The Highlander's Time (11 page)

“You can open your eyes, Jenny.”

Calling up every ounce of courage she possessed, Jenny cracked her left eye then her right. “Oh, my.”

The view stretching out before her was spectacular. Rolling hills dotted with cottages. She could also see why Iaen came here to hunt. The land below her teemed with wildlife. Her lips formed a perfect 'o' when the shaggy coat of a deer moved into her line of sight. The animal nuzzled something hidden by the high grass. A happy smile crossed her features when a smaller version of the mother peeked its head up and trotted off. It was a scene right out of a travel brochure. “Where are we?”

“This is the highest moor on Kincaid land. Every year I come here to reaffirm why I am Laird.” He swept his arm in an arc. Steering them around, he pointed to the north. “That is Clan Wulfson's territory.”

“Your mother was from there. Something about she married your father to secure peace between the Kincaids and the barbarians to the north. Elspeth told me.” She rushed at the end, hoping she didn't get Elspeth into trouble.

“Aye.” He nodded.

She watched him close his eyes. Clamping her lips tight, she waited while he silently said something. Inherently, she knew he was praying the coming year was a good one. Staring down at her gloved hands, she added her own prayers to his.

“You do me proud, milady.”

A pang of a foreign emotion chugged in her heart and her smile bloomed. Finishing her prayer, she exhaled slowly. Her gaze immediately sought his. “I could say the same about you.” She meant it.

He threw back his head and laughed. She was about to ask him what had him acting like an escapee from the asylum when he pulled her onto his lap and headed for the trail at a breakneck pace.

“What's up?” The whistle of an arrow slicing through the air had her clinging to him. “Maybe it was a wild shot.”
Oh, please let it be a wild shot. A misguided hunter or a nearsighted local.

A sharp gasp and a quick inhalation hit her ears.

“It came from across the border.”

“I don't understand.”

“The Wulfson knows my practice of coming here to hunt for the Christmastide feast.”

“Are you saying he was aiming for you?”

“Keep your head down.”

She didn't breathe until they were halfway down the moor. “Jiminy Crickets. What was that all about?” She listened to the heavy thud of his heartbeat. Unlike the few romances she'd read, the sound of his heart beating didn't comfort her. If anything, it made her nervousness grow.

Iaen heaved a sigh. “I donnae know.”

“Did you hear it hit?” She knew she'd heard it slice through the air but hadn't seen it tear past her.

“Lass, the arrow is in my arm.”

“You can't be serious.” She tilted her gaze to his face. “Okay. Okay. I know, you don't jest.” Her gaze dashed everywhere and nowhere. “Why aren't you stopping?” she asked once they reached the base of the moor.

“I'll not have you in danger.”

“How could I be in danger? The hill separates us from them.”

“If they were to pursue us, the only thing between you and them is my back.”

“Stop the macho bull and stop the horse so I can see how bad the damage is.”

“Nay.”

“Nay?”
Pig headed idiot
. “Are we going to fight about this?”

“Only if you choose to order me to rein in.”

“What if I say pretty please?” She even turned on her best sickeningly sweet tone.

“Nay.”

“Iaen, what if you are really hurt? I couldn't find my way back to Castle Kincaid. I'll starve to death in a day.”

“Wife, calm thyself. You forget, I am never alone. There are at least half a dozen crofters watching us.”

“I don't see anybody.” Curling her fingers into the thick material covering his chest, she hung on for dear life. Fear gripped her heart. She couldn't take this. What if he died? Born beneath an unlucky star—yep, that was her. Born to watch the people she loved meet untimely deaths—that was her, too.

“That's because you are hiding your face against my cloak. If you'd but look.”

“Iaen, I'm scared.” Cautiously peeking to the side, she saw several men running toward them, all wearing the black, gold and green plaid of Clan Kincaid. Some carried long bows, arrows nocked, poised to fly. “Are we going back to the castle?” She willed him to tell her they were going home.

“Nay, we'll stay in the Laird's cottage tonight.”

“Milord,” a crofter called. “Did you see who shot at you?”

Iaen shook his head. “Assist
my lady
onto her horse and see she is taken to the Laird's cottage.”

“I won't leave you.” She gripped his cloak with all her might.

