Walking at a brisk pace, head up, shoulders back, making herself look assertive, even if she didn’t feel that way, she reached the turn-off point without incident. A few cars had driven slowly by, but that wasn’t unusual. As long as she didn’t stop or look at them, the cruisers wouldn’t think she was a hooker.
Moving into the darker street, she stayed in the middle of the road, safely away from trees and overgrown bushes that lined the broken fragments of sidewalk. All was quiet, almost peaceful. From someone’s backyard, a dog barked. Up ahead, she could see her porch light had been turned on. How thoughtful of Niall. She hoped he wouldn’t be angry. Maybe he wouldn’t even realize Carlotta hadn’t dropped her off in the car.
Her spine tingled a split-second before a strong arm wrapped around her neck and an equally strong hand yanked the mace sprayer from her hand. Suddenly she was surrounded by males, all dressed in black.
She tried to scream, but the sound was cut off as the pressure on her throat tightened. A knife flashed silver and then, thankfully, everything went black.
Six
Niall paced the small living room, muttering under his breath. Where was the lass? The gloaming—or whatever they called dusk in this time—had long settled into dark. He wasn’t sure he approved of the Carlotta woman, her ways reminding him very much of the camp followers in his time, but Cassidy seemed to like her. He had never claimed to understand women.
He peered out the window again at the empty street. The hair at his nape prickled, a sure sign that all was not as it seemed. Niall squinted, searching for any movement in the shadows, but he could discern nothing. He flipped on the light switch for the porch. At least the short walk from the street was now illuminated and the Carlotta woman did have a car.
But where were they? The hands on the thing called a clock had moved three numbers. His hair bristled again and he resumed pacing, fingering the dirk on his belt. Then he heard it. A scream, silenced in mid-cry.
Grabbing his claymore from the scabbard hanging on the wall and muttering another curse that he had let Cassidy lock up Mac an Luinne, he threw open the front door. Four men dressed in black were accosting a woman. He caught a glimpse of red-gold hair. Cassidy.
With a mighty roar, he leapt off the porch and bolted down the street.
~ * ~
The pressure on her throat loosened and Cassidy dragged in great gulps of air as she sank to the street. Knives drawn, the men around her scrambled into a defensive position. Hearing a furious bellow and heavy footsteps, she looked up.
Naill MacChumail, dressed in his Scottish garb, charged the men, swinging the huge claymore over his head. “To the MacBheatha!” he bellowed.
“He’s a friggin’ maniac!” one of the men said.
“There’s only one of him,” another answered. “We’ll surround—” His speech was cut off as the claymore whistled through the air, hitting him broadside on his head. He pitched over.
Cassidy scrambled out of the way. The other three men spread out, hoping to encircle Niall. With the long sword swinging in a figure-eight arc in front of him, the gang members couldn’t get near enough to slash him, unless one of them could get behind him. Niall chose the one on the left, stalking toward him, his golden eyes as predatory as any wolf.
“Careful! Behind you!” Cassidy screamed as the man on the far right dashed around.
Niall gave no sign that he heard, his every movement calculated to take down the first man, but just as the other was about to cut him, Niall whirled, the heavy sword making contact on the man’s arm with a resounding crack. The knife flew into the bushes. Niall spun again, using the flat of the blade to no doubt break the first man’s ribs. Howling, he sank to the pavement.
Niall advanced slowly on the last man, who backed up, tripped, recovered, and began to run.
Moaning, the man with the broken arm and the one with the broken ribs held on to each other while the third regained consciousness and staggered to his feet. Niall swung the big sword in another arc.
“What say ye, lass? Do ye want me to finish off the lot of them? ‘Twould make the world a better place to be rid of such stench.”
Cassidy shook her head. “No. You can’t just murder them.”
“Nae?” He frowned. “They laid their hands on ye. A mon has been run-through for far less.”
“And you would go to jail. Let them go.” From the incredulous look on his face, she knew he was about to argue. Not that she didn’t agree with him, but they couldn’t afford to have the police involved. “For me. Please.”
