In Bed with the Highlander (3 page)

Uh-oh. She remembered this bit. Healers were thought to be
witches in his day and age. Not going there in this dream. “Nope.”

“Is that the same as
no
?”

“Holy crap! This is the strangest dream I’ve ever had.”

“Crap. That’s a saint I’ve not heard of. A healer’s saint?”

“I’m not a healer and
crap
is not a
saint it’s...er...an expression. A curse.”

“So it is a witch you are.” She glanced up at his face. His
eyes were alight with laughter.

She gave him a shove. “Stop teasing or I’ll find somewhere else
to use the whisky.”

“Put it in two glasses and we’ll be drinking that toast.”

She poured them each a glass and handed one to him. He took the
glasses from her nerveless hands and placed them on the table beside him, then
caught her wrist. Slowly inexorably, he pulled her closer, and then down onto
his lap. “Beautiful you are, Moirag,” he murmured.

A shimmer, like light and heat blasted in on a high wind,
rolled over her skin. His full lips looked soft and inviting with their half
smile. Half closed lids turned his expression from teasing to sensual, his hard
jaw softened. A kiss hovered in the warm breath caressing her mouth. Yet he
waited.

Oh, heck. If she was going to have a dream, it might as well be
a good one. She twined her arms around his neck, the feel of his long hair
strange and intriguing, and pulled his head lower. She claimed his mouth with a
hunger she hadn’t known existed until that moment. Her body hummed with
contentment as his tongue swept her mouth and his arms pulled her close against
his broad chest. Fingers raked through her hair, large hands stroked her back,
her hips, her thigh. She explored the warm satiny skin of his shoulders, traced
the contours of his back, teased the nipples hiding in a sprinkling of crisp
hair, until they hardened against her palms.

The kiss filled her with a strange kind of wonder. Each stroke
of his hands seemed to set her skin alight. It was if she had never been truly
alive before. Desire coursed through her in waves, leaving her dizzy and
breathless and wanting so much more. And the rigid flesh pressed against her hip
told his story. He wanted her, too.

Breathing hard, he broke the kiss. He stared down at her.
“You’ll be the death of me, lass. Although, it would be a wonderful way to go.”
He lifted her, shifting her position on his lap with a groan.

“What do you mean?”

“It is not right for a man to take advantage of a maid in her
chamber.”

A sense of disappointment flooded through her, along with a
kind of admiration. Damn the eighteenth-century idea of female morals. “What if
the maid is willing?”

“Willing or no, you are a guest of the laird. I cannot take
advantage of his hospitality.” He lifted her as if she weighed nothing and set
her on her feet. He swept up the glasses of Scotch and handed her one. “Death to
the English.” He downed the golden liquid in one swallow.

“Och aye,” she said, and chugged. The heat of it hit the back
of her throat and slid all the way to her stomach like a draft of liquid fire.
It felt so real. It couldn’t be a dream. This was a hotel skit put on for
tourists. And dammit, she was going to enjoy it. Even if it ended up in a video
on the internet. “You are right. It is good stuff.”

His eyes opened wide. “You are a strange one.”

“You are not the first to think so.” Every man she’d ever got
close to ran off in panic after a month or so. Except Alec, who’d realized he
was on to a good thing.

He closed his eyes in a wince and, if she wasn’t mistaken, the
pallor in his face had increased. She glanced down at the bandage, but no blood
had seeped through. “Are you all right? You look a bit faint.”

“Faint,” he growled. “Women faint. Do you think I’m some sort
of weakling?”

“Steady the buffs. I just thought you looked a little pale.
When did you eat last?”

An expression of surprise entered his eyes. “This morn.”

“So if you feel dizzy, it might be lack of food?” Not to
mention hot mind-blowing kisses.

“Och, aye. It is hungry I am.” The word
hungry
came out like a growl and lit another fire in her belly. She
forced herself to ignore it. The man needed proper sustenance.

The kitchen would have closed hours ago. The little Scot who
welcomed her hadn’t said a word about room service. She shook her head. How did
one ask, when one didn’t have a phone? Or did she? She glanced around for her
purse. No sign of it on the dressing table or anywhere else. Hmm. In the old
days, to summon servants, they had a bell pull. No sign of anything like that
hanging on the wall.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any food.” Not even the remains of her
evening meal, apparently.

