by Tamara Gill
Damn, even with his back turned, the man dripped sex.
A tremor shot down her spine as she rose on wobbly legs to exit the tub.
“All right, Claire?”
The way he said her name made her want to melt.
Claire cleared her throat and dived for the chemise. “Yes.” She shoved her arms through the garment and smoothed it over her breasts, down her body. It landed at her ankles and was soft as butter. Detailed with pretty lace at the low neckline. “You can turn around.”
Duncan’s eyes widened when he looked at her. “Put on the leine, lass.”
“Why?”
A smile played at his lips and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Not complaining, but I can see through yer chemise.”
“Oh!” Claire jumped, her cheeks and neck flaming all over again. She grabbed the tunic and plastered it in front of her body.
He chuckled. “Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, Claire-lass. Yer a beautiful woman.”
Duncan thinks I’m beautiful.
Claire’s heart thundered. Her fingers were frozen to the fabric of the leine. It wasn’t as soft as the chemise, but it was a light material.
The distraction in her hands wasn’t enough to tear her focus from the attraction sizzling between them. It was palpable, like lightening zinging all over her body, warming her limbs, settling in her lower belly.
Duncan’s gaze bored into her, and he took a step closer.
She could feel the heat coming off his body. When he reached out, she moved into his fingertips.
He caressed her cheek, but he didn’t lean down to kiss her.
Claire tilted her face up, sending a silent invitation, then stilled, chiding herself.
You met him today.
It didn’t matter.
She yearned for his lips on hers.
Duncan grabbed a strand of her hair, dragging his fingers down its length, but he didn’t tug. His eyes were heavy-lidded. Although, he said nothing, his breathing was rough.
Kiss me.
But after a few moments, he stepped back, muttering something under his breath. It wasn’t English.
“What?” Claire whispered.
“Nothin’, Claire-lass.” Duncan smiled. “Talking to myself.”
“Gaelic?”
“Aye. Ye speak my tongue?”
Don’t say tongue. I want to wrap mine around yours.
Claire cleared her throat. “No, sorry. I speak Spanish, though.”
One dark brow arched. “What need do ye have to speak with a Spaniard?”
She smirked. “Well, where I live, they’re not from Spain and there’s much need.” Claire wasn’t even going to try to explain Mexico and Texas to him.
“Then I’m glad ye have the skill.”
Claire nodded, forcing her arms into the puffy long sleeves of the leine. She pulled it over her head and tugged it down. She liked the loose fit, but groaned when she remembered the corset.
“Can you call Janet?” she asked. “She said she would help me lace the corset.”
“I can help ye.” The wicked grin on Duncan’s face told her how many times he’d helped a woman unlace one.
She frowned. “Um, that’s okay. It’s...”
“Lass, I want to help.”
Before Claire could comment, Duncan had her arms in the proper place, and wrapped the stiff bodice around her.
He began to lace up the back without a word, working deftly and gently, considering she was being trussed up.
“Thanks.”
“No bother, Claire. Yer in my time, my castle. I’m responsible for ye now.”
Claire paused. “No, you’re not.”
“Aye. I am.” Duncan’s tone brooked no argument, so she dropped the subject and focused on the feel of his hands working where she couldn’t see.
Heat.
She was surrounded in warmth, even though he wasn’t touching her bare skin. Claire wanted him to brush her whole—naked—body with his large hands.
She imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on the back of her neck. Duncan nibbling on her ear.
Claire shivered.
“Lass, ye all right? Did I hurt ye?”
Knock it off.
You just met this guy.
“I’m fine. Thank you for helping me.”
Crap. She’d already thanked him.
Oversized hands landed on her shoulders and turned her.
Claire raised her eyes and met Duncan’s.
He smiled, and her stomach fluttered. “Yer welcome.” His sapphire eyes travelled her frame.
She trembled in his grip, but not from fear. How could she want someone she’d met less than three hours before?
