“You certainly look well fed.”
He glared at her. Leather coverings protected his forearms and complemented his faded kilt and leather boots. Most every re-enactor she had seen at the games wore colorful plaids, so why did he wear such faded fabric? And why had he neglected to put on a shirt?
Haven winced when she realized something other than fear or anger fueled her heavy breathing. A healthy dose of desire flooded her nerve endings. His muscular form and long, loose hair gave her some sexy ideas.
At this distance, and with clothing much different than what he wore in her dreams, Haven guessed he might be the stranger with the tempting mouth. When his gaze softened, and his attention lowered, she glanced down.
“Devil’s own luck.” Moistened laces pulled at her gown’s bodice, the lace-trimmed edge dipped low and the curved tops of both breasts lay bared to the world.
“Ye look healthy as well, lass, though a might…muddy.”
She saw the laughter change to something deeper, when the heated depths of big blue eyes raked her up and down. Haven shivered. His Scottish burr filled her with familiarity. All she could do was squint across the distance and wonder if he was the handsome stranger who had kissed her yesterday.
Kissing aside, he must know where we are.
She tugged at her dress while she formulated what to say to get him to offer assistance. She’d lost her way. By his costume, she assumed he was a visitor at the Highland games. Above his square chin, his jaw muscles clenched. Something dark and crooked ran from the corner of his mouth outward. A scar. He tensed.
“Devil’s own luck,” she muttered. Her perusal of his scar had been a little obvious. She could kick herself. Most men were sensitive about their appearance, why should he be any different?
In order to get a better look, to know for sure if he was the man from her visions, she’d have to cross the creek. With no path back to camp visible in the vicinity, and alone with a strange man, she slipped a hand inside her dress’s bodice. The dagger nestled between her breasts. Bolstered by its proximity, she watched as the man rested his antique bow over one brawny shoulder and brushed a lock of hair over his face as if to hide the scar.
“Come with me. We shall return to camp at once.”
The smooth lilt of his words skittered through her eardrums to buzz across her heart. Haven deemed him harmless, so she grabbed her remaining slipper then gathered up the hem of her gown. Stepping into the cool creek, chills darted up her legs as she waded in the icy current.
“I hope the campfire blazes all night so my clothes dry.”
“And I had hoped to kill something before I returned to camp,” he bellowed.
“Kill something?” Haven stopped mid-stream and felt the blood leave her face. He’d said the statement without any emotion, as if his morning constitutional included a daily dose of death.
“Have no fear. I trust we shall find plenty to eat once we join my men at camp. I have several hunters out. God’s teeth, would they have better luck.” Without another word, the giant shrugged shoulders wider than a mountain range, then turned away from the sun and the creek.
And me.
Why should that bother her? Wanting to catch up, she crossed to the other side of the creek, released her gown, and tried not to giggle. He talked funny. As she smoothed the front of her muddied frock, his brisk pace took him quickly out of her sight.
“Wait for me!” Trotting in his direction, she spied the stranger’s broad back up ahead. The sun had burnished his skin a pleasant brown. It matched the color of the underbelly of the buck he had so desperately wanted to kill. A selfish craving to slip on his ancient-looking footgear to cushion her own feet tripped through her as she stared.
“Probably wouldn’t fit me.” She judged his feet to be nearly twice her size. She chuckled. The stranger turned around. Had he decided to stop to wait for her to catch up? When she paused within his reach, he loomed above her. She arched back to catch a better glimpse of the dark scar on his face, then backed up a step. When she did, she tripped on the back hem of her sopping wet gown and lost her balance.
“Devil’s own luck!” As she fell, several other unladylike curses filled the air. Today had not been her day. Two beefy arms swept down and caught her under both armpits before she landed in the dirt.
Things are getting better.
The giant hoisted her until she no longer touched the ground. When he set her down at his feet, she wavered, yet his support remained constant.
And sensuously warm.
“Thanks.” Haven inhaled, drawing in the scent of leather, creek mud and masculine sweat. “You smell great.”
