Highland Fling

He bowed formally from the waist, as if he were garbed in royalty’s finest and wasn’t splendidly, impressively naked before her. “Aye, I am the Mac-Tavish, laird of Glenagan.”

And just how out of touch with reality was he? “And what year is it?”

“The year be 1744.” He thought it was 17-freaking-44? Okay. “What year might you think it?” He spoke carefully, as if she was the one with the problem. Delusional people were actually more pitiful than frightening, except those armed with knives—that was a bad combination.

She hedged. “Uh…I thought it might be a little later than that.” She carefully slid to the edge of the bed. “So, it was nice to meet you Darach MacTavish but I think I should be going now.”

“And where might you be heading?” His low, rich voice held a note of indulgence.

“I should really be getting home. I have lots of people who’ll worry if I don’t get home.” And that was one whopping lie and a half. Unfortunately, no one would miss her until she didn’t turn up for her next shift two days from now. Even then no one would worry because Torri Campbell would eagerly snitch that Kate was indulging in a condom-a-thon.

“And where are your people?” His raised brows lent him a distinctly wicked, in a pulse-quickening way, look.

Okay. She’d play his game, as if he didn’t know from where she’d been abducted. “Atlanta. Atlanta, Georgia.”

His brow furrowed as though in confusion.

“It’s dark,” he said, nodding his head toward the window cut high into the stone wall, “and night’s no place for a lass alone. Rest, Kate, and in the morn we’ll return you to your people.”

Exhaustion flooded her body and her mind. It was more than she could assimilate. However, she deduced that Darach MacTavish, or whoever was standing naked before her like some warrior of old obviously meant her no harm. That time had come and gone.

“You aren’t going to tie me up are you?”

A glimmer of a smile lurked in his eyes and crooked one corner of his sensual mouth. “I can if you want me to, but it’s not necessary. You are free to leave, but I wouldna advise it.”

“Why not?”

“You are a stranger to these parts. If you leave this room, the women would stone you. The men…well, they aren’t adverse to a comely lass, daft or no. I mean you no harm, Kate Wexford. If I did, you’d have already found it. And don’t think of trying to take my dagger while I sleep. Men have died for less.”

Having felt the press of his blade, she didn’t doubt it. She wrapped the soft wool more tightly around her, ensconcing herself in the same scent that had beckoned to her when she’d been drawn to the damn painting in the first place. Had it been only half an hour ago or a lifetime? She glanced at her watch. It had stopped. This situation was getting weirder by the minute.

And despite the fact that she felt leaden with fatigue, there was no way she was sleeping until she got some answers. But she’d pretend to sleep and then when Tall, Dark and Naked drifted off to la-la land, she’d nose around and see what she could find out.

“I’m not interested in your dagger,” she said, reassuring him. Unfortunately, with his dagger by his side, it was difficult to look at the blade rather than his private sword.

“Be a good lass and get some rest.”

When had anyone last spoken to her in that patronizing tone? Who did he think he was? Oh, yeah. He thought he was the laird of Glenagan. Her eyes drifted closed. She’d…fake…him out until…he…slept….

DARACH KNEW THE MOMENT sleep claimed Kate Wexford. What he still didn’t know, however, was what manner of woman she was. Without question, she was different, with her strange accent and speech and her hair shorn in the manner of a lad. And with all of her odd ways, why had he felt a recognition in his soul, as if he knew her? And how the devil had she found her way to his bed?

He watched her sleep, noting the dark smudges beneath her eyes where her lashes fanned over her cheeks, the bow of her upper lip, the roundness of her bare shoulder, the curve of her breasts and hips covered by his plaid, the delicate arch of her bare feet. And he felt something inside, the same thing he’d first felt when he’d seen her on his bed, a tingle that ran through him from toe to finger tip.

Kate Wexford should have been stopped by his guard-at-arms. Barring that, she should have never made it past the grand hall to the keep. Of certain, she never should have gained access to his chamber. Was everyone in his house asleep or simply daft? By all that was holy, Hamish would answer to him.

