Highland Games Through Time

by Nancy Lee Badger

  He nodded then finished his meal with a few more swipes of the crusty bread. The aroma of yeast and honey joined the scent of leather and sweat.

  He’s sitting much too close.

  “Excuse me, dear lady.” He stood over her for a handful of seconds before he left to join several men nearer the largest fire. Ravenous, she figured she might not get a chance to eat again once they parted company. She swallowed a bite in near-orgasmic bliss. Pleasure-filled shivers racked her body. She’d tasted venison several times, but this was so much better than she remembered.

  Too soon, thoughts of traveling without money or normal clothing filtered in. She didn’t look forward to parting from Kirk and finding her own way home.

  She tried to show a brave front, but her courage faltered. She glanced around the darkened camp as she chewed. Kirk had moved to the other side of the main fire and now talked quietly with the young woman who’d prepared the stew. Gavina?

  An odd name.

  Gavina’s wide eyes were filled with rapt attention and her long eyelashes fluttered in Kirk’s direction. She stepped closer and brushed something from his naked shoulder. What did Haven expect? The man oozed sex appeal. The woman, no more than eighteen, beamed at the much older man—what was he, about thirty?—but romances that start during these games were not difficult to fathom. People who enjoyed similar pastimes easily enjoyed each other. Isn’t that how people shared friendships?

  And more?

  So why did I fall for Cal Murchie?

  She’d lost her heart and her virginity to the jerk. When she got out of this jam she would have it out with her so-called friends at the newspaper. Someone must have known about the wife and kid. No wonder many of their dates were simply sex in the car or sex in her apartment. They didn’t have a romantic relationship.

  We had an affair.

  A sudden commotion on the far side of the camp had Kirk running. Haven stood. Cringing at the pain of her sore toes, she padded toward the crowd gathered near the fire. Sparks rent the sky, and several voices rose.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Balfour tripped with a huge load of firewood,” Gavina said, suddenly at Haven’s elbow.

  “Is he hurt?”

  “Burnt.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The emotionless tone of Gavina’s voice, before she slithered closer to lover boy Kirk, made Haven’s brows draw together. Haven pushed aside a tiny pinprick of jealousy and strode into the middle of the commotion.

  Best see what I can do to help.

  The crowd pulled back at her approach. Kirk kneeled close by, but only Reid was helping the injured man. As Reid poured water over Balfour’s left hand, Haven could see the burned flesh. Even in this bad light, the skin’s second degree burn bubbled.

  “May I help?” Haven asked.

  Kirk jumped to his feet beside the seated patient. Balfour moaned.

  “Can ye ease his pain?”

  “I can do that and more. I’ll need clean pieces of cloth. Not wool. Find me some fresh water and something in which to mix herbs.” Taking Kirk’s emptied spot, she kneeled beside the big man and drew his injured hand between hers. The size difference made her whistle.

  “Aye, it looks bad,” Reid said. He passed her a skin of water.

  “Actually, I’m amazed at the size of his hands, not his injury.” She shivered when a stray thought caused a flash of desire to rip through her body.

  Kirk’s hands are this size.

  Kirk issued orders while she had another idea.

  “I need a phone.” She wanted to call 9-1-1. Silence surrounded her. Even Balfour had gone quiet. She looked up into a dozen faces.

  “What be a fone?” Gavina asked. The young woman looked at Haven as if she’d spoken a different language.

  “A cell phone. To call for help.”

  Gavina covered her mouth with her hand and laughed. Kirk pushed her aside and crouched beside Haven.

  “The only help in the Highlands is what you see. You, specifically. Your requested supplies are coming.” Kirk raised an eyebrow as if he worried Haven had gone off the deep end.

  “Fine.” The herbs she carried worked on burns. She didn’t carry antibiotics, but would do her best to clean the wound to prevent infection, and make him comfortable until he saw a doctor.

  When the requested supplies arrived, she created a poultice from herbs mixed in water while she assuaged the big man’s fears by speaking soft and low.

  “‘Tis not me sword hand, but I want to feel a bonny lass again. Will I?”

