“Aye, a better vantage. Thank ye, lass.”
Her brows furrowed, not understanding his words until he captured a taut nipple through the fabric. He sucked it into his mouth, and she arched her back further. Her feminine moans grew louder.
After wetting the linen barrier, he trailed more kisses down her dress to her stomach. He pressed his eager mouth to her womanly mound while he hitched up her dress.
When he slid the fabric past her naked thighs, her inner muscles quivered beneath his touch. Sunlight glistened on the moist red hair surrounding his final destination. Spreading her thighs with his hands, he lowered his head and laved the dewy juncture. Iona moaned as his tongue and mouth feasted on the sensitive nub barely hidden in her curls.
“Quiet, lass. We dare not seek company for what I plan to do to ye.”
“But, I’m… I can’t—”
“Never fear, my sweet. Ye shall keep yer virtue intact. Let a man take care of you for a change, lass. Lay back and let me pleasure ye.”
Iona collapsed back into her mossy bed, and cupped her mouth. She curled her other hand in his hair. Pressing her wider, he kissed her red curls then returned to the object of his desire. He did desire this.
Pleasuring her gave him satisfaction and Cameron prayed she would return the favor one day. Lying on his chest, the cat scratches ached. Blades of grass and small pebbles pressed into his injured skin while he lay splayed between her creamy thighs. Pushing away the pain, he dwelled only on the task at hand.
Licking and delving inside her nether lips, he smiled when the first quakes of her orgasm made her tremble. When his thumb circled the sensitive nub while his tongue tasted her nectar, her body stiffened. As her limbs tensed, she muffled a scream with her cupped hand.
When she relaxed, Cameron pulled himself up to lie on her soft, pliant body. He rubbed the ridge behind the laces of his trews against her naked flesh. Pressing and rubbing up and down, she shivered again.
Within seconds, she peaked and found her pleasure once again. He quieted her scream with his mouth, and she kissed him back. When she relaxed a second time into a puddle of molten softness, he slipped onto his back beside her make-shift bed.
“I knew ye would taste sweet, lass.”
“That was wonderful. I never felt anything so breathtaking...” A sob escaped, cutting off her words.
Cameron craned his neck toward Iona and stared. No man had ever gifted her with intimate kisses? What sort of world had she grown up in? Had the men of her time grown lax in the ways of pleasuring? Why was she still untouched?
“I be verra glad we have left yer world far behind,” he whispered, and turned his attention toward the sky. If only he knew how to coax her into sharing such pleasures.
When his body relaxed, he sat up.
His dirk lay nearby. Iona had dropped it when he had forced her to the grass. He cocked his head and listened. Except for the gurgle of the stream, and the gentle breeze that fluttered through the trees, they were alone.
Cameron licked his lips.
He fought the craving to do more, until he sensed her move closer. Her delicate fingers tangled in the rawhide lace hanging down his chest. The amulet. He had nearly forgotten he wore the talisman. Any witch would crave to own it. Did Iona? Was all this concern for his injuries a way to placate him into handing it over?
With Iona’s taste upon his tongue, and his trews straining under pressure once more, he pondered her possible ulterior motives. A painful ache slashed across his chest, and his body softened.
“Dragon’s teeth!”
“Cameron?” Iona sat up, released the necklace, and placed a hand upon his shoulder. He locked his gaze on her sun-reddened cheeks. Her sparkling eyes under heavy lids proved he had well pleasured her.
He smiled, keeping her off guard, but he hardened again.
She turned as red as her hair.
“If ye enjoyed our interlude, and have rested, we shall continue our journey. Have ye the spell?”
Iona turned away and stared at where his dirk lay in the grass. She nodded. “I do. I just need a chance to say the entire spell. Last time—”
“We were interrupted. Aye, but we are safe, now. Let us return to the cave and collect my weaponry.” Cameron sprung to his feet, and winced. Between the rod in his clothes and the scratches on his chest he knew he needed one good night’s sleep. He grabbed his damp vest from the bush.
“I could use a bath,” Iona said with a wistful glance at the babbling stream.
