An Original Sin (3 page)

“Dinna waste yer time denying what’s plain to see.” He walked back to the sleeping pad, then glanced at the black cat, who returned his stare with unblinking amber eyes. “Where is this place?”

“I saw Clear Lake in the distance. So if this were really the year 2000, which it isn’t, then we’d be near the city of Houston in the state of Texas.”

“Houston? Texas?”

He looked at her. Confusion clouded his gaze, and that frightened her as much as what she’d seen from the window.

“Texas was part of the United States of America,” she clarified in an uncertain whisper.
Please let him recognize the name.
She didn’t want to be trapped in this room with a madman, and she’d have to believe him a madman or else accept a truth that logically could be no truth at all.

He didn’t answer, but merely shook his head, then picked up a garment from the sleeping pad. “Men
do
wear these in the year 2000?”

“Jeans. I remember now. One of my history disks. They were called
jeans
. Men and women wore them in…”
No!
She struggled against her rising panic. “I don’t believe it. The whole world has gone crazy. It’s not—”

“ ’Tis! Use reason, woman. I dinna want to believe it either, but I canna deny what I’ve seen wi’ my own eyes.”

He moved close to her and she stepped back, away from his heat, his power.

Feeling as though her throat had permanently closed, she could only nod.

While she watched him struggle into the jeans, her pounding heart slowed, and she grew calmer. This was ridiculous. There had to be a reasonable explanation. She lived in an advanced civilization. She should laugh at the idea of being whisked back in time. More likely she’d eaten some bad tagan dip last night that had caused this strange dream.

Leith continued to struggle with the jeans. Aside from the fact that they were too tight, he didn’t seem to understand how to fasten them.

Now calm and convinced that this whole thing was a nightmare, she could afford to be charitable. “Need some help?” Her offer was out before she thought of the consequences.

“I need no woman’s help.” He continued to fumble.

Patience. He’s only a barlo seed in some bad tagan dip.
Gritting her teeth, she reached for him. “This is a zipper, an old-fashioned fastener.” She expected him to push her hand away, but surprisingly, he stood still.

The moment her hand touched his flesh, she knew she’d made a mistake. Her fingers shook as she pulled the metal teeth together. Each time her knuckles grazed his
stomach, her lower regions clenched in gleeful anticipation. He didn’t make it any easier when he sucked in his breath without warning.

“Enough, lass. Between yer shaking hands and these cursed metal teeth, I’m in danger of losing my future bairns.” He put his fingers over hers.

Yanking the zipper up, he then chose a piece of clothing from the bed and handed it to her. “Put this on.”

“No.” This was a dream, a dream, a—

“After ye dress yerself, we can leave this room.”

“No.” What if it wasn’t a dream? “I want to stay here.”

She could almost see bits and pieces of his patience breaking away from him like the heat plates during a primitive rocket’s re-entry into earth’s atmosphere.

“I willna hide in this room. Hiding solves nothing, and it leaves the foul taste of the coward in my mouth. ’Twas a lesson hard learned, but I learned it well.”

“Fine. Leave. I’ll stay here.” What was she saying? She couldn’t let him walk away. He was womankind’s salvation, a living sperm bank. She
wouldn’t
lose him.

His last bit of patience shot into hyperspace. “Ye
will
come wi’ me!”

She flinched away from his thunderous pronouncement. “Why?” She hoped he didn’t hear the quaver in her voice.

Roiling emotion darkened his gaze, pushed her backward with its power. “Ye dinna need to know why. Ye need only know that I willna abandon a helpless woman. I
willna
leave ye.”

She opened her mouth to tell him what he could do with his “helpless woman” label, then closed it. What did it matter what he said? “I’m sure this is a dream.”

He turned beseeching eyes to the ceiling. “Deliver me from a stubborn woman.” Lowering his gaze, he reached out and cupped her chin with his large hand. “What were ye doing last night?”

She blinked at his unexpected question. “I…I was discussing marketing trends with Three-Six-H. Muscular men are out. Potbellies are in. The comfort factor,” she explained in response to his blank expression.

“God’s teeth, woman. Ye would confuse Saint Peter himself.”

She steeled herself to resist the rasp of his callused thumb rubbing back and forth against the side of her jaw.

“Before waking here, I fell asleep wi’ Mary McDougal warm beside me and…” He shook his head. “ ’Tis no matter. ’Twas a long time ago.”

