Perfect Timing 2: Highland Fling Read online

  He’d released her other wrist, absently rubbing her flesh. Kate needed to get herself out of this situation—both the immediate situation of being flat on her back with Braveheart sending her into a hormonal meltdown and the situation of having lost a century or two. And that meant focusing on something other than this man’s powerful thighs braced on either side of her legs, the shattering slide of his fingers against her skin, his scent, the fact that she was in his bed.

  She swallowed and tried to project the decisive, I’m-in-charge voice that worked so well in the ER. “I’d like to get up now that you’ve untied me.”

  He shifted off of her without saying anything but his arrogant smile spoke volumes, telling her he knew exactly how he affected her.

  She stood and double-checked the knot holding her makeshift toga-kilt in place. “The sooner we can figure out how to get me back to where I belong and out of your hair, the better.”

  KATIE WEXFORD CROSSED to stand before the waning fire and dug in her satchel. To be certain, it’d be much simpler if she weren’t here, but he didn’t want her gone. Yet. He’d thought to taunt her when he’d straddled her but he’d been effectively hoisted by his own petard. Her skin had felt like the finest wool beneath his fingertips. Her skin had tasted like a draught of the smoothest whiskey that lit a fire in his belly and left him wanting more.

  Even if she was touched. And Hamish seemed to have caught her madness. But ‘twas a fact that the daft were touched by God and it was his job to protect both Kate and Hamish, now more than ever. Best to humor them both until he could decide on a plan of action.

  But ‘twas also obvious Kate and Hamish were not strangers. Were it any other man, he’d have them both under guard. But more than once Hamish had proven himself loyal and trustworthy. Twice he’d covered Darach’s back in a skirmish when a dagger finding its home would have made Hamish laird since Darach had no offspring. Nay, perhaps both Kate and Hamish suffered from a fever that had affected their reasoning.

  He followed her and tossed more peat onto the fire. The flickering light danced across her naked shoulders and the length of her neck bared by her shorn hair. Her scent, clean and fresh, like the moor on a sunny day, stirred his senses. Mayhap he was in danger of catching the same fever to be affected this way by a daft lass.

  Footsteps pounded up the stone stairs and Hamish burst into the room carrying a young lad of no more than five. The lad, son of Anice and Grahame, lay still, his eyes closed, his face blue, water dripping from his hair and body. Hamish’s chest heaved and he spoke between great gulps of air. “I found…the lad…in the burn. Ye’ll have to tell his parents. Anice will near grieve herself to death.”

  “Give me the boy,” the woman said, freeing the knot and yanking off the MacTavish plaid as she spoke, leaving herself naked once again.

  The woman was truly mad.

  “For God’s sake, I’m a doctor. This is what I do. Give him to me. I think I can save him.”

  Without waiting and without regard for her naked state, she wrapped the plaid about the child and placed him on the floor. Without pause, she bent and blew a breath into his mouth. Again she repeated the action. The third time around, the lad retched water and blinked his eyes open.

  By all that was holy…the lad had been dead and now he was alive. “What kind of magic are you?”

  The woman looked at him with a mixture of exasperation and disgust. “It’s not magic. It’s medicine. I told you, I’m a doctor and that’s called resuscitation.” She smoothed a hand over the child’s brow. “He’ll be fine.” She stood and looked at Hamish. “Get him into dry clothes and let him sleep a while.”

  Hamish left with the lad and Darach dug out yet another plaid for Katie. He studied her anew as she once again wrapped herself in the red and blue MacTavish colors.

  “You saved the lad.” She had truly reacted as a healer.

  “It’s what I’m trained to do. Anyone from my time period trained in basic rescue could’ve done the same,” she said.

  Could it be possible? Was Hamish speaking the truth? Could it be so that Hamish wasn’t simply daft and the woman had come from the future? It could not be so.

