Behind the Plaid (5 page)

Then I spotted him. The
giant. He swung his sword around his head, the length of which I didn’t think I’d be able to lift, let alone wield as he did. His dark hair had come loose from its tie, waving wildly around his face and shoulders. Even from this distance I could see the muscles of his body working in a way that was sensual and dangerous at the same time.

With frightening clarity,
I imagined this battle gone, and me touching him. Stroking my hands over the dips and ridges of his body, luxuriating in the smoothness, the taut sinew. My cheeks heated to burning. Desire. That was what ran rampant through my mind. I’d not known desire in years. Not been interested in sensuality, sex. For me it had been an unpleasant duty, never something to be enjoyed. How was it possible?

T
his man, this stranger… He’d awakened something inside me. As he swung his sword, taking out one man and then another, shouted commands to his men, my sense of terror dulled and was replaced by a calmness, a need. A hunger.

That alarmed me even more. I didn’t know where I was. What was happ
ening. What my future held. And yet I was calm. I tore my gaze from the fray and stared at the mortar between the stones. Had the absurd thought that I should look for a phone. Look through the various chambers. Anything except stare out the window. As if I could will the obvious away.

Part of me knew it was no use. This place didn’t have electricity. I’d noted that by the flaming torches bolted into the stones. No electric light. All natural. No light switches, no plugs hidden behind pieces of furniture. No vents. No exit signs.

Even historic villages in modern times made some provisions for safety. But I saw none of that here. I swallowed, smoothing the hem of my mud-splattered skirt and noting that the whole of my skirt was caked with flecks of dirt. My bare ankles, too.

I had nothing to do but wait.
Deep in my soul, I knew I had to speak to this man again. That he could help me. That he’d know what to do. I didn’t like putting my life in his hands, but this was different than when Steven had offered to help me eight years ago. I sensed now that Steven’s assistance and subsequent offer of marriage had been sinister. He’d seen a vulnerable, malleable girl. A person in need, and someone he could trap, use. He needed someone that made him feel better about himself. Steven needed someone to do everything for him, and yet he offered nothing in return.

Flicking my gaze outside once more
, I could see that the battle had subsided. The large man still issued commands, but what was left of their enemy took off running through the gate, over the bridge, across the moors and into the woods beyond. Grey clouds in the sky moved swiftly, clashing together, churning. They were so low, an eerie fog filled the courtyards.

No one followed
the men who ran. No one returned to offer congratulations on a well done show. Those who lay still and bloodied upon the ground did not rise. In fact, the leader pointed and warriors lifted men by their arms and dragged them into a pile.

One body on top of the other.
A mass grave.

I shuddered. Th
is man was ruthless, and yet when he’d offered me his hand, he’d been gentle. His voice, while dominant and commanding, had undertones of interest, sensuality. His eyes were intense, inviting. I wasn’t scared.

And I probably should
have been.

In all actuality
, I should get my rear off this ledge and find an exit and run away. Toward the village. Find help.

But I didn’t move. I stared, mesmerized outside of the arrow slit window. Watching
, becoming familiar with his movements, his voice.

I gasped as he turned up to
glance at the castle, as if he sensed my eyes upon him. Heat suffused my cheeks. I didn’t turn away. I couldn’t. I doubted he could see me, perched as I was two to three floors off the ground. But I could see him, and there was something on his face that made me feel like he sensed me.

He walk
ed toward the castle stairs leading up to the big oak doors. My heart sped up. My mind raced. My breath caught. I knew he was coming for me.

Chapter
Four

Emma

F
or the span of several heartbeats I sat unmoving, unable to catch my breath.

He was coming. I felt it in my bones. I scrambled from the window ledge, my feet landing on the stone stairs with surprising agility, as if my limbs wanted me to move. To escape.

But it wasn’t from fear, that I was compelled to escape. It was for the exact opposite reason, because somehow, the connection, the interest, the compelling force that almost made me turn and run down the stairs toward him, frightened me worse than even Steven’s worst berating.

So, up I ran. Round and round, grappling with a
n arched, metal studded door that led down a dark, cold passageway. Only the light from an arrow slit every few yards to my left guided me. Each torch sat starkly naked and dead of flames in their iron casts. There were doors on the right, all closed and seemingly forbidden.

From behind, I heard the door open and then the sound of boots walking steadily on the stones behind me. He was here. I battled with running, trying to open a door, and with simply stopping. I opted for the latter. I would have to confront my fate instead of running from it.

I’d never confronted my fate in my life before. Never stood up for myself. Perhaps this was a new beginning. A chance to test myself. To be me.

I ceased running, standing in a dusty shaft of light, hands clenched at my sides,
my breathing erratic. Feet rooted in place, I couldn’t force myself to turn around. Couldn’t face him. Had to work up the courage to do so. The booted steps clunked, and I could hear the scrape of metal from his weapons as they swung. Gooseflesh rose along my limbs, and scandalously, my nipples tightened. I bit my lip, pleading with my body to calm.

“Lass,” he said directly behind me. His voice was deep, gravelly. The sound stroked with roughness over my flesh.
I resisted that urge to rub away the prickles on my skin.

I nodded, unable to speak. But that wouldn’t do. I had to speak. Had to find that semblance of freedom I’d once lived by. Easier said than done.

“Why do ye run?” He stood so close, his breath shifted my loose hair at my neck, sending shivers to rush along my spine.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Are ye afraid?”

