A Slip In Time (17 page)

“With my gown?” her voice rose in
surprise.

“Aye, yer gown. It fits ye like a
glove, but I dinna ken how ‘tis done.”

Julia’s surprise faded as she recalled
the simple, loose-fitting garments she had seen in the great hall
of the past, during the second time slip. And what of the
Highlanders’ voluminous kilts, which were essentially long, belted
blankets? Perhaps, his interest in her gown, and in
nineteenth-century apparel in general, was not so
unusual.

She glanced down at her dress and wondered
where to begin.

“We use a lot of seams, yes that is
it, and tucks and darts. My gown is actually two pieces, a bodice
and a skirt, made in the same material so, together, they appear
all of one piece.”

The Scotsman gave a grunt of acknowledgment
as he caught up the side of her skirt and began rubbing the fabric
between his fingers.

“Ah yes, the skirt . . . all right,
we’ll talk about that. It is gored so it hugs the hips and flares
into a bell—”

“‘
Tis stiff,” he commented dryly,
flipping up the hem and examining the band of buckram
there.

“Y-yes, of course, the fabric must be
lined and stiffened for the skirt to keep its shape.”

Seeing his attention shift to the lace
of her pantaloons, she yanked the skirt from his grasp and adjusted
it before he could begin an inspection. He straightened and began
to finger the braiding and pleating that trimmed her basque and
sleeves.

“As I was saying, many long, vertical
seams are used to fit the dress to the contours of the . . .
ah-h-h-h!”

Unexpectedly, his hands spanned her
waist.

“Ye hae a bewitchingly small waist,
lass, but why are ye so rigid? It feels like ye hae a
shell.”

“A shell?”

His fingers inched upward. “Aye, like
a crab.”

“A crab?” Her eyes widened.

“Or an insect.” He felt about her
ribs.

“Insect?” She wished to swat him but
lost the thread of her thoughts as his hands came to rest at the
top of the corset, stilling beneath her breasts.

“Aye, hard on the outside, all
softness on the inside.” She swallowed a long breath, daring not to
look at him. “What you feel is not a shell, sir, but a
corset.”

“Rae is my name, lass.” He smiled but
did not remove his hands. “‘Twould please me to hear it on yer
lips.”

“Sir, Rae, this is most
improper!”

“A ‘corset’ ye say?” His fingers
resumed their exploration, moving downward and across her
stomach.

“Yes, a corset. Oh! It is somewhat
like a cage, made of fabric and bone stays.”

“The de’ il, ye say. Why would a woman
wish tae wear a cage?” He frowned, discovering the wide, wooden
busk at the front of the corset and busily felt its outline through
the layers of cloth.

“We need the extra support of the
stays.” This brought a disbelieving look from the Scotsman. “Of
course, we do use them to lace our waists to a smaller size, but
our feminine bone structure is much more delicate than a man’s and
requires the additional reinforcement of—”

“Who taught ye such
drivel?”

“Drivel?”

“Aye, drivel. And here ye, a lass wi’
schoolin’.”

Julia narrowed her eyes. “I’ll have
you know, some of the finest medical minds have
concluded—”

“I wish tae see it”

“See what? My corset? Certainly
not!”

“Humor him,” Lord Muir called from his
corner, appearing more than a little amused by the one-sided
conversation he was privy to. “If the watch did not convince my
ancestor you are from the future, what better way to persuade him?
There is nothing like our English women’s corset in his own
time.”

Julia stared at Lord Muir, dumbfounded that
he should encourage such a thing.

“I
will
see the corset, Julia.” Rae’s
voice drew her attention back. “Wi’ or wi’oot yer help.”

She met his gaze and saw the
determination in his eyes. “All right!” she grit out, cheeks
flaming. “But not one word of this outside this chamber, either of
you, ever!”

Both men swore themselves to silence,
simultaneously, which Julia thought she might find amusing were she
not so maddened.

