Highland Games Through Time

by Nancy Lee Badger

  “No one is stopping ye from doing as ye please, my lord.”

  “Your mouth opens and the most unusual words, in the sweetest Scottish burr, spring forth. I can’t get enough. Stay with me.”

  “Until when?”

  The rest of my life, he wanted to say. “Until morning. Breakfast starts at 7 o’clock so we need to slip away before the other guests get up.”

  “Ye wish for me to stay here? Sleep here, with ye?” She pushed up onto her elbows, her mouth within inches of his chin. Heat drifted up and slammed him with her fragrance. Her scent bathed him in a blanket of sensation. He craved more.

  Naked above her, he slid down until his erection nestled between her thighs, and his chest lay against her breasts. She lay back with her legs spread slightly, anchoring him near her core’s opening.

  Teasing him.

  Or, welcoming him?

  “Sleep is overrated, Rory said, chuckling, “and I want to take my time. I’ve waited for someone like you all my life.” The truth behind the words sent a shiver down his spine. He had never opened his heart to a woman. His line of work kept him alone in the field or in the museum’s dusty basement more hours than he could count. As if Nessía read his mind, she surprised him with a kiss and another question.

  “Why are ye here? In Na Cearcan Bã Na?”

  Rory grimaced. With his life in upheaval, he’d hiked across the moors from Wick to Inverness. He remembered traveling through the canals on a fishing boat heading to Loch Ness, and weighing his options. Should he continue to work for peanuts at the science museum or hop on daddy’s corporate payroll? His father’s offer included his partner’s daughter in marriage. He shivered again, for a different reason.

  “I am investigating the geological transcurrent fault under the loch, active since Mid Devonian times,” he said, stretching the truth.

  “Whose fault?”

  “The fault beneath the loch. It has produced earthquakes over the years. Over centuries, in fact. I want to study the geological structure and come up with a prediction for reoccurrences.”

  Nessía squirmed beneath him. She seemed nervous about something other than having a naked man lying on top of her. Rory leaned closer and nibbled at the corner of her mouth, but she did not respond with either a kiss or a smile.

  “What’s wrong, love?”

  She stiffened beneath him. Did she object to his endearment? Or, did scientists make her nervous. This is a hell of a time to discover either reason.

  “Rory, I know what an earthquake is. We have them all the time, but I never heard that anyone could predict—”

  “I believe you’re mistaken. Scottish quakes are rare. In fact, the last one of any significance occurred back in 1816, well before your time.”

  She did not argue with him, nor did she smile at her obvious mistake. Scotland’s history included about three events each century greater than 4.0 on the Richter scale. The guide at the castle mentioned how aftershocks and minor tremblers occurred every so often, especially in the area around Na Cearcan Bã Na.

  She must be referring to that.

  ***

  Nessía squirmed and turned her head to the side. She snapped her eyelids shut to prevent Rory from witnessing the shame behind her eyes…the shame she felt knowing she caused the earthquakes that had brought him all the way here from America.

  The first attempt to shake the earth occurred when she discovered the receding glacier had boxed her in. She initially rejoiced when wave after wave of crystal clear, fresh water filled the loch as the ice melted away. Her happiness waned when only small rivers appeared at the northern tip of the loch, where the deep valley left by the glacier filled with rock and dirt. The rivers themselves were too shallow for her to traverse.

  As a wingless dragon, her only recourse was to ram her scaly head against the steep slopes that rose a short distance from shore. Her actions only succeeded in causing tons of stone to fall, trapping her further.

  Boredom made her try her luck again. After a particularly strong rumbling—probably the one Rory mentioned—a Faerie Queen visited her after the tremors subsided. The creature of the netherworld found Nessía sunning herself on the rocky shores of Cherry Island.

  “I beg thee. Stop these shakings, before the mountains fall in upon the Faerie Kingdom.”

  Embarrassed, and startled at the realization that her heartache had caused danger to others, Nessía had hung her head. “I will desist. It is just that I am so lonely.”

