Beyond the Highland Myst

by Highlander 01-08

  Adrienne's eyes grew wider and wider as he spoke. By the time he got to the children part she was nearing a full panic. She gathered her scattered wits and searched for the most effective weapon. What could she say to keep this man at bay? His ego. His gargantuan ego and manly pride. She had to use it.

  "Do what you will. I'll simply think on Adam." She stifled a yawn and studied her cuticles.

  Hawk stepped back, dropping his hands from her body as if burned. "You'll simply think on Adam!"

  He rubbed his jaw, not quite believing what he'd heard while he stared at the vision before him, half clad in a cloud of transparent froth. Silver-blond hair tumbled around the most beautiful face he had ever beheld. Her face was heart-shaped, her jaw delicate yet surprisingly strong. Her lips were full and velvety plum-rich, and she had spitting silver-gray eyes. She was passion breathing, and she didn't seem to have a clue about her own beauty. Or she didn't care. Lust clenched a fist hard around him and squeezed. His ebony eyes narrowed intently. She had creamy skin, beautiful shoulders, a slim waist, sweet flare of hips and legs that climbed all the way up to heaven. Her beauty branded him, claimed him. The lass was sheer perfection. Although the

  Hawk was not a superstitious man, the words of Grimm's wish on the falling star chose that moment to resurface in his mind. What exactly had Grimm said?

  He'd wished for the Hawk to meet a woman with "wit and wisdom"; an intelligent woman.

  "Can you do sums?" he snapped.

  "I keep ledgers like a pro."

  "Do you read and write?" he pushed.

  "Three languages fluently, two reasonably well." It was the primary reason she could fake their brogue so well and convince them she was Mad Janet Comyn. Although some of the words and expressions she used might seem odd to them—they did expect her to be batty—she'd been a quick study at the Comyn keep, assimilating a burr with the ease of a child. She'd always had an ear for languages. Besides, she'd watched every episode of The Highlander ever made.

  Hawk groaned. The second part of Grimm's wish had been that the woman be perfect of face and form. He need ask no questions on that score. She was a Venus, unadorned, who'd slipped into his world, and he had a nagging premonition that his world might never be the same again.

  So, the first two requirements for which Grimm had wished were met. The woman possessed both brains and bewitching beauty.

  It was the last requirement Grimm had specified that concerned Hawk the most: A perfect "no" on her perfect lips…

  The woman didn't live and breathe who'd ever said no to the Hawk.

  "Lass, I want you," he said in a raw, husky voice. "I will make the most incredible love to you you'll ever experience this side of Valhalla. I can take you beyond paradise, make you wish to never set your feet upon this ground again. Will you let me take you there? Do you want me?" He waited, but he was already certain of what was to come.

  Her lips pursed in a luscious pucker as she said, "No."

  * * * * *

  "You've laid a geis upon me with your bloody wish, Grimm!" Laird Sidheach James Lyon Douglas was heard to howl to the starless heavens later that night. Beyond a circle of rowan trees Adam stoked a bank of embers and made a sound a shade too dark to be laughter.

  * * * * *

  Adrienne sat in the darkness on the edge of her bed for a long time after he'd left, and flinched at his husky howl that rose to touch the moon. A geis? A curse. Bah! She was the one cursed.

  To him, she was just like all the rest, and the one thing Adrienne de Simone had learned was that where a man was concerned she couldn't tolerate being one of all the rest.

  Guilty as the legions who'd fallen before her, she wanted this man called the Hawk. Wanted him with an unreasoning hunger that far surpassed her attraction to the smithy. There'd been something almost frightening about the smithy's eyes. Like Eberhard's. But the Hawk had beautiful dark eyes with flecks of gold dusting them beneath thick sooty lashes. Hawk's eyes hinted at pleasures untold, laughter, and if she wasn't imagining it, some kind of past pain held in careful check.

  Right, she told herself caustically. The pain of not having enough time to make love to all the beautiful women in the world. You know what he is. A womanizer. Don't do this to yourself again. Don't be a fool, Adrienne.

