To Conquer a Scot (A Time Traveler’s Highland Love) Page 10

  Her parents had died before she even knew them, and her foster parents had never really bothered to exert themselves too much. And she’d never had what others would call close friends. Laughter pulled her attention back to Aedan, and she watched as Black Ben slapped him on the back, Ben throwing an odd look toward Gwen before both men walked off toward a group of tent-like structures that’d been erected for the games so that men could change and warm up, and women could relieve themselves. Abby narrowed her eyes on Ben’s retreating back. What did that look mean toward her friend? Did Ben seek out Gwen in some way? Want her approval or attention?

  “He doesn’t fancy Aline, you know.”

  Gwen’s statement startled her. “Who?” she asked, already dreading the answer. Was her attraction to Aedan obvious? Did she even have an attraction? She’d have to pull her libido in line if she wanted to remain anonymous.

  “My brother has known the Grants all his life, and while he may flirt and tease the ladies of the house, he wouldn’t trifle with any of them unless he was intending to ask for their hand.”

  “I told him to kiss the next woman that intrigued him enough to feel the smallest amount of affection. Do you think he’ll listen to my advice?” Had she made a mistake asking him to do such a thing? Would he take her suggestion and run with it? Kissing anyone who was female, attractive to him, and in need of a husband? The thought of his lips on hers, how he’d ignited a fire that, damn it, wouldn’t go out, not even hours after it had occurred, drove her wild with jealousy.

  She was being irrational.

  Gwen snorted. “Highly doubtful, but it may occur. A stolen kiss is harmless enough, I suppose, but I couldn’t see him doing that without a lot of prior thought. He wouldn’t want to give the women the wrong impression.”

  “He seems taken with Aline, though. What makes you think he’s not?”

  “As much as a match between them would be advantageous to both clans, she’s far too young for him and would drive him mad within a month. Aedan’s always liked more mature women. I think he realizes that should he marry the lass she’d drive him to the point of madness within a year.”

  Abby agreed. The young woman did seem a little immature and not overly friendly toward her own sex. She’d be a jealous wife, but then Abby was a jealous nothing-at-all. “What about Mae? I know her brother is looking for a suitable husband for her.”

  “Aye, but I don’t think the word suitable should be associated with the man he has planned for her. Rory, the laird of Clan Kirk, is an awful man. Cold, distant, and cruel, as his ancestors were. Clan Kirk are not known for their kindness, but iron fists. To be married to such a man would be hell on earth.”

  Abby caught Mae’s gaze and waved to the woman. She looked happy among these people, a young woman who wanted what everyone did. Love, a happy, fulfilling life. That she could possibly be placed in danger because her brother was determined to be rid of her, filled Abby with dread and she frowned. She would tell Aedan of the man Mae loved and see if he could say something to her brother.

  “I know what ye thinking, Abigail, and don’t go gettin’ involved. Clan Scot don’t like bein’ told what to do, and with any luck, the laird of Kirk will find another to tempt him and leave Mae alone.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “They’ll not be much we can do.”

  Abby stood and walked from the platform, as another two teams picked up the tug-of-war rope out in front of the gathered spectators. She walked toward the tents, wanting to go back to the castle, needing a little time to plan. She would speak to Aedan and see what he could do. She certainly couldn’t stand around while an innocent young woman was led to her potential slaughter.

  An arm shot out in front of her and pulled her into a tent. She blinked quickly to adjust her eyes to the dark, but the reaction of her body told her who had pulled her inside. “What are you doing?”

  “Ye look fetching today, lass.”

  The deep baritone pulled at something profound in her chest and she relaxed. Today she’d dressed in a dark purple gown with white trim, wanting to look as nice as she could. She’d told herself it was pride that led her to have a servant help her with her hair. That the Highland Games were something she’d never see again, certainly not like these, even if twenty-first century people tried to re-enact them. She didn’t want to admit the thought that Aedan may see her, like what he saw, and wish to steal another kiss.

