Kat turned back to Toren and his sister. They were both staring at her.
Kat smiled. “Brianag thought I might also be the mother of one of your children.” Well shoot, that wasn’t exactly the most tactful way to mention it.
Brianag’s eyes turned to saucers while Toren’s took on a glint that looked dangerous and amused in the same instant.
She heard several men chuckle and instantly wished she hadn’t spoken.
“Perhaps one day ye will be, if I am a fortunate man,” Toren answered. His tone was playful, his eyes were a whole other story. Despite the layers of heavy material, Kat felt naked under the stare. Her chest began to ache and she inhaled a slow breath. Toren took her arm, his glance turning hard as he surveyed the other admirers. He leaned close to her ear, his breath causing little zaps of jittery energy to infuse her. “Yer bodice is too low.”
It annoyed her that he found fault.
“I know,” she said, irritation evident.
“Use yer magic to make it look higher.”
Kat stared up into his warrior scowl. She’d stood up to evil slithery bankers who wanted to take her children away. A Highlander with a negative attitude toward her dress wouldn’t intimidate her.
“I’ll have you know that in a few more decades, the style of necklines will dip to the nipple. Making this neckline quite modest.”
His gaze moved down to her nipples pushed against the armor of her corset.
“Yer nipples,” he said. The words sent an erotic ripple up through Kat’s middle.
“Perhaps I’m the one to start the trend,” she quipped, even though he could see through her magic at the blush across her bare chest. Kat turned slightly so the right side of her face would be in shadow. The upswept hair style was lovely, but it didn’t hide the scars at all. Normally that wouldn’t matter and she hadn’t had the courage to ask him, but if Toren was immune to her magic, then he could see her ugliness.
Toren pulled Kat toward the opposite end of the hall. “To hell with trends and style. I will have yer bodices made to cover ye,” he said low enough that it almost sounded like a growl.
So much for independent trend setter, Kat thought. Let someone else be the first scandalous courtier.
Toren led her into another room with a long banquet table laden with food. Kat’s stomach growled. It had been almost a full day, and about five hundred years, since she’d eaten Ms. Howell’s pot roast. A wash of homesickness gripped her complaining stomach. Little Princess Clara and sick little Jimmy, her preteen girls acting ten years older in the mirrors of the brand new bathrooms she’d bought. Would Joseph pass his math test without her? She’d been gone half a day, but that was five hundred years in the future. So they couldn’t miss her, right? Not like she was missing them.
“Ye are sad.” Toren’s words caressed the skin just behind her ear as he held a seat out. The chairs were quickly filling with velvet and lace, starched neck cuffs and opulent jewelry laden courtiers. He sat and poured some wine from a golden pitcher into her goblet.
“It was Saturday night when we left, so tonight is Sunday night at home,” she mumbled, and took a sip to clear her eyes. “Movie night.”
Toren looked at her, waiting for an explanation. Kat ran her finger along the handle of a golden knife that sat beside her plate. “The children and Lisa and I all get in our pajamas, pop corn, and watch a movie together on pillows and blankets spread in the main room. Tonight we were to watch Mary Poppins at the first showing and then Raiders of the Lost Ark at the second showing for the older kids.”
Brianag sat down on the other side of her and waved to a man across the table who looked remarkably like Toren, but not so much like a mountain and with lighter hair and an easier smile.
“Ye haven’t missed it yet.” Toren placed a large piece of greasy roast meat on her plate.
“What?” she asked, wondering what the slimy fat would do to her stomach.
“The movie night.” He shrugged, placing some crisp bread next to it. “It won’t happen for several centuries, so ye haven’t missed movie night.”
Kat smiled, but the bizarre time line and the fact that all her children’s ancestors weren’t even born yet didn’t help. They seemed even farther away.
“Brianag, won’t ye do me the honor of introducing me to yer new friend.” The man across the table smiled.
“She is mine, Eadan.” Toren’s voice ripped through the polite conversation along both sides of the table.
Kat threw up her magic to cover the humiliating blush suffusing neck and face. With the way the day was progressing, she should just keep her shields up all the time.
