CursedLaird (9 page)

“Lass.” His thick brogue rolled on a deep timbre. “Ye got
the drop on mi this time. Be warned.” He brushed his thumb across her bottom
lip as he held her wide-eyed stare. “I won’t be forgetting how ye likes it.”

He wasn’t exactly sure where he was but one thing he did
know—the black-headed minx with the oddest-colored blue eyes he’d ever seen
knew how to kiss. Pressed against her moments earlier stirred his blood back to
life and hardened his shaft. Just the thought of it made him remember something
else just as important if not more about this feisty
boireannach
. She
knew how to bring a man to his knees and not in a pleasurable way. Absently, he
shifted his stance, adjusting the injured party into a more comfortable
position.

Taking in his surroundings more clearly, he still didn’t
recognize the room in which he stood. Odd items hung on the wall, lined the
shelves and sat upon the table. He closed his eyes as his thoughts knotted.
What had Mary said? Two hundred years cursed. Gavin and Ian were freed, yet the
others remained lost. Castle MacKinnon. Home.

He opened his eyes and leveled his gaze on the woman named
Caledonia. Fine name for a strong woman. Studying her from head to toe, he
deemed her different. On her bottom, she wore men’s
trews
and some sort
of shirt covered her breasts. Both items fit snug and reminded him she had fine
curves.

Caledonia spoke. Her Scottish lilt tickled his ears. At
least he woke in Scotland. Thank the angels. “My name is Caledonia Kavanagh.”

“Milady.” He nodded politely then replied, “I am Struan
MacKinnon o’ Clan MacKinnon from Lochsbury. Is what Mary said the truth? Have I
been cursed for over two hundred years?”

“Aye,” Caledonia replied.

He liked the way she met his gaze directly when she spoke.
She didn’t lower her eyes or play shy like the women of his time. Mary’s image
graced his thoughts and weighed heavy on his heart. Now there was a fine woman
to whom he owed his life. He sighed, knowing that was a love that was never
meant to be. He managed to find his voice and asked, “Where am I now?”

“Lawers Glen on the southern shore of Loch Tay.”

He released a sigh of relief. He may not have woken in a
familiar time, but he knew where he was. If he left right now, it would be
several days walk for home. Struan turned for the door and was out of it before
she could stop him.

“You mustn’t go out there.” Her voice followed behind him as
did her footsteps.

Darkness surrounded him. A full moon hung over the loch,
dancing across its surface. He inhaled deep. Fresh air filled his lungs.
Freedom flowed through his veins. Though he tried to grapple with the
knowledge, it seemed impossible over two hundred years had passed. The loch
remained the same. He strolled down the dock. A large, strange-looking boat was
moored alongside. A thick odor lingered near the rear of the boat and made his
nose crinkle. It didn’t smell natural.

The light of the moon granted him the ability to read the
words written upon the boat’s bow.
Marcail Struana
. Gaelic for pearl of
the stream. It struck him odd to find such on this boat. His name
Struan
and the word
Struana
both meant stream. Was it coincidence or destiny he
awakened in the care o’ this woman named Caledonia? Did she love the water in
the same manner as he? Struan snorted at the thought as he continued past to
the dock’s end. Being frozen in stone muddled his brains with feminine thoughts
of destiny.

If it were not for MacGillivray, his life would have
remained in his time where he would have lived and died. Destiny. He shook his
head but didn’t prevent his gaze from lingering on the words written on the
boat’s bow. A madman caused this havoc, not destiny. He stood on the very end
of the dock, looking out across the water.

Odd lights twinkled along the shoreline in the night.
Unfamiliar sounds cut the air. A low rumble. A distinctive hum. What made such
noises? He squinted but only noted several sets of lights moving on the
opposite side of the loch, as if they followed one another at a steady pace.
His hand readied on his sword’s hilt in case they somehow traversed the loch on
a magical source. Was this world filled with such? Witch’s magic?

He closed his eyes and struggled to wrap his mind around
that issue. One moment he faced Hume MacGillivray, the next he stood beside a
dark-haired beauty centuries later. How had he come to be at Loch Tay? Struan
strained to remember.

