Highland Destiny
By
Laura Hunsaker
© copyright by Laura Hunsaker, November 2010
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
Cover Art by Melody Lane, November 2010
ISBN 978-1-60394-470-0
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Prologue
She looked across the room of dancing guests and swirling colors, and stared into the cold, hard eyes of her betrothed. This was undoubtedly the most terrifying moment of her entire life. Her death was imminent, and unstoppable. And she knew. She knew that it would not be enough. Her death would not stop the pain and destruction that she’d so desperately fought to end. Her hopes had crashed the instant she had stared into those flat eyes. There was no hate, or anger, like she’d been expecting; they were just empty. And it scared her. But she refused to let the fear weaken her; she would meet her death with a stoicism she’d never dreamed she possessed. Before she could stop them, her fingers fluttered to her churning stomach betraying her nerves, but she straightened her spine and dropped her hand. With a careful expression of boredom, she walked forward, and sat down next to the man she’d agreed to marry, the man who would kill her by midnight. And she prayed without much hope that her death would be enough.
Chapter One
Scotland- present day 2010
It was the same dream. Mackenzie was exhausted and jet lagged, and had figured she’d sleep like the dead, but it was the same dream. There was nothing remotely frightening about it, but she still woke afraid. Every time. It felt too real. The man was too real. He had cold blue eyes and blond hair and glared at her from across a crowded room. People danced in colorful costumes, but she never could make out anyone’s face…all she could see was the anger and hate radiating from the man with the blue eyes. And she was drawn to him like a magnet to steel.
She’d been having the same dream since she was a teenager, but it still left her with that familiar feeling of fear when she woke. Today, Mackenzie woke up in an unfamiliar room, and to the misty grey light of a Scottish morning. Scotland! She was on vacation in Scotland! How could she possibly have forgotten that? The joy of her vacation released her from the annoying fear of a non-nightmare. That’s what she’d taken to calling the dream, for it wasn’t really a dream, but neither was it a nightmare. The excitement was apparently too much for her best friend Jenna, who was in the neighboring suite, because she knocked, well banged, really, on the door and hollered,
“Wake up Sleeping Beauty! Don’t make me drag you out of bed!!! Our tour of the castle starts in less than ten minutes! Did you know that they’ve filmed movies at this castle? I want to see the sets
“I’m up, I’m up!” Mackenzie smiled as she let her impatient friend into the room. “Gimme five minutes, and a cup of coffee…then we can go. Deal?”
“Deal. And I brought you a cup of coffee.” Jenna held the coffee towards Mackenzie, knowing her best friend needed at least a pot to get going in the morning.
“You know me so well.”
Really it was more like fifteen minutes and two cups of coffee since Mackenzie made more coffee with the complimentary coffee pot in her room. But Jenna and Mackenzie had been friends since elementary school, so she knew it wouldn’t bother Jenna in the slightest that they were a little late joining the tour. Mackenzie had even sacrificed her fashion sense by wearing tennis shoes rather than the trendy wedged espadrilles that had cost more than the last tune-up on her car! They hustled off to the lobby, where the receptionist had told them in her lilting Scottish accent…so musical to American ears…that the group should be in the castle’s Art Gallery by now, and pointed the way.
The art gallery was really the second floor of what was probably the ballroom, or billeting room according to the tour guide. On one side was the balcony looking down over the ballroom, which was now a five star restaurant, and on the other side were floor to ceiling bookshelves with oil paintings of every lord and lady who had ever resided in the Eilean Donan Castle. It was a half circle that had benches and arm chairs scattered every so often. Once they had walked through what Mackenzie thought of as a loft, they approached the tour, which was halfway across the gallery.
“Wow,” gushed Jenna, “I can’t believe that we’re in a real castle! They say it’s haunted by the ghost of the last laird, whatever that is. Supposedly, he died miserable and alone, pining away for his lost love. No one knows what happened to him.” She sighed dramatically. “It’s so romantic. Maybe we’ll meet a handsome prince and he’ll sweep us away into a fairy tale romance!”
Mackenzie smiled patiently at her friend’s enthusiasm. Ever practical, Mackenzie said, “But if there’s only one prince, how will we decide who gets him? Besides, I think the last guy who lived here was a lord or an Earl or something, not a prince.”
Jenna stuck her tongue out at Mackenzie and retorted, “Fine, I get to keep the prince since you’re being a pessimist!”
“No, just a realist. But alright, fine, if we should meet any handsome princes here, they’re all yours.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as they approached the tour group.
“I only need one.” Jenna’s wistful comment was cut off as they were hushed by someone in the group. She stuck her tongue out at his back.
Mackenzie was in no mood to look for handsome princes. She had just recently broken off a serious relationship with her own handsome prince who had been sleeping with his boss for the majority of their relationship. He’d only wanted Mackenzie for the image she presented on his arm at fundraisers. He had felt that Mackenzie was the kind of girl he should marry, but not the kind of girl he wanted in bed. The few times they had come close to getting intimate, he would tell her it was her fault he couldn’t perform, or that she wasn’t adventurous enough for him. Eventually they had quit trying. Once Mackenzie had caught him in the act with another woman, well she hadn’t looked back as she walked away. She’d been an accessory to him, nothing more. She was tired of being treated like a thing, an inanimate object. Besides, she didn’t really think that she was all that beautiful. She knew she was pretty, and when all dressed up, she knew she could turn a few heads, but her hair was too unruly to be beautiful, and her nose was straight, rather than turned up like Jenna’s cute little nose. She was tall, as well. Jenna was a petite, adorable girl who tugged at most guys’ instinct to protect. Mackenzie had been comparing herself to Jenna for too long, and shoving that train of thought out of her head, tried to focus on the tour.