  “Thank you. Congratulations on your win.”

  Grinning, he nodded and her stomach flipped. “Maybe the fair lass will grant the winner a boon?”

  “A boon?” she frowned, pretending she didn’t know what he meant.

  “A prize,” he said, his hand sliding across her hip to sit against her back.

  Abby bit her lip. Her body was on fire. His hand stroked across her spine, playing her like a musical instrument. Her clothing suddenly felt tight, constricting, and she needed air.

  “What did you have in mind?” She hated how he made her voice sound breathless, full of need and desire. That it was exactly how she felt didn’t matter. He wasn’t for her. Not only was he a laird living in seventeenth century Scotland, he was too old for her, if she were to count the years between his birth and hers.

  “I’d hoped,” he said, leaning closer, his lips but a hair’s breadth away, “that you would allow me to kiss ye again.”

  With a will of their own, her hands slid up his naked chest, his skin warm and soothing against her palms. She clasped the nape of his neck, leaned up on tippy-toe, and kissed him. “Like that?”

  He smiled, keeping her hard against his body. Her own body flew into overdrive. Never before had she felt the kaleidoscope of feelings as she did with Aedan. Somehow, in some way, she finally knew what chemistry meant with another person, true, life changing emotion. And it was good.

  He stared down at her, his eyes smoldering with desire and she shivered. “Aye, exactly like that.”

  Her fingers pulled him down for another kiss, and for a moment she forgot where they were. The kiss was nothing but raw hunger, a need that consumed them both. Hands clutched, bodies meshed, and mouths fused as the kiss turned hot and demanding, both of them wanting more, but unable to get close enough.

  He hitched her higher against him, and through his kilt she could feel his desire. She wanted to weep, to wrap her legs about his waist and beg him to put them both out of their misery and take her here.

  Instead, she gave him one last taste, and pulled back. “Good luck with the rest of the day’s games, Aedan.”

  His breathing was rapid, his eyes a little shocked. She could understand the latter because so was she. If only he lived in her time they would have a lot of fun together, but he didn’t, a fact she had to keep reminding herself.

  “Where are ye going?” He clasped her arm to stop her from leaving.

  “Aedan, I’m not for you and you know it. And while I enjoy kissing you—very much—I’m not lining up to be your wife. You need to leave me alone, and try and make a connection with a woman who is here.”

  He let her go and she saw the shutters come up, his defenses back in place. That man she could handle—the cold, calculating one who did everything by the rule book. But when he lowered his guard, and showed the real man inside, one who was considerate, gentle, kind, and so damn passionate, she had no chance at keeping her feelings from getting involved.

  “I never asked ye to be my wife.”

  His words were like a slap, cold and harsh, and she knew why he said them. She’d hurt his pride. Hurt his heart a little, even, but wasn’t it better to keep him at a distance now, than form attachments to each other, the kind that would make her want to stay and never return home?

  “I know.” She turned to leave and pulled back the canvas. “Don’t waste your time on me, Aedan. It won’t end well for either of us.” She left and tears pricked her eyes with each step she took toward the castle. No longer did she have the stomach to watch the day’s games. All she
wanted was some peace and quiet, a chance to gather her wits and decide on what to do the next time she ran into him.

  Just the thought of him made regret eat her alive. She wanted to see how their chemistry developed, where it would take them both. To a future together? A family, perhaps? Who knew? But it was something she’d never find out. How typical of her luck that she would meet a man who made her feel, for the first time since David’s death, and she couldn’t grab him with both hands and never let him go.

  She’d always thought she’d been born under an unlucky star, and now she was damn well positive of it.

  ...

  Aedan ground his teeth and stormed out onto the field, the games going on about him as he walked in no direction at all. He shook his head at his own stupidity. He should have left the lass well alone. She wasn’t of his class, and certainly wasn’t what he required in a wife. He needed a wife from a strong, proud family like his own, with access to a large army, that would be willing to support his cause against the O’Cains. Abigail Cross had none of those things.

