PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1)

by Jackie Ivie

  Well.

  It was now.

  Neal tightened every muscle he possessed, but it was useless. His dick was operating at another frequency. It lengthened. Hardened. And prepared. The scratch of wool didn’t temper it. He couldn’t even feel the fiber until his erection rammed into the obstruction of his sporran. Neal shoved down on the bag with his right hand, and continued the pressure, although he hoped it looked more like he was negligently resting a palm there. Mason hadn’t mentioned this use for a sporran. That might be one of the reasons the valet had been so amused.

  “My father...will be here any moment.”

  “I certainly. Hope. So.” He broke the words into separate sentences, spoken from between gritted teeth. It was the best he could manage. He didn’t look down toward her. He didn’t dare.

  “You must set...me down.”

  Her whisper didn’t help things. It was akin to having a bellows working on an already massive fire. This was completely out of his realm of experience. Neal sucked in a breath. Held it. The move lifted her even closer. Neal shut his eyes. Little blasts resembling fireworks filled the space behind his eyelids.

  Breathe, Neal.

  Just.

  Breathe.

  Neal shoved air out. Sucked in another large breath. Held it. Shoved it back out. Repeated the process. The fireworks effect fizzled and started fading. “Really?” he finally managed to answer.

  He felt her give a nod. Or give something that could be a nod.

  “Maybe I don’t. Want. To.”

  She gasped. “Your grace!”

  “It’s. Neal.”

  That came out harsher than he intended. He felt her trembling again.

  “Please?”

  Oh, shit.

  She had a hint of tears to her voice. Neal pulled in another heavy breath. Released it. Opened his eyes. Glanced down. Yep. She had a gloss atop her eyes. Now, they really resembled gemstones.

  He looked away. Toward the door. It was opening and closing almost silently. His brain kicked into gear.

  Finally.

  A large fellow filed in. A similarly large fellow followed at his heels. The first had gone to the right upon his entrance. The second man went to the left. The next man went to the right again. The next one went left. Neal counted six of them. Seven. Eight. More. Man after man entered and silently wove their way through the bookshelves at the outer edges of the room. He recognized them. It was the members of his Honor Guard. Their presence sent impressions of cool through him, instantly calming a level of testosterone-fueled madness that had seemed insurmountable.

  Pride filled him as they assembled in the space behind and to both sides of where he stood with Ainslee. It was an amazing feeling. Unless he counted Eric, Neal had never had anyone protecting his back. And now, he did. Just like that. Neal looked over his right shoulder and then his left. Nodded each time. And then he had to clear his throat against an onslaught of something that might be emotion.

  “Ahem. Gentlemen.”

  One of them stepped forward to Neal’s right side. He must be their leader. Not that Neal had any experience or information to go by, that the title felt right. The man bent his head in deference and then looked back at Neal. The fellow was a good two inches taller than Neal and looked a great deal heavier. He could easily be one of those fellows in competition at a Highland game somewhere, tossing a telephone-pole thing. The pole had a name. Neal couldn’t recall it at the moment. He’d figure it out later.

  “What’s your name?” he enquired.

  The fellow’s eyebrows shot up, and his lips twisted. Otherwise, he didn’t give much sign that Neal had probably just violated all kinds of protocol.

  “You do na’ recognize me, your grace?”

  “I...had an accident this morn. Hit my head.” Neal moved his right hand from the sporran to carefully lift the hair at his temple. The leader’s eyebrows lifted and he whistled. Neal quickly replaced his hand atop the sporran before it had a chance to stick out farther.

  “Your grace...be all right?”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks. I have some memory loss. Head pain. Comes and goes.”

  “Me name’s Iain, your grace. Iain Staithmore.”

  Whoa! Neal started. He had a hard time stopping further reaction. He could be looking at his great-great-great-whatever grandfather. And that was a supremely pleasant thought. He grinned. Leaned a hair closer to the man. “Iain. Tell me. Where’s my cousin, Garrick?”

  “He’s...na’ a-boot at present. Word is he returned to the castle.”

  “Really?”

  “Aye.”

  Neal’s mind raced, filling in blanks. Perhaps everyone in Straith had gotten lucky and his cousin had returned to pack. Leave. Seek his fortune elsewhere. That was unlikely.

