by Kat Bastion
Iain jumped over Velloc, tackling me in a rib-crushing hug. The velocity of the collision staggered me backward. Over Iain’s shoulder, I saw Velloc spring to his feet. Iain grabbed my hand and slammed it down onto the box, his fingers overlapping mine as we made contact.
Velloc’s feral roar echoed around the cave as he charged us. Instantly, the wild look in his eyes changed to alarm, and Velloc lunged for me.
My heart slammed into my ribs, my mouth falling open in silent anguish, as the man I’d spent the last month and a half of my life with . . . and had fallen in love with . . . vanished.
Iain landed hard on top of me, sprawling us across the floor. Air whooshed out of my lungs from the impact and his weight. Elation by my reunion with Iain and shock at the loss of Velloc overloaded the last of my fried sanity. The world faded to black.
* * *
Pain filled my entire being, even though no physical injury marked the damage I’d sustained. With great concentration, I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut, holding back a threatening torrent. My heart burned a hole on the inside of my chest as consciousness brought awareness, along with a barrage of emotions I found myself ill equipped to deal with under even the most forgiving of circumstances.
The two men who loved me were intertwined so tightly into my soul that the loss of one felt equally as devastating as the loss of the other. Guilt filled the spaces in between like pervasive glue, connecting harsh reality to my inconceivable situation. For a moment, I grew jealous of Rip Van Winkle. Twenty years asleep, waking to a different world altogether, sounded ideal compared to my double-feature soap opera.
Familiar aromas welcomed me: fresh baked bread, smoke from a fire crackling in a hearth. But the scent of pine and musky male overpowered them all as I stretched sore muscles, pulling my arms over my head and pointing my toes. I’d awakened in Iain’s bed . . . our bed.
I peeked through cemented eyelids. Iain sat hunched over in a chair near the foot of the bed, staring at the floor. Grave concern carved deep creases into his forehead. At my increased movements, he lifted his face, his eyes widening.
“Isa!” He breathlessly exclaimed my name as he shot up, launching onto the bed. He leaned over me, caressing my face, tears forming in his eyes. “Damn, woman. You scared the hell out of me. You’ve been out cold for two days.”
Isobel Van Winkle—two days versus twenty years.
My body had done a hard shutdown to recover from unfathomable events. But even after forty-eight hours of dead-to-the-world sleep, my mind couldn’t go there. Not yet.
Despite his haggard expression and days of stubble on his face, Iain wore fresh clothes and had cleaned himself up. I lifted the covers. I’d been undressed and bathed. Naked. Again.
I tried to speak, but only a croak came out. Iain grabbed a cup of ale, lifting it to my lips as he supported my shoulders.
“Lass, I’ve been a wretched mess worryin’ about you. We all have.” Of course. Brigid and Iain’s entire clan had to know not only about my unexplained disappearance, but also my sudden return.
His hazel-green eyes gazed into mine for the longest time. Tears of joy blurred my vision at the incredible sight of his handsome face, the intoxicating scent of him, that rough Scottish brogue teasing my ears. I raised my hand, touching his cheek. I needed tactile proof that he was real and not just another vivid fantasy. He leaned into my touch, closed his eyes, and turned his head, trailing butterfly kisses from my palm to my fingertips.
The reality of Iain, flesh and bone, became my undoing. I burst up from the bed, assaulting his lips in a hard kiss, throwing my hands around his neck.
Every troublesome thought melted away like mud washed downstream in a cleansing rain as I held Iain in my arms again. Words escaped me. I couldn’t stop touching him. Frantic hands and hungry lips roamed everywhere—through his hair, across his jaw, to his ear, down his neck. My hot pursuit of every inch of his flesh was hampered only by his clothing and all of the ravenous attention he paid to me in kind.
I had to devour him. After days and weeks of not knowing for certain if I’d ever see him again, the need to physically touch the very thing I couldn’t for so long consumed me. Iain’s rough, urgent handling of my body told me he felt the same. We both needed a hard pinch to confirm the second chance we had didn’t dissipate into the wispy tendrils of a dream.
