Highland Games Through Time

by Nancy Lee Badger

  She blinked again, and turned partially toward the open door, where morning light filtered in. With the sun shining on her face, black chips sparkled inside the blue of her eyes. Her thick, black lashes curved upward. Dust motes clung to her eyelids, and the urge to wipe them away sprung up, among other body parts.

  Get a grip!

  As he tossed the tools haphazardly into the tool kit on top of a hay bale, her thin black eyebrows rose. Had she sensed his scrutiny? Was it his fault he couldn’t stop himself from searching out every line and curve of her face? He wasn’t immune to women, even if he hadn’t bedded anyone in a long time.

  Stripping the apron off over his head, he thought how five years had passed since he’d laid eyes on Skye Gunn. She’d grown into a fine woman. His gaze lowered, settling on the black leather vest and matching trews. She’d slipped on a bulky red cardigan sweater, but had left it unbuttoned.

  “I see you found the clothes I brought back from the games.”

  “They are…interesting.”

  “Wish I had blue jeans in your size, but…”

  “What be jeans?” Skye looked at her vest, then back at him. As she slid her hands over her leather-clad thighs, one worn cowboy boot tapped on the wood floor. He swallowed as she waited for an answer.

  He nodded at the black leather that hugged her curvy calves and thighs, and rode low on her rounded hips. The vest laced up the front, and he could see her belly button. He coughed to clear his throat.

  “Didn’t realize the leather would be so…tight.” Though the outfit was similar to one he’d given Jenny in exchange for equine inoculations, Skye filled them better. The red sweater could not hide the soft breasts he’d recently felt. Gazing lower, he forced his eyes to the familiar pair of boots. Not anything he’d given Skye.

  “Did Jenny loan you the boots and sweater?”

  “Aye. The boots are a bit loose. My feet are tiny, she told me.” Skye grinned up at him, and the barn brightened several notches.

  Talk about a hundred-watt smile.

  He placed the tool kit in the tiny store room, then checked the gate latch on Dara’s stall.

  Skye’s left eyebrow rose.

  “Dara likes to escape.”

  She laughed, and stroked the mare’s neck. “Aye, she has the look of a brownie.”

  It was his turn to feel surprised.

  Surprise turned to agony as his gaze followed her fingers. He gnashed his teeth, wanting her to touch him the same way. The notion irritated him to no end.

  “She’s a buff color, not brown.”

  She giggled, reminding him she was still very young.

  “Nay, not a color, Highlander. A brownie is part of Scotland’s folklore; a myth, although my mother believed in the wee beasties. She swore they aided the kitchen help and cleaned the stables, but only at night. ‘Twas why I never saw one. Your mare has a brownie’s mischievous look about her.”

  “Whatever.” Jake absentmindedly kicked the stall wall. With his secrets, who was he to dispute a myth? He headed toward the barn door to get some fresh air. Air that didn’t smell of her.

  “Enough of folk tales. Jake, we must talk.”

  Balfour whinnied.

  Jake reversed direction, marching toward the stall. As soon as the gelding pressed his nose into his palm, calm washed over him. “So, talk.”

  “I want to talk about yer friend.”

  “Bull?”

  “Nay. Janet, your Jenny as ye call her, is verra’ generous.” She ran her fingers through her hair as she sighed. Jenny had lent Skye shampoo, conditioner, and other female toiletries.

  “I hope you enjoyed your bath. Sorry that I scared you.”

  “Aye, the sweet-smelling soap reminded me of the heather on the moor, and I accept yer apology. This hide,” she added, smoothing her palms down her thighs, “is sturdy, yet soft. I am sure if I had worn this when fighting the sorcerer, I would nay have nearly drowned in the ocean. My gown and underclothes were heavy and awkward. Nearly pulled me to my death.”

  “What? You smelled of the sea, but I had no idea.”

  She stared at him as if he spoke a different language, and set her hands on her rounded hips. Remembering the power in those hands, he stepped back.

  “Jake Jamison. Did I nay tell ye I swam for my life in an icy ocean? Did I nay add that I had escaped the evil sorcerer? Were ye not listening when I said I feared I would fill a dragon’s belly?”

