by Laura Glenn
Shouts from the courtyard pulled her toward the window opening to the courtyard two stories below. She pushed the fur covering to the side and propped her elbows on the windowsill. Another clan was arriving. David had mentioned a gathering of several clans here at the castle to discuss political issues and other business would be occurring soon. He had given her a mysterious wink when he used the phrase “other business” but she didn’t press him. She never had liked prying into people’s private thoughts.
Leah smiled as David greeted the leader of the clan and then admired the hard and rough but mighty fine specimens of masculinity who had just arrived. She had witnessed the arrival of several clans over the past couple of days and one thing was certain—these thirteenth-century men were hot. Tall, broad-shouldered, powerfully built legs, and sexy, confident swaggers. Nothing at all like Simon or really even any man she was used to seeing in her daily life back home.
A thick crop of silky, straight black hair glinted in the sunlight and Leah’s breath caught in her throat as one of the tallest men she’d ever seen sauntered up to David and the other clan leader, smacking a greeting on the back of the latter.
With her eyes glued to his tough, lean form, she bit her lower lip. If she hadn’t been alone in the room, she would have turned away before anyone was the wiser. But she was safe to wallow in the delicious sensations the man stirred deep within her belly since no one else was watching.
He moved to stand beside the other clan laird and turned to face David. He crossed his arms, his massive shoulders threatening to bust out of the sleeves of his long white shirt open at the front in a “V” shape and belted at his trim waist. Strength radiated from his devilishly handsome face with his square jaw and rigid profile. The crinkles of amusement at the corners of his lips as he spoke, however, softened his angular features.
Then he lifted his head and turned it toward her as though he could sense her attention. She froze as their eyes clashed, her heart threatening to stop dead in her chest. One corner of his mouth turned up in a devastating grin and he winked.
She pushed herself away from the window and yanked the fur closed. Her cheeks heated in mortification. She laid her palm on her chest in an effort to calm her thundering heart as she leaned into the wall to catch her breath.
She blew a heavy exhalation past her lips as her heartbeat slowed. Duh. Just because she was alone in the room didn’t mean she was hidden from view. Surely he couldn’t be the first guy to notice her stares over the past couple of days.
Pulling the fur away from the window just a bit, she peered through the slit as the man walked back across the courtyard. His thigh muscles rippled beneath his tight brown breeches, every movement exuding pure, raw power.
Her stomach flipped and she snapped the fur shut again. Her nipples ached beneath the chemise and soft green overdress she wore and she shifted in discomfort. She may have been covered from neck to foot, but she hadn’t gone without panties and a bra in ages. Way too much sensation on such sensitive areas of her body.
She must stop leering after all of these men surrounding her. Between the testosterone saturating the air and clothing dragging back and forth across her nipples, all it would take would be a few drinks and her inhibitions would probably fly right out the window. And without access to condoms, there was no way she should think about sex with anyone here. The last thing she needed in the thirteenth century was a baby and no husband.
And the last thing she wanted after that was a husband. Not now, anyway. And certainly not here.
The man’s flirtatious grin flashed through her mind and she slumped against the wall. He had walked with such sinuous ease, power radiating outward with every movement. The chiseled turn of his jaw and black-as-sin hair only added strength to his self-assurance as he conversed with David and the other clan laird.
She shook her head as though to dislodge the errant train of thought. This was dangerous. It was much more important to find a way home than to dwell upon her attraction to a man who probably never would look her way if she hadn’t already been staring at him like an animal in heat.
It was time to explore the courtyard again. If David was right, then her only way out of this century was the pendant the old lady had given her. Playing medieval governess had been fun for a while, but time was slipping away. Someone else could discover it before her. It might already be too late.
Leah bounded across the room and peeked into the corridor. It was empty and she dashed toward a staircase at the back of the castle. With all of the new arrivals milling around in the front of the courtyard, the back courtyard would be the best place for her to explore undisturbed.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and hauled open the large wooden door. She should have arrived back home by now—four days ago, to be exact. Her mother and sister must be worried sick about her.
The sun hit her full in the face and she cast her eyes to the ground as she walked. The image of her worried mother pacing back and forth in the kitchen of her tiny ranch house in suburban Minneapolis consumed Leah. She chewed on her thumbnail. Could she leave some sort of clue here in the thirteenth century that would be unearthed in her own time and the message then delivered to her mother? Was such a thing even possible?
A loud shout from behind tugged her to a stop. She dropped her hand from her face and a hard mass slammed into her. Large arms encircled her, crushing her ribs, and she flew through the air before her hip smacked into the ground. Pain radiated through her bones and the air was torn from her lungs. Her vision turned hazy as she spun and landed facedown.
Angry, gasping, and confused, she struggled to push up. She froze as she came face-to-face with the black-haired man she’d been lusting after earlier in her chamber.
God help her, she was on top of him.
His mouth, simultaneously hard and soft, cracked into a sensuous grin. He parted his lips, speaking to her in Gaelic, the throaty, melodious tone of his voice mesmerizing her.
