Haven glanced slowly around as her eyes grew accustomed to the low light. The man paused with his huge knife halfway through the wheel. Surprise flooded his fleshy face. He set aside his project without attempting to remove the knife, wiped his large hands on his filthy apron, and approached his customer.
“How may I serve ye, my lady?”
Still in awe how people treated her, she was suddenly afraid she’d traveled much too far from home. The more she glimpsed of the town, its buildings, and the people, the more her chest ached. Finding it hard to breathe, She formulated a question.
“I have a question, if you don’t mind,” she said.
He grunted something under his breath and returned his attention to the cheese wheel.
“I sell food, cloth, pots, and good grains for cooking. These things cost money, and feed my family. To answer a question does not.” As if he remembered something, he set aside the knife and bowed, before turning away.
“I can pay.” Sliding a hand inside her pocket, she fingered the tiny dagger. She’d never trade it, even to find her way home. Maybe Kirk would lend her the money. Certainly a few bills was worth getting her out of his hair forever.
Forever?
To never again touch his glorious, naked chest? Tears welled up in Haven’s eyes and she fought the urge to wipe her palm across her face. Breathing deep, she returned her gaze to the shopkeeper and waited for an answer.
“Fine. Never say Dougal Macbrown did not aid a lady in need. Now, what weighs so heavy on yer mind?”
“Have you heard of a town called Lincoln? It runs along the Kancamagus River in northern New England.”
When his brows arched and his eyes grew dim, all hope dissipated.
“I’ve been from Wick to the Firth of Forth and have never heard of such a place.”
“From Wick to—”
“Never have I heard of the town ye seek or any river with such a name. England I’ve heard of, but that resides over the border.”
“England?” She barely forced the words from her suddenly dry mouth. Trembling, she wanted to find a dark corner, sink to her knees, and cry.
“A swift boat would get ye there quick enough by sea. There had been a time when to travel, with all its adventure and exotic delights, made this body near keel over. Ye could never imagine—”
“I understand, sir. Thank you.” Haven turned to leave. Her mind lurched as the truth of his words sunk in.
I’m lost.
“Don’t forget yer promise,” he said as he laid the knife alongside the newly carved wedges of cheese. The pungent aroma mingled with sweat and blood. He suddenly stood too close.
Haven felt a desperate need for fresh air. “I have to go.”
“Not so fast, lassie. I wants me’ coin.” He grabbed her elbow with his meaty fist before she could step through the open door. The stench from his unwashed body swept over her, choking her. When he twisted her arm, she cried out.
“Let me go. I will get you your money.”
“Ye do not carry it on yer person?” he roared.
She shook her head when words failed her, and his smelly hands squeezed her upper arms.
“Then I’ll take it in trade.”
The shopkeeper’s lusty gaze meandered down to where the poorly fitting dress stretched open between her breasts. Before she could protest, a large shadow blocked the sunlight that had streamed through the open door seconds earlier. The shopkeeper’s eyes darted over her shoulder. Even in sudden shadow, she saw his face blanch while his hands fell away, as if burned.
“My Lord, the lady took her leave having forgotten she owed me a few coins. We were discussing this when—”
“Yer discussion required yer hands upon her?”
The low, gravelly voice echoed in Haven’s head. The threatening tone sent a shiver down her spine. The shopkeeper jumped back with a push, causing her to fall against Kirk’s chest. One muscular arm came around her waist to steady her. His other hand reached forward. It held a long, lethal knife.
“I presume ye assisted the lady because she tripped. Otherwise, ye had better pray. This might be yer last day on God’s green earth.”
* * *
Haven sat beside her protector on a hard, wooden bench. She laid her head and shoulders back against the pub’s cool, stone wall. She’d persuaded Kirk not to kill the foul smelling shopkeeper, but barely. Kirk’s pleasant scent excited her, heating her body as he sat beside her, far away from the prying eyes of his men. How could she think to leave him?
Cameron and Balfour, the two men assigned to watch over her, walked toward their table. Haven assumed from Kirk’s growl, the men were in big trouble.
