by Patty Taylor
Duncan’s voice thundered through the valley. He grumbled beneath his breath, picked up a few twigs and tossed them in the fire, not giving the lad a chance to respond. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Colin stepping backward, open his mouth to reply, and then clamp it shut. Duncan shook his head, leaned over and grabbed his adolescent nephew by his arms and pulled him close. “I’m sorry, son, but ye’ve made a terrible mistake by followin’ me. ‘Tis no time to discuss the matter now. But I promise ye, once I get this lass safe and feelin’ better, we have much to talk about.”
He grasped a sheepskin vest from the ground and placed the garment around Colin’s shoulders. “Here, put this on and be quick about it. I need ye to fetch as much dry kindling as ye can find to keep that fire goin’. For heaven’s sake, lad, make sure ye keep yer britches on before ye catch yer death of cold. I dinna need two sick souls on me hands at the same time.”
Duncan stooped beside the woman and placed the back of his hand on her cold forehead. Her body quivered. Her breathing had grown worse. He glanced up to see why Colin hadn’t moved. The teenager stood as if in a trance, his stare fixed on the girl’s cleavage, her wet undergarments stuck to her swollen bosoms.
“Fetch another blanket from me saddle bags hidden behind that large stump.” Duncan pointed toward the remainder of a dead oak tree. “And grab me the sack layin’ on the ground. Hurry now, she needs to get out of these wet garbs.”
After a deep breath, he concentrated on the difficult task ahead. For her sake, it was time to remove the girl’s garments, now plastered to her skin. It had been a long time since his weary eyes were granted the mere pleasure of seeing a naked woman. He couldn’t remember the last time his fingers touched the sumptuous, velvety skin of a young bonny lass, such as this one. He turned his hands over and stared down at them. They were hardened and callous.
The trace of lavender scent from her thick curls lingered beneath his nose, intoxicating his senses. The cruel, lonely nights had never smelled as sweet and fragrant as this woman lying at his hooves.
Colin cleared his throat and mumbled beneath his breath, diverting Duncan’s attention. It helped him focus and clear his thoughts.
“Thank ye, laddie.” He grabbed the heavy wool blanket from Colin and laid it close to the fire. A sputtering hot spark landed on his bushy leg. He cursed under his breath. “Now be off with ya youngin’ and fetch me that wood. And dinna’ be tryin’ to turn yer back to take a wee gander. Else I’ll have to tan yer foolish hide.”
Duncan fought back a chuckle, observing his naïve nephew. Colin’s head drooped. He dragged his feet and picked up the rock he’d stumbled over and threw it at the rotted stump several yards away. The colorful cat that led him there bolted from the woman’s side and followed close behind Colin. Aye, he could still remember being that age once himself. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He frowned and turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
“I didna’ know just where to begin,” he muttered under his breath. He ran his fingers through the bristled hairs covering his chin and pondered. “Poor wee lass. She’s frozen to the bone.”
He examined the peculiar, meager garments. A warning voice whispered in his mind to heed caution. This girl could be a ploy. The devious sorceress had promised to set traps. He gazed at her innocent-looking face. His doubts fled. He couldn’t let this stranger die.
The first task was to remove her shoes. She wore a peculiar pair of slippers or boots, now covered with brown pieces of slick seaweed. With a gentle shove of his palm, they slid off. He toyed with the strange-smelling, flimsy material and watched how easily it bent and sprung back into shape.
Two skinny straps were draped over her shoulders. They were the only things keeping the scanty corset from falling down. The thick lacing wrapped around his leather boots were much sturdier.
Funny wee buttons ran down the front of the garment—without any button holes. His long talons struggled with the first blasted metal snaps binding the material together. It finally popped off the soft chemise and soared into the glowing flames. Once he figured out how to free the bloody rest, the wet garb clung to the girl’s sides like sap on a tree. His fingers inched along the fabric, strained by her protesting chest being held captive, and exposed a protruding pair of smooth bosoms, crested with budding peach nipples. His heart jolted as the girl’s pulse pounded in his ears.
