Niall kept the pressure easy, a gentle exploration of her mouth, nibbling at the corner, letting his tongue glide across the crevice. Cassidy made a soft, mewling sound deep in her throat and her lips parted as her hands lifted from his shoulders to his neck and her fingers raked through his hair, caressing him.
He groaned, sliding one arm along her back to draw her closer while his other hand cradled her head. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth and tasted her. She mewled again as her tongue met his and he deepened the kiss, wanting it to last for eternity.
“Ah, lass,” he murmured as he finally broke away and began raining butterfly kisses across her forehead and pert nose. He nibbled his way along her chin, the fingers of one hand gliding along the curve of her throat and along her collar bone to stop at the swell of her breast exposed above the neckline of the silky shift. “I want ye. For now and—”
“Shhh.” Cassidy laid a finger across his lips, her green eyes dark as a forest. “For now, just make me feel like a woman. Make me yours.”
He understood. The lass hadn’t only been betrayed, but in a way in which she couldn’t fight back. There would be time enough later to tell her he loved her. Right now, she needed the feel of a man who desired her as a woman…and only her.
He made quick work of the row of buttons at the front of her nightrail. Parting the flimsy material he exposed her breasts and belly to his gaze. She made to cover herself, but he took her hands and held them down.
“Nae, lass. Ye are beautiful and I very much want to look. Dinna deny me the pleasure.” She smiled then and her body relaxed. He stood, stripping his T-shirt over his head and then unzipping and peeling off his jeans. Her breath hitched as he straightened. “Do ye like what ye see, Cassidy O’mine?”
Did she like what she saw? Cassidy could only stare. The gods must have sent him straight from Mount Olympus. She’d seen him bare-chested in Macy’s, but now she had time to really look. Perfectly sculpted pecs stretched across the wide expanse of his chest to blend with the chiseled details of bulging biceps tapering into strong forearms. The ridges of his belly were granite hard, his thighs heavily muscled. But his… Cassidy’s mouth went suddenly dry.
He captured her hands in one of his and lifted them over her head while he nuzzled his way down her neck. Her back arched in invitation, but he took his time, his lips brushing lightly over her, his breath making her tingle.
Before she could catch her breath, she felt a slight nudge and then he filled her completely. Sparklets of light surrounded her as he loved her. Her body clenched and her mind crashed.
And then there was only the perfect harmony of two bodies, melded together, completely and fully satisfied.
Until he reached for her again, only a short time later.
Eight
Cassidy woke early, a little sore, but completely satiated. Cautiously, she opened one eye to observe Niall, sleeping soundly beside her, one arm draped protectively over her stomach. They had declared their love for each other in the early dawn and she wanted nothing more than to lean over, kiss him awake, and ask for a repeat of last night’s performance. She smiled. Wielding a claymore wasn’t the only sword her Highlander was good at using.
But she had work to do. Mr. Sinclair would be arriving this morning and Mac an Luinne needed to be locked in the shop’s security cabinet and properly catalogued before he got there. With a small sigh, she slipped out from the warm comfort of Niall’s arm. He stirred and mumbled, but didn’t awaken.
Grabbing a pair of jeans and T-shirt, she tiptoed from the room. Minutes later, she was walking briskly down the sidewalk toward the shop. At this early hour, only serious joggers were out and about. Still, she breathed a small sigh of relief when she safely unlocked the door and stepped inside. Niall might not be happy to find she’d left on her own, but if someone had robbed her of the sword—how ironic that it was a weapon, yet she could hardly use it—it would be nothing compared to Mr. Sinclair’s wrath that it was gone. She really liked working in the shop with its medieval costumes and weapons, even if most of them were replicas. It was the next best thing to actually living history.
Cassidy had just finished cataloging the entry for the sword when the bell over the door tinkled and her boss walked in.
“Good morning, sir,” she said. “How was your flight?”
“Long. And tiring.”
