“I never thought being immortal would be so lonely,” was all she could think to say. Her words were not comforting in the least. Even she felt depressed.
“It isna lonely tonight,” he said, with a devilish twinkle in his bright eyes. “Not with you here.” He moved fast, circling his arm around her waist and placing his mouth over hers.
Kenna was stunned. Liking his kiss, she almost gave in to it, and had to push him away. “No,” she said firmly.
He had no right to take such liberties with her. Whether she liked the way it felt or not. This wasn’t a dream, and she had to make him understand he couldn’t take whatever he wanted. Not in her world. So why did she want to let him do just that?
A low growl rumbled in his chest and he held her tighter, his gaze darkening with lust. “No?” His voice was gruff. He looked as if he’d never been refused before.
“No,” she reiterated, trying to squirm away from him.
He released her and took a step back, acknowledging her boundaries. “Only when you want me.” He inclined his head respectfully.
His gentlemanly show of restraint suddenly made her want him, wild and untamed as he was. She tried to imagine what he would look like with a proper haircut and some fresh clothes. Something not a kilt.
“Oh, I feel terrible,” she said, inspecting the food stains on the front of his shirt and his tangled hair.
After thousands of years, she never considered the man might want to clean himself up. Take a shower. Get a change of clothes. She wasn’t being a very gracious hostess. She had awakened this man, so he was her responsibility now.
Shit.
****
Ian smiled with triumph. The lass didn’t have to feel terrible for refusing his advances. Only had to make it up to him with another tantalizing kiss. He reached for her, and was confused when she backed away from him. Was he reading her wrong?
Did he merely have to take her? Force her to submit to his will? He’d have her enjoying every moment of it. Her soft voice begging for him.
“Which is it, lass? Do you want me, or no’?”
“Is sex all you think about?” she snapped. “Maybe I should have left you sealed inside that tomb.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” He laughed at her fiery temper.
Then he froze.
He...laughed?
How long had it been since he’d known the pleasure of laughter? Of joy? This woman had brought it out of him. Gads, he was in love with her just for that.
“Would you like to bathe?” she asked. “I can get you some fresh clothes.”
Ian had no idea how he must look after centuries of slumber. He also had no idea how the men of her time looked and dressed. Perhaps she would receive him better if he saw to his appearance.
“Ah, lass, you ken the way to a man’s heart.” He winked at her. She was making all of this go much easier.
“Right,” she said, not convinced. “Come with me.”
She beckoned him to follow her and led him up the grand staircase, past a landing with a tall clock bedecked in gold trim. At least the man who’d found him had a worthy home. Ian liked lots of space and fine things. It appeared he had that in common with Duncan Douglas.
He missed the old man. He’d gotten used to hearing his voice down in the cave with him, rambling about curses and legends and magic. The old man would have been the one to open his tomb instead of Kenna, if David Wilkes hadn’t killed him. Ian would be sure to settle that score. He knew the man would be back, looking for immortality.
Ian had something else to give him.
Kenna led him to the top of the stairs, and then turned left down the darkened hallway. They passed so many rooms he lost count. In what room was Master Evan asleep? And where did she sleep?
She opened the door to a wash room and remained in the doorway while he stepped inside. He recognized the bath, but other things were strange to him.
“There are towels next to the shower.” She pointed to a shelf. “I’ll try to find you something to wear.”
He looked up from the strange chamber pot. “Will you no’ bathe with me?”
“No.” She blushed. “I will not.”
Couldn’t blame a man for trying. He could tell she liked the idea. No mistaking that blush in her cheeks. He pressed the silver handle on the chamber pot and the water swirled around the white bowl before gurgling down a hole.
Fascinating!
“Kenna Douglas!” A man came up behind her.
Ian recognized his voice. Her cousin. Evan. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkled and his hair a mess. Ian was certain he looked better than the young Master.
“What is my virtuous cousin doing entertaining a man so late at night?” Evan gawked at him, and then smiled broadly. “Or should I say so early in the morning? Trying to sneak him out before I was up?” Evan walked over and slapped him on the back. “Well done!”
What was the young lad going on about?
“Evan,” Kenna’s tone was a warning one. “I wouldn’t upset him.”
“He’s a big one too.” Evan studied Ian from head to toe. “A big one wearing a kilt?” Realization dawned in his brown eyes. “Is that a sword?” His gaze darted over to Kenna.
“Evan, meet Ian Fletcher.”
Ian held his hand out to the young Master, inviting him to take it. Evan stared dumbly at him.
“Doona fash yourself,” he said. “I mean you no harm. I owe your cousin my gratitude for releasing me from the spell.”
Evan absently took his open hand, never taking his eyes away from him, and shook it up and down in an odd manner. “You’re the Scottish guy from the tomb?” He creased his brow.
“Aye.” Ian nodded.
Evan cast a nervous glance at Kenna. “What the hell did you do?”
“You told me to find out what was in the thing,” she huffed, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. “Well, it was him.”
“Yeah, but how did you get it open?”
“I read the inscription.”
“Without me?” Evan complained. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I thought I was dreaming,” she said. “I...I can’t really explain how it all happened.”
