“Where be my amulet, witch!”
The sorcerer stood beside the heavy window curtain where he’d hidden. He shoved his black hood off his head. Iona gasped at his emaciated form and long, stringy hair. He might have been handsome in his youth. Too many years had passed, or hatred had taken root and had sucked the life from him. If he was here, where was Haven?
“The witch is somewhere safe. For now.” He slowly walked toward the foot of the bed. “Her continued safety is up to you.”
“Me?”
“Where is my amulet?”
Dragon’s teeth! He had killed that guard.
“True, and I will kill again if ye doona do what I ask. Where is it?” He slammed his staff on the floor. Sparks streamed in all directions, and a premonition filled with tears and fire stirred her to run.
Iona slammed into the locked door, then shoved the bar up and out of the holder. As she pulled it open, sparks surrounded her. Pain shot up her arm. Her shoulder was on fire.
She screamed and fell to her knees. A shadow suddenly hovered over her, and she rolled to her back. Her head felt like it was going to explode, and she whimpered. Screaming only made it worse, but she needed help. She rolled again, hit against a small table, and reached up. Gripping a large metal tankard, she threw it with everything she had.
He ducked, but the tankard crashed against the partially open door. The crash was a welcome sound, and her effort rewarded. A large shadow filled the partially closed doorway.
“Where is it?” he said.
Iona couldn’t answer. Pain shot through her skull. Sucking in deep breaths to keep from passing out, she winced when the door crashed fully open and interrupted his demand. A warrior’s cry filled the room.
The sorcerer cursed. The room filled with acrid smoke, and he disappeared. She rolled to a sitting position, but pain wracked her skull.
Iona collapsed into a puddle of aches and pains, lying flat on her back on the cold floor. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax, but the pain in her head and left shoulder were relentless. She yearned for a moment of peace.
Again.
“Lass! Be ye well?”
Iona opened her eyes, and immediately felt better. Concern evident in Cameron’s furrowed brow and the thin line of his mouth proved he cared. She was safe. His hands reached for her.
“I’m fine. Help me up?”
Cameron’s face brightened as he grabbed the hand she offered, then lifted her to her feet. Blood rushed to her head, and not from standing upright. He was too handsome, and much too close. She inhaled his masculine scent—leather and musk—and wanted to back him up to the bed and ravish him like he’d ravished her the previous night.
Snap out of it!
“The sorcerer?” Cameron asked, his hand resting on her forehead.
“Yes. He wants his necklace back, which verifies what we assumed. He killed the guard and took Haven. He doesn’t know it’s a fake.” Iona rubbed her left arm, but the pain intensified. Her head throbbed and her stomach churned.
“Lass, yer face. ‘Tis pale as fresh cream. Are ye well?”
“No. The sorcerer hit me with an energy spike. I think I’m going to be sick.”
At her words Cameron paled, helped her to sit on the bed, then grabbed a chamber pot. She brushed his offering away and took several deep breaths. His scent revitalized her, filling her with calm, happy thoughts.
“Give me a minute? I’m stronger than I look.” Iona smiled up at him. Cameron sat beside her, then brushed a kiss across her forehead. Her headache faded to a dull throb. Would he lower his lips just a little? Maybe to her mouth? A kiss from the Highlander would take away all the bad memories of the last two days.
“Iona,” he whispered, then pressed his warm mouth against hers. He nibbled on her lower lip, then swiped the tip of his tongue across the crease between both lips. She opened, and gladly let him in. The pain in her head faded away, but when he wrapped his arm around her, fire shot through her left shoulder.
She cried out, and Cameron let go.
“It’s okay, Cammie. I’m sore, but I’ll live.”
His eyes widened, and he lowered his hands to his lap. A strange look crossed his face, and his dark amber eyes gave her hope that he might continue to touch her in other places. With a slow, tentative step, his massive hands reached out and cupped her breasts.
