Just Wait For Me (Highland Gardens Book 3) (5 page)

Munn huffed. “Vow to the chief. Vow to the queen. Vow to a
prince. I dinnae ken which end is up.”

“Are we in agreement?”

“What of your mither?”

“She will not interfere.”

Munn clapped hands with glee. “Then we win!”

“Dinnae be too cocky, brownie. Humans retain free will.”

Munn bit his lip and hung his head.

Dugaid smiled. “Escort Stephen and the woman from the future
to Castle Lachlan unmolested.”

“Easier said than done,” Munn grumbled under his breath.

“Dinnae fail me. The consequences will be dire.”

Munn’s stomach dropped at the prince’s warning.

Dugaid vanished.

“Wait!” In confusion, Munn glanced around the oasis. Why
hadn’t the Dark Prince returned him to the earth realm as promised?

Then a wave of nausea sickened Munn further and he propelled
through time and space, landing with a thump on his butt in the sprawling outer
chamber in the caves of the Gray Women. Weak with exhaustion and fear, he
crawled into a dark corner and succumbed to an uneasy sleep, dreams tortured by
Stephen and his woman’s perilous journey.

Jillian followed Stephen through the dim maze of tunnels.
Torchlight flickered on the walls, flames caught in a fickle draft. As they
entered the internal chamber used as a kitchen, the savory aroma of stew
replaced the sooty smell of the passageway.

Her stomach grumbled.

Stephen grinned. “Sit. We will get you fed.”

“You sit. I’ll get the food.”

“You dinnae need to serve me. I might be injured, but am
capable of filling a blasted bowl with stew.”

“Shut up and take a load off your bum leg.” She pressed a
palm against his chest and gave a gentle shove. He dropped onto one of four
bulky chairs at a rough-hewn table. “It will heal faster.”
And we can leave
these eerie caves sooner.

“Feisty lass.”

Jillian suppressed a smile and searched the nooks and
crannies. Aromatic herbs—some she recognized—hung from racks. Wooden bowls,
platters, and spoons sat on one of several shelves. A wrought iron ladle and
meat fork dangled from a hook next to the source of the tantalizing aroma—a
heavy black caldron hanging over a banked fire. Smoke channeled up and out of
the chamber through a fissure in the ceiling.

Grabbing a rag from a worktable to protect her hands, she
ladled two steaming bowls and placed them on the table.

Stephen grasped her fingers. “I dinnae mean to be surly.
’Tis just—”

“It’s okay. I’m used to the grumbles of men.”

“You are?” He frowned.

She raised an eyebrow. “I have an older brother.”

He nodded. The pout disappeared and curiosity lit his gaze.
“Are you wed?”

She snorted. She couldn’t help it. Her? Married? “No.”

“Betrothed?”

“No.” She shook her head adamantly.
Please don’t ask if I
have a lover
. It would be too embarrassing to say
no
again.

He pointed to a large niche in the jagged stone wall. “The
jugs of ale are there.”

She turned her back to him and chuckled softly at his adept
change of topic. Smart man. The jugs were submerged to their shoulders in a
well of ice-cold running water, and secured by rope. She lifted one out, found
two cups, and returned to the table.

A Hollywood-worthy smile greeted her. “I procured some
bread.”

Might he be interested in her? Jillian’s pulse double-beat
before returning to normal.

Stephen dug into the food. Her stomach knotted and her
appetite disappeared at the thought of making love with Stephen. She broke off
a piece of bread and soaked up some stew. She swallowed one bite, then another,
needing to keep up her energy.

They ate in silence. Although the intense quiet would feel
awkward with anyone else, it seemed right with Stephen. Yeah. She’d like very
much to make love with him before returning home. It would be a special memory
to keep her warm through many a lonely night.

Jillian poured another round of ale. The sweet herb drink
helped smooth the rough edges of her psyche. Perhaps she was even getting a tad
tipsy.

Stephen took a long swallow and pushed the cup away. “Dinnae
want to drink so much as to lose my head.”

