Sword of the Highlander (6 page)

Cassidy sighed. Mr. Sinclair hadn’t been the only one to call. Aubrey had texted early this morning that he was home and would come by this evening. She knew what she had to do. After last night’s kiss with Niall, she couldn’t marry Aubrey. Even if the Highlander found a way to return to his time, she would rather live alone than live a lie. With a shock, she realized she was in love with Niall.

She dreaded the unnecessary showdown that would probably take place between Niall and Aubrey when he arrived. Niall’s hair nearly rose like bristled fur on an alpha wolf at the sight of Aubrey and Aubrey used his intellectual snootiness to look down on Niall. Men. And it was all
unnecessary
. Once she told Aubrey she couldn’t marry him, he would be free to find a woman who liked be a social ‘hostess with the mostess’ and Niall… Well, Niall would be free to do whatever he wanted. Mr. Sinclair had enough connections to see to that.

And she had a long eight or nine hours to wait for that male testosterone confrontation. Unless… Cassidy looked at her watch. Not quite eleven o’clock. Aubrey would be up, more than likely having brunch. If she went to him now, she could get this over with and avoid the unpleasantness of this evening altogether.

Leaving a note for Niall, she hung the ‘Closed’ sign in the door and walked over to the Church Street station to catch the streetcar. Knowing it was silly, she still glanced over her shoulder as she walked. It was broad daylight and safe.

Disembarking a short time later at the Powell Street Station, she managed to latch onto a cable car climbing its way up the steep hill toward one of the luxury hotels where Aubrey kept a suite of rooms.

Cassidy breathed a sigh of relief as she entered the lobby. She hadn’t really expected anyone to accost her, but neither did she want to face Niall if something had gone wrong with this little trip. He’d probably be furious enough to find she hadn’t stayed put as he told her to.

“Aubrey Fournier’s suite, please,” she told the front desk clerk. “I’m Cassidy Gordon.”

The clerk raised an eyebrow, and then discreetly checked his small list of visitors who had access to the suite. He handed her the key. “Have a good day, ma’am,” he said.

The gold-brass-and glass elevator whirred its silent way to one of the top floors. Cassidy stepped out onto thick, lush burgundy carpet and made her way to the gilded door of the suite. She took a deep breath and looked around. She’d thought she wanted all this wealth and luxury before she met Niall. Certainly, Aubrey had never spared any expense when they were out. But…Aubrey didn’t make her breathless like the Highlander did. She didn’t eagerly anticipate having dinner with Aubrey like she did with Niall each evening or relish the give-and-take discussions that had become part of their daily repertoire
.

It wouldn’t be fair to marry Aubrey, knowing she didn’t love him.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and let herself in. The living room was empty, but she could hear strains of Reggae music coming from his bedroom. Aubrey had eclectic taste in music. Cassidy never knew what would be playing when she came here. Squaring her shoulders, she walked down the short hall and opened the bedroom door.

“Aubrey. We have to—” She stopped, her hand flying to her mouth, and stared.

A naked Aubrey was in bed—with Carlotta.

Her friend. The woman she’d told her innermost secrets to.

Cassidy backed away, praying that she wouldn’t retch. Then she turned and ran, slamming the door of the suite behind her.

Slamming the door on the two people she thought cared for her the most.

Seven

Niall crumbled the note in his fist and swore. The stubborn lass couldn’t obey him in just one wee thing. He wouldn’t have told her to stay in the shop if he hadn’t wanted to protect her from the ruffians that roamed the streets…and mayhap, from himself. ‘Tis why he took the walk. To keep from bedding the lass and ruining her.

She had gone to see Aubrey Fournier. The thought of that smooth-as-
uisge-beatha
speaking Sassenach tupping Cassidy made Niall’s blood boil. His fingers itched to be around the man’s skinny throat. Tossing the note down, he stomped out of the shop. He had no idea where the man lived which made him even more angry. If the lass got accosted because he wasn’t at her side, he wouldn’t forgive himself. Niall stopped in mid-stride as realization knifed through him as sharply as any sword.

