“Lachlan,” he provided, placing the basket down upon the small table beside the fireplace. “Lachlan Brodie, at yer service.” He bowed low at the waist, surprising her. She recognized it for what it was – a great sign of trust on his part.
“Lachlan Brodie,” she murmured, tasting the name. It, like everything else about him, left a very pleasant taste in her mouth. “It suits you. Pleased to meet you, Lachlan Brodie. My name is Aislinn McKenna.”
Lachlan bowed again, this time taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. “And I, ye, Mistress McKenna.” His eyes glimmered with something unreadable. “Am I correct in assuming ye are no’ spoken for?”
His words sent a momentary wave of sadness over her. Spoken for? As in claimed, or even wanted? The idea would have been laughable if it wasn’t so pathetic. Clearly he had no idea who he was talking to.
Aislinn caught her breath at the feel of his lips on the back of her hand. She sure as hell wasn’t going to enlighten him. “You are correct, Mr. Brodie.”
“Mayhap ‘tis too familiar a request, but would ye call me by my given name?” he asked. “I like the way it sounds when ye speak it.”
“I will. In case you haven’t noticed,” she said with a sly grin, “I’m not particularly fond of following everyone else’s rules, Lachlan.”
He might like hearing it, but she liked saying it. She didn’t even try to mimic his pronunciation; if she tried to recreate the hard, guttural sound, it would probably come off more like she was trying to hack up a hair ball. So she softened the hard “k” sound and, on a whim, added a lilting little roll in the middle.
Hey, it was her dream. If she wanted to say his name like it made her wet (which it kind of did), then she would.
“May I address ye as Aislinn, then?” he asked almost shyly. “I ken ‘tis not a proper request but...”
“I would like that very much,” she replied before he could finish. Proper had never been her style, and the way he said it felt... intimate.
With only inches separating them – and Lachlan still holding her hand – the room grew very warm very quickly.
“Have you eaten yet?” she asked suddenly.
“Nay.”
“Will you join me then?”
He smiled, and once again, the result was devastating. “I would be honored te break bread with ye, Aislinn. Thank ye.”
* * *
Lachlan was glad that he had not had much of an appetite when he’d gone down to the Great Hall earlier. His belly, it seemed, had been a bit unsettled, and he had managed only a pint of ale and a few bites of bread and cheese. Sharing a private meal with his intriguing guest was definitely preferable to thinking about her from the other side of the keep while listening to his brothers theorize on her or her purpose.
“This is amazing. What is it?” After a mouth-wateringly delicious meal of roasted meat, potatoes and coarse, dark bread, Lachlan had revealed a covered bowl filled with fresh berries and a thick white topping that had Aislinn’s eyes lighting up.
“Cream sweetened with honey,” he replied, wondering vaguely where she might be from that she was not familiar with cream, while at the same time making a mental note to have lots more of it on hand. Watching her take such pleasure from it was an unpredictably arousing experience.
“Mmmm,” Aislinn said, licking the back of the spoon (which did absolutely nothing to temper his untoward and lustful reaction). “I don’t think I’ve ever had real cream before. The fake stuff can’t compare.”
It was one more thing she said that Lachlan did not understand. How could one “fake” cream? Yet there was nothing remotely dishonest in the way she spoke of such things. It only increased his desire to know more about this fascinating female, as well as his desire to experience first-hand the masterful strokes of that wicked wee pink tongue.
“Tell me about yer life, Aislinn,” Lachlan asked, taking a spoonful of berries and cream from the bowl and holding it to her lips. As much as he loved the dessert, he enjoyed her pleasure even more. He had a feeling that would extend to many other things as well. The vexing lass lit a fire in his blood by doing nothing more than partaking of a simple meal.
“Why?” she asked. She wrapped her slim fingers firmly around his wrist, a silent warning in case he entertained the thought of taking back his spoon before she had finished. That made him smile. Her skin felt wonderfully warm against his; he would feed her the rest like this if only to keep her touching him.
