My Dark Highlander

by Badger, Nancy Lee

  “Doono’ run from me, lass. I have sworn to protect ye.”

  Jenny slid to a stop, and the hem of her gown swirled around her ankles. The sight of her ankle boots stirred him nearly as much as her long, tapered neck. Her hair, ears, and neck were unadorned, and he realized that anything more than the lace trim and gold belt on her gown would detract from her regal persona, and the sensuous radiance of her brown eyes.

  After tying Falcon near old Balfour, and assuming Rae had gone off in search of Denise, Gavin strode toward Jenny. He left his sheathed sword tied to his garron’s saddle.

  “Hurry up. The dancing has already started.”

  He followed close on Jenny’s heels, as she entered a tent filled to the brim with laughing, drinking, dancing people. Denise rushed up to Jenny, and gently hugged her.

  Nodding to Gavin, Denise said, “I’m glad you two made it. This is the largest crowd they’ve ever had. Where’s Rae?”

  Gavin’s hand was on his dirk faster than he could answer. “We followed him here. Ye have no’ seen him?”

  “Nope. He’ll turn up. Come with me. I want you to meet some people.”

  While he followed the women, Gavin’s gaze swept the crowd. Denise introduced him to several high-ranking members of whatever group was responsible for the Highland games, and the ceilidh. As they exchanged small talk, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

  Rae is missing, and someone watches us.

  ***

  Rae sauntered toward the vendor carts, scouting the area where few people gathered. He should have mentioned his plans to Gavin, but the laird was besotted, the moment Jenny stepped onto her porch, if not before.

  The sun had nearly set over the pine-tipped mountains, painting the sky with wisps of pink and orange. Shadows had fallen over the mountainside, and the various vendors had closed for the evening. Raucous laughter spewed from the large tent, where couples danced and frolicked like children, he assumed. Denise was probably waiting for him.

  If Gavin and Jenny had arrived, they would search for him, so he would make this quick. Heading up the lane, he pondered whether he should share what he had seen in the forest. Had Gavin and Jenny encountered the same smoky apparition?

  No matter, his mission was clear. Find the unknown woman Jaden-Tog insisted he worked for, and ask her to explain her relationship with the crafty brownie.

  “Have you come to help clean up?”

  As Rae turned to face the owner of the voice, he pulled the dirk he had borrowed from a drunkard he had stumbled upon near the rear of the big tent, and pointed it at Wynda.

  “Oh, my!” When she blanched, he lowered the tip.

  “Ye ought no’ to sneak up on a man, lass.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. You scared the living daylights out of me.”

  Straightening from a warrior’s crouch, Rae swept his gaze over the top of her ginger curls and the lock of white hair. She had twisted the unusual locks into two fat braids, then coiled them upon her head. His gaze drifted down her form-fitting dark brown gown, to the doeskin slippers on her tiny feet, peeking from beneath the hem.

  She blinked, followed his gaze, and her cheeks pinked. “See anything you like?”

  Rae coughed. He was not here to find a mate. His objective was to learn the location of the less-than-honorable brownie he had seen working in this cart, then head to the tent to help Gavin protect Jenny.

  “Ye be a vision, lass. But I must know…have ye seen yer little helper, lately?”

  “You mean Jaden? He finished up, but forgot to toss the trash in the dumpster. I think he said he was heading for the beer tent.” She leaned down and grabbed the tops of two large bags. When the bodice of her gown gaped, the tawny flesh above her breasts separated, and the shadowy valley of her cleavage beckoned, tightening his groin, and his ears burned. After returning his weapon to its leather sheath, he said, “Allow me.”

  He gently shoved her away from the black bags, and the odor wafting up from them. She smiled at him, and his heart flipped in his chest. When his hands grew clammy, he fumbled with one of the bags.

  “Careful. Wouldn’t want to mess up that sexy kilt. You wear it very well.”

  Was she flirting with him?

  “Lass, yer timing is verra’ bad. However, if ye show me the way to yer so-called dumping grounds, I would love to accompany ye to yonder tent. The ceilidh is the perfect place to show off our finery, aye?”

  “Okay.” She turned, and he followed.

