Chapter Ten
The next day of the games began with congenial weather. The nights were still cold, dew sat on the trees and ground, the roofs of the cottages that dotted the lands looked wet, but the sun that rose in the east promised warmth, and clear Highland air.
Abby sat on a wooden platform that gave the women and a few older clansmen a good view of the field and settled in to watch the day’s competition. Abby welcomed Gwen as she came to sit beside her, the woman’s excitement over the forthcoming event almost palpable.
“Is Braxton competing today?” Abby asked, knowing already he was. In fact, he was going up against Aedan and his team of clansmen in a tug of war. Little lads she’d seen about the village were busy throwing buckets of water into a pit, while others sloshed about with their feet, making it as muddy and slippery as possible.
“Yes. He’s competing with Clan Ross and Black Ben since they were short of men. Apparently, he has a plan that will beat my brother. Of course, I hope he does. I’d love to see Aedan fall in a puddle of mud.”
It was obvious that Gwen adored her brother. Abby laughed, knowing she spoke in jest. “That’s not very sisterly of you. How could you think so cruelly of the man who, for all his perfectionist qualities, loves you dearly?”
Gwen scrunched up her face in thought. “Seeing him fall in mud, getting dirty, which he hates by the way, does not make me love him less. But it won’t hurt to see him live a little, too. He’s so serious. He could use some fun in his life.”
Abby couldn’t agree more, and yet, the thought of their kiss, how much fun they’d had the night before, bombarded her mind and she shifted on the seat, feeling a little warmth on her cheeks.
Last night after she’d made her room, she’d done nothing but pace for a good hour. No matter how much tread she’d worn on the wooden floor, it didn’t change the roiling emotions he’d created within her.
She watched him on the field, the men about him listening intently, some flapping their arms about in preparation for the tug-of-war to come. They were all so serious. Anyone would think they were about to go into battle.
“Are they playing for anything of value today?”
“Aye.” Gwen nodded toward the front of the platform where a man stood beside a wooden square box. “’Tis a bag of coin. The clans place an equal amount each into the winnings, which is distributed evenly between the events. If a clan were to win all bouts, they’d walk away with a wee fortune. ’Tis nothing to sneeze at.”
“Well, no wonder they all look so serious.” The crowd started shouting as the men in the two teams took their positions on either side of the muddy hole. “So every clan will have a turn and eventually, the two strongest teams will compete for the prize money?”
“Aye.”
The tug-of-war started and shouting ensued, not only from the people sitting around her, but the two teams. Feet slipped, arms strained under the pressure, faces turned bright red as the men, all of similar weight, tried to pull one another over.
Abby’s attention snapped to Aedan’s legs, his kilt doing nothing to hide the strong, corded muscles that ran up their lengths. His arms flexed, tightened, and it was hard to imagine he’d held her against him with nothing but care and softness.
The bout went on for some time; both teams feeling the strain, as they seemed well matched in strength. But a member of Clan Ross slipped onto his bottom near the front, making some of the men lose their footing. It wasn’t long before Aedan’s team used the men’s disadvantage and pulled them over the allotted line.
Gwen swore as Braxton landed on his ass, his kilt covered in mud.
“That’ll be a bastard to wash,” her friend said, making Abby laugh.
“I should imagine so.”
Aedan clapped his men on their backs, joining them in ribbing the following team that they’d be next to end in the mud pit. Abby laughed and found herself enjoying the day immensely. What wasn’t to like? She was in the Highlands, surrounded by good people, even if they weren’t of her time. Everything was crystal clear here, the air, the people’s morals, likes and dislikes.
It was quite refreshing and not a little addictive.
Aline ran up to Aedan, her enthusiasm over his team’s win seemed a little overdone, even for her. The young woman gushed, practically re-living the event, while smiling up at Aedan with obvious longing.
Abby inwardly cursed the girl before putting a stop to such thoughts. Why shouldn’t Aline look at him like that? He was a good-looking man, certainly one who pulled many female gazes his way. He leaned down and said something in the woman’s ear, her face flushing a little, making her more attractive than she already was.
Abby looked away and concentrated on the hills in the distance. She should be happy he was forming an attachment to another woman. She wasn’t staying to fill the position. As soon as she could, she’d be returning home, back to her own life.
It may not be the most extravagant life, but it was hers, nonetheless. The thought of her tiny apartment in Salem, and the amount of friends she could count on one hand, made her a little sad when surrounded by people born centuries before, who seemed to have hundreds of people who cared, loved, and looked out for one another.
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.