He crossed the room, taking care not to slam the door behind him, and made his way down the narrow stairs he’d climbed since he was a wee lad. Within minutes his second in command stood before him as summoned. A year younger than Darach, Hamish’s prematurely gray hair left him looking older. The two had grown up together, watching one another’s backs, forging a friendship deeper than that of a laird and his clansman. Darach trusted Hamish like a brother.

“There’s a lass in my bed,” Darach said.

Hamish cocked his head to one side. “Do you find her comely?”

Darach didn’t know exactly what he thought about the woman. She lacked the striking beauty of some, but there was something about her that unleashed a yearning in him he’d never before known. “She’s fair enough.”

“Then what are ye doin’ standin’ here with me?” Hamish grinned.

“I’m wantin’ to know how a stranger to these parts managed to slip past everyone in this house and find her way to my bed.”

Hamish’s grin faded. “None of the men have reported anyone.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you want me to send someone to fetch her or should I get her myself?”

“No. Leave her be.”

“But—”

“I said leave her be and mention her to no one.” His people were a suspicious lot and with them preparing to march on the English crown…. “Having a strange woman show up would unsettle things for sure. Let me give her some thought.”

Hamish nodded, his gray hair glinting in the light from the sconce. “Where does she say she is from?”

“A place I have never heard of.” He passed a weary hand over his forehead. For a heartbeat he pondered that he might have conjured her in his mind. Nay, the sweet press of her flesh beneath his had been real enough. The confusion and anger darkening her green eyes, her galloping heartbeat beneath him all spoke to a woman of honeyed breath rather than some figment of his imagination.

“And where is she now?” Hamish asked.

“In my bed, where she’ll stay until I decide what I’m going to do with her. I promised her passage home tomorrow, but until I’m certain she isna a Sassenach spy, she will stay. Her name is British enough. Kate Wexford.” It sounded foreign on his tongue. His conscience didn’t quibble at the change of plans. His first responsibility lay in protecting his people. Even so, the thought of her ripe curves beneath his plaid stirred his blood and various and sundry parts. “And I know what I’ll be doin’ with her soon enough.”

“What if she isn’t wanting a tumble?”

He hadn’t thought of that, he’d just thought they hadn’t made it that far yet. “I have yet to bed a lass less than willing.”

“And you ken she’s willing?”

He had yet to meet a woman who wasn’t. “Figure it out for yourself man. She was in my bed with no clothes on.”

“I would ken she’s willing.”

The memory of her pale skin against his plaid stirred his blood. A few bonnie words and the lass would be his for the tumbling. He smiled at Hamish. “Or she will be soon enough.”

KATE AWOKE, instantly alert. There was a lot to be said for the efficacy of power napping she’d perfected as a resident. She knew without glancing about that the Darach MacTavish wannabe was gone—knew it because she didn’t feel him in the room.

What to do? How to get out of here? The problem was the man could return at any moment. She needed help. She needed to let someone know where she was, which she didn’t exactly know, or at least that she’d been taken against her will. She pulled out her cell phone. It was still on, but there wasn’t a signal. Dammit. How could they have whisked her away to a place so remote there was no cell phone signal? Marc Fredericks was pulling a stint with Doctors Without Borders in Zimbabwe and even he had cell service. In freaking Zimbabwe, nonetheless.

Calm. Stay calm. She pulled out and turned on her Blackberry. She waited, but no signal bars showed. What the…? She’d paid a boatload of money for guaranteed service. She had it in writing. The only way she shouldn’t have an Internet signal was if all the satellites were down and that was a technological impossibility.

Exasperated and slightly panicked she stood and went to the window, trying to get her bearings, shivering at the constant draft in the room. The night sky blanketed the earth with an incredible display of stars. She realized she must be about three or four stories up because she could literally see for miles. With a dawning sense of dismay she realized the stars shone so bright because they weren’t competing with street lights. They weren’t competing with any lights. For as far as she could see, which she estimated to be several miles from this vantage point, there were no lights other than the odd pinprick which seemed to be more in keeping with a campfire than a streetlight.

And where were the trees? Every landscape within a several hour drive of Atlanta boasted a canopy of trees but all she saw was rolling hills, desolate and barren in the starlight.