  His grip slipped on the sheer edges of the bags, but he held on long enough for them to reach their destination. The shadows loomed over two large bins. A door on one side was open, and she pointed to it. After tossing the bags into the hollow of the bins, she led him to a free-standing basin.

  “This is a hand-washing station. Press here for soap, and towels are on the side.”

  After washing and rinsing his hands, he dried them with the odd towel made of scratchy parchment.

  She stepped closer, and her citrusy fragrance was reminiscent of the orange juice Jenny served him. The scent instantly swept aside the bitter odor emanating from the bins. Stretching his fingers to keep them at his sides, he waited as she pressed her flattened palms against his white shirt and jerkin, then stretched up on her toes and kissed him.

  “Thanks,” Wynda whispered.

  An ear-splitting roar and a flash of light exploded near their heads. Wynda tumbled to the ground, and Rae landed on top of her. Dazed, and with the acrid odor of brimstone filling his nose, he stared at the flames licking at their feet. He jumped up, grabbed Wynda, cradled her against his chest, and ran. When his dirk tangled in her gown, he nearly tripped. Ripping fabric and sinister growls did not deter him from searching for safety. When they reached the tent of the witch, Dorcas Swann, he lunged inside, set Wynda on her feet, and pulled the tent flaps closed.

  Wynda latched onto his forearm, and tugged him close. “What the heck just happened?”

  CHAPTER 19

  Rae hushed Wynda by settling his mouth against hers. When a scream of a banshee or some other evil phantasm passed by the tent, and receded into the night, he reluctantly broke the kiss. “Beg yer pardon, lass, but I needed to keep ye quiet.”

  Wynda grabbed his shirt and pulled his mouth back to hers. A feminine moan made his stomach flip and his groin tighten. The moment her soft, plump lips parted, his tongue thrust inside, and tangled with her rich flavor. Little sounds of pleasure bubbled up, surprising him with her sensuous response.

  Moaning with pleasure, his hands roamed over her. When one swept along the tear in her gown, an opening that landed his roaming fingers on the naked flesh of her hip, he searched for the soft curve of her rear.

  She was warm and pliable, and she kissed him with such ferocity that he yearned to spread her legs, and spear her tender flesh with his…

  A cough, behind him, was like a splash of ice water, and Rae broke their kiss.

  “I beg yer pardon, warrior, but I am closing up shop to head to the ceilidh. I suggest ye let go of the young lass, and see to mending her gown. There be needle and thread in my sleeping quarters.” Dorcas giggled like a bairn.

  “My pardon, Lady Swann. I thought we were alone.”

  Dorcas cackled some more.

  Rae cupped Wynda’s chin, and kept her eyes locked on his. “I am sorry about yer gown, lass.”

  “I be kidding, young farmer. She may borrow any of my gowns.” Dorcas nodded toward the curtain.

  “There is something dangerous about,” Rae warned her, but Dorcas headed outside. Cool night air filtered inside the dark tent. The old woman’s words, and Wynda’s breathlessness, made him untangle her arms from around his neck, and step back.

  Wynda winked up at him. “Isn’t she nice? I’ll see if she has a dress that can fit me. And it wasn’t your fault. Something in the dumpster exploded, though that is unusual.”

  “Unusual in what way?” He led her behind a curtain separating Dorcas’ bedchamber from her sh
op, and did his best to ignore the nearby bed.

  “Dumpsters catch fire. They don’t blow up.”

  “I doono’ believe the flash of light that pushed us to the ground came from inside the bin.”

  “What else could it have been?” She glanced around the tidy sleeping quarters, and shrieked.

  He pulled his dirk, and crouched. “What ‘tis it, lass?”

  “Look at these gowns!” Wynda pawed through a dozen or so gowns lying on a small chest. Slinky silks, heavy woolens, and cool cottons, in varying colors and patterns, glittered beneath one lonely lamp.

  “Aye, ‘tis a sight better than yer ruined finery. I shall wait on ye, outside. Make haste.” Rae headed to the closed tent flap, and paused to listen. All seemed quiet outside. Whatever had attacked them, though he was sure the attack was aimed at him, might have left the area.

  When a small hand pressed against his back, a shiver coursed through him.

