by Dee Davis
But if they were wrong… dear God, if they were wrong, then she had to reach him before it was too late.
CHAPTER 13
"EVERYTHING IS SET," Ranald said, striding across the great hall's flagged floor to where Bram, Katherine and Iain were sitting in front of the massive stone fireplace. "The rest of my men have arrived, and Fergus is seeing to their well-being. After a good night's rest, they'll be ready to ride with us in the morning."
"Always glad to have an increase in numbers," Iain said, lifting a tankard of ale. "And your lot more than most."
"I canna complain." Ranald dropped down onto a bench across from Katherine and Iain, who were seated in intricately carved chairs.
Katherine immediately filled another tankard and passed it to him. Bram, sitting adjacent on another bench facing the fire, allowed himself a moment of complacency. It was good to be among family, no matter how dire the circumstances.
"I've managed to cut out the worst of them." Ranald sighed. "And the rest are loyal to me and mine."
"I'll wager serving under you is a vast improvement o'er having Davidson as laird." Iain's jaw tightened as his hatred of Alisdair Davidson washed across his face. Not that Bram blamed him. After all, the bastard had almost killed Katherine. "If naught else then they're finding out what it means to be treated fairly."
Ranald nodded, his eyes narrowing. "I canna abide a man who doesna respect the worth of those about him. And when I think what could have happened to Ailis. From her brother no less."
Ranald's big hands closed into fists and Katherine laid a gentle hand on his arm in an effort to soothe. "But it didn't happen, Ranald. You and Iain were there to save her." She shifted her gaze to her husband. "To save me. Anyway, it's all past history now. No need to relive it. It's more important to concentrate on the here and now."
"Our plans to ride on the Comyns." Bram set his tankard beside him on the bench, pulling his thoughts firmly back to the present. "There are no' enough words to convey my gratitude—" he started, only to be cut off with a wave of Iain's hand.
"You'd do the same for us."
"Aye, that I would."
"And you'll have your own man as well," Katherine observed, her gaze assessing.
"I understand you dinna know him. But I swear he's a man who can be trusted. He served my father long and well."
"I remember him from our visiting once when I was a lad," Ranald mused. "He seemed as big as a bear. And as fierce as one, too. But he could be kind." His cousin smiled. "As I'm sure you can imagine, and as Iain no doubt knows, I was a bit of a handful in those days."
Katherine harrumphed as she swallowed her laughter. "Those days?"
Ranald shrugged. "Let's just agree that I was worse. Anyway, I'd taken it into my head to walk the upper parapet."
"On the roof of Dunbrae?" Bram couldn't help the surprise. Built to withstand the vicious attacks of an earlier century, the ledge of the crenelated walls was narrow and dangerous.
"The very one," Ranald agreed. "Anyway, I'd set about doing just that, when I managed to lose my balance. I fell, and quite frankly saw my very short life passing before my eyes. Fortunately, Frazier was there—standing watch, so he said. And he hauled me back over the edge to safety."
"Standing watch over you, most likely," Iain quipped, his eyes crinkled with amusement. "I guess we all owe him a debt."
"Speak for yourself," Bram mumbled. "I was never even allowed to go up there on my own. Now I understand why."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the fire crackling merrily in the grate. Bram's thoughts turned to the tower. His home. Or what was left of it. Anger rolled through him, hot and heavy. Thanks to Alec Comyn, Bram no longer had a home to call his own.
Instantly his mind filled with the memory of soft skin and curly black hair, his body tightening as he remembered the smell and taste of her.
Lily.
"Are you going to tell her you're going?" Katherine asked, her voice soft, her grey eyes knowing.
"How can I?" Bram asked, shaking away from his rioting thoughts. "She is no' even here in this place."
"Perhaps not at Duncreag. But you know where you're most likely to find her." There was challenge in Katherine's voice. One he couldn't ignore. Still he fought against the idea. Now was not the time for distraction.
"What if this is your only chance?" she urged.