He loved her.

The thought nearly took him to his knees. Never had he felt more than lust for a woman. Oh, he made sure he pleasured them as well. After all, ’twas only right. But once the tumble was over and he was on his way, he never gave them a second thought. But since he’d met Cassidy, she rarely left his thoughts. He wanted her, not only in his bed, but at his side. Always. As his wife.

Niall strode forward again with determination. The note had said she would meet him at her house. If he were stuck in this century, then the lass couldn’t marry the Sassenach. Cassidy was
his
.

He let himself into the little house, thinking how to persuade her to marry him. In his time, a man simply took a woman to wife and she was grateful for his protection. But things worked differently in Cassidy’s world and she’d already showed more than once that she wasn’t the most docile of women. What did he have to offer? He was a warrior. Did this world pay a man to fight?

He started at a sound from the bedroom. Drawing his sword from the scabbard near the door, he advanced cautiously. If one of the villains from the street had gotten in, he wouldn’t be leaving alive.

The shades had been pulled and it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the semi-darkness. Curled into a ball on the bed, wearing naught but a nightrail, was a sobbing Cassidy.

“Are ye hurt, lass?” Niall dropped the sword and went to sit beside her on the bed. “I’ll kill the mon if he hurt ye.”

Her sobs turned into hiccups and what almost sounded like laughter. Putting his hand on her shoulder, Niall turned her over to look at him. “What happened?”

“Aubrey,” she said in a strangled voice, “was in bed with Carlotta—”

“I ne’er cared for the woman.” Niall wiped a tear away with the pad of his thumb. “‘Tis sorry I am that ye thought her a friend.”

Cassidy hiccupped again. Niall stared at her. “Ye found them naked in bed together?”

“Very nak…naked. Very together.” She cleared her throat. “It’s just too much. Here I thought I’d found a man who wanted to impress society with a very proper wife and marriage and…and he cheats on me with someone who’s supposed to be my friend.” Her voice rose in pitch. How could I have been so naïve?” The tears started again.

“Come here, lass.” Niall drew her into his arms. “Ye are much better off without them.”

She clung to him and he liked the way her body molded into his. They fit together perfectly. Her tears subsided as he held her, stroking her hair softly. Finally she looked up at him. “I’m okay now.”

Her eyes were red-rimmed, but he saw no more pain in them. Slowly, giving her time to withdraw, he dipped his head and brushed her lips with his. For a brief second she hesitated and then she returned his kiss, her lips smooth and soft as satin.

Niall kept the pressure easy, a gentle exploration of her mouth, nibbling at the corner, letting his tongue glide across the crevice. Cassidy made a soft, mewling sound deep in her throat and her lips parted as her hands lifted from his shoulders to his neck and her fingers raked through his hair, caressing him.

He groaned, sliding one arm along her back to draw her closer while his other hand cradled her head. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth and tasted her. She mewled again as her tongue met his and he deepened the kiss, wanting it to last for eternity.

“Ah, lass,” he murmured as he finally broke away and began raining butterfly kisses across her forehead and pert nose. He nibbled his way along her chin, the fingers of one hand gliding along the curve of her throat and along her collar bone to stop at the swell of her breast exposed above the neckline of the silky shift. “I want ye. For now and—”

“Shhh.” Cassidy laid a finger across his lips, her green eyes dark as a forest. “For now, just make me feel like a woman. Make me yours.”

He understood. The lass hadn’t only been betrayed, but in a way in which she couldn’t fight back. There would be time enough later to tell her he loved her. Right now, she needed the feel of a man who desired her as a woman…and
only
her.

He made quick work of the row of buttons at the front of her nightrail. Parting the flimsy material he exposed her breasts and belly to his gaze. She made to cover herself, but he took her hands and held them down.

