An Original Sin (17 page)

“Staying isn’t an option.” Her words were cold and clipped, but the sooner he accepted her position, the sooner he could accept how important it was he return with her. That return would happen in the rest-over room; she was convinced of it.

“Hmm.” He watched as she accessed the Internet, then typed in
Glencoe Massacre.

With calm deliberation, she clicked on search, then waited for a list of websites to appear.
Return.
That said it all. Lost in her need to bring him back with her was his desire to return to Scotland. The thought of sitting in her studio, creating men who would never come close to imitating the life force of her Scottish warrior, and realizing Leith had been dead for over five hundred years, lost to her forever, made her feel suddenly empty, futile.

“We…we have to return to the rest-over. Can’t you see how important you are to humanity? How can you be so selfish?” She blindly pulled up information about the Glencoe massacre on the screen, but she couldn’t read the words.

He straightened and she heard him move away. “Ye dinna understand at all, lass. Is it selfish to want to see yer own land again? There is someone I…” She almost leaped from her seat as he punched the wall, then glanced disinterestedly at his bleeding knuckles. “Mayhap ’tis selfishness, but ye can find someone else to take wi’ ye.”

There is someone.
Had he left a woman he loved back in his time? She’d been so intent on her own agenda, she hadn’t stopped to think about him. Why?
Because you
didn’t want anything interfering with your plans to take him, and only him, back.

She rose shakily and walked over to him.
Don’t let him see your uncertainty.
“Let’s take care of those knuckles.”

A smile touched his lips, those lips she wanted to—

“Dinna ye want to lecture me on the evils of violence?”

She led him to the bathroom, and he stood behind her as she rooted through the medicine cabinet. “If I willna go willingly wi’ ye to the hotel, how will ye force me wi’out violence?”

Intent on dabbing peroxide on his cut knuckles, and wincing for him at the pain he must feel, she didn’t consider her answer. “There’s always medication, I suppose, but if cosmic forces get tired of waiting they’ll probably send us back from wherever we happen to be at the moment.” Then why her determination to return to the rest-over? If she returned to the rest-over of her own volition, she’d have some control over her destiny. Unlike everything else that had happened so far.

“Medication? Do ye mean a potion?” He sounded horrified. “Ye would resort to such evil in the name of yer duty?”

She’d had enough. She’d simply had enough. Curse Jan Kredski and her cloning experiments. Not only had the scientist bartered away humanity’s future, but she was doing a pretty good job of messing up the past as well.

Angrily, she heaved the peroxide bottle into the sink. “Damn it! Leave me alone. Leave me the hell alone.” Storming out of the bathroom, she returned to the computer, breathing deeply to calm herself. Had she said those things, lost control? What was this world doing to her? What was
he
doing to her?

She stiffened at the first stroke of his hand along the length of her hair, but when he said nothing she gradually relaxed into the rhythm of his caress.

“Dinna fash yerself, lass.” His low murmur soothed her,
made her feel everything would be all right, even though she knew that whatever happened, nothing would ever be all right again. “Ye’ll do what ye have to do. I willna blame ye.”

Somehow his words of acceptance made her feel all the worse. A Sornian earth burrower couldn’t have felt lower. “Let’s start your report.”
When in doubt, throw yourself into your work.

With her mind reasonably clear, she read the words on the screen…then froze.
No!
What she saw there shouldn’t shock her, not after what she’d gone through already, but it did.

“Why?” She refused to look up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d slaughtered MacDonalds at Glencoe? After everything else you told me, why keep that from me?”

She felt rather than heard his harsh exhalation. “Ye wouldna understand. When horror piles atop horror, ye must keep a small piece of it to yerself for fear that final bit will drive ye to madness, or make those ye care for turn from ye.”

She looked up in time to see his shrug.

“I didna know if ye could forgive the killing of yer ancestors.”

Where was her outrage at his withholding of such important information, her fury at what he’d been a part of?
Those ye care for.
Did he care for her? The thought was new, tender, and needed to be protected until she could examine it.

She should’ve considered how she could use this to bring him to her time, but as soon as the thought surfaced, she dismissed it. Logic had nothing to do with what she felt, and that was a danger she’d have to face at a calmer moment.

