Several hours later, Kira sat in a heavy oaken chair in Aidan’s privy solar, once again properly dressed in fitting, period-suitable clothing, up to and including a fresh and floppy pair of over-sized cuarans and not a stitch of underwear. Most importantly, she was more convinced than ever that she now knew the reason she’d been sent back in time. She also had a pretty good idea of what she was supposed to do about it, even if a certain fierce and stubborn warrior chieftain felt otherwise.
She knew.
And all his pacing and bluster wouldn’t change a thing.
Pointedly ignoring the tempting platter of bannocks, butter, and honey winking at her from the table beside her chair, she folded her hands in her lap and waited for his next barrage of questions.
When they didn’t come, she took a deep breath. “It must be as clear to you as it is to me.” She lifted her voice just in case Aidan couldn’t hear her where he stood across the solar, glaring out a window. The day had turned cold and dark, with a sleety wind blowing off the sea. Not that she’d let howling gales and glowers stop her from saying what needed to be said. “There can be no question,” she contended. “I was sent here to save you and-”
He huffed. “I dinnae need a lass to save me.”
Kira pressed her lips together and stared at his back, willing him to be reasonable. “I believe the gatehouse arch will work in reverse. My purpose is to return us to my world.”
He spun around. “Us? Why would I be wanting that?” he demanded, his hands curling around his sword belt. “I like my world fine and dinnae want to leave it. Nor, I thought, did you.” He narrowed his eyes at her, his look challenging. “Or did my ears fool me when you said you wished to stay?”
“That was before you reminded me about Conan Dearg.” Kira sighed. “Now things are different. Besides, I meant I wished to stay with you. It doesn’t matter to me in what time that is.”
“It matters to me.” He strode to the hearth and took an iron poker to jab at the glowing peats. “I cannae just disappear through some time portal, as you call it. I have duties here, important ones.” He straightened, his face grim. “A Highland chieftain’s life is no’ just filled with cattle raiding and leading men into battle. Teaching the young lads to swing a sword and stand unafraid no matter what comes at them. We must also speak true at all times, keep our promises, and honor the clan elders. We care for the weak and ill, and give shelter to our widows and orphans.”
Setting aside the poker, he clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing. “We hold councils and are allies, e’er ready to support our friends when they need us, just as we punish those men who behave badly.”
Kira frowned and reached down to stroke old Ferlie’s head. Newly washed and pleasant smelling, thanks to her insistence, her used bath water, and two somewhat reluctant kitchen lads, the great beast lay curled on the floor rushes beside her chair, snoring contentedly. Unfortunately, sweet-smelling or no, his shaggy, medieval-looking bulk, as well as the smoking, hissing flames of a nearby wall torch, only underscored the harshness of Aidan’s world. As did the solar’s thick, whitewashed walls and the eye-stinging peat-haze tingeing the air.
The discreet but there-all-the-same door to the one-holed chute garderobe tucked into a hidden corner of the room. A tiny, foul-reeking chamber that had never seen the likes of petal-soft toilet paper or spring-scented air freshener. Yet the soft, golden glow from the many beeswax candles, and the jeweled colors of the richly embroidered tapestries, lent an irresistible air of the distant and faraway.
It truly was a world so like the romantic whimsy of her dreams, yet so different, too.
A world that belonged to Aidan, not her.
Just as her world was a place Conan Dearg couldn’t reach him.
“Clan Donald’s name has e’er been a testament of greatness.” He glanced at her, his gaze heated. “I will no’ pass from history as the first to break such a noble line.”
“I know you have duties, and pride.” She looked up, not caring for the tight set of his jaw.
“They are more than duties and go deeper than pride.” He dropped to one knee before her, taking her hand with both of his. “I have responsibilities that my honor willnae allow me to turn my back on.”
She blew out a breath. “Your responsibilities won’t matter a whit if you are dead.”
To her annoyance, he squeezed her fingers and flashed one of his smug, alpha male smiles. “Then tell me again, Kee-rah, how the books say I died.”
“Exactly as I’ve already told you.” Kira shoved a lock of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Every book I have says you died at the hands of your cousin, Conan Dearg. One, a self-published book by a man called Wee Hughie MacSporran, goes into greater detail, claiming Conan Dearg locked you in your own dungeon, leaving you to starve on a diet of salt beef and fouled water.”
