Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

  • • •

  “One thing’s certain. The lass will need patience and a high tolerance for shyte when she joins with your brother.”

  Aeden frowned. The very idea that Addis would be allowed to claim Elisande as his wife set his teeth on edge.

  “’Tis no’ settled who she weds.”

  He pretended not to notice Ronan’s raised brow.

  “No? I understood the lass were meant as a consolation to soothe Addis’s almighty vanity.”

  Noncommittal, Aeden shrugged, but his friend pressed his point.

  “A man is no’ likely to forget such a humiliation. An áilleach like your one will pacify him for a time anyway.”

  “Any woman would do, you ken as well as I.”

  Images of Elisande sharing a bed with Addis caused his stomach to roll. Addis didn’t deserve such a treasure. If a sour-tempered woman could ever be considered as such — but then, he always did prefer fiery to sweet.

  Ronan shook his head. “Onora has spoken of her niece’s winsome ways for far too many years. You are fooling yourself, brother, if you do no’ believe those stories have whetted the appetite of every able-bodied man in the clan.”

  Aeden skewered his friend with a menacing glare.

  “And your appetite, has it been roused as well?” His tone was deadly quiet.

  Smiling from ear to ear, Ronan replied, “Aye, Chief. Greatly — any man would be pleased to entertain such a lively woman in his bed.”

  Aeden scowled, unimpressed with Ronan’s glib tongue. He could not bear the idea of Elisande giving herself to any man except himself. Just the vision of her naked and in the arms of another man filled his belly with bile.

  After some moment’s contemplation, he looked at Ronan. An unspoken agreement passed between them.

  “We’re going to have a devil of a time with the details, my friend.”

  Aeden grinned. “Well, the devil is always in the details, brother.”

  When their laughter died down, Aeden thought he heard singing and glanced around the forest until he pinpointed the source of the song. He turned back to Ronan.

  “Stand watch. I am going to her.”

  Chapter Ten

  Oblivious to her environs, Elisande reached up to examine her loose mound of abundant hair precariously perched atop her head. Immersed to her chin in the calmer waters of the firth, she groaned as the cool water sluiced over her aching bones.

  Suddenly, she jumped up and slapped a hand to her backside. “Blasted rock!”

  Up to her knees in water, she bent at the waist, glaring at the large jagged rock in her hand while she rubbed her abused bottom with vigor. A twig cracked behind her and she froze. Fearful, she forced herself to look to the side and scrutinize the trees near the embankment. To her horror, the dark outline of a motionless figure stopped under an ancient elm filled her view. Petrified, she lurched upright and hurled the stone with every ounce of energy. It landed a few feet shy of its target and she cursed. Cool air drifted across her bare breasts, a latent reminder of her state of undress. The idea that her breasts had been well-illuminated by the shaft of light poking through the canopy of leaves mortified her to her marrow. She plunged neck deep into the water and screamed.

  Aeden barked rapid-fire orders to his men as they neared the area and as quickly as they appeared they were gone. Once her heart calmed to a normal beat outrage set in.

  “Chief Maxwell, you must leave now — this instant!”

  His silence unsettled her.

  “This is beyond indecent, Chief Maxwell, please leave.”

  With a purposeful stride, he reached the water’s edge, loomed over her, and extended his hand.

  “Oh no, no you don’t. You just stay away from me.”

  “Come now, do no’ be stubborn. Your skin must resemble a dried apple by now.” He jabbed his hand in her direction once more.

  “You may as well withdraw your hand for I will never take it.”

  “Do no’ be foolish, woman,” he said exasperated. “Grab it afore you drown under the weight of your sodden hair.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, and swallowed half the river water instead. She shoved the soggy mass out of her eyes sputtering.

  “I-have no in-ten-tion of … drowning.”

  He stared at her, incredulous. “What in the hell do you call that then?”

  Wooden, she turned her head and fixated on a sagged branch beyond his left shoulder.

