Just Wait For Me (Highland Gardens Book 3)

by Dawn Marie Hamilton

  Ohmigod! Stephen spoke the truth.

  Stephen sensed an inner strength in Jillian. Still, he couldn’t allow her to travel alone. He was the only one who understood where she came from and could protect her. Or at least he would be able to if—when—his bad leg healed and he gained his strength back. No one must learn she was a time traveler. She’d be exploited or, more horribly, condemned to death or imprisoned in a deep dungeon as a practitioner of the dark arts.

  He refused to allow any of that to happen.

  Together they’d journey to Castle Lachlan and the Fir-wood. She would use the faerie-knoll to travel home. Then he would return to Dunadd, another MacLachlan stronghold just north of Lochgilphead, and his unwanted responsibilities.

  The plan was a good one, but it didn’t sit well. He hated the thought of never seeing her again. Hated the thought of spending the rest of his life tied to Calyn.

  If only he’d met Jillian first.

  He shook his head. Regrets were a waste of precious time. Stephen awkwardly teetered on his crutch, grabbed a leine from atop a wooden chest and tugged it on. Then wrapped a plaide around his hips, tossing the end over a shoulder, securing it in place with a bronze brooch lent to him by one of the Gray Women, having lost his during the battle. Though their habits were unsettling, he owed the women a great debt for caring for him.

  When he faced Jillian, she had donned the garments left by the lost bairns. The sack-like garments didn’t suit her, although she would look lovely dressed in anything. When they reached Castle Lachlan, he’d find her something more suitable to wear. He didn’t understand why the children had taken her belongings. He prayed to God the future things didn’t fall into the wrong hands. He made the Sign of the Cross.

  “You must be hungry. There is usually a pot of venison and roots stewing in one of the other chambers. Bread and cheese. Apples. Sweet-tasting heather ale.”

  “Sounds like a feast. I’m famished.” Jillian smiled, and once again he was lost.

  The best he could do was take care of his lass until she journeyed to the future place. He rubbed a spot on his chest over his heart. He hadn’t kenned her long, but had waited for her a lifetime. Too late. His desolate future awaited him in Dunadd.

  Dammit! Where was Munn?

  * * *

  Sands of Time

  Munn felt the chafe of sand abrading his flesh before fully awake. Caitrina had done it to him again. Sent him into the endless Sands of Time. Hot sand everywhere. As far as he could gaze, and farther.

  Last time had not gone well for him.

  He kenned better than attempt to return to the earth realm on his own. The effort would bleed away his limited magic and certainly fail.

  Sweat coating his skin from the blistering heat, he squinted and, blinded by the sun’s harsh yellow light, labored to stand. Did the oasis he fashioned on his last banishment remain? Trudging through the deep drifts, he wandered off in no particular direction. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. Days. He didn’t ken how long he walked. Time had no meaning in this brutal land.

  With no strength remaining, he tumbled to the ground. How was he to protect Stephen? Munn’s duty to Clan MacLachlan demanded such. The chief had ordered him to watch over the blond warrior.

  He’d failed the chief again.

  Unable to move, he lurched into unconsciousness. A nicker near his ear jarred Munn from oblivion. Slow to react, a large muzzle nudged him. Grumbling, eyelids stuck-fast over burning eyes, he rolled away from the intruder.

  A shrill whinny blasted his temporal lobe. Munn bolted upright, eyes wide. By Danu! He rubbed unbelieving eyes. The vision remained—unicorn.

  The magnificent black beast stood at least fifteen hands, unusually large for even a male of its kind. It nickered again, and Munn jumped to his feet, quickly brushing sand from his form.

  Ears pricked forward, the noble animal nodded his horned head, then lowered onto front knees.

  Munn took the gesture as an invitation to mount. Fisting the silky mane, he hauled his weight up onto the beast’s broad back. The unicorn rose, pranced in a circle, and then stretched into a full gallop. Munn leaned low over the animal’s long neck, clutching the flowing mane as they raced across miles of sand. Headed to where? Munn couldn’t guess. But prayed to the goddess not to fall.

  By the time the unicorn slowed to an even trot, Munn was beyond parched and famished. In the wavering distance, he glimpsed the oasis. Was it real or mirage?