Iona sighed, and leaned into his gentle grasp. She wrapped her uninjured arm around his neck and leaned closer to his seductive heat. Pulling her body closer into his, she relished the sensations replacing the pain and shut out a sense of foreboding.
“My pardon,” a voice said.
Cameron pushed her onto the bed, then spun toward the door. He crouched, ready to spring at the intruder. When his cousin walked into the room, he relaxed.
“Kirk? We didn’t hear you come in.” Iona rolled off the bed and pushed past Cameron. Kirk’s expression was less apologetic than curious. He had come to Haven’s room for some reason only to find her and his cousin in a heated embrace.
“The sorcerer threatened her,” Cameron said, “he was in this room.”
Kirk’s eyes darkened and his fist clenched around the hilt of his dirk. He probably regretted missing out on a chance to capture the sorcerer. “Did he make his demands?”
Iona touched Kirk’s shoulder, near where Cameron had stabbed him. Kirk didn’t flinch, but managed a smile. The worry in his voice was evident, and she wished she had the words to allay his fears. The sorcerer was their only link to Haven, but Cameron had scared him away.
“The pendant.”
“What?” Kirk said. “The necklace left behind?”
“Aye,” Cameron said, wrapping an arm around Iona, “the bastard wants it back. He must have thought he dropped it in this room when he kidnapped Lady Haven.”
“Then we have leverage. He shall return, and we shall lay a trap.”
The men nodded, but Iona’s blood ran cold. Catching someone so evil wouldn’t be easy. He’d already killed. What if he learned that the necklace was a fake? How many more would die? If they were to save her friend, they’d have to outsmart a man of great power, ruled by hatred.
“We should talk to Dorcas. She knows everything about the guy,” Iona said.
“Aye, and Dorcas is a powerful witch,” Cameron said, “If anyone knows how to destroy him, she does.”
“Will he return?” Kirk asked.
“Yes, I see another disturbance coming soon, and if I sleep surrounded by Haven’s belongings I might get a better idea of when.”
Kirk’s eyes widened. “Ye have the sight?”
Iona nodded, shoved him into the hall, and closed the door. Cameron shadowed her movements, then threw the bolt latch into place.
“I’m not leaving ye.”
She hadn’t the strength to argue and, since she somehow knew the sorcerer would return, she had no desire to sleep alone.
* * *
Haven rubbed her face with the back of her hand. With her wrists bound in front of her, she couldn’t smooth her tangled hair or straighten her gown. Nausea threatened, and she swallowed. She licked her lips, but without water she could survive only the next few hours.
“I want out of here!” The words echoed off the stone walls of her jail. The events of the previous night were foggy, but she remembered when her door crashed open, someone screamed, and a cloaked figure knocked her unconscious. She cupped her abdomen and thought about her child. Had her abductor harmed their son?
“Not yet, but ye shall not bear Kirkwall Gunn’s heir. Kirk will die, and his clan shall be no more.”
Haven glanced up at the voice, and at the man in a dark cloak who stood at the open door. He had entered silent as a mouse, and had read her thoughts. She wished she could read his. She wasn’t afraid of him, but his words worried her. He knew about her baby? That kind of news made her stomach flip. The good news was that if he wanted her dead, he wouldn’t have kidnapped her.
I’d already be dead.
>
“What do you want with me?”
“Revenge.”
Haven stepped back, but the damp stone wall was behind her. Cold seeped through the fabric of her gown. The figure strode to within inches. His glare bore into her, but she dare not look away. Whatever his plans, she had to at least try to discover them. While she struggled with her bonds, his thoughts opened and her mind heard them scream through her head. A mixture of Latin, curses, and words with sexual overtones made her heart race.
Don’t let him see your fear.
Haven repeated the mantra. The words amulet and power slipped into her head, and she kept her astonishment in check.
“I lost my amulet because of ye. I shall get it back, no matter who I must kill.”
“Please, you don’t have to do this. I have no quarrel with you.”
“Ye be a MacKay, and ye belong to the Gunn Laird.”