“Och, lass, dinnae you see? You are fashing yourself for naught.” His alpha male smile turned triumphant, spreading across his face. He sprang to his feet, pulling her up with him. “Your books erred, though the self-published one, whate’er that means, is closer to the truth than the others. Conan Dearg did not lock me in my dungeon. It is the blackguard himself who whiles there, wasting away on salt beef and rancid water. Wee Hughie MacSporran, whoe’er he claims to be, mistook us, switching my fate with my cousin’s.”
Kira smoothed back her hair again, fighting the desperation beginning to spin inside her.
Looking bolder and more confident than ever, Aidan folded his arms. “I am no’ concerned about this Hughie man.”
He made a dismissive gesture. “It matters not. His book is wrong.”
“I’m not so sure.” Kira inhaled a tight breath, the image of Wee Hughie’s book flashing across her mind. She could still see his name and the words historian, storyteller, and keeper of tradition almost larger than the slim volume’s title. She suppressed a shudder, memories of the self-inflated tour guide-cum-author’s preening on her long-ago coach tour flooding back to her.
Never would she forget his grand camera poses in front of the Robert Bruce statue at Bannockburn and how he’d gone on and on about being directly descended from the well-loved hero king, as well as every other great name in Scottish history.
Including Clan Donald.
She winced, hearing the swellhead’s boasts as clearly as if she’d last seen him yesterday.
Too bad for her, she also remembered Mara McDougall-Douglas’s husband, Alex, claiming that Rivers of Stone: A Highlander’s Ancestral Journey was a “fine book” and that Wee Hughie MacSporran was exceptionally well-versed in Highland legends and lore.
A notion that made her stomach twist into a cold, tight knot.
Alex Douglas hadn’t struck her as man who’d give praise where it wasn’t due.
Wishing she felt otherwise, she turned to the table and poured herself a cup of the odd-tasting medieval wine, just another difference she hadn’t yet adjusted to. But wet was wet, and she needed to do something about her dry mouth before she could speak.
Draining the cup, she set it down with a clack, then turned back to face Aidan, not at all surprised to see him still wearing his smug look.
“I hate to say it,” she began, bracing herself, “but I think the book is right and you’re wrong.”
He lifted one brow. “Why would you be thinking that?”
“Because I’ve met the author.” She lifted her chin, ignoring how the cold knot inside her was drawing tighter, even starting to pulse. “He was a tour guide on my first trip to Scotland, the one I saw you on. He’s even related to you, if he wasn’t lying. Either way, I didn’t like him. He struck me as being quite full of himself, but he did seem to know a lot about Scottish history.”
Aidan humphed. “I’ll wager he was full of naught but too much Highland wind.”
“He was, as far as boasting about his illustrious ancestors,” she agreed. “A shame, because he was also filled with fascinating anecdotes about the places we visited. He’s the one who told us about Castle Wrath as our tour bus approached your cliff. If his tales hadn’t been so stirring, I might not have felt such an urge to trek out here and have a look. Had I not, we might never have met.”
She paused. “Even so, the real reason I believe his book is right is because someone I trust praised his knowledge. I stopped near Oban on my way here, at Ravenscraig Castle, and-”
“Ravenscraig?” He looked at her, his brows almost on the ceiling. “That place is a den of cross-grained MacDougall devils. They can’t be trusted farther than the length of a sword.”
“They were nice to me.” Kira bristled. No one bad-talked her friends, no matter how hunky or good in bed. Or even medieval. “Mara McDougall is American like me. She’s a friend of my family and just happened to marry a Highlander. His name is Alex, Sir Alex Douglas, and they own Ravenscraig in my time. He’s the one who gave me a copy of Wee Hughie’s book. It was in their gift shop.”
“Ah, well, that’s good to hear – a Douglas lairding it at Ravenscraig.” He folded his arms, not looking a bit remorseful. “Theirs is a fine name, one of the strongest in the land. After MacDonald, of course.”
