Just Wait For Me (Highland Gardens Book 3) (6 page)

“Then what happened?” Keita asked in a breathy voice.

“The man was so angry his face flamed red, he spun in a
circle and disappeared, never to be heard from again.”

“Are you sure the tale is not about Munn?” Duff asked. “’Tis
just like something he would do.”

Stephen ruffled the lad’s hair. “Enough. ’Tis time everyone
is abed.”

He joined them on the large pallet. After a short time, he
was the only one awake. Jillian cradled Keita in her arms, and he had an arm
around the sleeping Duff.

He felt content for the first time in he couldn’t remember
how long. If only he hadn’t agreed to the handfasting, he’d be begging Jillian
to be
his
forever love.

I need to find a way to end things with Calyn
. He
prayed she wasn’t with child.

Munn stood on the mound in the Fir-wood, hands fisted on
hips, staring at the spot Caitrina had vacated.
Infuriating sithiche!
He
stomped a foot. Caitrina was too proud to accept his help. He should forget
this whole affair and find a nice spot for a nap.

Munn slumped. His vow to the Dark Prince sat heavy on his
shoulders. What was he to do?

He paced and thought and paced some more. How was he to aid
Caitrina when she didn’t want his help? He should forget the faerie princess
and concentrate his efforts on assisting Stephen and the lass from the future.
By so doing, Caitirina would win the challenge, and he’d fulfill his vow to the
prince.

But where could he secure the mounts Stephen requested? Munn
scratched his head. Where? Ah! Archibald would provide horses. The chief would
want to help Stephen.

Munn spun in a circle. As he faded, he heard the sniggers of
the lost
bairns
. He should stop and investigate what sort of mischief
they stirred this day. Instead, he traveled through the nether to the stables
at Castle Lachlan landing with a
grumph
on the muck-covered floor of
Archibald’s favorite warhorse’s stall. He rolled to a sitting position and
sniffed the shoulder of his
leine
. The reek of dung burned his nostrils.
Crap!

Archibald laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Ach, wee man.
’Tis good to see you.”

His features sobered and he extended a hand, helping Munn to
his feet. Munn stared into the chief’s gray eyes. Eyes that glistened with
grief.

Munn fretted. He hated for the chief to be distressed.

“We heard the word from Branxton.” Archibald shook his head,
slammed a fist against a thigh. “Such a waste. The loss of so many fine
warriors. Most of our lads are dead. God keep them.” He made the Sign of the
Cross. “I will feel their death in my heart for the rest of my living days.”

Archibald sucked in an audible breath. What could Munn say
to lessen the chief’s sorrow?

“Duncan is devastated by the loss of Jamie,” the chief
continued, a hitch in his voice. “And Stephen…”

Munn bounced on his feet unable to contain his delight in
the news he would share. He would make the chief smile again. “Stephen lives!”

Archibald swayed. Leaned on the stall’s half-wall. “How?
Where?”

“Wounded. Caves of the Gray Women.”

Tempered relief replaced some of the pain clouding the
chief’s eyes. “How bad are his injuries?” He cleared his throat. “How did he
get there?”

“Caitrina.”

Archibald’s eyes widened. “The faerie?”

“Aye.” The chief must remember Caitrina. She once guided him
to the caves to rescue Lady Laurie from the clutches of Maclay. And she was
with them in the future when they visited one Christmas.

“And Stephen’s injuries?”

“Cuts from swords. Bruises. Crushed leg. Cannot walk without
a crutch.”

“Dammit!” Archibald ran a hand through his chestnut hair.

Munn sighed. “Getting better. The fae pool helps with the
healing.”

“Has Maclay been seen?”

“Nae.” Munn shook his head, and the chief seemed to relax.

“Let me go to the keep and tell Isobell the good news, kiss
our newborn son, round up some lads, and then we can be off to retrieve
Stephen.”

“Needs horses.”

“More than one?”

“Aye.” Munn shuffled his feet. “He found a lass from the
future.”

Archibald’s brows rose into his hairline and he gripped the
stall half-wall again. “The future, you say?”

“Aye.”

“Then we must travel to the caves in all due haste.”

* * *

Tir-nan-Og

Dugaid paced his mother’s antechamber. He’d always hated the
overindulgence cunningly displayed to intimidate visitors. Silver columns and
crystal walls, brilliant sapphire gemstones in cut-glass bowls, luxuriant royal
blue velvets and silks draped about, all to enhance the silvery splendor of the
Fae High-Queen.