  “Should one want you to touch her, I don’t see why not.” Everyone laughed. “This poultice will repair the skin and keep the pain under control.” She fingered the paste over the burnt areas of his palm. Haven wound several wide strips of cloth around and over his wrist and palm. Tying them tight, she dumped her supplies and dirtied toweling into the fire then stood.

  Kirk lunged to her side, then helped her up.

  Interesting.

  “I suggest you get some sleep. Keep the bandages dry and change them once a day.”

  “I will assist him, my lady,” said a wrinkle-faced woman with long blonde hair, slightly gray at the temples. She knelt beside Balfour.

  “Anice, my sweet, no need to trouble yerself for me.” Balfour rose to his feet, and swayed. Anice grabbed Balfour’s forearm, rolled her eyes heavenward, and pulled him into the shadows.

  Haven returned to her seat by the other fire and candlelit table. Bending down, she rubbed one aching foot and wondered why she hadn’t thought to use her numbing herbs on her own pains.

  She didn’t have much left. Haven would save the rest for more serious injuries. In the middle of nowhere, anything could go wrong. Releasing her foot, she picked up the tankard she’d set aside. Suddenly thirsty, she bent her head back and swallowed.

  And choked.

  * * *

  “Ye are to drink the ale, not breathe it in,” Kirk said, appearing out of the dark like an eerie specter. He slapped her on her back.

  Haven jumped to her feet, anything to escape his searing touch. Working to catch her breath, she pushed him away as politely as possible. Haven coughed twice more before returning to her perch on an upended log.

  “What is this stuff?” She pointed to the crude tankard while she licked her lips in a futile attempt to remove the taste. A low growl made her gaze snap toward Kirk. His hungry expression aroused her, making her breasts tingle and both nipples bud. He stared at her mouth, luckily missing the free show a bit lower.

  “Ale. ‘Tis a wee bit more potent than most. Balfour is our master brewer, known around the keep for his talent at brewing strong drink.”

  As he stared, Haven squirmed on the hard seat and clenched her thighs together. Her gown made her feel open, vulnerable, and at a disadvantage until she glanced toward his ancient kilt.

  He’s wearing much less.

  “What troubles the lass, my chief? Did ye growl at her again?” Reid chortled and shook his head side to side before settling down in the grass beside their table. He crossed his legs and tipped back a tankard full of the bitter brew. After a long swallow, he winked.

  She pulled her tongue back inside her mouth and coughed, again. Young Reid’s interruption broke Kirk’s hot gaze. She might want to keep the jovial Reid close at hand. Balfour, too. With a quick glare at her tankard, she lowered it to the ground.

  “Shall I have a skin of water fetched?” Kirk turned toward his foster son. Without waiting for her to answer, Reid hopped up and soon reappeared with the water skin.

  Haven forced a smile toward the young man. She coughed again and accepted the skin. Reid quickly disappeared, leaving her alone with Kirk. She ignored a sudden image of Kirk beside her, in bed.

  Hell, I never spent time in an actual bed with Cal.

  Haven tilted the skin to her lips. A rush of cool water soothed her mouth and throat. She’d either gotten used to the mossy smell, or the nearest river ran clean. A moan escaped when icy
drops rolled down her chin and sprinkled the top of her breasts.

  Kirk’s gaze followed the droplets of water soaking the top edge of her frock. Her skin prickled beneath his notice. Gathering her wits long enough to ignore the giant sitting close beside her, she glanced through the shadows descending on the camp. When her attention fell on the nearby camp fire, a calloused thumb wiped the spill from her sensitive skin, just above her barely hidden breasts.

  Haven gasped, then pulled back and nearly fell from the stump. The fingers leapt to her arm, and held tight.

  “Please don’t touch me.”

  Kirk let her go.

  Distant sounds surrounded them. Low-burning flames crackled, harmonizing with the whispers of people enjoying dinner. Her own raspy breaths hushed as her eyes grew accustomed to the low lighting. Several couples leaned back against blanket-covered logs or saddles. Many had finished their dinner and now drifted close as if they planned to…

  “Oh, my. Those couples are—”

  “Do not be offended. My hunting party has been away from camp these past nights. My men miss their companions.”

  “Are they married to these—what did you call them—companions?”