His jaw set and for one moment, she thought he was going to ignore her and kill them anyway. Then he turned and brought the point of his sword up to one man’s throat. “Ye heard the lass. ‘Tis her mercy that keeps ye alive this night. Be gone afore I change my mind. Dinna return.”
Gibbering, the men backed away and then hobbled as fast as they could down the street. Niall watched them disappear, then he walked over to where Cassidy was still sitting on the ground. Reaching down, he lifted her gently.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
Cassidy clung to him, suddenly aware of how shaky her legs were. His arms tightened around her protectively and she buried her nose in the soft weave of his sash, inhaling his warm, male scent. His hands soothed her back in long, slow strokes until her trembling stopped. She raised her head to look into his eyes.
“If you hadn’t come when you did—”
“Hush, lass.” The thumb of his calloused sword hand traced her cheek so lightly it might have been a feather. “‘Tis over.” He slid a finger under her chin, tilting her face to his and they both stopped breathing.
Cassidy’s pulse began to race, every nerve ending tingling in anticipation. Niall’s eyes darkened to brandy-color and he bent closer, his hot breath fanning her face. Nervously, she wetted her lips and he groaned. Then his mouth covered hers, the kiss deepening quickly, demanding, claiming her as her body melded into his.
He broke the kiss abruptly and stepped back. “Forgive me, lass. His voice was husky with wanting. “I should nae have done this. Ye are betrothed.”
Cassidy fought to catch her own breath. Never had her body reacted like this to Aubrey. But Niall was right. She was engaged. “It’s my fault. I should have stopped you.”
She moved past him and he followed her silently toward the house. She could sense the need between them with every fiber of her being. She desired him as much as he wanted her. It was as though her body had come to life for the very first time.
How could something that felt so right be so terribly wrong?
~ * ~
Niall sat in the back room of the shop the next morning, Mac an Luinne lying across his thighs. He fingered the runes on the hilt again. He had to get back to his time. After last night’s kiss, he didn’t know how much longer he could stay in Cassidy’s home without dishonoring her. Even now, his groin tightened painfully at the memory of how soft and vulnerable she’d felt in his arms and how hot and passionate her mouth and tongue had been in returning his kiss. He had smelled her lust. She would have let him take her and he didn’t have the right to do so.
As if he had conjured her, Cassidy came in from the front of the shop. She handed him a cup of the strong, black coffee he’d learned to like and sat down on a bench near the table.
“Mr. Sinclair called,” she said. “He should be back tomorrow.”
Niall tightened his grasp on the hilt. “He will be wanting the sword.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“It belongs to Scotland. MacBheatha will have need of it.”
“Mr. Sinclair found it. Sort of.” Cassidy hesitated. “We could tell him what happened. Who you are.”
Niall raised an eyebrow. “He willna think me mad?”
Cassidy smiled. “He always says he looks for the unique and unusual. Someone who has time-traveled certainly meets that criteria. I don’t know that he’ll be any help in sending you ‘back,’ but he can pull some strings and get yo
u proper documentation to live in the twenty-first century.”
Niall took a deep breath. “Ye dinna think I can go back.”
“I dinna—do not—know,” Cassidy replied, “but after last night—”
“I ken, lass. I canna stay with ye much longer. I have nae the strength to fight the longing for ye night after night. ‘Tisna right that I tumble ye and I have nae right to seek vengeance on yer betrothed.”
Cassidy’s eyes widened. “Vengeance?”
“Aye. Tis what the MacBheatha did to win his wife. ‘Twas justified, though.”
Her eyes widened further. “Why would he want her? Wasn’t Lady MacBeth a conniving, ambitious shrew?”
“Nae, lass. I dinna ken where ye get yer ideas. The MacBheatha’s sire twas the Mormaer of Moray…murdered nigh twenty years ago by his nephew, Gille Coemgáin. It took the MacBheatha two and ten years before he could avenge his sire’s death. When the deed was done, he took the widow, Gruoch, to wife.”
