Highlander's Portrait

by C. A. Szarek

  Electricity had awed and petrified him the first time he’d encountered it, but wonder had won out, and it was one of the things he wished for in his century.

  Korinna had given him a rudimentary lesson of how it worked—which only served to make him even more envious.

  He set the lass down on the first bed he came to, praying his spell would keep her asleep for hours—or the whole night. It wouldn’t matter for him and Ashlyn—they’d go back to 1755—but when Kate awoke, she’d find her friend missing and would probably remember everything up to the moment he’d knocked them both out.

  There were spells to scramble memories, but he didn’t want to make things even worse for her. He wished Ashlyn would’ve been alone.

  He’d been stealthy in his approach and neither lass had spotted him, so his appearance wouldn’t feature in Kate’s memories.

  The redheaded beauty would likely go to the police—another thing his century didn’t offer.

  They wouldn’t be there for the fallout, but if he returned his lass to the twenty-first century, he could take her right back to this moment, where it would seem as if she’d never left. Aye, it would change history, but it would be for Ashlyn and Kate’s benefit, as well as his own. A small ripple in time shouldn’t damage much.

  If?

  He wouldn’t have a choice but to return her home. Eoin would get the Flag and their need to be together would end.

  Right?

  He growled at his instant rejection of the idea of letting her go.

  They didn’t know each other.

  It was the right thing to do.

  Hell, the right thing to do was get the Flag now, and place Ashlyn on the other bed in the cottage.

  Walk away.

  Eoin should do just that; like he was leaving the small place now. He could go free and clear; she most likely wouldn’t have a clue what’d happened.

  He stared down at her beautiful face, still in a repose he’d induced, and a fierce protectiveness rose in his chest, one he’d previously reserved for his sister alone. But, naturally, he didn’t want to claim Fiona like he did the sleeping lass before him.

  Eoin wanted Ashlyn for his own—for keeps.

  He didn’t even know her surname or her background. She was American, so her people could’ve come from anywhere. She probably wasn’t even Scottish.

  Cursing under his breath, he reached for her satchel instead of gathering her to him like he wanted. His magic throbbed; the Flag called.

  Lettering caught his attention before he could dive inside. ‘Ashlyn George,’ was sewn into the side of the bag, prominent amongst the colorful splotches, in a glistening gold thread.

  “George.” Like the king he’d begrudgingly sworn fealty to. So many of his countrymen fought the Sassenachs even now. He’d done what he’d had to do to keep his clan, his sister, his Grandfa, safe. Didn’t have to like it. “Bastard Englishman.” Hopefully his Ashlyn wasn’t a relation.

  Eoin opened the bag, but he couldn’t see much of the contents. He slid a hand inside and felt around. His magic hummed when his fingers encountered something hard, but it felt embossed, or like carved wood that’d been smoothed of any rough edges.

  He pulled what turned out to be a small fancy frame, and dropped the satchel. The thing was gold, like the letters on the bag.

  His eyes locked onto—well, his own. Eoin startled.

  What in five hells?

  Ashlyn had a painting of him?

  He hadn’t sat for any such thing, but perhaps he hadn’t just yet—as far as his time was concerned.

  Eoin didn’t see the Faery Flag, but his magic screamed it was right before his eyes. He flipped the painting over. The frame was thick. Perhaps, the Flag was inside it?

  Close voices made him jolt and his eyes darted around. He couldn’t see anyone, but the conversation was gaining volume by the second. More American accents were coming toward him—them.

  He needed to get Ashlyn and go. What would someone think if they rounded the corner and saw her passed out, leaning against the cottage wall? He couldn’t chance anyone seeing them, even if he could just play things off by claiming his lass had over imbibed.

  Eoin slid the painting back in the satchel and closed the cottage door silently. He threw the bag’s straps over his shoulder and lifted Ashlyn into his arms.

  Even asleep she cuddled into him, as if seeking warmth, and nestled her face into his neck.

  A tremor shot down his spine and he had to suck in a breath. She fit against him as if she was made for him.

