by Jill Jones
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” she said, turning to Duncan. “I need to help Duncan…uh, Captain Fraser, with the boy. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
“We still going to the Maidenstone?” Barry asked his boss. “Our equipment is all okay.”
Taylor had to think a moment to remember what the Maidenstone was. A carved rock. A storyline. An object that at the moment seemed utterly meaningless. “No. No, we’re not going anywhere for a while. Take the day off.”
Duncan’s house was dark when he and Taylor drove into the driveway. She held Pauley closely, wondering what the child thought about his boat ride aboard the powerful Intrepid, the electric lights that lit his native Stonehaven, the automobile that he rode in. His life had taken a quantum leap in the last twelve hours. She remembered how frightened and confused she had been when she arrived in seventeenth century Stonehaven and knew he must feel the same. At least in his case, though, there were no horsemen carrying messages that the “bloody English” were about to pounce upon them. Nor was he in any way threatened by others, and was, in fact, loved and nurtured and comforted.
Surely, that would make a difference.
“Let me take him,” Duncan said, coming to her side of the car and opening the door. He lifted Pauley into his arms and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. He nodded to Taylor. “Follow me.”
He led her through a gate and up a flagstone path to the front door. “Reach under the mat, will you? I keep an extra key there.”
She unlocked the door and flipped the light switch on the wall, flooding the entryway in a soft incandescent glow. Pauley jumped.
“It’ll take him some time to get used to our conveniences,” Duncan said, starting up the stairs with his bundle. “But I bet his transition is easier than ours.”
Taylor followed him upstairs. He reached a closed door, and his long pause before he opened it told her how difficult this was for him. When he opened the door, she understood why. It was his own boys’ room. Twin beds were covered with navy spreads trimmed in bright red with ships of all kinds printed on them in white. A yellow kite hung in one corner. A teddy bear sat on one pillow, a stuffed lion on the other. Her throat constricted painfully, and she wondered how Duncan was dealing with this.
“Turn down one of the beds for me, will you?” His voice was intense and husky.
“Don’t you think he needs a bath first? And some pajamas?” she asked, nodding toward the boy’s muddy feet and rain-soaked clothing.
Duncan laughed. “You and your bloody baths. Okay, okay. The tub’s across the hall. Run him some water, and I’ll try to make him understand that his new mum wants him to go to bed all scrubbed up.”
Taylor slipped out of the room, her heart racing at what Duncan had just said. His new mum…
But could she, should she, consider being Pauley’s mother? When they were at Dunnottar Castle and later at the Grainger’s house, she had fulfilled that role, not just because she loved the boy, but also because there was no one else there for him. But suddenly that seemed very long ago. Being reunited with Barry and Rob had brought her quickly back into the reality of the present day.
She had a life, a career, commitments which would be difficult to break. She was filled with questions. Taylor knew that she loved Duncan. She believed that he loved her. At least, they had shared a love three hundred and fifty years ago. But that was then and this was now. On this side of the Ladysgate, the differences in their lives were vast. Could their love ever be the same again? Could they find some mutual ground upon which to build a solid relationship? The thought of a committed relationship filled her with familiar anxiety, made worse by her suspicion that Duncan, who had tragically lost his sons, would want more children. When he learned of her barrenness, would he still want her?
The whole idea of motherhood scared her to death. It was fine to pretend to be a mother, in a crazy and inexplicable warp of time. But on this side of time, wouldn’t it be better for Pauley to be adopted by someone more qualified than herself to be his mother?
Troubled thoughts and mixed emotions spilled through her as fast as the water ran into the tub, and her heart ached. Could they overcome all the obstacles that confronted them in this century?
She simply didn’t know.
When the bath was drawn, she turned to go tell Duncan it was ready and jumped a foot when she saw him standing in the doorway, watching her. “You scared me.” She put her hand to her chest and laughed nervously, as if he’d been listening to the unquiet conversation in her head. To her astonishment, she saw Pauley start to laugh, too. She’d never seen him laugh before, really laugh. Granted, it was a silent, squeaky sort of laugh, but it was filled with what she could best describe as…glee.
“What have you two been talking about? Did you scare me on purpose?” she teased.
“I told him, and I think he understands, that this is his home now. That we love him and will take care of him. That he will never be hungry again, and that he can have…” Duncan’s eyes misted over at this point…“the teddy bear and the lion.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Duncan left Pauley to Taylor’s scrubbing. He went back across the hall and entered the room that had belonged to Jonathan and Peter. It had taken every ounce of his will to carry Pauley into that room, because that door had been closed, both literally and figuratively, for over four years. Duncan sat on the turned-down bed and ran his hands across the sheets. He supposed they were clean enough. He had had a friend in to make up the room sometime during those horrible days following the accident, and then he’d shut the door, trying not to think about the emptiness it held.
But bringing Pauley up the stairs, he knew it was time to open it again, and to open his heart to this other lad, not a child of his blood, but one who desperately needed him. Picking up the teddy bear, Duncan stroked it absently, turning over in his mind the incredible events that had occurred in the last few days, speaking in 21st century time, that he was certain had changed his life forever.
