He has muscles everywhere.
The sudden sound of a waterfall made her frown. The nearest waterfall of any size to claim fame as a tourist attraction lay ten miles from the Highland games location. For her to have walked such a distance was impossible. She turned to look east and her steps faltered.
“Something is definitely wrong.” Haven gazed intently at the peaks that reached toward a hastily rising sun and knew in her heart they lacked the height and rounded look of age as the mountains near the games. These were more like large hills topped with bare rocks. Where were the snow-topped peaks?
“We couldn’t have walked so far that I don’t recognize that ridge. I grew up nearby and visited this area of the White Mountains all my life.” The path ended abruptly at the top of a slope that led to a wide-open meadow.
As perspiration trickled down her neck, and a warm breeze tossed her hair about her steamy neck, a grassy meadow full of grazing sheep beckoned. Hundreds of sheep filled the grassland.
“This is all wrong,” she whispered. Haven clasped a hand over her mouth in surprise. New England farms did not raise sheep in such quantities, especially ones sporting large horns. Even though their black faces seemed familiar, something weird was going on. Not trusting her feet to take another step, Haven forced her eyes to look from right to left in search of something—anything—familiar. Sunlight and low morning fog made everything shimmer with an eerie glow.
“Maybe I’m dreaming. Even those birds look strange.” Where the horizon filled with the morning sun’s stifling rays, large feathered hawk-like birds swooped and flapped high above the trees.
Maybe I’m dead.
CHAPTER 8
Kirk steadily marched down the hill, surprised at the urge to turn around and drink in her savage beauty. He had not slowed down when he came upon a meadow since their temporary camp lay beyond the far grove of trees. As he plodded along, he listened for her footfalls.
While on the woodland trail she muttered curses. When she had caught her skirt on a bush, he had glanced back with a quick peek to ensure her good health. With all the noise such a small woman created, he really had no need to turn.
No need except for the burning in his loins, teasing him to turn and gaze upon her beauty. Betrayed by his body, he snapped to attention and marched swiftly toward the trees. Kirk yearned to once again inhale her sweet fragrance of honeysuckle and wild strawberry that recalled springtime meadows more beautiful than the landscape before him.
Arguing with his own limbs to keep him headed straight and true, he cursed the moment he had seen his dream woman in the flesh. Surviving the shock, Kirk had clenched both fists so tight he feared he might snap his bow.
She talked with a strange accent and showed no fear. The beauty had noted his scar—everyone did—and did not shy away. She said she had to get to camp. To work. Those words struck him as odd. Finding a well-dressed lady alone in the forest had been peculiar as well since the camp lay a day’s ride from a village. Not even a crofter’s lodge or the home of a sheep tender lay close by.
Something deep inside agreed he would swear on his sister’s soul that the woman had no affiliation with a mere sheep herding family. Though well dressed, her gown showed hard use. Had she stolen the dress? Or, had she earned it selling her body?
His cheeks heated at the thought as he lumbered down the steep slope into the valley. Would the lovely, sweet smelling, well-dressed lady sell her body for a man’s pleasure? Nevertheless, a whore preferred to set up shop at a village where a pub provided a bed and plenty of clients. Then he remembered how some women followed armies into battle or on annual weeklong hunts. She had admitted the camp was in need of her talents.
And I am leading her to a camp full of lusty Highlanders.
His men were always eager to lie betwixt creamy white thighs. The sudden image of her legs, spread wide, made Kirk’s body tighten. He stopped so abruptly, the woman slammed into his back and knocked his bow to the ground. When her hands grabbed his arms to keep her balance, the muscles along his spine rippled at her touch.
Skin against skin, as hot as a brand.
The two of them stood alone but for a flock of sheep. The animals’ soft bleats echoed across the valley. Their calls could not hide her short gasp. Harsh breaths gave him away. The rapid intake of air kept time with the brisk beat of his heart. He stood in place while she righted herself. Kirk turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder and watched as she smoothed her skirt with slender, white hands.
