She spread her thighs wider, lifting her hips with each stroke. He slowed his pace, kissing her neck, her spine, enjoying the moan that came from low in her throat.
“You feel so good, Brochan,” she said on a moan.
“Do I?” he asked, pleased by her words.
“Mmmm. I could get used to this.” Her channel gripped him harder, and the familiar pulsing followed.
He joined her, climaxing, his seed shooting inside her. With a satisfied groan he fell on top of her, his heart pounding hard against her back.
She turned in his arms, going into his embrace.
“The guards tell me you have not eaten today, Annabelle.”
She shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
“Why?”
“I’m bored, I suppose. Nothing sounds good, particularly the greasy venison they brought up earlier.”
He brushed back her hair from her face, taking in her flushed cheeks and sleepy eyes. “I know it is not much better than spending your days in this chamber, but how would ye like working in the kitchen?”
Her eyes narrowed as she watched him.
“I thought the news would please you.”
“I would like to work in the kitchen. My head just hurts so badly, I can scarcely think. Remind me never to drink wine again.”
He laughed, relieved her humor had returned in force. “I will tell Helda to expect you in the kitchen today.”
“How about we try it tomorrow instead,” she said, rubbing her temples.
“Do you think you are up to it? Helda runs her kitchen with an iron fist.”
“I know my way around a kitchen, Brochan. Trust me, we’ll get along just fine…after I’ve had about ten hours of sleep. I have never been any good at drinking, and now was not the time to start.”
He stood, knowing he should return to his men. Ironically, he had no desire to leave her, wishing instead to scoop her in his arms and take her to his chamber, and make love to her for the rest of the day.
She rolled over, not bothering to cover herself with the blanket. Oh, but she was beautiful, her curvy hips making him want her again already.
“Brochan?”
He tied his braies and reached for his tunic. “Hmm?”
“Who is Eva to you?”
He had one arm through his tunic, but stopped short, shocked to hear her question. How in the world did she know of Eva? He frowned. “She lives in the village.”
She watched him intently, her eyes narrowing a little. “But what is she to you?”
He dropped his gaze to his feet, and realized with a start that she had probably heard the conversation that had taken place last night. The thick boards could only muffle so much sound. Thank God she could not see what was going on. Though he had not had sex with Eva, he still had embraced the woman.
If the tables were turned, and she had been hugging a man in her chamber, he would be furious.
“She was my lover.”
She lifted a finely arched brow. “Was?”
He could not help the smile that played at his lips, for there was no mistaking the jealousy in her tone or in her eyes.
“You think it’s funny?” she asked, pulling the blanket over her, covering her face. Her anger was confirmed when she rolled to her side, giving him her back.
“Annabelle,” he said, walking over to the cot. “Ye are my only lover. Eva was my leman, but she is no longer. I only want ye to share my bed.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, her blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Is she beautiful?”
“Not as beautiful as you.”
To his shock, he meant it. Though Eva was striking, in a dark, exotic way, she could not hold a candle to Annabelle’s pale beauty and quick wit.
She watched him for a moment, obviously wary, but she smiled, flashing small, white teeth. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure. I don’t like sharing you with anyone else. Been there, done that.”
Perplexed by her speech, he bent down and kissed her, savoring the moment.
“Oh, and by the way. Thank you for the job in the kitchen. The walls were starting to close in on me already.”
He laughed, amazed at her ability to see the best in every situation.
“I shall see ye tonight,” he said, heading for the door.
“I’m counting on it,” came her reply.
7
The kitchen was hotter than Hades. Between the boiling pots over the hearth and the smell of too many bodies, Terri felt the urge to run and never look back.
Sweating through her thin gown, she tied her hair up in a sloppy bun, and tried to find some relief from the heat. Not easy when it was nearly as hot outside as it was in this furnace.
Discomfort aside, she had to look at the positive. At least she wasn’t stuck in the solar counting bricks any longer. Now she had other people to talk to, mainly Helda, the portly cook who had taken a liking to Terri immediately. Thank goodness. The woman had a quick temper and proved it when she hit a page across the knuckles with a wooden spoon.
Pages and servants lined up in the kitchen, taking trenchers and plates of steaming venison and vegetables. Having not eaten a single thing since her drinking binge, Terri couldn’t keep her mouth from watering. However, she refrained from picking at the food, certain the cook would kick her out.
“Take a pitcher there, and go fill goblets,” cook said, pointing toward the large jug on the scarred wood table.
Knowing she looked frightful, she cringed, glancing down at the dress clinging to her like a second skin. It was made of thin light blue linen, and a sweat ring had formed at her neck and no doubt down her back.
Not sexy at all.
And Brochan would be in the hall, and quite possibly Eva too. This was not how she imagined meeting her nemesis.
Trying not to think of the brunette, Terri did as asked and took the jug, and followed the line of servants out of the kitchen into the bailey.
The cool air felt wonderful against her heated skin and she took a deep breath, walking slowly until she was the very last servant to enter the hall.
Noise hummed in the huge room, people talking among themselves as servants made sure each glass was filled. Terri wondered where Brochan sat. Brushing a curl over her ear, she started pouring.
