The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karen Marie Moning

  When she’d first seen him, she stood at the top of the stairs for several moments, gazing at him with her heart in her eyes, scarcely hearing the conversation going on below.

  He was devastating in any century. Even when she’d thought him mentally unhinged, she’d found him dangerously appealing. In his natural element, he was twenty times as irresistible. Now that she knew he was a genuine sixteenth-century lord, she wondered how she could have ever believed otherwise. He dripped regal authority as blatantly as he wore his sexuality. He was a man who thoroughly enjoyed being a man.

  Ecstatic that he was alive and well and that she’d arrived in time to save him, she’d rushed down the stairs. Then Drustan’s father, Silvan, the man she’d mistaken for Einstein, had mentioned something about her being pregnant, flummoxing her. Confronted with a possible pregnancy before even latching her lips to the rim of a cup of Starbucks, she’d stood, stupefied.

  It’s not enough just to buy condoms, Cassidy; you have to use them.

  And then Drustan had tossed his silky mane over his shoulder and looked right at her, and although his eyes had flared as if he’d found her attractive, there had been no spark of recognition.

  She’d expected it.

  She’d known he wouldn’t know her. Still, her heart had not understood how awful it was going to feel when he turned that silvery, sexy gaze on her, as distant and cold as a stranger.

  Rational or not, it had hurt, and then he’d made that wise-ass comment about women vying for the pleasure of his bed.

  Then, as if he hadn’t poked every one of her raw nerves already, he’d turned his back on her, dismissing her.

  It was at that point that she’d reacted blindly. She’d blurted out the one thing she knew would make him turn back around and look at her again. She’d sacrificed long-term goals for instant gratification.

  She was appalled by what she’d done. It was no wonder her mother had so stridently counseled against being emotional. Emotion apparently made fools of even geniuses.

  She needed him to listen to her, and he wasn’t going to be in any mood to hear her now. By telling him they’d been lovers before telling him the whole story, she’d irritated and provoked him.

  “Let me in.” She pounded on the door. “I need to tell you the whole story.” But they were still arguing so loudly that she might as well have been whispering.

  Brushing leaves from her gown, she rose to her feet. She scowled at the door. Since no one would answer and the argument showed no signs of abating, she tipped her head back, eager to see the castle in daylight, but she was too close to it. She felt like a flea trying to get a good look at an elephant while perched upon its forehead. Curious, she decided she may as well take a short walk.

  Tucking her bangs behind her ear, she turned around.

  And froze.

  Her heart slammed into her throat. Impossible, her mind wailed.

  But there he was, plain as day. Sinfully, heart-stop-pingly sexy Drustan.

  Sauntering up the steps toward her, clad in leather trews and a linen shirt, casually unlaced, revealing a mouth-watering amount of hard, bronzed chest. Although the brilliant morning sun was behind him, shadowing his features, his smile was dazzling.

  Yet, behind her in the castle, Drustan was yelling. She could hear him.

  According to her understanding of physics, both of them couldn’t exist at the same time. But obviously they did. What would happen if they met? Would one of them just blip out of existence?

  If Drustan-behind-the-door was the one that didn’t know her, she reasoned, then Drustan-on-the-steps who looked so happy to see her must be her Drustan.

  What was she going to do with two Drustans?

  A kinky part of her proposed something unmentionable…and rather fascinating. Really, if they were both him, it wouldn’t be like she was cheating on anyone.

  Blushing, she ogled him from head to toe. Her Drustan didn’t scowl at her. He arched a brow in that oh-so-familiar way of his and grinned, opening his arms wide.

  She didn’t hesitate.

  With a shriek of delight, she launched herself at him. He caught her midleap and pulled her legs around his waist, just like in her century.

  He laughed when she covered his face with little kisses. She had no idea what she would do with two of them, or how it could be possible, she knew only that she’d missed him more in the past twelve hours than she’d ever missed anyone in her entire life. “Kiss me,” she said.

  “Och, English, I’ll be kissing you most thoroughly,” he purred against her lips. Clamping her head between his hands, he slanted his mouth hungrily over hers.

