HighlandSteam Page 3

  “Ye must trust me. I willnae harm ye, lass.”

  “How can I trust you? I don’t even know who you are.” She raked her hands through her hair, groaning as she caught a few snags with her fingers. “I’m not—normally I don’t—”

  Drostan smiled. She was embarrassed, naturally. Passion had overcome inhibition.

  “No need to feel shame, lass. I quite enjoyed last eve and ye have helped Clan Comyn. Ye’re an angel.”

  She stopped, placed her hands on her hips and made an unladylike grunt. “I am no angel. I didn’t save anyone. I fucked your brains out and now you want to take me home. Well, I’m not going. I’m going to stay right here until a rescue party comes to find me. I ate some weird berries last night, I thought you were a hallucination. I need water.” She sat heavily.

  “There willnae be a rescue party,” Drostan said, his words coming out heavier than he wanted them to. “Fact is, lass, ye are in danger if ye remain here. Ye’ll be safe at Drostan, and anyone who’d come to rescue ye will come there first.”

  She frowned. “Why there?”

  He shrugged. “Clan Comyn is the closest to this spot.”

  She tilted her head and stared at him, he guessed trying to decide if she could trust him.

  Drostan reached into his boot and pulled out his sgian dubh.

  Briana’s hands rose up in front of her. “Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded. “I’ll come with you.”

  Drostan rolled his eyes and flipped the dagger around so he held the blade and the handle faced her. “I wouldnae hurt ye. I spent the night worshiping ye. I merely wanted ye to have the sgian dubh to make ye feel safer.”

  Her face colored prettily and she bit her lip. “I’m sorry… Oh, I’m so confused.” She shook her head but took the dagger all the same.

  “Come. We must go now.”

  “All right.”

  Artair returned with the horses. Drostan lifted Briana on top his mount and then rose up behind her.

  “’Tis just a quick ride down the ridge.”

  She nodded but said nothing, holding his sgian dubh in a white-knuckled death grip.

  * * * * *

  OhmyGod. OhmyGod. OhmyGod.

  Briana chanted the words in her mind, almost comforted but not quite. The heat of Drostan’s body cradling hers as they rode swiftly down the mountain on horseback seeped into her, making her want to snuggle close to him even though she could not comprehend what had happened.

  She’d been eating berries. The runes had come to life. She’d touched them. Burned her skin—no, not burned, seared—and it had felt good. She’d peered through the archway—more like a portal—and seen Drostan lying there as if expecting her. Then he’d proceeded to deliciously shatter her world for the rest of the night.

  And all the while she’d given way to her inhibitions, letting herself go, wildly enjoying every second of it, thinking the whole time it was a fantasy, a result of some Highland mountain berries.

  But now she knew better. She was being carried down the mountain by a real, live Highlander. To his castle Inverlochy. She recognized the name from a castle she’d visited the day before.

  What the hell had he been doing up there on the mountain anyway, and with his men standing guard? She hadn’t even seen them arrive. The guide had said something at one of the castles she’d visited, about how Highlanders, despite their size, were able to sneak up on the enemy without anyone the wiser. Had she been the victim of a sneak attack? And what kind of man sneaked up on a woman and seduced her? It didn’t make sense. All of it was so weird.

  Worst of all, she had enjoyed it. Had felt a connection somewhere deep inside—and not because his cock had nearly split her in two.

  They arrived at Inverlochy moments later. At first the people’s faces looked somber until they alighted on Briana, then their eyes widened and smiles covered their faces. But it wasn’t this odd reaction that had Briana blanching, it was that all the people were dressed as those in the Dark Ages.

  In fact, the entire courtyard looked like a functioning reenactment. A smithy hammered in his shop. Hay littered the ground where a young man was using a tool to sift through it. A grimy family pushed a wagon full of vegetables toward an outbuilding.

  “What is this place?” she said, mesmerized and horrified at the same time.

  “’Tis Inverlochy.”

  She shook her head. “No, this is not Inverlochy.”

  The Inverlochy she’d visited was a pile of ruins. Some outer walls had still remained, you could even see the gate to the River Lochy, but this was a living, breathing castle.