  “Then, may I offer you a boon?”

  Nessía had slithered off the island and into the loch, reemerged, then wondered if she had heard the fae correctly. “A boon?”

  “True love can be yours, if you have the courage to seek it out.”

  “But, I am alone. I have traversed Loch Ness from end to end. There are no more like me.

  “Seek your heart’s desire elsewhere.” The fae waved a wand of rainbow-tipped glass toward the shore. “There, you shall find true love.”

  Nessía had squinted, and her gaze followed where the queen of the fae pointed at the town of Na Cearcan Bã Na and its humans, asleep in their tiny, dark cottages.

  “True love? With a human?”

  “Find love, marry, raise a family, and never return to the lonely murkiness of Loch Ness.” The fae had twirled the wand over Nessía’s horns then under her snout.

  Sparkles and stars filled the air and tickled her scales. Her body shrunk and her claws retracted. When she suddenly flailed in the water in human form, she swam to shore, crept behind the nearest cottage, and tugged the first dress she could find over her head.

  She immediately applied for a position at the pub, since she had watched the comings and goings for years. One night soon after, Nessía served dinner and a tankard of ale to a man named Montgomery MacDonald, and fell in love.

  Did I love Monty?

  She opened her eyes as she compared her current feelings toward the man lying atop her, with Monty. Monty had been a pleasant diversion, but he treated her like a plaything. Would Rory Hawthorn treat her the same way?

  She had to know. Another broken heart would be the death of her. “Before this goes any farther—”

  “This?”

  She wiggled beneath him, and his hard, hot erection trembled between her legs, so close to her entrance. Unlike Monty, centuries earlier, Rory did not force himself inside. Tension flowed off his body when she had spoken.

  “Aye, this. What be your intentions?” By the way his gaze no longer met hers, Nessía knew that the question was not an amiable one. to a man bent on pleasure. “Rory, I want to share myself, but, I am more fragile than I appear.”

  He kissed her, and as she tasted his answer on her lips, all worries drifted away. When his tongue dipped inside her mouth, and stroked the soft, sensitive interior, her knees bent, and her fingers gripped his hips in a wanton display of need.

  “Trust me,” he whispered.

  “I do.”

  The moment his hard length slid inside, pleasure, heat, and desire for more of him caused her hips to rise and meet his thrusts. Groans and moans echoed in the small room. Sighs, and the slapping of her damp flesh against his, grew in volume. Sparkling light, like a halo or cloud of pure sensation, brightened the darkened interior, reaching toward the ceiling. If not for the roof to contain her within his room, Nessía feared she might float away. Too soon, the ecstasy built and multiplied. Everything went bright white, and she screamed as the rapture consumed her. As she floated down from a state of pure joy, Rory’s thrusts increased in tempo and he threw back his head. His roar of fulfillment, as he arched his back and filled her with his essence, made Nessía smile so hard her cheeks ached.

  “Heavens,” Rory whispered in her ear. He slipped off, and lay beside her.

  Her body shook involuntarily, and she took a deep breath. Swallowing, she licked her dry lips before she turned to answer her lover. My lover. How quaint.

  “I agree. Much better than my last.”

&
nbsp; He laughed deep and low.

  Suddenly cold and feeling deprived of the most sensual partner she ever knew, she cuddled into his embrace while he tugged the blanket up and over their bodies. She silently thanked the Faerie Queen for sending this man into her life. A life Nessía knew would never be the same again.

  ***

  Morning arrived too quickly and, even before the sun rose over the loch, Rory escorted a smiling young woman toward the pub. She had hung her damp clothing by the fire in his room, and he’d lent her his hairbrush. Nessía had allowed him to braid her hair into a long, sexy braid before insisting she leave, and return to work.

  They strode in silent companionship through the thick mist and the rising dawn. A peaceful silence had wrapped around the town. Several fishermen worked alongside their boats at the pier. Rory and Nessía kept to the shadows, and when they arrived at the pub, he kissed her briefly.

  “I have a question,” he said.