She turned from the window, suddenly feeling frantic. Ohmigod. The picture. The picture from the museum. She’d missed it earlier because it had been out of her line of vision. It was the same, the exact same portrait. At least it looked the same. Okay. Definitely weird. And staring at the picture wouldn’t get her any answers. If she’d fallen through it to get here, ostensibly she should be able to fall through it to get back home. She walked over and tried to keep going. Ow! She bounced off of the picture and the stone wall. That hurt. And she was still here. Damn.

She methodically checked the stone wall. No electrical outlets surreptitiously tucked behind furniture to keep the authenticity of the room. Nope. They simply weren’t there. No central heating and air-conditioning vents. No phone jacks. No nothing except stone walls and floors and a fireplace nearly big enough for her to stand in and a constant draft of cold air. Dread slid down her spine and she pulled the soft wool more tightly around her.

She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, drawing herself up to her full five feet and five-and-a-half inches. Clearly, this room held no answers. She forced herself to walk to the wooden door cut into the stone wall.

She ignored the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. How many times had she watched scary movies and seen the heroine doing something stupid like opening the door to explore when sure as heck something awful awaited her on the other side? But she had to find out what was going on and her only hope was in discovering what lay out there.

She grasped the rustic metal latch and opened it. Just like in the movies, it swung wide with an accompanying screech, not exactly what she needed to settle her nerves.

Cold and inky black swallowed her. A musty dankness permeated the chill. Kate hesitated, her nerve nearly deserting her. She clutched the material around her, finding an odd comfort in the man’s scent clinging to the fabric.

Stairs went up and down in the narrow winding case. Obviously she was in some sort of turret. This just sucked. She wasn’t some princess. She hadn’t been sitting around waiting on her prince to show. There was no prince. And Darach MacTavish was too raw, too much man to be prince material.

She balanced herself along the wall with her right hand and edged her way along the staircase. The cold stone floor freezing against her bare feet, she used her toes to feel over the fairly sharp edge of the stone to the next step. Within seconds, the narrow, curving steps and wall obliterated the meager light from the open bedroom door. But even with her pisspoor sense of direction, she wasn’t likely to get lost with up and down as her only options.

She heard him, smelled him, felt him to her core before she met him in the dark. Not wanting to send them both tumbling down the narrow winding stairs she whispered into the quiet. “MacTavish?”

“Did you miss me that much, Katie-love, that ye had to come looking for me?”

No one called her Katie and certainly no one in their right mind called her Katie-love, but she was in a situation she neither understood nor controlled and he seemed to be in charge so she supposed he could call her whatever struck his fancy. And she didn’t miss the dark note of displeasure underlying his seemingly light remark.

“I was simply trying to get my bearings.”

“And I suppose you missed my suggestion you keep to my room.” He moved a step closer and his body heat enveloped her. There was nowhere to go. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, down the length of her throat to the ridge of her collarbone. He brushed his thumb against her wildly beating pulse. “Or mebbe you wanted me to tie you to my bed. Is that it Katie-love?”

He feathered his hands along her shoulders, down her arms and gently captured her wrists. He raised them above her head and pinned them against the wall with one hand. Cold, rough-hewn stones bit into her shoulders and arms. His hand, callused but warm, cupped her neck and he traced a sensual pattern with his thumb against her throat.

Her breath lodged in her chest, caught up in the mad beating of her heart. Was it him, or the dark, or the situation that heightened her senses? For more than a month, she’d smelled his scent each time she’d visited the museum, and now it evoked the same response, but tenfold. He had her pinned to the wall in a strange place and still a dark, sensual heat coursed through her.

He lowered his head and his hair teased against her bare shoulder. His warm breath danced over her skin. His lips whispered against her, not quite a kiss, over her shoulder, along the line where his plaid covered her breasts. Instinctively she arched her back bringing her closer to his mouth. “Ah, that’s some fine skin you have Katie-love, soft and warm and you smell good too.” He nuzzled where her shoulder met her neck and Kate thought she might melt at the feel of his lips against her skin, the faint scrape of his whiskers. “It could fair drive a man mad to wonder if you’re that soft and smell that good all over. I would like to say all the men would be fair and noble were they to run into you wearing naught but a plaid, but that’s not the case. There are many who’d be driven to seek what you hide beneath and none too particular as to your willingness. So, if you won’t keep yourself safe, I’ll do what I have to do. As laird of Glenagan, it’s my job to look after my people.” He slid his hands down her arms, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

“But I’m not your people.” Her protest, which she fully intended to be forceful and assertive, somehow got lost in the sensation of his fingers against her bare arms, and came out a hoarse whisper.

