“Kirk hurt you. What an idiot. Didn’t you tell him about your injury?”
“My brother meant no harm.”
In the shadowy interior of the barn, a stable boy brushed a villager’s mount. Jake turned to Skye. “Do you have any money?”
“Aye” She dipped into her dress’s hidden pocket, and settled some coins in his open palm.
“Fetch us two tankards of cider,” Jake said to the boy, then tossed him a few of the coins.
The boy disappeared out the door.
“I knew that, somewhere in my head, but I couldn’t stand by, and not react. Pretty lame.” Jake laughed.
“ ‘Twas a sweet gesture. Kirk means well, but…” Skye didn’t smile.
The stable boy returned with warm cider that dribbled over the side of each tankard. Skye murmured her thanks, and the young boy’s smile widened.
Jake slanted his head, and motioned for the boy to return to his duties.
“Things between Kirk and me have mellowed. He has worried about me ever since Alec…” Skye’s gaze fell to the floor, and her fingers clasped in the folds of her dress in an obvious nervous tic.
Jake stepped away, ostensibly to give her space, but deep inside he wanted to strangle Alec, whoever he was. He gulped his drink, and coughed.
“Hell’s fire!” The urge to find a sword and slice Alec into little pieces, drove him to spin on his heels.
“I’m outta here.”
Without waiting for her to respond, he left her where she stood. He fled into the shadows, near the back of the stable. Tavish whinnied affectionately, as he passed his stall. When he stopped beside Dara’s stall, the mare nuzzled his shoulder. A sense of peace washed over him.
After word of the fire spread throughout the village, the blacksmith had taken pity on him and his terrified horses. He agreed to board them in exchange for assistance in the shop. Jake quickly agreed to offer his expertise as a blacksmith; replacing door hinges, gate hooks, or whatever the man needed, when the smithy helped rebuild the barn.
“The smoke hasn’t settled, and these people already join together to fix everything. Not a bad way to live.”
“Aye, my lord.”
One of the stable boys Bull had rescued, appeared at his side. The youngster, maybe about ten, smelled of smoke and wet hay.
“Shouldn’t you change into some clean duds? You’ll catch your death.”
The boy glanced up with raised brows at Jake, “ ‘Tis odd words ye speak, but I understand. I have no others,” he whispered.
“That’s not right. Are you hungry?”
He nodded his head, vigorously. Dirt and ash flew from his hair.
Jake led him to an out building behind the stable. Smoke rose from a center hole, filling Jake with the familiar scent of a blacksmith’s coal-fired furnace. When he glanced at the stone building’s thatched roof, he shuddered. Memories of the castle’s huge barn, going up in smoke in record time, stole his breath.
I almost lost Bull.
The young lad started to introduce him to the smithy’s assistant, a boy no more than thirteen, then glanced up at Jake. “I doona’ know yer name, my lord.”
“I’m Jake Jamison,” He told both youngsters.
“Are ye not a lord? Ye live at the castle.”
He chuckled, then grabbed a pair of thick gloves and a crude apron he spied on a workbench.
“I’m a blacksmith. I feel right at home,” Jake said. Slamming a hammer against red-hot iron would go a long way, to help him forget.
The boys stood, open-mouthed, as the iron morphed into the semblance of a rustic sword. When sweat poured down his face, he threw off his shirt, adjusted the apron, and continued. After he thrust the hot iron into the water barrel, memories of his work at the Highland games made him hesitate.
He missed the scent of a New England pine forest, and the sound of bagpipes echoing through the river valley. When had he last felt a swell of pride when visitors gawked at his handiwork with the anvil and furnace? What about all the winks lovely women threw his way?
The odor of smoke and ash knocked the recollection out of his head. He’d forgotten the hungry stable boy. The youngster shivered, and his stomach growled loud enough that Jake hurried to finish. He set the sword in a water barrel, then banked the coals.
Safety, first.
“Let’s go up to the castle, son.” The stable boy said good-bye to his friend, and followed Jake.
“Where are ye headed, my lord?”