“I have never met anyone like ye. I am curious.”
Her lids lowered to half-staff and she released his hand. He could feel her pulling away from him, the brief – and he guessed rare – easy rapport between them fading rapidly. The softness of her features schooled into something slightly harder. He did not care for it at all.
“I don’t want to talk about that. This is my dream. Let me enjoy it.”
“What if ‘tis no’ a dream?” Lachlan asked, immediately regretting the words the moment they passed over his lips. Instead of distancing herself further, however, she completely surprised him with a dazzling smile.
“It has to be,” she insisted. “Want to know how I know?”
He nodded, intrigued by her ability to go from one extreme to the other with so little effort. It was the sign of a woman who held great passion in her heart. He had already witnessed her fearlessness in battle, her boldness in word and deed, and her ability to express her pleasure with a radiance that rivaled that of the sun, so it was not wholly unexpected.
Aislinn shifted a little, so that her thigh pressed lightly against his. She didn’t seem to notice, but he could scarcely think past the heat seeping into his flesh from the contact.
“Because in my life, people don’t live in castles or keeps. The air is not pure and clean, food doesn’t taste this good, and men like you don’t exist. And if they did, they sure as hell wouldn’t even notice someone like me.”
If he had not been watching so closely, he might have missed the momentary flash of pain in her eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come.
“How could a mon no’ notice ye?” Lachlan said, honestly bemused. “The fool would have te be deaf, dumb, and blind!”
Aislinn’s delicate features softened. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. No flesh and blood man would ever think of saying something that sweet. Not to me.”
Lachlan didn’t know what to say. As he rolled her words around in his head, she added quietly, “I like your world a lot better.”
There was very little about his unexpected guest that made sense to him. The way she spoke, the way she dressed, her lethal skills – they all confounded him. But if there was one thing Lachlan did know quite well, it was human nature. His ability to read people below the surface was but one of the things that made him such an excellent and fair laird.
After spending a few uninterrupted hours with the mercurial Aislinn McKenna, he was quite sure of two things. One - for all of her peculiarities, the woman had a good soul and the heart of a warrior. And two – that she was more accustomed to cruelty than kindness.
The first provided a sense of relief and appealed to his sense of honor and fair play. The second evoked a more visceral reaction from the male in him. Warrioress she might be, but she was still a female, and one who had known far too much pain.
She hadn’t told him these things, of course. She hadn’t really told him anything at all about herself, having skillfully avoided his personal questions and turning them back upon him. No, Lachlan had formed his opinions on things much more telling: the way she held herself, the emotion in her eyes in those rare moments when she let her control slip, the tone and timbre of her voice. That she had known abuse was evident in all of it.
It was in the way she had stumbled when she realized he had brought her food. In the almost shyly-posed request for him to join her in a meal. In the way she had savored each and every bite as though she did not know when she would have the chance to eat again.
&n
bsp; Aislinn McKenna, Lachlan decided as he wished her a pleasant eve and returned to his quarters, definitely warranted further study.
Chapter 5
Aislinn was mildly surprised when the door opened so easily. Though Lachlan had never implied that she was a prisoner of any kind, she half-expected it to be locked or bolted. If the situations were reversed, and she suddenly found a warrior like Lachlan in her world, it’s what she would have done, as much for his protection as everyone else’s. Then again, there was no accounting for the rationality of dreams. She had to keep reminding herself of that, no matter how real things seemed.
She peeked out into the corridor, smiling when she saw the young boy waiting for her. Aislinn guessed his age to be somewhere around thirteen or so, though he was already several inches taller than she was. He had the same glowing green eyes as Lachlan and his brothers, the same features that were devilishly mischievous now and would become roguishly handsome in a few years. She had spotted him from her window earlier, and asked him if he would be so kind as to bring a set of his clothes to her.
“Are you Lachlan’s son?” she asked suddenly, the question spewing forth before she could stop it as she motioned for him to come into the room.