He had spun the lie about their safety to ease her fears. Since he had more important tasks at hand, he pulled Iona to her feet. The thought of her naked while danger lurked sent him marching quickly away.
“Later, lass, once we are in Scotland.” Grabbing his belongings, he marched hastily toward their rock hide-away where he had hidden his other sword. He decided not to search for their bundle of supplies. The ruffians probably took off with it.
Iona still had her small sack. She followed him soundlessly and stood still while he gathered his scabbards without redressing. The thought of damp clothing against his wounds made him shiver, and he did not want to bloody a new shirt. He crossed their leather straps over his shoulders and heart, thankfully avoiding the cat’s markings. When he turned, Iona gasped.
“What?” Cameron asked, though he read the hunger in her brilliant green orbs.
“You are quite the warrior, that’s all. I keep forgetting from where—or, should I say when—you hail. ”
“The sooner we return to Keldurunach the sooner ye will be free of me.” Cameron marched away and headed in the general direction of the stream. Once they forded it, they would have less chance of the band of ruffians following. A hand gripped his arm, halting him mid step.
“I meant no offense. What I meant to say is that I feel safe in your presence. You are a real warrior. A Highlander. A woman like me has no place in this world—or yours. It’s nice to know I have you on my side.”
“Apology accepted,” he muttered. Together, they forged a trail back to the stream. He lifted her, and she kept any more thoughts to herself. He plopped her on her feet on the opposite bank.
Dusk fell, and the eerie twilight brought its own dangers. Cameron paused at a clearing. Waning beams from the setting sun streamed through a grove of trees to the west and warmed his face. When he wet his dry lips, he could still taste Iona. An image rose of another woman. A woman he supposedly loved. A woman he itched to find.
“Say the spell.”
“You sure we’re alone?”
“Aye. Do it, lass,” he ordered
She was miffed at his gruff words, but when he grasped one of her hands in his, Iona softened. She inhaled one deep breath and spoke the words from memory.
Thunder, lightning, clouds and sea.
Send us back to an ancient Scotland city.
Hear my plea, so mote it be.
Lightning flashed, and smoke billowed around their feet. The sensation of falling was familiar, but when yanked from Cameron’s grasp, her scream was the only sound that accompanied her to the past.
CHAPTER 16
A gust of wind knocked Iona off her feet. She tumbled out of the acrid smoke and down a grassy slope. Grabbing the branches of a passing bush, she yelped.
“Thorns. Just my luck,” but she held on tight. Transferring her grip, she grabbed the roots of a scrubby tree. The roots gave way, and she slid a couple of feet farther until her feet slipped off solid earth.
Choking back a guttural scream, she held onto the loosened roots, and glanced around at her situation. Her legs dangled in midair while her upper body rested on the edge of a cliff. She was more worried about unfriendly foreigners than her precarious position. Praying the roots held, she took stock of her situation.
Her fingers bled, and her breathing grew shallow. Her hips straddled the sharp rim of a precipice. Pressed against solid rock, she glanced over her shoulder.
“Devils own luck!” She saw nothing but wide-open ocean. “I did it
again.”
She fought against the pain as it shot across her abdomen. Her injured fingers turned numb. When a warm hand clamped her wrist and tugged, Iona shrieked.
“Let go, lass,” Cameron whispered.
Trusting a man was a tough trial for someone always in control, but Iona did as he ordered. His strong arms lifted her with ease and pulled her into his embrace. She drank in his musky essence and shivered as adrenaline leached out of her bloodstream. A feeling of lethargy washed over her and she was glad he had wrapped his muscled arm around her.
The sudden press of moist lips against hers stunned her into another shriek. She opened her mouth in surprise, then clamped it shut when Cameron kissed her with a hunger she’d only dreamed of, and certainly not with him.