“To fill that stomach and get you clean.”
“A bath? Dragon’s teeth!”
Jake laughed.
Skye missed Jake’s arms immediately. Fearing he might think she cared, she stood her ground, refusing to follow him farther inside the barn. Sliding her hands across the rough wood walls, she waited. When curiosity got the best of her, she padded through the hay-strewn stable.
What was he doing? The soft noises of stabled horses filled the air. Where had Jake gone? The clang of iron, and the hiss of steam, rang from beyond a doorway. Ignoring the vibrant whinny coming from Tavish’s stall, she patted Dara’s head.
“I dinna’ bring ye a treat, lady Dara. I shall return another time. Ye served us well. I will send ye home soon.”
“Good to hear.”
She spun at the sound, and Dara nuzzled her shoulder.
“Careful. She bites.”
“Jake! Ye surprised me.”
“Sorry, I was heading back to the castle with my new friend.” A small boy, skinny and covered in muck, stepped from behind him.
She barely noticed him. Her gaze had settled on Jake, and refused to move. He was shirtless. Perspiration dotted his chest, and smoky-gray rivulets dripped toward his belted kilt. He wiped his face and chest dry with the shirt he held in one hand.
One massive, muscled hand.
She shook her head, and concentrated on the other person, but did not recognize the dirty child.
“What do ye plan to do in the castle?” she asked. If Jake intended to bathe, she could join him.
Where did that stray thought come from?
Jake patted the boy on his back, releasing a cloud of odorous dirt. “We are heading back to the castle for a bite.”
A bite?
“Who do ye plan to bite?” Skye said. Her hands fisted on her hips.
Jake paused.
He glared down at her, his eyes making a leisurely perusal of her face, and bodice. She ran a hand nervously over her forehead, then down her front. “Am I dirty?”
Jake stood so close she smelled the manly musk, and smoky ash, she had come to associate with Jake Jamison.
How had he gotten so close?
Skye’s breathing quickened. Trapped in his gaze, she closed her mouth, clenching her teeth to keep from speaking words that attested to how much she wanted him. If he had any idea at the liquid heat filling her, they would not make it to the castle.
Breaking free of his heated gaze, she turned to the boy. “ ‘Tis a fine body guard ye have.”
The boy’s face beamed at being taken for a warrior. If only additional guards was the answer to keeping Jake and her family safe.
To continue her mission was of utmost importance. If the sorcerer was popping onto castle grounds whenever he wanted, everyone was in danger.
I shall put a stop to it.
“I promised this little fella a meal, and a change of clothes.”
“I am no’ little,” the boy said.
Jake glanced down, and Skye loved how his face brightened with his smile.
“His clothes were ruined fighting the fire with the other men.”
The boy’s chest puffed like a peahen. She smiled in spite of herself, and covered her mouth with her fingers. Jake grabbed her hand, and lowered it to his side. The warm heat of him was intoxicating.
“Join us,” he whispered.
Her toes curled. “What would others think?”
“They’ll assume you’re going to faint, again.”
&n
bsp; “I dinna’ faint.” Indignation did not feel as nice as his hand, but she pulled free. “Let us not give my brother more fodder for his displeasure.”
Growling, he grabbed her hand again. Captured, and uncertain, she joined the unusual duo. They walked through the gate, and into the bailey. She glanced around, as fear cautioned her to be wary. The sorcerer could be around the next corner.
They passed a group of laborers piling fresh cut logs, thatching material, and other building supplies near the remains of the stable.
A slight breeze had refreshed the air in the bailey, and those that had worked to contain the fire had scrubbed their faces and rested their weary bodies. Had Jake taken time to rest? The only time he had spent abed was before the fire, when he heated the bedclothes in her chamber.
Shivering with the memory of tangled limbs, and of Jake’s naked body, she slipped her hand from his. As they mounted the steps to the castle proper, she knew that time for talk was over.
Time for action was on the horizon.
Stopping outside the great room, Jake turned toward her and the boy. “Wait here.”