He bit my shoulder playfully and licked the mark he left. His short nails dug into my ass as he pulled me against his body, dipping his mouth to my breast. I cried out as he sucked my nipple, scraping it across the edges of his teeth, into his mouth. He growled, and his pure male satisfaction vibrated through me.
We tore his clothes off, literally. Iain ripped his shirt at the collar, yanking it over his head. My impatient hands unraveled his plaid. He grabbed the blankets in his fist and launched them across the room as he climbed between my legs. The cool air rushed goose bumps across my exposed skin as his every heated touch soothed me.
Iain paused.
Time stopped.
Firelight illuminated him from behind, igniting the ends of his chestnut hair into a halo around his head. He knelt between my thighs. Shadows darkened a face that beheld me in utter wonder as his gaze slowly traveled up my body with adoration. My chest rose and fell. His shaking hand touched the outside of my knee and skimmed up to my hip as he leaned forward.
“Isa . . .” The endearment fell from his lips in whispered reverence.
I sighed, drinking in his muscular beauty as the magnificent warrior stripped himself down to a mere mortal man, baring the incredible tenderness he felt deep inside for his woman. For me.
He lowered his head, placing a gentle kiss over my navel, and my stomach quivered. He trailed fingertips along my sides as he moved with methodic sensuality up my body.
“So . . .” He dropped another soft kiss on my ribs. “Damn . . .” He nipped between my breasts as I closed my eyes, arching up into the teasing touch of his lips. “Beautiful.” I smiled as he spoke the modern word in his thick brogue.
His shaft slid with slow, firm pressure through already-slickened folds. I gasped, curving my hips up into his, running my hands down his back until they rested above his flexed cheeks. He stilled, locking his body into perfect position over mine.
I opened my eyes, and he gazed down at me wearing that crooked smile I cherished. “Iain—” He swallowed my whisper in a hard, passionate kiss.
Our ravenous mouths slowed—teasing, sipping. We tasted . . . savored . . . as we nipped and licked. He drew his hips back, dragging his erection across sizzling nerves. The tip caught at my entrance, and he paused, pulling his face up. He stared deep into my eyes, infinite emotion radiating from those dark depths.
Iain gradually pressed forward, taking my body bit by bit while reclaiming my heart and soul. My eyes fluttered shut from the intense pleasure. His lips covered mine, muffling my low moan. In slow erotic torture, he branded me, imprinting that earthy scent, his salty taste, the tremendous feel of him deep within me as he claimed me as his . . . in every possible way.
Warmth infused into every cell of my body from the inside out. Only the two of us existed.
With fluid rhythm, he rocked back and plunged forward. The force of his thrusts increased. An aching pressure spiraled higher, and my cries grew louder. I dug my nails into his back as I hung on the edge of a precipice. He sank deep inside and stopped, dropping a damp forehead onto mine, his chest heaving in labored strain.
I whimpered at the pain of being denied, drawing in a ragged breath. He twitched inside, taunting me further. I moaned. So close.
The lack of movement only fueled my arousal. My breaths reduced to pants as the aching throb deepened. I arched my hips, seeking relief, but Iain shifted his legs over mine, leaning his weight back, pinning me down. He twitched within me again, his shaft bucking against sparking nerves. I gasped as a lone pulse fired hot around him in response. The single flash stoked the coals of my building inferno.
Iain’s hard body caged around me and, seated deep inside, remained motionless. I relaxed in his hold, opening myself to him, surrendering. His eyes widened, and the corners of his mouth curved. Pride washed across his features.
Iain owned me.
In slow rotation, he drew back and thrust forward. I fell at his mercy as his body commanded my ebb and flow.
Over and over, Iain rocked into me. A towering wave slowly built with incredible force. It crested, pulling us to the peak as it curled at the top. We gasped for air, gripping each other tightly by the shoulders. On a final hard thrust, I cried out as Iain shouted. We clung tightly to each other as the enormous pressure crashed into us, waves of ecstasy overcoming our bodies.
Two souls meant to be one—in the vastness of worlds unbound by time—had been reunited.