Could it have been only three nights ago, a little earlier than this, that he’d first seen Taylor Kincaid? The woman that tonight he hoped would agree to marry him? Could he seriously be considering adopting a child, a waif from a place so far away it boggled his mind?
The whole thing boggled his mind.
And yet, the whole thing felt so right.
If Taylor felt the same way.
She had told him she loved him. But that had been three hundred and fifty years ago, in a time of tremendous stress and danger. Did she feel the same now? Would she tomorrow? Or would her career beckon to her once again, and would the call be strong enough that she would leave him and the boy?
Another doubt struck to him. Suppose she chose to marry him and live in Scotland. What would she find attractive about a small town like Stonehaven after the excitement of living in New York City? Would she become bored and eventually leave him? He’d rather she’d not stay in the first place.
Exhaustion and gnawing uncertainties began to draw him into a downward spiral of apprehension, sapping his earlier exhilaration at having arrived safely back in their own time. With a weary sigh, he replaced the teddy bear on the pillow. It had all seemed so much simpler seen from the past.
From across the hall, he heard Taylor talking to Pauley as if the child were able to hear every word, and he knew she was signing to him in the private language they’d developed between them. They had grown close during their time together, but what did Taylor really think about becoming his adoptive mother?
Taylor had never had children and had told him that by choice she had not been around kids much. And yet motherhood seemed to come so naturally to her. But again, that was centuries ago. Would she be so maternal in this time?
Duncan’s heart went out to the boy from long ago who needed so much—medical care, education, nurturing, love. Duncan and Taylor as adoptive parents could give him all that, and more. But if she didn’t want to get married, or adopt Pauley, what
then? He thought it would be damned difficult for a single father to adopt him, although he would try his best to get the courts to see it his way.
Duncan ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his eyes, feeling the intensity of his fatigue. Not just fatigue from all that had happened, but fatigue for all that remained to be sorted out.
“Duncan,” he heard Taylor call him. “I need you.”
Quickly, he returned to the bathroom to find Taylor looking oddly embarrassed. “He needs to use the toilet,” she explained, laughing self-consciously, “only he doesn’t know what it is, or how to use it. Can you…help?”
She left, closing the door behind her, and Duncan took charge of starting Pauley’s education. There is so much that we take for granted, he thought, finishing the toweling Taylor had started, so much this little lad has to learn. He dressed him in a pair of Peter’s pajamas, taking pains not to laugh at the boy’s reactions to being fussed over in such a manner.
With a squeaky clean kid in his arms, Duncan returned to the child’s room to find Taylor waiting for them. In her hands, she held a mug. “I found your milk, and your microwave,” she said, holding the warm milk out to Pauley, who for once found himself with something familiar. He drank it eagerly. “Do you think he’ll be content to sleep here by himself? He’s used to sleeping with me.”
Duncan scowled. “I had…other sleeping arrangements in mind,” he grumbled, but then gave her a smile. “Let’s give it a try. I’ll sit here with him until he falls asleep, if you’d like to indulge in that unfamiliar luxury called a bath.”
“I would kill for a bath. Is there shampoo?”
“On the window ledge.”
In the bathroom mirror, Taylor saw that her hair was matted and tangled from the wind and the rain, and it took ten minutes with her hairbrush to unravel the long strands that had grown at least four inches since she’d been gone. Her body was thin, as Rob had noticed. She laughed. She’d wanted to lose weight, but that was one hell of a way to go on a diet. Her face appeared tired, almost gaunt, a look that evidenced her acute need for rest. She took a long shower and followed it with a hot bath for dessert. After all, it had been more than three hundred years…
She remained in the tub until the water cooled, then with pruney fingers and toes, reluctantly emerged from the soak, feeling refreshed but rubbery. Only then did she realize she had nothing to wear. There was no way she was going to step back into the grubby jeans or the filthy dress that lay in the gunny-sack. She shivered in her nakedness, noting that like the innkeeper, Duncan also kept the thermometer set very low. That was just one of the things they’d have to work out between them if…But she shut out that thought. The possibility of a future with him was just too monumental for her to deal with at the moment.
Wrapping her body in a thick towel, she picked up another and blotted her hair until it was almost dry. Then she brushed it until it hung long and straight, if uneven. Her bare feet were cold against the linoleum floor as she tiptoed to the door. “Duncan!” she called out in a loud whisper. But there was no answer. The door to Pauley’s room across the hall was open a crack. Quietly, she crept toward it and peered into the room. A small night light offered a dim glow, enough for Taylor to see that the boy was sound asleep and the man was no longer in the room.
A soft, warm fabric dropped around her shoulders, and Taylor turned abruptly, then caught her breath. Duncan stood before her, clean-shaven, clad in fresh jeans, naked from the waist up, his own hair wet, his body glistening. “I took a shower downstairs,” he replied to her look of curiosity as to how he’d been able to bathe while she loitered in the tub. “I thought you might need this,” he added, tucking the lapels of an oversized terry robe around her chest. “I realize it’s a little big, but…
Taylor almost stopped breathing. Never had she seen Duncan look so sexy. She usually avoided superlatives, but the man standing in front of her now could only be described as the most magnificent male she’d ever laid eyes on.