A teasing grin quickly covered Eadan’s surprise. “Welcome to the queen’s court, Lady Mine. Please excuse my very loud brother.” He winked at Kat. “He tends to growl.”
Several guests tittered, hiding their smiles behind goblets and bites of food.
“Actually,” Brianag chimed in, “Tor’s betrothed has an unusual name, Lady Di-Ciadaoin.”
Eadan choked on a sip of wine, causing the man next to him to clap him on the back. “Betrothed?” he hacked. “To Lady Wednesday.” Once again, Kat felt the burn of thirty pairs of eyes.
“Wait until Maxwell hears of this,” one man said.
“Wait until Elizabeth hears,” a woman whispered in the silence.
Toren slammed his goblet down on the oak table. Brianag and Eadan looked un-fazed.
“I have spoken to the queen and she is investigating the absurd claim. Lady Di-Ciadaoin and I were betrothed before I heard of Lady Maxwell’s petition.” Toren’s gaze moved down the row of shocked onlookers.
His eyes held the glint of a caged tiger Kat had seen at the North Carolina zoo when she’d taken the children last spring. It had walked along the perimeter, its great tail twitching. Just like the big cat, Toren watched his peers, daring them.
“A toast then,” Eadan called, breaking the stillness. He raised his goblet. “To ye, brother, and yer lady love.” He winked at Kat. “Slainte mhor!” he called in Gaelic, eliciting a few quiet gasps. “Good health!” he repeated in the legal language, English.
Brianag raised her goblet but whispered in Kat’s ear. “Pish.” She shook her head. “My brothers always cause an uproar when they’re forced to attend court.”
Most of the table mumbled good wishes and drank long.
Kat found it difficult to eat with so many curious eyes and whispers. And then there was Toren. He sat next to her, his hard thigh pushed against her own through the layers of petticoats. His elbow brushed against her full sleeves from time to time, but it was the heat in his gaze that made it difficult for Kat to swallow the rich food. Her neckline might look appropriate with the magical enhancement, but to Toren, the true neckline plunged to the dark rose color encircling her nipples.
He spoke occasionally to Eadan across the table. Brianag chattered pleasantly. Each time Kat leaned a bit forward to reach for something, Toren’s words halted. At one point, Kat laughed at a witty retort by Brianag to a brotherly insult from Eadan.
Toren’s breath caught in his throat.
She turned to him.
“Milady,” he murmured. “Yer bosom.”
Kat glanced down expecting her nipples to have popped out, but the lace kept its place just above indecency. “It is covered.”
“Barely.”
“Only to you,” she whispered back. “To everyone else it sits half way to my neck.”
“Are ye certain?”
“Everyone would be staring at me if it wasn’t in place.”
“Nay, not with me next to ye.” He paused to watch the gazes of several men “Ye could be sitting here naked next to me and they wouldn’t dare to stare,” he boasted darkly.
Kat couldn’t think of a retort with Toren’s rock hard thigh pushed against her leg. Her leg pushed back an equal pressure. Her body yearned to press against his. Damn virginity, Kat thought in frustration. It must be her lack of sexual release that revved her bod
y into humming every time Toren touched or even looked at her. He was like a hero in the romance books she’d devoured over the years.
Kat sat there wishing for a cold swim and a bowl of cookie infused ice cream. Kat took another drink.
Toren.
She could have him in this century. Why not be rid of her virginity? She was a freak at twenty-six no matter how many times she told herself that she just hadn’t met that special someone.
Toren leaned slightly towards her ear. “Ye look flushed, Kat.” His voice held concern, but he could see through her magic screen, the one that hid the blushes and the awful scars. That fact squelched the warmth. How could she make love to a man who could see how ugly she was?
“I’m not used to drinking alcohol,” she murmured.
“The water is unsafe, especially to yer twenty-first-century gut.”
“I know, but by the end of dinner, you’ll have to carry me to your sister’s room.”
Toren placed an orange and several other juice filled fruits on her plate. “As much as I wouldn’t mind carrying ye to my room,” he said stressing the word, “I would not have ye ill.” His breath moved along her earlobe, tickling the sensitive skin.
