Love Across Time (18 page)

“Do ye remember what happened?”

He sat back down and drew her into his arms. She went willingly, laid her head against his chest, and tried to ignore the wild sensations coursing through her to concentrate on the scene that plagued her dreams. How could she recall with such detail events that had happened to someone else?

“I heard someone scream me name, just ’afore pain exploded in me head. Then everything went black.”

The muscles under her cheek flexed. “Be it a man or woman’s voice?” His voice sounded, strained, angry.

Did he realize, as she, that someone wanted Margaret dead? The threat had been made in the same low, grainy voice she’d heard the night she became trapped inside the castle walls.

“I’m nae sure.” His grip tightened, constricting her breathing. “Liam, yer squeezing me too tight,” she panted.

Immediately, his hold loosened. “Sorry,
gaol
.” Warm lips nuzzled her ear then trailed hot kisses down her neck.

His clean scent, with a hint of heather, engulfed her. Chest hair tickled her nose as she rubbed her head against the prickly mass, savoring the sensation. Nipples, pressed against his corded stomach, peaked.

“If ye be better lass,’tis best I take me leave.”

His arms started to withdraw. Too frightened to be left alone, with memories she couldn’t explain, her arms twined around his back and held him tight.

“Nae, dinna leave me.”

“Margaret, if I dinna leave now I.... Do ye ken what will happen if I stay, lass?”

“Nae, exactly, but I’d like to.” Had she made love before? “I cannae remember, I may nae be a virg
”

The tip of his finger covered her lips. “Shush, lass. I havenae worry.”

The half-smile that never failed to send heat sizzling across her nerve endings lifted the edge of his mouth. Here was a man who offered love, warmth, a place to belong. The thought that Margaret’s father couldn’t force her to leave tomorrow if she slept with Liam tickled the back of her mind. Most of all, she didn’t want to leave the secure haven of his arms. Her body ached for the stroke of his warm hands, yearned for the fulfillment his touch promised. How could she pass up an opportunity to know if reality exceeded her dreams? No matter how fleeting her time with him would be, she’d have these memories.

For a moment, he held her tight against his chest. The steady thump, thump of his heart beat an erotic cadence in her ear. His hand slid into her hair, tilted her head back, and sealed her mouth with his. It was not a kiss of passion, but of tenderness, of persuasion.

She yielded to the sensual need that had plagued her since she’d awakened. The first touch of his mouth against hers sealed her fate as she realized reality proved more potent than any dream. The tentative stroke of his tongue against her sealed lips made her gasp. Her mouth opened. He delved inside. She never dreamed the simple touch of his tongue could plunge her into a maelstrom of primitive yearning.

Hands splayed flat against the warm, smooth skin of his back, she arched her body fully into his. Any attempt to suppress the desire she felt for him now seemed foolish in view of the pleasure he gave her. Over the last few days, she’d come to care for him. Deeply. Giving herself to Liam felt right, as if it were her destiny.

He slowly released her mouth. His warm breath fanned her moist lips. The flush across his taut features indicated he felt as lost in their passion as she had. Her gaze dropped to his lean torso. The muted glow of the candle danced over his dark skin. Out of curiosity, she reached out and trailed a finger down the middle of his chest to tangle in the mat of wiry curls. His breath ceased. Flattening her hand, she felt his heart hammer against her palm. Amazingly, his nipples puckered. Her nail flicked the hard tip. He sucked in his breath then released it in a deep growl as his hand captured hers. She flushed at her own daring.

“None of that lass or we be finished afore we start. Ye can explore later. Let me get ye out of this gown.”

“Blow out the candle.”

“Nae. I want to see ye. All of ye.” His voice, low and husky, quivered slightly.

Unsteady hands tugged at the hem of her nightgown. Uncertainty swamped her. Exploration of his body took on a different perspective when he wanted to do the same to hers. Her cheeks heated, she could imagine the red blotches that usually marked her face when she became embarrassed.

