Reunited (Book 2 of Lost Highlander series) (13 page)

She sagged tiredly, having spent the day trying to repay the hospitality of the old lady by hauling water, gathering up eggs and wringing the necks of chickens.

Pietro had gotten an alarming thrill watching her grab one of the bedraggled hens and kill it in short order, with barely a blink. She’d tossed the feathery corpse onto a stump and made off after another one.

To keep from being recruited for such a gruesome chore, he had quickly grabbed the axe and started chopping firewood. He was a bit stiff and sore himself. It had been a surprisingly enjoyable day, working side by side with her, and he’d almost completely forgotten the stress over his circumstances.

“Let me help you,” he said, moving around behind her and leaning over to see how the garment worked in the dim light.

He started tugging on laces and found it was loosening. She eagerly tugged it all the way off and tossed it onto the chest. Her dress was already half off, hanging around her hips in an unwieldy heap of fabric. There were still dozens of buttons to be undone, and he popped them open one by one, and helped her wriggle out of it.

“Thank ye,” she sighed, taking a deep breath and collapsing onto the mattress in her loose shift.

Now that the lace up thing was gone, he could see her skin through the thin fabric, and he hurriedly turned away.

After staring with aversion at the hard packed dirt floor, he decided to give the mattress another chance. He sat down on the other side, unable to hold in a grunt of pain as he tried rolling the kinks out of his shoulders.

Even with the hard manual labor of caring for horses, he’d grown soft when it came to chores like chopping firewood. He much preferred it to be delivered by one of the villagers who made a tidy side business of it in the winter time.

Soft hands gripped his shoulders from behind and began to knead away his aches. She scooted closer, rolling her fingers forward and up the sides of his neck, and his head lolled forward at the sweet release of his stiff muscles.

The heat of her body seeped through his shirt as she leaned into him, and he felt the slightest brush of her shift against his arm.

“Ah, Bella,” he said wistfully. Just the sound of her name on his lips caused him to tighten.

He was nearly overcome with the urge to reach behind him and slide his hands up the backs of her thighs, pushing away her shift so he could feel her skin. He clenched his hands into fists in his lap and tried to chase those thoughts away.

“Will I be your husband in Edinburgh as well?” he asked, his voice coming out more mocking than he meant.

“I am sorry for that,” she said.

He shook his head. “Ye needn’t be. But what will ye do there?”

She massaged his shoulders, pressing her thumbs between his shoulder blades, working her way up the sides of his back and down his arms, prodding his sore biceps.

“I shall live with my aunt,” she said, her words trailing off wistfully.

He realized that she didn’t know what she was going to do beyond hoping her aunt would take her in. The futility of her attempt at freedom struck him forcefully. She would maybe get a week before her husband caught up to her, forced her to return, and live out a life of misery.

“I train horses,” he said. “Breed them as well. I can find work in the city.”

“I can draw,” she said shyly, following his lead. “And speak French. Perhaps I may tutor wee children.” Her fingers slowed and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Aye, that sounds like a good plan. Or ye could give massages,” he said when she started digging into his shoulders again. “That’s amazing, Bella.”

She slapped him lightly on the arm. “That’s scandalous,” she said. “That I might do this to strangers.”

“Am I not a stranger?” he turned so he could see her blush.

She bit her lower lip and he wanted to press his mouth against hers, trace his tongue where her teeth were leaving small indents in the plump flesh.

“I suppose ye are,” she said. “But it feels as if ye aren’t, somehow.” With a shrug, she gave him a gentle push to get him to turn back around so she could continue.  

She made soft sighing noises as she worked, and between that, her hands, and the soft brushes of her body against his back, he was beginning to be discomposed. Unable to control his wayward imaginings, he opened his eyes and saw that he might need a pillow for his lap, and prayed she wouldn’t notice.

She ran her hands down his sides and took the hem of his shirt and pulled. Without a thought he lifted his arms so she could get it over his head. He felt his hair get rumpled from the neckband as she tugged it firmly to get it off.

The cool air caused goosebumps to spring out on his touch sensitized back and though he tried to stay still, a shiver ran through him.

For a moment she was distracted by the t-shirt fabric and he sat frozen, not wanting her to stop, but at the same time afraid what might happen if she continued. The feel of her fingers kneading his muscles was intoxicating, and doing more to him than just easing his aches and pains. The battle to tamp down his desire was lost.

“The stitches are so fine. I can barely see them,” she said.

When he didn’t answer her, she tossed the shirt aside and began stroking his bare skin. This time her touch was feather light, fingers trailing up the sides of his arms and down his back, and again up the sides of his waist.

He bit his lip and tried to breathe evenly as she raised more goosebumps along his back with her fingernails, then smoothed them away with her palms. She rested her hands on the tops of his arms and he was actually throbbing with wanting to turn around and kiss her, reciprocate her touch.

He closed his eyes and waited, thinking she would stop and get under the covers, turn away to the wall and fall asleep like the night before. Then he could go take a five mile run through the woods to get over her tantalizing rub down.

Instead, she leaned closer. He could feel her breasts through the thin fabric of her shift and feel her breath on his shoulder.

“Ye want me,” she said, her lips soft against his neck.

He’d never reached for a pillow to put in his lap. It was clear as day that he wanted her. He nodded, keeping his eyes closed. She pressed a kiss into the side of his neck, under his ear. Another on his jaw. She pushed herself fully against him and with an anguished moan, he turned around and crushed her to him, one hand behind her back and the other wrapped in her hair.