He wrapped an arm, much like a band of steel, about her waist. Before she realized what he was up to, he hoisted her off her feet and over one massive shoulder. “Ah, Katie-love, that’s where you are wrong. As long as you’re on my land, you belong to me.”

3

DARACH MACTAVISH was confounded. Ever since he was a wee lad, the lasses had taken a ken to him. So, finding a lass in his bed hadn’t been that surprising. Finding her as bare as a bairn had been something of a boon. But she didn’t seem wont to stay there and that was confounding, as was her strange speech.

He tested the last knot. Katie wouldn’t be going anywhere until he decided she should. He looked down at her stony face. “If you’re uncomfortable, you have no one but yourself to blame.”

She turned her face to the wall, away from him without answering.

“Ye left me no choice. At least I didna bind your legs.” She seemed in no mood for a tumble and to have her on his bed with her legs spread, her ankles bound to the corner posts…well, he didn’t need the temptation.

“Thank you.” She looked at him, anger simmering beneath her stony facade. “You’re wasting both of our time. Obviously you’ve confused me with someone else. People will miss me and the authorities will look for me, but no one will pay you a penny for me.”

“You think I want to ransom you?”

“Why else are you tying me up? Why won’t you let me leave?”

“I’ve told you why, you daft lass.”

“I’m not daft, you jackass…at least I don’t think I am. I just want to go home.” The last word ended on an abrupt note. Was it because she was about to start caterwauling or because she’d said too much?

“Were you perhaps meeting someone to take you home?” He should’ve thought of that before. Of course she wasn’t here alone. Finally, the situation made sense. “Were you sent here to distract me? Who were you on your way to meet? Where were you meeting them?”

A hint of bewilderment lurked behind the frustration in her green eyes. “I don’t know why I’m here. I wish I did. No, that’s not true. I don’t care why I’m here. I just want to wake up and have this dream over.”

Her nonsense held a note of truth. But it was, in fact nonsense, and he pressed her. “Tell me where you’re to meet your people and I’ll take you there. As long as no harm comes to a MacTavish on this night, I’ll set you and your people free. It’s a generous offer and one I won’t grant again, so make your decision wisely, Katie Wexford.”

“I wish I could tell you what you want to know. I would if I could. I’m not stoic or heroic or any of those things. I want a hot shower, a glass of red wine, my silk pajamas and my bed. This—” she glanced around the room and then pointedly at him, “—is not my idea of a good evening.”

Darach crossed to the door. He’d rouse the whole castle. Better to surprise the enemy than be caught unaware. And he’d spent entirely too much of his time talking with this woman. He turned to face her. “I am going to rouse the castle. If your people are here, we’ll find them and you can trust they’ll be shown no mercy. Know that you brought this upon them. Know that you could have saved them and chose to do nothing. Know their blood to be on your hands.”

She nodded. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

By all that was holy, she either spoke the truth or was as touched as they came.

“GATHER THE MEN and ready them to search the castle,” Darach said.

Hamish stood before his laird for the second time that evening and sighed to himself. Darach had been in a state earlier and in no mood for the only explanation he, Hamish could offer. Hamish had held out a slight hope that Darach and the lass might figure it out on their own, but he’d feared it might come to this. His laird and friend, Darach was a strong decisive personality. And even though Hamish had only a faint, general impression of the woman he’d shoved through the portrait, she was undoubtedly made of equally stern stuff. Hamish wished this next part was over with. It promised to be difficult.

“Is this about the strange lass in your bed? I take it she wasn’t up for a tumble?”

“I caught her coming down the stairs after I had told her to stay in my room. I think she was on her way to meet someone. That or she’s been sent as a distraction. Now, gather the men.”

Hamish stood before him without doing his bidding, searching for a way to break his news to Darach. God’s tooth this was going to be awkward. Hamish should’ve already prepared for this. Darach glanced sharply at him. “Time is wasting man.”

