by C. A. Szarek
Feeling around the place, somehow she managed not to fall on her ass. Every horse she walked by shifted or neighed.
Finally she found him—or rather, he found her. Jules called his name a third time, and Dubh bumped her outstretched hand with his muzzle.
“I gotta go, boy. Can you take me?” She rested her forehead against his wider one, and the stallion lipped her palm. She rubbed his baby-soft nose and sighed.
I don’t want to go.
Jules opened the stall, holding her breath when the wood protested with a loud creak.
Dubh followed her out of the stable and across the bailey with no more than her hand on his neck. She glanced up at his tall back. She was going to have to haul her ass up there, but she’d wait until she assessed the gate sitch. If she couldn’t convince the guard to let her leave—and she hadn’t even contemplated the how—it was game over anyways.
Maybe the horse route was foolish. She could have snuck out on foot much easier.
“Who goes there?” A deep voice demanded.
Jules swallowed and straightened her shoulders. She bit back a cry of relief when she made out Colin MacDonald in the darkness.
He stepped toward her, a lit torch in hand. Fire illuminated the handsome planes of his face. His dark brows were drawn tight, but his blue eyes were kind, like always. “My lady?”
“Colin. I-I-I need to go.”
Silence.
Her stomach somersaulted.
“The laird doesna know.” It was statement, not question.
“No, he’s sleeping.”
“I shouldna let ye leave, my lady.”
Shouldn’t is better than can’t.
“I…can’t stay anymore, Colin. I have to go home.”
His mouth set in a hard line, and Jules’ heart sank. He wasn’t going to let her out.
“He’ll come after ye, my lady.”
“Probably. But I’ll be gone by then.”
Colin held a torch higher. “Ye’ve Dubh, my lady.”
“Yeah.”
Shock rolled over her when Hugh’s cousin grinned. “He’ll be angry. Verra angry.” His statement was wrapped in amusement.
“I don’t want you to be in trouble with him. This is all on me. Can you tell him I knocked you out, or something?”
Colin chuckled. “’Tis certainly tha safest thing fer me.”
Jules relaxed a tad. “So you’re gonna let me go?”
“Aye.”
She blew out a breath and swallowed. “Thank you, Colin.”
Hugh’s cousin nodded and helped hoist her to Dubh’s back.
Jules thanked him again.
“Ye are verra good fer my cousin, my lady. I am sad ta see ye go.”
She wove her hands in Dubh’s think mane and swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to, believe me.” Emotion made her words shake and Jules frowned.
That’s not true, is it?
Colin opened the gates and Dubh darted out, cantering down the long road without much urging. She didn’t give in to the desire to look over her shoulder.
Jules couldn’t look back.
If she did, she’d lose her nerve and turn around.
* * * *
Hugh awoke alone, but her scent lingered all around him. His pillows, his plaid and the other blankets on his bed, it was all Juliette. He inhaled and closed his eyes. He could drown in her. Happily.
He stretched and reached. Hugh frowned when the linens he encountered were cold. She’d left his bed some time ago.
Sitting up, he swallowed a yawn and looked around the room. “Juliette?”
The lack of an answer had his frown slipping to a scowl. Hugh threw his legs over the side of his bed and shoved to his feet so fast his head reeled.
Where is she?
His clothing was strewn all over the floor, but hers wasn’t in sight.
“Juliette?” He made his voice louder, but his gut said she was gone. Hugh cursed and whipped his trews off the floor.
Shoving his legs in probably took more time than if he would’ve just taken a breath and dressed at a normal pace—because he’d missed twice and almost tripped.
He tugged a fresh tunic overhead and strapped his sword on with jerky hands. His heart was thundering, but he ignored that—and what it could mean.
Hugh stormed out into the corridor and slammed his door shut. He stomped down into the great hall, only to be met with emptiness.
“Juliette!” His call echoed.
The sun was up—but barely so, if the pale light streaming in the big window was any indication. Hugh stalked to the kitchens, yelling her name as he went. There was already activity there—lasses preparing to feed the men when they woke.
