Highland Games Through Time

by Nancy Lee Badger

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “Listen, red. I will do whatever it takes to find Haven. She owes me.”

  “Don’t call me red, and what could Haven possibly owe you?” Her voice rose the more he ignored her.

  He stopped fumbling through the backpack, pulled out an old book, then set it on the cot. “There is a better use of that mouth than screaming at me.”

  Cameron covered the cramped space inside the little tent in a heartbeat. When he cupped her chin, and threw his other arm around her waist, Iona yelped, and her heart lurched. Blood drained from her face and pooled in the secret area between her legs. Anticipation hit her with such force, her knees weakened. Before she could protest, he pulled her face to his.

  Crushed beneath his mouth, she shuddered. Hot, moist lips pressed tight against her trembling mouth, stealing her breath. Her whole being seemed to vibrate, and the only thing holding her up were two muscular arms he’d wrapped around her.

  Cameron eased up, and his teeth nibbled her bottom lip as if daring her to bite him in return. Damp heat suffused her lower body. Like a spark to kindling, she wanted to burst into flames and consume him. When he pulled his face from hers, her cheeks tingled from the slight golden stubble of his unshaved face.

  Suddenly freed, Iona parted her lips and inhaled. Lunging like a broadsword on a Scottish battlefield, his mouth surged forward a second time and his tongue pushed past her lips. She moaned under the onslaught, then shoved against his chest.

  Men kiss me all the time, but never like this.

  The kiss was intimate, foreign, and arousing.

  Her rubbery legs moved, trying to gain purchase on the uneven terrain. Her dress tangled around his shins, and she stumbled. Unable, or unwilling, to break his hold, Cameron spun drunkenly with her. They fell on the cot in a snarled pile of arms, legs, and wool.

  The bed squeaked its own protest. Iona shoved the book out of the way, then realized her ungainly position. Two-hundred plus pounds of aroused male had fallen on top of her. She smacked him across the face to get his attention, and her hand stung as if she’d struck a rock wall.

  She twisted away from his encroaching chest, limbs, and thighs enough to bring her other fist up beneath his chin. Bone collided with bone, and pain seared down the length of her entire arm. Cameron barely grunted as he slid part-way off her chest. His eyes widened.

  Glued to his face was a faraway look, as if he no longer cared he had a woman beneath him. Iona, still tangled, struggled again, then watched in horror as his right hand balled into a fist.

  Before Cameron could strike, the tent flap flew open and a shadowy form entered. It grabbed him by the throat, then dragged him from the tent. Angry voices and the thuds of flesh pummeling flesh propelled her off the bed.

  Hesitating, she plucked the ancient book of spells from the ground, tossed it inside a different backpack, and hefted it onto a shoulder. Outside the tent, two men rolled and growled in the dirt. She recognized Jake’s raven hair and Cameron’s blond waves.

  Blow upon blow landed while the air filled with their grunts and curses. She ought to stop them, but Cameron had gone too far. Why would he touch her friend’s belongings? How could he think to hit her?

  How dare he kiss me again?

  Before she knew what her feet were doing, Iona kicked Cameron in the shin. When the two men rolled away, five fingers grabbed her ankle and pulled her down. Her head slammed into the ground.

  “Break it up!” A splash replaced her jumbled thoughts, and a cooling spray dampened her dress. A hand grasped hers and pulled her to her feet.

  She swayed, and the hand slipped around her waist.

  “Are ye well, lass?”

  Her bun was gone. Iona swept loose hair from her face and gazed up at Cameron. Her wrought iron spikes had disappeared when she fell. They were either in the tent or on the wet ground nearby.

  Cameron’s dripping face swung toward Jake as another man in period costume pulled Jake to his feet. Jake sputtered, then ran his hands through his loose hair. When he stepped toward Iona, Cameron growled.

  He growled!

  Iona slapped him. “You almost punched me!”

  “Nay. I was aiming for the man behind ye.”

  Iona stared from him to the tent. “Someone else was in there?”

  “Aye. A black-hooded stranger materialized out of nowhere. I thought he meant ye harm.”