She pushed at his chest, but his rock-hard physique didn’t retreat an inch. Instead, he growled against her mouth then forced his tongue along a path between her lips
They stubbornly parted. Desire had shoved away all better judgment. Her body melted into his embrace, and they settled into a sitting position in the grass, entwined like spring flowers in a breeze. Iona’s bottom wiggled the moment he pulled her into his lap. When he cupped a breast, memories of their intimate encounter beside the stream rushed to the surface. A hard lump swelled beneath her, and she wished no clothing separated them.
“Aye, lass, let me love ye,” he whispered, then continued his ministrations. When he kissed her mouth and thumbed a hardened nipple, the Gaelic inflection in his voice soothed her.
Unlike his touch.
When he came up for air, a blush heated her cheeks. She panted, lowered her lids, and wanted nothing more than to turn away from his brilliant eyes. She could not. Like hardened drops of amber sap, his eyes locked on her face, and he gathered her in another tight embrace.
She yelped.
“Where be ye hurt, lass?”
“It’s nothing. A few scratches. If you hadn’t pulled me up…”
“I thought I lost ye, Iona.”
“I thought I was a goner, too.” She chuckled, but the small laugh seemed inappropriate. When he squeezed her breast through her filthy gown, and made no attempt to free her, concern grew.
Did he rescue me for his own reasons?
“I am glad ye survived our travels, but yer a mess.”
“And here I sit with nothing clean to wear, again, and my hair an unruly mess.”
He laughed and pulled them both to their feet. He dusted her off then plucked a few twigs from her hair. Reaching into the scabbard at his waist, he removed three iron spikes.
“My hair spikes!” Iona hid her concerns behind a smile. Why he had hidden them and let her think she’d lost them was a question to ask much later. She pinned her hair into an unruly but more comfortable pile atop her head, then glanced around to scope out their new location. The ocean’s wide expanse stole her breath away. Gone were the hills and forests of Alabama. Gone were the warm breeze and the crisp scent of the stream where he’d made love to her with his mouth and tongue.
Several dozen feet below them, rolling waves broke into foamy plumes on a rock-strewn beach, and replaced that tranquil scene. To her left stood a large tower, its red stone walls glistening in the sun as it rose over the waves.
“Do you know where—or when—we are?”
“Aye. ‘Tis a big problem.”
“Oh no! Did I screw-up the spell again?”
His eyebrows rose and his mouth opened, but no sound came out. She’d said something he didn’t understand. His expression spoke volumes.
“What I meant is, did I say the wrong thing?” Cameron dusted off his pants and she politely averted her eyes. The bulge hadn’t shrunk one inch.
“I have thought on that. I rubbed the stone and muttered the words Dorcas told me to say. What ye said should have sent us back to 1598.”
“That’s good, right?”
“True, lass.” He kicked a stone shard over the edge of the cliff then stared at the nearby castle.
“Do you recognize that tower?”
“Aye, ‘tis Castle Ruadh. The Keith stronghold.”
“Oh. Not the Gunn keep?”
“Nay. That lies in Keldurunach, many days ride from here. Ye and the stone have sent us to Scotland’s eastern shores. To Wick.”
Iona stomped her foot at the tone of his accusation. She’d said the spell the way he’d told her to, yet their location was her fault? She’d done her best, but her best proved not good enough.
What’s next?
Reaching down, she hefted the leather satchel to her shoulder, then glared at Cameron. “What’s the plan, oh mighty one?”
He sneered at what he must have considered her condescending tone. He straightened his weaponry. She missed holding his dirk, warm from his hand. The blade had given her courage, something she sorely needed if she were to survive living in the past.
“We will find horses, food, and clothing, then ride to Kirkwall’s village. Until then—”
“Stand and state yer business.”
Iona shrieked, and whirled toward the voice. She wasn’t surprised when her scream was followed by the scrape of steel leaving a scabbard. Cameron stepped between her and the new arrivals. A quick count forced a groan from her lips. She stepped farther back to give Cameron room to swing his sword.
“I wouldna’ be doing that, milady,” the spokesman of the group said, and nodded at something behind her.
The cliff!
The precipice, far above the terrifying waves, was right behind them. She gave the man a small smile since he had saved her life. He seemed startled at her reaction, then smiled in return. His smile curved into a sneer the moment he turned his attention to Cameron.
