“Cameron?”
He pushed her aside. She tripped.
“Aye, lass?” he asked, gathering her again into his arms.
“Thank you.”
He accepted her gratitude with a nod, then planted a chaste kiss upon her temple’s smooth, pale skin. She shuddered, so he held her tighter. Soft curves melted into his side, warming his own chilled flesh. Cameron was smart enough to realize she was scared.
Even so, she had fought like a warrior. When three strange men had threatened her life, and her body, his breath had caught. When he saw their hands upon her, his heart had stopped. When the man with the knife charged him, she initiated her release from the others.
The feeling sweeping through him was pride. Pride? In a woman who tripped over roots, spoke spells incorrectly, and drove him insane with her sweet smell?
Their latest predicament should be of short duration, if Iona had reworked the spell. He fingered the amulet beneath his vest, and led her through the thickly treed forest. Together, they covered the distance as quiet as a pair of fawns. They slipped like a gentle breeze through bushes and trees that grew thinner as the ground rose toward the blue, cloudless sky.
“Are we heading uphill?”
He pulled her behind a large tree trunk and pressed a kiss against her fingers. Suddenly breathless, and not from exertion, he wanted to kiss her berry-red lips and make love to her. Her recent attack at the hands of ruffians waylaid any further attention on his part. She might accuse him of the same deeds as the men who had grabbed her.
“Aye. ‘Tis best to get to where we can see our hunters, but keep quiet.”
“I don’t understand. We fought them and won. We have nothing of value. Why are they chasing us?”
Naïve as well as beautiful, he would let her stew about the answer while he pushed them further from their pursuers. He listened for the men. Their angry shouts drifted on the breeze, much too close. A few of their curses would make a tavern whore blush.
She made a low, hesitant sound deep in her throat and he knew she understood. Continuing their trek, he was relieved when the tangled puzzle of greenery broke, and revealed a hilltop made up of a jumble of rocks.
Leading her toward a mound of cracked gray granite, he spotted a narrow crevice. Not nearly as deep as a cave in the cliffs of Wick near Castle Ruadh, the slight overhang and narrow opening would suit his purpose.
“Climb in here, lass.” She did as he bid. Cameron ran back to the trail, then sliced several leafy boughs from trees with his dirk. Returning to their secret lair, he threw some branches overhead and pulled the rest behind him as he reentered the cleft in the rocks.
“Is this going to work?” she whispered.
He crouched in the darkened interior of their tiny hideaway and peered outside. “We will be invisible to the ruffians as long as we keep quiet.”
“I can do quiet.”
Cameron glared at her, then returned his attention to the open area beyond the protective curtain of tree limbs. He motioned for her to sit, and she collapsed against him in a tempting heap of muslin, soft skin, and tears.
Tears? “Why do ye cry?”
“I admit it,” she sobbed, “I’m scared. Those men jumped me. Touched me in places no man has the right to touch. I had no idea how far ahead you’d walked. I screamed with the hope you’d come running—”
“I did.” He smiled in the dark. She knew his nature; a warrior who strove to protect her safety. She was unaware of his wanton, seductive side.
She is mine, and no ruffians from another time can have her.
“Shh. Rest. When yer feeling up to it, let us work on that spell and leave this time. I am amazed to find men of this era acting disrespectful toward a woman. I was sorely tempted to kill them.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t take their heads. The look on your face when the leader hit me chilled me to the bone,” Iona whispered.
“Timeline, remember?” He pulled her into his lap. She went willingly.
She nodded, sniffled, and pulled the scrap of white silk he had given her from her pocket. When she snuggled into his chest, and wiped her tears away, their shared heat filled their makeshift bower.
He backed against the cool wall of granite and settled her in his lap. “You still carry it?”
“Yes. It was a gift from a very handsome Scotsman.”
Iona hiccupped against his shoulder, while his chest swelled at her praise. She melted into him, yet he listened for the bastards. He sensed her breathing slow. Another sigh seeped from between her pink lips and he fought the desire that threatened to swell his manhood beneath her soft bottom.
