Yet she did, her slender finger sliding into him.
Unaccustomed to the strange sensation, he pushed her away, his cock sliding from her mouth.
She lifted a brow but said nothing, and leaned forward, taking him into her mouth once again. Her hands returned to his hips and stayed there. She sucked slowly, in no hurry.
He could hear his men outside and knew they risked being caught, but he could not pull away. Not when he was so close to blessed release.
She stroked beneath his balls, her thumb brushing over a sensitive patch, and he was shocked at the climax that rocked his body, his seed shooting into her hot mouth with a force that stunned him.
He groaned as she sucked every bit of his cum from her lips, and tugged his braies back up and tied them.
His legs trembled from his climax. He pulled her up, hugging her to him, his fingers brushing along her spine. How could he return her to her father? This woman whom he could not get out of his blood?
8
“Brochan, Laird MacLellan and his men were spotted not more than an hour away.”
Brochan came awake with a start. At his side, Annabelle stirred.
He had known Angus would come looking for his daughter. He just had not expected it to be so soon.
“I will be there shortly. Rouse the men and have them prepare for battle.”
“Right away!” Fergus said, his footsteps receding.
Brochan dressed, and tossed Annabelle’s dress at her. “Here, put this on. I want ye to stay here. Do not leave, and do not, under any circumstances, unlock the door until ye hear my voice.”
“Brochan.”
He turned.
She swallowed hard, and blurted, “Will you give me to him?”
“Ye belong to me, Annabelle. To me and no other.”
To his surprise, she smiled. “Brochan, before you go, there is something I must tell you.”
His heart missed a beat, terrified of the next words out of her mouth.
“I am not Annabelle MacLellan.”
He shook his head, certain he had not heard her right. He remembered how surprised he had been when he entered the priory chamber and saw her standing there, a woman older than six and ten. God’s breath, had the nuns at the Priory of Grace duped him into believing one of their own was MacLellan’s daughter? “If you are not the real Annabelle, then why is yer father here?”
She came to her feet, wrapping the blanket about her slender body. “This is where it gets difficult.” She cleared her throat. “My name is Terri Campbell, and I’m from the twenty-first century.”
He watched her for a long moment, shocked she could keep a straight face. His lips quirked. “This is not the time to play games, Annabelle. Yer father is riding here and I am needed downstairs.”
“Brochan, I’m Terri Campbell.”
“Terri Campbell? An odd name, particularly for a girl.”
The smile disappeared from her lips. “Perhaps it is a bit androgynous, but it is my name, and I am from the future, whether you choose to believe me or not.”
Misgivings worked its way up his spine. “I do not have time for these games.”
She walked toward him and put a hand against his chest. Her expression was earnest, her tone firm. “Brochan, I am who I say I am. One day I left my job, working at a museum in London. Having found my fiancé sleeping with another woman, I drove to Scotland. When I came upon the Priory of Grace, I stopped, intrigued by the building.”
At the mention of her fiancé he went still, his hands closing into fists at his sides.
“While on a tour of the priory, there was a chamber that had been boarded up. The guide told us the story of Annabelle MacLellan, the young woman who had been brought to the nuns for safekeeping by Angus MacLellan himself. He feared for his daughter’s safety after he had killed your brother by mistake.”
“He did not kill my brother by mistake. He did it intentionally. Our clans have always been rivals.”
“I am just telling you what the tour guide told us. Please hear me out.” She dropped her hand back to her side. “I was told that the chamber had not been opened for over seven hundred years, because it was haunted by a nun’s spirit, a nun who had been murdered by Annabelle’s father. Her spirit haunted the chamber and made the nuns so afraid that they sealed it off, never opening it again.”
“And ye opened this chamber?”
She nodded. “I did.”
Though the story was entertaining, he grew restless. “And what happened?”
“I woke up in this time.”
“In the body of Annabelle MacLellan?”
She shook her head. “No, in my body actually. I wish I could say I was only sixteen years old, but I am actually ten years older than the original Annabelle.”
Which made her six and twenty. A prickling began at the back of his neck, growing with each second. From the moment he had met Annabelle, something had seemed wrong. The way she had readily accompanied him, not fighting him, almost being happy to leave the priory and the nuns.
She had not been a virgin either, as the real Annabelle would have been. Nay, this woman knew how to make love to a man. A woman of six and twenty who knew what sexual gratification was.
“Ye believe the chamber is how ye came to be here?”
He could see the relief in her eyes as she nodded. “I thought it was, but trust me, I pushed on every stone in that room. Nothing took me back. When you came, I felt that perhaps you would be the catalyst to help me return to my own time.”
“That is why ye came with me, and why ye have—”
“I’ve always wanted you, Brochan. I still do. That will never change, no matter where I am. If I spend the rest of my life in this time, then that’s great…as long as you are here to share it with me.”
How could it be possible that this woman had traveled through time? A woman unlike any he had known, who spoke so strangely, who knew so much. What if she did not lie, and her story was true? What if he woke up one morning to find her gone? His insides twisted at the very thought. “I do not want ye to leave me, Annabelle.”
