The Draig's Woman

by Wadler, Lisa Dawn

  Speaking with a dry throat and a deep baritone, he said, “Cut my bindings, lass. They will be coming back soon. My dagger is next to me in the ground. Left there to torment me, out of reach, yet in sight.”

  Following the motion of his head, Claire spied the dagger sticking out of the earth. Several things dawned on her at that moment. She was standing in the woods, not in the club’s parking lot, and it was cold and damp, not desert warm. The man spoke in what could only be described as a Scottish brogue. It was early morning here, definitely not the midnight sky she had just seen. So many things were so very wrong.

  Grabbing the dagger, Claire noted it felt very solid in her hand, even if the pattern felt strange on her palm. The metal of the handle was engraved with some type of dragon, with a head on each end and no tail. Reestablishing a firm grip on the weapon, she pointed it at the bound man. “What the hell is going on here? Where am I?”

  As the man stared at the point of his blade, the response was soft but commanding. “Lass, cut the ropes. I mean no threat to you. Keep the dagger. Just do it with haste. The men who captured me will be back soon.”

  Should I trust him? The bound man was obviously trying to keep her calm, and she was already reaching for the ropes that held him, as if by instinct. Giving in to her urgings, she stepped behind the large old tree to cut the ropes. As Claire leaned into the bindings for more leverage, the man’s smell caught her by surprise. Even though he wasn’t at his best, he still made her senses reel. He was a heavenly combination of earth, fresh air, musk, and something she couldn’t name. The rational part of her brain quickly chastised her lack of focus. What I need is to get the heck out of here, not to inhale him like he’s the best smelling person I’ve ever met. As the ropes fell away, the man stood to full height, stretching his sore limbs. He stood at least six foot two and looked to weigh more than two hundred and forty pounds.

  He turned to face Claire. “Lass, I am Ian, Laird of the Draig clan, and I am in your debt.” His bold green eyes never left hers as he moved to stand in front of her.

  Claire just stared. She knew this was wrong and she shouldn’t be there. It wasn’t right. You don’t just wind up in the forest from a door in a parking lot. You don’t untie men like this from trees. Now is the time to go back. Where is that door? Her head turned to see the door just to her right, and through it, a view of the world she knew. She moved toward it. As Claire reached the threshold, Ian gently clasped her hand.

  “Your name, lass?” Ian asked as his eyes studied her face.

  Caught in his gaze, she had trouble remembering who she was. After managing to mumble it, she stumbled on her heels.

  “Claire,” Ian repeated with a small smile.

  It seemed to Claire as if Ian savored the sound of her name in his mouth, spilling them gently from his lips. She couldn’t stop staring at his lips. Enough! She knew she should go.

  Ian reached gently for her face. He moved very slowly, and his face inched closer to hers. She looked up at him, unsure of his intention. Ian leaned closer, gently brushing his lips against hers, just the softest of kisses.

  Delighting in the feel of his mouth against hers and the rush of sparks that shot through her limbs, Claire could only let the kiss blossom into something more, enjoying the tingly warmth it created. She was unable to stop her soft whimper as Ian broke the kiss. She found her cheek cupped in his warm hand and Ian tilting her head up so that he could see her. His soft smile was replaced by something different, an intense gaze that all but screamed raw sexual desire. She stepped back abruptly. She needed to leave.

  Appearing all too pleased with her response, he said, “Go back, Claire, with the knowledge you will always have my thanks.” Ian released her hand.

  She immediately missed the feel of his hand, even as her lips wanted more of what he had offered. Claire shook away the unbidden thoughts; she needed to get back home. She looked at the view of the parking lot and did not trust herself to speak. With a small smile, Claire handed Ian his dagger and stepped into the door, but nothing changed. The tall, budding trees were still there as the smell of fresh earth assaulted her senses. The feel of grass and small rocks under her feet were not the expected blacktop. Her heart pounded as she hoped she had simply done something wrong. Refusing to give up, Claire quickly turned back to try again and again. Nothing. There was no change in her surroundings. Her heart slammed against her chest as her way home failed. The door seemed a mirage with no solid footing in reality.