  Iona’s eyes slammed shut. When a sudden wave of nausea swept over her, she swayed again and felt her knees give way.

  “She’s hurt, idiot.” Jake said, stepping closer.

  “I shall care for the wench. Be off.”

  “Cameron, don’t. Jake is not the enemy.”

  Iona opened her eyes. Cameron returned his attention her way. Concern filled his face, his frown making him look older. Bruises had formed around his right eye and chin.

  “And don’t call me wench,” she whispered in his ear, and felt his shudder. She read too much in his gaze. His amber eyes darkened, and he was breathing hard.

  She was breathing pretty hard, herself, which had nothing to do with the fight. This man was a terrifying, sexy, god-like being; all blond, bronzed, and lethal. And he was staring at her lips.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” she said. The memory of his lips when they explored her mouth startled Iona into stepping away. She immediately missed his warmth and his captivating scent.

  “Where are ye hurtin’, lass?” Cameron said.

  Her gaze met his eyes again, and she was too mesmerized to answer. “I’m a little dizzy. Let me catch my breath.”

  Cameron strode back inside Haven’s tent and returned with a small three-legged stool. He settled his big hands on her shoulders and helped her to a seated position with remarkable gentleness. Searching through her disheveled hair, she fingered the lump at the back of her head. Her stomach rolled.

  “The tent be empty, again.” Cameron knelt beside her, lifted the loose hair away from her bruise, and palpated the swollen area.

  “Ouch.”

  “My apologies, lass. ‘Tis not bleeding.”

  His tender tone soothed her beating heart back to its normal rhythm, though other body functions were racing into overdrive. Damp heat spread between her thighs, and her nipples pebbled inside her gown.

  Would Cameron notice?

  Cameron smiled at her.

  He’d noticed, all right.

  Embarrassed by his intimate scrutiny, her cheeks warmed. Her breath lodged in her throat, and her fingers numbed. She swayed and barely registered that a pair of large hands reached for her right before everything went black.

  * * *

  As the fog lifted, Iona’s vision wavered in low light. Where was she? Had night fallen? Too many sounds surrounded her for the games site to be empty of visitors. She pushed off something soft, and sat up. Iona lay on a cot covered with thick furs and a heavy wool blanket. She blinked. She’d managed to crawl into Haven’s tent. Too bad she couldn’t remember crawling.

  “How be ye, my lady?”

  Iona shrieked.

  “Sorry if I frightened ye,” Cameron said, followed by a chuckle.

  “I thought you were the cloaked man you mentioned.”

  “Nay, just me. My apologies, lass.”

  Exasperated with the man that had come into her life and muddled everything, she said. “You’re always apologizing. We should stop meeting this way. My body can’t take much more.”

  “ ‘Tis an exceptional body,” he said, then blushed.

  It was rather becoming.

  “But, I should treat it with more respect.” When he turned away and refused to meet her gaze, she grew suspicious.

  “A kiss certainly isn’t a problem.”

  “Aye, it ‘tis. My heart lies elsewhere.”

  CHAPTER 4

  She bit her lip the minute the words left his mouth. Her first inclination was to curse a blue streak, but what would that accomplish? He’d kissed her—more than once—but loved someone
else? The pain his words evoked quickly turned to rage. Her hands fisted and she bit back the urge to curse. Restraint was not one of her qualities.

  She suddenly wanted to get out of his sight. Changing the subject might work. Pushing up to a sitting position, she took a deep breath, then rubbed the bump. She groaned.

  “I am verra sorry yer head hurts.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t look so good either. Don’t pick any more fights with Jake.”

  He growled low in his throat, and her body quickened.

  Oh, my!

  “The lad grabbed me. I’m not sure what I did or said to rile him, but he had no right.”

  “You had your tongue down my throat.” The single candle he’d lit sat on a small wooden keg and only showed Cameron’s profile. He was too handsome for his own good. He squinted at the sunlight streaming through the partially open tent flap, and nodded.

  Iona closed her eyes and lay back on the cot. She didn’t fear him. He hadn’t planned to fall on top of her onto Haven’s cot. His kisses had caught her off guard, but didn’t mean to him what they meant to her. Since he had admitted he had feelings for someone else, she was a momentary distraction. A weekend fling.