A man leered at her, his lips quirking. “Aye, lass, yer not so high-and-mighty now, are ye?” His laughter vibrated to the high ceilings.
No doubt they were all enjoying the sight of Angus MacLellan’s daughter serving them.
They would have a field day.
And though she was not Annabelle, she still could not help the blush that stained her cheeks red. A group of women sat to her right, laughing. “Well, if it isn’t the laird’s whore.”
Terri’s heart missed a beat as she recognized the brunette that had been in Brochan’s chamber the night before.
Eva.
To Terri’s chagrin, the woman was even prettier up close.
Her dark eyes narrowed. “I would like some ale, servant.”
Terri could see jealousy in the other woman’s eyes. Though she wanted to pour the entire pitcher over Eva’s head, she instead poured ale into the woman’s goblet.
“She is not pretty in the least,” Eva’s friend said, loud enough for Terri to hear her.
Unable to help herself, Terri knocked the goblet over as she went to fill another.
“You idiot!” Eva cried, slapping Terri across the mouth.
Tasting blood, Terri refrained from dropping the jug and hitting her back. Instead, she lifted her chin and met the other woman’s gaze.
From the corner of her eye she saw a tall man walking toward them, and knew it was Brochan even before she looked up at him.
Her pulse skittered.
His gaze shifted from hers to the gown, and her nipples pebbled against the rough material, reminding her of yesterday. The way he had taken her from behind, how he had filled her so completely. He had come inside her too, not withdrawing as he had before
. No doubt his intention was to get her pregnant so he could return her to Annabelle’s father. She’d been on birth control pills for years, but it had been nearly a week now since she’d taken the last one…which meant she could very well be pregnant.
Elliott had never wanted kids, and she had never pushed the point, hoping that one day he would change his mind. Thank goodness they didn’t have children. It would have made his betrayal even harder.
But now she had Brochan.
His long hair had been pulled back, drawing emphasis to his finely sculptured features, the sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, and full lips.
Her stomach did a little flip.
Fill and inflame me again, Brochan.
His gaze shifted abruptly to the brunette. “What is amiss?”
Eva stood, putting a hand on Brochan’s arm. Her fingers curled around a large bicep. “She spilled the ale intentionally. Look at my skirts.”
Sure enough, the ale had left a large, wet spot on the front of Eva’s skirt. Terri bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
“Ye are not to touch this woman again, do ye hear me?” Brochan said to Eva, his eyes as hard as ice.
When she didn’t answer immediately he put his hands on his narrow hips.
The woman’s cheeks turned red, and Terri was surprised she didn’t stomp her foot as she had done the night before in Brochan’s chamber.
To Terri’s dismay, the entire hall had gone quiet.
She had always disliked being the center of attention, and now she stood in a room full of people who hated her, watching and waiting for Brochan to deliver punishment. He was not in an enviable position, as his people would expect her to be reprimanded.
She was their hated enemy, and though initially she had thought being in this time would be fun, she realized it would never be the thrill she had thought it would be.
Not when everyone here wanted her dead.
Especially the brunette who stood seething, her eyes full of hatred.
“Perhaps I should return to the kitchen,” Terri said, dropping her gaze to the floor. No doubt everyone knew she had slept with Brochan.
“Mayhap you are right,” Brochan said, pulling away from Eva. “I shall walk you to your quarters.”
She walked ahead of him, feeling his gaze on her the entire way. Snickers followed them all the way out the hall, and to her surprise tears burned the backs of her eyes.
What was wrong with her? She had thought this time-travel would be so much fun, but the enormity of possibly never seeing her home again came crashing down on her.
The minute she stepped out into the bailey, she cried.
Brochan’s hand encircled her wrist and he pulled her toward him. “Come,” he said, walking toward the armory. Inside, armor and swords lined the walls.
Shutting the door behind them, Brochan turned. “Why do ye cry, Annabelle?”
How she yearned to hear him call her by her name, and not Annabelle. “I don’t know.”
He lifted her chin. “Are ye hurt?” He turned her face to look at her cheek. Gentle fingers probed her tender skin.
“No, it doesn’t hurt.”
“She will never touch ye again. I swear it.”
Brochan’s insides twisted as he looked down into Annabelle’s upturned face. Her cheek still bore the outline of Eva’s fingers where she had slapped her.
In truth, he had not known Annabelle had been in the hall until the sound had alerted him to her presence.
He knew that Annabelle had been roused early to help in the kitchen, but he had not expected her to appear in the hall.
Especially wearing that thin gown, wet with perspiration. Her hair had been pulled up high on the back of her head, the blond tresses hanging about her shoulders, some of the strands wet from sweat.
The kitchens were hot.
Mayhap too hot.
“I don’t belong here, Brochan,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“What do ye mean?”
She looked at him intently. “I don’t belong here, plain and simple. No one wants me here. I am your enemy, and what good will come of my being kept prisoner? It won’t bring your brother back.”
He clenched his jaw. “Nay, nothing will bring my brother back, but at least I will have revenge upon your father.”
