Border Lord (7 page)

Perplexed by her speech, he bent down and kissed her, savoring the moment.

“Oh, and by the way. Thank you for the job in the kitchen. The walls were starting to close in on me already.”

He laughed, amazed at her ability to see the best in every situation.

“I shall see ye tonight,” he said, heading for the door.

“I’m counting on it,” came her reply.

The kitchen was hotter than Hades. Between the boiling pots over the hearth and the smell of too many bodies, Terri felt the urge to run and never look back.

Sweating through her thin gown, she tied her hair up in a sloppy bun, and tried to find some relief from the heat. Not easy when it was nearly as hot outside as it was in this furnace.

Discomfort aside, she had to look at the positive. At least she wasn’t stuck in the solar counting bricks any longer. Now she had other people to talk to, mainly Helda, the portly cook who had taken a liking to Terri immediately. Thank goodness. The woman had a quick temper and proved it when she hit a page across the knuckles with a wooden spoon.

Pages and servants lined up in the kitchen, taking trenchers and plates of steaming venison and vegetables. Having not eaten a single thing since her drinking binge, Terri couldn’t keep her mouth from watering. However, she re
frained from picking at the food, certain the cook would kick her out.

“Take a pitcher there, and go fill goblets,” cook said, pointing toward the large jug on the scarred wood table.

Knowing she looked frightful, she cringed, glancing down at the dress clinging to her like a second skin. It was made of thin light blue linen, and a sweat ring had formed at her neck and no doubt down her back.

Not sexy at all.

And Brochan would be in the hall, and quite possibly Eva too. This was not how she imagined meeting her nemesis.

Trying not to think of the brunette, Terri did as asked and took the jug, and followed the line of servants out of the kitchen into the bailey.

The cool air felt wonderful against her heated skin and she took a deep breath, walking slowly until she was the very last servant to enter the hall.

Noise hummed in the huge room, people talking among themselves as servants made sure each glass was filled. Terri wondered where Brochan sat. Brushing a curl over her ear, she started pouring.

A man leered at her, his lips quirking. “Aye, lass, yer not so high-and-mighty now, are ye?” His laughter vibrated to the high ceilings.

No doubt they were all enjoying the sight of Angus MacLellan’s daughter serving them.

They would have a field day.

And though she was not Annabelle, she still could not help the blush that stained her cheeks red. A group of women sat to her right, laughing. “Well, if it isn’t the laird’s whore.”

Terri’s heart missed a beat as she recognized the brunette that had been in Brochan’s chamber the night before.

Eva.

To Terri’s chagrin, the woman was even prettier up close.

Her dark eyes narrowed. “I would like some ale, servant.”

Terri could see jealousy in the other woman’s eyes. Though she wanted to pour the entire pitcher over Eva’s head, she instead poured ale into the woman’s goblet.

“She is not pretty in the least,” Eva’s friend said, loud enough for Terri to hear her.

Unable to help herself, Terri knocked the goblet over as she went to fill another.

“You idiot!” Eva cried, slapping Terri across the mouth.

Tasting blood, Terri refrained from dropping the jug and hitting her back. Instead, she lifted her chin and met the other woman’s gaze.

From the corner of her eye she saw a tall man walking toward them, and knew it was Brochan even before she looked up at him.

Her pulse skittered.

His gaze shifted from hers to the gown, and her nipples pebbled against the rough material, reminding her of yesterday. The way he had taken her from behind, how he had filled her so completely. He had come inside her too, not withdrawing as he had before. No doubt his intention was to get her pregnant so he could return her to Annabelle’s father. She’d been on birth control pills for years, but it had been nearly a week now since she’d taken the last one…which meant she could very well be pregnant.

Elliott had never wanted kids, and she had never pushed the point, hoping that one day he would change his mind. Thank goodness they didn’t have children. It would have made his betrayal even harder.

But now she had Brochan.

His long hair had been pulled back, drawing emphasis to
his finely sculptured features, the sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, and full lips.

Her stomach did a little flip.

Fill and inflame me again, Brochan
.

His gaze shifted abruptly to the brunette. “What is amiss?”

Eva stood, putting a hand on Brochan’s arm. Her fingers curled around a large bicep. “She spilled the ale intentionally. Look at my skirts.”

Sure enough, the ale had left a large, wet spot on the front of Eva’s skirt. Terri bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

“Ye are not to touch this woman again, do ye hear me?” Brochan said to Eva, his eyes as hard as ice.

When she didn’t answer immediately he put his hands on his narrow hips.

The woman’s cheeks turned red, and Terri was surprised she didn’t stomp her foot as she had done the night before in Brochan’s chamber.

