PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1)

by Jackie Ivie

  He waited a few moments and then bent his head close to hers. Ainslee could sense movement about her, but she didn’t truly see it. Her vision was entirely filled with him.

  “Now that we’ve a bit of privacy, we can speak. Make it quick-like. My Honor Guard are not slackers. We’ve a few moments before they’ll return. At best.”

  “I’m na’ weak, and I’m na’ prone to feminine faints. Or whatever you are suggesting,” she told him.

  “Ainslee. You just took part in a wedding that will gain no small measure of notoriety. Such a thing could be enough to cause female vapors.”

  “I am a Highlander,” she informed him.

  He looked away from her, out the open door, still holding her well above the floor. Ainslee heard and smelled moisture. A downpour.

  “It’s raining,” he informed her.

  “I’m na’ afraid of rain.”

  “Only an idiot travels on a night like this. Astride one horse. And with a woman in his arms.”

  “But, you’re no idiot. And I’m full waterproof. Wait. Did you just say…one horse?”

  He glanced down at her and winced, before looking out again. “Aye. That’s all I brought. His name is Dragon-something-or-other.”

  “Dragonheart?”

  He shook his head. “No. That doesn’t sound right.”

  “Dragonbreath?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Good choice. He’s well-trained. Large at the withers. Strong. Stands almost eighteen hands. Na’ the slightest bit skittish, either. Even to a thunderstorm.”

  He smiled slightly, but kept looking out into the elements. “Can you control him?”

  “Easily.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “We are about to make a grand exit. I’d hate to ruin it by falling off the horse. Think of the embarrassment.”

  “But, you are a fine rider. The best! Everyone kens that.”

  “Really? Consider this a forewarning, my dear. I took a blow to the head. It...changed me. Whatever you might have known...is probably altered.”

  “But I hadn’t seen you for years! Afore this morn, I mean. I recognized you, though. Na’ that I was visiting with you afore you left, though. You were near grown, and—well. Um. I mean—”

  His lips twitched but he didn’t smile. Ainslee was blushing, but she blazed through the rest of it, anyway.

  “I was verra young...when you left.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Your grace? I...need to be thanking you.”

  “For what? And please. It’s Neal.”

  “I ken what you just did. I only wish I knew proper words of gratitude to use.”

  “No words necessary. It was the plan, remember?”

  “Aye. But not this. And...you should set me down now. I do na’ believe any would note it.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well...maybe I like holding you.”

  She lifted one eyebrow and regarded him. He was looking at something over her shoulder and wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  “I’m na’ dense, your grace, albeit that is my father’s opinion. I know you said all that to save me. It was brilliant. I think it fooled everyone.”

  “It’s Neal. And I’ve got news for you, Missus Straith. I am not that good of an actor.”

  “But I still thank you. Most sincerely.”

  “I don’t want your gratitude! Damn everything! How long does it take to prepare one horse?”

  He shifted her and yelled the last words out into the elements.

  “I can walk,” she offered.

  “Ainslee. Please. I’m in the middle of a grand exit, trying to portray an impatient bridegroom here. The least you can do is play along.”

  “What would you wish me to do?”

  Her lips were pursed throughout the question, and she watched him touch a glance to them and then away. The bottom of his face went a mottled pink shade. He didn’t have a beard that might have hidden it. Ainslee watched it happen.

  And wondered.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Dragonbreath was an impressive horse. He’d been decked out with a tasseled blanket beneath a leather-tooled saddle with silver smelted to the edges. His entire equipage was trimmed with silver. Such accoutrements made him a fit mount for the Duke of Straithcairn. The horse was a Clydesdale and one of the largest in the Straithcairn stable. But he was also the most docile. He’d been groomed to perfection. Dressed for show. He was definitely muscled and wide at the withers. Near eighteen hands in height so they’d told Neal, which was supposedly an immense size.

  Oh, yeah?

  Well, right now, Dragonbreath wasn’t large enough.

