Tempting the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  From that point on, she had no time to dwell on Robbie’s dictate or what she intended to do about it or even what in heck she was eating. The entire village came by in groups of two to ten people at a time to welcome Ian home. Everyone brought food, and Catherine was urged to try some of this and some of that. By nightfall, she was stifling yawns and starting to feel sick to her stomach.

  Again, her guardian angel rescued her by taking her for a walk through the village and up past the keep in the bright spring moonlight. But instead of bringing her back to Ian once her stomach settled down, he took her inside the huge granite castle through a door big enough to fit the Jolly Green Giant.

  “Niall lives here now,” he told her as he led her into a massive, high-ceilinged, sparsely furnished great room, past several gawking people, and up a narrow staircase. “He’s offered us a room for as long as we need it.”

  Catherine stopped walking. “Us?”

  Robbie pulled her forward again, down the narrow hall. “You’re dreaming all this, remember?”

  He opened a small wooden door and led her into a dark, chilly room, let go of her wrist, walked to a huge hearth, and crouched down and started a fire. Catherine didn’t watch to see how he started it but stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, looking around in the stingy firelight.

  She spotted a bed against one wall, that was quite small by modern standards but quite big compared with the one in Caitlin’s home. There was a trunk at the end of it and woven cloths and a tapestry hanging from the walls. She could see a narrow window at one end, with what looked like a sheepskin hanging over it, swagged to the side.

  “It’ll warm up soon,” Robbie said, walking back to her, taking her hand, and leading her to the bed. “And there’s plenty of blankets,” he continued. “Although you might want to shake out the bedbugs and sleep by the fire.”

  He sat down on the bed and pulled her between his knees, locking his hands behind her back and looking her level in the eyes. “Caitlin’s home is full,” he told her. “And you’ll be safe here in the keep for tonight. Tomorrow, Ian and Gwyneth will move back to their old hut, and you can stay with them once they get settled.” He unlocked his hands and spanned them around her waist. “Are you brave enough to stay here alone tonight, Cat?”

  “Wh-Where will you be?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t stay with you. We’d find ourselves standing in front of a priest tomorrow morning if I did, with the entire village witnessing our wedding.”

  “What?”

  “It’s 1210, Catherine. Men and women who share beds had better be married or willing to face the consequences. Remember the warrior who found you by the stream? He wouldn’t have touched you until after you’d stood before a priest. A woman’s reputation is all she has to bring to her husband.” His smiled slashed white in the firelight. “That and maybe a good dowry of a horse and some sheep and, if a guy’s lucky, a milk cow as well.”

  “You’re not answering my question. Where will you be?”

  He took her stick from her back and tossed it down on the bed, shrugged off his sword, laid it beside her stick, then took her back in his arms. “There’s a chamber pot behind that screen and fresh drinking water in the pitcher on that table,” he continued, nodding at the far wall. “And someone will be up shortly after daybreak to take you back to Ian.”

  “Robbie.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m leaving tonight,” he said softly, covering her mouth with his before she could protest, his lips warm and sweet and coaxing.

  Catherine refused to respond.

  He pulled back and cupped the sides of her face to look directly into her eyes. “You have my word, little Cat, that I’ll return safe and sound. Mary will be guarding my back, and I’ll get in and out before Cùram even knows I’m around.”

  “I—I think I love you.”

  He went utterly still for a good ten beats of her racing heart, then broke into a smile. “You think you love me?”

  “I don’t know for sure. This is a dream, remember?”

  “Aye. And you’re safe in your dream, are you not, to say what’s in your heart? And when you wake up, will you still think you love me?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the funny thing about dreams.”

  “Aye. But when we’re home, standing in our modern kitchen, and I remind you of your words here tonight, will that not prove that you said them to me? How else could I know what you’re dreaming, if I’m not here with you?”

  Catherine thought about that, and while she was thinking, he apparently decided he might as well kiss her again.

  And this time, she responded. She backed up her words with actions, opening her mouth to his, leaning into him as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  Only this time, it was different. She was different. Catherine felt as if a hundred and eighty weight had finally been lifted off her shoulders. But what most amazed her was that she’d replaced it with a two-hundred-pound giant, and she wasn’t at all scared.

  Lord, she loved the freedom of dreams.

  Catherine used her own insubstantial weight to push Robbie back until he was lying on the bed and she was lying on top of him. He was very cooperative. Helpful, even. He slid his hands down her spine to her backside and squeezed, groaning into her mouth as he positioned her hips directly over his. And there were those noble intentions again, solid and hot against her most intimate place. Catherine couldn’t stop herself from wiggling just a little bit, just enough to slide along him, and she smiled against his mouth when he growled and grabbed her hips to stop her.

  He was wearing his own plaid again, the one that smelled like him, and Catherine ran her hands under it, slid it down his shoulder, and traced her fingers over his broad chest. She wiggled backward until she could follow the path of her fingers with her mouth, kissing the soft, silky hair on his chest until she found one of his nipples.

