“Where are we…well, other than in a castle?”
He cupped his hands, slid them into the water, and splashed it over his face. Wiping the excess away with one hand, he turned to look at her. Droplets of water lingered on his long lashes and the faint scruff of stubble on his face. “We are in Scotland, lass.”
Paige swallowed hard. “Scotland, you say?” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “That can’t be right,” she said more to herself than him.
“Ye look peaked, lass,” he noted as he looked at her once again over his very nicely sculpted shoulder.
“Who are you?” Even though she tried to keep the quivering edge from her voice, it still came out more of a squeak.
“Gavin de Grey,” he said. “I am the current laird o’ Greystone Castle.” He cocked his head to the side. “Ye may call me, Laird.”
“Oh—kay, Laird,” she choked out as her heart jumped into double time. “What century is this?”
His dark brows creased as he gave her a confused look.
“What year?” she nearly shouted.
His expression remained surprisingly impassive.
She switched tactics. “Who is your King?”
“That depends on who ye ask.” His brow lifted another notch.
“Who is the current King?”
He made a face and exhaled as he sunk against the back of the tub. “King James.”
“Oh.” Paige kneeled on the floor, gripping the side of tub to keep upright. She wasn’t great with history but she did know if James was King, she was in the past. Apparently, the damn gypsy hadn’t been lying after all.
♦
“If ye want to find a real Highlander do ye mind traveling to a different time lass?”
She remembered very clearly, hiccupping and then saying, “Meh-sure, why not
“Are ye sure, lass?” Her rheumy eyes sparkled mischievously like she had a big secret.
“Yep,” she had said and she recalled a wink to boot.
♦
She groaned, leaning forward.
“Do ye need to relieve yerself, lass?”
Paige looked up. The instant their eyes met, she felt like she may need to lie down, for like ever. Apparently, he was not immune either, for in that moment he looked like he might need to lie down as well.
“No.”
“Well, if ye are going ta be sick ye might want ta use the chamber pot in the corner,” he suggested helpfully as he leaned away from her in the tub.
Paige would have laughed at his horrified expression but… she heaved and ran to the aforementioned pot.
Gripping the sides of the bowl, she leaned over and was surprised nothing came out. When she was sure she wasn’t going to be sick, she ducked out from behind the screen and walked back across the room.
“Have ye finally figured out ye are somewhere ye wouldn’t have thought ta be?” Both his brows lifted this time as though he was accentuating his point.
Paige nodded, accepting her fate. She tried not to think of the impossibility of the situation or that she just might be out of her ever-loving-freaking mind.
He seemed to ponder this for a moment and then sank back against the tub, once again. Steam rose in the air and a light sheen of perspiration was on his face. There was no doubt about one thing, he was a mighty fine Highlander and she did ask for one—maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all…. right? She could stay here for a while… a mini vacation of sorts, and then go back home.
He cracked open one eye and lifted a perfectly arched brow. “What are ye waiting for, lass?”
“What?” She looked back at his handsome face. He was giving her another one of his curious looks.
“I said,” he said slowing his words so she could understand. “Wash the filth from my body before the water gets cold.”
Paige understood him that time. “All rightly then,” she muttered. Blowing her hair from her eyes, she reached over the side of the tub to grab the soap floating on top. Her fingers barely closed over the rectangle bar before a firm hand grabbed hold of her own.
“Take care with that soap. Tis the only one I have left,” he said.
Paige got the gist of what he was saying that time and he didn’t even slow his mish-mash of words. Once again, she was reminded of words from modern day sprinkled, off and on, with Scottish words and old English.
She tugged on her hand. He gave her the hairy eyeball, a warning of sorts she supposed, and released her. She frowned at the soap. It was purple. Purple? “Where did you get this?” She felt like she had just entered into an episode of the Twilight Zone.
He reclined back in the water, shutting his eyes once more. “One of the previous witches left it for me.” Lifting his hand, he slid it back through his wet hair.
“Why’d she do that?” A sudden flare of jealously shot through her—he was supposed to be her highlander.
He lifted his massive shoulders and lowered them. “It was an offering, so I might spare her life and send her back home,” he explained.
“What?” She gaped. “Wait...an offering?”
“Yer a witch too, are ye not?” He slanted an eye open.
“That depends on what you do with witches,” she hedged. Standing up from the floor, she glanced around the room looking for an escape route if the need arose.
“In another time, we would burn them but I have seen far too many things of late and actually the stench of burning flesh really bothers me.”
“Uh, what did you do with this other witch?”
“I suppose she went back ta where she came from, but she left this for me.” He held up the soap. “What did ye bring me? More soap? Candies? Or did ye bring me some other wonder from the future to fill my belly?”
“What?”
“Ye are from another time are ye not?
“Well…” She chewed on her lip, pulling it between her teeth. “Maaybee?”
“This conversation is tedious.” He closed his eyes. “I am waiting.”
“For what…exactly?”
“For ye ta wash me.” He exhaled and cracked open his eye again.