“No! I don’t believe you. This is a dream, nothing but a dream. I swear, tagan dip will never touch my lips again.” She jerked her head from his hand, then stumbled back—from the truth in his eyes, from the reality of his touch. A touch that seared her as no dream touch should.

She didn’t want to know, had purposely not asked him, because knowing might make it true. Look at the ostrich, she thought. It stuck its head in the sand to avoid unpleasantness, and it had survived just fine when all those perky birds who poked their inquisitive beaks into everyone’s business were extinct. No, nothing could force her to ask.

She asked. “How long ago?” The quaver in her voice embarrassed her.

“Three hundred years.” He raked his fingers through his hair. His hand shook.

The black cat watched with slit-eyed interest, then began to purr.

Leith was dead. He’d died last night. If he’d known ahead of time, he would’ve put more effort into his last good brawl, savored his last drop of ale, killed a few more cursed MacDonalds. If he had to go to hell, he’d like to have taken some of those thieving rogues with him.

The clergy had lied about hell, or maybe each person’s hell differed. The devil was a canny one. Leith could bear fire and brimstone. He’d endured enough physical pain in his life to know. But fear?

He hadn’t felt such terrible fear since he’d watched his parents slaughtered during that long-ago midnight raid.
Helplessness
. He’d hated the feeling then; he hated it now. Only a bairn, he’d cried a bairn’s tears—for the loss of his mother’s love, his father’s gruff kindness, for his own aloneness. He’d learned several important lessons that night.

Tears couldn’t bring back those you loved, couldn’t make anything better. He’d never cried since. Tears were a weakness, and strong men didn’t cry, didn’t show weakness. Strong men didn’t waste time on useless emotions. They took action.

Why was he here?
Glencoe
? No matter how deeply he tried to bury the memory of Glencoe, of the massacre, it waited, ever ready to condemn him. He need only close his eyes to relive the pain.

The cold February morn. His brother waking him to whisper that King William had issued Letters of Fire and Sword against the MacDonalds of Glencoe because the small clan had been late in pledging its allegiance to the
king. The Campbell soldiers quartered at Glencoe were to rise and put to the sword all under the age of seventy, then burn their cottages.

God’s blood, the MacDonalds had shared their hospitality with him, and now Leith’s brother expected him to slaughter them as they slept. He couldn’t do it. Even though he’d fought many a MacDonald in fair fight and bore them no love, he would
not
murder unarmed men, women, and children.

But he hadn’t been able to stop the killing, and that would forever be his shame.

Leith forced away the remembered horror. This wasn’t about Glencoe. He owed much more than this for Glencoe.

Mayhap one of his lesser sins had earned him this punishment—doomed to lug behind him a stubborn innocent who claimed to make men. He’d rather shoulder a ten-stone rock. The rock wouldn’t argue.

No matter. He’d do what he’d always done—
survive
.

“We canna stay here, Fortune. Put on what I brought ye.”

He glanced around. A weapon. He wouldn’t leave without some means of protecting them from whatever dangers lay beyond this room. Striding to the small table beside the bed, he studied the object that rested there—it had a solid, squarish base with numbers on it, with a smaller piece cradled on top. The top was connected to the base by a curled cord. It would have to do.

Lifting the cradled piece, he almost dropped it when it buzzed at him. With a jerk, he yanked the cord loose from the base. Satisfied, he wrapped the end of the cord around his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He turned to face Fortune’s outraged tone.

“We must have a weapon. ’Tis the best I can find.” He swung his newly made weapon to demonstrate its possibilities.

She ducked even though he came nowhere near her. “I don’t believe you. There’s never an excuse for violence. Any disagreement can be solved with reasonable discussion.”

Amazed, he stared at her. “Ye’re a fool, woman.”

“And you’re a savage.”

She looked a little uncertain about her insult, and well she should. He’d beaten men senseless for less. But how could he deny the truth? In her eyes he must seem both primitive and savage. “Aye. Now dress yerself.” He headed for the door.

He’d opened it, then stepped into the hall before he realized she hadn’t moved. He turned to find her still planted in the center of the room, feet spread and arms crossed defiantly.

“This woman’s not moving, primitive person.”

He silently groaned. Would his punishment never end? What had he done during his life to deserve this woman? It had to be more than just his wish to send a few Mac-Donalds to hell. His last raid? Maybe. He’d relieved several clergymen of their worldly goods—helping them live up to their vows of poverty.
No
. More likely it was the willing women he’d taken. He savored the memories. There’d been a lot of women in his life, all willing.