“Wow, who is that?”
The question came from a teenage girl to the left of Mackenzie and Jenna, and everyone turned to look at the oil painting that was hanging on the wall next to an immense bookshelf. Mackenzie’s heart stopped. He was the most attractive man she had ever seen in her twenty three years! No, not attractive, but drop dead gorgeous! He had sapphire blue eyes, and dark hair that touched his shoulders. The bright blue was in stark contrast with the dark hair and bronzed skin. He stood brandishing a two-handed claymore, the standard weapon of choice for the Highland warriors, with one leg braced on a rock. His white shirt and kilt made him look like a gentleman, but the look in his eyes was that of a fierce warrior. It was those eyes that caught and mesmerized her; they seemed to stare right into her soul. Mackenzie couldn’t hear one word the tour guide said about him because her heart had restarted and it was pounding double-time in her ears.
Jenna whispered to Mackenzie, “I’ll take him, prince or not!” Mackenzie barely managed a smile for her friend, and just nodded wide-eyed at the painting. “Hello? Earth to Mackenzie? Are you there?” Mackenzie shook off her mental stupor and turned to Jenna.
“Huh?”
“The tour moved on a couple minutes ago, are you just going to stand here and stare at this hunk of a man who died like 200 years ago? Not that I blame you; he is totally HOT!” Jenna giggled, and grabbed Mackenzie by the arm to drag her back toward the group.
“You know what? I think I will just sit here and ogle him for a while.” Jenna gave Mackenzie a look that clearly questioned her sanity, as Mackenzie pulled her camera out of her purse and snapped a few photos of this handsome warrior.
“Whatever, Kenzie. I’m moving on to reality. There’s a super cute guy who is vacationing with his two roommates, and they are both just as hot. Ooh, and they have sexy Italian accents.”
“Okay, go have fun. I think I’ll sketch this painting.”
“And I thought you were the realist,” Jenna teased. But when Mackenzie just turned back to the painting, Jenna grumbled, “Whatever. Enjoy your painting, I’m going to make plans with the hot Italians.”
Mackenzie mumbled something incoherent to her and turned back toward her room to grab her sketch pad.
Sitting in the art gallery, sketching, and staring into those fierce blue eyes, Mackenzie lost track of time. It wasn’t until someone tapped her on the shoulder and said a polite “Pardon me, lass?” that she even glanced around her.
“Hmmm…yes?” Her vague expression focused on two men dressed in period garb. She didn’t remember the tour guide wearing a costume, strange. Were they employees making sure she was where she was supposed to be? Where was she supposed to be? What time was it? It looked dark out.
“Would you be Miss Stewart?” The man who spoke to her was old, no, ancient would be a better word. He was hunched over and his wispy white hair hung past his shoulders. His face was creased with paper thin skin that looked brittle, as if it would tear if he smiled or frowned too quickly. His partner was middle-aged, and non-descript. There was nothing interesting about him; average height, medium build, brown hair. Both had dark cloaks draped around them and black boots that went up to their knees, like pirates, she thought absently. And both had the same excited light in their dark squinty eyes.
“What can I do for you?” Mackenzie asked by way of answering their question.
“You can come with us,” the middle-aged man demanded.
“Why? Is something wrong?” Her thoughts turned to Jenna and her Italian lunch dates. “Is it Jenna? Is she alright? If those men did anything to hurt her…” she trailed off at the looks on their faces. They both looked slightly uncomfortable, as if they were about to say something unpleasant. “What? What is it?” her voice strained as she worried about her friend.
“You shall follow us. My son will lead the way.” The elderly man definitely looked uncomfortable.
Concern colored her tone, “Where?”
“Follow us,” the plain man answered, and he turned without waiting for her reply.
Mackenzie did follow, more out of curiosity than anything. The two men led her to a wall at the far end of the loft in the gallery. But before she could question their sanity, the old man pushed a tapestry aside and pulled on a lever causing part of the wall to swing open. Mackenzie gasped, and stepped back. The old man walked into the dark passage without hesitating, and the other man looked at Mackenzie briefly before grabbing her upper arm and pulling her in behind them.
Chapter Two
Scotland 1792
The carriage was unbearably unforgiving. The horses flew along the craggy road (if it could indeed be called a road, Mackenzie had her doubts) as if the hounds of hell were chasing after them. Mackenzie sat on a wooden bench covered with a velvet pad that did nothing for her sore bottom as she felt every pebble and bump. “The Princess and the Pea” came to mind, and she almost smiled. Almost. The carriage’s other two companions, the elderly man and his middle-aged son, gave her looks begging her forgiveness.
Mackenzie still couldn’t believe it. She, Mackenzie Stewart, born in 1987, who just this morning had woken in the year 2010, was actually in a carriage in the Highlands of Scotland! And that was not the crazy part! It was now the year of our Lord, Seventeen hundred and ninety-two. This time, the wave of nausea that encompassed thinking of the date didn’t take as long to pass. She was getting used to the idea. Maybe she just figured that she was dreaming. Either way, her stomach only lurched this time due to the jostling of the carriage.
When the Nutty Professor here and his son had literally pulled her through the secret passage, she had screamed bloody murder. After a couple of good screams, Mackenzie had seen the concern in their eyes, and had thought them harmless. She’d figured them to be part of the castle tour, dressed up in period garb and speaking of Highland lairds and curses; so she’d played along. So, harmless indeed, she’d almost dropped to her knees as the secret passage gave way to the main entrance. It exited out by the front of the castle, where she had been dropped by taxi the day before. There was nothing resembling the paved drive that had been there just that morning. It must be as the two men had said; another time and era.
