Highlander in Her Dreams

by Allie Mackay

  Aidan nodded. “One of the laundresses, then.”

  Kira shrugged. “Whatever. I wanted the parchment and ink to keep record of my thoughts.”

  She blew out a breath of relief when he nodded again, apparently believing her.

  Not that she wished to deceive him, but at the moment she didn’t wish to discuss her need to put together a story for Dan Hillard. Her story, though she’d add a caveat at the end never to reveal her identity.

  Whether she ever made it back home or not, she didn’t want to be plunged into the limelight. Heaven forbid, to be made an object for dissection on the Internet. The Viking affair had been bad enough. If ever her account of her experiences came into Dan’s hands, he need only have the parchment carbon-dated to prove the validity of her tale.

  Such a story would thrust Destiny Magazine into the big league and bring Dan a fortune.

  A good turn he deserved, even if it meant being a bit secretive.

  Aidan, too, had his duties and loyalties, as he’d said himself.

  So she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, preparing to use her mother’s best strategy for avoiding sticky wickets.

  Diversion.

  “Are you really going to hold a feast to celebrate your cousin’s capture?” she asked the instant he rejoined her beside the solar’s hearth fire.

  Aidan slid his arms around her, pulling her close. “Aye, I must,” he said, resting his chin on her head. “My people expect and deserve it. Locking him in the dungeon is no’ enough. They need the forgetting of a feast. With luck, a fine and rollicking one can be arranged within a fortnight.”

  “Your cousin is that bad?” Kira couldn’t believe it.

  “He is worse,” Aidan owned, his gut clenching at the thought of all the souls on Conan Dearg’s conscience. “He has but one redeeming quality, though I am at a loss to explain it.”

  “What?” Kira angled her head, peering at him. “Is he a horse whisperer or something?”

  Aidan frowned, not sure what a horse whisperer was, but knowing full well that wasn’t what he’d meant. “Och, nay,” he said, shaking his head. “Conan Dearg is none the like. What he is, is a charmer. There hasn’t been a maid yet born who can resist him.”

  “I don’t think he’d impress me.” She flicked an invisible speck off her skirts. “From what I’m hearing about him, I’m surprised women even look at him.”

  “Och, they look.” Aidan refilled his wine cup, drinking deeply. “They look and flock to him like bees to a hive. He’s a great fiery-haired devil, bold and handsome, and strong as a wild Highland bull.”

  “It sounds to me like he needs to be de-bulled.”

  Aidan threw back his head and laughed, then caught himself, stunned to realize he hadn’t laughed in longer than he could remember. “Aye, lopping off his bits should’ve been done long ago,” he agreed, serious again. “But he’s suffering a meet end now. No’ that his passing will bring back the victims of his viciousness.”

  Dismay flickered in Kira’s eyes. “There were many?”

  “More than a soul can rightly count.” Aidan leaned a hip against the table, considering how much he should share with her. “He used to send large stones sailing down from the battlements of Ardcraig’s keep onto the heads of any unwelcome visitors who’d somehow slipped past his gatehouse. The saints only know how many hapless wayfarers seeking no more than a night’s lodging were brained in such a manner. He’d designed a special stone-throwing device and tied ropes around the stones, using his contraption to haul them up to be dropped again if the first aim failed to flatten a man.”

  Pausing, he sighed deeply and looked away. The gusting wind was lessening now and great swaths of mist rolled past the solar windows, turning the night into a shifting mass of chill, damp gray.

  “Dinna worry—the career of his stone-throwing device was short-lived,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Those days ended when he accidentally dropped a stone on his favorite mistress, killing her. She was the wife of one of his best allies and had taken it upon herself to pay him a surprise visit. Sad for the lady, she disguised herself as a man, and although she gave her identity to the guards, passing unhindered through the gatehouse, in the dark of night Conan Dearg mistook her for a stranger. Someone he didn’t care to be pestered by.”

  He turned back to Kira, not surprised to find her staring at him with rounded eyes.

  “Good heavens.” She pressed a hand to her breast. “Too bad the husband didn’t kill him.”