  Gwen melted against him, parting her lips. There was no doubt about it; the man was an expert kisser. His kiss was demanding, aggressive, silky, hot, and hungry…and any minute now she’d feel the sizzle.

  Any minute now, she thought, kissing him back with all of her heart.

  He tasted of cinnamon and wine, and he kissed her with single-minded intensity, and still…no sizzle.

  “Mmph,” she said against his mouth, meaning, Wait a minute, something’s not right. But if he heard her, he paid no mind and deepened the kiss.

  Gwen’s head spun. Something was seriously wrong. Something about Drustan was different, and his kiss wasn’t affecting her as it usually did. Distantly, she heard the door open behind them and tried to draw back, but he wouldn’t let her.

  Then she heard a roar and was dragged off Drustan by the other Drustan, with one steely arm about her waist, another around her neck.

  She glanced rapidly between them, blinking and hoping her double vision would go away. They were glaring at each other. Would they fight? If she saw her own double she’d probably be tempted to punch it once or twice. Especially today. For being so stupid.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Passion and irritation glittered in leather-trew-clad Drustan’s eyes.

  “What’s wrong with me?” kilt-clad Drustan snapped. “What’s wrong with me is that this wench here, who was kissing you so ravenously, accused me of taking her virginity!” Kilt-clad Drustan dumped her on her feet between them. “I’m trying to save you, before she tangles you in her deceitful web.”

  “I liked her deceitful web. It was hot and slippery, and all a lass should be,” Drustan-of-the-leather-trews growled.

  Kilt-clad Drustan launched into a diatribe with a burr so thick she could scarcely understand a word he was saying, and Drustan of the trews began yelling back, and then Silvan poked his nose out of the castle to observe the fracas.

  She’d lost her mind, she thought, watching with wide eyes. They stood nose to nose, arguing, while she plucked nervously at her gown, backed up a few steps, and listened, hoping to catch a word or two she might understand.

  Observe. There is a logical explanation for this, the scientist insisted.

  “Drustan. Dageus,” Silvan said reprovingly. “Stop your arguing this moment.”

  Dageus! A ray of enlightenment pierced her confusion.

  Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. It was one more thing Drustan hadn’t bothered to tell her—that he and his brother were identical twins. It seemed there were oodles of things he’d overlooked. He’d nearly given her a heart attack over this one. He certainly hadn’t made saving him easy.

  She kicked the real Drustan in the shin. “You didn’t tell me you and your brother were twins.”

  He continued arguing with Dageus as if she’d barely touched him, and no wonder with such flimsy little slippers. What she wouldn’t give for her hiking boots.

  And now I have two problems, she thought. Dageus was still alive, which meant she had to prevent his death too. She was elated to have the opportunity to save Dageus, but she was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed. Discovering the date was a serious priority, and she had to get her hands on Dageus’s itinerary. There was no way he could go anywhere near the Elliott’s estate.

  Now that they were standing side by side, she could discern differences a
nd would not mistake the two of them again. They weren’t quite identical, probably half-identical; polar body twins, giving them about seventy-five percent of the same DNA. Had the sun not been so bright behind him as he’d walked up, she might not have erred in the first place. Dageus was indeed an inch or two shorter, which still made him at least six foot four. His hair—which she hadn’t been able to see when he’d been walking toward her—pulled back in a thong as it was—was much longer, falling to his waist, and so black it was nearly blue. And their eyes were different, she thought, sidling closer between them, ducking wildly gesturing arms, to get a good look. Oh, and how, she thought, for as silvery as Drustan’s were, Dageus’s were yellow-gold.

  Wow. All in all, two of the most gloriously handsome men she’d ever seen.

  Drustan stopped cursing and glowered at her. “Who are you?” he demanded, finally rubbing his shin.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you, but the moment you hear something you don’t like, do you ask questions to try to clear it up?” she demanded, hands on her hips and glaring back at him. “No. Not even one. You behave like a barbarian.” Not that she’d done much better, but wiser to go on the offensive than justify her own failings. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

  Drustan opened his mouth and closed it again. Ha, she thought smugly, the offensive had worked.

