“You have a gold bed?” she whispered.
“’Tis gilded. This was the only thing besides Malin’s ancestors that my great grandfather brought home wi’ him.” Ian slid his hand down the post, which was carved into the shape of a writhing snake.
The bed glowed molten in the candle flame, its silk hangings a shimmering crimson flow of sensuality.
“Are those paintings on it?” She still couldn’t force her voice above a whisper because the bed felt like . . .
“Aye. Come closer.”
She didn’t want to, but the bed drew her, he drew her. She moved closer and peered at the many scenes painted in deep rich detail. She saw a man who looked very much like Ian and a woman. They were . . . “Ohmigod. In every painting they’re . . .”
“Enjoying each other’s bodies. The woman who owned my great grandfather had this bed made to celebrate their joinings. Each time he pleased her more than the last, she had a scene painted on the bed.”
“Is this where you . . . ? ”
“Nay. I use the outer chamber, but ye were there, and I didna wish to disturb ye.”
Kathy watched, fascinated, as he ran his fingers across one of the painted scenes. She’d never known there were so many ways to . . . enjoy a man’s body. “Why is there a blank space here near this post?” She pointed. No way would she touch.
“The woman died, and my great grandfather said there were none that came after her worthy of a scene.” He shrugged. “It has remained so since then.”
“He must have loved her very much.” She still couldn’t speak above a hushed whisper.
Ian frowned. “’Twas not love. She gave him more pleasure than any other. She taught him the secrets of the Pleasure Master.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to mention the L word.” What are those secrets? No, she didn’t want to know. Ian was as foreign to her as a man could be. A beautiful, sleek creature of the night. “Do you ever sleep in the bed?”
He shook his head, and his hair caught and held the candle-glow. “No one has slept on it since my great grandfather. My father and grandfather said ’twas too strange and would make those that came to them uncomfortable. I have kept it because ’tis a symbol of what I am.”
“Will you ever sleep on it?”
His lips curved in a mocking smile. “I’ll bed the lass I love on it.”
In other words, never.
“Why have ye been whispering? There are none to hear us.” He slid his hand over her hair, curled a strand around his finger, then pulled. He held the strand up to the light. “Yer hair shines gold like the bed.”
Like the bed? Maybe she needed a little more ash in her color. “Have I been whispering?” She forced her voice to a normal volume, but it sounded almost disrespectful in the presence of the bed.
The bed was of the night, just like its owner. Funny, but she’d always pictured a bed made for sex as being built of dark wood and velvet.
It wasn’t. This golden bed with its erotic paintings, crimson silk hangings, and posts carved into sinuous snakes was sex, sin, and all that was carnal. It scared the hell out of her.
“Well, thanks for showing me the bed. I’ll go back to sleep now.” She edged toward the entrance and held her breath, praying that he’d allow her to escape. She frowned. Escape didn’t have a good sound to it.
He followed her, trapping her in an aura she knew must be as red as his bed hangings.
“Ye still dinna understand what I am.”
She glanced past him at the bed. “I get the general concept. Now can I leave?”
“Nay.”
He spoke the word softly, but he might as well have shouted it, because the force of his utterance flattened her against the wall. She held her hands stiffly at her sides, knowing that if she raised them to ward him off, she’d end up with her palms splayed across his wide chest, feeling the solidness of muscle and flesh, the strong pounding of his heart.
His lips curved up—secretive, sexual. “Ye may touch me, Kathy.”
With a distant part of her mind, she noted his abandonment of her title. “Touch you? I don’t want to touch you. Why would I want to do that?” She clenched her fists to keep her hands at her sides.
“Ye dinna lie well, lass.” His gaze never wavered from her face. “I want to touch ye. I want to touch the fear in ye and change it to hunger.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” Which wasn’t exactly true. Her senses were already gorging, but the excess baggage she’d toted behind her to this time would keep her on a strict diet. Fear of being hurt, of being a failure again, were strong appetite suppressers.
