In Bed with the Highlander

by Ann Lethbridge

  “We’ll go down to the kitchen,” he said. “There’ll be bread and cheese and maybe some meat.”

  Oh, right. Just waltz into a hotel kitchen and get caught stealing food. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” He slung on his sword belt, buckled it and slid the sword home. “The laird will not mind.”

  “Will he not?” Oh, now she sounded just like her grandmother. “I mean, won’t he?”

  He raised a brow. “I told you, he’s a cousin.”

  “Actually, you didn’t. But if you are comfortable wandering around the castle at night, who am I to stop you?”

  “You’ll come with me, lass.”

  It wasn’t an invitation. She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Aye, well, I’ve not yet satisfied myself exactly who you are and I’m not leaving you here to sound the alarm.”

  Alurrrum. Her bones melted at the way he said it. Delicious. Her stomach growled. She pressed her hands to her waist.

  Both of his eyebrows shot up.

  “I suppose a bite to eat wouldn’t go amiss,” she said, defeated by an old habit of midnight snacking.

  “Come with me, then.” He grabbed her hand and before she knew it she was padding barefoot out of the room and down the winding cold stone steps.

  * * *

  The cold hand clutched in Gavin’s felt like a bird’s wing. Delicate bones he could crush on a whim. He eased his grip. He might not trust her, but he had no wish to cause her harm.

  Who was she? She sounded like a Sassenach and swore like a Highlander. He grimaced. A male Highlander. What a strange mix of a female she was, but he would not risk leaving her up there in his room. First off, she might be an English spy, though Duncan would have warned him by a candle in the old tower if such a creature had arrived at his castle. And second, he feared she might disappear like one of the auld folks in the faery stories his mother used to tell.

  Mother used to say he had more than a touch of the fae himself, though he always denied it. His gut tensed. It had to be the whisky. Food. With food in his belly, he would be able to think. And perhaps he’d be able to resist those eyes and the wonderful scent that clung to her skin and infused her glorious mop of russet curls.

  The stairs brought them down at one end of the laird’s great hall. She halted. Her gasp of surprise had him turning to see what was amiss. In the light from the torches, her eyes were black pools with glowing points of reflected flame.

  “What is it?” He glanced around, seeking the danger that had her stock-still and horrified.

  “This,” she said with an all-encompassing gesture. “This hall. The rushes. The banners. The benches.” She swallowed. “All of it.”

  Perhaps she was a faery. She certainly seemed a little tetched in the head. “Do you want to sit down? Perhaps some wine...”

  “The last thing a crazy person needs is more alcohol.”

  “Crazy?”

  “Never mind.” She straightened her shoulders, looked him directly in the face and nodded. “Take me to the kitchen. Feed me. Perhaps something will happen to wake me.”

  Unable to comprehend a word of it, he decided to let it lie for now. They passed behind the screen and into the vaulted domain of Glencovie’s cook. Fortunately the old curmudgeon would have long gone to her bed. As a lad, Gavin had received more than one wallop on his backside from her wooden spoon for stealing vittles.

  “Sit,” he said to Moirag, who was gazing around as if she had never seen a kitchen before. She perched on a stool, her bare toes curling into the rushes, her fingers torturing a stray thread at the hem of her exotic tunic. Saints, she was lovely. Not pretty and gentle as a lass ought to be, but bold and strong, like some wild mountain she-cat. Her green eyes glistened in the firelight, taking in everything as if seeking escape. More flights of fancy.

  Food. He needed food.

  He went to the pantry and found a couple of loaves intended for the poor at the gate the next morn. Well, they’d just have to have fresh. He set them on the table along with a pat of butter. He looked in the next cupboard and found the knuckle end of a ham. Enough for two.

  She shrieked.

  He spun around. An old hound had his nose in her lap and was snuffling in a very intimate way. God’s teeth. What he’d do to change places with that hound.

  His blood rushed south.

  She batted the dog’s nose. “You ill-mannered creature.” The hound backed up.

  Gavin laughed. The dog turned its old head and scented the air. “Get on with you, Ran,” he said. “Leave the lady alone.” Ran wandered back to his place by the hearth. She must not have seen him when they came in.

  “God,” she said. “He scared the life out of me.”

  Not a pleasant vision. “I hope not.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “Oh. Right.” She stood up and stretched, her high breasts pressing against the wisp of shimmering fabric. Never had he seen a woman in such an alluring garment. Transparent trews and tunic that unbuttoned down the front. For ease of access. He almost swallowed his tongue and his body responded in appreciation. Perhaps she was one of those prostitutes from Edinburgh. Duncan’s bit of comfort for a cold night. Dammit.

  “Take a seat at the table,” he choked out. “All I can offer you is bread and ham.”

  “Sounds heavenly.” He focused on slicing the bread.

  “Wonder of wonders. Freshly churned butter.” She slipped into the seat opposite him. He passed her a slice of bread skewered on the tip of his knife.