  Dageus’s brows rose and he laughed. “I must say, for being such a wee—”

  “I am not a nyaff,” she said defensively.

  “—lass, she certainly has fire.”

  “And it’s a fire you can keep your hands off,” Drustan snapped. He looked bewildered by his own words and added hastily, “I doona want you to get snared in her trap. ’Tis apparent she’s looking for someone to marry her.”

  “I am not looking for someone to marry me,” Gwen said firmly. “I’m looking for someone with a modicum of intellect.”

  “Ahem. That would be me, m’dear,” Silvan said mildly, raising an ink-spotted hand.

  Drustan scowled at his father.

  “Well, that would be,” Silvan said, crossing his arms over his bony frame and leaning back against the doorjamb. “You doona see me standing out there shouting my head off when a few simple questions might clear things up nicely.”

  “I’d say that qualifies,” Gwen said, tucking her arm through Silvan’s. She wasn’t going to get anything accomplished trying to talk to Drustan right now. Let him cool off outside for a while. She swept into the castle, towing Silvan along, and kicked the door shut with her heel.

  “I can’t tell you,” Gwen told Silvan for the third time, already regretting having come inside with him. The moment they’d entered the castle, the inquisition had begun, and until she talked to Drustan, she dare not tell Silvan a thing. She’d already made one mistake this morning. She was not going to make another. She would tell Drustan and only Drustan. He could tell whomever he trusted.

  “Well, what can you tell me? Anything?”

  Gwen sighed. She’d taken an instant liking to Silvan MacKeltar—another of those baffling gut instincts—the moment she’d seen him standing in the hall interrogating his son, with so much love in his eyes. She’d felt a twinge of envy, wondering what it must feel like to be the focus of such parental concern. Not only did he resemble Einstein, with his white hair, olive-toned skin, curious brown eyes feathered by wrinkles, and deep grooves bracketing his mouth, but he demonstrated a similar acuity of mind.

  Perched on the hearth in the Greathall, she glanced at the door, hoping Drustan would saunter in. Angry or not, she needed desperately to talk with him. “I told you my name,” she hedged.

  “Rubbish. That tells me naught but that you’re English with Irish ancestors, and a damned odd accent. How do you know Drustan?”

  She regarded him glumly.

  “How am I supposed to help you, m’dear, if you refuse to tell me a thing? If my son took your maidenhead, ’tis wedding you he’ll be. But I can’t force him if you doona tell me who you are and a bit about what happened.”

  “Mr. MacKeltar—”

  “Silvan,” he interrupted.

  “Silvan,” Gwen amended, “I don’t want you to force Drustan to marry me.”

  “Then what do you want?” he exclaimed.

  “More than anything right now?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’d like to know what the date is.” She hated asking it so baldly, but she needed to know. She drew some comfort from the fact that Dageus was still alive—it meant she’d arrived in time. But she wouldn’t feel entirely safe until she knew precisely, to the minute, how long she had.

  Silvan went very still, his dark eyes narrowed, head cocked at an angle. She suddenly had the eerie feeling he was listening with more than his ears, and watching with more than his eyes.

  And she knew she was right when he murmured softly, “Och, m’dear, you’re from a far far place, aren’t you, now? Nay, no need to reply. I doona understand what I sense, but I know you’re a stranger to this land.”

  “What are you doing, reading my mind? Can you do that?” She might believe anything of a man who’d fathered a son who could manipulate time.

  “Nay. ’Tis but a bit of deep listening in the old way, something neither of my sons are adept at, although I’ve tried to teach them. So ’tis the date you’re needing,” he said slowly. “I’ll trade you answers, what say you, Gwen Cassidy?”

  “I’m not going to get them any other way, am I?”

  He shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips.

  “I’ll answer your questions as honestly as I can,” she conceded, “but there are bound to be some that I can’t answer just yet.”