  Her eyes flickered wide in the foggy atmosphere that gripped the loch. “Ask me anything, Rory.”

  “What does the town’s name mean? None of the men in the pub would answer me. It’s Gaelic, right?”

  She relaxed her shoulders. Had she thought he was going to ask something more intimate?

  Nessía smiled before answering. “Na Cearcan Bã Na means The White Chickens.”

  A rooster crowed in the distance, and they both laughed. When they reached the pub, instead of touching her—because he’d find it hard to leave her—Rory turned to her once more. What a night. He had swiftly lost himself in the pleasure of their lovemaking. Closing his eyes, he still tasted her sweet mouth.

  Thump. Was that my heart?

  Time to get his head out of the clouds. “What does the pub’s name mean?”

  Nessía looked up at the weathered wooden sign and sighed. Was she smiling a bit too broadly for so early in the morning? He could die tomorrow if he she smiled up at him that way, once more.

  “Biadhadn nan Cearc means Feeding the Hens.”

  Rory laughed all the way to the inn. He climbed the front stairs and reached for the front door knob. Wham!

  CHAPTER 6

  Rory rubbed his bruised nose. “Good morning, ladies.”

  “There you are. We missed you at breakfast,” Kendra crooned. She rubbed his right arm, while Suzie tickled his left ear.

  “I went for a walk.”

  “In this wet mist? Ugh,” Suzie said.

  “Refreshing. You should try it. I’m starving. If you’ll excuse me?” Rory peeled their hands off his body, and strode toward the dining room. They didn’t follow, thank the Lord. The only woman on his mind was Nessía. He glanced at the mantel clock and wondered when he could see her once more. I should get some work done, first.

  ***

  The day wore on and Nessía carried a basket of fresh-baked bread to the inn. The same inn where she had spent several blissful hours in the arms of a man. A man she was falling in love with.

  The truth startled her, and a linen-wrapped loaf fell from the basket. Nessía crouched outside the flower-covered fence that surrounded the inn. She froze when she heard familiar voices. One voice belonged to Rory Hawthorn.

  “Ladies, I must stop in my room.”

  “We’ll come with you,” the redhead cooed, like a lovesick cow. “Tell us more about your search for your MacDonald ancestors.”

  The MacDonalds? Rory is related to that bastard Monty? And why would Rory be in the company of those women? As Americans, she supposed they held a certain homesick charm, but he had told Nessía he would not stop into the pub for lunch. He had work to do. In fact, he claimed he planned to work along the northern shore of Loch Ness all day.

  What I am hearing does not sound like work. Far from it.

  Nessía peeked over the fence, but all three had disappeared inside the inn. Standing, she brushed dirt from her dress’s hem, then scurried to the inn’s backdoor. With her delivery complete, she swung the basket in a wide arc, desperately in want of smashing it over a certain gentleman’s head.

  A MacDonald? Damnation!

  Her heart ripped apart as she stamped her feet. Her dragon strength surged and the earth beneath her feet shook. Birds took to the skies and screeched, as they flew away across the loch. Stacked timber near the dock gave way beneath the tremors, and fell into the water. A boat in dry-dock slipped off its scaffolds and crashed on its side. Screams echoed from the inn and the two American females ran into the street.

  “Earthquake!”

  Nessía closed her eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths. Collecting herself, she urged the trembling to stop. When it did, she strode toward the pub.

  “Nessía!”

  Rory.

  She forced her feet to keep moving away from the inn, but two strong arms circled her shoulders. Rory turned her until she faced him. She refused to glance up. He cupped her chin, forced her head up, and she gazed into eyes filled with concern. And…love?

  Silly dragon. Ye are a powerful, earthquake- causing creature. Forget him. Nessía found it hard to believe her own thoughts, especially when his mouth crushed hers in a brutal, yet passionate kiss.

  “My God. Are you okay?”

  “I am quite well, sir.”

  “So formal? When the earthquake shook my backpack and notebooks to my bedroom floor, all I thought of was making sure you were safe.”

