Ladies Prefer Rogues: Four Novellas of Time-Travel Passion

by Janet Chapman

  “A wee trap, eh?” He gave her rump a squeeze. “Just as I set for you in the bog?”

  “Iain MacNab, you be serious!” She gave a swat to his arm.

  “Oh, I’m nothing if not serious.” He pulled her closer, leaning down to speak low in her ear. “My trap was years in the making. Set by the fates themselves, generations ago.”

  He pulled from her, cupped her chin. His tone grew somber as he gazed intently in her eyes. “You see, ’twas the fates themselves who sprinkled heather all along the isle. And the heather turned to dirt, and the dirt to peat. And the peat and I, we both waited. Waiting and watching for the day when the most beautiful, the truest and the sweetest of all women crossed our path. ’Twas the most mysterious, the most potent of traps, set to snare my one true love.”

  “And did it?” she asked weakly. “Snare your one true love?”

  “Did it? Oh aye, Cassie.” He took her shoulders gently in his hands. “Did it indeed.”

  He studied her, studied this most miraculous of gifts before him. Cassie, so lovely and kind. She was an open book and a riddle both. She who broke and mended his heart every day, a thousand times a day.

  “Do you not know it, Cass? How very much I love you?” He kissed her tenderly on her brow. Kissed her hair, her cheeks, her eyes. “For I do love you. More than my life, more than this earth, more than heaven above, you are the beating of my heart and the breath in my lungs.”

  “As I love you, Iain MacNab.” Her voice was a sigh on the wind, strained tight, as if speaking freely might loose the very soul from her body.

  And, in it, he heard eternity.

  He didn’t know how to contain himself. How to contain this feeling. This love for her. This want. He kissed her then, but tenderly, his lips merely a whisper over hers.

  Iain pulled away. Her eyes were still shut, her lips slightly parted. He memorized her face, and he knew the image would be imprinted upon him forever.

  Her eyes opened, and meeting his scrutiny, she smiled at once. Cassie gave her head a tilt. “But do you still want to know about the rabbits?”

  His laugh was loud and joyful. “Och, Cassie, my love,” he boomed, hugging her close. “Your wee hunting victory is the only thing I want to hear about.”

  “Well,” she began, lowering her voice as though about to spin the tallest of tales. “I found a den. Not far from the keep. It’s off the kale garden, and so I can sneak out, none the wiser. I’ve been watching it for weeks. Until finally. Finally I made a wee trap. I wove it out of reeds,” she said proudly. “And this morning, sure as eggs, two rabbits scampered out and—”

  She was too much. Too sweet, too innocent, too fine.

  He dropped the pair of rabbits tied at his shoulder. “And . . .” he said huskily, scooping her up and carrying her from the drove path.

  She squealed her surprise and pleasure as he rolled them into a nest of deep bracken. The ferns were damp and cool, webbing over their heads like curtains of green lace.

  “’Twas it a trap like this one? Or was it more like a wee basket you made with your reeds?”

  “Aye.” Her voice wavered. She licked her lips.

  “Aye like a trap, or aye, a basket?” He traced errant wisps of hair from the delicate arch of her brow, stroked them from her forehead. “And I must wonder, perhaps they didn’t ken they’d been trapped. Mayhap they thought themselves still in their den.”

  Her hair spread like a halo around her, exposing her throat, her neck. He leaned down, tasted her, nuzzled her. He whispered in her ear, “And do you ken what wee bunnies like to do in their dens?”

  “Eat wee turnips?” Her voice shook, and their laughter was a momentary respite from the tension between them.

  “Aye, but what is it that makes them hungry?” He tenderly nipped at her, and their desire raged anew. Her heart pounded against him, and he pressed closer to feel it. That was his heart beating in her chest. “What it is that whets their appetites?”

  He felt her legs grow loose, opening to him. She sighed his name, and he had to grip her hips, needing desperately to hold on to something that would anchor him to this earth.

  She was unschooled in the ways of the flesh and yet . . . Instinctively, she spread her legs. Instinctively arched her back, offering him her breasts. And he knew. Cassie was like tinder ready to spark, and God help him, the wildfire would consume them both.

