Название: Highland Fling
Автор: Jennifer Labrecque
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: Mills & Boon Blaze
isbn: 9781408932568
isbn:
“I’m not interested in your dagger,” she said, reassuring him. Unfortunately, with his dagger by his side, it was difficult to look at the blade rather than his private sword.
“Be a good lass and get some rest.”
When had anyone last spoken to her in that patronizing tone? Who did he think he was? Oh, yeah. He thought he was the laird of Glenagan. Her eyes drifted closed. She’d…fake…him out until…he…slept….
DARACH KNEW THE MOMENT sleep claimed Kate Wexford. What he still didn’t know, however, was what manner of woman she was. Without question, she was different, with her strange accent and speech and her hair shorn in the manner of a lad. And with all of her odd ways, why had he felt a recognition in his soul, as if he knew her? And how the devil had she found her way to his bed?
He watched her sleep, noting the dark smudges beneath her eyes where her lashes fanned over her cheeks, the bow of her upper lip, the roundness of her bare shoulder, the curve of her breasts and hips covered by his plaid, the delicate arch of her bare feet. And he felt something inside, the same thing he’d first felt when he’d seen her on his bed, a tingle that ran through him from toe to finger tip.
Kate Wexford should have been stopped by his guard-at-arms. Barring that, she should have never made it past the grand hall to the keep. Of certain, she never should have gained access to his chamber. Was everyone in his house asleep or simply daft? By all that was holy, Hamish would answer to him.
He crossed the room, taking care not to slam the door behind him, and made his way down the narrow stairs he’d climbed since he was a wee lad. Within minutes his second in command stood before him as summoned. A year younger than Darach, Hamish’s prematurely gray hair left him looking older. The two had grown up together, watching one another’s backs, forging a friendship deeper than that of a laird and his clansman. Darach trusted Hamish like a brother.
“There’s a lass in my bed,” Darach said.
Hamish cocked his head to one side. “Do you find her comely?”
Darach didn’t know exactly what he thought about the woman. She lacked the striking beauty of some, but there was something about her that unleashed a yearning in him he’d never before known. “She’s fair enough.”
“Then what are ye doin’ standin’ here with me?” Hamish grinned.
“I’m wantin’ to know how a stranger to these parts managed to slip past everyone in this house and find her way to my bed.”
Hamish’s grin faded. “None of the men have reported anyone.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you want me to send someone to fetch her or should I get her myself?”
“No. Leave her be.”
“But—”
“I said leave her be and mention her to no one.” His people were a suspicious lot and with them preparing to march on the English crown…. “Having a strange woman show up would unsettle things for sure. Let me give her some thought.”
Hamish nodded, his gray hair glinting in the light from the sconce. “Where does she say she is from?”
“A place I have never heard of.” He passed a weary hand over his forehead. For a heartbeat he pondered that he might have conjured her in his mind. Nay, the sweet press of her flesh beneath his had been real enough. The confusion and anger darkening her green eyes, her galloping heartbeat beneath him all spoke to a woman of honeyed breath rather than some figment of his imagination.
“And where is she now?” Hamish asked.
“In my bed, where she’ll stay until I decide what I’m going to do with her. I promised her passage home tomorrow, but until I’m certain she isna a Sassenach spy, she will stay. Her name is British enough. Kate Wexford.” It sounded foreign on his tongue. His conscience didn’t quibble at the change of plans. His first responsibility lay in protecting his people. Even so, the thought of her ripe curves beneath his plaid stirred his blood and various and sundry parts. “And I know what I’ll be doin’ with her soon enough.”
“What if she isn’t wanting a tumble?”
He hadn’t thought of that, he’d just thought they hadn’t made it that far yet. “I have yet to bed a lass less than willing.”
“And you ken she’s willing?”
He had yet to meet a woman who wasn’t. “Figure it out for yourself man. She was in my bed with no clothes on.”
“I would ken she’s willing.”
The memory of her pale skin against his plaid stirred his blood. A few bonnie words and the lass would be his for the tumbling. He smiled at Hamish. “Or she will be soon enough.”
KATE AWOKE, instantly alert. There was a lot to be said for the efficacy of power napping she’d perfected as a resident. She knew without glancing about that the Darach MacTavish wannabe was gone—knew it because she didn’t feel him in the room.
What to do? How to get out of here? The problem was the man could return at any moment. She needed help. She needed to let someone know where she was, which she didn’t exactly know, or at least that she’d been taken against her will. She pulled out her cell phone. It was still on, but there wasn’t a signal. Dammit. How could they have whisked her away to a place so remote there was no cell phone signal? Marc Fredericks was pulling a stint with Doctors Without Borders in Zimbabwe and even he had cell service. In freaking Zimbabwe, nonetheless.
Calm. Stay calm. She pulled out and turned on her Blackberry. She waited, but no signal bars showed. What the…? She’d paid a boatload of money for guaranteed service. She had it in writing. The only way she shouldn’t have an Internet signal was if all the satellites were down and that was a technological impossibility.
Exasperated and slightly panicked she stood and went to the window, trying to get her bearings, shivering at the constant draft in the room. The night sky blanketed the earth with an incredible display of stars. She realized she must be about three or four stories up because she could literally see for miles. With a dawning sense of dismay she realized the stars shone so bright because they weren’t competing with street lights. They weren’t competing with any lights. For as far as she could see, which she estimated to be several miles from this vantage point, there were no lights other than the odd pinprick which seemed to be more in keeping with a campfire than a streetlight.
And where were the trees? Every landscape within a several hour drive of Atlanta boasted a canopy of trees but all she saw was rolling hills, desolate and barren in the starlight.
She turned from the window, suddenly feeling frantic. Ohmigod. The picture. The picture from the museum. She’d missed it earlier because it had been out of her line of vision. It was the same, the exact same portrait. At least it looked the same. Okay. Definitely weird. And staring at the picture wouldn’t get her any answers. If she’d fallen through it to get here, ostensibly she should be able to fall through it to get back home. She walked over and tried to keep going. Ow! She bounced off of the picture and the stone wall. That hurt. And she was still here. Damn.
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