The skittering of forest animals beneath nearby bushes and birdsong above their heads lulled him into a fitful sleep. He prayed for a restful few minutes, but the dreams of home—of Scotland, four centuries earlier—were never far, and he rubbed his hip where Dorcas had whipped him that fateful day.
“Why did ye hit me?” Cameron asked Dorcas as he rose from his warrior’s crouch. The woman did not step back. “Wait. You were no’ here a moment ago. I could have run from ye.”
“I dinna hear ye ask to drink my water, boy. Why did ye no run?”
Cameron sighed. “Ye were no here to ask, and I have no place to run.” The realization washed over him like a river of flame, burning his soul and charring his future. He was her prisoner until he left these lands.
“Ye might want to think on that and make the most of a bad situation.” Her eyes crinkled in the corners as if she held back a laugh.
Cameron had groaned.
* * *
Heat wrapped around her in a silken cocoon, and Iona nestled deeper into its embrace. The scent of fresh-cut pine boughs tickled her nose. The tang of musk and leather wafted over her. When something slimy crept across her shoulder, she bolted upright.
“Have a care,” Cameron whispered.
The voice attached to those words fueled a wave of desire. It skittered down her spine like the blue-striped skink climbing her forearm. When she pulled away from Cameron’s chest, the small lizard jumped onto the granite wall behind them.
“Sorry,” she whispered. Now wide awake, damp heat moistened the sensitive area between her thighs. She was in his lap and recognized the lump that pressed intimately against her bottom.
Iona sprang up, hit her head on the makeshift canopy of pine boughs, and bounced off a rock wall. She pivoted, clutched her bruised forehead, and fell. Sprawled face down across his lap, the lump beneath his leather pants grew and poked her breasts. Her nipples hardened, and a tiny squeal escaped her lips.
“Quiet, lass. ‘Tis not entirely safe as yet.”
That brought her to a stop. Iona inhaled a slow, deep breath, and pushed up and off him. “Right. Three men. Knives. Life or death stuff. I got it.”
She shivered when he smiled, barely visible in their little cave’s shadow-filled interior. A few snatches of sun filtered through the branches at the mouth of their hideaway. Her stomach growled.
“I’m hungry,” she whispered.
“Then we have a problem.”
Only then did she recall how he’d pulled her to safety with one arm while the other brandished a weapon. The sack and their supplies were gone. The men had left them without extra clothing or food. She’d grabbed her leather satchel as they fled, but it only held powders, a small linen towel, potions, and the ancient spell book.
“Then I best work on the spell and get us out of here. Is there plenty of food in your time?” His low, sexy, chuckle of an answer made desire raise its ugly head. Her feelings were inappropriate. The man was clearly in love with someone back in his own time. He hadn’t discussed the lucky lady with her, but she could tell.
Cameron’s reactions when in her vicinity were a man’s physical reaction to a female. Any female, and nothing more. He’d kissed her because she was there. What man would deny himself pleasure when it dropped into his lap?
Too bad she had no desire to be a man’s plaything,
tossed aside when someone better came along. Iona recalled the pain that crossed her friend Haven’s face when she discovered her boyfriend was actually married.
Haven never cried in her presence, but Iona guessed she’d spilled her heart to Jake. Jake was a good listener, and she missed him. She also missed the aroma of morning fires, the clang of his hammer, and the laughter of the visitors to the historic village.
And Dad. I should be there, not here.
Haven was stronger than she looked, and supportive to a fault. However, Iona found it nearly impossible to pull her out of the deep, depressing funk that Cal’s betrayal had caused. Instead, she had twisted Haven’s arm. Haven agreed to help at the New England Highland Games, then had disappeared. A man was behind her disappearance, which is why Iona would never place herself in such a position. Cameron might not understand, especially after she’d returned his kisses with equal vitality.
She laughed.
“Quiet. Someone approaches.”