  The stallion was certainly docile, however. He’d stood patiently while Neal handed Ainslee to Iain’s care, shoved a boot into a stirrup and mounted, shimmied about, tucking loose ends of material beneath his thighs and butt. The horse hadn’t even shifted when Ainslee had been handed up to Neal. Good thing. She wasn’t in a position to control a wild horse. She was bundled up in two lengths of Straith clan plaid. She was so small, she didn’t even make a large, unwieldy bundle.

  It wasn’t just sprinkling, either. The sky was pouring rain on them, stealing breath and saturating wool to the point of heft and weightiness. Water ran in rivulets off every surface, including each bit of Neal’s attire, the blankets atop Ainslee, and the one beneath the saddle. Neal’s hands and legs were wet and cold. His feet were resting in the equivalent of small ponds within his boots. The deluge turned the road into a muck-filled trail that sucked at Dragonbreath’s hooves. It obscured the path and blurred the elements. This sort of rainfall should be enough to keep a man’s attention fully on the journey he was undertaking, and off the woman in his arms.

  It wasn’t.

  Ainslee should be soaked as well. She had to be. Her wrapping was so dark and wet at the moment, the pattern and color couldn’t be deciphered. Neal had earlier tried to keep some of the water off her by lifting the hank of plaid that had previously covered his shoulder up over his head and beyond his forehead. It made an overhang of sorts. That chivalrous offering got him hunched forward with his arms fully about her, in order to provide even more shelter. That sort of position should have been uncomfortable and awkward.

  It was neither.

  It sent primal commands he had to thwart, basic needs and hungers he couldn’t seem to stop, and a deep-rooted sensation he didn’t dare pursue. Nothing he tried seemed to work against them. The reactions firing through his loins were bothersome. Completely unacceptable. Irritating. And thoroughly exasperating. He acted like an unfledged youth facing his first woman.

  Mason had informed him of his age. Niall was twenty-six. That was young for accomplishing a distinguished career in His Majesty’s Navy. He’d had earned his first medal at twenty-one, and the second just before being forced to give up his commission with this inheritance. Twenty-six was young. It was especially youthful to be carrying the title and responsibility of a dukedom.

  Then again, in almost two hundred years from now, Neal had already parlayed his inheritance into a small fortune and assumed control of his first company at twenty-six. By thirty, he’d made his first million. Didn’t change the perspective here, however. Twenty-six was still young. But, damn everything! His body might be that age, but his mind sure as hell wasn’t. He’d been approaching the half-century mark. He was old enough to be Ainslee’s father. That fact should be enough to keep his mind strictly where he wanted it.

  It should, but it didn’t.

  Ainslee snuggled into his belly; her head at his shoulder, her nose directly atop his heart. Each breath she exhaled sent tingles through his chest. The experience sent waves of hormone-fueled reaction right against his efforts at containment. She had a lot in her arsenal. And he was a failure at defense.

  Focus, Neal.

  Market takeover and save the planet.

  That had to be the reason he’d been zapped into this exact period in time. Thus far, he accomplished a l
ittle side-trip to stop an evil bastard from influencing things in a tiny corner of Scotland, and managed to gain a wife rather than a fiancée. Fair enough. What had happened was actually providential. The steward couldn’t possibly inherit now. Not for some time anyway. The estate had a duke, and now it had a duchess. She was young. Healthy. In possession of her mental faculties. Garrick was a fly in the ointment, but there was probably a procedure for firing the man. Neal wondered what it was. If gut instinct was any indicator, Mason Millbourne would make a great steward. Ainslee would have an advisor she could trust, Iain Straithmore and the rest of the Honor Guard to protect her back, and full authority to manage things.

  Situation handled.

  All Neal needed to do was get her ensconced at Straith Castle and he’d be on his way to New York. And destiny.

  Too bad his body wasn’t in agreement.

  His dick continually jumped into alertness, thickening and straining with an amazing degree of consistency against first the linen of his shirt, then the woolen kilt, and when it reached the pommel of the saddle, his member smashed the sporran upward, into the bundle he held in his arm. He only hoped she wouldn’t know what it meant as it happened yet again.

