Katie's Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  Mistress Katie? That’s different but I kind of like it. “No…no, I’m not hurt.” Katie took a deep breath in then let it out, feeling her cheeks getting hotter by the minute. She was accustomed to the feeling of reddened cheeks. She found herself in situations like this all the time. Common sense was not her strongest trait and she’d learned to live with that failing long ago. Thank goodness the lighting was funky, so this fine-looking gentleman wouldn’t be able to tell that her face was, judging by the current heat level, flaming red due to this latest predicament.

  “I am stuck though,” she quietly added with as much dignity as she could find. Even by the light of the glow sticks and hanging upside down, she could tell this guy was trying his best not to laugh. “And this is not funny, by the way.”

  “Aye, lass. But it is, truly.” Her knight in shining armor finally gave in to a sexy as hell grin—dimpled cheek included. A low rumbling chuckle escaped him as he reached up and gently pushed at the roof of the car around her and thumped on the glass panel wedging her in place. Admirably regaining his composure, he politely asked, “How d’ye open this thing usually, mistress?”

  “There’s a button but I think it’s dead. My car battery must be shot because the interior lights have faded, and my headlights are out now too.” Katie folded her arms on top of the driver’s seat headrest and propped her forehead on top of them. “I think we’ll need a big ass crowbar or a sledgehammer to break out the panel because I don’t think you can kick your way through it with me stuck in here this way.”

  “I’ve the next best thing, m’lady. Ne’er ye worry.” He worked his broad shoulders back and forth, emitting a very manly grunt as he shimmied himself around and squinted up at the car’s ceiling. He’d wedged himself in through the back hatch of the car that he’d oh-so gallantly kicked out, but the interior of the compact car was clearly about two sizes too small for the man’s extremely impressive, even by the light of glow sticks, chest and shoulders. He scowled at the moonroof a moment longer then moved to back out of the car the same way he’d entered.

  “Hey, wait a minute.” She had to know. After all, she’d been hanging here for this long, what could a few more minutes matter? “You don’t exactly talk like the average North Carolinian. Where are you from?”

  The handsome smile with the perfect teeth, shining and bright even by the phosphorescent glow from the floorboard, faded from the stranger’s face and even in the poor lighting Katie could tell that his eyes had gone all narrow and alert as though waiting for attack.

  “Highland Life and Legends. Scottish theme park down the road a ways.” He gave her a polite albeit strained smile then shifted to back out of the car a bit more.

  Katie waved him to a stop again. “Wait!” She gave him her friendliest smile. “I love your accent.” She babbled when she was nervous, and this particular situation, especially with the added bonus of a rescuer who would fuel her fantasies for months, had set her mouth into overdrive. But she hadn’t meant to insult him or whatever she’d done to make his air of I’m a friendly kind of guy go away. She had to make him understand that she really appreciated his help. “You sound so…soothing. You know?”

  Dropping his chin to his chest for the barest moment, her patient champion blew out a slow exasperated breath, then lifted his head and met her gaze. This time his smile was genuine. “I thank ye, lass. Now be still and try yer best t’relax. I’ll have ye out in a wee moment, aye?” He didn’t wait for her response, just backed out the same way he’d entered.

  Katie crossed her ankles, then her knees, then thought more about his advice. How the hell do you relax with your ass and both legs in the air? Especially when your khaki shorts are bunched up in your crotch? She propped her elbows on the headrest and fisted her hands against her face. She heard more rustling leaves, then thuds hit the roof of the car and the battered vehicle shuddered and shook.

  Hugging the headrest in front of her, Katie eyed the roof of the car. Was it closing in around her? “What are you doing?” She did her best to keep her voice from sounding like a nervous squeak but failed. “Um…the whole car is moving, you know? The roof especially. Kind of like caving in on me?” Oh shit. I’m about to be a sheet metal sandwich. “Can you hear me?”

  “Dinna move, lass.” A muscular arm encircled both her legs at thigh level and snugged her up against an even more muscular length of what felt like roughly woven cloth. “Close yer eyes, mistress. I’ll have ye free in but a moment and I’ve got ye held good and tight so ye dinna fall.”