His smile widened as he reached past her and pulled the tapestry aside. The brush of his chest against her nipples dragged a gasp from her. “Go and sit by the fire while I tell ye more about the Pleasure Master.”
She heard only the word “Go” as she hurried back to the main chamber, then sat down on her furs. Safe. He sat down beside her. Maybe not so safe.
“The woman ye saw came only to speak of how to please a man. She is a widow who was married to one who wanted only compliance. She will soon marry a man who expects her to know much about pleasuring him.”
“What did you tell her?” Did you give her a hands-on demonstration?
He acknowledged her unspoken question with a grin. “I told her of places to touch a man that would drive him mad wi’ want of her and how to gain her own release when she held him deep inside her—”
“Okay, heard enough, don’t want to hear anymore.” Where would you touch a man? She supposed he didn’t mean the obvious places. But she wouldn’t ask, didn’t want to know.
“I don’t understand why she’d come to you, though. She looked as though she’d traveled a long distance. Couldn’t she have found someone closer to tell her those things?”
He studied her from under half-lowered lids, and she resisted the urge to squirm. “There are those who could tell her about the touching, but the touching comes last. She has wealth and can afford to travel to one who knows what comes before.”
“And that would be . . . ?”
“In time, lass.” His smile was full of wicked promise. “I’ll teach ye of what comes before and the places ye may touch a man.” He stopped smiling. “And the places a man may touch ye.” He left her. Left her to dream of his hard body, spread for her enjoyment. His hands, his mouth touching every part of her, wringing a response from her that she ached for, feared.
She opened her eyes to morning light shining through the roof opening and Baby Born sitting whole on the shelf beside the hearth.
Shifting her gaze, she saw Ian seated by the fire. He was dressed, but his hair was still damp. He must have visited his cave pool. No pool for her this morning. She wanted warm water.
“You’re up early, Ian.” She rose, thankful for the gown Mary had given her. It covered her from neck to toe, and after her conversation with Ian last night, plus her vivid dreams, she felt the need to hide behind an armor of cloth. As if that would make any difference to Ian.
“Aye. I was speaking wi’ Peter. He has told me that life is like a box of chocolates and that I’ll ne’er know what I’ll get. ’Tis a wise thought.”
“But not totally original.” She sidled over to Ian and sat down beside him. First she’d lull him with ordinary conversation. “I noticed that you didn’t take Baby Born apart.”
He glanced at the doll. “When I looked at her, I knew I wouldna be able to put her back together again. I dinna take things apart if ’twill destroy them.”
A deeper understanding arced between them. “Remember that, Ian. Please remember that.”
He nodded, then returned his attention to Peter. “Yon toy is stranger than the others.”
She wasn’t interested in Peter right now; she was interested in a warm bath. “I don’t know. Toy technology has really skyrocketed. You’d be surprised what toys can do.”
She glanced at Peter, but the toy’s lights remained dark. “I was really desperate for toys, and I needed them fast. So I stopped at this strip mall with a bunch of stores that had only a few toys left. The store where I got Peter didn’t even have a sign outside. But there he was, sitting on the shelf with a price underneath him. He was the only one left, and I didn’t see any salespeople around, so I left the money on the counter and ran to the next store. I wasn’t even sure what he did, but I couldn’t be picky.”
“Mayhap he can do more than ye know.”
His gaze shifted to her, and she felt the shock as though it were the first time. How did he do that? “I’ve already asked him to send me home, and I’m still here.”
“Mayhap he doesna wish to send ye home.” His gaze slid the length of her gown as though it were invisible.
She didn’t want to think about not going home.
“You mentioned yesterday that I could have a warm bath if I wanted.” After getting the warm water, she’d worry about getting Ian Ross out of the cave.
He smiled and his gaze heated. Uh-oh. She wanted hot water, not hot gazes. “If it’s too much trouble, don’t bother.”
“’Tis no trouble.”