  And her archery was atrocious.

  He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. It didn’t matter that she was the first lass he’d ever felt anything for. In the short time he’d known her, she’d woven her special magic around him, each day pulling him a little more into her world. A warm, bright, open, and happy world full of laughter and joy, a light that beckoned him from the dark places being a laird of a clan often took him.

  He wanted to join her there, to be a part of such a carefree life, but as laird it wasn’t possible. Abigail was right. It was foolish of him to want her, and perhaps he should refrain from kissing her. It would, after all, only turn out to be nothing but desire, a passing lust brought on by being chaste for too long.

  Aline smiled at him, and he headed toward her. It was time he listened to the lass from the future and secured his own in the past. No more desiring things that would never be his. The bonny Grant lass sidled up to him, and he whispered how pretty she looked.

  She tittered up at him, and he supposed she was very beautiful, if not a little too sure of the fact. And if she proved herself in the arts befitting the station of laird’s wife, then he’d marry her, as soon as any other.

  After all, what did it matter, as long as the woman warmed his bed, produced heirs, could sew, and make order of his home? What difference did it make if his chosen was vain? There wasn’t a consequence for that.

  ...

  Aedan sat chewing the game bird Cook had covered in bread crumbs accompanied with an assortment of hot, steaming vegetables, and it tasted like cow dung in his mouth. Aline, seated beside him, kept brushing her breast against his arm in an attempt to seduce him, and normally he’d take pleasure in the flirting banter of the lass, but not tonight. This evening, his attention kept snapping to Abigail, deep in conversation with Black Ben. Their laughter, the guests around them laughing and enjoying themselves more than he, was starting to grate on his nerves.

  He’d never wanted to smash the skull of his closest ally and friend like he did right at this very moment. In his wisdom, he’d changed the seating arrangements and ensured Abigail was placed in the main hall, beneath the laird’s table, to dine with his clansmen, like the commoner she was. He hadn’t thought Ben would be only too pleased to take a seat beside her.

  As for Aline, seated next to him for what seemed too long already, she played the role of future laird’s wife very well, gloating over his people, smiling smugly at Abigail whenever she could. The crowing actions of the lass made him loathe her. She would never do, and it had been a mistake to allow her to believe she did.

  He was a fool.

  “Thank ye again for having me join ye tonight, Aedan. I so like the company of my equals.”

  He raised his brow and took a sip of wine. “’Tis my pleasure. I’m honored to have yer company.” Gwen, seated beside him, scoffed and tried to hide her reaction with a cough. Throwing her a glare, he took another sip of wine and hoped Aline hadn’t heard her.

  “I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I love riding.”

  The way she said “riding” gave him pause and he caught her eye, not missing the seductive tease hidden in their dark depths. Has this woman, too, slept with a man and knows of the delights a couple can have together? He nodded. “Aye, a ride about the lands will be good for the ladies of the house. Ye be sure to let me know how it goes.”

  “Are ye not coming then?” She frowned; her bottom lip pouting a little with the knowledge the men wouldn’t be joining them. “I didn’t think we’d be unaccompanied.”

  “Ye won’t be. I’ll have men with ye to ensure your safety, but there are clan matters I must attend to that would only bore the womenfolk, so best to keep ye happy and occupied.”

  Aline made a whining sound, and Aedan knew in that moment he could never marry the lass. He wanted a biddable wife, not someone who would grate on his patience after only a few hours. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a slight thumping above his eyes.

  “Well, I’m sure that’s appropriate, then. And, of course, I’ll have Gwen and your pleasant houseguest Abigail to keep me company.”

  She paused, her hand coming to sit on his knee. He stilled.

  “What a shame it is that the poor lass is so unfortunate with her looks. Why, I believe you’ll find it almost impossible to marry her off to anyone, unless she’s blessed with a fortune.”