When she looked up at him, her gaze locked on his mouth and then his scar. Kirk’s neck muscles trembled with the strength necessary to keep his hands to himself. The first stabs of pain pierced his skull and he rubbed the tense area with one palm. He knew the cause. He turned away and resumed his stance, with his back to the beautiful stranger. Kirk groaned.
“Are you ill?”
Her voice, lush as a summer breeze, warmed his heart and hardened his man part. With deliberate care, he stepped to the side and let her come abreast.
“Some shade might relieve my illness,” he lied. Kirk bent and grabbed his bow. He motioned toward a small stand of trees where ewes munched thick grass and small lambs nudged their udders. Songbirds rustled among the shelter’s branches, filling the air with their warbles. When he and the woman walked into their midst, the animals bleated loudly before they relinquished their refuge.
Kirk slid his bow off his shoulder and rested it against a tree. Bending slightly, he sensed her watching as his quiver of arrows landed on the ground with a dull thud.
“What are you doing? I thought we were headed to camp.”
Without responding, he loosened the wide swath of wool from the clasp at his shoulder and pushed the material off. The edge fluttered to the ground. With his chest totally bare, he dropped his leather-sheathed dirk to the grass. He glared at her face, but she glanced away. Kirk followed her gaze as it dipped to the ground then turned his way. Her pale green eyes widened, shimmering like the rolling meadow grass in the distance.
An unwanted image of his current betrothed flashed before his eyes, and Kirk froze. He had met Lady Fia of Clan Keith last May during Beltane, when a short span of proclaimed peace between both families allowed their respective clans to attend a Highland faire in relative safety. Lady Fia had bumped into him while walking with her guardian near a vendor selling honeyed ale. Though fair of face, and with hair like spun gold, he had responded with no more than a quiet greeting. “Beg your pardon, my lady.”
“’Tis no bother, my lord,” she had replied. Her gold eyelashes fluttered above eyes as blue as the river which flowed near Keldurunach. Lady Fia’s demure smile and comely figure had failed to stir his passion.
At their meeting, he had sported a perfect face. Had the petite, golden-haired niece of an enemy clan’s leader heard rumors of his disfigurement? If she refused him now, war would continue another hundred years.
He forgot his lack of passion for his prospective bride when the black-haired beauty standing before him smiled. Desire washed over him. His jaw clenched with indecision. Pain seared across his scarred cheek and caused his hands to fist.
Her smile brightened.
Decision made, Kirk slipped the leather belt from his body. He smiled when her attention locked on the large piece of pleated wool as it fell to his feet. Wearing only his boots, Kirk stood proud in his nakedness. His erection jutted out straight as an arrow, aimed at the woman with generous curves and hair black as midnight.
When he let out a calming breath, renewed pleasure flew through him, and urged him forward. Her scent, intoxicating and sweet, made him want to taste her. No woman had quenched his thirst in months. The urgent need to savor this woman coaxed his feet to walk closer. No such desire filled his heart when he thought of Lady Fia.
Kirk covered the distance between them and grabbed her by the upper arms. His fingers trembled as they circled the pale skin below the lace of her short, puffy sleeves. Her breath hitched and she
met his gaze. She raised her obstinate little chin. Her proud stance melted his heart, but his aching body forced his voice to break the silence.
“How much?”
* * * * *
“Are you out of your cotton-picking mind?” Haven said. His words struck her as nothing but a proposition. The next second, she was running. Faster and faster she ran, unaware if she escaped in the correct direction. Her lone slipper had disappeared the moment she’d spun, and dashed across the meadow. She ran like the wind past scattering sheep and screaming crows. Their protestations did not deter her in her single-minded conclusion to put distance between her and the naked giant.
Shards of broken pinecones bloodied her bare feet as she trampled them in her haste, yet she ran until she reached the relative safety of the trees at the opposite side of the large meadow. Out of breath, she laid one palm flat against the prickly bark, and paused. Supported by the tree, she caught her breath. Haven slapped her other palm on her shaking chest. Her feet throbbed, and her calves screamed. Breathing proved difficult so she forced her lungs to inhale slow, deep breaths.