  Boy, I wish I was right side up against all those muscles. Katie closed her eyes and covered them with her hands for good measure. “I’m ready for…whatever.” She decided that of all the accents she’d heard while traveling, first with her father on his archeological digs and then later as an archeologist in her own right, the Scottish brogue was now her favorite—especially when that accent came attached to such a nice-feeling expanse of hard body.

  Her savior hugged her legs even tighter, then roared out a guttural growl, shouting a stream of some sort of language that definitely wasn’t English—most likely Scot’s Gaelic, but she’d have to check her resources just to be sure. It had been a long while since she’d come across Gaelic with Papa and her research. Something hit the moonroof panel right in front of her belly button, shattered the glass into pieces, and sent the shards raining down into the car.

  “Shit! Don’t drop me!” Katie uncovered her eyes and braced herself against the debris-covered tops of the car seats, locking her elbows and gritting her teeth.

  “I’ve got ye, lass. Ne’er ye fret.”

  Eyes squinted shut, Katie felt herself being hoisted out of the car, shifted right side up, then draped over what had to be the largest shoulder she’d ever had the pleasure of being draped across—not that she’d ever been thrown over a shoulder before, but a girl had fantasies. She finally opened her eyes when she felt herself being gently rolled backward to rest upon the subtle rise of the leafy woodland floor atop the embankment.

  She blinked hard at her rescuer, then rubbed the inside corners of her eyes. Damn. All that blood rushing to my head must’ve made me hallucinate. Not wanting the vision to end but knowing that reality was inevitable, Katie rubbed her eyes again, blinked even harder, then carefully re-opened them. Nope. Not a hallucination. Wow.

  Her dark knight stood over her with what looked like some sort of medieval spear clenched in one large hand. The long lethal head of the weapon glimmered a glowing silver white in the moonlight and the end of the even longer black staff was propped against the side of his worn boot. Her canvas bag—the irresistible bait that had lured her back into the wicked moonroof trap—rested on the ground near his other foot.

  Katie breathed in a deep appreciative breath and slowly eased it out. The man’s muscular legs disappeared up into what looked like an authentic Highland kilt draped and belted around an oh-so nicely shaped body. His hair was a dark blond. Shaved close on the sides with just enough left on top to lace your fingers through to get a good grip in case the lovely man needed guidance. His face was framed with a close-cut beard that contoured and shadowed his strong jawline. Katie smiled. That neatly trimmed beard had tickled the palms of her hands earlier. Wonder if he ever tickled anything else with it? The thought made her swallow hard.

  Pulling in a deep breath, she caught the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. Those shoulders. Unbelievably broad. Covered in a white shirt that appeared to be linen, untied and gaping open to reveal laddered abs and a wide chest that looked as though this delectable mortal had been chiseled out of marble and breathed to life by the gods. Tight hips—easily discernible even in the kilt. Maybe she really was unconscious, and this was all a dream. She hitched in a hiccupping breath as he bent and held out his hand. No. He wasn’t a trauma-induced vision.

  Hot damn, he’s real.

  “Come, Mistress Katie. Dub
h and I will get ye seen to and make certain yer none the worse for yer wee mishap.”

  “Um…Dubh?” With an appreciative fluttering of her heart that made her swallow hard again, Katie accepted his hand, rose to her feet, then fell forward against his chest, getting even weaker in the knees when he wrapped one arm around her and caught her hard up against him.

  “Wow.” She patted his chest. “Sorry. Guess the blood’s not all back where it belongs yet. I was hanging there for quite a while trying to get my bag.” She licked her lips, struggling to stop babbling while she smiled up at him, then patted him again, slower this time, on the wonderfully rock-hard chest that thumped so nicely against her palm. “By the way, thank you for dragging my bag out too. Now…who’s Dubh?”

  With his slightly amused gaze focused on her upturned face, her knight tossed his words back into the woods. “Dubh, be a good lad and introduce yerself to the lady.”

  A dark velvety nose appeared over her rescuer’s shoulder and gently snuffled at Katie’s face and hair then retreated with a deep grumbling sound followed by a snorting sneeze. Apparently, Dubh wasn’t big on airbag powder either.