  Aedan ground his teeth, hating that the viperish words were spoken out of jealousy. Abigail Cross was the last woman he’d ever call unfortunate looking, and that Aline made such a rude, untrue statement only made the beautiful lass seated beside him more ugly than a rotting corpse. “’Tis luck that it’ll not be you then who’ll be saddled with her.” He smiled at her shock before she laughed to cover her unease.

  “Quite right. To wake up next to that sight each morn would be torture indeed.”

  Aedan refused to be caught in any more of her nonsense. Instead, he turned his attention to his clansmen before him, one table in particular. He willed Abigail to look at him, to smile, nod, anything, but she ignored him.

  Black Ben picked up her hand and kissed it, her laughter ringing out, both of them enjoying the night immensely.

  The sound of his chair scraping against the flagstone floor finally caught her gaze. That she looked at him with little affection or care shouldn’t annoy, but it did. In fact, the sooner he left, the better. No one wanted to see a laird throw a woman over his shoulder and carry her from the room.

  Not bothering to pay his regards to his dinner companions, he headed toward the anteroom. Fury at himself, at Black Ben, at Abigail, made his vision glaze over with red. Once the door closed and he was alone, he poured himself a large draft of whisky and downed it in one swallow, before repeating the action numerous times.

  Anything to take his mind off the fact he wanted to murder and kiss to madness the lass from the future who wouldn’t be tamed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Her ass hurt. The fact that the horse in front of her kept letting off disgusting smells and popping noises didn’t help, either. Abigail shifted again in the saddle, trying to alleviate the uncomfortable ache that had settled there after the first mile, but nothing seemed to work.

  How much longer were they expected to ride? All the way to bloody London?

  Right at this moment she hated Scotland with a passion, and coming in a close second was the idiot who’d thought riding horses would be a good idea. Namely, Aedan.

  The women around her chatted and laughed, every one of them enjoying the outing. She wasn’t. All she wanted to do was go back to the castle where she could rub her bottom in the privacy of her room.

  “Are ye alright, Abigail?”

  She cringed. “Not really. How much longer do we have to ride these beasts?”

  Gwen laughed and pulled her horse alongside Abigail’s. “Only another mile or so and we’ll break for lunch. Aedan has organized a light repast for us al
l on the northern hill overlooking the keep. Some of the men not competing today will be there, too.”

  “So your beau will be there.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact that was obvious by the loving look on Gwen’s face at the mention that Braxton would be present.

  “Perhaps.” Gwen grinned, quiet a moment before she said, “But really, are ye well? You seem to be in pain.”

  “I want to walk. My bottom is so sore. I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

  “I’m so sorry. I never even thought. I assumed you’d be used to it, but, of course, you’re not.” Gwen rubbed her back in an attempt to comfort her. “I promise, ’tis not too much longer.”

  Abby smiled. “It’s okay. I’ll survive.”

  And she did. Only another half hour and they arrived at the designated picnic spot. The view on top of the hill overlooked endless miles of heather-covered fields, the purple blossoms shimmering like water on the top of a loch on a windy day.

  The closer they came, the more Abby’s bottom hurt and her desire to be off her mount became almost unbearable. Climbing the last few feet to the top of the hill, her horse seemed to slow and she had the urge to kick it into a trot, anything to get there faster and dismount.

  She stopped beside a man she’d seen take the horses from the clansmen at the castle, flipped her leg over the back of the horses rump, and slid off the side. Not used to the position she’d been sitting in the last couple of hours, or the fact her bottom had become numb, her legs gave out on her as her feet touched the ground and she landed on her rear with an oomph.

  A pair of strong arms came around her from behind, eliciting a shock of awareness through her body. “Are ye alright, lass?”

  Aedan’s words, kind and soft enough for only her to hear, whispered against her ear. She shivered as he helped her to stand. Abby turned, meeting his concerned gaze, a gaze that also held something she didn’t want to acknowledge. “I am, thank you. I’m merely a little saddle sore.”