“You’d like Alex. He reminded me of you. He has this air about him, almost as if he could stride right into your time and be instantly at home.” She glanced aside, surprised by a sudden rush of emotion. Images of Ravencraig’s One Cairn Village whirled across her mind, her throat thickening as she remembered the warm welcome she’d received there. “If you met Alex, you’d understand why I trust his word on Wee Hughie’s book.”
Aidan humphed again, his admiration for the great Clan Douglas clearly not going that far.
Kira sighed. “I wish I could have showed you the book, but I lost it when I time traveled. It slipped from my fingers and fell into a crack in the top of the gatehouse arch.”
“I would hear of Ameri-cains and tour buses,” he declared as if she hadn’t spoken. He helped himself to a cup of wine, then eyed her over its rim as he sipped, clearly no longer interested in discussing Wee Hughie and his book. “Are these tour buses only used by Ameri-cains and are they anything like the flying machines you told me of earlier?”
She frowned.
This conversation wasn’t running in the right direction.
Wishing she’d never let him maneuver her from modern-day books on Clan Donald to airplanes, she put back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Tour buses are like the flying machines, but on wheels and without wings. They’re smaller and never leave the ground. And, yes, lots of American tourists use them. In the Scotland of my time, they’re called coaches.”
Aidan nodded, sagely.
“I thought as much,” he said, clearly attempting to appear knowledgeable.
“A-hem,” Tavish’s deep voice cut in, surprising them both. “Pardon the intrusion,” he said, stepping out of the shadows by the door, “but Cook is in a dither o’er the preparations for the feast to celebrate Conan Dearg’s capture. He wants your permission to dip into the better spices and-”
“If you didn’t mean to disturb, you could have knocked.” Aidan flashed a frown at the gaping door, then at his long-nosed friend. “Yon door was closed, if I recall. No’ that the like has e’er bother you.”
The lout feigned a look of innocence. “Had I known you weren’t alone, I would have called out before I entered.”
“Say you?” Aidan knew better. “Had I no’ seen you standing in a niche in the stair tower, kissing one of the laundresses as my lady and I made our way down the steps, I might be inclined to believe you. As is” – he looked down to flick at his plaid – “I caught your quick, sideways glance as we passed.”
Tavish gave a half-shrug. “That was hours ago.”
Aidan rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, well aware of the pointlessness in arguing. He did frown when Tavish lifted his arms in mock surrender, then crossed the room to kiss Kira’s hand with an unnecessary flourish.
An exaggerated flair that almost made Aidan forget how much he loved the man. Displeased all the same, he eyed him. “You have better to do than skulk about plastering your ears to doors and hiding in shadows.”
Tavish straightened, not at all repentant. “Be that as it may, Cook is driving everyone in the kitchens half mad with his rantings. I thought you ought know.”
Not believing a word, Aidan slung an arm around his friend’s shoulders and led him toward the table. Pouring a brimming cup of wine, he thrust it into Tavish’s hands. “Cook has ne’er cared to consult me on kitchen matters so long as he’s wielded his stew ladle. We both know he’ll be fussing about something on the day we lower him into God’s good earth.”
“That may well be,” Tavish agreed.
Folding his arms, Aidan watched him take an all-too-leisurely sip of wine. “Out with it, my friend. How long were you standing at the door, straining your ears?”
“He only just walked in. I saw him from the corner of my eye,” Kira defended him, telling as tall a tale as Tavish.
“See?” Tavish smiled and set down his wine cup. “You insulted me for naught.”
Aidan grunted. “It is impossible to insult you. Your hide is thicker than an ox’s. Further, even if Cook wished my consent to plunder our stores of spices, he would have sent a kitchen lad. So tell me why you’re here.”
Tavish’s jaunty smile vanished. “Would you believe to save your hide? Leastways, to inform you of certain stirrings in the hall.”
Aidan sighed, believing his friend indeed.
Not that he was wont to admit it.
Instead, he folded his arms and cocked a brow, waiting.
To his credit, Tavish didn’t squirm. He did cast an uncomfortable glance at Ferlie. “Your men are no’ pleased about having been ordered to bathe the castle dogs,” he said, a frown marring his handsome face. “I suspect they fear they’ll be next.”
