by Tamara Gill
“Claire?”
Her name on Duncan’s lips made her eyes shoot to his. She couldn’t even take a second to enjoy his sexy accent. Tremors racked her frame. She broke their physical contact.
Claire started to pace, holding his tartan tight to her body. She shook her head. “This isn’t possible.”
“What isn’t, lass?” His expression was as confused as she felt.
“No. Way. Just—no fricking way.”
“Lass. Claire. Look at me.” Duncan grabbed her, but he didn’t hurt her.
Claire looked into his blue eyes and swallowed hard. His handsome face was open, waiting for whatever she had to say to him.
Hot or not, she wished for the dream she thought she’d been having when she’d come to, running on the beach.
Then she could simply have her way with him and wake up in her own bed afterwards. Yes, a wet dream would be preferable to the math that was adding up in her head.
“Duncan.” His name fell from her lips and her stomach twisted as her mind fought for understanding.
Nothing made sense.
“Claire.” Duncan’s voice was calm. Waiting. “Tell me.”
“I think I travelled back in time.”
***
Duncan searched a pair of leaf green eyes as the lass quaked in his grip. He saw no deceit.
There was only one way she could’ve done what she’d said.
Faery Stones.
The very magic he’d been searching for—for the last six months.
His heart thumped.
Was this lass a clue to finding Alex?
“Claire.” Her name rolled off his tongue with ease.
She was beautiful. The lad had thought she was Fae, and she could pass for it. Flaxen locks, long and wavy, fair flawless complexion and green green eyes. But Duncan’s instinct said she wasn’t.
When her eyes came back to his, his pulse thundered in his ears. He wanted to make her feel better. Hold her close like he had when she’d fainted. Cup her face and dip his mouth down to taste her.
Duncan jolted. He had no business wanting to kiss her.
Where is that coming from?
It hadn’t been so long since he’d had a woman. Perhaps he needed to visit the widow. She’d been his only lover in recent years, as she was barren. There were several whores aboard the ship, but he’d never paid them attention. Duncan wouldn’t risk having any bastards.
But he wasn’t going anywhere—including back to sea, until he figured out the beauty before him.
She looked lost, and his gut tightened.
He squeezed her slender shoulders. “How did ye come to the beach?”
“I don’t know. I...came to, and I was running.”
“Ye came to?” Duncan listened carefully. Her words weren’t so different from his, but her accent was foreign. Like no other he’d ever heard.
“I...thought I was dreaming. But...all the sand...beach...even seagulls. And I realized I was naked.”
By God she was, and gloriously so. Every inch of the woman’s body was beautiful.
Duncan’s cock twitched, and he threatened to lop it off.
Now’s not the time.
Seeing Claire wrapped in his plaid was appealing on a level it shouldn’t be. He wanted to take it off her...warm her another way.
“What’s the last thing ye remember?”
“Oh. My. God. I can’t remember anything else.” Her eyes widened. “Why aren’t you freaked out about all this?”
“Freaked out?”
Claire stomped her foot in the sand. “I just told you I came through time, and you don’t even look rattled. I’m from the future.”
Duncan nodded. “I believe ye, lass.”
Shock rolled over her expression, and she shook her head. “How? Why? I don’t believe me.”
He laughed and was almost overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her again when her pink tongue darted out to moisten her plump bottom lip. Duncan swallowed a groan.
Not now.
Not ever.
“Just tell me the last thing ye remember.”
“I...” Claire shook her head and trembled under his hands.
“C’mere. Lass. Claire.” Duncan couldn’t watch her struggle. He drew her into his arms.
She nestled into his chest without hesitation. “Why can’t this just be a dream?” Her words were muffled, but he couldn’t focus on that.
The lass didn’t come up to his shoulders. This slight, slender woman fit up against him as if she belonged. Her soft to his hard, touching him in all the right places.