“You’d better think of something.” Evan turned back to Ian and studied him closely. “How are we going to explain the empty tomb? And what do we say about him?”
“I haven’t really gotten that far,” she said. “He’s devoured the entire fridge, so he’s fed. I thought to clean him up a little and go from there.”
“You’re going to be in serious trouble if anyone finds out the truth.”
Ian tensed. Kenna in trouble? Because of him? He’d never let it happen. He would protect her.
“Me?” Her eyes went wide. “You’re in this just as much as I am.”
“I didn’t open the tomb and release an immortal Scottish warlord. You did that all by yourself.”
“And now you know about it, so you’re just as guilty.”
“No way.” Evan shook his head. “No way! This is nuts!”
As much as Ian hated to see Kenna upset, he rather enjoyed watching the two of them argue. They did it all the time. Though there was anger in their words, there was love between them. He chuckled with delight. It was a wonderful feeling.
“I’m glad you find this so amusing,” she responded.
It was his turn to catch her temper. He didn’t mind one bit. “You’re beautiful when you’re beelin’.” He purposely baited her, applauding himself when she blushed and grew nervous. Her green eyes stayed locked on him. So very beautiful.
Evan looked at him like he was off his head, then started laughing. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer, dear cousin.”
“Don’t make fun,” she scolded, narrowing her eyes. “Or I’ll have him put that sword to good use.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t lose your temper,” Evan teased. “You’ve got a man to bathe.”
Ian pulled his shirt off over his hea
d, ready to make those words a reality. To feel her soft hands on his flesh. He was careful as he tugged off his boots, not wanting to reveal the silver flask hidden inside. He removed each of the dirks strapped to his right arm and leg, and the dagger from his left boot, and piled them on the floor next to his shirt. He unfastened the sheath around his waist and carefully leaned his sword against the wall next to his other weapons.
Kenna and Evan were staring at him with the strangest expressions, eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Did people of their time not unclothe to bathe?
****
Kenna knew she was unabashedly staring at the warlord, but she couldn’t stop herself. He’d unloaded a small arsenal of weapons she hadn’t even realized could be hidden on a man in a kilt. Her eyes greedily took in the rest of him. Ian was a magnificent man made of thick, hard muscle, with a wide chest and a firm torso tapering to a lean waist. Light golden hairs dusted his chest, his arms and legs. His long blonde hair hung around his shoulders, but didn’t make him look any less male. A silver band with Celtic symbols encircled his upper right arm.
She thought of what it would be like taking him to her bed, of accepting him into her body, and a wild shudder quaked through her. They didn’t make men like him anymore. She could never have Ian for a lover. No. She’d probably faint if he kissed her again. She was terrible at things like sex and relationships. Ian deserved a better woman than her. Someone more experienced.
When he took off his kilt, she gasped and spun on her heel, blushing hotly from the quick flash of flesh she’d gotten before turning around.
Holy shit.
The man had large everything, and apparently had no hang-ups about nudity. She couldn’t do this. She had to get out of there. Right now. Or she was going to turn back around and throw herself into Ian’s arms. Let him have his wicked way with her.
“I do believe you made my cousin blush.” Evan chuckled.
“I’d like to make her do more than blush.” Ian’s thick brogue went right through her, making her knees go weak.
She glanced over her shoulder, looking at Ian without looking at him. “I’ll find you something to wear while you shower.”
His eyes were impossibly green. It was odd how, if you caught them at the right angle, they appeared to glow with some mystical light.
“Shower?” Ian questioned. “Oh yes, to bathe. I know what this is.”
Kenna turned pleading eyes on Evan. “Will you help him?”
“You’re asking me to wash a man?” Evan was horrified by the idea, she knew, but his masculinity would make it through unscathed.
“Just show him how it works,” she suggested.
“I know how it works, lass.” Ian waggled his brows and smiled smugly at her.
She pulled the door closed and practically ran down the hall, as far away from the bathroom as she could get. Ian most likely knew all too well how it works. His eyes held the promise of a skillful, generous lover. The one from her dreams. One she couldn’t get involved with.
What did she have to offer the immortal warlord? Besides her body. He probably wanted to experience the world and all it had to offer. He’d been tucked away in his tomb for a verra long time. God, he was rubbing off on her already.
She would keep things between them proper and modest. Teach him how to get along in the world, and then unleash him on it. Was that such a good idea? If something happened, or he got into trouble, would it come back to her? She had opened his tomb and set him free. She felt a measure of responsibility for her actions.
Taking one step at a time was the only way to do this properly, starting with getting the warlord clothed. She skipped Evan’s room and entered her uncle’s suite at the back of the house. He’d been taller than Evan, and wider through the shoulders, so his clothes had a better chance of fitting Ian.
She hadn’t come into this room since her uncle had died. Now she knew why. It felt like his spirit was still there, clinging to its former life. A stack of National Geographic magazines sat on the bedside table, with his reading glasses resting on top. The valet on his dresser neatly displayed pairs of cufflinks, expensive watches and his gold wedding band. His wife had left him years ago because he travelled too much and she didn’t like being alone all the time. Evan and his mother had never been close after the divorce.