  “Come now, lass, ’tis nothing I have no’ seen afore.”

  Despite the cold seeping into her bones, her face flamed at the ungallant comment and she speared him with an outraged glare.

  “If that was meant to reassure me then I suggest you try once more.”

  How dare he speak so indelicate?

  With that thought, her indignation intensified. “I am a gentlewoman, you … you debaucher.”

  Aeden rolled his eyes and withdrew his hand. “Lass, ’tis unlikely I shall ever forget you are a woman to be respected.”

  “Thank you.” Her response pushed between stiff lips. Good Lord she was miserable. If he didn’t leave soon she wouldn’t be able to move her legs.

  “However,” he continued, “Now is no’ the time for your female modesty to overtake good sense. Your lips are blue.”

  His hand shot out again.

  She stared at the offending appendage.

  “Now, if you do no’ wish to find yourself in a worse position, take my hand.”

  She snorted at the empty threat.

  “Naught could be more humiliating than the position you have thrust upon me, rest assured.”

  He pounced, cutting through the water like a hot blade through goose fat. His jaw set, head down, determination etched into every feature as his body pushed away the water.

  Before she had time to react, he leaned in, swept her up in his arms and pitched her effortlessly over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Speechless, she wanted to shriek, but the words were locked inside her throat. The oaf had been right about one thing. There were worse positions to be in.

  “Put me down this instant.”

  She smacked her palm against his back though it made as much impression as a lone rock tossed into a gravel pit. He hiked her farther onto his shoulder and she tried to slither through his arm deciding she’d risk the fall — at least she’d be on the ground. To her mortification, she became conscious of his ear flush against her cheek bottom. Her degradation complete, she gave up the struggle. Once he dumped her atop a mound of spongy moss, he gathered her scattered garments, and tossed them in her general direction.

  “Clothe yourself, woman,” he ordered gruffly, about to turn away from her.

  In disbelief over his treatment of her, she gripped the linen blouse to her breasts and bit out, “You dare to subject me to such despicable act after I nursed you back from the veil of death?”

  A flash of something unfathomable in Aeden’s sky-blue eyes stayed her tongue. She stared up at him from beneath a wall of sodden hair sprawled in a puddle of water. After a few tense moments, he leveled a look at her. “Woman, I suggest you make haste.”

  Frustrated, she stuck her tongue out at him.

  A grin creased his cheeks as he bent over, retrieved her plaid, draped it around her shoulders and retreated. She pulled on her clothes and wrung out her hair having no idea what to think. Disarmed and discomfited, she scooped up her belt and cinched it tight around her waist wishing it were his neck. Befuddled, she exhaled a defeated breath. The peculiar jumble of reactions he drew from her upset her ordered mind.

  “And this is the thanks I am to expect for saving his wretched hide,” she grumbled to the sky.

  Dressed, she had no choice except to join the insensitive lout.

  • • •

  Aeden scrubbed a hand over his ear in a bid to rid himself of her touch. The impression of her soft, naked bottom against his skin roused a depth of desire he had no idea existed. His behavior toward her was more about sel
f-preservation than her eventual embarrassment. She came up from behind, her peeved mutterings punctuated by noisy footfalls as she stomped over to him. It seemed her ire might take some time to wane. Better her anger than tears, he reasoned to himself. Anger, he understood.

  “Come, you’ve wasted enough time with your stubbornness.”

  He lips thinned and she planted her hands on her hips. “Ha, ’tis rich coming from a man who epitomizes the very word.”

  Although his eyes narrowed, he allowed the insult to pass.

  He noticed her shiver. Gratified that she finally understood her precarious position, he watched while she plucked a thick stick from a yew tree and jabbed it into the ground.

  “Dare I ask what significance this holds?”

  She ignored his sarcastic drawl and answered, “I believe there may be evil afoot.”

  He crossed his arms and shook his head. “Just how many encounters with evil do you claim in a day?”

  “Hardly ever, until I took up with you.”

