After the Storm

by Tia Isabella

  Sir Dugald came to stand in front of Sara, smiling down at her all the while. He wasn’t too hard on the eyes, Maya admitted. Not too hard at all. Sara could do a lot worse. The man grabbed Sara’s hand first and then Maya’s. “I am called Sir Dugald, my ladies, and who might ye be?”

  Sara sucked in her breath. Her face turned a chalky white.

  Sir Dugald.

  Maya’s heartbeat quickened as she swallowed nervously.

  Sir Dugald frowned. “What is the matter?”

  Sara regained her composure quickly and curtsied to the soldier. “Forgive me Sir Dugald for my rudeness. You startled us is all. My name is Lady Sara. This is Lady Maya.”

  Sir Dugald inclined his head to both of them, his smile back in place. “Ye are forgiven, naturally, but why were ye startled in the first?”

  Sara looked to Maya as if searching for an appropriate response. Maya answered for her, though this time in Gaelic, determined to find her voice once again. “We have heard of your laird and of you as well, sir. Your clan’s strength is well known.”

  Sir Dugald’s chest puffed out arrogantly. Apparently Maya had even managed to stir the arrogance of the big guy himself, for he dismounted at Maya’s words and came striding over.

  The giant stopped in front of Maya and looked her up and down. He’d apparently never heard of the word subtle, she thought grimly. Maya was grateful to the gods above that her cloak was concealing her outfit, for he surely would have demoted her from the status of lady to the status of harlot had he seen how scandalously she was attired. “I am the MacGregor. How did ye come tae hear of me?”

  Maya’s eyes grew wide when his words sunk in. The MacGregor? As in Thomas MacGregor? Wow! He was even bigger and fiercer looking than she had imagined him to be. And like Sir Dugald, not hard on the eyes either. In fact, he was even more ruggedly handsome than Sir Dugald was to her way of thinking. She quickly curtsied as she offered him a smile. “Your skills with your sword are well known in many lands, my lord.”

  Satisfied, Thomas nodded with a grunt. Of course his skills were well known. He was the MacGregor after all. He took Maya’s hand and bowed over it, astonishing her with his courtly show of grace. “Lady Maya, ye must call me Thomas. ‘Tis an honor tae make yer acquaintance.”

  Maya shivered then nodded, her gaze never leaving the laird’s.

  Thomas took note of Maya’s shiver and frowned, assuming it was because of the chilly weather instead of because of the fact she was freaked out. “’Tis tae cold fer ye and Lady Sara tae be walking aboot. And tae dangerous as well. Ye are lucky ‘twas I who found ye and no’ the MacAllister. Come, we will take ye tae Castle MacGregor tae warm yerselves.”

  * * * * *

  Robert MacAllister smiled wickedly towards the women riding off into the distance atop the MacGregor and Sir Dugald’s mounts. He had come to MacGregor land ‘apurpose this day, in the hopes of finding some cattle he could lift for the use of his own clan. He had ridden up mayhap a few moments after the MacGregor arrived only to see him pointing his raised sword in the direction of the two wenches.

  Robert had watched from the trees, trying his best to get a good look at the lasses, then damn near fell from his mount when at last he did. He never saw what the wench in red looked like, but the wench in black was beautiful indeed. She was the comeliest of maidens, with long golden hair and a figure that made a man want to bury his flesh deep inside of her.

  It had been obvious to Robert that the woman wasn’t a MacGregor, for Thomas had reacted to her as though he’d never seen her before. Robert had thought to take her for himself, believing that the MacGregor would leave the women behind after he and his men tried them. Why he had thought that, he had no idea. ‘Twas wishful thinking on his part, no doubt.

  Robert cursed in anger as he left the seclusion of the trees and rode back to the MacAllister keep, all thoughts of cattle lifting long since departed.

  ‘Twasn’t fair. The MacGregors always bested the MacAllisters. The MacGregor laird was the most feared in Scotland, their clan’s herds were aplenty, and their women innumerable. And now Thomas MacGregor had claimed the foreign wenches for his own. Nay, ‘twasn’t fair in the least.

