Highland Fling. Jennifer Labrecque

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СКАЧАТЬ clutched her Prada bag even closer. “Forget it. I’m not handing over my purse.” She ran an unsteady hand over the bag. No bulge of clothes there, even though she hadn’t expected there to be. “My clothes aren’t in there. Now, Mr. Whoever You Are, hand over my clothes.”

      He shrugged massive shoulders that gleamed in the firelight and glanced around the room. “They are nae here. And mayhap you could tell me who you are and how you came to be in my bed without your clothes.”

      “I’m not discussing anything until I’ve got something to put on. That scarf of yours is better than nothing.” Kate was used to immediate compliance. She absolutely wouldn’t let him see that he, along with the whole situation, confused her.

      “Scarf?”

      Kate pointed to the long plaid scarf he held in his hands. The one that matched his kilt. “Yeah, your scarf.”

      “Are you daft, woman, that you would call me plaid a scarf? But if that’s what it takes to get an answer out of you….” Without further ado he unwound the remaining length of material and tossed it to her.

      Oh. My. God. The bottom and the top were all one long piece of material and he was stark naked beneath it. She saw naked bodies all the time, but this was different. Vastly different. She swallowed hard and dragged her eyes back up to his face. No need to gape like a hysterical virgin or a sex-starved spinster.

      “You could’ve told me you didn’t have on anything beneath it.”

      “You didna ask.” His smile held a wealth of arrogance.

      For an instant, Kate considered tossing the material back at him, but if one of them had to be naked…well, better him than her. Plus, if you had to have a naked man standing by a bed…well, he was a fine specimen.

      “Who’s in charge here?” she asked as she wrapped the material, still bearing his body heat and his hauntingly familiar scent, around herself toga-style.

      He cocked his head to one side and looked down the hooked nose that saved his face from being too pretty. “You’re wearing the MacTavish colors and you have to ask?”

      This whole thing was way too weird and she might’ve been more open to the practical joke if she hadn’t been naked and if the now-naked man wasn’t wielding a knife. “Oh yeah, how could I forget? You’re Darach MacTavish…and I’m the Queen of England.”

      The words were hardly out of her mouth when she found herself pinned flat on her back, the man atop her. The cool metal of his dagger bit against her neck. His eyes were flat and cold. “I’m not sure whether you are daft or bold or both, but those are dangerous words to speak on MacTavish land.”

      For the first time, Kate was thoroughly frightened, not just because she was being straddled by a knife-wielding naked psycho, but for the first time she recognized this might be something other than a hoax.

      Perhaps it was the flicker of fear in her eyes, but the man moved the blade away from her throat.

      “Thank you,” she gasped, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath, afraid to breathe.

      He slid off of her. “I’m sorry to have frightened you.”

      “I apologize for my earlier sarcasm. Obviously I’m not the Queen of England. I don’t even like the royal family and I think it was extremely tacky for Charles to marry that Camilla.” She caught herself. Fear had her babbling like the proverbial brook. “My name is Kate Wexford. Dr. Kate Wexford. Where exactly am I?”

      Pity, along with a hearty dose of mistrust, warred in his eyes, as if she were the one suffering psychological problems. “Where would you like to be, Kate-lass?”

      “Back where I was five minutes ago? Looking at this picture instead of standing in it. Where am I?”

      The man stepped back a pace to stand tall and proud by the bedside, dagger still in hand. “You’re in the keep of Castle MacTavish at Glenagan.”

      Truly. Not much escaped her, but she was having a heck of a time keeping up with this. She dealt with the regular druggies and the occasional psychotic in the ER. This man didn’t have the wild-eyed, high-on-drugs look or the psychotic demeanor, but humoring him seemed the best course of action. “And you’re Darach MacTavish?”

      He bowed formally from the waist, as if he were garbed in royalty’s finest and wasn’t splendidly, impressively naked before her. “Aye, I am the Mac-Tavish, laird of Glenagan.”

      And just how out of touch with reality was he? “And what year is it?”

      “The year be 1744.” He thought it was 17-freaking-44? Okay. “What year might you think it?” He spoke carefully, as if she was the one with the problem. Delusional people were actually more pitiful than frightening, except those armed with knives—that was a bad combination.

      She hedged. “Uh…I thought it might be a little later than that.” She carefully slid to the edge of the bed. “So, it was nice to meet you Darach MacTavish but I think I should be going now.”

      “And where might you be heading?” His low, rich voice held a note of indulgence.

      “I should really be getting home. I have lots of people who’ll worry if I don’t get home.” And that was one whopping lie and a half. Unfortunately, no one would miss her until she didn’t turn up for her next shift two days from now. Even then no one would worry because Torri Campbell would eagerly snitch that Kate was indulging in a condom-a-thon.

      “And where are your people?” His raised brows lent him a distinctly wicked, in a pulse-quickening way, look.

      Okay. She’d play his game, as if he didn’t know from where she’d been abducted. “Atlanta. Atlanta, Georgia.”

      His brow furrowed as though in confusion.

      “It’s dark,” he said, nodding his head toward the window cut high into the stone wall, “and night’s no place for a lass alone. Rest, Kate, and in the morn we’ll return you to your people.”

      Exhaustion flooded her body and her mind. It was more than she could assimilate. However, she deduced that Darach MacTavish, or whoever was standing naked before her like some warrior of old obviously meant her no harm. That time had come and gone.

      “You aren’t going to tie me up are you?”

      A glimmer of a smile lurked in his eyes and crooked one corner of his sensual mouth. “I can if you want me to, but it’s not necessary. You are free to leave, but I wouldna advise it.”

      “Why not?”

      “You are a stranger to these parts. If you leave this room, the women would stone you. The men…well, they aren’t adverse to a comely lass, daft or no. I mean you no harm, Kate Wexford. If I did, you’d have already found it. And don’t think of trying to take my dagger while I sleep. Men have died for less.”

      Having felt the press of his blade, she didn’t doubt it. She wrapped the soft wool more tightly around her, ensconcing herself in the same scent that had beckoned to her when she’d been drawn to the damn painting in the first place. Had it been only half an hour ago or a lifetime? She glanced at her watch. It had stopped. This situation was getting weirder СКАЧАТЬ