“That sounds like a good plan, Uncle.”
“Aye,” Ian said, puffing out his chest. “I was thinking it would also explain why she can’
t speak Gaelic.” He looked at her and shook his head. “But the plaid’s got to go.
“Nay, wait!” he said before Robbie could speak. “I have a good tale. We can say she was stolen by a MacBain who was wanting a wife and that I stole her back. And I took his plaid as a prize and sent him home bare-assed.” He nodded, his chest puffed even more.
“Aye. What do ya think of that tale?”
From the way Catherine was glaring at Ian, Robbie guessed she didn’t think much of it.
“It’s perfect, Uncle,” he said, patting Ian’s shoulder. “And it’ll ease my mind to know you’re watching out for Cat. She’ll be safe from any other warriors looking for wives.”
Cat sat back down on the rock, and Robbie looked over just in time to see her cover a yawn. Come to think of it, he was quite tired himself. And Ian looked as if his plaid was holding him up rather than his weary old legs.
“I think we should call it a night,” Robbie said, crouching to feed more wood to the fire.
“We’ll bed down on that moss over there,” he added, using a stick to point to the other side of the fire. “Cat, you can sleep between us to stay warm. Ian, you take the side near the fire.”
It looked as if his housekeeper didn’t care for that plan, either. But she picked up her stick, walked around the fire, and stood staring at the moss. She looked over at Robbie.
“Can’t you conjure up a feather bed or something?” she asked, lifting her chin and daring him to try.
“It’s your dream. You do it.”
She looked back down at the moss, gave a sigh that finished in another yawn, sat down, laid her stick on the ground on the side where Robbie would be, and tried to readjust her plaid to cover her shoulders.
“I can show ya how to fix that,” Ian said, crouching beside her. “It’s long enough to wrap over yar arms like a shawl and around your legs. Here,” he said, grabbing one end of the cloth and taking three wraps from around her, which still left her well covered. “That
’s how ya do it,” Ian instructed. “My Gwyneth showed me how women cover themselves differently than men. Tomorrow we’ll get ya a MacKeage plaid and a blouse to wear with it.”
“What about shoes?” she asked, concentrating on what Ian was doing. “What do women wear on their feet?”
“Leathers,” he said. “Tall leggings with double-soled bottoms so ya don’t get stung by sharp rocks. And wool socks to keep ya warm.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “I’ve never had a dream that involved a history lesson.”
“A dream?” Ian asked, his face screwing into a frown. He looked at Robbie. “She thinks she’s dreaming all this?”
Robbie shrugged, picked up his sword, and walked over behind Catherine and sat down just as she yawned again. Ian settled himself between her and the fire so that the two of them made a warm and protective sandwich around Catherine.
Catherine lay back rather stiffly, looked at Robbie, then at Ian, and turned on her side toward the older man, tucking her hands under her head and snuggling into her MacBain plaid.
Robbie reached his arm around her, pulled her back against his chest, and sighed when she went as rigid as a board. “Relax, little Cat,” he whispered, tucking her head under his chin and pulling some of his own plaid over her. “You’re only dreaming that I’m holding you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Catherine woke upexpecting that she was home in her bed, that the breath she felt on her neck… and the weight across her legs… and the hand tucked inside her pajamas between her breasts… all belonged to Nora.
But she opened her eyes and discovered she was still locked in her fantastical dream, that Robbie MacBain was the one taking such intimate liberties with her body, and that Ian MacKeage had nearly rolled into the dying fire and was snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.
So, what would Dorothy do upon finding herself still in Oz—not with a tin man and a lion and a scarecrow but with an owl, an aging warrior, and a handsome knight who wanted her to believe they had traveled through time?
“Are you second-guessing your promise not to run?” Robbie whispered in her ear.
She turned her head to look at him. “I keep my promises.”
He kissed her cheek and pulled her more firmly against him. “How’s the dream working out for you this morning?”
“Pretty well, actually,” she said, covering his hand between her breasts, pressing it closer instead of pulling it away. “Because if this were real and I found myself waking up with you wrapped around me, I’d likely have a panic attack.”
His eyes sparkled in the rising sunlight, and he moved his thumb just a bit, just enough to brush the inside of her left breast. “So you’re saying that since it’s only a dream, I could make love to you and you wouldn’t be afraid?”
Catherine had to think about that.
What an intriguing idea.
She turned in his arms, leaned in, and boldly kissed him on the lips, then smiled up at him. “They didn’t have condoms in the thirteenth century.”
“But pregnancy is of no consequence in a dream,” he said, his own smile making his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Or are you worried we might truly be making love, even though you’re dreaming? Like sleepwalking?”
That got rid of her smile. “Thanks,” she said with a snort, pulling his hand out of her plaid and sitting up. “You just ruined your best chance to score, MacBain.”
He sat up beside her. “Aye. I realized my mistake the moment I spoke.” He stood up, picked up his sword, and settled it over his back, then reached out his hand to her.
“There’s a stream running down the mountain about a hundred yards through those trees,” he said, facing her toward the woods once she stood up. “Why don’t you go do whatever women do to start their day, and I’ll wake Ian and cook breakfast? Mary will go with you,” he added, gesturing at a pine tree.
The owl was sitting on a branch, staring at them.
“Did she get a rabbit?” Catherine asked, looking around.
“Aye. Two,” he said, pointing at the rock by the fire.
Catherine put her hands on her hips and canted her head. “I thought cleaning game and cooking was woman’s work in medieval times.”
He lifted a brow. “You volunteering?”
“No,” she said, heading toward the stream. “Just checking to see how authentic my dream is.”
“Well, then, little Cat, I’d say you’re about to get the history lesson of a lifetime,” he said with a chuckle.
The moment she stepped into the forest, Catherine pressed her hands against her still throbbing breasts. Whew! If she were dreaming, she hoped she never woke up. It had felt so wonderful to wake up in the arms of a man, so sensually exciting it had been all she could do not to attack him.
Dismissing the idea that they could make love because this was only a dream had been prudent, but it also might have been rather foolish. This could be her chance tofeel again, actually to make love without risk.
Catherine decided she could control Robbie’s actions even if she couldn’t exactly predict them. That was the funny thing about dreams; they didn’t follow the usual laws of nature. In them, people could fly, be animals, run without going anywhere, and not really feel pain. Even time didn’t exist.
Then again, dreams could suddenly spin out of control and turn into nightmares in the blink of an eye. It had happened more than once to Catherine, and she was not willing to risk it happening again.
Especially not with Robbie MacBain. He was her dream guy. The perfect male, handsome and rugged, protective and possessive without being a caveman, patient and good-natured, and sexy as all get-out. Even when she was wide awake, the guy could woo her into forgetting herself. Heck, but for hisnoble intentions, she might not have needed this dream at all. His kisses in the barn and the kitchen could have led to a rather salacious conclusion with only the slightest urging from her.