Highlander's Love: A Scottish Historical Time Travel Romance (Called by a Highlander Book 4)

by Mariah Stone

  “Even more reason to eat,” Owen said. “Dinna make me come and make ye.”

  She groaned and shook her head. The next moment, his giant frame loomed over her. He leaned down and took both her hands in his, making her skin buzz from the touch. He pulled her up, and she stood before him, deliciously confined by his strong arms.

  He swallowed hard, staring into her eyes with the intensity of a thousand suns. The floor shook under her feet, and she forgot how to breathe. Her knees jittered, and she felt herself losing balance. But he held her safely in place by the elbows.

  “Let’s eat,” Owen said, his voice hoarse. “Come.”

  He gently led her to the table, and she let him. She didn’t think anyone had ever taken care of her like this.

  Owen let her sit and took the chair across the table from her. He poured ale in the cups and clunked his with hers. In the dim light of the room, his eyes were the color of grass in the golden hour before sunset. She melted like wax under the heat of his gaze.

  They drank, and the ale was sweet and tasted only slightly alcoholic. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. She took the first spoonful of cold stew without tasting the food. All her attention was on the golden demigod sitting across the table from her. The man who’d saved her life and helped her escape torture in a medieval dungeon. The man whose very presence made her feel supported and cherished, as well as weak and wobbly.

  All things she really shouldn’t feel towards a Highlander born about seven hundred years earlier than her. But it all felt so right. So good. Like there was hope for her.

  Back home, she had no one. Her mom and dad were dead, and her brothers had their own lives. They’d never been close. That’s why she hadn’t contacted any of them to help when Jackson framed her for Bryan’s murder. But this man cared for her, even though he didn’t really know her.

  She tore herself a chunk of bread and spread some butter on it, then bit into it.

  “I have a question, Owen,” she said through a mouthful.

  He chewed as well, his square jaw working. He raised his eyebrows in response.

  She swallowed. “Why do you care about me? Why are you helping me, going to these lengths to save me?”

  “I see a lass in need, I canna leave her in peril. Ye’re from another time. Ye need protection.”

  “Yes, but there’s more to it, isn’t there? There must be. Tell me the truth.”

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “The truth, lass? I dinna think ye’re ready to hear the truth.”

  “I am. I feel like I’ve lived through more with you than I have with any of my brothers. This past week, or however long it has been, felt like a lifetime. So tell me. Did you help me out of the kindness of your heart? Or is there more?”

  He studied her as though contemplating whether to tell her or not. Then he leaned forward over the table and covered her hand with his. The touch went through her like a bolt of electricity, stealing her breath away and melting her blood.

  “There’s more, lass. I think ye’re magnificent.”

  Chapter 14

  Amber’s large, dark eyes widened.

  He chuckled softly and drank from his cup. She was too much of a distraction. Women in peril were his weakness. He couldn’t pass up a woman in distress, and she was an especially rare one. Looking at her now, her smooth skin glowing, fire from the candle dancing in her eyes, he couldn’t hold back.

  “The moment I saw ye kicking and punching the English knights—ye had no weapon, just yer fists and yer legs… I dinna think I’ve seen anyone so breathtaking. And that ye’re from the future…”

  A spasm of emotion tightened his throat, and he couldn’t say a word more. The fact that she was from the future made her mysterious. Made her a heroine who’d stepped out of a myth, or a ballad or a fairy tale.

  It made her magical.

  Pretty women were the reason for many troubles in his life. The reason Lachlan had died, the reason his clan had gotten in trouble with the MacDougalls, and the reason they were out of favor with the old king. Every time something bad happened, it was because he’d been distracted by a woman.

  Amber was a distraction, too.

  But she made him feel like he was finally alive. Like there was no need to chase the next shiny thing, because the dull ache inside him had stopped in her presence. A voice in his head liked to tell him he was worthless, that he only brought ill to his clan, and that he was his father’s least favorite son. That his brothers were all great warriors and responsible men who’d rather die than leave their family in peril.

  That he was the peril.

  That voice was quiet in Amber’s presence. She made him feel like he could be more than he’d ever imagined.

  Her full lips parted, and he swallowed hard to keep himself from lunging over the table and sealing his lips with hers.

  She was so beautiful. So different. Her golden-brown skin glowed like treasure. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and wonder. Her body called him, all willowy and muscular and feminine.

  “What about me being from the future?” she said.

  “Ye make me believe in wonders, lass.”

  Her lips parted in surprise. He didn’t hesitate. He stood and covered the distance between them in one step. He lifted her up to have her stand before him and kissed her.

  Her lips met his, soft and warm and succulent, like an exquisite, foreign wine from a faraway country. Her body, delicate and strong at the same time, pressed against his and ignited fire in his blood. Desire roared through him, and his cock stood hard and throbbing for her.

  She responded, kissing him as hungrily as he kissed her. The soft brushes of her lips against his, of her tongue against his, unraveled something within him, peeling him open, exposing his core, raw and pure and vulnerable.

  He reached down to the edge of her tunic, but she froze.

  “Someone’s coming,” she whispered against his lips.