  “Dubh is m’horse. His name means ‘black’ in Scot’s Gaelic.” The barest hint of a smile returned to her hero’s moonlit face as he lowered his chin with such regal grace it had to have been acquired through royal DNA. “And I am Ramsay Danann MacDara. At yer service, m’lady.”

  “I’m…um…Katie. Katie Jenson.” Wait. Did I already tell him that? She patted at his chest again, then slipped both arms around his waist, and held on tight. Oh shit. Head swimming. Gonna pass out. Or puke. Or both. Please don’t let me chuck all over his boots. “Can you make me a promise?” she asked as she closed her eyes and a sudden cold sweat and swaying feeling made her shiver and gag.

  Ramsay tightened his hold around her and she gratefully sagged deeper into his arms. “What promise would that be, lass?”

  “Promise you’ll still be here when I wake up.”

  Chapter 2

  None of it, Dwyn. D’ye hear me? It matters not that she’s a fine-lookin’ lass—I’ll have none of it and ye can tell the goddesses t’leave off their toyin’ with me as well.

  This perceived chance meeting that had interrupted his nightly ride had to be their doing. The goddesses delighted in stirring the trials of a mortal’s life—entertainin’ themselves as though the MacDaras were little more than chess pieces in some never-ending game. And if that werena bad enough, Dwyn, Máthair, Esme, even Mistress Lydia—all of them had been nettlin’ his arse for months about findin’ a woman ever since the humiliating debacle of Sylvia Lacroix and that ill-fated bit of rot.

  “More fish in the sea. Good-hearted women that dinna give a damn about money,” they’d said to him more than once. “A true match for everyone,” they’d sworn time after nagging time. “Be patient, but get out there and look for the lass. She’ll appear when ye least expect it.”

  Least expect it, my arse. A huffing snort escaped him. What a load a horseshit. That’s what their words amounted to, aye and for sure. And as soon as he had this wee lass seen to, he’d find Dwyn and tell the meddlin’ bugger t’leave off and tell the goddesses that this protector had decided t’be a solitary and they might as well accept that. They didna need him siring anymore MacDaras. Alec and Grant had already fathered several healthy bairns t’carry on the protector legacy.

  He caught himself breathing in deep again and snorted the air out through his nose. Damn the sweet-smelling lass and her lovely silken hair. “Katie,” she’d called herself. Hell’s fire and demon balls. Dwyn and the goddesses were no’ fightin’ fair with this one.

  Ramsay sat taller and strained to keep his face angled so the only scent he pulled from the gentle night breeze was the pungent crispness of the towering pines on both sides of the trail—not the scent of the alluring young woman in front of him. Damned if his fingers didna itch t’touch that shining hair a flutterin’ in the wind.

  The woman shifted, listing dangerously to the right. Ramsay snugged his arm tighter around her waist, straightened her in the saddle for the second time, and hugged her back closer against his body—even though that particular level of closeness was against his better judgment. A section of her nearly waist-length hair fluttered into his face then slowly slid away like a teasing caress and returned to rest on its mistress’s back. Ramsay nearly groaned aloud—unbidden images of that hair tickling across his face and chest, and perhaps even lower, as she rose over him, their bodies intertwined appeared.

  He cleared his throat—tightening his hold on her as she lurched to the left when Dubh rounded a sharp curving incline in the trail. “Are ye feelin’ weak again, mistress? D’ye need me t’stop and let ye down t’breathe a bit and settle yerself afore we go on?” She’d fainted once in his arms. Perhaps she was about to faint again.

  Katie patted his forearm, sat straighter, and shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Just a little wobbly after tonight’s adventure and it’s been awhile since I was on a horse and to be perfectly honest…” she attempted to face him, stopping only when he firmly straightened her again and held her in place. “Sorry…I’ve never ridden double before.”

  With a dangerous wiggle, the infernal woman nested her arse tighter against his cock and she’d hafta be numb from the waist down to no’ feel his hard-on proddin’ her lovely backside.

  “The last time I rode a pack animal, it was a camel,” she added with a hugging squeeze to the arm he held locked around her middle.

