Highlander Undone (Highland Bound Book 5) (6 page)

“Shona?” What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t seem to get his thoughts right. He just wanted to reach for her. Hold her.

“Who else would I be asking about? Unless ye’ve only come back to Edinburgh to seduce another lass.”

“No. Not another.” He’d only ever tried to seduce Moira. It had worked. He could still remember every night, her lush curves beneath him, over him, in front of him. The way her soft skin had felt under his fingertips, the heat of her mouth and the velvet of her tongue sliding over his turgid flesh. Rory shivered.

No use reminiscing, the lass hated his guts.

Her narrowed gaze focused on him, and instead of stepping back into her house to slam the door in his face, as he would expect any self-respecting lass to do, she stormed down the stairs coming within a few inches of him, her citrus and vanilla scent wrapping around him and once more setting his lustful memories to bloom.

“What the hell do ye want?” Then her eyes pricked with tears. “Where is she?”

Rory felt immediately guilty. Moira wouldn’t understand his situation, that her sister was no longer in this time. How could he tell her without having her start screaming like a raving lunatic and calling the authorities to hall him off to the nearest dungeon?

“She is well and safe,” he found himself saying.

“Where? Why hasn’t she called? Or even gone medieval and written me a letter?”

Medieval. Good one. He didn’t lie—exactly. “She’s in Grant country. The phone service is bad there, and well… She has a tiny case of—” He searched for the word. He couldn’t recall it; maybe he had a touch of it, too. All this time hopping couldn’t be good on the brain. “Her memory is—”

“Ohmygod, you wiped her memory?” Now Moira raised her hands and backed up the stairs. “Get away from me, ye sicko. I’m calling the police, ye’ll not get away with this.”

“Wait, Moira.” Rory followed her up the stairs, hands outstretched. “It’s not that. I’ve not hurt her, I’ve been protecting her.” He ran his hand through his hair with frustration and cursed under his breath. “I came here—” Why the hell had he come here? He should have known she wouldn’t understand. He should have thought a moment, come up with a plan. How could explain it? It wasn’t like he’d gotten a warning other than feeling dizzy and weightless. There wasn’t some magical voice that said:
I’m sending you here for this reason
. Nay, he was simply sent, and the first thing he thought of when he got here was Moira. “I came here to get ye.”

“To get me?” She laughed, but it was not a humorous laugh. Nay, it was filled with derision. “Well, I’m not going to let ye
get me
. The only thing ye’re getting is jail time.”

“Moira, listen please.” How the hell was he going to convince her?
Ballocks!
This had seemed so much easier when he’d been walking over here initially. “I’m not a criminal. I swear it.”

She stared into his eyes, searching, and he could see pain there, he could see hope. But she shook her head at him, shuttering her emotions from his view. “I can’t believe a word ye say, Rory. I trusted ye before. Trusted ye with my body, with my home, my sister. And the two of ye ran away together. Is that it? She can’t be bothered to call me because she ran off with the guy I loved?”

“Ye loved me.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

Moira let out an annoyed groan. “Past tense, arsehole. I’ve moved on.”

That stung. He didn’t want her to have moved on to another man. Jealousy reared inside him, and if her new lover had been there, Rory would have pummeled him to the ground.

“Go back to Shona. I don’t even know why ye came here.”

Rory hung his head. Maybe this was a bad idea. He wasn’t into self-torture. Maybe for her sake, he should just let her go. But he couldn’t. His heart still beat for Moira and his blood still ran hot when he thought of her. He’d never fallen for Shona as Moira accused, only tried to protect her and help her get used to her new world five hundred years in the past. He couldn’t control the Fates, or the Devil, whoever it was that ruled his journey as though he were a puppet. And somehow, he had to convince Moira of the truth, or else he wasn’t going to be able to make it back to his time. At least, that seemed a likely result.

