven’s white thighs? Iona claimed to be a virgin. If the truth, and he saw nothing to doubt her revelation, he had no right to tup with her. However chivalrous he felt, the needs of a man were not easy to deny. The lovely Iona would not sacrifice her innocence to a man who loved another.
Would she?
Cameron thought back to earlier conversations, but he had never let slip how he felt toward her friend. Iona thought he yearned to return home, and had lost another woman’s favor. Had Dorcas explained about his status, or lack thereof?
He chuckled. The lass would run as far as she could if she knew about the price on his head. Best to keep his distance, work with her to create the correct spell, and go home. He turned his attention away from his lovely companion while John Moffat ended their conversation.
“God speed,” John said.
Cameron nodded, and sighed when the man curled his arm around his stout wife. The two of them appeared at peace, with a calm belaying all his life held. Would he and Lady Haven come to love each other with such sweet passion? Or had his cousin poisoned her mind and filled her body with his seed? The rumor of a quick marriage he could believe, but the talk of Haven’s being with child was too horrid to consider.
Without waiting to see if Iona was ready, he marched out into the barnyard and hefted the potato sack over his left shoulder. He fingered his dirk, comforted by the simple shank of cold steel and its carved bone hilt. A pony neighed, and his body tensed at the familiar sound.
Jolted by hate for his cousin and for the life he had lost back in Scotland, his vision clouded. As he succumbed to the dream, memories rich with sadness and pain washed over him, stealing his breath.
He had searched the other side of the old woman’s cart, but saw no sign of her. He weighed his options. He could run, but where would a recently banished warrior go? Since he was still within the borders of Keldurunach, the land of the powerful Gunn clan, clansmen would slay him on sight. If he chose to run, how would he survive? Kirk had confiscated his horse, his dirk, and his favorite sword. He no longer owned a home, property, or currency.
Pulling open doors and drawers, he took stock of the old woman’s wares. Did she keep weapons on hand? Gold, perhaps? His efforts were wasted. Herbs, small vials of potions, and an ancient mortar and pestle caught his attention. Behind one door hid a basket of fruit and another filled with summer vegetables. His stomach growled.
He slammed the doors shut. Full wineskins hung from a hook near the front of the cart. He opened one then sniffed. Water. Though wine would have been a treat after his months in jail, he drank his fill.
Pain shot across his hip.
He dropped the skin, spit out his mouthful, and drenched the nag. When the startled beast lurched forward, the wheel rolled over his toe. Thrashing at the sudden pain, and shocking attack, he spun around as soon as he could pull his boot free.
“Who hit me?” Had they wielded a sword, he would be at death’s door. He kicked himself for his inattentiveness.
He searched the area around the pony cart, but no one stood near enough to touch him. Movement in the corner of his vision had him lunge toward the pony and cart. The beast’s lead dragged along the ground. Grasping it, he yanked. The nag neighed then slid to a stop. A bucket, three blankets, and a bushel of apples tumbled from an open cabinet and landed on his boot.
He woke with a start.
&n
bsp; He was not back in Keldurunach. He leaned back against a barn wall in some unnamed town. John Moffat’s pony neighed again, and he searched the inn’s courtyard for Iona. They had to return to his time and soon. The dreams not only filled his night, but now arrived during the day. Inattentiveness to their surroundings could get them both killed. Nothing would keep him from Lady Haven’s side.
Cameron thought of Jake the blacksmith, Iona’s friend. The man talked of Haven as if he, too, lusted over the woman. He shook his head. Jake was far away and had no power to reach Lady Haven, so why dwell on the subject?
The sun had risen and daylight burned too fast for his comfort. The mountain range that loomed in the west made a good enough cover for their next jump. When Iona finished hugging the Moffat family members, she promised to join him at the head of the small hunting trail.
“We will need to jump straight and true if I am to win my love.”
“Cameron?” Iona’s plea went unheeded as he marched along the path that led from the cozy comfort of the wayside inn. The area—Alabama, John called it—had several good points. Plenty of wildlife, tall shade trees, and neither gun nor cannon fire.