  “Och, he tried, well enough,” Aidan told her, stretching his arms over his head and cracking his knuckles. “He rode hotfoot to Ardcraig to challenge him as soon as he heard. Their clash lasted all of a heartbeat, with Conan Dreag cleaving the man in two before he’d scarce whipped his blade from its scabbard.” He lowered his arms, looking at her. “My cousin is an expert swordsman.”

  Kira shuddered. “I think he’s also crafty,” she said, now more determined than ever to persuade Aidan to return to her time with her.

  “Aye, that he is,” he agreed, glancing at the windows again, his expression hardening. “Cunning and devious as the wiliest fox.”

  “I’ve always liked foxes.” Kira smoothed the soft, red-gold wool of her skirts, thinking how much the rich color resembled a fox pelt. “I once read a book where a really cute one with magical eyes was a meddling wise woman’s familiar. I think his name was Somerled.”

  “Somerled?” Aidan shot a sharp glance at her. “I dinna think my like-named forebear, who styled himself King of the Isles, would’ve cared for that. And you, sweetness, wouldn’t care for my cousin’s kind of foxing,” he said, reaching to pull her against him. “With surety, not.”

  “No doubt.” Her heart began to thunder as he took her in his arms, drawing her close.

  “Indeed.” He slid a hand beneath her hair, gently massaging the back of her head. “Conan Dearg’s craftiness would put Satan’s most devious minions to shame. Once, many years ago, he took a dislike to one of his younger garrison men. The lad was a bit of a rogue and bonny enough to catch the eye of one of my cousin’s ladyloves. Much to Conan Dearg’s annoyance, because of the lad’s sunny disposition and ready laughter, he was also popular with the other men.”

  She shivered, guessing the outcome. “Don’t tell me he ended up in two pieces?”

  Aidan shook his head. “Nay, praise the saints, he was one of the few to escape my cousin’s grasp. But only by the grace of a passing Mackenzie galley and the good eyes and ears of those who happened to be on board.”

  Her jaw slipped. “Did your cousin set him adrift in a leaky boat or something?”

  “Or something, aye,” Aidan told her in a voice like steel. “Because of the lad’s popularity, he bided his time, not wanting to rouse suspicion. Opportunity finally arose when a ewe tumbled off a cliff, landing unharmed on a narrow rock ledge halfway between the cliff-top and the sea.”

  Releasing her, he pushed away from the table to pace again, distaste making it impossible to stand still. Even with his sweet tamhasg pliant and warm against him.

  “Agility was another of the lad’s many talents, and so my cousin approached him, saying he’d chosen him to fetch the poor ewe,” he continued, a chill passing through him as he remembered the deed. “Together with two other men, they went out to the cliffs, a remote place far from prying eyes and where a call for help wouldn’t be heard. Eager to please, and just as keen to rescue the ewe, the lad let himself be lowered on a rope down the cliff to the small foothold of a ledge.”

  “Ropes and cliffs again?” Kira looked at him with a frown. She didn’t shudder, but her opinion of his world rippled all o’er her.

  His mouth twisted. “Ach, lass,” he said, wincing inside, “such is our way of life. The cliffs hold a rich harvest for us. Seabirds, with their eggs and oil, the latterly being a fuel we use to light our lamps. When a beast loses its footing and slips o’er an edge, if it survives the fall, we fetch it. Men here learn to brave th
e cliffs soon after their first steps. Some women as well, as you know from Annie MacQueen’s fate.”

  “So what was the young man’s fate? Did he, too, plunge into the sea?”

  “Nay…” He hesitated, wishing he’d ne’er mentioned the lad. “He reached the ledge with ease, but before he could secure the end of the rope around the ewe, the rope went slack in his hands. Looking up, he saw its other end sailing down toward him, and the two other men, apparently sacrificed to guarantee their silence.”

  Kira gasped. “That’s horrible.”

  “To be sure.” He came back to her, crossing the room with purposeful strides. “Had it not been for the Mackenzies hearing his cries when they sailed past, a shade too close to the cliffs, he’d surely have died there,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “As it was, the Mackenzies anchored in the next cove, sending men to climb the cliffs and then toss down a fresh rope, rescuing both the lad and the ewe.”

