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Iain stood watching her as if he were deeply interested in her next move.
Abby blinked at him.
She’d said no, but her heart was doing crazy jigs in her chest. She had to fight the current of sizzling electricity still drawing her to him. She had to get away or she would be pleading with him to kiss her.
The thought flitted through her mind that he hadn’t ever been told no before. She took in his smoldering eyes, long nose, and square jawline—his broad shoulders and muscled chest. Probably not.
She knew without a doubt that he wanted her, but that was all it was—pure lust. Though she had promised herself she would never rely on a man again, she’d never envisaged being stranded in Scotland of the past, where she needed to depend heavily on a man to survive. But that was just while she was trapped there. At home, she was a successful and independent woman.
She straightened her back and peered at him. Men were unreliable, each and every one of them. She took in a deep breath. That wasn’t fair. Just because her last boyfriend wasn’t there for her when she needed him didn’t mean that all men were untrustworthy.
She screwed up her nose. There was no way she could picture the brawny Highlander running away and leaving her at the mercy of muggers. Iain had fought in a battle, for Pete’s sake. Cowards didn’t engage in sword fights.
She stared at the ground. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t find out what Iain was really like. She would go home and resume her life. She kicked at a pile of wet leaves. Her lonely life. If she was honest, and she tried to be, at least with herself, she had never felt so alive since arriving in 1746.
Her body became engaged whenever Iain was near. Her blood seemed to flow through her veins more easily, and in Mary’s company, she was quick to laugh. She hadn’t felt so free in a long time. Maybe she’d never truly felt free.
As she stepped into the clearing, Colin’s low voice growled, “Fill the buckets with water for breakfast.”
Abigail spun around, expecting him to be talking to her, and was about to give him an earful, when she noted it was Iain he was ordering about.
Couldn’t the oaf see that Iain was a valiant warrior? He was wounded, for Pete’s sake, and he’d been traveling with them without complaint. He’d even helped out around the camp as much as he could with his injury, yet the man had the audacity to be rude to him.
She moved to interfere but hesitated when she saw Iain quickly shake his head at her. He took the buckets and headed to the stream.
Dazed, she wondered where the need to defend him had come from. She caught up to him at the water’s edge. “Why didn’t you tell him where to go?”
Cocking his head at her words, Iain said, “Where would I tell him to go? This is his family.”
“Ah, I mean, why didn’t you tell him to lay off . . . no.” Ugh, way to make him think you’re completely insane, Abs. “I mean, you shouldn’t let him talk to you like that.”
He eyed her for a moment, a slight crease between his brows. “They dinnae need us, but we have need of them. Filling buckets takes no strength, and if it keeps us traveling with them, then so be it.”
***
With no choice but to share Iain’s blankets, Abby tried to keep as far away from his heat-filled body as she could. But as the fire waned, the cold Scottish night descended upon her, and she began to shiver. She tried to clench her mouth shut to stop her teeth from chattering. She could almost feel the heat coming off Iain’s body. So close. NO. She had to keep her distance.
Behind her, Iain growled impatiently, and he pulled her in close, wrapping an arm around her.
As if some sort of primal self-preservation took her over, she sought his body’s heat.
When she awoke in the morning, Iain’s warm body had disappeared, and a peculiar feeling of disappointment overcame her. She hugged the blanket tighter around her. It wasn’t the same. She had to admit, she liked having his strong arms around her, and she liked feeling protected even if it was only from the weather.
She shrugged it off; the only reason he held her was to stop her from freezing to death. He’d probably saved her life. She guessed they were even, then.
Sitting up, she stretched to wake up her muscles and get her blood moving through her veins. Her sleepy gaze flitted over the camp, and she spotted Iain being tended to by Lara on the other side of the rebuilt fire. Abby hurried to them, hoping his injury hadn’t become infected.
Lara gazed at his side and clucked like a mother hen. “There, ’tis all clean now, but ye cannae be riding a horse with that wound. Ye’ll ride in the cart with yer wife.”
Abby tilted her head and regarded him as Lara wrapped some cloth around his waist and helped him put on his saffron shirt. He smiled at Lara, an open, honest smile that made little creases appear at the corners of his eyes and mouth, like he really liked her.
Abby wished she could do something to make him smile like that at her, instead of the tight smiles that gave Abby the sense he was hiding something, or the other type where it was clear he was laughing at her.
Iain tossed his sword into the cart and helped Abby aboard. At his touch, a shiver ran from the spot where he’d held her arm all the way down her spine. She hated that being close to the Scot made her feel that way. Why couldn’t someone from her time have her go all gushy at his touch? She hoped one day a man could make her knees weak, but something told her there would be no other man like Iain.
Abby pushed her thoughts about men away and began folding the blankets into a bundle. She needed to think about how she was going to get the orb back. She didn’t like the idea, but she had to make Iain look for Thomas. It would put them in danger, but without the orb, she was stuck in 1746.
A horse neighed and brought her back to the present with a start.
The men harnessed the horses to the wagon, and the other horses were saddled and ready to go. Colin and the other men talked together. Abby guessed from their gestures they were deciding which direction to travel.
Iain had apparently refused the wagon, because he mounted the horse he’d ridden the previous day, and they began their day’s traveling. Her shoulders dropped in relief. It would be easier to keep away from him.
Mary handed out what was left of the bread and dried beef strips. Abigail waved her hand away. “I’m fine.” She didn’t want to eat the last of their food.
The older woman pushed the meager meal into Abigail’s hands. “We’ll stop for more provisions at the next town.”
As they bumped along what they called a road, Mary teased Lara about her new marriage with her son. “When am I to expect my first grand-bairn?”
