Laird of Her Heart (Dundragon Time Travel Trilogy Book 1) (8 page)

“If I were in league with your enemies, would I be warning you that they plan to murder you in your sleep?”

“You would if you were trying to trick us into missing the meeting.” Declan glared at his brother. “An insult to the MacPherson could also scuttle the confederation.”

“MacPherson never intended to join the confederation.” This she nearly shouted. “He never forgave Cattanach for not including him in the initial planning. He’s been colluding with the lesser clans to form a competing confederation.”

Dominic’s throat worked. “The…lesser clans?”

“MacGillivray, Davidson, the Macleans of Dochgarroch, Clan Macqueen, the Macintyres of Badenoch and the Clan Macandrews. The ones not related to Clan Chattan by blood.”

Declan stared at her, his nostrils flared, his lips working. “How…do you know this?”

How could she respond? “I just do.” The words scraped her throat raw. Because she could tell, not only had she failed to convince them, she’d increased their suspicions about her.

She hated the look on Dominic’s face. Hated the coldness in his gaze.

“Leave us Declan,” he said. It was a low growl, one not even his brother would defy.

But he did. “Doona listen to her,” he said. “Do you need any more evidence of what she is?”

“Leave. Us.”

With a huff, Declan spun from the tent. But with his absence, there was no peace.

Dominic’s expression was harsh, hard.

“Sit down,” he said. His tone was weary, but firm.

She sat. She had to. Her knees were about to fail her. She raked back her hair and sighed. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not true.”

“Do you? Do you know what I’m thinking, Maggie?”

Though it was difficult, she met his gaze. “You think I’m in league with your enemies.”

“No. That is no’ what I am thinking.”

She gaped at him. Her lips worked. “Then…what?”

“I’m thinking you haven’t been truthful with me. From the start you’ve lied.”

“I have never lied.”

“You’ve not told the whole truth, Maggie.”

This she could not deny. “I told you, it’s a crazy story.”

“I think you need to tell me. You need to tell me everything.”

She stared at him, her heart aching, her mind in a whirl. If she told him, he would know, for certain who and what she was. Not a spy or an enemy. But a lunatic.

She wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Maggie?”

“I told you the truth when I said I came from a place far to the west, but that’s not all.”

He sat back. Threaded his fingers. Studied her in steady silence.

“I…” Oh God. “I’m from the future.”

His expression did not change. Not by a flicker of an eyelash. That was how she knew he was holding himself in exquisite control.

“Hundreds of years in the future. The book I told you about,
The Macintoshes of Dar
? It’s a history book.”

Still no reaction. He sat there and stared at her, and she stared right back.

The silence unnerved her.

“I am not crazy.”

The pulse at the corner of his left eye ticked.

“I don’t know how it happened or why. But I am glad I’m here. I’m so glad I met you. So glad I can save you—”

“Stop. Just stop.”

She could not. “If you go, you will die. You and Declan. All your men. Everyone dies there. All but one Macintosh—”

“Maggie. Stop.”

“I am not lying.” She put out a lip, although she knew pouting was pointless. “I am from the future. How else would I know you’re building a new chapel in Dar? Or of the granary fire last spring?

“Those things are hardly secret.”

“Would I know you lost your dog in a hunting accident? Or that you commissioned a tapestry in his memory?” He remained stoic and unresponsive. “Dominic, I know many things. I know a great rain will come in the fall. The flood will kill hundreds. The resulting famine will nearly destroy your clan in the winter.”

“Are you saying my people will die?”

“If you die, yes. Without your leadership, they are doomed, Dominic. Doomed.”

“It is a concerning story indeed. And impossible to prove…until it happens.” His lip curled. “Convenient, that.”

Ah lord. How could she convince him? Despondent, she opted for babbling historical facts. It was all she had, after all. “Listen to me. I am telling you the truth. Consider this. I know that with the death of Queen Margaret, Scotland has been in turmoil with no one to succeed her. I know next year, with the support of King Edward, John Balliol will become King of Scotland.” His nose twitched as though he didn’t care for this news. “But he won’t be king for long. When he revolts against Edward, a full-fledged rebellion breaks out against England, led by William Wallace.”

