Raising Hell in the Highlands: A Time Travel Romance (A Timeless Love Book 2)

by Abbie Zanders

  Aengus looked thoughtful, almost impressed. “T’would be a brilliant strategy. No’ one of us gave a second thought te bringing her inside the walls when she swooned.”

  Scarily enough, that was true. Had Aislinn wanted to, with her speed and skill and her very effective method of distraction, she could have slit at least a few of their throats before they even realized what was happening. But she hadn’t. In fact, ever since they’d taken her inside the gates of Dubhain, she’d been almost docile.

  Perhaps her lethal prowess only emerged when she – or someone else – was threatened. That was something Lachlan could understand all too easily, and more than that, it fit seamlessly with every other impression he had already formed about her. The challenging mystery of Aislinn McKenna was coming together quite nicely, in fact.

  “She saved my life,” he felt compelled to remind them.

  “Did she? Mayhap she was part of the plot from the beginning.”

  Lachlan looked at him with disbelief. Bowen was always playing devil’s advocate; it was a talent that had served them well on several occasions, offering possibilities they might not have considered otherwise, yet it chafed now.

  “Ye think the men were pawns? Sacrificed for the sole purpose of getting someone inside Dubhain?”

  Bowen shrugged. “’Twould not be the first betrayal of its kind, and Dubhain is a fine enough prize te risk a few sacrifices.”

  She would not betray me, Lachlan thought fiercely, the truth of it ringing through him with surprising clarity, even though he could summon no rational basis for it.

  “I admit, t’would be quite a boon, but it does no’ feel right, somehow,” Aengus said, scratching at his neck.

  Lachlan shot him a grateful look. Where Bowen had the ability to think beyond a situation, Aengus was often the voice of logic. If he didn’t think Aislinn meant them harm, it would go a long way in convincing the others.

  “The McCrae are just no’ that cunning; based on our previous experiences with them, they are far more likely te use brawn over brain. And I can no’ say why, exactly, but I doona believe the lass is spinning tales. I get the feeling she is every bit as vexed as we are. Did ye see the way she looks around her, as if she has never seen the likes of a keep in her life?”

  “Then how do ye explain it, Aengus? Do ye think that Fate and Fae plucked the wee lass from wherever she was and placed her at our doorstep?”

  Aengus frowned, but Lachlan remained quiet. That is exactly what he was beginning to think.

  * * *

  Malcolm hid a grin as Aislinn grimaced and shifted yet again, clearly unused to maneuvering amidst such copious amounts of fabric. The lass was as buggered as a kitten in a sack. Of the tasks appointed to them this morn, he definitely had the most enviable. The fact that it irked his staid and implacable older brother was an added bonus.

  It was something he thought he might never see. Lachlan was a good man and a good laird. He cared for his people, was objective and fair, and asked none to perform a duty he would not have (or had not) done himself. He was much loved and respected, and placed the needs of those around him above his own.

  But where Aislinn was concerned, Lachlan was different. Rather than placing her under the care of another as would have been prudent, Lachlan had appointed himself the lass’s keeper. He was fiercely possessive of her as well, warning off any who sought to engage the lass in any way.

  Malcolm was not the only one who noticed. The rest of his brothers agreed that Lachlan might not be thinking too clearly where their unexpected guest was concerned, and felt a collective need to intervene. The laird’s uncharacteristic behavior was the primary reason why they had secretly conspired to suggest this little escorted tour.

  Lachlan would no doubt figure it out eventually, but in this instance, they all believed that it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. Malcolm had no doubt he would be able to make Lachlan see the merits of their scheming after the fact.

  In reality, Malcolm’s purpose was two-fold – to discover a little more about Aislinn by observing her reactions to various things while engaging her in conversation, and to keep her from causing a full-scale riot among the males. Already yestermorn’s tale of Aislinn’s appearance in the Great Hall was fast becoming legend, despite the fact that the room had only been half-full at the time.

  Except there had been a suspicious number of mischievous lads loitering about, it had seemed. His own son Rory had looked especially gleeful, in fact.