  The thought jarred him even more, but the voices were nearer still, so Eoin ordered his feet to move.

  Ashlyn was going to have a thing or two to say when she awoke, no doubt, but he’d feel better if they were on 1755 Skye, and out of the twenty-first century.

  At least then she couldn’t run from him.

  Chapter Seven

  Eoin was reluctant to set Ashlyn on the loamy cave floor, even if he had to so he could strip down and open the portal to his time. The Faery Stones required both his hands, and the ordered pattern of touch and tone had to be just right.

  He quickly undressed, folding his denim trews and the blue shirt. His medallion swayed back and forth as he shoved the garments into his satchel and placed it back in the hiding place. He slipped out of his modern boots and did the same.

  Now naked, he took two handfuls of dirt and sands and showered the rocks over the area so it didn’t look recently cleaned off.

  He dug his claymore out and pivoted, trotting over to Ashlyn. Eoin laid his sword next to her and pulled the small painting from her bag. After a onceover, he placed it on her chest. Didn’t want to take the time dismantling it right there; he’d do it when they were safely in 1755. He could still feel the Flag’s call, so it had to be behind his image; nothing else made sense.

  She could wake any moment, at worst; she’d sleep ‘til the morning, at best.

  His medallion would also allow him to stay inside of the cave when they arrived back in his time; otherwise, a person was ejected and landed on the beach, a built-in magical protection of the Stones. But the piece’s magic didn’t change the fact any items accompanying him had to be in his hands or wouldn’t make the jump.

  Eoin would have to hold the painting in one hand and Ashlyn in his arms at the same time, since she was unconscious. He’d have to leave his beloved sword. He growled. Looked at Ashlyn and then the claymore.

  The lass or the sword?

  He could come back for it later. He would. It was his favorite weapon, despite the others in the armory at Dunvegan.

  Eoin darted to the Faery Stones, which awoke with the first brush of his fingers. All five crystals lit up from the inside, and power coursed through him, making his limbs hum. Bouncing on the balls of his bare feet, he hummed to the tone each Stone gave off. He didn’t have to chant a spell; the melody was in his blood, and the Stones responded to him without much effort.

  He’d always heard the song they played. The Faery Stones had called to him from the time he’d been a wee lad, although he’d not understood the call just then. The only magic stronger was his link to the Flag.

  Eoin repeated the pattern, picking up tempo with each touch. The warmth in his body increased but didn’t hurt. It was like the best embrace and left him needing more. Energy pulsed in his temples; making him want to go farther, feel more.

  The first pop sounded, indicating the portal would open soon. Then the sound of tearing parchment. The following pop-pop-pop was each louder than the last, and a magic-born gale swirled around him, making his hair fly in his eyes.

  It made Ashlyn’s golden locks dance around her shoulders, too, but she remained oblivious, in a deep sleep despite the wind throwing sand around her.

  Magic worked up so much heat inside him, the moving air was like a caress, offering blissful coolness to Eoin’s exposed skin.

  It felt good. Better than good. A relief.

  White light shot straight up to t
he cave’s ceiling from the center crystal of the Faery Stones, the last step before the portal’s birth.

  Anticipation hit him in a wave, making his gut clench, and he released his hold on the final crystal. Eoin darted to his lass and gathered her to him, but held her upright against his chest instead of prone in his arms. He plastered one hand to the small of her back and gripped the gilt frame in the other.

  She was light as a feather, so he could hold her with no issue. He only had to step forward a few paces to be through the portal when it opened anyway.

  Eagerness and urgency fluttered in his stomach. He wanted to be home. With this lass. In his arms…in his bed.

  Eoin ordered himself to calm. He felt like he was fleeing; doing something wrong. He banished the you are! floating around in his head.

  He was taking Ashlyn to his time against her will.

  The existence of magic, let alone walking through centuries, would be a shock to her.

  An iridescent orb appeared before them, distracting him. He’d have no choice to reveal everything, but that was for later. They still had to get home.