Lord Muir allowed her a dram of privacy,
turning his attention to the readings on his instruments.

Julia unfastened the hooks hidden
beneath the braiding that ran down the front of her basque. Rae
started to assist her but she slapped his hands away. He waited
patiently, a smile tipping the corner of his mouth, his eyes fixed
on her bodice.

Julia pressed her lashes
shut as she opened the top of her basque and exposed her camisole
that overlay her corset. In a heartbeat, Rae Mackinnon’s hands were
upon her, peeling away the basque entirely, followed by the
camisole, then turning her round and round. Gasping, her eyes flew
open. She found the Scotsman glaring at the corset’s multitude of
stays, and the excessive tight lacing that allowed her an ideal
waist
of twenty
inches.

“Och, ‘tis an evil piece,” he declared
before she could utter so much as a sound.

“Evil?” Julia found her voice at
last.

“What is evil, child?” Lord Muir piped
from his corner.

“My corset,” she ground
out.

Rae bent to examine the corset’s busk,
tracing its length to below her skirt-covered waist and over her
abdomen. His warm breath caressed the swell of Julia’s breasts,
where they rose above the top of her chemise. She felt a tingling
sensation spread through her and pooled in her abdomen.

Rae straightened in the next instant, a dark
look slashing his face.

“‘
Tis an evil piece o’ torture, Julia.
‘Tis unnatural and canna be healthy. How can ye even breathe? And
how d’ye expect tae carry a babe? ‘Twill harm the wee
bairnie.”

“I-I am unmarried and chaste,” Julia
sputtered, taken aback by her response to the Scotsman the moment
before.

Rae cocked a brow. “Aye, tha’ I
believe.”

Julia ignored the comment, unsure whether
she should be irritated or complimented.

“When the day comes when I am married
and am with child, I will still need the support of a corset and
will wear one especially designed for my . . . my . . .
condition!”

“The de’il, ye will,” Rae swore
through his teeth. “I’ll no’ allow it. Take it off now,” he
ordered. “No woman in my castle will wear such an instrument o’
torture or e’er endanger a wee bairnie in her belly.”

Julia gaped at Rae Mackinnon, scandalized by
his demand, and yet moved by his protectiveness toward women and
babes, however misguided.

Quickly, she appealed to Lord Muir for
his aid but found him thoroughly entertained by the entire episode
and in agreement with Rae’s position.

“Indulge him, child. It is all for a
greater good.”

“A greater good?” she
squeaked. “I can’t give him my corset!” Betty had been right. Lord
Muir
was
“dottled.”

“Come wi’ me,” Rae instructed,
suddenly filled with impatience. He pulled her along with him
toward the iron-bound trunk and caught something up, a scabbard,
Julia realized with a start. He unsheathed a wicked-looking blade
and spun her around.

“Dinna move,” he commanded. In the
next instant, he set the point to the seam of the skirt, sending
the cloth to puddle at her feet. As she watched aghast, he sliced
through her laces and her corset fell away.

Julia squealed, her hands flying across her
chest, then her abdomen, then one returned to her chest again.
Thank heavens she wore her combination. She only wished she had
worn her woolen one, not the lacy silken thing she had chosen.

Rae Mackinnon stood before her, gripping her
undergarment and looking pleased with himself as he resheathed his
blade.

“I’ll thank you to return my corset.”
Her temper claimed her as she stood in the jumble of her skirt, her
hands fisted on her hips, arms akimbo.

Rae’s gaze traveled to her breasts and
their silken barrier then slowly down the length of her, taking in
her lace-trimmed pantaloons. His lips parted. As he lifted his
eyes, she read an unmistakable hunger there.

The air left Julia’s lungs at that
look. As she drew a shaky breath, she felt the air close
in.

“I willna have ye harm yerself, lass.”
Rae said, his blue eyes raking her boldly as he began to dissolve.
“Besides, I like ye just as God intended, soft and natural and
womanly—”

Time shifted and Rae Mackinnon
disappeared, holding Julia’s corset in his hand!