“I would like to meet the woman. I think I can explain.”

“I thought you had seen no one enter the castle.”

Hamish was almost positive it was the same woman, but she’d shown up without her clothes? “Let me meet her.”

“And what if we’re bluidy well overrun while you’re up visiting with her?”

“Trust me. Have I ever offered you unwise counsel? Take me to her.”

Hamish regarded the man he’d known and loved like a brother his entire life. More than once he’d entrusted Darach with his life. Hamish hoped he’d do the same now.

Darach turned abruptly and made his way toward the keep. Hamish followed, leaving behind his customary banter, scrambling to decide how best to present the situation to Darach and the lass. It was so much easier when those involved figured it out on their own.

They entered the room, Darach first. The woman spoke. “That was quick. I told you I wasn’t meeting anyone.” Hamish stepped around Darach and smiled a greeting.

Recognition widened her eyes. “You—you…you’re the one who shoved me into the painting. I know it. You’re younger, but I recognize you. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing but I want out.”

“You brought her here?” Darach reared back, betrayal echoing in his stance. “I asked and—”

“I told you none of the men saw her enter and they didn’t. Hear me out and know it is a strange enough tale I have to tell.”

Kate spoke up from the bed. “Okay. We’re finally getting somewhere and while you’re telling it, how about you untie me.”

Darach looked from Hamish to Kate and shook his head in distrust. “Not until I have heard the tale.”

“The first manner of business would be that this is indeed Glenagan, Scotland and it is November of 1744,” Hamish said with an apologetic smile at Kate.

The woman’s skin grew paler still at his words, all the blood seeming to drain from her body. She should thank Darach that she was flat on her back, else she might have fallen.

“No.” She breathed the single word through clenched lips.

“Who is she?” Darach asked.

Where was a good place to start? Experience had taught him there were no good places to start with this. “She’s a woman from two hundred and sixty years, well two hundred sixty two years to be precise, in the future.”

Darach eyed him as if madness had overcome him.

“Ah. I see you think I’ve gone a might daft and for sure it is a bit hard to believe.” He looked at Darach to show him neither madness nor deception shadowed his eyes. “She is from Georgia, a place that today is a colony of the crown and the city she comes from does not yet exist. She is not British. She and her people are known as Americans.”

“She said you brought her here. So, I’m supposed to believe you are still alive two hundred sixty two years in the future?”

Hamish shrugged. “I told you it’s a strange tale.”

“But you haven’t been gone from the castle.”

“I don’t know how to explain it, but I exist on several different planes, at different points in time, in different places.”

“Are you some kind of dark magic?”

“I don’t know what I am.” He’d ceased long ago to feel sorrow over his unusual state. “I’ve just learned to accept it. I can’t make anything happen. But things happen through me.” He gestured to the painting on the wall. “That painting spoke to you, drew you, did it not, lass?”

“Yes.” Her skin flushed to a rosy glow.

“You’ve seen that painting before?” Darach asked her.

“Yes. It was in a traveling exhibit, Sex Through the Ages, in the Atlanta museum.”

“Sex Through the Ages?” Darach frowned at her.

“I didn’t name the thing,” Kate snapped back at him. “I just showed up for the viewing.”

Hamish jumped in to get the conversation back on track. “And the draw was so strong you couldn’t stay away?”

“Yes. Did you do that to me? Did you cast some kind of spell?”

“No. What you felt was between the two of you. That’s the way it works. I don’t pick anyone. If you weren’t supposed to be here, if on some level you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t.”

“Wait a second. Something’s obviously gotten screwed up somewhere along the line. I definitely don’t want to be here. I want to be home. You’ve got the wrong gal. I think you meant to snag my friend Jordan. She’s a history major. Trust me. She’d much rather be here, well, maybe not tied to the bed,” she glared in Darach’s direction, “but she’s into history and this would be right up her alley. Trust me on this. I’m not the person for this. I don’t do history. I’ve never even been to the Renaissance festival ’cause I don’t like that stuff. I’m a techno freak. I love the conveniences of modern life. Electricity. Running water. Flush toilets. CAT scans. Penicillin. Starbucks.”