“Be careful, lass. Dinna take any rash chances,” he said. Her face seemed to sag, and suddenly he remembered she’d been working since early that morning. He unclasped her hands and brought one palm to his lips, only to stop when she winced. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she muttered. Quinn pulled her out from the half shadows into the full moonlight. “Quinn—someone will see you!”
He stared down at the blisters and the caked blood on her hands and then shook his head. “Och, Maggie, what have I done?”
“Hey, a little floor scrubbing never hurt anybody. And you haven’t done anything,” she said, pulling her hands from his and sliding them up around his neck. “Yet. In fact, I’m starting to feel a little neglected.”
He lowered his mouth to hers and gently caressed her lips. She drew away from him slightly. “Please,” she whispered,“don’t go to Ian now. Wait.”
Quinn leaned his head against hers and then straightenedand nodded. “All right, lass. I will trust what ye say.” Slipping his arm around her waist, he led her to where Saint was tied, back behind the last outbuildings, in a copse of trees.
Maggie leaned against him heavily, and when she stumbled,he picked her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way. Once there, he lifted her into the saddle and settledbehind her. Keeping a sharp eye out, he waited until he was sure there wasn’t a soul around, and then nudged Saint into action.
“He’s alive, Quinn,” she said softly. “I’m so, so glad.”
Her voice was heavy with guilt. Poor lass. She still felt responsible, and why shouldn’t she? He’d certainly made her feel as if it was all her fault. She’d risked herself not only to find Ian, but to help him.
For the first time in a very long time, Quinn lowered the barrier he kept ever vigilant around his heart. He slipped his arm around Maggie and pulled her back against him, feeling the gentle thud of her heart beneath his fingers as they rode silently together.
Never in her life had Maggie felt so safe, so protected, so wanted, as when Quinn climbed into the saddle behind her and wound his arm around her middle.
“Where are we going?” she asked sleepily.
“To Ian’s grandmother’s cottage. Ye need a good night’s sleep in a real bed.”
Maggie yawned. Sleep. In a bed. “Hmmm,” she said, her eyes sliding shut, “that sounds wonderful. Does she know I’m coming?”
“If she’s lookin’ down from Heaven, then aye, she knows,” he said, a smile in his voice. “She left it to him.”
“Funny,” she said. “Very funny.” She leaned back against him and sighed.
It was all beginning to hit her now—the inexplicable journey through time, her part in Ian’s capture, making love to Quinn—and somehow it was all too surreal to believe.She felt as if she had simply been cast in a movie set in 1711 Scotland. She and Quinn were just actors, along with everyone else—Bittie, the slightly dumb sidekick; Jenny, the abused maid; Montrose, the villain; and even Rob Roy MacGregor, historic hero.
As she and Quinn rode across the Highlands, the sun was setting in glorious splendor, the first faint clouds of mist rising across the velvet green hills and a distant loch. Suddenly she felt as if she were sailing across some paralleluniverse, some dream world.
But the stark reality remained. Ian lay in a dank and dirty hole of a cell, waiting for rescue. She hadn’t told Quinn how ill his friend had become and that he was in danger of being hanged. If she had, she knew nothing would have stopped the passionate highwayman from rushinginto the dungeon to free his friend. No, before she told Quinn any more, she had to figure out a plan.
The sun was gone now behind the distant hills, the air growing colder. Even with Quinn’s plaid draped around them both, Maggie wished she had put her pajama pants back on beneath her servant’s skirt. She rode astride, her bottom once again in Quinn’s lap, her legs curved over his as she leaned against his broad chest.
From the moment her back touched him, his presence had burned into her and sent fresh desire and energy coursingthrough her body. Saint settled into a rhythmic, rocking step, and she tried to relax as the movement pressed her harder against Quinn.
Her legs were bare above the black stockings Bittie had provided, and from time to time Quinn’s hand holding the reins would lightly rest against her thigh. Maggie tingled with tiny electric shock waves that permeated the fabric and made her long for him to touch her bare skin. When his free hand moved to slide her skirt upward, she trembledwith a desire she tried desperately to hide. Quinn apparentlysensed her need, and he stroked his hand up her bare leg to her hip, hesitated, and then moved back over her skirt to skim his way over her waist, her ribs, to her breast.