Before she could open her mouth, he raced up the stairs. Scowling, unsure why his words upset her, she waited, if only to keep the lad company. Jake returned in a heartbeat, tugging a black linen shirt over his head.
“Let’s go,” he said, beaming, and clasped her hand once more.
“Sit with me?” Lady Fia called from atop the dais.
The boy hid beside Skye, with his dirty face pressed into the folds of her dress. She pulled her hand from Jake’s grasp. “Ye best go talk to Lady Fia, and explain him. We shall wait on ye. Again.”
Jake winked, as if he knew his demands were not to her liking, then marched up to their host. He leaned over the table to speak quietly in her ear. His plaid rose and revealed tanned, brawny thighs. Swallowing, Skye’s pulse quickened.
She assumed Jake murmured an explanation concerning the young lad. Fia waved to a servant, and whispered in the woman’s ear. She circled the tables, and walked up to Skye, but spoke to the boy.
“My Lady has asked me to feed ye after yer bath.”
“Bath!”
Skye laughed. The child’s horror-filled expression was too precious. “Go on. Jake and I shall not be far.”
The woman dug inside her pocket. “Here be a brick of shortbread to tame yer growling stomach.”
The lad snatched the sweet treat, then scampered away after the servant. Skye gazed at Jake. He said something to Fia that made her giggle, and a twinge of jealousy curdled in her stomach. Crossing the room, she nodded to several of Marcus’ men. They smiled in return, and Jake growled at them. She slipped into the empty seat beside Lady Fia, and happily ignored Jake.
Food-filled trenchers appeared, but Skye had lost her appetite. Her head spun with disturbing images. Brightly colored auras wavered. The aroma of roasted meat faded, replaced with Jake’s scent. His smell, a potent aphrodisiac, drew her in, but she pushed away. With her senses under attack, she could barely follow the conversation at the great table.
Fia blathered something about flowers, and a serving girl dropped a pitcher of cider. Even when the aroma of tart apples and cinnamon wafted near, Jake’s manly musk overpowered everything in the room.
“Skye? Where be yer head, friend? Are ye crooning over Alec?” Fia asked. Her giggles echoed off the stone walls and high ceiling. Dust motes fluttered weightless in an errant sun beam, but Skye’s thoughts turned dark and sad. She looked around the room for Alec, but he had not joined their party.
When she turned back, Jake bolted from the room as if his feet were on fire. Earlier, when he berated Kirk outside the village stable, her heart had opened like a flower, even as fear washed over her at Kirk’s wrath toward the blacksmith.
Kirk was a man known for not allowing others to complain about his actions. He had the right to throttle Jake, even though Jake had acted due to concern for her well-being.
Luckily for Jake, I was in his arms by then.
His arms.
Rubbing her hands up her arms, she recalled how she had nestled against his hard chest. Jake had strength in his arms, but not the massive brawn of her older brother. Jake was a blacksmith, working iron into tools and horseshoes. He hid his power beneath his kilted plaid, and a shirt.
Except when he removed his shirt, and his plaid.
Praise the Mother!
He looked great in the traditional plaid, but she loved the tight leather trews he had worn earlier, when she visited him at his barn. At the New England Highland Games, the day she first traveled to the future in search of Dorcas, he also wore leather trews that had clung to his muscular thighs. He stood beside the blacksmith furnace he had lit with his magical breath. Shirtless, with his upper body protected by his smithy apron, her heart had pounded in her chest. New sensations had poured over her girlish body, accompanied by stirrings she could not understand.
I am no longer an untried lass of seventeen.
During her training in witchery, she had discussed the possibility of mythical creatures with Dorcas. Pure dragons had lived in the past. Dorcas said that many lived on, in different forms, in their descendants.
Had she not heard the tales of the wingless dragon in Loch Ness? Jake almost died in the maw of a similar creature. Her best explanation for Jake, and his unusual talent, was that he was one such descendant.
Instead of discussing his special abilities with him, she had used the information to make him help her. He called it blackmail. However he wished to describe it, Jake hated her afterward.