  I am no man’s fling.

  When Iona opened her eyes a second time, the tent was quiet, dark, and far too empty. She chided herself for missing him as she sat up and set her feet on the tent’s grass floor. She peeked through the slightly parted flap, and spotted other tents across the make-believe village square. A few were lit from inside. She was inside a different tent than Haven’s or her own.

  Perceptive as ever.

  She sensed a presence before his shadow grew closer, and her heart clenched. Hope filled her as she finger-combed her loose hair.

  “Cameron?”

  “Aye. Jake and I carried ye here. ‘Tis his tent. ‘Twas closer than yer own and the cheeky lad insisted. In case the stranger in black returns.”

  “He’s not a boy. He’s twenty-two.”

  Cameron grunted.

  “How old are you, ole’ ancient one?”

  His eyes narrowed as he seemed to ponder the question. “I have seen thirty summers. The lad has gone off to find food. I have watched over ye since ye fainted.”

  “I did?”

  He nodded, and the scared look in his eyes was brief, but she’d read it. Even a big, tough thirty-year-old man like Cameron Robeson felt fear.

  Fear for me.

  She shivered. She must have hit her head harder than she realized. Iona curled her fingers around the loose hair draped over her shoulders, then slipped off her doeskin slippers. She wiggled each toe.

  A strangled breath rushed from between his lips. She stared at his lips a little too long; the taste and feel of them was burned into her brain. Had she embarrassed him by removing her shoes? What would he say if she lifted her gown over her head and showed him her other parts? She slipped on her shoes, then walked outside the tent. She drew in a long breath, then turned when Cameron followed her.

  “Ye need to rest. I must return to my mistress. I mean, my employer,” he said, bowing slightly. She held back a chuckle.

  “Dorcas Swann?”

  “Aye.”

  This time, she couldn’t help it. She giggled. Cameron jumped back a step.

  “Sorry, but I can’t picture you working for her. Do you help her gather herbs and flowers?”

  “Nay. I run errands and set up her tent. I must go.” Cameron strutted away and blended into the shadows of the evening.

  Iona sighed and retreated back inside the tent. She sat on the edge of the cot and thought about her love-life.

  Or, lack thereof.

  “I have this innate ability to make good men run and bad men kiss me,” Iona said to empty air.

  “I want to kiss you. Does that make me a bad man?” Jake lifted the edge of the tent flap and joined her inside.

  “Jake, I hope you’re joking. I’m too old for you.” Iona smiled at him through the dark, but she wondered if he understood. She had little time in her life for relationships, and kissing Cameron Robeson had been a mistake.

  Jake frowned as he set a plate on her lap filled with something that smelled heavenly. He placed a bottle of water on the little side table, then turned. When the tent flap closed behind Jake without another civil word, she knew she’d stepped in it.

  Me and my big mouth.

  She ate the food, then dozed. Even with a full stomach she suffered a fitful sleep. Groggy, Iona returned to Haven’s tent to collect her friend’s potions, herbs, and the book of spells.

  Grabbing the backpack she had stuffed the book inside, she rooted through Haven’s other backpack and found several vials, bottles, and packets of assorted herbs and powders. She condensed her catch into one navy blue backpack. For the second time while visiting Haven’s tent, she sensed she wasn’t alone.

  “Cameron?”

  “Aye.”

  No other words joined his simple discloser. She didn’t care to face him. Instead, she stood beside Haven’s tiny cot feeling dusty and disheveled. Unfortunately, he reached out and turned her face toward his.

  Iona melted under his gaze as heat, longing, and questions surfaced. “Say or do something; anything to take my mind off my headache.”

  “Ye be in pain? Have ye no potion to ease yer misery?”

  “Potion?”

  “Aye, ye practice witchery like Lady Haven.”

  “I am not a witch.” All previous thoughts of kissing Cameron slipped away as anger, shame, and remorse swept over her. Iona was ashamed she hadn’t kept practicing her craft, and was filled with remorse because of her neglect. How could she help Haven if she couldn’t remember a single spell? But, to have him mention her faults fueled her angry response.

