Amethyst Destiny (5 page)

With a sweep of lashes, she caught him in the agitated chaos of her gaze. “How could I possibly help you? I’m not even from Scotland. I’m a New Yorker. An investment analyst. I don’t know anything about this time, or this place.” Lightning tore through her eyes, a keen desperation. “Tell me what I have to do to get home.”

Talon sat on the chair and leaned forward, his arms on his knees. “Help me find that which I seek, Julia Brodie.”

Impatience tightened her pale features. “Which is?”

Talon felt his lips twitch, admiration sparking inside him at the grit with which she faced this most untenable situation.

He shrugged. “I dinna ken.” His pulse lifted in anticipation. “Have you heard of the Fire Chalice of Veskin?”

“No.”

Ah, well. He had hoped . . . “’Tis said to be made of gold with fine etchings around the rim. But ’tis likely what I seek in Castle Rayne is not the chalice at all, but something quite different. Something that will help me find it.”

Julia lifted a fine brow, a sharp look of disbelief in her eyes. “How can you not know what you’re looking for?”

Her shrewish tone chafed at his pride and he shrugged. “The magic can be fickle.”

She raked her golden hair back from her face. “You’re losing me here. How will you find it if you don’t know what
it
is?”

“Ye dinna understand.”

“Clearly. Maybe if you explained this magic of yours a little better, I might. Who did you ask for help? A crystal ball or magic mirror? God, I can’t believe I’m even saying this. Do you have some kind of magic lamp that grants you three wishes? Or a genie in your pocket?”

He scowled. “Nay.”

“That’s it? Just
nay?”

“Ye dinna need to know.”

“Right.” She buried her face against her knees, her hands over her head. “I wish I didn’t know any of this. I would give anything right now to make it
all
go away. I don’t believe in magic,” she whispered, a soft lament

A minute passed. And another. Slowly she lifted up, straightening again, her eyes tormented. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Your magic brought me here to do something for you. How am I supposed to help you if you keep your secrets from me?”

He’d never told anyone about his ring and he wasn’t starting now.

“You have to give me something here, dude. Is the magic yours personally? Again, I can’t believe this stuff is coming out of my mouth. Are you a witch or something? Or . . . what would a male be called? A warlock? A wizard?”

“I am not.”

“Then you get your magic through an object or spell book or something.”

His jaw clenched.

“I’m right, aren’t I? I can see it in your face. Jeez, Talon, do we really have time for a game of Twenty Questions? I’m going to figure it out eventually. Can’t you just tell me and save us both the annoyance?”

Bollocks
. He supposed it made little sense to keep the truth from her when she’d already witnessed the results. “My magic comes from a ring.”

Her gaze fell to his hands. “Do you wear this ring?”

“Aye.”

“I don’t see it.”

“None can see it but me.”

A small smile breached her defenses, but the smile turned sour and she made a sound that was part grunt, part laughter. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Anger sparked inside him, then flickered out as he watched her mask slip, and he glimpsed the anxiety she was trying to hide.

She tossed back the rest of the whiskey with a single swallow, shuddering violently. A shudder, he suspected that had little to do with the spirits.

She met his gaze, a pained understanding in her eyes. “Almost as ridiculous as time travel.”

He studied her face and her eyes. “Ye believe me.”

Their gazes met, then locked, as if two halves of a whole had clicked into place. It was a strange feeling. A feeling he wasn’t sure he liked. Yet he couldn’t look away from her.

Through her gaze, he felt her reach for him, cling to him as if he alone could give her the answers and strength she needed. As if he alone could see her through.

A strange and unwanted feeling of protectiveness rose inside him.

With a quick lick of her lips, she broke the connection and looked away, her gaze scanning the small room.

“I’m withholding judgment on whether I believe you until I’ve seen a little more than a bedroom and the courtyard. But if I’ve really traveled back in time, then not believing in your magic ring seems kind of ridiculous.”

She turned to him again, the strength back in her eyes.

The calm logic of her mind pleased him.

“I think we’d best find ye some garments that better suit this time, aye? I’m not for certain what we’ll do about your hair. Mayhap we can say you took a knife to it in grief.”

“Excuse me,” she said with asperity. “This is a hundred-dollar haircut. Does it look like I hacked it with a knife?”

His jaw dropped. “A hundred dollars?”

“American dollars. With over three centuries of inflation. Expensive, but not what you’re thinking, so close your mouth.”

He did, and found a smile breaking over it.

“What?” she asked warily. “Why are you smiling?”

“You please me, lass. You’ve every reason for hysteria and swooning, yet you fight it every step of the way.”