There he caressed her soft flesh, making her sigh and press back harder against him. He moved his chin against her neck, raking her unbound hair out of the way, and the roughness of the stubble on his face sent a rush of fire through her veins just before she felt the warmth of his mouth against her neck.
His tongue darted out and flicked against her earlobe, traced a path downward to her shoulder, where he bit her gently. Maggie sighed and then moaned aloud as he pulled the edge of her blouse from her shoulders and slipped his hand beneath the fabric. His fingers slid over the top of one bare breast and moved downward across the sensitive nipple,now taut with desire. With each touch of his callused hand, fire burned against her skin as desperate need pooled between her legs, making her press downward against the saddle.
Maggie found her breath and heartbeat moving into the same rhythm as Quinn teased the curve of her jaw with his mouth and her body with his touch. He moved his hand away from her breast and she almost cried out aloud, but then she felt him drawing up the long skirt again, this time sliding his hand beneath the soft material to find the part of her that needed his touch the most. She hadn’t had a chance to wash her single pair of panties yet, and that day she had gone without, feeling a little daring and wicked as she did her chores. She was dissolving into liquid heat, her breath coming in short gasps of pleasure, when all at once he stopped touching her. A little moan of protest escaped from her, then she realized he had knotted the horse’s reins in front of her and looped them around the saddle horn. Maggie leaned back against Quinn, her chest rising and falling rapidly with expectation.
Now Quinn’s fingers brushed up her thigh and to the softness between her legs, and she gasped as he found her there, naked and ready. He stroked her with a gentle passion,and in seconds she arched back and cried out as the shudder of her release rocked through her.
She felt Quinn lifting her and turning her to face him. Her legs were hooked over his thighs, and she looked up into his passion-filled eyes. He had pulled Saint to a stop beneath the moon rising high above them, the pony standingat the peak of one of the lower hills.
Maggie shivered, realizing they were on display for anyonepassing by to see, but there was no one around in the still, unnatural twilight, and she was too far gone to even care. She leaned forward and wound her hands around his neck, her voice soft with passion.
“Do you really think you can make love to me on top of a horse, Quinn MacIntyre, and do me justice?”
“That all depends,” he said, as he let his mouth skim across her bare shoulder. “Do ye trust me?” She hesitated, and he moved his lips to brush her ear. “Remember, I willna let ye fall.”
“Yes,” she whispered, “I trust you.”
Quinn slid both hands into her hair, cradling her face as he lowered his mouth to hers. She met him halfway and climbed into his lap, clinging to him with her legs as she pressed herself down against him.
Beneath his kilt he was hard and ready, and as he devouredher mouth, her breast, the shivery spot behind her ear, she began to rub herself against him. When she could bear it no more, she lifted his plaid and found him bare beneaththe coarse cloth, long and rigid and all for her.
Maggie lifted her lust-blurred eyes to Quinn’s as she reached down and touched him, reveling in his sharp intake of br
eath and the way his green eyes slid half shut as he gazed back. She was desperate to feel him inside of her, and using his broad shoulders for purchase, she lifted herselfabove him and lowered her body, gasping as he filled her. Her pulse pounded as she slid back down to him, his arms around her, supporting her.
Her blouse was pulled below her breasts, but she didn’t feel exposed. She felt strong and beautiful and somehow more powerful than she ever had in her life.
This time she was in control, and her legs and arms trembled as she lifted herself up again and then down, takinghim inside of her, over and over again. His fingers bit into her back and Quinn trembled as she moved harder and faster atop him, up and down, the sensation sending throbbing waves of pleasure cascading through her as her knees pressed against his rock-hard thighs.
Maggie’s breath came faster and then Quinn reached between them and touched her and she shattered into the night, into the moonlight, cradled in his arms. Now Quinn was in charge as he gathered her against him, and it was his power that drove into her, his need that surged thick and hard into the softness that he plundered, raided, stole. Maggie had no time to wonder or think as her desire quickenedanew and he took what he wanted, again and again.