  With a four beat gait, the unicorn walked into the tropical paradise, past verdant foliage and birds of colorful plumage, stopped, and dropped to its knees on a bed of plush greenery. The fragrance of orchids perfumed the air. Munn slid to the ground, but his legs wobbled and his feet didn’t find purchase. He landed on his rump. “Humph!”

  Before he could thank the mystical beast, it vanished as if never existing.

  Munn licked chapped lips. Leery to approach the pool at the center of the oasis, he hesitated. On his last visit, the fae queen had emerged from the pool and forced him to swear his troth to her. That had cost him dearly. What would she do to him this time when she learned he aided Caitrina with the challenge?

  Finally, he succumbed to his physical needs and sat on a flat rock at the edge of the pool. Stiff with fear, he glanced into the water. Tranquil. No image emerged from within its depths. Relaxing his shoulders, he brought handfuls of pure water to his lips and drank deep. Water quenched his thirst and a pear-flavored fruit from a nearby twirling vine satisfied his hunger.

  Lightning streaked the darkening sky. The peace of the oasis shattered by rolling thunder. The ground beneath his feet trembled. Munn trembled, too. Had Oonagh found him?

  Instead of the queen, a black-haired warrior of royal stature appeared. Garbed in black leather, all manner of weaponry draping his six-foot-seven frame, he could be none other than the Prince of the Black River—Prince Dugaid. Son to the King and Queen of the Fae. Oonagh and Finvarra. More feared than his regal parents.

  Teeth chattering, Munn was frozen in place by a fiery amber stare. What did the Dark Prince want with him?

  “Dinnae be afeared, wee man.” The prince’s deep voice sent a shiver over Munn’s spine. “You will come to nae harm by my hand.”

  Munn swallowed uneasily. Then fell into an awkward bow.

  The prince laughed. A hearty laugh that crinkled the edges of his eyes.

  “Why have you come?” Munn asked.

  “To free you. But you must vow to aid Princess Caitrina.”

  “She does not want my help. She banished me to this barren realm.”

  “I shall return you to earth and grant you immunity to Caitrina’s transference spell for the duration of this match. In return, you will vow to me to do whatever is required to secure a win for Caitrina.”

  Munn huffed. “Vow to the chief. Vow to the queen. Vow to a prince. I dinnae ken which end is up.”

  “Are we in agreement?”

  “What of your mither?”

  “She will not interfere.”

  Munn clapped hands with glee. “Then we win!”

  “Dinnae be too cocky, brownie. Humans retain free will.”

  Munn bit his lip and hung his head.

  Dugaid smiled. “Escort Stephen and the woman from the future to Castle Lachlan unmolested.”

  “Easier said than done,” Munn grumbled under his breath.

  “Dinnae fail me. The consequences will be dire.”

  Munn’s stomach dropped at the prince’s warning.

  Dugaid vanished.

  “Wait!” In confusion, Munn glanced around the oasis. Why hadn’t the Dark Prince returned him to the earth realm as promised?

  Then a wave of nausea sickened Munn further and he propelled through time and space, landing with a thump on his butt in the sprawling outer chamber in the caves of the Gray Women. Weak with exhaustion and fear, he crawled into a dark corner and succumbed to an uneasy sleep, dreams tortured by Stephen and his woman’s perilous journey.

>   CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jillian followed Stephen through the dim maze of tunnels. Torchlight flickered on the walls, flames caught in a fickle draft. As they entered the internal chamber used as a kitchen, the savory aroma of stew replaced the sooty smell of the passageway.

  Her stomach grumbled.

  Stephen grinned. “Sit. We will get you fed.”

  “You sit. I’ll get the food.”

  “You dinnae need to serve me. I might be injured, but am capable of filling a blasted bowl with stew.”

  “Shut up and take a load off your bum leg.” She pressed a palm against his chest and gave a gentle shove. He dropped onto one of four bulky chairs at a rough-hewn table. “It will heal faster.” And we can leave these eerie caves sooner.

  “Feisty lass.”