A sharp inhale and exhale fortified his patience, and he
loosened tight fists. Might as well get this over with. He strode to the open
wall draped by lucent curtains and drew aside the diaphanous fabric interwoven
with threads of finely spun silver to view the pool beyond where his mother
entertained her current lover.

Dugaid ground his teeth.
Ach! And legend tells tales of
Finvarra’s unfaithfulness. Tit for tat. Aye, Mother?

Oonagh’s gaze reached him. Surprise flared and a pleased
smile curved her lips. She whispered something to Gabriel then released the
lesser fae from a wanton embrace.

With a tight rein on his control, Dugaid ignored the glare
sent his way as Gabriel climbed from the pool and padded past and out of
Oonagh’s chambers.

She emerged from the glistening water in all her naked
glory. He should look away from her lissome form glimmering with a fine dusting
of silver powder. Away from her pert breasts and the smug smile playing on
sensuous lips. Away from the gleam of sexual desire in her gaze.

He refused to show such weakness, maintaining a mask of
indifference.

“My son.” She glided across the white marble tile to stand
before him.

How easily her interest shifted. She caressed the curve of
his cheek. Slender fingers skimmed the muscles in his arms, across his chest,
stomach, to land on his groin, where she gripped the family jewels. Dazzling
blue eyes burned with lust then anger when his cock didn’t harden beneath her
palm.

He felt naught but hatred.

“Clothe yourself, Mother.”

She twisted away with a shrug of a slender shoulder as if
his lack of desire didn’t matter.

He kenned better. She was an incestuous bitch.

Lounging on the white brocade chaise in the center of the
chamber, she positioned her ankle-length blonde hair to best advantage, leaving
breasts and feminine mound open to view. She taunted, hoping to get a rise from
him. She’d be waiting ’til the world and all its realms no longer existed.

He remained behind an impassive facade.

Oonagh scrutinized him through narrowed eyes then grasped a
crystal pawn from the ebony and ivory chessboard. “What brings you to the
palace, Dugaid? You have not bothered to visit your mother in many a decade,
preferring to cavort with those of the earth realm. Perhaps you are more of
their ilk than fae.”

“Unless you care to admit to lying with a human, Mother,
which we both ken you will not do, my status as a pure-bred faerie cannot be
disclaimed.”

“So why are you here?”

“Aye, Mother. Let us cut to the chase.” He hesitated,
locking stares with the bitch. “You will not interfere with Caitrina and the
challenge any further.”

“That is none of your affair, Dugaid.”

“Aye, ’tis. I have recently left Torne Castle and Prince
Torgil, where I signed a betrothal agreement in
fae
blood for Caitrina’s
hand.”

“You fool!” Oonagh rose and quickly clothed herself in
argent silk, meeting him head on. “How dare you go behind my and your father’s
back to negotiate a betrothal?”

“Finvarra could not care less. And as for you, I will only
provide this one warning. Dinnae interfere with Caitrina. She will be my wife.
The mother to my faelings.”

Oonagh snarled, transforming her features into something
unexpectedly ugly. “You dare mix your royal blood with that halfling’s?”

“This discussion is at an end. Remember my warning.”

Dugaid slipped into the vanishing, but as he faded his
mother let fly a parting volley, “She’ll never forgive your deceiving her.”

Every muscle taut, he appeared in the palace stables where
he retrieved his fine stallion and three other mounts then whisked them away to
the earth realm. He rolled his shoulders, relieving some of the tension. In
time, he would make Caitrina understand why it had been necessary to deceive
her these many years. She’d forgive him.

Seeking the hum of fae protection magic—his mother’s
magic—he zeroed in on the hidey-hole of the woodland
bairns
. A child’s
voice tittered on the breeze. The imps must be nearby. “I ken you are here.
Come out. I will not harm you.”

Three deformed lads slipped from the trees, near to quaking
where they stood.

“I have a heroic task for thee.”

Three sets of eyes widened, and the boys shuffled closer. He
handed each a set of reins. “Take these fine beasts to the caves of the Gray
Women and present them to Stephen MacEwen. Dinnae sell them. Dinnae dawdle.
Travel with haste and hand them over to Stephen. Nae other.” Dugaid looked each
child in the eye in turn. “Do you understand?”

The three lads nodded, and he handed each boy a silver coin
snatched from his mother’s chamber.

“Dinnae fail me.”