  She bit into it. Her teeth were white and perfect.

  More happy physical appreciation in his lower extremities as if he was a thirteen-year-old boy. In self-defense, he straddled the bench. “So tell me why you are here?”

  “Why?” She looked nonplussed.

  “Aye. Why are you visiting Duncan with so much unrest in the countryside and when you are clearly a town girl?”

  She chewed her bread slowly. “Can I have some ham?”

  He cut her a slice, not fooled by her stalling tactics. “Go on.”

  “I um... It’s a long story.”

  “I have all night. And I want the truth of it now. I’ll know very well if you lie, so be warned.”

  “And what will you do? Spit me with your sword and roast me for dinner.”

  The image fired his wicked imagination. “I’d like to.”

  “What?”

  He couldn’t help it, his voice lowered as did his lashes as his gaze dropped to the full glory of her breasts outlined by firelight. “I’d like to eat you.”

  Her indrawn breath and smoky expression said she might not be averse to a bit of biting and licking. His arousal hardened to rock. Hard enough to hold up a tent, let alone a wee scrap of a plaid. Thank the Lord she could not see through the table.

  He poured some ale from the flagon. “Here.” His voice sounded hoarser than one of the selkies out on the shore.

  She picked up the goblet and took a sip. A grimace passed across her face. “Don’t you have any water?”

  “None fresh. Unless I go to the well.” Come to think of it, a trip to the well in the cool night air might not go amiss right now. He picked up the ewer and another hunk of bread. “Sit tight and I’ll be right back.”

  She blessed him with a blindingly bright smile. “I can get my own water, if you’ll tell me where to go.”

  “No. Best you stay here.” One look at that exotic garb and Duncan�
�s guards would turn into ravening beasts and he’d had enough battles for one night. And besides, he wasn’t far off the state of ravening beast himself.

  * * *

  Holy nightmares, Batman! How on earth had she constructed a medieval castle in her dreams with every single bell and whistle, right down to the hunting dog? Its warm moist breath between her thighs had shocked her to her toes.

  What if it was real? No. It couldn’t be. Dammit. While her brain said no, her gut was saying yes. And her bloody gut rarely made a mistake. It had been wrong about Alec. No. It hadn’t. She had wanted a home and a family too much to listen to her gut.

  And if her gut was right and this was real? How the hell could that be? Things like that happened only in books. Unless she’d fallen into one of those black holes scientists were always blathering about. How could she fall in, when she was asleep in her bed? Maybe it was that thing on Stargate. What did they call it? A portal? She remembered the strange nauseous feeling upon waking and Granny’s prediction. Her stomach sank. It had to be real. And how did she find her way back?

  She prowled around the kitchen. The hearth and the chimneybreast were warm to the touch. The dog opened one eye and raised an eyebrow. “Stay,” she said.

  It heaved a long sigh and the eyelid drooped.

  Oh hell. She’d eaten the bread. Did that mean she had to remain here forever? Wasn’t there something about if you eat the food then you are stuck? She frowned. Or was that something to do with desert peoples and their customs. Whatever the case, the gate or portal thingy would not be down here. She’d been in her perfectly normal Scottish castle bedroom when she fell asleep and that was where she had woken up. In another time.

  Her head began to ache.

  Think.

  All right. Then it had to be something to do with the bedroom. Perhaps the bed, where she’d fallen asleep. Like that kids’ story they made into a film, Bedknobs and Broomsticks, except it was a flying bed not a time machine. Er...wasn’t it?

  One thing was certain, the sooner she got back in that bed the better. She stared at the heavy oak door. But what to do with her gorgeous Highlander? Bring him home with her?

  Right. Sword and all.

  There was one sword she wanted him to bring to her bed. Naughty. Very naughty. She smiled, then laughed out loud. The kilt had done nothing to disguise his interest. And, she realized, glancing down, nor did these pajamas hide much. He must have seen the way her nipples had beaded when he stared at her with such blatant hunger.

  This was no time for an overactive libido. Taking him home with her wasn’t going to work, even if she knew how to do it. And she’d given up on men. Completely.

  Besides, for his own sake, she could not drag him into the twenty-first century. He’d be out of his depth.

  Stop it. This is ridiculous.

  She could stay. It was a whisper in the back of her head. Urgent. Pressing. Terrifying. As if the voice belonged to someone else.

  What about her parents? Her grandmother? They’d be desperate with worry. She could not knowingly do that to them. And she’d miss the wedding anniversary celebration. That would put a damper on things. She sighed and absentmindedly picked up another slice of bread. She stared at it. What if eating here really did fix her permanently in place.

  She let it fall to the table.

  The door slammed back and Gavin dashed in, all big strong shoulders, massive thighs and swirling kilt. “Quick,” he said. “Back up the stairs.”

  “What?” she said. The sound of faint shouts from beyond the castle walls penetrated the thick door.

  “English,” he said.

  “After you?”