He’d dressed and descended the stairs to await his brothers,
Gavin and Ian, for an early-morning hunt. The great room was empty when he
arrived. Gavin had a wife and a good reason to linger in bed, but Ian had none
that would rescue him from Struan’s wrath for being remiss in arriving on time.
Footsteps echoed behind him. He turned expecting a
brathair
. Instead, he
got an unwelcomed surprise.

In the garb of a monk, Hume MacGillivray stood with a black
book opened in hand. Struan’s demand to know why he foolishly chose to step
foot on MacKinnon soil garnered a mumbled mystical response. He thought the man
to be daft in the head. His attempt to draw his sword ended abruptly when his
arms stilled. The air heated and snapped around him. A bright light engulfed
him and darkness swallowed him. That was the last retrievable memory.
MacGillivray’s chant haunted his ears to the point he stiffened.

Struan balled and unballed his fists, then shifted his
stance to prove to himself it was simply a horrific memory. He was free. But
free to what, where and when? Mary was gone. His
brathairs
were cursed
and he… Struan struggled to clear his thoughts. He wasn’t sure about anything
other than the fact he stood at the end of a dock trapped in a world he did not
understand.

The touch of her hand on his forearm made him suddenly aware
of her presence at his side. He looked at her, streams of moonlight accentuated
her face and gave her cerulean eyes a sensual, darker hue. A gentle breeze
fluttered the strands that escaped her braid to lift and tease him with the
urge to free the rest. It had been many a year since he’d seen such a beautiful
woman.
Two hundred plus to be exact.
He squeezed his eyes shut against
that thought as he desperately tried to accept it as fact.

“There have been many changes, Struan. Let me help you find
your way.” Her soft-spoken words touched him with her offer of guidance.

When he opened his eyes, Caledonia’s reassuring gaze warmed
his heart and stirred his blood, sending it directly to his shaft.
Mary said
she left him in good hands. She basically gave him her blessing.
Struan
heard the inner whisperings of the devilish voice inside his head. Here at his
side stood an inviting woman who tempted him beyond belief. But he would not
falter. An honorable man mourned the woman he loved and though they never even
kissed, he loved Mary. Thoughts o’ lust be damned, he screamed inwardly. He
knew nothing of Caledonia except the taste of her scrumptious mouth.

Struan tore his gaze away from Caledonia’s full lips to
stare across the loch. The thoughts that divided his mind at the moment
confused him. Having been cursed for so long had to be the reason for this
inner turmoil. It had to be the instigator behind this growing urge to couple
with Caledonia. The cup of her hand to his cheek didn’t help his situation. He
followed the gentle pull of her touch and met her questioning gaze.

“Struan, I know this is all so difficult for you.” He liked
the way his name rolled on her lilt. She paused and he couldn’t take his eyes
off the tip of her tongue as she wet her lips. “I’m not even sure if I
understand it all myself. You’ve been in some sort of cursed state for a long
time. You’ve got to be hungry. Let’s go inside and I’ll fix you a bowl of
stew.”

“Lass, food is not at the top o’ mi needs at the moment.”
Struan steeled his resolve against the charms of the beauty he longed to touch
as he said, “But it will satisfy mi hunger in the only way I can allow.”

Chapter Five

Caledonia wasn’t sure what he meant about food not being his
top need at the moment. But she knew she had to get him inside before someone
saw him. She wasn’t prepared to answer questions about who he was or where he
came from. Hell, she wasn’t even certain about that herself even though she’d
witnessed his release. She turned on her heel and started toward the house.
When she realized he wasn’t moving, she looked over her shoulder and asked,
“Are you coming?”

He gave her a nod and followed. Inside the kitchen, she
noted his sudden discomfort. He stood stock-still in the doorway. It seemed as
if this new world closed in around him. Confusion filled his expression while
he took in his surroundings. She touched his arm and smiled up at him.

“Let me help you. I’m sure things are very different from
your time.” She pulled out a chair at the table and motioned for him to sit. He
hesitated then removed his claymore, hung it on the chair and sat.

Caledonia lifted the lid on the pot of stew Momma left for
her to eat for dinner. She spoke as she worked. “This is a stove. I’m not sure
how food was prepared during your time, but today we use this.”