  But she couldn't shake the discomfort she'd felt each time she'd forced herself to say cruel and hateful things to him. That perhaps he didn't deserve them. That just because the Hawk was a dark and beautiful man like Eberhard didn't mean he was the same kind of man as Eberhard. She had a nagging feeling that she was being unfair to him, for no logical reason whatsoever.

  Ah, but there is a logical explanation for how and why you've suddenly vaulted back from 1997 to 1513? She snorted derisively.

  Adrienne had learned to examine facts and deal with reality, regardless of how irrational the immediate reality appeared to be. New Orleans born and raised, she understood that human logic couldn't explain everything. Sometimes there was a larger logic at work—something tantalizingly beyond her comprehension. Lately, Adrienne felt more surprised when things made sense than when they didn't—at least when things were odd she was on familiar territory. Despite its being highly illogical and utterly improbable, all five of her senses insisted that she wasn't exactly in Kansas anymore.

  A dim memory teased the periphery of her mind… What had she been doing just before she'd found herself on the Comyn's lap? The hours before were hazy, uncertain. She could recall the uneasy feeling of being watched… and what else? An odd scent, rich and spicy, that she smelled just before she'd… what? Adrienne pushed hard against a blanket of confusion and succeeded only in making her head throb.

  She struggled with it a moment, then yielded to the pain. Adrienne muttered a fervent prayer that the larger logic behind this irrational reality treat her with more benevolence than whatever had thrown Eberhard her way.

  Too bad she hadn't lost some of those really, really bad memories. But no, just a few strange hours; a short gap of time. Perhaps the shock of what had occurred was muting her memory for now. But surely as she adjusted to this new environment she would figure out just how she'd managed to travel through time. And figure out how to get back.

  But then she wondered, did she really want to get back to what she'd left behind?

  * * * * *

  In the morning, Adrienne splashed icy water on her face and assessed herself in the blurry polished silver disc hanging above the basin. Ah, the little luxuries. Hot water. Toothpaste. What did she pine for the most?

  Coffee. Surely somewhere in the world someone was growing coffee in 1513. If her luscious husband was so anxious to please, perhaps he would find it for her—and quickly. She'd need a full carafe every morning if she continued to lose sleep like this.

  By the time the Hawk had left her room last night she'd been shaking from head to toe. The lure of the smithy was but a dim echo of the pull the man called Hawk had on all her senses. Just being in his presence made her feel quivery inside and weak at the knees—far worse than Adam had. She snorted as she recalled the Hawk's rules. Four of them had been to stay away from the smithy. Well, that was one sure way to irritate him if she felt like it. After she got her coffee.

  Adrienne rummaged through Janet's "trousseau" seeking something reasonably simple to wear. Donning a lemon-yellow gown (how did they make these brilliant fabrics in this age?), she accented it with a gold girdle at the waist and several gold arm cuffs she found. Soft leather slippers for her feet and a shake of her silvery mane and coffee assumed the priority of breathing.

  * * * * *

  "Coffee," she croaked when she'd finally managed to wind her way through the sprawling castle and find several people enjoying a leisurely breakfast. There were a dozen or so seated at the table, but the only ones Adrienne recognized were Grimm and Him, so she issued the word in their general direction hopefully.

  Everyone at the table stared at her.

  Adrienne stared back unblinkingly. She c
ould be rude too.

  "I think she said coffee," Grimm suggested after a long pause, "although I've heard more intelligible sounds from some of our falcons."

  Adrienne rolled her eyes. Morning always lent a husky quality to her brandy-rich voice. "I need coffee," she explained patiently. "And my voice is always like this in the morning."

  "A voice to cherish, smooth and complex as the finest malt Scotch," the Hawk purred. His eyes lingered on her face, then slid gently down to her toes. How in God's name could a mere look make her feel as if he'd peeled her gown from her body slowly and deliciously?

  "Didn't that fellow from Ceylon leave a store of odd things in the buttery? And I'm Lydia Douglas, by the bye, this rapscallion's—"

  "Mother—"

  "Hush. You botched the wedding and you're making a fine mess of things now, so just hush."

  Adrienne forgave him for almost everything at that moment, because he looked like a small boy as he blinked in silence. "My lady," she said, attempting a curtsy and hoping she'd addressed Hawk's mother correctly because she liked the woman instinctively, even if she had given birth to that overbearing womanizer.