“I cannot afford to pass out while—”
“Why did ye run from me?”
“Eek!”
His shadow blocked the sun. She’d never heard him approach, yet there he stood. Before words could form, she glanced at a face filled with remorse under tilted eyebrows and a deep frown.
Her attention landed on his scar. It cut diagonally across his left cheek, a dark red slash in his otherwise perfect, tanned, skin. Similar marks traversed his forearms and belly. Pity began to well up inside until she remembered he had stripped in front of her then asked her price.
As if I was some back alley prostitute!
He had wrapped his plaid around his lower half. At her perusal, his skin grew ruddy and his muscles tensed. Embarrassment had quelled his lust, and his plaid lay flat against his groin. Maybe he’d fallen under her spell. She’d been weaving a love spell yesterday with her herbs and minerals. Or, his attentiveness might be a normal reaction to a woman alone. She had to nip this in the bud before the man embarrassed himself further.
Then she remembered his words. The shock of his proposition immediately changed her attitude. Her cheeks and breasts grew hot with anger. Her fists clenched and she took a step closer. He must have registered her reaction because he stepped back.
She lashed out.
The slap hit him across his scar. When he winced, she instantly regretted her actions. Haven didn’t wait for his apology and ignored the fact she should offer one of her own. Instead, she limped away.
A meaty fist lashed out and grabbed her wrist. Haven stared down at his hand and shuddered. Heat of a more intimate sort seared her bare skin and a tremor pulsed between her thighs.
“Answer me, woman. What disgusts ye so about me to make ye run away? Am I too hideous for a beauty such as ye to accept my coin?”
Haven stared up at him and gasped. He released her arm. His grimace pulled at the dark scarring on his cheek and physical pain registered in his eyes. She regretted causing him more pain, yet hadn’t he been the one who insulted her with his disgusting suggestion?
“Let me get this straight,” she said. Haven hoped her voice did not hint at the sensual stirrings flooding her body. The minute she’d felt his touch, her womb clenched. What was up with that? His proposition repulsed her, but his handsome face and magnificent body had affected her in the most basic manner.
Right before my better judgment told me to run.
“You accuse me of trading sex for money, and I am the one to explain?”
The giant, who hadn’t even told her his name as yet, stood in silence. His gaze bore into her with more attention than when they first met across the stream.
“My lady, I beg forgiveness if yer dress and circumstances led me astray. Due to the less than fine upkeep of yer clothing and the reference about working at camp, I took yer words to mean ye be a camp follower. I only wished to make use of yer favors before the rest of my men filled yer bed.”
Her shock made her eyesight swim. Surely a man this attractive had no trouble finding dates. Why would he think whores spent the weekend at family-oriented Highland games?
“Does my scarring disgust ye?”
“Heavens no!”
His face softened. A slight smile sprouted, changing his entire look. From his broad shoulders to his tanned upper arms and chest, his handsome ruggedness made Haven’s body ripple with pleasure.
How absurd.
It took another moment to realize he’d spoken again.
“What did you ask?”
“I have adequate coin to fill yer pockets. I am no lowly archer, but the chief of my clan. Out for a hunt, I am indeed fortunate to find so tasty a prey.” The giant whispered the last sentence as his large fingers reached out and stroked her cheek.
“I am not for sale,” she whispered, but did not pull away. A smile crept along her mouth at his kind words until, much to her annoyance, she remembered he wanted to use her like a common prostitute.
“Have I erred?”
“Damn right, mister. What is your name, anyway?”
“Kirkwall Gunn, chieftain of Clan Gunn of the moors of Caithness and the village of Keldurunach. And yours, my sweet?”
Since he must be a visitor from Scotland, he’d be leaving the country soon. No use sharing her complete identity with someone she’d have nothing to do with once she made it back to the village and he left the country. “You may call me Haven.”
