PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1) (10 page)

Mitchell’s words were slurred and nearly unintelligible. He stumbled into the door. It slammed into the wall. Smacked back against his shoulder, making him stagger backwards before catching it.

“As a matter of fact…”  The duke began drawing out the words, but Mitchell interrupted him.

“The laird’s been yellin’ for her.”

“Tell him there’s no need. We’ve about finished.”

“I doona’ believe I can save her a beatin’ this…go-round. She’s so stup’t. She kens better than to set him against her when he’s in his cups.”

“Set him against her?”  The duke repeated, without one inflection to his voice.

“You hush your tongue, Mitchell MacAffrey!” 

Ainslee moved out from behind the duke before her brother said anything more. His face lightened and he smiled drunkenly at her.

“Oh. Hello, Ains…lee. Come along. Father’s yellin’ for you.”

Mitchell gestured for her. Ainslee moved another step away from the duke. She didn’t look up. She couldn’t. She could barely move without somewhere showing signs of abject shame. Embarrassment. If only a hole would open in the floor before her! She’d have dropped into it with alacrity. She dropped a curtsey in his direction. She didn’t have enough moisture in her mouth to speak, so she whispered.     

“I must go.”

“Oh. I don’t think so,” he answered.

The duke snatched up her hand and used it to pull her against him. Ainslee gave a soft gasp as he gripped her to his left side. He glanced down, his expression harsh, and nothing like the one he’d given her earlier. And then he looked across the library at her brother.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Neal.

Neal.

What are you doing, buddy?

Neal castigated himself silently, while Ainslee trembled at his side. Just like that, he’d gone off the script. Without any warning. This was the opposite of his objective. He was here to dot some ‘I’s, cross some ‘T’s. Get the hell out of Dodge. If the little waif lived in an abusive environment, what the hell did it matter to him? She wouldn’t be the first woman. Besides, she didn’t have any obvious bruising. No signs of trauma. She was obviously used to it. This wasn’t his concern.

He almost groaned.

There wasn’t one inkling to why he was doing this. Something weird was happening here. He didn’t recognize it and he damned sure didn’t like not knowing what it was.

So what if Ainslee was small? So excruciating young? What did it matter that she was –
face it, Neal –
the waif was mercilessly attractive.
So what?
Neal had been around stunning women his entire adult life although Ainslee MacAffrey might overshadow them all.
All right
Even dressed in a poorly fashioned dress, in an excruciatingly bad color choice, she had a beauty that transcended normality. It was almost ethereal.

He’d recognized it instantly. He’d nearly whistled when she’d first approached. She had a waterfall of midnight-colored hair falling across her shoulders and down her back, incredibly vivid sapphire hued eyes set amidst black lashes that wouldn’t need mascara even if it was available at this point in time, and pristine skin that a cosmetic counter couldn’t possibly enhance.

So what, Neal?

Argh.

He had to factor in her first reaction to him. Perhaps that was why he was standing here now, preparing to go head-to-head with her abuser. Ainslee’s face had lit up when she’d recognized him. He guessed the reason for it now. He didn’t think he was far off. She’d been expecting another man entirely. And that made her bravery as she’d approached him even more remarkable.

Neal stiffened as he regarded the MacAffrey heir. The move tightened his arm and lifted Ainslee from the floor, plastering her to his left leg. The closeness of her, as she melted into his protective arm caused an unfamiliar surge of electricity to course through his body.

He rocked back slightly with the force of it before returning upright. But, all of that had to have been in his mind. Ainslee hadn’t moved, and her brother didn’t appear to have noted anything.

What in the hell?

Mitchell grinned drunkenly across at them. Wove in place. And then he wagged a finger in their direction.

“Ye need to release..me, uh. Me. Me...”  The lad stopped. Licked his lips. Hiccoughed. “Her. Ains...lee. Me sister.”

Neal cleared his throat. Glanced down at Ainslee. “I don’t believe we’ve finalized our plans. Have we, darling?” 

He attempted a smile. Another jolt went through his belly and lower limbs. It messed with his intent. His eyes widened, any attempt at a smile died, and he shifted his gaze before anything more alien happened. The area where her brother stood was a viable option. And he knew he could deal with Mitchell, at least.  

“Be off, lad. Find your father. Tell him to attend me here. Right now. And while you’re at it, request my Honor Guard.”

