Wishing For a Highlander (16 page)

How could she live with herself if she didn’t focus all her energy on getting home?

Forcing her thoughts away from Darcy, she tried plotting her return to the twenty-first century, but couldn’t come up with anything to add to the current plan of traveling to Inverness and looking for MacLeod. She sighed with frustration. As the night wore on and weariness undermined her best efforts not to think about Darcy, she found herself plotting something much more exciting than time travel: the seduction of her reluctant husband.

Chapter 11

Dawn broke foggy and chill. It was the perfect morning for snuggling up with a cup of tea and a romance novel, but excitement kept Melanie from regretting too badly that she didn’t have either on hand. At first light, she hopped up, eager to implement her new plan.

Over the course of the long night of remaining alert for non-existent threats, she had realized a few key things. One, she cared for Darcy. Two, he cared for her. Three, they were married. Four, she wanted–no, needed–sex with him. Her hormones had been screaming for sex for months and there was absolutely no reason she could fathom as to why she shouldn’t get her needs fulfilled by her husband and meet his needs in turn. Five–and she’d grappled with this one for more than half the night–getting home wasn’t a given. She’d keep trying, but this was magic she was dealing with. If she managed to find a way home, and that was an awfully big
if
, she’d simply have to cross the bridge of what that meant for her and Darcy when she got to it.

But right now, in this moment, with the sun peeking through the mist and her gorgeous husband stretched out in an ungraceful but completely adorable display of deepest slumber, her heart knew a deep peace that, once she had the courage to acknowledge it, eased the bulk of her fears. Feeling lighter than she had since arriving in the sixteenth century, lighter, in fact than she’d felt long before that, she strolled through the trees to the creek and undressed for a freezing cold bath.

After slipping back into her dress, careful not to make the tear at the shoulder any worse, she leaned forward to fluff her breasts. Nodding with satisfaction at the pale mounds, larger since she’d entered her second trimester, she turned her attention to her hair, fluffing that too, and arranging her layered fringes around her face. If she was lucky, her hair would distract from the swelling around her left eye, which she could open only with the help of her finger and thumb. It would be a challenge to seduce her husband with one eye puffy as a donut hole and probably sporting an array of interesting colors, but a challenge was precisely what she needed today.

As happy as she would ever be with her appearance, she headed back to the clearing. Not halfway there, she heard Darcy’s panicked voice.

“Malina! Where are you, lass? Malina!”

She dashed through the bracken and trees, mentally kicking herself for worrying him. “I’m here! I’m coming!”

The sounds of the forest yielding to a large and possibly crazed Highlander preceded Darcy’s crashing into sight. Twigs jutted from his hair. His shoulder wrap had slipped partway down his arm. His chest heaved, and his eyes were wild. Yup. Crazed was an accurate assessment.

“Christ, lass, I thought–” He scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the wildness.

“Thought what?” She closed the distance between them. Seeing him so worked up over her stroked something possessive and feminine within her. “That I had run off in the night?”

His eyes darted away. He pretended to inspect the forest. “Ye didna wake me,” he said, bringing his gaze back to hers, accusatory and more than a little angry.

“I wasn’t tired,” she lied. “Plus you looked so delicious lying there all stretched out and handsome.” She inched closer to him and laid her hands on his chest, swirling one finger in the soft hair there. He would receive no mercy today. “I couldn’t bring myself to ruin the view.” She tugged her lower lip seductively between her teeth and released it, remembering the way he’d stared at her mouth the last time she’d done it.

“Christ,” he breathed. Then without another word, he stepped around her to go to the creek.

She smiled and headed back to the clearing to say a cheerful good morning to Darcy’s horse.

* * * *

What in bloody hell had gotten into his Malina? And was it possible she looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her? How could that be, since she hadn’t slept and had been beaten by Hamish yesterday? He’d hardly noticed her swollen eye for the perfect pout of her rosebud mouth, the silvery-blonde halo of her wind-tossed hair and–Christ–the lush pillows of her breasts that he longed to fill his hands with.