CHAPTER Twenty
Brodie Castle—Thirteenth Century, Three Days after My Return
The warmth of strong arms enveloped me from behind. A delicious soreness ached everywhere as I stretched. I smiled, failing to remember how many times we’d made love. All through the night Iain brought me food and drink, seeing to my every need during short breaks before he attended to me all over again, ensuring every desire had been fully satisfied.
Morning light peeked through the crack on the edge of the tapestry. The mouth-watering aroma of brewed coffee and freshly baked bread wafted up from the kitchen. Iain’s fingertips traced lazy circles on my hips as his lips pressed a gentle kiss onto my shoulder blade.
I turned, lying on my back. Iain remained on his side, his head propped onto a bent arm.
His eyes searched mine. In silence, he sought explanation of all that occurred but feared to know.
Where to begin . . . how much to tell . . .
Lying naked together, freshly sated from poetic lovemaking seemed an inappropriate time to talk about another man. Instead, I asked the question plaguing my mind.
“Iain, what happened?”
He shook his head. “I doona know. I sensed the moment you left. My heart lurched. A rift occurred in this plane and the disturbance rippled into me. I rode Dubhar hard back to the castle and burst into the room holdin’ the box. I felt the magick’s energy snap hot from its surface.”
“So . . . I didn’t split in two,” I said.
“Nay. You disappeared. Your coffee mug upside down on the ground was the only thing that remained,” he replied.
“Iain, I’m so sorry. I meant to touch it one last time, a nostalgic goodbye my only intention. I had no idea the powers holding court over my life weren’t done screwing with me yet.”
He pressed his lips onto my forehead in a gentle kiss. “Isa, I was lost without you. I stood there, willin’ every ounce of mental power I could muster at that box. Nothin’ happened. I refused to leave. Robert tried to drag me away. When my legs gave out from standin’, I pulled the box to the ground with me and laid there, holdin’ it for days.”
Fresh tears welled in my eyes at the love and loss he expressed . . . at what he’d endured. I never wanted him to go through such a horrific, heart-wrenching experience again. I took a deep breath realizing Velloc had to be suffering through the same grief. Iain must’ve sensed my mental path, because he tipped my chin up with his finger, forcing me to look into his eyes.
“Who was he, Isa?”
My lower lip trembled. I had to tell him the truth, regardless of the consequences. “For all intents and purposes, he’s my husband. Your box brought me to the man with whom I was meant to spend the rest of my life . . . twice.”
He dropped his finger, planted his hands on either side of me, and shoved hard into the mattress, launching off the bed on the upward bounce. He growled as he paced at the foot of the bed, shaking his head. “No. I’m your husband. I brought you here.” He stopped and glared at me, anger rolling off his tense shoulders. “You. Are. Mine.”
I sighed. Iain’s emphatic assertion wouldn’t alter the fact that he’d become a victim in the convoluted mess too. His territorial side staked his claim due to first ownership rights. But all kinds of arguments could be made as to why one man would have more right to me than the other; the amount of time spent together threw a vote in Velloc’s favor. No amount of debate toward either case changed my shredded feelings.
Both men held my heart. They had equal claim to it.
No way in hell would I say that to Iain, however. I stood from the bed, approaching him. His nostrils flared as he held his rigid stance, glaring at me . . . daring me.
I pressed against him, sliding my arms around his waist and skimming my hands up his broad back. “I am yours,” I said in a soft, firm voice.
He slowly exhaled the breath he’d been holding and relaxed his body, encircling me in his arms. “Isa, I’m never lettin’ you go again. Nothin’ will keep me away from you.”
A shiver raced up my spine, and I gripped Iain tighter. I’d once thought that very thing . . . moments before forces outside my control proved me indisputably wrong.
* * *
Late morning brimmed with activity in the courtyard as summer gifted the world with abundant sunshine. Iain shut the heavy oak door behind us with a thud. I raised my coffee mug to my lips, sipping the barely cooled, caffeinated heaven as we strolled down the grassy slope. I spotted the back of Brigid’s straw hat as she sat in her favorite corner of the garden.
I blew ripples across the divine liquid, taking another near-scorching swallow as the top layer cooled infinitesimally. My other hand tugged repeatedly at the bodice of my emerald gown. The garment I’d loved not so long ago suddenly felt confining. Running wild in animal skins for over a month had ruined my joy of dressing like a lady.