“But—.”

“I said to be off.
Now
.”

Neal used his most authoritarian voice, the one described in one magazine article about him as being
predatory
. Bestial. Almost feral. Neal hadn’t minded the description. It was an imaginative use of words by a journalist to sell papers. Hadn’t meant it was real. But he did possess something that got masses to listen. It wasn’t a rise in volume. It was more how he lowered his tone and projected it outward. He’d always possessed this ability. That was one reason he’d managed his first takeover. While his quarry had waited for a mic and sound system, Neal had been addressing the crowd. Swaying them with words every stockholder wanted to hear. Positive return. Zero risk. Profit. Profit.

Profit
.

...always profit.

His voice throbbed through the library now, sending bass tones filled with command that expected obedience. The MacAffrey heir stood straighter, and then he did an off-kilter bow before leaving. The door shut behind him with a bang.

“You…should put me down now,” Ainslee whispered at his side.

“Oh. You believe so, do you?” 

The words left this mouth, but he didn’t move anything. His body was giving him trouble. That was as foreign as it was unbelievable. He might as well be on another planet. His strength was already an oddity. What was happening, even more so. It didn’t take the slightest effort to continue holding her aloft with one arm. Exactly where she was, while nerve endings fired through him, sending messages filled with warmth.

No.

This was closer to scorching.

And then even worse things happened. The wool plaid of his kilt-thing, the velvet jacket, and the finely woven linen shirt that barely covered his ass and loins, weren’t remotely sufficient to prevent what was happening. He held a softly curved, wickedly desirable, and fully mature female against him. His body immediately recognized it and went on the alert, despite his effort at stopping it. This was ridiculous. Impossible. Intensely personal. He wasn’t bestial. Or feral. And he sure as hell wasn’t craven. Controlling testosterone had never been a problem. That Neal could remember, anyway.

Well.

It was now.

Neal tightened every muscle he possessed, but it was useless. His dick was operating at another frequency. It lengthened. Hardened. And prepared. The scratch of wool didn’t temper it. He couldn’t even feel the fiber until his erection rammed into the obstruction of his sporran. Neal shoved down on the bag with his right hand, and continued the pressure, although he hoped it looked more like he was negligently resting a palm there. Mason hadn’t mentioned this use for a sporran. That might be one of the reasons the valet had been so amused.

“My father...will be here any moment.”

“I certainly. Hope. So.”  He broke the words into separate sentences, spoken from between gritted teeth. It was the best he could manage. He didn’t look down toward her. He didn’t dare.

“You must set...me down.”

Her whisper didn’t help things. It was akin to having a bellows working on an already massive fire. This was completely out of his realm of experience. Neal sucked in a breath. Held it. The move lifted her even closer. Neal shut his eyes. Little blasts resembling fireworks filled the space behind his eyelids.

Breathe, Neal.

Just.

Breathe.

Neal shoved air out. Sucked in another large breath. Held it. Shoved it back out. Repeated the process. The fireworks effect fizzled and started fading. “Really?” he finally managed to answer.

He felt her give a nod. Or give something that could be a nod.

“Maybe I don’t. Want. To.”

She gasped. “Your grace!”

“It’s. Neal.” 

That came out harsher than he intended. He felt her trembling again.

“Please?”

Oh, shit.

She had a hint of tears to her voice. Neal pulled in another heavy breath. Released it. Opened his eyes. Glanced down.
Yep.
She had a gloss atop her eyes. Now, they really resembled gemstones.

He looked away. Toward the door. It was opening and closing almost silently. His brain kicked into gear.

Finally.

A large fellow filed in. A similarly large fellow followed at his heels. The first had gone to the right upon his entrance. The second man went to the left. The next man went to the right again. The next one went left. Neal counted six of them. Seven. Eight. More. Man after man entered and silently wove their way through the bookshelves at the outer edges of the room. He recognized them. It was the members of his Honor Guard. Their presence sent impressions of cool through him, instantly calming a level of testosterone-fueled madness that had seemed insurmountable.

Pride filled him as they assembled in the space behind and to both sides of where he stood with Ainslee. It was an amazing feeling. Unless he counted Eric, Neal had never had anyone protecting his back. And now, he did. Just like that. Neal looked over his right shoulder and then his left. Nodded each time. And then he had to clear his throat against an onslaught of something that might be emotion.

