10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set
Page 130
Will I die quick by the hands of brigands after our gold? Or, slow, locked in marital strife hidden under the guise of matrimony.
He pulled at the lower edge of his leather jerkin. It offered little protection from the coming rain, so he yanked his wool plaid up and over his head. The clink of metal rings and the slap of leather reins against another’s mount brought his mind back to the present.
His foster son, Reid MacRob, rode to his side perched on a smaller Highland pony. Sporting pale skin dotted with freckles, the washed-out color was in stark contrast to the boy’s flame-red hair. The gangly lad hailed from an outlying village and had arrived when seven years of age.
“A storm comes. Say the word, my chief, and a soft pallet and warm fire will appear. Yer tent will keep the rain at bay. I shall see to it personally. Not a drop shall muddy yer boots.”
“Aye, a soft bed and a hardy meal would do me good, though the rain might keep the fires spitting and smoking all night.” Kirk’s complaint did not wipe the smile from the proud young man’s face.
“Cook packed cheese and crusty loaves of yeasty bannock, and I strung skins of wine to my saddle. Poor fare, but plentiful.”
“Such a repast will suffice tonight. Restlessness has eaten at me all day.” His fingers opened and closed as he fought to relax. Kirk smiled at the lad. “A time for rest approaches.”
“I am at yer service and only strive to make ye comfortable on this journey.”
Kirk faced the journey’s end with dread. The future of his village and possibly his entire clan rested on his wide shoulders and healthy body. An heir would mean peace between two clans whose feud had lasted too long and killed too many.
“Are ye anxious to see yer betrothed? Lady Fia of Clan Keith is a beauty, I am told.”
“Aye, that she is.” Thumping his fist against his thigh, he cursed the Keiths. A deep breath did not cleanse away the thought of buying peace with the flesh of his children. Still, he agreed a marriage between two warring clans would bring lasting harmony to both sides. If only he could conjure a simpler solution.
“Are ye looking forward to yer wedding night?” A soft chuckle slipped from the young lads lips.
“When you are older, young Reid, you shall realize beauty in itself does not make an acceptable bride.”
“Cameron says a bonny face makes the bedding a pleasant tussle.”
Kirk could not help the smile that tugged at his mouth.
Reid grimaced. “I do not care to tussle with a wench. Not until I prove myself as a clan warrior who fights beside ye and Cameron and Balfour. Only then shall I have my pick of the best in the valley.” Reid’s toothy grin heralded the truth behind his words.
Despite the pinch of his scar, Kirk laughed aloud. He found little reason to laugh ever since he had agreed to his fate. A future he would never have chosen of his own free will awaited behind the walls of Castle Ruadh. As a more polite response broached his lips, an arrow whistled past his ear.
“Attack!”
Deep-throated cries split the early evening air at the same time black clouds spewed icy raindrops. Mounted warriors burst from a copse of trees followed by men on foot. Each rider brandished a huge sword. The Warriors on foot carried dirks and shields and shortened the distance between both groups in seconds. Remnant sunbeams from the setting sun, peeking through clouds, glinted off swords. Wet metal sliced through raindrops as the battle commenced.
Within a mere heartbeat, a sword sliced across the breast of the man to Kirkwall’s left. Reid screamed to his right. Kirk whirled his mount around as he unsheathed his powerful broadsword from its leather scabbard. He stared at the lad’s bloodied fingers as they clutched the shaft of an arrow piercing his shoulder. The lad’s horror-filled gaze latched on Kirk’s.
“Do not pull it out. Ride to the carts! Warn them!” The cries of clashing swords and thunder booms gave him no time to ensure the boy obeyed. With a shake of his head, he tossed off his hood to clear his vision then let loose a war cry of his own.
Several of the enemy faltered. His heart quickened at their fear and his thrill for battle. Two mounted warriors spun toward him with swords raised. Their attention now on him, they ignored their previous quarry. Wariness washed over him before he rushed them.
They are after me and I have a feeling I know who sent these dogs.