Duncan stared at her naked chest and swallowed. His hands trembled and stopped at her flowered, colorful bloomers. He shook his head. A metal contraption in the front of her pants confronted him with another problem. If and when this young lass woke up, there would be many questions she’d need to answer.
He rolled her body against his legs and set another cover on the ground before turning her on her stomach. It would help protect her from the cold, hard ground. One careful, quick slash with his talons down each side of the tight bloomers sliced open the material. He tugged the pants out from under her.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “My God, what in heaven’s name has been done to ye, woman, to deserve something as horrible as this?”
It looked like a wee piece of stiff fabric had been wedged tightly between the crack of her delicate arse. He rolled her tenderly to one side. His gaze followed the straps around her lower waist. A scanty piece of garment barely covered her pubic hair. What a horrible sort of chastity device, he thought. He bit his lower lip and watched the cold air exhale from his nostrils. With one deep breath, he cut the mere strap from her side with his sharp, tapered nails. He hesitated. A disturbing thought raced through his mind. He grasped the string between his two fingers and gave a good yank.
A soft sigh escaped her tiny lips. Even in her sleep, she must have felt an enormous relief.
Duncan snatched one of Colin’s extra shirts off the ground. He lifted her body and steadied her tightly against his chest as he lowered the top over her head. It was way too big for her but would keep her body covered for tonight. His gaze dropped from her breasts, down her belly, and rested on her slightly spread, and inviting, inner thighs. He couldn’t help notice the delicate matted auburn hair on her lower private area. It matched the color of cascading curls spilling down her shoulders.
The sweet lavender scent of her body had now grown overpowering. The touch of her soft naked flesh triggered his pent-up passion. She breathed lightly between parted lips.
Like her feline friend, her body coiled into a ball. She tucked her legs close to her chin. Duncan pulled the sheepskin over her. Her left hand clenched tight. She was holding something.
‘Tis odd, I havena noticed this before.
He laid her delicate, small hand inside his own enormous, cumbersome one. He spied the peculiar birthmark on her wrist. With a brief, contented sigh, her fingers started to relax. Like a flower bud ready to bloom, they opened and exposed a golden amulet. With closer inspection, he immediately recognized a few of the symbols.
But from where?
The meticulously inscribed double letters ‘MM’ were partially layered on top of one another. The golden charm dropped to the ground. The other side shimmered up at him. He spied a pair of delicate crossed golden arrows. They ran through the middle of the embossed letter ‘W.’
He grinned, raking his fingers through his hair in disbelief. Though the lass appeared scrawny, he understood looks could be deceiving. He knew well enough from his own transformation. “Aye, only a spirited, fine warrior can possess the likes of a trophy as grand as this.”
Chapter 3
Keara’s fingers sank into long, soft tassels and she tucked the cover tighter under her chin. She was freezing. She snuggled deeper beneath the heavy blanket. Beth must have the air-conditioner turned on full blast. Her nose and cheeks felt as cold as icicles. Something hard was poking at her butt. The mattress was a lot firmer than normal. Her nose wrinkled. What in heaven’s name is
that damn smell?
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Instead of the vanilla-cream-painted ceiling in her bedroom she normally woke up to, her eyelids fluttered open to discover cotton-ball clouds floating in the midst of a clear-blue sky directly overhead. She bolted upright. In place of the pretty, quilted comforter Beth just bought on sale from Boscov’s, she stared at the shaggy animal pelt draped over her. And it reeked.
Her hand slowly traveled down her backside. She was half-afraid to discover what the stiff item was poking her in the ass. She clutched the item, a jagged stone, which cut her palm. She winced. A warm trickle of blood ran down her fingers. She shook her hand and cursed under her breath as she watched the rock skip across the ground after giving it a good toss.
She closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to recall what happened. The last thing she could remember was discussing Highlanders and romance novels with Beth and getting a terrible headache. She must have blacked out. Her fingers gently rubbed the substantial lump on the back of her scalp. Everything else seemed a fuzzy blur except the strange dreams about a gigantic beast carrying her in his arms.
Nothing appeared familiar. There were no signs of people, houses, or roads close by. Just herds of sheep grazing in open green meadows filled with wildflowers. The perfect setting for a picture postcard. Thick forest glens and snowcapped velvet mountains in the distance stretched for miles.
Keara jumped when she heard the warm, rich sounds of laughter. The heavy pelt fell from her grip. She was stripped naked! A faint gasp escaped her quivering lips. A bulky nightshirt that had obvious seen better days now covered her. She eyed the sharp rock she’d just discarded. It lay in front of a small, crackling fire. She grabbed the stone and hid it beneath the sheepskin for the time being. It might come in handy as a weapon.
She scanned the area for her clothes. Strange animal tracks led away from the fire toward a boulder. The hoofmarks were soon replaced by human footprints.
Something weird was definitely going on here. There had to be a logical explanation for this. She was probably just hallucinating.
A goliath of a man stood roughly fifty feet away. She focused on his firm, muscular legs spread wide apart. He was helping a teenage boy pull back a taut bowstring. She rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. She reopened them. No, she wasn’t imagining it. Both of them wore odd skirts of some sort. An old-style kilt possibly?
The older guy most definitely exuded pure masculinity. Even with a skirt. The man wore nothing else, other than a pair of corded, wrapped leather boots.
His massive, broad shoulders must’ve been a yard wide. She bit her lip and gazed at the rippling muscles that streamed down his powerful, bare tanned arms. Her face warmed, taking in his tempting, well-sculpted male physique. A head full of light-brown hair hung low and brushed the top of his shoulders. She could only imagine what he’d looked like once he turned around. His too-perfect body couldn’t possibly be blessed with a rugged handsome face to match.
From the distance, the boy appeared no older than early teens. Fairly tall for his age, he was slender with lanky arms and legs. His build reminded her of a basketball player. Besides the brown-colored skirt, he wore a baggy top similar to the one she was wearing.
The older man bent slightly forward. Hands on his hips, he appraised the boy. The young man drew back the bowstring, the narrow dowel held between steadied fingers. He took aim and sent the arrow flying high in the air. “Fine job, Colin. Ye be hittin' anything ye target in no time.”
The supportive voice sounded pleased. He patted the boy on his back, and handed him another arrow. Keara couldn’t miss the thick, Scottish brogue.
“Aye, lad. Come fall of next year, ye’ll be more than ready for the Highland games. With practice, ye’ll make a grand, skilled bowman.”
Out of nowhere, she spied a cat. It could’ve been her Samson’s double. The feline rubbed against the man’s leg and leapt into his arms. She swore she heard the contented cat purring from the distance. She grinned. “That can’t be Samson. He doesn’t even like men.”
The man swiveled to face her. She’d spoken loud enough to draw their attention. A surprised gasp escaped her parched lips. I wonder if Olympian gods really do exist.
This drop-dead-gorgeous hunk of a man certainly fit the description. Hell, it had to be a dream or hallucination.
With long easygoing strides, he moved toward her.
Bloody hell! This was just like watching a character step out of a scene from the movie Braveheart. Only without buttered popcorn. This time her sister Beth wasn’t sitting next to her on the comfy sofa to share the excitement.
Within moments, her eyes locked with a pair of deep-turquoise-blue ones gazing back at her.
She could never tire of staring at his rugged, handsome face. Her mind raced with wanton thoughts. It filled with vivid images of her fingers tracing over his exquisite muscular chest. She imagined his firm hands caressing her from head to toe. Her heart fluttered. Her face felt flushed. She lowered her head and prayed he couldn’t read her mind. She peeked up sheepishly, surprised at her own body’s reaction. Still, she was dying to run her hands through his thick mop of wavy hair.