“Nae, lass. Ye are beautiful and I very much want to look. Dinna deny me the pleasure.” She smiled then and her body relaxed. He stood, stripping his T-shirt over his head and then unzipping and peeling off his jeans. Her breath hitched as he straightened. “Do ye like what ye see, Cassidy O’mine?”

Did she like what she saw
? Cassidy could only stare. The gods must have sent him straight from Mount Olympus. She’d seen him bare-chested in Macy’s, but now she had time to really look. Perfectly sculpted pecs stretched across the wide expanse of his chest to blend with the chiseled details of bulging biceps tapering into strong forearms. The ridges of his belly were granite hard, his thighs heavily muscled. But his… Cassidy’s mouth went suddenly dry.

He captured her hands in one of his and lifted them over her head while he nuzzled his way down her neck. Her back arched in invitation, but he took his time, his lips brushing lightly over her, his breath making her tingle.

Before she could catch her breath, she felt a slight nudge and then he filled her completely. Sparklets of light surrounded her as he loved her. Her body clenched and her mind crashed.

And then there was only the perfect harmony of two bodies, melded together, completely and fully satisfied.

Until he reached for her again, only a short time later.

Eight

Cassidy woke early, a little sore, but completely satiated. Cautiously, she opened one eye to observe Niall, sleeping soundly beside her, one arm draped protectively over her stomach. They had declared their love for each other in the early dawn and she wanted nothing more than to lean over, kiss him awake, and ask for a repeat of last night’s performance. She smiled. Wielding a claymore wasn’t the only sword her Highlander was good at using.

But she had work to do. Mr. Sinclair would be arriving this morning and
Mac an Luinne
needed to be locked in the shop’s security cabinet and properly catalogued before he got there. With a small sigh, she slipped out from the warm comfort of Niall’s arm. He stirred and mumbled, but didn’t awaken.

Grabbing a pair of jeans and T-shirt, she tiptoed from the room. Minutes later, she was walking briskly down the sidewalk toward the shop. At this early hour, only serious joggers were out and about. Still, she breathed a small sigh of relief when she safely unlocked the door and stepped inside. Niall might not be happy to find she’d left on her own, but if someone had robbed her of the sword—how ironic that it was a weapon, yet she could hardly use it—it would be nothing compared to Mr. Sinclair’s wrath that it was gone. She really liked working in the shop with its medieval costumes and weapons, even if most of them were replicas. It was the next best thing to actually living history.

Cassidy had just finished cataloging the entry for the sword when the bell over the door tinkled and her boss walked in.

“Good morning, sir,” she said. “How was your flight?”

“Long. And tiring.”

He didn’t look tired. In fact, he looked energized. His eyes were clear with no hint of having taken a ‘red-eyed special’ from the Middle East, his full head of slightly long, auburn hair looked freshly washed and his jeans and shirt were pressed. Cassidy tilted her head. She’d only met Mr. Sinclair once face-to-face. Odd that she didn’t remember how tall he was or how broad-shouldered and well-muscled. He could have been another Highlander. His skin was bronzed from the sun, yet surprisingly wrinkle-free, with just the barest hint of a few creases near his eyes. An ageless face. She frowned. When she’d interviewed with him, he’d asked her what she knew about swords and she had laughingly said she knew about Excalibur and that was about it. He’d smiled and said something about working on the set for the movie. But…John Boorman’s movie had been filmed in the early 80s, which would make Mr. Sinclair near sixty. He didn’t look a day over thirty-five.

“Where is the sword, Miss Gordon? I’ve been very anxious to see it.”

Grateful once more that she’d decided to rise early, she replied, “It’s in the cabinet. I’ll get it for you.” She turned toward the backroom as the front door crashed open with a bang.

“Lass, ye’ll be the death of me yet. Can ye nae have waited for me?” Niall strode through the door, dressed in his kilt and sash, brandishing the claymore.

Mr. Sinclair eyed the sword with interest and then let his gaze sweep over Niall. Cassidy groaned. This wasn’t exactly the first impression she wanted Niall to make. She’d wanted a chance to explain things in what might sound like a rational way.