by Jo Barrett
“Don’t think that because I let you drag me in here like some conquering warlord, that I’m afraid of you. I could put you on your back without stirring a breeze.”
Colin leaned closer. “No woman could put me on my back unless that was where I wished tae be with her riding astride,” he said lowly.
Her eyes widened and her cheeks colored. So her armor was not so thick after all. The lass had a soft underbelly, but he truly wished he hadn’t spoken of such things. The words brought to life too many tantalizing images.
“No woman would want you,” she spat, and turned away.
He snagged her by the arm and spun her around. She countered by grabbing his wrist and pulled, attempting to throw him off balance so she could jerk free, but he was too quick for her. Snatching her good wrist, he shoved her hand behind her back and leaned against her, imprisoning her in his arms. The moment he felt her toned shapely body pressed against him, he was lost. He could think of nothing, but how much he wanted to taste her.
His lips met hers—hard. He wildly feasted on her mouth as a low growl rumbled in the back of his throat. She answered the call, pressing against him with just as much force, just as much hunger. It stirred his blood to know that she too suffered the same pains as he, the same yearnings.
His hand slid down her back to the odd trews she wore, relishing the way they molded to her firm, round bottom. Cupping her sculpted flesh, he pressed her firmly against his aching shaft. He had to have her. Now.
Highlander’s Challenge
by
Jo Barrett
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Highlander’s Challenge
COPYRIGHT Ó 2006 by Jo Barrett
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art byRJMorris
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Faery Rose Edition, 2007
Print ISBN 1-60154-096-5
Published in the United States of America
Chapter One
Pushing all negative thoughts from her mind, Amelia Tucker, or Tuck as she preferred to be called, lifted her hands out in front of her. Turning her palms in opposite directions as she rotated her arms through the air, she concentrated on her breathing, inhaling deeply as she brought her hands toward her body, exhaling as she pushed them away.
Yin and yang. Out with the aggressive, in with the passive. She pivoted on her toes and raised her arm in a curve to shoulder level while sweeping her other hand toward her chest. Tension left her body as she focused on the flowing movements. Daily she performed her exercises, regardless of where she was or whom she was guarding.
“You look like you’re doing the Hokey Pokey,” a voice said from the doorway.
Not allowing the smart remark to deter her, Tuck continued executing each action precisely until she was finished. She needed this time, this meditation in motion. It helped to maintain her sanity in an insane world and focus her energies on what was important. Distraction could be deadly.
Lowering her arms to her sides, palms downward, she straightened her legs and equalized her body weight. She slowly relaxed and allowed her arms to hang naturally by her sides and breathed deeply for a few seconds.
The exercise complete, Tuck opened her eyes and pinned her gaze on Jenny Maxwell, her latest client. “For such an educated person, that’s the best analogy you can come up with?”
The waif-like woman shrugged as she strolled into the room, her caramel-colored corduroys zipping with each step.
“Can I help it if your exercises look like a slow version of a nursery rhyme?” She sat down on the edge of the bed and clasped her hands between her knees.
Pleasantly relaxed from her workout, Tuck chuckled softly. “I’ll bet you’ve never Hokey Pokeyed in your life. You were probably in a lab somewhere dissecting something while the other preschoolers were wiggling their diaper-clad bottoms.”
She crossed to her luggage and changed into her jeans and cable knit sweater. Although she’d never consider herself a clothes hound, the heavy knits were one of the many things she liked about Scotland.
“Actually I was calculating the average number of times my fellow classmates made mistakes in their attempts to follow the basic steps, but eventually I was pressed into performing the dance,” Jenny said matter-of-factly.
“I take it that was before they realized you were a prodigy,” Tuck replied as her head popped through the top of her sweater, setting her short crop of curls to bouncing.
Jenny sighed and adjusted her wire-framed glasses. “Yes.”
Often, Tuck sensed a deep sadness in her client’s voice, but pushed it aside, never letting it mesh with her own. They were not friends or confidants. Jenny Maxwell was a job, plain and simple.
“So, where are we off to today? I’m sure there’s a pile of rocks or some bushes you’ve missed on this tour,” Tuck asked for the sake of conversation, more than needing any real information. She knew exactly where they were going, the arrival and departure times, and any other pertinent points that would help keep Jenny safe. But she also wanted to be prepared for any of her client’s whimsical changes to the itinerary so she could squash them.
Being an avid history buff, Jenny was determined to see everything in Scotland down to the last bit of heather, regardless of the danger. No matter how many times Tuck explained the situation, Jenny would frown at her, and say, “Nobody wants to kidnap me.” As if she wasn’t worth the bother.
Tuck, however, didn’t take her job lightly. There had been kidnapping threats made, and she, as well as Jenny’s father, refused to ignore them. Thanks to her multimillionaire status, Jenny had become some lunatic’s distorted version of a hefty retirement plan.
