His eyes widened, then slammed shut. When he gripped the dirk at his waist, she worried she had gone too far.
“Lass, ye doona’ love me. I was blind, with one thing on my mind. I will no’ deny I have bedded others. When I met ye, I searched no further. Yer body was delightful, and I wanted more from ye.”
She blushed, the heat rising on her cheeks. A twinge of regret squeezed her heart, but he had not denied her accusation. “Ye wished more from me?”
“Aye. Ye were a tasty morsel, but ‘twas yer land I coveted.”
A quick twinge of anger steeled her to speak up. “I know. ‘Twas my choice to invite ye into my bed. I was young, and knew no better. I am more selective, now.”
Gavin’s eyes closed, and he lowered his head. “I am truly sorry.”
“Yer apology is accepted. I hope ye find yer brother.”
“I must find Niall alive, and I need to counter my father’s evil ways, until Niall is found. I doona’ wish to be laird.” He chuckled, then sobered. “My request? Look after Jenny.”
The need, in his gaze, startled her. His desire, now directed at another woman, caused a whisper of a jealousy to tug at her heart. It was a silly notion. He wanted another woman, which meant he had set her free.
‘Tis this no’ a good thing?
Izzy had the power to say the right words to convince them both that their relationship was over, and she prayed there would be no hard feelings on either side.
“I release ye from our betrothal bond. Follow yer heart. Whether ye are made laird or no’, live for today, and let tomorrow worry about itself.”
Leaning up, she kissed his cheek.
Gavin wrapped her in his embrace, and hugged her to his chest. When he stepped away, he remained silent.
She nodded, understanding that he would finally follow his own path, without her. When he accepted his mount’s reins from the young stable lad, who hurried away, Izzy patted her warm cheeks. Had the boy caught her kissing Gavin? Would he tell Bull?
She followed Gavin to the stable door, and leaned against the doorframe.
Gavin lead his animal into the bailey, mounted in one graceful motion, and galloped through the castle gates, where Marcus led his warriors, and carts full of supplies.
“No matter,” she whispered.
“It matters to me.”
“Bull. I dinna’ know ye were hiding back there.”
From the dark recesses of the stable, Bull walked up beside her, his brow furrowed, and his large arms crossed.
“Obviously, after what I just witnessed. Besides, I wasn’t hiding. I came to talk to the boy,” he said, pointing toward the back of the barn, “since he was hurt in the fire, too.”
Her eyes locked on his furrowed brow and frowning mouth. A sudden yearning to see him smile filled her with a longing so profound, it terrified her. Would he lean down and kiss her, or say they were through?
“I forgot about yer scars.”
“I haven’t, and never will, but I’m glad you can see past them.”
“Ye know I do. They doona’ define ye, but they are part of ye, now. ‘Tis the boy healthy? If he be the same one who brought Gavin his mount, he looked fine.” She patted Balfour’s nose, then fed him her last carrot. The animal’s warm scent, and the musty odor of hay, was soothing. Her heart was breaking for Gavin.
“I remember carrots, and what we shared afterward.” Bull stepped closer.
Pulled backward into his chest, she stifled a surprise yelp, as there was no sense upsetting the animals. Bull would never hurt her.
He settled her with her back to Balfour’s stall, and she glanced up at his face. Shaded in shadow, his eyes glittered beneath dark lashes. Heat pumped off his body, and her blood surged through her veins.
My cheeks must look afire.
“Are you going to tell me why you kissed Gavin?”
“What? Oh, dinna’ ye hear about Niall and his men?”
“Yes. The call to arms roused me from an erotic dream.” He grinned down at her, and she prayed the shadows hid the tears straining to fall. Her heart ached for Gavin, and the possible loss of his brother.
“Niall might have died in battle.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“I also released Gavin from our betrothal bond.” Her voice cracked, and a stray tear dampened her cheek. He surprised her once more, when he swept his thumb aver her skin.
“Izzy, why are you crying?”
“I feel the loss, keenly.”
“Gavin’s love?”
She smacked his chest.
“Ouch.”