  Damn it.

  Mind over matter, buddy.

  Market takeover...

  Neal subconsciously thrust toward Ainslee, before yanking his ass backward with a motion that was fairly obscene. And undeniable. He didn’t have any control over this? What the hell? He was acting like a stud in mating season. It couldn’t just be the gift he’d received of a young man’s body. Neal had been this exact age once. It hadn’t been that long ago. He’d been physically fit. Maintained a full social calendar. Dated women who’d reacted favorably to his company. He’d had sexual urges. He’d acted on them if necessary. He remembered most of the encounters.

  Okay.

  Maybe he only remembered some of them.

  But he’d swear he’d never dealt with this level of testosterone-fueled desire. It was unfathomable. Rain fell as if heaven had turned showerheads on to full blasting level. It was dark. He was out in the open. Had all kinds of company around him. He was wet. Shiver-inducing cold.

  Well...parts of him were.

  And there went another twinge from his dick.

  The horse did an extra large sway to one side, as if in accompaniment. Neal instinctively tightened his legs about the horse, grabbed Ainslee tighter to him with one arm, and held onto the reins. The horse caught the stumble with some shuffled steps. The world gradually re-righted. Neal let out a trembled breath he hadn’t known he’d held.

  That had been close.

  Good thing the horse knew what to do. Ainslee could hardly control Dragonbreath in her current position. She’d have to be astride it. Her legs spread over a lot of horse. Right in front of him...

  Argh!

  That had been really stupid. He hadn’t needed that bit of imagery. Longing already hammered at him. Yearning thumped through him with every heartbeat. Craving filled every breath. This ride was filled with the lowest, basest sensations, in a combination that was difficult to stifle, and he had to envision Ainslee in that position?

  Neal stifled a groan, lifted his head, and scanned the darkness beyond Dragonbreath’s head. There wasn’t much to see. It was probably past midnight. Rainfall obliterated the path, and obscured everything except the closest of his Honor Guard. No one had noticed his horse’s near-disaster, or maybe, they’d assumed he’d just handle it.

  Neal relaxed his thighs gradually and settled back down into the saddle. He didn’t loosen his grip on Ainslee. This hold kept her above his groin. He needed a bit of space, and distance, and gap between them. His arm started burning. He had to loosen the muscles. Ainslee’s bulk settled right back into his lap. And then she wriggled.

  This time the groan was audible. And loud. Ainslee parted the plaid about her, stuck her face out, and spoke.

  “’Tis faster if you go through Huntsman’s Dale.”

  “Right. Whatever that is.”

  His voice sounded like a rock shale slide tumbling down a hillside. She seemed to consider it for several moments. He didn’t dare glance down to see what expression she might have on her face. Or even if he’d be able to see it in the gloom. Wouldn’t have mattered. He already saw her in his mind.

  “It’s the valley that connects your property with the MacAffrey land. ’Twas where you rode this morn. And where...we met.”

  He grunted.

  “You were riding Thundercloud. He...wasn’t harmed?”

  “The horse?”

  “He’s your newest stud. Arabian. I’d never seen him afore. He’s quite impressive.”

  He made a noncommittal grunting noise. If he put any sound to it, it might come out as a whine. Or – heaven forbid – a plea. It was better to act dense. Or tired. That was a thought. He could try portraying abject exhaustion.

  Neal eased his shoulders back, tipped his head, and forced a yawn, making a great show of it.

  “Oh. It is late. And you’ve been injured. We’ve some time yet, but you could sleep. You did well bringing Dragonbreath. He’s an impressive stallion. Perfectly proportioned. His gait, even and settled. ’Tis akin to being rocked to sleep. That wouldn’t be possible if he had to pick his way through Huntsman’s Dale and the pass. Is that why you took the road?”

  “No.”

  The word came from between his set teeth. She must’ve inferred something, though, because she scooted a bit, mashing parts of her right against him. Feminine parts. Soft. Delicately-rounded parts. He could swear he felt exactly that, and everything about his nether region made certain he was aware of it. Primed for it. Readied. Eager. Even with all that material about her.