Cameron’s words caused her to choke on her laugh where she stood. She wanted to crawl into his lap, but he shoved her aside with an outstretched arm. Hurt at his actions, she soon understood. He slipped his dirk into his fist, and rolled into a crouch. His tawny hair and bronzed body reminded her of a mountain lion ready to pounce.
When dirt rained down on her shoulder, Iona pressed her back against the rock wall. She cupped a hand across her mouth and stifled a scream. Cameron peered out the front of their hiding spot, so she poked him in the ribs. He glanced at her, and she pointed toward the sky.
CHAPTER 15
The moment Iona jabbed him in the ribs he nearly growled his displeasure. He kept silent, sensing danger. He swung around from his crouched position. She pointed above them. Waning sunlight filtered through the crevice above, which until now served as a protective ceiling to their small hideaway.
Iona had her hand across her mouth. Etched with fear, her wide-open eyes and lifted eyebrows signaled danger. The lass knew enough to stay quiet, because someone crawled above. A jumble of stones, dirt, and twigs rained down upon his companion.
If the shadowy figure was one of the three bastards with whom they had recently tangled, he and Iona were outnumbered. They had escaped by surprising the trio, but these men were well aware that they had the upper hand. To stay trapped in this tiny crevice was not the answer. Instinctively, or due to Dorcas’ warnings before they left Iona’s time, he rubbed the amulet and whispered ancient words.
Cameron silently slid a sword from the scabbard he’d laid on the dirt beside their makeshift bed. With a sword in one hand and his dirk in the other, he padded with bent knees toward the opening.
“Damn the timeline,” he muttered. Blasting through the crossed branches, he straightened and turned. As he swung at the prowler above, he kept his gaze alert for others. The shadowy figure growled, then leapt from the rock.
It knocked Cameron flat. Dirt and fur choked him, and instinct directed his dirk into the creature’s neck. A heavy lump settled on Cameron’s chest as his attacker went limp.
All grew quiet.
Cameron laid there, his chest heaving under the pressure of fighting off his now-dead adversary. The coppery smell of spilt blood fueled him to push the beast aside.
“Are you okay?” Iona’s words cut through him. He jumped to his feet then swayed. Any further danger would have to wait. He fell to his knees, and dropped his sword.
“Cameron!”
Iona’s hands swept over his body, tugging off his vest and patting his chest and back. Closing his eyes at the pleasure, he drew in a long, deep breath.
“Where be my dirk, lass?”
“In the cat’s neck. It’s not going anywhere.” Her soft fingers delved into his hair, and brushed aside dirt and twigs as she searched for something.
“What are ye doing, lass?”
“Looking for wounds, you lunk-head. There is blood everywhere.”
“I know those words,” he whispered. Cameron locked his gaze with Iona, and knew they both thought of Lady Haven.
“I believe the blood ‘tis the beast’s. I be fine. Just winded.” He glanced at the golden-brown pelt lying motionless at the edge of the woods beside the gnarled roots of a tree.
“Only you would tangle with the only mountain lion this side of the Talladega mountains. Did you have to scare me? What if it had been those three men? You could have been outnumbered.”
“Aye, and I would have killed them. I pray I have not damaged yer precious timeline by taking out this beastie.” He pushed to his feet, tugging her up with him. Connected, they walked to the animal. He felt her shudder.
“I need to find a stream or lake to wash off this blood. The scent will bring other beasties. Go back inside the rocks.”
“Let me go with you?”
“Nay, ‘tis safer if ye stay hidden.” He bent over and pulled his dirk from the carcass, then wiped the blood on the beast’s tawny pelt. He handed the weapon to Iona. “Take this.”
She did as ordered wordlessly, even though he knew her tiny sgian dubh was safely hidden in her pocket. She nodded, understanding the significance of carrying protection.
After grabbing his other weapons, Cameron piled the branches over the crevice, collected his blood-covered vest, and grabbed the cat by the tail. He dragged it far to the north, then tossed it from a cliff. Venturing west, he stumbled across a narrow, fast-moving stream.