Why had he left the great room in an angry huff after she mentioned Alec’s name? She ought to find Dorcas and see what she knew about all this, but she was concerned with more important things. Such as, where did Jake stomp off to? Where was Bull? Her trip to the herb shed had ended when the sorcerer attacked, and Bull might still need her. Jake obviously did not.
CHAPTER 25
“Bull, how are you feeling?” Jake glanced at his friend, who was face down on the bed. His gaze locked on the red welts across his back.
“He shall live, Highlander,” Dorcas said, tending his wounds. When she smeared something sticky, yellow, and smelly as spoiled eggs over the first degree burns, Jake covered his healed nose. Awed by the lack of pain, he thought of Skye and her magic. She was a powerful force in a delectable body. After making love to her, he could see that she’d matured into a sensual human being. His groin swelled uncomfortably at the image of her lying beneath him. A groan from the prone figure on the bed pulled him back to the present.
“Glad you arrived to help my friend,” Jake said.
The old woman merely nodded.
Bull’s hair was filthy. Ash fell to the floor of the room each time he winced. As the old witch worked on Bull’s superficial injuries, Jake glanced around the room. Spotting a bucket of water, he turned back to them.
“Is this clean?” Jake asked.
Dorcas nodded, continuing to coat the wounds.
He took an empty tankard, grabbed the bucket, and stopped in front of his friend.
“I need a drink, but something stronger would do me more good.”
“This is for your head,” Jake said.
Groaning, Bull wrestled his way to the edge of the cot.
“Easy, my brave warrior. Ye need to heal. Remove this poultice at bedtime, and ye will be fine.”
“It works that fast?” Bull asked, his voice muffled by the waterfall Jake dumped over his head.
Jake set the tankard on the side table, next to the old woman’s bag of herbs and potions. Not meeting his gaze, she gathered her supplies. He could tell by her tight shoulders that she wanted to vacate the room as quickly as possible. Was it him?
Why hadn’t Skye come to Bull’s aid?
“The young witch is tired, after her ordeal.”
“What ordeal?” Bull asked.
How had Dorcas read his thoughts? The less he knew of witches, the better. “Skye had a l
ittle run-in with a…man.”
“ ‘Twas the sorcerer, fool.” Dorcas sucked on her pipe, and flames shot skyward.
Bull struggled to sit, wincing with each movement. “Is she okay?”
He nodded, glaring at the old witch. Ross Mackenzie told him she stayed behind to act as healer for the Gunn Clan. Why hadn’t she stayed in the Gunn tower back in Keldurunach, what people in his day now called Kildonan? He could do without her insults. Was the flame her way of insinuating that she knew his secret?
He recalled the last time he had seen her, five years ago, when he had stood over a table in Mackenzie’s solar with Marcus, Cameron, and Kirk, on the eve of battle.
Too bad everything had gone to Hell soon after.
“This sounds oddly familiar,” Kirk said, yet Bull barely caught the words. The inflection in the massive warrior’s voice was a mixture of near-laughter and dread. Bull had heard rumors of a meeting. Since someone evil had threatened Skye, he wanted to assist in any way he could, and not only because he had a shot at another kiss. Skye was also his ticket home.
His injury was minor, though it stung like the devil, and made him smell like rotten fruit. He wasn’t allowed to bathe, except for the rinsing Jake gave his head. He borrowed more clean clothes, so he felt decent enough to make a public appearance.
With the help of a servant, he had stumbled down the stairs to the laird’s solar, where he’d stopped near the doorway. He directed his attention to those already in the room, and the people who filed past.
He’d met their host Marcus, the laird of the castle and surrounding village, when they arrived from the future. The Highlander, with black hair and a trimmed beard, bent over a table on the far side of the room. He raised his head long enough to nod at Bull.
Permission to enter, I assume.
Why hadn’t he researched the customs more thoroughly? He knew everything about Scottish monarchs, and battles, but wasn’t sure if he should bow or shake the laird’s hand.
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