“Oh, dear.” Kira spoke up. “That’s my fault-”
Aidan held up a hand to silence her. “Nae,” he said, snatching up a choice bannock and tossing it to Ferlie. “The time is long past that Wrath’s dogs stop fouling the air with their stink. My men, too, now that I think of it.”
“As you wish.” Tavish didn’t bat an eye. “Shall I see that they cease their bickering?”
In answer, Aidan took him by the elbow and ushered him toward the door. “Just tell them that anyone no’ bathed and clean-smelling within two days, will find themselves scouring the cesspit and then scrubbing each other until their buttocks shine like a bairn’s. Now off with you, and dinnae return unless we’re attacked.”
Tavish nodded, but jerked free just before Aidan could shove him out the door. Twisting round, he looked across the room to Kira. “The parchments and scribing goods you wished have been left in Aidan’s bedchamber.” He made her a slight bow. “If you need more, let me know.”
Then he was gone.
Disappearing into his infernal shadows before Aidan could have the pleasure of closing the door on him.
He shut it, regardless. He even slid home the drawbar, though there wasn’t any need. What he needed was to get to the bottom of the goings-on in his castle. Things he wouldn’t mind at all had a certain flame-haired, big-bosomed vixen taken the time to mention them to him.
“When did you ask Tavish for scribing goods?” He turned to fix her with his best I-am-laird-and-you’d-better-answer-me-now stare.
She jutted her chin, not looking a bit impressed. “This morning,” she admitted, her gaze bold. “But I didn’t ask him directly. I mentioned it to the woman who brought me new clothes when you stepped out of the room to leave me to my ablutions.”
Aidan nodded. “One of the laundresses, then.”
Kira shrugged. “Whatever. I wanted the parchment and ink to keep record of my thoughts.”
She blew out a breath of relief when he nodded again, apparently believing her.
Not that she wished to deceive him, but at the moment, she didn’t want to discuss her need to put together a story for Dan Hillard. Her piece, though she’d add a caveat at the end never to reveal her identity.
Whether she ever found herself thrust back to modern times or not, she didn’t want to be plunged into the limelight. Heaven forbid, to be made an object for dissection on the Internet. The Viking affair had been bad enough. If ever her account of her experiences came into Dan’s hands, he need only have the parchment carbon dated to prove the validity of her tale.
Such a story would thrust Destiny Magazine into the big league and bring Dan a fortune.
A good turn he deserved, even if it meant being a bit secretive.
Aidan, too, had his duties and loyalties, as he’d said himself.
So she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, preparing to use her mother’s best strategy for avoiding sticky wickets.
Diversion.
“Are you really going to hold a feast to celebrate your cousin’s capture?” She pounced the instant he rejoined her beside the solar’s hearth fire.
Aidan slid his arms around her, pulling her close. “Aye, I must. My people expect and deserve it. Locking him in the dungeon is no’ enough.” He slid his hands over her shoulders, down her back. “They need the forgetting of a feast, see you? With luck, a fine and rollicking one can be arranged within a fortnight.”
“Your cousin is that bad?” Kira couldn’t believe it.
“He is worse.” Aidan’s gut clenched at the thought of all the souls on Conan Dearg’s conscience. “He has but one redeeming quality, though I am at a loss to explain it.”
“What?” Kira angled her head, peering at him. “Is he a horse whisperer or something?”
Aidan frowned, not sure what a horse whisperer was, but knowing full well that wasn’t what he’d meant. “Och, nae,” he said, shaking his head. “Conan Dearg is none the like. What he is, is a charmer. There hasn’t been a maid yet born who can resist him.”
“I don’t think he’d impress me.” She flicked an invisible speck off her skirts. “From what I’m hearing about him, I’m surprised women even glance at him.”
“Och, they look.” Aidan refilled his wine cup, drinking deeply. “They gaze and go all moony-eyed, flocking to him like bees to a hive. He’s a great fiery-haired devil, bold and handsome, strong as a wild Highland bull.”
“It sounds like he needs to be de-bulled.”
Aidan threw back his head and laughed, then caught himself, stunned to realize he hadn’t laughed in longer than he could remember. “Aye, lopping off his bits should’ve been done long ago,” he agreed, serious again. “But he’s suffering a meet end now. No’ that his passing will bring back the victims of his viciousness.”
