She sniffed and swiped at her eyes with the edge of the blanket, and his heart turned inside out. “Aw, princess. I can’t stand it when you cry.” Struan scooted around, placed his legs on either side of her and encircled her in his arms. She leaned against him, and the soft sound of her crying nearly unhinged him. He stroked her hair and cradled her head in the crook of his neck. “Let it out. Have a good cry, and then you can tell me all about your family.”
She put her hand on the back of his head and brought him down until their lips met. Her kiss, mixed with the salty taste of her tears, beseeched him for a distraction. He drew back. “You’re upset. Maybe kissing right now isn’t such a good idea.”
“I am upset. For certes I’ve reason enough, but . . .” She drew him back until only their breaths separated them. “We both ken there’s naught I can do to open the portal. I want you, Struan, and no’ only because I seek diversion from my grief,” she whispered against his lips. “I always want you.”
Her palm slid under his clothes to stroke the bare skin of his belly, sending tendrils of heat unfurling through him. She nibbled the sensitive skin on his neck before continuing, “None of us ken how long we have here, and I’m no’ referring to time travel. It’s just that life is fleeting, and I dinna want to waste a single moment of my time with you.”
Hard and wanting her, he spread his blanket out and drew her down with him to lie on the ground, using her blanket to cover them both. “You drive me crazy with wanting you, woman. All it takes is a touch or a look and I go up in flames.” He fumbled with the fastening of her jeans, letting out a sigh of pleasure when he got the zipper down far enough to slide his hand inside to touch her. He kissed her, sliding a finger into her slick heat. “Let’s get these off.” He withdrew his hand from her and tugged at the denim.
“Wait,” she said. “Shoes first, and take yours off as well.”
“My shoes or my pants?” He nipped at her chin.
“Both.”
Struan took out the condom he’d stashed in his wallet before he stripped, hyperaware that Sky was also removing every bit of her clothing. By the time he was bare and sheathed, he throbbed painfully. Pulling the cover up over their shoulders, he drew her close, reveling in the feel of her bare skin against his. He ran his hand over her chest, caressing a plump breast, teasing her hardened nipple with his thumb and moving on to the curve where her waist flared to meet her hip.
“You feel so good, Sky. I could stay like this forever, with you naked in my arms,” he rasped out. “I’d be perfectly happy.” He cupped the firm mounds of her bottom and pulled her tight against his erection, eliciting a sudden intake of breath from her.
She tangled her fingers in his hair and drew him to her for a scorching kiss, and he lost himself in her. Their lovemaking turned frantic, as if neither one of them could get enough of the other. Once the last shudder of her climax rocked through her, he followed, coming inside her in an explosion of pleasure.
Side by side they lay panting. He didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want to break the connection that made them one. Wrapping himself around her, he held her tight, breathed in her sighs and closed his eyes.
Full sunlight spilling over the tops of the trees, accompanied by raucous birdsong, woke him. Struan glanced down at Sky, sleeping peacefully with her cheek plastered to his chest. His full bladder prompted him to disentangle himself, carefully so as not to wake his sleeping princess. He slid out from under the cozy cocoon of blankets and naked woman, stood up, stretched and looked for his clothes. Right next to his briefs, the faintest hint of wavering pale pink and green light shimmered above the ground. “Ah, shite!”
“What?” Sky sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What is it?”
His insides caving in, all he could do was point.
Sky let out a startled cry and scrambled to gather her clothing. “Call Connor and Katherine.”
He stood frozen to the spot, dread and indecision churning him into one big conflicted mess.
“Struan,” Sky snapped. “Give me your phone if you willna call them yourself.”
He reached for his jacket and drew out his phone, handing it to her. Numbness spread through him, and he had the odd sensation of somehow being outside his body and no longer in control of his limbs or his mind.
“For heaven’s sake, get dressed!” Sky exhorted as she scrolled through his numbers in search of the McGladreys’.