  “Thank goodness.” Kira exhaled. “But how did you find out? Did he come here after his rescue?”

  “Ach, nay, he had more sense than that and sailed on to Kintail with the Mackenzies, settling and eventually marrying there. The tale did not reach us here at Wrath until some years later when a wandering bard mentioned having met him at a feast at Eilean Creag Castle, the Mackenzie stronghold.”

  He paused to stroke her cheek. “You needn’t look so worried, sweetness,” he said, lighting a finger across her lips. “The bard told us the Mackenzie chieftain, a man styled as the Black Stag of Kintail, took a great liking to the lad and saw that he received every comfort and a warm welcome into that clan.”

  “But—” Kira broke off, frowning. “Didn’t anyone wonder what happened to the three missing men?”

  Aidan arched a brow. “You mean before the bard’s arrival?”

  She nodded.

  He gave a half smile. “I told you my cousin is cunning,” he reminded her. “He crafted an explanation no one would question, claiming the men set sail for the Isle of Barra, hoping to enjoy a bit of carouse and wenching with our allies, the MacNeils. They are generous, openhanded hosts and notorious wenchers. Many of the younger clansmen hereabouts enjoy paying calls there. Some of the older ones, too.”

  “And you?”

  “Me?” Amusement sparked in his eyes. “I will no’ lie to you, lass. To be sure, I’ve enjoyed visiting the Barra MacNeils. And, aye, I’ve savored the lustier revels they offer their guests, but”—he took her hand and pressed a quick kiss to her palm, another to the back of her wrist—“the MacNeils have no’ seen me in recent times.”

  She blinked. “Why not?”

  “Ahhh, sweetness, I think you know,” he said, his half smile broadening into a grin.

  “Maybe I’d like to hear the words.”

  “Then you shall have them.” His gaze dipped to her breasts as he carefully undid her gown’s laces, then eased open her bodice, allowing him to caress her naked skin. “My world isn’t all harshness and cruelty,” he said, his touch causing an immediate melting between her thighs. “Many are the pleasures, including those that men find on the Isle of Barra. You are my pleasure and have been since that first day I saw you. Since then, my only reason for e’er sailing to Barra has been to quench my need for you.”

  “With other women—oh!” Her breath caught when his fingers brushed a nipple.

  Squeezing it gently, he looked down, watching as the nipple tightened beneath his lazy toyings. “With. Other. Women. Aye.” He spoke the words slowly, his still gaze riveted on her breasts. “Poor substitutes for the one woman I burned to have for my own.”

  “Oh, Aidan.” She bit her lip, her heart melting this time.

  He looked up at her, the blaze in his eyes scorching her soul. “’Tis you I want, Kee-rah. You and no other for the rest of my days.”

  She nodded, her blasted throat once more too thick for words.

  “I canna recall the names of those other women, nor even their faces, save that I sought out ones that minded me of you,” he said, cupping her breasts with both hands now, kneading and plumping them. “All I can remember is the emptiness I felt inside each time I left their beds. That, and my gnawing need for the woman in my dreams.”

  Aidan! Her voice sounded strange in her ears, urgent and roughened, blurred by the roar of her pulse, the wild thundering of her heart. “I couldn’t bear to lose you,” she tried again, wrapping her arms around his neck, willing to plead. “Please come back to my time with me. You can’t stay here. I know your cousin will kill you. He—”

  “Will no’ have me running away with my tail between my legs like a frightened and whipped cur,” he finished for her. “MacDonalds do not flee from their foes. They fight them and win the day. Conan Dearg’s days are past.”

  Kira glanced away. “He doesn’t sound like someone easy to defeat,” she said, worry squeezing her chest. “You said he’s an expert swordsman.”

  He snorted. “You doubt that I am as good?” He arched a brow, all arrogant chieftain again. “Sweet lass, I am better.”

  “Even so—”

  “He is in my dungeon and powerless.” His mouth crashed down over hers, claiming her lips in a deep, searing kiss. Hot, hard, and demanding. “And all this talk of him has left a bad taste on the back of my tongue,” he vowed, breaking away to look at her. “I’ve a powerful need to banish it with something sweet!”