Not having any options at this point, she stepped forward. “Uh, okay.”
Walking around to the bottom of the tub, she reached in the water and lifted out his foot. It was a very large foot. He pulled it back down and water splashed up over the front of her gown that had just recently dried out from her earlier drenching.
“Are ye daft?”
“What is with you people calling me daft?” She recognized the word from earlier, not to mention the numerous historical romances she had read.
“Ye will want ta start with my hair and then work yer way down my body.”
“How silly of me,” she muttered and made her way back up to the top of the tub.
“There is a pitcher over there.” He inclined his head to the opposite side of the room. “Ye may use it to rinse my hair, and there is some shampoo as well, lavender I think.”
“Lavender?” She gaped at him in shock.
“Aye…” He gave her a pointed look. “Is there a problem?”
“No…” She shook her head. “Not at all,” she said. Now she knew why the hall below had smelled like lavender.
“I like the way it smells,” he explained and closed his eyes once more.
“Of course, you do.” She didn’t know why this didn’t surprise her more.
“Come now, lass, and get ta it before the water gets cold.” He lifted his foot up and propped it on the edge of the tub.
Standing, she wiped her hands on her wet gown and got the pitcher from the table. When she turned around he was giving her a strange look and her belly flip-flopped. Ignoring him and the giddy rush of excitement flowing through her body, she returned to the side of the tub and set the pitcher on the floor. “So…” she hedged as she lifted up the bottle of shampoo and poured out handful of liquid.
He slanted an eye open. “Yes…”
“How often do you bathe?”
&n
bsp; “Depends…” he said and shut his eye.
“On…”
“Whether I need ta bathe or not.” He muttered something else that was hard to hear but she could swear he used the word daft again.
Irritated, she smacked the glob of shampoo down of his head and vigorously rubbed it into his long hair.
“How long were ye waiting for me?” His voice was pleasant and deep—very sexy.
“What?”
“Ye were waiting for me were ye not?”
“Uh…” she flustered and knocked the shampoo on the floor.
“Och, lass, careful. That is the only bottle I have.”
Grabbing hold of the wayward bottle, she set it upright on the floor and resumed rubbing the shampoo through his hair. The silky mass slid through her fingers.
“How long were ye waiting for me?” he asked again.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking me?” Distracted, her eyes floated back down to the water lapping just below his navel.
“Looking for something?” He lifted the soap from the water where her eyes were stuck.
“Thanks.” She took it from his hand. “No, I don’t think so.” She reached up and felt her head. Did she have a concussion?
“Are ye always this slow then?”
“What?” She gaped at him. “I’m not slow.” Her voice came out all screechy. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“It seems that way ta me.” He shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Jerk.”
“Ah, another one of your strange words from the future I suppose.” He sighed. “Ye want to go back into the bog of mud?”
“No.”
“Well…” He lifted his brow. “Then make yerself useful.”
“Fine,” she gritted. Grabbing the pitcher, she dunked it into the water a bit forcefully.
He pushed back against the tub. “Och, lass, are ye trying to make me a eunuch?”
Paige finally noticed where she submerged the pitcher. It was right below his navel. “Oops, sorry,” she said sheepishly and quickly pulled out the pitcher that was now filled with water and set it down beside the tub.
He slid back down into the water but not before she got another really good eyeful of his incredible physique.
“So, does this happen often?” She resumed rubbing his scalp. It was kind-of a turn on.
“Does what happen often?” He sounded like he was from modern day again.
She shook her head, not sure what to make of his mish-mashed language. He turned and looked up at her. “You know,” she said. “Getting girls from the future?” she elaborated, suddenly hoping that wasn’t the case.
“Not often,” he said and this time she noticed his brow twitched. Was that a tell? Was he lying?
“How did you know where to get me?”
“I ventured through the mist and retrieved ye,” he explained. “Ye were exactly where the crone, I mean the uh, gypsy, told me you would be.”
“How would she know?”
He shrugged. “Can’t say. She wanted ta make a trade though and ye were it—this time,” he muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” She stopped rubbing his scalp.
He exhaled heavily. “She said if we went through the mist, another lass would be there waiting for us.” He smiled up at her. “She said ye would be much younger and toothsome.”
“There was a glint in his eye and she swallowed hard. “ Toothsome?”
Of course, she read enough romance novels to know what toothsome meant but she wanted him to tell her.
“Aye, it merely means ye are easy ta look at.”
“Well, am I?” she prodded, suddenly feeling unaccountably warmer than she did moments before.
He stared at her for a moment and then nodded. “I suppose ye will do…for now.”
Her entire body went rigid and she had a sudden urge to dunk him under the water.
“Get ta work, lass. I am tired and the water is growing cold.”
Really? The water was scalding her damn hands. She scratched his scalp harder.
“That feels nice.”
Figures.