“Shh, I'll be only a few moments.” He tossed his reins to a farmer. Brushing his hand down her hair, he laid a kiss to her head. “Trust me, sweetling.”

***

With the crofter's help, Iaen managed to get Jenny to release him. Once she was off his lap, he swung his leg over the back of the Black.

“'Tis luck your mantle caught most of the damage, milord.”

“Aye,” Iaen agreed as he reached across his chest and pulled the arrow out. He'd known his cloak had taken most of the damage.

“Let me see,” Jenny was at his side before aught could stop her. She lifted his mantle away searched the spot. “You scared the hell out of me for a scratch. It's hardly even bleeding.” She balled up her fist and punched him square in the chest. “Ow.”

His little warrior was back in true form and if the sparkle of anger dancing in her eyes was any indication, she'd gladly run him through. Wrapping her in his embrace, he drank in a lungful of air then expelled it slowly. If Jenny had been injured, by God, the ground would run red with Wulfson blood.

“I'd sleep with one eye open this eve, milord.” A crofter teased him.

Iaen chuckled with him, but sobered quickly. 'Twas the feel of her nuzzling his chest that brought up all his fury. “Jenny, go with Oswald. I promise I'll not be long.”

He gritted his teeth when he saw the tears swimming in her eyes. “You've naught to fear.” Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, he brushed his fingers down her cheek.

“What if I'm worried for you?”

“'Twill take more than an arrow to lay me low,” he lied, he hoped convincingly. “Go, milady. I'd know you are safe.”

“Okay.”  She released him with reluctance.

He whistled for Serendipity. The loyal filly trotted to where they stood. Lifting Jenny into the saddle, he sent her a wink of reassurance. “Until later, milady.”

She managed a nod but she looked so unhappy his heart hurt for her. “I'll be waiting.” Her fingers wrapped around the high pommel as Oswald led her away.

Iaen waited until he was sure Jenny was out of earshot. Racing back up to the top of the moor, he stood on the dry winter grass. Bracing his feet wide, he propped his fists on his hips. This insult was inexcusable. He scanned the border. “If you want me, here I stand!”

Behind him, he heard the crofters make the trek.

“Wulfson!”

His sword sang from its home. Holding his blade aloft, he ground his teeth together. Anger surged through his veins. The arrow hadnae been meant for him. Nay. 'Twas meant for Jenny. Why would Laird Wulfson want to harm Jenny? “Meet me like a warrior, you coward!”

His challenge echoed over the land. Afore the final reverberation fell off, Iaen's battle cry rent the air twain.

Spinning around on the heel of his boot, Iaen headed for the Laird's cottage and Jenny.

His gaze slid to the sun dipping low on the horizon, he sighed. 'Twas too late to head for home and sound a warning. It also didn't help that he couldnae leave Jenny unguarded in the crofter's cottage his sire had stayed in when he hunted for the holiday banquet. He'd followed the tradition of taking on a hunt the same way his sire had, and stayed in the cottage. In a way, it took him back to his childhood.

Some of his happiest memories revolved around coming to the border for these few days.

A shrill whistle rent the air. His stallion trotted over to meet him at the base. With his footsteps rustling the grass, he gained his saddle. He noted a young boy standing near whom he suspected was his father.

The filly.

Aye, Serendipity could make the trip in half the time with a light rider
. “Lad, I need you to take a message to Castle Kincaid. Can you do it?”

The boy didnae look to his father, but took several steps forward. He nodded.

Iaen waited for the boy to finish his short trip and addressed him when he stood beside his warhorse. “I'm sending you on an important task.” Offering the boy his hand, he pulled him up behind him. “Listen to me carefully, lad. This is what I need you to do.”

***

Jenny was as antsy as all get out. Her reaction to Iaen's wound was unforgivable. Hell, she hadn't even had the common sense to wait until they were in the privacy of the cottage before she let loose on her anger.

He was probably going to kill her for acting like a twit and she couldn't muster up a drop of self-righteous indignation. She was his lady. The nodding, gently smiling countenance who didn't lose her temper with the lowliest member of the clan. A fresh blast of warmth crept up her face. Pressing her palms to her cheeks, she heaved another sigh.

She'd really screwed up this time.