She kept her chin forward so that he couldn’t view the right side of her jaw and neck. With his gaze searching her face, she felt more naked now than when she’d been in her Wednesday undies and bra.
“How is it that you can see through my magic?” she whispered.
He shrugged and took a bite of the venison heaped on his plate.
Kat glanced down at the mountain of food. “Hungry?”
“It’s been five years since I’ve feasted on food with true flavors.” He took a roll and broke it open to spread some fresh butter on it. “Nothing but flour, water, yeast, and sweet churned butter.”
Kat watched him savor the simple roll. The sweet butter caught on his upper lip, which he licked. Kat swallowed hard and looked away. “You missed all this,” she said indicating the great hall.
“Nay.” He shook his head slightly, speaking low. “Not the court, but the century, aye, some of it,” he said and took a drink of the wine, a smile on his lips. “Although I’d almost give up this century for a lifetime of steaming hot showers.”
Kat laughed and took a bite of orange, enjoying his relaxed banter much more than his frowns and growls. Food certainly helped Toren’s attitude. Kat tucked away that bit of information.
“What are ye two whispering about there?” Eadan asked glancing between them with an odd expression.
Toren just grunted and continued to delve into his half consumed plate. Eadan looked at Kat. “I doona remember the last time I saw my brother laugh.” Eadan tipped his head toward her. “Milady Di-Ciadaoin, ye are a most remarkable lass.”
Dinner concluded after rounds of wine, grease-filled food, and courtly conversation that kept Kat and Toren mostly silent. Kat tried to stick to the few vegetables and fruit dishes and bread. By the time Toren walked her down the many corridors back to his sister’s room, the wine had relaxed Kat’s anxiety. She sauntered, her hand on Toren’s mighty arm.
They stood at the fourteenth door across from the rock that looked like a jutting chin on some old time movie actor. Kat turned, her back against the rough stone wall. She rolled her shoulders slowly, feeling the effects of the wine relaxing muscles. Toren stood before her, watching. A small smile gave his dangerous features a seductive cast. Kat reached up and touched his cheek, avoiding his scar. He smelled of wine and outdoor pine and warm man. His body, tall and solid, filled the space between them.
“Ye can touch it, lass.” His deep voice sent a chill down Kat’s body, hardening her nipples. She swallowed hard.
“Touch it?” Was he talking about the erection Kat assumed would be there if she pushed into him? Although Toren had barely spoken during the meal, she’d felt his eyes, felt his heat.
Toren took her cold fingers and placed them on his cheek along the scar. “It pains me none now.”
Kat inhaled deeply, relieved and disappointed in the same breath. She ran one finger down the white etched with smaller lines where a needle had sewn the flesh back together. She marveled at the strength she could feel underneath and in his solid jaw. Toren made a small growling sound and pulled back. He glanced up and down the stone corridor, then pushed open his sister’s door and pulled Kat within.
“Brianag, are ye here, sister?”
No answer.
Toren moved Kat so that her back pressed against the door blocking any other from entering. He stared down at her.
“How did you get it?” she asked when the silence stretched. The question broke through the heat that radiated, enough so that she could meet his eyes again.
Toren’s expression morphed from fire to ice.
“Hughe Maxwell believes in harsh punishment,” he answered, stepping from her light touch. Toren moved to the dying fire and rekindled it, throwing on some peat that sat nearby.
“Your scar was given to you by the man who hosted you, raised you?” Kat was appalled. “You received that as a child?”
He turned. “A child in your century’s perspective, a young man in mine.”
“And you deserved a slice across your cheek?”
He shrugged. “It taught me much.”
“Much about what?” Kat couldn’t keep the anger from her voice. He had probably not even been a teenager.
“About whom I couldn’t trust.” He grinned then, though his eyes remained cold. “But that was long ago.” He walked back. Toren’s body shadowed hers. Raising his hand, he pulled the pins slowly from her hair, allowing it to tumble down around her shoulders. The fire crackled behind. “And this is now, lass.”
