Warrior and the Wanderer (15 page)

“A Dane.” He delivered his reply around a mouthful of food.

“Dane?” Did she hear him right?

“Aye, Blaze. Some Dane helped me escape from prison. He showed me a tunnel, and I went down it and crawled out into a big kitchen. Scared the hell out of the cook and some servants.”

“And the Dane?”

“He was nowhere to be found.”

“I know about the Dane,” she said sharply. “Ye couldnae have seen him.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

Gaze still anywhere in the chamber but on Ian, Bess stepped to a warm spot on the floor between the tub and the hearth. She gathered her skirts around her legs and sat down able to see Ian’s face but no longer able to peer into the tub if temptation got the better of her.

“The Dane is just a legend,” she said. “A piece of Edinburgh lore. He doesnae exist.”

“Fascinating,” he said swirling a large piece of bread in the meat juice. “Tell me more.”

“
Din Eidyn
’twas what Edinburgh was called in the ancient times, almost a thousand years ago, during the time of the raids. The Norsemen, Danes, came ashore and attacked the peaceful Scots as fiercely as the Angles from the south would a century later. There was one, a Dane warrior who stood out from the rest of his tribe of savage fur-clad men. His name was—”

“Johan,” Ian said.

Bess stopped for a moment. “Aye,” she stammered. “I kent ye hadnae heard of this tale.”

“You
kent
right, Blaze. Please, continue.” He took a bite of the bread.

“Johan the Bold, the good folk of Din Eidyn called him. He was a fierce, straw-haired warrior. The Scots called him a sorcerer.”

“Why?” Ian asked.

“Because he had the power to make people disappear.”

Ian dropped the bread to the trencher. “Disappear?”

“Aye. Johan the Bold stole two people from the
Din Eidyn
settlement where this castle is now. The first man stolen was a brave and just prince named Jyn Kyndy. He was beloved by all of his people, yet his enemies hated him without mercy. They plotted to take his life, but Jyn Kyndy was taken from
Din Eidyn
by Johan the Bold which saved his enemies the trouble of killing him.”

Bess looked at Ian. The sudden intensity in his amber eyes startled her.

Very quietly, he said, “Continue.”

“There was another who disappeared one score years after Jyn Kyndy. ’Twas a bold explorer. A man determined to expand the lands of the Scots. He was sent forth by their king to explore hostile lands that had not been explored by his people. He did not return. Legend says that Johan the Bold stole him and imprisoned him on the moon.”

“And his name was?” Ian asked tone low, eyes widened and reflecting the firelight. She suspected he knew the answer to his question.

“Nyl Amstrygh.”

“Right,” he said through clenched teeth and sat back in the tub, dropped the trencher to the floor, and looked straight ahead but not at her.

“Ian?” Bess asked. “What is wrong?”

He did not reply, just continued to stare at nothing.

“Ian?” she asked. “What is it?” He was frightening her.

She sat up, kneeling beside the tub.

“Ian—”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He suddenly stood up, splashing water all over her.

She averted her eyes and stood also. “’Tis time for me to take my leave.”

Bess did not get far. Ian reached out and pulled her into his damp and very strong embrace. “Don’t go.”

“I cannae stay.” Her protest was delivered on a whisper.

“You’re the chief of your clan. You can do what ever you want.”

“No’ true. I found out that my most powerful ally, the Duke of Argyll, doubts my accusation against Lachlan because I’m a woman.”

“I believe you,” Ian said. “Because of what I saw.”

“And the Duke will listen to ye because ye’re a man and a MacLean.”

“Being clan chief doesn’t have weight with the Duke?”

“I have taken on the mantle because I am the murdered chief’s sister, as a woman I have to fight to prove my worth. Bringing Lachlan to task was the first step. If I fail, I will no longer be chief.”“It shouldn’t matter that you’re a woman. It should only matter whether you succeed or not. Your sex has nothing to do with you ability to lead your clan.”

She looked up into his amber eyes. No man had ever said that to her that before. Her roles in life had been so very clear before her husband murdered her brother. It was her duty and love for her clan which compelled her to step in as their chief. They deserved a good and fierce leader. She could be chief despite being a woman. Yet, could she be both without hesitation? Ian seemed to think so.

He stared deep into her eyes. “Blaze,…what do you want?”

She heard herself reply, “To be chief and…”

“Tell me what you want at this moment,” he urged.

“…To stay.”

“Then stay.” Ian brushed a lock of hair from her face. Slowly he lowered his lips to meet hers.

Bess kissed him back, plunging her fingers into the thick, short locks of his hair, kissing his with a ferocity that welled up from so deep within her. Ian responded with a surprised grunt.

He kissed the back of her neck, his fingers pressing hotly into her flesh, through her damp wool bodice and linen tunic. The heat from his touch branded her flesh even through the soggy layers of her clothes. His hands searched up and down the sides of her body, moving to her front. Her breathing grew to a full gallop.

He clasped her to his body, lifting her off her feet. Bess gasped sharply from the firmness of his hold upon her. She held onto him with her arms tethered about his broad shoulders as tightly as her gaze held onto his own. He carried her to the bed, and with his shoulder parted the bed curtains.

He kissed her lips lightly as he set her down. She did not feel the chill from her damp clothes until Ian slipped away from her, letting the bed curtains fall closed, separating them.

From the other side he said, “Take those clothes off. I’ll hang them by the fire.”

Her teeth chattered. She was in darkness save for a sliver of light from the hearth where the velvet curtains were parted just a wee bit.

