“Where the hell do you think you’re taking me?” She kicked against him, but Eoin held her fast. “Put me down! I can walk, dammit. You can’t just pick me up as an answer and carry me off! What’re you, some kinda damn barbarian?” She oomphed over his shoulder and smacked his back.
He tsked and tried not to smile. “Tha’ mouth on ye, lass. Ye’d better watch wha’ ye say when we get ta Dunvegan. Nessie willna like it, and will likely wash yer mouth.”
Ashlyn stilled in his grip and he resisted the urge to feel her bare bottom under his leine.
He had slung her over his shoulder, and keeping his hands at her knees to hold her steady was a challenge. Eoin wanted to run his fingertips over every inch of her creamy thighs before delving deeper, into the silky folds of her sex.
Unmanly quivers wracked him and he straightened, shifting her higher. Tried to ignore the jolt that went through his cock. Soon, no amount of readjusting his plaid was going to hide arousal. He needed to get his control back.
“Wait. What?” She pounded his bare back with a small fist. “Dunvegan? What’re you talking about? You still haven’t said a damn thing to me, then you manhandle me? Put. Me. Down.”
Eoin sighed. He’d ignored all her queries and demands. He didn’t know what to tell her. The truth would shoot her ire higher. “Will ye promise no’ ta run away?”
Ashlyn harrumphed. “Where exactly am I supposed to go, half-naked?”
Instead of answering, he allowed her to slide down to the ground, hyperaware of her breasts shifting against his chest, rubbing through the material he wanted to rip off of her. He swallowed and shifted in his deerskin boots.
Her brown eyes burned him, but her face was adorably pink, and she yanked his leine down. “Tell me everything.”
He nodded. “As I’ve tol’ ye, my name’s Eoin MacLeod. I’m called tha Guardian of tha Faery Flag. When it changes hands, I must go whenever tha’ may be ta get it.”
Confusion darted across her face. “When? Don’t you mean where?”
“Nay. When.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Besides, the Faery Flag is locked up with the rest of the MacLeod treasures. I was supposed to have a tour of Dunvegan today. I wanted to take a picture of it.”
“Ye know of my home? My clan?”
She nodded as if distracted and looked around the beach.
The water lapped against the shore behind them. It had a calming effect on him, as it’d always had.
Ashlyn took a few steps away from him, exploring, but Eoin didn’t stop her. It was probably foolish to trust her, but he did.
“We’re on Skye?”
“Aye. I’ve brought ye back in time. Ta my time.”
She whirled on him, eyes wide. “What?”
“I’m sorry ta tell ye this way, but ’tis the year of our Lord, seventeen hundred and fifty-five.”
“What?” his Ashlyn shouted, and jumped back when he approached.
“Let’s venture ta Dunvegan, and I shall explain everythin’.”
“No! Tell me now!”
He shook his head and his hair tickled his neck. “Nay, I want ye ta meet someone, he’ll help.” Eoin’s grandfather could put things into prospective with her more than he could.
Ashlyn fought his urgings, so he again swung her over his shoulder, amongst shouts, kicks and hits. She got a few good ones in, and he winced. His thighs and back would bruise for sure, but he’d get them both back to his home in one piece.
The trek took twice what it should’ve because of the wiggly lass in his arms, but he didn’t want to harm her, or have her get away.
Ashlyn loose in his time could be a real danger. It could get her dead at the hands of bandits. Or raped, due to her attire.
“We’ve arrived. I’m goin’ ta put ye down. Doona struggle, lass.” Eoin pulled her into his arms and held her for a moment. He couldn’t help the chuckle that breeched his lips at the adorable fury on her face, but Ashlyn didn’t find it funny. If anything, her expression tightened even more. “Behold, Dunvegan.” He put her to her feet facing the castle gates, but held her shoulders, and pulled her back into his chest. Wouldn’t risk her slipping away.
“What the…what are these gates? Where’re the power lines? And the flag on top? I saw it in pictures!” When she looked up at him, her face drained of color. Her freckles stood out, but not with the charming crimson he’d liked so much before.
“Lass—”
“You weren’t lying…” Ashlyn repeated the phrase over and over, her shoulders caved in, even though her back was still against his chest.
“Ashlyn.”
She jolted when he said her name. “I’m not dreaming?” Her tone so hopeful it made his gut clench.
“Nay, lass. I know ‘tis a fright ta ye. I had ta bring ye home wit’ me.”
“My laird, all is well?” One of his many cousins, Alpin, rounded the gate with his hand on his claymore’s hilt.
Seeing the big weapon made Eoin grieve his own. He’d have to go get it soon. None other in the armory would do. “Nay, nay.” He gestured for emphasis.
“You have guards?” Ashlyn asked. “My laird?”
He gathered her into his arms, lifted her against his chest, and for once she didn’t protest. “Ye will call me Eoin.”