  “Aye. Who else would they be after? Don’t stand there hovering, girl.” He grabbed her by the hand. “Up the stairs with you.”

  He pulled his sword free.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Och. For God’s sake. Will you go?”

  In his battle-ready state, he’d spoken in Gaelic, and she’d understood every word.

  “Come with me,” she replied in the same language.

  “I’ll not fight them up there.”

  “Perhaps you won’t have to.”

  “What would you have me do, hide under the bed?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “In it. I’ll tell them you have been with me all night. In my best BBC accent.”

  “BBC?”

  “Sassenach.”

  The point of his sword wavered.

  “How many of them are there?” she asked.

  “Not many. A dozen. I can handle them.”

  “You cannot fight a dozen men and win. Unless the laird will help you.”

  “Och aye, he’s going to risk his holding and his family for an argument over a couple of cows.”

  “Well then.”

  Now the sound of clattering hooves filled the courtyard.

  “Ach. Come on then.” He grabbed her hand and they ran through the hall and up the stairs.

  Inside the chamber, she ran to the window. No sign of the car park or her car, just a lot of horses milling around and red-coated soldiers dismounting inside the bailey. “Bloody hell.”

  “Aye,” he said, one warm heavy hand coming down to rest on her shoulder.

  “And they are looking for you.” Just her luck to get tangled up with some sort of criminal. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was some sort of myth about the first Lady Moirag doing something like... Oh, God! That couldn’t be it.

  The sounds of a door opening below meant time was running out. “Hurry up. Get undressed.”

  He stripped off his sword belt, and threw it under the bed. The sporran and shoes and socks went next. His kilt followed. A true Scot, he wore nothing beneath the heavy fabric. The candlelight sculpted every detail of his muscled bum, the magnificent package of family jewels and an erection straining to kiss his belly button. Her heart stopped. A breath caught in her throat and moisture flooded her core. Legs weak, she sank onto the edge of the bed. “Oh my.”

  He took one look at her face and grabbed his kilt. “You are scared to death.” He inhaled a quick breath, the muscles of his chest swelling, his ribs widening. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  She put out a hand, felt the rough hair on his forearm with fingertips so sensitive, they burned from the touch. “Get in the bed.”

  He looked unconvinced, bent to retrieve his weapon. She smoothed a hand over his back, then tapped his hard buttocks. “In bed. Now.”

  He stood up, his arousal responding to her command with a pulse. She swallowed.

  “Lass, you are killing me.”

  “It works both ways,” she gasped.

  The sound of boot steps on the stairs jerked her back reality. She lifted the covers and waved him in. “Whatever you do, keep that bandage out of sight.”

  She hopped in the bed after him.

  “Take off that thing you’re wearing,” he said. “It’s too strange. They’ll know you are not English.”

  Heat coursed through her body, streaming up from her belly, making her breasts feel full and heavy and wanting. Her face burned. Nevertheless, she worked at the buttons.

  “Nay, lass. Take it slow. You’ve lots of time.” His breath tickled her ear. Her body responded by sending out bolts of lightning laced with desire.

  “Let me help you.” His big fingers made short work of the pearl buttons down the front. She wriggled her shoulders and the jacket slid off her arm
s. He grabbed it and stuffed it under the pillow.

  He gazed at her breasts with awe on his face. And so he should. They were perfect. It was the one thing she’d been blessed with. High perky breasts.

  She smiled.

  “Dear Lord,” he whispered. “Now your trews. I’ve heard about something like these things. India. The women there wear trousers. Are you an Indian?”

  “No.” She undid the button and stepped out of the pajama bottoms. She bent to pick them up and he groaned. Her stomach clenched at the sound.

  She climbed in beside him. “No. I’m not.” Good grief, she was panting. And it wasn’t from the run up the stairs.

  He pulled her backward against his body, his erection digging into her left buttock. “You are not what?” he whispered in her ear.

  Hot breath in the ear. Delicious. Shivers ran down her spine. Her body clenched inside. “Not Indian,” she managed around a gasp.

  A knock sounded at the door. Well, not quite a knock, more a bang with a gun butt, or a sword hilt. “Open up in the king’s name.”

  Moirag opened her mouth.

  He put his large calloused hand over it. “Let me do the talking, woman.”

  She nodded and he released her.

  “Wha?” he said, sounding sleepy. “Who’s there?”

  “Open up in the name of the king.”

  “It’s not locked, man. Open it yourself.”

  The door swung back and an English officer strode in, all red jacket and red face and bristling mostaches. He halted at the sight of Gavin and Moirag. His jaw dropped.

  A man in a nightcap and holding a lantern peered over his shoulder. The man who had met her in the courtyard when she first arrived. Or his ancestor.

  The lamplight glittered off the officer’s gold braid and the steel blade clutched in his hand. Moirag held her breath and clutched the sheet to her chin. This did not look good. Was she about to be carted off to some dungeon for aiding and abetting? Did they have aiding and abetting? Who was she going to say she was?