It was Duncan’s turn to shiver but he fought it. He wanted to kiss the top of her fair head but didn’t. He held her, rubbing her back atop the wool of his tartan, wishing it was her bare skin he touched.
When Claire squared her shoulders against him, Duncan released her.
The lass was ready to talk.
“I’m okay.”
Good, she’s strong.
“I was reading a book. In bed.” Claire averted her gaze and her cheeks reddened, but then she met his eyes.
“Ye can read?”
“Of course I can read.” Annoyance flashed through her green eyes, and Duncan bit back a smile.
Claire was strong and stubborn and suddenly appealed to him even more.
“Most women can’t, unless they’re noble. Are ye noble, Claire? Ye said MacGowan? I’m unfamiliar with your clan.”
“It’s Mc, not Mac. I’m American. And I don’t have a clan. My time...is different than yours.” She darted about five feet away and bent to the sand to retrieve something. “Damn,” Claire muttered.
“Something wrong?” Duncan joined her and stared at the item in her hands.
“My MP3 player. It’s either broken or the battery’s dead.” She wiped off the small rectangular thing.
“Yer what?”
“It’s...never mind.” Claire shook her head.
Duncan made a grab for it, and she let him take it. He turned the thing over and over in his hands. It was hard. Made of no material he was familiar with.
It had a little silver cross on the front, with arrows etched into all four directions. Above the cross-like thing was a black box that felt different under his thumb than the rest of the thing.
The face and back were covered in blue, red and green tartan, but it wasn’t cloth; it was painted on the surface of the item.
“Is this Clan MacGowan plaid? I do not recognise it.”
“Uh, no. No clan, like I said. It’s just a skin. I...like plaid.”
“Skin?”
Claire made a face and grabbed the thing from his grip. “Never mind. It’s not like I can charge it here.”
“No, but it proves yer words are true.” Their gazes collided. “Yer here in my time, lass.” His heart gave a funny thud when her green eyes misted over.
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Okay, so the bath isn’t so bad.” She sighed and reclined into the back of the giant wooden tub, glancing around the room—Duncan’s room.
Claire shivered, and it had nothing to do with the hot water caressing her body. She rested her arms on the top at the edges, tilting her head back and closing her eyes against the scenery of intricately carved, dark wood, oversized furniture.
Turned out Duncan was the Laird—the head of the clan. Claire knew what the title/term meant. She’d been obsessed with anything Scottish Highlander for years.
Too bad her romance novel fetish wasn’t doing anything to help her very odd—unbelievable—situation.
She just kept picturing Duncan naked in the huge bed she was pretending not to notice.
He wasn’t married, so his sister kept the castle in order.
Janet MacLeod was tall, buxom and gorgeous. Dark hair and blue eyes—basically the female version of Duncan.
“I’ve got you a skirt and a leine to wear. Hope they fit. I’m a bit taller than you are. Here’s a chemise, too.” Dunca
n’s sister smiled and held up a sleeveless garment that’d probably go to Claire’s ankles. It looked soft, ivory linen, like a nightgown.
The other woman rested a navy skirt and white shirt-looking thing, on a nearby chair. The material of the skirt was thick—probably wool. It’d be heavy.
Janet was the first person Claire had encountered that said you instead of ye, but she still had a thick Scottish accent.
“A what?”
“You mean the leine? A tunic, I suppose. You know that term?” Janet’s smile was kind, but she didn’t seem the least bit phased that Claire was so foreign.
Had Duncan told her about the time travel?
“Yes. Thank you.” Claire returned the smile and shifted in the tub.
Janet might be female, but she wasn’t any fonder of showing her nudity to Duncan’s sister than she had to him. At least Janet was efficient about it. And her eyes never landed anywhere other than on Claire’s face.
“Call me when you’re ready to dress, and I’ll help you lace the bodice.” Janet patted a navy blue corset and Claire groaned.
She’d worn one for a Renaissance faire once, and it did nothing but leave her with sore boobs. But with no bra, she didn’t have much of a choice. “Thank you.”
