She was perfect, that much he knew. Long dark hair like strands of silk. Bonny eyes as green as the hills of the Highlands, and a soft, feminine mouth that made his water. Her breasts were full. He wanted to fill his hands while he tasted her. He’d start with her lips and move on until he’d had every part of her. He longed to feel her skin, her legs entwined with his, lifting around his waist, her body opening to him. What if she had a husband?
Did it matter, he wondered, reaching for her.
Chapter 4
His fingers were sifting through her hair when she woke. She gasped but didn’t move, just watched him with wide, wary eyes as her hand tightened around his dirk. He wished it were tight around something else. He let her hair fall but stayed where he was, inches away, neither of them uttering a sound.
She glanced at his groin, level with her face, and he sensed her pulse quicken, her skin growing warm. He wanted to be inside her, so deep they were one. He reached for her again, and a flicker of panic crossed her face. Some vestige of control hovered within reach. He made a desperate grab for it, knowing if he didn’t, he’d do something unforgivable.
Turning, he rushed from the room and found himself in a parlor with chairs and tables and some other things he didn’t recognize. It was lit by a strange lamp near the door. He sat on a chair, heedless of his nakedness, and gulped in air.
What was happening to him? In his twenty-seven years, he’d never hurt a female. He’d always defended them. Would he have taken one against her will? How could he even think about a woman after what he’d lost? He shouldn’t be thinking of women at all. It was against the rules.
A throat cleared from the doorway. She stood there, eyes averted, his clothes in her hand. He started to stand, but figured manners wouldn’t count if he was naked.
“It’s almost six. You’ll need to eat. I washed your clothes last night. You can clean up there.” She pointed to a door down the hall. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” She put his things on the floor and left.
He stared at her retreating back. What kind of woman gave hospitality to a man who’d done what he had? He was surprised she hadn’t stabbed him with his own dirk, or worse, he thought, looking at his naked body, still aroused. The women of his day would’ve fainted dead away or had him jailed. If she had a husband, he’d probably kill Faelan before he regained his strength and save Druan the trouble. Perhaps she was a prostitute. Or did she play a deadlier game? He needed some distance from her so he could think. And he needed to piss.
He could hear—and smell—her near the back of the house. He dressed and put on the boots he’d bought from a young soldier after he wore a hole in his own. Passing boxes shoved against the wall, he made his way to the front door. Was she moving out or in? Outside, he focused his vision to the darkness and moved around back. He could see a graveyard and the outline of a crumbling church. It looked like the old chapel near the Wood place. It had been a bit rough, but not in ruins.
Why would Druan put the time vault in a graveyard? Faelan needed to find his clan, but he had no means of traveling to Scotland. Other than his talisman and his dirk, he had nothing. No coin. No horse. No sword. He listened to the birds greeting the morning and considered his options. Getting to Scotland wasn’t possible now. He could take to the woods or find a nearby town and try to blend in while he asked around. But more than a century had passed. Everyone who’d lived then would be dead.
Feeling the pressure of a full bladder, he looked for a privy. All he found was an old tool shed. Moving around to the side, he lifted his kilt. He’d just finished when the birds hushed their singing. A prickle ran up his back. He shook off, dropped the front of his kilt, and scanned the wood line. He couldn’t see it, but he could sense it. Something was out here. Maybe an animal. Maybe not.
What if she’d stumbled on him by accident? If so, she’d unleashed the gates of hell in her own backyard. Her blood would be on his head. If he stayed, he could find out who she was. If she was helping Druan, she would have to be killed, but first she would lead him to the demon.
In the meantime, something had to be done about this burning he felt for her. He’d spent years honing his self-discipline, but this went beyond lust. His stomach rumbled. She’d offered food, and he was near famished. Perhaps he could distract himself from one appetite by feeding the other.
He watched the woods a minute longer and then slipped around to the front door. The smell of food cooking made his stomach growl again as he made his way to the room where she’d told him to clean up. He opened the door and found another shock, this one pleasant. He spent ten minutes pushing buttons and turning knobs until he figured out how to make the water flow out of the wall. He picked up a square cake and sniffed. Flowers. Was this soap? He didn’t relish smelling like a flower, but it was better than mud and sweat. The warm water rolling over his body like a gentle rainfall was an unexpected pleasure, as was the soft cloth he dried himself on.
He dreaded facing her after acting like an animal, but it was that or sleep in the woods, and whatever she was cooking smelled bloody good. After dressing once again in his clean clothes, he followed his nose to the kitchen. At least he thought it was a kitchen. The room was large, with old wooden floors covered by colorful rugs. A big oak table sat in the center. But there were things here he’d never seen in a kitchen, such as a woman in trousers.
She took a container of something that looked like milk out of a tall, white box and reached for a glass, leaving a strip of skin bare at her waist. He could already see every curve of her body. There was a name written on a wee square, right at the top of her arse. Levi Strauss. Was this some sort of family crest? Unusual place to display it.
Her arms were bare, along with most of her shoulders, and if he looked hard enough, he could see the swell of her breasts. Her skin was smooth and creamy, all over, as far as he could tell. And there was a lot of it to see. Did all women dress this way now?
His body started to harden. Damnation. He’d just gotten it down. He shifted his sporran and cleared his throat.
She pulled in a quick breath and turned, thick hair swinging around her shoulders. Their gazes locked and held. It was powerful, this feeling. Did she sense it? A flash of fear showed in her eyes, and he remembered who she might be. If so, she’d do well to fear him. Then he saw the scrape on her cheek and the thin line marring her throat… from his dirk. If her unlikely story was true, he’d come close to killing an innocent woman. If it wasn’t, the next time, he wouldn’t fail.
“Breakfast is ready,” she said, swallowing nervously, forcing a smile.
Whatever else she was, she was brave. Faelan smiled in return, but it felt like a sneer.
“I’m Bree,” she said. “You must be starving.”
He stifled a growl. She had no idea.
***
“I hope you’re not lactose intolerant,” Bree said as Faelan drained his glass of milk without stopping to breathe. He frowned at it, discreetly sniffed, and then wiped a drop from his chin. Milk in his day wouldn’t have been pasteurized or two percent, just straight from the cow.
He stuck his fork in the scrambled eggs and shoveled a bite into his mouth.
“It’s hot—”
His eyes widened. He took a gulp of milk and did it all over again. Burning hot food, cold milk. It sounded like he moaned, but there wasn’t enough room in his mouth for the sound. She studied him as he ate, not surprised he looked even better in daylight. Just her luck. She was avoiding men like poison ivy, and she’d condemned herself to solitary confinement with the sexiest man alive. Or dead?