PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1) (14 page)

“You’re crazed,” she told him.

He regarded her with a look that sent shivers down her spine. And then he reached down, grabbed a blanket, and pulled it up toward his chest, twisting it into balls of fabric within his hands. And if he didn’t stop, he was going to tear it.

“I’m trying to look and sound like I’m making wild passionate love to you, Ainslee Straithcairn. The least you can do is figure that out!”

You mean…you don’t want to?

She almost asked it aloud. Some sort of self-protective instinct rose up and stopped her right in time. She lowered her chin to the pillow she held, and suffered wave after wave of shivers. She’d known he’d been acting...but did that include the kiss he given her while atop Dragonbreath?

She didn’t know why she questioned it. The proof was right in front of her.  

She’d been wrong. This was what real pain felt like. She’d rather take one of her father’s beatings.  

The expression on her face must have translated to something she didn’t want it to because he put his head down and started emanating the deepest throbbing cry into the room. He sounded enraged. Antagonized. Angered. Frustrated. His yell went on and on, moving him with it, his back arching to send the sound. His eyes were crunched shut. He was turning red. Still he yelled. Thick cords grew visible from beneath the skin in his neck. He was shaking, too, making the mattress move with it. Everything about him looked taut and angered. Bestial.

Ainslee stared without meaning to, while her skin rippled over and over with something that had her completely spellbound. Mesmerized. Shocked. And yet, enthralled.

His cry ended. He released the blankets and launched up, spinning to land on his back atop the mattress. The bed frame gave a heavy thump, rocked, and then stilled. Ainslee couldn’t move. It didn’t feel like her limbs belonged to her anymore. She watched as he just lay there, glaring at the unlit chandeliers in the ceiling, his chest rising and falling with exertion. And then he started laughing, as if it was amusing.

Ainslee jumped slightly, and hugged tighter to the pillow. She was still doing so as he sobered, turned his head, and with one look rooted her to the floor.

“This is insane,” he told her.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even nod.

“You look like an imp. A really small one.”

She straightened her shoulders, and that raised her head.

“Trying to protect yourself from a big bad wolf. With just a pillow. You do not have to, love. I’m no wolf.”

“I never said you were,” she replied.

“True.” 

He turned on his side to face her, crooking his arm to support his head. His robe had come unfastened a bit, giving her a large view of his chest, while one knee and thigh peeked through the bottom opening. He was massive. Muscled. Impressive. Her nipples actually seemed to tighten and itch against the muslin nightgown in response. Her grip on the pillow tightened.

“Your hair is very long. I’ve never seen anything like it. The length. Or the shade. It resembles twilight. Nah. A shadow. Oh, brother. Listen to me. Mason’s romantic rambling must have rubbed off. Have you never cut it?”

Ainslee didn’t answer.

“How do you deal with all of it?”

“I…manage.” 

“It has to be an issue when riding. A horse would find it very distracting, especially if it wasn’t broken completely. I was told you like riding the wilder ones. You like the excitement. Or maybe it’s the feel of a massive stallion between your legs that needs taming. Good God. I’m pathetic. Forget I just said that.”

His voice had deepened for some reason. He reached out his free hand toward her. “Hand me the pillow.”

She hugged it closer. He grinned.

“Very well. Hand me a different one.”

“Why?”

“So I can use it to rest my head on, of course. That’s what they’re for.”

“U-u-use it?”

“Must you act so naïve? Now?”

Oh no! She was going to cry.

Not again
.

It was going to be really horrid this time. It was very late. She’d been up almost a full day and night. There were conflicting emotions running through her. She was in a strange place. He was practically a stranger. All of that, combined with his tone, was a difficult combination to fight. She blinked rapidly against the blur and heard him sigh.

“I keep forgetting how young you are. And innocent. You asked of the pillow?”

Ainslee didn’t answer. She sniffed. Blinked some more. Sniffed again. The tears slowly abated, as did the urge to cry them. His image grew clear again, too. It looked like he’d waited for her. And he was smiling.

“I’m going to put my head on a pillow and lie here a bit so it will look like I slept here. In this truly mussed bed. With you. That way, no one will think I just consummated our union and then left you to sleep alone. The pillow?”

He gestured with his fingers.

“You’re na’ sleeping here?”

“Do you want me to?” he asked.

Ainslee’s eyes went huge and her heart gave a vicious thump. She stumbled back a step on legs that didn’t seem to support her. She had the pillow clutched so tight, feathers drifted out.

