Love Across Time (5 page)

Why would Abby tell them which leg she’d broken, yet not mention the fact that she’d regained consciousness directly after surgery? None of this made sense.

“But
”

“Dinnae fash yerself. Ye can question Liam all ye want after ye swallow a bit of broth.”

“Liam?” Was he the man here before or another of Abby’s friends?

Again, a frown wrinkled Ursula’s round features. “Aye. Himself will be back shortly. Eat and if ye hold that down, there be a piece of bread, too. I’ll leave the tankard of cider fer ye’re thirst. Liam weel come in a bit to have a wee chat.”

With another hefty lift and a shove, Ursula placed her in the bed and tucked the covers around her. All accomplished as if she were a small child instead of a fully-grown woman. Gnarled fingers smoothed back the hair from her forehead.

“Good, the fever hasnae returned. Do ye need help to feed yerself?”

“No thank you. I will manage.” She hadn’t needed help feeding herself since the day after surgery.

A flash of what appeared disappointment filled the old woman eyes. Ursula nodded then hobbled out the door. What an odd creature. If Abby thought she still needed a nurse, why had she taken her from the center? It would have been better to have left her there or taken care of Maggie herself. She rubbed her temples as a jumble of confused thoughts assailed her.

A low growl emitted from her stomach, reminding her how long it had been since she’d eaten. Hungry, she reached for the cup of broth. Her hand trembled, and her arm quivered. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so hasty to refuse Ursula’s offer of help. She must have had a relapse. Fingers curled to grasp the cup in both hands. Bringing the mug to her lips, she took a large swallow. Her stomach rebelled, churned, but after several deep breaths, settled. What was wrong? Solid food had been on her diet for weeks.

When she finished what scant food her stomach would hold, she snuggled down into the clean bed to wait for the man with the scarred face and ebony eyes.

It could have been moments or hours later when the prickling of her skin woke her. Ursula’s Liam sat in the chair, his gaze fixated on her. Abby should have left Colin or Travis with her instead of this complete stranger; at least through Abby’s stories she felt acquainted with them.

“Ye be awake.”

Caught off guard by the instant familiarity that caused her stomach to jump and turn end over end she replied, “Aye.”

One side of his mouth lifted at the corner in a grin while the other stayed immobile. She had the impression he didn’t smile often. Before his wound had healed, it must have been painful to smile.

His eyes sparkled with an indiscernible emotion. Something in his dark eyes beckoned, almost willing her to remember a more intimate moment between them.

Resisting his masculine appeal, she struggled to sit up. Immediately, he rose to help. Seated on the edge of the narrow bed, he drew her snugly against his broad chest and adjusted the pillows behind her. Her breath hitched at the contact, and she inhaled. The faint odor of heather invaded her senses.

How did she recognize the smell of heather? Heather wasn’t indigenous to the part of Oklahoma she came from. If indeed, Tulsa was her true home.

The material under her cheek felt soft. Instinctively, she rubbed her face against him and felt his chest expand with an indrawn breath. His fist gripped her unbound hair for a moment, then loosened.

“Is that better?” he asked. His warm breath fanned the length of her neck as he eased her back against the pillows.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Did that breathless whisper come from her? She gazed at him and wondered why she found him so attractive. In some ways, he reminded her of her mysteries phantom lover. But the man in her dreams wasn’t real. Was he? This man was very real. Her fingers reached up to trace the puckered flesh from his forehead to his lip.

Her action must have startled him as much as it did her. He froze. Unbelievably, his eyes darkened further and became a vortex of emotion. When her finger outlined his bottom lip, he grabbed her wrist. Gently, he turned her hand upward and placed a soft kiss to the palm. Her fingers curled around the warmth where his mouth had lingered. His tongue flicked her wrist, and the field of butterflies in her stomach took flight.