He doubted his foundling was there, but perhaps someone had seen her.
“Hugh MacDonald, wha’ are ye hollerin’ abou’ at this hour?” Aunt Mab’s voice was as cross as her expression when he whirled around and met her dark gaze. His aunt had one hand propped on one ample hip, and the other planted on her cane. She stood in the doorway leading to the kitchens, blocking his way.
“Have ye seen Juliette?” he barked.
“Nay. Isna’ she wit’ ye?”
“Would I be lookin’ fer her if she was?”
Mab frowned. “Doona’ talk ta me like tha’.”
Irritation rolled over him but Hugh sighed. “Have ye seen her?”
“Nay.”
He cursed long and loud, and his aunt ranted about his language. Instead of answering the woman who’d raised him, he spun away and stalked out toward the bailey.
No clansman he encountered had seen his lover.
Juliette was nowhere to be found—inside or outside of Armadale.
That meant she’d fled.
Damn good thing he knew her destination.
But why now?
Things had been good the night before, despite their daily searches failing to locate the Irish bairn thief over the past week and a half. Word from the MacLeods confirmed they hadn’t found her, either. Both clans continued to search.
Last night was more than good.
They’d talked, laughed, and he’d taken her twice. She’d not complained about anything. Juliette had even kissed him long and hard before they’d gone to sleep. He’d held her in his arms like every night since he’d brought her back.
Was she upset his men had failed to locate the Irish lass?
Hugh rammed his hand through his hair and shook his head. He’d just have to ask her.
When he got her back.
His conscience chided that he should let Juliette choose. He couldn’t snatch her a third time. He should’ve let her choose from the beginning. He’d brought her to Armadale—twice—against her will.
Should he let her go?
She’d said multiple times she needed to get home. She didn’t mean Dunvegan.
The future.
Full of things he couldn’t even fathom, though he’d listened with rapt attention any time Juliette had told him of the world she lived in.
Hugh didn’t want to let her go.
He jogged to the stables and hollered for the lad to ready Dubh. He was greeted with a hasty, “Aye, my laird.” And paced while he waited.
“My laird.” The lad skittered to a halt in front of him, with no black stallion on his heels.
Hugh steadied him with a hand to his thin shoulder. “Lad? What’s wrong?”
“Dubh isna’ here, my laird.”
“Wha—” Hugh blinked. It didn’t take long to figure out—Juliette had taken his horse? He should’ve been angry as hell, but he threw his head back and laughed.
Big brown eye were as wide as they could go when he met the lad’s gaze. “My laird?”
“Well, go on, ge’ me another horse.”
“Oh!” The lad jumped. “Aye, my laird.”
Hugh rode to the gates on a dark brown mare Dubh had sired. She wasn’t as good as his stallion, but she was fast. He took one lo
ok at the guilt on his cousin Colin’s face, and narrowed his eyes. “Ye, I will deal wit’ later.”
Colin had the decency to nod, but Hugh didn’t like the twinkle in his eyes.
He nudged the mare forward and she darted down the road.
Chapter Nineteen
She heard his deerskin boots in the sand even before she caught his now-familiar scent. In her peripheral vision she saw him tell the other horse to go home. He gave it a smack on the ass and it darted the way he’d come.
Jules closed her eyes and hugged her knees closer to her breasts in the borrowed leine and trews. She’d left Claire’s black corset in Hugh’s room, so at least she could breathe.
Dubh snorted and hooved the rocky sand, as if he felt her nerves. Or maybe he was greeting his master. He tossed his head like he was beckoning Hugh.
She wanted to glare at him. “Traitor,” she said under her breath.
The stallion moved toward the laird, nuzzling Hugh’s tunic-covered chest. Hugh patted Dubh’s wide forehead, running his hands under the horse’s wide jowls.
Jules studied the surface of the water, watching the waves crash into each other before they hit the shore, over and over. “Are you angry with me?” She felt Hugh’s body heat at her back.