What in heaven’s name has suddenly come over me? By the Goddess, woman, get a hold of yourself.
She shook her head and tried to focus. The sumptuous hottie stood directly next to her. He held his head to the side, and his eyes sparkled with curiosity. He was the perfect combination of Mel Gibson, Gerard Butler, and Chris Hemsworth—all wrapped up in one gigantic package. This just can’t be happening. Especially not to me.
“Aye, ye’re finally awake, lass. Did ye sleep well?” The man squatted, attempting to face her at eye level, but not before she caught a wee glimpse under his brown woolen kilt.
“Yes, thank you.” She scarcely recognized her own voice, shakier than she would have liked. A few drops of perspiration dribbled down her flushed face. It must be beet red by now. She swallowed hard, certain he could hear her parched throat make a gulping sound.
The cat she spotted earlier darted in leaps and bounds toward her. It scurried as fast as its short legs would carry it.
Keara swooped him up in her arms then hugged the feline and speckled small kisses over his forehead.
“It is you, Samson.” Warm tears rolled down her face. Relief flooded her to know her small companion was safe and alive. She sighed and smiled and nodded in a small gesture of thanks.
Her handsome Goliath’s hand gently pushed stray tendrils of unruly hair away from her cheek. A shock of electricity raced through her body the instant he touched her skin. A strong connection washed over her. Something odd, and beyond words. And quite strong. Something she never felt before in her life.
A massive feeling of loneliness overwhelmed her, and an intense pain and suffering flooded her senses. She immediately knew she was she was sharing the feelings of the man standing next to her. Then a powerful energy penetrated her face, trickling over her skin like a cool rain shower on a hot summer day. This peculiar emotion made her dizzy. Somehow, she knew, he was now a distinct part of her. Her fingers clutched his hand. His gaze probed until it reached her inner soul. An intense and stunned expression crossed his face. She realized that he, too, felt the bond.
“Uncle?” a panicked voice rang out. “Please hurry!”
The mysterious Highlander jolted upright then hurried toward the urgent cry for help. Keara scanned for the young man. The boy, Colin, had disappeared without a trace.
Chapter 4
“Colin!” The Highlander’s thick brogue thundered. “Colin! Where are ye? Answer me, lad.”
Damn. Keara needed to concentrate. Her heart pounded within her chest. Okay, this isn’t a dream.
The vein in her neck began to throb. This was reality. She took a deep breath. Calm down and take one step at a time.
Barefoot and shivering, she stood and rubbed her hands vigorously up and down both arms. Tiny goosebumps peppered across her skin, spattering over her entire body. Frantic, she scanned the area for her clothes. She remembered her cell phone was tucked inside the front pocket of her capris, in case she needed to call 911. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Samson’s tail swishing back and forth. He was crouching next to a gigantic sword resting against a saddle bag.
Another bellow from the Scotsman made her jump. She clutched a pair of long baggy pants lying next to the sack and pulled them up around her waist. She grabbed the wool blanket and tossed it around her shoulders. Her nerves tensed as she darted off in the direction of his voice.
She raced through a patchwork of green grass empurpled with flowered heathers, ending at the edge of a sheer drop. Massive black boulders stretched down to the sea. Her lungs filled with frigid ocean air. Her nose twitched from the scent of salt water. Crashing waves slapped against the ragged stones.
Keara spied a narrow pathway winding around a steep bend. Several bleating sheep scampered off in different directions. A bit lightheaded, she swayed and tried to steady herself.
Shadows of quickly moving clouds rolled in. She darted around a few disgruntled sheep before heading down the sodden path. Her feet slipped from under her, and she landed hard on her bottom. Luckily, her tightly wrapped cover acted like a toboggan, guiding her safely down the remainder of the slope.