His palms caressed a trail of fire up her bare arms, over her shoulders to cup her cheeks. Desire burned in the depths of his ebony eyes. Heat coiled tight in her lower regions. His head lowered.

“I be glad ye be awake. I thought ye lost to me fore’er,” he murmured against her mouth.

Warm lips captured hers in a kiss that sent her senses shooting for the stars then plummeting to earth with such speed it left her dizzy. His tongue stroked the seam of her lips, demanding entrance. Helpless against the sensations swamping her, her mouth opened. The kiss deepened, nearly frantic as he devoured her.

This was nothing like the soft coaxing kisses of her dreams, but urgent, demanding, and very thorough. A moment in time hovered on the edge of her memory, but slipped away.

Through the softness of his shirt, she felt the rapid tempo of his heart increase. Her finger slid between the lacings to touch his warm skin, to tangle in the whorls of his chest hair. Suddenly his mouth released hers. His breath came in harsh gasps.

Wow! Abby’s friend sure could kiss.

Firelight, from the fireplace, glowed behind him and cast his face in shadows, hiding the emotions she sensed roaring to life inside him. Nostrils flared as he took several deep breaths and removed her questing hand from his chest.

“’Tis too soon,
gaol
. Ye’ve been ill.” The smile he gave her was as intimate as his kiss. After touching her palm with his lips, he laid her hand in her lap and moved back to sit in the chair.

Too soon for what? Before she could decipher his ambiguous remark, he spoke again.

“Ursula said ye had questions.”

Apparently, he’d recovered from their kiss faster than she had. Blood still thrummed through her veins, thick and heavy. To gain control of her wayward desires, she forced her gaze away from him and scanned the room.

Abby hadn’t mentioned where she’d take Maggie once she kidnapped her from the center, but this didn’t resemble a place Abby would frequent. She and her friends would hang out where dancing and nightlife would rage-on until the early hours of the morning, not at some medieval stage show.

Gathering her emotions around her like a suit of armor
—
she silently laughed at the comparison
and after she cast a quick glance at the tapestry on the wall
,
she asked what seemed most important.

“Where am I?”

“Ye be in the north tower.”

She almost groaned. This was going to be harder than she thought.“The north tower of what?”

“Castle Menzies.” A large brown hand reached out and touched her forehead. “Are ye sure yer fever has nae returned, Margaret?”

“You know my name?” Don’t be silly. Abby would have told them your name.

“Of course, ye be Margaret Campbell, now Menzies.”

Margaret Campbell? The name Campbell stirred vague memories, but the name Menzies, nothing. Was this Abby’s weird way of informing Maggie someone had found her family?

“What am I doing here?” Surely, he’d admit Abby had arranged her abduction, and that he’d taken part in the elaborate hoax.

“It be the closest room to bring ye when Aunt Eleanor found ye splattered at the bottom of the stairs.”

She stared at his serious expression and thought what a consummate actor Abby had selected for his role. He not only dressed the part, but the brogue sounded original, and the stage setting was fantastic.

“And just where is Castle Menzies?” she demanded. Although she’d searched through several tourist brochures during the long hours at the center, she’d never seen any advertisements for a castle.

One dark eyebrow lifted. “Castle Menzies be in Scotland, just outside Weem.”

This had gone far enough: the accent, the room, the eighteenth century garb. Out of patience, she made a swift inspection of the room for an escape route. She had to get away from this lunatic and find Abby before she did him some bodily harm. As big as he was though, she doubted she could hurt him.

A heavy door on her side of the room looked promising. She whipped back the covers and got out on the opposite side of the bed to elude the madman with the deep Scottish brogue and the sweet kisses she could still taste.

The minute she stood, her weak legs crumbled.

He lunged to his feet so fast the chair behind him tipped over as he rushed around the bed, scooped her up off the floor, and held her against his chest.

“Margaret, lass ye nae got yer strength back. Besides, ye cannae go galloping about the castle in yer nightdress.”

