She glanced at Ursula in the back of the cart. Ursula stared at her. Dark eyes glittered, and her gray head nodded toward the couple. Still she didn’t move. Ursula nodded again. Just when she decided to kick her horse into a trot to catch up with Liam, his laugh rang out.
“Ye think so, do ye?”
Liam’s words sounded mocking, his tone cynical. He turned to look the woman fully in the face. The harlot stumbled to a halt and backed up. An expression of revulsion pinched her features until she resembled an ugly troll. More ugly than Liam’s scar would ever make him. She wanted to scratch the woman’s eyes out for the hurt her actions caused him.
Liam was more than a bonny face or a braw manly form. He was a man of deep emotion who had hovered by his sick wife’s bedside; a man whose love was strong enough to refuse to relinquish hope as long as there was life, a man that, if possible, would draw his wife back from the brink of death. A man worth loving. A groan of resignation escaped her. He was all that and more. He was the man she loved.
The realization struck her full force. Why had she been so foolish as to fall in love with Margaret’s husband? Her heart twisted inside her. Tears trembled on her eyelashes then trickled down her cheeks. She brushed the wet streaks away with the back of her hand.
Fate left her no choice but to return to the twenty-first century. To find her lost identity, to locate her family. Here everyone treated her as if she was Margaret, yet she couldn’t be. Liam swore she was Margaret, she swore she wasn’t. It was all so confusing.
When she left would Liam face a lifetime of loneliness? How could she live without knowing if he never found happiness? Perhaps she could return someday and discover if Liam had found his Margaret.
She nudged her horse into a trot and drew up next to him. Until then, she intended to stay close to protect him from women like the ugly troll who raced back toward the camp.
“Liam?” She laid a hand on his thigh and glared at the woman who talked with a group of men gathered around a campfire pointing at them. Liam’s eyes followed her gaze.
“Ye be a clever lass, Margaret.” A heavy sigh lifted his shoulders. He raised her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips.
“Why, because I left ye alone and let that strumpet paw ye?” She withdrew her hand.
“Saw that did ye.” He grinned. “Nae, lass.” The pad of his thumb traced his jagged scar. “Because ye were clever enough to see under me scar and see me prettiness.”
“Arrogant lout,” she retorted and tossed him a disgusted look.
He threw his dark head back and laughter, deep, warm, and rich filled the air. No matter how he joked about his scar, she knew people’s reaction to his face hurt him.
They had passed the outer edges of the encampment when she wondered about their destination.
“Where are we going? To the Campbell’s?” She couldn’t bring herself to call Margaret’s parents mother and father, nor could she call them by their given names. Liam always grew quiet and thoughtful when she referred to Margaret as someone other than herself.
“I’m nae sure. We could, since we dinnae ken how long Cumberland be at the castle.”
“Four days.” She had been right about everything else, and she was right about this. The events of the last several days only reinforced her belief that she came from the future.
“What?” He shifted in the saddle, and she received the full force of his narrowed-eyed stare.
She hesitated. “Ah…yes…Mrs. Bixby said Cumberland and his men would leave Menzies castle in four days. Just long enough to replenish their supplies, tend to the wounded, and gain some much needed rest,” she said with conviction.
Ebony eyes probed hers
probably trying to judge the truth of her words. He hadn’t discussed the validity of the Butcher’s arrival with her, just set about taking precautions because the clan could be at risk. He abruptly turned his face from her, and she felt an acute sense of loss. With each of her predictions, his expression became more guarded.
“Then it nae make sense to travel days to your parents, then back again. There be an inn at Weem able to house us. From there we’ll ken when Cumberland leaves.” His gaze shifted upward to the darkening sky. “’Tis best we hurry along afore we ’ere caught in the rain.”
He nudged his horse into a faster gait. She clicked her tongue, and her mare picked up the pace. Halfway to the village, the dark clouds that had hovered over the land released a fine mist. Ursula saw her shiver and rummaged in one of the trunks to retrieve Margaret’s cloak. Liam wrapped it around her shoulders. She huddled under the wool and hoped the drizzle didn’t become a deluge before they reached Weem. Women in the cart stretched a blanket over their heads when the light rain increased.