The leine fell mid-thigh, so she wasn’t physically exposed to him, but he devoured her with one look, and Claire’s body responded. Warmed. Her core throbbed.
“Claire.” Her name was a whisper, and her heart stuttered.
Disappointment flooded her when his hands fell away from her shoulders and he took a step back.
Duncan cleared his throat. “I’ll leave ye to finish dressing.”
“You don’t have to go.” Claire’s words were rushed. “I mean, you can show me to my room, or whatever.” Her cheeks burned for the hundredth time since she’d met Duncan MacLeod.
He’s gonna think I’m an idiot.
“What do ye mean? Ye’ll stay with me, of course.”
“Here?” Claire croaked. She gestured to the huge bed.
“Aye.”
“But—”
“I’ll not harm ye, lass.”
“But...” Claire swallowed a wince as intelligent words refused to exit her mouth.
Duncan smirked.
Oh, God. I’m in so much trouble.
CHAPTER FIVE
Duncan left the lass in his room. ‘Twas for the best he walk away. Or he might have helped her out of the bodice he’d just taken the time to thread and tighten.
He wanted the lass—couldn’t deny it even to himself.
Hungered to taste her lips, touch her body, lie with her in his own bed. The fact that Claire had tilted her face up in invitation could get Duncan in trouble.
Maybe he should go see the widow.
Nay.
Now that he’d met Claire McGowan, the vision of Meg naked didn’t stir him.
Duncan shook his head and growled to himself. He needed to meet with Riley O’Malley in the caves anyway. The slimy Irish pirate was doing him a favor by letting him captain his ship, the Fancy Seer, but it wasn’t without cost to Duncan.
Riley—and his ilk—required coin as well as safe passage through MacLeod waters.
If Duncan were a betting man, he’d assume that Riley O’Malley was planning on entry into the Realm of the Fae to try his hand at gaining Faery riches.
Duncan had no intention of confirming or denying. He needed Alex back. If Riley O’Malley got himself killed by Fae Warriors, it was no matter to Duncan.
The soldier class of the faeries was made up of winged gods, fantastic with any weapon they yielded. Legend said they could sense when a human stepped foot in their Realm. Duncan hadn’t dwelt on it too much, though he feared they were in for a fight when they finally found the Stones.
He would get his brother back.
No matter the cost.
They were to sail in mere days. Before they’d left on their first journey some six months before, Riley had gained a new crew so everyone would believe Duncan the captain and not question their mission.
Riley’s Seer—and lover—Bridei, was supposedly part Fae, but she was a fraud as far as Duncan was concerned. He’d had no results from the woman.
Angus would be able to tell if she was actually Fae, but he wouldn’t risk the lad by letting the pirates close, especially since he’d barely seen his family or his home since Alex had been gone.
This was Duncan’s first time home in a month. The pirate captain had insisted on a break in their grueling pace. His men needed more than th
e two or three whores on ship.
Riley O’Malley had insisted on a trip home—to the Emerald Isle, as he called Ireland. The Fancy Seer had made its way back to Skye only two days before.
“Duncan.”
“Not now, Da. I’m late.” He tried to push past his father as he made his way across the great hall, but the older man grabbed his arm.
“Lad, listen.”
He met blue eyes that matched his own.
Iain MacLeod was no longer the laird—having stepped down when his health demanded it, but his father’s grip and stare were a command.
“What is it?” Duncan tried not to snap. Chided himself to show the respect the man who’d raised him deserved.
“The lass’s arrival is a sign, lad.”
Duncan shifted in his boots and gave a curt nod. “I’ll find Alex.”
“I know it.” Iain nodded and released him. “Now go, but be quick and discreet.”
“Aye. As always. Where’s Angus?”
“Yer sister managed to sit him down for a meal.”
“Good. Tell her to keep him busy. I’ll not have him following me to the cliffs.”
Duncan left his father in the great hall, striding across the bailey and mulling over his words.
Maybe it was as his father believed.