A frown curved my lips, and I dropped the fidgeting hand from my dress. How unsettling. I’d become like one of Peter Pan’s Lost Boys, stuffed into an itchy chemise and constricting gown that once adorned a beautiful princess in her medieval fairy tale. How quickly things changed.
Iain interrupted my internal battle. “She’s not been doin’ well.”
I glanced up at him, seeing worry lines etched into his face. “Iain, I’m so sorry. I wish I could’ve saved all of you from the pain I’ve caused.”
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, squeezing lightly. “I know, lass. You’re not the only one she’s been missin’.”
I stopped and furrowed my brows. Iain’s meaning dawned on my slowly awakening brain. I whispered in surprise, “Fingall.”
“Aye. He’s been missin’ since he left with Seamus and Gawain on the eve of Beltane. On the second day of their travels, in the middle of the night, the man simply vanished from their camp. Our search party found Seamus and Gawain. They’d been looking for Fingall.”
“Vanished.” I repeated the word as it rattled my alarm bell. I mentally added the item to a growing list of unsolved mysteries—a magick wall, a time-warping box, and a misplaced Viking.
Iain crossed his arms over his bare chest. “The only thing that’s kept me sane these past weeks is my greater concern for Brigid. She’s been . . . impulsive . . . as of late. Even for her.”
“She and I need some girl time.” I angled off toward the garden.
When I sensed Iain fall into step behind me, I stopped, and he collided into my back. I laughed, whirled around, and shoved my half-full coffee mug into his chest, releasing my hold. He shot his hands up, catching the falling mug without a drop of liquid splashing out.
“Girl time. Alone.” I arched a challenging brow, and the corners of his mouth twitched.
Satisfied my shadow would stay put, I strode purposefully down the hill. At the edge of the garden, I carefully stepped between rows of flourishing plants, holding my billowing skirt to my thighs with flattened palms.
I glanced up at Iain. He obediently stood at the edge of the training field, but his penetrating gaze peered above the coffee cup lifted to his lips as he tracked my every move.
I laughed softly at my overprotective guard while weaving through the fennel patch. Bri
gid hunched over a line of parsley plants, repeatedly stabbing the soil with a metal garden tool.
“Brigid?”
She jumped, her gaze flying up. “Isobel!”
Brigid launched from the ground so fast, I gasped when she tackle-hugged me onto a bed of rosemary. I laughed hard, wrapping my arms around her. “I’ve missed you too, my friend.”
We collected our wits and righted ourselves, surveying the damage. Our dresses fared well due to the thick plants breaking our fall. I plucked a broken stem from my gown, dropping it into Brigid’s basket. The rosemary, however, had been crushed.
“Pffft.” Brigid knelt down, cutting tender shoots from the plant and tossing them into her basket. “I’d been needin’ to harvest this one anyway.”
I sat beside her, the sun to our backs, as we trimmed up the broken pieces. Even a plant could survive unexpected devastation . . . with enough strength and the right circumstances.
“Brigid, I’m so sorry about Fingall.”
She smiled weakly. “He’ll be back. ’Tis but a temporary thing.”
“Hey, I disappeared and returned.” I held out my bare forearms. “Not a scratch on me.”
She pointed to a fresh nick and its droplet of blood. “Except for what I inflicted upon you.”
I laughed, nudging her and picking up two more broken casualties from the top of the plant. “You, my dear friend, I can survive.”
Brigid sighed. “I miss Gawain too.”
I blinked. “Wait. What?” I began to think I’d been rash in relinquishing my coffee.
Brigid’s eyes widened at my shock. Her mouth fell open for a few seconds before she burst into uninhibited laughter. “Och, Isobel. I dinna tell you? Iain dinna?”
I shook my head.
Brigid’s smile faded. “Gawain’s our brother. He’s a summer younger than Iain.”
“You’re kidding.” I shot her a deadpan expression, astounded by the number of mounting revelations. I recalled my encounters with Gawain. “How many siblings do you have? And why the hell do you all keep these damn secrets?” I felt foolish for not detecting the clues sooner.