  Neal looked out at the rain-filled night, and started putting little breaths into the air. He was panting. Good Lord. And she just kept speaking, sounding blissfully unaware of what she was doing to him.

  “This road adds miles to the journey. You ken it follows the boundary wall? I’ve often wondered if it was built by a past duke to designate his property, or if it was here long afore then, and the boundary was just set there. It’s a grand structure, that wall. I’ve walked it on occasion. Every section. Some of them are wide. And some are really thin. I’ve fallen from it more than once.”

  And then she giggled.

  Neal’s entire frame reacted, his arms gripping her to him as every muscle moved in tandem, lifting them both up from the saddle. He had to consciously force his body back down. And then he sat there, holding her up against his belly, vibrating to a curse of sensation only his new wife seemed to wield. One more feminine affectation like that giggle, and he was going to have to get drastic.

  Falling off the horse even sounded like a viable option.

  He was eyeing the slime of the roadbed when a man loomed out into the road.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Neal started slightly. Dragonbreath didn’t react. The horse lumbered several more steps before Neal remembered to pull up on the reins. And it was foolish. He’d known about this. They’d obviously reached the meadow where the entourage had left the horses. That was the reason they’d taken the road. If Neal had possessed wits that worked he’d have told her. Ainslee twisted, using him as a propping post in order to look about.

  “Oh. Of course. We took the road because you left the bulk of horses at the standing stones. I should’ve guessed. Look. They’ve even built a shelter. Oh, Hello, Sam. Henry. And look. Even Will is here.”

  She was right. Light was denting the elements, coming in spurts from a fire built between two of the megalithic stones. It was being kept alive by a length of heavy plaid spread across the area. There was just enough shelter for three clansmen, all looking miserably sodden, and thoroughly confused.

  One of them stepped out at her greeting and doffed his tam. He approached the side of Dragonbreath. The fire lit one side of his face. He had a puzzled expression on it.

  “Uh…Miss Ainslee? Be that…you?”


  “The lady you address is now Her Grace, the Duchess of Straithcairn! She was lawfully wedded to His Grace, the Fifth Duke of Straithcairn, Niall Alexander Straith –by proclamation afore witnesses. Let it be known throughout the Highlands! That this union took place on this day! The thirteenth of June! In the year of our Lord, 1803!”

  The clan bard may be advanced in years, but the man possessed a grand voice. He knew how to use it, even after a rain-soaking and a hike of over three miles. He only stopped twice for breath. The man’s intonation was proof of why he held the position. It was also proof that Neal had been right earlier. Their wedding was notorious enough to be orated.

  “The…Duchess? Holy Je—! I mean—uh. Your grace!”

  The man sputtered and then he went down onto his knee. Right into the muck beside them. Neal took the lead, and answered, using his own orator voice.

  “Rise, man! We’re rain-soaked and tired...with a fair bit of ride ahead of us still. And mount up – all of you! Oh! And someone fetch a horse for my wife!”

  “Niall?”

  Oh hell.

  She’d said his name.

  The whiff of sound she made was barely audible, but viciously effective. Neal’s heart constricted, missing a beat. He waited another moment and then tipped his head down. He’d been wrong about the amount of light cast by their bonfire. It was shedding way too much of it at the moment. Everything about his new wife’s almost unearthly beauty was highlighted and caressed by fire-glow. The raindrops just made her glisten.

  “Are there…enough horses?” she asked.

  “Some...can ride double.”

  Oh, good. His voice worked. His reply was gruff, but audible.

  “Um. I…am na’ dressed for it.”

  His eyebrows rose. “None can tell what you wear.”

  She looked down for a moment and then back at him. There was a glimmer of moisture atop her eyes, now. He didn’t guess at the stutter his heart gave him this time. It was massive and had a catch to it that was near pain. He was still examining the affliction when she spoke again, in a whisper that was barely audible.