“You’d look funny without a head.”

He grinned, displaying a badly chipped front tooth.

“How did you get so banged up?”

“Ach, well, I guess we have time for the telling of the
tale. Not long ago, relations between Scotland and England reached an
insurmountable pinnacle. War eminent.” He sighed heavily. “My fealty is to my
cousins, the chiefs of Clan MacLachlan, and theirs to our king. Patrick’s twin,
Archibald—our current chief—wife heavy with child, was loath to leave her
bedside. He sent me in his stead to lead our lads when King James IV sent
runners to summon us to war.”

Jillian swallowed uneasily not wanting to hear the rest, but
needing to know. “And…”

“We won several skirmishes and became arrogant. At Branxton
Hill, we did not stand a chance against the English. The battle raged fierce.
Our king died. God rest his soul.” Stephen’s voice broke, and he made the Sign
of the Cross. “Our lads fought hard. One by one they fell. I battled against
the onslaught, but received too many wounds to remain standing. My vision
blurred. Death hovered. My last memory is murmuring a prayer for forgiveness
then waking in these caves far from the battlefield. The Gray Women brought me
back to life.”

“If we are in the year 1513, how could you have traveled
such a great distance with life-threatening injuries and survived?”

Stephen shook his head and shrugged. “Fae magic.”

Jillian frowned. “This is really hard for me to fathom.”

“It took Lady Laurie a long time to believe, too.” Stephen
rose from the table. “Come. The hour is growing late.”

Stephen shifted uneasily. What had he been thinking earlier?
Why had he badgered Jillian about her marital state?
I have nae right
.

“Where shall I sleep?” Her question shook him free of the
chastising thought. Though more than likely a mistake, he wanted her to sleep
with him. Jillian crossed her arms over her chest and shivered “It’s getting
cold.”

“Aye. We can lay together on my pallet to keep warm.” Her
body cuddled close to his, again, ’twould be torture worth enduring.

She nodded with a yawn and plopped onto the pallet.

Stephen unraveled his
plaide
and joined her, covering
them with the wool and then her silver cloth. She lay on her side, facing away,
shivering with the chill.

He slid her back against him. His nose in her hair, he
inhaled a sweet hint of fruit mingled with the scent of woman. “Mmmm. You smell
good enough to eat.”

Jillian chuckled, and the vibration against his chest spiked
his desire for the lass. Saints be praised, it felt good to hold her.

“I’d imagine I smell like a sweaty locker room after a rugby
match considering the amount of exercise I’ve gotten over the last several
days.”

“I dinnae ken of what you speak, but you dinnae smell like
sweat.” He inhaled deeply. “Ripe green apples and woman.”

“That’s my shampoo—soap.”

“Verra nice.”

Jillian wiggled her bum against him and his arousal
throbbed. He wouldn’t take her. Nae. ’Twould be wrong. He was handfasted to
another. But he’d keep Jillian warm through the night.

She rolled over and faced him. Her lips trembled. A liquid,
questioning gaze searched his. She must have gotten the answer she wanted. She
kissed him. A sensual breath across his lips. His balls tightened and his
determination faltered. What harm was there in a few kisses? He needed this.
Wanted this. He wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss with a greedy
intensity that released much of the raw emotion hidden within his heart.

He claimed her lips, tasting the sweet heather ale from
their meal. She opened for him like a flower and their tongues twirled in a
mating dance. Logic slipped away and deft fingers untied the laces of her gown,
folding aside the cloth to reveal her precious bounty. He took one breast in
hand. A handful of lusciousness. He massaged the taut nipple.

A soft moan escaped from deep in her throat. He’d burst if
he couldn’t have more. She arched, pressing her womanly mound against his hard
cock. Intense sensations rocked him. He thought he’d explode in a blaze of
pleasure.

