Interloper at Glencoe Page 12

  “You’ve forgotten your water skin.”

  She could see by the look in his eye he hadn’t forgotten it at all. “Thanks,” he said as he took it and slung it over his shoulder by its rope. He didn’t seem in a hurry to be off, and only stood there as if waiting for her to say something. She came to her point immediately.

  “I’m sorry Father was so rude last night.”

  “Rude?”

  “Speaking as if you werenae welcome here. I assure you, that isnae what he was after.”

  He nodded, and his smile turned wry. “Yeah, I think I know.”

  That surprised her. “Do ye?”

  “I think he was trying to tell you I wasn’t someone who should interest you. Romantically, I mean.”

  Plain enough. “And why would he think I could be in danger of being swept off my feet?” Her heart thudded in her ears as the talk skated close to the core of what she hoped might be between them.

  Nick glanced away down the trail by which they’d come as if looking out for eavesdroppers, and said, “He’s your father, and he thinks every man in shouting distance is out to climb into bed with his daughter.”

  “And are they?”

  His smile brightened again. “I can only speak for myself, but I suspect his fear is a valid one.”

  Her heart skipped, then she said, “He believes two have done it.”

  Nick’s smile disappeared entirely. “And only one actually has.”

  She bit her lips together, then said, “You believe me, then?”

  “Of course, I do. Gòrdan is an ass, and he’s delusional. He saw what he wanted to see, and it was all in his mind.”

  There was a long moment when neither of them could speak further, and Beth also gazed back down the trail toward her father’s house. Then she said, her heart fluttering in her chest, “Would there be a second one, do ye think?”

  The reply was not hesitant. “Yes. I hope so.”

  Now she looked at him. His bright eyes gazed straight into hers. “But not like Gòrdan,” she said.

  “No.”

  “Because when you return to America, you willnae need to divorce me; you’ll simply go.”

  For a moment he appeared to struggle for a reply. He glanced away and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Finally he looked at her and said, “I don’t know if I’ll ever make it home. America is a long way away, and if I could go there I would be gone already. But if I find the means, I will. I would have to. I won’t lie to you about that.”

  She struggled to keep the expression on her face neutral, to hide her disappointment. “Well, in any case, I apologize for my father’s behavior.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Nick’s mouth. “Okay. If you’ll let me apologize for my own behavior.”

  “Why?”

  His reply was to slip a hand behind her neck and lean over to kiss her. Not like before, but long and deep and hard. His mouth caressed and probed, and she accepted, until she had to free herself and step back for fear of someone coming down the track and discovering them. But he returned his hand to her neck, smoothed her cheek with his thumb, and whispered, “I can’t promise what the future will be, because I don’t know how it will turn out. But I will promise I’ll stay as long as I can. However much time there is left.”

  Then he stepped close again and gave her another, much quicker, kiss, told her he’d see her at the end of the day, and went off down the trail to the day’s work.

  She stared after him, wishing the day were over already.

  All the while she worked, she hummed and sang to herself, light on her feet and so completely sunny of heart she couldn’t hide her good mood from Father and Dùghall when they came at midday. Nick, of course, was still off down the glen, working for Alasdair Og. Beth listened in silence to the disparaging comments and outright complaints about Nick, and wished she were anywhere but there. The teasing of before had become true badmouthing, and she was forced to hold her breath at times in order to not let her anger show. Tears stung her eyes, and she found excuses to not sit at the table. Not that the men cared if she ever sat. They only were interested in their own needs and cares, and made her feel humiliated for the way she felt about Nick. Oh, how she wished the day were over, and they would hush their mouths when Nick returned!

  When he did, and the four of them all sat down to supper, conversation turned to gossip from Carnoch, for Father and Dùghall were happy to hear from Nick whatever he might have picked up while working for the laird and his sons. The evening was spent by the fire as usual, but tonight Beth sat a bit behind her father so he couldn’t see her face. In the shadows, she observed Nick with relative freedom, and he was able to look in her direction without anyone knowing he wasn’t looking straight at Father. Dùghall was too dull witted to guess, and Father never had occasion to look around to see Beth’s face. She took advantage.