She removed her clothes, piece by soggy piece, until she knelt naked on the bed coverings. She took the top covering and wrapped it tightly around her body. Ian thrust his arm in through the opening in the curtains.

“Clothes,” he said.

She quickly gathered up the wet garments and thrust them into his hand. He curled strong fingers around them and took the clothes from her sight. Bess took a deep breath and sat back against the pillows cocooned in the bedclothes anticipating the impossible and the desirable. Would she allow Ian to take their kiss further?

No sound came from Ian on the other side of the bed curtains. All she heard was the muffled thunder outside and the crackling of the hearth fire. She slowly stuck her head out between the curtains.

Ian was standing before the hearth clad in his tight black trews, his arms folded across his bare chest. His torso still glistened from the bath.

Wrapped in the bedclothes, Bess padded across the floor to him.

He stared into the flames, so far away from her.

She realized that the kiss they just shared would be the highlight of the evening.

“Perhaps I should go,” she said.

Ian cleared his throat. “This is the last thing I want you to do.” He turned toward her seizing her once again in his gaze. “Stay.”

Bess reached out and touched his shoulder, slowly allowing her fingers to travel the muscled length of his arm. Her fingertips slid from his arm and to his side, brushing over the stitches one of the brethren had used to seal the wound she had made with her claymore.

“I can help you,” she said.

He gently cupped her chin. “I wish you could, Blaze.”

* * * *

Ian rested on his stomach on the bed. Bess had insisted. It was best to let her take charge now as he submitted to her blade.

“Dinnae move,” she ordered.

“I’m not,” he countered.

“Then hold yer breath.”

Ian tried to keep from flinching as she cut away the stitches on his side. He took another swig of whisky from the bottle a servant had brought to the chamber, following Bess’ order. She had called it
aqua vitae
, said the local friary distilled it, but it tasted like whisky to him.

Ian closed his eyes and waited for Bess to finish cutting the stitches out of him.

What the hell was he thinking getting her to remove her damp clothes and insisting she stay with him? He had not been thinking that was the problem. He should heed the Dane’s warning and refrain from making any more passes at the sexiest Highland chief he had ever seen.

But what if making love to Bess was part of the plan?

The Dane had told him he would figure things out, and had about fourteen days and counting to do so.

Perhaps acting naturally was the best course of action, part of the great-unknown plan to keep the world in balance. Or it could be complete…

“Bullshit,” he mumbled.

Ian looked at the bottle in his fist. It was empty. Bess had helped him on that score too.

He flung the bottle to the hearth. Bess gasped, “Ian!” It shattered against the back wall, the dregs of spirit ignited the flames into a brief bonfire.

“What did ye do that for?” she asked.

“No more,” he breathed.

“No more spirit?”

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Aye.”

Bess continued to remove his stitches. Ian remained still and silent.

After a few minutes she announced, “Done. They’ll no longer pull on ye when ye move—what is this?”

He felt her reach into his back pocket. Before he could stop her, she had removed the one thing he didn’t need in this time and could possibly bring him a world of trouble.

He sat up on the bed. Bess knelt in front of him. Her small knife in one hand and his wallet in the other.

Was this part of the plan? To finally let her know where he had come from? Who he really was?

The Dane had not told him to keep silent about that. It was an order Ian had given himself. He looked at Bess as she opened his wallet. She did not seem like the sort of woman to want him burned at the stake to appease any inbred superstition. She was, however, the type of woman to skewer him with her sword if he pissed her off. She had not brought it into the chamber her, had left it and her armor somewhere in this castle. Maybe she could handle the truth about him, a small part of it anyway. Were there any small parts though when you had to confess to someone that you would be born about five hundred years from now?

Bess gave him a lingering, wary glance, before lowering her eyes to the wallet in her hand. She reached in and pulled out his driver’s license.

She stared at the unflattering California DMV photo. “Ye carry a miniature of yerself. I dinnae think anyone could be more vain than Lachlan. Ye look quite bored.”

“I was.” He did not bother to explain to her the concept of photography. He allowed her to believe it was a painting.

She held up his expired United States work visa. The ink was blurry from his splash down into her time. His name was visible, but the other information was illegible. The blue line drawing of the American Eagle on the background was, however, no worse for wear.

“The script is quite small,” she said. “What is this sketch?”

“It’s an eagle.”

“Why d’ye carry a sketch of an eagle with ye?”

Ian could not think up a lie quick enough. “Uh…because I like birds of prey.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Because ye like birds of prey. What are ye no’ telling me, Ian MacLean?” She looked back in his wallet and held up another piece of paper, the title to his Corvette.

The creases were almost worn through. There was little left of the text imprinted over the great seal of California.

“I see another sketch,” she said, “of a bear.”

“It’s a bear, aye,” he said. “What does that mean to you?” Best to let her continue drawing her own conclusions about the contents of his wallet.

“I ken this paper most likely gains ye entry to the most horrid entertainment I’ve ever been forced to witness. ’Tis Lachlan’s favorite and ’tis obvious ’tis yers as well!”

She balled the paper in her fist. “I hoped ye were different from him.”

“I am different from Lachlan MacLean” He had never met the man but he damn well knew he was different from him. For starters he didn’t get his jollies chaining a woman to a rock.

“Ye are obsessed with bathing, like he was, and ye like bear baiting,” she argued.

“Bear baiting?” What the hell was bear baiting?

“Ye must ken that Lachlan had a bear brought to the bailey of Duart Castle in honor of our engagement. ’Twas a horrid sight. He invited all of his minions to come see the sport, to come see the hapless chained bear being torn to pieces by his vicious dogs.”