She noticed the subtle and not so subtle changes in the outside of the castle, it looked smaller and brighter. And the sky…it was clear and sunny, not at all the grey overcast sky of an autumn day that had greeted her just hours ago. Then she had been bustled into a carriage, and a lump of soft wool had been thrust into her arms.
“You’ll be needin’ to change your garments, Miss Stewart.” The older of the two had spoken first, while she eyed what turned out to be a cloak and gown.
The look Mackenzie gave them was incredulous. Like she was really going to change her clothes in front of two perfect strangers! Right. They had some explaining to do. So she pulled the cloak around herself and pursed her lips instead, waiting.
Perhaps sensing the reason for her hesitation, the older man spoke again.
“Please forgive our methods, my Lady, however, we have great need of your assistance. It was foretold by the stars; the Stewart lass from a different time shall come through the gate and end the curse.”
She played along, “And just how do you know that I am the right ‘Stewart lass?’ There have to be a million of us.”
“We know it is indeed you, else you would not have been able to pass through the gate. Our clan has endured strife and war for far too long, and it is for you to be ending.” The fevered light was back in his eyes. It reminded her of a religious zealot speaking of his god.
“You are the answer to the curse that has plagued our lands.”
This time it was the younger of the pair who spoke.
“How?” It was stated so flatly that it almost wasn’t a question. Mackenzie was afraid that she’d been kidnapped by a couple of crazies, what with their talk of the stars foretelling of her little time travelling adventure. But how could she deny what she’d already seen? Was she the crazy one?
“Why, you are the Stewart lass, it is to be.” The younger man answered her again, in a tone that was so sure of the statement that Mackenzie raised her eyebrows and blinked. His father took over.
“On Samhain, or as you would call it, All Hallows Eve, you shall help to defeat the Campbell laird and stop the end of his cruel vendetta against the neighboring clans. You are to break the curse your ancestors put upon these lands. Then our lands shall prosper without bloodshed once again.”
“What do you mean ‘my ancestors,’” Mackenzie demanded. “What curse? And how on Earth am I supposed to help defeat some bloodthirsty tyrant? It’s not as if I’m a ninja or a Navy SEAL. What exactly am I supposed to do? What is it you expect from me?”
Mackenzie thought that the elder of the two seemed a bit uncomfortable with her directness. Well, too bad, she thought, it was their turn to feel out of place.
He cleared his throat, and glanced furtively at his son before answering her.
“Well, we have foreseen that you’ll be distractin’ the Campbell with wedding and feast details, so that he will not be as intent on” he cleared his throat, “attacking the other clans.”
“Excuse me? You expect me to be able to distract him from killing all of his neighbors with wedding plans?!” The incredulity was evident through the sarcasm. What man has ever been distracted by wedding details? “You pulled me from my century to discuss wedding plans with an evil dictator? Right. This is going to work soo well…”
“It will work.” The authority of the old man rang in each word. “You are going to pique his curiosity enough that he will be so intent on being with you, that it will delay his other” he hesitated “plans.” He added quickly, “Then Gregor and I shall use the distraction to gain access to and study the sacred texts.” Then he muttered under his breath, “And we shall do so before he sacrifices you.”
“Who’s Gregor?” Mackenzie asked faintly before his words sank in, “Wait, WHAT?”
“Oh, have we forgotten to introduce ourselves? I am Morvern, and this is my son Gregor. We are the sorcerers of John Campbell. This is how we know of his plans, and how we hope to thwart his unpleasant plots.”
“Unpleasant? That’s what you call his plot to sacrifice me? You two are insane!” Mackenzie was almost shouting at them. “You brought me here to have me sacrificed? No, uh-uh, no way, you can just take me right back home. Now. There is no way in hell that I am staying here to pretend to marry a man who wants to kill me. Absolutely not!”
Morvern and Gregor shifted in their seats during her rant, but Morvern calmly stated, “Of course we shall return you to your time before he kills you.” He was trying to soothe her, but Mackenzie was still freaked. Not only was her mind being asked to process time travel and magic, but now she had to act like a girl who was in love with the man who wanted to kill her. She felt nauseous again. Morvern continued, “Once we have an idea of what exactly it is that we need to do to accomplish this, we shall contact his most hated enemy, who is also the laird of the most powerful of the clans, Connor MacRae. The MacRae has been looking for a way to end the feuding and to dispose of the Campbell for years. He will help our cause.”
Mackenzie thought that Morvern sounded like he was hoping this Connor guy would help, rather than being certain of the fact. She had no idea how she was supposed to believe these magicians, or whatever they were, when they didn’t even sound too sure of themselves.
“Wait, wait, wait. Let’s just think about this.” Mackenzie was holding her hands out, palms facing them, and emphasizing each word with her hands. “You don’t even know if this guy will help you or not? And you want me to agree to an engagement that has me being killed at the end rather than happily married? And why does this Campbell person want to kill me? He doesn’t even know me,” her fear was seeping through and she was done trying to remain calm.
“We will do what we can to protect you, of course.” Gregor pulled a heavy piece of jewelry from his cloak, and handed it to her. “This amulet has been charmed with a protection spell and it is also the key to getting you back to your time. It will open the portal on Samhain and you will be returned to your time as if nothing ever happened.”
The talk of her going home calmed Mackenzie enough to find her voice.
“And what if I refuse to help you?”
Morvern looked staggered by her soft question, but Gregor looked smug, “The time when the gate opens again is set. There will not be another opening until All Saints Day, the first day of November, and after that not until the end of the year.”