“Nay, ye idiot. I doona’ love Gavin, but I care for his feelings. Much will change, especially if his brother is dead, and his father is not subdued.”
“So…who do you love?”
Leaning her head against the rough wood wall, she arched her lower body against his. The proof of his arousal was clear. He had grown thick and long, pressing into her, flattening her soft curves between hard muscles, and a hard wall. Her bruised skin ached.
“Och!”
“Sorry.” He pulled her toward him, sweeping her up into his arms. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
“I have lost my heart to a handsome Highland warrior, who happens to enjoy carrots.”
The old garron in the stall behind them snorted, then nudged Bull’s shoulder. “Cut that out, Balfour. We’re talking, here.”
Izzy melted into his chest. He held her to him with care, like he would a newborn bairn. With her forehead tucked beneath his chin, she enjoyed his warmth. He smelled fantastic; leather, musk, and something sensual, hiding just below the surface. Whatever invaded her sensory receptors, it was definitely not old Balfour.
One of Bull’s hands came around, caressing a breast. She managed to say, “If anyone in this…time…saw the way ye be taking liberties with me, ye would either be skewered…or wed.
“Would that be so bad? The wedded part, not the skewering.”
Her head shot up, slamming into his chin. The pain subsided, as she examined his statement. “Ye wish to wed me?”
“Sweetheart, sleep with me tonight? Last night was incredibly lonely.”
When he ignored her question, and asked her another, her eyes burned. She refused to let him see her cry. All she could manage was to shake her head.
“I guess I’ll go find Jenny. She’s probably at her wits end,” Bull said, as he set her on her feet. His frown announced his dismay at her lack of a ‘yes’ answer to his intimate request.
She thought of her friend, Jenny. Izzy would offer the potion bottle to the lass, in case she was still interested in securing Gavin’s attention. Her remaining potion, taken when she had escaped the fire at the New England Highland Games, contained an infusion of concentrated nettles. Who would believe that the heart-shaped, finely toothed leaves, when crushed and liquefied by a witch, could obtain one’s love?
I do.
If she used it on Bull, no one would know.
I would know.
She would not force a man to love her.
Rubbing her thumb over her repaired dragon medallion, Izzy forced a smile. She was happy she had retrieved the necklace, a gift from Dorcas Swann, from the Sinclair laird, but she wished she had not lost her precious gemstones. Had she not kept them in a secure strongbox, only to have the entire box stolen by the brownie?
Even so, she had no need of more wealth. The gold hidden beneath her mother’s rose bushes would keep her comfortable for a lifetime, but she grieved for the loss of the power in the stones. Dorcas Swann had told her some of the ways their medicinal properties could cure sickness.
Izzy drew back, and the loss of Bull’s heat instantly chilled her to her toes. She glanced toward the open stable door. Offering Bull a timid smile, she paused, and gathered her words.
“Aye, Jenny has no’ yet discussed anything that occurred, after the battle. She was with Gavin, this we know. Gavin has now left without…”
“You.”
“Nay! He no longer seeks an alliance with the likes of me.” On her tiptoes, she kissed him on the mouth. Stepping away from Bull, she patted Balfour, then headed out into the daylight.
“Wait,” Bull said.
She did not.
***
Jaden-Tog watched the two lovebirds, and gagged. They had defeated the Sinclair laird…for now. The bastard had refused to honor his contract with him, but as he had not killed the MacHamish woman, he had no argument. Nevertheless, the man owed him something. With the tragic loss of his heir, and the disloyal plans of his youngest, to end his sire’s reign of tyranny, the future was in motion.
Mayhaps I should hie myself back to the future.
If Isobel was to help the shorthaired woman, Jenny, return to her homeland, he might be able to hitch a ride. His magic was limited, and his sense of purpose had fallen into despair. Feeling useless was dangerous. He might not survive long, without a new perspective. Brownies were more than mischievous house spirits.
Traditionally, people were meant to make offerings, or sacrifices to the brownies—a show of gratitude, if you will, by way of returning a kindness. The Sinclair laird had broken tradition. He had offered gold, but when he did not pay, simply because Jaden-Tog did not succeed in murdering the lovely lass, the man had screamed and cursed, him.