A serving girl in a very low cut dress brought two mugs to their table. Lifting the rustic wood tankard to her lips, she swallowed the cider Kirk had ordered. She appreciated the tart sweetness, while Kirk drank his ale.
“I believed I had chosen well when I left ye in the care of Balfour and Cameron.” He set the tankard down with a bang, turned, and grabbed her chin.
Forced to gaze into his eyes, she kept still.
“I chose wrong. Ye were in danger while they flirted with whores outside these very walls. I told them to watch over ye as if ye were their sister,” he said as he brought his face within inches of hers, “but I forgot their sisters be sluts.”
She gasped at his tasteless joke. It had to be a joke. Right?
He was suddenly closer, his warm breath a whisper over her cheeks. Haven’s unease after Cameron and Balfour’s tasteless suggestion, and the storekeepers, dirty hands, made her push at his chest.
“Doona fret, love. Yer unlike them.”
Was she unlike Cameron and Balfour, or their sisters? When she opened her mouth to ask, his warm lips pressed firmly against hers. She didn’t dare move even though she could barely breathe.
In his intoxicating presence, she melted into a puddle. Her agitated thoughts washed away as she breathed in his scent. Musk, leather, and something she’d come to recognize as pure Kirkwall Gunn, filled her. A low moan slipped out while she buried her hands in his thick hair. His tongue stroked the crease of her lips and she opened wide. His body trembled, and then she felt every muscle go rigid.
She forgot her troubles until his other hand slipped around her waist and pulled her close. Her own fingers flew up to land against his chest. Scratching the soft mat of hair centered over his rapidly beating heart, her body fought against tender bursts of pleasure.
Haven did not want to be hurt again. Leaving Kirk now would hurt. Seriously hurt. But, she had to go home.
His body shuddered, as if suddenly chilled, and his hands shook. Happy to find him as affected by their kiss as she, Haven took their kiss deeper. The silence didn’t last.
“My Laird!”
Haven jumped back as if struck. Her eyes flickered open. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment when she recognized the voice. How could she forget Cameron and Balfour?
While she pushed against his steel-hard chest to distance herself from Kirk, his body never moved. His gaze bore into her before he turned toward the voice.
“What is it, Cameron? I told ye to keep yerself outside in the dirt where ye belonged.”
Several warriors sitting in their vicinity laughed. Cameron’s lips puckered into a grimace. The tight line of his mouth proved he knew enough to stay silent until the chatter subsided. Haven could tell he fought to hold his rage at bay. Both fists were clenched, one around the hilt of his sheathed dirk.
He and Balfour had made a grave mistake by not following her into the shop. At the time, she had no inkling of any danger.
“Balfour and I do not deserve such treatment. Did ye expect us to follow like sheep and carry her parcels?” Soft laughter rose from those inside the pub.
“Ye should have been ready for danger, seeing how easily Lady Haven can raise a man’s ire.” Everyone laughed with boisterous guffaws except Cameron and Haven.
“Dear cousin, we all know ye have yer own
agenda. Might I remind ye about who awaits ye at Castle Ruadh?” Cameron whispered.
Haven sensed Kirk’s entire body tense. He rose to his feet. Mirroring Cameron, he raised one hand to the hilt of his own dirk. Balfour walked between them.
“Forgive the interruption, my Laird. I have unpacked the lady’s pony and carried her belongings upstairs to her room.” Balfour’s gaze flicked back and forth between the angry men. “Will there be anything else?”
“Nay,” Kirk answered.
Haven pressed her palm to Kirk’s back. Muscles rippled as the big man eased his stance. Cameron’s right eyebrow rose. Had he witnessed her action?
Why should he care? But, what does he mean about Castle Ruadh?
“If there is nothing else, may Balfour and I be allowed to dine?”
“Get food and ale and go eat in the stables. ‘Tis where ye shall sleep this night.”
Cameron’s glare sent a trickle of fear coursing through Haven until his gaze swept toward another corner of the pub. A robed figure, carrying a staff, rose from a table and paced with unsteady steps toward the door. Cameron followed the familiar individual’s movements before swinging back to her with a feral glint in his eyes. He probably blamed her for their screw-up. Whatever Cameron meant to say stayed firmly locked behind a cold smile.