It was going to kill him, being so near to her when she looked so bonny and insisted on saying things to make him feel like more of a man than any lass had yet made him feel. If only he weren’t such a large man, if only he could be the husband she deserved, mayhap she would stay with him.

He stomped through the creek, splashing himself clean on his way to the other side, where he’d spotted yellow dandelion heads peeking out from amidst the creek grass. He gathered up their green leaves to supplement the figs in his saddlebag.

When he got back to the clearing, he found Malina stroking Rand’s nose and murmuring to him in her sweet voice. His horse had his eyes half closed, enjoying the bliss of her attention. When she tugged gently on one of his relaxed ears, the bugger pressed his head into her hands to give her better access. If Rand wasn’t already gelded, Darcy might have done the job himself then and there.

Seeing him, his wife pranced in his direction with a breathtaking smile on her lips. His eyes locked onto the mesmerizing bounce of her breasts. His mother’s dress was mayhap just a touch too tight for her up above and her creamy, bountiful flesh pressed dangerously against the neckline as though only a wish kept her bosom from spilling out. With a twist of his stomach, he recalled the way Hamish’s rough treatment had made her reveal one of those precious mounds to anyone who cared to look.

For the first time in his life, he had the treasonous thought that his uncle wasn’t a respectable laird. Permitting his paranoia to master him until he treated an innocent woman so harshly was the final insult. There was somat wrong with Steafan, somat that had mayhap broken when he’d lost Willie and then Darla. He didn’t ken if such a flaw could be fixed, but he hoped it could, for the sake of those he’d left behind in Ackergill.

Aodhan had surprised him, though. He seemed to have a fondness for Malina and yet he bore Darcy no ill will for claiming her. The normally stoic war chieftain had shown himself to have a caring heart. He best not let Steafan see it, or the mad bugger might just try and rip it out.

“What’s for breakfast?” Malina asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He was more than happy to concede thoughts of Ackergill Keep to her. They shared a pleasant if simple meal and were soon continuing south. He kept Rand to a walk to give the gelding rest after his hours of galloping yesterday. To his mixed pleasure and dismay, Malina began smoothing her fingers over his hands as he held the reins.

“I like your hands,” she said. “They can wield a sword as large as a fence post and operate the large gears of a mill, but for all their strength, they have a surprising capacity for gentleness. I enjoyed watching you wash those dandelion leaves. Such a delicate task for such large, capable hands.”

He could hardly breathe for the emotion swelling in his chest at her praise combined with the thrill of her soft caress.

“And your hands have the ability to comfort. I was so distraught the other night. You know, when I realized the box wouldn’t send me back. But you held me and took some of that pain away. And these quick, brave hands saved me from something too horrible to contemplate yesterday.” Her voice hitched along with his heart. “These hands make me feel safe.”

He wouldn’t have been surprised if his chest burst with the joy she was thrusting into it. “Thank ye,” he said stupidly. “But my hands werena quick enough to take your box from Steafan. I am sorry.”

“It’s all right. I don’t think the box was going to work, anyway. Maybe it only works once for a person. Or maybe it has its own agenda. Let Steafan keep it. A temperamental artifact for a temperamental laird. Maybe it’ll curse him for us.”

They chuckled and relaxed into each other. Malina’s hands settled over his and he let his wrists rest on her thighs. Her hips rocked with Rand’s walking stride. Her body molded comfortably to his. He was hard as a flagpole against her backside, but she didn’t fash about it. She didn’t seem to mind at all.

As they rode through a grassy valley that took them far wide of the medium-sized village where most of the MacBane resided, he searched for some compliment to pay her as she’d complimented his hands. His mind tripped over so many he couldn’t settle on a single one.

Before he could give voice to any of them, Malina said, “You asked me about my home. I’ll tell you a bit about it, if you’re still curious. I’ll warn you, though. It’s very different from your Highlands.” She paused, as if waiting for his permission.

“Aye,” he said. “I’d like to hear about it.” He loved her unhurried voice. He could listen to her talk all day, every day. For the rest of his days.

