My Highlander Cover Model (6 page)

Chapter Seven

Skye could hear the shrill and worried tones of Roderick’s mother. “Rod! What happened? Rod!”

Damn, it was as though Cailin had seen a ghost. His skin had turned ghostly white and looked paper thin. He appeared to be in shock. She glanced at the vomit on his boots and the carpet. What had the woman told him? Putting the phone to her ear, she decided to wing it.

“Hello, Mrs. Thorburn? I’m Skye Bancroft, a friend. I…ah…stopped by to bring Rod some chicken soup—” She winced, how lame was that? “He’s really not feeling well. In fact, he just threw up, and so we have to go….”

“Oh, the poor dear! Skye—he mentioned you in his last phone call.”

He did
? “We’re just friends.”

Roderick’s mother laughed. “I shouldn’t say anything, Skye, but he likes you quite a lot. He talked about you for nearly ten minutes. Told us he was going to ask you out on a date. I should go and let you tend to Rod. Take care of him, please? And call me tomorrow morning and let me know how he is? I know he’s almost thirty, but I worry about him there alone in New York.”

“I’ll take care of him, and I’ll give you a quick call when I stop by tomorrow. He really can’t talk—his throat and all. Ah, I have to go. Nice talking to you, Mrs. Thorburn.”

After the good-byes, Skye clicked off. Tossing the phone to the chair, she slipped her arm around Cailin.

“What happened?”

He didn’t answer, so she led him to the bathroom, sat him down on the closed toilet seat, and ran a facecloth under cool water. She gently ran the cloth over his face and wiped the sweat off his brow. He looked awful. Getting to her knees, she cleaned the puke off his boots.

“I’m dead, lass.” His voice rasped.

Skye glanced up at him. “What?”

Cailin grasped her wrists and pulled her to sit on his lap. He tossed the damp and smelly cloth aside.

“I canna remember the last time I was sick like that. I am no’ a weak man. Roderick’s mother told me the only survivors from my family to come to Nova Scotia were my brother Iain and my mum. Roderick is descended from Iain, as I thought. It also means me and the rest of my family—my siblings and my da—are dead.”

Oh hell, what a thing to hear. She hugged him tight. With her cheek resting against his whiskered one, she felt wetness. Oh my God, he was crying. Not hysterical sobbing, just a couple of wet, sorrowful tears. His sadness and grief sent jolts of emotion straight to her heart. A protective instinct she didn’t even know she possessed kicked in. A fierce, highland warrior didn’t cry, show emotion, or weakness, as he called it. She fell a little in love with him, right there in the bathroom.
What in hell do I do now
?

***

“I’m no’ getting in that thing!”

Skye touched his arm and his skin sizzled from the contact. She’d explained on the way to the doctor’s building what a CAT scan consisted of, but be damned if he could understand it. This huge machine would take pictures of the inside of his head to see if there was any damage. A stab of annoyance sliced through him. So the lass thought his head was broken and needed proof of the fact. Agreeing to this procedure seemed to be one solution to verify once and for all he was of sound mind and body—and Cailin Thorburn.

However, standing before the monstrosity, he was no longer certain he wanted the proof that badly.

“Cailin, please,” she whispered. “We should be sure.”

He sighed. Last night, he’d chosen to go to bed alone. He missed having Skye in his embrace, but he needed the time to think. Nothing had been resolved. As he lay down on the table, Skye kissed him on the forehead.

“I’ll be outside.”

Another woman entered, and she droned on about the importance of lying still. The bluidy chemise he wore barely covered his arse.

The table began to move, streams of bright lights danced overhead. A clicking sound filled his ears. He didn’t dare twitch or flinch. The sound of buzzing overtook the clicking, as if he were being attacked by a swarm of insects. Just when he thought the discomfort would never end, it was over.

Dressed and heading toward the auto, Cailin stopped Skye from opening the car door.

“Explain lass, wha’ ’tis this all about? Do you think me barmy, that my head is cracked?”

Skye exhaled, and then met his gaze. “I told you yesterday, I don’t know what to think, though your reaction to hearing the news on your family was convincing. I just want to make sure there is nothing medically wrong.”

“If there is?”