OmiGod! Did I say that out loud?
With the giant’s crooked smile as her answer, she speed-walked ahead and stopped at a downed log near the edge of the trail. Shaking with embarrassment, she folded the driest part of her skirt under her bottom, and sat. With a quick tug, she pulled the layers of cotton and satin lace up over her knees. Bending forward, Haven rubbed her sore ankle.
“Enchanting.”
His single word made her stop. When she regained her senses, she turned away, ignored him, and relished the cool caress of a breeze. Below a canopy of dark leaves, the skin of her bare ankles shivered under its touch. The pleasant sensation continued up her damp legs.
“I wish I had a dry towel.”
“Enchanting, indeed.”
She suddenly stared at the top of his head. When had he kneeled at her feet? And, why? In answer, a pair of rough hands rubbed her frigid skin.
“Yikes!”
The stranger never paused. Within seconds the heat generated by his thick, callused fingers sent other receptors into action. Thick, dark red hair hid his eyes as the wind blew feathery strands across his brow. Haven’s heartbeat pulsed in tandem with the fingers that were intent on their task.
He’s peeking up my dress.
“Like what you see?” Haven asked.
He fell back on his haunches and nearly toppled over. She giggled at his obvious distress. Then she spied the bulge between his legs, tenting his crude kilt.
“Beg yer pardon, my lady,” he mumbled. He jumped to his feet and turned away. Both beefy hands lay fisted on his hips.
Haven looked away, and gazed instead at her surroundings. The peacefulness of the moment wasn’t lost on her. The gentle breeze rustled overhead tree limbs and a few unusual birds flitted among the branches, singing sweetly. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
He choked at her words then bent to pick up a large, dead twig. When he cocked one leg, she saw the muscles of his thighs tremble.
I embarrassed him. How about that?
Haven wiggled her warmed toes, then lowered her dress. She luxuriated in the intense pleasure his fingers had wrought. Pushing up from her perch, she rubbed her rear end with both palms before she smoothed her gown.
Who am I kidding? These wrinkles will never come out.
The stranger’s head turned back her way and his eyes widened as she tugged on her bodice. The twig snapped in two.
The giant took off down a path and Haven followed, each step filled with apprehension. She’d been uneasy during her trek through the woods the minute she’d awoken with no memory of anything since the robed man’s outrageous attack. She didn’t remember falling asleep, either.
“Did ye speak, my lady? Is something amiss?”
She giggled at his pretty speech. Resting a moment, Haven arched her back. Without Jake’s nails, her hair tumbled down her back. Lazy and content for the moment, she stretched-out both arms. She lifted her face to the sun daring more freckles to sprout across her nose.
Darn the freckles. The sun feels so good.
Sensing that he had also stopped, she peeked. He looked uncomfortable, as if toying with an idea that would embarrass them both.
Fine with me.
She shook her head and stifled a laugh, happy when he resumed their trek. The rising temperature on this side of the creek had he
r wondering how far they had to go. The costume she wore had been pretty when Iona presented it to her. Her friend would be less than pleased with its current condition.
“I have to get out of this dress.”
The giant slid to a stop. His shoulders moved up and down ever so slightly. He spun around with a glare so hot it could turn an ice cube into a sizzling puddle. His gaze slid from the top of her loose and probably disheveled hair, over the dirty front of her low-cut gown, to her pink toes, and one sodden red silk slipper.
She pressed a hand against her bodice and felt the outline of her small knife. Stretching her body to stand straight and tall, she glared back with her chin raised. She chose a defiant persona for once.
Let him make the next move.
When he made a step toward her, she slowly pulled out the weapon. Slipping it from its leather sheath, she held it in her fingers, by her side.
The giant glared at the tiny dagger, then brushed fingers across his scarred cheek. The dark line zigzagged across a large expanse of stubble-covered, bronzed skin. The blemish did not detract from the giant’s evident sexual attraction. Instead, it gave him the look of a pirate. His sexual appeal pumped from his body in heated waves. Desire caught her off-guard. Haven’s throat tightened as she tried to swallow.