“Keep up, lass. If we stay another day, I’ll hunt something to eat and ye will have to cook.”
“Me cook? Guess you don’t know me very well.”
Cameron glanced at her smile and groaned. Served him right to be stuck with a beauty who tempted his sanity.
And now I be saddled with a hi-born lass who canna cook?
CHAPTER 14
“Once we are far from prying eyes, we shall work on getting me home and ye into yer friend’s embrace,” Cameron said.
Iona nodded and caught up to his side. He quickened his pace. As the trail narrowed, she followed at a distance, but refused to complain. He liked that about the woman. Though she had appeared frail and dainty in the ways of a noble, she had fought him in the barn like a warrior; or an angry peahen.
He rubbed the knot on his chest where she had shoved him, and cupped his bruised manly bits. Iona had attacked him before he was fully awake. Though a wench, and before he had jumped off her, she had fought back. His dream felt real, and he thought he was in mortal danger.
“I might have killed her,” he mumbled. A deep breath soothed his reluctance to worry about things out of his control. She had best keep her distance.
Cameron cursed loudly, not worrying she would hear. She trailed behind, as usual, but she most likely thought back on this morning’s attack with loathing. Sure as rain, he had grabbed her and flattened her to the ground, but he could not shake off the memory of how her plump breasts swelled beneath his chest.
He had ached to bend lower and lick her pale skin to see if it tasted like fresh cream. Her fragrance had reminded him of sweet smelling honeysuckle and fresh-cut hay. It lingered.
Cameron slammed his fist into the trunk of an oak. Branches and leaves rustled and tiny creatures skittered away through the limbs far above. He had been too long without a woman. Cameron was man enough to admit he wanted to roll with her in the hay. Iona’s comment about helping Lady Haven, and her subsequent revelation of her virginal state, pushed aside any and all plans to act on his urges.
Resolved to keep his distance from the lass while he worked to return home and restore his life, he marched further ahead. He searched for a likely place to try the spell once more. The farther they strode up the hillock, the more distance they placed between themselves and the others.
A scream ripped through the air.
Cameron stopped, then turned. He squinted and listened as he sought the cause of the distress-filled yell. There was no sign of Iona. She had lagged behind, again.
“Dragon’s teeth! The lass is more trouble than Lady Haven.” He dropped the potato sack then raced back the way he had journeyed. While he had let his mind wander, Iona had managed to find trouble.
His fist clenched the hilt of his sheathed dirk as he sprang toward the agonizing sound. He had promised Dorcas no harm would befall Iona, the woman entrusted to his care.
Without Iona, he had no chance of returning home. Did Iona mean more to him than a mode of transportation? Could she be anything more to him?
When he peered around a corner and stole a look through the low, leafy branches of a young white birch, his breath hitched. The odor of decaying vegetation filled his nostrils. All birds and creatures of the forest had quieted. His senses exploded, alerting him to everything as his warrior mentality woke from his months of incarceration and subsequent banishment.
He had trained for this. Itching to fight, he yearned to smell the tang of freshly spilled blood. If anything happened to Iona, someone would die.
Two men held her by the arms. Her satchel lay in a heap on the ground where a third man poked at her belongings. They were all white men, dressed shabbily. Their stained and torn clothing reeked. He smelled them from a distance, and poor Iona gagged. The third man cursed words Cameron could not decipher. He threw the satchel aside with disgust etched on his face.
“Nothing except a stupid book, bits of cloth, and bags of dust,” he said before straightening from his crouch.
“Let me go this instant.”
The woman was gutsy, but would learn that men did not want her opinions as easily as she offered them. Cameron chuckled from his vantage point. Her gaze flicked toward him for a moment, and he realized she had averted her captors’ attention from his arrival with her tart words. He stood still and waited, giving the three a chance to release her, and live.