She found Quinn’s mouth, devoured it, claimed it, even as he claimed her with every touch, every move, until the heat began to rise inside of her, burning brighter and hotter than before, and his hands were on her hips, his fingers strong and rough as he lifted her over the hard length of him again and again. Maggie felt the heady build of passionraise her higher and higher until she was mindless with need and the world disappeared around them, leaving only the fire where their bodies met and filled one another, stroke by amazing stroke. She cried out as she reached the sky, and then toppled over that exquisite precipice and Quinn caught her, shuddering in her arms, clutching her to him, keeping her safe even as he fell, too, whispering her name.
Saint started walking again, slowly, rocking them both into the soft oblivion that came after the storm.
What seemed like a thousand years later, Maggie roused enough to look up at him. “I’m glad I trusted you,” she said, smiling up at him, feeling a little shy.
He chuckled. “Aye, lass, so am I.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. Her stomach growled suddenly. I hope there’s going to be a real supper at this cottage” she said. Quinn laughed. “Ye have a healthy appetitefor such a little woman,” he said.
Maggie curled herself against him, her arms around his waist, her face pressed to his chest. Maggie could hear his heart pounding beneath her own as she held him, never wanting to let him go.
“Just for some delicacies,” she murmured, and closed her eyes.
Maggie woke before dawn to find she was alone. Quinn had told her he would rise early and build a fire and then take care of some neglected things around the cottage. As she lay back against the soft feather pillow, she was glad to have a few moments to herself, some silence in which to think. Staring at the weathered beams in the ceiling, Maggiereevaluated her situation. She was trapped in the past with a hunky stranger who made incredible love to her. Which would be great, if she knew she could go home again, because after a few days in 1711—in spite of her love of history and her growing affection for Quinn—she was pretty sure she didn’t want to stay here. And what would happen to Allie and Ellie if she couldn’t get back? A wave of panic rushed through her and she took several deep breaths, releasing each one slowly until the anxiety passed.
It was her fault Ian had been captured, and she couldn’t leave until he was safe. But as soon as he was—
As soon as he was, what? Could she so easily leave Quinn and go back to her old life? Her old lonely life? And what if she couldn’t get back? Then what?
Stop, stop, stop, Maggie commanded. You’ll find a way back. One thing at a time.
Rising up on one elbow, she glanced around the room. Last night she’d been asleep when they got to the cottage, and she had only a vague recollection of Quinn depositing her in the bed and crawling in beside her. It was a plain room with rough-hewn walls and little in the way of decoration.But the bed was comfortable and had a worn coverletstuffed with feathers.
“Quinn?” she called softly.
The door to the rest of the cottage was open, and she could see a fire flickering in the stone fireplace in the other room. It was dim and cold in the bedroom and Maggie shivered and snuggled down under the heavy coverlet. Thick wooden shutters latched across the only window in the room to keep out the chilly night air, always a losing battle in the Highlands.
She wasn’t used to sleeping naked, but she didn’t want to get out of bed to look for her pajamas. Clothing was unnecessary when snuggled up against Quinn’s warmth. Maggie frowned. So why wasn’t he here keeping her warm? He couldn’t be taking a shower.
Speaking of bathrooms, she could do with some time in a real lavatory. Maybe the manor house had something betterthan a bush and a log. She’d have to ask Jenny. Were there hot baths in 1711? So far all she’d had was a sponge bath in an ice-cold stream.
As Maggie pondered her hygiene problems, a faint light filtered through the crack where the shutters came together. The sun must be rising. She could see a candle on the table beside the bed, and dragging her backpack up on the bed, she rummaged inside it until she found a small lighter. Elliehad promised she would need a lighter sooner or later, and now she blessed her sister as she flicked the flame to life and lit the candle. The soft light chased away the shadows,and she looked around at her room.
Something white lay across the end of the bed and she reached for it, shivering as the cold air touched her bare skin. It was a nightgown! Quinn must have left it for her, but she’d been too sleepy when they first arrived.