“Thanks. I think.” She slapped her thighs lightly. “Okay, let’s get me some clothes and find your chalice so I can get home. I’ve got an important meeting next week that I can’t afford to miss.” Her mouth twisted thoughtfully. “I wonder if time moves the same in both places. Or if I’ll wind up right back in the car as if I’d never left.”

Talon shrugged and rose. “I dinna ken. All right, then.” He rubbed his ring with his thumb. “The lass’s clothing will give her away as not of this time, putting her in danger. Keep her safe.”

Her mouth twitched. “You’re asking your magic ring?”

His ire tried to rise at the faintly teasing tone, and failed. He might have a magic ring, but she’d traveled from the future. They were more than even, to his mind.

“Aye.” The look he gave her was stern, but not entirely serious.

“Why not just ask it for clothes?”

“The ring’s a wee bit fickle, aye? It does as it pleases.” He shrugged. “Ye may get new clothes soon or not at all. And if . . .”

He felt the tingle of magic over his skin, then stared as the lass’s outlander clothing disappeared to be replaced by a simple, threadbare shift. The yellowed linen clung to her form, the neck wide, revealing creamy skin, the sleeves extending to just below her elbows. The fabric itself was so worn, he could see straight through it.

Jesu,
but the sight of her dusky nipples and the thatch of hair between her thighs moved him. His blood rushed, heating his skin. Hardening him.

Julia looked down at herself and gasped, covering those finely curved breasts with her arms. The only things she wore that she’d come with were her boots and the necklace around her neck.

Her head jerked up. “You did this on purpose.”

Talon’s mouth kicked up in a sideways grin, his body growing harder still. “Nay.” Though he couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying the moment.

“Quit looking at me like that and get me some clothes!”

With a low chuckle, Talon rubbed the ring again. “The lass is in danger of catching a chill, ring.”

A servant’s bonnet blossomed on her head.

Julia scowled.

Talon began to laugh. The ring had a mind of its own, to be sure. And for once he was enjoying the rock’s impudence.

“This isn’t funny.” Though her voice was waspish, her eyes began to glitter with unshed tears.

His heart went out to her. She’d been through shock after shock, finding the strength to withstand each. But now her clothing had been stolen from her and she stood undressed and vulnerable before him. Taken from all she knew.

He sobered. “You’re right,” he said softly. Lifting the blanket from the bed, he wrapped it tight around her as she stood still as stone. Feeling the need to offer a bit of comfort, he cupped her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I’ll find ye a gown. Without the ring’s dubious help.”

As he reached for the door, he turned to her, to where she stood looking small and lost and vulnerable. “You’ll go nowhere?”

Her eyes widened and she shot him a disbelieving look as sharp as daggers. He ducked out of the room, grinning. Slowly, he leaned back against the wall, fighting for control over his humor even as he willed his body to quiet from the need throbbing low.

“You’re playing with the two of us now, are ye?” he asked the ring as he tipped his head back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. “You couldna bring me a plain lass, could you? Or dressed her in sackcloth?” Nay, the bloody ring had to send him one who made his loins ache and his admiration rise. A bonny lass with fire in her eyes and steel in her spine.

A lass who might pose a threat to his very life. She knew more about him than anyone ever had. The secret behind the Wizard’s success.

Magic
.

THREE

Julia stared at the closed door, pulling the blanket tighter around her as the last of her control shattered. The tears that had threatened with the loss of her clothes spilled over, running down her cheeks as great, wracking sobs tore through her shivering body.

“I want to go home,”
she whispered into the empty room. Crying, she crawled onto the sorry excuse for a mattress and huddled beneath the blanket, wrapped in misery.

She hated to cry, but the storm was upon her and she knew it wouldn’t end anytime soon. She’d handled being flung through time and being hit by a barbarian with killer blue eyes. Even the news that she wasn’t going home until she performed some mysterious and unknown task hadn’t laid her low.

But losing her clothes was the last straw. She loved that sweater. And, dammit, that had been her best bra. It was too much!

Too much to accept. Too much to process.

How could she possibly be in the past? Yet if she’d harbored any doubt that she was dealing with magic, it had disappeared along with her clothes.

Magic
.

The tears only ran faster. By the time they’d finally run their course, her skin was chilled and clammy, her headache had worsened, and her eyes had grown heavy and swollen. She felt awful. And scared. And horribly, horribly alone.

As badly as she wanted to blame everything on Talon—after all, he certainly seemed to believe he was the one who’d called her—she couldn’t forget the way the garnet had turned hot and begun to glow just before the car started spinning. The necklace had played some part in her time shift, she was sure of it.

Cat’s words rang in her head.
Don’t touch it until you get home
. But she’d put it on anyway.

She had only herself to blame.

Reaching inside the blanket, she felt for the stone and found it still lying cool against her chest. She fingered the purple garnet with a mix of relief and wariness. There was no doubt the thing was dangerous. Putting on the necklace had been a mistake of monumental proportions. But if the rock had been her ticket to the past, it might also be her way home.

