Lord of the Highlands (7 page)

He gave a curt nod.

“Sorry.” She shrugged. “I tried to . . .”

“No apologies, lass.” Rollo’s voice was ragged. His eyes grazed her bared shoulders. He cleared his throat.

The tense silence was unbearable. She shrugged again.

“Be still.”

“Oh, sorry. I mean . . . Sorry I was sorry.” She scrunched her face, happy her back was to him. She tried to stand as still as possible. “Okay, I’ll just shut up.”

Felicity sensed Rollo placing his cane down. She heard his shuffle at her back. Felt his approach. Heard his breath, suddenly close at her ear.

She shivered, and felt her skin pebble tight.

Why was he just standing there?

She fought the urge to apologize again, just to fill the silence. Could this really be her Viking? He sure was a serious one.

Why wasn’t he buttoning—?

His hands skimmed along her back. The silk of her dress under his fingertips made a muted shushing sound.

Oh.
A breath escaped her, and she clamped her lips between her teeth.

Rollo’s fingers went to her waist, tugging the fabric together, securing the first button.

The room was suddenly unbearably hot.

“Are . . . are you sure this dress will fit me?”

“Aye.” His voice had a steely, sharp edge. She felt his breath on her neck. He did the next button. And then the next.

His fingers found a rhythm. Dip beneath the fabric, pull gently, flick the button through. Dip, pull, flick. She felt the warmth of his fingers through the linen of her corset all the while.

“Thanks,” she managed. Heat rippled beneath the surface of her skin, suffusing her body. “I . . .”

He was almost done. She didn’t want him to be done. She’d thought the stays were tight, but the dress snugged her even more, and it was the most erotic sensation she’d ever experienced. The feel of her breasts pressed tight, rubbing up against so much stiff fabric.

She glanced down. Her breasts were two pale, perfect mounds above the rose-colored silk.

She hoped her nipples didn’t pop out.

But it looked pretty hot.

She hadn’t realized her breasts could
do
that.

He froze behind her.

He was done.

She blushed. He hadn’t even seen the front of the dress yet, but still the anticipation of it made her blush.

She turned slowly and his gaze was waiting for her. Simmering, and deadly serious.

Rollo ran his eyes down the length of her, pausing at her breasts.

She struggled to inhale.

He ran his eyes back up.

And this time she saw something raw there. Those hazel eyes, the color of chocolate in the dimly lit room, stared at her. Didn’t budge from her.

Wanting him overwhelmed her. She leaned closer, taking him in. Taking in his gorgeous face, that thick, wavy brown hair. That perfect mouth.

She leaned closer.

He didn’t move, and her heart thrilled with it.

Her Viking. She’d kiss her Viking now.

Closer.

His lips parted. She trembled, getting closer.

She brought her hand to his chest. Rested her palm lightly on him. She felt his muscles tense, so tight and hard beneath his waistcoat.

She was mesmerized. Those eyes of his, with just a little bit of gold that she could see now, up close.

Why wasn’t he leaning down? She had the bodice on, now it was time for her Viking to rip it from her.

He tilted his chin down. Brought his hand slowly up, cupped her cheek.

A bell jingled as the front door opened, and Rollo closed his eyes as if in pain.

“Hello?” The shopkeeper sounded confused, suspicious.

Rollo brought his hand back quickly to his side.

Felicity made a tiny deflated sound, and he marveled at the endearingly feminine noise.

Had she truly wanted him to kiss her?

He’d almost kissed her.

He inhaled deeply, exhaled sharply, and opened his eyes to her. What had he been thinking?

That open and guileless gaze snagged his. He held it as he called, “Aye, just here. We’ve finished.”

They needed to go, but still, Rollo couldn’t take his eyes from her.

Those brown eyes with that yellow hair. The delicate features of some fairy-tale beauty. And breasts that he wanted to free from her gown, take in his mouth. And suck. And ravage.