  Next option was that Garrick had returned to lick his wounds. Develop a new strategy. That would merit consideration. And vigilance. It was the likely reason. And a bit worrisome. Neal made a mental note to put it on his charts. If Mason found the paper so Neal could start filling it.

  There was another possible scenario. Garrick could have returned so he could play the part of town crier. Be the first with the story. The center of attention. Neal snickered.

  “Well. I think he left a bit too soon. Know what I mean?”

  “Your grace?”

  “He’s going to regret missing this.”

  The leader’s lips moved into a shadow of a smile. Neal was hard-put not to chuckle. All of which helped considerably against the raging emotion he’d been struggling with. Something so like...

  Just name it, Neal. Quit being such a coward.

  He’d been dealing with lust.

  Not just any lust, either. The desire had been on a massive scale. Unwarranted. Unprovoked. And fairly unbelievable. He still experienced it for the woman glued to his side. If anyone looked at how he pressed down on his sporran, they’d have probably guessed it, too. Neal made a face, pulled in another breath, and thanked his lucky stars for the arrival of his Honor Guard.

  Their presence had sent what amounted to a spray of cool spray onto a bonfire. The mental exercise he’d just done over Garrick’s absence had helped, too. Hopefully, it was enough. Feeling sufficiently fortified, Neal had one last hurdle to clear. He licked his lips and looked down at Ainslee.

  And his heart flipped over.

  Damn it.

  The door smacked open with a bang. Neal jumped. Everyone turned that direction to watch the Laird of MacAffrey stomp toward them. He had a lot of men behind him. The room started filling with MacAffrey clan. A rough estimate put the amount of thirty. Neal could see more MacAffrey clansmen in the hall behind, unable to shove into the rapidly filling room.

  The space between the bookshelves filled to a claustrophobic level. Neal scanned the ranks. Straith clan were outnumbered at least three-to-one here. There was another problem, as well. Nobody on MacAffrey’s side appeared to be remotely sober.

  “Well, your bloody grace Straithcairn! I am here! As you so ordered! You have the gall to have me fetched. Me! Ordered about? In my own home!”

  Dughall’s complexion matched his hair as he finished shouting. Ainslee had gone board stiff in Neal’s arms. And she was trembling again. Neal waited for the sound of her father’s voice to die.

  “Greetings, Dughall,” Neal finally answered.

  “You’ve spoken with my daughter?”

  “She wears the Straith emerald betrothal ring as we speak.”

  “I’ll be thanking you to release her, then. Ainslee? Hie to your room!”

  Ainslee would have moved, but Neal didn’t allow it. He made certain of it by pulling her tighter with his arm. Her father’s eyes bulged out, he took a step closer, grabbed a large breath, and used it to spew whiskey-tainted words their direction.

  “You think to disobey me, lass? Now? Before all? It’ll be the last—!”

  Neal interrupted him. “Enough! Control yourself, Dughall. We’ve a lady in our presence.”

&
nbsp; “Ainslee’s nae lady, Straithcairn! She’s a lazy slut with naught for a recommend, and even less to redeem her!”

  Ainslee gasped. Neal reeled backward a hairsbreadth. He wasn’t the lone one. He sensed movement throughout the ranks of his Honor Guard about him. Shock ran his veins, sending an icy sensation. It annihilated any remainder of his lustful impulses as he realized the extent of abuse Ainslee had suffered. No wonder it hadn’t left scars. Verbal abuse rarely did.

  The man’s clan didn’t appear to have the same sentiment as their laird, however. Neal noticed they were starting to desert. Men were slipping from the room, and the hall looked less crowded. Neal narrowed his eyes, lowered his chin and then his voice, and when he spoke he made certain this announcement projected through the room, and out into the hall.

  “As most of you know, I came here to arrange my future marriage with a daughter of the MacAffrey laird. I did this due to an agreement that binds my hands. We are all agreed on this? Can I get an ‘aye’?”

  There were some sounds of agreement, but her father shushed it with a wave of his arms.