  His brows arched at her odd choice of words yet he let the remark pass since she started to chant. He sighed. At least she refrained from the spinning.

  Finished, she grabbed the stick and snapped it in half over her raised knee.

  “Goodness, I had no idea the Lowlands were so riddled with restless spirits.” Deep in thought, she chewed her bottom lip.

  “Restless? I thought they were evil. So, which is it, lass?”

  He really shouldn’t bait her, but it seemed he retained little self-control where she was concerned. Besides, her responses always intrigued him.

  “Why, evil of course, what other uses have I for a yew stick?”

  Engrossed by her own question, she ticked off an invisible list on her fingers.

  “The only other use is to lay it across the threshold of a house plagued by bad luck, or, one might bury it in the back garden to keep stoats at bay.”

  “True, though there is another possibility you have overlooked.”

  She fixed him with a skeptical look. “Truly? Pray, enlighten me.”

  “To light a fire or play fetch with a hound? Younger brothers might poke their little sisters or get up a game of swords.”

  Her mouth formed an O. Tentative she studied the gnarled, warped wood as if any of his suggestions never before occurred to her.

  “’Tis true. There are many uses for a yew stick.”

  He gave her a conspiratorial wink. She blushed red to the roots of her hair and he tried to quash the urge to lay her down and plant himself between her supple thighs. Shifting positions, a twinge of pain put an end to his lust-filled daydreams and he recoiled.

  “Oh, Aeden, you’ve regained your stamina so rapidly I’d quite forgotten you are not completely healed.”

  Worry clouded her eyes. He waved off her concern and guided her to a flat rock. She sat down and splayed her dress. The feminine gesture captivated him and momentarily he forgot what he wanted to say. Just then, Fergal approached carrying a drink skin filled with clear river water. Aeden waited attendance on Elisande, until her thirst abated before he continued.

  “Where did you learn the yew spell?”

  She gave him a peculiar look. “It is not a spell, but a prayer.”

  • • •

  Uncertain he heard right, he framed the question another way. His relaxed demeanor belied the sudden tension at her answer.

  “So, this is a prayer to you?”

  Her face lit up with relief. Damn she was pretty.

  “Yes.”

  “Father Fenton assured me this prayer would dispel spiteful spirits wont to linger in the area.” She canted her head and continued, “I did assume that as head of your clan, you would know this particular prayer.”

  He studied her eyes. They were an unusual shade, like the color of warm honey.

  “And this was part of your healer training?”

  “Oh no, Father Fenton taught me the ways of Christianity. My training came from the village healer.”

  He didn’t show any reaction to her remarks, wanting to understand her mind more fully. Still, he could not fathom that a man of the cloth would form these strange opinions much less teach such blaspheme as God’s truth. Seems the man may have been as mad as a garderobe rat.

  “I have to tell you, lass, it sounds to me like you’re away with the faeries.”

  Guarded, she dropped her smile.

  “I do not understand what you mean.”

  An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. “It means out of your head, lass.”

  She tsked, indignance etched into every ripe curve of body.

  “Really, Chief, ’tis a terrible judgment to imply.”

  “Well, lass, ’tis no’ out of the realm of possibility since one moment you are dancing about with a weed on your shoulder chanting an auld fish wife’s tale, and then stabbing the earth with a stick to attack an evil spirit.”

  “I am not witless, Chief Maxwell, if that is what you are inferring.”

  The scowl carved on her face could split stone. She poked his chest to emphasize her point. His breath came out in a whoosh. The unexpected sensation of her touch sent his pulse racing and his head swimming with images of Elisande naked in his arms. He shook off the sensation. Christ, what had they been speaking of? He had to backtrack over their conversation. Right, madness. He rubbed a hand over his face. It disturbed him to know that such bare contact upended his entire thought. Out of the blue, a nugget of a conversation with Onora jarred loose from his memory. On more than one occasion, she had impressed upon him Elisande’s unorthodox upbringing.