Cameron shot Kirk a steely glare. Kirk returned it. Cameron turned and stomped out into the street with Balfour at his heels. Renewed laughter followed them.
The unpleasant truth hit her like a ton of bricks. Haven groaned, leaning back once more. Due to her spell, some potions, a bloody dagger, and a lightning storm, she had caused a phenomenon that sent her back in time to ancient Scotland. Her beliefs proved tough to handle, especially when she had no idea how to get home.
She still carried several packets of herbs and one or two potions. She might remember the words she had yelled during the storm, but how would she conjure lightning?
She leaned forward, hefted her tankard, and sipped. Kirk sat back down, gulped his ale, and leaned in close. She did her best to ignore the men who eyed their leader. And her.
“You were rather harsh with him, weren’t you?” she whispered. She knew something about military men. She understood Kirk’s orders were law, but the incident had been her fault. Haven didn’t want anyone to think she criticized his actions, but she felt compelled to offer her opinion.
“They failed ye by disobeying a direct order, love. Ye might have come to harm. ‘Twas my fault.” He clasped her empty hand under the table.
She gazed into his deep, lust-darkened eyes. Something inside her snapped, and tears threatened to fall. Whether from joy at Kirk’s need to protect her, or because she found herself stuck in the past, she had no idea.
“I should not have let ye go. If ye will allow me, I will keep ye safe until ye get where ye need to go.”
Should she tell him she had nowhere to go? If she could re-enact the events that caused her to leave the Highland games in Northern New England and end up in the middle of ancient Scotland, maybe she had a chance. Until then, she wanted to sit here, with him.
“I’ll stick around a little longer.” At her answer, Kirk’s rakish smile lifted her spirits. She wiped away a tear, turned back to her drink, and did her best to smile when platters of food and bread arrived.
The comforting din of men in deep conversation surrounded them as they ate. Her hand darted to her pocket once or twice so she could finger the sheathed dagger.
“I believe it will be for the best if I sleep—”
“With Gavina and Anice.” He smirked at having anticipated her feelings on future sleeping arrangements.
She bid him goodnight and then crept up the narrow stairs to the pub’s second floor loft. Hanging blankets separated the rooms from the catwalk. A chill slid down her spine as if someone besides Kirk watched her climb.
Near a small pallet, she shed her vest and dress. Something scurried across the floor. She slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream, and jumped onto her bed. Once calm, Haven burrowed beneath a pile of musty blankets. She slept fitfully, then awoke to the sounds of the others dressing.
Small birds chirped in the rafters. The thud of boots floated up from the pub below. The smell of cooked food and other noises announced morning had arrived. In the shadows, her body shook with pleasure when she recalled how Kirk had held her hand in the dining room.
When the morning chill made her shiver, she grasped the rough woven blanket around her shoulders. Pulling on the wrinkled borrowed frock, Haven missed her flannel pajamas. Gavina reluctantly helped pin Haven’s hair into a loose bun.
“Thank you, Gavina.”
The girl only nodded. Haven knew she harbored feelings for Kirk. Could Haven truthfully say she held Kirk in no personal regard other than as her host? How did he feel toward Haven? Was she a handy distraction? If so, why hadn’t he pressed her to sleep with him last night? Irritation made her speed down the stairs when she realized she would have jumped at the chance.
Breakfast in the dining hall was a noisy jumble of camp followers, warriors, and other guests. Local patrons gathered to talk and begin their day refreshed. The ruckus comforted her. She smiled as a cacophony of accents and strange words surrounded her.
A wrinkled, older woman in a lace-edged cap, wore a flour-dusted apron that hung to her chunky ankles. She barely glanced at the pub’s noisy patrons as she distributed platters of food. The portly innkeeper she’d spied last night stood at the bar filling pitcher after pitcher with ale.
“May I have some water?” Haven asked the woman when her arms were empty.
