The Parchment Scroll (4 page)

He bent and snatched up what he recognized as a piece of rolled parchment, paying it little notice as he buried it in his trews’ pocket.

Hugh adjusted his sword so the scabbard wouldn’t poke him, and squatted next to the lass.

She’d landed on her side, one arm above her head, and the other across her belly. His gaze trailed her shapely form once again. One of her legs was over the other, blocking her sex. Preventing him from closer inspection of the dark-blonde curls he’d seen.

His eyes landed on her breasts. They were as plump and perfect as he’d already observed. Her nipples were peaked, probably because of the chill in the air.

Perhaps he should look away, but no one had ever accused him of being chivalrous—and after all, he
was
a man. His cock certainly liked his perusal of the female foundling.

If he truly was the barbarian they’d all thought, he’d be doing a lot more than
looking
at a beautiful naked lass.

Hugh snorted and pushed rich golden locks out of her face. Her lashes were long against her high cheekbones. Her hair was wavy, settling over her shoulders and against her back. He stopped himself from stroking her cheek. His gut told him it would be silky, and leave him with the drive for more.

He frowned. The urge to part her thighs and slip inside her was one thing, but to caress her with a gentle hand?

That hadn’t been his way even with—

Hugh shook his head, growling.

He never thought about
her
, let alone said her name in his head, and today was
not
the day to change his ways.

The lass on the sandy ground stirred, blinking up at him, but her green eyes were cloudy.

“Lass?” Hugh ventured.

Her brow knitted, and she moved her head back for forth, trying to look around. A groan fell from her lips, and her lush mouth parted. Her breasts rose and fell as she sucked in breath, and she rolled onto her back, blinking a few more times. She now lay spread before him, on display as if he’d wished it.

Hugh had to swallow hard. “Lass, can ye stand?” His words were rushed and cracked, but he needed her on her feet—and covered up.

She still said nothing as he grabbed her hands, but the lass didn’t fight him as he hauled her to her feet.

Perhaps she’s a mute?

As soon as he was sure she wouldn’t tumble to the beach, Hugh took a step back and whipped his tunic over his head.

He had to lift her arms like a bairn to get her into his shirt. Even though she was a tall lass, it was huge on her, falling almost to her knees.

Hugh tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes. Hers were leaf green, as beautiful as she.

She blinked and swallowed, making him want to kiss her throat.

He chided himself for yet another odd desire. “Lass? Are ye wit’ me?”

The lass jumped in his grip, but didn’t pull away. Her eyes darted left, then right, before looking back up at him. She muttered something nonsensical, then her hands curled around his wrists, but she didn’t pull away from his fingers still cupping her cheeks.

Her pink tongue slipped out, running along her bottom lip and Hugh’s mouth went dry.

When their gazes collided, he couldn’t help himself. He dipped his head down and took her mouth.

Soft.

Her lips were soft and sweet. He forced her mouth open and invaded, pushing his tongue deep. He nibbled at her lips, urging her to return his kiss, tightening his grip on her face.

His manhood twitched, and he wanted to draw her into his arms, deepen the kiss and hold her close. Run his hands over her perfect backside, touch her hips, and bury his hand—then his cock—between her legs. Hugh slanted his mouth over hers again, trying to coax a response.

Her tongue tentatively touched his, rubbing, moving slowly, kissing back gently.

Right as the triumph of getting her to return his gesture started to wash over him, the lass yelped and shoved him away with both palms flat to his bare chest. She ripped her mouth from his before Hugh had time to react.

Her eyes went wide when their gazes met, but her mouth was still open, and he wanted to taste her again.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, but Hugh didn’t miss her flushed cheeks or how her breasts heaved. Too bad they were now hidden by his own garment.

“The lass speaks.” He cleared his throat.

“Who are you?” Honey colored hair flew around her face as she backed up, frantically looking around the beach.

Hugh stared. Her accent was odd. Like nothing he’d ever heard, but he could make out her words—and her anger.

Her emerald eyes shot daggers at him as she regained her composure. She could be angry all she wanted; Hugh wasn’t about to apologize for the kiss he’d stolen.