His fingers barely touched her, but the effect of his closeness was like a shock on her system. One moment she was filled with anger at the obvious injustice of his upbringing, the next she was washed in his scent, in his presence. She wanted to protect the boy he’d been and yet welcomed his protection in this amazingly bizarre world she’d been thrust into. Emotions tumbled, loose with the glasses of wine.
“I don’t know what now means anymore,” she said with feigned lightness as he raked her hair gently.
“Time for ye to stop ignoring what ye feel between us.”
Cut to the chase. This man didn’t mince words behind closed doors. Kat’s breasts swelled above her neckline with each of her deep breaths. His eyes glanced down at the rosy brown tops of her areolas.
He stepped closer until her breasts pushed back against him. His gaze moved to her eyes and his hand came up to touch the unmarred side of her face. He pulled her face to him, his lips coming down warm and intense.
Kat was instantly swept away in the feel of him, warm palm on her cheek, hard body against her chest, wine tinged lips insistant yet, and soft against her own. She felt her insides turn to liquid as his other hand moved behind her back, pulling her from the door and into granite arms. Even through the folds of fabric, Kat could feel him and her body answered with a rush of languid heat below. Lord, she wished she had kept on the Wednesday underwear.
Toren’s kiss deepened.
Kat placed a hand on his chest to steady herself and felt his rapid heartbeat against it. Her fingers curled into the fine linen. She was affecting him, too. The knowledge filled her with confidence and she wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, deepening the kiss he’d started. Her fingers splayed out through his hair, pulling its length free from its queue. Kat’s other hand ran along his broad shoulder, along the muscles of his bicep. They were solid and smooth, like an Olympic swimmer. Not like the steroid induced bulk of some weight lifter in a gym.
Toren made a low noise in the back of his throat. “Aye, lass,” he said and moved his hand to the low neckline, his warm fingers caressing the bare skin there and then sliding up her neck. “Let go, Kat.” His words fed the trail of fire from her ear down through the core of Kat’s body. This was it. She wouldn’t stop him. For once and for all s
he’d give someone her blasted virginity.
Toren’s hand moved up the right side of her neck, over her jaw and to her cheek. Her right cheek. Instantly Kat yanked back, but his hand remained tenderly cupping her scars. It was as if a pitcher of ice water swished through her hot body, dousing the flames.
He pulled his hand back. “Och lass, do they pain ye?”
Kat pulled her arms down and turned away even though there wasn’t anywhere she could go with his body all around her. Trapped. Anger flared up inside.
“No, they don’t hurt.” She answered and combed hair over her shoulder into a protective shield. She pushed against his arm and he let her leave the circle he’d created. “I just don’t…” She hesitated, not wanting to look at him. “I don’t want you touching them.”
“Ye hide them.” He waved his hand. “With yer magic, so others don’t see them.”
“But you can,” she nearly spat.
“A burn when ye were a wee lass?” He took a step closer. Kat took a step back and he halted as if she might bolt.
“Very perceptive,” she said with coldness at his intrusion.
“Who did this to ye?” He asked as if he suddenly suspected foul play. His anger rose visually with the lock of his gorgeously stubbled jaw. The gallant action from this rough warrior almost undid her. The years of regret nagged. Why had she pulled down the sizzling grease? Sister Joan had warned her to stay away.
“No one did this to me,” she mumbled. “I was a stupid, curious kid.”
“It could have killed ye,” he noted, keeping his distance.
“My century has better medical care.”
Toren crossed arms before his chest in a relaxed pose. “When did ye start hiding them?”
Kat yanked up the too low neckline and walked to the small cut window to look out at the night- washed gardens. She remembered precisely when she’d begun the glamour that made the scars look like they were healing away to nothing. A new boy, Kevin, had arrived at the orphanage soon after she’d left the hospital. He’d seemed nice enough and Kat had started to like him. She’d just turned eight years old and had asked Sister Mary to teach her to tame her red gold curls. Kat had stopped at Kevin’s room to show him her pretty braided hair when she’d overheard him talking with an older girl about Halloween costumes they wanted to make in the next month.
Masquerade (The Dragonfly Chronicles Book 3) Page 9