But the position made her clumsy, so she reared back and continued to ride him. He massaged her breast with one hand, pinching and rolling its tip, his rough skin abrading her sensitive nipple. With his other hand, he slipped beneath her skirts again.
His fingers stroked a fiery path up her thigh until his thumb brushed her hard nub, just a playful pass. She gasped.
All vulnerability was gone from Iain’s merciless gaze. Had she imagined it? All was frantic lust in a mutual pursuit of pleasure. Back on safer footing, she closed her eyes and surrendered to pure sensation.
“Harder,” she moaned.
“Like this?” He pressed against her clit, stroking it, grinding it against her in small, tight circles.
“Yes. Oh damn.” She slammed down one more time, and the tight, hot ball exploded, ripping through her, shaking her, convulsing her against him.
He gave a choked growl, his gaze spearing into hers. He grasped her hips and thrust—hard—into her. Again. Brutal, desperate strokes. Then he yanked her down on his next thrust, and his muscles tightened all over. He threw his head back and, on a strangled shout, his warmth shot inside her.
His hands fell away, and she collapsed on top of him, her heart beating so hard it felt as if it were in her throat. He tightened his arms around her and clasped her to his chest, his heart beating against her. Their breaths ragged.
He softened inside her, but she stayed in place, gripping him tighter, unwilling to feel him leave her, which was a new sensation. Usually, she moved off and collapsed beside a guy, the precursor to parting. The signal to say she knew what was expected and, no worries, she was on board.
But right now, she couldn’t make herself move. She felt limp and fuzzy all over, so delicate and sated in the circle of his strong arms. His shoulders were so wide, she was able to lie across him with space on either side to spare.
He pressed his mouth to her temple, and she stiffened. She forced herself to relax. It was just a kiss. He didn’t mean anything by it. It was not a tender gesture. And neither did the next one right by her ear, which sent a cascade of shivers all over her body. This was just his way of coming down from their high. That was all.
He stroked one hand up her back and cupped her head. A thumb hooked over her jaw, and he gently lifted her head. He kissed along her other jaw until he languidly kissed her mouth.
Nope, still didn’t mean anything.
To be safe, she nipped his lip and gave a throaty laugh.
He chuckled. “Vixen,” he rasped.
Impossibly, he began to stiffen inside her. She pulled away from his mouth enough to look in his eyes. She raised an eyebrow.
“Aye. I’d have ye again, if you’re willing, mo dhuslach rionnaige.”
A pounding on the door reverberated through the room, pulling them from their sensual cocoon.
“Time’s up, Iain.” Duncan’s clear, strong voice came through the door. “We need to talk. Now.”
Iain sighed, angled his head up, and gave her a quick kiss on her nose.
“Give us a minute, would ye? We’ll be right down.” He looked back at her and grinned.
Yes. She’d caved. This particular Highlander was a hottie in a kilt.
Chapter Twenty-One
When Sol in shades of night was lost,
And all was fast asleep,
In glided murder’d Towly’s ghost,
And stood at William’s feet.
“Towly’s Ghost,” Jacobite Reliques
Duncan, Iain, and his minx of a wife gathered around the scarred wooden table in the inn. The rays of the dying sun poked through the grimy, diamond-paned window behind Duncan, bathing their area in a murky shaft of light. Iain supplied each of them with a flagon of ale, as it looked as if a weighty discussion loomed and he preferred his throat well-oiled for such an endeavor.
Besides, he’d come to enjoy this inn’s homemade brew. Had a nice kick to it.
Traci snuggled against his left side, and her scent drove him mad. He adjusted his sporran to lay more fully against his still-hard cock. Far from taking the edge off, their bed sport had left him wanting her even more. She knew her mind and wasn’t ashamed to take her own pleasure, God bless her. He ached to find satisfaction in her arms again. The sooner the better. But his desire was edged with a growing trepidation—had he succeeded in breaking through to her?
Yet he knew Duncan. The man would not rest until whatever was on the bastard’s mind was aired. “What has your kilt tied in knots, Duncan?”
His cousin leaned back and crossed his arms. “We’ve attracted too much notice with our questions. We cannot stay here tonight. We need to leave.”
Traci straightened beside him. “But my sister! She’s in the castle. I told you.”
The premonition Iain had had when he’d first seen her by the well slammed back into him. “Did you learn something new?”
“Yes. You’ll think this is crazy. But I know Fiona is in there.”
“How do you know?”
“She’s the gruagach.”
Iain jerked back. “Explain.”
“Don’t you see? She’s pretending to be this creature. She dressed herself in rags, teased her hair, and is scaring the kitchen staff so she can get access to the food.”
“How can you be sure of this?”
“You don’t know my sister. That’s totally something she’d do.”
“If that’s the case, why doesn’t she just scare a guard from the gate and slip out? Or walk out at that, the same as she entered?”
She bit her lip. “I wondered about that. But she must be stockpiling food for a journey. This tells me she’s safe and not being hurt because no one knows she’s there. She must have been the one who entered on her own. The hauntings all started after the villagers said they saw her enter. And she’s nuts about Scottish history and lore; she’d know about that kind of creature.”