  * * *

  “Ye look quite fetching, lass.”

  “Thanks,” Aislinn said doubtfully, tugging at the bodice. “I think. That is a compliment, isn’t it? Or is it a polite way of telling me I look utterly ridiculous?” Because that’s exactly how she felt.

  “Nay,” Malcolm laughed. “Ye do look lovely. A vision, in fact.”

  Aislinn blushed slightly and turned away, unused to such compliments. The way Malcolm spoke, she could almost believe he meant it. He could teach Johnny Depp a thing or two about smooth.

  “So, you’re my babysitter, I take it?”

  “Babysitter?” he frowned, unfamiliar with the term.

  “You get to keep an eye on me, make sure I don’t cause any trouble until you decide what to do with me.”

  His eyes widened ever so slightly, the only indication that she had hit the nail right on the head. It was all the confirmation she needed.

  “I prefer te think of myself as the mon fortunate enough te have the enviable task of showing you around whilst enjoying the pleasure of your company.”

  Aislinn grinned at that. “My, my. Such charm. No wonder there are so many auburn-haired little boys with flashing green eyes around here.”

  Malcolm roared with laughter. “Truly, ye are a delight, Lady Aislinn. Come,” he said offering his arm, “and I will give ye the grand tour.”

  After hesitating for a few moments, she finally threaded her hand through the crook of Malcolm’s elbow, the same way she had seen other women doing when escorted around the keep. Like Lachlan, Malcolm was tall and broad, and she felt very small beside him as they wound their way through the stone-walled corridors.

  For a dream it was very realistic. Aislinn was impressed with her own creativity and attention to detail. The hand-woven tapestries that hung on the walls were intricately done, each one crafted in the clan’s color scheme and depicting a varied array of scenes, from epic battles to everyday life in the Highlands.

  The walls were all made out of stone, as she might have expected, but she didn’t think she would have imagined the hand-blown oil lamps in expertly-worked metal sconces, or the way certain veins in the stone reflected the flames. Rough-fibered runners softened the echo of their footsteps, while fresh rushes and herbs scattered about kept the halls and rooms smelling clean and fresh.

  After touring the Great Hall, the common areas, and the kitchens, Malcolm led her outside and into the bailey, where some of the lads were practicing their swordplay. Rory was there, and made quite a show of bowing deeply to Aislinn, then grinning and giving her a wink.

  “Ye seem te have made quite an impression on the lads, Lady Aislinn,” Malcolm observed as they continued on toward the stables.

  “They’re good kids,” Aislinn answered. “It’s nice that you take responsibility for them like you do.”

  “The Brodie take care of their own.”

  “So I’ve heard,” she murmured, remembering Rory using those same words. Perhaps it was a Brodie credo or something. “Not all are as fortunate.” She paused. “Can I ask you something, Malcolm?”

  “Aye, o’ course.”

  “Do you take the little girls, too?”

  Malcolm seemed surprised by the question. “Lasses?”

  “Yes, the lasses. I have seen lots of little boys running around the keep but no little girls. What happens when one of them is born out of wedlock? Who cares for them?”

  Malcolm looked down into Aislinn’s eyes, and saw the pain there before she co
uld fully hide it behind a mask of righteous indignation. “I doona believe we have ever had that issue,” he said honestly. “’Tis a blessing of the Brodie bloodline to bear sons, nay so much daughters.”

  “So what are the daughters, then? Curses? Mistakes?”

  “Nay,” Malcolm said, taken aback by the vehemence in her tone. “’Twould truly be a gift of God to be blessed with a wee angel. It just has no’ happened.”

  Apparently Aislinn was unconvinced, because she pulled away and started walking in front of him. Malcolm took two long strides before reaching for her arm and turning her to face him. “But if it does, ye can rest assured a Brodie lass would be treated like a right princess, and be the best protected lass in all o’ the Isles.”

  Aislinn’s features softened a little, then hardened as she looked pointedly at where his hand now gripped her upper arm. Malcolm released her, but his hopes that the lass would be sharing anything with him that day fell by the wayside.