The lass was sweet.

He wanted more.

Besides, he was a barbarian, was he not?

She startled when she looked down and noticed what she was wearing. Froze where she stood. Some unnamed emotion darted across her beautiful face, but she put her fingertips to her lips.

He wanted to tell her it pleased him, and ask if she could still taste him there, but nothing would come out of his mouth.

“Naked,” the lass whispered. She looked around again, and Hugh could feel her desperation.

He frowned. “Aye.” He took a step toward her, but she took a step back, inching closer to the water.

“I-I-I— ”

“Lass,” Hugh said.

“I never believed.” The words had a frantic edge, and she swallowed hard—twice.

“Believed wha’?”

Her eyes were even wider when she met his gaze again. “Where’s Bree?” She looked around, then shook her head when she didn’t see whoever
Bree
was. Her gaze darted down to the sand around their feet. “Where’s my scroll? Oh, God. I need it. Claire.” She rushed away from him, looking down as she went.

“Lass,” Hugh called, but she didn’t respond. He growled to himself, and shot forward, his hand swallowing her upper arm.

She stilled, but he didn’t miss the glare when she glanced up at him. “Let me go.”

He pulled the small piece of parchment from his trews. “Is this wha’ ye seek?”

The lass made a go for the scroll, but Hugh raised it above her reach.

“Give it to me,” she ordered, anger darting across that pretty face.

Hugh chuckled when she jumped, but failed to reach. “Just wha’ do we have here?”

“None of your business.”

He ignored his foundling and unrolled the parchment. The lass’s arms shot around his waist in the effort to tug him back to her, but Hugh grabbed her wrist and she whimpered. He held the scroll high, but where he could read it, and scanned the thing.

Her breasts against his back were a distraction, but he tried to ignore the soft press and focused on the neatly written words before him.

Hugh scowled at the first mention of
MacLeod.
But then ‘
marrying you
,’ caught his attention. He’d heard that fool Duncan had found himself a wife, but it had been over two years ago now…actually, almost three. He read on, seeing some nonsense about the Fae, magic, and…traveling through time? “Claire,” he whispered.

She froze in his grip.

He hauled his foundling around to the front of his body, pinning her to his chest. Hugh liked the feel of her in his arms.

Uncertainty flashed in those green eyes when their gazes met, and she struggled.

Hugh tightened his grip, but tried not to hurt her. “Are ye Claire?”

“No.”

Hugh arched an eyebrow. “Then have I found myself a thief?”

The lass frowned. “No.”

He studied her face, resisting the urge to take her mouth again. Hugh saw no dishonesty in her steady gaze. The hesitation he’d read just moments before was now determination. Her green eyes glinted. A dare.

This lass is strong.

Hugh smiled slowly.

She glared up at him, her tempting lips set in a hard line. “Let me go.”

“Nay.”

The lass’s eyes threatened to slay him on the spot. She bent her knee and made a jab for his tender parts. Twisting his hips was the only thing that saved him. His move adjusted her aim, but her shot ended up in his thigh, pain lanced down his leg.

Hugh barely maintained his hold. “Why’d ye do tha’?” he growled.

“I warned you.” Her words dripped her ire, and she tugged against his hold. “What are you, some kind of barbarian? Let me go!”

He held on. There was no way he was going to release her now. The shifting of his grip hiked his tunic up, baring the creamy skin of her upper thigh.

Hugh tried not to stare there, or worse, rip the scrap of linen off her and show her what
barbarian
meant. “Well, lass, I doona’ know who ye are, but yer likely important to Duncan MacLeod, so yer comin’ with me.”

“What?” she screeched when he swung her up over his shoulder.

Hugh smacked her delectable rear end; couldn’t help himself. He chuckled when she yelped and pinned her legs to his chest when she started kicking him.

“Put me down!” Her fists pounded his bare back.

He laughed and whistled for Dubh.

Jules struggled to no avail. The man’s hands were like iron on her waist, and she was laid across the back of a huge black horse, so if she fought him harder, she would probably fall off and hit her head. “Let me go!” she commanded for the billionth time.