His brow quirked. “Wallace?”

“Do you know him?”

“We’ve met. He’s a good man.”

She sighed. “It doesn’t end well for him. But at least they made a movie of his life.”

“A movie?”

“Never mind. Point is, I know lots of things, Dominic. Things that have happened and things that are coming. And I’m not evil or crazy or touched. I have to believe God sent me here for a reason. And I have to believe it is to save your life. Please don’t go to Urquhart Castle. Please don’t walk into an ambush.”

“I willna.”

She nearly collapsed in relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“Now that you’ve warned us, we shall be on our guard.”

Well, fuck.

She reached over, set her hand on his and sighed. “I know it’s hard to believe. But it’s true.”

“I know
you
believe it’s true.”

She could see it in his eyes. “I’m not mad. I can prove it to you if you give me a chance.”

“Prove it?”

“It’s August, right?”

He sighed. “Aye.”

“What is the date?”

“Maggie—”

“Please, Dominic.”

“It is the 22
^nd
of August.”

“On the 25
^th
, just three days from now, there will be a partial eclipse of the sun.”

“What is that?”

“The moon will move between the earth and the sun. For two minutes, maybe a little more. But you will be able to see it in the sky. Would that convince you?”

“We doona have three days. We need to leave tomorrow.”

“But if it happens, if you see it, will you believe me?”
Oh, please. Please.
She didn’t know why she needed this so desperately, why she needed him to believe her, but she did.

“All right. If the moon blots out the sun, I will have to agree that you have some knowledge of the future.”

Yes! Thank God.
All she had to do was keep him alive for three days. And then he would know she was telling the truth. But he was determined to leave in the morning.

She had to make sure he did not.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dominic’s mind reeled as he stood and left his tent. Left her. He needed to walk. He needed to think. He could not do so in her presence.

How could he have been so wrong about her?

His heart told him she was the one he’d been waiting for. The woman he’d always dreamed of finding. A perfect connection, a delicious oneness…

But her story was insane.

What was more insane was the fact that a part of him didn’t care. Part of him wanted her no matter what—which was frightening indeed. He was the laird of his clan. His people’s survival depended upon him, on his decisions, on his good judgement.

How could his desire for her, for any woman eclipse his responsibility to his clan?

Perhaps Declan was right. Perhaps she had bewitched him, stolen his sanity. She had touched him for certain, touched him deeply.

Because even as he was confronted with the undeniable evidence that she was unhinged, he wanted her. Trusted her. He suspected the unfamiliar feeling churning in his heart and soul—the hunger, the need, the blind yearning—might be love. 

He hoped that did not indicate a lunacy of his own.

If he were sensible, he would listen to his brother. Send her back with the men to Dar and have them lock her away in the dungeon until he could discover the truth about her.

Indeed, the idea had merit.

Especially since she insisted they were headed for an ambush.

That thought sent a cold bolt through his gut. If they were walking into some violent clash of clans, he did not want her there. He could not guarantee her safety should a melee erupt.

Aye. Perhaps he should send her back to the castle.

Where she would be safe.

With this decision made, his soul ceased its churning, and he turned his mind to other things. Part of her story resonated within him. He’d never trusted MacPherson. Something about his beady eyes, his flickering attention, that half smile that never seemed sincere.

He’d been voluble about his disgruntlement when Dougal Dall, chief of the clan, had not included him in the initial meetings. There were rumors of his efforts to form a competing confederation amongst the clans who had been excluded from the alliance. That part of her story held water. Indeed, it validated the concerns that had been swirling in his mind about MacPherson. And her assertion that the bastard was collaborating with their enemy? That rang true as well.

And such familiarity of the political underpinnings of the clan was not common knowledge. He had no idea how she had come to have this information, but he could not deny that her warnings made sense.

“Dominic.” His brother’s voice behind him scuttled this thoughts.

