In Bed with the Highlander (4 page)

Her head began to ache.

Think.

All right. Then it had to be something to do with the bedroom.
Perhaps the bed, where she’d fallen asleep. Like that kids’ story they made into
a film,
Bedknobs
and
Broomsticks
, except it was a flying bed not a time
machine. Er...wasn’t it?

One thing was certain, the sooner she got back in that bed the
better. She stared at the heavy oak door. But what to do with her gorgeous
Highlander? Bring him home with her?

Right. Sword and all.

There was one sword she wanted him to bring to her bed.
Naughty. Very naughty. She smiled, then laughed out loud. The kilt had done
nothing to disguise his interest. And, she realized, glancing down, nor did
these pajamas hide much. He must have seen the way her nipples had beaded when
he stared at her with such blatant hunger.

This was no time for an overactive libido. Taking him home with
her wasn’t going to work, even if she knew how to do it. And she’d given up on
men. Completely.

Besides, for his own sake, she could not drag him into the
twenty-first century. He’d be out of his depth.

Stop it. This is ridiculous.

She could stay. It was a whisper in the back of her head.
Urgent. Pressing. Terrifying. As if the voice belonged to someone else.

What about her parents? Her grandmother? They’d be desperate
with worry. She could not knowingly do that to them. And she’d miss the wedding
anniversary celebration. That would put a damper on things. She sighed and
absentmindedly picked up another slice of bread. She stared at it. What if
eating here really did fix her permanently in place.

She let it fall to the table.

The door slammed back and Gavin dashed in, all big strong
shoulders, massive thighs and swirling kilt. “Quick,” he said. “Back up the
stairs.”

“What?” she said. The sound of faint shouts from beyond the
castle walls penetrated the thick door.

“English,” he said.

“After you?”

“Aye. Who else would they be after? Don’t stand there hovering,
girl.” He grabbed her by the hand. “Up the stairs with you.”

He pulled his sword free.

“What are you doing?”

“Och. For God’s sake. Will you go?”

In his battle-ready state, he’d spoken in Gaelic, and she’d
understood every word.

“Come with me,” she replied in the same language.

“I’ll not fight them up there.”

“Perhaps you won’t have to.”

“What would you have me do, hide under the bed?”

“No,” she said slowly. “In it. I’ll tell them you have been
with me all night. In my best BBC accent.”

“BBC?”

“
Sassenach
.”

The point of his sword wavered.

“How many of them are there?” she asked.

“Not many. A dozen. I can handle them.”

“You cannot fight a dozen men and win. Unless the laird will
help you.”

“Och aye, he’s going to risk his holding and his family for an
argument over a couple of cows.”

“Well then.”

Now the sound of clattering hooves filled the courtyard.

“Ach. Come on then.” He grabbed her hand and they ran through
the hall and up the stairs.

Inside the chamber, she ran to the window. No sign of the car
park or her car, just a lot of horses milling around and red-coated soldiers
dismounting inside the bailey. “Bloody hell.”

“Aye,” he said, one warm heavy hand coming down to rest on her
shoulder.

“And they are looking for you.” Just her luck to get tangled up
with some sort of criminal. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was some sort of myth
about the first Lady Moirag doing something like... Oh, God! That couldn’t be
it.

The sounds of a door opening below meant time was running out.
“Hurry up. Get undressed.”

He stripped off his sword belt, and threw it under the bed. The
sporran and shoes and socks went next. His kilt followed. A true Scot, he wore
nothing beneath the heavy fabric. The candlelight sculpted every detail of his
muscled bum, the magnificent package of family jewels and an erection straining
to kiss his belly button. Her heart stopped. A breath caught in her throat and
moisture flooded her core. Legs weak, she sank onto the edge of the bed. “Oh
my.”

He took one look at her face and grabbed his kilt. “You are
scared to death.” He inhaled a quick breath, the muscles of his chest swelling,
his ribs widening. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

She put out a hand, felt the rough hair on his forearm with
fingertips so sensitive, they burned from the touch. “Get in the bed.”

He looked unconvinced, bent to retrieve his weapon. She
smoothed a hand over his back, then tapped his hard buttocks. “In bed. Now.”