He rose, and before she could even close her gaping mouth, he’d stripped, then tied his shirt around his waist. “I dinna want to get my plaid wet when I draw yer bath. ’Tis verra uncomfortable traveling wi’ wet clothing.”
“Sure. Uncomfortable.” The light from the hearth highlighted wide shoulders, muscled chest, powerful thighs, and strong legs. He oozed potent sensuality, and kick her if she ever asked for warm water again.
With unblinking intensity, she watched him carry water to the tub he’d placed in front of the fire. She noted the sweat from his exertion that made his body glisten, the smooth slide of muscles as he moved, the tantalizing view of firm buttocks as he bent over the tub.
When he’d finished, he stood in front of her, his feet planted wide. She slid her gaze up the long length of his body only to discover a knowing grin.
“Did ye see all that needed seeing?”
“I wasn’t paying much attention.” And to think she’d always prided herself on telling the truth, even when telling Mrs. Jenkins that no, long blond hair did not make her look like Britney Spears lost her a client.
He didn’t seem to think the lie worthy of a reply because he gestured toward the tub. “Ye may bathe now. Then ye must dress and come wi’ me to Neil’s dwelling.”
“Why can’t I stay here while you visit Neil?”
“I dinna want to leave ye alone. There are dangers ye know nothing about.”
Dangers? That didn’t sound comforting. But she had something more pressing to take care of. She had to get him out of the cave while she bathed. “I dropped my ring outside last night. Do you think you could look for it? It belonged to my grandmother, and I’d hate to lose it.” She tried for an inspired look. “Gee, now would be a great time to search while you’re waiting for me to finish my bath.”
He frowned as he put on his plaid. “Ye had no rings on last night. There is no need to make up tales. Ye need only ask me to leave while ye bathe.”
“Well, dumb me for thinking you intended to stay and watch. Wasn’t that what you said yesterday?”
His smile lit the dim interior. “Aye. But yesterday I wasna in a hurry. If I watch ye today, I willna get done what needs doing. We wouldna leave the cave at all.”
Maybe it was time to remind him of a basic fact. “Forget what you think you know about women. I don’t want to be seduced. Yes, I find you physically attractive, but I have a mind. And my mind tells me that making love with you would be a mistake. So no matter how you make me feel, my mind will always override my senses. Give it up, Ross.”
“If ye say so.”
She didn’t for a minute think he believed her as he placed Malin on top of Peter and headed for the cave entrance. “Ye must come wi’ me, Peter. Only women may stay.”
Peter paused, his lights flashing. “My first day as a woman and I’m already getting hot flashes!” Then he tagged after Ian.
Robin Williams? Mrs. Doubtfire? Kathy grinned at Peter’s parting shot.
Ian sat on a rock outside the cave and thought of the woman bathing within. She’d be easing into the water now, the ripples lapping at her breasts. He’d seen enough to know her breasts would fill his hands. He longed to feel their weight, their texture. Her pale shoulders would gleam as she drew the cloth across them and down over her breasts.
Would she touch her nipples and moan softly, imagining his mouth on them? Would she slide the cloth beneath the water, dragging it across her smooth stomach, along her inner thighs, and think of his fingers tracing the same path?
God’s teeth, but ‘twas a hot morning. He lifted his hair from the back of his neck, letting the cool air touch him. It wasn’t much help.
He’d saved the best thought for last. Would she draw the cloth between her thighs, touching herself and imagining his fingers stroking the spot that brought her pleasure? Would she breathe his name?
“Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.”
Startled, Ian glanced at Peter, then smiled. “Ye’ll ne’er find Ian Ross wi’out a warm memory.” He turned his gaze to the cave entrance. “’Twould please me mightily to add Kathy of Hair to my memories.” Only she would never be a warm memory. He knew when they joined it would be the crackle of a hot fire, the steam from a boiling caldron. ‘Twould be a memory to heat the coldest night.
He frowned. It seemed he thought overmuch of the woman and not enough of his brothers’ challenge. He must keep in mind the reason for this joining.