  They’d ridden over a moat that surrounded the castle walls and connected with the River Lochy at the back. Four sturdy towers graced the corners of the walls at strategic points and men stood atop, gazing down at the courtyard—more importantly, gawking at her.

  “Laird Comyn has returned. And with him, he has brought your new mistress.” The man next to Drostan spoke with a thick brogue from atop his horse.

  A cheer resounded as the people studied her. She shook her head again and tried to turn around to face Drostan.

  But he leaned down to speak in her ear, stilling her movement. “The people cheer for ye, Briana, the new Lady Comyn.”

  “Comyn…” The name finally hit her. He hadn’t meant common people when he’d spoken to her last night. He’d said Comyn. And she distinctly remembered the guide speaking about Clan Cummings being Clan Comyn in early medieval days. “This can’t be happening. What is going on?”

  “We shall speak inside.” Drostan’s words were harshly spoken. He dismounted and helped her down.

  Briana, despite her fear, could not help admiring Drostan—rather Laird Comyn—as he greeted his people with respect and a kind word for each of them. They truly looked up to him, seemed to find him as enthralling as she did.

  The kind face she’d seen with his people swiftly changed as they entered a private parlor of some sort, Artair at their heels. Drostan slammed the door shut and Briana jumped. He was plainly irritated with her.

  “Artair, ye said the wench would save our clan. I’d thought your magic worked until she started to shake like a frightened rabbit.”

  Artair glowered at Drostan, his wrinkled forehead pulling reddish-white bushy brows together, and crossed his thick arms over his chest. “I didnae promise she’d like ye, Dros, just that it was necessary to bed her on the sacred marriage bed. The clan is saved, at least they believe it to be true.”

  Briana stepped forward, her arms outstretched in annoyance at being talked about as if she were not in the room. “Okay, seriously, what the hell is going on here? I feel like I’m in a nightmare.”

  Drostan turned a hostile glare toward her. “Ye see, mon? She cannae be the one. She thinks me come from the devil.”

  “She’s the one.”

  “I’m not the one.”

  Artair and Briana spoke at the same time.

  Drostan turned toward her. “I am laird of one of the most powerful clans in the Highlands. Just yestermorn, my brother was murdered upon that rock with his beloved as they sealed the bonds of their troth, preparing to start a family.”

  Briana cringed at the picture he created in her mind.

  “Dinna frown so, lass, ’twas a beautiful thing that passed between them as it ’twas between us, save their lives were stolen by the blasted Campbells. Our clan believes in the magic of the sacred stones, the sacred circle. We were to be cursed with Niall and Cearan’s murder. But ye saved us. Ye came to me while I lay there vulnerable to attack. We sealed our bonds in front of witnesses—the very place where my brother’s life essence drained from his body. Ye are my wife now.”

  Briana swallowed hard. All he’d spoken was a lot for her to take in. She understood his pain at having lost loved ones. She still felt the sharp pains of losing her parents deep in her chest. Part of her leapt at the chance to join with him, to be part of his family, his life. But the rational side of her said it was impossible.r />
  “Are you telling me we’re married?”

  “Aye.”

  And the castle…so alive, so restored, it could only mean one thing—she’d somehow traveled through time. The blood drained from her face to pool in her feet. She felt unsteady, dizzy.

  “What is the year?”

  Artair grunted. “’Tis the year of our Lord, 1296.”

  Briana nodded, feeling her world spin. She had time-traveled. Now she just had to figure out how to get back to the twenty-first century.

  For the first time since leaping from his horse in the courtyard, Drostan turned concerned eyes on her. He stepped closer toward her and Briana resisted the urge to step back. After all, they had shared a very intimate night together. He hadn’t hurt her.

  If anything, he’d been trying to protect her—most likely from a repeat of what happened to his family—and he’d even given her his dagger to protect herself, to make her feel more in control.

  She let him steady her with a strong arm as she studied his chiseled face now that she could see him in the light. He had strong Norman features. A square chin, long nose, crooked at its center perhaps from battle. A faint scar from the corner of his lip toward his cheekbone.