“What has my last name got anything to—”
He threw back his cloak’s hood, and shook out his long, stringy hair. Dark eyes with flaming centers glared at her, and his staff sparkled. “MacKays are descended from Aed, the God of fire. I should worship ye, but ye are breeding a Gunn.” He grabbed her shoulder and tossed her to the ground.
She cried out as she slammed onto the hard, dirt floor. She rolled to her back and raised her bound hands to protect her face. Before she could think of how to use the information about her ancestor, he pointed his staff at her chest. A blindingly bright light filled the cell, and a searing pain swept her into oblivion.
CHAPTER 23
Cameron wrapped an arm around Iona’s uninjured shoulder, then helped her back to bed. After her ordeal with the sorcerer, he would offer her the comfort of a friend, not a lover. She needed to relax and heal, not feel pressured by his desire.
After Iona explained why she wanted to spend the night in Haven’s room, Kirk left them alone. She described having second sight. He trusted her beliefs, even if he did not share them.
“You’re frowning, Cammie. Problem?”
The woman was intuitive. “I always worry about ye, lass. Ye told Kirk ye have the sight. Ye get yerself in trouble daily.”
“Is it my fault I read ‘Trust your intuition, the universe is guiding your life’ in a fortune cookie?”
“A what?”
“Never mind.” She slapped his hand and arm away, and he chuckled. She had quite the temper, but it did not come to the surface as often as Haven’s.
Haven. What am I to do about her?
“I wish we didn’t have to wait until morning to make a rescue attempt. Haven is with that horrid man,” she whispered.
Fear laced her words. Fear for her friend. An evil man had threatened her life and had hurt her, physically, but Iona’s thoughts were about others.
“She can take care of herself, lass.”
He worried, as well, but Haven was a witch. She had never admitted it, but he had witnessed her talents for healing. She had also saved his life when an arrow threw him from his mount. Cameron rubbed the raw scar of his barely healed wound, then shrugged off the phantom pain.
“You’re wound hurts like mine. Wow, something in common.” Iona’s small smile broke his heart.
Was that all she felt they shared? Why should she feel any different? He had kissed her, and they had spent a magical night entwined in each other’s arms, but he never uttered words of love. Plans to take Haven MacKay from his cousin sounded petty. The thought of causing Kirk’s death sounded like the whim of a mad man.
His head spun with the sudden, sickly knowledge of his foolish attempt at revenge. Until this moment, his reason for returning to the past had stood as a well thought-out path. The more he pondered the ease with which Lady Haven had tangled him in her web, the less sense it made. From the start, when she stumbled into their hunting camp behind Kirk, she was clearly in love with his cousin. Why, then, did Cameron pursue the lass? Something about her had stirred his loins with an unnatural yearning.
When the dark cloaked man offered her up as a prize for stealing a small amount of the treasure—a simple act sure to bring Kirk down a notch—why had Cameron jumped at the chance? He had betrayed his clan in the blink of an eye.
“You were under a spell.”
Cameron glared at Iona, seething. Had she read his mind? “What talk is this?”
“Haven created a love potion, and I have a feeling it worked on more than one guy.”
The words ripped at his heart. If true, he had more reasons to hate the woman. “A potion? She cast a spell?”
Iona nodded.
“I betrayed my clan because a spell turned me into a love-sick fool?” Cameron stomped from the bed, then glared out the small window.
“She never used spells around me, but then she came across that book—”.
“Aye, the book. Ye still have it?”
“It’s in my satchel.”
A fresh breeze carried the fragrance of Scottish heather and moss. When a small hand rubbed the shoulder near his wound, he trembled.
“You never explained where you got this scar.” She pushed the plaid off his shoulder then slipped her hand beneath his shirt. Heat pulsed from her soft fingertips, and he raised his arms to help her slide his shirt up and over his head.
He turned, and the cool breeze at his back made him shiver. He gazed at her delicately-shaped face and at the love shining in her green eyes. Iona was a beauty by anyone’s standards and the foolishness of him yearning for Kirk’s woman was a mystery.