His large hand glided up her leg, over her knee to her thigh, gathering the hem of her gown as he made his foray upward. His dark gaze bore into hers in silent inquire. Her fingers gentle traced his scar then cupped his cheek. Eyes closed, his breathing stilled for a moment before he leaned over and took her mouth in a searing kiss. Lost in a haze of passion, she lifted her hips. Skillful hands slid the gown up to her waist. Her lips suffered the loss of his as he slipped the gown over her head and tossed it aside. Cool air caressed her skin.

She snatched the thin blanket and yanked it up to shield her exposed breasts. His fingers gently unfolded her tight grip and tossed the coverlet back.

“Nae. Yer beautiful.” His heated gaze raked her naked flesh, bold and assessing.

The longer he stared, the more his breathing became shallow, raspy, harsh. He lifted his hand to trail a finger across her shoulder to her collarbone, down the slope of her breast, and circled her nipple. Shivers of delight raced across her flesh.

Light from the candle danced in his dark eyes. She saw his passion, his longing, almost a desperate fear that she’d halt their love-play.

Suddenly, Liam leaped from the bed. Fingers trembled as he stripped off his trews. She had only a brief glimpse of powerful thighs and a nest of dark, wiry curls surrounding his manhood before he slid into bed and covered them. Her body tingled at the first touch of his warm flesh against hers and catapulted her heart to her stomach. Moisture pooled between her thighs.

Something churned to life inside her as he explored her breast with his heated mouth. Hands slid into his hair to hold him close. Rocked by the depth of her desire, she moaned and writhed as he stroked her as deftly as he would his most prized sword.

The hardness of his manhood nudging her hip emphasized an emptiness she didn’t understand. His hand gently separated her thighs, and when his finger entered her, her pleasure multiplied tenfold, a hundredfold. Pleasure so intense, she never wanted the sensation to end. The pleasure was explosive, and she splintered into a thousand pieces.

Uncertainty, at what had happened to her came swift and violently.

Before she could think of the consequences of what she was doing, his mouth captured hers as he eased himself over her body. His hand moved between her thighs to guide his staff into her opening. He plunged forward. Pain. Fullness. Joy.

She’d been a virgin. Elated that her actions wouldn’t betray an unnamed man in the twenty-first century she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and buried her face in the hollow of his neck.

His breath came in pants and gasps as he held himself still. “Ye be all right lass?”

“Aye.” He didn’t move. After all the emotional turmoil she’d experienced she thought there would be more to lovemaking than this. Puzzled, she asked, “’Tis all?”

“Nae.” He nuzzled his face into her hair, and she felt his mouth curl into a grin.

His hips flexed. She shifted at the exquisite sensation the move created, and he sank deeper into her body. He moaned, tucked his hands beneath her hips, and guided her movements as he plunged and retreated in perfect tempo to the pulsating throb deep within her woman’s core. Her body sizzled with liquid fire as she writhed beneath him. She soon caught his rhythm, and her hips lifted to match his powerful thrusts, stroke by stroke.

His loving took her to a realm of desire, heat, sensation, and ended when she shattered into a thousand brilliant pieces of light.

When his breathing slowed, he rose from the bed, dampened a cloth in the washbowl, and cleansed them of the remnants of her virginity and his seed. Under the covers once again, he drew her into his arms, and she snuggled against his side, content, safe.

In the darkness, the realization that she’d dreamed of Margaret’s accident, not her own struck her full-force. The nightmare had been so real; it was though she had been the one to tumble down the stairs, to suffer the agonizing pain.

Liam’s large hand cupped her breast and heated desire swept over her once again as he claimed her with his mouth and body. Passion swallowed the remnants of her nightmare and scattered her doubts and fears, of who she really was, to the back of her mind.

Liam lay awake, one hand folded behind his head, and gazed in wonder at the woman flush up against his side. The heavy drapes failed to hold back the morning sunrise that sprinkled its soft hue across the bed, and light touched the delicate curve of Margaret’s cheek and emphasized her fragile beauty.

