He began kissing slowly up her leg, pushing the skirts away as he traveled upward, ignoring her fierce tugging on his hair as he trailed his tongue higher along her velvety thigh.
“Connor,” she said urgently, but he ignored her. All in good time. When he got to the tender skin of her inner thigh, she grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked, squeezing her legs together around his ears. “Pietro,” she cried. He looked up, his scalp stinging. She’d never called him by his first name before. “Someone’s coming.” She shimmied away and managed to get her skirts mostly down just as the door cracked open and Catie peeked her nose around it.
Her eyes flew open and she instantly slammed the door shut again. Pietro surveyed the scene— him with his shirt off, halfway on top of Bella’s disheveled lower half. Bugger. He turned to Bella, sure that this had ruined everything, but to his surprise, she had her hand clapped over her mouth to keep from laughing.
“I’m just giving him a sponge bath,” she yelled out with a snort. There was a slow scuffle from the other side of the door.
“The messenger’s been spotted and shall be here soon,” Catie called out through the door, no doubt too scared to attempt opening it again. “Er, Quinn would like ye to hear what he has to say, if ye can come down.”
She didn’t wait for them to answer, just took off running. Pietro could hear her footsteps flying down the hall.
“What do we do?” Pietro asked, severely disappointed.
Bella’s cheeks were glowing twin rose petals from embarrassment and leftover desire.
She looked at him sadly. “Let’s hope the damned messenger has good news. And then ye may start that again, what ye were doing.”
“Did ye like that?” he asked, feeling smug.
She tossed his shirt at him and shrugged. “I’m willing to give it another go.”
Pietro got his shirt back on, worried about having traumatized Quinn’s sister, and worried she might tell her aunt what she’d glimpsed, but Bella put his mind at ease.
While he had taken his two day nap trying to recover from his mystery illness, she had spent a lot of time with Catie, who was not that much younger than Bella, and they were now fast friends.
He smiled at her when they were once again fit to be seen, tucking a strand of her long hair behind her ear. As they left the room, he heard Quinn stomping around downstairs, and much of his good mood quickly disintegrated.
Quinn looked relieved when he saw Pietro walking down the stairs. “Good. Ye are standing,” he said, moving forward and handing him a sword. “I need ye to strap this on and look menacing, aye?”
Pietro nodded, more confused than ever, and fumbled to get the sword fastened to his belt. Bella stepped up and expertly helped him, giving him a quick wink before he had to race to catch up with Quinn.
Once again when he stepped outside, the afternoon light made his headache return. He stopped in the middle of the yard and swore, swaying on his feet.
Quinn gave him a look. “Still bad?” he asked.
Pietro nodded tersely, not feeling the need to get into the state of his health when something was clearly going on. He waited while Quinn paced anxiously and looked in the direction of the road.
“What?” he finally asked, having had enough of the strong silent act.
Quinn slumped and swallowed hard, shaking his head. Pietro was unnerved that he looked almost nervous. “One of my men is returning with news, but he’s got a Glen with him. I dinna know why.”
“What do ye want me to do?” Pietro asked, putting his hand on his sword hilt, almost laughing at himself over the futile gesture. If someone stood stock still in front of him with his head down, he may be able to take him with the sword. “Do ye never use guns in this time?” he asked, realizing he was working himself up and needed to stay calm.
His head was pounding more insistently by the minute and passing out in front of an enemy wasn’t the least bit menacing.
Quinn laughed. “Ye needn’t worry about having to use that. The man is our prisoner. Let’s see what the messenger has to say. All ye need to do is stand there and scowl, much like ye already are.”
It took an eternity for the messenger to ride up and dismount. Then he had to be offered a drink. The prisoner was left on his horse, his hands loosely tied to the saddle. He had a bit of blood staining the sleeve of his shirt, but overall looked unharmed. Furious, but unharmed.