“She’ll be dressing now, Peter, putting on layers of cloth to protect her body from me. ’Twill do no good.” He rose and walked toward the rocky path leading away from the entrance. It was always wise to make certain no Mackays were near.
“Ian Ross, I want to talk to you now!”
Turning, he hurried back to the cave entrance. What manner of beast could make her shout so? He drew his knife from his sock in readiness.
He reached the cave to find Kathy standing at the entrance with hands on hips and the gleam of battle in her eyes. Glancing around, he saw no danger.
“You don’t play fair, Ross. I don’t know how you did it, but you were touching me when I was taking my bath.” As her initial anger cooled, he sensed uncertainty creeping in. “I closed my eyes, and I felt you touch my breasts, and . . . other places.”
He knew not what to tell her. His power was such that when his response to a woman ran strong, he could will himself into her imaginings. But he’d felt nothing that powerful for any woman since the first stirrings of his undisciplined youth. Why now?
Mayhap Malin had been right to follow him that first day. Malin had sensed danger, and any woman who affected him so was a grave threat. The Pleasure Master must feel no emotion so strongly, not even physical need. “I dinna understand ye. I did nothing but speak wi’ Peter about the coldness of winter.”
“Oh.” She shifted her gaze from him. “Well, it sure felt like someone was touching me.”
“The shock of what happened to ye has made ye imagine what isna there.” And what is yer excuse, Ian Ross?
“Maybe.” Her expression brightened. “So why’re we going to Neil’s place?” She picked up her cloth bag and put its strap across her shoulder.
“What have ye in yer sack?”
He didn’t miss her guilty start. “Oh, this and that. Nothing much.”
“Be verra careful to whom ye show ‘this and that’” He wanted to order her to take the sack back to the cave, but she would argue, and he had no time to waste.
They walked down the path, with Peter clattering behind. “Aren’t you going to lock Peter and Malin up?”
He shook his head. “I have decided ‘twould do no good. Neil has seen Peter, as have the others. His strangeness might prove a protection should anyone accost ye.”
“Accost me?” He saw a flicker of fear in her gaze.
“Ye must stay wi’ me whene’er possible. There are those who would destroy what they dinna understand. I must leave ye for a short time, but Neil will keep ye safe.”
She nodded, but remained silent for the rest of their walk.
They’d almost reached Neil’s cottage when a man stepped into their path. Malin jumped from Peter and hobbled to stand beside Ian.
Kathy’s first impression was that God the Father was out taking a stroll. The stranger was a walking stereotype complete with long flowing white beard and piercing gaze.
“Ach, the very spawn of the devil I hoped to meet.” He even had the deep, booming voice she imagined God having.
She frowned. Maybe his robes were a bit over-done—green velvet trimmed in gold. Wouldn’t basic black be more appropriate for an area with so much poverty? And maybe he was a little too . . . plump to be an exact replica of the Almighty. She’d never pictured God as needing to visit a fitness center.
Strange. He’d mentioned spawn of the devil and hadn’t once looked at Peter.
“’Tis the good father out tending his flock of sinners, no doubt. It must have sore grieved ye to leave yer mistress’s bed so early.”
She heard Ian’s sarcasm and took a second look at the stranger. Father? A priest? What had happened to his vow of poverty? The rings on one hand would have paid her rent for five years. And mistress? He must have forgotten the Church vow of chastity.
The man smiled and destroyed his image. Sly and evil weren’t godly expressions. “God rewards those who do His work and punishes blasphemers. Ye’ll burn in Hell, Ian Ross.” The thought seemed to satisfy him.
Peter’s amber lights flashed, immediately drawing everyone’s attention. Kathy wanted to clap her hands over her ears.
“Life after death is as improbable as sex after marriage.”
The priest’s eyes widened; sly and evil gave way to good old-fashioned terror. “’Tis a demon.”