  His eyes were blue as the sky, rimmed by sapphire. His hair was wavy, the color of gold and fell just above his shoulders.

  He was massive—broad shoulders, wide chest, thick arms and legs, all muscle. His waist and hips were trim and, she gazed at the place where his cock rested beneath his kilt, she knew another part that was equally massive. He was very handsome. He exuded strength and power.

  She decided right then and there she could trust him. He was huge, he was powerful and yet he’d done nothing to harm her, quite the opposite, and the look in his eyes—he was pleading with her to trust him.

  “Briana, are ye all right? Ye are quite pale.”

  She tried to smile, to reassure him she wasn’t fragile even though she was starting to feel a little lightheaded.

  “I am all right. I just… I need to go home to my time.”

  “Inverlochy is your home now,” he stated softly, not seeming at all disconcerted that she had admitted to being from another time. He stroked her face then settled his hands on her shoulders. “Do ye ken that?”

  She shook her head and kept her eyes locked on his. “I understand you want this to be my home. I’m terribly sorry about what’s happened to your family. But…I-I need to get back to my time. I don’t belong here. I can’t stay.”

  Not that she had anything or anyone waiting for her back in New York City.

  Pain ricocheted in Drostan’s gaze. “I ken what ye say, lass. ’Haps ye might take the night to think on it? Stay with my clan for the day, dine with us this eve and in the morn if ye wish I’ll take ye back up the ridge to the circle of stones. If Fate would have ye returned to your time, then so be it.”

  A weight lifted from her shoulders. Just a day in this time and then she could go back home. There was no way Fate would not intercede once more—she had to!

  “Thank you, Drostan.”

  His lips quirked into a grin she found utterly disarming. “Where was your home?”

  “New York City.”

  His brows drew together. “I have not heard of such a place.”

  Briana hadn’t thought of that. She was in the Middle Ages—America hadn’t been discovered yet. “It is really far away.”

  “Ah,” he said with a nod. “What was is it like in—what year?”

  “The twenty-first century, and it’s—” She glanced around at the courtyard, taking in the medieval garb, earthy scents and utter lack of technology. “It’s much different. Women have rights, we drive cars, wear jeans, eat Lean Cuisines and do Zumba.”

  Drostan stared at her, puzzlement flashing in his eyes for a mere second before he spoke. “I dinna understand a word ye said lass, save for women have rights. They have rights in Clan Comyn as well, everyone does.”

  Briana nodded acknowledgment but she wasn’t about to launch into a litany on how things had changed in the future.

  “I am glad ye’ve come from New York City and abandoned Zumba for a time.”

  She couldn’t help smiling at the way the foreign words rolled off his tongue.

  “One of the maids will have drawn ye a bath in my chambers. When ye’ve had a chance to refresh yourself, join me in the great hall. I’ve a mind to show ye all of Inverlochy if I’m only to have ye for a day.”

  Briana beamed a smile up at the Highland laird and out of impulse pressed her lips to his stubbled cheek. She ignored the flutter in her belly at the feel of his flesh on hers and at his scent as it pried its way inside her.

  Just a day. She could not allow herself to fall for this man. He was over eight-hundred years older than she. Talk about an age difference.

  * * * * *

  Drostan watched Briana follow his housekeeper up the stairs toward his chamber. His insides constricted. In the space of one night, he’d fallen harder for Briana than he had for any other lass in his past. How was it possible? All they’d done was rut upon a stone.

  But that wasn’t the half of it. There’d been a connection between them, something deeper than the pleasures of the flesh.

  And ‘twasn’t merely Fate, he refused to believe that. It was something more tangible. As if besides what they’d given each other in body, they also shared like minds.

  He shook his head. It was utter nonsense. Must be grief that had him trying to form a connection where there couldn’t possibly be one.

  “My laird?”

  Drostan turned in time to see his steward Smeely standing before him.

  “Aye, Smee, what is it?”

  “We shall feast tonight in celebration of ye bringing a bride back to Inverlochy, for the gods interfering where the Campbells would have seen us dead—but, my laird, we must also commence the ceremony for your brother and his wife.”