The messenger told Quinn that there had been a skirmish when the Glens came to the Ferguson land, but nothing too serious. No one had died, but there were a few knife wounds. However, the prisoner seemed to think more was coming if demands weren’t met.
Quinn raised his eyebrow at Pietro and he hurried over while Quinn offered the man on the horse a drink of water. He was very young, probably not long out of his teens, and refused.
“He hasna eaten or drank since we left,” the messenger said, looking at the prisoner in disgust. “He thinks being dead will serve his laird better than bringing him a message.”
“I shall give ye a message from the Glens,” the man said, his voice hoarse.
Quinn once again held up the cup of water. “I shall listen to yer demands, lad. Dinna be stupid, though.”
The young man awkwardly took the cup between his bound hands and drained it, then spat on the ground. Quinn crossed his arms and sighed. Pietro put his hand on his sword hilt and took a step toward the horse, sure that this was a grave insult of some kind. Quinn held out his hand and gave him a half smile.
“Go ahead with yer message,” Quinn said, ducking his head calmly as the cup was tossed at him.
It was too much for Pietro. The man was a prisoner and he was acting like a spoiled brat. Didn’t he have even a lick of sense? Without thinking twice, Pietro stormed forward and yanked the man off the horse. He hit the ground with a jerk, his arms above his head, still tied to the saddle. When his feet were firmly on the ground, Pietro rammed his fist into his belly, the man’s grunt of pain giving him a rush of satisfaction.
“Show some respect, lad,” he growled.
He couldn’t believe what he had just done, and stepped back to let Quinn continue talking.
“Are ye ready to speak, yet, ye wee idiot?” Quinn asked.
“Ye must give back Lady Isobel or the wrath of all the Glens will be upon ye,” he said, eyes blazing.
“I dinna believe Bella wants to go with ye, and as she is married to my brother, I dinna think ye have any claim on her,” Quinn said.
The prisoner’s face turned scarlet. “Ye are cowards, running and hiding her away. Yer brother willna even face us.”
Noticing a muscle tense in Quinn’s jaw, Pietro got in a ready stance, hand firmly back on his sword. His head was screaming but he bit down on his lower lip to counteract the pain. The adrenaline pumping through him from pulling the man off the horse would keep him going for anything he had to do next.
“Ye go run home to yer laird and tell him that he can expect us if we see so much as one single Glen within a day’s ride of our land. Ye may tell him he gave away his daughter in lawful marriage and that she is a Ferguson now. If ye dinna know what the Fergusons do to protect their own, since ye are clearly verra young, ask one of yer elders to tell ye a story or two.”
Quinn’s voice was low and steady as he spoke, poking his finger into the prisoner’s chest once before turning on his heel and heading for the house. Pietro and the messenger followed him into the kitchen.
“Have something to eat before ye set out, Geordie,” Quinn said calmly, as if he hadn’t quietly threatened havoc and carnage mere seconds ago.
He poured himself a cup of ale and set the pitcher down on the table, cracking his neck and looking strained.
Pietro sank into a chair, shaking so badly he couldn’t stand any longer. All the energy he’d had outside drained out of him, replaced by a heavy dragging ache. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. A hand gripped his shoulder.
“Ye did admirably out there,” Quin
n said from a great distance.
In an even more distant echo, he called Bella to come, followed by a rapid thumping that might have been his overtaxed heart beating or Quinn leaving the room. He was too tired to care.
From the same far off place, Bella angrily told off Quinn for overworking him. He felt a small cool hand on the back of his neck. Ah, sweet, lovely Bella was back to care for him. She tugged at him to get him on his feet, and with the sensation that he was more floating than walking, she led him to a sitting room where he collapsed on the couch.
“Bloody hell,” she whispered as she swabbed his forehead with a cloth. “What’s going to become of ye?”
