He sighed, snuffed out the candle, snuggled his wife in closer, and stared into the darkness. His Beth was tricky, all right, but she wasn’t the only one who knew how to go about getting their way. That is, as long as he could keep from revealing the nature of his true feelings for her.
Love could weaken even the strongest of men, and in the hands of the wrong woman, become a powerful weapon. Hadn’t Mairi taught him that lesson in spades? A lesson he wouldn’t soon forget.
Aye, he might be in love with his young wife, but it’d be a cold day in hell before he admitted it to her or anyone else. Lairds didn’t show such weakness.
She wiggled her soft arse right against his already expanding cock, and Quint knew he was lost. “Lass, ye must desist. Ye need ye rest. Think of the bairn.”
She had the audacity to giggle. “And miss out on a midnight tryst with my husband? I think not, my lord. The babe is restless anyway. Perhaps he needs his father to rock his mother to sleep.”
Carefully, so as not to disturb the growing child too much, Quint deftly positioned Beth even more onto her side and slid deeply into her welcoming warmth. He sighed with satisfaction as her heat, her moisture, the very essence of the woman he loved surrounded him, drew him in, cradled him as closely as her womb cradled their son, and held him tight.
She sighed her pleasure into the darkness as her body moved in rhythm with his, meeting his thrusts halfway. Giving as good as she got. “Have I told you lately how much I love you, Quinton MacLeod? How much I love making love with you, like this, all alone, in our room, in the middle of the night? How much you make me feel so very loved, so special, so complete?”
He breathed in the scent of her hair and skin and grinned. She smelled of fall even though it was still the middle of summer. Something fruity, spicy, warm baked apples and cloves perhaps. Something Beth. He wanted to nibble upon her, taste her, feast upon every delectable inch of woman set before him.
Instead he did exactly what he’d told himself he would nae do. “I love ye, too, lass, with all that I am and ever hope ta be. You and our bairn. Never doubt that for even the passing of a single moment.”
No more words were said, but then, no more words were needed as Quint quickened their pace. Deeply, he filled her as her sheath surrounded him and strove to hold him close. Daring him to leave her warmth. Begging him to take them both over the top, to take them to ecstasy.
At last, sighs of pleasure filled every corner of the room.
Sleepy kisses were exchanged, caresses traded, and love wonderfully made.
Chapter Twelve
October 1643
A single tear slid down Beth’s cheek and for at least the sixth time in as many hours, she swiped it away. What the hell was wrong with her today? She wasn’t unhappy. As a matter of fact, it was finally her favorite time of year—fall—and the season was progressing wonderfully. Things couldn’t be better.
Quint was an amazing, loving, caring husband. The baby was growing very nicely inside her. Duncan was progressing even better than she’d expected in all of his studies. And even Marta had stopped spouting the majority of her craziness, at least within the range of anyone else’s hearing.
Beth wasn’t in pain. She wasn’t sad. She wasn’t angry, and she wasn’t even uncomfortable today for being as extremely fat and clumsy as she was.
So what then was her problem?
She sighed as a chilly wind sliced through her thin shawl. She pulled it close around her shoulders and hurried toward the granary. She needed to check the progress of the season’s last barrels of stout Macleod ale and uisge beatha being brewed, and even the scent of snow upon the air wasn’t going to prevent her from doing her task.
Shaking her head, she hurried through the door. Where had the time gone? Summer had sped past in the blink of an eye, and autumn was quickly becoming winter. The larders were practically full to brimming with an abundance of fish, meat, fruits, and vegetables. The fields had all been harvested, fresh rushes collected for the floors, and peat gathered to keep all of Brochel toasty warm until spring.
So why then, why was her heart so full of despair and dread?
A nudge from the inside out brought a smile to her face, and Beth rubbed her swollen belly. “Shh, little man. Everything’s all right. Don’t be so impatient. You’ll be out here with the rest of us before you even know it.” A sob suddenly caught in her throat. “Oh yes, you’ll be here very soon, and then I’ll be gone.”
