10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set

by P. L. Parker, Beth Trissel, L. L. Muir, Skhye Moncrief, Sky Purington, Nancy Lee Badger, Caroline Clemmons, Bess McBride, Donna Michaels

  “Aye, I thought I might lie here awhile.” He turned his head a bit. “At least until I see but one of ye.”

  “What? Did I hurt you?”

  The moment the pressure lessened, Kirk spun, grabbed the fist holding the weapon, and deftly threw her to her back. Rolling, he covered her body with his own. Her enraged shrieks battered his ears. Her molten glare bore into his face. As he stared down at her loveliness, she softened beneath him.

  “Please.” She ceased her struggles.

  “What do ye think yer doing, threatening the laird of the Gunn clan? Such an act of treason could earn ye a swift death. And if ye lay another scar upon my body, I’ll see to it yer death is slow and painful.”

  Her mouth opened and closed before her tongue darted out to wet her berry-red lips. Kirk’s body betrayed him once again and he knew the minute she felt his burgeoning erection. Tears sprung from her pale green eyes. When her body shook with gentle sobs, he sighed.

  “Quiet, lass. I mean ye no harm. ‘Tis the truth. My words were spoken in jest. Why did ye attack me with yer weapon drawn? Am I so offensive to yer eyes ye would rather put me from my misery?” He curled one fist around both of her slender wrists then hoisted them above her head. Her breasts, crushed under the weight of his chest, were nearly exposed.

  Kirk’s tongue lashed out and tasted the creamy flesh above the tattered lace. His erection pulsed each time she breathed beneath him until he felt her terror-filled shakes subside.

  “Please, let me go.”

  Her whispered plea affected him as swiftly as a pail of icy creek water. He rolled from atop her and lay on his back. Kirk gently set her sgian dubh between her perfect breasts. Her flesh quivered, propelling him to his feet. Kirk sighed then brushed leaves and dirt from his clothing. He pulled her up and he coughed when she dusted off her curvy bottom.

  “Where there are sheep, there is apt to be a farmhouse. They’ll know the way to the games,” she said.

  He listened, but ignored her words since the lass was mistaken. No buildings lay nearby. His cousin Cameron had scouted this area before they began their trek.

  “We are quite alone. No buildings. No people. Only sheep and a few hungry men. My camp is near.”

  She must have smelled the cook fires because her stomach rumbled. He nodded toward the trees.

  “I see smoke.”

  “Aye. The noon meal will be ready upon my return.”

  “I missed breakfast.” She rubbed her stomach through the muddy gown.

  He laughed out loud.

  “It’s not funny and Jake will be hurt.”

  “Ye worry over a man?” His voice boomed. The treetops exploded as dozens of large birds took flight. Her cries of alarm brought on a surge of guilt.

  Why should I care about an unknown man whose name flew from her lips with familiarity?

  Kirk’s steps faltered. Jealousy, a foreign feeling with his history, mocked him. “I am sorry if I frightened ye.”

  “You didn’t. Those birds sure did. Jake taught me about falcons and hawks and I know they won’t hurt me, but, they sure look scary.” She sighed as if she recalled a sensual memory then added, “He’s been especially nice to me.”

  Kirk inhaled a few deep breaths then continued his trek toward camp. He left her to contemplate his rival for her affections. A chilling thought sliced through his chest and reminded him of the reason for his trek toward Castle Ruadh. As long as he and his men survived any more of Mackenzie’s attacks, his own betrothed waited for him.

  CHAPTER 9

  Haven clasped one trembling hand over her heart and fingered the dagger through the fabric. The naked flesh above her breasts tingled from the memory of his tongue, but didn’t dampen the pain of her damaged soles. She stepped cautiously through the heavier brush. Why had they meandered off the better trail?

  Damned if I’ll ask him.

  The giant—Kirkwall, as he called himself—sprinted ahead. Pine needles and uneven roots hindered her progress. She cringed at every pebble and squishy mushroom. His guttural voice that had spit curses ever since she’d bashed him on the head, faded away.

  Should she pick another path? How could she be sure he led her to safety? He had assured her a camp full of men lay in this direction. Would the camp have similar well-built examples like this guy?

  If so, I’m screwed.