He thought he heard her sniffling and flinched from a rush of shame over hitting the young man outside. He hoped she hadn’t been watching from the window. It was a strange impulse he’d had, to be part of this rough time. He didn’t really think the kid had deserved a gut punch, but he’d wanted to let Quinn know he was part of the team, that he’d do what was necessary to protect Bella.
“I don’t want them to send ye away,” he said. “We are destined to be together.”
She jerked the cloth from his brow and looked over him, out the window. She looked very far away, her face shuttered and cryptic. He wanted so badly to reach her, but the inches of distance between them may as well have been miles.
With a furrowed brow and a shrug, she went back to dabbing at his forehead.
“I’ve no fear of that,” she said dismissively. “Not with ye around to protect me.”
He thought he heard a bit of teasing in her tone and imagined she’d seen his violent display. Oh well. Maybe that was what she liked. His thoughts were starting to run in circles and crowd in on one another, making him hopelessly dizzy even though he knew he was lying down.
“Just rest,” she said, her voice sad.
Chapter 6
“There you go,” Piper said as she flipped off the hot water tap and smiled appreciatively at Lachlan’s naked form.
He had become downright addicted to the spa tub in her bathroom and he’d been impatiently trying to get her to join him since he’d woken up from his post shopping nap. She watched as he slid into the sudsy water, a tantalizing look of pure happiness on his face. She very much wanted to strip off her clothes and get in with him and forget about everything, but she needed another look inside Daria’s diary.
Evie had confirmed her theory about the bones. When Evie had been sent to the eighteenth century by accident and witnessed Daria send her murderous lover Brian forward in time, the bones had remained in front of her after she’d done the spell.
Piper didn’t want to make Evie go over it too much, since she broke out in hives every time she had to remember what happened, but she wanted to get a firm grasp on controlling time travel.
If she could find a way to send Daria back without having to face her, that would be the ideal situation. It seemed too good to be true, but then again, Evie and Sam had first been sent back when Evie touched a charmed object that had been lost by Brian.
Evie’s theory on the amulet she’d found on the ground was that it was a remnant of when he was in his own time, and when she picked it up it had whisked her and Sam back because it was really still there. They gave up when Piper’s brain started to fry and Evie began getting red spots on her arms and chest from having to relive the trauma. It was all too confusing and mostly conjecture anyway.
Lachlan reached out his big wet hand and took her by the wrist as she turned to go. “Are ye not joining me?” he asked, hopeful eyes nearly breaking her resolve to get some secret studying done.
She wanted to sink under the steaming hot water and let him lather up her back, and she started to toe off her pumps when she remembered the reason they had raced to get back. Daria was still alive.
“Aren’t you worried about Daria?” she asked, stepping out of his reach.
He had the worst habit of distracting her from what was important. If he couldn’t touch her, she had a better chance of staying focused on the problem at hand.
He closed his eyes and rested his head against the rounded edge of the tub. A frown marred his handsome face.
“Piper, love, if she is here, she’s being nothing more than a wee nuisance.”
What was wrong with him? Piper held her breath, disturbed that he would be so cavalier. They had dropped everything to immediately return to this time, leaving his brother, Pietro and Bella in the lurch. Her stomach churned to think Lachlan and that little brat Bella were still legally married. And not least of all, the witch had killed his friend and mentor, Agnes. Seriously, what was wrong with him? He should have shared at least a little bit of her seething, encompassing rage.
“Have you forgotten about Agnes?” she said, instantly regretting it when his eyes flew open, full of pain.
“I have no’,” he said coldly, staring at her.
She dropped a towel on the tile floor and knelt down beside the tub. “She can’t be allowed to exist, Lachlan, don’t you understand? She’s done so much evil.” She pushed up her sleeve and reached into the water to take his hand.
He breathed out, a long gust of discontent. “She canna hurt us now,” he said, and the look in his eyes told her he believed it. He looked pained when he saw that she clearly did not. “We are together, against all the odds, against all her efforts. She has no power now. She is dust in the crypt.”
