To Love a Highland Dragon (5 page)

Lachlan nodded to himself. Life had certainly improved if you didn’t have to light a fire to cook over and tend the kindling so it either didn’t go out or blaze so brightly the food burned. Not having to retreat outside to the spring house or the buttery for cold items was another improvement. “Where is the pump?” He tapped the kitchen faucet.

She sliced bread from a loaf and laid four pieces on the counter. “Let’s see,” she mused. “Where to begin. There’s a city water system. Water comes to houses through underground pipes. All I have to do is turn the faucet.” Her eyes sparkled. “Put your hand under this.” She flipped a lever.

Though he tried for equanimity, Lachlan felt his eyes widen. “’Tis hot.” He drew his hand back. “Ye doona have to heat bath water over a stove?”

Maggie shook her head and returned to the bread, spreading something on it. “Nope. Why don’t you go check out the bathroom while I finish the sandwiches? I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Lachlan looked about. Bathroom should mean a room where a bathing tub was located. In poorer homes that was always the kitchen, usually behind a curtained alcove, yet he didn’t see any hidden nooks.

“Go back to the living room and down the hall. It’s the door on your right.”

He was reluctant to leave her side. There was something soothing about standing next to Maggie, and exciting, too. He felt he’d known her far longer than only a few hours.

Almost as if she could read his thoughts, she said, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

He bent his head, brushed his lips against her neck, and followed her directions toward the bathroom. It was dark in the hall, so he called his mage light.

“What have ye gotten us into?”
Kheladin hissed deep in his mind.

“Do ye have any better ideas? We slept for better than three hundred years. The world is vastly different. I must have information afore we can plot a course.”

“Hmph,”
the dragon snorted. Lachlan swallowed back steam that sat just at the back of his throat.
“I could overfly—”

“No. I doona believe there are any dragons left. I havena asked the lass about modern weaponry, but ’tis likely something exists that could blow you out of the sky. And me right along with you.”

“What do ye mean,
no dragons left
?”

Lachlan swallowed hard. There was so much about the year 2012 that troubled him, he hadn’t dissected each one. And he wasn’t going to now. The most important thing was seeing if Rhukon were still a threat.
“I havena seen any,”
Lachlan said cautiously.
“It may mean nothing, yet I dinna sense dragon energy anywhere.”

“Ye must cede to my form, so we may look.”
Compulsion ran strong beneath Kheladin’s frantic words.

Lachlan fought the dragon’s magic. He clamped his jaw firmly shut.
“Soon. We need to know more afore we take unnecessary risks.”
He stood in the hallway, every muscle tense, waiting. After long moments, the dragon backed down, grumbling that there wasn’t space for him.

Lachlan exhaled sharply and continued down the short corridor, not wanting to think about what it meant if the dragons were truly gone. He turned a doorknob and walked into a tiled room with a bathtub, a sink, and what had to be a commode, except there was no odor, and it was filled with what looked like water. Experimentally, he hiked his kilt to the side, took hold of his cock, and pissed into the basin.

Lachlan frowned and looked at the commode. A pull chain ran down from a white box mounted on the wall behind it. He pulled the chain and jumped back as water whooshed out of the commode only to be replaced with new. He grinned. Clever, but where did the piss and shit go? He’d have to ask the lass.

He stepped to the sink and turned first one tap and then the other. One discharged hot water, the other cold.
Mayhap living in this era willna be quite so bad as I’d feared.
Lachlan grimaced. He was focusing on small things to avoid thinking about the loss of a way of life that had been precious. Friends, family, his castle, even his servants were lost to him.

“Lachlan. Your sandwich is ready.”

“Coming, lass.” He turned his mind to Kheladin.
“We willna be telling her about you. Not yet, anyway, so no smoke, steam, or fire.”

“Fine by me. Do us both a favor and bed the lass. She’s nearly begging for it, and ’twill clear our heads to search for Rhukon.”

Lachlan walked slowly down the hall. He extinguished the magic powering his light before he emerged from behind the curtain that separated the hall from the front room. Maggie sat at the table. He pulled out the empty chair and joined her.