Air hit her bare ass, and she couldn’t even reach to yank the shirt down over it. He had her face-down, arms pinned, and damn horseflesh cut into her stomach, stealing her breath. Blood rushed to her head, making her pulse pound in her temples. She wiggled, but he held her tighter. “Seriously! Let. Me. Go.”

He chuckled and held on with only
one
of his hands.

God, he’s strong.

The guy was
huge,
too. She was tall for a girl, at five-ten, but this dude had towered over her on the beach. He had to be six-five or six-six, and he was broad, well-muscled, like he lived in the gym. He was hot, too, which just pissed her off. His long dark hair kissed his shoulders, and he had eyes to match.

Another breeze ruffled the shirt, shooting air up her spine. She clenched her thighs and whimpered. No doubt he could see her
everything
.

His grip burned through the thin linen of the tunic, but he wasn’t hurting her. Not really.

“Hope you’re enjoying the view,” Jules bit at him.

A deep chuckle teased her ears—and made her gut roil. She kicked her legs, trying to flip over and hit him. She’d always
hated
being restrained, even back in police academy days.

“Calm yerself lass, or ye’ll fall off my horse.”

Jules froze when she felt his big hands on her bare thighs. He brushed higher, getting closer to her girly parts, so she yanked her arm from beneath her and tried to punch his side.

The guy released the hold on her thighs—he only had two hands, after all—and she was able to get a hit in as he tried to grab her wrists.

He missed, she rolled, and clocked him in the ‘nads. Dude cursed—she guessed, it wasn’t English—and Jules took the opportunity to slip from the horse’s back. She landed so hard her bare feet shot pain all the way up to her knees, but the best part was the shock on his face.

Her captor had one hand on his crotch, and those dark eyes were wide. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, staring at her.

“Later, sucker!”

She ran. Harder than she ever had to go after a suspect. Her lungs burned, her legs seared all the way into her quads, and her feet were on fire. Maybe bleeding from the rocky terrain, but she didn’t stop to inspect them.

Hooves on her heels made her push harder.

He was yelling curses and orders from best she could tell, but Jules kept going even after she heard the
thud
of boots hitting the ground. She didn’t look over her shoulder to see where he was, but he was taller and had a longer stride than her, so she didn’t have a chance if she hesitated even for a second.

Hard hands seized her from behind, and then she was enveloped in his heat. He lifted her off the ground effortlessly and said nothing.

The guy stalked to the horse and threw her on its back, but this time he sat her up properly, swinging up behind her before she had time to react, or think about her bare ass on horsehair—there was no saddle. He wrapped her in his arms, and lifted her so she was sitting on his lap, then pinned her to him. The sound he made deep in his throat shot awareness down her spine and Jules squirmed.

She could feel his anger. He was seething, but he still hadn’t hurt her, despite the steel hold he had going on. His bare chest was hot against her back. And what a chest it was! Despite her own anger, her body was aware of every hard muscle, every defined line she could feel through the shirt she was wearing.

His
shirt.

She tingled all over, against her will, worse than when he’d kissed her. Jules shivered and it had nothing to do with the chilly air. After all, she was still flushed from her escape attempt.

What the hell was that kiss about, anyway?

Ugh, don’t even think about it.

“Where’d ye think ye were goin’?” the man barked finally.

“Away from you.”

He growled again, squeezing his arms around her. His hand brushed her belly, then inched up, as if he was contemplating going higher.

“Stop it.” Jules jolted in his arms.

He laughed.

Asshole.

Fury burned and she dug her nails into his wrists. “Are you in the habit of kissing strangers and kidnapping them?”

“Are
ye
in the habit of wandering naked on the beach?”

Naked.

Like Claire had been when she’d appeared and fallen into Jules’ arms. Somehow, her clothing hadn’t made it to the seventeenth century—if that was where she was—but the scroll had.

And
where
was Bree?

Jules didn’t remember anything after stepping through the portal. Except her kidnapper shoving her into his shirt and kissing her.

She scanned the beach, but they were moving fast now that he had her again.