But she knew he was wrong. Daria could hurt them. Not even his great size or brute strength, or the force of his love for her could protect them from Daria. It was up to her. With a sigh, she kept her arguments to herself. She needed the time he was spending enjoying the bath to study. She reached down and turned the jets on for him, then smoothed the hair away from his face.
“Okay,” she said.
He pushed himself forward through the water and kissed her forcefully on the mouth, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and soaking her silk top with sudsy water.
She yelped and pulled away, almost convinced by his beautiful, comforting smile. “I love your face,” she told him, which made him shout with laughter.
“That’s an odd compliment,” he said. “I love yer face as well, and all the rest of ye.”
She splashed him and stood up, hurrying out of the bathroom before her resolve melted right away and she joined him in his land of denial and false safety.
Closing the door behind her, she sat down in a chair facing the fire. She would be able to hear Lachlan draining the tub, or see his reflection in the glass of the fireplace screen if she wasn’t lost in a trance of some kind.
It was risky opening the book in here, but Mellie was still puttering around downstairs and if she tried to leave the bedroom she risked Evie being up and about, and dear Evie had missed her so much while she was gone, that she’d jump at the chance to spend time with her.
With a deep breath she opened the book to the last page she’d been on earlier. She desperately wanted to know what strange creature had been beating its wings, but she didn’t think it had any bearing on how to destroy a time traveling witch, so she picked another page.
The first one that caught her eye was a list of instructions on how to make a clear yellow dye, which in its own right was interesting given that Piper had wanted to start an artisan yarn business with one of the villagers when she’d first gotten her sheep. Anger crystallized in her heart when she remembered all her sheep were dead, and she slapped her palm onto the page.
There was no whoosh taking her anywhere different, no images dancing across her eyes. Just a stone cold knowledge of what she had to do. She took her hand off the book and blinked a few times. It was still there, then it was gone. Damn it. She put her hand down again, wondering if she could try to write down what she learned.
Groping for a pen and notebook in her side table drawer, she sat on the edge of her bed and tried it again, placing her left hand on the book, her right hand poised and ready to write. The information flowed so freely through her
mind that she scribbled it all down, excited to get started as soon as it was all there on paper. When she was fairly sure she had written everything she thought was important, she wrenched her hand free from the musty parchment page.
She glanced at the clock and was surprised that less than five minutes had gone by. Sure that she’d been writing for a long time and that Lachlan was going to come out of the bathroom any minute, she relaxed and looked at her notes. Bitter disappointment filled her when she saw that she’d written a bunch of nonsense. It didn’t even look like words. She held up the page and saw that within the scrawls and loops and swirls that she’d put down, she could actually make out a few words.
Bring. Her. Back.
Her heart nearly stopped when those three words hurtled out at her from her chicken scratch. But now that she saw it, it was plain as day. She hurriedly wrapped the diary in a handkerchief and stuffed it under the bed, then moved it to the wardrobe, hating for it to be so close to where she and Lachlan slept. She hated that diary, as much as she needed it.
Bring her back. But how? Certainly it couldn’t be as easy as performing the ritual? Piper closed her eyes and tried to think. It had all seemed so clear. If she performed the spell and concentrated on bringing someone to her, could that work the same as sending someone away? A surge of confidence that it would work made her tingle with a giddy sense of excitement mingled with fear. Could she be that close to a showdown with Daria?
A powerful force deep within her was telling her she needed to act quickly. Tears pricked at her eyes when she realized she wouldn’t be able to just up and do the spell again. She spread out her hand and held it up in front of her face. Damn it. No bones.
Her stomach churned as she thought about how she could go about getting some finger bones. Self loathing burned through her, making her have to stand up and pace the room.
“No,” she muttered, glancing at the bathroom door. She could still hear the tub jets whirring. “You are not insane, you are not a witch, you are not thinking about possible ways to get human bones.”
Revenge (Book 3 of Lost Highlander series) Page 7