To Terri’s dismay, the entire hall had gone quiet.

She had always disliked being the center of attention, and now she stood in a room full of people who hated her, watching and waiting for Brochan to deliver punishment. He was not in an enviable position, as his people would expect her to be reprimanded.

She was their hated enemy, and though initially she had thought being in this time would be fun, she realized it would never be the thrill she had thought it would be.

Not when everyone here wanted her dead.

Especially the brunette who stood seething, her eyes full of hatred.

“Perhaps I should return to the kitchen,” Terri said, dropping her gaze to the floor. No doubt everyone knew she had slept with Brochan.

“Mayhap you are right,” Brochan said, pulling away from Eva. “I shall walk you to your quarters.”

She walked ahead of him, feeling his gaze on her the entire way. Snickers followed them all the way out the hall, and to her surprise tears burned the backs of her eyes.

What was wrong with her? She had thought this time-travel would be so much fun, but the enormity of possibly never seeing her home again came crashing down on her.

The minute she stepped out into the bailey, she cried.

Brochan’s hand encircled her wrist and he pulled her toward him. “Come,” he said, walking toward the armory. Inside, armor and swords lined the walls.

Shutting the door behind them, Brochan turned. “Why do ye cry, Annabelle?”

How she yearned to hear him call her by her name, and not Annabelle. “I don’t know.”

He lifted her chin. “Are ye hurt?” He turned her face to look at her cheek. Gentle fingers probed her tender skin.

“No, it doesn’t hurt.”

“She will never touch ye again. I swear it.”

Brochan’s insides twisted as he looked down into Annabelle’s upturned face. Her cheek still bore the outline of Eva’s fingers where she had slapped her.

In truth, he had not known Annabelle had been in the hall until the sound had alerted him to her presence.

He knew that Annabelle had been roused early to help in the kitchen, but he had not expected her to appear in the hall.

Especially wearing that thin gown, wet with perspiration. Her hair had been pulled up high on the back of her head, the blond tresses hanging about her shoulders, some of the strands wet from sweat.

The kitchens were hot.

Mayhap too hot.

“I don’t belong here, Brochan,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“What do ye mean?”

She looked at him intently. “I don’t belong here, plain and simple. No one wants me here. I am your enemy, and what good will come of my being kept prisoner? It won’t bring your brother back.”

He clenched his jaw. “Nay, nothing will bring my brother back, but at least I will have revenge upon your father.”

She lifted a brow. “How will you have revenge? In what way? By getting me pregnant and sending me back in shame?”

His gaze slid to the pulse beating wildly in her neck. He pressed a finger on it, and then ran a trail down to where a nipple thrust against the thin material. He brushed it lightly, and she released an unsteady breath. “You could already be carrying my child. I did not say ye would return to yer village.”

“So you will leave me here to work in your kitchen, give birth to your child, and then lock me away at night?”

He wanted her in his bed. To stay with him forever. Mayhap he would even marry her, yet as he stared into her blue eyes, he could not say the words. He had never been good at showing or expressing emotion. “I desire ye, Annabelle. I want ye, and I want ye to carry my babe.”

“But only for revenge, Brochan.”

At first he had thought of it that way. An excuse to explain why he wanted this woman so badly. But now it had nothing to do with her father, or the death of his brother. It was just about the two of them, and how he felt when he
was with her. The need he felt whenever they were together. The intense desire that took hold of him and didn’t let go.

He cupped her face in his hands. “I burn for ye, Annabelle. In a way that scares me.” His fingers caressed her jaw then fell to her breast, cupping one firm globe.

Her gaze searched his, and the sides of her mouth lifted.

She sat down on the bench, her hands going to the cord of his braies. “I burn for you too, Brochan.” Slowly she untied it and wrapped her fingers around his length.

She leaned in and tasted the head of his cock.

His shaft swelled and bucked.

She smiled and took him into her hot mouth, an inch at a time.

Her hot mouth caressed his rod, her tongue stroking the head over and over. She took him deeper into her mouth, and his fingers dug into her shoulders.

Surprisingly she took most of him, her movements slow and steady. Her fingers splayed on his hips, then moved around to cup his buttocks, pulling him even deeper inside her mouth.

His balls lifted.

Her finger brushed against his puckered hole. A place no woman had ever touched.

Yet she did, her slender finger sliding into him.

Unaccustomed to the strange sensation, he pushed her away, his cock sliding from her mouth.

She lifted a brow but said nothing, and leaned forward, taking him into her mouth once again. Her hands returned to his hips and stayed there. She sucked slowly, in no hurry.