  Kate picked her satchel up from the floor where she’d dropped it when Hamish had entered. “I can see you’re still not convinced I am who I say I am.” She dug in the satchel and pulled out a card. “Here. It’s my driver’s license.” She handed him a card and pointed to a date. “There’s my birthdate.” Darach excelled at sums. He was two hundred and sixty-four years older than Kate Wexford.

  What the devil was this? It was a portrait of her, yet not a portrait. “What kind of portrait is this?”

  “It’s a picture. A photograph.” She shrugged, her palms upright. “I’m not sure when photography was invented. Obviously later than this.”

  He studied the card. It didn’t do her justice. Short flaxen hair curled about her face. Wide green eyes with a hint of a frown marring her brow stared at him from the portrait. No smile lifted the corners of her full mouth. It did nothing to capture her wry humor and resilience. “Well, you’re more comely than this. I hope you didn’t pay much for the rendering.”

  Her smile stopped just short of a laugh. “Thanks…I think. The DMV isn’t much into glamour shots.”

  He had no idea what a DMV or a glamour shot was but he supposed it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was only about two hundred sixty-four years older than her. And he’d never seen anything like what she called a photograph.

  He no longer doubted Hamish. He’d only ever known him to speak the truth and it appeared that it was truth rather than madness. Except the notion that he, Darach, needed this woman and that was why she was here. Her scent teased him, as did the gleam of light on her skin. He’d not deny he wanted her, but there was a world of difference between want and need. He’d wanted women and had them, but he’d never needed them.

  “It explains much—your strange accent and manner of speech, your hair—but not why you are here.”

  Kate glanced up from returning her card to her satchel. “I assure you I don’t want to be here, regardless of what Hamlet said.”

  He’d be damned if she didn’t glare at him as if he was to blame for her being here. “It’s Hamish and might I remind you that you’re the one who showed up naked in my bed.”

  She tilted her head at a haughty angle and stared down the length of her nose at him. “A gallant man wouldn’t have pointed that out and trust me, I want to be back home.”

  He laughed and knew it held a mocking note. He took a step closer to her. “But you were attracted to me in that painting?” He could feel it now, like some force beneath the inky waters of a loch, something deep and strong between them, something potent beneath the surface.

  She blinked, looking up at him and in that moment, he recognized an answering flash of acknowledgement in her eyes. “Yes, I’ll admit I was attracted to you when I saw the painting.” She smiled with a sweetness he didn’t trust. “Of course, that was before your personality factored into it.”

  Darach threw back his head and laughed. Mayhap she had a strange way with words, but her meaning was clear. Ah, but he was enjoying himself with Katie Wexford. Most of the lasses fair swooned over him. Certainly none had complained about his personality. And he thought Katie was not being exactly truthful. He reached out and tested a measure of her hair between his fingers. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. With great care he tucked the curl behind her well-shaped ear, his fingers lingering against the delicate shell. Her swift intake of breath echoed the pounding of his heart. “Aye, so that means you do not fancy me now?”

  She wet her lower lip with the tip of her tongue and lust knotted his gut. “Not particularly,” she said. Her breathy tone belied her words.

  Aye. She was lying. She wanted him as much as he wanted her and it wasn’t arrogance on his part. It wasn’t fear that left her trembling at his slightest touch. There was fire between them and if he had unraveled this corr
ectly, she needed to admit it. He skimmed his palm over her bare shoulder and heat raced through him. “More’s the pity.”

  She held her ground, despite the shiver he felt run through her, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do you say that?”

  He rested his hands on the smoothness of her bare shoulders, her skin warm and soft beneath his callused palms. He curled his fingers against her sweet flesh. “Because it seems to me that it was lust that brought you here…”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Then it stands to reason that if you satisfy that lust, you should go back to where you came from.”

  “Congratulations! That’s probably the strangest pick-up line I’ve ever heard. And I don’t think so.”

  “I’m just trying to help you out, Katie-love.” He bracketed her shoulders with his hands, her skin soft beneath his palms.

  She shrugged off his touch. “That’s terribly generous of you.”

  He trailed one finger down her arm. “I’m known for my generosity.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll just bet you are.” She swatted his hand away.