He swung his sword. He felt everything; the weight of the steel, the slam of each heartbeat, and the drag of wet wool across his damp body. Icy rain streamed down the back of his neck. His mount’s powerful haunches obeyed his body’s commands. The power behind his attack dismounted both men. His beast reared then stomped one bleeding warrior into the mud. The other ran into the trees.
A quick glance at the battle proved no man needed Kirk’s sword arm. Blood poured from wounded arms and legs, staining many a Gunn clan plaid, but several of their opponents lay dead in the mud.
He squinted toward the back of their party, but saw nothing of the treasure wagons hidden by the curve of the road. His cousin and fellow guards would defend the contents.
“Coward, do not run from me.” Kirk galloped after the man escaping on foot. The sky darkened and dumped buckets of freezing rain, but he pushed away the sensation. His mount’s ears lay flat while its thick brown mane whipped him in the face, obscuring his vision. He ignored the sting.
With his attention on his target, he squinted through the thick shadows at the forest’s edge. Plunging through the underbrush, he urged his mount to run. Dodging roots and low branches, he listened for his quarry. Nearly blinded, his other senses sprang into action.
A horrible thought intruded. The enemy used arrows as their first line of offense, but not one of the attacking warriors carried bows. A prickle along his damp neck warned Kirk that he had become the hunted. Flicking his eyes to the trees, he hunched low over his steed’s broad neck. A smaller target might live longer. Caution won out.
There is safety in numbers. I must return to my men.
Kirk kneed his beast and headed back. He growled at his futile attempt to run down his enemy. Though not bent on killing him, a few well-placed strikes with the flat of his sword might have loosened his tongue. His pulse pounded with no recourse; with no outlet to stem his rage at having to quit the hunt. Instead, he vowed to name the bastards who attacked.
Rain splashed the tips of his eyelashes and dripped down his chest. He yanked his plaid back up and over his head. A heavy downpour and a flash of lightning suddenly blinded him. He wiped a bloodied hand across his face as another streak of fire sparkled across the sky, Kirk reined in his mount before nearly plowing into a dark figure astride a huge black beast.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?”
The calm, gravelly voice settled like a heavy block of ice upon Kirk’s ears. His beast pranced in the mud, its hot breath steaming. Kirk’s fingers tingled as he clenched the hilt of his sword, raised it high, and pointed his weapon at the heart of the man dressed head to toe in black to match his hair and beard.
“Lord Marcas Mackenzie. As I live and breathe.”
“Not for long.”
“I hoped to avoid ye on this trip.” Kirk shook the hood from his head.
“How lucky for me, then. I should have recognized that head of hair at once. How convenient it shall match the dried blood soon covering your corpse.”
Battle ready, Kirk squinted in the low light. A sneer pulled at his scar. Pain gripped him, but he shook it off. Raw hate muddied his vision as he beheld the vile monster responsible for the death of his lover. The same man who had scarred his flesh.
“I see my handiwork remains.” With a cry that startled even Kirk’s well-trained beast, the man known as The Mackenzie attacked. He swung his long sword at Kirk’s shoulder. Both weapons collided and rent the sky with the shriek of metal on metal. Their warrior cries joined the clamor of shouts, curses, and thunder.
An edgy euphoria washed over Kirk’s limbs as the battle intensified. He had trained for battles
since big enough to hold a weapon. White-hot lightning threatened death and destruction to all within earshot, but Kirk did not care, even when a bolt slashed between them and hit the wet earth at their mount’s hooves. Mud and rocks flew outward as heat and steam sizzled skyward. Both beasts reared.
An acrid smell filled Kirk’s nostrils, and his eyes stung. Frosty raindrops threatened to blind him again. A roar erupted from deep within as Kirk’s vision wavered and his limbs grew heavy. Before he could determine whether The Mackenzie had struck a mortal blow, or that a bolt of lightning had found its mark, sounds of battle and dying men faded.
Waving his sword in a defensive semicircle, he returned his attention to where his archenemy and steed last stood. He wiped hair and rain from his forehead with the back of his left hand expecting to come away bloody, but his vision cleared enough to see nothing but mist. The Mackenzie had disappeared into the thickening fog.