  The whole cavern shimmered and wavered as the glowing bubble grew. It hovered above the ground before floating downward, stopping a few inches in the air. At first hazy, opaque, it started to clear, like multicolored clouds retreating. It got larger and larger by the second, until a sandy floor was visible, and a dimness that was backlit by the Stones in his time.

  A mirror image of where Eoin was now, except it was three hundred years in the past. Korinna’s magic helped keep his time travel private, in a way, since the Stones let him remain inside the cave.

  He hefted Ashlyn higher and stepped up to the portal, making sure his grip was steady on the painting. His medallion lit up, glowing blue and heating his chest where it lay. A colored aura brightened his lass’ face, and he studied each freckle on her gorgeous cheekbones.

  Seconds passed that felt like hours as he entered the bubble.

  His heart raced with the sense of nothingness that always washed over him, through him. He couldn’t feel anything, even his Ashlyn in his arms, even though he could see her. He couldn’t feel the painting in his hand, either, and fought the panic rising up.

  Rationally, Eoin knew all was well, and the disorientation wouldn’t last long, thanks to the magic orb hanging from his neck. He couldn’t see anything in front of him, either, but it too would recede in seconds.

  His feet touched sand again and he breathed a sigh of relief, shifting the lass in his arms. The portal snapped shut with a pop, but the Faery Stones of his time were still lit, dimly illuminating the cave.

  He studied Ashlyn to make sure nothing was amiss; she was still well and whole against him, but awareness shot down his spine.

  She was as naked as he, and still plastered to his chest.

  Eoin swallowed as his cock jumped. Their kiss outside the pub teased his mind. He could remember her taste even now and…God’s blood, he wanted more.

  She’s asleep, you beast.

  The little touch of conscience didn’t keep him from lowering his mouth to claim hers.

  When she moaned and opened for him, warnings went off in his head, but Eoin deepened their kiss, rubbing his tongue against hers.

  He dropped the painting to the sand and caressed her soft back, following the curve of her bottom. Ashlyn’s breasts were flush to him and felt just as he’d imagined. He wanted to lay her down and explore every inch of her skin. He’d have to wait to study her naked body, because he was too eager, but he would…and worship her.

  Taste her, touch her, take her.

  His arousal was pinned between their bodies, and he was getting harder by the second, by the stroke of her tongue against his.

  “Lass.” Eoin pushed the word into her mouth. “Jesu, how I wan’ ye.”

  Ashlyn’s lips stopped moving and she stilled in his grip before breaking the seal of their mouths. Her pretty brown eyes went from heavy-lidded and hazy with desire, to so wide they bared the whites, in less than a heartbeat. She put her palms to his chest and pushed back, making distance between them he didn’t want to allow.

  When she lowered her lashes, glancing down, her cheeks went crimson up to her ears, and a gasp fell from her lips. She looked around the cave and swallowed. She put force behind her touch on his body, and tugged against his hold.

  Reluctantly Eoin released her, then regretted the break of their physical contact, and made a go for her, but his lass slid back on her heels. He should say something—anything—but words refused to be born.

  Confusion darted across her beautiful face when she took another looksee, and then her eyes ran up and down his form, no doubt taking in his nudity. Her face got even redder, making her delicious freckles prominent.

  The dirty scoundrel he was couldn’t help but look over her bare form, either.

  Her breasts were high and tight—neither too large nor too small—as suspected when clothed. Her dusky nipples were peaked, as if his lass had enjoyed their kiss, after all.

  Like the first time he’d kissed her.

  His gaze went lower, studying the roundness of her bottom, the perfect meld to a flat stomach and shapely hips. And the tight sparse curls that guarded her sex made him have to swallow hard.

  Her legs were long for someone so petite, and he wanted them wrapped around her waist while he plunged inside her.

  Ashlyn swallowed again and put her palms high and flat, as if to stave him off. “Please, God, tell me this time I am dreaming.”