“So I don’t really have any choice in this, do I?” her tone was sour, even under the anger at being roped into this.
Morvern tried to placate her by saying, “We will not force you into our feud. If you choose not to help us, we shall find a way to hide you until the gate opens.”
“And that’s what, a month away?”
“Yes.”
Mackenzie’s mind was reeling. She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose and hunching her shoulders, while she so casually discussed her fate. She figured that she really had nothing to lose; besides, she wasn’t altogether convinced that this wasn’t a dream. She exhaled forcefully, and straightened her shoulders; might as well face this head-on.
“Okay, I’m here, I might as well do a good deed. So, you’ve dragged me 200 years into the past, now what?”
Gregor spoke up, “Now you will play your role. You shall use your middle name, it is Isabella, is it not?” At Mackenzie’s hesitant nod, he explained, “Your given name is quite unusual in our time. Then you shall play the part of a woman excited at the prospect of a smart match. He is wealthy and titled, and in this time, that is enough for any bride-to-be. Your distractions must center on having him show you his lands and meeting his people. It will be time consuming, and a safe enough topic. You will need to dress accordingly. I hope you do not mind that we have taken the liberty of sending a trunk of clothing ahead for you?”
Mackenzie shook her head, feeling dizzy that they had this all worked out to such a degree. Something was nagging at the back of her mind. What about the fact that she was nothing at all like a proper lady of this time? Her mannerisms and her manner of speech, wait, she wasn’t even Scottish! Panic made her voice come out a little higher than normal,
“But I’m not Scottish. How am I supposed to explain how I behave and talk? And I know nothing about this time, and what do I call him? What’s his first name? And what about…” Mackenzie’s voice trailed off as the fear clawed its way up her throat.
“Calm down, please. It is common in this time for men and women to know nothing more than each other’s names before marriage. He has been told that you are Isabella Stewart. Your mother was English and your father Scottish. Your parents liked to travel, so you were raised abroad…that should explain your, ahem, muddled accent. You will be introduced to your betrothed as Miss Stewart and you will address him as My Lord. You are expected to be spoiled, and demanding. Your reputation is of great beauty.”
Mackenzie rolled her eyes at that and muttered, “Right, this should be a piece of cake.”
“Might I continue?” At Mackenzie’s chagrined nod, he resumed his description of her character. “You are a little older than the average bride, so the story is that you were betrothed to a Frenchman whom you left on the day of the wedding. Although your reputation has not been tarnished, you chose not to marry any of the other potential suitors.” He handed her something long and sparkly; a knife with jewels on the handle.
“Here is a dirk for your protection. You must hide it on your person once we have reached his keep.”
“And once we reach his ‘keep,’ what then? It’s the middle of the night!” Mackenzie was really nervous at the idea of meeting this Campbell guy, and she doubted that waking him up in the dead of night was the way to start off their relationship. Especially one where she needed to hide a dagger under her gown, and pray he didn’t kill her on the wedding night. With that thought resonating in her head, she tucked the dagger into her waistband.
“We won’t arrive until well into the day,” Gregor spoke in a patronizing tone, as if to a child.
“Oh.”
Morvern continued in a gentler tone, well it was a raspy, dry whisper, but Mackenzie assumed it was supposed to be soothing.
“My Lady, please do not fret. You will be the distraction we so desperately need, and it will work splendidly. Once we are able to vanquish him, you will be sent home immediately after. You need only act as a besotted bride for a few weeks and all will work itself out.”
Right, act like a spoiled, obnoxious, brat to make the evil warlord like me, this’ll work. Mackenzie was having trouble wrapping her head around the whole scheme. She blew out a long breath and squared her shoulders. At least she didn’t have to do anything dangerous. This Highland warrior they were hoping would help was supposed to do all that stuff. All she had to do was visit a lord in his castle. And survive. Well, it wasn’t like she was going to be held prisoner against her will. She was going in completely aware. Besides, she would be treated as a lady, with the privileges and graces afforded to one who would marry a man of that station. Mackenzie felt slightly hopeful that this whole crazy plan might work.
Chapter Three
The jarring motion of the carriage did not steady, but it seemed to shudder now. Actually, it had halted. Strange. Why would they be stopping here? Mackenzie was under the impression that it would take all night to reach their destination. She heard men shouting, and what sounded like a scuffle. Were they being robbed? In the brief second that someone shouted “Highwaymen!” and the carriage door was thrown open, Mackenzie was suddenly very grateful that she hadn’t changed into the gown they’d given her. She was still dressed in her plaid Bermuda shorts and gauzy white tank top. She glanced down at her Nikes and was doubly thankful she hadn’t worn the less-functional espadrilles, just in case she had to run. She pressed herself against the carriage wall, and held her breath.
When the door was yanked open, Mackenzie didn’t know what to expect. Probably a man yelling “Give me all your jewels” or something equally clichéd like that. Whatever it was, it definitely was not a long, muscular arm reaching in for her of all things! The strong arm dragged her out of the carriage and brought her up hard against a wall. No, against a rock hard muscular chest. The man had his arm wrapped around her ribs, just under her breasts. Mackenzie had never before been so aware of her breasts before. Ever. And she was hot. There was heat everywhere that he touched. Odd that this man was so warm against her back. Although she wore the cloak, she could still feel his heat radiating into her body, forcing her senses to notice every solid inch of him.
And there was a lot of him to notice; six foot plus, easy.
Mackenzie shook off the odd feelings and thought of the dagger she’d tucked into her waistband. Mentally thanking Joséf, her kickboxing trainer, Mackenzie stomped the man’s foot as hard as she could, drove her elbow into his ribs, and twirled into him with her arm raised to stab him. But as she looked up and locked eyes with her attacker, she gasped and stepped back.