“It’s speed dial number four,” he said, forcing his feet to obey his command to step into his briefs. Damn. Two more days. Had that been too much to hope for? Did being born a bastard mean he didn’t deserve his happily-ever-after, that things would never go his way? Not fair. Since he’d had no choice in the matter of his birth, why should he have to suffer the consequences? There was no logical connection between his origins and the damned portal’s appearance. He knew that, but being thwarted took him to a self-pity state of mind nonetheless.
He managed to get dressed, while vaguely aware of Sky’s animated conversation with Connor. “Guess this means we’ll miss the full Scottish breakfast at the Kildrummy Inn this morning,” he muttered.
“You dinna have to miss a thing.” Sky flashed him an indecipherable look. “Once Katherine and Connor arrive, you will take the car and return to the inn for the full Scottish breakfast. Then you’re to return the rental car, catch a plane and go home to Gordon Hollow.”
“Like hell,” he snapped.
She fisted her wee hands upon her hips and gave him her haughtiest, chin-loftiest look to date. “You swore fealty to me, and so you are at my command. I order you to do exactly as I say. You will return to your home by day’s end.”
“Ha! Don’t you remember freeing me from my vow, princess?”
“I . . .” Her brow creased. “Still, you belong in this century. You have a place in—”
“Damnation,” he groaned, raking his fingers through his tangled hair. He strode around the accursed clearing, keeping a wary eye upon the growing strength of the wavering lights at the center. “My heart belongs with you whether you will it or not. Where you go—I go.”
“Oh, Struan, no,” she cried. “You canna’ mean that.”
“Aye, but I do.” The feeling of being outside himself vanished, and determination coursed through his veins, lending him strength. He should’ve known. All along he should’ve realized—he had no choice in the matter and never had. He glowered at the light show at the center of the ring and swore under his breath. The sound of his fate, like metal doors slamming together, reverberated through his skull with deafening force.
Struan fastened the straps of his brigandine over the woolen tunic and linen undershirt he wore over soft deerskin trews and his very best knee-high leather boots. Plus, under that he wore a cotton T-shirt and briefs, with spares in his rucksack. He saw no reason to be uncomfortable just because he was returning to an uncomfortable era.
He shuddered at the thought of lice, fleas and all the other miseries awaiting them in medieval times. Soap, toothpaste, toothbrush, razor and a few other modern luxuries had been tucked deep inside his pack as well. “Connor, did you put a copy of the map of portals in my rucksack?”
“I did.”
“Good.” He sheathed his two swords and strapped them across his back. He’d already stowed daggers in both boots and another lay hidden in a specially designed place on the inside of his brigandine. His shield was fastened to his rucksack, which he planned to wear on his front, rather than awkwardly over the swords on his back. He glanced at Katherine and Sky, who were also preparing themselves, helping each other with their cloaks and gear. Seeing Sky once again in her velvet gown reminded him of the day she’d landed in the middle of the jousting field, and a bittersweet smile broke free at the memory. “Sky, tell us again what we must fix our minds upon as we go through.”
By midafternoon, the time portal had grown to full strength. The lights now reached the height of a man, and Lord how he hated the undulating, freakish aura. He l
istened carefully as Sky recited once again the date, time and place they were all to focus on as they walked through. “Maybe we should hold hands, just to be on the safe side.” He looked at each of them in turn, gauging their reaction to his suggestion.
“I agree,” Katherine said, hooking her elbow through Sky’s.
“Ready?” Connor’s voice boomed.
The man’s obvious excitement and broad smile annoyed Struan. How could Connor be so damned eager when he knew the inherent danger? Time travel was iffy at best. “No, but—”
“You dinna have to join us.” Sky’s gaze sought and held his. “I’d prefer that you stay here. Gene and Marjorie will never forgive me if aught happens to you.”
He strode to her and reached for her hands. “And I’d never forgive myself if aught happened to you.”
Connor gripped the hilt of the dagger at his waist and paced. “Let’s go!”
“All right, all right. Take a breath why don’t you.” Struan held Sky’s hand in his, and Katherine moved to her husband’s side to take his. “I think it would be best if Connor and I link up, since our grips are the strongest,” Struan told the group. “OK?”
“Right.” Connor clasped Struan’s forearm.