Claire’s arrival from another time was a sign.
Did it mean he was close to getting his brother back?
He quickened his step.
Duncan tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword as soon as his feet hit the wide deck of the Fancy Seer. She was hidden well inside a huge watery cave. But the narrowness of the strait-like area only shouted to the skill of the pirate Riley O’Malley.
A lesser sailor could’ve run the vessel aground on the sharp rocks that surrounded them.
The men that skittered by him, going about their tasks, wouldn’t meet his eyes, but that was fine with Duncan as long as they saw him as captain and gave him the appropriate respect.
“Where’s my first mate?” Duncan barked.
“Yer quarters, Captain.”
Duncan thanked him and growled.
Of course, the slimy bastard couldn’t maintain the charade with Duncan home on Skye. He’d have to cleanse the place before taking it over again.
Duncan wasn’t afraid to get dirty, but lying in Riley’s bed made his skin crawl.
The feminine moans greeted his ears even before he pushed his way in what was supposed to be his refuge on the Fancy Seer.
He opened the door, bracing himself for what he was about to see.
Bridei’s back was arched, her dark hair flowing free down her slender back as she rode her man on the bed Duncan was supposed to sleep on.
Riley had his head tilted back, long scraggly red hair loose, eyes closed while his woman serviced him.
Duncan cleared his throat, tapping his booted foot to the dirty planked floor.
The pirate captain’s head flew up, eyes wide. When he saw Duncan, his shoulders relaxed into the bed. A wide grin spread on his face, and he grabbed one of Bridei’s breasts. “Look, love, the laird likes to watch.”
Bridei threw a seductive look over her shoulder that roiled Duncan’s stomach. “Maybe he’ll finally join us.” Her voice was deep for a woman’s. She licked already kiss-swollen lips.
Duncan ignored the seer’s beckoning hand.
“Yer late,” Riley drawled. He rested his hands on his woman’s rounded hips, stopping her undulating. But he didn’t push her off him, nor did he exit the bed.
Duncan narrowed his eyes, praying for control. He wanted to run the pirate through. “I need a few days. Something has come up.”
Riley O’Malley arched an auburn eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Tis none of yer concern. Stay docked here, and I’ll come to ye when I’m ready. I assume ye’ve supplies enough to sail?”
The pirate captain scowled. “Yer wastin’ my time.”
“I paid for yer time,” Duncan barked.
“It’ll cost ye more, for every day we’re delayed.”
“Fine.” Duncan loosened the purse on his belt and tossed it to the slimy bastard. “Here to start. Get yer arse out of my quarters, and by God get new linens on the bed.”
Bridei looked him up and down, making no move to hide her nudity. She caressed her own breasts, then her stomach. Her hand froze on its journey downward when Duncan threw her a black look.
He made eye contact with Riley and heard the seer mutter, “Yer loss.”
“Have yer woman concentrate more on the likely location of the Stones, and less on the stick between yer legs.”
Riley smirked. “Aye, Captain.” He must be content with the additional gold in his palm—for now.
Duncan ignored the mocking in his voice. As long as Riley feigned the appropriate respect when they had an audience, he’d accept disrespect in private.
How much longer could he manage dealing with Riley O’Malley and his ilk?
God, let me be close to finding Alex.
CHAPTER SIX
Claire was asleep by the time Duncan made it back to his quarters. He’d bought himself a few days to figure out what her arrival could mean.
He’d have to talk to the steward and account for the coin he’d need from MacLeod coffers for O’Malley, but he’d deal with it when had to.
Greedy bastard pirate.
The peat in the hearth had burned down, but his rooms held warmth.
Duncan removed his belt and sword as quietly as he could manage, but the beautiful woman in his bed didn’t stir.
They’d talk in the morning. Maybe she’d even remember something of how she’d gotten to the beach.