He could hear his men outside and knew they risked being caught, but he could not pull away. Not when he was so close to blessed release.

She stroked beneath his balls, her thumb brushing over a sensitive patch, and he was shocked at the climax that rocked his body, his seed shooting into her hot mouth with a force that stunned him.

He groaned as she sucked every bit of his cum from her lips, and tugged his braies back up and tied them.

His legs trembled from his climax. He pulled her up, hugging her to him, his fingers brushing along her spine. How could he return her to her father? This woman whom he could not get out of his blood?

“Brochan, Laird MacLellan and his men were spotted not more than an hour away.”

Brochan came awake with a start. At his side, Annabelle stirred.

He had known Angus would come looking for his daughter. He just had not expected it to be so soon.

“I will be there shortly. Rouse the men and have them prepare for battle.”

“Right away!” Fergus said, his footsteps receding.

Brochan dressed, and tossed Annabelle’s dress at her. “Here, put this on. I want ye to stay here. Do not leave, and do not, under any circumstances, unlock the door until ye hear my voice.”

“Brochan.”

He turned.

She swallowed hard, and blurted, “Will you give me to him?”

“Ye belong to me, Annabelle. To me and no other.”

To his surprise, she smiled. “Brochan, before you go, there is something I must tell you.”

His heart missed a beat, terrified of the next words out of her mouth.

“I am not Annabelle MacLellan.”

He shook his head, certain he had not heard her right. He remembered how surprised he had been when he entered the priory chamber and saw her standing there, a woman older than six and ten. God’s breath, had the nuns at the Priory of Grace duped him into believing one of their own was MacLellan’s daughter? “If you are not the real Annabelle, then why is yer father here?”

She came to her feet, wrapping the blanket about her slender body. “This is where it gets difficult.” She cleared her throat. “My name is Terri Campbell, and I’m from the twenty-first century.”

He watched her for a long moment, shocked she could keep a straight face. His lips quirked. “This is not the time to play games, Annabelle. Yer father is riding here and I am needed downstairs.”

“Brochan, I’m Terri Campbell.”

“Terri Campbell? An odd name, particularly for a girl.”

The smile disappeared from her lips. “Perhaps it is a bit androgynous, but it is my name, and I am from the future, whether you choose to believe me or not.”

Misgivings worked its way up his spine. “I do not have time for these games.”

She walked toward him and put a hand against his chest. Her expression was earnest, her tone firm. “Brochan, I am who I say I am. One day I left my job, working at a museum in London. Having found my fiancé
sleeping
with another
woman, I drove to Scotland. When I came upon the Priory of Grace, I stopped, intrigued by the building.”

At the mention of her fiancé he went still, his hands closing into fists at his sides.

“While on a tour of the priory, there was a chamber that had been boarded up. The guide told us the story of Annabelle MacLellan, the young woman who had been brought to the nuns for safekeeping by Angus MacLellan himself. He feared for his daughter’s safety after he had killed your brother by mistake.”

“He did not kill my brother by mistake. He did it intentionally. Our clans have always been rivals.”

“I am just telling you what the tour guide told us. Please hear me out.” She dropped her hand back to her side. “I was told that the chamber had not been opened for over seven hundred years, because it was haunted by a nun’s spirit, a nun who had been murdered by Annabelle’s father. Her spirit haunted the chamber and made the nuns so afraid that they sealed it off, never opening it again.”

“And ye opened this chamber?”

She nodded. “I did.”

Though the story was entertaining, he grew restless. “And what happened?”

“I woke up in this time.”

“In the body of Annabelle MacLellan?”

She shook her head. “No, in my body actually. I wish I could say I was only sixteen years old, but I am actually ten years older than the original Annabelle.”

Which made her six and twenty. A prickling began at the back of his neck, growing with each second. From the moment he had met Annabelle, something had seemed wrong. The way she had readily accompanied him, not
fighting him, almost being happy to leave the priory and the nuns.

She had not been a virgin either, as the real Annabelle would have been. Nay, this woman knew how to make love to a man. A woman of six and twenty who knew what sexual gratification was.

“Ye believe the chamber is how ye came to be here?”

He could see the relief in her eyes as she nodded. “I thought it was, but trust me, I pushed on every stone in that room. Nothing took me back. When you came, I felt that perhaps you would be the catalyst to help me return to my own time.”

“That is why ye came with me, and why ye have—”

“I’ve always wanted you, Brochan. I still do. That will never change, no matter where I am. If I spend the rest of my life in this time, then that’s great…as long as you are here to share it with me.”