She willed her pounding heart to slow, her voice to give away no emotion. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

Methodically, she showed him everything she could find about the massacre. Finally he walked away from the computer. “I dinna need to see any more. ’Tis half-truths and lies. Neither Campbell nor MacDonald were free of guilt.” She heard him ease himself onto the leather couch that sat against the far wall. “I’ll tell ye what really happened.”

She abandoned the Internet to take down his story.

He lived it again—the unexpected awakening, his groggy response to Hugh’s whispered orders, his disbelief when he realized what Hugh planned. He couldn’t forget. Closing his eyes, he recalled the horror of watching those he’d thought he knew turn to animals in a killing frenzy. What he should have done, what he didn’t do, and then his final betrayal of his brother, his clan—all the memories he called up to scourge himself, and rightly so.

When he’d ended, he sat there, wrapped in the dark dungeon of his yesterdays until she touched him. Slowly, he returned—to the room, the time, the woman.

She leaned over him until her soft breath touched his face. He longed to bury himself in her warmth…and forget. She placed her hand over his. As from a distance, he noted her hand’s delicateness beside his, the paleness of her skin next to the sun-darkened roughness of his. He shivered as his sweat-dampened shirt clung to him, but the shiver had nothing to do with coldness, unless it was the coldness of his heart.

“You’re a very brave man, Leith Campbell.” She absently stroked his cut knuckles.

“No.” His denial was bitter.

“Yes. In the end, you did what was right.”

“I did too little, too late; then I betrayed my clan, my brother. What would ye know of that?” He refused to allow her to make him into a false hero.

She sighed. “Nothing. I have no clan to be loyal to. I’ve never had a difficult decision to make in my life.” She smiled. “No, I lied. I’ve tried for ages to decide if I should make a man with red hair.” She wrinkled her nose. “I hate red hair.”

He recognized her attempt to lighten his mood and rose to his feet. Reaching out, he fingered one strand of her hair. “Ne’er doubt it, lass. Red hair is beautiful…on a woman.” He grinned. “I wouldna wish it on a son.”

She returned to the computer and shut it off. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve done enough for today.” Pausing for a moment, she turned toward the door. “Do you hear Elvis?”

“Elvis? I dinna know an Elvis.” Striding out of the room, he headed for the stairs with her beside him. He was anxious to leave behind the events he’d had to tell today. Could this also be part of his penance, being forced to relive what he’d tried so unsuccessfully to forget? Would the telling of his part in the massacre purge him of his guilt? He doubted it.

Deep in his own gloomy thoughts, he started down the stairs. Suddenly a howl worthy of a berserk piper jerked him from his reverie. Glancing behind him, he saw Ganymede leap down the stairs and launch himself past them. Had the cat gone mad?

But the cat was forgotten as Leith heard Fortune’s startled yelp. He glanced at her in time to see her lose her balance and start to fall. Instinctively, Leith flung himself in front of her, and they tumbled down the stairs together.

As Leith lay at the bottom of the staircase, he considered the irony that in his short time here he’d received more cuts and bruises than he had in years lived in his “savage” past.

“What…what happened?”

Fortune’s breathless question brought his attention
to the fact that she was sprawled atop him, not an entirely unpleasant position for him. “We tumbled down the stairs.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t scramble to remove herself from contact with his body. His body noted that fact with growing interest.

“You’re a master at stating the obvious. What I meant was,
why
did we tumble down the stairs?”

He breathed deeply. She still made no attempt to roll off him, but merely wiggled into a more comfortable position. A particular part of his body rose to study the situation. “Ganymede was in an uncommon hurry and tripped ye on his way down the steps.” He glanced around. “Tootsie seems verra determined to have his manhood. ’Twould make any man run for his life.”

He felt her indrawn breath, her sudden alertness. “Elvis. The ice-cream man.”

He didn’t know what she was babbling about, but it didn’t matter because all he could think of was the torture of her breasts brushing against his chest, the agony of her hips pressed between his thighs, and the pain of too-tight jeans that allowed no room for a man’s…He longed to rip open his shirt, rip open her shirt, and allow her breasts to touch his flesh, her nipples to harden against him. He gritted his teeth, fighting the need to pull down the cursed zipper on his jeans and take her like the barbarian she thought him.