He didn’t look tired. In fact, he looked energized. His eyes were clear with no hint of having taken a ‘red-eyed special’ from the Middle East, his full head of slightly long, auburn hair looked freshly washed and his jeans and shirt were pressed. Cassidy tilted her head. She’d only met Mr. Sinclair once face-to-face. Odd that she didn’t remember how tall he was or how broad-shouldered and well-muscled. He could have been another Highlander. His skin was bronzed from the sun, yet surprisingly wrinkle-free, with just the barest hint of a few creases near his eyes. An ageless face. She frowned. When she’d interviewed with him, he’d asked her what she knew about swords and she had laughingly said she knew about Excalibur and that was about it. He’d smiled and said something about working on the set for the movie. But…John Boorman’s movie had been filmed in the early 80s, which would make Mr. Sinclair near sixty. He didn’t look a day over thirty-five.
“Where is the sword, Miss Gordon? I’ve been very anxious to see it.”
Grateful once more that she’d decided to rise early, she replied, “It’s in the cabinet. I’ll get it for you.” She turned toward the backroom as the front door crashed open with a bang.
“Lass, ye’ll be the death of me yet. Can ye nae have waited for me?” Niall strode through the door, dressed in his kilt and sash, brandishing the claymore.
Mr. Sinclair eyed the sword with interest and then let his gaze sweep over Niall. Cassidy groaned. This wasn’t exactly the first impression she wanted Niall to make. She’d wanted a chance to explain things in what might sound like a rational way.
“Might I take a look at that sword?” Mr. Sinclair asked.
Niall turned his head. “I dinna surrender my weapon to a mon I dinna know. Who are ye?”
“Finn Sinclair,” he said. “I own the shop.”
Narrowing his eyes, Niall looked at Mr. Sinclair thoughtfully as he offered the sword. “Do I know ye from somewhere else? Ye look a wee bit familiar.”
“It’s possible. I travel to Scotland on occasion.” Sinclair took the sword and hefted it, weighing its balance. “A very fine weapon.” He lowered it and sighted along the blade. “Old. I would say perhaps early eleventh century?” He handed it back to Niall. “It should be in a museum. How did you come to own it?”
“‘Twas made for me,” Niall said.
Mr. Sinclair lifted an eyebrow and Cassidy decided to intervene.
“We have an interesting story to tell you, sir. It’s going to sound crazy, but I hope you’ll listen with an open mind.”
Her boss took in Niall’s manner of dress again. “I’m sure it will be interesting. Shall we sit?”
They moved to the back room to a small seating area. Cassidy told Mr. Sinclair about the events of the past two weeks, with Niall occasionally adding a comment. Her boss didn’t say a word, just studied both of them. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair. Cassidy took a deep breath. She hoped Mr. Sinclair wasn’t going to think her a complete lunatic and fire her or, worse, call the police.
To her surprise, he began asking Niall questions, first about MacBeth and the rest of the people associated with the Scottish unrest. Next they discussed war strategies, with Niall warming to the subject like butter in a frying pan. What surprised Cassidy, though, was Mr. Sinclair’s knowledge of the matter. She had no idea he was so well-versed in medieval warfare.
Then the conversation turned to Niall’s lineage. Cassidy knew the true concept of ‘clans’ didn’t really materialize until sometime in the late eleventh century and early twelfth centuries, but the early Scots had been divided into three ‘Cenels:’ nOengus, nGabrian, and Loarn. Ferg
us Mor ruled the latter and, to Cassidy’s surprise once more, both Niall and her boss were descendents of him. Small world.
“Well,” Mr. Sinclair finally said, “I think it’s time that I see the sword I had sent.”
“Of course.” Cassidy went to unlock the cabinet, thankful again that she’d gotten there early enough to put the sword in the cabinet. As she removed it from its box, Niall assumed a poker-face, but she saw how intensely his hands gripped the edge of the chair. He really did feel Mac an Luinne belonged to him. Or, at least, to his ancestor, the Great Féinn.
“Here it is,” she started to say, but Mr. Sinclair wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was staring at the sword with the same rapt expression that Niall had used when he first saw it.
Her boss muttered something under his breath that sounded strangely foreign. She didn’t understand it, but Niall’s head snapped up like a wolf on the scent of prey and his amber gaze sharpened.