The sound of the door shutting had him looking up sharply. She’d gone inside. Not even said goodbye. He heard the click of her lock. She was shutting him out. And Shona, too. Did she truly believe her sister capable of such a thing? He could understand, even though it hurt, that she might think he would. After all, they might have known each other intimately—again and again—but they’d only been acquainted for a year or so before the time gods had yanked him back to the 1500’s.

Judging by the placement of the moon, it would be midnight in a couple of hours. He didn’t have any place to go tonight, but he could use a drink. A stiff whisky. If he recalled correctly, there was a tavern around the corner. He didn’t want to go back to the place he’d worked, as they likely wouldn’t serve him since he’d up and disappeared. He trudged back up the street until he found MacTavish’s Tavern. Rory pushed open the door, studied the room to be certain he’d not find any trouble. There were only a few patrons so far, and none of them paid him any attention.

He approached the bar, pulled out a stool and sat.

“What can I get ye?” the barkeep asked.

“Whisky, make it a triple.” Didn’t matter what time period he was in, he could always order his whisky the same way.

The barkeep nodded, plunked down a medium sized glass cup and filled it to the brim with amber liquid.

“Ye look familiar,” the barkeep said.

Rory nodded, and gulped down the entire contents of the cup in one swill. He tapped the cup on the bar and was rewarded with another pour. “I was here a year or so ago.”

“Aye, I remember.”

Rory drank down the second cup, feeling the whisky warm his belly.

“Ye were with the Ayreshire lassies, and ye worked at Dougal’s.”

Shona and Moira Ayreshire. They were popular in the area for their herbal shop and their generosity. Everyone remembered them.

“Aye. Just came from Moira’s house now.”

“She was mighty displeased with ye, I reckon.”

Did the whole town know his business? He supposed they would, at least those who worked and lived close to Moira.

“She was, but I’m hoping to reconcile.” Rory grinned, though there was no happiness in it. He swallowed a large gulp of whisky loving the intense burn as it made its way down his throat.

“Might be damned near impossible. Where’s her sister?”

He was expecting that.

“She’s north, in Grant country, near Castle Gealach.”

“Working?”

“Aye, at the castle actually.” That was not technically a lie. She was working around there… five hundred years in the past.

“Castle Gealach? Ye don’t say.” The barkeep once more refilled Rory’s cup.

“She’s a natural. The people love her.”

“And ye? Do ye love Shona?”

Rory looked the man in the eye. “She’s like a sister to me. I’d protect her with my life.”

“And Moira?”

The whisky was warming its way through his blood. He’d forgotten how much time-travel took out of him. Another swill and he might be well and truly drunk.

“I’m hoping…” He trailed off, not wanting to give away too much information about himself, his intentions.

“Ye like her.”

“A lot.” He admitted.

“Even love her.”

Rory nodded.

“Well, good luck to ye. She’s got another man now. A big one. And he’s not likely to let her go so easily.”

Rory grunted, a small bitter laugh escaping. “The good lassies are always scooped up, are they not?”

“Aye. But truth be told, ye can win her back. Dickie’s a bit of an overbearing arsehole. His father is part owner of Scottish Airways, and he’s let the power of all that cash get to his head.”

Rory ran his hand through his hair. “And all I’ve got is a measly £20.”

The barkeep chuckled. “Whisky’s on the house. I always did like ye. And if ye promise to get that prick out of this side of town, I’ll give ye free whisky for the rest of your days.”

“What sort of trouble is he giving ye?” There had to be more to it than breaking the bastard up with Moira.

“Giving my lad some trouble, that’s all. Him and his blokes. They don’t live around here. Only come by to see Moira. My lad’s the bar-back, and they rough him up a little every time they come by.”

“It’d be my pleasure.” Rory got up from his stool, wavering slightly on his feet. He needed to sleep.

“Thanks, mate.” Then he called out, stopping Rory. “If ye need a job, I could use a bartender a couple nights a week to help me out.”