Janet nodded and bustled about the room for a moment. “Need anythin’ else lass? I’ll have one of the kitchen staff fix you somethin’ to eat, all right?”
“I’m good, but thank you, once again.” Nerves fluttered in Claire’s stomach. “I feel like all I’m doing is thanking you, but I mean it.”
“It’s nothin’.” Duncan’s sister flashed a wide smile that made her look so much like her older brother Claire’s heart sped up.
A knock sounded on the door, but Duncan didn’t pause before entering the room.
“Get out, Duncan MacLeod!” Janet rushed forward. “The lady is not clothed.”
“I need to talk to Claire.”
“It’s nothin’ that canna’ wait!” Janet blocked Claire with her body, but Duncan pushed passed her.
“It’s okay,” Claire said, but Duncan’s sister didn’t stop yelling at him.
She smirked. The ‘conversation’ was reminiscent of Claire’s sister nagging her about something or other.
Duncan ignored Janet, coming closer to the tub.
Heat crept up Claire’s neck and settled into her cheeks. She sank down into the water, but it was cloudy from Janet’s soap anyway. Adequately hid her private parts.
Duncan’s sister fussed for a moment, then threw her hands up. “I’ll take my leave and get the lass some bread and cheese, but you leave this room, Duncan MacLeod. It’s not proper.”
Taking the only other empty seat in the large room, Duncan ignored Janet, and she slipped out of the room.
“Umm...”
“Don’t mind me, lass. Get warm. When ye need to dress, I’ll turn away from ye.”
Claire nodded and swallowed hard. His blue stare scorched, warmed her skin as if he’d touched her. She wanted him to touch her.
Knock it off.
“What’s so urgent?”
His expression was grave, and Duncan nodded. “Aye. No further delay.”
“What is it?”
“I need yer help, lass.”
***
“My help?” The lass’s fair brows were drawn tight and Duncan shifted in his seat.
How on earth could he explain everything so she’d believe him?
Claire coming from another time might make it even more difficult.
Will she understand?
He needed to find the Faery Stones so he could get Alex back from King Fillan. Six long months, and he’d gone to all the isles of the Hebrides. Scouring all the places the pirate’s seer recommended.
The blasted woman had been wrong so far.
Did Claire’s arrival mean something?
Could this lass from another time help him find and free his brother?
The true Laird of the MacLeods.
Duncan cleared his throat. “What do ye know of Faery Stones?”
“Faery? Like what Angus said? Something about Fae?” Claire looked even more confused.
He wanted to smooth her furrowed brow, cup her cheeks and kiss her lips. Taste her—
Not now, Duncan Roderick MacLeod.
“Aye. Like the lad said.”
Claire straightened in his bathing tub. The tops of her breasts peeked out of the water, and Duncan made himself look away. Tried to ignore the memory of her bared before him on the beach.
“I’ve heard the term ‘Fae’ in books I’ve read. But...none of it’s real. It’s all fairy tales. Stuff to scare kids. Like the Boogey Man.”
Duncan arched an eyebrow. “Boogey Man?”
“Ah...a guy who hides in the closet or under the bed and gets you in the dark.”
He chuckled. “Never heard such a thing. But we’ve the tale of the banshee. Her cry bursts yer ears.”
“Yeah, Phoebe turned into one on Charmed once.”
Duncan stared as he processed the unfamiliar words.
Claire blushed and shook her head. “Never mind.”
He couldn’t look away from the crimson on her cheeks. The lass was tempting. And she was naked in his room. Duncan shifted on the chair and ignored his twitching cock. “No matter, lass.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“You can call me Claire. May I call you Duncan, or do you prefer ‘my laird?’”
Duncan shook his head. “Duncan. I’m not the laird.”
“What? But Janet said—”
“Aye. Tis temporary. Our older brother, Alex, is Laird of Clan MacLeod.”