  A rustling noise in the trees came toward them and captured her attention. Ian’s voice came out in a harsh whisper. “Lass, get behind me. We tarried too long, and they are back.”

  The three men who entered the clearing were revolting; their hair was dirty and matted, and filth covered them from head to toe. They each wore coarse woven pants and were armed with swords. The surprise that their captive was free lasted only a moment. The man in front commanded, “Get the laird, or we lose our coin. And it was quite thoughtful of him to present us with a lass.” The other two laughed and moved in to circle Claire and Ian.

  Ian pushed Claire behind him. She wanted to argue that the small dagger he wielded was hardly appropriate against three men armed with swords, but she didn’t dare, as the three men circled and the leader gave instructions for her to be captured alive.

  As one of the men pulled her away from the shelter of Ian’s back, she cried out in protest. She ceased all struggle as cold steel pressed against her throat. Claire was aware of how she was being held, her back to the attacker’s front. She felt a sudden sense of confidence at the realization that there was no other grip on her and the attacker depended solely on the threat of the sword. Holding her arms up in surrender, she carefully placed one arm under her attacker’s arm that held the sword.

  Claire winced as the man bellowed in her ear, “Dinna stand there, fools, get him!”

  Taking advantage of the man’s distraction, Claire moved fast. The mock surrender became her attack. She grabbed his sword hand, twisting it away from her as she pivoted in the other direction. Her momentum corkscrewed the man to the ground. Using the energy of the move, the strength she’d always held back while taking classes, she forced his wrist to snap backward, and the sword fell to the ground.

  Lunging for the weapon, Claire yelled to Ian and threw it toward him. The dazed expressions told her that she had surprised them all. Ian had the good sense to catch the weapon and turned to face the other two attackers. A harsh smile covered his face; it would seem the laird had no issue taking vengeance.

  She held her ground as her attacker rose from the forest floor. The obvious pain from the broken wrist slowed his movements. Claire yelled at him to stay down and then to back away. As he lunged for her, she reacted with years of training. The sidekick to his chest knocked him back down to the ground. Quickly straddling his chest and holding him locked in a firm front mount, his arms and legs were effectively pinned. She offered him one last chance. “Stop now.”

  His body bucked beneath her hold. She knew it was only a matter of moments before her advantage was gone. He spoke his threat clearly. “You will suffer before you die.” Just before the man broke free, Claire struck. Her hand rose with knuckles pointing out, and the knuckles struck him hard in his throat. She held him firm to the ground as he struggled for air that would not come until he ceased all movement.

  Feeling Ian standing behind her, Claire rose from the man lying on the ground. She muttered, “He wouldn’t stay down . . . I had no choice, he just . . . kept getting up.” Claire’s eyes were large and unfocused as she stared at the dead man at her feet. She tottered in her heels as the realization struck her.

  I killed someone.

  Stumbling away from the body, Claire fell to her knees as the bile rose in her throat.

  “Lass, there was no choice, ever. If you had nay killed him, it would have bee
n you lying upon the ground. But how did you do this? You have no weapon.” The surprise was more than evident in Ian’s tone.

  The reply came from memory. “I am the weapon.” The words spoken during so many martial arts classes were delivered with a flat voice. Looking up at Ian, but not seeing anything, she explained, “I punched him in the throat, and I broke his windpipe so that he couldn’t breathe.” Ian’s hand reached out to help her from the ground. Refusing to be distracted by his touch, she rose on her own. She brushed the pebbles from her knees as she wobbled on her heels.