  Every so often she pursed her lips just enough, and quickly enough for only Nick to notice. She knew he was watching, for every time she did it a curl came to his own mouth and his eyes shone a little brighter. But before long she had to stop, lest a genuine smile come unbidden and their game be revealed to the entire room.

  That continued for a fortnight. With no opportunity to be alone, all that was left for them were quick glances across the room and polite talk at table. Each time Beth found Nick looking at her, his gaze seemed to cut straight to her core. Her belly warmed and her heart skipped, and she forced herself to tear her eyes from him and be certain her father and brother did not see. Often, if she passed close to Nick, his fingers brushed the back of her hand. Her skin tingled, and she wished mightily she could grasp his hand in hers and hold it. The need was nearly unbearable.

  One night she decided she couldn’t stand it any longer. Well after everyone had gone to sleep, Beth awoke at the sound of Nick at the outer door, as she often did, for she was a light sleeper. Most nights he left to urinate on the manure pile in the yard, for he was shy about coming into the bedroom to use the chamber pot while the family slept. So he went out in his sark, coat and brogues, with his kilt pulled around the lot like an enormous shawl, and hurried around back to the manure pile to relieve himself. Most times when Beth heard him leave she would turn over in her bed and go back to sleep, but tonight something made her slip from under her blanket instead. There would be no going back to sleep tonight, even if she kept to her bed, so she saw no reason to.

  The snoring from Father and Dùghall was steady. They were heavy sleepers, and confident of the safety of their house within this glen. Away in the shielings, or on a drive or creach with the cattle, was a different thing entirely, for they would be alert to any sort of noise. But in the safety of their home they slept deeply.

  While Nick was outside, Beth stole from the bunk area and went to the hearth in the outer room, where she took the iron and poked the banked ashes some. They rose and glowed, sending a pleasant heat into the cold winter air. She waited. As soon as there was a rattle at the wooden latch on the door, she took up a small piece of wood to put it on the fire, then as Nick came through the door on a waft of winter night air she was placing a flat peat that would catch from the wood and give more heat than light.

  Nick closed the door behind him, but went still when he found Beth kneeling between the fire and his pallet. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, his shoulders still hunched against the cold.

  She whispered, “’Tis a terribly chilly night. I felt the need for a larger fire.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and Nick glanced toward the alcove where the bunks were. Then back at Beth, who gave a tiny shake of her head. The others were well asleep and unlikely to awaken.

  He nodded, and came to the pallet to deposit his kilt and coat on it. With his brogues kicked off on the floor, he sat near her on his pallet and leaned in to enjoy the heat of the fresh fire on his face. “It’s freezing out there,” he said in a low, quiet voice.

  She sat next to him on the edge of his
straw mattress by the fire and took his hands in hers to warm them. They were very cold. And large, though still barely callused. Her hands rubbed his fingers, then she turned them over to stroke his palms. Somehow in the rubbing and stroking her hands ended up inside his, and he held them there. She gazed at their hands together, and he began to run a thumb over hers.

  She looked up, and he was gazing at her. The fire had kindled, and now the light of ite flickered across one side of his face and danced in his eyes. The beauty of him caught her breath. His long throat begged to be kissed, and the neck of his sark was deep enough to reveal the dark hair of his chest, thick and curly. His lengthening hair was turning wavy these days, and it fell across his forehead as thickly. He murmured, “You couldn’t sleep?”

  “I was awakened by the door latch.”

  He glanced at the door. “Ah. I see.” Then he glanced toward the bunks again, where snores came from the darkness.

  “They’re both dead to the world. Naught but a cockcrow by their heads would awaken them before morning. Which can be seen by their snoring even during your foray to the manure pile.”