Maggie pulled the gown over her head and found it was softer than she’d imagined something homespun in the Highlands could ever be. The garment was warm and cozy, with a soft little ruffle tucked around the high neck and the edge of the long, billowy sleeves that fell over her hands. She bundled back under the covers to stay warm.
Now she was wide awake. Where was Quinn, and why wasn’t he here inside—oops-beside her?
As if in answer to her thought, she heard a stealthy movement, like wood being drawn across wood, and realizedthe outside door to the cottage was opening. Fear rushed through her all at once. What if it wasn’t Quinn? Quickly she sat up, blew out the candle, stuffed her contrabanditems into her pack, and burrowed back under the thick coverlet.
When the shadowy figure came into the room she breathed a sigh of relief. Though he moved silently across the room, she could hear him breathing and knew it was Quinn. Maggie watched his dark shadow as he walked to the window and stood there for a long moment, then somethingrattled, and the shutter opened a few inches.
The pale light of morning gave a softness to the usual rugged lines of Quinn’s face. His eyes were somber and filled with melancholy as he looked out the window, and Maggie felt a tug on her heart. Then she realized what he was wearing.
The vampire outlaw had returned.
“Please tell me you haven’t been doing what I think you’ve been doing,” Maggie said.
Quinn jerked his head toward her, the vulnerability in his face disappearing. “I’m sorry I woke ye, lass. Go back to sleep.” He turned his face back toward the dawn.
“Right.” Maggie thought for a moment and then threw the covers back, shivering as her feet hit the floor and the cold air slipped underneath the warm gown she wore. She crossed to his side and laid one hand on his arm. “I sort of remember this outfit,” she said, smoothing the billowing sleeves of the black shirt he wore. “A guy who saved my life was wearing one just like it.”
Quinn closed his eyes and without turning put his arm around her and drew her to him. Maggie slid her arms around his waist and leaned against him.
“Quinn, where have you been?” she asked softly. He looked down at her, and Maggie felt the familiar rush begin as he lifted his hand to brush a
tangled lock of hair back from her face.
“I think ye know where I’ve been,” he said.
“Robbing the rich and giving to the poor?” she quipped, wondering if he’d ever heard of Robin Hood.
Apparently he had, for he smiled in understanding. “Aye, that’s the way of it.”
“So you are a highwayman.”
He raised both brows. “Was there any doubt of it? Here now, lass, get back in bed before ye catch a chill.” Quinn pulled back the covers, and Maggie scrambled gratefully under the warm quilt.
“So who did you rob?”
“Bittie told me that Killearn, Montrose’s man, was on the way back to the manor house with the duke’s rent money. I waylaid him on the road and took everything he had.” He gestured to a bundle on the floor.
“But why?” Maggie looked up at him. “Why would you risk being caught just when you found out that Ian is alive?”
Quinn’s jaw tightened and he folded his arms over his chest. “Because if I’m going to get Ian out alive, I’m going to have to have help. I dinna know if I can count on the MacGregors, and so I may have to hire men to help me.”
Maggie shook her head. “Quinn, you can’t possibly think you can hire enough men to overpower all of the guards in Montrose’s household?”
“If I have enough money, aye, I can.” He stripped the black shirt from his back and flung it to the floor, and beforeshe even knew what she was doing, Maggie was on her feet again, beside him. He closed his eyes and shivered as she slid her arms around his waist, then turned toward her, pulling her close.
“Quinn, you aren’t thinking straight,” she said, the heat of his body warming her, making her long for him to make love to her again. She tugged him toward the bed. “Come to bed and sleep for a little while.” Maggie sank into the mattress and pulled Quinn down beside her.
“Maggie mine,” he whispered, moving her long hair back from her shoulder as he pressed his mouth against her neck, “I need ye.”
Maggie shivered, and this time not because of the cold. He lifted his head, and his breath warmed her lips just beforehe tightened his arms around her waist and lifted her against him to ravage her mouth. His urgency sent a new thrill of desire rippling through her, just before fear and regret and common sense broke through the passion. She pulled away, breathless.
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