by Erin Grace
Ewan kissed her cheek, his hot rasping breath tickled her ear.
"By God, woman.” He pressed a finger into her channel and growled with raw desire. “You’re so hot and ready for me."
A coil of desire wound deep within her, tense and demanding, threatened to take her over the brink of some unknown pinnacle of pleasure. Raking her hands through his dark hair, she marveled at the incredible man who’d given her so much happiness. She’d never imagined being in the arms of someone like him, didn’t want it to end.
His head dipped, and he took her nipple into his mouth, pressing a second a finger into her hot passage. She shuddered, clutched his shoulder and arched against his touch.
She trembled as he shifted himself above her, eased her legs apart, then lowered his swollen sex between them. Claiming her lips, he thrust his cock firmly into her tight channel.
Oh god! Breathing heavily, she threw her head back and gripped his shoulders, digging her nails into his heated flesh. Despite every effort not to, her body stiffened, and she fought to catch her breath as his mouth drank in her gasps.
A loud, deep growl echoed around her; his body shuddered.
He released her lips, anchored her body to him, then rested his forehead against hers.
Panting, he kissed her temple then smiled. "Christ, Ellie."
Unable to meet his searching gaze, she looked away.
Hell. He knows.
"You should have told me." He slowly withdrew from her, but stayed where he was. "I thought you'd been with another man. If I'd known, I would have been more gentle, more . . . ."
Tears welled in her eyes and not just because of the pain. "Please, I don't want to discuss it right now. The past doesn’t matter. I . . . I don't want you to stop, Ewan."
He nuzzled her cheek in a tender nod, then began dropping hot little kisses down her neck that sent shivers racing along her skin.
“Hold on to me, Ellie."
Slowly, gently, he eased his manhood into her channel and withdrew, repeating the intimate movement until her body began to relax and respond in kind, each stroke replacing pain with a new kind of pleasure.
When he looked at her, his eyes had become dark and unreadable. Though, a smile that oozed male satisfaction tilted his lips and seemed to shout that she was his—now and forever.
"Ewan." The sound of his name seemed to excite him all the more.
He grasped her thighs, dragged them up higher upon his hips, then sank deeply into her.
"Lass." His voice shook along with the rest of his body, his breathing heavy and strained.
He smiled then touched the side of her burning cheek.
"God, Ellie, but you are perfect."
She reached up and drew his mouth down upon hers as he began making love to her in a devastating fashion that caused her to cling to him with a sudden blinding need.
Her head arched backward, and her lips parted under the sensual onslaught. As if sensing her body’s demands, he thrust harder and faster, until she quivered beneath him, lost in a sea of frayed emotions. Then, as her every nerve jolted with endless aftershocks, he shuddered violently above her and collapsed at her side.
The first hint of dawn peeked through the cracks in the old wooden door.
Ewan yawned, rolled over, and placed his arm around the tiny pink bundle snuggled up next to him under the blanket. A smile curled the edge of his mouth.
Ellie.
He ran the tip of his finger across the edge of her shoulder, then down along her side, before resting his hand on her hip. Immediately, he grew hard.
Would she protest if he wanted to bed her again now?
He sighed. What an inconsiderate bastard he was. She'd probably be sore after last night.
No. He'd, let her sleep, though the memory of taking her made him smile with a kind of intense satisfaction he'd never felt before.
In fact, it was more than just satisfaction. A fierce instinct of protectiveness had also gripped him. She needed him.
He'd returned to the cottage last night angry and confused. The one person he'd never expected to ever see again had just walked back into his life.
His mother was alive.
The angry child in him had riled, wanted her to know his distress, but he'd suppressed the hurt, refused to let her see how much he'd cared. Instead he sought to cause her pain. She couldn't have understood what he and his father had been through.
Maybe he was right in the first place, and was dreaming from a fever. He would almost have preferred that. Unlike his reality, in this place he'd been made to face issues he'd tried to forget. A warrior could afford no such emotions.