“I had thought never to hold this sword again,” Mr. Sinclair murmured as he lifted it reverently from the box.
“You’ve seen the sword before?” Cassidy asked. “I thought you told me—”
“I wasn’t sure it was the same one,” Sinclair answered. “I had hardly hoped it was still in this world.”
“What are you talking about?” Cassidy asked, thoroughly confused. “You’re always searching for ancient relics.”
“Aye, lass,” Niall said as he moved closer to Sinclair, not taking his eyes off him, “but I think this one be verra important to him.”
Mr. Sinclair looked at Niall, his blue eyes brightening brilliantly, like a sun-kissed sea. “Ye are right, lad. Ye recognized Mac an Luinne, dinna ye?”
Cassidy felt as though she stepped into a time-warp. “Why are you talking like that, Mr. Sinclair? Are you making fun of Niall?”
“Nae, lass, he isna.” Niall didn’t look away. “I think the sword has found her owner.”
Mr. Sinclair smiled. “Aye. And a welcome sight she is.”
Cassidy looked from one of them to the other. “Would someone please tell me what is going—” She stopped suddenly and turned to her boss. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you time-traveled too?”
“Ye might say I have been searching through ‘Time’ to find Mac an Luinne again.” Mr. Sinclair caressed the pommel of the sword as gently as a lover would. “When that fool knight, Bedwyr, threw it back into the lake, I thought the lady would never let it surface again.”
Cassidy shook her head as though she were trying to dislodge water from her ears. Someone was getting history really confused here and she was afraid it might be herself. “Um… Bedwyr? Wasn’t he one of King Arthur’s knights of the Round Table?”
“Aye. The sword was lent to Arthur. I was supposed—”
“Wait.” Cassidy held up her hand. “You’re telling me Mac an Luinne is Excalibur?”
Mr. Sinclair shrugged. “It has gone by many names. As have I.”
Dear Lord. What was he going to say next? That he was Merlin? Cassidy didn’t even want to ask. Maybe there had been something in her morning coffee causing her to hallucinate.
“Dinna fash,” Niall said reassuringly. “Yer boss be the Great Féinn I told ye about. An immortal, ‘tis all.”
‘Tis all? She was standing in the middle of a medieval-costume shop talking to an immortal? A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat. “Oh, well. Sure. Why not? Niall popped in from MacBeth’s time.”
Mr. Sinclair, or whatever his real name was, frowned. “The MacBhetha. He be kindred through marriage to our cenel.”
Of course he would be. First she had stashed Excalibur casually in her home and harbored a medieval warrior and now a human Scottish king was a descendent of an Irish god or something like that. Cassidy smiled brightly. She was probably going insane and just didn’t know it.
Niall was looking at her with a worried expression. “Lass? Be ye well? Ye look a little peculiar.”
The hysteria bubbled up again. She was looking peculiar? This whole situation was peculiar. “I’m just trying to let everything soak in,” she managed.
Niall’s brow furrowed. “Ye are nae wet.”
“Never mind.”
Mr. Sinclair smiled. “I ken ‘tis a bit much, but ‘tis all real. In spite of technology—or because of it—humans want to believe only in facts and what can be proven. Mayhap, if they still believed in the auld gods, society would be a better place.” He sighed and then turned back to Niall. “I had hoped to keep Mac an Luinne in my possession for a bit, but the MacBheatha will have need of her if he is to become king. Ye shall take the sword to him.”
“Aye.” Niall bowed his head.
Cassidy grabbed his hand. “You’re leaving me?”
Sorrow glazed his amber eyes. “I love ye, lass. I dinna want to leave, but I dinna have a choice. The MacBheatha must win this war with Duncan.”
“Then let me go with you,” Cassidy said.
He squeezed her hand. “Ye belong in this century, lass. We canna change history. Ye said so yerself.”
“But…you’re going to make sure MacBeth wins!”
“Because it is his destiny,” Mr. Sinclair interrupted and then focused on Niall. “However, dinna ye meet a lass from Pitgaveny in yer time?”
Niall’s eyes widened. “Not a sennight afore I arrived here. Cassandra was her name.”