  She chuckled at her own sick joke. A sound rose far to her left. Metallic clangs and deep voices drifted toward her from far away. Curiosity made her veer off the crude trail. Haven’s heart rate quickened. She must be getting close to the athletic competition area at the Highland games.

  As she plunged through the trees and underbrush as fast as her sore feet would allow, loud voices loomed ahead. She nearly wept with relief. Haven looked forward to a bath even if she had to pour Jake’s barrel of water over her head. She broke free of the thick forest greenery and stepped onto a grassy knoll by a boulder-strewn cliff.

  Her immediate halt brought instant relief to her pain-wracked feet. She wiggled her toes in the soft grass and gazed out over a large meadow of green dotted with vibrant wildflowers.

  Flowers that shouldn’t be blooming in September amid grass that ought to have dried into pale, brown hay.

  Haven swung her attention in the direction of grunts and groans. When she spied the individuals who caused the sounds, any sane woman would return to the safety of the trees.

  Never said I was sane.

  A herd of magnificent horses, with coarse manes, muscular backs, and long tails flicking back and forth, munched grass near a bevy of tents. The camp looked nothing like the one at the Highland games. Her eyes drifted from the large horses to the men. Big, muscular, sweaty, half-naked men.

  Oh, my.

  Every head turned, with the exception of a tall man dressed entirely in black leather. He wielded a huge sword and checked-up when his opponent stilled his own blade.

  “Ha! Did I say that aloud?” Haven tried looking nonchalant, as if men stared at her with a hungry look every day. Mesmerized by the man’s straight back, swirling cloak, and impressive weapon, Haven gasped when he lowered his sword, turned to face her, and his expressive eyes widened. Haven sucked in a stilted breath as she looked at his face.

  “Cal?” Her gut clenched and her heart fluttered in fear until she looked closer.

  Impossible. He isn’t Cal.

  The man leering at her stood at least four inches taller and carried a good thirty pounds more solid muscle. His severe clothes matched his shoulder-length, coal-black hair and beard, unlike Cal’s shorter, stylish cut. As he slid his sword inside a leather scabbard at his side, she focused on a dagger at his other hip that was twice the length of Ross Mackenzie’s dirk.

  But, his eyes…

  “Who the devil are ye?” Cal’s clone barked with a mocking laugh meant to frighten, but the lilt behind the words caught her attention. He certainly didn’t sound like Cal. Trying to analyze other subtle differences, she focused on whispers, grunts, and the sound of rustling grass. Several of his fellow swordsmen crept closer, every eye on her. A few flicked glances his way, as if Cal’s double was in charge.

  “You aren’t Cal Murchie,” Haven said, turning her attention back to the man in black. “I’m looking for the Highland games. I heard your swordplay and assumed you were part of the athletic events. Can you point me in the right direction?”

  His smile broadened and filled his face, yet when it didn’t meet his eyes, she shivered. Then he arched a brow and stared at her mouth. He strode in her direction, and she pressed a hand over her heart where her tiny dagger lay hidden.

  “Ye must be lost, lass, but now ye are found. Welcome to our humble camp. I wondered if there were any other games my men could practice as—what did ye call it? Swordplay?—can dull the senses.”

  “What do you mean?” She swallowed as his piercing gaze dropped to the hand on her chest. Stopping in front of her, his black-gloved hand swept cool, leather-clad fingers across the tops
of her breasts. She swatted it away.

  His gaze rose and bore into her face.

  “Once a Mackenzie makes a plan, he holds fast,” he said.

  She’d heard those words before. Blood rushed from her head at Cal’s familiar threat. Were the men related? Thoughts of Cal caused her temper to flare, yet a prickle of fear slid down her spine.

  “Playing with ye will be my treat.”

  Before he could grab her, Haven whirled and ran. She gathered up the heavy hem of her gown and urged her feet to fly. Never mind the pain in both feet; never mind the terror in her heart; something had changed.

  This is all wrong! Men do not act this way toward women.

  Behind her, growls and curses rent the air. She dare not turn to count their number since it didn’t matter if one or twenty-one followed on her heels. An arrow thudded into the grass beside her.

  “Help me!”