  "Lydia is fine, and if I may—Adrienne? Hawk told me it's your address of preference."

  "Adrienne is wonderful. Coffee?"

  Lydia laughed, obviously unabashed by this single-minded obsession. "I take it you're used to having the strong brew of a morn. My healer tells me it has rejuvenating properties and is a natural energizer."

  "Yes." Adrienne nodded vehemently.

  "The buttery, Hawk," Lydia encouraged her son.

  "You're going to let me go?" he asked caustically.

  "Since when do you listen to me?" Lydia asked with a twinkle in her eye. "Take your new wife to find her coffee. And Adrienne, if you need aught else, even a commiserating ear, do find me. I spend much of the day in my gardens. Anyone can point you the way."

  "Thank you." Adrienne meant it from the bottom of her heart. How nice it was to have someone extend a friendly welcome! Someone not male and beautiful beyond endurance.

  "Come." The Hawk extended a hand to her. Refusing to touch him, she said sweetly, "After you."

  "Nay, lass, after you." He motioned. He'd follow the sweet curve of her hips past the horned minions of hell.

  "I must insist," Adrienne demurred.

  "As must I," he countered.

  "Go," she snapped.

  He folded his powerful arms across his chest and resolutely met her gaze.

  "Oh, for God's sake, do we have to fight about this, too?"

  "Not if you obey me, lass."

  Behind them Lydia half laughed, half groaned. "Why don't the two of you just walk side by side," she said encouragingly.

  "Fine," Adrienne snapped.

  "Fine," the Hawk snarled.

  * * * * *

  Lydia laughed until tears twinkled in her merry green eyes. Finally—a lass worthy of her son.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 8

  side by side. she didn't have to look at him. thank god for small favors.

  "And here we have the buttery," the Hawk said as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. Adrienne's spirits rose. Her nose twitched delicately. She could smell coffee beans, spices, teas, all manner of wonderful things. She practically vaulted into the room, the Hawk at her heels. As she was about to plunge a hand deep into the woven brown sack from which issued the most delicious aroma of sinfully dark coffee, the Hawk somehow managed to insinuate himself between Adrienne and her prize.

  "It would seem you quite like your coffee," he observed, with too keen an interest for her liking.

  "Yes." She shifted her weight from foot to foot, impatiently, but the man had a lot of body to block her way with. "Move, Hawk," she complained, and he laughed softly as he gripped her waist with his big hands, nearly circling it.

  Adrienne froze as a scent even more compelling than her beloved coffee tantalized her nostrils. Scent of leather and man. Of power and sexual prowess. Of confidence and virility. Scent of everything she'd imagined in her dreams.

  "Ah, my heart, there is a price—" he murmured.

  "You have no heart," she informed his chest.

  "True," he agreed. "You've thieved it. And last night I stood before you in agony whilst you ripped it asunder—"

  "Oh give over—"

  "You have odd sayings, my heart—"

  "Your heart is a puny black walnut. Wizened. Shriveled." She refused to look up at him.

  He laughed. "Lass, you will keep me amused long into my twilight years."

  "Coffee," she muttered.

  "The toll troll must be reckoned with."

  "And just what does the toll troll wish?"

  "This morn,'tis simple. Other days it may not be. Today your coffee will cost you only a wee kiss."

  "You think to dole out the coffee to me in return for kisses?" she exclaimed, disbelieving. And in spite of herself she tilted her head back and met his gaze. Well, almost. Her eyes snagged and held about three inches below his eyes on his perfectly sculpted, beautifully colored lips. A man's lips should not be so well formed and desirable. She forgot about coffee as she thought about tasting him, and her traitorous knees started to get all wobbly again.

  "Go ahead," he encouraged.

  The bastard. He knew she wanted to kiss him.

  "I know you don't want to, lass, but you must if you want your coffee."

  "And if I don't?"

  "You don't get your coffee." He shrugged. "Really,'tis a wee price to pay."

  "I don't think this is quite what your mother had in mind."

  He laughed, a dark, sensual purr, and she felt her nipples tighten. God in heaven, he was dangerous. "My mother is half responsible for me, so don't offer her up for sainthood yet, my heart."