“Nay.” He grunted as he lowered his large frame to the sand beside her.
“Really?” She risked a side-glance at his handsome face.
Tenderness in those dark eyes made her heart skip.
Don’t look at me like that.
“Dubh will always return ta me.”
Jules wanted to ask what about me? She couldn’t speak. A lump dominated her throat.
Wind tossed the loose waves of her hair in her face, and Hugh beat her to tucking the strands behind her ear. The touch made her want more.
“I reckoned ye would go ta Dunvegan,” he said.
She sighed. “That was the plan.”
“Then?”
Jules shook her head, averted her eyes and tried to stave off tears.
“Lass? Wha’ happened?” His low voice was a demand that should’ve irritated, but it only made her stomach flutter.
“You happened.” She cursed the confession.
Hugh said nothing, but she didn’t fight him when he slid his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. His warmth bled into her side, through the rough material of seventeenth century garments.
She wanted to throw her arms around him, bury her face against his massive chest. Melt into him. Beg him to kiss her, touch her again. “I can’t stay here.” Desperation wrapped the words even to her own ears.
He’d know she didn’t mean the beach.
“So ye’ve said.” Hugh was matter-of-fact. No hint to what he was thinking.
Or feeling.
Jules bit back a whimper.
He cupped her cheeks and tilted up. So she had no choice but to meet those dark eyes. Deep pools of midnight. Hugh’s gaze raked her face. Her barbarian said nothing, but those lush lips parted and her heart kicked up.
When he dipped his head down, Jules met his kiss, instead of pulling away like she should. She fell into him like always. Opened him for him without hesitation, shifting into the circle of his arms as his tongue enticed hers.
Emotion threatened to swallow her whole. Jules pushed it all way, gathering physical feeling to her, and kissed him harder.
Hugh rose to his knees in the sand, and she went with him, slipping her arms around his neck as their tongues danced and dueled. She groaned and nestled closer.
He ended the kiss and stared.
They didn’t speak, but Jules didn’t need to hear his voice. He wanted her; she could read it in his face—as well as feel his erection against her stomach. But his expression, other unnamed emotions in his eyes made her heart somersault.
He was always so implacable.
What’s changed?
Am I really seeing…feeling… in his eyes?
No. Do not read into that.
Hugh’s large calloused hands tugged her leine at the waist of her breeches.
Jules lifted her arms obediently, and he slowly took the baggy shirt from her body. She didn’t care that it was bright out, full morning now that sun was up. Or that they were on the beach, in the open, where anyone could see them. She just wanted him.
The chilly sea air kissed her skin, stinging her nipples as they hardened. Then he was there, cupping and kneading her bare breasts, shooting desire to her core. She throbbed for him already.
He caressed her neck and kissed her collarbone, nibbling on the hollow of her throat before taking her mouth again. Soft and sweet, and totally unlike any other time he’d kissed her. Languorous heat engulfed her whole form and her thighs shook, threatening to collapse.
As if he sensed it, Hugh pulled her flush to his chest, those big hands all over her bare back. Touching, caressing, soothing. Turning her on in a way she’d never been before. With none of his usual rawness, the roughness that was just her barbarian. It fired her in a different way.
This was…more.
Jules combusted for him from the inside out.
Tears stung her eyes and she tried to look away, but he pulled back and cupped her face. Hugh thumbed away the first tear. “Lass, why’re ye cryin’?”
“I don’t know,” Jules whispered.
But she did. Because she’d fallen in love with Hugh MacDonald.
A ghost of a smile played at his kiss-swollen lips. “We canna’ have tears.” Then he took her mouth until she was moaning in his arms.
“I want you.”
“Tha’s my Juliette. Always direct wit’ wha’ she wants.” The fondness in his voice, in his hazy dark gaze, made her heart thunder in her ears.
Not always.
She didn’t have the guts to bare her heart to the man who’d stolen it. Could never admit she wanted nothing more than to be his Juliette.