In his stead, a hazy cloud bubbled up between the earth and sky. Colors swirled and danced inside its borders then coalesced into a female form. As the curvaceous image solidified, his heart lurched. Something about this creature called to him.
The thud emanating from his chest pounded in his ears. He drew closer, fighting his mount as his steed pranced and screamed. After controlling the creature with a commanding voice, Kirk dismounted, and raised his sword.
“God’s teeth,” Kirk whispered. Everything had faded from view except the mist.
And the woman.
She stood with her back to him. Long, raven locks tumbled down the back of her simple green gown. A gentle breeze teased her frock’s hem to reveal her naked calves above simple calfskin slippers. No boots? No wool cloak? How could she not feel the brunt of the winds that buffeted the forest surrounding the battle?
“Why are ye here?” he roared. Concern for her safety propelled him forward.
When she spun and faced him, her long, black hair fluttered in a halo of wispy curls. Two pale green eyes widened, and her berry-red lips parted silently with surprise. One delicate hand slapped against her chest, over her heart.
An ample chest, at that.
Unable to look away, Kirk studied the pale-skinned creature whose lithe figure enticed his man parts to harden and his blood to heat.
“Why are you here? In battle?”
She cocked her head sideways as if listening, but remained mute. He strode forward to better gaze upon her beauty. Glancing upward, past the swell of perfect breasts, a slender neck, delicate chin, and luscious lips, his attention landed on the slight arch of her nose. A lovely nose dotted with delicate freckles.
Mine.
The thought, so foreign to anything he might have imagined on this day, rushed head-on with a surge of desire so strong it made his steps falter.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
The suddenness of her voice, when the conversation had proceeded one-sided for too long, drew him to a stop several feet away. She had surprised him by answering, yet offered no explanation.
“Me? Ye be the one standing in the midst of a deadly battle!”
The woman stepped closer and looked behind him. “I don’t see anyone. Where did you come from?”
He focused on her lips, then turned to look. The mist was thick and he no longer heard the sounds of battle; no cries of men, or clanging of swords. Even the rain had ceased to fall. Turning back, he sniffed the air, surprised at the absence of the brimstone odor of a lightning strike. Instead, her fragrance drifted over him, enticing him with the scent of Highland wildflowers. Overwhelmed with her beauty and intoxicating fragrance, he dropped his sword and grabbed her by the upper arms.
“Hey. Knock it off!”
Kirk ignored her plea and gazed into her eyes. She did not cower beneath his show of force. In fact, she straightened her back, then kicked him in the shin.
“God’s teeth, woman. That hurt.” He kept his hold on her soft, naked skin.
“You started it,” she huffed.
Kirk’s impulse to taste the mouth spouting insults took over. Drawing her into his embrace, he heaved a sigh of relief when she came willingly. Her eyes widened the moment she realized he had easily enclosed her within his arms. She winced.
“You’re cold and wet,” she said.
Kirk had no cause to doubt the lass, recalling the storm and battle minutes earlier, so he smiled. She stared up at him, blessing him with sparkling pale green eyes like jewels filled with mischief.
“Let me warm ye.” Kirk grabbed a fistful of inky locks, gently tilted her head back, and feathered his lips over her. His hunger for more warred with his need to not frighten the lass. He felt it in his bones that when he released her—if he ever let her go—she would disappear as quickly as she arrived.
Even though he traveled eastward to marry a woman who meant nothing to him except protection for his clan, his mind worked to rewrite his future to include this nameless vixen. As he continued to kiss her, and she softened beneath his touch, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth.
She did not protest. Instead, the beautiful creature moaned with pleasure and curved her body into his chest and groin. The sound of her moans and the delicious heat of her body filled him with desire so strong, he fought against the need to strip her naked and ravish her in the mud.
Pulling back ever so slowly, Kirk gazed into her partially closed eyes, then placed soft kisses upon her eyelids. When he straightened and set her away from him, to get a better look at her, the fog began to break apart. Kirk’s breath caught.