It was him!
The Highland warrior from the oil painting that she’d been so fascinated with! In that brief flash of recognition, Mackenzie hesitated, and the man saw her intentions; the dagger had glinted in the moonlight. Nevertheless, Mackenzie swung, but he’d blocked her swing and she’d only grazed his forearm, dropping her dagger in the process. He swore, and reached for her again, but she danced out of his reach. While it didn’t incapacitate him as she’d initially planned, it did buy her precious time. She took off sprinting full-out for the trees on the left. She didn’t know what she would do once she reached them, but perhaps just getting to cover would help buy her more time. What did this guy want with her anyway?
As she ran, she tore off the cloak; it was tangling in her legs and the last thing she needed was to trip right now. Once more thinking grateful thoughts to still be dressed in 21st century clothes, she ran as fast as she could across the too open meadow. Not hearing any sounds of pursuit behind her, Mackenzie turned once, losing her hair clip in the process, and couldn’t see anyone giving chase. The relief was almost staggering. She stumbled to a stop, bracing her hands on her knees and panting, she glanced around to get her bearings. Wrong move. She felt the impact before she heard him. The man had tackled her around the waist and drove her face down to the grass. Mackenzie wryly thought that an NFL linebacker would have been easier to avoid.
He pinned her to the ground, letting her feel helpless for a moment, before roughly rolling her onto her back. His hands were all over her, and they were not gentle. He was running his hands across her breasts, ribs, stomach, thighs…was this what he wanted? Had Mackenzie been naïve in thinking it was jewels? The thought made her eyes widen in fear and then narrow with determination.
“NO!” she shouted, and tried valiantly to free herself. Her thrashing only made her more aware of his strong muscular body pressing along every inch of hers. Instinctively, in a timelessly female move, she freed her knee and brought it up to his groin. Her attacker was one step ahead of her though, and shifted his weight so that his hipbone ground into her soft abdomen, and she inhaled quickly with the pressure. He captured both of her wrists in one of his large hands and put a dagger to her throat; her dagger. She swore, and froze.
“Smart. Now Miss Stewart, lie still.”
He spoke softly with the same lilting Scottish burr she’d heard from the receptionist, except rather than sounding musical to her American ears, it sounded seductive. Mackenzie was so annoyed that she found anything seductive about her attacker, that she missed his familiar use of her name. Her anger at herself helped her as she renewed her struggle by yanking her wrists free and hoping he didn’t actually want to slit her throat. In the same instant that she freed her hands, Mackenzie grabbed for the blade at her throat. His eyes widened as she tried vainly to push it away.
“While I admire your courage, lass, my patience only extends so far.” Damn his voice was sexy. It was throaty, and raw, and dark, and reached places deep inside her, and what was she thinking?
The man recaptured her wrists and then pulled her to stand up with him, the blade never leaving her throat. Her wrists were seared with the heat from his one hand. He held them in front of her, as if she were handcuffed. She frowned as she realized her breathing and heart rate had yet to slow. Mackenzie hadn’t realized how tall he was; she had to tilt her head back to meet his steely gaze. He was not only tall, but he had broad shoulders and muscles to spare. The plaid tartan and kilt he wore only seemed to emphasize just how very muscular he was. He made her feel small. Since there weren’t too many men out there who could make her feel small, this frightened her a bit. It actually frightened her more than the huge sword slung across his back. Mackenzie started thinking of ways to get him to drop the blade at her neck, but the only thing that kept coming to mind was her original plan. So she tried once more, shifting her weight slightly enough that she didn’t think he would notice, and swiftly bringing her knee up towards his groin. But the man must have been a mind reader, because just as swiftly he sidestepped her, yanked her arms above her head, and pressed the dagger into her skin hard enough to make swallowing impossible.
“Lass, if you try that again, I’ll tie you to my horse.” Damn him, but he sounded amused.
Mackenzie did not doubt that he would. His clear blue eyes were almost silver in the light of the moon, and they sparked with his annoyance at her. She lost her breath for a moment.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded, however it came out so quietly that it lost all power.
His eyes narrowed at her breathless question, “To make sure that you are unarmed.”
His eyes dropped for a second and Mackenzie realized that with her arms restrained above her head, her breasts were moving conspicuously with her ragged breathing. She almost rolled her eyes at that. Only helpless damsels in distress were supposed to have heaving bosoms. She was normally far from helpless. Of course, normally she didn’t have a dagger at her throat. What a weird dream, she thought, because she was now thoroughly convinced that this was a dream. She must have hit her head and passed out on the tour of the castle and was now understandably dreaming about the man she’d seen in the painting. Right? Mackenzie tried to calm her breathing. Dreaming or not, she was not about to become some clichéd damsel in distress. But once his eyes had finished their insulting perusal of her body, and his gaze came back to hers, she almost gasped. The sparking anger was gone, and in its place was some emotion that had turned the blue flashes to molten sapphire. No one had ever looked at her like this in her life, with such open desire. It was like he wanted her, right there in the meadow. Mackenzie forgot how to breathe.
His voice broke the spell his eyes had on her and she sucked in a shuddering breath.
“You will come with me without complaint.” He raised an eyebrow as if to dare her to run again.
She glared at him mutinously. He would probably just love an excuse to tie her to his horse. The man ignored her glare, and instead his eyes swept down her body as if he were appraising a horse. The look he gave her was beyond incredulous; in fact Mackenzie couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips in response to the shock on his face.
“Where are your clothes? You canna be seen in this undressed state!”
