An Original Sin (22 page)

“Do ye intend to stand here all day?”

His snarled question propelled her into the room. Maybe he wasn’t jealous at all. Maybe she’d just pricked
his overblown male ego. “Forgive me, Your Nastiness,” she muttered as she purposely took a seat next to Michael.

Stephanie sat on Michael’s other side while Leith strode around the table and sat directly across from Fortune. From this strategic spot, he glared into her eyes.
Oh, great, nothing like a nice, relaxing meal among friends.

“I’m sorry I wasted so much of your research time this morning.” Mary’s cheerful apology went unnoticed among the darts zinging across the table.

Fortune studied her salad, then carefully stabbed a piece of lettuce and brought it to her mouth. She glanced at Leith.
This is you.
She smiled.

Leith picked up his knife and cut a piece of tomato with controlled ferocity. Holding up the mangled remains, he glared at it before popping it into his mouth. Then he smiled at her.

Message received.

“So?” Mary encouraged. “What did you learn this morning?”

Leith pushed aside his salad and stared morosely at his sandwich. “I learned the MacDonalds are heartless users who dinna care who they hurt to get what they want.”

Fortune almost choked on her lettuce. Coughing discreetly, she abandoned her attempt to eat the salad. “I discovered the Campbells have overactive hormones and overdeveloped egos.”

Leith didn’t deign to comment. He methodically ate his sandwich with the same enthusiasm he’d reserve for chewing on a cardboard box.

“All fascinating information, I’m sure, but what did you learn of academic interest?” Michael, impeccably dressed in perfectly creased slacks and an understated neutral shirt and tie, smiled at her encouragingly.

She wondered why he didn’t cause so much as a ripple
in her yum-yum index of attractive males. “You’re right. It was just an interesting sidebar. We didn’t get as much done as we’d like because of a slight disagreement over Internet research sources. Some of the graphics we found weren’t very pertinent to our topic.” Gleefully, she noticed Leith’s slight flush as he concentrated on eating his pie. Humble pie, she hoped.

Michael leaned closer as he offered her an understanding glance out of brilliant blue eyes. Brilliant blue eyes with the depth of a rain puddle.

“Feel free to call on me if you need any technical assistance. I can fix any problem.” His expression suggested he could fix problems in a variety of areas.

Fortune tried to ignore what sounded like a low growl from across the table. “I’ll remember that.” She leaned back as Michael swayed closer. The growl grew louder.

“Michael’s taught me a lot about computers, so yell if you need help.” Stephanie’s offer was a welcome tension breaker.

“Do ye hear music, Fortune?” Leith had stopped growling.

“I think…” She smiled. “Yes! It sounds like…Elvis.”

“Elvis?” Michael sounded puzzled. “No one plays Elvis in this house. We have a few Beatles CDs, but that’s—”

“The ice-cream man! It’s the ice-cream man.” Her happy relief surprised Fortune. She hadn’t realized how worried she’d been over that stupid truck.

Michael’s smile was charming and sincere. “Such childlike enthusiasm for ice cream is delightful.”

Fortune knew that if she decided to take Michael back with her, she could hand him over to the rest of her world without even a thought of possessing him herself. But even though his attitude would fit perfectly in her time, she didn’t want to take him back. There was something—

“Have ye seen Ganymede?”

Fortune didn’t understand the urgency in Leith’s voice.

“No. I suppose he’s still outside—”

Leith pushed his chair back so quickly it fell over as he rose to his feet and strode toward the front door.

Fortune rose and ran to catch him while the rest of the family followed at a more leisurely pace.

“Leith.” She grabbed his arm in an attempt to slow him down. “What’s the hurry?”

He threw her a worried glance. “Dinna try to stop me, Fortune. I must save the ice-cream man.”

Leith took in the scene at a glance.

The ice-cream truck, dented and scraped, was parked in front of the castle. Ganymede crouched on the roof, his head hanging over the edge as he glared at the man inside. Leith recognized the man’s expression of fatalistic acceptance. He’d seen it worn by comrades he’d fought beside in battle, men who knew their end was near.