  Color deepened in his face. “I’m sorry I woke—”

  She placed a finger over his lips and murmured with barely a voice, “They are sleeping heavily, but do not tempt fate with too much talking.” Talk wasn’t what she wanted in any case.

  Nick didn’t reply to that. Instead he opened one of her hands and kissed the palm. Then the other. She leaned close, and he kissed her mouth.

  He was delicious. His lips caressed hers with rare gentleness, softly, warmly, as if he were trying to tell her something delightful. He touched a hand to her neck, to cradle her there and hold her to him. Then the warmth of him enveloped her as he moved closer, drew her to him, and slipped his arms around her. She hugged his neck, happy to melt into him and let him become her world for the moment. His heart pounded heavily against her chest, and she wondered if he could feel hers as easily.

  When their lips parted for breath, she reached behind him to tug the end of his sark from under him, and he shifted to let her. They lifted the garment over his head and discarded it in a wad, leaving him as naked as when they’d first met, and she buried her nose in the hair of his chest. He smelled wonderfully of male skin, of desire, of an excitement she’d seldom felt even for Gòrdan. Her fingers brushed over his nipple, and he sighed. He reached for her nightgown and lifted it also, set it aside, then she was in his arms in an embrace that felt like completion all by itself. His warm skin on hers, solid muscles beneath, holding her as if he would never let her go. As if he were a part of her. She drew a deep sigh and let the feeling take her.

  He leaned toward her and urged her back onto the pallet, then knelt over her on all fours. His gaze took in her entire body, and she could see it pleased him. She slipped a leg beneath him, straddling him in invitation, but he only smiled and uttered a soft moan then brushed his lips against her breasts. One big hand at her waist, he bent over her and tasted her over and over until she thought she might burst before he finally settled into her.

  When he did, it was all she could do to not cry out. Filling her, moving in her, his breath soft against her ear, caressing her inside and out, he made her feel beautiful again. Wanted. Perhaps even needed, for he did not hide his excitement. In his eyes was the pleasure he felt, in his sighs, in the way he moved so carefully and with such intent he seemed to relish every moment. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her neck, pressed against her over and over in a way very different from the animal coupling of Gòrdan. Nick watched her face. He smiled when she let go a moan. He held her thigh so he could go deeper and more quickly. And when the pleasure overcame him and his eyes drooped shut, he sighed and murmured her name in a soft voice from deep within him.

  As he pressed more forcefully, she rose to meet him. Her heels held onto him, bringing him to her, and he strained with the effort to keep silent. Small sounds came from the back of his throat, and his breaths were hard puffs on her neck as he tensed in her arms. She tensed as well, and her mouth found his to keep the cry within them. His hips slammed hard, he shuddered and gasped, and held himself to her for a long moment before moving again, very, very slowly.

  Then he shifted to the side, but held her snug in his arms. The night air was suddenly cold, and he pulled his kilt over them. Huddled under the copious wool, he whispered in her ear, “I wish to keep you safe. Far away from the Campbells, and anyone else who would want to hurt you. I wish you to live, a long, bright future.”

  And with that, though she knew it would be a terrible mistake, they dropped off to sleep.

  o0o

  The dream again. Darkness. And the faerie Fionn. Not speaking, but staring. An awful, ugly stare. Nick knew the crazy, fey creature was up to something, but just then didn’t care. He had Beth in his arms, was basking in the afterglow of the finest sex of his life, and only wanted to sleep. So he did.

  Chapter 8

  As Nick regained consciousness, he recognized the feel of linen sheets and the smells of his own bedroom. His eyes flew open with alarm and his heart leapt in his chest. Beth! But Beth was still in his arms, breathing deeply with sleep. The musky scent of her, the heavy smell of sex, the peat smoke in her hair, all filled his head, and there was a horrible, disorienting feeling of being in two places at once.