“Thanks,” she managed, her cheeks burning, her skin suddenly feverish.
He lifted her chin and kissed her lips. “Do you feel like talking?” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. His manner was composed, but she saw a quiet urgency in his eyes.
“What about?”
“The future. Our future.”
“Oh.” Taylor dropped her eyes. No, she didn’t want to talk, especially about their future. She doubted that they had one.
She didn’t want to talk about anything. Not tonight. Tonight she just wanted to be together with Duncan, to make love like they had when they were “pretend” husband and wife, before tomorrow came and reality set in once more. Before things like long-term commitments, careers, and issues about family destroyed the magic.
But it appeared they’d already come back to reality, and Duncan seemed determined to talk about it. She bit her lip and forced back the moist emotion that sprang to her eyes as she felt that magic already slipping away. The reality was that their relationship had already changed. At Dunnottar Castle, they’d lived as man and wife, even if it was only make believe. But here, she was nothing more than a guest in his house, a house she knew was still haunted, at least for him, by the memories of his wife and sons. She didn’t belong here. She couldn’t take the place of his wife, and she no more wanted to sleep in Megan’s bed than she had wanted to wear Kenneth’s dead sister’s dress. And as for his children, well…if he married her, there would be no more for him.
No, she didn’t want to talk, for in talk lay the end. But she could tell that the stunning but stubborn Scot wouldn’t take no. Well, she thought, her desire subdued by the sobering reality, we might as well get it over with. “Let me put this back in the bathroom,” she said, indicating the towel that still encircled her body. She felt wretched. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Would you like a Scotch?”
Taylor laughed bitterly to herself. She’d rather have a Scot instead. That certain Scot who stood like a mountain of masculine sexuality right before her eyes. But when they got through with their pending talk, she was certain that wouldn’t happen. A little alcoholic courage to face the inevitable wouldn’t hurt. “Sure. Just a tot.”
Duncan waited for her on the sofa, where he lounged, feet on the ottoman of the chair next to it, comfortable in his familiar surroundings. Taylor wished she were as comfortable. She noted he had not put on a shirt and was disturbed to feel the rush of desire renew itself involuntarily. He handed her a short glass with a shot of single malt whiskey. “Need ice?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, taking the glass with an unsteady hand. The only ice she needed was of the emotional type, to cool her seemingly uncontrollable desire. She took a seat at the opposite end of the couch and drew the robe securely about her nakedness, determined to keep her distance.
“I can’t talk with you that far away,” Duncan said.
Taylor shot him a nervous glance. “And I’m not sure I can talk if we get any closer.”
But he leaned toward her and touched her face, his shower-clean scent inviting intimacy. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “We’ll work it out.” He’d read her mind, she was sure of it.
She was afraid.
And not at all sure they could work anything out.
But the moment his fingers touched her skin, the hunger for him she’d been fighting overwhelmed her. At his insistence, she moved to his end of the couch and nestled against him, the palm of one hand resting against the dark hair on his chest. He held very still, but she could feel the heavy beat of his heart just inches beneath her fingers. She moved her hand, entwining her fingers in the wispy hair, willing herself to stop but unable to control the force of her yearning any longer.
“Remember that raincheck?” she murmured.
“Taylor, wait…” She heard his voice, but it sounded like it came from a great distance. Her hand lowered to the smoothness of his belly, where she let her little finger dip below the waistline of his
jeans. She felt his muscles contract as he drew in a sharp breath.
One more night, Duncan. Please. Just one more night before the whole fairy tale comes to an end.
But he grasped her wrist and moved her hand away from his body. “You know what you’re doing to me,” he said, his voice low and tense. “Please stop, or I won’t be able to.”
But her reply was to place her lips against his chest. “I don’t want to stop, Duncan.” She kissed the words into his skin. “I want one night with you, here, now, where it’s safe and warm.”
He let go of her wrist, but took her head between his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Is that all you want, Taylor? One night?”
Her gaze shifted rapidly from one of his china-blue eyes to the other, their faces were so close. Blood coursed through her veins in a pulsing torrent. Her skin felt as if it were on fire, and her breath grew ragged. No, it wasn’t all she wanted. But she knew it was likely all she would have, and she was willing to take what she could get.
“I want you, Duncan. Now. Tonight.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers for a long moment, as if trying to decide something, then let his hands slide down her back, inside the bathrobe. “Yes,” was all he said as he dropped his arms around her shoulders, leaving them bare of the garment. His mouth melted against hers, and Taylor slid her arms the rest of the way out of the loose sleeves. Aching for him with a desperation she had never experienced before, she pressed her bare breasts against the wall of his chest, where the texture of his hair teased her nipples. Her nails grazed into the skin of his back, and she heard him moan and felt his kiss deepen in response.
He removed the robe altogether, his hands caressing the curve of her back and coming to rest on her hips. She felt his strength as he pulled her against him, felt the tension in his body that heated her own desire to just short of volcanic.