“Send me back,” she murmured to the stone, much as Talon had spoken to his ring. “Dammit, send
me
home.”

Lifting the thing where she could see it, she held her breath, watching for the telltale glow, willing the stone to begin to heat in her hand.

But nothing happened.

With a huff, she dropped the necklace to settle between her breasts and pulled the blanket tighter around her, the musty smell of wool enveloping her. One thing was certain. She didn’t dare tell Talon her suspicions that her jewelry was at least partly to blame for the magic. He’d probably take it from her.

Despite the fact the man knew who she was and where she’d come from, she didn’t trust him. She’d never met anyone wrapped in so much subterfuge. He was a thief and a con man. Yet, there was something magnetic about him, too. Something that attracted her on the most basic level. An appeal deeper than his killer smile or those blue eyes that danced with intelligence and mischief, charming even as they manipulated.

There was something not quite civilized about him. The way he’d grabbed her without hesitation. The way he’d knocked her out, then offered her a smile that had stolen her breath.

Talon wasn’t like any man she’d known in her own time. He was far more physical. More confident, but in an entirely different way than the well-dressed Wall Street types. This man could take care of himself and he knew it. What’s more, she suspected anyone entering his orbit sensed that strength on the most primitive level. That danger.

It wasn’t that he was all fists and manhandling. He’d been gentle enough with her some of the time, even giving her shoulder a light squeeze as he left the room. Not that she needed gentleness. She didn’t need anything from anyone. But she’d found that small offer of comfort a reassuring trait in a dangerous man.

And he was definitely a dangerous man.

God, she had to get out of here. She had to get home. If time passed equally in both places, her plane would have left this morning. Tomorrow, she was due back at work and four days from now she was scheduled to give the presentation that just might land her the promotion she’d been working toward for three years. She
had
to be in New York by then.

Feeling a surge of stress-induced adrenaline, Julia scooted to the edge of the bed, then rose and went to the window, keeping the musty wool blanket tight around her. Chills sent goose bumps popping up on her arms as she stared again at a world so distant from the one she’d left.

If only she knew why she’d been yanked back here.

Her gaze followed a young boy chasing a chicken across the courtyard, lunging and failing to catch it again and again, yet the kid never gave up. And neither could she. What she
could
do was keep her eyes and ears open, believe nothing without proof, including the time traveling.

And trust no one but herself.

The same as always.

Julia heard the click of the door and turned, holding the ends of the blanket tight in her fists as Talon walked in. He closed the door, then grinned at her, flashing a pair of killer dimples as he held up a skirt and a little jacket thingie. Seventeenth-century clothes, apparently. The skirt, navy blue and probably made of wool, looked as if it had been mended a million times. The jacket, or maybe it was just a heavy shirt, was dark red with a vivid grease stain on one side. Lovely. Clearly these were loaners.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“’Tis all ye need, lass. Ye have the shift and the boots, aye?”

“What about underwear?”

He turned his head as if uncertain he’d heard her right.
“Underwear?”

Julia groaned. “What do women wear under their clothes in this time? Pantaloons? Corsets?”

Talon made a tsking sound. “Lasses who are not fine ladies wear a shift. Which you have. You’ve no need for anything else.”

She liked her situation less and less with every passing minute. “Easy for you to say. I thought this thing was a nightgown.”

“’Tis both.”

“Of course it is.” No need for luggage if you carried your nightgown around on your back everywhere you went.

Talon laid the skirt and top on the bed, then motioned her closer with his hand. “I’ll be your lady’s maid.”

“Yeah, right. I can dress myself. You can turn around.”

A smile played at his mouth, but he did as she asked.

Julia tossed the blanket onto the bed and picked up the skirt. No nice, neat little zipper, just a lot of strings and ties. She dropped it to the bed and picked up the jacket instead. Even more ties . . . or laces . . . all the way down the front.

Talon turned around, shaking his head at her. She crossed her arms over her breasts, but needn’t have bothered as he focused his attention on the skirt, opening it wide.

“Hands over your head, lass.”

“You don’t follow directions well, Braveheart.”

His eyes laughed at her. “I dinna have all day and ye do not seem to be making much progress.”

If she’d been twenty years younger, she’d have stuck out her tongue at him. With an ill-humored growl, she lifted her arms and let him lower the skirt over her head, then crossed her arms again.

Stepping closer, Talon bent to settle the skirt on her waist. His light brown hair fell forward, nearly brushing her cheek, his face so close she could see the faint scars at the corner of one eye and along the side of a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once.

His scent wafted over her, an infuriatingly intriguing smell of wood smoke, wool, and rough, attractive male. Why didn’t he stink of body odor or something?