Say something. “He’s only a machine. The people who made him put those words into him. See, he’s not the demon, they are. I’d give you their address, but I’ve lost my address book.”
Peter’s lights flashed happily. Evidently, he felt the need to take part in the conversation. “I always like sinners a lot better than saints.”
The good father abandoned the field to the damned as he turned and fled, his robes flapping in the breeze.
Kathy stared at Peter. “Last Man Standing. Poor programming choice. What we needed was a more God-like quote. Maybe something from those God movies that George Burns made. Charlton Heston would’ve been a nice touch.”
Ian was studying the toy with narrow-eyed suspicion.
“Ye have done what no other has e’er done. Ye made him run from ye.”
Kathy couldn’t keep quiet. The priest, Peter, everything was dissolving into the kind of dream she’d have after eating a pepperoni pizza right before going to bed. “Listen to you, Ian. You’re talking to a toy. Every one of his lines is from some movie, for heaven’s sake. I know because I watch tons of movies, and I recognize every quote.”
Peter’s lights flashed. “Incredible! One of the worst performances of my career and they never doubted it for a second.”
“See? That’s from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”
Ian turned his gaze on Kathy, and she shivered at what she saw there. “I’ve ne’er seen a movie, and I dinna know what Peter is, but he isna a toy.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Mayhap our priest has finally met one who canna be cowed by threats of eternal damnation.”
She wouldn’t believe Ian because if she did then she’d have to fear Peter, and she didn’t need one more thing to fear. “You didn’t seem too afraid of the priest.”
Ian shrugged. “I have known him for twenty years. Our good Father Gregory has always condemned the Pleasure Master as a tool of Satan. He believes God has ordained that only he have pleasure.”
“Do the people believe him?” When she got back to New York, she’d show more appreciation for Father Deleone’s kindness and gentle sermons that didn’t include fire and brimstone.
“The Pleasure Master has been in this glen longer than Father Gregory. He canna turn the people against me, but that hasna stopped him from trying to find one who would kill me. He doesna care who does the killing, so long as it canna be traced back to his holy self.”
Kathy had never met evil up close and personal. This wasn’t a random mugging reported on a sound byte as she drove to work.
“Father Gregory wants no competition for the ear of the laird. ’Tis not about God; ’tis about power.”
Malin returned to his resting spot on top of Peter, and they continued to Neil’s. But Kathy’s world had been knocked a little more out of kilter.
She cast Ian a sideways glance. He was a man who survived knowing that he faced possible death or capture each day, and accepted the possibility with courage. Survived without benefit of a close friend or one who loved him. She realized Ian Ross was the strongest man she’d ever met.
And that disturbed her. She didn’t want to admit Ian was different from her ex-husband. “You mentioned the laird. Will I meet him?”
“Mayhap.” He turned up the path that led to what Kathy assumed was Neil’s cottage. “He has traveled to speak wi’ James, but if Henry sends his army across the border, the laird will return to gather us to defend the king. My father travels wi’ him.”
James? Henry? She should have paid more attention to her British history.
Neil met them at the door. As he led them inside, she glanced around the bare room. A table and a few chairs. A hearth. Martha Stewart could spend a lifetime trying to make this place homey. Kathy was starting to appreciate the comfort of Ian’s cave.
Ian stood by the door. “I would ask ye to keep Kathy of Hair safe while I’m gone.”
Neil cast him a sharp glance. “Ye go to take back yer horse from the Mackays?”
“Aye.” He turned to leave.
“Do ye need Colin and me to go wi’ ye?”
She could see the light of battle in his eyes. Still, his offer of help didn’t sound like that of a man who cared nothing about his brother.
Ian shook his head. “’Tis best I go alone. One man risks less chance of discovery. I would borrow yer horse though.”
Neil nodded, and they watched Ian leave. As she turned back to Neil, Kathy tried to ignore the heavy feeling in her stomach, the feeling that she was now truly alone. Funny, no matter how upset she’d been by her sudden launch into this time, she’d always known that Ian was there. What if he didn’t come back?
