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

  “I am fine, just surprised.” At his wide-eyed glare she smiled and added, “You’re a big man.”

  He mirrored her smile and resumed his thrusts. After he found a pleasant rhythm, she flicked her attention back to the mist. Its slick surface continued to form and grow. Lights danced amid the cloud. She drifted away from the heated sensations building deep inside her.

  She had never experienced an orgasm during intercourse, and she wanted to share the pleasure with Kirk, but this new phenomenon took precedence. Kirk couldn’t see the strange cloud. She could only stare at a mist that could be her portal home. If it was, she should push him away and leave.

  She couldn’t escape from his embrace. Did she even want to? As she continued to stare, an image coalesced on the sinuous, fluid surface. A naked torso comprised of suntanned, rough-hewn muscles formed before her eyes. A perfect pair of male buttocks, circled by a pair of feminine legs, caught her attention.

  “Oh my.” The naked buttocks belonged to Kirk. He strained and pounded into her and his actions were reflected in the mist. Her hands clasped his neck until she slid her fingers lower and clawed his back. Tiny rivulets of blood mingled with his perspiration. He groaned at the assault and arched his back. The reflection of their passion opened a floodgate of raw emotions that tore through her body like a shot of caffeine.

  “Yes, Yes, I feel that. Keep it up. Please.”

  Kirk proceeded to attend to her demands like a man possessed. His lips quieted her words and a wet tongue entered her mouth. Never had anyone kissed her so deeply or so romantically. He licked and sipped and took and took. His constant pounding shook her to her core and she gave with everything she had until the floodgate of sensation burst into an unbearable rush of pleasure.

  She screamed.

  Bright lights, sparkling in a blinding white aura, cocooned her in sweet agony. His thrusts slowed as he swallowed her cries and he pulled out before her last tremor.

  “Why did you stop?”

  “I stopped because ye found yer pleasure. I did not want to chance conceiving a bairn.” Red spots dotted his cheeks.

  “You’re embarrassed to talk of this?”

  “Aye. I could not accomplish such a feat—pulling out—in that position.”

  He tumbled with her onto the bed, but she pushed him away and jumped to her feet beside the small bed. While he lay breathing heavily, she pulled him into a sitting position on the edge of the tiny feather bed. Haven tossed a pillow to the floor. She caught the question in his eyes.

  Haven kneeled before him on the pillow and he swept her hair behind her shoulders.

  “Ye are beautiful. Perfect. Mine,” he whispered.

  A tingle laced down her spine to match the electricity still fizzling between her thighs as she circled her fingers around him and squeezed.

  He groaned. She pumped. When her tongue flicked along the pulsing head of his erection, he nearly shot off the bed.

  “Kirk, I told you. Women of my time like doing this. Enjoy the moment.”

  A raspy cry escaped his lips when her mouth wrapped around his pulsating flesh. His cock, thick and long, pulsed and filled her mouth as much as he’d filled her body. Buoyed by the pleasure of her recent orgasm, she sucked, pulled, and tasted every inch while she fought tears.

  The possibility of carrying this man’s child hit her like a brick. Yet, he had severed their bond so such an event would not occur. Did she want a baby? With him?

  “How has a lady learned so much? When ye touched me, in my tent, I enjoyed what yer fingers and tongue did to me, but I never dreamed you would take me inside your mouth.” His groan followed a gasp of distress when she released him.

  “I don’t recall you trying to fend me off.” Sliding her tongue lower, she suckled his ball sack until his hands grabbed her around the waist.

  With a fierce look he threw her onto the bed and filled her with his rigid flesh. The sensation that followed sent her to the heavens until a piercing bright light made her cry out. When he suddenly stopped moving, Haven looked down.

  “Forgive me, lass. I behave like a rutting bull and have hurt ye.”

  “Don’t be silly. She drew in a couple of deep breaths, and gathered her wits. “I simply didn’t expect to reach another orgasm with such speed. Keep going.”

  “Do ye insist?”

  “Yes!”

  Her plea did the trick. Her words fueled his lust and she melted beneath his weight. The pleasure of his hard, muscular flesh and raw power felt as intoxicating as Balfour’s ale.