Rolling her onto her back, he hovered inches above. If only
he could see better in the dim light seeping into the chamber from the tunnel
torches. With a growl, he sank between her legs and lowered his head to a
breast suckling the pebbled nipple, while teasing the other with his fingers.
She made the most erotic sounds as she undulated beneath him.

His free hand skimmed the length of her calf, the skin silky
smooth. He eased up the wool covering her feminine core, and brushed the flesh
of her thighs with eager fingers.

“Stephen, please!” she begged.

“Easy, sweetling. I will provide what you seek.” Honor
blurring, he was more than ready to stake his claim.

Cold air swirled over his bare backside, stopping him
mid-motion. Jillian halted, too. Munn whirled into the chamber, landing on the
floor beside the pallet with a smack.

Stephen rolled off Jillian covering them with a
plaide
at the same time. He didn’t ken whether to thank Munn or curse the wee man his
timing.

“Urgh!” Jillian growled, breathing heavy. “Where did he come
from?”

“Shhh,” Stephen whispered into her ear.

She, once again, lay on her side with her back to his front.
He rubbed a hand in a circle over her shoulder blades, hoping to ease her ire.

“Where have you been?” he demanded of Munn.

“Searching the wood for the lass.”

“The lost
bairns
brought her here.”

Munn’s snarl would make Stephen laugh if he wasn’t sporting
a rock hard erection with no relief forthcoming. ’Twas for the best. He
shouldn’t have carnal relations with Jillian. She didn’t deserve to be so
dishonored.

An image haunted him of waking in Calyn’s bed, both of them
naked, and not kenning how he’d gotten there. Her father and brother glowering
from the bedchamber doorway, swords raised in menace. Tears and claims he’d
stolen her maidenhead. Hours spent in Allain of Dunadd’s study, trying to talk
everyone down, only to give in to her father’s demands. Then the rushed
handfasting.

He’d never shown interest in Calyn, nor she in him. How had
he ended up in her bed two nights before he was to leave for war? And
worse—handfasted to the wench the next day.

She’d claimed he’d bullied his way into her bedchamber and
pressed her to submit. He’d never in his life taken an unwilling maiden. His
honor would never allow such. What had really happened that night?

There were no bruises on her pale skin. Not that he would
ever harm a woman. No sign of forced entry to the chamber. No proof to support
her claim other than the fact he woke naked with her in the same bed.

Would he ever learn the truth?

She’d been more than happy to make the handfasting pledge.
Did Calyn carry his
bairn
? The thought deflated his cock like naught
else could. They’d not been together since. If no
bairn
was conceived on
that one night, the handfasting would end in a year and a day.

It would be too late to pledge his love to Jillian, she’d
already have returned to the future, but at least he would be free of Calyn.
And, perhaps, he could try yet again to pass through the faerie knoll to
Jillian’s future.

“Stephen?” Her hand softly brushing his cheek startled him
out of the grim reverie.

“Aye?”

“Munn has gone. We can…”

Stephen grabbed his crutch and hauled himself up. “I need to
soak my leg.”

He wasn’t worthy of Jillian’s touch. ’Twas wrong to dally
with her. He would see her safely to the
Sithichean Sluaigh
and naught
more. Then return to Dunadd and make inquiries about the events of that
ill-fated night.

Stephen leaned back against a smooth section of stone
wishing to soak away the chaos in his mind. The warm water and gentle mist did
little to ease his troubled heart. Jillian lured him like moth to flame. When
she kissed him—

Deep grumbling heralded Munn’s entrance into the waterfall
chamber. “Ach, the stench of the lost
bairns
lingers. So they guided the
lass here? Dinnae trust them.”

“Aye, they ran off with her belongings. Things that will
cause trouble if discovered by the wrong someone, if you ken my meaning.”

“Nary a soul will find the things. The
bairns
hide
their horde well. In a hollow tree surrounded by a dense thicket. Concealed by
fae magic.”

“Munn, you ken the
bairns
are not truly changelings.
They possess nae magic.”

“Each are gifted. Protected by the fae.”