  In a blink, he was on his knees, her skirts shoved up to her hips and his face but a breath away from that-part-of-her-that-should-be-wearing-panties.

  Kira froze, unable to move. Not wanting to. She looked down, the way he was staring at her there, making her wet.

  “Oh, no,” she gasped.

  “O-o-oh, aye,” he purred, his voice deep with passion. “This is the sweetness I crave. You, all hot, wet, and slippery.”

  He glanced up, the heat in his gaze sizzling her as he jerked her skirts up even higher, then leaned close, nipping and kissing his way up the inside of her thighs before he buried his face between her legs and licked her.

  Crying out, she fisted her hands and threw back her head, arching into him and almost climaxing the first time he flicked his tongue over her clit.

  “Don’t stop,” she breathed, her knees nearly giving out on her when he replaced his tongue with a circling finger and then licked along the center of her, plunging his tongue right into her. Deep, deep inside her. “O-o-oh, my God! Aidan—”

  Aidan!

  The rough and urgent voice again, not hers at all, and this time followed by a loud pounding on the door.

  They both froze, passion doused.

  Tavish shouted, “Come, man! Open the door!”

  Aidan shot to his feet, his face a mask of fury. “I’ll kill the bastard,” he snarled, storming across the room and yanking open the door. “Did I no’ tell you—”

  “’Tis the young lad, Kendrew,” Tavish panted, bursting into the room. “He’s been hurt, out by the gatehouse. Men just carried him in the hall.”

  Aidan swore. “The gatehouse? What happened? Was there trouble with the other lads?”

  “He had a skirmish, aye. But not with any lad.”

  “Then who?”

  Tavish looked uncomfortable. “If he’s to be believed,” he said, slanting a look at Kira, “it was your cousin.”

  “Conan Dearg?” Aidan stared at him. “That’s no’ possible.”

  Tavish shrugged. “Aye, it canna be. Conan Dearg is still in the dungeon. I checked myself.”

  “What exactly happened?” Kira put in, joining them. “Kendrew was in a scuffle at the gatehouse? Could he have mistaken one of the guards for Aidan’s cousin?”

  “My guards wouldn’t fall upon the lad.” Aidan shot her a frown.

  Tavish snorted. “That, my friend, is what Kendrew claims happened.”

  Aidan’s eyes widened. “What? That Conan Dearg fell on him?”

  “Nay.” Tavish shook his head. “He said the blackguard leapt onto him. From the to
p of the gatehouse arch. Kendrew babbled that he saw the blackguard up there, creeping about on his hands and knees. When he called to him, he says the lout jumped down on top of him, knocking him into the mounting block before running away across the bailey.”

  Aidan rubbed his jaw. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  Kira looked at him, Kendrew’s tale making perfect sense to her.

  Aidan’s cousin had an accomplice at Wrath. Someone willing to let him in and out of the dungeon. Even scarier, he’d learned about the gatehouse arch.

  And was trying to find out how to use it.

  Chapter 11

  Kira noticed two things the instant she followed Aidan and Tavish into the smoke-hazed, torchlit great hall. How quickly two plaid-wrapped, sword-toting Highlanders could plow their way through a teeming, jam-packed crowd of men, and the sharp, metallic smell of blood.

  Trying to close her nose against the latter, she hurried after them, not missing the way half the men in the hall hastily glanced aside as she dashed past them. Not surprisingly, the other half gaped at her openly, their bearded faces filled with suspicion.

  Or hostility.

  Only one soul ignored her.

  A portly, ruddy-faced giant of a man who needed only a furred, sleeveless jerkin and a winged helmet to look like one of the Vikings who’d once ruled Wrath. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with a wild mane of reddish blond hair, he would’ve looked genial dressed in anything but his somber, dark robes. Maybe even like a merry, red-cheeked Norse Santa, were he not so focused on the strapping youth sprawled on his back across the rough planks of a trestle table pushed close to the hearth fire.

  Clearly a healer, the man stood at the head of the table, gently probing an egg-sized lump on Kendrew’s forehead. He glanced up at Aidan’s approach. “He’s not by his wits,” he said, the words loud in the quiet of the hall. “The blow to his head is making him spout foolery. He’ll fare better once he’s rested.”