  “Dubh is no’ a pack animal.” ’Twas a wonder the black horse didna throw them both off at such an insult. Ramsay shifted back as far as the rise of the saddle against his arse allowed, gritting his teeth as Katie followed suit and kept her body nicely snugged back against him. Dwyn and the goddesses werena fighting fair at all. Sendin’ a woman as friendly as one of the stable pups and twice as bonny.

  “I didn’t mean…” Katie squeezed his arm again with one hand and waved away a cloud of mosquitos with the other. “What I meant was…” She jerked with a loud blowing cough—sort of a snorting sound. The kind of noise Dubh made when he’d sucked something up his nose.

  “I think I just inhaled a herd of mosquitos.” She spit and huffed, lurching from side to side and smacked the back of her head against his chin in the process. Hard.

  Eyes watering, Ramsay clenched his teeth tighter and remained silent. This was punishment for his thoughts. Had t’be. Neither the goddesses nor Dwyn tolerated any protector goin’ against their divine wills and there’d not been a protector sworn t’be solitary since the time of the Picts. ’Twas unnatural, Dwyn had told him. MacDara men were no’ made t’live alone. They needed t’love and be loved.

  “So sorry!” Katie wheezed out before another fit of coughing.

  “No harm, lass,” he forced out from between gritted teeth.

  As Dubh made his way up another slight rise in the path, Mistress Katie’s bottom cozied back and shifted up and down with a rhythmic seductive rub that would make a priest weep and curse his vows of celibacy. Ramsay swallowed hard and did his best t’think of anything—something—that would wilt the bone out of his willy. A subtle breeze hit his face and he could almost hear Dwyn’s laughter in the wind.

  Yer a wicked bastard, ye are, Dwyn. But torture or no’, this particular plan they’d set in motion was ne’er goin’ t’work—no matter how temptin’ the bait.

  Katie lurched with another violent sneeze and whacked the back of her head against his chin again. “Oh crap! I’m so, so sorry. I hit you again. Are you okay?” She twisted hard in the saddle, attempting to face him and nearly unseated them both. Dutiful Dubh sensed the disturbance and came to a dead stop in the middle of the trail.

  Hell’s fire and demon balls. “Lass! Ye must sit still, aye?” Ramsay slid to the ground, wrapped the reins around one hand, and moved to the front of the horse. ’Twas p
ainfully obvious he’d be much better off walking—for a number of reasons. He adjusted the drape of his kilt over his stiff cock then grazed the back of his hand across his still smarting chin.

  He stole a glance back at the lass. Her fine silky hair shone nearly as white as airborne fluffs of spent milkweed floating in a moonlit breeze. Ramsay blinked hard, doing his damnedest not to dwell overly long on the more than pleasing view of her delicate curves in her thin T-shirt and fine long legs draped down Dubh’s sides. Tall and lithe, she reminded him of the pictures of elven queens in his little sister Esme’s book of mythology and legends.

  He cleared his throat and jerked his head in the direction they were headed. “I’ll walk. Hold tight to the saddle, aye? I’ll have ye there in no time. Then ye can get some food and rest.”

  “Sorry.” Katie resituated herself atop the horse, planting both hands firmly on the front of the saddle. She leaned forward and raised her voice as though sensing he was doin’ his damnedest to ignore her. “Really. I didn’t mean to whack you in the chin. Either time. So, I guess you could say—I’m double sorry.”

  Ramsay glanced back at her for the nth time, reassuring himself that she was still safely in the saddle. Even in the moonlight, he could tell she was looking at him in earnest, as apologetic as a sweet child truly repentant for a bit of harmless mischief. He didna answer, just set his jaw and plowed forward.

  “Believe it or not, I do know how to ride,” she continued. “Horses. Camels. Mules. I even rode an elephant when Papa and I lived in India for a couple of years. My nanny hated it when I rode the elephants. For some reason, I always got grubbier on the elephants, but I loved them.”

  Ramsay didn’t comment, just kept walking. I dinna need this shit in m’life, Dwyn. I’ll kick yer arse. I dinna give a damn about the druthers of an immortal demigod and the blessed goddesses. I demand ye leave me be. He strode along, noting by the rise of the landscape and the thinning of the pines on either side of the narrow, beaten-down trail that they were no more than a few minutes walking distance away from the MacDaras’ private keep at Highland Life and Legends.