Highland Destiny (4 page)

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 32

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 33

"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 34

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.

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
claidheamhmor
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 36

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.

37

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 38

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 39

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 40

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; 41