She lifted a brow. “How will you have revenge? In what way? By getting me pregnant and sending me back in shame?”
His gaze slid to the pulse beating wildly in her neck. He pressed a finger on it, and then ran a trail down to where a nipple thrust against the thin material. He brushed it lightly, and she released an unsteady breath. “You could already be carrying my child. I did not say ye would return to yer village.”
“So you will leave me here to work in your kitchen, give birth to your child, and then lock me away at night?”
He wanted her in his bed. To stay with him forever. Mayhap he would even marry her, yet as he stared into her blue eyes, he could not say the words. He had never been good at showing or expressing emotion. “I desire ye, Annabelle. I want ye, and I want ye to carry my babe.”
“But only for revenge, Brochan.”
At first he had thought of it that way. An excuse to explain why he wanted this woman so badly. But now it had nothing to do with her father, or the death of his brother. It was just about the two of them, and how he felt when he was with her. The need he felt whenever they were together. The intense desire that took hold of him and didn’t let go.
He cupped her face in his hands. “I burn for ye, Annabelle. In a way that scares me.” His fingers caressed her jaw then fell to her breast, cupping one firm globe.
Her gaze searched his, and the sides of her mouth lifted.
She sat down on the bench, her hands going to the cord of his braies. “I burn for you too, Brochan.” Slowly she untied it and wrapped her fingers around his length.
She leaned in and tasted the head of his cock.
His shaft swelled and bucked.
She smiled and took him into her hot mouth, an inch at a time.
Her hot mouth caressed his rod, her tongue stroking the head over and over. She took him deeper into her mouth, and his fingers dug into her shoulders.
Surprisingly she took most of him, her movements slow and steady. Her fingers splayed on his hips, then moved around to cup his buttocks, pulling him even deeper inside her mouth.
His balls lifted.
Her finger brushed against his puckered hole. A place no woman had ever touched.
Yet she did, her slender finger sliding into him.
Unaccustomed to the strange sensation, he pushed her away, his cock sliding from her mouth.
She lifted a brow but said nothing, and leaned forward, taking him into her mouth once again. Her hands returned to his hips and stayed there. She sucked slowly, in no hurry.
He could hear his men outside and knew they risked being caught, but he could not pull away. Not when he was so close to blessed release.
She stroked beneath his balls, her thumb brushing over a sensitive patch, and he was shocked at the climax that rocked his body, his seed shooting into her hot mouth with a force that stunned him.
He groaned as she sucked every bit of his cum from her lips, and tugged his braies back up and tied them.
His legs trembled from his climax. He pulled her up, hugging her to him, his fingers brushing along her spine. How could he return her to her father? This woman whom he could not get out of his blood?
8
“Brochan, Laird MacLellan and his men were spotted not more than an hour away.”
Brochan came awake with a start. At his side, Annabelle stirred.
He had known Angus would come looking for his daughter. He just had not expected it to be so soon.
“I will be there shortly. Rouse the men and have them prepare for battle.”
“Right away!” Fergus said, his footsteps receding.
Brochan dressed, and tossed Annabelle’s dress at her. “He
re, put this on. I want ye to stay here. Do not leave, and do not, under any circumstances, unlock the door until ye hear my voice.”
“Brochan.”
He turned.
She swallowed hard, and blurted, “Will you give me to him?”
“Ye belong to me, Annabelle. To me and no other.”
To his surprise, she smiled. “Brochan, before you go, there is something I must tell you.”
His heart missed a beat, terrified of the next words out of her mouth.
“I am not Annabelle MacLellan.”
He shook his head, certain he had not heard her right. He remembered how surprised he had been when he entered the priory chamber and saw her standing there, a woman older than six and ten. God’s breath, had the nuns at the Priory of Grace duped him into believing one of their own was MacLellan’s daughter? “If you are not the real Annabelle, then why is yer father here?”
She came to her feet, wrapping the blanket about her slender body. “This is where it gets difficult.” She cleared her throat. “My name is Terri Campbell, and I’m from the twenty-first century.”
He watched her for a long moment, shocked she could keep a straight face. His lips quirked. “This is not the time to play games, Annabelle. Yer father is riding here and I am needed downstairs.”
“Brochan, I’m Terri Campbell.”
“Terri Campbell? An odd name, particularly for a girl.”
The smile disappeared from her lips. “Perhaps it is a bit androgynous, but it is my name, and I am from the future, whether you choose to believe me or not.”
Misgivings worked its way up his spine. “I do not have time for these games.”
She walked toward him and put a hand against his chest. Her expression was earnest, her tone firm. “Brochan, I am who I say I am. One day I left my job, working at a museum in London. Having found my fiancé sleeping with another woman, I drove to Scotland. When I came upon the Priory of Grace, I stopped, intrigued by the building.”
At the mention of her fiancé he went still, his hands closing into fists at his sides.
“While on a tour of the priory, there was a chamber that had been boarded up. The guide told us the story of Annabelle MacLellan, the young woman who had been brought to the nuns for safekeeping by Angus MacLellan himself. He feared for his daughter’s safety after he had killed your brother by mistake.”
Parlor Games Page 23