Highlander Undone (Highland Bound Book 5) (5 page)

Stronger. Wilder.

Spine-tingling. Earth-shattering.

Stunning. Exquisite.

He moved within her, over her, all around her, until she could barely breathe, couldn’t think at all, and was once more crying out, her nails scaling down his back, his answering moan an echo on the wind.

But Ewan wasn’t done with her yet.

“Ballocks,” he cursed. “I want ye again.”

“Dinna stop,” she moaned, her body on fire with need and potent desire.

Once more, he flipped her over, onto her belly this time, impaling her still quaking core. He rode her from behind, until they were both slickened with sweat, shaking and crying out in climaxes that rivaled all others.

They collapsed onto the plaid. The moon was out in full, shining its silver light onto them. Shona curled up beside him, savoring his arm around her. Resting her head on his shoulder, she traced circles on his chest while he lazily drew lines up and down her back.

“The moon looks bigger up here,” Shona murmured.

Ewan glanced down at her. “Aye. It’s shining off your slick skin.”

She giggled, when he tickled her ribs, warm and satiated.

“Are ye hungry?” Ewan asked. “I packed us a meal.”

“Famished.”

He covered her with one of the plaid blankets and she snuggled into it when he rose to grab the satchel of food he’d brought with him.

“Wine,” he said, pulling out a corked jug. “Bread. Cheese. And meat.” He presented before her, a loaf of bread, large hunk of cheese and an entire roasted duck. “A meal fit for my wife.”

Her mouth watered. “Ye spoil me.”

“But I’m not quite done. Dessert.” He pulled out an entire cake. “An almond cake with golden raisins baked in.”

“Oh, Cook is going to be mad when she sees that gone.” Shona smiled with glee, like a child who’d snuck a whole army’s worth of treats.

Ewan wiggled his brows. “Likely. Shall we have dessert first?”

“I feel like we already did,” Shona giggled.

“That is true. And perhaps, I want more dessert before the night is through.”

“I would be more than happy to give it to ye.”

They ate, chatting about the castle, Emma and Logan, and then as Shona took a nice, large sip of wine, Ewan said, “We need to find Rory.”

“Rory?” She was sort of hoping they’d not talk about him again, at least not tonight.

“Aye.”

“Why?” The wine soured in her belly.

“Because, love, I’m afraid he’s in danger.”

“From who? ’Tis MacLeod, isn’t it?”

“Aye. He’s got half the Highlands searching for Rory. I convinced the lad to go home, to concentrate on his clan and duties, but his parents’ death will haunt him forever if he does not gain some closure. I’m certain he’ll return to his search afore long.”

Her face fell and she stared into the opening of the wine jug. “But he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know ye believe that, love, and I’m inclined to agree. But the lad was adamant that Rory murdered his parents and is responsible for the deaths of many in his clan.”

“I just can’t believe it. Rory is kind and gentle. He took me in when he didn’t have to. I wasn’t a prisoner, or his slave. He was my friend. He
is
my friend.”

“That is why we must find him first.”

Shona shook her head. “I’ve searched everywhere I could think of.”

“I believe ye did, lass, but maybe there is one clue we haven’t unturned yet.”

“Like what?” She took another sip and then passed him the jug, unwilling to mention the one thing she thought might have happened to Rory—time travel.

“I’m not certain of it yet, but maybe if we talk about him, if ye show me your cottage one more time, there will be something we both haven’t thought of before.”

Shona nodded, picking at the fabric of the plaid blanket. “I’m afraid for him. But ye believe me don’t ye?”

“Aye. I believe he’s not as much of a villain as MacLeod deems, but I do also believe there is something in his past for which he’s ashamed.”

Shona swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat. “I suppose we all have our secrets.”

“Let us hope that we uncover his before MacLeod does.”

They finished their meal, and then lay beneath the blanket of stars and the moon. Thoughts of Rory were pushed to the back of their minds when the headiness of the wine and the magic of the glen took hold once more. They made slow, leisurely love until they were both too drained to move or speak. They fell asleep beneath the sparking magic of the glen stone.

Chapter Four

Present Day

Everything was loud. Very loud.

Rory MacLeod resisted the urge to cover his ears as he slowly stood and turned in a circle.

The smells… They were from another world. Smoke, but not like that of the peat fires he was used to. Cooking, but oddly oily. And ale. He smelled that, too.

Searing pain seeped through Rory’s head, from one end to the next. He reached up to touch his temples, rubbing at the sensitive flesh covering his skull.

What in bloody hell happened?

He blinked opened his eyes to see that the world was dark, but not.

The sky above his head was black, dotted with a few sparkling stars and the occasional wisp of a cloud. But it should be completely dark, and yet the world seemed lit up by lights.

Shite
.

He was back.

Suddenly on alert to what he thought might have happened, the pain in Rory’s head grew, but he shoved it aside. Leaping to his feet, his leather boots thunked on the stone walkway. He reached for his sword at his hip, but it was gone, and he sort of remembered having yanked it from the scabbard when he’d first started to travel, believing he was under attack.

With a glance up and down the street, he took in the looming city buildings, and the lights that shone artificially inside and out. People were laughing and chatting. Carriages—nay automobiles?—whizzed past. There was an occasionally shouted, “Wanker!”

Turning slowly, he made out Edinburgh Castle, lit up in blue on the north side of the Royal Mile.

Dressed in his traditional Highland garb, he wouldn’t be out of place with the other men who paraded themselves for these oddly modern people wearing the strangest clothes he still couldn’t fully fathom—and this his second journey here. Their limbs were covered in fabric. It was neither hot nor cold.

Journey
.