  Drostan swallowed hard. He didn’t want to say goodbye but alas it was the way in which life had led him. “We shall await my bride.”

  “We shall prepare by the loch and when ye both are ready, proceed.” Smeely turned on his heel and headed out of the keep.

  Drostan needed to prepare Briana for what was to happen. He trudged up the stairs toward his chamber, pausing at the door to take a deep breath before entering.

  Inside, his room was warm and steam rose from a tub of water, Briana sunken to her shoulders within its depths.

  Her eyes lit on him with irritation at first and then quickly faded to concern. “Is everything all right?”

  “Aye.” He grabbed the carved oak chair by the hearth and dragged it to the bath.

  As he settled himself into the chair, his gaze was drawn to her creamy breasts. They bobbed on top the water, her nipples hard and pink. Drostan swallowed and shifted, his cock hard, his mouth watering to taste those nipples.

  “What are you doing here then?” She looked around as if expecting someone else to enter the room as well.

  “After ye bathe, we have a ceremony to attend.”

  Fear flashed in her eyes, he guessed at what was unknown and what her mind was concluding.

  He hurried to continue. “’Tis a ceremony for my brother and his wife. Upon the loch, their pyres await for us to light their way to the gods.”

  “They have not yet been buried?”

  Drostan shook his head. “My brother always dreamed of being celebrated as those in ancient times. He wishes—wished to be placed upon a pyre, burned as he floated upon the loch.”

  “Oh.” She pursed her lips. “And you wish for me to attend.”

  Drostan reached inside the warm water and caressed the flesh of her breasts, his body reacting like lightning as she sucked in a ragged moan.

  “Aye, ’twould mean a lot to me and the clan if ye attended. They ken naught that ye wish to return to your time.”

  Her eyes closed and she settled her head against the back of the wooden tub as he caressed a trail over
her belly to the sparse curls nestled between her thighs. He’d never seen a woman with so little hair.

  He sank two fingers inside her wet cavern, his skin prickling as her tight, hot muscles clenched. She lifted, inviting him as he slid out then back in, his thumb rubbing over the little fireball of nerves.

  “Mo Creach, I want ye again.” His cock strained beneath his plaid, eager to replace his fingers within her cunny.

  “Do we have time?” she panted.

  “There’s always time.” He picked her up from the tub, dripping wet, and laid her on his bed.

  She shivered but not from cold if the lusty glaze of her eyes was any indication. He took the linen towel the maids left her, drying every inch of her flesh, stopping to kiss her behind her knees, upon her ass, her belly, the top of her inner thigh, her breasts. He left no inch of her untasted.

  Drostan tossed the towel aside and quickly divested himself of his plaid and shirt.

  Briana held out her arms, beckoning him to come closer to her. He would gladly lie in her arms here, enjoying the carnal enticements she offered, rather than go to the loch just yet.

  He lay beside her, placing a thigh over both of hers. His lips connected with hers in a demanding, carnal kiss. If she was only going to be here for a day, he was going to claim her as his own. She eagerly answered his kiss, her mouth opening to his, little moans of excitement piercing the air from her lips.

  “Oh Briana, what will I do when ye are gone?” he murmured. But he gave her no time to answer. Instead he thrust his tongue deep, his lips slanted over hers again and again, possessing her completely.

  He sank against her, exhilarated at her matching his kiss in intensity.

  His hands trailed over her naked flesh, plucking at her nipples before moving lower to strum the wetness of her cunny. His fingers slicked between her folds, his thumb brushing over her nub.

  She writhed beneath his ministrations, her own hands making explorations. She skimmed over his chest, his shoulders, down his back and she squeezed his ass, then she reached in front, one hand sliding gloriously over his cock and the other cupping his sac. She stroked him, squeezed him gently, knowing just the right pressure.

  What had started out as him claiming her was quickly turning around. She was taking control of his body and he had little say in it. He didn’t want her to stop and yet he didn’t want her to continue else he came before it was time. But when he tried to take her hand in his, she brushed him aside, eager to pleasure him.