  ****

  “Nay, lass, yer no’.” The brogue rolled over her, like the other times he’d spoken, and she tried to push the eject button on her senses.

  She crushed her eyes shut. Maybe if she counted to ten, or knocked her heels together, or some shit, maybe…just maybe, Ashlyn would open her eyes and there wouldn’t be a very hot, very naked man in front of her.

  Wait. Did you really just wish for that?

  He was aroused, too, sporting an erection that would make any of her heroes proud—and their heroines happy, provided he knew how to use it. If a man who looked like him didn’t…well, that’d be a shame.

  What’re you thinking? You wanna volunteer to be a judge?

  She was afraid of the answer, so she didn’t continue the internal monologue. Much.

  Answering yourself makes you cray-cray anyway, right?

  Not-So-Dream-Eoin, the laird-lookalike, had kissed her…again.

  Right?

  Ashlyn had kissed him back, too, and it’d been just as oblivion-inducing as the first time. But she’d woken in his arms, in her…birthday suit?

  Why the hell was she naked?

  Why was he? Although she shouldn’t complain. His muscles had muscles, and he was standing before her as un-shy as a guy could get.

  Maybe he knew he was hot.

  But…but…naked?

  It’s not a dream? Why can’t I remember anything?

  Had they agreed to some tryst in a…

  “Where are we?” she blurted, taking another step back. Her eyes darted to the sandy ground, then shot back up, only to land behind Not-So-Dream-Eoin on…crystals? “What the—”

  “We’re on Skye. My home.”

  Right, like that explained everything. Ashlyn was supposed to go to Skye, to tour part of the Clan MacLeod stronghold, Dunvegan.

  How does he factor in to that?

  Her clothes weren’t anywhere in sight either, but she’d worry about that when he got to the tell-all. She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

  Ashlyn covered her breasts, but that left the more important goody bare. She shot her hand down to conceal her sex, then settled for her arm straight across her chest.

  He smirked, and her face seared.

  Yeah, yeah. He’d already seen it all. She’d been…in his arms. Against that…glorious chest.

  Naked.

  Oh. God.

  She wanted to slap both her hands over her face, but she resisted the urg
e in order to umpire her girlie bits.

  His muscles felt as good as they looked, if memory served. And it did. Dammit.

  “What…is…” She puffed out a breath and straightened her shoulders, but still didn’t drop her hands. “Going. On?”

  Instead of answering, he started rifling through a hide bag on the ground. He’d pulled it from the corner of the…

  “Are we in a cave?” Ashlyn studied the ceiling, complete with stalactites. That didn’t explain the creepy lit-crystal thingies, which seemed to be perched on top of five stalagmites. Actually, they looked to be a natural part of it, which was weird. Crystals didn’t occur like that. Also, the half-circle was too-perfect, like someone had put them there. In a specific order. They were lit up and giving off light, to brighten the cave.

  How, with a side of what-the-hell?

  No-So-Dream-Eoin straightened and tossed her some ivory fabric.

  Her arms rose to catch it on reflex, but at least it hid the front of her body.

  “Put tha’ on. ’Twill be big, ‘tis mine, but it’ll cover ye.” He was wrapping a plaid she recognized as Clan MacLeod’s tartan-pattern around his waist as he spoke, and belted it on.

  Awareness zinged down her spine and danced across her chest, then down her arms as she watched. Her heart tripped. No-So-Dream-Eoin in a freaking kilt? Hotness factor just amplified…by a thousand percent.

  Ashlyn reached for her irritation with both hands and tried to glare. And tamp down her ill-timed libido. Sure, she hadn’t gotten laid in a while, but imagining licking every inch of his skin—especially since she’d just seen him naked—was highly inappropriate.

  How was he hotter covered up?

  She cleared her throat. “Why aren’t you answering me?”

  He closed the distance between them and tried to take her hand, but Ashlyn scooted back. Sand burned her heels.

  “As much as I’d prefer ye naked, ye should dress.” His voice was low, and had that rolling-over-her-like-butter effect she was coming to despise.