The boy gave her a roguish half-smile. “Nay. I’m Rory. Malcolm’s bastard.”
Surprise and shock must have shown in her eyes, because the boy laughed. “There are a lot of bastards, here,” he confided smoothly. “Just no’ any proper heirs.”
She saw him eyeing the plate of honeyed oatcakes that had been delivered to her earlier that morning and offered him one. “And you’re... okay with that?” she asked doubtfully.
“Oh, aye. We are weel cared for,” he said with particular glee, his mouth stuffed near to capacity. “There are many who are no’ so fortunate.”
Something old and painful stirred inside of Aislinn, but she refused to acknowledge it. “What about your mothers?” she asked.
“Weel, most are only too glad te be rid of us. While siring many sons is a mark of a strong and virile mon, the women who bear us out of wedlock are no’ thought upon so kindly, are they? The verra fact that we exist is as much a source of shame te them as it is pride te our sires.” He shrugged. “And we want for nothin’,” he continued, stuffing another oatcake into his mouth. “The Brodie take care of their own now, doona they?”
He swallowed and pointed at the small pile of clothes he’d brought. “What are ye goin’ te do with them?”
“What?” she asked, her mind snapping back from where it was wandering amidst forbidden thoughts of many a maid well-taken by such conscientious Brodies. “Oh. They’re for me. I’m going to wear them.”
The lad’s eyes grew huge. “Ye? Lasses doona wear breeches.”
“This lass does.”
A mischievous grin grew over his features. “I can see now why my uncles are so besides themselves,” he laughed. “That alone is worth the beatin’ I’ll get for sneakin’ inte yer chambers.”
Aislinn went still. She hadn’t considered the boy might get in trouble when she spotted him earlier and had called to him from her window asking him to bring her some clothes. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”
“Doona fash, lass,” he winked, unfazed. Aislinn wondered at how, at such a young age, the boy could be so charming. He would, undoubtedly, be breaking a lot of hearts in a few years. “I’ll gladly take a beatin’ and more if ye promise te strut through the Great Hall wearing my breeches whilst my uncles are breakin’ their fast. Ye’ve got te give me a head start te round up my kin, though. They will no’ be wanting te miss this.”
Rory’s grin was infectious. Aislinn suddenly felt a strong compulsion to partake of a little harmless mischief. She hadn’t planned on making a show out of it; she’d just wanted comfortable clothing in which to do a little exploring. But this was simply too good an opportunity to pass up.
“It’s a deal,” she agreed. “But only if you swear not to tell anyone where I got them.”
“Aye, an accord it is, then. Since ye are in such a generous mood, would ye perhaps see fit te give us a kiss then as weel?”
Aislinn laughed and pushed him out of the room. Before she closed the door, however, she granted his request with a peck on the cheek that had him turning several shades of red.
“Sweet Virgin Mother,” Conall breathed, his eyes lifting from their morning meal at the scarred table. He was the first to spot Aislinn, but other heads quickly lifted at his words. Similar utterances rippled up and down the long tables.
While Rory’s trews were about the right length for a pair of ankle-length leggings, they were intended for the skinny legs and hips of a young boy, not for Aislinn’s petite but generous curves. Especially since she tucked the loose-fitting laced shirt into the waistband. The shirt was a bit loose in places and was a fairly heavy material, but incapable of completely hiding her assets. The fact that she hadn’t laced it all the way left the swell of her breasts just visible over the top. In the get-up, she felt like a sexy pirate.
All conversation ceased. Hands froze in mid-air, poised over plates or grasping at half-raised tankards, every eye glued on her.
“Aislinn,” Lachlan said, his voice choked. “Where did ye get those?”
“Do you like?” she said, turning around so he – and the others – could view her from all angles. It was only when she looked into his face again that she began to realize she might have crossed a serious line. The silence in the hall was absolute. Her grin faded and she stopped twirling.