Warhorse’s hooves squashed into soft ground and left a quagmire for the teams pulling the carts to struggle through. The sprinkle had become a cloudburst before they stopped in front of Paddy’s Inn.
Ewan dismounted and took the reins of her and Liam’s horses. He trotted toward the barn leading the three mounts, Mongrel at their heels. Men scrambled to unload the carts and put the luggage inside the inn.
Liam ushered her inside and removed her cloak. The room’s warmth seeped past her wet clothes and caressed her damp skin. Goose bumps rippled along her arms. The tantalizing aroma of roasted meat and yeast wafted in the air and caused her stomach to clench with hunger. She had been too nervous to eat when she broke her fast and the noon meal had long since past.
A portly man, she assumed must be Paddy, pushed his way through the crowded tavern to stand in front of Liam. “How can I help ye me laird?”
“We need three rooms and baths for me wife and aunt.”
“Aye. Me wife will see yer womenfolk settled in our finest rooms then have servants draw their baths. Bess,” Paddy bellowed.
A slender woman, her salt-and-pepper hair neatly plaited and twisted around her head, appeared from behind a curtained off area.
“Paddy, cease yer roaring like a wounded animal. This place nae be so big I cannae hear ye.” She glanced up from the rag she dried her hands on, and when her gaze settled on Liam, she rushed forward. “Why did ye nae tell me his lordship and his wee wife were here ye big buffoon.” A still damp hand slapped Paddy on the shoulder.
“I
”
The woman interrupted her husband’s attempt to explain. “Ye must be needing rooms since ye be lugging yer baggage aboot. Be gone with ye Paddy. See to his lordship and his men while I settle the mistress in our best room.” Her gaze made a swift inspection of Maggie. “From the looks of ye, ye’ll be wanting a bath to take the chill from yer bones. It be a fearsome day to be out riding.”
“
Tapadh leat
.” Maggie couldn’t thank the woman enough. She felt miserable. After the rain had become a steady downpour, it had drenched her to the skin.
Hand on the side rail, she lifted her rain-laden skirt and followed Bess up the stairs. A silent Eleanor trailed behind her. Liam’s aunt had ignored her since she’d given her the keys to the castle, and she was happy to comply with the impasse.
Bess opened a door at the end of the hall and motioned Maggie inside. A heavy four-poster bed with russet hangings filled one corner. An armoire and a small table lined the wall next to the bed. Two chairs sat in front of the fireplace. On the far side of the room, a tri-fold screen partitioned off an area she assumed held a chamber pot. Or at least she hoped so. She had a dire need of such a facility.
A boy, about twelve, lumbered passed Eleanor to deposit Maggie’s truck onto the floor.
“Nab, get the tub, and tell yer brothers to hurry along with that water.” Bess ushered the young boy out the door. “Yer bath will be right up, me lady.” She stepped into the hall and motioned to Eleanor. “Come mistress, yer room be across the hall.
“It is about time you tended to me.” Maggie heard Eleanor complain before Bess closed the door.
Behind the screen, she relieved herself then readjusted her clothing. She washed in the bowl of water on the dry sink and patted her hands dry. With the trunks open, she removed a clean dress and chemise. Moments later a knock sounded.
“’Tis Nab, me lady.”
She swung the door wide. “Come in.”
Nab rolled a large vat into the room. Behind him, four younger boys lugged pails of water. While they filled the tub, Nab stoked a small fire to life in the fireplace. Pails empty, the group of youngsters tromped out.
Anxious to bathe, she stripped off her soggy clothing and sank gratefully into the warm water. Head resting on the edge of the tub, water lapped around her, easing the tension of the last few hours. A sudden burst of cool air whipped into the room. Goose bumps pebbled her flesh.
Startled, arms crossed over her breasts, she silently stared at the tall man who had entered the room. He closed and latched the door behind him. Arm muscles bunched and tightened as he yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor.