»«

Hours later, Julia lay abed awake, the
chamber dark except for the glow of the fire, Lord Muir long
retired.

Julia’s earlier shock had dissipated,
but her emotions remained a swirl of conflict and confusion. Rae
Mackinnon possessed a magnetism that devastated her senses and set
all prudent, good reason to flight. Even when the man was
infuriating, he fired her blood in a way that had nothing to do
with anger.

She had seen the burning look in his
eyes as she stood before him in her flimsy underclothes — a look of
undisguised passion. God help her, deep down, some wanton part of
her savored the look, savored being desired as a woman, savored the
thought of Rae Mackinnon coveting her for himself.

Julia smoothed her hands upward over her
waist and ribs, tracing the path his fingers had taken. Closing her
eyes, she brought them to rest as he had done and remembered the
seductive feel of his strong hands pressing there.

Remembered his warm breath kissing the
swell of her breasts.

Julia opened her eyes, her pulses
quickened, heat shimmering through her.

She yanked the sheets to her chin,
fearing this ungovernable side. Fearing that part of her that
craved the virile Scotsman. This was madness. She must set her mind
to other men, of her own time, cultured and educated and with
shorter hair.

But her heart did not listen, and as
she drifted to sleep, she dreamed of her wild Highland
laird.

»«

Rae sat on the end of his bed, Julia’s
corset clasped in his hand. He envisioned her sleeping before him,
centuries ahead in time.

‘Twas true then. She came from a
future age.

He leaned forward and touched the pillow,
then trailed his hand over the covers where he imagined she lay. He
could not deny his deepening desire for Julia, or its utter
futility.

Far better he felt lust, pure and simple, a
craving that would pass or could be sated with another who would
not disappear in his arms. But he knew he felt more than mere
physical longing for Julia. He found her as fascinating as she was
beautiful, and for whatever reason, fate had brought her to him
across time.

He pictured Julia as last he saw her,
standing arrow straight, her high round breasts beaded against the
thin cloth of her chemise, her look ready to flay him alive for
taking away her cursed boned cage of a corset.

A smile spread over his
lips. Julia possessed a passionate nature, whether she realized so
or not.
Dhia,
what he would do to be the man to awaken her to that promise.
Yet, what could they e’er hope to share but brief moments scattered
in time?

His smile faded to a grim line. The cold
reality of it all was that now, back in her own time, he was
already dead.

Julia excused herself from the
breakfast parlor, finally able to extricate herself from the overly
chatty Lady Charles. Julia deemed she’d been delayed long enough
and now must hurry to her room and prepare for her coming session
with Lord Muir.

Hopefully, the next time slip would
occur mid-morning, as did the one three days past when she found
herself sprawled on the lawn outside the tower. If additional
daytime shifts had transpired since then, she had not been present
to witness them. Of course, therein lay a difficulty, secreting
Lord Muir into her chamber during sunlight hours without the staff
or guests any the wiser.

Fortunately, most of the men, those with
indefatigable constitutions as Lord Withrington and Sir Robert,
had left early with Angus McNab. Even Mr. Dilcox joined them as a
matter of pride, to show his stamina and ability to endure the
rigors of the hunt.

Fortunate, too, that despite the fine
drizzle, the ladies decided to fetch their waterproofs and head
out to enjoy the surrounding sights, those gentlemen not hunting
joining them. Only Lady Charles remained within Dunraven’s walls,
she and the invisible, but ever-present, servants.

Julia sighed. She and Lord Muir must
risk discovery. It was essential they keep watch. Last night’s time
portal had remained “open” for the longest period yet. The
duration of the slips seemed to be increasing by noticeable
amounts. Exactly why, neither she nor the marquis could begin to
guess, but it was imperative they maintain complete and accurate
records, meticulously recording measurements with Lord Muir’s
equipment. Perhaps they could discover the key that opened the
door to the past — and to Rae Mackinnon.