Her charge jumped up from the bed like an eager child. “We’re going to the Isle of Mull, and if we don’t hurry we’re going to miss the ferry. I can’t wait to see Arreyder Castle, and Raghnall Castle, and the fishing village, and the gardens,” she rambled on.
Tuck held back her moan as she shoved her knit cap on her head and tucked her hateful curls underneath. She despised their walks through old gardens where there were too many places she could get caught unaware.
****
Less than an hour later the ferry pulled into Mull Bay alongside fishing boats and yachts bobbing gently in the water. The passengers disembarked and a few tourists, Jenny included, oohed and awed at the brightly painted buildings lining the streets down to the pier.
Tuck made mental notes of important thoroughfares and businesses as she drove the rental car off the ferry and through the small town, relieved to see the map she’d memorized was correct.
It wasn’t long before her client started another of her longwinded lectures, this one on the beginnings of the island and its inhabitants. With a photographic memory, Jenny had a tendency to regurgitate everything she ever read, and, if the number of pamphlets clutched in her hands were any indication, they were in for a very long day.
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Tuck took the single-track road toward their first stop. Nodding here and grunting there in response to Jenny’s continued chatter, she gave her rearview mirror a quick
glance, making sure they weren’t being followed. Convinced they were safe, she took a moment to admire the scenery.
She silently sighed in appreciation. The farmlands dotted with sheep and cattle, the moorlands, and sparsely wooded hills, much of the country’s ruggedness called to her like a kindred spirit. But this particular island had an unusual soothing quality she hadn’t anticipated. An almost coming home feeling. Something she’d never felt before.
She couldn’t understand why Mull seemed to mean something to her, something personal, but she pushed the sensation aside. Dwelling on it served no purpose. The success of her assignment was her only priority.
“Look, there it is,” Jenny said excitedly.
The massive stronghold rose up before them as they neared. Pulling the car into a parking space, she stared at the aged stone structure perched on the rocky point overlooking the sound. Out of the dozens of castles she’d seen on this insane trip, this one sent a faint but definite shiver down her spine. Why?
Stepping out of the car, she turned and carefully scanned the parking area. More likely it wasn’t Arreyder Castle but something else raising the hairs on the back of her neck. Yet no one seemed all that interested in her or her client.
“Hurry up, I don’t want to miss the start of the tour,” Jenny said, trotting up the walk toward the castle.
Tuck kept her eyes on their surroundings as she hurried after Jenny and snagged her arm. “Do not do that again. You stay with me at all times,” she said.
Jenny’s mouth turned down. “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten. You’re my bodyguard. It’s your job to be with me.” She pulled away and walked off, her shoulders sagging.
Tuck sighed and shook her head, despising herself for hurting Jenny’s feelings. But Mr. Maxwell hired her to protect his daughter, not to be her companion. She couldn’t wait for this job to be over. Guarding someone who didn’t want to be guarded and was a wacko genius to boot was hard as hell, but this would get her the recognition she craved. She just needed to get through this one assignment.
Her eyes peeled for any sign of danger, they entered the fortress. The guide’s voice echoed off the cool stone walls, explaining the changes that occurred to the castle over the centuries. The crowd shifted across the room toward the huge fireplace, and Tuck’s brow rose at the impressive display of claymores and daggers hanging above the mantel, all in pristine condition. She wouldn’t mind getting her hands on one of those beauties just to feel the weight of it in her palm, hear the swish of steel as it sliced through the air.
Moving on, the small group was shown a bedroom or two above the great hall, the dungeons, and the kitchens, but the family’s private quarters were off limits. She wondered what it was like to live in a castle in the 21st century. Nothing like it had been in the old days, she was certain.
Nearing the end of the tour, they followed the guide up a winding stair leading to the top of the keep. Climbing the worn stone steps, they passed through an arched doorway and stepped out onto the battlements. The wind slapped against her face, and she took long deep breaths of salty air, then flipped up her down vest collar against the chill.
Scotland in June was a lot cooler than she’d anticipated, but the view of the Sound of Mull was well worth the bite of the wind. She intentionally forgot how her fair, freckled cheeks would redden instantly or that the tip of her nose would run a close second to Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer.
Slipping her hands into her pockets, she deftly opened the small bag of Gummy Bears she’d stashed there that morning. The jellied candy was her one big weakness. She was a Gummy Junkie. Thankfully, they were extremely popular in Europe. She couldn’t go without her Gummies for an entire day, much less a month while touring the country. It was one of the few things she and her client had in common.
The cherry flavored treat slid effortlessly down her throat as she stepped up beside her client. Jenny took her offered handful of candy while taking in the view as Tuck continued to survey the area. The people and their clothes were out of place, almost comical in such an age-old setting, but Tuck easily imagined the former inhabitants, thanks to Jenny’s incessant lecturing on how modern man compared to ancient Scots. There was something very appealing about a Highland Warrior.
