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  His warm mouth came down hard on hers, forcing her lips apart further than before. She welcomed him, even after they both tasted the blood on their tongues. His fingers continued their assault while her hands moved over his muscled shoulders in a panicked frenzy, looking for something, not quite sure what or how to find it, knowing only that he would give it to her and end this torture.

  With the heel of his hand still on the wet bud, he inserted first one finger, then a second, feeling her tighten around him and then relax only to tighten again as the grinding of her hips became harder, more determined.

  He leaned against the door and slid down causing him to be at her height. She planted her hands on either side of him and spread her legs. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed, and breaths were coming shorter and faster, matching the thrusts of his fingers. She could have been a pagan goddess for all the modesty that she was displaying. He could tell that she was confused about finding this elusive ending she sought. She was a virgin, as he had hoped, but a virgin who would give him a run for his money.

  Increasing the speed of his hand, her moans became louder. The louder she was, the faster his hand moved. She tried to bury her head in his shoulder but he splayed his hand below her neck, holding her slightly back so he could see her. He wanted to pleasure her, yes, but he had no idea she held such passion, such…force. She would reach the precipice of her passion, and he would watch her fall off of it.

  She seemed to stop breathing for an eternity. The room that was filled with moans of desire and half shrieks of lust was now as quiet as a tomb. Then suddenly, as he stared unblinkingly at this woman who was surprising him at every turn, let out a gasp and a sound that could only come from deep inside a woman who had been without the touch of a man.

  Her fingers dug into the wood on either side of his head, peeling the wood splinters into little shards that fell to the ground. Her hair fell to below her waist as her head was thrown back. She had stilled her body, but Leith continued his assault on her body, feeling her shudder around his fingers, his palm catching the droplets of her lust.

  She bit her bottom lip, reveling in the pain as her body reveled in the pleasure stemming from this big brute of a Scotsman. She raised her head, her mane of hair, now wet and tangled, falling over her face. Burying her face in his shoulder, she breathed deeply, and shuddered.

  His hands eased their now torturous movements and held her waist, supporting her against his body. He stared into the fire over her shoulder, stroking her hair. She was amazing. This was amazing. He had tupped many a lass in his day but it had never been like this. And they had not even fully tupped!

  He inhaled deeply of her scent and his arousal tightened, causing him to groan into her neck.

  “Am I hurting you?” she asked, sounding like a little girl, as she wiped the tangled mess of hair out of her face, her eyes slightly glazed as she looked at him.

  He stood, picking her up and wrapping her trembling legs around his waist. “No.” He placed a peck on her check, inhaling once again.

  She giggled. “Why are you smelling me?”

  He stood still, her round bottom perfectly cupped in his hands. She weighed practically nothing and seemed to fit against him as if God himself had designed her just for him.

  “Because ye smell wonderful,” he answered, smiling.

  She laughed out loud this time. “I smell horrible and need another bath.”

  He lowered her to the bed, wishing he could set aside his morals and join her, take her until she screamed his name. She was showing no shyness or shame following her burst of pleasure. Another surprise he savored.

  Her hand lingered on his arm, feeling the muscles bunch under her fingers. He was staring at her as if he knew her deepest secrets, as if he could see the deepest recesses of her thoughts. “Do you have to go now?” She followed his gaze to the door.

  Sighing he lowered his mouth to hers and slowly kissed her with the gentleness that rivaled the power he had used just moments before. He met her gaze. He wanted to say no. He wanted to stay. He wanted her to ask him to stay.

  He ran his finger along her jaw, and then stared at her. “Do ye wish me to stay?”

  She never wanted him to leave. But she was confused and scared. Her body ached and her legs were still trembling. She could feel the sweat drying on her skin. Her woman’s place between her legs was more moist than she had ever felt it. She looked at his hands that had worked such magic on her body, made her throw her head back with abandon, and dig her nails into his shoulders.

  But this was dangerous territory. He was from the fifteenth century. She was from the future. Things could get so much more complicated than they should be. She could not take the chance of falling in love with him or vice versa. She had to keep her focus on the stones.

  He sensed the change in her. He straightened and held her hand. Her eyes had changed. She was thinking of the stones. Her time. Her life.

  He kissed her knuckles and turned to leave.

  “I do…but I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Leith.”

  “Do not be sorry, lass.” He paused, and then said, “I will take you to the stones.”

  Her lip quivered. She whispered, “Thank you.”

  He walked towards the door. Raine shot to the end of the bed, clutching her pillow. “Tonight,” she said breathlessly. “It had nothing to do with the stones.”

  He looked at her. She needed for him to understand.

  “I was not trying to persuade you to take me there by letting you…um…this.”

  He strode back to her, picked her up until she dangled like a doll in the air, and kissed her.

  Putting her back on the bed, he replied softly, “I know, lass. But I promise you that one day you will ask to stay.” His blue eyes bore into the depths of her.

  The door closed behind him, and she listened to his steps retreated down the hallway. She lay down, and stared at the ceiling. A smile started as the thoughts of what had transpired began to burn itself in her memory.