He stood up, his arousal responding to her command with a
pulse. She swallowed.

“Lass, you are killing me.”

“It works both ways,” she gasped.

The sound of boot steps on the stairs jerked her back reality.
She lifted the covers and waved him in. “Whatever you do, keep that bandage out
of sight.”

She hopped in the bed after him.

“Take off that thing you’re wearing,” he said. “It’s too
strange. They’ll know you are not English.”

Heat coursed through her body, streaming up from her belly,
making her breasts feel full and heavy and wanting. Her face burned.
Nevertheless, she worked at the buttons.

“Nay, lass. Take it slow. You’ve lots of time.” His breath
tickled her ear. Her body responded by sending out bolts of lightning laced with
desire.

“Let me help you.” His big fingers made short work of the pearl
buttons down the front. She wriggled her shoulders and the jacket slid off her
arms. He grabbed it and stuffed it under the pillow.

He gazed at her breasts with awe on his face. And so he should.
They were perfect. It was the one thing she’d been blessed with. High perky
breasts.

She smiled.

“Dear Lord,” he whispered. “Now your trews. I’ve heard about
something like these things. India. The women there wear trousers. Are you an
Indian?”

“No.” She undid the button and stepped out of the pajama
bottoms. She bent to pick them up and he groaned. Her stomach clenched at the
sound.

She climbed in beside him. “No. I’m not.” Good grief, she was
panting. And it wasn’t from the run up the stairs.

He pulled her backward against his body, his erection digging
into her left buttock. “You are not what?” he whispered in her ear.

Hot breath in the ear. Delicious. Shivers ran down her spine.
Her body clenched inside. “Not Indian,” she managed around a gasp.

A knock sounded at the door. Well, not quite a knock, more a
bang with a gun butt, or a sword hilt. “Open up in the king’s name.”

Moirag opened her mouth.

He put his large calloused hand over it. “Let me do the
talking, woman.”

She nodded and he released her.

“Wha?” he said, sounding sleepy. “Who’s there?”

“Open up in the name of the king.”

“It’s not locked, man. Open it yourself.”

The door swung back and an English officer strode in, all red
jacket and red face and bristling mostaches. He halted at the sight of Gavin and
Moirag. His jaw dropped.

A man in a nightcap and holding a lantern peered over his
shoulder. The man who had met her in the courtyard when she first arrived. Or
his ancestor.

The lamplight glittered off the officer’s gold braid and the
steel blade clutched in his hand. Moirag held her breath and clutched the sheet
to her chin. This did not look good. Was she about to be carted off to some
dungeon for aiding and abetting? Did they have aiding and abetting? Who was she
going to say she was?

“Laird,” Gavin said. “What’s the meaning of this? You’ll excuse
me if I don’t get up, I hope?”

“Your ladyship,” the laird said.

How did he know? He sounded absolutely floored. As well he
might.

The officer visibly swallowed. “I’m sorry, my lady. There were
reevers at work tonight. We followed one of the blackguards here.”

They seemed to be expecting her to say something. She waved a
hand. “Did you think to find this thief in my chamber?”

“No, your ladyship. Excuse me, Lady Breton. Laird Duncan said
only one room in the castle was occupied apart from his own, but—” he turned a
jaundiced eye on the laird “—he didn’t see fit to name his guest.”

Behind her, Gavin was moving his hips in small circles. That
erection of his was making straight for... She went hot all over.

“I should hope not,” she gasped. “Discretion, er...Captain. It
is the watchword.”

“Lieutenant, my lady,” he corrected. “I apologize for
disturbing your rest.”

“Apology accepted. Good night to you, Lieutenant.”

He backed out as if she was royalty and closed the door.

She let go her breath.

Gavin rocked his hips against her butt. It felt wicked. And
lovely and hard. And perhaps a little aggressive. “Lady Breton, is it?” he
muttered.

“Well, yes. But I usually keep it to myself.” Titles didn’t go
down well in the office. People tripped over them and went red in the face. And
sometimes got resentful. And it wasn’t worth a hill of beans. She had to work
for a living.