Leith’s instincts had kept him alive longer than many a friend, so he didn’t hesitate to listen to them now. He didn’t bother to shout as he raced across the lawn, praying he’d reach the truck in time.

An arm’s span from the vehicle, a blast of heat almost knocked him backward. He could see the truck taking on a faint red glow. If he hesitated, all would be lost. Leaping high in the air, he scooped Ganymede off the roof and, mindless of claws that ripped at his exposed arms, stumbled away from the truck.

Wasting no time in thank-yous, the driver pulled from the curb with a screech of tires. As the truck chugged into the distance, he heard Elvis bemoaning “Suspicious Minds.”

Breathing hard, Leith transferred his attention to a suddenly quiet Ganymede, and looked into the eyes of…His breath stopped; his hands began to shake so badly he almost dropped the cat. But he’d honed his courage in a multitude of battles, and so he held tightly, daring Ganymede to vent the fury, the unspeakable power he’d glimpsed in those eyes.

Leith met the cat’s gaze, then felt the animal relax.
Safe.
He didn’t know how, but he recognized that the danger was over—for the ice-cream man, for himself. He dropped the cat to the ground from hands that seemed to have lost all feeling. Ganymede immediately sat down next to him and proceeded to groom himself. Leith allowed himself a shaky laugh.

Leith heard running footsteps and turned to face Fortune. The other members of the family hadn’t bothered to come outside once they saw that Leith was only getting his cat.

“What…what happened?” Uncertain, she picked Ganymede off the ground and cuddled him under her chin. His loud purr announced the return of his good humor.

“I saved a man’s life.” He stared intently at Ganymede.

She smiled. “Aren’t you exaggerating a little?”

He watched her gaze reach his arms, and her horrified expression satisfied him completely. “Oh, Leith! Your arms.” She held Ganymede away from her and scowled at him. “Did you do that, you bad kitty?”

Leith could almost imagine regret in those amber eyes. Then again, the whole thing had been so unbelievable he didn’t know what to think about the bloody cat.

“I think he’s sorry, Leith.” Ganymede purred his agreement. “Let’s get something on those scratches.”

He couldn’t help it; he laughed. And if the laugh held a bit of hysteria, who could blame him? He’d looked into the eyes of death, and Fortune was worrying about a few scratches.

“What’re you laughing about?”

He shook his head. “I didna know driving an ice-cream truck could be so dangerous.”

“What really happened, Leith?” She stared at him, her glance searching.

He looked away. Would she even believe him? Did he even know himself? “We can talk about it tonight. ’Tis past time we went back to work.”

Following Fortune up the castle steps, he realized he looked forward to the work. No matter how painful, he understood Glencoe. There was no mystery, no danger, only undying regret.

But Ganymede presented a different problem. If he told Fortune, would she dismiss his tale as the imaginings of a man who came from a time when superstition ran rampant? And if she did accept his story, what then?

With Ganymede still in her arms, Fortune led Leith into the bathroom next to where they worked. Setting the cat down, she opened the cabinet door and pulled what she needed from inside. Leith sat on the edge of the tub and waited for her.

Finally ready, she turned to him. “Hold out your arms so I can clean those scratches.”

While she worked, Leith kept a wary eye on Ganymede, who seemed interested in the proceedings. He felt her turn his arm over and heard her small gasp. He looked up to see her suddenly pale face, then down to note the deep cut on the inside of his arm. As he held the arm up, blood flowed from the open wound down to his elbow. From there it dripped onto the floor, where it made a jagged pattern on the gray tile. He noted the depth of the cut dispassionately. He’d had much worse.

A sudden movement caught his attention. Amazed, he watched Ganymede scramble behind the toilet, where he enthusiastically and noisily threw up.

He glanced up at Fortune with a wry smile. “Our wee friend doesna seem to appreciate his own handiwork.”

Fortune gave Ganymede barely a glance before returning her attention to Leith’s arm. “More likely one of the poor birds he caught in the garden didn’t agree with him.
Serves the little savage right. Look what he did to your arm.”