  She curled into the pillow and fell asleep with thoughts of a large, dark ancient Scotsman dancing before her eyes.

  Chapter 17

  Leith fairly hurled Raine across the room to jump start his orders. Alisdair had come, and he wanted blood. Hell’s Gate had been in Leith’s family for generations. He was not about to give it up without a fight.

  “Get up to yer room and take yer ladies with you!” he bellowed.

  She lifted her skirts, preparing to run back to him. She yelled in reply, “I can help! I can fight, too!”

  He pinned her with a steely gaze.

  “Ye will do as I say, woman. Now get to ye’re rooms!”

  With her ladies already scrambling towards the stairs, they grabbed her and were almost dragging her with them, heedless of her protests. Just as they were about to round the corner and take him out of her sight, an image of Leith, wounded, lying on the ground beneath a half-crazed Alisdair flashed through her mind. What if this were the last time she saw him? What if he died in this battle?

  Flinging off her ladies, she hiked her skirts high above her knees, freeing her legs to sprint across the room towards him. He turned from his men and saw her coming towards him. There was no use in trying to stop her now.

  Her body hit his so hard it almost knocked them both over. Her legs wrapped themselves around his hips, and she crushed her mouth to his. Robbie shook his head and grabbed Leith’s sword, but he kept his eyes on the hills. There was no time for this. Plenty of time after the battle but not now. He sighed and frowned. Women.

  Leith felt her tongue invade his mouth in a desperate attempt to taste him in the few seconds she knew she could demand from him. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and matched her tongue stroke for stroke. Then he put her down and pushed her to arms length and took his sword back from his brother who stood frowning at him.

  Standing there she was a picture to see. Her hair all mussed from his hands, her wonderfully full lips red and s
wollen, her skirts bunched up as she clutched them to her chest exposing her legs. He couldn’t help but smile.

  The image of the great Scotsman standing on the precipice of battle, sword in hand, jet black hair tousled from her frenzied hands burying themselves in it, his lips wet from her efforts to extract one last taste of him would be forever in her mind.

  To her frustration, her lip quivered as she declared, “I don’t want you to die.”

  He laughed shortly. “Och, lassie, neither do I.”

  “He comes,” Robbie growled, his eyes on the hills.

  There, in the midst of what Raine thought to be an army, was a tall man with golden hair on a white horse speeding over the hills on a direct path for Hell’s Gate. To kill the Laird and claim the keep.

  Their eyes met and held. For what seemed like an eternity, they stood still, taking in the loveliness of the other in that moment.

  Leith strode towards her and crushed his lips to hers once more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on with more strength than she knew she had.

  He slapped her hard on the bottom and spun her around towards the stairs. “Now, go!”

  Slapping Robbie on the shoulder, both men headed to war.

  Raine ran to her room, her ladies barely able to keep up, and slammed the door shut. Her ladies and Lady MacGregor helped to slide the bolts in place. Then they all stepped back and stared at it, then looked at each other.

  “What do we do now?” Raine asked them, almost whispering.

  It was Lady MacGregor who finally answered. “Now we wait.”

  “Wait for what?” she asked.

  The Lady went to the window and peeked through the heavy material. “We wait until they have finished the battle. We wait, and hope and pray to God that my nephew does not kill my sons.”

  The resounding clash of metal on metal rose from the courtyard below and slithered its way into the room and to Raine’s ear. She flinched as if she’d been smacked.

  Her hand covered her mouth. This could not be happening. It just couldn’t. This was too medieval for her. She was supposed to sit up here and let the men downstairs fight until the last one standing was declared the winner?

  “Yes, my dear. If Alisdair takes the keep, we are all at his mercy,” the Lady said, reading her thoughts. “This is the way of things here.”

  They sat huddled on the bed, holding each other, quiet as mice listening to the clashing of the steel as it got louder, the shouts of the men wafting their way up to her room. It seemed to go on for hours.

  “I can’t stand this anymore!” Raine declared, jumping up from the bed, startling the other women and causing one to scream in fright.

  Lady MacGregor clasped her hands in hers. “There is nothing you can do. We are women, my child. We do not fight. We have not the skills or strength to battle the enemy.” She sighed and whispered, “Even if that enemy is my own blood.”

  She sank into a nearby chair and began to sob softly. Raine wrapped her arms around her and rocked her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  One of her ladies grabbed her shoulder. “My lady!” she hissed. “Listen!”

  All of them stood, listening. If she had dropped a pin on the soft woven rugs they could have heard it.

  Footsteps. Footsteps growing louder and nearer.

  One of the ladies gave a little jump of glee. “We are saved! It is the Laird!”

  The others shushed her, but with happy, hopeful smiles. Lady MacGregor and Raine grasped each other’s hands and stared.

  Then the shouting became more discernable. Their smiles faded, and their grips tightened.

  “Find her! Find that wench and bring her to me!” came the shout.

  Lady MacGregor gasped and fell to the chair, tears streaming down her soft cheeks. “My sons! My sons are dead.”

  The other ladies began sobbing, believing their fates were at an end. Raine looked around the room. There had to be something in here that could be used as a weapon, something to bash them on the heads with and run out of the room and get to safety.