“Terri,” she corrected, and smiled. “You believe me then?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. It would explain a lot of things, yet it is still difficult to comprehend.”
“Brochan!”
Hearing Fergus’s cry, Brochan rushed to the window, Annabelle, or Terri, right behind him. A cloud of dust rose on the horizon.
“MacLellan.” He turned to Terri and kissed her. “Stay here, and don’t open that door. We shall talk about this later. For now ye need to stay safe.”
She nodded. “I’ll be here when you return.”
Angus MacLellan’s cheeks were as red as the hair on his head, and he looked furious. “Douglas, you will release my daughter at once!”
Brochan and his men had ridden out to the glen, meeting Angus and his small army before they reached the castle.
He dismounted and walked toward the laird until they stood a handbreadth apart.
“Ye are in no position to demand anything,” Brochan said, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword.
“I did not mean to kill your brother. He came on my lands, and stole my chattel. He was a thief.”
Though Brochan knew the man spoke the truth about his brother stealing chattel, albeit on a dare, he believed a human life was far too dear compensation for chattel.
Angus looked past his shoulder, and his lips curved. “Ah, here she is.”
Brochan turned, shocked to find Terri sitting before his uncle. Fear slithered down his spine when he saw that Hamish held a knife to her neck.
Angus swore under his breath. “Release her this minute!”
Brochan, knowing his uncle’s fury and unstable mind too well, pulled Angus back. “Uncle, what are ye doing?”
Hamish’s eyes narrowed as they looked from Brochan to Angus. “Your daughter has been my nephew’s whore, a quite willing one at that.”
Angus turned to Brochan, his teet
h clenched.
“Uncle, release her.”
“Nay, I think you no longer can see reason where the chit is concerned. Your lust for her is too great.”
“What do you want for her?” Angus asked, ripping his arm from Brochan.
Brochan watched Terri, who stared at him, her chin lifted high. She did not show any fear, but rather sat stiff as an arrow, the blade cutting into the tender skin of her neck.
How he loved this woman.
“I will give you gold coin,” Angus said, taking a step toward Hamish and Terri.
“How much?” Hamish asked, greed in his eyes.
“What ever amount you want.” Angus reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag. “Here, this is enough to feed you for a decade.”
“She is your daughter, Laird MacLellan. Your only daughter. Surely you can afford a bit more than that.”
“I will give you lands,” Angus blurted out, desperation creeping into his voice. “What ever you desire.”
“How do I know you do not lie?”
“I never lie,” Angus said, his voice lethal. “You have my daughter and I will not risk her life for money or lands.”
Growing weary of his uncle’s game, Brochan stepped toward him. “Hamish, release her now.”
Terri had a hard time swallowing with the blade pressed firmly against her throat. Would this be it for her? To die at the hands of a crazy man?
Lord, she hoped not, especially since she believed she had a chance to live the rest of her life with Brochan.
If only she hadn’t opened the chamber door. Damn, why had she trusted the madman behind her when he’d said Brochan had been hurt and needed her?
And now she had a blade pressing into her skin. The man behind her was just crazy enough to use it.
Terri had been shocked at the sight of Angus MacLellan, certain he would take one look at her and say she wasn’t his daughter. But for some reason, that never happened. Just like at the priory, everyone believed her to be Annabelle. For some reason she had become the woman.
And now the man claiming to be her father watched her with something akin to desperation. He loved his daughter. That much was obvious.
From the moment she had landed in this time, she had known things could end in disaster, one way or the other. And now with the blade slicing into the delicate skin at her throat, she had a feeling she would never again see the man she had fallen in love with. This warrior who made her blood burn and her insides feel like they were melting.
Brochan Douglas, border lord, man, exquisite lover.
She loved him. Not the comfortable love she had felt with Elliott that had grown with time, but the pulse-pounding, “I can’t think of anything else” kind of love that comes along only once in a lifetime.
And as easily as he had come into her life, he would disappear.
Like dust in the wind.
Brochan stepped closer, hands out. “Uncle Hamish, let her go. I will give ye what ever ye desire. Castle Kildare and all that goes with it. Just release her. That is all I ask.”
The man’s grip tightened when Brochan took another step.
“Let her down, Hamish. Let her down now.” Brochan stood within five feet of her, reaching up.
The knife bit into her throat at the same time she heard Brochan yell her name, his face a mask of horror.
An excruciating pain made her cry out…and then the world went black.
9
Terri woke to a pounding headache, not much different than the hangover headache of a few days before.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked around the room. She sat up with a start, recognizing her old flat in London. Everything was the same, except that none of Elliott’s things were here.
“Brochan,” she said, fear and sickness hitting her like a wave. Seeing the flashing light on her answering machine, she hit it.
Elliott’s voice filled her bedroom. “Terri, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I hope you know that. I want you back. These past weeks have been hell without you. I can’t eat or sleep. I need you back, honey.”