Though he'd sometimes imagined what he'd say if he had the opportunity to see his mother again, he hadn't expected such a shocking revelation. After all, he watched her die, or at least he thought he had. Everything he'd believed to be true about his mother had been a lie.
She was a witch.
And as for Ellie . . . There was another, more pressing duty he'd long put off which had made his clan restless.
His people needed to see their future Laird.
He needed an heir.
And despite all his mother had done, the fact remained that she was there—gave him hope that perhaps he hadn’t lost his mind after all. Dream or no dream, he had to find a way home. Just the thought of what might be happening at the keep during his absence drove him to distraction. If his father had died, the entire clan could break apart.
MacTavish.
Ever since Ellie had mentioned the name, he couldn't get the man from his mind. Something must have happened to cause the MacKinnon land to become MacTavish. A trickle of cold dread ran down his chest, welled in the pit of his gut.
He didn't want to think about the possibility of treachery.
Rage surged through him, filled every vein with a molten fury determined to seek revenge. The MacTavish in his time was his father's most trusted friend, a cousin of the MacKinnon clan. But the man was, in Ewan's eyes, clearly a power-hungry warlord bent on conquest. Once, he'd overheard a volatile argument between Douglas MacTavish and his father over the battles with other clans. His father had tired of fighting wasteful battles and wanted to start peace talks, but Douglas thought otherwise.
Since that day Ewan had noticed a strained relationship between the two men. His father had become ill shortly after. Ewan had suspected foul play, but couldn't see any signs of poisoning. Besides, Douglas had offered everything at his disposal to heal his father, but nothing had worked.
"Bastard!'
Chapter 10
A sudden shout from outside the cottage woke her from a sound sleep.
Last night, Ewan had proved a tender lover, but she'd be paying for it all day. A smile tilted her lips. It was a price she was happy to pay. She rolled over and touched his arm. "Are you okay?"
He nodded, smiled, then stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
Lord, she couldn't get enough of looking at that man and wanted to absorb every gorgeous detail. A heavy sigh escaped her.
She would never forget him.
The morning light made him seem so surreal, his features so incredibly masculine it made her quiver. His tousled mane of dark chestnut hair framed a proud forehead and powerful jaw line. His ruggedly handsome face, though touched by tiny scars, appealed to her like no other face had. Eyes the color of liquid amber stared at her, their depths barely disguising the savage hunger she knew lay within. A tingling sensation flooded her body.
Her lion was on the prowl.
He leaned forward, touched under her chin, and kissed her. He was so soft and warm she melted like butter on hot toast.
"Ellie. Why did you tell me another man had taken your maidenhood?"
"My what?" Heat rushed to her cheeks. Crap. He would go and spoil the moment. This will take some explaining. "Oh, that maidenhood. Well, you see . . ."
"Ewan MacKinnon!" A determined, loud voice boomed from beyond the cottage door.
She
swallowed and shot Ewan a glance that made him smirk.
Margot.
Oh, Hell. They were lying on the floor naked, for goodness sake.
Ellie pushed away his arm and rolled off the fur. "Ewan. It's your mother, put something on." She scrambled to pick up her clothes from the various places Ewan had thrown them the night before. Luckily, they were mostly intact. He wasn't very patient when it came to getting what he wanted.
With no apparent sense of urgency for the situation, Ewan just propped himself up on one elbow and eyed her up and down. A mischievous smile lit up his face.
She glared at him. Bloody man.
He yawned, then threw back the blanket to reveal his naked form. Modesty obviously wasn't in his nature.
"I'm in nae hurry to meet with her again." He frowned, stood up, and stretched. The palms of his hands rested easily on the cottage rafters.
Show off.
Ignoring the unclothed giant in front of her, she hopped around the floor trying to get her blasted jeans on, then stumbled over a pillow. "Ouch. Well, I am. We have a lot to discuss. Now stop being so bloody difficult and help me up."