  Jillian suppressed a smile and searched the nooks and crannies. Aromatic herbs—some she recognized—hung from racks. Wooden bowls, platters, and spoons sat on one of several shelves. A wrought iron ladle and meat fork dangled from a hook next to the source of the tantalizing aroma—a heavy black caldron hanging over a banked fire. Smoke channeled up and out of the chamber through a fissure in the ceiling.

  Grabbing a rag from a worktable to protect her hands, she ladled two steaming bowls and placed them on the table.

  Stephen grasped her fingers. “I dinnae mean to be surly. ’Tis just—”

  “It’s okay. I’m used to the grumbles of men.”

  “You are?” He frowned.

  She raised an eyebrow. “I have an older brother.”

  He nodded. The pout disappeared and curiosity lit his gaze. “Are you wed?”

  She snorted. She couldn’t help it. Her? Married? “No.”

  “Betrothed?”

  “No.” She shook her head adamantly. Please don’t ask if I have a lover. It would be too embarrassing to say no again.

  He pointed to a large niche in the jagged stone wall. “The jugs of ale are there.”

  She turned her back to him and chuckled softly at his adept change of topic. Smart man. The jugs were submerged to their shoulders in a well of ice-cold running water, and secured by rope. She lifted one out, found two cups, and returned to the table.

  A Hollywood-worthy smile greeted her. “I procured some bread.”

  Might he be interested in her? Jillian’s pulse double-beat before returning to normal.

  Stephen dug into the food. Her stomach knotted and her appetite disappeared at the thought of making love with Stephen. She broke off a piece of bread and soaked up some stew. She swallowed one bite, then another, needing to keep up her energy.

  They ate in silence. Although the intense quiet would feel awkward with anyone else, it seemed right with Stephen. Yeah. She’d like very much to make love with him before returning home. It would be a special memory to keep her warm through many a lonely night.

  Jillian poured another round of ale. The sweet herb drink helped smooth the rough edges of her psyche. Perhaps she was even getting a tad tipsy.

  Stephen took a long swallow and pushed the cup away. “Dinnae want to drink so much as to lose my head.”

  “You’d look funny without a head.”

  He grinned, displaying a badly chipped front tooth.

  “How did you get so banged up?”

  “Ach, well, I guess we have time for the telling of the tale. Not long ago, relations between Scotland and England reached an insurmountable pinnacle. War eminent.” He sighed heavily. “My fealty is to my cousins, the chiefs of Clan MacLachlan, and theirs to our king. Patrick’s twin, Archibald—our current chief—wife heavy with child, was loath to leave her bedside. He sent me in his stead to lead our lads when King James IV sent runners to summon us to war.”

  Jillian swallowed uneasily not wanting to hear the rest, but needing to know. “And…”

  “We won several skirmishes and became arrogant. At Branxton Hill, we did not stand a chance against the English. The battle raged fierce. Our king died. God rest his soul.” Stephen’s voice broke, and he made the Sign of the Cross. “Our lads fought hard. One by one they fell. I battled against the onslaught, but received too many wounds to remain standing. My vision blurred. Death hovered. My last memory is murmuring a prayer for forgiveness then waking in these caves far from the battlefield. The Gray Women brought me back to life.”

  “If we are in the year 1513, how could you have traveled such a great distance with life-threatening injuries and survived?”

  Stephen shook his head and shrugged. “Fae magic.”

  Jillian frowned. “This is really hard for me to fathom.”

  “It took Lady Laurie a long time to believe, too.” Stephen rose from the table. “Come. The hour is growing late.”

  Stephen shifted uneasily. What had he been thinking earlier? Why had he badgered Jillian about her marital state? I have nae right.

  “Where shall I sleep?” Her question shook him free of the chastising thought. Though more than likely a mistake, he wanted her to sleep with him. Jillian crossed her arms over her chest and shivered “It’s getting cold.”

  “Aye. We can lay together on my pallet to keep warm.” Her body cuddled close to his, again, ’twould be torture worth enduring.

  She nodded with a yawn and plopped onto the pallet.

  Stephen unraveled his plaide and joined her, covering them with the wool and then her silver cloth. She lay on her side, facing away, shivering with the chill.