  But as his head cleared and he realized what had happened, his heart lifted with joy. A smile rose to his face. Home. He was home, and Beth was here, safe. Completely safe from the Redcoats.

  “Oh, God,” he said, and hugged her. “Oh my God. Wake up, Beth. Wake up, sweetheart.” He brushed hair from her face and jostled her some to awaken her.

  She moaned and stirred.

  “Beth, wake up.”

  Her eyes opened, and she brushed a hand over his chest. “I must return to my bed before Father and Dùghall awaken.”

  “No. There’s something I need to tell you.” The enormity of what he had to explain loomed, and his mind flew to find a place to start. He held her face so she would look at him, but now she noticed the room and the sunlight all around.

  She wrenched her face away from him, sat up, and turned to take in the scene. “What...?”

  “It’s all right, Beth.” He sat up and slipped an arm around her. “You’re with me. You’re safe.”

  “What has happened? Where are we?” She began to gasp, reached for him and clung to him, her arm tight around his neck. It was plain his presence was the only thing keeping her from flying into hysterics.

  “It’s okay. We’re in my home. It’s magic. You know about magic.”

  “Faeries.” She glanced around for one, and seemed relieved to not find any. Her breaths were ragged with fear.

  “Aye. A black-haired faerie did it. He’s the one Gòrdan thinks he saw, sort of.”

  She leaned back and looked into his face. Her eyes searched his, questioning, but as he spoke to her she began to calm.

  “I saw him. Several times. He did this. He brought me from my home and dumped me in Scotland.” He watched her face and hoped she would believe him.

  To his relief, she seemed to make sense of what he was saying. Her voice was a whisper, as if she were afraid of being overheard by the faerie. “And that is why I found you skyclad in a faerie ring. It was his ring.”

  Nick nodded. It sounded plausible.

  “And now we’re in America?” She examined the clean, white sheets over her legs and sniffed them, glancing around the room awash with morning sunshine. It was hard to tell what she thought of all this; her expression was blank. Almost detached. “The sun is so bright here. Does it come closer to the earth in America?”

  “No. I mean, uh, yes. Sort of. But it’s more than just that we’re in America.” She started to slip from the bed to investigate, but he held her hand and kept her there. “Beth, listen to me.” Still glancing around, she did at least keep still and hold his hand. He continued, “Beth, I live in the future. We’ve moved a great distance in time
as well as space.”

  Now she stared at him and he could see her struggling to work this out in her head. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The faerie sent us to my own time, which is the year 2005. April, 2005.”

  “1692 to...”

  “Three centuries. A little more.”

  “In the future?”

  Nick nodded.

  Her brow knitted, and she stared at him. “We slept so long?”

  “No, we traveled. Like moving through space, but it’s time instead.”

  “As in a faerie knoll.”

  “Uh...”

  “There are stories of people who wander into faerie knolls for a short time and come out to find many years have passed.” Lines of worry deepened in her brow, and her voice began to quaver. “The wee folk are often not kind to those who cross their paths. In exchange for a hearty meal and gay dancing, a soul who spends too much time with a faerie finds himself set adrift in the world, with nae family, nae property. Nobody who remembers him. Nae...”

  Nick’s heart clenched as he watched her realize she was talking about herself. That her situation was exactly that of someone who had entered a faerie knoll and emerged three hundred years later. The implications flashed across her countenance, the light in her eyes changed as she took in the astonishing news.

  She was nearly voiceless when she spoke, but he could hear the desperate hope in it. “You went backward, to the past. Can we return to Inverrigan? To the year 1692?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still not entirely certain how I got there to begin with.”

  She nodded, assimilating the information though she didn’t appear to truly understand. Then she looked around the room again, at the nightstand and lamp, the small television in the corner, the chest of drawers by the door, the window three times the size of the little, shuttered hole in the wall of her father’s peat house. Her expression tightened, and she looked like she might cry. “My father. My brother. The clan. Are they gone?”