  “For such fine skill, I will always be grateful. Claire, I have no words to express my thanks. You fought for the weapon I hold in my hand and saved me from recapture. But we are nay safe yet. There were better-trained men with these fools. I fear that they will soon arrive. We need to leave and leave now. I will keep you safe, but we must ride.” Facing away from her, Ian gave a loud whistle. A black horse trotted into sight. “Samson is very wise, lass, and he had the good sense to avoid capture, unlike his master.”

  Claire saw the giant black stallion, and panic followed. “I can’t leave. My passage home is here. Maybe I just need to keep trying.” Turning to face home, she stopped in mid-step. There was no door. There was only the forest as far as the eye could see. She stood and stared, unable to move as her heart hammered in her chest.

  “I just want to go back,” she whispered.

  Ian led the horse to Claire’s side and spoke gently. “Come, lass, we need to go. The danger is too great in this place.” Not waiting her for approval, he lifted her gently onto the stallion.

  “I need my bag.” Claire’s voice was hollow, void of any emotion as she settled onto the animal’s back. Ian grabbed the black bag from the ground and handed it to Claire. She gripped it tight, grateful for something familiar in her hands. Ian’s large body filled the space behind her, and she stiffened as his arm wrapped around her waist. Her pulse raced as his face dipped and he inhaled deeply of her hair. For just a flash of a moment, her breath stuck in her throat as the feel of muscular thighs against her legs brought to mind thoughts that should not be. Not now and definitely not here. A foolish attempt to straighten the short skirt, to put some fabric between her and the man with his plaid riding high on his thighs on the horse, only earned Claire a small chuckle from the man seated behind her.

  With a soft voice, Ian spoke against the shell of her ear. “We need to ride hard and fast, Claire. The men will soon offer chase. Be at ease, you are under my protection. Besides, I would take only what is offered.” He inhaled her hair one more time. “You smell sweet, lass.”

  Attempting to pull away from him, Claire retorted, “I am offering you nothing.” She ignored the breathy quality to her voice, refusing to acknowledge whatever this was between them.

  Ian tightened his grip on her waist. “Then I will seek to take nothing.” As Claire ceased her weak struggle, he said, “You have saved my life, let me save yours. We ride now, lass.” Not waiting for a reply, Ian kicked the horse into motion. As the horse broke into a run, her body was forced to accept his, at least for now.

  Chapter 2

  The sun had reached midday height in the sky. Traveling north, they passed nothing but trees and rocks. The forest blurred before Claire as Ian directed the horse away from her only hope of ever getting home. Claire tried to keep her mind blank; not wanting to think about what had just happened, blank seemed safer. Her thoughts avoided the attack in the parking lot and refused to acknowledge the fight to the death in a forest that shouldn’t exist. She was not focusing on the breakneck pace the horse kept. Her thoughts stayed away from thinking about the man holding her on the horse with his legs touching hers, the man who had kissed her. Well, that was supposed to have been goodbye. So she let her mind drift into nothingness and willed her body not to feel the frigid air, until the stream they splashed through brought back the awareness she had struggled against. As the cold water hit her legs, she said, “I need to stop. Now. Stop now, please.”

  Ian answered as the horse slowed. “Aye, Claire, ‘tis a fine place to stop. We can see to our needs, have a drink, and rest the horse for a moment or two.” Coming to a halt on the other side of the creek, Ian jumped from the horse and waited to assist Claire in dismounting.

  Handing him her bag, Ian set it on the ground. Claire held her breath as he lifted her from the saddle. The air whooshed from her lungs as Ian slid her body too slowly down his solid chest and held her far too close. She could only stare at him as her feet touched the ground. The smile he offered was far too inviting.

  “We need to be quick about this. The danger is far from past.” Ian’s comment snapped Claire back to attention. She looked him in the eye and nodded. Moving away, she limped into the trees with her bag.

  That ride chaffed the crap out of my thighs. I am so not dressed for a ride in the woods. It is way too cold to be dressed like this. I’m in the woods. I shouldn’t be in the woods. I haven’t been in the woods in years. How long ago was that family vacation?

  Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe Peter took me down and I hit my head. It would explain Ian, right? No one looks like that, definitely not real. It would explain a lot. Only in a dream could I kill someone and ride away on horseback with a beautiful man after my way home disappears. Only in a dream could the guy smell so good and feel so phenomenal. Let’s go with dream during a concussion, seems likely given the alternative.

  Unfortunately, Claire could never remember having to pee in a dream.

  She removed her ruined dress and within her bag found her sleepover gear. My mother will freak out when she sees this dress now. Like that’s my biggest issue. Yoga pants, tank top, and a wrap sweater. Great, another shelf bra. I had hoped my imagination would let me dress more comfortably.

  She never thought to be grateful that Brooke always kept the air conditioning too low as she put on the wrap sweater. Maybe Brooke sent a text. I’m an idiot. I have a cell phone and can call for help. She found the phone, but there were no bars, no service, and almost no battery. And that meant no help.

  Finding the only comforting thought the moment would provide, there was a hair band in her bag. With a quick brush, her hair was out of her face. She removed the silver bracelet from her wrist; it kept getting in the way when she hit people.

  In her mind she saw the dead man at her feet and shook with revulsion at what she had done. Forcing the horror away, she centered her mind to focus on what she needed at this exact moment. Shoes, I need shoes. Her head fell forward in defeat at the certainty her New Balance sneakers were on the passenger seat of her car. The dream just kept getting worse. Now she was wearing yoga pants and three-inch heeled black boots. One heck of an outfit.

  Stepping out of the tree cover, Claire made her way back to the stream. She found Ian bent over the water with his shirt in hand, washing away the grime. “You have some nasty bruises and some cuts on your back. Those should be cleaned,” Claire said. She realized she sounded calm.

  Good, calm is good. Staring at his broad back is not. Ian’s built like he works out constantly. His muscles ripple just from washing his face. If this man is a threat, can I take him down if I need to? My dream, my rules. I can take him down if needed.

  Without turning to see her, Ian handed her his shirt, wet from the stream. “I can nay reach, lass, would you mind?”

  Claire took the shirt and stared at it.

  This feels very solid, very cold, and extremely wet. This feels way too . . . real. What am I supposed to do now? Oh yeah, he wants me to wash his back. Sure, why not? Do I get to wash the front too? Maybe the weirdness will end and this dream will start getting down and dirty. Get a grip, girl. He only wants you to clean his wounds. Wounds? Should there be wounds? I never dream about injuries.

  Gently wiping away the dried blood, she decided they had to be cuts from a sword.

  F
ocus on the task and not the way he smells. Good lord, he smells good.

  Ian’s wince brought her back from her mental wanderings. “Sorry, does it hurt?”

  Does it hurt? Come on, he’s wounded, of course it hurts.

  “Dinna fash yourself, lass. ‘Twas a fine effort made. Do any require stitching?” Ian asked as he continued washing the grime away in the stream.

  What the heck is fash? “N-No,” she stuttered. “I don’t think so. You are really bruised though, here and here.” Claire ran her fingertips lightly over his lower back and up the middle right side.

  This dream is becoming so much better. My fingers are all tingly from touching him.

  Claire abruptly stepped back as Ian flinched away from her touch.

  Rising from his crouch, Ian needed to get away as even her gentle ministrations were driving him mad. He did not believe that to be her intent, though, not after the morning they had experienced. Turning to face Claire, he noted that she had donned new garb. Black trews that were impossibly tight, so tight that they showed off her firm, long legs almost as much as her wee gown had. Some type of undergarment that was the color of her skin showed beneath her green woolen. Even that was snug, leaving very little to his extremely vivid imagination. Ian knew from holding her on the ride that Claire was firm. He didn’t know a lass could be so firm around the waist. Breasts that were full enough to fill his hands met his eyes. As his gaze traveled up her body, the smile that had come over him vanished when he met her harsh expression. The lass did not seem to care for his appreciative gaze.