He shall regret his actions, so I must regroup.
The future world, what little he had spied, seemed comfortable. Food, drink, women, music, and modern conveniences would make for a pleasant existence.
Until I return to take my revenge.
EPILOGUE
Izzy rubbed her upper arms against the chill, glancing at the light green mottling of her skin. The bruises no longer pained her, and the memories faded as the days passed. The roar of the crowd boomed from the direction of the fields adjacent to Castle Ruadh, followed by the thunder of clapping hands and high-pitched whistles.
Envy tore through Izzy. Her toes curled inside her new doeskin slippers, with the urge to drop everything and join them. She suspected, from the clapping, that her favorite athlete had just beaten all the other participating warriors.
Izzy was no longer stuck in her vendor tent, too busy to watch the events, but she was too pensive to watch the man she loved win. He had no need of her approval. Besides, if their applause was any indication, the spectators lining the meadow, must have witnessed Bull turn the caber. To take a tree more than three times your height, carry it pressed against one shoulder, then toss it end over end, was madness.
More amazing was the fact that those huge, muscular hands could carry a tree trunk, while her memories proved how gently those hands had caressed her most intimate parts.
Inhaling air, scented with lavender and heather, she strolled toward the outdoor kitchen. When her gaze landed on the tables heaped with food, she spied Anice. The old woman, who had delivered food to her while she was a captive in Tulac Castle, sat surrounded by happy children. She looked years younger, as she clapped in time to a gay tune. Drummers and pipers filled the meadow with happy sounds, that barely drowned out the crowds by the meadow. Izzy felt alive and healthy, and pleased she had found a Sinclair warrior who agreed to find the old woman, and bring her to Castle Ruadh.
She rubbed her arms again, more gently. “These bruises are merely a memento, courtesy of The Sinclair, and hurt less than the pain in my heart.” Would Bull leave her behind in the dust?
Jake approached her. “Why are you standing back here? Can you see how he’s doing?”
“Beating every warrior, of course.”
Jake chuckled, but the pride on his face proved his friendship with Bull was timeless. “I hope he takes a break for lunch. Marcus has roasted a buck and a Highland steer, just for him.”
She chuckled. Bull’s appetite was…large. “Aye. I have no’ talked to him at all, today, but his stomach shall remind him. Where be yer wife?”
“She’s helping one of the ladies in the village. I guess babies don’t wait for celebrations to end.”
“A bairn?” Her womb clenched with the sudden, unbridled yearning for a child. Bull’s child. Would he stay, if she claimed she was with child?
“Look. Now Bull is attempting to take down all the swordsmen. He has gotten really good.”
“Aye, he is truly a Highlander,” but she was afraid he would not realize it, until it was too late.
“Have you seen Balfour?”
Jake’s sudden change of topic took her attention from where Bull slashed and parried against another of Marcus’ warriors. Muscles flinched and steel clanged, with each fearsome strike. When Bull suddenly fell to one knee, her throat tightened.
“Don’t worry. He’s good at everything,” Jake said.
The blush burned up her chest, to her neck and face. “Aye, he is verra’ good.”
The sun dipped low in the west, and seemed to take longer and longer each afternoon. Nightfall meant a quick meal, and a long, pleasure-filled night in Bull’s bed.
Nay, I canno’ give myself to someone who will leave me.
“Are you hungry? A tankard of ale would taste wonderful, right about now,” Jake said, smiling.
“Maybe I’ll try some of Anice’s fresh-baked shortbread.”
“She seems happy. I can’t believe you found her. Skye says she used to travel with the Gunn warriors, and loved their old ale master, Balfour.”
“Balfour? Aye, I knew the man, but never met Anice. I am happy she is well.”
“Have you seen our neighbor, Jenny?”
“Aye, she is making ready to go home. Rae will accompany her.” She might have shocked Jake, with that news, and he will tell Bull. Bull needed to make a decision, and the sooner the better.
“I assume you mean they are going back to New England? To the future?”