"Leave him be, mo chridhe," Iain said. "He's right. A man canna go into battle when his mind is on his woman."
Again Katherine swallowed a smile. "I believe, my love, that it is precisely because of said women that most men head into battle in the first place." She'd shifted the challenge from Bram to Iain, and based on Iain's grin, the challenge had been accepted.
They rose of one accord, but as they walked away, Katherine shot a knowing look over her shoulder. "Don't throw away what fate has given you. For that, most definitely, is a pathway to regret."
Ranald drained his tankard, watching the two of them depart. "I wish I could tell you she's wrong," his cousin said. "But when you find the woman you want, there's naught to do but claim her. And hope to hell that she claims you in return. That much I'm certain of."
"But Iain's right. Now is no' the time for me to be making promises. I canna ask her to place herself in the middle of the hellish mess that has become my life. 'Tis far better that we win the day and then I make my claim." For the latter at least he was certain of. No matter the distance that separated them, Lily was his. For now and for always. No matter what century.
"I canna disagree." Ranald shrugged. "Until you've finished this, the woman is safer in her own time. But is there a reason why you canna at least go to the lass and say goodbye?"
"You make it sound as if I've but to walk o'er to her holding and knock on the door. 'Tis a bit more complicated than that."
"Is it?" Ranald's eyebrows shot up in question. "Last I heard, when there was a need, the two of you seemed to find each other well enough. First at the cottage, and then here at Duncreag."
"So what? I go to bed and just wait?" He hated the petulance in his voice. But it all seemed so bloody impossible. Both the harsh reality of his situation and the admittedly passionate fantasy.
"Were I a betting man, I'd say that Katherine has the right of it and you're far more likely to find your fairy woman at the cottage. And because I am no' a foolish man, I suggest you take a couple o' men to stand watch beyond the clearing."
Bram frowned. "You think there are Comyns still about?"
"Nay. I think if there were others nearby they've gone. But 'tis never wise to take a chance."
"Then maybe it's best I don't go to her." The idea of going had been building inside him from the moment Katherine had first mentioned it, gathering momentum as the need for Lily quickened inside him, urging him onward.
"I'm no' telling you not to go. I'm just cautioning you to have a care. When have you ever balked at a little risk?" Ranald smiled, pushing to his feet. "And dinna pretend you ne'er walked the parapet at Dunbrae. Ban or no'."
Bram grinned at his cousin, moving to stand. "I suppose I'll be off then."
"I'd expect no less. We'll see you here at first light."
Bram sobered, the enormity of what they were undertaking hitting him full force. Perhaps he did deserve a send-off. A night of unbridled passion. A night only one woman could possibly give him.
Lily.
He strode across the great room, praying with his entire being that she'd still want him. That she'd be there.
*****
"Come to me, mo ghràidh. Come to me."
Lily's heart pounded as she was yanked from sleep.
Her gaze swept across the room, searching for some sign that he had found her again. But the room was empty and, based on the hissing radiator, very much an occupant of the current century.
Frustrated, she swung her legs to the edge of the bed. Outside, the shadows of night shifted beyond the window. She pushed a hand through her unruly hair, men
tally trying to recapture the sound of his voice. She'd been so sure that she'd heard him. His entreaty had pulled her from sleep as effectively as if he'd reached out and touched her.
She shivered, remembering the feel of his fingers against her skin. Then closed her eyes at the memory of his lips, his hands, his lean hard body. The power of his touch stroking, caressing, driving her higher and then higher still. The strength of their joining, him thrusting deeper—filling her, stretching her—driving her on to immeasurable pleasure.
"Come to me."
Her eyes flickered open, his voice washing over her like a physical touch. Her body had tightened with need, her breasts swollen, her nipples taut, heat pooling between her thighs. She swallowed, desire making her throat dry. Never had she wanted anything—anyone—more.
