My Highlander Cover Model (4 page)

“What are you saying? You spoke that language earlier….”

“’Tis the Gaelic, my mother’s tongue. I told you before that you are beautiful.” He let go of her shoulders and cupped her cheek. “I told you to see my heart, and I called you my darlin’. Look into my eyes. Do you see Roderick?”

How could she think straight when he looked at her so intensely? His eyes burned with passionate, green fire. He spoke Gaelic, or what he claimed was Gaelic. Whatever, it was enough to squeeze her heart and curl her toes. He thought her beautiful? No man had ever said that to her before. Calling her “my darling” caused a few hot tears to cluster. Blinking back the gathering wetness, she did as he asked, and looked deeply into his eyes. No, she didn’t see Roderick. But what did that prove? When she stood close to him like this, she could believe anything he told her. Almost. She’d never claimed to know Roderick that well. Everything in this house proved the opposite of what she’d thought Roderick was—an arrogant ass. Instead, she observed a cozy, tastefully decorated home with many pictures of family about. Books that showed a mind that strove to learn new things. The house was clean, his clothes neat and organized. In her bit of snooping in the kitchen, even his herbs and spices had been lined up alphabetically in the cupboard.

The eyes were different; that she could admit. They sizzled with life and passion she’d never noticed in Roderick’s eyes before, or maybe she’d never looked. All a man had to do was speak a little Gaelic to convince her he came from another time and another body? However, something had happened. The sword had come to life and vibrated. Hell, it had
hummed
. That, she hadn’t imagined. When he regained consciousness, he was no longer Roderick. That was a stark truth.

“Do you want me to be truthful? I honestly don’t know. I need more time to process this. No, I don’t see Roderick, but I only had a few dealings with him. We weren’t that close, so I’ve nothing to compare it to. When we both gripped the sword, it vibrated and made a weird sound. Then it slipped from our hands and it hit Roderick in the forehead.” Her fingers brushed by the welt and Cailin moaned softly from her touch. “When he woke up, he was different. He was—you. I can’t completely dismiss it, but I can’t accept it all, either. I need time.”

Cailin clasped her hand and brought it to his mouth and kissed it gently. “Skye, I have a feeling time is the one thing I dinna have. Mayhap the sword is enchanted, I dinna know. But I feel in here,” his fist lowered to his solar plexus, “that my time here is limited. This is no’ my body, no’ my life. I canna stay.”

His words cut surprisingly deep. She liked Cailin a lot, with his Scottish brogue, his searing kisses, and his flash of temper. Truth was, she would hate to see him go, whether he really came from 1814 or a figment from his own imagination as a result of the bonk on the head. As if reading her mind, he let go of her hand and glanced to the mess on the floor.

“I do have a spark of temper, Skye. Forgive me for my petulance. I will clean this up right away.”

Without thinking, she cupped his whiskered cheek. Cailin moaned and leaned into her touch. Another wave of desire tore through her body.

“I’ll fix you another plate. I bought plenty,” she said.

Cailin laid his hand over hers, his gaze intense and concerned.

“Did I scare you, lass? I dinna mean to frighten you. I just feel so useless. By the honor of my family and clan, I will earn my keep while I am here. I am grateful for your concern and care. You will tell me all about being a model, and I will do my best.”

Skye’s heart banged against her ribs. Comforting warmth spread through her whole body. She wasn’t falling for him, was she?

Chapter Five

A fire crackled in the hearth. After eating, a tour of the house and the many electrical objects, both settled in the room of living. Nay, the living room, he corrected himself, was sparsely furnished. The covering on the seating was brown leather and the walls were the color of sand, and the fireplace done in light-colored granite. What Skye called a “stereo” and a “television” completed the look. Cailin was silently thankful he had a brain in his head, or how else would he remember everything Skye told him? The information was still hard to fathom. So much had changed in two hundred years, yet some things changed not at all. Sitting on the rug before the fireplace, they both sipped some of the lad Roderick’s fine Scotch whisky. He raised his glass in silent toast to his descendant’s picture. Taking a sip, he let the single malt slide down his throat.

