Love Across Time (17 page)

Out of the corner of her eye, she studied him. He had appeared preoccupied most of the evening, yet had been the perfect host; insightful in political debate with Margaret’s father, cordial to her mother and indulgent toward her siblings. All the while, he had lavished affection on Maggie.

He filled her plate with the best choices of meats, made sure her cup remained full, and brushed against her with constant frequency. Each time his arm or thigh touched her, awareness of his masculinity intensified. By the time the meal ended, his boldness had her in a heightened state of arousal. No wonder Margaret’s mother had mentioned her desire for Liam.

Had that been his purpose? If so, then why did he become more solemn as they neared the top of the stairs?

When they came to her chamber door, she paused. “Thank ye for the lovely evening.”

His expression darkened to an indefinable emotion as his gaze traveled from her to the partially open door.

“Margaret, I need to speak with ye on a matter of importance.” He scanned both directions of the hallway. “’Tis nae the place to talk. May I come in. Or would ye rather come to me room?”

His stance shifted from one foot to the other. She had never seen him so ill at ease. One large hand brushed back his hair then cupped the nape of his neck as his strong fingers worked in a massaging motion. Why was this usually confident man so nervous?

A picture of them nestled in the big chair the last time they’d been alone in her room flashed through her mind. His nearly desperate kisses had brought her to a fever pitch of desire. And after his continuous assault on her senses tonight, her breasts ached to feel his mouth on her again. Even now, her nipples grew taut, and something hot curled in her lower regions.

She longed to feel the heat that crawled through her, gaining momentum with each of his feverish kisses. Her body yearned for the caress of his strong hand, the stroke of his fingers on her bare flesh.

Still she hesitated.

“’Tis important.” Uncertainty crept into his expression.

Male laughter echoed up the stairwell. At any moment, someone would enter the hall. He glanced over his shoulder then at her. His dark eyes demanded an answer before they were caught lingering outside her chamber. He forced the decision by reaching over her head and shoving the door open. Without a word of protest, she turned and entered the room. Liam followed her inside and slid the latch home.

Arms crossed under her breasts, she turned to face him. His gaze dropped to where her bosom swelled above the low neckline of her gown. His eyes glittered with masculine appreciation. She fought the overpowering urge to rush into his arms and forget she didn’t belong here, that he didn’t belong to her, but to Margaret. Her fingers curled around the edges of the lace shawl and tugged it closer, as if the thin material could protect her from the desire racing through her.

“What is so important that it could not wait until morning?” Needing to erect a barrier between herself and Liam, she struggled to get the words out in proper English, something she knew irritated him. This is not where she belonged she remind herself. The longer she remained, the more she felt herself drawn into the role as Liam’s wife. The overwhelming desire to stay and fulfill that role to its fullest measure frightened her.

He grasped her by the shoulders and gently pushed her into a chair before the fireplace. Her gaze flicked over him and admired the close fit of the linen shirt over his wide shoulders as he lowered himself into the opposite chair and stretched out his long legs.

The longer he stayed, the more she felt her resistance weaken. He was quiet for so long, she asked, “What did you want to say, Liam.”

Fingers raked his tousled hair from the unmarred side of his face, while stray tendrils fell forward to cover his scar. “Lass, I told ye how we traveled home the day we wed and yer accident happened that same evening.”

“Yes.” She didn’t correct his statement by denying they were not the ones who had married, but he and Margaret.

He leaned forward and clasped her hand. Turning her hand upward, his fingertips stroked her palm while he stared intently into her eyes. Warmth evaded every part of her body at his heated gaze and sensuous touch.

“We ne’er consummated our marriage. The vows we spoke are nae legal until the deed is done.”

His softly spoken words provoked visions of their bodies entwined in the throes of passion. Flesh against flesh. Lips sealed in hot feverish kisses. Large hands discovering erogenous points on her body. The image she conjured up stole her breath, and a ripple of excitement coursed through her. Heat seeped into her cheeks, first from embarrassment then anger.