I rubbed my arms in an effort to quell the chills. “No.” I wasn’t afraid of him…I was afraid of myself.

“What are ye doing here?”

That was the same question I wanted answered.
“Where is here?”

“Ye answer a question with a question?”

I nodded, not budging.

He chuckled softly, and warm fingers swiped the hair away from my neck, leaving that tender flesh exposed.
My breath caught, intensely curious about what he would do and at the same time wanting to run away.

“Gealach Castle.”

My stomach plummeted to my ankles. The truth revealed at last, and not at all what I’d hoped for.

“Impossible,” I whispered.

“’Nay, ’tis true.”

Wh
at I’d been thinking all along—that somehow I’d been plummeted through time to this place came crashing into my consciousness with knife-like clarity. I was no longer in my own time. However impossible. I shook my head. It
was
impossible. Should be impossible. A dream. Had to be a dream. No, this wasn’t a time-travel thing, this was me passed out in a ditch somewhere, suffering madly for it.

“Why do ye shake your head? Where are ye supposed to be, lass?” His fingers trailed lightly over my shoulders. “Ye’re dressed as a peasant, yet your bearing, your hands”
—his fingers slid down my arm to catch my hand into his, his thumb rubbing circles in my palm—“they are those of a well-bred lady.”

“I’m not…supposed to be here.” Or was I? Maybe somehow Fate had deigned to give me a second chance at life, knowing there was not
hing left for me in my own time.

“Are ye sure?”

No, I wasn’t. A huge part of me wanted to be here. To have his breath on my neck, his caress on my hand. I’d never felt so… I don’t know. I couldn’t describe it. He was intense, but gentle. He exuded power, yet I wasn’t frightened. I liked his attention. Wanted more.

“What is your name, lass?”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat to keep from croaking in answer. “Emma.” Unexpectedly, my voice sounded not its own. Sensual. Raw.

I sensed him coming closer. “Emma,” he whispered against the shell of my ear.

Shivers wracked me, even when I tried to still them. This wasn’t right. I had to leave. What was I doing, letting a stranger, a blood-thirsty warrior whisper in my ear? But my feet remained rooted to the floor and if it could, I swore my flesh would leach out for more of his touch.

“Where are ye from, Emma?”

“Washington,” I answered, even knowing he wouldn’t know where that was.

“
Washington? I’ve heard of no such place. Are ye lying?” His voice had taken on a sinister note.

“No, it’s across the ocean.”

“I see. Ye’re way of speaking is…odd.”

He couldn’t place it
, that was obvious. He’d probably never heard an American accent. Then it occurred to me—I didn’t even know what year it was. America might not even exist. But that wasn’t nearly as worrisome as the fingers that trailed up and down my arms sending my nerves into a frenzy of contradicting sensations. A battle of want and recoil.

“Will you help me?” I heard myself ask.

“Aye.”

Relief sank deep, even though I had no idea how he’d help me, or how I could ask him to return me to my time. I’d come during a thunderstorm. Maybe the only way to return was through a thunderstorm.

“Will there be anyone looking for ye?”

I nodded, because there was, even if I never wanted to be found.
Even if Steven never made it to this place. This time.

“Who?”

Dare I answer? No. I didn’t want him to know I had a husband. Didn’t want him to stop touching me because of it. Shocking thoughts… I’d surely suffer for having them. But wasn’t it true that if I had traveled back in time, Steven didn’t exist? He’d yet to become a thought, let alone a man. He couldn’t torment me here. Make me cringe with self-loathing.

I shook my head. “No one.”

The man didn’t ask me to explain or remind me that I’d just told him someone was. He accepted it. Relief sagged over me, making me feel even more comfortable in his presence.

“Do ye
know who I am?” he asked, his hands stopping on my shoulders to knead the tension gently away.

I had a hard time not moaning at the sensation. I
hadn’t realized how knotted my muscles had grown. How thick with tension. “No.”

“I’m the Laird of Gealach.”

I dragged in a slow breath. The laird. The man in control of this castle and the land all around. A powerful man.

“What am I to call you?”

“Call me, ‘My Laird’.”

“What is your given name?” I knew it wasn’t custom
ary for him to share it, and he might punish me for asking, but if I were to call him My Laird, at least I wanted to think of him by his given name.

He stiffened, and I heard his intake of breath. I waited for him to berate me, to punish me, but he didn’t. Instead, he answered softly, “Logan.”

I repeated the name in my mind, letting it roll around. The name matched him. Was as strong as he was. Sensual as he was.

“Thank you, my laird.”

“Why do ye thank me?”

“For sharing it with me.”

He grunted, still massaging my shoulders. I was slowly becoming delirious with the way he made my muscles melt and the heat of his body. Exhaustion slipped over me like a cozy, well-worn blanket, and I was ready to curl up in his arms and sleep.

“Come. Ye need to get cleaned up, fed and
rest,” he said, seeming to read my mind.

He gripped my elbow lightly and twirled me around to face him. My eyes came face to chest, and slowly I raised them to meet his. His dark eyes were so intense, addictive, I could have stared at them all day. His mouth was set firm, yet soft
. I had the unreasonable urge to kiss him, and leaned a little closer. For a moment, I thought he might kiss me. His lips parted, his eyelids drooping slightly. But Logan seemed to have more sense than me. He turned, urging me to follow him, his hand at my elbow.