Iain gripped the handle on his flagon of ale. “But we can’t act on this. There’s no way to know if this is truly your sister, or just the superstitious imaginations of the kitchen staff. I can’t risk action on such flimsy evidence.”
“How’s this for evidence? Earlier today, one of the villagers told us the creature has been known to moan the words, ‘I am the ghost of Christmas past.’ ”
They stared at her blankly. ’Twas a strange thing to utter, but he couldn’t see how that proved anything.
Her shoulders slumped. “You guys will just have to trust me. My sister is the only one who would say a line like that. It…it comes from something in our childhood.”
“Explain,” Duncan barked.
She turned pleading eyes to Iain, and he knew without her saying that it was specific to their future world. But he couldn’t come right out and say that, and neither could she.
Under the cover of the table, he squeezed her thigh, letting her know he understood and would back her.
She turned to Duncan. “It’s a…a line from a Christmas story that someone we know…back home wrote. It’s not known outside of my family. So…don’t you see? It’s her. And she could be using that phrase in hopes the story of her haunting spread enough for me to hear about it. So that I’d know it was her!”
Duncan frowned. “I don’t know…”
“Makes sense to me,” Iain interjected. “It’s a special signal her sister knew Traci would recognize. I don’t think we could find a clearer one, if you ask me.”
Duncan gave a gruff nod. “It still doesn’t alter the fact that we cannot stay here tonight. Or in this village, for that matter.”
“Aye. I agree.”
Traci stiffened under his palm again, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her mouth part, ready to protest. Again, he squeezed her thigh. “We’ll pack up and leave, but we’ll hide in that glen to the west of here and plan our next steps.” He turned to Traci. “We’ll get your sister out of there. We just need to devise a plan. One that will not raise the ire of the Grant. This will take craft, not brawn.”
He chuckled, and she angled her face slightly to his and gave him one of her arch looks.
Oh, aye, he couldn’t wait to again bed his little spitfire. But then he sobered. Christ, they’d have no chance, for they’d be camping out in the open with Duncan as company.
He lost his erection, which was probably a blessing, and his sporran lowered to rest at a more natural angle in his lap.
Certainly they’d have one more stolen moment together before she left. Wouldn’t they? A moment where he could plead his case, ask her to stay.
He started to stand, but Traci grasped his arm. “Wait. Maybe we should scout out the castle grounds? See if there’s a weakness we can exploit? Then we can regroup and plan.”
“That sounds like a wise idea.” Iain turned to his cousin. “Duncan?”
“You two go ahead. You’ll be less conspicuous and can pose as love birds, if need be. I’ll pay a visit to my new informant, see if he has any ideas and meet you at the ravine in the glen.”
Iain grinned. Maybe he’d have a moment after all.
Forty-five minutes later, Traci and Iain leisurely rode on their ponies in the green swath of ground directly west of the walls to Urquhart Castle. When they’d settled their tab at the alehouse and saddled up their mounts, they’d made sure to leave no doubt that they were returning to Dungarbh keep, having given up on their search for their missing clanswoman.
She tightened her fingers on Fiddich’s reins as a thread of excitement coursed through her. She hoped they could not only get the lay of the land, but also spot a weakness they could exploit.
“What a gorgeous view,” she whispered. The early evening sun illuminated a sprawling complex at the bottom of a hill overlooking the blue waters of Loch Ness. “But how the hell are we going to get past that?”
A double gate bisected the high curtain wall, which stretched an impressive distance from left to right. She stood in the stirrups. Not much was visible beyond the walls, though, except for a five-story building tucked into the extreme left corner.
“That’s Grant Tower,” Iain said, guessing where her attention rested.
A farmer crossed their path, his back bowed with his wicker burden, and disappeared into a maze of a dozen or so support buildings which littered the ground between them and a ditch protecting the castle’s landward side. From the noise and smell, the motley complex housed a tannery, a blacksmith, and various woodworking trades.
Traci stroked Fiddich’s neck. “Do you see any weaknesses?”
“Nay. Not yet.”
They turned and rode parallel to the curtain wall, with Traci closest, so that Iain could observe the defenses while talking to her. Hopefully, to anyone watching, they gave the appearance of a couple simply conversing.
“A stone causeway traverses the ditch, with a drawbridge, which is closed up for the evening. The causeway on the other side of the drawbridge is protected by a smaller wall. I make out one…no, two sally ports in that smaller wall, as well as arrow slits. Access to the castle from there will have to be veiled in innocence, for we cannot assault or slip by their guards.”
They meandered the length and back, and Iain repeated all the details. She recited them back. “What about the crumbled part?” On the right, the wall climbed up a small hill, which sported a ruined tower and the collapsed roof of another building.
Iain reined in his pony and shook his head. “The villagers say that the family and residents live and work in the northern section but that a separate wall protects it from the collapsed area on the hill.”
She frowned. “So accessing the ruined area won’t do us any good.” There went that hope.
Iain confirmed her assessment with a shake of his head.