Leith basked in the glow of her concern. From the way she frowned as she dabbed at his cut, he thought that it pained her more than it did him. Many women had shown interest in a particular part of his body, but none had worried overmuch about his health. He could grow used to Fortune’s cosseting.

Fortune took pride in always having a reason for what she did, but she could think of none to explain why she slid the tips of her fingers down the length of the inside of his arm. She remembered the strength of his arms as he’d held her safe against the night. Her fingers paused, then traced the ridge of a scar that ran across his arm near his elbow. She winced, imagining his agony, wishing she’d been there to ease his pain.

When she reached his wrist, she followed the pale blue line of a vein. He clenched his fist and the vein stood out, a thing too fragile to sustain life. Her fingers lingered on the vein, feeling somehow connected to the hot flow of blood that gave Leith life, that made him vulnerable. Real.

On a level she’d never explored, she recognized his vulnerability—to painful memories, to his feelings of powerlessness. She recognized his vulnerability because it was her own. For a moment she closed her eyes against the shock of that realization. Across six hundred years of differences, they shared one thing—a common pain.

She opened her eyes to meet Leith’s fiery gaze. His green eyes glowed with the searing heat of rock flung from the heart of a volcano—primal, dangerous, inevitable.

Fortune jerked her fingers from his skin. She could almost hear the sizzle, feel the blistering heat.

“If ye touch me like that, lass, I canna answer for my actions.” He held her captive with his unblinking stare.

“I…I was only touching your arm.” How did he manage to make her feel so defensive, unsure?

“Ye touched much more than that, and ye know it well.” His husky voice spoke of dark nights, tangled sheets, and bodies entwined in passion’s eternal dance.

She took a deep breath, gathering her wits. “I can’t imagine why anything I’d do would affect you. You already think of me as a slave trader.” With unsteady fingers, she busied herself with putting away the peroxide. Pulling an adhesive bandage from a box, she almost flung it at him. “Here. Put this on.” She’d be damned if she’d touch him again.

But by the power of the universe, how she wanted to, with a need that gnawed at her resolve with ever-increasing ferocity. When he was near she couldn’t think, couldn’t plan, could only feel…and want.

He smiled grimly. “Ye’re a caring, beautiful woman, and sometimes I think it wouldna be so verra bad to be yer slave.” He reached up and cupped the side of her face in the warmth of his rough hand. “But only for ye, no others.” His whisper feathered along the length of her neck, and she swallowed against the strangely intimate touch. “In the deepest night, slave and mistress become one, bound by a need that has only one end.”

“Stop it!” She backed away from him. “Just stop it. Words don’t change anything. What I want doesn’t matter. Only the continuation of the human race matters.” This was starting to sound like a memorized speech, but she must keep saying it in order to combat his quiet seduction. She knew what he was trying to do. He understood the power of physical desire. If she gave in now, she’d keep giving in, and he wouldn’t have to worry about her scheming to take him back to her time. But she couldn’t turn her back on her duty.
Duty.
A word she’d grown to hate.

“Let’s get back to work.” Who cared if he knew she was
in full retreat? His threat was too potent, her defenses too weak.

He threw her a knowing smile and nodded. “Ye can get ready while I clean up Ganymede’s wee accident.”

Relieved that she’d have a moment alone to pull herself together, she rushed from the bathroom and settled down at the computer. She didn’t quite know what had happened back there, but it had scared her. That didn’t make sense, though. She’d already lost her virginity when she’d mated with Leith. What more was there to lose?
Your heart, your soul.

She made a face at the monitor and saw it reflected back at her. Now she was being melodramatic. She’d formed a tenuous relationship with Leith, but that was only natural because they needed each other. Yes, he made her heart pound and her mouth go dry, but that was physical desire. She could handle that. OK, she got a little emotional thinking about never seeing him again, but she’d get over it. The face staring back from the monitor looked doubtful.