  “Shush now!” she ordered them.

  She grabbed their hands and pulled them to their feet.

  “Stop all that noise!”

  The women wiped their noses on the backs of their hands, and looked at her. They looked like little girls playing dress up who were dreading a spanking from their parents. How could she save them all and get them to safety before Alisdair figured out where they were? She had to find Leith. She would not believe he was dead. He was too skilled, too determined to be overtaken by his wiry mad cousin.

  She grabbed the knitting needles in the tray by the bed. Stuffing one into each of her ladies hands, she told them, “Use this on anyone who tries to hurt you.”

  One of them asked, “What do we do with it?” She held it dubiously between her fingers.

  Raine took it and made a jabbing motion in the air. “Stab them. Repeatedly if you must until they stop moving or you can run past them.”

  A collective gasp came from the group. Lady MacGregor composed herself and stood, straightening her spine. “Yes, you fools! This is war! Those men will do much worse to you. Do as your lady tells you,” she nodded towards Raine, “and maybe you will survive this night, and hopefully with your virginity intact.”

  The ladies paled at that, and strengthened their resolved and clutched their knitting needles.

  The bolts on the door moved. Then they were shaken harder. “My lord!” came the cry.

  The women huddled together by the end of the bed, white as sheets.

  Pounding came on the door with such force, it shook the windows. “This is Lord Alisdair! I have taken this keep and am now your lord and master. Open this door!”

  Lady MacGregor continued to shed tears, but made no sound. She stood ramrod straight, holding in a death grip behind her back the broken wooden leg of the chair that she had so recently sat upon. Raine held the other leg that had broken in half when they had smashed it.

  The door would not hold much more of an assault. The men must be using a battering ram trying to break the door down.

  Raine looked at her ladies, and smiled at them for encouragement. They nodded and returned their stares to the door. Suddenly, it came bursting open and brought a couple of men with it.

  The women screamed but to their credit, maintained their positions, their puny weapons still in their grasp.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” came the sneer. It had been months since she heard that voice, but Raine recognized it as if it were just yesterday.

  Lady MacGregor spoke first. “Alisdair, have you any idea of what you are doing? We are family!”

  He snorted. “We are only family when it is suitable. And yes, dear Aunt, I know exactly what I have done.” He laughed and took pleasure as he enunciated, “I have taken Hell’s Gate! I have grown weary of petitioning the Queen and being at the mercy of my dear cousin. I own the water, I own the keep, and now I own his wife.”

  The two men on either side of him joined his laughter. Raine saw how there gazes lingered on her ladies, looking them over as if they were children gazing upon a piece of candy, imagining all the horrible things that they would take pleasure in at their expense. The ladies noticed it too because their knuckles were turning white so hard were they holding their knitting needles.

  Alisdair’s eyes moved to Raine, narrowing when his gaze fell upon her.

  “What a pretty dress. Did your husband give it to you?” he asked venomously.

  She met his gaze, her stomach flipping over from fear at the mention of Leith. She nodded.

  His gaze narrowed further. “Tell me, do you wear it willingly or at his request? I only ask because I thought you were more inclined to breaches than skirts.”

  “Both,” she answered coldly.

  He smiled cynically at her. “I still expect payment for the clothing you stole from my servant. I have not yet forgotten – or forgiven – that.”

  He made his way toward
her. Instinctively she took a step back and threw her gaze towards the door.

  He followed her gaze. “Still hoping that my cousin will come to your rescue?” He laughed. “Perhaps I did not make my earlier claim clear to you?”

  He spun to face his aunt, smacking his hand against his forehead. “Ugh! You seem confused. Forgive me, ladies. The battle has made me lax in my manners.”

  Straightening to his full height, he grandly made his announcement, the glee in his eyes unmistakable. “Ladies, Aunt, I am the new lord of Hell’s Gate. My men have won the battle and are the last ones standing while the men of your husband – and your sons, Aunt – are dead or will be soon.”

  He turned to Raine, leaning into her. “And your husband, the great and wonderful Laird, is dead.” He met her cold gaze while his voice dripped with satisfaction. “And I can gladly say that I am responsible for his death.”

  Lady MacGregor exhaled a sigh, swooning slightly and grabbed the wall to steady herself. No one else moved. Alisdair continued staring at Raine, hopeful that his taunt had hit its mark.

  His hatred for his cousin ran deep and extended to his woman, not only because she had stolen from his servant, but just because she belonged to Leith and not him. The thought occurred to him that maybe he would keep her for himself instead of killing her as he had originally planned.

  It felt as if someone had kicked Raine in the stomach. Her breathing stopped and her grip loosened on the piece of wood she had so fiercely gripped a few moments before. Leith was dead? Dead. The Keep had fallen, and they were all at the mercy of this madman and his men? She would never see Leith again. Never feel his touch or look into those wonderfully blue eyes, never hear his laughter again. Her vision started to blur. She blinked, returning her gaze to the blonde angelic looking man before her who seemed so abundantly pleased with himself for accomplishing such a horrific feat.

  He tilted his head. “Aww, tears, my sweet?”