“And I be staying.” She had already come to grips with her decision.
“How are they getting home?”
“I believe we will watch for the arrival of Dorcas Swann.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Bull said, chuckling, behind them.
“Where did you come from, my friend? How could you leave all your fans?” Jake asked, pointing to several buxom women, trailing close behind him.
Bull said nothing, raising his eyes to gaze into hers.
“Ignore them. If Izzy is still here, then all’s well. Everyone gets what they want.”
“Did ye hear what I told Jake?” Izzy asked Bull.
Jake kicked a pebble with his boot, looking uncomfortable. “Ah…I think I’ll go find the wife.”
“Coward,” she heard Bull whisper. Alone with Izzy, he turned to her, waiting.
“Aye, I shall live comfortably on my farm. Several villagers from Keldurunach, and dozens of women who were formerly abused while working at Tulac Castle, have approached me for sanctuary.”
“Why you?”
“I let a rumor spread that I be looking for tenants, to fill the cottages.”
Bull’s left brow shot up. “What cottages?”
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she hugged him. Would he stay? Would he help her create her dream village?
“Answer me, sweetheart. Maybe I can help.”
“Before ye leave?”
Bull, glancing at the ground, kicked a pebble with his borrowed boots. Was this how nervous men reacted?
When he did not answer, Izzy pointed toward the far end of the meadow, past the peaks they had walked through from the loch, at Gunn territory.
“I will build them along the trees, on the far side of the meadow we traversed, before finding ale and carrots in my barn, among…other things.”
“You’re going back to your farm soon?”
“Aye. Winter approaches quickly in the Highlands. The tenants will fell the trees for wood, then farm the cleared land. We shall live and work side-by-side, and ensure this land stays in the Gunn clan.”
“I thought those trees formed the border between your land and the Sinclair’s.”
&n
bsp; “Aye, but the line is…fluid. Like a river through the passage of time.” Glancing up at his face, she winked. He, of all people, was aware of the Sinclair clan’s upheaval. The injured laird, and Niall, had disappeared.
“Gavin, again?”
“Gavin has taken up the mantle, and will concentrate on redeeming his people’s prosperity through hard work, such as tilling fields, hunting, and trade. Days grow short, and from what I saw of the kitchens, The Sinclair must have given the bulk of his stores to his mercenaries. I have gifted Gavin with a bull and three cows. He has promised to look the other way, concerning our border.” She winked.
“You trust him? If you make your new village prosperous, what will keep him from taking it away?”
“Ye, and yer warriors.” Izzy’s throat closed up, as she worried he would not understand her meaning.
Bull’s eyes widened, and he flicked his attention to the men who had fought with him, protecting Izzy from the The Sinclair and his mercenaries; the same men he had barely bested at swordplay. Many laughed, while others sang. All were toasting each other’s accomplishments with tankards of ale.
“They are not my men.”
“They would follow ye anywhere. Ye be loved, and valued.” Did he read the love, burning in her heart, for him? Would he believe her, and stay?
“Look,” Bull said, pointing.
Dorcas Swann stood by the ale wagon. The old witch, slightly bent over her cane, puffed on her pipe. She turned away briefly, and accepted a tankard of ale from Marcus’ huge, hairy ale master. Setting the tankard on the table beside old Anice, Dorcas turned back to Bull and Izzy, and waved. When the wrinkled old witch winked, Izzy felt the jolt in her heart. If Dorcas was here, there was no reason for Bull to stay. The witch had the power to send him home to New England.
“I have nothing to offer you.” Bull said, wrapping his arms around her.
A smile broke across her face. “Ye be everything to me, Bryce Buchanan. And, if ye will stay, at least fer awhile, we will improve this world by teaching its people to succeed.”
“A teacher, huh? Sounds right up my alley. I might stay, but I’ll need a little more convincing.”
Before Izzy had a chance to ask his meaning, he lowered his head, capturing her lips beneath his. When his tongue slipped inside her mouth, and his arms pulled her into his embrace, she moaned like the winter wind, as it whipped over the North Sea. Heat pooled lower, while her heart skipped with happiness.
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