How could it be possible that this woman had traveled through time? A woman unlike any he had known, who spoke so strangely, who knew so much. What if she did not lie, and her story was true? What if he woke up one morning to find her gone? His insides twisted at the very thought. “I do not want ye to leave me, Annabelle.”

“Terri,” she corrected, and smiled. “You believe me then?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. It would explain a lot of things, yet it is still difficult to comprehend.”

“Brochan!”

Hearing Fergus’s cry, Brochan rushed to the window, Annabelle, or
Terri,
right behind him. A cloud of dust rose on the horizon.

“MacLellan.” He turned to Terri and kissed her. “Stay here, and don’t open that door. We shall talk about this later. For now ye need to stay safe.”

She nodded. “I’ll be here when you return.”

Angus MacLellan’s cheeks were as red as the hair on his head, and he looked furious. “Douglas, you will release my daughter at once!”

Brochan and his men had ridden out to the glen, meeting Angus and his small army before they reached the castle.

He dismounted and walked toward the laird until they stood a handbreadth apart.

“Ye are in no position to demand anything,” Brochan said, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword.

“I did not mean to kill your brother. He came on my lands, and stole my chattel. He was a thief.”

Though Brochan knew the man spoke the truth about his brother stealing chattel, albeit on a dare, he believed a human life was far too dear compensation for chattel.

Angus looked past his shoulder, and his lips curved. “Ah, here she is.”

Brochan turned, shocked to find Terri sitting before his uncle. Fear slithered down his spine when he saw that Hamish held a knife to her neck.

Angus swore under his breath. “Release her this minute!”

Brochan, knowing his uncle’s fury and unstable mind too well, pulled Angus back. “Uncle, what are ye doing?”

Hamish’s eyes narrowed as they looked from Brochan to Angus. “Your daughter has been my nephew’s whore, a quite willing one at that.”

Angus turned to Brochan, his teeth clenched.

“Uncle, release her.”

“Nay, I think you no longer can see reason where the chit is concerned. Your lust for her is too great.”

“What do you want for her?” Angus asked, ripping his arm from Brochan.

Brochan watched Terri, who stared at him, her chin lifted high. She did not show any fear, but rather sat stiff as an arrow, the blade cutting into the tender skin of her neck.

How he loved this woman.

“I will give you gold coin,” Angus said, taking a step toward Hamish and Terri.

“How much?” Hamish asked, greed in his eyes.

“What ever amount you want.” Angus reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag. “Here, this is enough to feed you for a decade.”

“She is your daughter, Laird MacLellan. Your
only
daughter. Surely you can afford a bit more than that.”

“I will give you lands,” Angus blurted out, desperation creeping into his voice. “What ever you desire.”

“How do I know you do not lie?”

“I never lie,” Angus said, his voice lethal. “You have my daughter and I will not risk her life for money or lands.”

Growing weary of his uncle’s game, Brochan stepped toward him. “Hamish, release her now.”

Terri had a hard time swallowing with the blade pressed firmly against her throat. Would this be it for her? To die at the hands of a crazy man?

Lord, she hoped not, especially since she believed she had a chance to live the rest of her life with Brochan.

If only she hadn’t opened the chamber door. Damn, why had she trusted the madman behind her when he’d said Brochan had been hurt and needed her?

And now she had a blade pressing into her skin. The man behind her was just crazy enough to use it.

Terri had been shocked at the sight of Angus MacLellan, certain he would take one look at her and say she wasn’t his
daughter. But for some reason, that never happened. Just like at the priory, everyone believed her to be Annabelle. For some reason she had become the woman.

And now the man claiming to be her father watched her with something akin to desperation. He loved his daughter. That much was obvious.

From the moment she had landed in this time, she had known things could end in disaster, one way or the other. And now with the blade slicing into the delicate skin at her throat, she had a feeling she would never again see the man she had fallen in love with. This warrior who made her blood burn and her insides feel like they were melting.

Brochan Douglas, border lord, man, exquisite lover.

She loved him. Not the comfortable love she had felt with Elliott that had grown with time, but the pulse-pounding, “I can’t think of anything else” kind of love that comes along only once in a lifetime.

And as easily as he had come into her life, he would disappear.

Like dust in the wind.

Brochan stepped closer, hands out. “Uncle Hamish, let her go. I will give ye what ever ye desire. Castle Kildare and all that goes with it. Just release her. That is all I ask.”

The man’s grip tightened when Brochan took another step.

“Let her down, Hamish. Let her down now.” Brochan stood within five feet of her, reaching up.

The knife bit into her throat at the same time she heard Brochan yell her name, his face a mask of horror.

An excruciating pain made her cry out…and then the world went black.