Past weeks?
How had she got back to London? Her stomach turned over, and she felt bile rise in her throat. It could not have been a dream! Brochan, the priory, the crazy uncle who had slit her throat.
She reached up and ran a hand over her throat. Racing to the bathroom, she looked in the mirror. A tiny pink scar, no more than three inches long, marred her flesh. Her heart skipped a beat.
It had been real!
The blood rushing through her veins, she raced to her room, pulled a suitcase from the closet and started throwing clothes in it.
After a quick shower, she locked the door to her flat, and jumped in her Mini Cooper and headed to Scotland, and Castle Kildare.
Tears streamed down her face as she relived the moments with Brochan. From the moment he had stepped into the chamber at the priory, to the second she had seen true fear on his face when his uncle slit her throat.
She brushed a finger over the scar.
Her heart raced as hope filled her. There had to be a way back to thirteenth-century Scotland.
Terri watched the sun rise over the heather-strewn hills of Scotland. Castle Kildare was just minutes away, or so said the sign she’d just come upon.
She had no idea what she would find. Perhaps a ruin, and what then?
She crested the hill, and tears choked her throat.
The castle was not a ruin, but looked much as it had that day seven hundred years ago when she’d ridden over that same hill with Brochan.
She remembered his strong chest against her back, and how protected she had felt in his arms.
Please, God, let it be.
The iron gate was thankfully open, and she drove down the gravel drive.
Home.
Putting her car in park, she stepped out, closed the door, and leaned back against it, looking at the castle where she had fallen helplessly in love with Brochan Douglas.
An older gentleman opened the door, and stepped out.
Disappointment nearly choked her. Wearing a kilt, he smiled at her, his dark eyes kind. “Good morning, lass. I fear the castle is not open to visitors this time of year.”
He couldn’t send her away. She couldn’t bear it. “I’ve come from London.”
“So far?”
“Yes, I need to know what happened to Laird Douglas.”
He appeared shocked by the request. “The present Laird Douglas is alive and well. He lives here the majority of the year.”
“With his family?”
The man shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “Nay, lass. He’s never married. A bachelor, he is. We at Castle Kildare hope he will find his soul mate. He says he knows she will appear one day.”
Her heart missed a beat.
“Would you like a tour of the grounds, miss?”
What she wanted was to meet Laird Douglas, but she wouldn’t push her luck. “Yes, I would.”
She walked beside the old man, listening to every word, taking in the castle she loved so much, looking at the solar window, a place she wanted to visit before she left this day. In fact, she wanted to visit every room, every inch of the castle, wanting, no, needing to be here to soothe her aching heart.
So many emotions rushed through her, and she had to keep herself from crying.
“This is where the ancestors are laid to rest.” He pointed to the family plot that was surrounded by black wrought-iron fencing. “May I?” she asked, waiting for the man to give her permission.
She stepped past him, to the many graves before her, the hair on her arms standing on end as she walked by each one. The dates went down as she walked, from the most recent, to the previous century. The closer she came to the 1200s, the more scared she became.
Fearful to find the name of her beloved on one of those stone markers.
She came to Tristan, Brochan’s brother, then to the graves beside his.
She frowned. Where was
Brochan?
Then she caught something else. “This says that Tristan was laird of the Douglas clan. I thought it was Brochan?”
The man’s brows drew together. “Nay, lass. You must be confused with the present Laird Douglas.”
Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest. “What?”
“Aye, the present laird is Brochan Douglas. You must have him mistaken with James from the thirteenth century. James’s middle name was Brochan.”
She looked past his shoulder, to the castle.
Could it be?
Was it possible that Brochan had survived, or that he had managed to find his way to her?
“Is Brochan here?”
“I shall see,” the man said, wary. “May I tell him who is calling?”
Trembling, she nodded. “Tell him Terri Campbell is here to see him.”
Surprise lit his eyes, and his lips curved slightly. “Very well, lass. I shall return in a moment.”
Terri watched the man walk to the castle.
She did not want to get her hopes up too high. After all, she would only be setting herself up for a fall.
And a big fall it would be.
Because she wanted this man to be Brochan.
Her Brochan.
Brochan Douglas, the border lord who had come storming into her life, captured her heart, her mind, and her body all at once.
Terri closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.
A minute later the door flew open, and a broad-shouldered man appeared, filling the doorway.
Her keys fell from her hand, to the gravel.
The breath caught in her throat. He was the same, but not the same. Still as tall as she remembered, and as broad shouldered and narrow hipped. No longer did he wear a tunic and braies, but instead a navy cable-knit sweater, and a pair of jeans. He wore no shoes, and his dark hair curled at the collar, not as long as it had been when last they’d seen each other, but still as thick and dark as she recalled. “Terri?”
“Brochan!” Her heart lurched and she ran.
He ran too.
She jumped into his arms and he held her tight. So tight it felt as if he could break her in two, but she didn’t care. “I knew ye would come.”
Border Lord Page 7