Stephen sighed. “There are other problems. I dinnae wish to
stay overlong in these caves. Maclay once used them as a hideout. Who kens if
the reprobate might return? In my debilitated state, I would be hard-pressed to
protect the lass.”

“Maclay hates our clan.”

“Aye, he does. If he learns we are here and vulnerable, he
might try to get even with Patrick and Clan MacLachlan by hurting Jillian.”

“Or you.”

Stephen wasn’t worried about himself. He didn’t have much to
live for beyond seeing Jillian safely to the
Sithichean Sluaigh
. His
future with Calyn unfurled before him like a living hell.

He stretched his bad leg. It improved with each soak in the
pool. “If only we had horses. We could ride to Castle Lachlan and Jillian could
return to her own time before something perilous happens to her.”

Munn stared at the ground and scraped his foot back and
forth.

“Can you get horses, Munn?”

The brownie’s gaze jerked up. “Mayhap. Will cost dearly.”

“I dinnae care what must be sacrificed. I will see Jillian
safely home.”

The wee man spun in a circle then vanished amid a litany of
fading grumbles.

Stephen shook his head. “Damned brownie.”

* * *

Caitrina reclined amid amber grass, relishing the noontime
sun. ’Twas late in the season yet a smattering of heather remained in bloom,
perfuming the air. She loved the Highlands in late September.

This was not a day for frowns, but her lips curved into a
fierce one. Damn that meddling brownie. His plea for an audience skittered over
her skin like a mass of recently hatched spiders. How had he gotten free from
the
Sands of Time?

She vanished from mortal sight and traveled with haste from
the hillside on an anger-induced wind, landing on the plush green grass of the
Sithichean
Sluaigh
in the Fir-wood not far from Castle Lachlan, the home of Archibald,
known to family and friends as Archie, Chief of Clan MacLachlan. Caitrina
retained the cloak of invisibility, waiting.

Munn spun onto the faerie knoll, grumbling as usual. “Where
is that infuriating
sithiche?
Appear now!”

Caitrina shimmered into corporal form, hands arched on hips,
fire sparking at her fingertips. “Why are you here?”

“Need horses.”

“Not where you are going.” She waved her arms, working the
transference spell. Naught happened. Munn remained on the knoll, feet planted
apart. “Grrr! Why are you still here? How is this possible?”

He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and smiled
smug-like. “Ha! That’s where being arrogant gets you. Nowhere.”

Her eyes widened. Blood thundered in her ears. “How dare
you!”

“You look lovely today, Caitrina.” Munn grinned. “I need
three fae horses.”

“You presume to make demands.” She waved her arms again,
concentrating her power into the spell. Naught happened. “Why do you remain?”

“I have powerful protection so dinnae think to do anything
else to me. If you want to win the challenge, provide the horses.”

Who dares shield him? Oonagh? Sparks shot from Caitrina’s
fingertips, setting a patch of grass afire. Within seconds the flames petered
out and, as if they watched a time-lapse film, lush green grass replaced the
scorched earth. A fresh, earthy scent replaced the acrid smell fouling the air.
She gnashed her teeth. “Who protects you?”

The brownie fisted his hands at his sides, leaning forward.
“Give me fae horses.”

“Why should I?”

“Stephen wants to bring the lass from the future here to the
knoll, so she can return to her time.”

“And how will that help me win the challenge?” Caitrina
demanded.

“They will fall in love while traveling here. Stephen is
already randy.” Munn grinned and uncurled his hands.

“Is he?”

“Aye. And the lass is receptive.” The wee man nodded like an
idiot.

“More reason for them to stay at the caves. The chambers and
pools are conducive to my objective.” She flicked a dismissive hand.

“Trust me. The prince made me vow to help you.”

“Prince?” Caitrina stiffened. Certainly not her father.
“Who?”

“Aye. Dugaid.”