  Satisfied that she wanted him, he smiled at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m just trying to help you get back to where you want to be.”

  KATE PACED to the other side of the room. Not only did pacing help her think, but it got her out of Darach MacTavish’s immediate vicinity, which was a bonus in the being able to think department.

  Maybe she’d told a little white lie—okay, a whopping white lie—when she said she wasn’t as attracted to him as she had been. It was more a matter of she shouldn’t be as attracted to him as she had been. But here she’d met this man, under circumstances beyond weird, and he was proposing they have sex? She didn’t think so.

  She took a deep breath and her practical side kicked in. Wasn’t she bringing twenty-first century mores to a situation where they didn’t exactly belong? What were they going to do? Go out to dinner a couple of times? Go to a movie and perhaps a night out at the museum to get to know one another better?

  What was the courting ritual in eighteenth-century Scotland? Damn if she knew. And she didn’t want to be courted, she just wanted to go home.

  For one panic-inducing moment the thought crept in that she might not be able to get back home. What then? What if she was stuck here? No! She refused to think that way. And maybe Darach MacTavish was on to something. She knew for certain she didn’t want to hang out here any longer than necessary.

  She liked the twenty-first century. No, that wasn’t true. She loved the twenty-first century. And she’d worked too damn hard to get that assistant appointment. She wasn’t about to lose her job because she’d been squandering time in the past. And she supposed if she was going to have sex, there were worse specimens out there than the one before her. It probably wouldn’t be too bad—if she could just get him to keep his mouth shut.

  And much as she didn’t want to think in the direction of being stuck here, if she was stuck here for more than a couple of hours, being the chief’s lover was probably the safest position to take. But could she just turn off all her years of upbringing and hop in bed with a man who was essentially a stranger? She knew some women fantasized about stuff like this. She wasn’t one of them. She just didn’t know if she had it in her.

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe sex together is the key.”

  The bastard actually laughed. “I’ve seen men more enthusiastic who were about to be hung.”

  “I’m in a different freaking century and I have no clue whether I’m actually going to make it back to where I want to be. You’re a stranger and I’m supposed to be jumping up and down at the prospect of having sex with you?” Bottom line, she was scared. Nearly spitless. “I’m sure sex with strangers is nothing new to you, but it’s not part of my regimen.”

  All the arrogance and amusement vanished, replaced by a kindness she hadn’t noted before. “I think things are very different where you come from, I’m sure of it. But no, few strangers show up in these parts and those that do, I don’t bed as a rule.” He reached out and drew her to him, but it was a gesture of comfort, an offer of protection, which felt almost as foreign to Kate as sex with a stranger. “This must be a terrible situation to find yourself in, Katie-love. We won’t take any more action tonight. Rest and on the morn we’ll work on this.”

  “What happens in the meantime, if tomorrow it doesn’t work? You said earlier the women would stone me and the men would…” she stumbled, not wanting to even give voice to the possibilities he’d mentioned.

  “You have my word that I’ll let no harm come to you. I give you my oath as the laird of Glenagan. No man or woman will dare to cross me on this. You will be protected or I’ll die trying.”

  “Why would you do that for me?”

  “Because I have never known Hamish to tell less than the truth and he says I’m the reason you’re here which makes you my responsibility and makes it my duty to protect and get you back where you belong without harm befalling you.”

  She studied his face. It was a strong, bold face that bespoke harshness, yet his eyes reflected honesty and integrity. Kate was very good at compartmentalizing, it was a necessary aspect of her job, but she wasn’t good at masking what she thought and felt. Could she trust him? What other option did she have but to trust him? He seemed to read her doubt.

  “You’ll come to no harm while you are here. And tonight you’ll find nothing but sleep in my bed. I can offer you naught but my word and you can do naught but trust me.”

  HE WAS A FOOL and then some. Mayhap she hadn’t been overly eager but he’d not have been forcing her had he bedded her earlier. He could have had a bit of sport and then she could’ve returned home and he wouldn’t be laying here now, tortured by her scent, her soft curves pressed against him, wrapped in his plaid.