Those goddamned buttons had mocked him. He wanted to tear them off, to take her in his arms, and see if the rest of her was as creamy and pale as the delectable stretch of décolletage that he’d decided would surely then and there be the death of him.

“Hello?” The disembodied voice was closer now.

Rollo turned, reached for his cane, and just then stumbled. His damned legs had cramped up, so tightly wound had he been holding himself.

The shopkeeper peeked behind the screen just as Rollo cursed under his breath. Scandalized, the man’s eyes grew wide. “If you’d be so kind—”

“Aye,” Rollo gritted out, “you’ve my coin. We leave you now.”

The click and drag of his cane and feet were the only sounds as they made their way, excruciatingly slowly, from the shop.

Rollo felt Felicity’s eyes on him in the carriage, and he pushed himself as far into the corner as possible.

She smelled so . . . lush. Womanly and rich, her scent filled the small enclosure, driving him to distraction. Did she have to watch him so?

The wheel caught on a rut. The carriage gave a sharp jolt, and Felicity bounced closer in his direction.

“Sixteen fifty-eight,” he said suddenly, his voice cracking. “The year. Is 1658.”

“I . . .” She looked confused for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”

“That doesn’t . . . shock you?” And he’d thought MacColla’s woman Haley had been a peculiar one.

“Shock
me
? What about you? I’m from the
twenty-first
century, and you act as though women pop back in time every day.”

“Bloody hell, but it seems you all do . . .” he muttered.

“What?” She leaned closer to hear.

“I’ve seen . . .
this
”—he waved his hands, gesturing to her—“before. But don’t fash yourself.” He glanced away from her to stare back out the window. “As I said, I will help you return to your proper place.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you. I think
this
is my proper place. I did . . . something—”

“This couldn’t possibly be your
proper place
.” He sat upright to confront her. “Not very long ago, our king was relieved of his head. His son, the rightful king, Charles II, lives in exile, rallying to be restored to the throne. And Cromwell’s agents comb the countryside seeking men like
me
to hang from a gibbet in the market square.”

“Well, maybe I was sent back to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” he snapped.

“I . . .” Her shoulders fell. “Is this about your legs or something?”

He bristled. Would she not leave it alone?

“Because I wasn’t saying you needed
help
help. Gosh, you’re sensitive. I was just saying, I think for some reason I came back to you
specifically
.” She poked her finger at his chest. “I made a wish, asked for a Viking, and—”

The laugh exploded from him, surprising them both. “You asked for a
Viking
?”

“No, not a real Viking. It was . . . a metaphor.”

“You requested a metaphorical Viking from the universe?”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “Though it didn’t sound so silly at the time.”

He sank back into the seat, staring fixedly at the ceiling of the carriage. Why had he insisted on hiring a carriage? Why hadn’t he put her on that boat with Ormonde instead? He could’ve
ridden
to Perthshire. It could’ve taken him months.

“I am no woman’s Viking,” he grumbled.

“You can’t . . .” She froze, a look of horror crossing her face. “Wait, you’re not married already, are you?”

He swung his head to look at her, his face dark. “Do I
look
married?”

She merely stared blankly.

Rollo gestured to his legs. Was she purposely misunderstanding? He raised his brows, waiting impatiently for his point to dawn.

“What, you think because you limp, you can’t get married?” Her laugh was the one to shock him then. “You have
got
to be kidding me. You’re, like, the hottest man ever. Big whoop, you’ve got a limp.”

What could she mean by
hot
?

She scooted closer to eye his legs. “They don’t look
so
bad, anyhow. Not set correctly after a break—that’s it, right?”

“Aye.” He looked again out the window. The carriage suddenly felt intolerably small. “A horse crushed my legs when I was but a lad.”

Her indrawn breath drew his eyes back to her. “That’s horrible!”

He had to chuckle at the earnest look on her face.

“It’s not funny,” she scolded. “That’s, like, the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

Felicity reached her hand out tentatively, then brought it back to her lap. “May I?”

“May you what?”

“I studied massage for a while. I think . . . Well . . .” She tilted her head to get a better look.