Tears of frustration filled her eyes as she reached toward the emptiness of her room. This, then, was madness. All the talk of Highland magic aside, this wasn't normal. To want someone she'd just met more than life itself was crazy enough. But add to that the idea that her lover didn't even exist in this time and surely that meant that she was certifiable.
Or if not, then forever lost.
"Lily, come to me."
The words echoed in her head and she willed him to appear, staring into the shadows in the far reaches of the room. He'd come to her here once. Or at least she'd believed he'd been here. Surely if he was a part of her imagination she could conjure him at will. And if he were real?
Well, then she needed to find her way back.
There was nothing for her here anymore. No reason to stay. Perhaps Mrs. Abernathy and Elaine had been right. Maybe everything that had happened had led here, to this place. This man. Maybe it was all about having faith. Trusting her heart over her mind. Believing in the magic. Or at least accepting the possibility.
Pushing to her feet, she walked to the window and looked out across Duncreag's courtyard to the river and the valley floor beyond. The wind howled through the trees, the sound eerie as it swirled around the stone tower.
Turning back to the room, she closed her eyes, again willing him to appear. To find her. To come to her. But the room remained empty. She sighed, her heart twisting. She was chasing a ghost. A man long dead and buried. And yet, a man, impossible as it seemed, who now held her heart.
She'd been right the first time—she'd lost her mind.
Not that it was surprising. Less than a week ago, her life had been upended in the most catastrophic of ways. And now she stood in a medieval Scottish castle letting the magic of the Highlands color her perception of everything.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, turning back to the window. Her gaze automatically moved to the distant fields, where she knew the ruins of the cottage lay. The countryside was dark, the fallen stones lost to the night.
Deserted. Destroyed.
She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, emotion threatening to overwhelm her. Desolation, a loss as great as that of her parents, threatened to consume her. It had to be real. He had to be real.
Fighting tears, she opened her eyes, her gaze moving again through the darkness, settling on a tiny pinprick of light that hadn't been there before.
The cottage.
Bram.
"Come to me."
CHAPTER 14
"I COMMAND YOU TO COME to me." Bram fisted a hand and brought it down on the mantle in angry frustration. How many times did he have to say it? The fire burned brightly, filling the cottage's single room with flickering shadows. He'd done everything but get down on his knees, but despite all entreaties, he was still alone.
He tried to tell himself that it was for the best. That she'd be safer in her time, at least until he'd ridden against Alec Comyn. But the thought brought no respite. His need for Lily only burned stronger. With only one full night between them, the damned woman had somehow become more important to him than breath.
It wasn't as if he had no experience of women. He'd lain with more than his fair share, but none of them had mattered beyond the short time he'd spent with each of them. The encounters had simply been a matter of finding mutual pleasure. This was something more. Much, much more.
Perhaps they were enchanted.
Bram shook his head at the notion. He'd never been one to fall for that sort of nonsense. He believed in what he could see. What he could touch. And yet, he'd done more than touch Lily. He'd held her, kissed her, loved her until they'd been shattered by the glory of it all. He might not believe in magic and time travel. But he believed in her.
"Please," he pleaded on a whisper, his eyes locked on the flickering flames, his heart tight with longing. "Come to me."
The fire popped and hissed as the door behind him swung open. Spinning on his heels, he reached for the claymore leaning against the hearth.
"Lily." Her name came out on a groan as the sword clattered to the floor. Heart pounding, he took a step toward her.
Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, curling in wild abandon, moonlight gilding it with silver. Her slippers were faded gold, her gossamer gown the palest of green. He let his eyes caress the curve of her hips, the taut plane of her belly, moving up to the smooth skin of her neck and the slope of her shoulders. Then let them drop again to settle on the sweet swell of her breasts as they rose and fell beneath her garment. His mouth ran dry, his body tightening in anticipation.
Then he lifted his gaze to hers, their eyes locking as they communicated without need for words. For a moment, they stood caught in the magic, and then with a little cry, she launched herself at him and his arms closed around her, reveling in the feel of her as he pulled her tightly against him. He breathed deeply, her scent surrounding him. Fresh and earthy. Like a warm summer day.