He grinned.
She wished he’d stop smiling, and kiss her.
What? Snap out of it.
He didn’t act like the man in the mist. He was dressed differently, his hair was lighter, and he wasn’t riding a horse. Haven glanced through the woods and hoped they were near the ski area that hosted the Highland games. She’d rather not be stuck in the dark with him. When she turned back to tall, dark, and brooding, his sapphire gaze met hers.
As if he read my thoughts.
Through auburn-fringed slits, he continued to stare. Two beefy hands, fisted at his sides, made her worry he might actually attack her. When he swung around and continued along the path without a word, she released a breath she didn’t realize she held.
The trees finally gave way to distant mountains. Hazy, low-flying clouds slipped over the peaks. To her left loomed a rocky crag that seemed to gather up the entire breeze before throwing it back in her direction. As she moved into its shadow Haven shivered, although the air slipping over her skin was warm. She clutched both arms around her body, curled her fingers into the once-lovely fabric, and picked her way along the trail in the giant’s wake. Haven wished she knew where they were and where they headed because nothing looked familiar.
Haven tried to take her mind off the hike and her achy feet. Iona would have her head since she hadn’t shown up to cook breakfast. Had anyone asked her why Haven had disappeared? Shaking off feelings of guilt, she muttered a curse.
“Did ye say something, my lady?”
Haven slid to a stop and stubbed her injured toe. As she hopped on her sore leg, with memories of striking her shin on the cot still fresh, she glared back at him.
He laughed.
“Did we take a wrong turn? Nothing about this looks familiar,” she asked. The breeze had disappeared. They walked along a more open trail. In fact, the heat of the rising sun grew oppressive. Her heavy gown had to go. She wished a bath waited for her at the end of her trek. Though the morning chill had felt normal for a September morning in New England, this rising heat tipped the scale. Her gaze latched onto his retreating thighs.
He has muscles everywhere.
The sudden sound of a waterfall made her frown. The nearest waterfall of any size to claim fame as a tourist attraction lay ten miles from the Highland games location. For her to have walked such a distance was impossible. She turned to look east and her steps faltered.
“Something is definitely wrong.” Haven gazed intently at the peaks that reached toward a hastily rising sun and knew in her heart they lacked the height and rounded look of age as the mountains near the games. These were more like large hills topped with bare rocks. Where were the snow-topped peaks?
“We couldn’t have walked so far that I don’t recognize that ridge. I grew up nearby and visited this area of the White Mountains all my life.” The path ended abruptly at the top of a slope that led to a wide-open meadow.
As perspiration trickled down her neck, and a warm breeze tossed her hair about her steamy neck, a grassy meadow full of grazing sheep beckoned. Hundreds of sheep filled the grassland.
“This is all wrong,” she whispered. Haven clasped a hand over her mouth in surprise. New England farms did not raise sheep in such quantities, especially ones sporting large horns. Even though their black faces seemed familiar, something weird was going on. Not trusting her feet to take another step, Haven forced her eyes to look from right to left in search of something—anything—familiar. Sunlight and low morning fog made everything shimmer with an eerie glow.
“Maybe I’m dreaming. Even those birds look strange.” Where the horizon filled with the morning sun’s stifling rays, large feathered hawk-like birds swooped and flapped high above the trees.
Maybe I’m dead.
CHAPTER 8
Kirk steadily marched down the hill, surprised at the urge to turn around and drink in her savage beauty. He had not slowed down when he came upon a meadow since their temporary camp lay beyond the far grove of trees. As he plodded along, he listened for her footfalls.
While on the woodland trail she muttered curses. When she had caught her skirt on a bush, he had glanced back with a quick peek to ensure her good health. With all the noise such a small woman created, he really had no need to turn.
No need except for the burning in his loins, teasing him to turn and gaze upon her beauty. Betrayed by his body, he snapped to attention and marched swiftly toward the trees. Kirk yearned to once again inhale her sweet fragrance of honeysuckle and wild strawberry that recalled springtime meadows more beautiful than the landscape before him.