“You made a pledge to the Dark Prince? Are you mad?” A
shiver of acute interest meandered down her spine. Was the prince as handsome
as rumors boast? ’Twas hard to believe the infamous Dugaid, one of the acclaimed
unicorn brotherhood, would lower his exalted self to converse with a wee
brownie, never mind request said brownie’s help. The stakes must be high.

They were for her, of course. But why the prince?

“Nae choice,” Munn said. “He is verra persuasive.”

“And he’s the queen’s son.”

“There is that.”

“You dinnae believe the prince is on my side, do you?”

“Well, aye. Prince Dugaid wants you to win. He said so.
Promised there would be nae interference from the queen.”

“You wee fool.” She shook her head. “You believed him?”

“Aye.” Munn pursed his lips.

“Since Oonagh vowed not to interfere, she must have drafted
her son to thwart me.”
But why?
Caitrina paced in a circle then threw up
her arms. “Dinnae try to help, Munn. You will just make a muddle of things.”

“Want to help,” he said. “Give me the horses.”

“Nae!” Weary of the conversation, Caitrina flashed into the
vanishing. Why had Prince Dugaid taken an interest in the outcome of the
queen’s challenge?

Both intrigued and apprehensive, Caitrina rode the wind in a
whirl to a private mossy glen, needing to contemplate the significance of such
an important development. Crossing swords with the Dark Prince could be
exhilarating. Heat flashed her chest, anticipation coiling in her gut.

Or, could bring about her demise.

* * *

Jillian shivered under the covers. Frustration along with
the cold making her miserable. Why had Stephen hurried off after the little man
appeared and then disappeared? Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so forward as to
kiss him. Maybe should have played harder to get.
Cripes
. Her come-on
had been poorly timed and reckless. Though he’d been more than receptive of the
kiss, and she almost found release in what came after.

Some men disliked aggressive woman. Before Finn married,
he’d reinforced that truth each time he ignored her advances only to take up
with pretty debutants from New York City—simpering fools—with D-cups. That
wasn’t totally fair. His wife, Elspeth, was beautiful, and no one’s fool.

Jillian cringed. She’d been so jealous of Finn and Elspeth’s
relationship. Until she met Stephen.

Stephen didn’t appear the type to shy away from a woman’s
advances. From the gleam in his eye, the reverence of his touch, and the
semi-erection that seemed permanent, she didn’t doubt his desire. So why did he
hobble off?

Had she repulsed him too?

A scuffing sound nettled Jillian’s already strung out
nerves. She wrenched the covers higher as if they’d protect her. “Who’s there?”

After an uncertain moment, Duff slipped from the shadows.
“We dinnae want to sleep in the trees tonight. ’Tis too cold.”

“We?”

Keita poked her head out from behind the boy, sad eyes
imploring. “Can we sleep with you? Please.”

Jillian’s heart melted, but these were the same kids who
stole her stuff. “What did you do with my clothes and pack?”

“Naught,” they said in unison vehemently shaking their
heads.

“We did not filch anything,” Duff said.

“Who did?”

“The others,” Keita chimed in.

“Can you get my things back for me?”

More of the head shaking. Jillian let out a heavy sigh. What
was she to do? Well, it didn’t seem as if Stephen would return to keep her
warm. She lifted the blankets and the children burrowed under the covers beside
her.

“We like you,” Keita said.

“You do?” Jillian smiled.

“Aye. You dinnae stare like other folk.”

Jillian felt a twinge near her heart again. This poor child
must be scorned for her disfigurement. All of the children had some sort of
deformity. Except Duff. Other than having a long nose, he looked like a normal
kid.

Keita and Duff wiggled restlessly.

“Perhaps a story will help us fall asleep.” Jillian sat up
and Keita crawled onto her lap. “Once upon a time there was a baker who wanted
to seem more important in the eyes of the king so he claimed his beautiful
fair-haired daughter could spin gold from straw—”

“Could she?” Keita asked.

“Well, let’s see how the story goes.” Jillian brushed
fingers over the little girl’s blonde hair. “The king’s man escorted the maiden
to a chamber high in the castle tower containing straw and a spinning wheel.
She was left with the threat that if she could not do as her father bragged,
she would be condemned to life in the deepest, darkest dungeon.”