Dismay flickered in Kira’s eyes. “There were many?”
“More than a soul can rightly count.” Aidan leaned a hip against the table, considering how much he should share with her. “He used to send large stones sailing down from the battlements of Ardcraig’s keep onto the heads of any unwelcome visitors who’d somehow slipped past his gatehouse. The gods only know how many hapless wayfarers seeking no more than a night’s lodging were brained in such a manner. He’d designed a special stone-throwing device and tied ropes around the stones, using his contraption to haul them up to be dropped again if the first aim failed to flatten a man.”
Pausing, he sighed deeply and looked away. The gusting wind was lessening now and great swaths of mist rolled past the solar windows, turning the night into a shifting mass of chill, damp gray.
“Dinnae worry, the career of his stone-throwing device was short-lived. Those days ended when he accidentally dropped a stone on his favorite mistress, killing her.” His head ached just recalling his cousin’s villainy. “She was the wife of one of his best allies and had taken it upon herself to pay him a surprise visit. Sad for the lady, she disguised herself as a man, and although she gave her identity to the guards, passing unhindered through the gatehouse, in the dark of night Conan Dearg mistook her for a stranger. Someone he didn’t care to be pestered by.”
He glanced back to Kira, not surprised to find her staring at him with rounded eyes.
“Good heavens.” She pressed a hand to her breast. “Too bad the husband didn’t kill him.”
“Och, he tried, well enough,” Aidan told her, stretching his arms over his head and cracking his knuckles. “He rode hotfoot to Ardcraig to challenge him as soon as he heard. Their clash lasted all of a heartbeat, with Conan Dreag cleaving the man in two before he’d scarce whipped his blade from its scabbard.” He lowered his arms, looking at her. “My cousin is an expert swordsman.”
Kira shuddered. “I think he’s also crafty,” she said, now more determined than ever to persuade Aidan to return to her time with her.
“Aye, that he is,” he agreed, glancing at the windows again, his expression hardening. “Cunning and devious as the wiliest fox.”
“I’ve always liked foxes.” Kira smoothed the soft, red-gold wool of her skirts, thinking how much the rich color resembled a fox pelt. “I once read a romance novel where a really cute little fox with magical eyes was a meddling wise woman’s familiar. She was called Devorgilla and I think the fox’s name was Somerled.”
“Somerled?” Aidan shot a sharp glance at her. “I dinnae think my like-named forebear, who styled himself King of the Isles, would’ve cared for that. And you, sweetness, wouldn’t appreciate my cousin’s kind of foxing.” He reached to pull her against him. “With surety, I say you.”
“No doubt.” Her heart began to flutter as he took her in his arms, drawing her close.
“Indeed.” He slid a hand beneath her hair, gently massaging the back of her head. “Conan Dearg’s craftiness would put Satan’s most devious minions to shame. Once, many years ago, he took a dislike to one of his younger garrison men. The lad was a bit of a rogue and bonnie enough to catch the eye of one of my cousin’s ladyloves. Much to Conan Dearg’s annoyance, because of the lad’s sunny disposition and ready laughter, he was also popular with the other men.”
Kira shivered, guessing the outcome. “Don’t tell me he ended up in two pieces?”
Aidan shook his head. “Nae, praise the gods, he was one of the few to escape my cousin’s grasp. But only by the grace of a passing MacKenzie galley and the good eyes and ears of those who happened to be on board.”
Kira’s jaw slipped. “Did your cousin set him adrift in a leaky boat or something?
“Or something, aye,” Aidan told her in a voice like steel. “Because of the lad’s popularity, he bided his time, not wanting to rouse suspicion. Opportunity finally arose when a ewe tumbled off a cliff, landing unharmed on a narrow rock ledge halfway between the cliff-top and the sea.”
Releasing her, he pushed away from the table to pace again, distaste making it impossible to stand still. Even with his sweet tamhasg pliant and warm against him.
“Agility was another of the lad’s many talents, and so my cousin approached him, saying he’d chosen him to fetch the poor ewe,” he continued, a chill passing through him as he remembered the deed. “Together with two other men, they went out to the cliffs, a remote place far from prying eyes and where a call for help wouldn’t be heard. Eager to please, and just as keen to rescue the ewe, the lad let himself be lowered on a rope down the cliff to the small foot-hold of a ledge.”