She hadn’t cared too much for the battle stories they’d heard on their previous tours. She’d seen enough pain and blood in her life, one of the reasons she got out of the army. Nor did she wish to relive it through Scottish history. But a man in a kilt wielding a claymore certainly held her interest. She wouldn’t tower over that sort of man. A painful lesson she’d learned back in grade school. Men didn’t like women bigger than them, no matter the age.
She could almost see him. A dark Highland Warrior surveying the choppy waters below, his long black hair whipping his broad shoulders from the turbulent wind off the water.
“You know, even though this is beautiful, I don’t think I could live here. It’s too—rough.”
The wind carried Jenny’s voice to Tuck’s ears, snapping her out of her momentary trance. She was slipping. It wasn’t like her to daydream on the job. It wasn’t like her to daydream at all. What was it about this island, about this assignment?
Internally cursing her momentary lapse, she said, “I don’t know. I kind of like it. There are plenty of rougher places to live, believe me.”
Tuck watched the remaining stragglers, holding tight to her thoughts. She wouldn’t screw this up. With Mr. Maxwell as a reference, she’d be able to stop freelancing and set up a real company, hire some assistants and branch out. She’d be the best in the personal protection business.
“Yes, it does suit you,” Jenny said sagely.
Ignoring her client’s insightful look, she glanced at her watch. “Time to go if you want to make that other castle before we have to catch the ferry back.”
With a nod, they walked to the car.
Tuck looked back at the massive walls reaching up to the sky, one last time. Jenny was right. The roughness of Arreyder Castle was very much like her. It had been beaten by the elements, by wars, by time, and by men, but it still stood, strong and proud, ready for battle.
Shaking off the uncharacteristically poetic thought, she climbed into the car and headed for their next stop.
Once they reached Raghnall Castle, several miles away, they fell in behind yet another group of tourists. They wandered the ornate rooms, while Jenny hung on every word coming out of the guide’s mouth.
Tuck held in her sigh. No doubt more lectures on Scottish history were sure to result from their latest excursion.
Ending the tour in the garden, relieved the day of wandering historic landmarks was almost over, Tuck’s eyes zeroed in on a gorilla of a man. Did she recognize him? Had he been at Arreyder Castle or on the ferry?
No, she would’ve remembered him, but his intense perusal of the statues seemed orchestrated, and his constant fidgeting with something in his coat pocket unnerved her.
Every muscle in her body tightened.
It could be a gun or a knife. Or it could be nothing more than his keys. Either way, she had to be ready for anything.
She flexed her calf muscle, comforted by the strap of her knife sheath cutting into her leg. Not her first choice in weapons, but it would have to do. Jenny had a sincere dislike of firearms and refused to be near one even if it might very well save her life. Tuck had almost turned down the job because of that not-so-small stipulation, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity—ergo, no gun.
But damned if she didn’t wish she’d brought it along anyway. No one would’ve been the wiser, and she’d feel a hell of a lot better with her Beretta strapped to her leg instead of her survival knife.
“You aren’t listening,” Jenny said with a dejected sigh.
Tearing her gaze from the stranger, she glanced at her client. “Sorry, just doing my job.”
Frowning, Jenny walked over to a large fountain, her step not nearly as light as before.
Tuck bit back a curse. Sh
e wouldn’t apologize for the truth. With a glance at the man still studying the statues, she followed, silently slipping up beside Jenny. Keeping her eyes on the milling crowd, she couldn’t help but wonder why people wanted to walk all over these old castles. But even she had to admit she liked a few of them.
No. One of them. Arreyder Castle. But this one was too fancy for her tastes. Raghnall Castle had been built in the Baronial style with turrets and steep roofs and decorative doodads all along the roofline. Formal terraces covered with roses, gardens of every type spread over a dozen acres, and a statue walk of life-sized limestone figures surrounded the pale stone structure. Not her style at all.
She liked the rougher castles where the walls were built to withstand invasion and the grounds were laid out for military training, not for strolling through. She could almost picture some dandified man in one of those white powdered wigs shoving snuff up his nose as he trailed after some giggling female wearing a dress big enough to sail a ship.
Tuck shook off the image, disgusted with herself for letting Jenny’s obsession with history interfere with her work—again.
“Are you ready to go?” Tuck asked, not liking the way her thoughts repeatedly strayed or the way the man in the long jacket was easing toward them.
“Oh, no. Not at all. This has such a softer feel to it than Arreyder Castle. I could spend hours wandering the grounds, imagining I’ve gone back in time. Couldn’t you?”
“No. I couldn’t,” she lied, easily picturing herself standing alongside a dark Highland Warrior atop the battlements they’d walked less than an hour ago.
Shaking her head to dispel the image, she said, “Look, I’ve got an uneasy feeling about this place.” And that gorilla, she added mentally, concentrating on her job and not imaginary men. She’d been let down enough by real ones.
“You’ve got an uneasy feeling about everyplace,” Jenny grumbled.
Tuck shot her a look, but remained silent.