“And she was happy with marrying the man who murdered her husband?”
Niall frowned. “‘Twasna murder. ‘Twas justice.” Then he shrugged. “‘Tis the way of things. A woman needs protection.”
Cassidy tilted her head and studied him. “I should say something feminist here like ‘Women should have the right to choose their husbands’ or ‘Women can defend themselves.’ I know—” she held her hand up to stop him from interrupting—“I needed protecting last night and I…kind of like the idea of a medieval warrior rushing to my rescue.” Her voice grew husky at the memory of him charging down the street like someone out of Braveheart. “You were magnificent.”
It took all of his considerable will-power to restrain himself and not lunge for her. He wanted to feel her in his arms, her lush breasts crushed against his chest as he took her mouth again and invaded that sweet warmth. By the Dagda! The lass would make a shambles of whatever honor he might still have left in his black soul.
Deliberately, he stood slowly and walked toward the shop. Away from temptation.
“Where are you going?” Cassidy asked.
“I must walk, lass, and think. Dinna leave this place until I return for ye.” With those words, he sheathed Mac an Luinne and walked out the door.
~ * ~
Cassidy stared after him. Did he think he could just order her about because she told him he was magnificent? She wasn’t a post-generation Libber by any means, but a woman still didn’t want to be ordered to stay in one place. Okay, so she had made a mistake last night. Still.
But really, she had a more serious problem on her hands. Or, if she wanted to be brutally honest with herself, she wanted Niall.
And she had never felt like this with the man she was engaged to marry.
Cassidy sighed. Mr. Sinclair hadn’t been the only one to call. Aubrey had texted early this morning that he was home and would come by this evening. She knew what she had to do. After last night’s kiss with Niall, she couldn’t marry Aubrey. Even if the Highlander found a way to return to his time, she would rather live alone than live a lie. With a shock, she realized she was in love with Niall.
She dreaded the unnecessary showdown that would probably take place between Niall and Aubrey when he arrived. Niall’s hair nearly rose like bristled fur on an alpha wolf at the sight of Aubrey and Aubrey used his intellectual snootiness to look down on Niall. Men. And it was all unnecessary. Once she told Aubrey she couldn’t marry him, he would be free to find a woman who liked be a social ‘hostess with the mostess’ and Niall… Well, Niall would be free to do whatever he wanted. Mr. Sinclair had enough connections to see to that.
And she had a long eight or nine hours to wait for that male testosterone confrontation. Unless… Cassidy looked at her watch. Not quite eleven o’clock. Aubrey would be up, more than likely having brunch. If she went to him now, she could get this over with and avoid the unpleasantness of this evening altogether.
Leaving a note for Niall, she hung the ‘Closed’ sign in the door and walked over to the Church Street station to catch the streetcar. Knowing it was silly, she still glanced over her shoulder as she walked. It was broad daylight and safe.
Disembarking a short time later at the Powell Street Station, she managed to latch onto a cable car climbing its way up the steep hill toward one of the luxury hotels where Aubrey kept a suite of rooms.
Cassidy breathed a sigh of relief as she entered the lobby. She hadn’t really expected anyone to accost her, but neither did she want to face Niall if something had gone wrong with this little trip. He’d probably be furious enough to find she hadn’t stayed put as he told her to.
“Aubrey Fournier’s suite, please,” she told the front desk clerk. “I’m Cassidy Gordon.”
The clerk raised an eyebrow, and then discreetly checked his small list of visitors who had access to the suite. He handed her the key. “Have a good day, ma’am,” he said.
The gold-brass-and glass elevator whirred its silent way to one of the top floors. Cassidy stepped out onto thick, lush burgundy carpet and made her way to the gilded door of the suite. She took a deep breath and looked around. She’d thought she wanted all this wealth and luxury before she met Niall. Certainly, Aubrey had never spared any expense when they were out. But…Aubrey didn’t make her breathless like the Highlander did. She didn’t eagerly anticipate having dinner with Aubrey like she did with Niall each evening or relish the give-and-take discussions that had become part of their daily repertoire.