Her eyes on him were agony. And yet somehow the shame that usually overtook him at the topic of his legs remained at bay.

“I’ve seen you pound at your leg. Like this.” Felicity balled her hand into a fist and thumped at her thigh. “But that’s not going to help you at all.”

“God save me, is that what I look like?” He shrugged on the familiar self-loathing like a pair of well-worn boots.

Felicity wore her frustration plainly on her face, and he thought it would’ve been comical if she weren’t so damned pretty.

In answer, she simply reached out and grabbed his upper thigh.

“What the—?”

Losh
, but her hands were strong.

“This is really . . .”

What was she doing?

“Quite . . .”

Good Lord save him.

“Inappropriate.”

Oh . . .
He shuddered, the breath leaving him slowly, as decades of tension unspooled and the pain that had been a constant slowly began to dissolve.

She instantly lightened the pressure. “That didn’t hurt, did it?”

Rollo responded with a tight shake of his head.

“Oh, good.” She redoubled her efforts, using knuckles and thumbs to ease the tightness at the front of his legs. “Because I only studied massage for a year. Well, not really a year. Almost a year.”

She found a sensitive spot and he flinched.

“You sure you’re okay?”

He gave a single nod, his eyes shut tight.

“Because you don’t need to be mister tough guy. Just tell me if it hurts.” Her hand grazed the side of his thigh.

Rollo held his breath—what was she
doing
?

She dug her thumb in hard, and everything else fell away.

This strange . . .
massage
. . . was shaping up to be one of the single most memorable moments of his life, and yet, seemingly oblivious, Felicity chattered on.

“So anyway, I was really into it,” she said, making circular motions with her thumb. “Into massage school, I mean. But
boom
, my first hairy back and that was it.” She laughed.

“Wait.” She froze. “You don’t have a hairy back, do you?”

What
was she on about?

“No,” he managed. “Not that I know of.”

“Oh good. ’Cause that’s a deal breaker. Though it’d be a shame to have come all this way . . .” She giggled.

“So anyway, I’d really thought it would be my thing. Massage, I mean. Livvie, my Aunt Livia, that is, used to . . .”

She sighed wistfully. The sudden sadness in her voice had him cracking open an eyelid to watch her. Felicity’s lively brown eyes were suddenly quiet. He studied her hand on his leg and fought the urge to take it in his.

“My parents died in a car accident. I was just a little kid, but . . . I was in the car with them.” She grew utterly silent, her uncharacteristic stillness jarring.

“You probably don’t know what that is,” she finally said. She sighed, resuming a slow, stroking motion along the side of his thigh. “A car . . . It’s like a
really
fast carriage. But with no horses attached.”

She worked silently then, seeming to collect her thoughts.

Rollo watched her, and wondered at the foreign emotion that stabbed his chest. The poor lass, baring her thoughts for all and sundry. And yet, in that instant, he couldn’t fathom what she might be thinking.

“Anyway,” she said finally, “I was hurt. My back. It was bad, for such a little kid.”

She paused, using the opportunity to dig her fingertips in deep. “I guess we have that in common, huh? Getting hurt at such a young age. But I had Livvie to massage my back every night.”

She slowly released the pressure and it was like a torrent of blood was released, rushing through his leg, up his spine, to the base of his neck, making him light-headed.

Groaning, he let his head fall back, savoring the feel of tendons and fibers that had long been in iron knots relaxing for what felt like the first time. Even his chest felt as if it were opening, his breathing somehow freer, his neck, his jaw, all somehow eased.

“Good, huh?” She smiled at him, then looked back at his leg. His left had been snapped in two, but it was his right that had been utterly smashed.

“It’s a tragedy that this wasn’t set right. I had to have a back brace myself, for a while. But it was the feel of Livvie’s hands on me every night. That’s what really saved me. So, I thought, maybe massage. But, no. All those hairy backs.” She gave a quiet, sad laugh. “I can’t really seem to find my thing. But I will,” she finished, sounding an upbeat note.