  His body grew tight. He was a patient man. But, he realized, not that patient. She was the bride of his heart. He had to have her as his wife in truth, and soon.

  He nibbled at her pale throat. Dipped his head lower. Lower than he’d ever allowed himself to go. He traced kisses along the neckline of her bodice. Her skin was soft and full at his lips. Her moan nearly unmanned him.

  He needed to stop but couldn’t. He wanted so desperately to pull her gown from her, to take those breasts in his mouth. He’d waited so long to taste her softness. Every renegade brush of bosom along his side or against his arm, had him fantasizing what it would be to palm her bare flesh. Feel her silken skin under his fingertips.

  He slowly kissed her until he reached the center of her bodice. The neckline dipped down, exposing the merest hint of a crease between her breasts.

  He could fight it no longer. He traced it with his tongue, echoing the V of her gown. He dipped in and down, between her breasts. The soft give of flesh in his mouth drove him over the edge.

  His body raged, hard for her. He knew he should stop. He needed to stop. Before he was no longer able.

  And yet, he couldn’t bear to. Not yet.

  Slowly, he drew his hand from her hip, brought it to her waist. An image flashed to him, a fantasy, the vision of his hand just there, guiding her on a dance floor.

  Someday they’d be wed. Someday he’d guide her in their first dance. Someday that would come to pass.

  The thought brought him back to himself. He’d not take her in the dirt like an animal. When their time came, he’d see her atop fine linens with a down-soft mattress beneath her.

  He inhaled sharply. Pulled his head up to meet her gaze. Her eyes were half lidded from pleasure, and he almost let madness take him then. To see her lust echoing his? It was sheer gritted will that kept him in check.

  He gave her what he hoped was a light smile, yet he knew the shadow of his wanting was still in his eyes.

  He needed to stop, but he had to take just one bit more. Just one kiss, before they rose from the bracken.

  He’d ferry her wee trophies to his aunt’s table. He’d be carefree and easy, working his fields and saving his coin, patiently waiting until the last anxieties about her father were wiped from her brow.

  He’d pretend he didn’t long for her day and night, pretend he was more than half a man without her. He’d let one more day pass without pressing his suit. Too hard.

  But first he’d kiss her, just once more.

  He leaned close, pressed his lips to hers. His heart galloped in his chest, but still, he kept the kiss sweet. Tasted her but lightly.

  Cassie twined tender fingers in his hair, and the gesture pricked some sharp emotion. It ached in his throat, filled his heart.

  And he marveled how always with Cassie, each time, every time, each kiss was always better than the last.

  Five

  “And you’re certain your lass survived the day without you?” Gordie’s tone was somber, but his eyes glowed with amusement as he rowed their small fishing boat to shore.

  “Aye,” Niall agreed with his brother. “I didn’t know they could even be apart.”

  “Enough, lads, enough.” Iain beamed. He loved his friends’ ribbing. He’d have more of it. He’d have the whole world poke fun at him. He was a fool in love, and love wasn’t proud. “Though I will grant you, a day in your company is a pale substitution for my lovely—”

  “Uugh.” Niall pretended to be ill over the side of the boat.

  “Och, more of this?” Gordie said. “Best haul her in, Niall, before the sot gets started
again.”

  The young man was stringing up their huge haul of fish. A large haddock slipped from his fingers, dropping into the bucket with a splash. “Why do I always have to haul her in?”

  “I’ll take her this time, lad,” Iain said. He slid into the water, rope in hand, to tug the boat onto the sand. His plaid floated around him, the wool heavy with seawater. “Age before beauty, aye?”

  “He is crazy with love,” Gordie marveled, and the brothers rolled their eyes.

  The chest-high waves bobbed the boat in erratic, staccato movements as Iain pulled her through the surf. When they reached the shallows, his mates leapt out to join him, helping to tug her in the rest of the way.

  “A good day, aye?” Niall said, admiring the garlands of haddock and cod.

  “What say you, Iain?” Gordie tossed the last of their haul on the shore and sidled up to his friend to help capsize their boat on the sand. “Do you think a creel of herring will dispose the laird to you?”

  “I still don’t believe the lass is truly willing to marry him,” Niall muttered.