“Come to bed?”
“Lass? Ye be injured.”
“Nothing a gentle hug will hurt. Unless, you can’t share a bed without…you know.” Iona blushed. Pink cheeks only made her prettier. Something twisted deep inside his chest.
“May I help ye undress? I be feeling a little alone in my lack of attire.” He could not help teasing the lass, but if her shoulder pained her as much as his, she should welcome his assistance.
Did she want more?
Cameron certainly did, but not tonight. Instead, he would show her kindness, similar to what she had shown him when he asked for her help. His stomach ached.
He had lied to her.
Iona was under the misguided impression he wanted to save Haven and return both women to the future. If she found out…
He gently brushed the back of his hand along her cheek, and the tender movement startled her. Before she could move away, he leaned down and feathered a kiss on her mouth. As she relaxed, she smiled into his lips. Confidence returned, yet his mind could not stop spinning.
The sorcerer was an enigma, a riddle that had given him the means to snare the beautiful Haven MacKay. In the end, the price was too high. His banishment still hurt. He had lost everything.
Nothing made sense anymore, yet he sat beside a vibrant woman who looked up at him as if he was the mightiest of warriors.
“Are you coming?”
Iona moved away and struggled to push her wrinkled gown off her injured shoulder. Dirt and scorch marks had ruined the dress, and reminded him of the attack. A dangerous man had attacked her in a fortified castle.
What if he had not heard a crash? What would have happened if Marcus had thrown him in a cell for stabbing Kirk? Who would look out for Iona if not him?
A whimper drove his attention to her injury, and he understood. Her injury precluded her from removing her under things.
Cameron stayed her hand, and met her eyes. “Allow me, love.”
“It hurts. I wish I had my satchel, because I could use an aspirin.”
He must have looked confused. The word held no meaning to him.
“Do you have any willow bark? In this time period it works the same for headaches and muscular pain.”
“I will ask one of Marcus’ servants, once yer tucked in bed. Ye look tired, lass.”
“Gee, thanks. Words a girl likes to hear from her …” The hesitation in her voice was understandable.
They were lovers. She had joined with no other befo
re him. An emotional bond had formed a natural response after a night of passion. However, there was something in her voice. A yearning for…
Understanding washed over him as he helped her undress. Glancing away, he forcibly ignored her luscious curves. Cameron grabbed one of Haven’s nightgowns from a hook on the wall. Iona protested by pulling away.
“Haven would want ye comfortable. When yer dressed, I shall be comfortable.” He slipped the sliver of gauzy fabric over her head. “Ye tempt a man just by being ye.”
Iona blushed. The reaction was quite appealing. It lent color to cheeks that had paled beneath her pain. Her loose hair fell over her shoulders in a delicious mass of red curls.
Cameron flipped a strand back over her shoulder, then leaned down and kissed the soft skin of her shoulder, right above her fragile collarbone.
“Ye need to eat, love. Yer much too thin.”
“Cammie, please…”
He chuckled. She smelled of scented herbs. They had to be borrowed scents, since she had no access to her leather satchel. Would Marcus deem her belongings the possessions of a witch?
Having witnessed her power with the spell that brought them back to Scotland, he considered the amulet around his neck that she was fingering. Without the power of the necklace, her words were only words.
Cameron covered her hand, halting her teasing caress. He usually kept the amulet hidden, in case the hunk of amber be construed as witchcraft. He could as easily earn a cell for dabbling in witchery. It would be worth it for another night beneath Iona Mackenzie, especially when she gazed up at him with such desire.
The threat to succumb bubbled to the surface as a hot, devilish yearning. It teased him and the heat where their bodies touched wrapped him with desire. The sweet scent of her skin was as intoxicating as fine, aged ale.
He lowered their hands, pulled her tight, and kissed her forehead. When she moaned, Cameron smiled against her skin. He pulled his lips away, and she leaned up and kissed him on the mouth. A sudden revelation turned him stiff as a pike.
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