“Ahem. Gentlemen.”

One of them stepped forward to Neal’s right side. He must be their leader. Not that Neal had any experience or information to go by, that the title felt right. The man bent his head in deference and then looked back at Neal. The fellow was a good two inches taller than Neal and looked a great deal heavier. He could easily be one of those fellows in competition at a Highland game somewhere, tossing a telephone-pole thing. The pole had a name. Neal couldn’t recall it at the moment. He’d figure it out later.

“What’s your name?” he enquired.

The fellow’s eyebrows shot up, and his lips twisted. Otherwise, he didn’t give much sign that Neal had probably just violated all kinds of protocol.

“You do na’ recognize me, your grace?”

“I...had an accident this morn. Hit my head.”  Neal moved his right hand from the sporran to carefully lift the hair at his temple. The leader’s eyebrows lifted and he whistled. Neal quickly replaced his hand atop the sporran before it had a chance to stick out farther.

“Your grace...be all right?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks. I have some memory loss. Head pain. Comes and goes.”

“Me name’s Iain, your grace. Iain Staithmore.”

Whoa!
Neal started. He had a hard time stopping further reaction. He could be looking at his great-great-great-whatever grandfather. And that was a supremely pleasant thought. He grinned. Leaned a hair closer to the man. “Iain. Tell me. Where’s my cousin, Garrick?”

“He’s...na’ a-boot at present. Word is he returned to the castle.”

“Really?”

“Aye.”

Neal’s mind raced, filling in blanks. Perhaps everyone in Straith had gotten lucky and his cousin had returned to pack. Leave. Seek his fortune elsewhere. That was unlikely.

Next option was that Garrick had returned to lick his wounds. Develop a new strategy. That would merit consideration. And vigilance. It was the likely reason. And a bit worrisome. Neal made a mental note to put it on his charts. If Mason found the paper so Neal could start filling it.

There was another possible scenario. Garrick could have returned so he could play the part of town crier. Be the first with the story. The center of attention. Neal snickered.

“Well. I think he left a bit too soon. Know what I mean?”

“Your grace?”

“He’s going to regret missing this.”

The leader’s lips moved into a shadow of a smile. Neal was hard-put not to chuckle. All of which helped considerably against the raging emotion he’d been struggling with. Something so like...

Just name it, Neal. Quit being such a coward.

e’d been
He’d been dealing with lust.

Not just any lust, either. The desire had been on a massive scale. Unwarranted. Unprovoked. And fairly unbelievable. He still experienced it for the woman glued to his side. If anyone looked at how he pressed down on his sporran, they’d have probably guessed it, too. Neal made a face, pulled in another breath, and thanked his lucky stars for the arrival of his Honor Guard.

Their presence had sent what amounted to a spray of cool spray onto a bonfire. The mental exercise he’d just done over Garrick’s absence had helped, too. Hopefully, it was enough. Feeling sufficiently fortified, Neal had one last hurdle to clear. He licked his lips and looked down at Ainslee.

And his heart flipped over.

Damn it.

The door smacked open with a bang. Neal jumped. Everyone turned that direction to watch the Laird of MacAffrey stomp toward them. He had a lot of men behind him. The room started filling with MacAffrey clan. A rough estimate put the amount of thirty. Neal could see more MacAffrey clansmen in the hall behind, unable to shove into the rapidly filling room.

The space between the bookshelves filled to a claustrophobic level. Neal scanned the ranks. Straith clan were outnumbered at least three-to-one here. There was another problem, as well. Nobody on MacAffrey’s side appeared to be remotely sober.

“Well, your bloody grace Straithcairn! I am here! As you so ordered! You have the gall to have me fetched. Me! Ordered about? In my own home!”

Dughall’s complexion matched his hair as he finished shouting. Ainslee had gone board stiff in Neal’s arms. And she was trembling again. Neal waited for the sound of her father’s voice to die.

“Greetings, Dughall,” Neal finally answered.

“You’ve spoken with my daughter?”

“She wears the Straith emerald betrothal ring as we speak.”

“I’ll be thanking you to release her, then. Ainslee? Hie to your room!”

Ainslee would have moved, but Neal didn’t allow it. He made certain of it by pulling her tighter with his arm. Her father’s eyes bulged out, he took a step closer, grabbed a large breath, and used it to spew whiskey-tainted words their direction.