Frowning, he gazed into the smoky depths of his glass. He spoke the truth to the lass; he did not know how long he would be here. The sword was enchanted, there could be no doubt of it. His father’s words and Skye explaining about the blade vibrating and humming was proof enough for him.

“Skye, how did Roderick come to have the sword?”

She crossed her legs and set her glass of whisky on the rug.

“The sword’s mine, actually. I bought it last week at an antique store, a place they sell old things people like to collect.”

“Mayhap if we go to this store….”

She shook her head. “I asked the owner where he got it, and he said it was part of an estate sale from upstate New York. It’s passed through many owners, from what he understood.”

Well, nothing to be discovered down that path
.

“What can you tell me about your life in 1814?”

Cailin glanced up quickly, looking for scorn and mockery on her lovely face. There was none. Mayhap she was starting to believe?

“What do you wish to know, lass?”

“How old are you? Did you—do you have a sweetheart? How many brothers and sisters did—do you have?”

Cailin laughed softly. “I am a warrior. There’s little time for sweethearts. My training was intense. Warriors in the Macbeth clan are no’ permitted to marry until age twenty-eight. I am twenty-seven. Besides, none of the village lasses caught my eye. As for my family, I have two older sisters and four younger brothers. I am the oldest son. My brother Iain is but eleven months younger than I.” He looked off toward the setting sun through the large window. “My oldest sister died in childbirth not long ago, and we lost the two youngest lads from cholera. Much heartache. Then came the battle over our lands—” Cailin sighed, the memories breaking his heart all over again.

Skye reached out and touched his arm in sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

He laid his hand on top of hers. By the saints, her touch was powerful.

“Do you have Scottish blood? Your name, Skye, is after the island. ’Tis a beautiful, wild place, with jagged rocks and soft, sandy beaches. The color of your eyes is much like the gray clouds that swirl above. Alive, passionate, and wary.”

Skye’s cheeks flushed with color at his words. She murmured her thanks at his compliment. He meant what he’d said, every bluidy word.

“Everyone has Scottish blood, Cailin. My great-grandfather’s last name was Chisholm, I know that much. I guess my last name Bancroft is Scottish, too,” she said.

“Is there any way I can find out if Roderick is a descendant?”

“Just a minute.” Skye scrambled to her feet and disappeared down the hall. When she returned, she had a book in her hand. She sat down next to him. “I saw this earlier in his room. An address book.” Flipping through the pages, she stopped. “Well, this is interesting. William and Sandra Thorburn, Box 2165, Baddeck, Nova Scotia. Roderick’s Canadian? I had no idea.”

“My God, Nova Scotia,” he whispered. It could not be a coincidence. “’Tis Latin for New Scotland. At the time of The Clearances, a lot of families left for Nova Scotia. So it would seem mine did as well at some point, and live there still.”

The information hit him hard. So the battle—the war—would come to naught in the end. His head began to ache. So much had happened. Mayhap he would go to sleep and awake in his own small bedroom in his family’s house and all this would be the elaborate dream of a man who’d been injured in battle. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to stem the roll of heartache and pain.

Skye touched his arm once again. He stood, pulling her up with him.

“’Tis time for bed.”

He lifted her into his arms and strode down the hall.

“What in hell are you doing?”

She squirmed and tried to escape, but he held her firm to his chest. The feeling of holding Skye in his arms, he could not describe. The rightness of it, her warmth, and the feel of her delectable curves all added to the utter joy he felt. He liked she spoke her mind. Cailin always imagined he wanted a brave lass to take as wife. If she happened to be beautiful, so much the better. Skye met all his hopes and more.

“I said earlier, lass, you would sleep in my bed, and you shall.”

“Are you nuts? It’s not even eight thirty yet!”

Her fists beat on his chest, but it did not hurt him. An amused smile curved his lips.

“The sun is setting, lass. Time for rest.”

Cailin laid her on the bed and she immediately tried to get away. He lay on his side and pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin.

Skye cursed and wriggled and tried to kick his shin. All her movements were doing was hardening his cock. His throbbing prick snuggled between her arse cheeks as if it was content to do so.