  “Fair enough. As long as you doona lie to me, m’dear, we’ll get on fine. If you can’t tell me what transpired last eve, then tell me why you can’t.”

  That was reasonably safe. “Because I must talk to Drustan first. If, once I talk with Drustan, he chooses to, he can tell you everything.”

  Silvan held her gaze, weighing her words for truth.

  “ ‘Tis the nineteenth day of July,” he said finally.

  About a month, Gwen thought, relieved. When Drustan had discovered that he was in the future, he said, Christ, I haven’t lost a mere moon. I’ve lost centuries. Translation: Initially he thought he had been in the cave for a month or so, which meant he’d been abducted somewhere in mid-August. He’d also said that Dageus had died “recently.” She’d had no idea how recent his grief had been and had assumed he’d meant several months or even a year ago. But apparently Dageus would die at some point in the next few weeks. She needed to know exactly when Dageus planned to leave for the Elliott’s; she had to prevent him from going at all.

  “Fifteen eighteen?” She hated wasting a question, but had to be sure. Considering that Drustan had gotten the month and day wrong, she supposed it was possible he’d messed up on the year too.

  Silvan’s eyes evinced utter fascination. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and peered at her. “Where are you from?” he breathed.

  She sighed and averted her gaze, half-afraid the canny man could read the answers in her eyes. She blinked, momentarily distracted by her first real look at the Greathall. When she’d come downstairs, she’d scarce seen past Drustan. The hall was elegant and lovely as her chamber had been, the floor fashioned of spotlessly scrubbed pale gray stones, the walls lined with brilliant tapestries. Two hounds snored softly beneath a large masterpiece of a table. Heavy velvet drapes were pulled back from tall paned windows, and the rosy marble double staircase gleamed in the morning light. A panel of stained glass was inset above the massive door, and silver shields and weapons adorned the walls on either side. “It’s a country you’ve never heard of,” she demurred, not about to say the good old U.S. of A. That would start a whole other conversation that could go on indefinitely.

  “Tell me, or you’ll get no answers from me. Really, where you’re from can hardly be too revealing, can it, now?”

&nbs
p; She blew out a frustrated breath. “America. Far across the ocean.”

  Again, he assessed her with his steady stare. “Fifteen eighteen,” he agreed. “And I know of the Americas. We doona call it that, but we Scots discovered it centuries ago.”

  “You did not,” she scoffed. “Christopher Columbus—”

  “Merely followed the Sinclair’s path, after he got his hands on the old maps left to the Templars.”

  “Oooh. You Scots have got to be the most arrogant—”

  “What a conundrum you are proving—”

  “Do you always talk over people?”

  He snorted with laughter. “You do it rather well yourself,” he said, smiling and patting her hand. “I think I’m going to like you quite a lot, lass. So, when do you plan to tell Drustan, so I may hear the whole story?”

  “The minute he walks in. And thanks for giving me an easy question.”

  “That’s not fair, that wasn’t a—”

  “Uh-uh. No way you’re reneging now. That was too a question.”

  “Aye, but not really and you know it,” Silvan grumbled. He averted his nose in a snit, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. “You’re a clever lass, aren’t you, now? Next?” he said dryly.

  “Is Dageus planning to take any trips soon?”

  “What a very odd question,” Silvan remarked, stroking his chin. “I must say you’ve got my curiosity in quite a lather. Aye, he is to go to the Elliott’s soon. Did Drustan take your virginity?”

  She blew out a breath slowly. “It’s a very complicated story,” she evaded, “and I must speak to Drustan as soon as possible. Your son is in danger. I believe he trusts you completely; however, he must decide what to tell you. I can’t say any more than that until he and I talk. Please respect that,” she added softly.

  He arched a brow, but nodded.

  When he took her hand between his and patted it, she felt funny inside. She couldn’t recall her own father ever doing such a thing. He held her hand for a few moments, his eyes narrowed, his expression pensive. She had the distinct, unsettling sensation that he was peering right into her soul. Was that possible? she wondered.