He shook his head, hoisted her up as though she was a rag doll, then held her against him. "You are very outspoken for a lass."
She leaned in and kissed him. "You mean you've only just realized that?"
A deep sigh escaped him, and he lowered her to the floor. He lazily picked up his plaid and fashioned it around him.
With a groan, she ran her fingers through her hair. "It will have to do."
Still trying to tuck her shirt in, she opened the door to find Margot standing there—cooking pot in one hand, basket in the other.
The woman stepped into the room, met Ewan's suspicious gaze, then blatantly averted her stare. "I thought you might be hungry, Elspeth."
Oh, dear. This wasn't going to be easy.
Margot placed the pot onto the table, then removed a loaf of black bread from the basket. "It's just mutton stew, but I think you'll find it tasty."
Margot’s shrewd, assessing glance moved from her to Ewan then back again.
Good grief. She must have guessed they'd slept together. How embarrassing. His mother nodded, smiled, then reached for the bread.
"Will you eat with us, Ewan?" Margot didn't look at her son.
Minutes felt like hours before Ewan came and sat down next to Ellie, then glared at his mother.
Ellie handed him a bowl. "This was really nice of your mother, bringing us some food, wasn't it Ewan?"
He grunted.
Margot seemed to ignore his behavior. "You wanted to show me something, Elspeth?"
"Yes." She swallowed a spoonful of stew, then stood and retrieved the amulet from her chest. "Tell me, Margot. How did you get here? Do you live nearby?"
"Nae. My horse is tethered outside." Margot smiled at her as she returned to the table. "My cottage is over an hour's ride away."
Ellie sat down, unwrapped the ancient piece, then placed it on the table before them. "But then how did you know to find Ewan here—"
"You do have it." Margot's whispered surprise cut her short. "But it's missing a part."
"Yes. But I know where we can get it. It's in a museum . . . I mean a stronghold far away, but I'm certain I can borrow it."
"Nae." Puzzled, she looked at Ewan. "I have the other piece."
He pulled a small pouch from around his neck, snapped it free of its leather band and placed it on the table.
Hands trembling, Ellie picked up the bag and opened it. "Where did you get this?"
The shiny fragment of gold glittered in the light.
"After my father destroyed the pagan site, he had everything to do with the evil priests burned. Only, this amulet wouldn't melt. Da found it could be separated and, fearing it was bewitched, had it buried in different places around the keep so it could never harm anyone again. I hid and watched each piece being buried and later went back to dig this one up."
Ellie reached out and touched his hand. "Why?"
"It was a reminder of what I'd lost. All that I had to remember ma mother by."
Margot sighed. "That was a long time ago, son. I know nothing I do will ever repay your grief, but I didn't come here today to fight with you."
He stood and paced the room. "Then why did you come?"
Margot put down the serving spoon and met his eye. "It's time for you to go home."
"What?" Ellie dropped her bread and stared at Ewan. He was going so soon? Her pulse raced, heart ached. No. Stop it. She knew this moment would come, but it was too soon. "You know how to do it, don't you, Margot?"
"Aye, Elspeth. I think I will be able to help. But it's only because he has the gift running through him as well, though not as strong."
Ewan slammed the table with his fist. "I'm nae a witch."
Margot stood. "And I told you, neither am I!"
"Please." Ellie up righted a glass that had tipped over and glared at the impossible man. "No one is a witch. Ewan, why don't you hear your mother out?"
"It is alright, Elspeth. He's so much like his father. Stubborn like a bull."
Ellie met Ewan’s troubled gaze. “And . . . and, if your mother is correct about being able to send you, you’re going to try and go back?”
Ewan shifted, clearly uncomfortable by the notion of both believing and trusting in whatever dark magic he thought his mother to possess.
A flicker of hope caught her breath. Perhaps he’d stay?
Ewan let out a deep breath. “I can’t say I like the idea, but I need to return home. And if this is the only way . . . then I’m nae afraid to die trying.”