  Heavy steps sounded on the stairs, and he unwillingly let her go. They both breathed heavily, their gazes locked, the unresolved desire thick and heavy between them.

  Someone knocked at the door, and the innkeeper came in with a bucket of steaming water. The girl who had brought food earlier came after him with another bucket. Amber turned away from them and sat down, hunching over the food to conceal her face. There was nothing to do about her long, wavy braid, but he supposed some men had hair like her in his time.

  The innkeeper and the girl repeated the journey several times, and soon the bath stood steaming. They threw Amber a few sideways glances, which wasn’t good. He knew they’d leave first thing in the morning. No doubt the innkeeper would remember two English warriors, one of who had unusually long and voluminous hair.

  When the two left, Owen locked the door and leaned against it. Amber stood and walked to the middle of the room, her eyes wide.

  “Ye should take yer bath first,” he said, his cock swelling again just at the thought of Amber undressing. “I’ll go to sleep. Wake me up when ye’re done.”

  He walked to the other side of the bed and started undressing. He felt her watching him, her gaze warm and tingling on his skin. Christ, if he could, he would come to her, take her in his arms, and make love to her in that bath. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t dive into that temptation. He needed to focus.

  Besides, she must be exhausted and in pain from the journey.

  He got onto the bed and turned around. His whole body ached, his skin sensitive and feeling every scratch of the blanket and the linens against him.

  Her clothes rustled as she undressed and dropped them to the floor with the softest of thumps. The image of her naked body flooded his mind—the seductive curve of the small of her back, the sides of her breasts. Owen clenched his fists in an attempt to chase those visions away. They made him harder and hotter.

  He heard water splashing and knew she must be sitting in the bath. She hissed slightly, probably from the burn o
f water against her wounds.

  “Actually, can you help me?” she said. “I can’t reach my back, I’m afraid to strain the muscles and tear the stitches.”

  Owen swallowed hard. Say nae. Say nae.

  He could lose his head over her. If he gave in to this temptation, what mistake would he make next because of her?

  “Owen?”

  “Aye, lass, I’ll help ye.”

  Goddamn idiot. Did he not possess any self-control? It was as though his body had a will of its own. His head screamed at him to stay in bed, but he stood and walked to her.

  “Don’t look, okay?” she said.

  Don’t look?

  “Aye,” he said, ogling her.

  She sat in the water hugging her knees, her bare back to him. Droplets rolled down her shoulders. He picked up the soap and the washcloth that swam in the water and squeezed it over her back. She hissed as water flowed down her back. The sight of them made him ache all over.

  He ran the cloth down her back as gently as he could. The crusts opened up in places and bled a little. Poor lass. At least now he wasn’t thinking of how much he wanted to be inside her.

  “’Tis done,” he said when he’d washed as much as he could without irritating her wounds.

  “Thanks.” She took the cloth from him without turning around. He imaged how she’d gently run the washcloth over her breasts, her chest, her neck. Then down her stomach, and farther down…

  Getting hard again, he looked away and went back to the bed. As he reached it, water spattered loudly on the floor, and without thinking he swung his gaze to the bath.

  Big mistake.

  Amber stood naked and wet.

  Their eyes met.

  “Mother of God,” he muttered.

  He was wrong. She wasn’t a heroine from a fairy tale or a legend. She was a goddess. Her skin glowed golden brown. She had full breasts with dark nipples he ached to taste, a small waist, and wide hips. Between her thighs was a black triangle of curls. She had long, sculpted legs with powerful muscles.

  She was the image of femininity and strength. His pulse beat in his temples like small drums, his cock swelling even more.

  “Lass, do ye want my heart to stop?” he said.

  She didn’t cover herself. She didn’t waver. She showed no sign that she wanted him to turn around now. She reached for the fresh cloth that hung on the edge of the tub and wrapped herself in it, leaving only her sculpted shoulders and arms out.

  “Don’t get any ideas.” She climbed out of the tub and walked to the bed. “Hope you enjoyed the show, but nothing is going to happen. Get in while the water is still warm.”

  She climbed to the other side of the bed and under the blankets. The clean scent of her skin reached him, teasing him, setting his blood to boil. Now that she lay right next to him, with nothing on but a piece of linen, the last thing he wanted was to leave the bed. He longed to reach for her and make her his.

  But being with her would cloud his judgment and lead him to lose his head. He couldn’t afford any mistakes while the future of Scotland may be in his hands.

  “Aye,” he said, and using all the willpower he had, he climbed out of bed and went to the tub.

  Chapter 15

  Amber peered from under the blanket at Owen. His powerful back was coiled with muscle and flowed into a gorgeous, round male ass. A beautiful ass she wanted to dig her fingernails in while urging him to plunge deeper into her.

  Her back hurt, but her body felt clean and fresh after the warm water. The sight of naked Owen stirred unrest deep within her and impaired her thoughts. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, and muscles deep within her clenched.

  He got into the tub without looking at her, but as he turned a little, she saw his hard erection. She bit her lip at the size of it. Was he so aroused because of her? The thought of her making him hard ignited her own desire even more.