“Ye even bear the name of the sweet sanctuary a man searches for in the arms of a woman.” He chuckled.
Great. He’s gone from rude lothario to the Joker.
Haven bit her bottom lip to keep from lashing out with unladylike curses. “Actually, my mother named me for the nymphs of the ash tree.”
His loud guffaw only made her bristle more.
“My clothes are in this condition because I spent a rainy night in the woods due to a storm. A cut hand accounts for the blood. I usually keep my hair combed and better tended, but, as I said, I spent an unintentional night on the ground. I lost one shoe and then the other, and I am in no mood to explain myself to a stranger.”
“I offer my humblest apology, dear lady. I should offer aide to help ye reach safety and yet my mind has strayed to more pleasant thoughts.”
“Not only your mind,” Haven muttered. The bulge beneath his plaid had returned. “I’m not looking for a camp full of men. The historical village is on the side of a mountain, near several open meadows. There are a few sheep, several Highland cows, and about ten thousand people milling about. Aren’t you on your way to enter the competitions? ”
His eyes opened wide at her statement. A smooth, glossy set of abdominal muscles jiggled when he slammed both fists on his hips.
“Ten thousand, did ye say?”
“Yes, Iona told me the attendance every day at the festival is large. Why?” A shot of fear spiked along her spine when his smile dropped into a frown. Even his scar took on a taut, dark visage. When a warm breeze blew several strands of his hair over the offending blemish, she contemplated his stubble. He looked like a sleek wild cat, ready to pounce. And he looked familiar.
“The man from my vision,” she said.
He’s here, in the flesh. Devil’s own luck, this is so strange.
Haven stepped back and tripped over a tree root. She landed on her bottom, expelling a loud breath of air.
I am such a klutz!
“Take care, my lady.”
Before she could wriggle to her feet, he reached down and lifted her with ease. He brushed twigs and dried mud from her bottom until she slapped his hand away.
“Stop that. I assume by your costume that you’re also attending the games. I figured you knew its location. If prostitutes—or whores—work the Highland games, it’s news to me. I hate to disappoint you, but, don’t touch me again.”
* * * * *
They left the sheep-filled meadow
long behind. Kirk pushed through branches and low bushes while he searched for the trail back to camp. When she had spurned his advances, bile rose in his gut. Women once came willingly to his bed. He’d suffered the wound only recently and his visage had lost its appeal.
“The one time I decide to pay for a whore, she refuses,” he muttered. He rarely sought physical pleasure within his village. A few women worked the trade, but even outcasts in his own clan shrunk from his touch. The pressure in his groin did not disperse simply because he traveled with a lady of virtue. The more he looked at her pale, lush breasts and her long, tapered neck, the harder he grew.
I must leave her be. I won’t force myself on a woman.
“Good to know.”
Had he spoken his thoughts aloud? This woman from his dreams acted intuitive. She would catch an untruth and throw it back in his face with a vengeance. He mumbled a curse.
“What’s that?”
He decided to lie. As a laird, his thoughts were private.
“I said I am sad.”
“Sad? What could possibly bring tears to your big blue eyes?”
She had noticed the color of his eyes?
“I am sorry ye are not a woman of coin, because I believe a roll in the heather with ye could be the sweetest blessing I might experience all year.”
Without another word, or a glance at her face, he picked up the pace and left her in his dust. He would not deny he wanted her. His men would find her attractive. She seemed unaware of this fact. Dirty clothes and torn lace did not detract from the lovely roundness of her hips and the delicate fingers he earlier watched twirl a few satiny curls of her raven-black tresses. He would give the entire contents of the treasure wagon for just one night inside her—”
Slam!
Hit from behind, he fell. Stunned, he felt the point of a tiny but sharp dagger bite into the skin beneath his right ear as a warm knee pressed into the small of his back. Kirk spit dirt from his mouth and turned his head to the side.
“How dare you suggest something so disgusting! I don’t—how did you put it—‘roll in the hay’ with anyone. Don’t move,” she said.
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 137