Ellie’s heart sank into a pool of misery. Why had she dared assume for a moment she was more important to him then his clan? Fool. She sat down and fought back the tears welling behind her eyes. He was leaving her. "So, Margot. I take it you're going back, too, then."
Margot smiled, reached over, and patted her hand. "Nae, love. My time has been. And I'd only cause more hurt if I went back. Everyone thinks me dead. Besides, I believe it only fitting my son take his wife back with him."
Ellie's stomach dropped. "Excuse me?"
Christ. He had a wife?
Margot faced Ewan's determined gaze, and for once the two seemed to meet on common ground. "Am I correct, son?"
"Aye." His firm reply put butterflies in Ellie's stomach. "I'm keeping her."
"And Elspeth agreed to let you take her last night?"
"Aye, she did."
Margot grinned. "Well, that's settled then."
"Whoa. Wait a minute. What's settled?" Ellie felt her feet giving way from beneath her, despite the fact she was seated.
"It is the way of it in the Highlands, Elspeth." Margot gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Surely you knew that?"
"No, I didn't. I mean, yes, I knew of the old customs, but I never thought . . . ."
Margot gave her a knowing smile. "Ah, I see. Well, once a man in our clan decides to take a woman for his own, and she accepts and is taken into his bed, they are considered married."
Ellie stood, shook her head. "What? You're kidding right? This is the twenty-first century. Stop looking at me that way, Ewan. I'm not your wife. Margot? No. No. Even in your time, there had to be a proper wedding of some kind. A priest. Prayers . . . ."
Margot cleared her throat and began cutting a slice of bread as though the three of them were merely discussing the weather. "A priest isn't always available at the time, but when he does his rounds he'll bless the happy couple. You have nothing to fear about that."
Ellie pushed her chair back, glared at him, pointed to the door. "You. Me. Outside. Now!"
Married? No. It was beyond rational thought. But then again, so was time travel. Though, at that moment she didn't know which one sounded more ridiculous.
She pulled open the door and strode outside. "How could you?"
Ewan followed her. "Ellie—"
Margot raced after them, speaking in another tongue.
Ewan stopped, turned, and shouted back at his mother.
Frustrated, she screamed at the arguing pair. "Why does he have to make me go with him, Margot?"
They both stopped and looked at her.
Ewan moved toward her, a bewildered expression on his face. "You never told me you could speak Gaelic."
She took a bold step forward. "You never asked! And while I'm at it, I speak four languages: English, Gaelic, French, and Indonesian. Don't even ask me to explain the last one."
Margot approached her, hands outstretched. "I told you about my gifts, Elspeth. I wouldn't lie to you. Please trust me. You were meant to go back with Ewan. I've seen it. He needs you. The two of you together hold the strength to make the journey safely."
Incensed, Ellie crossed her arms. "And if I don't go?"
"Then I'll go alone." Ewan met her defiant gaze.
Bloody man.
Margot stared at him in disbelief. "You don't understand, Ewan. We don't have much time. She must go with you. This isn't an option . . ."
"I won't make her come with me!" Margot froze as Ewan roared. "None of this was her fault. She shouldn't have to pay for our problems."
"But she's your wife."
"Don't tell me ma duty! If she won't come, then I'll find a way to come back for her." He turned away from her and walked toward the cottage.
Ellie closed her eyes, her heart aching from the disappointed look on his face. He wanted her, and she'd refused him. Oh, God, please let the ground open up and swallow her now.
Margot looked up at the dark clouds gathering from the north, clasped her hands together, muttered, "It’s begun."
"Margot, please. You have to understand. I can't just simply leave here. I have my work, my career. I've struggled all my life to prove I can be someone, contribute to something meaningful."
"And Ewan means nothing to you?"
The woman's words stung like a slap in the face.
"That's not fair. Damn you. You just show up from nowhere, expect me to believe stuff no sane person would, then try to make me feel guilty. Well, to Hell with that." She marched past the woman and headed toward the ruins. "I have work to do."