  Another moist tear threatened to fall at the mention of their slain friend. She had to leave them all, and soon, in order to save her sanity. But, she did not need to return alone.

  With her mind made up, she nudged him to his side. She rolled and he followed. Pulling her knees up, she straddled his hips and began to ride. With two meaty hands grasping her waist, their rhythm swept all thought aside. Pleasure bloomed between her legs and she sensed his tension growing.

  His pace quickened, as did her enjoyment. A sudden deep plunge nudged her womb, and she came, even as his deep voice penetrated her pleasure-wracked brain.

  “Haven. I. Must. Pull. Out!”

  “Don’t stop, my love,” she cried.

  “Aye!” Another two thrusts and Kirk’s roar shook the rafters.

  Joy flooded her heart as his deep, final thrust sent his hot release to her womb. She mumbled a quick prayer for conception, then rolled off and lay beside him. She snuggled to his heaving chest and basked beneath his wide smile.

  Since Kirk assured Haven that Cameron was well cared for, she let sleep drag her toward unconsciousness. Her last thought before succumbing to her weary body’s pleas was that her prayers might be answered and she’d arrive home with his child growing inside her belly.

  Her Highlander’s child.

  * * * * *

  Haven woke hours later to a morning that arrived with little fanfare. She stretched, and a giggle bubbled up. Laughter lightened her heart. But, her path loomed crystal clear.

  I must work on the potion and go home.

  Her future depended on her actions. She had to return to her time, her friends and her job.

  “Don’t I?” Wasn’t it just last night she told Kirk she loved him but couldn’t stay? His face had darkened and he’d rolled away. Shadows had clung to their nakedness and she felt chilled at his denied touch. She’d lain awake for hours.

  In the light of day, and with no sign of Kirk, she dressed and made plans to search out Cameron. In a world that lacked doctors and hospitals, he could use her help. Since she was starving, Haven ate a light breakfast in the pub’s empty dining hall. She requested herbs and linen scraps from the innkeeper after inquiring about Cameron’s location. Certain herbs might aid in Cameron’s healing and others she would add to the small supply she had brought from the future.

  The future. Where I belong.

  She had accepted the impossible or rather improbable fact; she’d traveled back in time. With replenished supplies, and a bit of luck, she would conjure the potion that had cast her to the Highlands of sixteenth century Scotland. The wish had come true, but not in the way she’d planned.

  “You know what they say about best laid plans. I should have been more careful with what I wished for.” She twirled a loose lock of her hair, hummed a modern day Celtic tune, and waited as the proprietor filled her basket with medical supplies.

  She knocked on Cameron’s door and woke Reid, who yawned as he let her in. With her pockets full of herbs for later use, Haven pointed to her basket as she tiptoed into the sleeping warrior’s room.

  Curtains covered the windows, so she crossed the room and threw back the slips of fabric. She pushed the frame open and inhaled. The scent of salt and pine filled her nostrils.

  “The sea is close by,” Reid said with a stifled yawn.

  “I can taste it.”

  “Aye. We draw near Castle Ruadh. It overlooks the North Sea. This pub lies within its hold
ings.”

  “You’ve dressed Cameron’s wound?”

  “Aye, but I lacked any herbs to soothe his fever or his pain.”

  She’d brought the very herbs to add to his tankard of water. When she changed the bandage, she’d make a poultice to cleanse away any bacteria.

  “Go get some breakfast. I want to check his wound. How is your arm?”

  “Nearly healed, my lady. The poultice ye gave me has worked wonders. Ye surely are the finest witch I have ever met. I will break my fast and return.” His ruddy cheeks bunched as he smiled, all dimples and freckles. He rubbed his wound, tightened his sling, bowed, and left.

  Haven was too tired to correct the boy. A witch? No, but in the century in which she found herself, she understood his misconception.

  Cameron lay on his side facing the door. Haven sat on the edge of his small bed and stared at his perfect skin, finely chiseled features, and tanned muscles that fueled no physical response. Kirk’s scarred face had filled her thoughts and dreams since the day he appeared in her first vision. She fought the urge to weep. She would miss him. Haven would miss young Reid, Cameron, and poor Balfour. The pain of the storyteller’s loss made tears trickle down her cheeks.