“Come wi’ me, lass, so I can protect ye from danger. Ye need a strong man to fight for ye. Trust me.” He smiled the smile that had convinced Mary McDougal a heated night spent in his arms was worth the loss of her questionable virginity.

Fortune looked him up. She looked him down. She sniffed her disdain. “Not only primitive, but violent. The only danger I see is standing in front of me. Any problem I meet, I’ll solve in a civilized way—calmly, logically.”

He should leave her. The temptation called to him, but he’d sworn on his mother’s grave never to desert a helpless
woman, and Fortune
was
helpless, with her fantasies of a world with no wickedness or violence. He might know nothing about this time, but he knew human nature. Men had laughed and raised drinks to each other before the blood flowed at Glencoe. The possibility of violence lurked in even the most peaceful setting.

“A peeping chick in a forest of hungry wolves,” he muttered. Resigned, he returned to her side. “Why would ye stay here?”

She stared at him as though he were mad. “I don’t know how this horrible thing happened, but it happened in this room and this is where I’ll stay until someone sends me home.”

A troublesome woman. A vexing combination of defiance and stubbornness with the body of an angel. He narrowed his gaze. The body of an angel with tousled hair the color of the vixen whose den he’d found last week, and eyes like a cloudless sky. The devil could at least have provided him with a shriveled crone, one who wouldn’t torment him with her attractions.

He’d try reason, although it was a strategy that often proved useless with women. “Ye canna stay in this room. Ye heard the woman say others would soon arrive. Besides, what if ye ne’er return home?”

“Never go home?” Her horrified expression mirrored his own feelings.

Home
. He pushed aside thoughts of Hugh, of Glencoe. He couldn’t allow them to sour his memories. Home was the mountains, the glens, the heather. The women. He closed his eyes, remembering—heather like a purple sea flowing across the mountain, and Dora MacKay lying in its midst smiling up at him. After that day, heather had always owned a warm spot in his heart…and other places.

He opened his eyes. Perhaps if he did suitable penance
to appease whatever powers had put him here, he might one day see the Highlands again.
Suitable penance
. What penance would satisfy a god or dev il with such a strange sense of humor? If it was his love of women that had annoyed a jealous power…

Love of women
He glanced at Fortune. Powers had cast him into this time with this woman for a reason.
Virgin
. She was a virgin. Could the powers want him to…? Why choose him? He thought of all the women he’d pleasured. Who better? But Fortune? Teaching this woman the joys of love would be like drinking too much ale. It made a man feel wondrous that night, but exacted a painful vengeance the next morning. He exhaled sharply. Of course, if it were easy it would not be adequate atonement for all the times he’d sinned. Still, something about his penance seemed passing strange.

His thoughts splintered at Fortune’s snort of disbelief. “Of course I’ll go home. I refuse to spend the rest of my life here. Leave if you want.” The slight tremble of her lower lip belied her brave pronouncement.

That tremble touched him. She was, after all, a woman, and he would never walk away from a lass, even if she rejected his aid. “If ye dinna dress yerself, I’ll do it for ye.”

She narrowed her eyes to slits the color of a stormdarkened loch. “Why’re you forcing me to go with you?”

“Because I can.” He smiled. “ ’Tis one of the good things about being a primitive person. I do what I want—”

“Barbarian!”

“And ye canna stop me.” He held up his hand against another barrage of insults. “Ye canna hide from life, Fortune. Hiding doesna save the bird from the hunter.”
Hiding didna save me from my demons.
“Come awa’ with me, whilst we try to make sense of what’s happened.”

“Extinction has its merits,” she huffed, but reluctantly pulled the clothes on.

When finally dressed, she gazed at herself in horror. “I can’t leave like this.”

He thought her beautiful, but suspected she wouldn’t accept a compliment from him. “ ’Tis a wondrous gown.”

“It’s a wedding gown, and it’s too long.” She stared at the trailing folds of white material as though she still stood naked.

“Aye, ’tis a wee bit long, and I’d prefer ye in red.”

She glared up at him. “Gowns like this are totally impractical, and red is an awful color on me. Besides being primitive, you have abominable taste.”

Good
. She was mad. A woman with red hair should have a temper. “Red is a passionate color, lass.” He stared pointedly at her hair. “I admire passion in a woman.”