  Owen lowered himself in the bathtub, still with his back to her, and began washing himself. He sank down into the tub until his head was completely under the water and then rose back up. Droplets trickled down his skin, and Amber wanted to lick them off him.

  She closed her eyes, willing herself to think of something else, to distract herself from the heat between her legs and the bubbles of excitement in her stomach.

  Just go to sleep, she told herself and closed her eyes. But even though she was tired, she couldn’t doze off. The sound of splashing kept her thinking of a naked, wet Owen. Of Owen inviting her to join him. Of Owen guiding her to straddle him, kissing her, grabbing her thighs, growling with pleasure.

  Then the mattress shifted, and he was in the bed.

  Amber stiffened. The brush of the blanket against her skin felt like a caress. It augmented her sensations, making the small hairs on her body stand up. She realized their breathing had synced up. The simple linen blanket tucked between her thighs felt coarse against her skin, and his presence was like a warm force field over her.

  “Lass,” he whispered. “Are ye asleep?”

  She contemplated not responding. If she did reply, she might not be able to resist anything initiated. But she couldn’t resist. “I’m awake.”

  “Can I ask ye a question?”

  His voice was warm and low and inviting. She opened her eyes and saw he was staring right at her. She sank into their green depths, like a sea of soft clover in autumn. The scent of clean skin, wet hair, and his masculine musk reached her, and it made her want to rub against him like a cat. She could drink in that smell like a well-aged whiskey.

  “Sure.” She cleared her throat. She itched to reach out and shift the wet strand of hair on his forehead.

  “Why did ye traveled in time?”

  Oh God, could he have asked a more loaded question? It was probably innocent enough for him, but for her…

  Could she admit to him what she’d been accused of? And admit she was a coward that had run away instead of staying and defending herself. More importantly, did she trust him to believe in her innocence?

  The truth was, she was tired of lying. Tired of pretending, looking for excuses and justifications. She was so relieved he knew about time travel. It felt as though a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. How would it feel to tell him about the worst thing that had ever happened to her?

  What if he used that knowledge against her?

  No, she stopped herself. No. He wasn’t like that. He’d saved her life and taken care of her. He made her feel like miracles existed and he was about to gift her one.

  She’d sworn to never trust anyone again, but she truly wanted to trust people. Even though she was afraid, she could start changing that now.

  “Do you really want to know?” she said. “It’s not a happy story.”

  “Aye. I’m nae a stranger to sad stories.”

  Her hand curled in a fist around the pillow, and she made an effort to relax it. He may never look at her the same again.

  “Okay,” she said. “Here goes.”

  She took a deep breath in and released the angst that clenched her core. Once she said the words out loud, there would be no turning back. There was a big chance Owen wouldn’t be able to accept her if he thought she was a coward.

  The feelings roiling through her resembled those she’d experienced when she went out on a mission to eliminate terrorists. The sinking tension in her gut intensified and she was hyperaware of the slightest movement and every change in the air. Every step could be the difference between life and death, but she took that and waited for a bullet to hit.

  “I ran from the police. That’s how I ended up traveling back in time.”

  “The police?”

  “Right. I suppose, you don’t have police in your time… It’s law enforcement. Like, if you break the law, they arrest you and put you in prison until you’re tried for the crime you committed.”

  “Oh. Aye. I understand. They’re like a clan chief who makes sure justice is served and punishes thieves and murderers.”

&n
bsp; “Yes. Except, in my time, there’s a whole giant organization that specializes in that. Men and women work for money as policemen.”

  “Like a chief’s warriors.”

  “Well, yes. I fought a war for my country in Afghanistan.” Owen frowned, so she added, “Middle East.”

  “The caliphate?”

  “Yes. I suppose that’s what it used to be called back in your time.”

  “And what crime did ye commit, lass?”

  She locked her eyes with his. Was he disappointed in her? Afraid to hear the answer?

  No. He seemed to study her carefully but calmly. In fact, his tone was casual, as though he were asking what kind of tea she preferred. That should have been reassuring, but instead it bothered her.

  Had he committed a crime?

  “I didn’t,” she said. “But I was set up for one. Someone made it look as though I murdered a man.”

  His face lost the calm, attentive expression and went blank. Amber’s chest squeezed, and her limbs chilled. That was it. He’d never look at her in the same way again.

  “So yer police think ye murdered someone and are looking for ye to punish ye?”

  “Yes. Under martial law, I can get a lifetime in prison, or”—her throat spasmed, and she swallowed—“a death sentence. And there’s no way I can prove I didn’t do it. I wanted to try. I did want to, but I was so terrified, paralyzed. The man who framed me, Major Jackson, he’s too powerful. I’ll lose.”

  Owen covered her hand that lay on the pillow with his own. His palm was a little callused and warm. The touch reassured her and melted the icy tension in her chest.

  “Tell me everything, lass.”

  Amber’s mind flooded with memories.

  “De Bourgh reminds me of Major Jackson.”

  Owen’s green eyes held an undertone of steel, and his expression grew hard. He pressed his lips into a thin line and didn’t say anything.

  “Not with how he looks,” Amber said. “But there’s this dead coldness about him, this determination to achieve things no matter what. Jackson’s smart. And he made my blood chill.”