  “The lass has a name. And, aye,” Iain said proudly, “Cass will have me indeed. She gave me a scare, though.” He was silent for a moment, remembering. “Said she told her father she loved me.”

  Gordie and his brother gasped, standing still where they stood in the sand.

  “Aye,” Iain said. “’Tis true. I thought my heart would fail me when I heard. But damned if the old cad didn’t warm to the idea.”

  “The MacLeod?” Niall asked, astounded.

  “We are talking about the laird, correct?” Gordie shook his head in astonishment. “Your lass is a determined one.”

  “That or crazy.” Iain shrugged. “Either way, it seems the MacLeod isn’t entirely opposed.”

  “Or he’s not yet tried to kill you outright,” Niall muttered.

  “She told him your plan, is it?” Gordie dusted the sand from his hands. “About the lands you’re eyeing in Stornoway?”

  “Aye, I think that must’ve been the trick.” Iain bent to rake his fingers through the sand. He’d spied a shiny black ridge, and dug it free. A mermaid’s purse, Cassie’s favorite.

  I’ll take you away, across the sea. You can be my mermaid , he’d told her once. He couldn’t get over the fact that his dream was so close to hand.

  A distant shriek ripped down to where they stood. They stilled, rigid, looking up the beach to the grassy hills above. A woman ran to them, shouting and gesturing wildly.

  “Morna?” Iain muttered. His aunt?

  As she grew closer, her screams became clear. “Run!” she cried.

  “What—?” Iain was frozen in place.

  She was on the sand now, racing to them, her skirts hiked high at her knees. “You must go! Run! They say you’ve stolen.”

  Gordie stiffened, stepping forward to speak for his friend. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “They say he’s stolen,” she panted, reaching them by the shore. “From the laird.”

  “Stolen?” Gordie and Niall asked in unison.

  “The rabbits,” Iain said dully. Though he knew it wasn’t rabbit the MacLeod was worried about. “They’ll accuse me of stealing the rabbits.”

  Morna’s face fell. That meat had graced her table. “Don’t fret,” Iain told her quickly. “Surely Cass will speak up for me. Clear my name.” He gave a firm nod, certain she’d clear it up.

  “Cass . . .” Morna faltered. “Cassie can’t, Iain.”

  He stared. The words didn’t make sense. “What?”

  “She’s to be married. To the Lord Morrison. They’ve taken her already.”

  His heart stopped. Surely he’d heard wrong.

  “That’s not true,” he said. “She’s marrying me. Cassie is promised to me. There’s been a mistake.”

  His aunt’s wordless and pitying look told him there’d been no mistake.

  And then Iain did run. He raced up the beach.

  He’d stop her. Save her.

  “You can’t!” Morna screeched at his back. “She’s gone. Protect yourself, boy! The laird wants your neck!”

  But he charged up the beach to face what he would. The mermaid’s purse left crushed behind him in the sand.

  Six

  “Are there any who would speak for the peat boy?”

  Iain struggled, and the rope cut into his wrists. He was trussed like a beast. A knot of men held him, facing off a crowd of villagers who’d not meet their eyes.

  Iain watched his townsfolk. Saw their fear and their pity. All kept silent.

  Cassie kept silent.

  “Iain Gillespie MacNab has been accused of stealing,” the Laird MacLeod announced.

  Iain scowled. This wasn’t about any rabbits. If aught had been taken from the MacLeod, it was his daughter.

  “The peat boy has stolen from me. ’Tis a hanging offense. Though, man that I am, I might extend some measure of mercy.” The laird’s voice was a baritone snarl from the side, and Iain twisted his body to see him. The MacLeod was big and burly, with a chest like a barrel, and the yellow of Cassie’s hair twined with the white of his years. Measure of mercy. The man disgusted him.

  Iain’s eyes flashed to Lord Morrison standing by the MacLeod’s side. Morrison was older. A man smelling of snuff and foul breath. He was the man who was to wed his Cassie.

  Fury swelled in Iain’s chest until he thought he’d burst from it. “Take me,” he shouted suddenly. He’d go to his death willingly, if it would save sweet Cass from this vile arrangement.

  Iain looked at her. So terrified and alone. Would she not speak? He could bear the worst of all tortures, if he could only hear her voice once more.