Lips nuzzled her hair. The arms around her tightened for a fraction of a second before he laid her gently back on the bed. He smoothed her gown down over her exposed thighs and pulled the covers up to tuck under her chin.

“There, do ye feel better now.” He caressed her shoulder. The bed sagged when he sat down beside her hips. Strong arms propped on each side of her trapped her in his embrace. His nearness left her breathless. Parts of her body she’d only been previously aware of, now tingled, throbbed, and yearned for some mysterious fulfillment.

“I ken ye be confused,
gaol
. We still be more or less strangers, and ye said ye dinnae remember me, but that will change now that ye be awake.”

He leaned close as if to kiss her again. Hands braced on his shoulder, she shoved him back.

“No. I do not know ye.”

Agitated, her newfound ability to speak properly slipped with each word. With the edge of the covers held tight, she scooted back further upon the pillows, away from him. It was hard to think coherently with him so close. With one deep breath, she gathered her jumbled thoughts.

“Who do ye think I be?”

“I thought you were Colin?”

Anger whipped across his face at the speed of light, and he lunged to his feet. “Who be this Colin ye speak of?” His brogue became so thick she barely understood him. She ran the words over in her mind twice before she grasped their meaning.

“You know. Travis’s brother.” If Liam was one of Abby’s acquaintances, surely he knew Colin and Travis. If he realized she was on to Abby’s little game he might admit the truth and get Abby for her.

“Travis. Colin. Ye seem to ken a lot of men of late.”

The vein in his temple throbbed. His scar turned dark purple. The straight line of his jaw clenched. Three sure signs the man had worked himself into a towering rage.

If all that anger broke loose of his rigid control what would happen? Not wanting to scream at one of Abby’s friends like a fishwife, she hunkered back against the headboard.

“If you let me go, I will not tell the police about this.” Her voice held a silky thread of challenge. “No harm, no foul. I will just go back to the center and forget this ever happened.” Man, would she ever forget. This is one incident she’d rather not have as a memory. What could Abby have been thinking?

“Go home,” he yelled. “Ye be home.” Fists at his sides clenched and unclenched.

“What?” Her mind refused to register the significance of his statement.

“Aye, ye be home since the day we married, nigh two months ago.”

She meant to make a superb retort to that statement, she truly did. The thought formed, her mouth opened, and then darkness fell like a blackout in New York City.

The lass fainted. She’d swooned like a faint-hearted English maiden when he knew she came from good hearty Scottish stock. Hands on his hips, he glared at his wife slumped out cold on the mound of pillows. If she meant to declare their vows void because of non-consummation, he’d not have the blame placed at his door. He could hardly lay claim to his bride while she lay unconscious.

He hadn’t sealed the contract as his aunt believed. On their wedding night, the servant he’d instructed to place a bottle of his finest wine in his chambers had failed to do so. Wanting the evening to be perfect, he’d gone to retrieve the bottle himself. He thought he’d been gone only a few minutes, but later realized Conner had distracted him, and he’d left Margaret alone for nearly an hour. Apparently, she’d grown weary of the wait and had left their chamber to search for him.

His aunt’s screams had brought half the castle running. He remembered how his heartbeat had faltered when he saw Margaret crumbled at the foot of the stairs like a small, broken bairn; her long, reddish-blond hair, stained with blood, splayed across the stone floor like newly laid rushes, blood seeped from her nose, her leg swollen twice its size. At first, he thought her dead, but then he detected shallow breaths: the slight rise and fall of her breasts.

While he’d waited for Ursula to tend to Margaret’s injuries, he’d had time to ponder the many accidents that had plagued him for months. There had been the stray arrow that nearly plunged into his back when he rode to the Campbell holdings. One night, because of his lack of appetite, he’d fed one of the kitchen cats a morsel of meat from his plate. The animal had gotten sick, convulsed, and died. He had accepted the fact that someone might want to do him harm but not Margaret.