“Ropes and cliffs again?” Kira looked at him with a frown. She didn’t shudder, but her opinion of his world’s harsher aspects rippled all over her.
His mouth twisted. “Ach, lass,” he said, wincing inside, “such is our way of life. The cliffs hold a rich harvest for us. Seabirds, with their eggs and oil, the latterly being a fuel we use to light our lamps. When a beast loses its footing and slips o’er an edge, if it survives the fall, we fetch it. Men here learn to brave the cliffs soon after their first steps. Some women as well, as you know from Annie MacQueen’s fate.”
“So what was the young man’s fate?” She drew a breath, her face pale. “Did he, too, plunge into the sea?”
“Nae….” Aidan hesitated, wishing he’d ne’er mentioned the lad. “He reached the ledge with ease, but before he could secure the end of the rope around the ewe, the rope went slack in his hands. Looking up, he saw its other end sailing down towards him. The two other men were apparently sacrificed to guarantee their silence.”
Kira gasped. “That’s horrible.”
“To be sure.” He came back to her, crossing the room with purposeful strides. “Had it not been for the MacKenzies hearing his cries when they sailed past, a shade too close to the cliffs, he’d surely have died there,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “As it was, the MacKenzies anchored in the next cove, sending men to climb the cliffs and then toss down a fresh rope, rescuing both the lad and the ewe.”
“Thank goodness.” Kira exhaled. “But how did you find out? Did he come here after his rescue?”
“Ach, nae, he had more sense than that and sailed on to Kintail with the MacKenzies, settling and eventually marrying there. The tale did not reach us here at a Wrath until some years later when a wandering bard mentioned having met him at a feast at Eilean Creag Castle, the MacKenzie stronghold.”
He paused to stroke her cheek. “You needn’t look so worried, sweetness,” he said, lighting a finger across her lips. “The bard told us the MacKenzie chieftain, a man styled as the Black Stag of Kintail, took a great liking to the lad and saw that he received every comfort and a warm welcome into that clan.”
“But…” Kira broke off, frowning. “Didn’t anyone wonder what happened to the three missing men?”
Aidan arched a brow. “You mean before the bard’s arrival?”
She nodded.
He gave a half-smile. “I told you my cousin is cunning,” he reminded her. “He crafted an explanation no one would question, claiming the men set sail for the Isle of Barra, hoping to enjoy a bit of carouse and wenching with our allies, the MacNeils. They are generous, openhanded hosts and notorious wenchers. Many of the younger clansmen hereabouts like paying calls there. Some of the older ones, too.”
“And you?”
“Me?” Amusement sparked in his eyes. “I will no’ lie to you, lass. To be sure, I’ve enjoyed visiting the Barra MacNeils. And, aye, I’ve savored the lustier revels they offer their guests, but” – he took her hand and pressed a quick kiss to her palm, another to the back of her wrist – “the MacNeils have no’ seen me in recent times.”
She blinked. “Why not?”
“Ah, my precious lass, I think you know,” he said, his half-smile broadening into a grin.
“Maybe I’d like to hear the words.”
“Then you shall have them.” His gaze dipped to her breasts as he carefully undid her gown’s laces, then eased open her bodice, allowing him to caress her naked skin. “My world isn’t all harshness and cruelty,” he said, his touch causing an immediate melting between her thighs. “Many are the pleasures, including those that men find on the Isle of Barra. You are my joy and have been since that first day I saw you. Since then, my only reason for e’er sailing to Barra, has been to quench my need for you.”
“With other women-…oh!” Her breath caught when his fingers brushed a nipple.
Squeezing it gently, he looked down, watching as the nipple tightened beneath his lazy toyings. “With. Other. Women. Aye.” He spoke the words slowly, his gaze riveted on her breasts. “Poor substitutes for the one woman I burned to have for my own.”
“Oh, Aidan.” She bit her lip, her heart melting this time.
He looked up at her, the blaze in his eyes scorching her soul. “‘Tis you I want, Kee-rah. You and no other for the rest of my days.”
She nodded, her blasted throat once more too thick for words.