“No!” As he had feared, nothing he said kept her image from fading as quickly as she had appeared. The sounds of the raging battle returned, and Kirk’s beast whinnied behind him. The maiden’s mouth widened in surprise.
“Ye be fading from my sight. Do not go!”
“Devil’s own luck!”
The pungent scent of sizzling lightning returned. He grabbed the animal’s reins and gathered up his sword in case Mackenzie found them, then mounted. He charged through the receding vapors and easily passed through the mist as he searched for his enticing female quarry. Kirk stopped abruptly when his beast crashed headlong into Mackenzie’s mount.
Both men tumbled from their saddles and landed on the muddy ground. Rolling away, Kirk regained his balance. Swords clanged nearby and the sky flashed. Thunder rumbled and the cries of men and swords returned.
“Prepare to die, Mackenzie,” he yelled. With each swing of his broadsword, Kirk searched for the odd fog or the woman encased in the mist. Nothing but Mackenzie filled his vision. Like salt on a wound, the heavens opened and darkness closed ranks.
CHAPTER 2
Present Day New England
“Who was that?” Haven MacKay asked aloud as she peered from behind a tree at the fading bubble of mist. Touching her fingertips to her lips, the taste of the stranger’s mouth lingered. Her dress was damp from his wet clothes and dripping russet hair. His fierce expression, before he grabbed her, made her fear he would strike her.
“Far from it,” she said to the wind. Hell. What exactly happened when she scattered herbs along the forest path, then tumbled a few mineral stones inside her pocket? Using ingredients from an ancient text she’d uncovered in the attic of the herb store where she worked, she had prayed they would make her see clearly.
When the thick fog rose up and engulfed her, she knew she had miscalculated. Her wish to meet a man who would love her was a simple request, and the reason she slipped away during her break. Haven had to accomplish her task in secret.
“Well, he can’t be the guy I’m looking for.” When she pictured the type of man to share her life and treat her well, she thought of a handsome and successful businessman in a suit. He’d carry a laptop on the way to his important career—not ride a horse while brandishing a sword. Even so, she had loved the stranger’s dark hair…and his kiss.
As she headed for the trail, she recalled how his hair—somewhere between deep red and rich mahogany—framed a handsome face. His ice blu
e eyes and straight nose were interesting, but his jagged scar lent him an air of mystery. He wore an ancient-style kilt over tree trunk thighs. How could wool, draped over one broad shoulder and over a simple white shirt and a dark vest, protect anyone from a storm?
“He looked more like one of the re-enactors visiting the Highland games.” Haven’s steps faltered. Had anyone heard her conversing with herself? She’d made sure no one noticed when she had sneaked away from the historical encampment.
After another quick glance through the dense foliage, she slipped from the grove of white birch trees and stepped onto the path. It led to the reproduction of an ancient Scottish village laid out on the grassy slope of the novice hill. The ski area was a brilliant place to hold the annual Highland games since the New England landscape was similar to the Scottish Highlands. Broad stretches of rolling hills, a huge parking lot between two fabulous ski lodges, and the views…
“I could stand here all day and stare at these mountains.” Fall foliage in red, orange, and deep yellow dotted the branches of stately maple trees and oaks that stood nestled between evergreens. Their colors climbed toward peaks normally dusted with snow.
Too warm.
Arching her back, she stretched tight muscles, then tipped her head back to drink in the beauty of the afternoon sky. Besides puddles, last night’s drizzle left behind blue skies, wispy clouds, and sunshine.
Straightening, she tugged on the bottom of her suede vest then retied a loose lace at one side. As she pinched the lacy edge of her pale green, peasant top, she glanced down the trail past the encampment’s lower border where it widened beside a grassy slope. Her thoughts drifted back to the stranger who had kissed her senseless. She ought to get back to work, but a few deep breaths couldn’t hurt.
And I can’t face Iona. Not just yet.
Her best friend would read it in her face and yell. “No, she wouldn’t yell. She’d say she was disappointed I tried to use my herbs and stones for personal gain. She doesn’t understand.”
No one could.