  But Robert was going to change his clan’s run of bad luck for the better. He was laird now, after all, with his elder brother dead and buried for nigh a fortnight. He wasn’t weak like his brother had been, unwilling to stand up to the MacGregor as he should have done years past.

  Nay, Robert was strong, and damn if he wouldn’t prove it. Soon ‘twould be him that the Bruce would seek out for the wisdom of his guidance. Soon ‘twould be him that found favor in the king’s court. And, Robert added to himself with a grin, soon ‘twould be him that was rutting between the bitch’s legs every eve.

  He would take her from the MacGregor. By the saints he would.

  Chapter 4

  Somehow or another “Lady” Maya and “Lady” Sara ended up at the castle with Fred and Barney in tow. It was evident that both Thomas and Dugald would have preferred to have left the iguanas behind, but the women wouldn’t hear of it.

  Sara convinced Sir Dugald to let Barney ride with them in the way she knew best to work a situation to her advantage—she bedazzled him with compliments and plied him with smiles. Maya, on the other hand, got Thomas to take Fred in the only way she had ever known how to go about getting her own way—she dug in her heels and refused to budge from her stance.

  Thomas had spat and cursed—in a legion of different languages at that—then finally relented when he realized that Maya was obstinate enough to do as she had said she would do and remain on the hillside if he left her pet behind. Thomas had thrown her his best scowls, yelled at her at the top of his lungs, even threatened to put her over his knee.

  It had all been for naught. The stubborn woman had refused obedience. ‘Twas sorely obvious to Thomas that the laird of the Tampa clan had spoiled the wench to no end.

  The MacGregor was still in a surly mood when he plopped himself down into his seat in the great hall next to Maya to partake of the evening fare. He grunted as he sat, making certain that Lady Maya was well aware of his presence. By the saints she could get under a man’s skin!

  When grunting didn’t gain Lady Maya’s attention away from the conversation between Sir Dugald and Lady Sara, Thomas cleared his throat and bellowed to her. “Ye will look at me, Lady Maya.”

  That did it.

  Maya gritted her teeth in irritation. The man possessed the manners of a wild pig. First he accused her of being Satan’s sister, then he tried to leave her beloved Fred behind to fend for himself in the cold, then he had even gone so far as to yell at her and threaten her with a spanking. Now he had the audacity to command her to look at him! Were it not for the fact that he obviously had the upper hand at the moment, she would have strangled him.

  Maya turned around and eyeballed the laird with a scowl on her face that was fierce enough to cause a lesser man to wince. “Yes? Laird?”

  Now that Maya was looking at him, Thomas wasn’t certain what his next move should be. He didn’t really have anything to say to her and he had never been good at idle conversation. The only thing he knew was that he liked looking at Maya and he liked it when she was looking at him.

  Damnation, but what man wouldn’t want the comely wench to favor him with her attention. She was finer than he thought it possible for a woman to be made. Her waist length hair was unbound and the shade of golden curls of wheat. Her eyes were three different colors all at the same time—rings of blue and green with a fleck of gold in each. Her lips, well, he shouldn’t even think of her puffy red lips. A man could torture himself over the desire to suck on those lips.

  Thomas frowned as he studied Maya and Maya frowned right back. “You wanted to speak with me, my lord?”

  Thomas snapped his attention from his fantasies and threw Maya his most feared scowl. “The servants are preparing ye and Lady Sara’s chambers the soonest. Sometime after the meal, Matilde shall s
ee ye tae yer chambers. Baths will be brought up tae ye and clean gowns as well, since I take it neither of ye has yer chests.”

  Maya’s expression softened at Thomas’s rather considerate gesture. She smiled at him, causing his breath to catch in the back of his throat. “That is thoughtful of you, my lord. We would be most grateful.”

  Thomas nodded then raised one of the corners of his mouth slightly upward.

  Maya deeply suspected that was his attempt at a smile. Apparently he hadn’t quite cultivated the art of it yet because it looked like no more than a sneer to her. Still, she refused to think about what that awkward smile did to the rate of her heart.