  She slapped him. The sound reverberated off the tent walls. Iona sucked in a shattered breath, and her visceral reaction immediately embarrassed her.

  This isn’t like me.

  Cameron’s anger roared through the tent, causing Jake to stick his head through the door. Iona sighed and waved him away. She sat on the cot, grabbed Cameron’s fist, and tugged. He crouched on his haunches, down at her level, and stared at her lips.

  “What is it about you that brings out the worst in me?” she asked, not expecting an answer.

  Cameron brushed two fingers along her lips. The calluses stung, but she held her ground and opened her mouth. His fingers fell to her shoulder as Cameron lowered his head. She closed her eyes as velvet-soft lips brushed her mouth. Heat and desire flooded all other thoughts away.

  He tasted like lemons and bitter herbs. Had he enjoyed a tankard or two of Scottish ale? His musky scent was annoyingly arousing.

  What am I doing?

  Iona pulled back, and relief washed over her when he released her head. The bump beneath her hair throbbed.

  “I beg forgiveness, my lady. I forgot—”

  “Stop apologizing, Cameron. It’s just a lump. It hurts and I’m a little woozy. I ought to go to bed.” When his face brightened, she waved her hands, “I need to sleep. I barely napped.”

  “Strange tent?” he asked.

  “No. I kept thinking about the man you said you saw.”

  “The black-hooded man who appeared out of nowhere?”

  “Yes. Haven warned me to watch out for someone like him. In her letter. Do you want to read it?”

  “Nay!”

  “Fine. After I take a nap, I’ll talk to some of the volunteers.”

  “I will watch over ye.”

  She shook her head, but his hand slashed through the air in response. Iona supposed she would sleep better knowing he couldn’t get near Haven’s belongings while she slept in her friend’s tent.

  “Okay, but stay outside.”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  “Cameron, my name is Iona. I am no lady.”

  Cameron’s smile was a bit off-putting.

  * * *

  “Iona.” Her name rolled off Cameron’s tongue, over and
over as he sunk to the ground an arm’s length from Haven MacKay’s tent.

  Fireball was the only word that came to mind when Iona’s blazing tendrils tumbled over her shoulders and caressed her bodice. Pleased, he was, that they had escaped her prim and proper bun. They reminded him of candlelight, or the molten fire of the blacksmith’s furnace. Her beautiful hair complemented two shining emerald-green eyes.

  When Iona had fallen during his wrestling match with Jake, then looked up at him from flat on her back on the ground, he did not know whether to kneel and profess his love, or pounce.

  Since several witnesses to the brawl converged on the area of the fight, including one bastard with a bucket of icy water, he instead helped her to her feet and then a stool. When she fell unconscious, his first thought was to kill Jake. The lad had no right to interrupt their kiss inside Haven’s tent.

  From a safe distance, he checked on her several times during the day. Clouds rolled in to hide the sun. The ground was damp and Cameron owned few articles of clothing. He jumped to his feet and leaned against a tree, blending into the twilight.

  He glanced toward the darkened tent, and thought about Haven while worried about Iona. Concern for Haven’s health, back in Scotland of old, barely outweighed other questions. How could these people know the same woman he lusted over these last few months? Could she truly have come from this place; this future time, so alien and confusing?

  Bewilderment flowed through his loins, as well. Haven had been the woman that filled every waking hour and crowded his dreams. Then he had met Iona. A Mackenzie, no less. His body, once deadened by his predicament, had come alive. Since tasting her lips, he found it hard to remember the other woman’s face.

  Cameron rested his head against the rough bark of a pine tree and stared up at stars slowly popping into the darkening sky. A waning moon smiled back. The buzz of tiny insects, oblivious to the onset of fall, flitted around his head.

  An unfamiliar species of owl hooted from somewhere toward the west, hurrying the last trace of sunlight from the sky. Despite the chilled early-evening air, thoughts of Iona’s mouth spread relaxing warmth across his chest. She had tasted as delicious as aged whisky, only sweeter. More like the honey-ale Balfour used to brew for their clan back in Keldurunach.