With darkness falling faster now, they turned their horses toward the setting sun and skirted around the hill directly before them.
Despite not finding an obvious weakness, the activity and focus had given her a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt since she’d zapped back to this time. Now they just needed to get back to their rendezvous point, join their observations with Duncan’s findings, and plan how to spring Fiona.
As darkness descended that evening, Iain led Traci westward to the hidden glen that had been handy since time immemorial to hide clansmen and their booty during cattle raids. It lay several miles west of Drumnadrochit, which itself was still several miles ahead. By degrees, Loch Ness disappeared behind them.
Iain nudged his pony closer to Traci’s. He couldn’t bear to have her farther than arm’s length. Their interlude at the inn earlier today still shook him. How had this woman—in such a short time—cut through all his defenses and come to mean so much to him? It baffled him frankly. He’d ached to have her, he’d ached while he was having her, and now he ached with the knowledge that he’d never have her again.
But what shook him the most was his disappointment. A disappointment more profound than any in his past. He’d always fallen hard, aye. Had loved each one and hoped time and again the woman would see something in him worth holding onto. And each time, he’d experienced the pang of loss.
Why was this different? Why did the thought of her leaving his life make his future gape wide open? Surely he’d find another woman, and he’d try again, but the thought left him feeling…barren. What was the point? He needed to accept the truth: he had nothing to offer any woman, and since women were smart—at least those he was attracted to—they knew better than to choose him.
He drew alongside his latest love, and immediately that same sense of peace and comfort he always felt in her presence washed over him. Her thigh brushed against his as their ponies drew too close and stepped away.
He glanced down at her as they parted, and she gave him a sly smile. A smile that would have warmed him yesterday with its sensual teasing. A smile that would have evoked an answering quip. But today, that smile cut him as surely as the sharpest sgian-dubh, for that smile said that he meant as little to her as any other man.
He stilled. He’d seen that smile once before. When they’d made love.
There’d been a moment when he’d been overcome with the most profound feeling of wholeness and rightness, and something fleeting had crossed her face. And then that smile. It was one of concealment. The jealousy he’d fleetingly witnessed—had that not been his imagination?
A new and different ache grew within. An ache to unpeel her. Not her clothes from her body, but peel back this…this shell she clasped around her and discover who lay beneath. To know her secrets. To know what drove her. To know her secret fears and wishes so he could protect her from her fears and grant her greatest wishes. His heart swelled in an odd way, and he blinked at a suspicious hint of moisture in his eyes.
It hit him then. He’d never had this desire with any of the other women he’d supposedly loved and wanted to make a life with. But no matter how he prodded, he could not see a way to accomplish this. A new restlessness—good Lord, was that fear?—worked its way into him. For even if he could unpeel her, it would be for naught. He still had nothing to offer her beyond a good roll in the hay, and the pain would be more acute to unpeel her and still not be what she wanted. Unpeeling worked both ways, he suspected, and she’d find nothing to hold onto within him. No other had.
Her shell, her barriers, simultaneously spoke to him but also butted up against his own failings, making a mockery of him.
Plus, she’d been fiercely determined this evening in the scouting of the castle. So had their interlude meant nothing to her? She seemed renewed in her determination to rescue her sister and return to her time.
But what if he did have more
to offer? For it was becoming increasingly clear that his uncle was failing his people. What if he…stepped up? The thought left him more than a little dizzy.
Perhaps he could risk unpeeling her.
“Can you tell me some of your life in the future?” His voice sounded natural, thank heavens.
She turned her face up to him, her dark red hair blending with the light of the setting sun. “Sure. What would you like to know?”
“What do you miss most about it?” He winced. Was he trying to stoke her determination to return?
She gave a wistful sigh. Curse it.
“Hot showers.”
He cocked his head. “What are these hot showers?”
She groaned. Almost sexually, and he grew strangely jealous. “They are like closets where hot water comes out of the wall from a pipe. That’s how we bathe.”
Curse it, that did sound pleasant. “They have such devices for people to use in each town?”
“They have one in each house!”
Iain’s eyes bugged at that. Her time did indeed have wonders. As she continued to talk, she spoke of machines that carried people through the air for great distances and of how she could use the portrait-making device she carried to talk to people wherever they were in the world.
His heart grew heavier and heavier with each new wonder. His goal of convincing her to stay now seemed naïve. Even if he somehow became chieftain, that would be no competition.
She must have sensed his shift in mood, for she trailed off, and they lapsed into silence. Which was fortunate, for it allowed him to hear voices up ahead. His mount’s ears pricked forward, stiff.
His hand shot to the side, and he grasped Traci’s arm to halt her as well. Their ponies pranced in place, frustration making them snort and rear their heads.
“What’s wrong?”
“People ahead. In the glen.”
Iain searched their surroundings. He pointed to an overhanging crag. “Let’s make our way there.” With a caution to be quiet, he led her up the slope. At the halfway mark, he had them dismount, and they crawled the rest of the way. His estimation of Traci rose by degrees as she not only didn’t protest but kept up with him without loss of breath.
Must Love Kilts Page 17