  “I beg you,” he implored the laird. “Spare your daughter. Take me. Hang me. Do what you will.”

  Cassie stared at him, her eyes wide with horror. She gave small shakes to her head as though trying to communicate something. Why would she not just speak? What had they done to her?

  Morrison stepped closer to her, wrapped a possessive arm around her.

  Rage, frustration, heartbreak . . . a tumult of emotions boiled in his veins, hissing from his throat, sounding a single word. “Cassie,” he cried, then louder, “Cassie!”

  And still she only stared, fear and that mysterious intensity in her eyes. His heart gripped.

  “Cassie?” He cursed the crack in his voice, sounding a plea now. “Please, Cass, love. You don’t have to do this. He can’t make you do this.”

  “Shut it, boy,” the MacLeod snarled. “Will none speak for him?”

  Iain knew the others wouldn’t speak out. None would raise a voice against the laird. Even if they knew he was in the wrong.

  “The peat boy has broken the law, and he will suffer the consequences.”

  A rustle whispered across the crowd. Iain saw his aunt’s face. She alone opened her mouth to speak. Iain gave a frantic shake of his head to silence her. His aunt had enough troubles.

  Two from her houseful of boys clung at her skirts. She held the youngest, her only girl, in her arms. Yellow hair shone like spun silk on the child’s head.

  It was the laird’s child Morna held, the laird’s child laid on her by force. Did the man destroy all he touched? Iain wrenched his head to spew the curses that raged in his chest. “Damn you!” he growled to the MacLeod.

  Cassie’s father came up behind him. A pair of hot, beefy hands gripped his arms where they were tied at his back. He leaned close, whispering in Iain’s ear, “I’ll mind your Auntie Morna after you’re gone, peat boy. She’s a willful bird, but if I take her in firm hand, I find she always obeys.”

  Iain’s eyes flicked along the crowd, finding his aunt once more. Terror contorted her features.

  His gaze went back to Cassie. His Cassie, still unbearably lovely, even in her grief, weeping in silence like some mourning angel.

  The laird spoke again in his ear. “Aye, I’ll see Morna submit. Just as Morrison has made my wayward daughter come to heel.”


  Some final part of him shattered, cracked like a glass vial, dumping acid into his veins. Iain gave a tug to his bonds. If it weren’t for the rope tying his wrists, the laird’s neck would already be snapped.

  The MacLeod took Iain’s hands, wrenched them. There was a popping and pain exploded white like a burst of sparks. But Iain ignored the pain, struggling wildly now. He felt the bones of his arms strain at their sockets.

  He was being torn from his Cassie. His eyes were for only her now. He shouted for her, and again. But still she only stared in silent agony. He saw fear in her gaze, and dread.

  She gave another small shake of her head. Was she telling him to move on? That she’d moved on? What of their promises, whispered beneath the standing stones? He fought to breathe.

  Iain watched in horror as she tucked down, curling herself into Lord Morrison’s side. Did she turn away from Iain, from their love? Was she turning instead to this old swine for comfort? Did Cassie forsake Iain already?

  Ice lodged in his belly, already roiling with bile, and he felt violently nauseous. Was she choosing riches over peat boy? Or did she simply prefer the weight of an old man’s body?

  “Cassie, my love.” His voice was small then, anguished. A mere sigh on the breeze.

  “Did you truly think I’d let my only daughter wed a peat boy?” Laird MacLeod gave him a shove. Toward a cart.

  Where a cage awaited him. The cage where he’d live, until they stretched his neck at the end of a hangman’s rope.

  “No!” Cassie screamed, finally. The anguish in her voice hit him all the more savagely for her silence in the moments before. “You promised!”

  “Hush, girl,” her father spat. “I said I’d keep him alive. I never promised to keep him free.”

  A cawing sounded over their heads. The invisible net of tension that’d held the crowd spellbound snapped. All looked up, whispered among themselves. The voices grew louder and braver.

  “Three gulls,” a woman cried. “Three gulls means death.”

  His aunt shrieked. She’d think it portended his death. She didn’t know Iain wished for precisely that. If he died there, then, he’d not have to bear the image of Cassie turning to the old lord. Not have to bear her betrayal.