“Then we’ll deal with it. The doctor mentioned if they find anything, you might need a MRI. It’s like a CAT scan, only more detailed.” Her wee hand cupped his cheek. “I don’t think it will come to that.”

He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes. God’s stones, but even the slightest contact of her skin soothed his doubts.

When he opened his eyes, her clear, intelligent gaze had him enthralled. Her lips beckoned, and he answered the call. He placed his hand over hers, leaned down, and kissed her soundly. Every time his lips met hers, it was if he was reborn. His experience of kisses consisted of innocent ones with a few lasses in the village when he had been much younger. He did not kiss the whores. His time with them had been brief and for one thing only, a quick rut. Nothing he had experienced in his past had come close to the exultation he felt with Skye. She opened in invitation and his tongue plunged in and met hers. A groan of pleasure rippled up his throat and escaped the corner of his mouth.

The deep, husky growl caused Skye to pull away and he felt sorrow at the loss of her warmth.

He dropped his hand, but his gaze stayed firmly fixed on her bonnie face. Her lips were red and swollen. A surge of masculine pride puffed him up and caused a smile to curl about his mouth. His kisses had affected her; he could see the emotions flash in her beautiful gray eyes.

“What shall we do now, lass?”

She blinked. “Well, I thought we’d swing by my place and pick up a few movies to watch, grill a couple of steaks, and share a bottle of wine.”

Movies. His brain flickered through the information it had amassed the last day or two. Ah, the plays acted out on what was called film. Entertainment. Aye, why not?

***

The rest of Sunday afternoon passed quickly. They stopped at her small apartment long enough for her to pick up more clothes, toiletries, and the DVDs. It appeared she’d be staying at Roderick’s until the photo shoot on Thursday. Might as well think of the time with him as a mini-vacation, if nothing else. Giving Cailin a crash course on modeling was also on the agenda. As she chopped up red pepper for the salad she was making, Skye thought about the phone call and her conversation with Rod’s mother. She had returned the call that morning as promised, told her Rod felt better, and would call the following Saturday. How could they keep this charade up? Mrs. Thorburn sounded like a really nice lady. A twinge of guilt clutched her insides.

Where was Roderick? He had a life here. Had he and Cailin switched places, and was the exchange permanent? Reaching for the fresh mushrooms, another thought fluttered through her mind. Roderick had told his mother he would be asking her out? When, in between his asshole statements? Why did he act like such an egotistical jerk around her? Her hand stilled on the knife. The behavior he’d showed the few times she’d been in his company had been a total turnoff, regardless of his outer gorgeousness. Yet staying in his house, she’d learned more about Roderick, and asshole was not a name she’d use to describe him. Had he been nervous, and had it manifested itself as the idiocy and immaturity he’d displayed in her presence?

Skye exhaled, picked up the chopped mushrooms, and tossed them in the large, wooden salad bowl. She smiled. Cailin was channel-surfing again. The television fascinated him. It would keep him busy for a while in the next room.

How could she behave as everything was normal? Here she was, standing in this kitchen, preparing a meal, thinking about how she wanted to pin Cailin to the wall and crawl up his long, muscular torso until she impaled herself on his cock. The erotic thoughts flashed through her mind constantly. Last night, lying alone in the spare room, thinking of Cailin and everything she wanted to do to him, she couldn’t stop her hand from rubbing her hardened clit to climax.

Skye shook her head. Get a grip. Admit it here and now. The sword caused some sort of switch between men of the same blood with two centuries and an ocean separating them. The evidence had piled up. Cailin really was from 1814. Maybe she was nuts, but—she believed. They were two separate men and they’d switched places. Not a shred of doubt remained in her mind.

Cailin picked that moment to stride into the kitchen. He slipped his arm around her waist, and he pulled her back against him. He nuzzled her neck and murmured something Gaelic in her ear. His sexy words seared her skin and sent ripples of heat through her entire body. She turned to face him and slipped her arms around his neck.

“Are you all right, Cailin? I know the news about your family upset you.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “I dinna know why I’m here, or for how long, but while I am, I will try no’ to focus on the past. Mayhap if I return, I can change my family’s fate.”

Her hand stroked his whiskered cheek. She reveled in the rugged roughness.

“And if you’re here permanently? Can you become Roderick, live his life, and adjust to this time?”