  He considered taking care of the situation. He could ease his lips against hers, the tenderest of kisses that would slowly rouse her from slumber. Kisses that would suckle the fullness of her lower lip, that would cull the honey of her mouth. Kisses that would steal beneath her hesitation and release the heat he’d sensed. Then he could slide his hand beneath the plaid and ease her legs apart. He could pluck and strum and play her like a lyre until she was fair ready for him. Then he’d ease his rod into her and they’d be about the business that would set both their worlds to rights. But he’d given his word that they’d wait until the morn.

  Kate sighed in her sleep and threw one arm up over her head, threatening to spill one breast over the edge of the MacTavish tartan. Darach sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. There’d be no relieving the ache in his loins tonight. No, his bluidy mouth had taken care of that. He supposed he was glad Katie Wexford was getting a good night’s sleep. One of them might as well.

  DARACH STOMPED INTO the courtyard in a fine temper the following morning. He should’ve tumbled the lass last night and been done with it. Then mayhap he’d have gotten some sleep instead of stewing about in his own lust til morn. He made straight for Hamish.

  Hamish didn’t bother to hide his grin. “I see a night with your lass did nothing to sweeten your temper.”

  Darach scowled. “She is a bluidy thorn in my side.”

  “Hmph. I’d have guessed a thorn in another part.”

  “When you’re done with your jest, I need answers.”

  Hamish sobered and shook his head. “You won’t find them from me. I would if I could, but I don’t know. It’s the way I told you last eve, I don’t make decisions. I didn’t pick her. You picked her. I just get a sense of who and when. She wouldn’t be here if she was not supposed to be here.”

  “So you said. And since she was naked in my bed, we both decided that ’twas lust that brought her here and taking care of that should send her back.”

  Hamish held his hands, palm up, in a helpless gesture. “Sounds reasonable to me. But if it’s want of a tumble that brought her here and a good tumble that will send her back, why do you look so sour? Since when
has that curried a frown?” Darach glared at him and Hamish began to laugh. “You didn’t, did yae?”

  Darach raked an exasperated hand through his hair. “She was nervous. Strange place. Strange man. Strange century.”

  “You are a good man, Darach MacTavish.”

  “I’m a bluidy foolish man.” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “I shouldna let the night pass. I think I’ve finally convinced her to stay put and out of sight but I don’t think she understands what could happen to her if she was caught outside of the castle.” The Highlands were a wild and dangerous place and ’twas often difficult to know which man was friend and which was foe.

  “It’s been two years and we haven’t had another incident with the bastards.”

  “Aye. But I think it’s just a matter of time. And we all know. Our women don’t go unattended and our men are prepared when they go with them.”

  Two years and hatred for the English still burned a black hole in his soul. Two years he’d lived with his cousin Ian losing his bride Moragh to marauding dragoons who’d considered a Scots lass a bit of sport.

  They’d bound Ian to a tree and taken turns raping Moragh in front of her husband. They’d left her on the ground like a piece of offal. Beautiful Moragh of the red hair and bright green eyes had died afterward.

  Ian not only lost his wife that day, he’d gone daft and grieved himself to death and the clan MacTavish had learned a painful, costly lesson. No Scotsman was safe as long as that Hanoverian dog sat on the British throne. Not only was Bonnie Prince Charlie the rightful king, but without him, Scotland’s fate seemed grim indeed.

  It had become increasingly clear to both of them that Scotland’s salvation lay in seeing Charles sit the throne. As they had discussed more than once, Darach’s hesitation in swearing his fealty to the cause had been the lack of a clear plan as to accomplish that feat.

  “I won’t have another woman raped on my watch and I won’t take what she is not willing to give.” As laird, it was his right to take what he wanted. He knew of those that did, but Darach was not of that ilk. “I have no need of a woman who’s not eager and willing to spread her legs for me.”