Another tear escaped and rolled unchecked down her cheek. If she allowed herself to think about it, she knew exactly why she was so melancholy lately. Time was running out, and she couldn’t stop it.
In a little over two months, Quinton MacLeod’s heir would be born and Beth’s part of the bargain she’d made with Fate would be complete. He’d come for her. And even though she wanted desperately to be in Heaven with Ben and Brian, she wasn’t yet ready to let go and leave behind the only home she’d ever truly felt safe in and the only sense of family she’d known in longer than she wanted to think about.
A swift hard kick from the inside reminded her yet again of what leaving behind everything here entailed. What would Quint name his son? Would the child have dark brown wavy hair like his father, or would he be a sunshine blonde like Elspeth? Would his eyes be stormy blue like Quint’s or a paler blue like her own? Would they twinkle with mischief? Would a row of freckles grace his small nose and cheeks like tiny angel kisses, and would his pink little bowtie mouth whisper secrets to the castle cats some day? Would the sound of his laughter fill the halls to overflowing? And when the day was said and done, who would be there to kiss his hurts all better, tuck him into bed, dry his tears, and calm his fears?
One thing was for certain, it wouldn’t be her.
The tears did come then, fast and hard. What kind of woman chose death over a life with a wonderful man like Quinton Macleod and their child? A coward, that’s who. But then she’d always been a coward, hadn’t she? Even in her previous life. The fact she was more mouse than lioness was the one certainty Burt had made sure she’d never forget.
Beth shook her head. She couldn’t afford to think of her decision to leave with Fate as taking the coward’s way out. Her real children, her Ben and Brian were waiting for her in Heaven. She had to get to them. She had to explain. She needed to apologize. She’d waited for so very long. They’d waited.
She shook her head again. This feeling sorry for herself was a total waste of time and energy. In reality, probably nothing more than a hormonal surge. Not that it mattered. For even if she wished with all her heart and soul the baby she was carrying was really and truly her own, he wasn’t and would never be.
This child belonged to Laird Quinton and Lady Elspeth MacLeod. The very pretty, twenty-year-old Elspeth who’d died before her time. Not the smashed-flat-as-a-pancake, forty-five-year-old Bethany Ann Anderson, the surrogate from the twenty-first century.
And what of Quint?
In truth, he wasn’t really even her husband. Though late at night, when he held her so tenderly in his arms, whispered endearments meant for her ears only, and made love to her with such gentleness her heart nearly exploded with love, she could almost believe he was. But she wasn’t and couldn’t be the woman he’d thought he’d spoken vows with and given his name to. No, Beth was nothing but a fraud, and she knew it. She’d been right in the decision she made when last she talked with Fate.
Quint and the babe would both be better off without her. As a matter of fact, all of Brochel and its inhabitants would be.
Why, before long, every trace of Beth’s existence would be washed clean from the castle and the lands. And in no time at all, it would be as if she’d never been here in the first place.
She cried harder.
****
Quinton Macleod was a happy man.
He smiled into the darkness as he wrapped his arms about his sleeping wife and snuggled her warm, soft backside against his groin. The babe protested the sudden weight
and with a swift kick, reminded Quint of his presence.
He chuckled.
Aye, life was very good within the walls of Brochel castle right now. Beth was happy, healthy, and if the pink of her cheeks and the smile on her face each morning were any indications, she was more than content to be his wife and lady of the keep. She thrived upon it.
But the child in her belly was growing bigger every day, taxing not just Beth’s small frame, but her energy, too. He was strong, active, and showing off his impatience to be born. He was being so energetic, in fact, that Quint had instructed Bronwyn this past morning not to allow her mistress to overexert herself unduly.
Had his Beth listened to him or her maid, however? Nae, she hadn’t.
This past afternoon, he’d found her in the granary, crying over a spilt barrel. Though she’d sworn the loss of good ale was the only reason behind her tears and not because fatigue or carrying the babe caused discomfort. Something about the fact she couldn’t quite meet his gaze when she spoke, made her statement ring false. The dratted female seemed determined to take on every task around the keep herself, no matter how big or small.