He leaned down, and his lips brushed by hers in scorching contact. “Only if you’re with me, lass. With you, I can face anything.”

The air between them snapped and crackled. Was he teasing, or did he mean it about being together?
Oh, to drag him to bed
. Why did she keep resisting him? The memories of her many one-night stands came to mind. She’d never hesitated before to bed a man she’d found attractive. Why now? She continued to stroke his cheek. Why deny it? Cailin, for all his outward warrior persona, was vulnerable at the moment. Skye didn’t want to use him, simple as that. Reluctantly, she stepped back and smiled.

“I think we can put the steaks on the barbecue. I’ll let you do it. Men like to do this. It’s primal. ‘Light fire, cook meat.’ I’ll show you how.”

Cailin smiled. “Lass, I’ve cooked meat over a flame before. No’ long ago I roasted a brace of coneys when we were scouting.”

“Coneys?”

“Rabbits.”

Skye nodded.

“By all means, woman, show me this barbecue. I may no’ be able to cook much else, but I can do meat.”

God, he was adorable.

Chapter Eight

“
Highlander, Braveheart, Rob Roy
? What is this, lass?” Cailin glanced at her, his handsome face clearly showing his puzzlement.

“Movies. I thought you might enjoy these, seeing they have a Scottish theme.” She pointed to the
Highlander
DVD box he held. “Parts of that were filmed in Scotland.” She’d explained in detail how these movies were compressed onto the round discs, but he still seemed confused. He stared at the long-haired warrior on the cover.

“There can be only one? One what?”

Skye took the DVD from him and crouched in front of the machine. “Immortal highlander. It’s a fantasy and made in 1986. Just go with it. Movies are meant to allow one to escape, enter a make-believe world, and enjoy the journey.” Slipping the disc in the machine, she stood and joined him on the sofa. “Sure you don’t want any snacks? People usually eat when they watch movies.”

Cailin grinned. “Nay, lass. The wonderful dinner filled me to the brim.”

Skye clicked the remote and snuggled into Cailin’s warm strength. With her legs curled, she leaned on his chest as he put his arm around her.

As the movie progressed, Skye received more enjoyment out of Cailin’s reactions than she did the movie itself.

“I’ve met a Spaniard. He dinna sound like that.”

“He’s played by Sean Connery, a Scotsman. He never bothers to hide his accent in any movie.”

“So the highlander is played by a Frenchman, and the Spaniard who is Egyptian is played by a Scot. Bluidy hell.”

Skye couldn’t help but laugh and hug him tight. “That’s the movies. It’s all make-believe.”

When the movie came to the flashback scenes of Connor MacLeod in Scotland, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

“I can almost smell the cold, Highland air, and hear the heather as it’s shaken by the breeze.” She heard Cailin take a sharp inhale of breath. “’Tis just like my village, only we no longer live in mud huts. Oh Skye, the beauty of it, the wildness. What I would give to show my land to you.”

Cailin reacted to the movie. He was thoroughly entertained. When the end credits rolled, he kissed her on the forehead.

“Thank you for showing me this movie. ’Twas very good. I liked it.”

“You said you were in a battle, holding the sword, when you lost consciousness. There were guns by 1814. Why weren’t you using those? Didn’t you have them?”

“Aye, we used them for hunting. Muskets take too long to load and prime; in battle we use swords in the old way of things. I take it guns have been improved upon.”

Skye snorted. “You don’t want to know. What about bows and arrows?”

Cailin raised an eyebrow. “Only a Sassenach—an Englishman—would use a bow, and even they haven’t for centuries.”

She flushed in embarrassment. She really knew nothing about the time he came from. “Oh.”

“Can you bring the sword to me, Skye?”

Rising from the sofa, she walked to the door where it leaned against the wall. She handed it to Cailin.

He pulled it out of its scabbard with a sharp, drawn-metallic ring. Cailin deftly balanced the weapon on the back of his hand, and in a fluid motion, gave it a slight toss in the air only to have it land in his rigid palm. He then swung it, making an impossibly small figure eight in the air, and again, gave it a flip to land on his hand in a perfect position. Not once did he look at the weapon. The blade was an extension of the warrior he was. Skye noted as Cailin did this, his eyes burned with a fierce, marshaled pride. His long fingers passed over the etchings on the blade.