  Chapter 7

  Later that eve, Lachlan stood just inside the doorway, holding his breath. Aislinn was contorting her body in alluring ways, her most womanly parts barely concealed with minimal scraps of fabric. She moved slowly, gracefully. Eyes closed, she hummed softly beneath her breath as her body fluidly transitioned from one pose to the next. It was both beautiful and hypnotic, requiring great strength and control. Lachlan was immediately transfixed by the firm, solid tone of her flesh, so unlike the softer, rounder women he was used to.

  Malcolm had told him what had transpired earlier, admitting to the brothers’ premeditated motives as well as his failure to extract much in the way of useful information. At first, Lachlan had been annoyed by their sly manipulation, but he understood it. Where Aislinn was concerned, he was acting out of character. Had any one of them been in the same situation, he would not have thought twice about doing likewise.

  And Malcolm’s time with Aislinn had not been completely uninformative. Aislinn’s questions about the lack of female children and her subsequent reaction were quite revealing, in fact. It added a few more pieces to the intriguing puzzle that was Aislinn. A puzzle that he found himself increasingly interested in solving.

  Aislinn didn’t seem aware of his presence, so he was surprised when she greeted him.

  “Hi, Lachlan,” she said without opening her eyes. “I’ll be finished in a minute.”

  Glad for the opportunity to observe for a little longer, Lachlan leaned his big frame against the wall and answered, “Take yer time.” Her body continued to move, her slightly bronzed skin golden in the flickering candle light, brief flashes of sparkle glinting as the flames were captured by the ring in her navel.

  “What was that ye were doing?” Lachlan asked as Aislinn finished and wiped the slight sheen of perspiration from her brow.

  “A combination of yoga and pilates,” she answered. When he looked at her questioningly, she explained, “It’s a way to calm the mind and the body, to center yourself.”

  He nodded in comprehension. “I spar with my brothers when things begin te weigh too heavily. Hitting them always makes me feel better.”

  “That works too,” she laughed. “And now that you mention it, I could use a good workout. I’m not used to sitting around all day. Yoga helped some, but I’m still feeling a little jacked-up. What do you say? Are you up for it?”

  It took a few moments for Lachlan to translate her words into something he could understand. When he did, his eyes opened wide. “Ye wish te spar with me?”

  “Yeah. You look like you’re a bit on the edge, too.”

  He was, but probably not for the reasons she thought. He felt strung as tightly as a newly-hewn bow. He could not dispel the images of her pleasuring herself from his mind, nor shake off the visceral pleasure of spilling on her golden skin. He wanted more.

  “Nay,” he said, shaking his head. He had much better ways to expend his pent-up energy. And while they all included close physical contact, none of them involved him hurting her. Given his much greater size and strength, even the slightest miscalculation could cause her serious harm.

  “Why not?”

  Lachlan crossed his massive arms over his chest and spoke with all the authority of a man used to being in charge. “Ye are a lass. And a wee lass at that. Ye would be better off tussling with the lads. They are more your size.”

  * * *

  Aislinn narrowed her eyes, trying not to be too distracted by the sensual rippling and bunching of muscles beneath his skin. The cocky bastard was probably doing it on purpose.

  “Maybe I’m not some great hulking brute, but I am the girl who saved your ass and is seriously considering kicking it now just for the sheer fun of it.”

  He stood a little taller, his voice growing softer and all that much more dangerous because of it. “Ye are threatening me?”

  There was no way she was going to win in a direct face-off against this guy, she decided. Playing a little dirty was not totally out of the question. When the odds were stacked against you, you had to grab every advantage, right?

  “Hey, I understand if you’re not up for it. I mean, you are getting up there in age. You’re like what, forty?” she taunted, knowing he wasn’t anywhere near that, as well as the fact that he was in peak physical condition. Even among the elite Rangers she’d never seen someone quite so drool-worthy, and that was saying something.

  If he was thinking with his brain instead of his manly pride he would have realized that, but Aislinn was betting on his testosterone. Any man that size would have to have that particular hormone in spades.

