“But you’ve already blocked this time off work.”
Laurel was thinking the same thing, but declined to mention it. She glanced at her appointment calendar. So many clients had been rescheduled to accommodate this longed-for vacation. None of them would be pleased if asked to change yet again. “Look, Chloe, things like this happen. You know my motto: There’s no such thing as an accident. It’s all part of some grand plan in the universe. There’s nothing to be done about it. We’ll go another time.”
“You know better than that, Laurel. It took me years to talk you into this. I can’t even imagine how long it will take to get you to agree again. You didn’t even go on our senior trip.”
“My grandmother was sick.”
“And after all those years of study at the university, you blew off graduation to go to work.”
“I didn’t have anybody there to cheer for me anyway.” Laurel sighed. “We’ve been through all this before, Chloe. What’s the big deal?”
“This trip is the big deal. You planned your entire year around these next two weeks. I can’t stand knowing that you’re going to miss this, too.” There was a pause. “You could go alone.” Her friend’s voice wavered. “I know it won’t be as much fun traveling solo, but at least you’ll get to see and do all the things we’ve planned.”
“It won’t be any fun without you.”
“I’d feel the same way. But I’ll feel even worse if you stay home because of me. We’ve talked of nothing else for so long now. Please, Laurel. At least give it some thought.”
After hanging up, Laurel brooded. The money she would have to forfeit on the airline and hotel fees didn’t matter, but the hassle of time on her hands with no clients to deal with did matter. She’d go mad with nothing to do and time on her hands. Why not go ahead as planned? She’d be just fine traveling to Scotland alone. It wasn’t what she’d hoped for, but then, she mused, how much in life actually went according to plan? Besides, wasn’t she really good at being alone? She’d had plenty of experience.
She’d lost her parents when she was six, and had been raised by her grandmother. At eighteen she’d vowed on her grandmother’s grave that she would make her proud. To that end, after earning her business degree, she’d spent the past ten years working her way up the corporate ladder. There’d been no time for such things as romance, courtship, marriage. Oh, there’d been the occasional interlude with a coworker, or a friend of a friend, and she would wonder if this would be the one to change her life forever. But in time, as if by mutual consent, they would drift apart and move on. Laurel never looked back. And certainly never grieved the loss of something she’d never even had. She was very good at living her life on her own terms.
If, at times, she felt a twinge of regret at the things she’d had to sacrifice for success, she was able to nudge it aside. She made a very good living while enjoying a satisfying career. She had a circle of friends she could count on, and an enthusiasm for life that was the envy of all who knew her. That was enough to fill her life.
Her thoughts were interrupted by one of their tour group, a retired bank president from St. Louis. “What about a tour of the castle ruins and the ancient tower?”
Laurel nodded in agreement. That was what she wanted, more than anything. It was her fondest wish to walk through the ancient ruins. To get a sense of those who had lived and died here. After a lifetime of reading about them, she wanted a closer look.
Their leader shook his head. “Because of its age and fragile condition, we no longer allow tours of the original bones of the old castle and the tunnels beneath. It was built in the fifteenth century by the laird of the MacLennan clan, Conal MacLennan, who was called Con the Mighty by both his friends and his enemies. Though we don’t permit an actual tour of his early home, if you’ll follow me along this hallway, I’ll take you up to the adjoining tower. It offers an excellent view of the ruins below, and the Highlands spread out around it. In the tower room we offer a detailed map of the ancient castle as it once looked. For as far as the eye can see, this land once belonged to the Clan MacLennan, some of Scotland’s finest and fiercest Highland warriors.”
While the others moved ahead, Laurel stopped to study the portrait of Conal MacLennan. Now there was a warrior. His arms and torso were bare, revealing a body corded with muscles. He wore nothing more than a length of plaid, belted at the waist by a leather scabbard. In his hand was a jewel-encrusted sword. His forehead was broad; his features so perfect they could have been chiseled from stone. His eyes stared into hers with such intensity, she couldn’t look away. She marveled at the ancient artist who had captured his likeness so perfectly.
She trailed the others to a circular staircase. Up ahead she could hear the voice of their guide.
“If you’ll look to your left, you’ll see through that window the crumbling ruins of the original tower. It’s said that Con’s beloved wife fell or was pushed from that tower during a siege. Her body was never found, and the great laird of the MacLennan clan vowed to move heaven and earth to find her.”
Laurel heard a woman ask the question they all wanted answered. “Did he succeed?”
The tour guide’s voice drifted back. “Rumor has it that he roams the Highlands still.”
Laurel shivered before her attention was caught by an ancient tapestry that hung along the staircase. It must have been nearly ten feet high, and at least as wide. Their guide had said that all the tapestries in the castle had been made by the women who once lived here.
Since needlework had been one of the skills her grandmother had passed along to her, Laurel found herself tracing her finger over the delicate scrolls and circles and marveling at the patience of the women who had created such a work of art by hand.
She could imagine them sitting around the fireplace at night, heads bent, working needle and thread through the wool, forming the intricate patterns while their men sharpened the blades of their broadswords and dirks, and spoke in low tones of war.