  His entire body turned to stone the moment her lips closed over the firm bud, and his hands moved from her hips to her shoulders, lifting her face back to his. He claimed her mouth with fierce urgency, pressing her hips with one hand on her backside and crushing their chests together with the other.

  Sensations exploded inside her. Shivers of pleasure wracked her body as his heat blasted through their clothes to scorch her skin. Catherine refused to give in to her need to breathe, using her mouth instead to savor his sweet, masculine taste that held just a hint of the scotch he’d had earlier. It was so simple, she decided as she lay sprawled across him, to give herself over to the passion.

  His hand began exploring ways to get under the colorful blouse Gwyneth had given her. But after several frustrated, unsuccessful attempts, Robbie rolled them over until Catherine was on her back and he was looming above her, glaring at her clothes.

  “I’m not in the habit of undressing medieval women,” he growled, his voice guttural with desire as he impatiently tugged at her belt.

  His plaid was hanging down to his waist, his broad upper torso completely naked and heavily muscled, blocking out the light from the fire. He looked powerful and imposing and…

  Old fears rose unbidden as she lay beneath him, his solid weight pushing her into the bed, making her unable to move. The terror of being trapped and vulnerable and utterly helpless suddenly rushed through her, pricking her skin and quickening her breathing, urging Catherine either to fight or run.

  She tried to do both and suddenly cried out and bucked beneath him, slapping at his hands as he tugged the hem of her blouse up over her breasts.

  Chapter Twenty

  Robbie reared back in surprise. “What the—Cat!” he growled, capturing her flailing hands, pinning them beside her head, and tightening his knees around her thighs.

  She whimpered and frantically bucked beneath him, twisting to throw him off, kicking at his back, and turning her head to bite his arm.

  “Catherine, no!” he shouted, using his weight to pin her d
own. “Easy,” he said more softly.

  She was panting uncontrollably now, her desperation to get free closing her mind to all but her struggles. Robbie realized she couldn’t hear him, couldn’t even see him anymore. She was completely consumed by the terror, her mindless panic dictating her actions. He immediately rolled off her and stood by the bed. She scrambled away in the opposite direction, grabbing her stick as she did, until she was standing with the bed between them, her weapon poised to strike.

  He stepped toward her, his hands up in supplication, and she whimpered and scurried back until she was pressed up against the wall. Robbie stopped, tucked his hands behind his back, and went utterly still. “It’s okay, little Cat,” he whispered. “No one is going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you, Catherine.”

  He fell silent after that, realizing there was nothing else he could say, and waited for his words to reach her. He watched her eyes, wide with terror in the firelight, and saw the moment she came back inside herself.

  She blinked at him, standing there so small and vulnerable and scared, and started to tremble. Robbie stayed where he was, keeping his hands behind his back, and put every ounce of warmth he could muster into his smile.

  It was a difficult task, considering the rage inside him right now—rage that warred between his desire to kill Ronald Daniels and his need to pull Catherine into his arms and never let her go.

  But he stood his ground, not moving closer, not backing away, and continued to wait. It took her a good three minutes, though, before her shoulders stooped and her head dropped to stare at the floor. She suddenly threw down the stick, covered her face with her hands, and started to sob.

  And still he didn’t move.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

  “I can’t say for sure,” he whispered back, “but I’m guessing that was the panic attack you mentioned this morning.”

  Her shuddering sobs wracked her body as she stood there, her face buried in her hands.

  “Catherine,” he said, gently but firmly. “Look at me.”

  It took her another full minute to do as he asked, before she slowly lifted her head and blinked through her tears at him.

  Robbie untucked his hands, settled his plaid back over his right shoulder so that most of his chest was covered, and then held his hands out from his sides, palms forward. “Come here, Catherine,” he softly entreated. “Walk into my arms.”

  She swiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks, then balled her fists and shook her head as she looked at the floor again. “No,” she whispered. “I want you to leave. Please. Just go find your wizard’s tree.”

  “Nay, Catherine. A dozen warhorses couldn’t drag me out of this room. Not until you walk into my arms.”

  “I—I can’t!” she cried, looking up. “Don’t you get it?” She angrily waved at the bed between them. “I can’t even make love to a man in my dreams without panicking!”

  “But you can handle a hug,” he whispered. “Especially from someone you think you might love.”

  “That was a mistake. I was just overwhelmed by what you did for Ian.”

  “I can’t come to you, Catherine,” he said, widening his arms. “You must come to me.”

  It took her an interminable measure of time to realize that he wasn’t leaving until she did. With her hands fisted and her tear-soaked eyes glaring at him, she finally marched over until her toes were nearly touching his.

  “Hug me,” he whispered, having a moment’s hope that she might hit him instead.

  She made a noise that sounded much like a kitten’s growl, reached her arms around his waist and hugged him fiercely and quickly. Then she tried to step back.

  Robbie wrapped his arms around her and held her in place, using his chin to tuck her head against his chest. “Aye,” he said, sighing with relief. “You might not know if there’s love between us, Catherine, but you can’t deny there’s trust.”