  “Maybe I should ask Gavin. I bet he’d spar with me. He’s almost as big as you, and way younger.”

  It had been a calculated gamble, but Aislinn knew it had paid off by the way Lachlan narrowed his eyes. She couldn’t have picked a name that would have affected him more. Gavin was the youngest of the brothers, around twenty or so, and nearly perfect of face and form. Malcolm had even joked earlier that Gavin alone had the ability to charm a nun from her vows with naught but a smile from his bonnie face.

  But while Gavin was nice to look at, he didn’t set her heart to racing like Lachlan did. Fortunately for her, Lachlan didn’t know that.

  “Fine,” he huffed. “Have it yer way. But doona cry when this old mon puts ye over his knee and spanks yer insolent arse.”

  * * *

  Soon after, they found themselves out in the glen beneath the moonlight, circling each other warily. By mutual agreement they did not use real weapons; Lachlan managed to pick up a few wooden swords like the ones the lads used to practice in the courtyard.

  He had known she was quick, but he hadn’t realized just how fast she really was. Now that she had had a chance to rest and heal, she moved like lightning, in one place one moment and somewhere else the next, flipping and twisting in the air but always landing on her feet. She came at him from all sides, scoring an impressive array of hits with her tiny bare feet, though each one was little more than a tap. What was even more amazing to him was that she was deliberately pulling her strikes, as if she was afraid of hurting him.

  Once he got over his initial shock, he realized that he had no hopes of catching her; she was simply too small and too fast. His best strategy was to conserve his energy, keep himself loosely planted and let her come to him in the hope that she would tire and begin to make some mistakes.

  She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. Strangely enough, he was too. He loved watching her move. She was lithe and beautiful; catching her would be a prize indeed. Never would he have believed that sparring with a woman could be quite so invigorating. It helped, of course, that Aislinn was no ordinary female. With each passing moment his respect – and desire - for her grew.

  “Come on, old man,” she teased as she leaped, spun in the air, and landed yet another blow against the back of his shoulder, only to land in a crouch just out of arm’s reach. “I promise I won’t hurt you. Much.”

  Lachlan growled at her, his heart beating i
n anticipation. The few heavy-handed smacks he managed to land on her backside only seemed to energize her. He turned with her, following her movements as she danced all around him. After a while, he began to detect a pattern. Anticipating her next move as she came around him, his hand shot out and grabbed at her ankle, catching her mid-kick.

  Aislinn adjusted in a heartbeat, twisting in his hand. When Lachlan saw her other leg coming up to hit him squarely in the chest, he countered the move and swung his other hand in a horizontal arc, deflecting the blow. With his great shove and the momentum from her intended kick, she went down hard several feet away.

  When she didn’t get right back up and come after him, fear gripped him. “Aislinn?”

  “What?!?” She bit out the answer through gritted teeth.

  “Are ye hurt, lass?”

  “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”

  Stubborn female. In two strides he was beside her. She was still on the ground, her back to him, breathing heavily.

  “Where does it hurt, lass?” he asked, crouching down.

  “Gotcha.” Before he could process what was happening, she twisted, wrapped both legs around his head and twisted again, using leverage and the element of surprise to pull him off balance and bring him down to his knees. In a fluid move, she swung onto his back as if he was a horse. Then with a wicked laugh, she turned around spanked him.

  It was more than he could take.

  More than any man could be expected to take.

  Lachlan Brodie, the staid and respected laird of Dubhain, snapped.

  Seconds later, Aislinn was beneath him, gasping for breath as he pressed his substantial weight down upon her.

  “Is that how ye want te play it then, lass?” he said, his voice soft, controlled. “Ye resort te trickery? Play upon a mon’s honor?”

  Holding her in place, he tugged down her leggings as she writhed beneath him. With one swift and easy move, he rolled off of her and pulled her over his lap. She struggled and wiggled, torturing him, but she was no match for a riled Brodie. One heavy hand landed on her backside and she howled. His palm smoothed over the soft, quickly reddening flesh. Then he did it again. And again.