“And that is exactly what I thought you’d answer. I guess sleeping on your chaise is out, too. Just as well.” 

His voice was gruff. She watched him roll off the far side of the bed and toss a pillow up from the floor, then another. He stacked them in a haphazard pile and then punched a dent into them with a fist. He straightened, pulled his robe together, re-tied his velvet belt, and then he walked over to his connecting door. All without looking once at her. He opened the door.

“Good night, Ainslee. Sleep well.” 

He said it softly from over his shoulder. And then he walked out.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tinkling chimes set in motion by a slight breeze awoke Neal. Rustling sounds accompanied it. He cracked an eye open on unfamiliar surroundings, groaned, and flopped over.

“Ah! Good day, Neal. I see you’ve awakened.” 

Neal lifted his head. Stared at the valet. Dropped his head again.

I’m still here.

Unbelievable.

“I take it you’ll awaken now?” the man continued. It took a second for his name to register.

“Mason.”

“At your service...and I’ve brought a bit of repast. Something the duchess sent up. Just let me get the drape pulled for you.”

“No! Wait!” 

The man either pretended not to hear, or was ignoring Neal, because his footsteps crossed the chamber toward a wall full of windows. The man added insult to injury by whistling the same damned Highland tune from last night as he moved. In the same off-key notes. By the sound of it, he’d reached the floor-to-ceiling window and shoved one side of the drapery open. Neal waited with narrowed eyes for the assault of daylight as the man moved to the other side of the window casement, making certain the entire twelve foot span of glazed glass was free of covering.  

No sunlight lit up the room. Neal turned his head that direction. Looked out. The reason was obvious. The sun was a no-show. The view was a span of gray-shaded opacity. Moisture ran down the outside of the glass. Apparently, the rain hadn’t let up. The amount they were receiving looked considerable. He’d always heard that of Scotland. This was the first time the numbers for their average rainfall registered.

The roads would be a quagmire.

If they were even passable.

“Looks like a vicious day for travel,” he remarked, pushing himself up and shoving hair behind his ears. Neal never wore it this long. Not since college, anyway.

“That it is. For certain. Coffee?”

“Ugh. Is it the same brew as yesterday?”

“Of course. It’s a special order. Comes in every month at the port. ’Twas the late duke’s favorite brand.”

“How’s the tea, then?”

“You’d rather drink tea?”

“You’re right. Forget it. Water will work. I’m famished, all of a sudden. What have you brought?”

Neal rubbed his jaw. He could use a shave. Or...perhaps he should start a beard. He’d have a nice scruff in a couple of days. Might make him look as rakish as his ancestor. He wondered if his wife might care. If she had a preference...or if she even cared. Neal frowned. Ainslee probably didn’t remember what he looked like.

And after his performance in her room, she might be actively trying not to.

He watched Mason fuss with some silver topped dishes over at a table, recognizing the tinkling sound that had awakened him.

“I did na’ bring more than a bit of smoked kipper, some bannock, and a poached egg, your grace.”   

“
A
poached egg.”

“Aye.”

“Just one? What the hell? Go back to the kitchens. Get more. Tell them I require ham. Bacon. A half-dozen eggs at the least, oh! And scones! With butter.”

“That...could be unwise, Neal.”

Neal rolled to the side of his bed and sat up. He’d stumbled in here sometime before dawn, exhausted, pissed-off, and sporting the hard-on that had jerked him awake and caused his fall from a too-short, and overly hard sofa in the room that separated this chamber from Ainslee. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an erotic dream that vivid. Nor, how it had ended. If he was in his forty-nine year old body, he’d be feeling all kinds of aches. Neal stood up and stretched, and then looked across to where Mason stood, holding a silver coffeepot that emitted steam in one hand, while the other held a pad to support it and block the heat. There was a large silver platter atop the table beside him. It held Neal’s meal. The meager repast looked even smaller in the midst of all the silver.

Well
.

He might as well knock back some coffee. If he swigged it, he might be able to get past the taste. Neal regarded Mason silently. He dwarfed the man. He hadn’t realized the valet was so small. His influence certainly didn’t match his size.

“All, right. I give. Why would it be unwise?” he asked.

“You’ll spoil her grace’s tea.”

“Her what?”

“Her grace has invited some of the castle residents to tea today.”

“Who?”

“She’s invited the bard, the vicar, the comptroller, and the castle librarian. I believe your cousins, Garrick and his brother Lachlan are on the guest list...along with their mother, your aunt Margaret. The kitchen has been working non-stop to make sure of the menu.”

“What the hell time is it?”