One slender hand rested on his chest, the other lay along his side, the back gently brushing his thigh. Her fingers twitched, and his cock stirred in response. He eased the cover down. His hungry gaze followed its decent over her slim shoulder, down her arm and paused on the corral nipple that peeked from under her bent arm.

With the memory of their coupling still fresh in his mind, his heart pounded and his blood ran thick with eagerness for her to awaken. He’d rarely journeyed far from the castle, which had limited his experience with women. But in what few couplings he’d had, he’d never been as satisfied as he had the night before. Ursula had instilled in him at an early age that the maids of the castle were not for the laird to slack his lust on and that a mistress in residence would be a complication when he took a wife.

He’d asked the Campbell for Margaret’s hand in the heat of unbridled lust, but a lack of self-confidence in his sexual prowess had plagued him on the long trek to the altar, and every day since Margaret had awakened. Playing havoc with his self-doubt, the prolonged wait had almost been unbearable. Yet in his heart, he knew he’d pleased his wife.

Warm blood ran through Margaret veins. He nuzzled her hair and inhaled the flowery scent. If tonight were any indication, he would never suffer a cold bed. She had given as much pleasure as she’d received, and although he’d seen the faint blush on her cheeks, she didn’t hide the fact that she’d enjoyed their mating.

When he came to her room after he heard her scream he hadn’t meant to make love to her. But when she’d told him about her accident, he’d wanted to wrap her in his arms and protect her. The press of her warm body against his had turned his good intentions into the fleshy sort.

Always suspicions about Margaret’s accident, he now felt certain someone wanted to harm her. Conner and Dugan were right. There had been too many attempts on his life lately to call them accidents. An arrow shot at him when he’d ridden to Campbell Castle to help rescue Ian. And since he’d found Ian so close to home, unharmed, he believed the kidnapping had been used to lure him from the safety of his own lands. Then there was the incident the other day with an arrow with the same markings and cock feather.

Once, when thieves set upon them, Conner, who was suppose to guard his back, had been separated from him during the skirmish. While he fought two men, another sneaked up behind him. Rory had dispatched the fellow with a swift blow that sent the man’s head rolling.

He glanced down at the woman snuggled against him and lightly fingered a tendril of hair lying against her cheek. After such a vivid dream, would she regain her memory? Would she even remember her nightmare on the morrow? Perhaps she would remember her fall in more detail, and he might discover a connection between his incidents and her accident.

Could it be that only in dreams the truth came to her? It confused him why Margaret insisted she came from another time. True, she spoke differently. Even her biddable nature had taken flight and left a spirited vixen in its place. He loved the vixen as well as the quiet submissive lass. He cupped the back of her head and smiled when a soft snore emitted from her lips.

Did she realize when she became upset she abandoned her slow precise English and rolled her r’s. He’d noticed her slip the first day. Her speech had switched to a brogue so easily he wondered why she ignored the fact that it was her natural way of speaking and continued to force herself to use the King’s English.

He rolled to his side and pulled Margaret tighter against him. If the lass were a time traveler
which he didn’t believe for one instant
and, she found a way to return, he’d be left without a mate. His grip around her waist tightened. He had to make sure she never found the brooch and was tempted to prove him wrong.

When or if he found the Menzies’ bridal brooch, he’d hide it where she’d never find it. He’d.... A knock sounded on the door a second before it burst open.

“Margaret, I came to say....” Morag rushed in and skidded to a halt just inside the room. Wide-eyed, she stared at the bed. “Oh.”

Gowan stepped up behind his daughter, put his hands on her shoulders, turned her toward the open door, and nudged her through.

“Come, Morag, leave Liam and Margaret to dress. They can meet us downstairs to say goodbye.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Nae tarry too long, we have broken our fast and will leave within the hour.”

His wink before the door closed told Liam that Gowan understood that Margaret would not be going home with him. Ever. That he had made her his wife in body, as well as with the vows they’d spoken.