  * * * * *

  Kirk’s men welcomed him as he strode into camp. They were busy packing the spoils of the hunt, but he insisted they delay their departure. Their injured comrades back at the main camp were in need of the food, but he had to find the woman. She had slipped from his sight for no more than a heartbeat in time. He foolishly thought he could handle one wayward lass, but she had disappeared.

  He ordered a nearby warrior to saddle his steed. Retracing his steps, he came upon her trail. Kirk had followed it, but discovered he had been too late to prevent from her walking into a pack of unknown warriors wearing no clan badges on their bonnets.

  Kirk sat astride his beast and contemplated his next move as he watched Lady Haven run for her life. Hobbled mounts munched grass while a dozen men hunted feminine prey on foot. When one let loose an arrow, Kirk slid his sword from its sheath and urged his steed forward. The lethal projectile fell wide of its target, most likely on purpose. The archer meant to frighten her, to make her stop. Why injure such tasty flesh? He growled.

  I acted no different from these bastards.

  “She needs our help, old friend,” he whispered to his steed. Though mounted and armed, he could not fight them all. The best he could do is get between the warriors and their quarry then carry her to safety. Kirk closed the distance. He galloped down the grassy slope, toward the woman who had come to him in a vision and had failed to follow him out of the woods.

  “Mercenaries,” he hissed as he bent low over his mount’s back. They were the worst type of warrior. They would abuse Lady Haven before slitting her delicate, white throat. Without regret.

  A disturbing image of Lady Haven bubbled up, stealing his breathe. She lay writhing in pain beneath the brutal assault of these strangers while blood, crimson as her gown, flowed from her body. Kirk urged his mount to hasten, yet no one noticed his approach. They had locked their attention on the screaming woman whose jet-black hair flapped behind her like faerie wings.

  If I fail, she will die.

  A guttural curse escaped his lips at the cruel image. A corresponding howl from the nearest man made everyone slide to a stop. Having revealed his presence, Kirk let out a fearsome war cry and charged into the group. Astride a huge steed, and with his great sword gleaming under the midday sun, men scattered.

  “Get the lass,” someone screamed.

  Kirk saw a black-haired man dive behind a thick stand of trees near the edge of the small field. Familiarity spiked along his spine but Kirk had one course to obey. Three men continued to follow Haven while the others veered his way.

  His great steed whirled in a tight circle while his sword dipped and swung. Men cried and fell. Howling his satisfaction when others ran, he galloped across the field toward the second group of thugs. Lady Haven ran like a doe, yet they gained on her.

  He swooped alongside her last three pursuers. With shouts and curses, blood sprayed his thigh as he cut them down with ease. His breath came in quick gulps as he hastily surveyed the carnage. Back beyond the grove of trees where the others had fled, he heard numerous voices raised and the whinnying of their mounts.

  Company is coming.

  Kirk turned toward Lady Haven as she neared a flock of sheep huddled in the shade of trees rimming the meadow. She dodged the herd, leaping as if she could fly. The beasties paid her no mind, but other dangers might lurk around the next bend. Wiping his sword on his mount’s withers, he sheathed his weapon then rode through bawling lambs and bleating ewes in her wake.

  * * * * *

  Haven covered her ears at the cries of dying men. She ran for her life. Her entire body shook and her rapid breaths gave her lungs too little air to aid her in her plight.

  “If I pass out, I’m dead,” she gasped. Panting, she peeked over her shoulder. A man brandished a sword while mounted on a gigantic horse. When he swung the blade downward, many of her pursuers fell dead.

  “Dear Lord, what is happening? I must be dreaming, yet even I could not dream up such horror.” She stumbled over a lamb. The ball of shaggy wool stared up at her before it bleated to its mother. Haven eyed the horned ewe warily until her mind drifted, again.

  This is mid-September. Aren’t lambs born in the early spring?

  Everything is wrong; the time of year, the temperature, the mountains. She must be dreaming. She always wanted a life full of love and adventure, not rape and death. Her breathing hitched when the unmistakable thunder of hooves grew closer. Peeking behind her, Haven’s vision swam. She screamed then everything went dark.