  “Dear, sweet Balfour. He gave his life to save me. Cameron nearly lost his for the same reason,” she whispered. Would her ex, Cal Murchie, have risked his life for her?

  She removed the bandage with delicate attention to the injury in his chest. Someone had removed the arrow by pushing it all the way through his body. She needed to see his back, but he continued to sleep. Leaning over his resting form, she grabbed a wooden bowl then dipped a clean piece of cloth into the scented poultice.

  “Smells like a woman’s bathwater,” Cameron whispered.

  “You’re awake. Did I hurt you?” She quickly wiped away evidence of her tears.

  “Nay. What do ye propose to do with this flowery morass?”

  “Its a solution of rosemary and thistle for pain, as well as ground yarrow root to stop the bleeding.” She spread the mixture over his chest wound. He groaned.

  “Why do ye carry herbs with wound-healing properties?”

  “Would you believe I collected these herbs from the pub owner? The others had been part of a love potion,” She whispered the last statement as she cleansed his wound.

  “A what?”

  “I said Reid has done a wonderful job and you will heal, nicely.” She helped him sit up then spread more medicine on his back. “Your job is to keep still. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to stitch you closed.”

  “Keep yer meat hooks from my skin, witch.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Do not deny it. I witnessed Balfour’s miraculous cure. The bubbled and blackened skin of his burned hand grew pink and fresh within days. He wielded his second sword with no restraint.”

  “I wondered. I thought that maybe he died—”

  “He died because he was outnumbered, not because he could not wield both swords. Do not worry yerself. His death is on my hands.”

  “I don’t agree. Hold still,” she repeated.

  “Fine. But, I must leave before Kirk learns of my—”

  “Your what?” She had an idea. Pain, other than physical pain, wracked Cameron’s body and he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Tell me the truth.”

  “I agreed to spy for Lord Mackenzie. There I said it.”

  “I wasn’t expecting that. Mackenzie told me he had a spy in Kirk’s camp, but you? Kirk is family.”

  “An old man wearing a heavy cloak introduced me to The Mackenzie. I’d heard the tales.”

  “You knew he’d killed Kirk’s fiancée? You knew about Kirk’s scar?”

  “Aye. I laughed when Mackenzie marked him. Too proud, he was.”

  “Proud? He still is.”

  “Aye, but not of his looks. Before I knew what I was doing, I was involved.”

  “A cloaked man you said?”

  “Aye. Never heard his name. Sensed he be someone not to mess with so I agreed. Especially when they offered ye as the prize, along with a portion of the treasure.”

  “Cameron!”

  He swung both arms wide then grimaced in pain. “I have laid bare my transgressions and may now die in peace.”

  Haven applied more medicinal herbs to his torn skin then bandaged the wounds.

  He sighed. Quietly, he snuggled down into the furs.

  “I assume you had good reason?” she asked. Silence greeted her. Haven rose from the bedside. She gathered the bowl and dirty dressing. Before she reached the door, his voice drifted her way.

  “Though cousin to the laird of our clan, I had nothing but the clothes on my back and the swords in their sheaths. The Mackenzie promised me gold. And ye. Aye, very tempting, lass, and I was weak. Will ye ever forgive me?”

  She nodded. “I will not reveal your misbehavior to Kirk unless you do not.”

  “Have pity on me. I conspired with our clan’s enemy. I schemed with a man who caused irreparable harm to my laird.” He pushed himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and the sheets fell away.

  Haven chuckled the precise moment he remembered his nakedness. He was built along the same massive lines as Kirk.

  Cameron blushed.

  Unlike Kirk, he gathered the sheets in one fist to shield his body, then stood on shaky feet.

  “Cameron, you must confess to Kirk, and soon. Do it before Mackenzie tells him. They’re working together, now.”

  Cameron’s eyes bulged wide.

  “Much has changed. For the better, I hope. Good-bye.” Haven closed the door behind her, brushed away a tear, and wondered if she would ever see Cameron again.