“I bet you do.” She tottered shakily back to the bed on the strange high-heeled shoes, then plunked herself in its middle. “That does it. I’m not leaving.”

He sighed. He hadn’t wanted to do this, but…

Reaching the bed in two strides, he scooped her up and flung her across his shoulder.

She rewarded him with a startled gasp as her body stiffened in protest. A woman in his own time would be kicking, screaming, and calling him foul names. But Fortune would not resort to such demonstrations. Kicking would be violence, and screaming would not be a calm, reasonable thing to do. Lucky for him, but sad for Fortune. Every lass should spend some time kicking and screaming. It was the womanly thing to do.

“Animal!” Her hiss reminded him of a tiny outraged snake—seemingly harmless, but with venom enough to fell a grown man.

“Yer curses lack bite, lass. Ye must learn to curse a man with strong words. Mayhap we should start with something simple—bastard.”

“Bas…” She couldn’t get it out. “Put me down before
someone sees us and asks questions we don’t want to answer.”

Logical. He could learn to hate that trait in her. Carefully, he set her on her feet.

She glowered up at him. “I’ve decided to go with you. While you were playing caveman, I realized you were right this once. We can’t stay here, and you’re obviously not fit to cope with even this degree of modern life. You need someone to keep you from lopping off the heads of innocent strangers. Besides, we need to find a place to discuss why we were sent here together and how we can get back to our own times.” She shrugged. “It’s the only reasonable thing to do.”

“I must have sinned greviously to deserve such penance.”

“What?”

“When my penance is done ye’ll be free of me.”

Never.
She didn’t understand his mutterings about penance, but one thing she knew for sure—he was the one.
Him.
The man chosen to repopulate the earth with males. She’d forgotten that little fact during her battle of words with him. Luckily, she’d remembered while she hung over his shoulder. Must’ve been all that blood rushing to her head that had cleared her senses.

Why Leith? She didn’t know, but humans had learned there were no random acts in the universe. He was the one. This stay in the year 2000 must be like a halfway house. She’d ease him into what to expect when he got to her time. No, Leith wasn’t getting away from her. “We can come back here when—”

He made an irritated noise. “Powers strong enough to drag us from our time dinna need us in a certain room, lass.”

His statement made sense, though she hated to admit anything he said made sense. “I suppose you’re right, but
there’s an order in the universe, and I think we’ll have to come back to—”

He smiled at her. Lord, that smile would mow women down by the millions. Of course it didn’t affect her in the least. She touched her nose. Was it in that ancient tale of Pinocchio that someone’s nose grew when they told a lie?

“Dinna fash yerself, lass. I’ll take care of ye.”

“Hmmph.” Even as she rejected his easy assurance of male dominance, a second reason for staying with him poked at her—one she resisted: fear. The only fear she’d experienced in her life had revolved around the worry that her newest model wouldn’t be sensual enough, marketable enough. She’d never felt the gut-wrenching fear she felt now. And Leith Campbell was the only familiar person, however aggravating, in a world gone crazy. She’d cling to a Rilior smoke devil right now, if he offered a familiar face. She glanced up at Leith.
Close enough.

“Come, Fortune.”

Come, Fido.
Fear, confusion, and anger jigged in time to her pounding heart. Anger leaped the highest. “Four-Two-N. My name is…” Reason joined the dance. No, she’d be safer answering to Fortune. No need to call attention to herself.

She studied the man next to her. She’d never blend into the local populace as long as she hung around with him, and she intended to hang around him like Saturn’s rings. She refused to admit any relief at the thought. No way did she need him.

And he had a lot of nerve assuming
he
should lead. She was much more qualified to think of a rational plan of action. She’d always been the one in control. Even as a child, she’d made her own decisions while her mother spacehopped across the galaxy.

OK, she couldn’t match him physically, but she could punch holes in him intellectually. After all, she had a
six-hundred-year advantage.
Punch
? She’d have to make sure none of him rubbed off on her. “For your information, Your Hugeness, intelligence is power, not size and strength.” She felt like a child sticking out her tongue, but she couldn’t help herself.

Leith grinned at her. “Mayhap in yer time, but we’re not in yer time. And I’ll always be bigger than ye.”

Bully.
“Fine. Lead on, oh primeval one. Should I stay two steps behind you?”

“Aye, although five would show more respect, ye ken.”