“Water be extra,” she snarled, glaring at Haven’s wrinkled dress.
“Bring some water for the lady. Now,” a deep voice barked. Every patron turned toward the large man in the doorway.
Haven watched the old woman’s nearly imperceptible nod before she returned to the kitchen. Kirk followed the woman with his hardened gaze. He then locked those brilliant blue eyes on her.
His attention chilled her more than the change in the weather. When she’d glanced out the front door before settling at a table, fog enveloped the town. It lay thick and gray in the valley and damp air seeped inside.
A wide belt of black leather circled Kirk’s trim waist. His muscular legs flared wide beneath the hem of his faded, kilted plaid. Twin leather straps crisscrossed his broad chest while his sword hung behind him. At his hip he wore the dirk he’d used to threaten the shopkeeper. Anyone who didn’t know him would recognize his rank.
He held himself like a king.
OmiGod. As an ancient Scottish laird, he is a king.
The crowd parted as he strolled toward her. Why were her insides jumping while her feet wouldn’t move? And when had she jumped to her feet? He made her feel small and powerless. A sudden image filled her vision of him as she’d licked her tongue along his…
“What are ye thinking, love?” he whispered.
“Never mind.” She stared up at his face, and managed a noisy swallow.
Kirk smiled.
His smile was her undoing and she couldn’t resist returning it. When his eyes crinkled nearly shut, Haven lifted her chin in a silent plea for his kiss. As he leaned forward, Haven sensed a change come over the room. Noisy chattering morphed into the murmur of shocked people.
What are we doing?
She had to say something. Hadn’t she told her conscience a relationship with Kirk wouldn’t work? What must his men think? She felt their stares and a few vulgar comments made heat race beneath her cheeks.
“Join me for breakfast?” She sat and watched as Kirk removed his weapons, then settled onto the bench beside her. A young serving girl entered from the kitchen and then stared at Kirk.
Who wouldn’t?
Haven laced her fingers together and set them in her lap as the pretty girl made her way to their table. She faced Haven for a millisecond, her back ramrod straight, then pushed her breasts toward Kirk.
“My lady.�
�� She spoke to Haven, but fluttered long, golden eyelashes at Kirk. “What might I fetch to break yer fast?”
Her attentiveness toward Kirk snapped Haven out of her complacency.
“Bring us fruit and some bread…I mean, bannock,” Haven shouted, louder than necessary. She waved the girl away then stroked the dagger in her pocket. The urge to protect her territory, including the handsome man sitting quietly at her side, surprised her.
The girl stomped off toward the kitchen while the older woman reappeared with a small clay cup. She placed it on the wood table in front of Haven.
“Thank you,” Haven whispered. She lifted the cup with both hands. Trembling fingers, remnants of the adrenaline rush the barmaid’s attitude raised, hadn’t fully subsided. The contents sloshed about. Before it reached her mouth, a warm hand joined hers, and the cup rose to her lips. Her throat burned, and not with thirst.
He touches me and I turn to jelly.
“Don’t,” she said without looking at him. Holding onto her hand in a crowded pub would damage his ability to rule. He knew it, because his hand slipped away. Haven set the cup on the table. When the meal arrived, she grabbed a piece of fruit then tore off a chunk of crusty bread. Out of the corner of her eye, she waited for him to do the same.
He hadn’t moved.
“Do ye have something to say to me, lass?” Kirk tore off a large chunk of the coarse bread. Removing a small dagger from his boot top, he spread a clump of apple butter on the warm bread before shoving it inside his mouth.
“I want to say something before we go any further.” She took a deep breath. How should she describe his men’s behavior outside the shop yesterday afternoon? How could she possibly explain to him that everyone thought of her as his bed-partner?
“Speak up. I will hear what ye have to say, but understand ye have nothing to fear. Cameron and Balfour left town last night for parts unknown. They will not have the chance to fail me again.” He tore off another piece of bread.
“You don’t understand, Kirk. Their inattention when I entered that store wasn’t the problem.”
“What, then? Enlighten me.”
Highland Games Through Time Page 18