“I cannae recall the names of those other women, nor even their faces, save that I sought out ones that minded me of you.” He cupped her breasts with both hands, kneading and plumping them. “All I can remember is the emptiness I felt inside each time I left their beds. That, and my gnawing need for the woman in my dreams.”
Aidan! Her voice sounded strange in her ears, urgent and roughened, blurred by the roar of her pulse, the wild thundering of her heart. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, willing to plead. “Please come back to my time with me. You can’t stay here. I know your cousin will kill you. He-”
“Will no’ have me running away with my tail between my legs like a frightened and whipped cur.” He shook his head, raised a hand to silence her protest. “MacDonalds do not flee from their foes. They fight them and win the day. Conan Dearg’s days are past.”
Kira glanced away. “He doesn’t sound like someone easy to defeat.” She felt chilled, worry squeezing her chest. “You said he’s an expert swordsman.”
He snorted. “You doubt that I am as good?” He arched a brow, all arrogant chieftain again. “Sweet lass, I am better.”
“Even so-”
“He is in my dungeon and powerless.” His mouth crashed down over hers, claiming her lips in a deep, searing kiss. Hot, hard and demanding. “All this talk of him has left a bad taste on the back of my tongue,” he vowed, breaking away to look at her. “I’ve a powerful need to banish it with something sweet!”
In a blink, he was on his knees, her skirts shoved up to her hips and his face but a breath away from that-part-of-her-that-should-be-wearing-panties.
Kira stilled, unable to move. Not wanting to. She looked down, the way he was staring at her there, making her nervous.
“Oh, no,” she gasped.
“Och, aye, lass.” His sexy Scottish voice was deep, husky with passion. “This is the sweetness I crave. You, all hot, and slippery.”
He glanced up, the heat in his gaze sizzling her as he jerked her skirts up even higher, then leaned close, nipping and kissing his way up the inside of her thighs before he buried his face between her legs and licked her.
Crying out, she fisted her hands and threw back her head, arching into him and almost climaxing the first time he flicked his tongue over her clit.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed, her knees nearly giving out on her when he replaced his tongue with a circling finger and then licked along the center of her, plunging his tongue right into her. Deep, deep inside her. “O-o-oh, my God! Aidan….”
Aidan!
The rough and urgent voice again, not hers at all, and this time followed by a loud pounding on the door.
They both froze, passion doused.
Tavish shouted, “Come, man! Open the door!”
Aidan shot to his feet, his face a mask of fury. “I’ll kill the bastard,” he snarled, storming across the room and yanking open the door. “Did I no’ tell you-”
“It’s the lad, Kendrew,” Tavish panted, bursting into the room. “He’s been hurt, out by the gatehouse. Men just carried him in the hall.”
Aidan swore. “The gatehouse? What happened? Was there trouble with the other squires?”
“He had a skirmish, aye. But no’ with any boy.”
“Then who?”
Tavish looked uncomfortable. “If he’s to be believed,” he said, slanting a look at Kira, “it was your cousin.”
“Conan Dearg?” Aidan stared at him. “That’s no’ possible.”
Tavish shrugged. “Aye, it cannae be. Conan Dearg is still in the dungeon. I checked myself.”
“What happened?” Kira joined them. A bad feeling deep in her bones made her chest go tight. “Kendrew was in a scuffle at the gatehouse? Could he have mistaken one of the guards for Aidan’s cousin?”
“My guards wouldn’t fall upon the lad.” Aidan shot her a frown.
Tavish snorted. “That, my friend, is what Kendrew claims happened.
Aidan’s eyes widened. “What? That Conan Dearg fell on him?”
“Nae.” Tavish shook his head. “He said the blackguard leapt onto him. From the top of the gatehouse arch. Kendrew babbled that he saw Conan Dearg up there, creeping about on his hands and knees. When he called to him, he says the craven jumped down on top of him, knocking him into the mounting block before running away across the bailey.”
Aidan rubbed his jaw. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Kira looked at him, Kendrew’s tale making perfect sense to her.
Aidan’s cousin had an accomplice at Wrath. Someone willing to let him in and out of the dungeon. Even scarier, he’d learned about the gatehouse arch.
And he was trying to find out how to use it.