She smiled around a mouthful of sandwich. “What did you think?”

“Of the garderobe?”

She nodded. “I’d forgotten they used to be called that, but didn’t those just have toilets in them?”

He took a sip of the tea she’d made for him despite his protests. It was surprisingly good, smooth and tannic-y with just the right amount of cream and sugar. “Most were as ye described. Wealthier homes had a pump for water somewhere close by. Where does the waste go?”

She set down her sandwich and took a swallow of tea. “I heard the toilet flush and thought you might be curious. There’s a sewer system. Waste water flows from houses to a central processing plant where it’s cleansed and recycled.”

“Ye reuse shit?” He stared suspiciously at his teacup.

“Don’t worry. Drinking water has to meet certain safety standards. Without going into a whole lot of detail, there are too many people on Earth. Later, I’ll bring up a globe, er, representation of Earth on my computer, so you can see all the countries.” Her brow wrinkled. “Um, a computer is— Never mind, I’ll just show you in a little bit. Anyway,” she waved a hand airily, “there’s not enough water, so it’s important not to squander what we have.”

Lachlan returned to his sandwich.
Not enough water? The lass must be daft.
Enormous oceans covered much of Earth. Oceans so large, it took men months to cross them.

“You don’t believe me, which is understandable. Let’s switch gears, though.” She must have responded to confusion on his face, because she clarified, “Topics. Let’s switch topics. There’s no way I’ll be able to give you a primer on modern life in a few hours. At best, you need enough so you can blend in better.”

“Agreed. I hate to admit it, but ye may be right about my garb. I dinna see even one other man in a plaid.”

“We’ll take care of that tomorrow. Have you given any thought to what you want to do now that you’re here?”

“Aye. I must see if Rhukon yet lives.”

“Who’s that?” Maggie’s eyes narrowed.

“The warlock who ensorcelled us, er me.”

“How could he possibly still be alive? You were in sort of suspended animation. Presumably, he wasn’t.”

Lachlan shrugged. “Well, lass, I was trapped by his spell until a few hours ago. ’Tis a solid argument that he, too, lives. Or, mayhap, that he finally died and ’tis why I am finally free.”
And wouldn’t it be lovely if I knew just which of those alternatives was true.
He smothered his frustration and took another bite of the food she’d made. It was really quite good. “Thank you.” He pointed to his plate.

“You’re welcome. Where would you look for this Rhukon?”

“His castle used to be in Inishowen, and he had a manor house a few leagues south of Inverness. From what I have seen, it appears unlikely either yet stands, although ’twould be a logical place to begin.” An idea blossomed. “Could ye teach me to drive your car? I could hunt Rhukon while ye work.”

She pushed her chair back from the table, stretched out her long, bare legs, and folded her hands over her belly. “The short answer is, of course I could teach you to drive, but there’s much more to it than that.” She reached for her bag, lying on the floor next to her chair, and extracted a leather pouch. “Here.” She handed him a card with a likeness of her face and writing on it.

“What might this be?” He flicked at the plastic with a fingernail.

“My international driver’s license. You have to have some sort of license to drive a car.”

“Couldna we secure one for me?”

“You don’t have any identification.”

He bristled. “I have my word.”

“That’s not enough anymore. Besides, even if you had a birth certificate, or a family bible or something where births were written down, no one would believe you. What year were you born, anyway?”

“1316.” The words slipped out before he understood he should have picked a fake date much closer to 1683. “Sorry, what I meant was—”

She held up a hand. “No. You told me the truth. Rhukon may have bested you, but you have power. I felt it when I let you inside my head. What are you?”

“A warlock, just like you’re a witch.” He tried to smooth the lie over with spells, but she saw right through him.

“Try again, buddy.” She sounded annoyed—and disappointed. “I may not have developed my magic, but I do recognize truth when I hear it.”

The strains of a Braham’s lullaby sounded. Maggie made another grab for her bag and pulled her phone from its pouch. Lachlan’s eyes widened. “Good God, lass. What in the nine hells—?”

“Shh.” She waved him to silence, tapped the
Answer
icon and said, “Dr. Hibbins.”