For a moment he simply held her, marveling in the fact that she was real. That she was here in the cottage with him. He could feel the rise and fall of her breasts, his own breathing matching hers. And then she pushed back, reaching to run the back of her hand over his cheek as if reassuring herself that he was indeed real.
"I thought I'd lost you." She swallowed, her eyes searching his face. "The men in the pass—"
"Were vanquished," he finished for her. "Thanks to you. To your warning."
She sucked in a breath, nodding, her eyes still locked on his. "But after you disappeared, I went to Dunbrae. I wanted to find you. I… I touched the fallen stones and the tower appeared. Only it was burning and there were men fighting everywhere. I was alone amongst them. And then you were there, but before I could reach you, you were gone. I thought… Oh, Bram, I was so afraid."
"Ach, mo ghràidh, there was no need," he soothed as he smoothed back her hair. "'Twas naught but a vision. I escaped the blackguards in the pass and at Dunbrae. And I'm here now with you." He cupped her face in his hands. "That's all that matters."
She nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, the corners of her mouth lifting with a tremulous smile. He brushed the moisture away with his thumb. And then, with a low groan, bent his head and slanted his mouth over hers. Their lips brushed lightly, almost reverently, as if afraid that in touching one the other might disappear.
But the gentle touch only heightened Bram's need, a simple kiss no longer enough. He pulled her closer, his mouth firming as his lips pressed harder against hers. Tasting. Teasing. With a sigh, she opened to him, and he plunged his tongue into the moist heat of her mouth, deepening the kiss.
Firelight flickered around them and he drew her farther into the warmth of the room, his hands sliding down to the small of her back. She arched against him, mewling softly as she lifted her arms to twine her fingers through his hair, her breasts pressing against his chest.
Heat seared through him, desire so potent he feared it would engulf them both. And yet, even as the thought occurred, he pushed it aside. This was what he wanted. He needed her more than he'd ever needed anybody. Wanted her with a passion that was almost beyond ken. It was as if she'd reached inside him and touched his core. Set free that part o
f him that was most basic—most primitive.
He let his mind go as he lost himself in her kiss. Their tongues danced together, parrying and thrusting in a prelude to things to come. She tasted of something dusky and sweet. And he pressed for more. Drinking deeply. Wishing there were a way to take her inside of him. To hold her safely there.
Desperate now to feel her skin beneath his fingers, he reached behind her to undo the buttons that held her gown closed. Her skin beneath was silky and smooth, and she shivered beneath his touch. He smiled, pleased with her reaction, his mouth caressing the corners of her lips, and then kissing a line across the satin of her cheek to the soft whorl of her ear. He dipped his tongue inside and smiled as she tensed beneath his ministrations, her rising desire evident in the stuttered inhale of breath as he sucked gently on her earlobe, his breath caressing her.
Then with impatient hands, he pushed the bodice off her shoulders, baring her to the waist, delighted to find no further obstruction to his goal. With an open-mouthed kiss to the tender hollow at the base of her neck, he slid his hands up to cup her breasts. Her nipples were tight little buds. Pink against her alabaster skin. Ripe for the tasting. As if privy to his thoughts, she moaned and arched her back, eyes closed as she offered herself to him.
His body hardened as his passion rose to match hers. And he shifted, laying her back across his arm, his mouth taking one of her nipples. Biting lightly, he sucked her breast deeper into his mouth, tongue swirling around the crest as he suckled.
Her fingers laced into his hair again as he continued to taste her. Torment her. Then he shifted his attentions to the other breast, the other nipple, biting and sucking, pulling and teasing until she writhed beneath him, calling his name.
His groin literally throbbing with need, he swung her into his arms, still raining hot kisses along the swell of her breasts. In two strides, he'd reached the bed, laying her down on the pallet, his breath catching as the firelight danced across her skin.