  Dragon? No, she couldn’t have meant…“Skye, there are no such things as dragons. They are myths meant to frighten children.” Even as the words left his mouth, Jake knew that she knew he lied. She knew his true nature.

  She had discovered his secret.

  CHAPTER 12

  Skye glared at him, a fierce expression on her face. Her action made her already tight leather bodice push her small breasts higher. Jake’s mouth watered, and he took two more steps back. If only he wasn’t so aware of her fragrance. It brought back the memory of her naked body, standing wet and rosy in her bath. Burned into his brain were the images of soap bubbles clinging to the peaks and valleys of her womanly body.

  “How does a man cope with that?”

  “With what, pray tell?”

  Had he spoken his thought out loud? Just great. Was it only last night that he had accidently interrupted her bath? A happy accident, as it turned out. Flashes of creamy skin had rendered him speechless until he’d seen where talon-shaped scratches marred the surface. His gaze met hers.

  “Jake? Answer me!”

  “Your wound. Are you telling me a dragon did that?”

  “Aye, a gift from a dragon that dropped from the sky. The sorcerer’s doing, possibly, but real none the less.” Skye turned and walked toward the barn door, but paused to stroke Balfour’s neck. When she scratched him under the chin, a third horse neighed with a deep-throated bray.

  “Another?” Skye said.

  “That’s Tavish, my stallion. I haven’t had him very long. He’s in the paddock.”

  “I would love to stroke him. May I?”

  Before he could answer, a powerful yearning for her to rub her fingers all over him made his gut clench and his balls tighten. The yearning turned into a desire so hot, he glanced around to ensure he hadn’t left his coal furnace burning. As heat intensified beneath his skin, and steam moistened his lips, a whiff of smoke teased his nose.

  Smoke?

  Did Skye notice the change that swept over him? His eyes felt on fire, and blood flowed like molten lava to his stiffening groin. A gust of wind blew in through the open barn, but he couldn’t catch his breath. Balfour whinnied, kicking the back of his stall.

  “Calm yerself, my valiant Balfour,” she whispered.

  A shadow above them shifted. When a large bale of hay tumbled from the hayloft, Jake grabbed her shoulders and spun her out of the way.

  As if someone else controlled his hands, he pushed her back against the stall wall. The surprise in her wide-open eyes did not hinder his actions.

  “Thank ye. It nearly struck me.” She gazed up at him, as if she expected him to release her. Her tight shoulders and shock-filled gasp did nothing to keep him from gathering her in his arms, protecting her back from the rough wooden boards.

  Her mouth opened again, but the time to protest passed in one perfect moment. When he lowered his lips to cover hers, she didn’t scream.

  Skye’s flavor exploded on his tongue.

  Releasing a deep animalistic moan, he tried to pull back. She squirmed, and he was undone. She rubbed her breasts and thighs against his chest and groin, and it was all he could do to not throw her to the barn floor. The evidence of the passion she aroused in him prodded her stomach. He was as hard as stone and crazed with lust, until he remembered who he kissed.

  “No! I mean, I’m sorry.” Ragged breaths slurred his words.

  Jake dropped his hands, releasing her. He changed his stance to keep his rock-hard erection, straining beneath his pants, away from her. Missing how he’d s
unk against the soft pillow of her stomach and breasts, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. If he expected a reaction from her, he didn’t have to wait long.

  As if in slow motion, Skye’s hand drew back, slapping him.

  “Why did you hit me?” Was she angry because he’d kissed her, or because he stopped? He deserved an answer more than an apology.

  “Ye took liberties ye have not earned.”

  Jake glared at her, trying to read her expression. Her eyes sparkled and her breasts rose with each breath, which diverted his attention from their conversation.

  So, she’s as affected as me. Two can play at this game.

  Suppressing a smirk, he crossed his arms over his chest, and said, “Tell me what I have to do to earn these so-called liberties.”

  “We shall discuss it at a later time, after the sorcerer is dead by my hand.”