Lara’s face instantly turned beet red as she dipped her head and pretended to concentrate on her sewing.
Mary grinned at Abby. “She’s a shy one.”
Lara looked up, her eyes glinting mischievously. “I’m no’ shy. ’Tis just that we thought to keep it secret, but yer son is most virile, Mary. I believe I am already with child.”
Mary let out a scream, bent forward, and hugged Lara. “A bairn? When?”
“I’m no’ sure. Perhaps in the winter?”
Colin brought his horse close to the wagon. “What is the trouble?”
“Naught, Husband.” Mary winked at Lara and smiled so widely, she almost looked crazed.
Colin raised his brows at her as if he’d find out soon enough and rode to the front of the wagon.
Mary giggled and locked Abby in her gaze. “Are ye enjoying married life, lass? Yer man is something to behold.”
Fenella, Mary’s mother, had remained quiet, appearing to doze in the corner of the litter, but snapped her eyes up at that moment. “Mary. Ye are a married woman.”
“Aye. I am, and a more contented woman ye’ll no’ find, but I know a strong, capable man when I see one.”
Abby followed Fenella’s gaze to Iain. Even with his wound paining him, he sat straight-backed with an almost regal bearing.
Letting out a long sigh, Fenella said, “Aye, he is a man for certain.”
Abby had to agree. If she was of this time, she could fall for the hunky Laird MacLaren. She gave an inward shake of her head. She wasn’t of this era, and she had to get back to her own time and family before she ended up dead and a part of history.
The three women gazed at Abby with conspiratorial expressions. “Ye have eyes only for ye husband,” Fenella said. “Is he as virile as he looks?” She laughed. “I can see from yer eyes that he is in yer heart.”
Lara and Mary joined Fenella in her merriment.
Abby felt her own cheeks fill with heat and knew she must have blushed. She giggled, glancing at Iain’s regal profile. She hoped Iain hadn’t seen whatever the women in the wagon apparently viewed in her eyes.
What was she doing? She couldn’t get starry-eyed and swoon over some barbarian. For her own sake, she had to get back to her own time. She wanted to tell the women they were mistaken but, how could she? They thought she and Iain were married and presumably in love. Abby growled inwardly. She hated lying to these wonderful people.
Shouts broke her reverie. A band of dirty, hairy men clad in all different tartans had surrounded the caravan. Abby counted seven, but there could have been more still concealed in the woods.
They were on foot but still outnumbered the caravan’s men. Although, seeing the near uncontrolled fury on Colin and his sons’ faces, she realized that if the MacDonalds were armed, they would already be fighting. But their weapons were in the back of the wagon, safely wrapped in blankets away from the prying eyes of the English.
Colin tried to talk with the bandits. “Whit is it ye want?”
“Coin,” the giant red-haired man who seemed to be the leader said.
“And yer ’orses,” a dark-haired man said.
Tavis stopped the wagon.
“Get oot,” one of the long-haired brigands roared at the women.
Abby glared at them. They were huge.
He growled again, “Get oot!”
The red-haired oaf was staring intently at Abby. She lowered her eyes. She didn’t have her bag, or the pepper spray she kept there, and they were barbarians with weapons they knew how to use—weapons they enjoyed using.
Mary gazed at Colin. He nodded, tilting his head, indicating they should get off the other side of the wagon.
Keeping Blair under her arm, Mary nudged her daughter-in-law. They jumped over the side and scrambled together in a tight group.
Colin leapt off his horse. The redhead waved his sword at him. Colin held up his hands, showing he had no intention of disobeying the man, and edged along the wagon. “Fenella,” he said, holding his hands up to help her to the ground.
As soon as her feet hit the ground, Colin pushed her down, growling, “Go to the women.”
Fenella, fear brightening her eyes, crawled under the wagon to the other side.
Redhead roared a laugh. “We dinnae take auld women.” His narrow gaze turned to a leer as he eyed Lara.
Parlin dismounted with a thump, taking Redhead’s attention off his wife.
Abby hesitated.
She pushed a sword blade back under the blanket with her foot and searched for Iain. He had dismounted but stood close to his horse’s side, his eyes full of black anger. Two bandits stood between her and the Scottish laird. She slipped down off the wagon, and Mary pulled her into the huddle.
Tavis also dismounted and stood beside Colin, who untied a bag of coin from his belt. He rested one arm along the side of the wagon as if they were just having a friendly chat, and handed the bag to Redhead, indicating that the others should do the same.
Two of the long-haired rogues sauntered closer to the women. The short black-haired fiend leered at Lara and licked his lips.
Abby glanced at Iain. His jaw was set hard. Something inside Abby told her of all the men she had known, Iain would protect her, but he was too far away, and without a weapon, he had no chance of besting the bandits. Mary tried to push Lara behind her, but the short man shoved Mary to the side so hard, she fell to the ground, a noisy gasp of air escaping from her throat.
He advanced on Lara.
Abby pounced between the girl and the bandit. “Leave her alone.”
He laughed.
The other men joined him in laughter.
Catching his breath, Short Man said, “Ye be an eager one.”
“Give her what she wants,” one of them called.
“Leave the women alone,” Colin said. “You have our coin. Go and leave us be.”
The taller scummy bandit caught Abby’s arm as she tried to help Mary up.
“Nay, this one be mine.”
Even at arm’s length, his sweaty, unwashed scent soured in her nostrils. She tried to worm her way out of his clutch.
“No’ so fast, lass.” He jerked her in so close, her back banged on his chest. Something hard caught her shoulder blade. She cried out.