Kenna went into the walk-in closet and was assaulted by the scent of pipe tobacco and Old Spice. Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered always getting that smell when she hugged her uncle. She’d never be able to hug him again.
She slowly started rummaging through the clothes, picturing Ian’s large, naked body. She’d never be able to forget the sight of him. How would she remain modest with that picture burned on her brain? The man had a serious effect on her, and they’d only just met. It was like every hormone in her body had come to life. Begging for his touch. If she wasn’t careful, those pesky little hormones were going to take her over and offer her up to Ian, legs spread and willing. Would that be so bad?
She touched her fingers to her lips as she remembered the firm, demanding way he’d kissed her. The feel of being pressed against his hard chest, with his strong arms around her. The deep burr of his voice. Ian was a man who knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it. How would she have the power to refuse him anything?
She forced her mind back to her present situation. Clothing the warlord was not going to be so easy. None of her uncle’s clothes were going to fit him. She settled for the black silk bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. It would have to do for now. At least he’d be covered.
Laughter came from the bathroom at the end of the hall. Evan and Ian. The door was slightly ajar and steam poured out like some ancient Highland mist. Kenna crept up to the door and peeked into the room. Ian had a white towel wrapped snugly around his waist. His long hair was wet and dripping water over his shoulders.
Christ.
What miracle had she worked to have this man in her house? Taking a shower.
“I’m more partial to the Glenfiddich,” Ian’s deep voice carried out to her. “The Glenlivet isn’t as bold.”
“I knew you’d prefer it,” Evan boasted. He loved being able to guess a person’s liquor of choice. It was his sixth sense.
“I can’t believe this.” Kenna pushed open the door. The smell of wet, clean man battered her senses.
Evan was re-filling two glasses of scotch from the bottle of Glenfiddich on the marble vanity area.
“He’s only been here a few hours, and already you’ve got him drinking.”
Evan handed one of the glasses to Ian. They clinked them together, and then each of them took a long swallow, with Ian finishing his drink altogether.
“He asked if we had any whisky.” Evan shrugged. “You said not to upset him, and I know keeping a man from his drink can be verra upsetting.” He imitated Ian’s Scottish accent, then finished his drink.
She would not have Evan turning the warlord into a drunk. Especially not with the amount of weapons he carried. Ian could take the house to pieces in a matter of minutes with all that sharp, gleaming steel.
“This was all I could find for now.” Kenna thrust the bathrobe at Ian. “When morning comes, we can get you to the store for some new clothes that will fit properly.”
“A shopping trip?” Evan perked up. “That’ll be grand!”
“You won’t be going along.” She was not taking a circus to the mall.
“I can’t leave Ian to your poor tastes when it comes to men’s clothes,” Evan argued. “If I let you dress him, he’ll end up looking like some Banana Republic nitwit.”
“What’s wrong with Banana Republic?” Kenna was steamed. She liked Banana Republic. They made good, classic clothes.
“You can’t dress a man like that —” Evan thrust his thumb over his shoulder in Ian’s direction. “in anything other than Armani, Gucci or Ermenegildo Zegna.”
She tried to picture Ian in a tailored suit as she watched him tie the robe closed. The
sleeves barely came past his elbows and the length fell mid-thigh. She stifled the urge to laugh at how poor the fit was. “What do we do with him tonight?”
“Give him a room,” Evan answered. “Let him rest up for tomorrow. Lord knows I need to.” He left Ian and Kenna standing alone in the bathroom.
She figured rest was the last thing a man who’d been asleep for a thousand years needed. And she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep one wink. She was too excited. So, what did she do with him? An immortal warlord in her house.
“Is there anything you require?” She used her best hostess voice. It would only be a few hours until morning arrived. She was afraid they’d be the longest few hours she’d ever lived.
****
Oh, yes. Ian required something. This sweet lass in his bed, her naked body stretched out beneath him. He wanted to taste every inch of her tender flesh, pleasure her until she could take no more.
Seducing her would be simple. He saw the way she looked at him. The way she was looking at him now. She was starving for what only a man could give her. What they’d shared in dreams that only he could give her.
He poured himself another glass of whisky and drank it down in one swallow. He offered Kenna a drink, which she politely refused. “What do you intend to do with me next?” he questioned. “If you’re wanting me in your bed, you only need say the word.”
Shock lit up her face, then anger. “What word is that?” She put her hands on her hips, not realizing the action jutted her breasts tighter against her silky nightdress.
“Yes will do, if that’s all you can manage.”
“I could give you a thousand words —”
“If I had you on your back, there would no’ be any words.” He leaned in close to her, staring down at her. “Only screams and moans, but I’d be happy with a thousand of those.”
He left her speechless. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, never taking her eyes from him.
“If you doona wish to share your bed, I wouldna mind seeing your uncle’s notes.” He was curious to learn more about Duncan Douglas and what he’d discovered about the Tuatha De’ Danaan and the curse. What had led the man to find him? Buried deep beneath the Earth in a cave. What might have happened had he not been killed so suddenly?
The Warlord Forever Page 3