It wouldn’t be fair to marry Aubrey, knowing she didn’t love him.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and let herself in. The living room was empty, but she could hear strains of Reggae music coming from his bedroom. Aubrey had eclectic taste in music. Cassidy never knew what would be playing when she came here. Squaring her shoulders, she walked down the short hall and opened the bedroom door.
“Aubrey. We have to—” She stopped, her hand flying to her mouth, and stared.
A naked Aubrey was in bed—with Carlotta.
Her friend. The woman she’d told her innermost secrets to.
Cassidy backed away, praying that she wouldn’t retch. Then she turned and ran, slamming the door of the suite behind her.
Slamming the door on the two people she thought cared for her the most.
Seven
Niall crumbled the note in his fist and swore. The stubborn lass couldn’t obey him in just one wee thing. He wouldn’t have told her to stay in the shop if he hadn’t wanted to protect her from the ruffians that roamed the streets…and mayhap, from himself. ‘Tis why he took the walk. To keep from bedding the lass and ruining her.
She had gone to see Aubrey Fournier. The thought of that smooth-as-uisge-beatha speaking Sassenach tupping Cassidy made Niall’s blood boil. His fingers itched to be around the man’s skinny throat. Tossing the note down, he stomped out of the shop. He had no idea where the man lived which made him even more angry. If the lass got accosted because he wasn’t at her side, he wouldn’t forgive himself. Niall stopped in mid-stride as realization knifed through him as sharply as any sword.
He loved her.
The thought nearly took him to his knees. Never had he felt more than lust for a woman. Oh, he made sure he pleasured them as well. After all, ’twas only right. But once the tumble was over and he was on his way, he never gave them a second thought. But since he’d met Cassidy, she rarely left his thoughts. He wanted her, not only in his bed, but at his side. Always. As his wife.
Niall strode forward again with determination. The note had said she would meet him at her house. If he were stuck in this century, then the lass couldn’t marry the Sassenach. Cassidy was his.
He let himself into the little house, thinking how to persuade her to marry him. In his time, a man simply took a woman to wife and she was grateful for his protection. But things worked differently in Cassidy’s world and she’d already showed more than once that she wasn’t the most docile of women. What did he have to offer? He was a warrior. Did
this world pay a man to fight?
He started at a sound from the bedroom. Drawing his sword from the scabbard near the door, he advanced cautiously. If one of the villains from the street had gotten in, he wouldn’t be leaving alive.
The shades had been pulled and it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the semi-darkness. Curled into a ball on the bed, wearing naught but a nightrail, was a sobbing Cassidy.
“Are ye hurt, lass?” Niall dropped the sword and went to sit beside her on the bed. “I’ll kill the mon if he hurt ye.”
Her sobs turned into hiccups and what almost sounded like laughter. Putting his hand on her shoulder, Niall turned her over to look at him. “What happened?”
“Aubrey,” she said in a strangled voice, “was in bed with Carlotta—”
“I ne’er cared for the woman.” Niall wiped a tear away with the pad of his thumb. “‘Tis sorry I am that ye thought her a friend.”
Cassidy hiccupped again. Niall stared at her. “Ye found them naked in bed together?”
“Very nak…naked. Very together.” She cleared her throat. “It’s just too much. Here I thought I’d found a man who wanted to impress society with a very proper wife and marriage and…and he cheats on me with someone who’s supposed to be my friend.” Her voice rose in pitch. How could I have been so naïve?” The tears started again.
“Come here, lass.” Niall drew her into his arms. “Ye are much better off without them.”
She clung to him and he liked the way her body molded into his. They fit together perfectly. Her tears subsided as he held her, stroking her hair softly. Finally she looked up at him. “I’m okay now.”
Her eyes were red-rimmed, but he saw no more pain in them. Slowly, giving her time to withdraw, he dipped his head and brushed her lips with his. For a brief second she hesitated and then she returned his kiss, her lips smooth and soft as satin.
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