“That is a terrible punishment since it was the father who
told the lie,” Duff said.

“How do you ken ’tis a falsehood?” Keita demanded.

“’Cause no one can spin gold from straw except, mayhap, one
of the Fae.”

“Is that true?” Keita bunched a handful of Jillian’s dress
in her small fist.

“Let’s hear the rest of the story, shall we?” Jillian tapped
the tip of a pert nose, and the little girl smiled, gaze alight with interest.
With a wistful breath, Jillian proceeded with the tale. “Tears spilled from the
maiden’s eyes for she was unable to spin straw into gold. But a short wrinkled
man residing in a neglected part of the castle heard the sobbing and snuck into
the chamber unnoticed by the other castle inhabitants. How will you reward me
if I spin this straw into gold before the night is through, he asked. The
maiden offered the bronze brooch securing her shawl, though she would miss it
dearly for it had belonged to her deceased mother.”

“Was the wee wrinkled man Munn?” Keita asked.

“He cannot spin gold. He’s just a wee brownie,” Duff said
with an indignant huff.

“Shall I proceed?” Jillian asked.

“Please,” the children answered in unison.

“In the morning when the king came to the chamber, the man
was gone and a pile of gold coins sat on the floor next to the spinning wheel.”

Keita gasped then made raspberries at Duff, who stuck his
tongue out in return.

“The king was a tad on the greedy side so he ordered his
steward to take the maiden to a larger chamber where there was twice as much
straw and a spinning wheel,” Jillian continued. “When left alone, the maiden
cried because she couldn’t spin straw into gold. The little man appeared,
again, and she offered him the bone bracelet from her wrist if he would spend
the night spinning.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Duff groused.

Jillian chuckled. “The king was so pleased to find the gold
in the morning he escorted the woman to a third, much larger, chamber filled with
straw and a spinning wheel. He told her if she spun the straw into gold during
the night, he would make her queen and she would never need spin again. She
waited and waited but the little man didn’t make an appearance.”

“He has to help her,” Keita shrieked.

“Finally, as she wept with despair, he appeared in the
chamber and asked what she would give this night for his service. She had
nothing else to offer. I will take your firstborn son as payment, he said, and
he spent the night spinning.”

A shadow blocked the dim light coming from the tunnel
entrance. Jillian glanced up. Stephen had returned.

Stephen halted in the entranceway, listening to Jillian’s
sweet voice spinning magic for the
bairns
. He rubbed his chest. Damn.
How, in such a short time, had she found a vulnerability within his heart?

“What is this tale you tell the children?”

“It’s a Grimms’ faerie tale I often read to Patrick and
Laurie’s daughter at bedtime when I babysit.”

“Please, continue.” He leaned against the rough stone wall
with crossed arms.

“Aye.” Keita begged. “What happens next?”

“The king kept his promise and married the maiden, making
her queen. She enjoyed her life in the castle, especially walks in the garden.
When their son was born, joy filled her heart. She had forgotten the promise to
the gold-spinner. But the man came to collect the child without delay,
demanding payment. The queen couldn’t bear to give up her child so offered the
man riches beyond the imagination. The wretched man scoffed, having no desire
nor need for wealth. He wanted the boy for his own.”

Duff snorted, and Stephen laughed.

“After much debate, the man finally agreed to forsake his
claim to the child if, and only if, the queen guessed his real name before the
full moon three nights hence. For two days the queen’s attempts failed. At dusk
on the last day, she secretly followed the man into the forest to a grassy
hill—”

“’Twas probably a faerie knoll,” Duff said.

“Where he danced in a circle.” Jillian ignored the boy’s
remark. “Then he chanted a name three times before vanishing from sight.
Moments before the full moon, he came to the queen at the castle, ready to
collect the child. The queen shouted the name she’d overheard in the forest—
Rumpelstiltskin
.”