“I’m ready, lass.” His voice startled her, and she swung to stare into eyes that promised a readiness for whatever she wished. She wished for a cold shower and a few hours away from his sensual assault, but she wouldn’t get it, so she’d better pull herself together fast.

“Fine.” She didn’t trust herself to say more. Turning the computer on, she tried to block out everything except the words on the screen.
Problem.
Every word took her back to Leith—his life, his world, his pain.

Gradually she immersed herself in the events of Glencoe and relaxed. In between her questions, Leith thumbed through one of Mary’s research books.

Feeling good about the day’s work, she was almost ready to call it quits when she sensed a sudden change in Leith. She’d just asked her last question and sat with fingers
poised over the keys to type in his answer. No answer came. Puzzled, she glanced over to where he sat on the leather couch.

He stared down at the open book, his fingers gripping the edges like a space traveler who feared he would float off into the dark reaches of the universe if he let go. She couldn’t see his eyes, but his jaw was clenched and the lines of his face were a study in savage despair.

“My God, Leith, what’s the matter?” She stood and quickly moved to his side.

“ ’Tis nothing ye need to fash yerself about.” He didn’t look up at her, didn’t move.

“Don’t shut me out. We’re in this together. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out.” Tentatively, she put her arm across his shoulder, expecting him to flinch away from her touch.

Instead, he leaned into her, and she tightened her grip as though she could hold him afloat in whatever dark sea he struggled.

“There are some things that canna be worked out.” He closed the book with a finality that said louder than words that the subject was closed. “ ’Tis time to go home.” As though ashamed of his momentary weakness, he pulled away from her and rose, then picked up a sleeping Ganymede and strode from the room.

Fortune glanced at the book he’d flung to the couch, then picked it up. She remembered the page he’d been reading, and this was one time she didn’t intend to let him play a silent game with her. He needed to talk, even if he didn’t realize it. Maybe in 1700 it was considered strong to bottle up emotion, but in 2300 it was considered unhealthy. Besides, she had to admit, she couldn’t stand the agony she’d glimpsed in his eyes before he walked away.

Like a nervous filly, she’d danced and pawed around his silence all night. What could he tell her that she’d understand?
What did he
want
her to understand? Perhaps it would be best for everyone if she simply thought that, unlike her perfect men, he had moods, and this was one of his moods.

He crawled into bed and, with a mumbled goodnight, turned his back to her. He felt the bed give as she climbed in beside him. Lying completely still, he hoped she’d think him asleep.

“Do you mind if I read for a while?”

“No.” Perhaps one-word answers would discourage her.

Minutes later he began to relax. Evidently engrossed in her reading, she’d forgotten him.

“What did you say your brother’s name was, Leith?”

The question cut him like the slash of a sword, and he realized what book she must be reading. He could pretend he was asleep, but he doubted she’d accept his playacting.

“Hugh.” Even saying his brother’s name aloud hurt.

“It says here that a Hugh Campbell who took part in the Glencoe massacre died in 1716. Is that your brother?”

“Yes.” He spoke through gritted teeth. Would the woman never leave him alone?

“Is that what upset you today?”

“Yes.” She was like one of those damnable mosquitoes this Texas had in overabundance, buzzing in his ear, defying every effort to get rid of it until the only recourse was to bury his head under the covers. He suspected even that wouldn’t work with Fortune. She’d simply follow him with her endless questions.

“You saw the date of his death. Did that bother you so much?”

“Yes.”

“OK, I can understand that—”

“Can ye? Can ye really understand the feeling when ye see the date someone ye loved died?” Unable to control his churning emotions, he turned over and found himself
face-to-face with her wide-eyed concern. “I dinna think ye can. All yer loved ones havena even been born yet.”

“I have no loved ones.” Her statement was calm, emotionless. “But we’re not talking about me. I’d started to say there has to be more to it than you’re telling me. I saw the look on your face this afternoon. Talk to me, Leith.”

There was nothing for it; he must tell her something, even if in the telling he tore a secret part from himself. “Hugh and I havena spoken since Glencoe. He thinks me a traitor to the clan, and he has every right to think so.”