  * * * * *

  Maya stood atop the battlements, gazing down into the lower bailey. She shook her head to clear it, not believing for a moment that she was seeing the things she was seeing, experiencing the things she appeared to be experiencing. She was certain that she was going to wake up at any given moment, still in her bed in Tampa. Or perhaps she had sustained a head injury during the hurricane and was even now lying in a coma at Tampa General Hospital. She was a woman of science—there were no other explanations.

  Maya pulled her cloak tightly around her, the chilly mountain air inducing her flesh to goose pimple. Odd, but she’d never felt temperature sensations in a dream before. Perhaps when she woke up she’d drive over to the lab at the university and let that eccentric Ph.D. who studies abnormal sleep patterns hook her up to one of his machines and have a field day at her wearily bedraggled expense.

  She needed to find Sara and force her to wake them up. In this dream, and Maya resolutely refused to believe that it could be more than that, Sara had strolled off with this Sir Dugald character hand-in-hand after the meal in the great hall.

  Maya grunted. Yes, she had to be dreaming. Sara simply wasn’t the type to fall into an infatuation after knowing a guy for all of two hours.

  The wind blew the hood of Maya’s cloak from around her face, spilling her long mane of golden curls down her back. She realized not even a moment later that the goose bumps she had succumbed to weren’t entirely due to the evening’s chilled air. She wasn’t alone on the battlements any longer. She wasn’t certain how she knew as much, but perhaps one develops extra-sensory perceptions when dreaming…or hallucinating.

  “Yer chamber is ready fer ye, Lady Maya.”

  Ah, she was right. No longer alone.

  Maya cocked her head upward to enable her better viewing access to the giant warlord’s face. “Thank-you,” she offered weakly.

  Thomas nodded almost imperceptibly, acknowledging her words. “Ye are welcome.”

  She turned back to face the lower bailey once more, unable to hold the gaze of the MacGregor a moment longer. Looking at him made this entire experience too vivid, too real.

  “Are ye no’ going up tae yer chamber, milady?”

  Maya closed her eyes against his words. His voice was so deep and smooth, the richest of bass tones. He sounded all male, all-powerful, and far from imaginary. She snuggled into her cloak, folding her arms across her chest and rubbing them briskly to ward off the eerie cold.

  After what seemed an eternity spent in silence with this man in her dream, Maya could endure the quiet no longer. She whirled around and pierced him with haunted, rounded eyes. “Are you real?” she whispered up to him.

  Thomas arched a brow. “Real? Of course I am real.” He reached out to touch her forehead, an uncharacteristic feeling of sympathy welling up inside of him. “Did ye sustain a hit tae the head, lass? Are ye fevered?” He felt her head for warmth, caressing her temples in the process. “I can call a healer if ye ha’ need of one.”

  Maya closed her eyes against the feel of his hand stroking her head. His fingers were large and roughly callused, yet felt uncommonly good brushing against her smooth temple. This was too much to take in, too much to believe. Things like this simply don’t happen.

  Thomas had the disconcerting thought that he could stand here a happy man, stroking this woman for the rest of his life and never tire of it. Her face turned to his hand like a frightened child seeking protection, which was a complete contrast to her typical confident behavior. It was all he could do not to reach out and give her that which she was needing. Mayhap the lady didn’t realize what it was she sought, but he did.

  She needed comfort. From what threat, he hadn’t any notion.

  Thomas slowly lowered his hand from Maya’s temple to her cheek, rubbing it gently to soothe her. Again, she turned to him as if seeking something that she herself could not name. She kept her eyes closed, merely feeling the sensations without seeing. A sense of possessiveness and a fierce desire to protect the tiny lass swept through his very core, battling his resolve. He pulled her toward him, giving up the fight, holding her gently in a warm embrace.

  Maya shut her eyes tightly as she allowed the warrior to hold her. She experienced an abstruse sense of security in his arms, as if he were her only connection to reality, to life. Odd that a figure from one’s dream could provide such base comfort. She wanted to cry, wanted to bawl her eyes out, but refused to do so. The longer he held her, the more real the warrior became. And the more frightened she became.

  Thomas laid his chin atop her head and breathed in her scent. She felt so perfect, her soft flesh cuddled into the warmth of his hard, steely body. He felt his shaft swell against his plaid, poking against her belly. At her sharp intake of breath, he realized she knew the effect that she had on him. Would she use it against him as other women would try to? He refused to give her the chance to find out.