He fiddled with the skirt, placing it just so. His broad hands cupped her hipbones then slid to her waist, where he slowly, carefully, adjusted the fabric. Wrapping the strings from back to front, he stepped even closer to tie them.

Her pulse began to accelerate. Her body temperature began to rise. His nearness overwhelmed her and it was all she could do not to step back. The moment he released her skirt, she snatched the little jacket off the bed and stepped away.

“I can do it myself,” she said a little too sharply, and turned her back on him.

The jacket’s laces kept the front panels together, so getting into it was no easy feat, especially with the shift underneath, but she was determined to dress herself without his help. She managed to get the jacket over her head and her arms through the sleeves without pulling the laces entirely loose. But her shift bunched awkwardly beneath it, pulling too tight in some places and hanging out in others.

“What I wouldn’t give for a simple bra,” she muttered. She fought with the outfit, reaching beneath the skirt to try to pull the fabric down, shoving and yanking at the bodice, trying to hide her sole undergarment, but there was no way the shift was disappearing. Was it
supposed
to show? She could seriously use a fashion magazine about now.

She felt his fingers in her hair. Strong, male fingers lifted the locks as his knuckles trailed sensuously down the side of her neck, sending a shiver through her startled body.

Julia jerked away from his touch and whirled to face him. He was too close, towering over her with that damnably engaging smile, half-boyish, half-sexy-as-hell. She had to steel herself against the urge to step back, to retreat to safety.

Instead, she glared at him. “I’m going to tell you this once, caveman, and you’re going to listen to me. Don’t ever touch me without my consent. Not for any reason and not with any part of your anatomy, do you understand?”

His half-smile turned chilly and the look in his eyes hardened. Something about that look made her think of a cat toying with the mouse he was getting ready to make his dinner.

“Aye,” he said softly, sharp-edged amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I’ll have your consent, then, for you look as if you were dressed by a blind lady’s maid.”

Julia stared at him, her frustration rising even as her anger drained away. She sighed loudly, unhappily, and gave him a rueful twist of her mouth. “You’re obnoxious, do you know that?” With a quick grin that reached his eyes, he grabbed the ties of her skirt and hauled her closer, then set about loosening the ties of her jacket.

“If we were in my time, Braveheart, I’d haul you up on sexual harassment charges so fast your head would spin.”

His hands stilled.

She hazarded a glance up, afraid she’d really offended him this time. But the look in his eyes was an ocean away from offense. Heat flickered within the Carolina blue.

“’Tis not sexual harassing I wish with ye, lass.” His voice was low and husky. “But sexual pleasuring.”

Liquid warmth gathered low in her body. “Back off, Scotty.” But her own voice sounded breathless and almost as husky as his.

With that infernal little smile of his, he jerked her closer, brushed his lips against her temple in a quick, surprisingly sweet touch, then went to work straightening her dress with sure, skilled hands. Though, if she’d thought he’d spent an inordinate amount of time on the skirt, it was nothing compared to the top. His knuckles brushed her upper chest over and over as he tugged and straightened. His palms slid beneath the jacket, cupping her shoulders, smoothing the shift, then reached beneath it in back, smoothing and adjusting.

Finally, he turned her to face him and pulled the edges of the jacket together, right over her breasts, lingering too long.

“Keep moving.”

His mouth kicked up at one corner. “Yer as skittish as a new filly.”

“There’s nothing new about me.”

His expression and voice softened. “’Tis no shame being unused to a man’s touch, lass.”

Unused . . . ? “I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“No?”

“Not at all.”

“Have ye a husband, then?”

“No. And I never will.”

“Never? Do ye prefer the lasses, then?”

Julia rolled her eyes. “I am
not
having this discussion with you. No, I don’t prefer women. But that doesn’t mean I want or need a husband. Or you.”

He pulled and tugged at the lacings, working them tight down the front of the jacket. “But ye do want me.”

“In your dreams.” Her body might be hot and bothered by his overwhelming presence, but that was a natural reaction to being too close to a far too masculine man. Something she generally avoided.

“You respond to me, Julia,” he said softly. “Your body warms to me. Dinna think I cannot tell.”

That sexy know-it-all smile was really getting on her nerves. She grabbed his hands. “Let go. I can finish.”

He ignored her, watching her with a gentle intensity. “The lad who took your virginity. Did he hurt ye?”

“No. And it’s none of your damn business anyway.”

“You’ve a mouth on ye, lass.”

“Go to hell.”

“Did ye find it . . . pleasing?” His hands had stilled on the laces. He continued to watch her with that probing gaze.

She looked away. “Sure. Of course.”

God, what a liar. It had been awful. The worst two weeks of her life. She was mortified to feel the heat rising up her neck and into her face.