  “Why?” Her question came out swift. Curt. Hurtful. Did she really want to hear his answer? Had he feared she had taken a tumble, suffered an injury, and was now unable to share his bed tonight? A mere inconvenience. Let him take the two screaming Americans to his bed.

  “Why? Because…I…care for you, silly.” Rory smiled and her heart leapt.

  Then she remembered the others. The two women ran toward him, and he backed away. When he released her from his embrace, at the first sign of two younger females, Nessía understood.

  “I must return to work.” She picked up the basket that went flying when he kissed her, and marched to the pub.

  She pushed through the front door, and slid to a halt. Liquor bottles and glassware lay scattered over the bar and floor. The front window sported a huge crack, and smoke billowed from the corner fireplace. Mac ran from the kitchen with a long, red, cylindrical item. He pointed it at the burning coals, and white foam shot from the can.

  “ ‘Tis a disaster, I tell ye. We must close up for the rest of the day.” Mac set down the red can, and turned toward her. “Are ye unharmed, Nessie?”

  “Aye. I was in the roadway. I felt it, though.”

  “A grand tumbler, that. This shall cost me a month’s income to repair. Can ye help me clean up this mess?”

  “Surely, I’ll be helping ye.”

  “We’ll inventory the liquor stock after we clean away the broken bottles. Don’t want whisky soaking these old floor boards much longer.”

  They worked in tandem until they had swept all the broken glass, mopped the floors, washed the bar and tables, and contacted a mason to inspect the chimney. The glazier arrived to measure the broken window, and a Closed sign caused villagers and tourists to grumble.

  Darkness had fallen by the time Nessía stepped outside the pub. Her lower back ached. She pressed both hands to the base of her spine, but felt pleased she had earned every pain from good, hard work. Other bruises, deep inside, were the product of pleasure of a very different type.

  The ache in her heart reminded her that she ought to erect a shield. If not, it would be better to slither away to the loch, cast off her human skin as easily as her dirty dress, and return to the lonely world under the loch’s murky surface.

  “Let the Americans have him.”

  “I don’t want them. I want you.”

  Nessía spun around. The quick motion made her trip over the wet hem of her whisky-soaked gown. Rory grabbed her and cradled her in his heat. She needed to get away. Far away. The sensations that flooded her body were too powerful.

  Too tempting.

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nbsp; “Let me be, sir!” Struggling, she escaped and ran to the shore of the black loch. Night had fallen and the moon hid beyond the clouds, but she knew the shoreline as well as she knew her true form. She dove into its depths, then glided with powerful strokes until the soundless void swallowed her. The loch’s calming essence pulsed through her, and she shifted. As she returned to her rightful form, the human clothing ripped apart and floated away from her massive body.

  Faerie Queen be damned. A monster is a monster, and true love is a myth.

  Nessía dove to the bottom, surrounding herself with the great depth’s emptiness. Even five-hundred feet down, however, she still felt something large enter the water. Sounds of splashing rippled down to where she swam. Curiosity consumed her.

  A human trait I must outgrow, again.

  When Monty broke her heart, she had returned to the loch, shifted into her dragon form, and slammed her head against the underwater land mass. Her actions caused the large earthquake of 1816. The one Rory had mentioned.

  She wanted to outgrow the need to repeat those actions. Earlier, using only her anger, she had caused damage to the town, and the pub. She had not meant to scare people, nor had she planned to cost Mac much of his livelihood. Her anger rose like a volcano, and her inability to contain herself hit her as a reprehensible action. Why punish innocent people?

  The person she needed to hurt was Rory Hawthorn. A MacDonald, like Monty before him, he had filled her head with pretty words, then lulled her into a sense of well-being with exquisite kisses and gentle caresses.

  Do not think of those kisses.

  She whipped her tail to return to the surface. What had fallen into the loch in the middle of the night? When a familiar fragrance drifted over her snout, she slowed.

  Rory.

  The murkiness of the loch blinded her from finding him until a sudden frantic movement stirred the water. Rory was drowning.