  Thomas pushed Maya away from him, causing her to dart her face upward to stare at him. She swallowed roughly, her eyes still haunted, still shadowed. He felt a momentary tremor of guilt, but refused to acknowledge it. The MacGregor would not yield his heart, his will, or even his shaft to this comely vixen. “Ye will take yerself up tae yon chamber tae bathe and ye will do it now.”

  Maya blinked. She had no idea what had turned him surly, but the abrupt shift in mood was a shock to her system.

  That did it.

  Maya pushed herself further away from the snake’s hold, her once worried eyes now burning. She couldn’t and wouldn’t deny the attraction she held for him, but she refused to cower before Laird Pompous Ass. “Fine!” she spat.

  “Fine!” he growled in return. “Ye will go now afore I change my mind and ravish yer willin’ body. I will decide if ye are tae go back home or no’ when ye are gone from my sight!”

  “Willing body? Decide where I’ll go?” Maya stared daggers at the savage gargantuan, hoping for an insane moment that she truly was here and not dreaming so she could scratch his eyes out. “Listen buddy, I am the only one who will decide where it is I go! And I am going home. Right now!” She turned on her heel, giving him her back.

  He, however, was having none of that.

  Thomas grabbed her by the back of the cloak and spun her around to face him. His nostrils flared, the vein at his temple ticked. “Ye will do as ye are bid,” he said too quietly. “Ye will go above stairs tae yer chamber and say no’ another word aboot it. Do ye ken, or do ye need tae be put o’er my knee?”

  His knee? His knee? Damn the man!

  Too enraged to think up any response at all, let alone a witty, smart-ass one, Maya stomped her foot on the ground and glared at him. “Fine!” she managed to sputter out. Unable to suppress her rage, she stood up on tiptoe, grabbed the black braids that were plaited at either of his temples, and yanked with all of her might.

  He smiled at her. A genuine, amused smile.

  She wanted to kill him.

  “Ohhhh!” she fumed, unable to say more. She turned around and stomped off of the battlements, like a spoiled child being sent to her room.

  Thomas watched in amusement as the little shrew pounded away from him in a tantrum. He should be mad, but he wasn’t. He was too well humored. Mayhap he would keep her after all.

  He shook his head, determined to locate his missing resolve
. What the comely harridan did to his senses was not a good thing. She could weaken him, make him soft, make his heart feel things he didn’t want it to feel.

  Nay, he could not and would not keep the little wench.

  * * * * *

  Thomas sat in his chair next to the hearth in the great hall with ale in his hand and a scowl on his face. He swallowed down the rest of the drink then bellowed at Matilde to bring him some more. When Matilde didn’t instantly materialize, he cursed and yelled for his squire to see to him. He had forgotten for a moment that Matilde was upstairs showing Lady Maya and Lady Sara to their bedchambers.

  Thomas grunted after his squire Gilfred refilled his tankard, then went back to his seething. ‘Twas apparent to the MacGregor men that Thomas was in a dastardly mood, for no one dared to approach him. Even Dugald remained conspicuously absent, mayhap out of fear, but most likely ‘twas out of a desire to let Thomas calm down upon his own accord.

  As if he could calm down, Thomas acknowledged to himself with another grunt. Lady Maya was going to be the death of him!

  After thinking on the scene atop the battlements, he decided that her show of temper was far from amusing. The woman simply didn’t know her place. She obviously had no fear of him and this truth the laird found unacceptable. Indeed, a wench should know humble respect and fear for her lord. Of course, Thomas wasn’t exactly her lord—yet.

  Yet? Nay. Thomas shook his head. He refused to think along those lines. He would send the ladies back to their clan in posthaste. Certainly their sires had to be fearing for their safety by now.

  Still, he couldn’t help but to consider what would become of his life were he to refuse Lady Maya’s passage back to her people. He scowled. His life would be one complication after the next is what would happen. Lady Maya was hardly the agreeable sort and, more like than naught, her tongue would end up embarrassing him in front of his men were he to keep her.