Jules forced a smile, going for sexy and hoped like hell he bought it. “Aye, my barbarian. Now, do I get what I want?”
Hugh chuckled and kissed her again, nipping her bottom lip and then licking away the sting. She moaned and went in for more, needing to taste him again. Jules wove her hands in his long dark hair and buried her tongue in his mouth.
When he finally ended their lip-lock, they both panted and her core pulsed. Jules needed him.
“Lass, yer tryin’ ta slay me,” Hugh breathed, his warm breath tickling her cheek.
“I need you. I want you.” She tugged at his belt buckle, but her fingers shook so much she couldn’t get the job done.
He laughed and gripped her hands, lavishing kisses on her knuckles. “Ye’ve still too many clothes on. Discard yer trews and I’ll take care a’ this.”
Jules nodded, sucking in air so she could think, so she wouldn’t tumble to the sand in a heap. She pushed to shaking legs and reached for the ties on her pants. She had to try three times before the knot loosened, and she wasted no time pushing them off her hips.
“Hmmm, did I mention tha’ I like when ye dress like a lad?” His eyes zoned in below her waist.
She regained her composure and flashed a smile. “Why? No underwear? You guys really have to do something about that.” She’d long discarded the semi-panties Claire had made.
“Nay. This is better.” He chuckled again and stalked to her, pulling her naked body hard against his—and the jerk was still dressed.
Jules yelped but he kissed her so fast all she could do was kiss him back. She leaned away before she could lose herself in him again. “Hey, no fair. You still have on clothes.”
Hugh nuzzled her neck, laying a line of hot wet kisses down to her shoulder and ignored her. His hands ran down her back, squeezing her ass and wrenching another moan from her as his erection teased her pelvis through leather.
“Please…Hugh…babe…”
He paused, one corner of his lip up. “Babe?”
She panted as he rocked into her. “The word is…a common endearment….in my time.”<
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“Fer a grown man?” Each word was punctuated with a jolt forward, into her. Hugh rubbed her in the right spot, but not with the right pressure.
His fingertips skirted her thigh. The caress was too light, a brush, and he continued on, dragging his hand to part the curls between her legs.
Jules gasped, but her lover ignored it, continuing his too-light ministrations, thumbing the tight bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. He applied pressure, then took it away. She wobbled, but he held her tight to him. Her thoughts scattered; her sex ached, empty. Each teasing pass made her feel more unfulfilled, even though her clit throbbed and shot pleasure all over.
She needed Hugh inside her. Couldn’t gather the words to demand it, let alone answer him.
He kissed her again, until she was a begging blob of need.
Finally, finally Hugh left her to grab the MacDonald plaid from Dubh’s back. He laid it in the sand and gestured for her to come to him.
Jules didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t refuse the heated promise in those eyes, even if he hadn’t kissed and touched her to the point of dissolving. She tumbled to the tartan without taking her eyes off the gorgeous man undressing before her. Her greedy eyes ate up every inch of bare skin that came into view.
Broad shoulders, huge defined pecs. His biceps were so thick it took both of her hands to span one. The tight black curls on his chest were just the right amount—not too much, and not too little. Did nothing to detract from his defined lines. He had an eight pack that was nothing like the fake guys she’d seen at the gym and had everything to do with seventeenth century hard work.
Jules loved to drag her fingers through the dark strip of hair dividing that perfection just to watch his abs jump. And what lay below…she’d never been with a man who could make her body feel like Hugh MacDonald could.
His thighs were hard and thick, sprinkled with dark springy hair she loved to tease. Hugh’s ass was made for grabbing. Tremors racked her frame as she watched him. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out—all she could see—remember—was her legs wrapped in his as they moved together.
“Lass, when ye look a’ me like tha’—” His Adam’s apple bobbed and Jules quivered.
She squeezed her thighs together when her core throbbed. She had the power to make this tough barbarian fall apart. Lose control. Scream her name.