She opened her mouth, but a mere breathy whisper escaped. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
His dark brows drew together in confusion as his smile faded. As fast as a wolf attacking his prey, he flipped her over onto her back. Her head spun. She struggled, throwing legs and arms at him, but he straddled her hips and captured her wrists, pinning them to the ground to either side of her head. Brilliant green eyes bored into hers.
“You are English.” His tone was accusatory as he loomed above her.
She couldn’t even guess the number of times over the past two weeks she’d been accused of this because of her native language. “No, I’m not.”
“Then what are you, if not English?”
She had yet to give a satisfactory answer to that question to anyone here. David had long ago given up trying to understand. It was only a few days ago David told her to say she was Gunn from up north who had spent most of her childhood in England. He’d said most people wouldn’t question her further since Thurso was so far away they wouldn’t know anyone there. He had assured her it was for her own safety. Perhaps, but she still hated lying.
“I am a Gunn.” She took a deep breath, inhaling the man’s masculine, woodsy scent. The rest of her explanation drifted away as her voice faltered.
His eyes roved over her face, drawing an unwelcome flush of heat up her neck to her cheeks. “You are the woman who rescued David’s son, Alexander, from the loch, are you not?”
She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat as his eyes roved over her features. His thick, roped thighs on either side of her hips tensed and her stomach fluttered. She nodded, her throat drying.
“Well, my lady, it appears you needed a bit of rescuing yourself today.” He gave her a crooked grin as he dragged one finger down her upturned palm. “I am happy to be of service.”
The tiny, almost imperceptible movement sent an all-too-pleasant swirl of heat through her skin. Her breathing shallowed, drying her lips. She attempted to assuage the discomfort by moistening the
m with her tongue. “What do you mean?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth and she pulled her tongue back inside. He sucked in a breath, his nostrils flaring. His lips parted and every muscle in her body softened as though surrendering to the growing heat between her thighs.
And then he broke the spell. “You were nearly run though, lass. Did you not see the swordplay all around you?”
Snapped out of her aroused daze, her eyes widened. “What? No, I…”
She turned to the side. A pale-faced young man on his knees stared at her with a sword lying on the ground before him.
The blood drained from her face. “Oh, I am so very sorry!”
The man on top of her leaned forward. “He does not speak English.”
His breath fell across her cheek, the warmth easing into her skin. She dared not turn toward him for fear of losing the small bit of control she’d just regained. “Then how do I say it?”
“Tha me duilich.” The soft burr in his voice sent a heated sensation through her belly to her toes.
Raising her voice, she repeated the phrase. The young man nodded, his face relaxing, and spoke as he reached for the sword before him.
“He is asking you if you are all right.”
She paused, searching for one of the many fragments of Gaelic phrases she had picked up over the past two weeks. “Tha gu math.” Her tongue tripped over the unfamiliar words.
The man above her chuckled. “Close enough. Are you certain you are not hurt?”
“Really, I am fine. Perhaps a bruise or two, but I will recover.”
A faint hint of a smile played at his lips and he broke the stare, his eyes dropping to her lips again.
“Perhaps you should be inspected, just to be sure.”
The thinly veiled suggestion wedged between them. She cleared her throat in discomfort. Game over. The anxiety barreled down on her like a freight train. Dani would’ve known exactly what to say to keep the verbal sparring match alive, but Leah had no clue. She should’ve taken notes or something, considering how often she’d seen her sister weave her spell over the hottest guy in the room.
“Um, I’m okay. I promise. You can probably get off of me now.”
He grinned and shrugged. “I am in no hurry. I rather like the feel of you beneath me.”
A surge of panic rushed through her limbs, causing them to twitch. Whether it was pity or he tired of her inability to play along with his flirtations, the man released her wrists and stood. Offering her his hands, he lifted her to her feet.
Avoiding his eyes, she gave him a brief, tight-lipped smile of thanks and then turned toward the young man who had almost run his sword through her. “Tha me duilich,” she apologized once again.
The man released her hands and she whispered to him, “Gu’unrobh maith agad.” It meant “thank you”. Picking up her skirts, she turned away.
Her hip still ached from the hard landing, but she shoved the pain aside as she berated herself for her lack of confidence. Ugh. Why was her reaction to men always that of a deer caught in headlights? He must think she was the biggest idiot he’d ever met.
She hurried toward the castle, snickers following her as she skirted the wall. Her stomach clenched. Though she couldn’t understand a word, she was all too familiar with the tone since she had spent a good portion of her grade school and middle school years being teased for her shyness and studiousness.
She rounded the corner and the deep, warming timbre of the man’s voice curled her toes as he shouted. “Wait—what is your name, lass?”
Leah didn’t dare stop. This humiliating introduction to the guy who had earlier caught her staring at him as if he were a juicy steak had gone on for long enough. He was probably joining his friends in a good laugh at her.
She headed straight for the plain wooden door leading to the back staircase. Something latched on to her elbow and yanked her backward, however, preventing her escape. She spun around until her entire body crashed into what seemed like a warm brick wall. Determined green eyes flashed in front of her a split second before large fingers threaded through her hair, holding her head in place as firm lips pressed into hers.