  Jake could only watch as Skye slipped from the small space between him and the barn wall. Slack jawed, and stunned by the vicious tone of her words, he stood still as a statue. His blood-deprived brain worked to ease the stiffness stretching his pants as she disappeared out the door.

  What did she mean ‘by her hand’? Was she planning on killing the man herself?

  “Wait a minute. Shouldn’t you let someone like your brother, or that huge blond cousin, do the deed?” If Skye took a life, she would regret it.

  Forever.

  His mind cleared, and her scent faded.

  “She didn’t hear me, or she’s ignoring me. Great.”

  With his body finally under control, he followed her out the door. When she rounded the barn, he was only steps behind. She headed toward the paddock, and a stallion baring his teeth.

  Before he could yell out a warning, she murmured something in Gaelic in the animal’s direction. Large glistening teeth shot toward Skye’s hand.

  Jake’s breath caught.

  Quicker than he could dive between them, and avert a disaster, Skye patted the horse’s nose. “What a handsome rake ye have here, Highlander. A warrior’s steed, if truth be told.”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  Skye’s head snapped around, and Tavish reared. Jake pulled her out of harm’s way, and set her several yards from the fence. She struggled in his grip, and more Gaelic spewed from her mouth.

  “Did you just curse at me?”

  When she raised a hand to slap him a second time, he growled. Her cheeks reddened, her breath hissed, and she lowered her arm.

  Jake let her go.

  She turned, and headed back toward the barn.

  “I saved your life. Now where are you going?” Was she retreating to the barn? Or, was she heading back to his apartment? Instead of following one of those assumptions, Skye crossed the parking lot, ignored his home’s front door, and headed into the nearby forest.

  “Wait!” He blinked, and she was gone.

  Skye slipped into the forest, and picked her way around unusual bushes and tall pine trees. Joy-filled birdsong lifted her spirits, giving her a sense of her far away homeland. The earthy scents of autumn filled her nose, and replaced the heady smell of horse and man.

  Praise the mother! Why did he kiss me?

  She mumbled a few perfectly fine curses, then shivered. She wrapped her arms around her chest and inhaled. Tucking her chin inside the heavy sweater, she smiled at Jenny’s generosity.

  With no sun streaming down through the heavy copse of pine boughs, her borrowed clothing offered some protection. She would like to procure a heavy hooded cloak in order to resume her task. To kill the sorcerer.

  A twig snapped.

  Vigilant, taught well by her brother, she peered back through the trees in the direction from which she had fled. Had Jake followed her? His sudden embrace and head-spinning kiss was so surprising, she had set off to discover her surroundings, while putting distance between them.

  He did not kiss me like a man still angry.

  Their first meeting was under more pleasant circumstances. He had dressed at the Highland games as he did this morning; leather leggings, boots, and an apron. He had tied his long, black hair off his face with a length of brown leather. Protected from sparks while he worked, even the cool air inside the darkened barn had not kept his skin from glistening with sweat.

  Looking back, her threat to expose his secrets was a devious thing to do to a stranger. At the time, desperation colored her actions. Would he ever forgive her?

  Just now, I sensed no anger in his touch. His body responded as if he wanted to…

  Cheeks burned and her palms grew damp. She had kept his secret, and sent him back to his world on a childish whim. Yes, her body had tingled when Lethan made love to her. However, what she felt in Lethan’s arms, was worlds away from the pangs of lust she experienced, whenever she thought of a sweaty blacksmith.

  This particular blacksmith was a different sort of being, not only because he was a man from this world. His secret had shocked her to her core. Once she witnessed his ability, and feared she knew his true nature, Skye’s heart beat an irregular rhythm when he drew near. Jake’s secret had kept her at a distance, until the idea to use his secret to bend him to her will, filled her mind. He was handsome, with a good heart. His friend, Bull, liked him.

  So did Jenny.

  He agreed to help her brother in their fight to free Haven, years ago, but she had threatened to reveal his secret if he had not helped. Anger and resentment bubbled under the surface. She should keep her distance. Though she needed him to help her once more, she vowed never to fall for his kind.

  Unlike Jake Jamison, I am human.