He turned with a sigh. “Aye?”

“What are you thinking?”

He scrubbed his face with a palm. “I’m thinking you may have been right about her.”

To his credit, Declan did not smirk. “I’m sorry.” A simple statement, it should not have wounded him as it did.

“I do believe she’s telling the truth about MacPherson, though. I do believe danger awaits us at the meeting.”

Declan nodded. “Aye.”

“I think it would be wise if we take all the men, except for Ewan and Harry. They can return to the castle with the cart and…”

“And?”

“And Maggie. She canna come with us.” Not only was it unsafe, he couldn’t take the chance that she might, indeed, be an agent of the enemy. The thought slayed him.

“I think that is wise.” His brother clapped him on the shoulder.

“We need to prepare the men.” This was no longer a political mission. They were now in battle mode.

“Aye.”

And as for Maggie? Tomorrow he would say his farewells to her. But tonight?

Tonight he would indulge in her.

If she was right about the ambush, it might well be their last night together.

* * *

Maggie didn’t understand Dominic’s expression when he pushed into the tent. He stood there and stared at her as though he could not stare at her enough. The intensity, the harshness in his gaze sent a shiver of excitement through her.

Without a word, he pulled off his jerkin and his tunic. They fell to the ground. His breeks followed. He stood before her—magnificent, beautiful, irresistible—gaze aflame. Though the sight discombobulated her, she rushed to follow suit, unbuttoning her blouse and wriggling out of her bra and jeans.

When she was naked she went up on her knees before him. Her attention was locked on one thing and one thing only.

His cock.

It stood high before him, though with its weight—fully engorged as it was—it leaned a little to the left. It was perfect. Long, hard, ready. A bead of dew glistened at the tip.

She needed to taste him.

She set her hand on his stony thigh and drifted upward. His muscles bunched and he hissed a breath as she made her intentions clear. Though his body was delectable, though his skin was smooth and prickled with manly hair, she did not dally. She scudded her palm up and over his belly, and she enclosed him in her fist.

Damn.

He was like an iron rod, wrapped in velvet.

She pumped him once, slowly, gently. His growl rumbled through the tent. Or it might have been a plea of some kind. Easing up on her knees, she leaned forward and lapped at that tempting tip. He lurched. His fingers threaded through her hair, locked against her scalp.

He spoke not a word, but she knew what he wanted.

She wanted it too.

Sucking in a deep breath, she took him in. Took him deep.

“Christ.” A whisper.

Never before had she tasted something so delicious, so enticing, so heart-wrenchingly sweet. He filled her mouth with his manhood, filled her senses with his scent. Filled her soul with his essence.

She played with him, toyed with him. Nibbling and sucking and licking. All the while, she held on to him at the root, working him ruthlessly. She could have nursed him, tormented him all night with this leisurely lust, but he was not patient in the least.

As she clenched his ass for leverage, as she reached around and touched a tender spot, he roared and wrenched away.

“Nae.” A growl.

She affected a pout. “But I want to.”

“Nae.” He came down before her on his knees and cupped her cheeks. Kissed her. “Where did you learn such wicked things Maggie-mine?”

She grinned. “I read it in a book.”

His eyes widened. “What kinds of books do they have in Seattle?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“No doubt I would.”

But this was small talk, a distraction, a conversation that meant nothing and went nowhere. Simply a chance for him to regain his composure, his control as he laid her back on the furs and began a wicked torment of his own.

His mouth was like a forge, heating her, enflaming her everywhere it touched. And it touched her everywhere.
He
touched her everywhere. Her shoulders, her hips, her toes. He spent much time on the tender underside of her knees, which had her writhing before him. This, of course, only incited him to greater mischief.

He turned her over, and explored her back side; to her dismay, he seemed obsessed with the same tender spot she had dandled.

With a laugh, she rolled back and grinned at him. “Nae,” she said. And then she opened her legs to him and his attention dropped. Locked. His nostrils flared. He flicked a look at her—one that sent a fire raging in her belly—and then settled between her thighs.