Struan gripped back with equal force. “Lead the way, princess.” His heart hammering against his ribs, and with every cell in his body rebelling, urging him to run the other way, Struan followed Sky into the shimmering light.
The rending pressure, flashing lights and thick, unnatural darkness held him fast, and Struan was turned and twisted. He could no longer tell whether he was still connected to Connor and Sky. Too much was happening to interfere with his awareness. The force tore at him until he was mindless to anything but the pressure, fear and pain. This time, he was sure he would die.
“Ooof.” He let out a grunt as he landed with a hard thud on top of his rucksack—his hands free. Panic swamped him as he scanned his surroundings. He was inside the ring still, but now the place was surrounded by a thick forest, and he saw no sign of the others. “Sky,” he called out, pushing himself up. “Connor, Katherine,” he shouted this time, his panic growing.
“I’m here,” Sky called from a short distance away.
Struan forced himself up and staggered in her direction. A shrill whistle cut the air, startling him, and he swiveled around.
“Here, my lord,” a man shouted, following with another shrill whistle. The sound of pounding hooves approaching sent a rush of adrenaline through Struan. Two guards stood just outside the clearing. Neither had their weapons raised, but their expressions were hard upon him.
Sky appeared from between two trees, walking unsteadily toward him. Struan widened his stance, keeping both hands in view so as not to provoke the men facing him. “Where are Connor and Katherine?” he hissed once she reached his side.
“No’ . . . no’ here. I . . . Katherine was torn from me. I dinna ken what became of them. Those are Erskine guards,” she whispered.
“Of course they’re Erskine guards.” He grunted. “Of course Katherine was torn from you,” he bit out. “Connor and I were also separated. No matter what the McGladreys fixed in their minds, their hearts were with their daughter.” He could guess where the two had landed easily enough. Great. Judging by the guards keeping watch on the faerie ring, he and Sky had not managed to land in medieval Scotland prior to her disappearance. Oh, no. They’d fallen in the middle of the viper’s nest, and protecting Sky fell squarely upon his shoulders.
“Well, well.” A young noble in partial armor rode to the edge of the ring. His mount nickered and stepped toward them, but the lordling reined the mare in, bringing her to a halt. “Welcome home, Lady Sky. ’Tis good to have you back where you belong.”
“My lord Oliver,” she said, her chin lifting. “Pray, tell me, how long have I been away?”
Struan felt her trembling beside him, and he shifted, positioning himself between her and the three men facing them.
“Hmm, five days, I believe.” Oliver looked to one of his guards as if he needed confirmation. The guard nodded.
“How . . .” Her voice quavered. “How did you—”
“Your father’s men followed you on your ride, as you may recall. They saw what happened and dutifully reported the event to their liege lord. Thankfully, the entire conversation was overheard by one of our servants, who then shared the tale with me and my grandsire.
“My grandsire bid me set up a watch for your return, and I agreed to do so for no more than a fortnight.” He sniffed, shifted in the saddle and peered around the clearing, his disdainful gaze touching briefly upon Struan. “I think it odd and most discourteous that your kin did no’ deign to tell us what happened.”
He leaned forward and rested his forearm on the horn of his saddle. “We could have told them yours is no’ the only tale of such happenings here. Our clan stays well clear of this godforsaken clearing. My apologies for no’ making you aware, my lady.”
“My . . . my family is still here then?” Sky stepped forward.
Struan put his arm out to keep her back, and anger flickered in the lordling’s eyes.
Oliver fixed his glare upon Struan. “Nay. Another insult against us. Your kin left without a word the very same night. I’ll have word of your return sent to the earl of Fife immediately. In the meantime, we shall go ahead with the wedding as planned, and all will be forgiven. Once your family returns, they can toast our nuptials with us. Come to the keep, my lady.” He gestured. “You look as if you could use a good rest and a meal.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you, my lord.” Struan pushed her behind him. “Nor will there be a wedding.”
“Who are you to speak to me thus?” Oliver tensed, and the two guards flanking their lord drew their swords.