Cailin leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I would stop moving about Skye, or ’twill be more than sleeping I’ll be doing.”

Skye froze. His erection was hard and insistent. She’d no idea what to say. While his commanding ways turned her on to a point, this was ridiculous. He moved the hair from her neck and his warm, soft lips laid passionate kisses on her bare skin.

“I will confess, Skye, this has nothing to do with protection. I wanted you in my arms. To feel your wee, lush body against mine. You bring me comfort. You are my lifeline in this confusion I find myself in. I know if I hold on to you, I willna drown.”

Okay, he’d charmed her once again. Her body softened and she nestled closer. Wriggling her ass, she smiled when a deep growl of passion left his throat. As Skye listened, Cailin’s breathing deepened. The man must be exhausted. The sun had all but set now; the room illuminated by muted moonlight through the half-open mini-blinds.

What had happened the last twenty-four hours? This crazy situation was right out of a movie. Nineteenth-century highland warrior with an enchanted sword? Skye had the urge to laugh uncontrollably. Maybe he would wake up and be Roderick again, the bash on the head and the hallucination a thing of the past. Skye cast a glance over her shoulder. He had fallen asleep. Slowly, she pulled away toward the edge of the bed.

“Doona leave me, Skye.”

The words were raw, real, and laced with emotion. Her heart contracted at the tone in his deep brogue, at the need, the want, and the yearning. Oh damn, she couldn’t resist him.

“I’ll stay, Cailin.”

He pulled her back toward him, his erection still prodding her back. Yet he did nothing about his aroused state. All he wanted, all he needed—was comfort.

She would give it gladly.

***

Cailin stood in the middle of the “supermarket,” as Skye had named it. By the saints, ’twas super, all right. He’d never seen such an abundance of food and goods under one roof. She explained every neighborhood had one, and there were huge farms growing the food. People did not each need a few acres to yield potatoes and beans: it was all here to buy. People grew vegetables as more of a pastime instead of for sustenance.

Truly, he must look as a fool, walking up and down the aisles, as she called them, and gaping at the boxes and tins of food. They stopped in front of a case full of meat.

“What foods do you like, Cailin?”

“I dinna see venison or mutton. Chicken and a roast of bullock would suffice. I also like pork.”

Skye giggled. “There isn’t much call for mutton and venison around here.”

Cailin glanced at all the meat laid out behind the glass. This could feed his village for months! The future had too much of everything, people, cars, houses, and now food. A stark contrast to his wee village, where everyone toiled sunrise to sunset to keep starvation and ruin at bay.

They continued down the aisles. Skye explained each item she placed in the wheeled cart. Her sweet voice faded to the background as he thought back to the previous night. He’d never fallen asleep with a lass in his arms. His training did not allow for proper courting of any the clan’s lasses. The lesson of keeping his honor, and his prick sheathed when around innocent maidens, meant something to him. So he’d found his pleasures with a few whores from a nearby town, usually a quick tup against a wall in a dark alley. Never had a long-term dalliance where he spent hours making love to a woman, or staying the night or holding her in his embrace. His slumber—when it had come—was peaceful and deep. Skye was the reason. When he woke, she’d already risen and the odor of bacon and eggs filled his nostrils. The lass cooked him breakfast, then showed him how to work the bathing contraption. The temptation to strip her bare and pull her in under the pulsating warm jets of water with him was hard to ignore. Nor could he overlook the constant throb between his legs.

He cast a sideways glance at her. The golden-brown hair was pulled back and tied, showing her luminous skin to best advantage. The tight trews and shirt she wore again showed an abundance of soft curves. In his time, women kept covered in serviceable gowns that kept a lad guessing what lurked underneath. Cailin glanced up and down the aisle. They were alone. Taking Skye by the wrist, he spun her around gently until her back rested against the shelves. Without hesitating, he leaned down and captured her petal-soft lips in his. Angling his head, he dove deeper into the luscious warmth of her mouth.

Skye sputtered in surprise, but her tongue joined his, tangling, dancing, and caressing. Her hands lay flat on his chest, and she moved them in a seductive manner. She flicked his nipples through his stretchy shirt material until they hardened under her touch.