  “No. No one in my party is wed. Ye do not approve?”

  Did he really care about her opinion? More likely he had an ulterior motive, proven when she spied the bulge lifting his kilt. Her attention flicked back to the nearest couple. Moans and giggles joined their frenzied movements beneath a large blanket.

  They’re having sex? In the open?

  Did he mean to see if she’d be a willing participant under his blanket? Haven closed her eyes at his audacity. Kirk probably hoped she shared his feelings about unwedded copulation.

  “It’s not my place to approve or not.” Haven straightened her posture then opened her eyes and turned to meet his. “Is it wrong to find comfort in one another’s arms on a cold night? What they do with their free time is up to them. Is this what you hoped to hear?”

  He hesitated as if suddenly uncomfortable with the subject.

  “Aye. I provide my people with safety, food, armor, and mounts. In turn, they provide me with their loyalty. A happy clansman is a strong supporter. The women are here of their own accord.”

  “There do not appear to be enough ladies to go around.” She’d only seen two.

  “If a fight for one of them occurs in my camp, she would be ordered to sleep beside her pony. We would also banish her from future trips. Needless to say, fights rarely occur.”

  “That’s horrible! Why is the woman the punished party? And why are we having this conversation?” She jumped to her feet. “I will not sit here and watch others making love. Do you or do you not have a bed for me?”

  Her question burst forth unexpectedly. His expression bordered on shock. Midnight blue eyes opened wide and he shot to his feet, spilling his tankard. He towered over her, yet the man stood frozen, and speechless. Again, she’d spoken without considering her words.

  “I will sleep alone, sir.”

  “As you wish. I have a query about Balfour, first.”

  “What about him? He’s healing, right?”

  “Aye. As laird, ‘tis my right to keep my people from harm. Be ye a witch?”

  “A witch? Why do people keep thinking that,” she mumbled. “No. Of course not. I know all there is to know about the healing properties of plants, flowers, and herbs, but I don’t think—”

  “Fine. I understand,” he said, bowed slightly, never taking his gaze from hers. “I thank you for helping Balfour.”

  She hesitated, then read the worry in his eyes. For his friend? Or, for her safety? Gavina had stared at her when she mixed the healing paste, as if she had witnessed Haven dabbling in the dark arts.

  “Follow me, my lady. Morning comes quickly in high summer. We must be on our way by the time the colors of dawn have been pushed aside by the sun.”

  Before she could ask exactly where they were headed, and if she could go with them, he’d turned away. Alone near the campfire, she willed her body to abide by her new rule.

  No men in my bed unless I experience true love.

  Would Kirk send her on her way in the morning? More troubling than the possibility of abandonment, she’d miss his scent.

  Hell, I’ll miss his muscles; the lilt in his voice; his barely restrained attention.

  Kirk paused outside the most opulent tent in the camp. A banner flapped in the breeze, unreadable in the dark. Torches flickered, set into the ground.

  “Ye may wash yerself, inside. Water and linen await ye.”

  Haven cautiously swept the flap aside and stepped into the dark. Her fingers dipped in a rustic wooden bowl just inside the tent. She stepped from her mud-caked dress then washed what body parts she could reach with water without removing her chemise.

  She spied Kirk through the partially opened tent flap. He waited outside with his back to her and arms crossed over his massive chest. He’d set aside most of his weapons when they sat down to eat, but carried a long dirk at his hip. He stood erect, his shoulders back and his head twisting side to side, watching everything.

  Leader of men, she thought.

  Off into the dark, a whistle sounded.

  “What is that?”

  Kirk’s voice echoed beyond the tent flap. “My guards keep each other informed of their location. No one will enter camp without our knowledge.”

  “What a relief.”

  “Are ye decent, lass?” he whispered.

  “Yes. Why?” Haven stepped back as he entered the large, sturdy tent. He placed a torch near the bed, slamming the sharpened tip into the ground.

  “Ye shall be safe. Sleep well,” he said with a slight bow.

  “Goodnight. I look forward to getting on the road as soon as possible.” She watched his features for any indication he didn’t plan to take her with them. Kirk said nothing and walked toward the campfire. The pretty cook glared at him, then at Haven’s borrowed tent. Haven stepped back into the shadows. Why did the woman’s unabashed interest in Kirk make Haven’s stomach lurch?