Oh God, it was him. Shit. Was he actually kissing her?
Panicked, she gasped and shoved his chest. Undeterred, he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth as one hand skimmed down her body, skipping along the side of her breast until it reached the small of her back. He pulled her close, pressing her abdomen against him. His heart thudded in a steady rhythm beneath her fingers as his warm mouth covered hers again.
She needed to push him away but, damn it, her arms refused to obey. His tongue slipped between her lips and retreated. Hot, luscious waves of need rippled through her thighs and she was lost. She melted and parted her lips to invite him back inside, her fingertips curling around fistfuls of his linen shirt.
He pulled back, his tongue grazing her bottom lip. He pressed another soft kiss to her willing mouth. “What is your name?”
She tilted her head back to meet his gaze. Her lashes fluttered as she pushed her name out between erratic breaths.
He repeated it and it rolled off his tongue like a caress.
A strange ease filled her now they were away from prying eyes. She pressed her lips together to prevent a smile from forming. “And you?”
“Rathe.” He tilted his head as his gaze traced the contours of her mouth. “Of the Sinclairs of Duncraig.”
Her lips tingled under his scrutiny. What the hell had just happened? Had he not been a part of the jeering in the courtyard? Or had he been the one being teased?
He lowered his face toward hers, pausing several times as though to give her a chance to deny him. She held his gaze, her breath caught in her throat, until his nose brushed against hers.
God help her, but she wanted to kiss him again. She tilted her face forward and her parted lips brushed his.
His hand slipped around the back of her head and pressed her toward him, his lips covering hers in a slow, shivery kiss.
Holy crap, she was kissing total stranger. And a hot one at that. Every muscle in her body froze at once as her inexperience caught up with her. What now? Should she pull away? Should she open her mouth?
Damn it, Simon, why couldn’t you have ever kissed me like this?
Rathe broke the kiss, saving her from her troubling indecision. “Are you certain you are not hurt? You took quite the tumble. I would be happy to escort you to your chamber and see to whatever injury I may have caused.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing more than a bruise.” Her lashes trembled as she dropped her eyes from his and released her hold on his shirt.
He grinned, his finger tracing small, maddening circles along the small of her back. “Are you going to make me chase you, lass?”
She fought back a groan of frustration. Images of his hands on her, slipping up under her skirts, pressing his body to hers, assaulted her. Her knees weakened and she leaned into him as a ripple of arousal coursed through her abdomen.
No. This was all wrong. And dangerous. She stepped out of his embrace.
“I see.” His hands dropped from her waist and he clasped them behind his back. “So, it is to be a chase then, eh?”
The small, shy smile was upon her lips before she had the chance to stop it. “I should go.”
She turned, avoiding Rathe’s eyes. Tempted to run back into the castle, she struggled to maintain her composure as she walked away. Her sister’s chiding voice rang in her head, urging her to turn around.
Leah bit her lower lip, her heart flipping. She brushed the sensation aside. She had always wished Simon would have looked at her the way Rathe did now. Was she stupid? How could she turn her back on the first man to take a genuine interest in her in years?
No, she was reading far too much into all of this. There was no way a man who looked like he had just stepped out of some Hollywood historical drama was interested in her. She had just been dumped by her soon-to-be husband and her heart was still t
oo wounded to be trusted.
She should forget about Rathe and every other thirteenth-century man who had caught her eye. It was time to find a way home.
Chapter Three
“Oh, this is such a bore,” Lady Barclay muttered as she scanned the room. “Drunkards, the lot of them.”
Leah sipped the red wine from the small silver cup in her hand. Her eyes traveled the same path as her companion’s across the dimly lit hall filled with men from the various clans as well as tables groaning with enough food and drink to see them through the darkest of winters. Lady Alpina Barclay was the half-English wife of the Laird Barclay whose lands bordered the mormaer’s to the south. She had arrived with her husband and his entourage not long after Leah’s embarrassing encounter with Rathe the day before.
Grateful for the distraction and the presence of someone who spoke English other than the mormaer and Rathe, Leah attached herself to Alpina, enjoying the company of such a forthright, talkative woman. Much of history painted women of the past as quiet and dutiful, much like the mormaer’s wife, Mary. Alpina, however, spoke her mind to whomever present and never bit her tongue, even in the presence of David, who was her husband’s social superior.
Raucous laughter bounced off the stone walls around her and mingled with the efforts of the musicians who roamed the crowd, creating a din not unlike the bars her sister would drag her to every other weekend when Simon went to his fantasy football gatherings. Normally Leah found this much activity in one small space to be overwhelming, but tonight it held a small fascination for her.
Alpina snorted. “I cannot believe he would dare show his face anywhere outside his own lands.”
“Who?”
Alpina motioned with her head across the room. “The Sinclair.”
Leah’s heart stopped as she followed Alpina’s gaze to a tall, dark-haired man laughing amongst a group of men on the other side of the hall.