  Nevertheless, he failed to grasp the enormity of the situation. He wondered if Onora even guessed at the extent of her niece’s strange beliefs. Now, more than ever, he must conceal this oddity from the clan, until Father Pollock set her mind to rights. For the moment, he decided no harm would be done if he indulged her peculiar notions when they were alone. Then, he grimaced as a thought surfaced. Addis would never coddle her ideas. Something had to be done, and quickly.

  “Tell me again what you wished to accomplish with the sprig of heather.”

  She thrust her nose in the air. “No, thank you. I prefer not to be scoffed at for my beliefs.”

  Ah hell, he had bruised her feelings.

  “I promise you, I will no’ scoff at anything you have to say. I shall keep my mind open, but no’ so open that my brain slides out. Fair enough?”

  She gave him a slow smile. “Aye, Chief, fair enough.”

  Understanding passed between them, and then turned into something more. His eyes roamed her curves. She possessed all the physical qualities he sought in a woman — soft, yielding and utterly feminine. His gaze traveled back to her face and noted the high color fell to the creamy expanse of her neck where her pulse throbbed. He took an unsteady breath. Dare he allow himself to believe the pull of attraction mutual?

  • • •

  Unexpectedly, the very air around them became electrified. All at once, she wanted nothing more than to escape his disturbing presence. When she fled her father’s home, she promised herself to never allow anyone into her heart again. Yet, in a short space of time, Aeden managed to bypass her carefully constructed defenses and mend a corner of her shattered heart. Stunned by the unwanted revelation, her eyes widened in panic.

  Concern furrowed his brow. “Are you all right, lass?”

  “Aeden — ” She tried to push through the quaver in her voice, worried she might blurt out an unsuitable remark. She blushed. Heaven help her, the man made her forget her own name. She needed something to distract him from her odd behavior.

  Dear Lord, what to tell him? Then a sudden idea took shape.

  “I really must return to the river.”

  He peered behind him toward the river bank then back at her, dubious.

  “You do no’ want to bathe again, do you.”

  She shook her head and it drew his attention to her lush locks. He itched to spread her glorious ha
ir across his bare chest.

  “No. I should like to search for another stone.”

  That statement jolted him back to the conversation.

  “You want to search for a rock?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I must replace the one I used.”

  His brow clouded. “You want to replace a stone you used?”

  Why does he repeat my words?

  “And what became of the stone you need to replace?”

  Ignoring his too-patient tone she answered, “I used it to start the fire that has been burning in the cave these five days past.”

  She followed his scarred hands as they massaged the back of his neck. Tanned, calloused, and strong, they were also gentle, warm. She noticed his bright, clear blue eyes take on a preoccupied, far away stare. Disconcerted by his contemplative manner, she spoke softly.

  “Chief?”

  Her voice broke the spell and he directed his attentions back on her. “Woman, you may drain the river of every rock if that is what pleases you.”

  Without another word, he brushed past her and stalked off in the direction of the water.

  Once again, he managed to throw her off. She did not welcome the familiar sensation one bit. Annoyed, she stood with her hands perched on her hips.

  “I am only in need of the one stone!”

  • • •

  Aeden lounged against a mushroom studded log, one leg pulled up an arm resting across his knee. Relaxed, though alert, he kept his attention on Elisande, knee deep in water. She hitched her arasaid to mid-thigh with the ends tucked securely into the leather belt at her waist. A frown of concentration marred her brow, and she cursed like a soldier all the while discarding one stone after another that she pulled from the water with her toes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Weary to the bone, Elisande gagged down the nightly offering of pounded, dried berries, oatcakes, and withered meat strips with the aid of an enormous drinking horn filled with water. She showed the men her appreciation for the meal by swallowing every morsel no matter how much she wanted to hurl it into the bushes. Finished, she wrapped herself in another plaid Fergal had fetched for her. She thanked him, chose a parcel of ground covered in velvety moss, and bedded down for the evening.