  “Aye! We are all agreed. Of course we are. But come, Straith. Reconsider. Look at who you’ve chosen. Ainslee is a…well. I have said all I will a-boot it. You should wed my Lileth. I am na’ the lone one thinking you’ve lost your eyesight, as well as your sense. Most are in agreement with me. We’ve even drunk to it.”

  Nobody said anything for a bit. It was as if his words had to settle and get considered. Neal lowered Ainslee to her feet, but didn’t release her. He swiveled her to face her father. The back of her braided crown reached his mid-chest. Then, he wrapped his other arm about her and pulled her to him. It was meant to look like an embrace. He knew he’d achieved it when the laird’s face darkened to a dark red color again. And then Neal spoke, making certain nobody misunderstood.

  “Well, Dughall. I do believe I’ve changed my mind.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Oh, dearest God!

  The duke’s statement sent a shard of agonizing pain through her chest. For a fraction of time, Ainslee didn’t think her heart could absorb it and continue beating. Nothing had ever hurt this badly.

  Ever.

  She dropped her gaze to the floor beneath her, and fought waves of misery that brought overwhelming sobs with them. She shook visibly. She hated that. The duke’s arms flexed about her. She would have flung them off if she had any chance of success. The way he’d enwrapped her made everything so much worse. His arms were looped just beneath her breasts, holding her so closely he probably experienced every thump of her heart against his forearms. Each one carried anguish. She couldn’t escape any of this, and it just kept getting worse. She started crying. Absolutely nothing halted it. The floor beneath her blurred. A tear slipped down her cheek. Another. They started dripping off her cheeks, and each one felt like it scalded.

  “Well. It’s a-boot time! I’ll have Lileth fetched.”

  Her father’s voice had changed markedly, as if a magician had waved a wand, altering the laird’s mood into one of satisfaction and joviality. He almost smacked his lips. Ainslee’s shoulders sagged. Not a whole lot, but enough the man holding her must have felt it, for his hold tightened even more. She pulled in and held breaths that shuddered.

  Why did she have to lose control now?

  And why in front of everyone?

  And why, oh why, hadn’t she just let Lileth deal with her own future?

  “You misunderstand me, Dughall. I have not changed my preference of bride. I chose your daughter, Ainslee. I’m well satisfied. I merely wish to...shorten the length of our engagement. Considerably.”

  “What?!”

  Her father’s voice carried the same sense of stupefaction that hit her, as well as everyone else in the room.

  “You heard me. I came today to betroth a bride. Very well, I’ve done so. Now, I find myself, for lack of better word, longing for more. And I want it sooner.”

  “S-s-sooner?”

  Her father stuttered. She’d never heard such a thing. Ainslee sniffed. The duke’s arms tensed about her again.

  “Very well, Dughall. I’ll be blunt. I want to marry your daughter. And I don’t want to wait. Right now. Tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Well...I wouldn’t wish you to think my request is due to any worry over Ainslee’s health or safety, should I leave her in your care for a fortnight. I’m simply…well...I’ll just state it. I’m a bit eager for a consummation.”

  “Your grace!”

  “Straithcairn!”

  Several exclamations rang out through the room. They swallowed Ainslee’s gasp. The duke had shocked just about everyone. She blinked, sending another tear down the trail on one cheek, and then watched it drop onto the velvet of his jacket sleeve. She narrowed her eyes on the spot as it got absorbed, and then she stopped any others from joining it. She couldn’t believe it. The Duke of Straithcairn was saving her. Saying words of nonsense, but the result would be the same. She needn’t stay a moment longer beneath this roof. He was a very good actor, too. He was fooling everyone. His words continued to amaze and astound. Even she found him believable.

  “So. What say you? Does Clan MacAffrey have anyone here with the authority to preside over a wedding ceremony?”

  “Surely, you are na’ serious?”

  Her father expostulated. His voice sounded unsure. The duke chuckled.

  “Really? Don’t I sound serious?”

  “Come, your grace. ’Tis a fine jest, but I’m a fair bit stewed at present. As are we all. We’d best repair to the chieftain room and further discussion.”

  Her father was wrong. They weren’t all stewed. The duke’s reply didn’t sound the least bit drunk. He sounded irritated. Provoked. Angered. Ainslee watched where his arms were linked about her, and trembled at a menace she could feel.