  She slowly relaxed against him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She leaned her head back and looked up, her eyes swimming with turmoil. “I was doing okay until you…until I felt your weight pinning me…” She buried her face in his chest.

  “Daniels didn’t just beat you, did he?”

  She said nothing, only shook her head against his plaid.

  Robbie closed his eyes and clenched his teeth on his raging desire to kill Daniels. Now was not the time for anger. But the day would come when he would take the bastard by the throat and squeeze the life out of his soulless body. Robbie vowed to be smiling while he did.

  He gently kissed the top of Catherine’s head, leaving his mouth to linger as he brushed her hair with his hand. He could feel her heart racing as she clutched the back of his plaid and her tears dampened the front of it. “Hush, little one, it’s going to be okay,” he promised. “You’ve fallen in love with a very patient man.”

  Catherine muttered something Robbie couldn’t make out and sagged against him. He swept a hand under her knees and carried her to a chair by the fire, and sat down with her in his lap, then lifted her chin so she could see his smile. He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You must not dwell on what just happened, Cat. It’s of no consequence to us.”

  “Of no…you’re saying that…I had a panic attack,” she finally said. “I was kissing you one minute and hitting you the next.”

  “Aye, I noticed that.” He caressed her cheek with his thumb again. “I also noticed that you survived and walked right back into my arms when it was over.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder with a lingering sob. “I want to do it,” she whispered, staring into the darkness. “But I can’t.” She tilted her head just enough to look at him. “I might never be able to have a normal relationship with a man.”

  He tapped her upturned nose. “Aye, you will. With this man,” he said, lifting her hand and holding it over his heart. “When you’re done thinking you might love me and are knowing it instead, your only thoughts will be of me.”

  “Th-That’s an arrogant statement.”

  “But a true one.” He cupped her face, gently kissed her gaping mouth, then smiled at her. “We have the rest of our lives, Catherine. We’ll eventually figure it out.”

  She looked down at her hand on his chest, still covered with his. “Maybe that’s why I’m having this dream, to figure out that I shouldn’t want you.” She looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears again. “When you kissed me in the barn and in the kitchen, I thought…I hoped that I…I thought I was okay. But tonight,” she said, pulling her hand away and gesturing toward the bed. “I finally realized that I’m not. This dream is trying to show me that I can’t hope to get involved with you. That I can’t want you.”

  “You think dreams are our way of working things out?”

  “Yes. They’re how we deal with our problems.”

  “And you consider me a problem?”

  “No. I’m my problem,” she said, touching her own chest. “I’m too scared to let go of my fear.”

  He nodded. “So, because you fear men, you intend simply to avoid them.”

  “That’s a perfectly good solution.” She lifted her chin. “A woman doesn’t need a man to have a full life.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, standing up and setting her on her feet, then tilting her chin to face him. “But what happens if she falls in love, only her fear keeps her from following her heart? Can her life still be full?”

  “Of course not.”

  He kissed the tip of her upturned nose. “Then that’s what your dream is telling you, Cat. When you wake up in modern time, you’ll have learned to let your heart rule instead of your fears. And the rest will take care of itself.”

  “Just like that,” she said, crossing her arms under her breasts and glaring at him.

  “Aye, Catherine. If you want something—anything—badly enough, there is no power on earth that can keep you from it. And that,” he said, leaning down and smiling, “is the true definition of ma
gic.”

  Catherine leaned in even closer, either to kiss him or to give him a scathing reply, but Mary suddenly glided through the window with a piercing shrill. She landed on the bed, wrapped her talons around the hilt of Robbie’s sword, and let out an angry chatter of rattles.

  Catherine stepped away from him with a gasp, her hand flying to her chest as she looked first at Mary, then at him.

  Robbie studied Catherine and considered her reaction to Mary’s arrival. It had to be the owl’s loud and sudden appearance upsetting her and not what Mary was saying—because Robbie knew he was the only one his pet spoke to.

  He walked over to the bed and brushed Mary off his sword so he could pick it up and settle it over his back. He turned to Catherine, who was still clutching her throat and still gaping at Mary. She slowly raised her worried eyes to his, then suddenly ran to the door and stood in front of it, her hands spread to stop him from opening it.

  “You’re not leaving,” she said. “I don’t care if they make us get married in the morning, you are not leaving this room.”

  He walked over, took hold of her shoulders, pulled her against him, and kissed her firmly on the mouth. “Aye, how I wish I could stay for our wedding,” he whispered once he was done. “But I have to go, Catherine. Mary has new information.”

  She balled the front of his plaid in her fists. “Then take me with you. I can run fast—you know I can. I won’t be in your way. I can help, because Cùram won’t think I’m a threat.”

  “I didn’t mention Cùram,” he said. “Why do you?”

  “Because that’s where you’re going, isn’t it? After Cùram and his tree?” Her grip on his plaid tightened, and she tried to shake him into complying. “Take me with you!”

  “Nay, Cat,” he said, leaning down and kissing her again, lifting her off her feet and turning so that she was away from the door before he set her back down. He broke the kiss, opened the door, and stepped out, then quickly closed it and threw the bolt, locking her in.