Lord, but that word made it sound so normal. So usual for a man from the year 1541 to pass through time and land here, on the cold stone, five hundred some odd years in the future.

The last time he’d journeyed, or rather time traveled, when he’d returned to his own time, the very next day, Shona arrived from the future. Lost, confused. As of now, she’d not yet regained her memory. But he’d known her before she arrived in 1538. Her sister, Moira, had been the one to take him in, right here in Edinburgh the last time—which had been for a year at least. He’d fallen in love with Moira, had wanted to stay with her forever. So many years he’d been searching for a way back to her and now he was finally here.

So, he’d taken care of Shona, because he cared for her like a sister and because that was what Moira would have wanted.

And then it hit him.
He was back
. Back to see her. Back to tell her how sorry he was for simply disappearing. To beg for her forgiveness. His excitement abated somewhat when he realized the repercussions of his journeying back and forth.

First of all, he’d left so unexpectedly, there’d been no time to tell her goodbye. She didn’t even know he was a time-traveler. A secret he’d kept the entire year he’d been with her. She likely detested him for vanishing.

Unless he could be lucky enough to have magically appeared back in Edinburg just a few hours after disappearing.

He didn’t have that kind of luck.

Luck be damned, he had to see her. Moira and Shona were close. However long it had been, she was most assuredly missing her sister. He needed to put her mind at ease, no matter how angry she might be. He had to put his own mind at ease. For the last three years he’d wandered the forests of Scotland wishing he could be back with her, the love of his life. His thoughts ate at him. Would she hate him? Would she love him still? Would she have fallen for another?

Damn
. This meant Shona was on her own. No one to protect her. Did this signify that another was coming through in his time?

But who?

Moira? Could it be?

Rory could only hope. He’d been miserable without her.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled, turning in a circle to regain his bearings. It had been awhile since he’d been here and he wasn’t sure he remembered where the hell he was exactly.

Down the Royal mile, to the right, around the bend, another right—or was it a left? At any rate, he would be walking for a good thirty minutes before he arrived at his destination.

“Nice kilt,” a gaggle of females said, wiggling brows and leering lips. They were half-sotted.

“Dare ye to ask what’s underneath,” he challenged.

“Oh!” they drawled out, mouths popping open with excitement.

They reminded him of the tavern wenches back in Grant country—hungry for cock and coin.

“You are a naughty Highlander,” one of the girls said sauntering forward. She licked her lips, pulling a multi-colored piece of paper from her pocket—their odd currency.

Well now, this was a change of pace… He could get paid to flirt? Why the hell not?

“Do ye know why the Scots wear kilts, lassie?” Rory teased.

She grinned, her fingers sliding over his belt. “Why?”

“Because the sheep can hear a zipper from a mile away.” He’d heard that one on his last journey here. He’d not known what a zipper was but as soon as he found out, he’d laughed his arse off.

It took the lass a moment to process his crude joke, but as soon as she did, she and her friends burst out laughing. She tucked the bill into his belt, and said their goodbyes, giggling all the way down the street.

Rory tugged out the bill. £20.

Nice.

The last time he’d been here, he’d been lucky to get a job as a bartender at one of the local pubs. Well, if he was to stay long, and another bartender position didn’t open up, he knew a good way to make some money. All he had to do was stand on the street corner telling dirty jokes to drunken lassies.

As appealing as that sounded, he had something he needed to do. Rory shoved the money into his sporran and took off at a brisk pace southward on the Royal Mile.

A number of years had passed since he’d been here before, but re-walking the path of the past seemed to come to him instinctively. Much like back in his own time where he could tell the difference in the many wooded, and moors, back-dropped routes. At least here, their pathways were labeled. Castle Wynd to Johnston. Johnston to Castle Terrace, then Spittal. Spittal to Bread and Morrison. Haymarket to Coates Gardens.

How the hell did they come up with those names anyway?

The walk was pleasant. Nearly half an hour, if he remembered correctly. He passed by alehouses, spritely groups of people. A few others dressed like him soliciting coin for entertainment. A few in a different, more modern looking Highland garb, jovial and proper as they journeyed onward. It was good to see that some men still dressed in their tartans rather than the odd blue woven fabric that Moira had called jeans.

Then he was there, standing in the middle of the street, looking up at the brick town house with a tin roof and pretty flowers that hung outside the windows in wood and iron boxes. Rory sighed deeply, crossed the street and was prepared to walk up the seven or eight steps when the door burst open, and a ball of fury flew out on the short patio, dark hair, a mass of riotous curls around her beautiful face. Blazing blue eyes, a regal nose and cherry-red lips that were meant to be kissed. Tall and fit, her body begged to be explored, and yet the way she was coming at him, he should have been scared for his life.

So much spirit. Just like her sister. She and Shona looked so much alike, too. Twins, though not exactly identical given their hair. If not for the color of their hair being different, anyone would have a hard time telling them apart. But he could. Rory could have told them apart blind folded. For their scents were different.

Shona smelled faintly of flowers, where Moira was altogether a spicier, citrus and vanilla scent. Lord, but he wanted to wrap her around him.

“Ye!” Moira seethed.

Rory let out another deep sigh, shaking himself from his thoughts. “I see ye remember me.”

A low growl came from her pretty throat. He supposed a joke wasn’t the right way to start of their reunion.

“Remember ye? Ye broke my heart and stole my sister.” Hands skated over her face, shoving her hair from her flushed cheeks and she glanced up and down the street with her striking eyes.

She was just as gorgeous and fiery as he remembered. And hated him now. That was different and left what felt like a punch to the gut in his middle.

“Where is she?” Moira demanded.