  More importantly, why do I hope he turns around and comes back?

  She doused the torch, then crawled under the furs. Under the thick pile, she wallowed in their silkiness. Suddenly aroused, she twisted and turned, never enjoying more than a few minutes of fitful sleep. Powerful dreams assaulted her. The strangest included an odd, terrifying figure. His black flowing robe, boney features, long black hair, and sparkling red eyes ebbed and flowed, like the tides.

  “The witch must bond with

  The laird of mine enemy.

  Death awaits should his claim

  upon the lady of Ruadh be fulfilled.”

  He can’t be talking about me. I’m no witch.

  Strange images followed; something dark and sinister. Pain shot across Haven’s temples and she woke-up screaming. Haven’s senses whirled out of control; the acrid smell of a lit torch; the glint of steel; the weight of a body and a sword falling on her bed. Her body hummed when massive arms grabbed her then yanked her free of the covers.

  “Haven? Are ye hurt?”

  “What?”

  “Ye screamed, lass.” Kirk’s tone softened.

  Haven searched his face, a face too close not to touch. Her fingers swept over the ragged edge of his scar. He flinched.

  “Does this hurt?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Why did ye scream?”

  “Bad dream, I guess.” Should she share her dream? It seemed so real, and the man in the robe sounded so angry. “I’m a little shaky. Can you stay until I fall back asleep?”

  Her voice trembled while her body shook. In the near darkness she sensed more than saw him nod before he joined her on the bed. Rolling her into his chest, he kissed her temple.

  She sighed. She couldn’t help it. The man smelled better than money, better than champagne, better than chocolate. His hands swept over her, caressing her back, hip, breasts…

  “Wait!” S
he arched her back, pulling away. She didn’t want this. Right? Why not? This man wasn’t Cal. He’d already given her more pleasure in one kiss than Cal Murchie ever did.

  “Please. Let me soothe ye to sleep. I will not hurt ye, lass.”

  Haven closed her eyes and relaxed every muscle. Tired of caving to the demands of men…well, to Cal…she’d allow Kirk’s touch, but she would not reciprocate. She deserved to feel good. Cal demanded she perform, yet he never aroused her with the passion Kirk’s lips on her forehead did.

  She lay on her back as he trailed kisses down her throat to her breasts. He suckled a stiffening nipple through the light fabric of her chemise then moved further south. She formulated a protest, but before she found her voice he pulled the fabric up over her stomach.

  “Kirk? You said—”

  “I will not dishonor ye, lass. Only kisses shall touch ye there.”

  Kisses? He plans to kiss me down there?

  Haven’s body hummed as pure pleasure tingled over her skin wherever he pressed his lips. When he reached the naked skin below her navel, she arched into his mouth. She should fight against his intimate caress, but everything made her feel good.

  Really good.

  When he lightly stroked the curls between her legs, she opened wide to give him better access. Heat swirled in her womb as anticipation swooped down and made her body jerk. Lower and lower Kirk slid, kissing and stroking her flesh with his moist mouth and calloused fingertips.

  “Calm yerself, love. ‘Tis easier to give ye pleasure when ye let yer body simply feel.”

  Feel? If she felt anything more she’d explode. The moment his tongue licked the secret nub hidden beneath her curls, she did.

  * * *

  The heat of the morning sun rose as others prepared to break camp and take off toward the east. Haven ached for a bath. Her skin itched and limp curls lay plastered against the back of her neck. She stretched like a cat then peeked outside her tent. Crushed pine needles and the tang of horse droppings filled the air. Her body quivered, remembering how Kirk’s ministrations fulfilled her dreams about lovemaking.

  If only that dream hadn’t ruined memories of a perfect night.

  She’d had an ominous dream, or a vision of things to come, of a man wrapped in shadows. Tall and proud, he sliced the air with a huge sword. Unable to focus on his features, in that plane of existence between sleep and awakening, her body twisted as she stared at the taut line of his thighs; past knees and calves carved of rock-hard planes and angles; to the boulder below his feet where water swirled around him.