Claire stared and Duncan chided himself to gather his words quickly and efficiently.
“Angus’s father?”
“Aye.” He nodded, his gut tightening just thinking about his situation. Duncan had never desired the responsibility of running the Clan. Never envied Alex’s position of birth or destiny.
When their father’s health required a change of the guard, Duncan had ensured he’d be there for his clan and family any way he could. He’d just never foreseen his brother marrying a Fae princess in secret and having a child with her.
Angus had shown up in a basket with a note some nine years ago as a tiny laddie. Alex had confessed everything to Janet, Duncan and their father, but the rest of Clan MacLeod assumed the lad was a bastard by a whore. Unfortunately, they treated him as such.
No one knew Alana and Alex were married—or that she visited them as often as she could. The location of the Faery Stones—her method of transport to their world—was secret even from Alex himself.
Alana’s father, the Fae King Fillan, had discovered their secret and nabbed Alex. Duncan felt in his gut his brother was still alive, but he wouldn’t be for long.
Angus had Fae magic. His mother had come to him in a dream and told him to alert Duncan. They were both being held captive. The king planned to put Alex to death and marry Alana off to a Fae prince.
The lad had been frantic for both his parents.
Duncan had started the search the following morning—yielding nothing so far.
“The Fae might be in stories, but they’re very real, Claire.”
She scoffed, and water shifted in the tub with her movements, splashing against the side of the tub.
“Ye’ve come through time, yet ye doubt?”
Claire paused, her green eyes boring into him. “True. I was still hoping this is all a dream.”
Duncan smirked. “Nay, lass.”
“So the Fae are real?” Her tone was a combination of curiosity and disbelief.
“Aye, and they hold my brother captive.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Why? What happened?”
“Angus happened.” Duncan scratched his head and Claire stared.
His cheeks were flushed, and he shifted his large form on the chair. He was visibly uncomfortable. It didn’t give his incredible words any credence.
“What?”
“My brother found himself in love with a Fae princess and married her in secret. Had a child with her. Alana left the lad here the day after his birth, as it’s obvious to the Fae he’s half human. She couldn’t keep him anyway and knew we would. Her father discovered them and took Alex.”
“Your nephew’s a fairy?” Claire blinked.
“Well, a halfling. The Fae aren’ fond of such creatures. His mother’s people would have shunned him at best, put him to death at worst. So Alex, and my sister, our Da, and I, are raising him.”
The appeal of his accent and the missing t on the word ‘aren’t’ was lost on Duncan’s recital.
What kind of people killed little kids?
How could any of it be true?
Then again, Claire had travelled through time.
She shook her head.
Duncan rose from the chair and came to the tub, taking one of her hands in his as she gazed up at him. “Tis all true, Claire. And I need yer help.”
Heat suffused her cheeks at his closeness—and her nudity. “How...how...can I help you? Until today, I didn’t believe in any of this stuff.”
“Ye came to my time through the Faery Stones.”
“I did? How do you know?”
“There’s no other way, no other magic. Ye have to help me find the Stones. I have to get my brother back.”
Magic?
Claire sputtered, looking down into the cloudy water before she could meet Duncan’s imploring blue eyes. “I need to get out of the tub. Water’s cold,” she blurted.
His expression shouted that was the last thing he thought she’d say, but the laird nodded and released her hand, taking a step back. “Of course.”
Their gazes collided. They both froze.
“Um, can you turn? So I can stand?”
Duncan jumped, and Claire’s cheeks burned.
“Aye.”
She watched his impossibly broad shoulders shift when his back faced her. He’d put on a white tunic, and the plaid he’d wrapped her in was still gone from his body, leaving him with his shirt tucked into the kilt, a wide leather belt around his waist.
His calves were pure muscle and sprinkled with springy black hair, but it wasn’t a turn off. Duncan’s feet were encased in the deer hide boots she’d read about in many a book. His long dark hair settled down his back in waves her fingers itched to touch.