  He slid her back against him. His nose in her hair, he inhaled a sweet hint of fruit mingled with the scent of woman. “Mmmm. You smell good enough to eat.”

  Jillian chuckled, and the vibration against his chest spiked his desire for the lass. Saints be praised, it felt good to hold her.

  “I’d imagine I smell like a sweaty locker room after a rugby match considering the amount of exercise I’ve gotten over the last several days.”

  “I dinnae ken of what you speak, but you dinnae smell like sweat.” He inhaled deeply. “Ripe green apples and woman.”

  “That’s my shampoo—soap.”

  “Verra nice.”

  Jillian wiggled her bum against him and his arousal throbbed. He wouldn’t take her. Nae. ’Twould be wrong. He was handfasted to another. But he’d keep Jillian warm through the night.

  She rolled over and faced him. Her lips trembled. A liquid, questioning gaze searched his. She must have gotten the answer she wanted. She kissed him. A sensual breath across his lips. His balls tightened and his determination faltered. What harm was there in a few kisses? He needed this. Wanted this. He wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss with a greedy intensity that released much of the raw emotion hidden within his heart.

  He claimed her lips, tasting the sweet heather ale from their meal. She opened for him like a flower and their tongues twirled in a mating dance. Logic slipped away and deft fingers untied the laces of her gown, folding aside the cloth to reveal her precious bounty. He took one breast in hand. A handful of lusciousness. He massaged the taut nipple.

  A soft moan escaped from deep in her throat. He’d burst if he couldn’t have more. She arched, pressing her womanly mound against his hard cock. Intense sensations rocked him. He thought he’d explode in a blaze of pleasure.

  Rolling her onto her back, he hovered inches above. If only he could see better in the dim light seeping into the chamber from the tunnel torches. With a growl, he sank between her legs and lowered his head to a breast suckling the pebbled nipple, while teasing the other with his fingers. She made the most erotic sounds as she undulated beneath him.

  His free hand skimmed the length of her calf, the skin silky smooth. He eased up the wool covering her feminine core, and brushed the flesh of her thighs with eager fingers.

  “Stephen, please!” she begged.

  “Easy, sweetling. I will provide what you seek.” Honor blurring, he was more than ready to stake his claim.

  Cold air swirled over his bare backside, stopping him mid-motion. Jillian halted, too. Munn whirled into
the chamber, landing on the floor beside the pallet with a smack.

  Stephen rolled off Jillian covering them with a plaide at the same time. He didn’t ken whether to thank Munn or curse the wee man his timing.

  “Urgh!” Jillian growled, breathing heavy. “Where did he come from?”

  “Shhh,” Stephen whispered into her ear.

  She, once again, lay on her side with her back to his front. He rubbed a hand in a circle over her shoulder blades, hoping to ease her ire.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded of Munn.

  “Searching the wood for the lass.”

  “The lost bairns brought her here.”

  Munn’s snarl would make Stephen laugh if he wasn’t sporting a rock hard erection with no relief forthcoming. ’Twas for the best. He shouldn’t have carnal relations with Jillian. She didn’t deserve to be so dishonored.

  An image haunted him of waking in Calyn’s bed, both of them naked, and not kenning how he’d gotten there. Her father and brother glowering from the bedchamber doorway, swords raised in menace. Tears and claims he’d stolen her maidenhead. Hours spent in Allain of Dunadd’s study, trying to talk everyone down, only to give in to her father’s demands. Then the rushed handfasting.

  He’d never shown interest in Calyn, nor she in him. How had he ended up in her bed two nights before he was to leave for war? And worse—handfasted to the wench the next day.

  She’d claimed he’d bullied his way into her bedchamber and pressed her to submit. He’d never in his life taken an unwilling maiden. His honor would never allow such. What had really happened that night?

  There were no bruises on her pale skin. Not that he would ever harm a woman. No sign of forced entry to the chamber. No proof to support her claim other than the fact he woke naked with her in the same bed.

  Would he ever learn the truth?

  She’d been more than happy to make the handfasting pledge. Did Calyn carry his bairn? The thought deflated his cock like naught else could. They’d not been together since. If no bairn was conceived on that one night, the handfasting would end in a year and a day.