The lads grinned. The pudgy fellow stepped forward. “We will
do as you request, hoping you will look kindly upon us in the future.”

Cheeky kid
. Dugaid chuckled. “Fare thee well.”

* * *

A week had passed and a severe case of cabin fever, or cave
fever as it be, drove Jillian bat-shit crazy. Stephen refused to allow her to
leave the caves, claiming it was too dangerous to go outside without an armed
guard since a madman, more than likely brandishing a sword or some other relic
weapon, scourged the countryside. The same man who had supposedly kept her
business partner, Laurie, prisoner in these caves several years prior.

A shiver snaked up Jillian’s spine. Could it be true? Laurie
had never mentioned it. Why would she? She hadn’t told Jillian about the time
travel thing either.

Jillian paced the sprawling outer cavern, frowning. And why
did Stephen avoid being alone with her? He seemed to make sure if they were
together the two kids, Keita and Duff, were with them, too. They were becoming
quite the little family unit. The children had burrowed into Jillian’s heart,
but she wanted some alone time with Stephen.

Thank God, each day he was getting better. Stronger.

Stephen entered the chamber with barely a limp, carrying a
claymore, a green gemstone that looked very much like an emerald winking from
the cross section. She’d seen enough of the Scottish swords used by the men in
the Anderson Creek reenactment group to know exactly the name of the long
pointy weapon.

“Your recovery has been truly miraculous,” she said. “I’m
becoming a believer in your fae healing magic.”

His quick grin was electric, and it sent a shiver of
awareness through her body, culminating in the clenching of her sex. She
stepped close to Stephen, placed a palm on his bare chest. The children were
off to who knew where, and she was determined to take advantage of their
absence. Jillian rolled onto the balls of her feet and planted a kiss on
Stephen’s lips.

He stiffened, but then got with the program. The sword
dropped with a clatter to the floor and his arms came around her in a crushing
embrace. He repositioned his head and sought her tongue. The heady sensation
curled her toes. She clutched his firm ass. God, he tasted good from the
medicinal herbs the women made him eat. When the kiss ended they pressed their foreheads
together and just breathed.

“Ach, lass, you make me want things I must not have.”

“What do you mean?” She leaned back and held his gaze. “I
know we haven’t known each other long, but sometimes it only takes a moment to
feel an undeniable attraction that might blossom into more. I feel that with
you.”

He ran a hand through his overlong blond hair. “You are so
sweet…”

“But…”

He opened his mouth, though before he provided an
explanation a crashing noise came from the entrance. Stephen dove for the sword,
and she swirled to face the opening.

Blaney rolled into the cave, landing at her feet.

“What are you doing here?” Jillian fisted hands on hips.
“Where are my things?”

Stephen placed a gentling hand on her arm. “’Tis better for
your future things to remain hidden out of the clutches of those who might
accuse you of practicing the dark arts.”

“
Witchcraft?
” At his nod, she swallowed uneasily,
remembering hearing stories at a Celtic festival about false accusations of
sorcery leveled against women and men alike in Scotland. Many were burned at
the stake. “I thought politics were behind accusations of witchcraft.”

“In some cases,” Stephen agreed. “Fear of those different in
most.”

“Okay. We leave the things hidden.”

Blaney’s gaze ping-ponged between Jillian and Stephen.

Stephen patted the boy on the shoulder. “What brings you to
the caves today?”

“Prince Dugaid sent us.”

Jillian gave Stephen a questioning look. He shrugged and
returned attention to Blaney.

“Dinnae ken the man.”

“The Prince of the Dark River. The son of the King and Queen
of the Fae.”

“Oh, my,” Jillian squeaked.

“He gave us horses to bring to you,” Blaney said. “He said
we mustn’t give them to anyone else. Just you.”

“Where are these horses?” Stephen asked.

“Mack and Cam are tending them at the edge of the wood.”

“You are in luck, lass.” Stephen grinned, squeezing her
hand. “With horses, we can leave for Castle Lachlan as soon as we pack
provisions for the journey.”

This was good news. Finally. Jillian sighed with relief.

“Can we come too?” Keita begged. She and Duff must have
silently slipped into the cavern while they were busy talking with Blaney.

Jillian shot Stephen another questioning glance. She’d hate
to leave the children behind, but he’d have to deal with them once she returned
to the future. And maybe that was why he kept putting on the brakes. Why should
he be with someone who was going to leave him?”

“Aye.” Stephen patted Keita’s blonde head. “You may come
with us.”

* * *