“Three-forty.”

“Three-forty! In the afternoon?”

“Exactly. And her grace was getting a mite concerned. That’s why she sent me up here. With your repast. You drink your coffee black, still? No cream? Sugar?”

“I instructed you to call me at first light! Damn it! I had plans.”

He advanced on the man, who responded by putting the coffee pot down to pull out one of the high-backed chairs. And then Mason just stood there, waiting. Patiently. With the strangest smile on his face.

“Well? What have you to say for yourself? And I warn you, Mason. I am
not
used to having instructions ignored. Nor will I tolerate it.”

“We did call for you, Neal. Promptly at first light. You were verra unhappy with us. Verra. You ordered us to stay the hell out of sight. You tossed a boot at Barnes, with perfect accuracy, I might add. I do na’ think he actually believes you’d toss us out on our ears, but he’s new to the position. He’ll learn.”

Neal groaned again and turned instead to walk over to the window. He couldn’t see through the cloud mass. This was unacceptable. He didn’t want children. Still. It wasn’t just selfishness. Over-population of the planet was a real issue two hundred years from now. So. He needed to leave. Put his plan into play. Somehow ignore the fact he was in a young man’s body, complete with a lot of needs. And that he was wed to the instigator of them. She was such an amazing woman. One, with all kinds of power.

She didn’t realize the ones she wielded. And the extent of them.

Argh.

What sleep he’d gained had been filled with images of Ainslee and this one-sided desire for her. Nothing on him felt rested. And now, he was unable to escape? Or even think about leaving? He looked out at a view of ocean, blurred with the slide of rainwater on the glass.

He might as well swallow the bitter pill of defeat being shoved down his throat and move on. He’d work on a defensive strategy. But for that, he needed to find out which side Mason was on.

Neal sighed heavily, fogging the glass, and then turned around. His hands went to his hips and met the velvet of his belt. He looked down. He still wore the robe from last night.

“All right Mason, tell me. If I ordered you to stay out of sight, why are you here now?”

“I’m made of sterner stuff. I tended to the last chieftain and all manner of gentlemen afore him. It will take more than a boot to my head to deter me. Aside from which, her grace asked me to. Would you like to try cream?”

“And a lot of sugar.”

The valet looked surprised. Neal approached. “And I should dress. What time is this tea, anyway?”

“Four o’clock.”

Neal blinked several times in rapid succession with surprise. “I have twenty minutes?”

“Fifteen now. That’s why her grace sent me. She was getting worried. I’ve set out your attire already. It’s just a matter of putting your clothing on. And you can be a mite late. Nae man is perfect.”

“That is a kilt, Mason.”

“True. As well as the accoutrements required to be worn along with it.”

“Dirks? Knives in my socks? A claymore
and
a smaller sword? What is it with this country? I’m going to a tea, not a declaration of war.”

“Straithcairn chieftains need look the part. It will be expected of you.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to wear that. Maybe I want to wear trousers today.”

“I do na’ think that would be wise, Neal.”

“Again with the wise stuff? Why not, this time?”

“This is the first tea your new wife is overseeing. Your first appearance as a wedded couple. You are the Duke of Straithcairn. Chieftain of an honorable and proud clan. To appear in anything less than Straithcairn plaid in your own home would create a bit of gossip. And there are those who live for that sort of...ill will.” 

His
attire would create gossip?

Neal considered Mason for longer than he should. He knew Ainslee didn’t possess anything except what she’d arrived in. Her attire was bound to create gossip. Unless she’d found some material and a seamstress and been especially busy. And he doubted it.

“Well, Mason. Maybe I don’t want to get up and dressed and attend a little tea party. Maybe I want to just order a bottle of Scot whiskey and get roaring drunk. And let the gossips be damned.”

“I would normally allow you to do all of that, Neal...except for her.”

“Her? Oh. Let me guess – my wife.”

“The gossip will reflect on her as well. I would na’ wish a whisper of ill will to reach her.”

Well
. That gave Neal his answer. Mason was definitely in Ainslee’s camp. Neal sighed again, this time in resignation. “Fine. Give me the coffee. I won’t even have time to shave.”

“’Tis of nae account. You should grow a proper beard anyway. Cream?”

Neal nodded, waited for the cup, and then tossed it back. It was still a chore to swallow. This wasn’t coffee. It was syrupy tan liquid. He just wanted to get the hell out of here. Get to New York. Start trading on the market floor.

No
.

That wasn’t true.

What he really wanted, he knew he couldn’t have.