  “Did I startle you?”

  “Nay, lass. My mind was elsewhere.”

  “Do you like this gown? I guess I’d call this color peach.”

  “ ‘Tis lovely. Shall we go?”

  Wynda slipped past him, and onto the path. Darkness was falling across the mountain, but the silk of her gown reflected the waning beams of sunlight. It shimmered and folded around her curves as she walked, and he shook his head, shunning impure thoughts.

  She is not for me.

  No one would accept him, or his curse, he feared. Until Jenny was safe, and Gavin and he had returned to their time, he would not lose control. When she turned and raised her brows, his gaze skimmed the bodice of her tight-fitting dress.

  God’s breath!

  The swells of her ripe, full breasts were nothing compared to the pert buds of her nipples. Lowering his gaze, the flow of her gown reminded him of waves of heather washing over a Highland meadow. The tight fabric accentuated her rounded hips, and tiny waist.

  “Is there something wrong?” Wynda glanced down. Once she realized that the tips of her nipples were visible, a slow wash of pink sped across her cheeks. “I can’t wear this!”

  Rae moved toward her, and nestled her against his chest. With his arm around her waist, and the other cupping one breast, she quieted. When she raised her face to his, his mouth lowered until his lips captured hers.

  A bagpipe screeched nearby, startling them.

  The mood broken, Rae tugged at her bodice, covering her breasts more fully. He inhaled her fragrance and his mouth watered. She smelled…different. Like the meat pies and bridies she sold, and his stomach growled.

  “I’m hungry, too. I hear they serve food and drink at the…what did you call it?”

  “Ceilidh.”

  “Right. Kay-lee. Sounds like it was named after a girl.” She smiled prettily, and looked shy and innocent. She did not kiss like an innocent, but he would not press the issue. He would not take advantage of a woman he knew nothing about.

  He raised his fingers to his lips, surprised at the tingles that remained, as if he had swallowed one of Dorcas’ oddly sweet potions. Was Wynda a witch? How else could he explain his instant attraction?

  When she turned and started down the path in the direction of the voices and music, he smoothed the bulge beneath his plaid. At the thought of laying her down, behind one of the merchant tents, his body had hardened. He would raise her silk skirt, and bare her to his mouth. After making her scream with pleasure, he would ram his hardened length inside her velvet channel, until he filled her with his seed.

  God’s breath!

  “What’s this thing we’re going to? A dance?” she asked.

  He inhaled deeply, bringing his attention to their destination. “The official Highland Games program calls a ceilidh a traditional Gaelic gathering, a combination of country dancing and Scottish folk music.”

  His impure thoughts were more attune to the mercenaries from whom Izzy, Bull, and the brownie had saved him. The evil warriors, who had guarded his cell, had shared tales of how they had slaughtered most of the Sinclair clan’s steer, drank all their ale, then raped their women.

  “I am not like them.”

  “What’s that?” Wynda had paused at the entrance to the huge tent, and the noise blasting from within, was deafening.

  She had missed his muttered oath, so he clasped her hand and allowed her to tug him through the entrance.

  “Hi, Rae.” Denise appeared at his elbow, in a gown as green as the pine trees that surrounded the games. Without her eyeglasses, her hazel eyes sparkled. She had sprinkled green gems in her short red hair. “They call this shade hunter green. You like?”

  “Denise, ye sparkle!”

  “Thanks. Who’s your friend?”

  When his gaze centered on her eyes, it took no more than one glance to see that she was furious. He wanted to laugh, but he understood her anger. She found him beside a beautiful stranger.

  “Denise LeClair, may I present Wynda…?” Rae glanced at the newcomer. “I beg yer pardon, lass. When we met, I dinno’ ask yer family name.”

  Wynda smiled, pulled her hand from his, and shook Denise’ hand. “Wynda Sinkler. Nice to meet you. I run a food cart, and Rae was kind enough to give me a hand with the…with something.”

  “Sinkler?” Rae’s jaw tightened, and his hands shook.

  “Yeah. I think it’s part of the Sinclair clan. I’m not really into this, since I am usually working the games. Why?”