He stared down at her perfect form. Her thick flaxen locks were spread on his pillow as well as over her shoulder. She lay on her side, cuddled under his blankets. MacLeod tartan lay on top, spread across Claire and the bed, and damn if he didn’t like how the wool looked—on her in his bed.
Duncan’s cock jumped. He paused with his hands at the waist of his kilt. He normally slept naked. He couldn’t with Claire in his bed.
Why had he insisted she stay with him?
There were guest rooms at Dunvegan—hell, he could’ve had Janet put her in Alex’s rooms, since their brother was gone.
The laird’s quarters were the largest in the castle. His own were small in comparison, but more suited to him.
He shook his head at himself and dropped his kilt to the stone floor. Next was the tunic. Duncan stood at the end of his bed nude.
Claire made a noise in her sleep and rolled over—toward him.
He gulped.
Duncan definitely wouldn’t be crawling in his bed in his current state of undress.
“Trews. I need trews.” If his bollocks were exposed much longer—to air or Claire’s lovely sleep-warmed body, he had no ability to resist.
Sprinting to the trunk at the end of his bed, Duncan grumbled to himself in English and cursed in Gaelic.
She groaned.
He froze, only one leg inside the softest pair of breeches he’d managed to find. He hurried, stepping into the other pant leg and yanking them up.
When the next noise the lass emitted sounded like a moan, Duncan’s cock twitched. But one look at her face told him something was wrong.
Claire was tossing and turning in his bed, her fair brows knitted tight. Her skin had a slight sheen of sweat.
Duncan sat on the bed and reached for her.
Do not pull her into your arms. Just wake her.
“Lass?” He shook her shoulder gently, but she thrashed. “Claire-lass. Calm yerself.”
She blinked as she came around, stilling beneath his fingertips. Her beautiful green eyes were heavy-lidded. “Duncan?”
Claire struggled to sit up, so he helped her, reluctantly forcing his hands to fall away when she leaned into his carved headboard.
“Are ye all right, Claire-lass?”
She wore the same chemise she’d donned after her bath. Even t
hough the room was dim, he could make out her nipples, and see the impression of the darker skin of her areolas. Duncan swallowed a groan and tore his eyes away.
Perfect breasts he wanted to cup, knead and taste. Swirl his tongue around...
Stop. Now.
“Still not a dream,” she whispered.
Duncan quirked a half-smile, grateful for the distraction. He shifted on the bed. Hoped his trews wouldn’t make his half-arousal obvious. “Nay. Yer here. Dunvegan Castle, Isle of Skye, in the Hebrides of Scotland.”
“1672,” they said the year at the same time.
Her shoulders drooped and Duncan’s heart gave a funny patter. He wanted to comfort Claire.
Keep your hands to yourself.
He chanted the order over and over. Otherwise, he’d yank her to him, taste her mouth. Hold her. Then give all his attention to the glorious breasts he couldn’t stop noticing. After that: take her.
Would she let me?
Duncan disregarded his desire and his notions.
No more dangerous thoughts.
He needed Claire’s help to find his brother—provided she could remember anything about the Faery Stones. Then he’d help her get back to her time, as Duncan had promised her.
No use getting involved with her in any other way.
I’ll get Alex back, and she’ll leave.
“Duncan.”
His eyes shot to her face when she said his name in a tone that made his bollocks ache. “Aye, lass?”
“I’m glad you found me.”
“I’m glad I found ye, as well.”
Silence descended, but it was no bother. Duncan’s hands itched to touch the soft skin of her cheeks.
“What am I going to do?” Her low voice was desperate and his resolve cracked.
Duncan scooted closer and cupped her face. Tilted upward so she had to look at him.
Do. Not. Kiss. Her.
“It will be all right, Claire-lass.”
Her expression softened and she wrapped her arms around his middle, burying her face against his bare chest.
Unmanly tremors chased each other down his spine as her warm breath caressed his skin, but Duncan couldn’t push her away.
She needed comfort. He could do that. Even if it was going to take his self-control to the limits.