He claimed her mouth, which was open and eager for him. She flung her arms around his neck and ground herself closer to him, whimpering as he dragged his mouth away from hers so he could kiss her down the front of her throat, then through the fabric of her shift.

With a growl, he tore at the strings that tied it shut so that it finally flew open, revealing her small round breasts and taut nipples. He traced one with his tongue and reveled in her gasp of pleasure.

He glanced up at her and saw her eyes were wide and glazed, and a wave of lust crashed over him. She grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him with eager abandon, running her hands over his shoulders and down his chest. She shook under his touch as he took her by the hips and eased her backwards onto the mattress.

He knelt over her, looking down at her hair all spread out on the thin, lumpy pillow, her hands reaching up to him and her eyes determined.

He swung his leg over and leaned down to kiss her, edging the hem of her shift up with one hand while he caressed her breast with the other, teasing her nipple with his thumb.

Even as she shivered with desire at his touch, and his own need almost blinded him, her husband lurked in the back of his mind. He knew if he went forward he truly would be killed if they were caught.

Her shift was all the way up at her waist and he could feel her knees trembling at his sides. He’d never wanted anyone this way before, where the risk of being murdered hardly gave him pause. Could he allow her to be in that same danger? He regretfully tore his hand from her breast and pushed himself up.

“Should we stop?” he asked.

She blinked and grabbed his arms, jerking him back down on top of her, and wrapping her legs around his hips.

“No,” she said urgently, almost angrily. She bit her bottom lip and arched into his throbbing need, running her fingers down his arm and guiding his hand back to her breast. “I want ye so.”

She lifted her chin and kissed him softly, sighing against his mouth.

“Okay,” he said, completely undone. “Yeah, okay.”

So, this is our first fight, Piper thought.

After he told her he was leaving, she’d stood there, aghast. When he tried to take her in his arms, she shrugged away, stomping up to the house, trying not to cry, rage and fear and sadness all warring to take center stage.

Here he had risked everything to find her again, to save her, and he was going to leave because he may have forgotten to turn off his stove? She wanted to punch him, and stopped mid-stride, turning around swinging her bunched up fist. He grabbed her hand and held it.

“Piper, it is no’ that easy to explain.”

“You’re not leaving without me,” she said, wrenching her hand away and trying again to take a swipe at him.

With a mournful look, he sidestepped her attempt. “But ye canna go with me, my love. We tried.”

She slammed into the kitchen and contemplated pouring herself a whiskey. Sam kept bringing over different kinds, trying to get her to develop a taste for it.

No, she needed her wits about her to make this hard headed man understand what he was up against.

“We’ll do it the other way,” she said. “We can.”

Lachlan sat down on a barstool and rubbed his forehead before he looked at her with dawning realization.

“Did ye keep her things?” he asked in a low voice.

Her heart sank at his tone. The accoutrements to her ancestor Daria’s way of time travel were sick and evil. Human bones, blood. A spell book that made her take leave of her senses. The one time she’d done it, she’d been scared witless. The book had taken over and she was merely a mouthpiece, not understanding what she was doing or saying during the ritual. It was dangerous to the point of being deadly.

Daria had given her lover Brian a special amulet, a gold pendant, to protect him when she’d sent him forward. Lachlan had been sent forward accidentally, and without an amulet had become sick and weak.

After she sent Lachlan back to his own time and was able to bring back Sam and Evie, everyone had begged her to destroy the book, bones and pendant, but she hadn’t. She couldn’t.

“I would never have used them,” she said. “I wanted to everyday. I wanted you back. It was like there was a hole in my life and it wasn’t getting smaller, but I still never used them.”

He put his head on his folded arms and sighed. Her hands itched to smooth his hair or squeeze his shoulder, but she reminded herself he was set on leaving and kept still.

“I am sorry,” he said, turning his head to look at her.

His eyes were so filled with anguish, she gasped, but didn’t move.

“Then stay.”

Her heart hurt at the remembrance of the last time she’d asked him to stay. He hadn’t. If he left now, how could she carry on again? The last six months had been a frenzy of busy work, getting her great-grandmother’s estate in order, and she’d felt like the walking dead the entire time.

“Just stay,” she said again.

“I cannot.” He sat up and slammed his fist on the bar.

She jumped at the suddenness of his anger, then steadied her nerves. “Then I go with you,” she said, pulling herself up to her full five feet of height.

He glared at her and she glared right back, going so far as to raise a challenging eyebrow at him. His face softened but she remained firm.

“The thing in the past, in your time,” she said. “Can’t it just stay there? It’s so far away now.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “It is nothing to me. A walk to the woods. There are things I left undone. Not just yer ancestor, though I will find him, I swear.”

“What things?” she asked, her voice rising in frustration.

She was willing to walk away from everything without a backward glance for him. What in the past would he leave her for?

He looked at the refrigerator, the clock on the wall, above her head and over her shoulder, but wouldn’t meet her eye. A muscle worked in his jaw as he avoided answering her.

“Your wee many times great-granny. I ran off her husband. I canna’ leave her there withou’ finding the right one.”

“History might work itself out.”

“And it might no’. I am no’ willing to take the chance.”

Piper wanted to slam her own fist down on the bar. He was being obstinate and obtuse, and she knew he would leave again, no matter how long she argued.

“Are we together?” she asked, swiping away angry tears.

“Aye,” he said. He reached across the bar and gripped her arms.

“Then we stay together.”

“Piper …” he looked tortured.

 A knock on the door caused them both to turn and give the stable lad who was edging into the kitchen murderous looks. The boy cowered and started to leave.