“Liam, I am nae finished with me bath.”
The smoldering flame in his eyes quickened her pulse. The way her body responded to him amazed her. She felt whole and complete when near him, and lost and alone when out of his presence.
“Aye.”
His bold gaze raked over her bare shoulders down to where her breasts bobbed beneath the surface of the water. Nimble fingers made short work of the lacings on his trousers, and they soon joined his shirt.
She enjoyed the play of hard muscles on his fine body as he sauntered across the room, naked. Not bound by the shackles of modesty, Liam’s lack of decorum aroused her.
Guessing his intent, she said, “’Tis nae big enough for both of us.” The protest sounded weak, but what did she expect with her heart hammering in her ears and heat surging through her veins.
“Aye, me
gaol
, we’ll fit.”
Water sloshed to the floor when a fully aroused Liam climbed into the tub and sat down. Hands under her arms he lifted her, tugged her between his bent knees, and kissed her with savage intensity. When she gasped at the touch of his manhood against her belly, his tongue swooped inside and explored the recesses of her mouth. Hands slid around to cup her swollen breasts. Thumbs flicked her hardened nipples. Her groan of pleasure was lost in Liam’s growl of satisfaction.
Her fingers tangled in his hair then stroked the strong tendons on the nape of his neck. She slid her arms over his shoulders to knead the muscles of his back. His lips left hers to plant hot tantalizing kisses down her neck. She tilted her head back to give him access to the sensitive area where her pulse beat in rapid tempo. A hard, insistent throb began low in her belly. Her hand dipped beneath the water to grasp his hardened length.
Suddenly, he stood and clutched her to his chest. She wrapped her legs around his lean hips as he climbed out of the tub. The soft wool of the rug in front of the fireplace touched her back. Liam covered her and entered her before she caught her next breath. His eagerness excited her and brought her passion to a fever pitch. Damp skin slapped against damp skin. Sweat beaded his brow and his breath came in ragged gasps. His thrusts were near frantic as he brought them to a quick release. Rolling to his side, he wrapped his arms around her, snuggled her to his side, and promptly fell asleep.
Emotions that sucked her into a whirlpool of confusion brought tears to her eyes. Each time they made love, her love deepened and intensified and the decision to leave became more unbearable. The small flame in the fireplace flickered over his features, relaxed in sleep. Again, he’d tucked her up against the unmarred side of his face. Even in slumber, he guarded his vulnerability from exposure. She curled her fingers into the crisp, dark hair on his chest.
How could she leave him?
A tear trickled down her cheek.
How could she stay?
Liam came slowly awake and winced at his uncomfortable position. His skin felt chilled except where Margaret lay more on top of him than beside him. The soft globe of her breast pressed into his side and one slender leg lay draped over his. Sated, they had fallen asleep on the floor after making love.
He lay in the predawn light and recalled how desperate he’d felt when he’d made love to her. The evening before he’d sat in the pub, separate from his men who’d laughed, drank, and begged favors from the tavern wenches. The longer he’d sat there and stared into his full mug, the more his mind whirled with Margaret’s predictions and their fulfillments. The fact that she knew too much about things to come twisted his gut into knots.
Did the brooch have some mystical power to transport someone though time? As a man who preferred not to take risks, he’d decided to resume his search for the brooch when they returned to the castle. Each time he’d seen her slinking about the castle, hunting for the heirloom, his heart sank. His only consolation was that he’d already scoured most of the places she’d explored and found nothing.
Needing answers, he’d rushed upstairs to confront her, to demand an explanation other than that she was a time traveler. She was his flesh and blood wife, not some look-alike apparition from the future.
He’d found her lounging in her bath, head back, slender arms draped on the tub’s rim. Her nipples played peek-a-boo with the water’s surface as it lapped around the swell of her breasts. Strands of honey colored hair had clung to her damp cheeks. The slant of her shoulders glistened with droplets of water. Legs bent, her dimpled knees peeped through the water.