“He’s a knight who agreed to protect and escort me home,” Sky said, trying to get around him.
Struan shoved her back again. He took the shield from his rucksack and handed the pack to Sky. “The lady has decided she will not marry you, and if you have any honor at all, you’ll let her return to her clan without a fuss.”
“Without a . . . fuss?” Oliver let out a mirthless laugh. “Why the change of heart, my lady? We’ve been betrothed practically since birth. Need I remind you? ’Twas arranged by our grandsires to mend the rift between our clans caused by your father’s unfortunate and most inconvenient marriage whilst contracted to wed my mother. Surely you dinna wish to cause another such rift.” He scowled down his nose at Struan. “Where have you been these past five days, Lady Sky, and what is this knight to you?”
“Where I have been has naught to do with my decision. I will no’ marry you, Oliver. I have indeed had a change of heart.”
“Ah, I see.” Oliver shrugged. “I trow a few days without food and water will make you more amenable to marriage, my lady—along with a good beating or two. If you starve to death, it is of little consequence to me. Fortunately for me, there are no MacKintosh here to tell your kin you’ve returned. I’ll wait a suitable time before requesting your younger sister as your replacement. For certes your father will be only too happy to give her to me.” He gestured to his guards. “Kill the knight, and take Lady Sky to a chamber. Keep her under guard with her door locked.”
“Shite.” Struan drew one of his swords. “Remind me to kick Connor’s ass when we catch up to him, princess.”
One of the guards rushed him; the other headed for Sky. Struan whipped his sword in a wide arc while retreating for a few much-needed seconds. He kept himself between their attackers and Sky, who now held her dagger at the ready. His maneuver gained him the time he needed to gather himself for a full-out offensive.
The first guard attacked. The moment the man’s stance shifted, Struan swerved. He blocked the second guard’s blow with his shield. Lunging low, he brought his blade up under the first man’s reach, his sword finding its mark between his ribs. He pulled his blade free in the nick of time to defend himself against the remaining guard’s
assault.
Their swords met midstrike, and Struan moved close enough to jab the edge of his shield into the man’s throat, sending his foe staggering back and gasping for breath. Taking advantage of his attacker’s imbalance, Struan arced his sword through the air with all his might, severing the man’s head from his shoulders in a single blow.
Bloodlust was upon him now, and he searched the clearing for any approaching threat. “Your men are poorly trained, Lord Asswipe. I wonder . . . are you able to acquit yourself any better?”
Oliver roared, his face distorted with rage. He dismounted, drew his sword and came at Struan in a mindless fury.
Perfect. Exactly what he’d hoped for. Struan rushed forward to meet him. The clash of their swords filled the air with the metallic ring of steel upon steel, and the vibration traveled all the way to his boots. “What kind of no-good”—he shoved Oliver back—“black-hearted, yellow-bellied coward preys on women? Who does that? Who schemes to murder his wife just to get his greedy hands on a wee bit of land and a few gold sovereigns?”
Oliver launched an offensive that had Struan struggling to regain the upper hand. For several long moments, all he could do was block his opponent’s blows. He backed away, and Oliver lunged for him. Struan kicked at Oliver’s kneecap while his leg was extended. Judging by the lord’s resulting grunt, Struan had managed to cause some damage. He backed away in an effort to catch his breath, watching for a hint of his enemy’s next move.
Adrenaline rushed through Struan’s veins, and sweat dripped down his face. Never had his mind been so clear and alert. Never had he been more focused. This was the man who meant to kill the woman he loved.
Oliver came at him again in a flurry of offensive strikes. Struan parried, blocked and evaded, watching for just the right moment.
“Struan, we must leave at once.” Sky had taken Oliver’s horse by the reins. “Be quick. Can you no’ hear? More guards are on the way.”
“Humph. As you wish, my lady. I’ve no more time to play, my lord.” Struan swerved, feinted, and when Oliver brought his sword up to block his blow, Struan dipped, thrusting his blade into the man’s black heart. “May you burn in hell.” He pushed the hilt of his sword hard before drawing his blade out of the dying man’s chest.
The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4) Page 20