Highland Fling. Jennifer Labrecque
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 by the minute.
And despite the fact that she felt leaden with fatigue, there was no way she was sleeping until she got some answers. But she’d pretend to sleep and then when Tall, Dark and Naked drifted off to la-la land, she’d nose around and see what she could find out.
“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