The hairs on his chest tickled her spine. He nipped at her
shoulder. “The infamous Lady Breton, is it?”

Oh, saints above. She had been right. She had somehow morphed
into her ancestor.

Perhaps if she went back to sleep, she could morph back into
herself and head straight back for Glasgow. She rolled over. Her breasts came
into contact with that magnificent chest. He gazed down at her, his expression
soft.

“You know, lass, I’ll not be having any more of your mischief.
You’re mine now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That is quite all right.”

“No. I mean, what did you say?”

He brushed his mouth over hers, nipped at her bottom lip,
sucked it into his mouth. A tingle shot to her core. “You’re in my bed. I’m
laying claim to you. For all time.” He cupped her breast and stroked her nipple
with his thumb. The sweet agony of it rushed all the way down between her
thighs.

“I don’t know about all time. But right now...” She launched
her body over his, took his mouth with her lips and plunged her tongue into its
whisky-flavored depth. A low animal growl rose up from his chest. His hands
rifled through her hair and caressed her scalp, then he cradled her face in
those wonderful strong hands and lifted her head. Her lips missed the blissful
contact.

“You, lass, will be the death of me.”

“But a good death, right, Gavin?” She grinned and slid one leg
across his thighs, felt the massive width of them beneath her inner thigh, the
softness of his balls at her hip and the hardness of his erection against her
belly. Oh, yes. An excellent death. And if she was lucky, more than one.

“Aye.” He sighed. He licked the place beneath her ear.
Delectable shivers ran across her breasts. He muttered something else.

What was he saying?

The sound of horses below made him still. His heart beat strong
and steady against her breasts. His arms came around her in a protective move he
probably didn’t even notice.

“They are leaving,” she said.

“Aye, and no doubt the laird will be returning,” he muttered
into her neck.

Coitus
interruptus
. She didn’t believe it. After her
disastrous engagement and a year of abstinence, she wasn’t letting this one get
away. “If he comes, we’ll tell him we’re busy.”

The candle cast soft light across his face, highlighted the
sharp angles of his jaw, the dancing eyes. A handsome man. And too bloody sexy
to be lying here doing nothing. A well of possession rose up within her. She
wanted to absorb him, inside her body, her soul and her mind. The emotion held
her enthralled for one very long moment. It was ridiculous, because she wasn’t
staying. On the other hand, if she was stuck here, she was damn well going to
make sure she kept him. She pressed a finger against his magnificent chest to
emphasize her point. “We. Are. Busy.”

He raised a brow. “Are you sure, lass? I’ve no wish for
recriminations in the morning.”

A smile tugged at her lips. A true Highland gentleman. She’d
begun to think they’d disappeared back with Bonnie Prince Charlie. “Oh, baby.
I’m sure.”

Gavin swallowed. The words were like music to his ears. Siren
music. The body on top of his felt utterly perfect. Soft in all the right
places, curvy against his wandering palm. He stroked her bum and gave it a
squeeze just to make sure. By all the Saints, it felt good.

He slipped a finger between the cheeks on her lovely behind and
found...delicious wetness between her long slender thighs. How she came to be
here in his room he couldn’t quite figure out, but he was not going to look this
wee giftie horse in the mouth.

Well, he might look in her mouth and in a whole host of other
places as time went on, but he was not giving her back to whomsoever had dropped
her into his bed. When she nipped at his bottom lip, he opened his mouth and her
tongue dove in to tangle with his while her mound assaulted his erection,
rubbing and circling, driving him mad with the urge to bury himself to the hilt
inside her sweet, wet warmth.

He suffered it as long as he could, but when her finger and
thumb tweaked his nipple, he groaned and rolled her over. “Time for a wee taste
of your own medicine, lass,” he whispered against her smiling lips.

“Oh, good,” she said, and he clenched. If he didn’t put some
distance between her arching hips and his seeking shaft, he’d been done in the
blink of an eye. And that would not be good.

He hung on to his control by a thread and settled between her
hips, nudging her legs apart until he could feel the damp of her center high
against his belly.

“No fair,” she said, wriggling beneath him.