  * * * * *

  Coming to her senses, Haven peered up at a limb attached to a scraggly tree. Spindly needles rained down as one chattering little bird bounced on the branch. The vision faded in and out. The familiar scent of pine soothed her while dust and pollen set her nostrils twitching. She lay on something hard while the chilly water of a slow-moving creek lapped at her bloody feet. The water cooled the burn and soothed the ache.

  She licked her parched lips with her tongue, to no avail. Too dry. She heard other noises. Unfamiliar noises. The pain kept her from caring. She’d forgotten all about her bruised ribs. At least the burn on her thigh had lessened. Her first clear thought was to find a place to hide and tend her wounds. Then she recalled men who tried to shish-ka-bob her with arrows.

  Where the hell am I and what is going on?

  Closing her eyes against the dizziness, she inhaled. Even the air smelled different. Where were the familiar aromas of meat pies cooking at the vendor’s tents? Where were the quirky scents of pork-filled bridies and buttery shortbread cookies? How could she not smell a sausage roll cooking on a hot grill or Jake’s smoky brazier?

  “Be ye injured anywhere beside yer feet, lass?”

  The deep voice hovered around her head. Haven’s eyes snapped open and she looked up. Shock followed another urge to scream, but sanity prevailed as her vision cleared.

  “Kirkwall?”

  “Aye.”

  She lay nestled in his lap. Haven let her body relax and pushed the numbness and dizziness aside. What happened after she’d looked back and saw a man on horseback barreling down on her as she ran?

  The scent of leather, sweat, and blood invaded her senses. Kirk had killed those men to protect her. Slamming shut both eyes, she breathed deep several times. Amid everything she’d experienced since the storm, she focused on the gentle arms wrapped around her.

  Acting brave, while her inner child hid in a dark corner, she slowly raised her eyelids. A horse, tethered nearby, drank from the same creek in which her feet dangled. She pulled her legs back and tucked them beneath her dress then pushed out of the embrace. When she jumped to her feet, she cried out.

  “I asked if ye be injured.”

  Haven shook her head before moving away. Gaining distance between her and the Highlander seemed prudent before she succumbed to his charms. Even covered in blood he exuded a magnetism that heated her body.

  I have to get out of here, away from this crazy place.

  As if he’d read her mind, Kirkwall grabbed her around the waist and swung her into his arms. Clenched be
tween a rock-hard chest and two beefy biceps, Haven’s fear simmered just under the surface.

  “Care to explain what you’re doing?” Newfound courage made her speak her mind, a new trait since Cal. The opportunity to make good use of it brought on a slow smile. Would he put her down?

  No such luck.

  They flew through the air and his muscles bulged beneath her bottom as he mounted his horse. In his arms, her field of vision was filled with the back of a horse’s head. Where did he plan to take her now that they’d escaped the horrible men?

  Kirk steered the beast with his knees while he clutched her to his chest. She hadn’t ridden a horse since falling off as a young girl. The sudden childhood fear surprised her, so she curled into him and held tight. The gentle swoosh of the wind, and the beating of his heart were the only sounds. Strong arms, naked but for heavy leather cuffs tied around each wrist, cradled her against a hard wall where soothing warmth emanated. Kirk had arrived to rescue her, bare-chested.

  Haven jerked forward, separating their bodies. The move caused her rear end to push back into his groin. A loud gasp escaped his lips.

  “Careful, woman, or I shall hasten to forget I am in the presence of a lady.” The last word, said with a distinct sneer, reminded Haven of the argument they’d had over her station.

  “Just put me down,” she said. She wanted to kick or twist, to unseat them both. “I can walk.”

  Her breath whooshed out when he grasped her around the waist with one large arm while his other fist controlled the agitated beast. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He smiled when his grip halted her movements. Any further jiggling and she’d find his fingers around her breast.

  “Be still unless ye would wish me to get to know ye much better.”

  “Fine. But I need to be somewhere and I don’t know where you are taking me and—”

  “We head to my camp.”

  “Is it anywhere near the New England Highland Games?” she asked, trying desperately not to panic. He could have harmed her earlier in the forest. Instead, it appeared he’d saved her from dangerous looking men who carried swords and shot arrows. She had to trust him until she figured out where her strange mist had thrown her. “And, what happened to the brutes chasing me?”