“We’ll go down to the kitchen,” he said. “There’ll be bread and
cheese and maybe some meat.”

Oh, right. Just waltz into a hotel kitchen and get caught
stealing food. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” He slung on his sword belt, buckled it and slid the
sword home. “The laird will not mind.”

“Will he not?” Oh, now she sounded just like her grandmother.
“I mean, won’t he?”

He raised a brow. “I told you, he’s a cousin.”

“Actually, you didn’t. But if you are comfortable wandering
around the castle at night, who am I to stop you?”

“You’ll come with me, lass.”

It wasn’t an invitation. She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not
hungry.”

“Aye, well, I’ve not yet satisfied myself exactly who you are
and I’m not leaving you here to sound the alarm.”

Alurrrum
. Her bones melted at the
way he said it. Delicious. Her stomach growled. She pressed her hands to her
waist.

Both of his eyebrows shot up.

“I suppose a bite to eat wouldn’t go amiss,” she said, defeated
by an old habit of midnight snacking.

“Come with me, then.” He grabbed her hand and before she knew
it she was padding barefoot out of the room and down the winding cold stone
steps.

* * *

The cold hand clutched in Gavin’s felt like a bird’s
wing. Delicate bones he could crush on a whim. He eased his grip. He might not
trust her, but he had no wish to cause her harm.

Who was she? She sounded like a
Sassenach
and swore like a Highlander. He grimaced. A male
Highlander. What a strange mix of a female she was, but he would not risk
leaving her up there in his room. First off, she might be an English spy, though
Duncan would have warned him by a candle in the old tower if such a creature had
arrived at his castle. And second, he feared she might disappear like one of the
auld folks in the faery stories his mother used to tell.

Mother used to say he had more than a touch of the fae himself,
though he always denied it. His gut tensed. It had to be the whisky. Food. With
food in his belly, he would be able to think. And perhaps he’d be able to resist
those eyes and the wonderful scent that clung to her skin and infused her
glorious mop of russet curls.

The stairs brought them down at one end of the laird’s great
hall. She halted. Her gasp of surprise had him turning to see what was amiss. In
the light from the torches, her eyes were black pools with glowing points of
reflected flame.

“What is it?” He glanced around, seeking the danger that had
her stock-still and horrified.

“This,” she said with an all-encompassing gesture. “This hall.
The rushes. The banners. The benches.” She swallowed. “All of it.”

Perhaps she was a faery. She certainly seemed a little tetched
in the head. “Do you want to sit down? Perhaps some wine...”

“The last thing a crazy person needs is more alcohol.”

“Crazy?”

“Never mind.” She straightened her shoulders, looked him
directly in the face and nodded. “Take me to the kitchen. Feed me. Perhaps
something will happen to wake me.”

Unable to comprehend a word of it, he decided to let it lie for
now. They passed behind the screen and into the vaulted domain of Glencovie’s
cook. Fortunately the old curmudgeon would have long gone to her bed. As a lad,
Gavin had received more than one wallop on his backside from her wooden spoon
for stealing vittles.

“Sit,” he said to Moirag, who was gazing around as if she had
never seen a kitchen before. She perched on a stool, her bare toes curling into
the rushes, her fingers torturing a stray thread at the hem of her exotic tunic.
Saints, she was lovely. Not pretty and gentle as a lass ought to be, but bold
and strong, like some wild mountain she-cat. Her green eyes glistened in the
firelight, taking in everything as if seeking escape. More flights of fancy.

Food. He needed food.

He went to the pantry and found a couple of loaves intended for
the poor at the gate the next morn. Well, they’d just have to have fresh. He set
them on the table along with a pat of butter. He looked in the next cupboard and
found the knuckle end of a ham. Enough for two.

She shrieked.

He spun around. An old hound had his nose in her lap and was
snuffling in a very intimate way. God’s teeth. What he’d do to change places
with that hound.

His blood rushed south.

She batted the dog’s nose. “You ill-mannered creature.” The
hound backed up.