“It’s Berta,” one of the nurses who ran the mental health unit said. “Sorry to bother you, since you take so little personal time, but Chris Conley’s back in here.”

“What did he do this time?” Aware of Lachlan both listening and watching her intently, Maggie kept her words neutral. Discussing patients in front of anyone but treatment staff was bad practice.

“It’s not pretty,” Berta went on. “He’s alive but wouldn’t be if his sister hadn’t found him.”

Maggie glanced at the time and bit her lip. “Is he conscious?”

“Yes, and asking for you.”

Damn!
“Okay. I’ll grab my things. Be there in half an hour or less.”

A weary sigh rustled through the phone. “Thanks, Doc. He’s quite a handful. We need someone to write orders, so we can release him—to somewhere.”

“Got it.” Maggie disconnected and looked speculatively at Lachlan. “I have to go to the hospital. I could drive you back into town, or,” she inhaled sharply, “I suppose you could stay here until I get back.”

“Why do ye need to leave?”

Maggie shook her head. “One of my patients needs me. I can’t tell you any more than that.”

“And why not?” He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly used to being obeyed without question.

“Because people are entitled to privacy regarding their medical conditions.”

His forehead creased. “I am understanding your words but not your meaning. If a man is ill, everyone in his village knows of it.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Yes, that might have been true three hundred years ago. Not so much anymore. In any event,” she got to her feet, “what do you want to do?”

“How far are we from Inverness?”

“About ten miles.”

“How much is that in leagues?”

“Not exactly certain, but I think there are about three miles to a league.”

“That isna so bad. I could walk if I chose to leave here. Probably a bit chancy to rely on magic.”

Maggie came to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Leaving is not a good idea until we can get you different clothes. Magic’s not either, but you already realized that. No one is used to it anymore. Witches take care to shield their spells.” She shook her head emphatically. “You need modern clothing if you’re going to wander about. I’d planned to buy you some. Let’s see, if you don’t come with me…” her voice trailed off. “Aha! This could work. Get up.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth and made a come along motion with two fingers.

Lachlan snorted. “I’m scarcely a horse for ye to cluck at. I will rise, but because I desire it, not because ye ordered me.” He flowed to his feet and gathered her into his arms. “Now, lass,” his green gaze snared her, and the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement, “are ye wanting a kiss afore ye leave?”

She wriggled loose.
Of course I want kisses. Any woman would want them from him.
“No, silly. I wanted to get a better look at your, um, body. So I can bring you home some clothes. As long as I stay with something fairly loose-fitting…”

“Aye.” He thrust his cloak aside, unbuckled his sword belt, and dropped the sword on the floor with a clatter. With the tiniest of flourishes, Lachlan began unwinding his kilt from his upper body. He was far too thin, but his body was unbelievable, simmering with barely repressed sexuality. Beautifully muscled shoulders and upper arms came into full view, along with a chest lightly sprinkled with tawny hair, as he pushed his shirt back on his shoulders.

Maggie’s throat thickened. Desire shot through her so intense she wondered if her knees would buckle. She held up a hand. “Stop. That’s all I need.”

His green eyes twinkled merrily. “And are ye quite sure, lass? I could remove my plaid and take my shirt all the way off—so ye were certain to get the sizing correct.”

In spite of herself, her eyes travelled downward. The unmistakable swell of an erection belled the front of his kilt. Before she could stop herself, her hand snaked toward him. She yanked it back. “Quite certain. I— er, I have to leave. Now. If I get any closer to you, I’m not sure I’ll be able to drag myself out of here.”

“Really?” He cocked his head to one side and gave her the come-hitherest of looks, green eyes ablaze with lust.

“Goddammit.” She took a step backward and willed her out-of-control libido to give her a break. “You know how drop dead gorgeous you are. I’ll bet those seventeenth century lassies fell all over one another to get a glimpse under your kilt.”

“Aye.” His voice was like liquid honey. “That they did. But I only let a few verra special ones take a peek.” He unwrapped another fold of plaid. The hard, flat planes of his stomach emerged, with slabs of muscle that descended under the fabric precariously draped around his waist.