CHAPTER FIVE
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
Sometime during the reign of King James
“This is how it works,” he said, pacing back and forth in front of her, his long strides making quick work of the distance between each wall in the room. He pivoted with his hands clasped behind his back and walked to the other side of the room. “Ye will stay with me… for a time…”
“Excuse me.” She lifted her hand in the air. They had been at this for quite a while now.
He paused and turned. “Aye,” he sighed.
“How long will I be here?” She adjusted her position on the trunk; the little rivets were poking her in her left butt cheek.
“I do not know.”
“How long was the last one here?”
“I cannot recall.” His eyes shifted to the side—a sure sign he was lying.
“Was it a long time, like years?” She watched his reaction closely.
“Not that I recall,” he deflected again and sure enough, his eyes shot over to the side. He cleared his throat. “As I was saying…” He resumed his pacing. “Yer stay can be pleasurable or it can be, well…”
“Well, what?”
“Ye will see.”
Paige wasn’t real sure what to make of this. She lifted her hand in the air again, waving it around to get his attention. “What’s your name, again?”
He stopped once more. “Gavin de Grey, the current laird of this fine piece o’ rock.”
“So, this is Greystone castle, right?” She didn’t know why that name rang a bell but she felt like she heard about it before.
“Aye, it is.” He shifted, turning towards the window.
“Why does your name sound English?”
“I am part English.” He gave her an exasperated look.
Well, excuse me, she felt like saying. How in the heck was she supposed to know that? “Oh. Wait…how can you be laird if you aren’t a full-fledged Scotsman?”
“Lass,” he sighed. “A Laird is nothing more than a person ta look ta in a time of need. The ruler or owner of a piece o’ land, and with luck, a home as well.
“Oh.” She wished she had studied history more. The only reason why she knew about any of this was from reading romances—not the best resource for fact.
“I can tell there is something else ye wish ta ask me.” His dark brows rose.
“Well, I was wondering why you sound so….”
He stepped closer and her heart did another involuntary flutter.
“So…”
“What is yer name?” he asked derailing her train of thought.
“Paige Walsh.”
“Paige Walsh,” he repeated. “It has a nice ring ta it, I suppose.”
“Thanks,” she deadpanned.
“Where do ye hail from, Paige Walsh?”
“Huh?
“Where do ye come from, Paige Walsh?”
“You can call me Paige.”
“Paige, then,” he said as though trying it on for size as he awaited her response.
“America.”
He nodded his head, seemingly accepting her answer.
“What is your name again?” She already knew of course, but she liked the way he said it.
“Gavin de Grey, the Laird o’ this fine piece o’ rock.”
“May I call you Gavin?
“Nay, lass.” He shook his head.
“How about Grey?” Grey was a pretty-sexy name.
He shook his head again. “Nay, lass.”
“What should I call you then?”
“I thought it was obvious.” His eyes slid into a roll and suddenly she wanted to kick him.
“If it was obvious, I wouldn’t have asked.” Her voice came out harsher than she intended but his arrogant demeanor was getting on her nerves.
“Ye may call me, Laird.”
“Un
believable.” She threw up her hands.
He gave her a stern look and then resumed his pacing. It seemed the formalities were at an end because he started giving her instructions once again.
“Now…” He gave her a pointed look as he paced. “Ye will cook, clean, and wash my body…” He ticked each task off on his fingers one by one. “And if ye are fortunate and I deem it so…” He stopped in front of her and leaned down so close she could see the rings of sapphire surrounding the emerald colored iris of his eyes. “I will also let ye tend me…in bed…”
His warm breath wafted over her face as the tips of his fingers gently stroked her cheek. Shivers of delight raced over her skin, not only from the action but from the way he spoke, smooth and velvety, like a decadent piece of candy, and it took just about everything she had not to lean in closer as his sexy smoldering gaze lifted from her face to the aforementioned bed.
His words finally registered as she shook some sense back into her mushy brain. Was he serious?
“Wow.”
She couldn’t believe his arrogance. Who did he think she was? As if she would just tumble into bed with him. Not likely. But even as she thought it, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like. And by the looks of him, it would be pretty damn fantastic.
“I know, lass,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “I am a generous partner in bed and have yet ta hear any complaints.” He added a sly smile that nearly knocked the breath she didn’t realize she was holding from her lungs.
That faded though, and in its place, a rush of anger shot through her at his audacity. “Of all the egotistical, arrogant, conceited…”
His smile faded quickly, replaced by a scowl. He dropped his hand and stepped away. “Ye can always sleep on the floor.” He flung out his arm indicating the rumpled fur in front of the fire. “Makes no never mind ta me.”
“Wait…what?” Her stomach flipped over on itself at the look of pain that entered his eyes for a brief moment.
“If ye find me so displeasing…” his velvety voice took on a harsh edge as his eyes hardened against hers. “ Ye can sleep on the floor,” he repeated and shrugged his broad shoulders like he could care less.
That was such a quick turnaround, she felt like she had whiplash. She guessed her face showed her shock because his lips turned up at the corners, just a hint.
Lost in the Highlands, Volume One Page 19