But soon, at Hogmanay, the child was due. Things would be different after his birth. Beth would gain back her strength, and he’d be able to worry less.
A smile lit his face. A new year would begin, and at last, they’d be a family. A real, honest to goodness family.
He rubbed her belly, and she moaned. Tomorrow, he’d not simply suggest she begin to take things easy, he’d insist upon it.
When had the welfare of Lady Elspeth Frasier MacLeod become so very important? He knew when. It had been the moment he’d claimed her as his own. The very first moment she had willingly come into his arms and wiggled her way into his heart.
Quint shook his head and chuckled once more. He still hadn’t told her again that he loved her, not in words anyway. Since that first time, it had seemed unnecessary. But then, words shouldn’t need to be spoken if action was taken. And after all, it wasn’t manly to go on and on about one’s feelings.
Beth should already know by the way he held her, by the way he made love to her, and by the way he kept her and his people safe and fed. By the way he provided a sturdy roof over their heads, and by the way he smiled at her, touched her, kissed her.
Still, a part of him longed to give her the words again. He leaned in close and whispered against her cheek. “I love ye, lass, and will forever.”
Another part of him longed for her to wake and repeat those same words to him. Instead, she simply sighed.
Quint squeezed her tighter within his embrace, and though Beth twitched twice, she did not awaken.
****
Burt held her down so tightly, she couldn’t breathe. “Come on, fight back, bitch. You know I like it when you get feisty. It gets my juices flowing.”
Beth shook her head as he ground his alcohol soured mouth against hers once more. Bile rose in her throat, and she gagged. “I won’t fight you, Burt. Do whatever you want. Just be quick about it.”
He slapped her hard, and even though somewhere deep in the back of her mind she knew she was dreaming, it still hurt.
“You fucking cunt. You killed my kids, and now you aren’t even willing to try and turn me on? You know goddamn good and well I can’t stomach touching you when you act like a scared little mouse. You owe me.”
Again, she shook her head. “Beat me all you want. I’m not going to fight you.”
He shoved her away and rose from the bed. His face red with anger, and his speech slurred from his week-long drinking binge. “What the fuck good are you, anyway? You can’t screw worth a shit. You can’t get pregnant anymore and give me back what you took away. And you’re so fat you can barely fit through the door, so ugly I should do the world a favor and put a damn bag over your head.”
Even in her sleep, tears still threatened.
She wasn’t going to give into the recollections, not this time. She wasn’t going to allow Burt to pull her down into his darkness.
“No,” she whispered.
He laughed. “I can’t believe you failed at the one thing even women in third-world countries are capable of. You couldn’t keep your own children alive. Did you laugh while they burned, Beth? Were you glad they were gone and out of your hair?”
She shook her head once more.
Again, he slapped her, but this time she hardly felt it. She had already begun her descent into the cold dark place she’d existed in for ever so long after the deaths of her children.
He punched her once, right in the mouth, but she no longer felt anything. As the cloak of darkness covered her head she heard Burt’s snide voice. “You can’t even cook a decent meal, and this house is a filthy pigsty. I bet you haven’t even told Quinton MacLeod he’s in danger yet, let alone poor little Duncan, or God forbid, Quint’s child. Now have you? Yeah, that’s you, all right. Hide your head in the sand, scared little Beth, and maybe the bad guys won’t see you. All you’ve ever cared about is protecting yourself.”
If she wasn’t sure it was a dream before, she was now. Beth tried to respond, but no sound came out when she opened her mouth.
Instead, Burt’s voice kept taunting. “Scared little mousy. All you’ve ever done is stay in the shadows, playing it safe. How many people have to suffer and die before Bethany Ann Anderson finally stands up for something? How many more? Weren’t Ben and Brian enough for you?”