“He’ll be okay, won’t he? He’ll just get his horse and ride home, right?”
Neil didn’t meet her gaze. “Aye. ’Tis nothing that Ian hasna done before.”
She tried to push back the first twinges of panic with words. “I brought my cell phone so you can talk to Coco. I need to talk to her, too.”
She dug the phone from her pack and dialed Coco’s number. Coco answered on the first ring.
“Okay, where are you? You haven’t called for five days and I’ve been worried. I tried to have your last call traced and came up with zip. Talk to me, Kathy.” Coco’s concern washed over her and made her feel like crying. But there was nothing she could do, absolutely nothing.
“I’m perfectly safe, Coco.” You haven’t called for five days. “It’s . . . January fifteenth?”
“All day. Guess you still aren’t going to tell me what’s going on.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I’m with a man. I’m safe. Did you find any information?” She noted that Neil had edged close. Coco’s sigh carried a world of frustration. “Wait a minute while I get it.” She heard the rustle of paper. “Okay, James the Fifth died in 1542. Mary Queen of Scots was born the same year and was proclaimed queen. Henry the Eighth was king of England. Oh, and that cat you wanted to know about. It’s a Turkish Van. Associated with the Lake Van area of Turkey, loves to swim, and God knows why you wanted to know all that.”
“I would speak to Coco.”
Too late, Kathy realized Neil was close enough to hear everything being said. Great. Just great. She handed the phone to him.
“Explain what ye meant, Coco.”
Kathy knew if Neil used that tone of voice to her she’d blurt out everything she’d ever known.
“Ye say that King James is dead and that some Mary is queen? Ye dinna know what ye say. James is alive and there isna any Mary.”
“Is everyone crazy there? I took this straight off the Net.”
Kathy could see Neil’s face pale above his beard. “What year is it, Coco?”
“I wish you wouldn’t ask that question. It makes me nervous.”
“What year is it?” Neil’s voice had risen to a roar.
“Okay, okay. It’s 2001.” Kathy could hear the growing fear in Coco’s voice. “Put Kathy back on.”
Neil handed the phone back to her with fingers that shook.
“Kathy, you’ve got to get away from that place. Everyone’s crazy. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”
Kathy felt a tear slide down her face and didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I’ll be in touch, Coco.” She hung up with Coco’s frantic questions echoing in her ears.
She turned to Neil.
“Ye canna be from the future.” He looked bewildered.
“That’s what Ian said.” She sat down on the chair by the table.
He pulled the other chair over to sit beside her. “But these things she said about James and this Mary . . .”
“What if you find out they’re true?”
He shook his head. “I would think both of ye witches.”
“And . . . ?” If Neil told everyone she was a witch, would even Ian be able to protect her?
Neil shrugged. “I would say nothing. Coco is my challenge, and I will win her, witch or no.”
Kathy breathed a long sigh of relief.
“Ye must tell me what sort of man Coco favors.”
“Hmm. She doesn’t like facial hair, so lose the beard. And she likes a man with good hair and a clean body. I can do a little with your hair, but you’re going to have to bathe every day.” Lost in thought, she barely noted his look of horror.
“Coco willna know whether I do those things.”
Kathy grinned at him. “I’ll tell her. I don’t lie to my friends. And after we take care of those little things, we can work on your sensitivity.”
He glared at her.
Well, maybe not. Some men just weren’t cut out to be sensitive.
“Do what ye must.” He’d probably walk to his execution with that expression. “Ye dinna have any noxious potions wi’ ye?”
“Not a one.” Yes. Kathy unzipped her backpack and pulled out her supplies. Finally, a chance to do what she did best. She’d start quickly while he was still enthralled with the zipper on her backpack and before he realized what she was doing.
One man would walk the Highlands with good hair and a new understanding of personal hygiene because Kathy Bartlett had passed his way.
She felt like a sixteenth-century Johnny Apple-seed.