  While she glanced behind her, through the thick copse of trees and brambles, her thoughts drifted back to her life on the coast of Scotland. Saddened at the thought of her husband’s untimely death, she had chosen to visit the Keith clan for a time. Lady Fia, Lethan’s distant cousin, and her husband Marcus Mackenzie, had welcomed her. She had cried on Fia’s shoulder, and stayed as their guest for many months.

  Fia’s uncle, who was also their laird, passed away from a fever soon after her arrival. The two deaths so close together were a bad omen. Under the shadow of these deaths, Laird Marcus Mackenzie became the Keith Laird, as prearranged. Marcus was adored by his adopted clan and would serve them well.

  He loves Fia, deeply.

  She sighed. She had witnessed the love that had grown between the laird and his young wife after Marcus had nearly killed Kirk. Kirk’s betrothal to Fia was a mistake on all accounts. How sad that their romance had almost ended.

  Unfortunately, it ended in the death of poor Balfour.

  Turning the sharp pang of sadness into a grin, she recalled the ale master’s pleasant face and barrel-chested laughs. His stories had given her a snippet of the world outside their lands. He had died trying to save her brother and Haven. Though Marcus had ruled the men who killed Balfour, Kirk did not hold the deed against him. Balfour died in battle, the wish of every Highlander.

  “Deaths happen.” An eerie voice, no more than a whisper through the leaves above her, made Skye gasp.

  The tiny hairs on the back of her neck warned her that she was not alone, and the voice belonged to someone she was not ready to battle.

  She stood still as the trees around her, listening.

  Had she imagined the words?

  “ ‘Tis my own fault to wander about a strange land without a weapon.”

  Convinced she had heard the call of a bird among the rustling branches, she thought of Marcus Mackenzie. Marcus ruled from Castle Ruadh, the Keith stronghold on the North Sea. The Keith Clan prospered under his command.

  “No one goes hungry,” Fia had told her, the pride in her husband evident in her voice. He made sure the villagers filled the coffers with mutton, venison, and dried fish before the winter snows descended.

  As days passed among her friends, her life as an eighteen-year old widow had brightened even as the weather turned blustery. She was free to practice her witchery, and no man could make her do a
nything she wished not to do. Once winter descended, she spent the months in the Keith stronghold trying to sort out her future.

  After the first signs of spring erupted in flower-filled meadows, after the snow melted in the valleys, the Keith fishing fleet filled barrels with salted fish to feed her people. Fresh, crusty bannock, and root vegetables that had wintered in the ground, filled baskets that found their way to her husband’s castle. The food would help feed her new clan.

  When the dirt roads dried, she had traveled with overfilled wagons of food, seed, and ale to feed the people she had left behind. She unloaded the goods, and helped several farmers plant crops. She took time to confirm the health of the villagers, gave orders to the servants, but did not stay.

  “I canno’ live at the castle any longer,” she had told Fia.

  “Why ever not? They be yer people, now.”

  Fia did not understand. The only memory she held of Castle Barrowmann was the tragedy of her husband’s demise.

  “Lethan is dead, and his ghost demands revenge,” she had told her friend.

  Fia had gasped and hugged her, as if comforting an unruly child. A mission took form, yet she refused to discuss her plans. Once word reached her of the impending birth of her nephew, she feared the sorcerer might harm the child. She hugged her friend back.

  “Must ye leave us? Ye look too pale, and the trip takes many days.”

  “I shall be fine, Fia. I thank ye for yer hospitality.”

  Fia had smiled, but her eyes shimmered with barely held tears.

  “Doona’ cry, Fia.”

  “I want ye to smile again. If traveling so far to hold Haven and Kirk’s bairn will return it to yer face, God speed.”

  With Skye’s unshed tears threatening to fall, Skye waved goodbye, mounted her Highland pony, and headed to her brother’s Clan Tower in Keldurunach.

  When the clan treated her to an impromptu celebration upon her arrival, she was glad she had left sad memories behind and returned to her brother’s tower. Her nephew’s delivery, during the summer of 1599, created a festival-like atmosphere in their village in the Highlands, near the Sutherland border.