What must life have been like in those primitive times, with the threat of invasion always hanging over them? Did the women weep when their men went off to battle? Or were they stoic, holding back their tears until they were alone in their beds?
Laurel thought of her grandmother, fueling a child’s imagination with bedtime tales that were both thrilling and romantic.
As Laurel started to turn away, a drop of moisture landed on the toe of her white beaded sandal. She noted with disgust that a dark stain had begun to spread in an ever-widening circle. She looked up, but could see nothing leaking from above. Bending, she touched a finger to the warm, sticky spot, and was stunned when she realized what it was.
Blood!
Where had it come from?
Curious, she took hold of the edge of the tapestry and moved it aside. It had been cleverly hung to hide a niche in the wall. At first Laurel thought the figure in the recessed area was a statue, until she had a quick impression of her own shock and surprise mirrored in his eyes.
Not a statue. A man. But this was no ordinary man. He was dressed in the manner of an ancient Highlander. His arms and legs were bare, with nothing but a length of plaid to cover his torso. But what caused her even more fear than the sight of this stranger was the sight of the very large, very deadly jeweled sword he was holding in a menacing manner.
She gasped and shrank back. Before she could flee, his hand snaked out, catching her roughly by the shoulder.
“No! I…”
Her cry broke off as she was caught by strong arms and yanked off her feet. She saw, to her dismay, the flutter of the tapestry as it slid closed behind her, engulfing her in darkness.
Without a word the man lifted her as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. Though she bit and kicked and fought him with all her might, she was no match for his almost superhuman strength. He tossed her over his shoulder and began racing along a darkened passageway.
Her cries and shouts of alarm bounced off the cavernous walls in an echoing choru
s.
Laurel’s heart was pounding in time to his every footfall. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she realized that they were heading deep into the dungeons beneath the original castle ruins.
From the history she’d read, she knew that this was where the clans would gather during a siege. There were tunnels leading to various rooms that were large enough to shelter livestock, store grain, and permit entire families to live in safety within the castle enclosure while their men fought back intruders.
As they rounded a corner, the man came to an abrupt halt and in one fluid movement set her on her feet before shoving her roughly behind him. As Laurel took in a breath and prepared to flee, she heard the clash of steel upon steel, and looked up to see her captor facing a band of warriors.
There were nearly a dozen of them, their faces streaked with mud, their voices screaming words that were unintelligible to Laurel. But this much she understood: They were determined to kill both her captor and her.
Some of these men wore only animal skins to cover their nakedness. They lifted knives and swords menacingly as they surrounded their prey.
Laurel’s captor never even hesitated as he plowed through the circle of warriors, his sword cutting a swath of death and destruction through all in his path. Despite the fear that gripped her, Laurel couldn’t help admiring his courage in the face of such overwhelming odds. One after another, the attackers fell to his blade.
Just as it seemed safe, she watched in horror as two more attackers crept up from the shadows. “Behind you.”
At her shout, he turned and drove his blade through the chest of the one nearest him.
Seeing that the other was about to thrust his blade into her captor’s back, Laurel looked around for something, anything to use. Without even thinking, she yanked her cell phone from her pocket and tossed it as hard as she could. It caught the warrior on the side of his temple. Startled, he turned on her, ready to defend himself. It was all the distraction necessary for her captor to overpower the man. With an arm around his neck, he pulled a small, deadly knife from his waist and slit the attacker’s throat.
At the sound of hurried footsteps coming toward them, he again thrust her behind him before turning to await the next attack.
A warrior garbed in the same plaid as her abductor came to an abrupt halt. “Ye’ve come back, m’laird.”
“I have. To find barbarians in my own household.” The voice rang with righteous anger.
“They caught us by surprise, m’laird. Without your leadership, we feared all would be lost, but we managed to fight them off. This was the last of them. I’d feared they’d already made good their escape.”
“They would have, had I not been here to change their plans. See to them.”
Without another word, Laurel’s captor closed a hand over her wrist and hauled her through the carnage. They moved quickly along a darkened hallway and up a flight of stairs. At last he slowed his pace and stepped through a doorway into a suite of rooms that, though primitive, seemed surprisingly comfortable. The floors were covered with rushes. A cozy fire was burning in a massive stone fireplace. Around it were gathered chairs and settees strewn with animal hides.
The stranger drew Laurel inside before securing the door. When he turned, he surprised her once again by dragging her roughly into the circle of his arms.
“At last.” His words, raw and passionate, were whispered against her temple. “I thought I’d lost you, love.” His lips nuzzled her cheek, her jaw. “Oh, my bonny, bonny Laurel. I’ve been searching for you everywhere. The fear of what might have happened to you nearly caused my poor heart to stop.”
Without waiting for her reply, he lowered his head and kissed her long and slow and deep, like a man starved for the taste of her.
Laurel tried to push away, but she was no match for him. He seemed completely unaware of her resistance. Instead, caught up in the moment, his hands moved over her body while his fevered kisses smothered her protests until they died in her throat.