Gavin laughed. The dog turned its old head and scented the air.
“Get on with you, Ran,” he said. “Leave the lady alone.” Ran wandered back to
his place by the hearth. She must not have seen him when they came in.

“God,” she said. “He scared the life out of me.”

Not a pleasant vision. “I hope not.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Oh. Right.” She stood up and
stretched, her high breasts pressing against the wisp of shimmering fabric.
Never had he seen a woman in such an alluring garment. Transparent trews and
tunic that unbuttoned down the front. For ease of access. He almost swallowed
his tongue and his body responded in appreciation. Perhaps she was one of those
prostitutes from Edinburgh. Duncan’s bit of comfort for a cold night.
Dammit.

“Take a seat at the table,” he choked out. “All I can offer you
is bread and ham.”

“Sounds heavenly.” He focused on slicing the bread.

“Wonder of wonders. Freshly churned butter.” She slipped into
the seat opposite him. He passed her a slice of bread skewered on the tip of his
knife.

She bit into it. Her teeth were white and perfect.

More happy physical appreciation in his lower extremities as if
he was a thirteen-year-old boy. In self-defense, he straddled the bench. “So
tell me why you are here?”

“Why?” She looked nonplussed.

“Aye. Why are you visiting Duncan with so much unrest in the
countryside and when you are clearly a town girl?”

She chewed her bread slowly. “Can I have some ham?”

He cut her a slice, not fooled by her stalling tactics. “Go
on.”

“I um... It’s a long story.”

“I have all night. And I want the truth of it now. I’ll know
very well if you lie, so be warned.”

“And what will you do? Spit me with your sword and roast me for
dinner.”

The image fired his wicked imagination. “I’d like to.”

“What?”

He couldn’t help it, his voice lowered as did his lashes as his
gaze dropped to the full glory of her breasts outlined by firelight. “I’d like
to eat you.”

Her indrawn breath and smoky expression said she might not be
averse to a bit of biting and licking. His arousal hardened to rock. Hard enough
to hold up a tent, let alone a wee scrap of a plaid. Thank the Lord she could
not see through the table.

He poured some ale from the flagon. “Here.” His voice sounded
hoarser than one of the selkies out on the shore.

She picked up the goblet and took a sip. A grimace passed
across her face. “Don’t you have any water?”

“None fresh. Unless I go to the well.” Come to think of it, a
trip to the well in the cool night air might not go amiss right now. He picked
up the ewer and another hunk of bread. “Sit tight and I’ll be right back.”

She blessed him with a blindingly bright smile. “I can get my
own water, if you’ll tell me where to go.”

“No. Best you stay here.” One look at that exotic garb and
Duncan’s guards would turn into ravening beasts and he’d had enough battles for
one night. And besides, he wasn’t far off the state of ravening beast
himself.

* * *

Holy nightmares, Batman! How on earth had she
constructed a medieval castle in her dreams with every single bell and whistle,
right down to the hunting dog? Its warm moist breath between her thighs had
shocked her to her toes.

What if it was real? No. It couldn’t be. Dammit. While her
brain said no, her gut was saying yes. And her bloody gut rarely made a mistake.
It had been wrong about Alec. No. It hadn’t. She had wanted a home and a family
too much to listen to her gut.

And if her gut was right and this was real? How the hell could
that be? Things like that happened only in books. Unless she’d fallen into one
of those black holes scientists were always blathering about. How could she fall
in, when she was asleep in her bed? Maybe it was that thing on
Stargate
. What did they call it? A portal? She
remembered the strange nauseous feeling upon waking and Granny’s prediction. Her
stomach sank. It had to be real. And how did she find her way back?

She prowled around the kitchen. The hearth and the
chimneybreast were warm to the touch. The dog opened one eye and raised an
eyebrow. “Stay,” she said.

It heaved a long sigh and the eyelid drooped.

Oh hell. She’d eaten the bread. Did that mean she had to remain
here forever? Wasn’t there something about if you eat the food then you are
stuck? She frowned. Or was that something to do with desert peoples and their
customs. Whatever the case, the gate or portal thingy would not be down here.
She’d been in her perfectly normal Scottish castle bedroom when she fell asleep
and that was where she had woken up. In another time.