If she was geared like Lila, she'd have found a way to blame Iaen. Her already guilty conscience wouldn't let her go down that road. It wasn't how she'd been raised either.

If you make a mistake, fess up and hope to God it wasn't too late
.

It was a bit of her mother's advice she'd taken to heart.
Dammit
. If she knew Iaen better, she could come up with a way to make it up to him. In the very least, she could project his response to her stupidity.

Shifting her head when the door opened, she bit her lip at Iaen's frowning face. “I'm sorry about yelling at you,” she apologized in a rush. “I don't know what's gotten into me. To talk to you like that, and in front of your clansmen, was unforgivable.”

Her body froze as he slid the bolt home. Her pulse blasted in her ears while he removed his cloak and placed it on the peg next to hers. There was something intimate about seeing the two garments side by side. Intimidating, too. His was huge. Hers, not so much. “Iaen, I can't tell you how sorry I am. Please, forgive me.” She stood when he kept moving closer. “I'll do anything to make it up to you.”

He strode forward, his frown deepening into a scowl. “Are you afraid of me,
wife
?”

Damn straight she was. She shook her head. “Maybe a little.” Okay, that was terribly definitive. Step for step, he tracked her around the table. “No,” she squealed as he caught her.

“Do you expect me to beat you,
wife
?”

Jerked against him, her hands plastered to his tunic-covered chest, the rock hard muscles beneath her palms had her shivering with fear. The forearm holding her firmly to his frame didn't leave a doubt that Iaen did what he wanted to, when he wanted to do it.

“'Tis a simple aye or nay question.”

“I know it is.”
What do you expect me to say? Sure, go ahead and hit me if it makes you feel better
. Plucking up her courage, she blurted out the first thing that sprang to the tip of her tongue. “I think beating a woman is deplorable.”

The exasperated rush of air wafting across her hair warned her to keep her wits about her. “I hate the idea,” she corrected in the right language.

“Good.”

“Huh?”

“I donnae wish to repeat myself.”

“Okay.”

His gaze drilled into the top of her head.  “You may speak your mind to me, though I prefer it be behind the closed door of our chamber.”

“Really?” She couldn't have heard him right.

“Aye.”

It reminded her of the relationship her parents had. They weren't perfect. Nope. They had arguments, but when they did, they didn't throw verbal barbs at each other around her. Instead, they'd go to their bedroom, shut the door and get it out in the open where they could deal with it. A few times, she heard the shouting, a few curses or a threat of separation, but it was all bluster. Normally, supper, or if the disagreement happened late at night, breakfast the next morning was a chilly affair, but by the time her dad got home from work, all was practically fine. “How is your arm?”

“Would you clean the wound for me?”

A shadow of a smile slipped across her lips. He dipped his head to nibble on her ear lobe. Delicious tingles traveled up her arms and her nipples hardened to tight buds. “Are you giving me busy work, milord?”

“That I am, milady.” He stroked his hand up her back to twine his fingers in her hair. The other went south to cup her ass through the layers of clothing. The firm grip, massaged her tender flesh, and pulled her against his erection nestled into her belly. A soft gasp rushed from her lungs.

A quiver of desire strolled up her inner thighs to mingle in her core. “Yes,” she whispered when he picked her up and set her on the tabletop. They weren't even naked yet but her brain was already spinning in a sensual haze. Tugging on his long hair, she steered his mouth to hers. Initiating the kiss, emboldened by him, she slanted her lips on his.

He growled when she didn't deepen the kiss. Her brief stint at being in the lead ended in the sweep of his tongue across her lips and his gentle grip on breast. The truth was she liked how they came to an unspoken compromise with sex. When she fell short, he took over. When he was uncertain if she was game, such as last night when she'd initiated a different position, he accepted the change with gusto. An addictive gusto she wanted to foster.

Surprisingly, she like her men open minded.

Curling her arms around his shoulders, their tongues mating, she squirmed against him. Her body desperate for his. The table was hard against her back, but she didn't care. All that mattered was the man doing amazing things to her body. She quivered when he bunched her skirt around her hips, his hand smoothing over her naked thighs to where her panties covered her heat.

His fingers stilled.

She gazed at him, her blush returning. “Sorry, I can't get used to drawers.”