She was assaulted by such a rush of conflicting feelings, she couldn’t sort them out. Shock. Outrage. Fear. And somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, the realization that she’d never in her life been kissed like this. Possessively, as though this man owned her, body and soul, and had the right to expect such passion in return. He touched her, held her, like one who already knew her intimately. His kiss spoke of desperation, and then, in the blink of an eye, of reverence, as though he held in his arms some rare and perfect creature that must be treated as the greatest of treasures.
Maybe it was a reaction to what she’d just gone through. Perhaps she was in a state of shock. Whatever the reason, though she tried to deny it, her body responded in a purely sexual way.
“I was lost without you, love. My heart was so shattered…” He ran hot, wet kisses down her throat, pausing to nibble the sensitive hollow between her neck and shoulder until her flesh nearly sizzled. Already a spark of heat skimmed her spine, adding to her jumble of emotions. How could she think, when this man’s kisses were doing such things to her?
But think she must. “Wait. Stop.”
At her words he lifted his head, but kept his hands at her shoulders, as though afraid to let her go for even a moment.
“How…” She had to struggle to find her voice. “How do you know my name?”
He regarded her with a humorous lift of the brow before gathering her close. His strong fingers began gently massaging her scalp. “Was it a blow to your head, my love? I’ve heard of such things during battle. Has it left you dazed?”
Again she pushed away, dragging air into her lungs. The press of his fingers through the tangles of her hair was far too intimate a caress. “Who are you?”
“Now I know you tease me.” His eyes crinkled. “I’m the lad you’ve loved since you were no more than a wee lass. And you’re my own true love, Laurel. The one I’ve cherished all my life. When I couldn’t find you after the siege, I was beside myself. Some said they’d seen you falling from the tower, but your body was never found. I’m afraid I went a little mad with worry. I searched the length and breadth of the forest, refusing to tend to my duties, or even to return to my fortress until I’d found you. But you’re home now.” He dragged her against him and kissed her full on the mouth. “Home to stay.” Against her lips he whispered, “Now come to bed, love. For I’ve been searching for you for such a long time, I’ve built up a powerful need.”
“But I…Wait.” She’d never felt so dazed, so disoriented, so thoroughly confused in her entire life.
How could this be happening? It was like a dream. All disjointed. Out of sync. But she was wide awake, and this was all too real. Those attackers had intended to kill her, and had ended up giving their lives. She’d seen the carnage with her own eyes. Had heard their death cries with her own ears. The brutality of that bloody scene was an image that would remain in her mind forever.
And this man, this stranger from another era, was also real. A warrior who seemed to have no fear of his enemy’s weapons. A warrior who was calling her by name, behaving as though he’d known her for a lifetime, and was preparing to take her to his bed.
She had to put the brakes on this now, before it went any further. “We need to talk.”
“Aye, love.” With no effort at all he lifted her in his arms and carried her across the room to the chaise, softened with animal skins and set before a roaring fire.
As he lowered her to the plush hides, he lay beside her and drew her into the circle of his arms.
With his mouth warm on hers he muttered, “We’ll talk. I give you my word on it. As soon as I’ve had time to offer you a proper welcome home, my bonny, bonny wife.”
Two
Wife? He actually believed she was his wife?
Couldn’t he see that she was a stranger? Didn’t he question the difference in their clothes? In her strange American accent?
Yet he seemed to know her as intimately as she knew herself. He was prepared to make her we
lcome. And what a welcome. He pressed soft kisses to her temple, her brow, her cheek. And all the while his hands moved over her, at first soothing, then gradually exciting, until they were both aroused.
She had to put a stop to this before they crossed a line.
“You’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m not…” She struggled to make her brain work in sync with her mouth. “I mean, I am Laurel, but I’m not your Laurel.”
He merely grinned. “You’ve been mine since long before our families agreed to our betrothal, love. You were mine the minute I set eyes on you at market day all those years ago. You, with that dark tumble of curls around the face of an angel. I carried the look of you in my heart until the day I was old enough to speak to your father and mine, and arrange our future together. Now kiss me before I go mad with wanting you.”
His mouth moved over hers with a hunger that had the blood pounding in her temples.
“What about…?” Sucking air into her starving lungs, Laurel leaned up on one elbow, determined to distract him. She may not have the muscles to fight him, but there was nothing wrong with her brain. Thinking quickly, she stared pointedly at his shoulder. “What about your wound?”
He touched a hand to it, and stared without emotion when his fingers came away bloody. “’Tis nothing, love.”
“Nothing?” A lesser man would have been staggered by the pain of it. “It looks serious to me.”
“A barbarian’s sword. ’Twill be the last he’ll ever lift against a Highlander.” He made a sound of disgust. “I’ve been so blinded by the loss of you, I grew careless. But now that you’ve been returned to me, I’ll make it up to my people. I’ll concentrate on the safety of my clan, and should the invaders return, we’ll be ready for them.”
“What do they want?”
He looked at her as though she were daft. “What they’ve always wanted. Our flocks. Our crops. Our women.”
“Why don’t they have their own?”
“Bloody barbarians would rather pillage and steal from us than do the work involved to prosper.”
Dead of Night Page 18