He sighed as soon as the lean, black-haired man who had not shaved in months, and who had rooted through the sack, marched up to Iona and slapped her across the face. She tugged one arm loose and slapped the beast right back.
Not in the stars for these bastards.
Cameron nearly broke out in laughter until the man raised his hand once more. Rage washed over him, and forced him from his hidden post.
“ ‘Tis no way to treat a lady,” he said as he calmly stepped from the trees. The two holding Iona went slack-jawed as their attention turned his way. The smell emanating from their soiled clothing worsened as he walked closer.
Iona gasped and strained against her handlers while the third stepped between her and Cameron. He smiled a toothless grin, then tugged his loose pants up and retied a thick coil of rope around his waist into an unusual knot.
“I suggest you go about your business, chum.” He spit into the dirt near Cameron’s feet.
“This lady’s welfare ‘tis my business.” When a beam of sunlight broke through the canopy of the forested trail, the steel of Cameron’s dirk flashed. As a well-trained warrior, he never felt his hand pull it from its sheath. If necessary, he would release the swords strapped to his back. He would give these men a chance to retreat peaceably, first.
The man backed up a step, slipped a curved knife from the back of his drawers, and brandished it. He walked boldly forward and swung it left and right.
“My weapon is bigger, friend. I bet you a month of Sunday dinners my other sword is more than she can handle.” He palmed his groin in a grotesque manner.
Bile threatened to clog Cameron’s throat at the thought of the three filthy bastards forcing themselves on Iona.
“I suggest you be on your way.” The man laughed, assuming Cameron’s lack of movement as fear, and inched back toward Iona and his friends to complete his assault.
Cameron let the devil’s words sink in and flicked his gaze toward Iona. Fear was evident by her frozen stature and wide-open eyes. She evidently understood the man’s comment. Cameron’s stomach turned.
Time stood still as he contemplated the necessity of killing these men. Would doing so change history? Dorcas had warned him of the possibility.
“For every action there is a reaction, Cammie.” Dorcas had said.
If only for Iona’s sake, he could not allow the men to harm her. Iona had plans to return to her time, but he knew he better not mess with the timeline, as she called it.
Not realizing he had taken a warrior’s posture, Cameron rose to a standing position from his crouched stance. He smiled at the man not holding Iona, the one who had slapped her across the face. The leader, he assumed.
“I disagree with ye, sir. This wench can handle anything or anyone that threatens her plans. Leave her be, or—”
“Or, what?” He said, then flashed the steel toward Cameron. All three men chuckled.
The air stilled when Cameron reached above his right shoulder and pulled a sword from his scabbard. Now with both fists clutching steel, he marched forward. He had given them their chance, had he not?
The man with the knife raised it as if to strike. Iona screamed. She tugged at the men who held her, and Cameron worried for her even as he kept his attention fixated on the man holding the knife.
With one swift move, Cameron kicked the bastard in the stomach. The stranger’s knife flew over their heads, while the toothless man landed in a heap at the base of a large pine tree. Pinecones rained down amid a puff of dirt.
Cameron swung toward Iona then paused. She had already lashed out with her knee, striking one man squarely in the groin. When he released her right wrist, she punched the other man in the nose. Both rolled on the ground in pain.
Cameron’s cheeks warmed as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Blood flowed from one man’s nose as the other, rolling in pain, fought to regain the ability to breathe.
Finally freed, and of her own accord, Iona grabbed her satchel then flung herself into Cameron’s chest. He slid the sword back over his shoulder and into its sheath, then grasped her with his right arm as he kept the dirk at the ready. He backed her into the forest. Once hidden by the trees, they headed toward their original destination.
When angry voices rose behind them, gaining, he pulled her off the main trail. He followed what he assumed was a deer trail. Keeping her tight to his chest, he fought the desire welling up. Was it due to fear for her safety, or amazement at her courage? Her sultry fragrance filled his nostrils. With their lives in danger, why did the urge to throw her up against the nearest tree make him angry?
Highland Games Through Time Page 41