She muttered something that sounded like, “Not-So-Dream-Eoin,” under her breath, but he couldn’t understand fully, other than his muffled name, and the word, dream.
Eoin was swarmed by Nessie, Peg and the Irish lass they’d taken in as a child, Maegan, when he made it into the great hall.
“Who’s the lass?”
“Is she weel?”
“How can we help, my laird?”
“Wha’ happened ta her?”
“Where’s her clothin’?”
“Why, she’s nearly bare, my laird!”
“Lasses!” He raised his voice. “The lass needs bathed and clothed. Draw a bath in my room, in my tub.”
Nessie, the woman who ran Dunvegan since he’d not yet married, furrowed her graying brow, but he didn’t have time to worry about decorum. He needed Ashlyn warm and dry.
“Do it,” he ordered. “I’m goin’ ta see Grandfa.” He set Ashlyn to her feet and cupped her shoulders, wishing he could caress her bare skin. Somewhere. Anywhere. But he was very aware of the three sets of eyes watching them. “Lass, I’ll be back wit’ ye shortly. Bathe. Warm yerself. Nessie will get ye somethin’ to wear.”
“Proper,” the older woman whispered.
Ashlyn wavered on her feet, but she nodded. She appeared dazed. She was still to pallid for his liking.
Not that Eoin blamed her. The shock was his fault. He should take her back to her time, but…he couldn’t. Not just yet anyway. He tilted her chin up. “Look a’ me, lass,” he whispered.
She did so, but it was seconds before she focused on him. “Eoin…”
If the household lasses were surprised she’d addressed him so casually, they hid it well.
“Aye, lass. ‘Tis me. Eoin. I’ll be back soon. I’ve need ta speak wit’ my grandfa, then I’ll take ye ta him. Go wit’ the lasses. They’ll take care a’ ye.”
Ashlyn grabbed his hand when he started to whirl away. “Eoin. Don’t…be gone long. Please.”
His heart jumped and he had to swallow. Her desperation was a live thing that wrapped around him. He was the one in the wrong. He’d taken her from where she belonged in time because of selfishness.
It wasn’t right that she’d cling to him, even though he was all she knew here, and he liked how it made him feel.
“No’ long a’ all, Ashlyn.” He looked at Nessie. “Put her in Fiona’s green dress.”
“Aye, my laird.”
He left the women, even though his body begged him to stay at Ashlyn’s side, protect her. From what? Three lasses of his clan? One of which, who’d helped raise him? He shook his head and made his fist knock on the door to his grandfather’s rooms.
“Eoin-lad, ’tis ye?”
“Aye, Grandfa, I’m home.” Eoin pushed into the room, the scent of peat and sage almost equal parts welcoming and overwhelming washed over him. Familiar. Very much his grandfather’s abode.
“Ah, lad. Good ta see ye braw! Did ye find tha Flag?”
“Aye, I’ve brough’ it home.”
Angus MacLeod chuckled and shook his head, stroking his white beard. “Ye know tha’ willna work, my lad.” He stood to his full height from his seat near the lit hearth and stretched his shoulders, his back. He groaned with the movements. “‘Twill call ye forward again.”
He frowned. “Is all well, Grandfa?”
His grandfather was old, two and ninety on his last birthday, but his Fae blood kept him agile most of the time, much more so than a normal man his very advanced age. They didn’t know what his lifespan would be, since he was a halfling, the son of a full-blooded Fae. Usually, he had no problems moving around.
“Aye, lad, doona worra yer head over me.” He crossed the room and closed the distance between them, grasping Eoin’s forearm. “Is all weel wit’ ye, my laird? Ye doona look as if ’tis.”
He tried not to sigh. Whether it magic or paternal intuition, the man always knew when something was bothering him. Was damn irritating most of the time. “Nay. Tha Flag is here. Safe.” For the sake of distraction, Eoin held up the item of discussion, caressing the silky folds before handing it over to his father’s father.
“Ah, feels good ta have magic in my hands again,” Angus said softly.
This man had raised him from age thirteen, when his father Gregor, had been killed in a riding accident. His mother had never gotten over it, and died of a fever some months later, after giving birth to Fiona. His young sister hadn’t known either of their parents.
Eoin had been fostering with the MacKinnon Clan, nearby on the isle, but he’d come home to bury his father and start training to be a laird—as well as honing his magic, something he couldn’t get anywhere but at Dunvegan.
His grandfather was watching him, his blue eyes keen, despite the creases in his bearded face. The man stroked his long white whiskers, narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to one side, making his wild white hair dance. “Wha’ else are ye no’ telling me, my lad? Doona make me pull it ou’ of ye.”
He dragged his hand through his long hair and the confession tumbled out. “I’ve brough’ someone back wit’ me.”
A smile cracked his grandfather’s wrinkled face. “A lass?”