She pointed out the features of the stove, how it worked and
the different knobs. She turned a knob and the gas eye lit with a click. Struan
watched without question but she noted his eyebrow arched when the flame
appeared under the pot.

She took two glasses and two bowls from the cabinet. She
filled the glasses with ice and water, explaining the refrigerator and the tap
as she moved. Each time she looked at him, he appeared to be an attentive
student absorbing everything like a dried sponge soaking up a large water
spill. When he pointed to the ceiling, she followed his finger. His mumbled
one-word question had her swallowing a laugh. In no way would she insult him.
He needed to learn if he were to survive in this new age.

“Magic?”

Caledonia shook her head as she moved to the switch on the
wall. “No, it’s a ceiling lamp and it’s powered by electricity. See?” She
flicked the switch down, cutting the light and filling the room with total
darkness, minus the glow from the flame under the pot on the stove. Instantly,
she flicked it up and light flooded the room, making him blink. She returned to
the stove, stirred the stew then filled the bowls.

“Here, Momma makes the best stew.” She handed him a spoon
then paused, not sure if they had utensils back then. He must have seen her
hesitation as he spoke.

“We had spoons, bowls, pots. None o’ this magic ye call
e-lec-tri-city,” he stumbled over the word but got it out. “No running water as
ye have but we survived. Castle MacKinnon was the finest o’ its time.” Pride
filled his words. His chest puffed and his face beamed. “After we eat, I wish
to go home.”

Caledonia touched his hand. “Aye, after we eat.”

Throughout the meal, she answered his questions. It
impressed her that he listened, digested what she told him then chose his
questions wisely. It was as if he strategically planned what he asked before
doing so. His hunger for knowledge nearly matched his hunger for food. She
filled his bowl four times before he claimed he’d had enough. She placed the
bowls in the sink just as the back door opened and in walked her parents.

Struan sprang to his feet and drew his sword. Caledonia
moved quickly to his side and gently touched his arm. “Struan, these are my
parents, Aileen and Fin Kavanagh.”

It eased the tightness in her chest to see his stance relax.
Whew, that was close.
Somehow she might need to relieve him of that
sword before he accidentally skewered someone.

Caledonia’s poppa stepped around his wife the moment the
sword had been drawn. His face heated red with anger. His fists raised, taking
a fighter’s stance, facing off with Struan. “Who the hell do you think you are?
This is my house and no one shall hurt my girls.”

“The young man is Struan MacKinnon, dear. He just woke from
a two-hundred-year nap,” Momma stated as if it were a world-known fact. She
hugged her husband from behind, laid her chin upon his shoulder and stretched
to kiss his cheek. “He is a guest in our home. Now the two of you lower your
weapons and make nice, while I fix us some tea.”

“Are you daft, woman?” Fin sputtered as he continued to size
up Struan. He began to bob and weave, making ready to fight. “No one points a
sword at me ‘n my own house.”

Struan sheathed his sword and offered his hand as he spoke.
His head bowed but Caledonia doubted he took his eyes off Poppa. “My apologies,
sir. Everything is new to mi. Your entrance startled mi. Please accept my hand
in forgiveness. I had no right to draw mi sword in your home.”

“Take his hand, Fin,” Momma encouraged as she set the kettle
on to boil. “Or you may be sleeping on top o’ the covers tonight instead o’
under them.” The look she leveled on Poppa made Caledonia smile inwardly. It
was no secret her parents shared a
healthy
, happy relationship. One she
hoped to find someday.

“But,” Fin muttered. His fists dropped to his sides the
moment Momma’s eyebrows rose and her arms crossed under her breasts.

“Thank you,” Momma said then turned to Caledonia. “Has he
eaten?”

“Aye, Milady. Ye make a fine stew,” Struan proclaimed. He
rubbed his belly as a sign of his enjoyment.

“Good, I’m glad you liked it.” Momma nodded. “Why don’t we
each take a seat and get to know one another over tea?”

“I’m gonna need something stronger to understand this one,”
Poppa claimed as he walked to the cabinet beside the refrigerator where they
kept the whiskey. He retrieved the bottle and four shot glasses. Without asking,
he put an empty glass in front of Struan then took a seat at the table across
from him. He filled their glasses but neither drank. They simply watched each
other.