Beth jerked awake, her breathing coming in quick little bursts. Sweat cooled her brow, and her heart pounded. Dream Burt was right. She was a mouse, always had been. Even growing up she’d never once taken chances or made waves. She’d always been the good daughter. The one who followed the rules. The one who never talked back. The one who always colored between the lines.
Her biggest act of rebellion had been allowing Burt Anderson to have his way with her, and even that had been because she’d been too afraid he’d stop loving her, wanting her, if she’d said no.
She hadn’t even bothered to argue when her parents found out she was pregnant and told her she must marry Burt. She hadn’t disagreed when Burt insisted she be the sole bread winner and he the stay-at-home parent after she finished night school and completed her teaching degree. And she hadn’t even disputed the fact that the wet roads could’ve been a contributing factor in the accident that took her children’s lives. Even though there was proof positive the driver of the other vehicle’s blood showed more than twice over the legal limit, and he had swerved directly into her lane.
She hadn’t wanted his family to have to pay for his bad judgment. After all, they’d all lost so very much already.
Beth glanced at Quint still sleeping with his arm securely about her waist. Burt had never been right about much, but he was right about her in one regard. She had been a mouse all of her life. But that was going to stop now.
She nudged Quinton.
He half opened his sleep-filled eyes. “My Beth?”
“We need to talk,” she whispered.
****
Beth paced back and forth before the fireplace. How exactly did one go about explaining the unexplainable?
With her next pass, Quint pulled her onto his lap and nuzzled her ear. “It’s the middle of the night, my Beth. Ye said we need ta talk. If neither of us says anything, its nae talking, ye ken?”
She blew out a breath and looked her husband straight in the eye. “I’m not who you think I am.”
Quint chuckled. “Who are ye then? Ye look like my wife. Did the sidhe steal in through the window in the middle of the night and carry off my Beth? Are ye simply a pretty little boobrie they left in her place?”
Beth shook her head. “Sidhe? Boobrie?”
“Do nae be telling me ye mum or the old nuns at the abbey never told ye the stories of the fey people?”
She shook her head again and cleared her throat. “I’m serious, Quint. I’m not who you think I am. I’m not really Elspeth. I mean, I may look like her, and I may sound lik
e her, but inside where it really counts, I’m not her.”
His smile faded. “If ye are not my wife, Elspeth Frasier MacLeod, then who be ye?”
Beth crunched her eyes tightly closed and took a deep breath. “I’m Bethany Ann Anderson, a dead forty-five-year-old woman from almost four hundred years in the future.” She opened her eyes again and held her breath, waiting for Quint’s reaction.
A moment later, he fondled her breast playfully and nipped at her earlobe. “Ye are a fine looking lass, my Beth, for being so verra old, let alone, dead.”
She slapped his hand away. “I’m trying to be serious here, Quint.”
He picked her up, carried her across the room, and deposited her back onto the bed, then he began to pace. “Why are ye saying such things? How can ye be an old woman from four hundred years in the future? Are ye trying ta get yeself burned as a witch? Who else have ye told this nonsense?”
She held up a hand. “I’m not trying to get myself burned, and I’ve told no one but you. I traveled through time, Quint. Or at least Fate sent me back trough time.”
He stopped right in front of her. “People do nae go traveling through time. It’s nae possible. And even if they could, they do nae go around possessing other people’s bodies. I’ll admit ye have surprised me since we wed, and ye do seem much different than the Lady Elspeth Frasier I first met when I arrived on the Isle of Lewis, but I’m nae prepared ta believe ye are somehow from four hundred years in the…the future.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’ve been a coward all of my life, afraid of my own shadow, but I refuse to be afraid anymore. You and this child I carry are more important than any fear I may have. Come back to bed, Quint, please, and I’ll try to explain everything.”
For more than an hour she talked, babbled really. She told him in as simple terms as she could about America, and she told him about being a teacher. She told him of her vacation to Scotland and how she’d originally died saving the little boy. Beth even told him about Fate, and how Elspeth’s fall had given her the opportunity to right a wrong, the error of his never having produced an heir.
Time For A Highlander (Real Men Wear Kilts) Page 14