“I said—”
“I know what ye said. I dinna realize a walk on the cliffs with a fair maiden ‘twas unlawful.” Cameron stood straight, and glared at the man. He had fallen into a crouch, an aggressive warrior’s stance.
Cameron was quick.
And lethal.
The man who spoke, and his companions, sat astride thick-coated horses. The groups’ wide-eyed glares seemed to agree with her assessment of Cameron’s warrior attributes. “Ye doona wear the plaid of the Keiths nor of the Mackenzies, so be on yer—”
“I’m a Mackenzie.” Iona regretted the words the moment she spoke them. Cameron swung his face toward her and grimaced. Had he forgotten? Or, was he worried she had little chance to convince the men of her identity? Did he worry she might blurt out ‘Hi, I’m a long lost descendant here to win the day?’
“Um…my name is Iona Mackenzie and my friend and I have been traveling far. Actually, we were set upon by a group of ruffians. We lost our provisions, and extra clothes.” She brushed her hands down the front of her gown releasing a plume of dust.
The leader of this gang appeared to contemplate her answer.
“Our best clothes.”
“Come with us.”
“We prefer to stay here,” Cameron growled. Iona grabbed his sword arm, earning a glare from him and a laugh from three of the men, one of whom leaned down and plucked the satchel from Iona’s shoulder.
“Yer woman knows the right of it. Ye best do as I say. Come with us and live another day.” The leader turned his mount and trotted toward the massive stone structure Cameron had referred to as Castle Ruadh.
Cameron shook free of her grasp, and the laughter grew louder. He slipped his sword back over his shoulder, but freed his dirk from its sheath at his waist. With his other arm, he pulled her into his side. Iona, tight against his ribs, had no choice except to follow.
The other mounted men followed close on their heels, close enough for the scent of horse and the jingle of the reins to remind her they were far from home.
“The least they could do was offer us a ride.”
“The least ye could do is keep yer mouth shut,” Cameron whispered. He picked up the pace. They soon fell under the shadow of the castle’s walls, and walked toward the west facing gate. The
façade was built with blood-red stones. The gate was wide open, and inviting.
Small children bounded out to greet the leader of their captors. They scrambled around the feet of his mount, then pointed and laughed at her and Cameron. Their filthy attire was embarrassing as well as uncomfortable. The leader waved the children away as they entered the castle grounds.
Iona’s feet hurt, and she smelled. Cameron promised she could wash her clothes, yet they’d lost their supplies and change of clothes. She slipped a hand in her pocket. When her fingers gripped the scrap of silk, joy flowed through her. With a sigh, she caught the eye of a boy with bright red hair similar to hers.
He smiled up at her.
“Hi,” she said. The boy grabbed her hand. Cameron grunted, but did not pull her away.
“Yer pretty.”
“Thank you. What’s your name?”
“I be Jamie Falconer of Clan Keith. The laird is me uncle.”
“Really? That is an unusual last name.”
“ ‘Tis a strong Clan Keith surname,” Cameron whispered.
“How old are you?” Iona smiled. Gathering information through the talkative child was underhanded, but the sooner she confirmed the year, the quicker she and Cameron could save Haven.
“I be eight come next summer. ‘Tis a long way off, I know—this being the autumn of harvest time—but, I am growing like a weed, me mother says.”
Iona laughed, then thought about the boy’s words. Haven had disappeared in autumn. The breeze on her face was warm, and the trees they had strode by had started to lose their leaves. She hadn’t seen any snow, so it wasn’t Christmas, yet. Did they even celebrate Christmas? No matter. All she had to do now was establish if they had arrived before the December 1598 date mentioned in Haven’s letter.
Had they arrived in time to save Haven? Or, had she already married the ogre who kept her in the past? Could they save her before he got her pregnant?
“I suppose you have no idea what year this is.” Iona wanted the boy to brag how he knew exactly what year, then she and Cameron would know if their combined spells had worked as Dorcas had planned.
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