He dipped a scrap of linen in the cool water, and wiped the blood from his vest. After tossing it on a bush to dry, he knelt by the edge of the shallows and wiped the blood from his head, neck, and chest. Scratches marred his skin where the beast’s claws grazed him as they fell. The cold, clear water stung the open wounds. Wincing, he ran cool water over his head and chest until numb.
Cupping his hand, he drank his fill. Thoughts of Haven intruded. His body reacted the moment he envisioned her long, black hair and piercing, pale-green eyes. When her image faded and was replaced with the luscious curves and red-gold hair of his traveling companion, he cursed.
Iona Mackenzie was in danger of losing her innocence if he did not get back to his own time. Perhaps he would seek out a tavern wench to take the edge off these lusty thoughts.
“Cameron?”
He froze for the length of a ragged breath. Rising to his feet with a slow, agonizing movement, he berated himself for not heeding his surroundings. He had neglected to listen for danger. His own short-comings morphed into anger, and the emotion raced through him when he realized Iona had ventured out of the cave alone.
“I told ye to stay put, lass.”
She dropped her ever-present satchel by her feet, and something in the way she stared halted any further retort. Her eyes glazed over, her gaze sliding up and down his naked chest. At first he assumed she admired his muscles, until he remembered his recent skirmish. She had spotted his wounds.
“You’re hurt.”
Her fingers were suddenly on his washed body, the scratches visible and still smarting. The sweet smell of Iona mingled with the remnants of the cut pine boughs they had used. Leaning in, she unabashedly massaged his shoulders, then brought her lips in to kiss his chin.
His sac swelled. His body awoke to full glory and strained beneath his trews. She peppered his savaged flesh with subtle kisses. Desire roared through him, yet he forced his hands to stay at his side. When a faltering sound leapt from her throat, Cameron’s arms flew up.
Pale shoulders peeked from her blouse. Exploring the petal-soft skin with his fingertips, he moaned. She felt warmer than his wet skin. Unconsciously, Cameron drew her closer. He pulled her inside his embrace then stifled a groan. He kept her angled away from his bloody wounds and pressed tiny kisses to her forehead. He pulled back to see if she smiled or frowned.
I never know with this lass.
Her smile was as welcome as sunshine; tender, unguarded, and filled with promise. He cupped her chin and forced her face to lift. Cameron’s other hand sauntered down her back to cup he
r arse. She dragged in a ragged breath, but did not protest.
He pressed kisses along her jaw line, then nibbled on her ear lobe. Cameron returned to her mouth, plundered her lips, and devoured them in one unintentional action that made her moan. She was a tall woman, and he did not need to bend far to reach those lips. He lifted his head and listened after berating himself for previous inattentiveness. Birdsong filled the trees, and no other sounds marred their concert.
He returned his attention to the sweet-smelling woman in his arms. How would her fingers feel wrapped around him? His body teemed with the primal urge to tear off her clothes and lie her down on the grassy bank. The very air around him buzzed with tension. Groaning at his lack of will, he pulled her down until she was sprawled beneath him on a patch of green moss. Tiny white flowers circled her splayed red-gold hair worn loose since losing the metal spikes Jake had gifted her.
Iona had nearly cried when she spoke of having lost them when the three men had surprised her on the trail. She had stopped to tame her hair when they stepped from the trees. Recalling that terrifying moment, she had laughed and admitted she would have driven the iron spikes into their privates if she could have.
Just as well he had not told her he had hidden them in the scabbard at his waist. Let her believe they were lost on a trail in Alabama. He saw no need for her to wear another man’s tidbits. She deserved jewels and fine gowns.
Iona wriggled beneath him, but her movements were not the actions of a woman bent on releasing him, so he settled between her thighs. The sultry heat of her hardened his lengthening manhood to stone, but he would not breech her virginal barrier. It was not his right to do so, though he yearned to pleasure the wench. Maybe then he would cease walking with a pike between his legs.
Cameron scattered light kisses across her neck, collarbone, and her clothed breasts. When she arched her back and stuck out her chest, he groaned.
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