Did he imagine she’d take Margaret’s place in his bed? Why not, he thought she
was
Margaret. By the hot look in his eyes, he felt within his rights to consummate his marriage to Margaret. Illogical as it sounded, she felt insulted. Because it wouldn’t be
her
he made love to, but Margaret.

Her heart gave a dull thud. Why couldn’t he accept the fact that she was Maggie, that she came from the future, and that this wasn’t her home? Angry with herself for yearning for something that wasn’t rightfully hers, she tried to tug her hands loose.

“Liam.”

The pressure on her fingers increased. “Ye dinnae understand.” His voice sounded strained, urgent, desperate. “Without our marriage’s consummation, yer father still has control o’er ye. He could force ye to go home with him on the morrow, and I’ll nae see ye again. He’d declare me derelict in me duty as yer husband, and it would be his responsibility to find ye another to wed, to give ye bairns.”

The thought of anyone but Liam’s heated kisses, his callused fingers caressing her body, his warm flesh touching hers sent revulsion coursing through her. Yet when he looked at her, he saw Margaret, his wife, not her, Maggie. Hurt turned to white-hot anger. Playing substitute for his precious Margaret in his bed felt abhorrent to her. With one swift jerk, her hands were free. She lunged to her feet. Iciness encased her heart, freezing her emotions. She refused to be a replacement for his beloved wife.

“Liam, this is not the answer to the problem.”
Or is it
, a little voice mocked.

“But
”

“No.” Humiliated that she’d even consider the idea of sleeping with him caused her voice to be sharp. Her finger trembled as she pointed toward the door. “Please, leave.”

He looked as if someone had struck him full-force as he rose from the chair. Then his jaw grew taut, his shoulders stiffened and for one intense span in time, she thought he’d refuse.

Moving behind the chair, she put some distance between them before she accepted his illfated proposition. She couldn’t stay and be his wife. No! It was better this way: no sensual memories to haunt her when she went home.

The air left his lungs in one long whoosh, his stance slumped in what she could only interpret, from this usually strong man, as abject misery. His dark gaze held hers for a moment before he turned on his heel. His movements stiff and awkward he headed for the door. Pride showed in every inch of his tense body as he paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“I love ye Margaret. Ye be me life, and ’tis the only way I know to keep ye with me.” The raw pain in his voice touched a disquieting emotion deep inside her, but before she could analyze the source of her confusion, the door quietly closed behind him.

At the click of the door, she whirled and began to move aimlessly around the room. The more time she spent with Liam, the more she became attracted to him. What she felt for him was real. What he felt, belonged to Margaret. How she envied the woman. Hands on her hips, she halted, and glared at the door. His Margaret was gone, why couldn’t he accept her as Maggie?

Shoulders slumped as she released a sigh filled with regret. Then what? Would she have consented to become his wife in deed as she longed to do? Caught up in the play-acting with Margaret’s family had confused her, clouded her judgment. Sometimes she felt like she’d become Margaret. She resumed prowling the room.

Eventually, she would leave, and she didn’t want to have regrets when she did. Pausing beside the window, she rested her forehead against the cool glass. But what would she regret more: making love with Liam or not making love with him? Trembling fingers chafed her arms as a cold chill settled over her.

Fretting gained nothing. Stripped of her clothing, she prepared for bed as thoughts whirled through her mind. Arms held upward, the gown slithered over her like a lover’s caress, and she ached for something only Liam, with his near desperate kisses, could satisfy. She struggled to ignore her pulsating, heart thumping reaction to his suggestion they consummate his and Margaret’s wedding vows.