Fortune sighed deeply, and Leith closed his eyes to keep from groaning at the renewed pressure on sensitive areas.

“I suppose I should get off you.”

He opened his eyes. “Dinna feel the need to hurry.” He didn’t smile when he said that.

Hurry was exactly what she had to do, before she gave in to temptation, before she touched him in ways she’d sworn
never to touch him again. She took a deep breath, then rolled off him. She had to remember that even though there was an obvious physical attraction between them, that couldn’t deter her from what she had to do. And if she allowed herself to become addicted to the wonders of his body, it would be all the harder when he rejected her in the end.

Fortune smiled weakly. “Hey, this time I got to be on top.”

He returned her smile. “Aye, but next time—”

“There’ll be no next time.” Her voice was harsh with regret. “Nothing has changed, Leith. I still intend to take you back with me.”

“Ye can try.” He didn’t stop smiling as he rose in one lithe motion.

“Are you OK?” She frowned. She’d been so intent on the feel of his body beneath her, she’d forgotten how he’d gotten there. It said a lot about Leith that he’d instinctively tried to protect her. And this wasn’t the first time he’d put himself in danger for her. Protecting women must be second nature to him, because if he’d stopped to think who he was saving, he probably wouldn’t have bothered. “I appreciate that you tried to cushion my fall. Thanks.”

He didn’t acknowledge her belated thanks. “Only a few more bruises. I dinna have any broken bones.”

The sound of footsteps swung Fortune’s attention to the doorway. She groaned inwardly as Michael walked into view, then stopped to stare at them.
Great. Just great.

“My God, what happened?” Michael’s horror was sincere. In her time, women valued sincerity.

“We fell down the bloody stairs.” Leith glared at Michael. Sincerity mustn’t rank very high on the primitive scale.

“Did you hurt yourself? Here, let me help you up.”
Michael rushed over to Fortune and carefully lifted her to her feet, then gently smoothed down her hair. “Why don’t you sit down and rest for a few moments?”

Michael was so empathic. Her society put great store in empathy for others.

“She doesna need rest. She had a verra soft landing.” Leith’s glower was a thunderhead rising above a mountain.

How could she compare the two men? Michael was cheerful and sincere. Leith was cranky and…sexy. Michael was soft and sympathetic. Leith was hard and…sexy. Michael was perfect for her world. Leith was perfect for her bed.
Good.
She was glad she’d settled that.

“I suppose now isn’t the best time for introductions, but I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Stephanie.” Michael stepped aside, and the woman standing behind him moved forward.

Fortune’s eyes widened. Stephanie was…extraordinary. Tall, regal, with long black hair and green eyes that moved over Leith’s body with…
Hmm.

It was Fortune’s turn to glare. Leith’s tongue was practically hanging out over Stephanie. OK, so Stephanie was magnificent in an obvious sort of way. OK, so Stephanie didn’t even look dumb. Fortune would’ve felt a little more charitable if Stephanie looked dumb as a dwerb. Yes, she admitted she wanted Stephanie to do or say something stupid to offset her other assets.

Fortune glared harder at Leith. It was all his fault. If she hadn’t seen the way he ogled Stephanie, she wouldn’t care what the woman looked like. Fortune was…jealous?
No.
She couldn’t possibly be jealous. Jealousy was an undesirable trait. She absolutely, positively wasn’t jealous.

She looked at Stephanie again. Stephanie was busy undressing Leith with her hot gaze. Fine, she was jealous.

“It’s so nice to meet both of you.” Stephanie didn’t even
glance at Fortune. “I hope I’ll see more of you.” Her gaze locked on the parts of Leith she hoped to see more of.

“Well, now that you’re safe, we’ll be on our way.” Michael smiled a sincere smile. “I’ll have someone check those stairs.”

“ ’Twas a warrior’s gallant dash for freedom.” Leith glanced away from Stephanie.

“Huh?” Michael blinked owlishly at him.

Leith grinned with the first sign of good humor he’d shown since Michael showed up. “Have ye seen Tootsie lately?”

“No, I haven’t, but I’m sure she’ll show up.” Shaking his head in puzzlement, Michael guided Stephanie down the hallway.