Mr. Sinclair’s eyebrows lifted.
Cassidy felt hers doing the same. Was he implying… Could it be? “Am I Cassandra in 1040?”
Her boss smiled and for a moment the image of a man with flowing blue robes and a rowan staff superimposed itself on him and then vanished.
“Ye could be. If ye are, the sword will take ye back if ye want it to.”
Cassidy looked at Niall. “I want to be with you. I don’t care what century it is.”
“My time is nae an easy life for a woman.”
“I don’t care about conveniences. I have nothing here to hold me. But I have a chance to relive history and be with you. That’s what I want.”
“Ye are sure, lass?”
“I’m sure.”
Niall snugged her to him, putting his arm around her shoulders and held her tight. “Then we be ready, my lord.”
Mr. Sinclair caressed the sword once more and then handed it to Niall. He sketched a rune in the air and used the strange language that Cassidy had heard before. The sword began to glow and a golden aura enveloped them. Cassidy felt herself being lifted, becoming weightless, and with a sudden whoosh, she was hurdled through the air, swirling up, up, up into nothing but light.
Epilogue
Cassidy sat completely still and looked around. She was in a grassy meadow that smelled of heather. Overhead, the sky was an azure blue with tiny cotton balls of fluff floating on a zepher breeze. Birds sang in the nearby trees and beside her, Niall watched her quietly as she took it all in.
“We’re in 1040?” she asked.
“Aye.”
“It’s so peaceful. No noise. No pollution.” She looked around again. Craggy mountains surrounded the glen they were in and on a nearby ridge stood a massive structure of wood and stone. She frowned.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at war?”
“Aye,” he said again. “And it will come. ‘Tis the lull before the storm.” Niall stood and lifted her, pulling her close to him. He gave her a slow, thoroughly satisfying, deep kiss. “Welcome to my world, lass.”
Taking his hand, she smiled and, together, they turned and walked toward MacBeth’s castle on the ridge.
From the Highland Press Publishing Anthology
Lochs and Lasses
Praise for
Cynthia Breeding’s Books!
All I Want for Christmas Is You (Anthology) - A warm cup of romance is just the thing for a chill winter evening... This is a compulsively readable anthology of short romance. Highly recommended.
~Michael Angel, author of Three Curses
~ * ~
Court of
Love by Cynthia Breeding - This delicious anthology of convention-bucking heroines in three separate time periods will delight anyone who likes Jane Austen, but wishes to peek under Mr. Darcy’s clothes. Although the historical accuracy of this collection is a bit suspect and the plotlines are wrapped up with slightly alarming speed, each story features a woman with a unique personality and an independent soul, not to mention some very sexy men in breeches. Perfect bedtime reading for lovers of spicy historical romance.
~ Jaysen Scott, Romantic Times
~ * ~
In Fate of Camelot, Cynthia Breeding develops the Arthur-Lancelot-Gwenhwyfar relationship. She does not gloss over the difficulties of Gwenhwyfar's role as queen and as woman, but rather develops them to give the reader a vision of a woman who lives her role as queen and lover with all that she is.
~ Merri, Merrimon Books
~ * ~
Cynthia Breeding's Prelude to Camelot is a lovely and fascinating read, a book worthy of being shelved with my Arthuriana fiction and non-fiction. (Second book in Breeding’s Camelot series.)
~ Brenda Thatcher, Mystique Books
~ * ~
Camelot’s Enchantment by Cynthia Breeding is a highly original and captivating tale! (Third book in Breeding’s Camelot series.)
~ Joy Nash, USA Today Best Seller
~ * ~
I loved it! Curl up with three dashing, sexy pirates and three daring women in three delightful romances. The Last Pirates makes for great reading. You'll be wanting more from Cynthia Breeding—I know I will!
~ Sandra Madden, Best Selling Author
~ * ~
If you want original medieval romance, captivating heroines, sexy heroes, stories of adventure, fantasy, and poignant love, Cynthia Breeding's Lochs and Lasses has it all!
~ Ann Major, USA Today Bestselling Author
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