It wasn’t so much his question, but rather his tone, high-handed and arrogant, that got under her skin. “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes!” Mackenzie snapped at him. “And just because some pushy Scotsman decides he doesn’t approve of my outfit, which is by the way, perfectly normal for an American tourist, it doesn’t mean that I will automatically change them!” she huffed. Her anger caused her to speak her thoughts without censoring them, forgetting that she was playing the part of Isabella Stewart who would be from this era, and who would be dressed in a gown, a modest gown.
The man simply shook his head and put her dagger in his waistband. Then he started to tow her towards the line of men and horses that waited in front of her carriage. Mackenzie stumbled along behind him because he still had both of her hands in one of his, and that hand was causing electric sparks to shoot up her arm. Yep, I’m definitely dreaming, Mackenzie thought. There’s no way some random hot guy is going to show up in the middle of nowhere to kidnap me and drag me off to his castle and…and then what? I don’t even know who this guy is!
“Who are you?” Mackenzie’s question caused him to break stride long enough to look down at her with suspicion, but seeing only curiosity in her eyes, he answered.
“I’d be Connor MacRae, Laird of Castle Eilean Donan, Earl of Kintail.
Eilean Donan? The same castle she had booked a room in? This was definitely a dream. It was too coincidental; the same man from the painting, the same castle, she must have fallen asleep or something. But wow, what a dream!
Connor seemed to be watching her face carefully. He must be wondering why she was smiling, little did he know…
“Now stop trying my patience and come.”
Mackenzie didn’t know what made her do it, whether it was his high-handed behavior, or the way his gaze seemed to unnerve her, but she dug in her heels and yanked her hands free. “And if I don’t?”
Connor’s eyes darkened a fraction and he warned her softly, “Then I would bind your hands and throw you over my shoulder.” His answer irritated Mackenzie, there was no way this was a dream, she would never dream up some guy who would treat her like she was beneath him. She looked poised to run again, and Connor saw that.
“I’d just drag you back,” his seductive voice made her even angrier. “Besides, lass,” he said gently, “Where would you run? I know these woods inside and out, do you?” And as if to prove his point, he did throw her over his shoulder and quickly crossed to his men. Connor dropped her to the ground in a heap and glanced at one of his men. The man threw him a length of rope, and when Connor advanced on Mackenzie, rope in hand, she scrambled up and pleaded,
“No, no please, it’s unnecessary. I won’t try to run again. Please…” her voice broke. She knew now that she was definitely not dreaming. This was far too real, and far too scary.
“I have your word on that?” Connor stared into her eyes for a second longer than was necessary.
Mackenzie bit her lip and looked down at the ground, before she breathed out, “You’re right; I have nowhere to run.” As she said it, her anger fled and she realized just how true those words were. She hugged her arms around herself. If she was really in the 1700s, 200 years before her own time, then did it really matter who she was with? That thought made her so incredibly sad, that Connor must have seen something on her face.
His voice gentled when he replied, “Good. Now, come along. We have a long ride ahead of us.”
Mackenzie’s head whipped up at that. “A horse? I get to ride a horse?!” She’d loved riding as a kid, and she was excited to be on a horse again. It must have showed on her face because Connor was looking at her as if she were slow.
“Aye,” he drawled out the word as if she were stupid. Of course, people here rode horses out of necessity, rather than out of sport like people of her time. But she didn’t care, this was the first thing to happen today to make her happy, and she was grasping at it like a lifeline. It was something familiar and safe. Horses hadn’t changed in 200 years, and she’d been good at riding. She’d even competed a bit in some barrel racing as a teenager. Mackenzie went straight to a huge black war horse, he was much bigger than her quarter horse had been, and approached him with her hands out, palms up so he could sniff her. She nuzzled his soft nose and cooed in his ears. She stopped short after agilely mounting the large black horse. All of the men had stopped to stare at her. Some of them stared aghast, others ogled, and she couldn’t figure it out. Her confusion cleared as she realized that women of this time would have ridden sidesaddle, and in gowns that covered, well, everything that her outfit from the mall didn’t. Her sheer tank top suddenly felt invisible. When Connor came up to her she bent down and asked,
“Should I ride sidesaddle?”
“Aye, lass you should, however, ‘twill be easier if you stay astride. We have a long ride ahead of us, and we need to ride quickly. You’ll also need to cover yourself.” He handed her the grey cloak, and asked her if she had anything warm.
“A gown, in the carriage, I think,” she trailed off as one of Connor’s men was already walking toward the carriage. They followed his commands without his even having to speak them aloud. This man was powerful. That shouldn’t have surprised Mackenzie, by now nothing should surprise Mackenzie, but nonetheless, it did.
As soon as she had fastened the cloak around her shoulders, Connor vaulted up behind her, his arm encircling her waist. Mackenzie stiffened and turned, her green eyes wide.
“I assure you, I am quite a capable rider! There is no need to for you to ride with me.” She didn’t want to tell him that she hadn’t ridden in years, she knew he’d use it against her. Her shock was amusing to Connor, though, she could tell because he looked as if he were trying not to smile.
“You ride in carriages, I am not at all confident that your riding skills would be a match for my mount. Therefore I shall ride with you. Nor am I convinced that you would not try to run again. I doona relish the idea of chasing after you.” He bent to whisper in her ear, “And I would chase you down, my Lady, doona forget that.”
Mackenzie’s eyes narrowed and she ignored the shiver his breath caused. “I gave you my word that I wouldn’t try to run away again. I don’t appreciate being called a liar.” She also didn’t like how in order to talk to him, she had to turn into his body and crane her neck to meet his eyes. For her taste, it was entirely too intimate.