  * * * * *

  Haven handed the used water bowl and bloodied linens to a servant. The young woman had paused in front of Kirk’s door, so Haven traded her nasty bundle for a small tray with two tankards of ale and crept inside their room.

  Our room. Sounds romantic.

  She had missed his warmth the moment she woke alone, yet she fought hard to forget every magnificent moment. This wasn’t her world. He didn’t want her the way she wanted him. She loved him, but she wanted marriage, a home, and a family. He had a clan to lead into an uncertain future. He deserved a lady of wit, fortune, and more bravery than she’d displayed.

  With her heart in turmoil, Haven looked around their empty room as she placed the tray on the side table. Her thirst gone, she slipped down the stairs, and out the door. A walk might help clear her head.

  Shaggy, orange Highland cows mooed as a mud-spattered boy led them toward a field of high grass. The youngster brandished a stick like a pro. Several dozen sheep munched bright green ferns beside a dirt road. Another road led to the craggy top of a cliff, so she walked toward the sound of the sea.

  The keep known as Castle Ruadh stood on a rocky hilltop above the North Sea, not far from the River Wick. Last night, Kirk shared a few stories as if trying to seal the hole in her heart once filled by Balfour and his jokes.

  Shadows crept along red sandstone walls towering toward the silver sky. The rock structure shimmered like red sunbeams under the morning sun’s early light. Banners flew over the main entrance, though she couldn’t see more than a swirl of colors from this distance.

  Overhead, clouds thickened, and her mind slipped into an internal weather forecast. Would lightning come? Did the heavens tease her with a chance to replay the love spell, reenact the particulars of her actions, and send her home?

  She gazed toward the castle’s east wing. This section would soon be home for Lady Fia, Lord Marcas Mackenzie, and any children they might have. She rubbed a palm over her abdomen. Could she already be pregnant?

  From the corner of her eye, she spotted a cloaked figure atop the rocky cliff, far in the distance. She squinted at him, but only saw his long, black robe as it billow about his tall, thin form. His cowl hid his features, but his stare chilled her insides.

  Death to all.

  “Who
said that?” Haven looked all around, but she stood alone, far from the walls of the keep. She licked her lips and tasted salt on the ocean breeze. She turned back to the robed figure, but he’d disappeared.

  CHAPTER 24

  “How strange. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he spoke to me.” As Haven considered the words echoing in her head, she thought, good riddance. The creep in the black robe wasn’t important.

  The roar of breakers crashing below the cliff made her imagine an even angrier sea when winter storms blew with hurricane-force winds and food failed to grow. People would keep warm under fur blankets, huddled around tiny fires while wind and hail battered their homes. In this time, men went off to war, women died giving birth, or lost children to simple diseases.

  “How can I think to raise children in this environment?”

  “Where there be love, there be hope,” a voice cackled.

  Haven searched the shadows and came face to face with a familiar gray-haired woman. She leaned on a curved walking stick and sported a crooked nose, heavy brows, and wore a gold medallion.

  “I know that yellow stone. It’s you! But, how?” The old woman, the same old crone who had sold her various herbs and a powerful love potion at the New England Highland games, staggered toward her. She had changed somewhat, but Haven recognized her timeworn features and lazy smile.

  Dressed in a period frock, she carried a leather pouch tied above the protruding bone of her hip. She’d piled her silvery hair into a bun atop her head. Several loose strands tossed in the wind. Ancient feet clad in doeskin slippers shuffled toward her.

  “I must be dreaming. I finally convince myself I accidently landed in ancient Scotland, and then I find you. You are from the future.” An idea burst forth. “Can you take me back?”

  “Do ye desire to return to yer time?”

  Her slowly spoken words provided Haven with a dilemma. Until moments ago, she knew how to answer.

  “I don’t know. I think so. I really should go back where I came from. I don’t belong here no matter how much I love—”

  She choked on her words. After a deep, calming breath, she added, “I mean, I have gathered the potions and herbs, and planned to recreate the events that threw me here. If I’m successful, then I will get back.”