  “I tire of repeating myself. You find an official right now or – Iain?”

  The duke swiveled slightly to his right.

  “Your grace?” The man beside him answered.

  “There’s a law in this country, isn’t there? Something about declaration being as good as the event. It’s still on the books. Legal. Binding. Yes?”

  “Aye. That, there is.”

  “Good.” The duke moved, turning back to face her father. “Well, Dughall. Your choice. Which is it to be?”

  “Now, listen here, Niall Straith—”

  The duke interrupted her father. “I am not used to being thwarted, MacAffrey. Or delayed. Or ignored. And I’ve never had my vision and mental capabilities questioned. I’m not allowing it to continue. I’d rather wed your daughter with an actual ceremony, but I’ve exhausted my repertoire of niceties. I’m finished with speeches and toasts, and delays. Therefore, I’m invoking the Law of Marriage by Declaration, or whatever it’s called. I. Neal–ahem. Niall Alexander Straith, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare myself wedded to Ainslee MacAffrey, second daughter of Laird Dughall MacAffrey, and she is wedded to me. Does that work, Iain Straithmore?”

  “Aye, your grace.”

  “Good. Your turn, sweet.”

  Sweet.

  He’d just called her sweet.

  For a moment, that’s all she registered. He lifted her and at the same time bent to touch his lips to her ear, causing an instant blizzard of shiver, and an ocean swell of heat.

  “For pity’s sake, lass – speak up!”

  Ainslee lifted her head and cleared her throat. “Oh! I…also declare myself wed. To…uh…his grace. The Duke of Straithcairn.”

  “Neal Alexander Straith.” He listed the name for her.

  “Aye. Him. Straith.”

  There was a bit of chuckling at her statement. It matched the bubbles frothing within her, making her feel buoyant and light, and giddy. The duke answered. He also sounded amused.

  “That’s close enough. You all heard us?”

  There was a chorus of ‘ayes’, and some loud yelling that could mean anything
, and then the duke swung her fully into his arms, cradling her right against his chest. Ainslee shut her eyes and put her nose against his neck, just above his collar. The area vibrated with his next words, this time spoken so loudly, they were heard above everything else.

  “There! ’Tis done. We’re wed. And what has been proclaimed let no man put asunder, and all that jazz! Now, we’re leaving! Laird MacAffrey? My thanks for your hospitality. My wife thanks you, as well. Iain!”

  “Your grace?”

  “Make a path for us. Alert any clansmen still capable of walking. Find the bard, the bladier fellow, and the pipers. Oh! And fetch a plaid for her grace. ’Tis a powerful cold ride, and I’m beyond waiting for feminine frippery.”

  “Frippery?”

  She spoke around an odd sensation no one had warned her of. Everything on her was singing. Rejoicing. Laughing. She was afraid to voice anything, in case the combination of blissfulness erupted.

  “You’re leaving with me now, Ainslee. Right now. You’re not fetching a shawl. You’re not packing. You’re not leaving my sight. Got it?”

  She nodded, the motion rubbing her cheek against his collar.

  “You can ride, can’t you?”

  She pulled her head back, opened her eyes, and glared up at him. He winked.

  “Oh. Hi there. Glad to see you’re not fully cowed. I was worried for a bit there.”

  If he mentioned he knew she’d been crying, she might never speak to him again. He didn’t. He walked between bookcases to the library door, marched down the hall, and jogged down the wide staircase leading to the great hall, an Honor Guardsman at each side the entire way. Masses of Straith clansmen poured from everywhere to surround them. The duke was tall. She knew that. She just hadn’t realized the extent of it. He stood above most of his clan.

  “Thank God! Here comes a man with a bit of plaid. I may have to set you down, wife. You ready?”

  Wife. He called her wife. Oh, my.

  “Well?”

  “Why would na’ I be?” Ainslee asked.

  “Feminine nature. Womanly weakness.”

  “I would have you know I have never been weak, your grace. Ever.”

  “You may wish to portray it. And, please. It’s Neal. Gentlemen! Find other chores than hanging about me. See to preparing my horse. And you!” He used the arm at her back to point at someone. “You look fit. Sober-ish. Can you get to Straith Castle? See to...whatever needs to be seen to?”