Arguing with his own limbs to keep him headed straight and true, he cursed the moment he had seen his dream woman in the flesh. Surviving the shock, Kirk had clenched both fists so tight he feared he might snap his bow.
She talked with a strange accent and showed no fear. The beauty had noted his scar—everyone did—and did not shy away. She said she had to get to camp. To work. Those words struck him as odd. Finding a well-dressed lady alone in the forest had been peculiar as well since the camp lay a day’s ride from a village. Not even a crofter’s lodge or the home of a sheep tender lay close by.
Something deep inside agreed he would swear on his sister’s soul that the woman had no affiliation with a mere sheep herding family. Though well dressed, her gown showed hard use. Had she stolen the dress? Or, had she earned it selling her body?
His cheeks heated at the thought as he lumbered down the steep slope into the valley. Would the lovely, sweet smelling, well-dressed lady sell her body for a man’s pleasure? Nevertheless, a whore preferred to set up shop at a village where a pub provided a bed and plenty of clients. Then he remembered how some women followed armies into battle or on annual weeklong hunts. She had admitted the camp was in need of her talents.
And I am leading her to a camp full of lusty Highlanders.
His men were always eager to lie betwixt creamy white thighs. The sudden image of her legs, spread wide, made Kirk’s body tighten. He stopped so abruptly, the woman slammed into his back and knocked his bow to the ground. When her hands grabbed his arms to keep her balance, the muscles along his spine rippled at her touch.
Skin against skin, as hot as a brand.
The two of them stood alone but for a flock of sheep. The animals’ soft bleats echoed across the valley. Their calls could not hide her short gasp. Harsh breaths gave him away. The rapid intake of air kept time with the brisk beat of his heart. He stood in place while she righted herself. Kirk turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder and watched as she smoothed her skirt with slender, white hands.
When she looked up at him, her gaze locked on his mouth and then his scar. Kirk’s neck m
uscles trembled with the strength necessary to keep his hands to himself. The first stabs of pain pierced his skull and he rubbed the tense area with one palm. He knew the cause. He turned away and resumed his stance, with his back to the beautiful stranger. Kirk groaned.
“Are you ill?”
Her voice, lush as a summer breeze, warmed his heart and hardened his man part. With deliberate care, he stepped to the side and let her come abreast.
“Some shade might relieve my illness,” he lied. Kirk bent and grabbed his bow. He motioned toward a small stand of trees where ewes munched thick grass and small lambs nudged their udders. Songbirds rustled among the shelter’s branches, filling the air with their warbles. When he and the woman walked into their midst, the animals bleated loudly before they relinquished their refuge.
Kirk slid his bow off his shoulder and rested it against a tree. Bending slightly, he sensed her watching as his quiver of arrows landed on the ground with a dull thud.
“What are you doing? I thought we were headed to camp.”
Without responding, he loosened the wide swath of wool from the clasp at his shoulder and pushed the material off. The edge fluttered to the ground. With his chest totally bare, he dropped his leather-sheathed dirk to the grass. He glared at her face, but she glanced away. Kirk followed her gaze as it dipped to the ground then turned his way. Her pale green eyes widened, shimmering like the rolling meadow grass in the distance.
An unwanted image of his current betrothed flashed before his eyes, and Kirk froze. He had met Lady Fia of Clan Keith last May during Beltane, when a short span of proclaimed peace between both families allowed their respective clans to attend a Highland faire in relative safety. Lady Fia had bumped into him while walking with her guardian near a vendor selling honeyed ale. Though fair of face, and with hair like spun gold, he had responded with no more than a quiet greeting. “Beg your pardon, my lady.”
“’Tis no bother, my lord,” she had replied. Her gold eyelashes fluttered above eyes as blue as the river which flowed near Keldurunach. Lady Fia’s demure smile and comely figure had failed to stir his passion.
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