He listened as she spoke about her country, America, and the king, whom she called a “president,” and about mechanical inventions she called “cars” that took the place of horses and carts and about how easy it was for her to buy all the food she needed from a single storehouse that she called simply “the store” using coin she earned at her “job.” It seemed she was much more than a teacher, but rather a keeper of historical artifacts. She told him of her family, and he was stunned to learn it was not uncommon for young women to live away from their parents and remain unmarried for many years.

While she spoke of all these strange ways and wondrous inventions, he slipped the reins into one hand and took one of her delicate hands into his other. He ran his thumb over her knuckles, loving the feel of her smooth skin and delighting in the way her fingers gripped him back, as though she craved his touch as much as he craved hers.

“Where is your America?” he asked, content with the cool sunshine on his shoulders and her pure, unique scent, a faint sweetness like sugared custard, filling his lungs.

“It’s across the Atlantic Ocean,” she said. “It’s very far away, and, um, in this time, it’s only just been discovered by the Europeans. Though in my time there are millions of people who live there, having come from Europe, Asia, Africa, all over the globe.”

“How did so many people settle in your land in twenty-five years?” he asked. “They must come to your shores in droves in the years to come.”

Malina was silent for a time. She clutched his hand with a new tension. “Not twenty-five years,” she said at last. “Closer to five hundred. The box was very old when it came to me at the museum.”

Her quiet admission stopped the breath in his throat. “Five hundred,” he repeated, stunned. “The year you come from would be two-thousand seventeen?”

“Close enough,” she said miserably. “What’s a few years when you’re talking that big a difference? So, are you totally freaked now?” She loosened her grip on his hand as if she expected him to pull away.

He didn’t. He held her tight. “I dinna ken what freaked is, but I dinna wish to release your hand. Whether twenty-five years, five hundred, or a thousand separate my place from yours, I am glad to have ye with me now.”

Malina turned to look at him, and unshed tears trembled in her eyes. “That’s very sweet. I’m–I’m glad to be here with you, too.”

Her smile wavered. She didn’t look glad. She looked heartbroken, his poor Malina. And no wonder. Her America held wonders his people hadn’t dreamt about. And in her time, her parents were alive and well. Though she didn’t live with them, she spoke to them often using one of her curious mechanical items that could carry voices over long distances. They would be worried about her, and she missed them terribly. If his parents were still alive and he’d been separated from them by magic, he’d not rest until he found them again.

He’d not rest until she was home. He’d vowed it before, but ’twas more than a vow now. ’Twas his purpose. He’d not fail her in this. He’d never fail her again.

As if the Devil had heard him and thought to make him prove himself, the breeze carried hoof beats to his ears. He let go of her hand to take the reins properly. He hoped his horse was rested, because it seemed the time for walking was over. He urged Rand into a trot and took him up a low hill where he might be able to look back at the valley and see who rode behind him.

Keeping them mostly hidden behind a scrubby outcropping, he spotted five horsemen a few furlongs away. Even over the distance, he recognized Hamish’s squat form atop his black horse. And Gil’s spiky red hair. Gil was the one who had taught his da and the other Keith elders how to track.

“Damn.”

“Is it Steafan?” Malina asked.

“Aye. ’Tis as I feared. He’s named us fugitives.” He cursed again, both fearful of what it meant that Steafan had sent such a large party and his best tracker after them, and annoyed that his pleasant ride with his wife had been interrupted. “Hang on, Malina mine. ’Tis time to fly.”

A nudge of his heel and a spoken command sent Rand into a gallop. He didn’t fash about being seen; with Gil riding along, the party would ken he was there.

They must rely on Rand now, and if he had to rely on a horse, he was glad for it to be Rand. But he was just one horse and he carried two riders. He wouldn’t be able to outpace Steafan’s party perpetually, and even if he could, ’twas more than capture he feared. They would likely spread word round every village they passed that he lacked good standing with the Keith. ’Twould be just a matter of time before the whole of Scotia kent to look for a tall man and his wee wife and send word to Ackergill when they were spotted. ’Twould be no life for his Malina, running from place to place, always looking behind them for signs of Hamish or Aodhan or Gil or Steafan himself.