Rory nodded. If he were here longer than a few days, then he’d need some cash. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll let ye know.” He trudged to the door, surprised his legs felt a bit wobbly. Whisky was doing its job making him feel numb.

A blessing it was MacTavish’s was so close to the Ayreshire house, because he planned to sleep in Moira’s back yard.

He prayed she’d already gone to bed. She’d most likely not be pleased with him creeping around again.

Rory smiled and stumbled his way down the street toward her house, half-hoping he’d run into the arsehole she was bedding down with.

Chapter Five

Sleep had not come easy to Moira Ayreshire. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, wishing that she’d yanked open the door, after yelling at Rory and locking him out. She should have asked him to come inside. To tell her about her sister. To take her to Shona. To ask why he’d up and left; why he’d run away with her sister after a year of telling Moira he loved her.

Dressed in his kilt and boots, his white shirt clinging to the muscles of his chest and arms, the man made an impressive picture. The sight of him, unchanged since she’d last seem him, brought her tunneling back to when they’d been together. Every happy memory, and every heartbreak.

She flopped her arm over her face. He’d said something about Shona’s memory. What was wrong with her sister? Amnesia?

Moira yanked back the blankets and trudged to the bathroom. She’d been so heartless to not even listen to him, to find out what happened. She just didn’t know what to believe. How to feel. What to say.

The morning sun was starting to beam through the window that looked out onto her small back lawn, her abundant garden lay dormant and her mini-green house was covered in dew.

She dazedly gazed down at her patio, a place she and Shona had sat in the evenings to drink wine and chat about their days. The very same patio she’d made love to Rory on when the sun had set and no one was the wiser.

Yanking on the curtains, she wanted to shut out the sight. But then her eye caught on something and she did a double take. Or rather
someone
.

“Ye’ve got to be kidding me,” she grumbled.

Filling up the expanse of the chaise lounge furthest to the right was the six-feet-six figure of Rory. Dead asleep, one muscular arm thrown over his eyes. A long leg extended over the end of the chaise, and the other was hanging off the side. His long dark hair had come loose of his tie, streaks of the morning sun shining red through the charred wood color of it. His skin was still tanned, his chin strong, kissable lips surrounded by the dark hair of his goatee. Closed lids hid the most amazing eyes, the color of dark chocolate and espresso. Two of her favorite things.

Why did he have to look so damned sexy? Even in sleep she appreciated the shear beauty of him.

Though she was irritated, she also recognized the blessing in disguise at seeing Rory sleeping on her chaise. She raced to use the bathroom, brushed her teeth as though a motor were on her arm and then yanked on her robe. She didn’t bother with slippers as she sped down the stairs, through her living room and kitchen to the back door. Flinging it open, she faced a startled Rory, who’d sat straight up and stared at her as though she were a total stranger and he had no idea where he was.

“Let me guess, ye’ve lost your memory, too? Let me remind ye, this is my house, and ye’re trespassing.” She fisted her hands at her sides.

Ugh, why did she have to be so mean? She actually wanted him to stay so she could find out what happened to Shona! See how he was, though she shouldn’t care.

Rory scrubbed a hand over his face, the dazed look vanishing and the determined set of his jaw showing.

“Is Dickie inside? Dinna want him to see an ex-lover of yours out here, do ye?” His tone was brutal and cut straight to her core.

“How do ye know about Dickie?” She’d not mentioned her boyfriend’s name last night.

“Everyone knows about Dickie.” Rory rolled his eyes.

“Everyone, who?” she challenged, hands on her hips, her robe parting enough that Rory stared at the way her nipples had hardened in the brisk morning air. She yanked her robe closed again.

Rory hid his grin but she saw it, and it made her all the more strident. She had to stick to her guns! No melting!

He stood, stretching, his long, muscled arms, reaching toward the dawn sky, his shirt, already loosened from his belt rising to show a glimpse of his chiseled abs.