Connor sighed and tried a different tactic: sarcasm. “My Lady, I am exceedingly sorry,” his mock bow was not lost on Mackenzie, “but as you can plainly see, there are nay extra horses. Now, seeing that there are highwaymen about, I shall ride with you to guarantee your safe passage.” The false sincerity was not lost on her either. So Mackenzie turned away and put as much distance between them as the saddle would allow. His smirk became more pronounced as she glared at him over her shoulder one last time before turning stiffly forward and straightening her spine for what was proving to be an uncomfortable ride.
* * * *
Mackenzie’s bottom hurt from Connor dropping her rather unceremoniously on the ground earlier, and this hard ride didn’t help either. She remembered saddles being more comfortable than this, but apparently feeling one’s rear while riding was unimportant in this day and age. As she shifted in the saddle again, she brushed against Connor and felt that strange heat again. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before; like he ran a few degrees warmer than she did. She heard his swift intake of breath and assumed that he’d felt it too. Weird that she should feel such a magnetic pull towards this man who had actually just abducted her. It was too bad that she’d given up her dream theory, because this just seemed too much like a dream to pass as reality. A wry smile touched her lips as she thought that Jenna would be much more suited to this time-travel thing than she was.
Mackenzie glanced down as his arm brushed hers and she saw blood. Actually she saw quite a lot of blood. It took her a second to realize that he was bleeding because she actually had stabbed him earlier. She hadn’t just grazed him as she’d initially thought, but rather gouged him. She felt awful, she hadn’t been in a fight since the fifth grade when Meredith Baker stole her My Little Ponies lunch box. She peeked up at Connor from the corner of her eyes, and noticed that his face gave nothing away; no hint of pain, not even a reaction to the fact that he was bleeding. She thought he’d make an excellent poker player.
“I’m, uh,” Mackenzie cleared her throat and tried again, “I’m sorry I stabbed you.” Connor didn’t do more than look down at her, then his eyes flicked back out toward wherever they were riding. She continued a little nervously, “I didn’t mean to hurt, well, I guess I did mean to, er, well, you were attacking me after all, and I didn’t know who you were, and umm…” She stopped babbling, and took a deep breath. “I am sorry,” she said softly and as sincerely as she could.
“You defended yourself.” This time he didn’t even glance down at her.
Connor didn’t say much, she’d decided, and when he did, it was usually sarcastic or cryptic. This was neither. Was there ---dare she think it--- a hint of admiration in his tone? Figures, she thought, it was just like kindergarten: you punch a boy in the face, and he likes you. Except Connor didn’t like her, he just respected the fact that she hadn’t been a helpless victim, she guessed.
“Does it hurt?”
Connor’s eyes rolled up towards the dark sky, “You talk too much.”
Mackenzie narrowed her eyes. So that was how it was going to be? Fine, two could play at that game. She straightened up and faced forward, trying to ignore all the havoc his proximity was wreaking on her already overloaded system. It was harder than she’d thought it would be since every movement of the horse brought their bodies into contact. They were riding at a hard gallop, and Mackenzie was tired from holding her muscles so stiffly in a vain effort to not touch Connor. Her whole body was exhausted from the entire ordeal. She had finally given up her dream theory for good. This was real. There was no doubt in her mind that it was real. If it were a dream, she and Connor would be in a sunny meadow with nothing but the sun and a nice breeze for their companions, not riding through the night with a dozen men as their escort. Sooner than she would have thought possible, her body sagged against Connor, and she fell asleep; her mind needing the protection of oblivion to sort through and accept all that had happened.
Chapter Four
Connor MacRae exhaled roughly as the tiresome woman in his arms fell asleep. She was leaning against his chieftain pin, so he gently rolled her head to the other side. He wore his usual breacan feile over a linen shirt, with trews beneath the belted plaid. He had an iron penannular brooch, open to one side, to fasten the plaid at his shoulder. Connor knew that it was the annular brooches that were worn now, and his wasn’t in fashion, but what did he care for fashion? It had been in his family for several hundred years; the clan chieftain had always worn it. His claidheamhmór was slung across his back, and he had his bow on his massive destrier, just in case.
She shifted a little, and he could feel her rear pressing against him, her spine having relaxed from its rigid position to lean back into him. Her head fell right at his shoulder; she was not small, this one. Her head had lolled to settle against his throat. He could feel her even breathing against the skin of his neck. He’d never noticed anything as mundane as breathing about a woman before. Connor found himself noticing quite a bit about this spirited woman.
Dougal, his captain, had ridden up beside him, and cocked an eyebrow at the sleeping woman. Connor nodded his head. The silent conversation was merely Dougal asking if she was going to come willingly; he clearly thought the lass was daft. Not that Connor could blame his first, she hadn’t behaved like any woman he’d ever known. He’d never been stabbed by a lass, nor had to chase one down for that matter. Of course, he’d never abducted a woman before, either.
When he and his men had attacked her carriage, all had gone according to plan. No one had been harmed. Well, he amended, nothing that wouldn’t heal. No one had been seriously harmed. It had been easy. But Connor still felt that twinge of unease. Had it been too easy? Something didn’t ring true about the simplicity of the abduction. His senses had been honed by years on the battlefield, and they had never let him down, so it was unusual for him to feel uneasy about a victory.