  "Quit 'my hearting' me. I have a name."

  "Aye, and'tis Adrienne Douglas. My wife. Be glad I seek only a boon for a boon and don't simply take what's mine by right."

  She grabbed his hand quick as lightning and deposited the requisite kiss on it, then flung it back down. "My coffee," she demanded.

  The Hawk's dark eyes simmered with impatient sensuality. "Obviously, lass, there is much I need to teach you about kissing."

  "I know how to kiss!"

  "Oh? Perhaps you should demonstrate again, for if that was your idea of a kiss, I'll have to demand a more generous boon." He smiled at her, his lower lip curving invitingly.

  Adrienne closed her eyes to escape the sight of his perfect lips and realized the moment her lids fluttered shut that she'd made a serious tactical error. The Hawk cupped her face with his hands and backed her against the wall, trapping her with his powerful body. Adrienne's eyes sprang open instantly. "I did not close my eyes so you would kiss me!" she exclaimed, but her denial lost its force when she met his gaze. His intense ebony eyes scrambled her wits, making her ache to accept the pleasure he offered, but she knew she must not. Adrienne tried to free herself from his grip, but his hands on her face were firm. "Hawk! I don't think—"

  "Yes, you do, lass, and entirely too much," he interrupted, his hooded gaze mocking. "So stop thinking for a moment, will you? Just feel." He kissed her swiftly, taking erotic advantage of her lips, which were still parted in mid-protest. Adrienne pushed at his chest, but he paid no heed to her resistance.

  The Hawk buried his hands in her hair, tilting her head back to kiss her more deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth. His lips were demanding, his embrace possessive and strong, and when he leaned his hips against her body, he was insistently, undeniably male. He challenged her with his kiss, wordlessly demanding that she acknowledge the tension and heat that existed between them—a heat that was capable of incinerating a tender heart or welding two hearts into one. Desire shuddered through her so intensely that she moaned, confused and afraid. Adrienne knew it was dangerous to enjoy his touch, too risky to permit what could surely become addictive pleasure.

  The Hawk's thumb played at the corner of her mouth,
pressuring her to surrender completely to his mastery. Aroused, curious, helpless to resist, Adrienne yielded. The kiss he rewarded her with made her tremble; it was a kiss guaranteed to strip away her defenses.

  And then where would she be? Vulnerable again—a fool for a beautiful man, again.

  Hawk's hands slid from Adrienne's hair to cup her breasts, and the ensuing dampness between her thighs shocked her into awareness of her eroding control. Adrienne jerked, determined not to be just another one of this shameless womanizer's conquests. "Let me go! You said one kiss! This wasn't part of the bargain!"

  The Hawk froze. He drew his head back, his strong hands still cupping her breasts, and searched her face intently, almost angrily. Whatever it was he looked for, she could tell he wasn't satisfied. Not satisfied at all.

  He scrutinized her wide eyes a moment longer, then turned his broad back to her and scooped out a handful of coffee beans.

  Adrienne rubbed irritably at her lips, as if she could brush away the lingering, unforgettable pleasure of his touch. As they exited the buttery and walked down the long corridor in silence, refusing to look at each other, the Hawk wrapped the beans in a cloth and tucked them in his sporran.

  Just outside the Greathall he stopped and, as if tethered by a common leash, she halted in her tracks.

  "Tell me you felt it," his low voice commanded, and still they didn't look at each other. She studied the floor for dust eddies while he studied the ceiling for cobwebs.

  "Felt what?" She barely kept her voice from breaking. A kiss to build a dream on, big beautiful man?

  He yanked her against his body; undeterred when she averted her face, he lowered his head and scattered kisses upon the high curves of her breasts where they pushed against the scooped neckline of her gown.

  "Stop it!"

  He raised his head, a snarl darkening his face. "Tell me you felt it too!"

  The moment hovered, full of possibilities. It stretched into uncertainty and, in her fear, was lost.

  "Me? I was thinking on Adam."

  How could a man's eyes change from such burning intensity to such cold flat orbs in less than an instant? How could such an open face become so shuttered? A noble face become so savage?