Seated on the edge of the bed, eyes closed, she massaged her aching temples. Her poor befuddled mind couldn’t get past the word consummation. Yet something important nagged at her. What else had he said? Her head jerked up, panic washed over her in waves as her mind scrambled to remember all he’d told her. Oh no, Margaret’s father could take her away if Margaret and Liam failed to consummate their marriage. Her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms. The Campbell’s would leave in the morning. Could Gowan force her to go with them? Yes, and Liam said he could do nothing to prevent it. Margaret’s mother had hinted at something her husband might do. At the time, she hadn’t understood. Now it became perfectly clear.

Jumping to her feet, she strode across the room to stare into the small flickering flames of the dying fire. What should she do? Flopping into the nearest chair, she finger combed her tangled hair, an exercise that always soothed her jangled nerves. She separated the mass into three sections, plaited the strands into a loose braid, and considered her alternatives. Maybe she shouldn’t have rejected Liam’s plan so hastily.

Leaving Menzies castle was out of the question. Finding the brooch was imperative. Without the brooch, ring, and gown she’d never find the way home and could remain trapped here forever in another woman’s body, desiring another woman’s husband, living another woman’s dream. A cold shiver skirted up her spine that even flames in the fireplace couldn’t warm.

Another choice was to explain to Margaret’s father that she was from the future and needed to stay with Liam and search for the brooch. Her hands crumpled the fabric of her nightdress. Would he understand or commit her to an asylum for the insane. Perhaps keep her locked in some lonely tower room, or place her in a cold, damp dungeon. She shuddered. Her mind whirled with a curious mixture of hope and fear.

The truth was her only option. The Campbell appeared to be a reasonable man. But then so did Liam, and he didn’t believe her. Both decisions warred within her. Either one could prevent her from going home.

Unable to find a solution to her problem, she crawled into bed and snuggled under the covers. Her mind seesawed between her options until she finally drifted to sleep.

She writhed in ecstasy. The rough pad of his thumb teased her nipple into a hard peak before his hot, moist mouth covered the aching globe. Her moan, low and earthy, filled the air as her hands explored the contours of wide shoulders and the corded muscles of the powerful arms that held her against his warm, naked flesh. Arms reached up to encircle his neck only to encounter empty air.

Her lover had disappeared. Life held no meaning without him. Where had he gone? Rising from the bed where she waited for her lover, she wandered through the dark halls of the castle, searching, groping to find her way toward the stairs. Something malevolent crept into the stillness around her. Shadowed corners hid the evil lurking in their black depths. Terror built, a scream crawled up the back of her throat. Fingernail-like-claws dug into her back. “Margaret, die” the sinister presence whispered, then shoved. She flew into the air to tumble into a dark abyss, weightless, timeless. Agony swallowed her and consciousness faded.

A shriek of terror woke Maggie. The piercing sound echoed in the silent bedchamber. She jackknifed up in bed and realized she had been the one to scream. Strands of long hair, loosened from her braid, swirled around her shoulders. Wildly, her gaze searched the room. Suffocating darkness surrounded her. Her breath came in rapid pants. Muscles twitched with uncontrollable spasms. Beside her hip the bed sagged. Panic surged through her, tightening her already taut nerves. Long fingers curled around her upper arms. Frantic with fear, she beat out with her fist. Another scream threatened.

“Margaret. Margaret, ’tis, Liam.”

“Oh, Liam.”

Relieved and too stunned to think straight, she threw herself against his chest and encountered warm, bare flesh. Hysterical tears poured from her eyes and dampened the skin beneath her cheek. Strong arms engulfed her. A large hand rubbed circles between her shoulder blades as she snuggled her head beneath his chin.

“What frightened ye so. I heard ye scream and rushed here thinking someone be murdering me wife. But no one be here but ye.”

“I had a nightmare of me accident.” She felt his mouth move against her hair in that familiar smile that she’d come to love.

“Let me light a candle,
gaol
.”

Sounds of him fumbling in the dark on the side table for a candle and flint helped subdue her fear. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she saw he wore only trews. She shivered, not from cold, nor from the aftershocks of her nightmare. But desire. Desire racked her at the sight of Liam’s lightly furred chest and flat stomach rippled with muscles.