His attention was brought back to the girl in his arms as she shivered. Unthinkingly, he unraveled his plaid and wrapped it around the Stewart lass, for she must be cold with naught but a cloak on. She was practically naked underneath, he recalled. American, she’d said, and while Connor knew nothing of ladies’ fashions, he was fairly certain that they wore gowns in America. She must have lost her gown, though he knew not how. He preferred a woman in a simple sark to the unusual and confining undergarments this woman wore. The thought of her in a sark had him thinking of how her body had felt when he’d landed on top of her. She was made of lush, soft curves, but he’d seen her legs wrapped around his horse, and he knew they were solid muscle. He’d also chased her, and he knew she was fast. He’d never been so surprised in his life as when the Stewart lass had stomped down on his foot and turned with her dagger.
And those eyes.
He hadn’t missed the split-second hesitation that she’d had when their eyes connected. He had been able to read every emotion in her eyes as if they were spelled out on her forehead. They had been wide, frightened, and they were emerald green. He’d never seen green eyes so deep. Connor felt that he could stare for hours into her eyes and he would never understand her secrets. Oh he knew for certain she had them, for in that short moment when their eyes had met, he had seen her secrets. And he wanted to know them. Something else though, he had seen the flare of recognition in her eyes. Had they met?
He looked down at her as her head lolled against his shoulder, and he studied her face. She had beautiful alabaster skin; it seemed luminescent in the moonlight, which contrasted with the dark, thick lashes that swept her cheeks. She had fine bone structure, with a straight nose. Her chin was pointed, and her lips were a bit too full for her heart-shaped face, but those lips were so incredibly sultry that he doubted any man would think them unattractive. She sighed and a slight smile turned her lips up. Connor’s thoughts drifted down an entirely different path as he watched them. There was no denying she was beautiful. Her reputation had not been exaggerated.
When her hair had come unbound while she’d been fleeing, and the moon had turned the golden locks to silver, he’d thought her a wood sprite or a faerie. The pale moonlight had her skin glowing like a luminous pearl. But she was no faerie, she was real. Her very real warm body had proved that. She was also betrothed to his enemy, the Campbell lord, and Connor would stop at nothing to ensure his demise. Even abducting the bride-to-be before she entered Campbell lands. She was a means to an end, nothing more. Connor would do well to remember that.
After he had launched himself at her, Connor wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to the ground. When he stayed on top of her he wanted her to feel his weight; to understand that the best way out would be acquiescence. And when he’d flipped her over, he’d merely run his hands over her to see if she had any more weapons hidden; ravishing her was the furthest thought from his mind…until she’d renewed her struggle. He’d suddenly become acutely aware of every voluptuous curve against his body. Those expressive eyes of hers had shown him that she thought his intentions impure, and his thoughts quickly followed along those lines. Impure thoughts around her would be natural, especially when her ragged breathing drew his attention to her breasts. Thinking of her breasts had him shifting farther away from her in the saddle, but she made a little sound of protest at his movement, and Connor frowned. With a sigh, he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. She fit into the curve of his body perfectly, and he rested his chin on her head.
The Stewart lass smelled delicious, mouthwatering, actually. He’d never smelled anything like it. It was decidedly floral, and every time the wind stirred strands of her hair into his face, Connor had to fight the urge to bury his nose in it. He thought of the reactions his body had to just her scent alone, and wondered what it would be like if he had the time and the right to enjoy her. The weight of her breasts on the arm he had wrapped around her ribs caused his body to tighten. He passed the time trying not to think of her, and thinking instead of not running his horse too hard with the extra weight. Connor frowned as he felt her ribcage. She really wasn’t that much extra weight. His thoughts turned toward the girl again, and he had to force his mind to the job at hand; to take her to his castle, and keep her as far away from the Campbell as possible. He wasn’t completely sure what the Campbell had planned for Miss Stewart, but he knew it would indeed irritate him to have Connor steal her away. The thought of the Campbell’s irritation with Connor had a smile playing about his lips.
Besides, the Campbell only needed a bride at all because the brutal clan Mackenzie was pushing for a chief who was married; he would be a safer alliance for them if he had a woman and sons at home. They had been pushing for a marriage to a Mackenzie lass, so it had been quite a surprise when he’d announced his betrothal to the Stewart lass, however, since everyone knew about the curse, the Mackenzie allowed the soon-to-be alliance. There had been rumors of the Campbell playing at the dark arts, and Connor knew that the man would go to any lengths to destroy the MacRaes. A man such as that was deadly in his unpredictability. Who knew what he had planned for this unsuspecting girl? It was just sheer bad luck that she was the only direct descendant left in the Stewart line. He’d heard tales since he was a lad about how a Stewart lass would break the so-called curse. Really, it was quite ingenious of the Campbell to choose a Stewart to unify the clans; it was said if the Stewart Curse could be broken, the lands would once again be fruitful. Unfortunately for Connor, those lands had belonged to him.
Dawn was breaking as his attention shifted to the sleeping girl in his arms once more. He had spent the majority of the ride trying to ignore the way her soft body fit against his, and deny the uncharacteristic surge of lust he’d felt at every bump and jostle. At one point, her head had turned into his neck, and her lashes had fluttered against the skin of his throat. Connor swallowed hard, trying to tamp down the unreasonable flare of heat. Similar to his hyper-awareness of her breath coming and going, he noticed everything about her.
She stirred. He felt first her confusion, and then the dawn of understanding as she remembered where she was. It was natural that she should be afraid of him, he thought, after all, he had abducted her on the way to meet her betrothed. He almost wanted to laugh at the naked panic on her face as she glanced back at him. If she only knew that he was definitely the lesser of the two evils.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” She quietly cleared her throat. “Where are we?”
Her voice was husky still from sleep, and very arousing. She hid the panic from her voice, but he knew that it would be there in her eyes. For some reason, it was important to him that she not think the worst of him; he wanted to assuage her fears about his abducting her. That worried him; Connor did not want the complication of caring what this chit thought of him.