  Rae turned away, before she could see the anger in his face. Another Sinclair? Had Angus Sinclair sent a mercenary in the form of a beautiful witch?

  Denise must have noticed that he had moved away from Wynda because she asked, “Where are you going?”

  “I have to talk to Gavin.”

  The simple realization that Wynda did not share news about the explosion and fire was damning. Why would she choose to sweep aside the attack? Did she actually think it was accidental? Or, had her cohorts tried to kill him, and she was caught in the backlash?

  Glancing around the tent in search of Gavin, he was loath to add to the laird’s problems. But, if someone wished to kill him, too, then protecting Jenny was a double-edge sword.

  Denise caught up to him, and grabbed him by the arm. He stopped and looked at her.

  “That was very rude. Poor Wynda thinks she did something wrong.”

  “She did nothing, and I shall apologize later. Have ye seen Gavin and Jenny?”

  “They’re around here somewhere, unless they slipped out to find a romantic corner.” She wiggled her brows, but the laughter did not reach her eyes. Was Denise hiding something? She struck him as a happy person. He bent close to her ear, tugged her to his side, and wrapped an arm around her. He turned her so Wynda would not hear her answer.

  “Denise, what is amiss?”

  “When I told Gavin you weren’t here, he got this worried look on his face, and slapped his hand on that short lethal-looking sword he’d strapped to his hip. Scared the heck outta’ me.”

  Rae shook his head. It was not his place to spout possible reasons for Gavin’s moods. He also would not be surprised if Gavin had indeed found a cozy spot to woo the lass. “All is well, I am sure.”

  “Want to dance? Remember…you promised.” Denise glanced from him to where Wynda stood alone, by the refreshment table, then back at him.

  He had no need to upset Jenny’s good friend. Besides, Wynda was a stranger to him. A winsome beauty, ‘tis true. He had assisted her at her cart, had protected her from an unusual attack, and still wondered how she had come to hire the brownie.

  “Aye, lass.” He bowed slightly, and flicked a quick glance at Wynda. She smiled at everyone but him.

  “You seem a bit out of sorts.” Denise tugged him onto the dance floor.

  “Where I come from, a ceilidh is more of a quiet gathering, where the villagers share stories, and children play at their feet.” The music blaring inside the tent was a combination of bagpipes, drums, and violins.

  “Your type soun
ds dull.” As she pulled him toward a long line of couples, he suddenly missed Scotland.

  ***

  Jenny coughed, and tried to inhale a lungful of air inside the massive tent. No such luck. A wall of wool-clad bodies fenced her in, and the blare of bagpipes, fiddles, and drums made her head pound. The combined odors of sweat, fried foods, and beer, were overpowering. If Gavin did not allow her to step outside soon, she would faint.

  “Ye must stay by my side.”

  Mind reader. Grrr.

  She sipped ale from a plastic cup. Craving something less bitter, she snatched a piece of spice cake, and popped the confection into her mouth, anything to keep from wanting to kiss the man standing by her side.

  Serves me right, for wanting a normal life.

  Wasn’t that why she left him behind in the first place? His interest in her spanned the length of that one night. ‘One night of passion does not a relationship make’, was her mantra, so returning to her time had made sense. Finding Gavin on her doorstep made no sense. Putting a little distance between them, hadn’t worked.

  Not yet, anyway.

  “Doono’ think about it, love,” he whispered.

  How could he know she thought about skipping out? “Can’t we get some air? I’m going to faint.”

  In the tent’s low light, Gavin’s eyes locked on her face, and his gaze was filled with worry. She shouldn’t add to the weight on his shoulders by stretching the truth. He only wanted to keep her safe. The weird smoky mist in the forest, a mist so acrid and thick she almost choked to death, had seemed to reach for her.

  “What I mean is, I could use some fresh air. I’ll stand just outside the tent, and I promise not to wander.”

  His feral gaze did not match the slow smile spreading across his mouth. His lips were intriguing, and she wished he’d take her someplace dark, and put those lips to good use.

  “We will go together. I must not allow ye out of my sight. If anything should happen to ye…”

  That he couldn’t finish his sentence made her pause. She was in danger from people unknown, for an unknown length of time, and all because someone thought she and Gavin were lovers.