Meal forgotten, Lachlan shot to his feet, his big chair scraping as loud as thunder in the absolute quiet. Even from several yards away, it was plain to see the flames in his eyes.
“You know what?” she said, taking a step back, acutely aware of the fact that in her haste to do mischief, she had neglected to strap on her personal armory. “I’m not so hungry anymore. I think I’m going to go... do something else.”
Without waiting for a reaction, Aislinn made a hasty retreat. She wound her way back up to the room she had been given, taking the steps two at a time. She managed to stuff her still-damp clothes into her pack and strap on all of her little friends before she caught the glint of the silver orb near the edge of the bed. Going down on all fours, she reached beneath the frame and closed her hand around it. As she was extracting herself, she turned and came face to face with a pair of overly large boots.
How could a man that big move that fast and make no sound to broadcast his approach?
Like some animated cartoon character, Aislinn gulped audibly as her gaze continued to rise into the powerful glare of Laird Lachlan Brodie. Over the course of her lifetime, she had come up against all sorts of authoritative men, good and bad alike; but she had never, ever felt the kind of raw, primal intensity currently emanating from this man.
Still, she would not cower before anyone. Ever.
She stood slowly, straightening to her full height so that she was staring at his breastbone, just inches from her face. Aislinn tried to keep her breaths steady and even as his heat and scent surrounded her.
Lachlan looked at the pack in her hands, then back into her face. “Thinkin’ te leave, are ye?” His voice was lethally quiet, like a lover’s whisper, made of fire and coated in ice.
Aislinn squared her shoulders. “I thought I might.”
“Are ye in such a hurry te flee, lass?”
Yes. No. A few moments ago, Aislinn’s only thought was to run, to find some quiet, out of the way place where she could pull her shit together and figure this all out. But where would she go? Sure, her subconscious must have created this place, drawing from bits and pieces of historical romance novels and late night cable television, but her conscious mind felt completely out of its element.
Everything here felt so real. She already knew she could experience pain, hunger, and an uncomfortable need to seek out the facilities, so she didn’t doubt discomfort was part of the package. As a matter of fact, everything seemed the same excep
t for the setting itself. It was as if she had simply been plucked out of one place and time and dropped into another.
Which was impossible.
The why and how of it didn’t really matter, though. It was what it was, and Aislinn had learned a long time ago to deal with whatever curveballs life threw her way.
All things considered, this wasn’t so bad. Real or not, at least she had a roof over her head and food she didn’t have to catch or dig up on her own. And her finely-honed instincts told her that despite how intense these guys were, they wouldn’t hurt her; there had already been plenty of opportunities to do so had they been so inclined.
Who knew how long this crazy dream was going to last? Didn’t it make more sense to hang out here if she could, assuming she hadn’t royally pissed off the laird and he’d come to kick her irreverent ass out?
And good Lord, she thought, getting a nice, up close and personal view of that broad chest, but was the man smacked together! Each inhale brought the scent of clean, fresh male into her lungs, making all of her other parts envious, wishing they had some of him in them, too.
She re-squared off her shoulders and centered her weight. The movement was slight, but obvious. “Maybe,” she sniffed.
One corner of Lachlan’s mouth quirked. “Ye would no’ make it te the gates dressed like that.” His voice was rougher than normal. Husky. And sexy as all hell.
“Oh?” she asked, clenching the series of internal muscles that started somewhere between her legs and extended up into her rib cage. “And why is that?”
He stepped forward, crowding her, a wall of solid mass and muscle. There was no going through him. Reflexively, she stepped back. It was only when the back of her knees hit the bed frame and her butt hit the mattress that she realized she had nowhere to go. Great. Now she was looking straight at his crotch. And damn.
“Because. Ye’ll have every mon that sees ye so wild with lust he will no’ be able te help himself. Is that what ye want, Aislinn? Is that why ye have wrapped yourself in a package of temptation no mon can possibly resist?”
Raising Hell in the Highlands: A Time Travel Romance (A Timeless Love Book 2) Page 4