Reunited (Book 2 of Lost Highlander series) (14 page)

“What?” Piper growled, knowing he wouldn’t have come up if wasn’t something important. Something else, something new. She was starting to feel put upon. “What is it, Danny?” she repeated in a kinder tone, hoping this one really was Danny.

She had three stable boys who were brothers and close in age, with the same freckled faces and mops of shaggy hair.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Piper,” Danny said and she wished he wouldn’t talk to her like she was a villain from a Charles Dickens novel. No matter what she did, the stable boys wouldn’t stop being nervous around her. “I’ve got some news.”

“Oh dear,” Piper said, pouring him a glass of juice. “That sounds ominous. Good news? Or bad? Give me the bad first.” She handed him the glass and smiled encouragingly, feeling like she might scream.

Danny gripped the glass and looked miserable. “I think it’s all bad news, miss,” he said.

She sat down and sighed, motioning for him to continue. “Give me the worst, then.”

Lachlan moved behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. Danny looked at him as if he had just hit the gossip jackpot, and Piper was glad she had sown the seeds of Lachlan being a visiting historian with a passion for reenacting historical battles and dressing in tartan. The fact that she had a man at all up here would have already spread like wildfire throughout the village.

“Ah, well, it’s terrible, it is. Four of the sheep have been killed.”

Piper had only had the sheep for a month. She’d bought a dozen fat Merino sheep from a neighbor to try and restore the estate to what it had been in its former glory, or at least make it look a bit more authentic for the tourists.

She’d grown to love seeing their fluffy white and black bodies dotting the landscape. While in the throes of one of her mad tangents, she and one of the ladies in the village made big plans to dye and spin the wool into artisan yarn. She’d even learned to knit, though she was horrible at it. Four of her wooly lambs killed?

“Are your brothers okay?” she asked. The boys took turns dealing with the sheep since there wasn’t enough of them yet to warrant a real shepherd. “Was it a wolf?” She remembered one of the lads had gone tracking a wolf the day the barn burned.

“Aye, Shane is fine, and I dinna think it was a wolf.” The boy stopped and swallowed, his face full of fear. “Not unless wolves have learned to use a knife.”

“Are ye sayin’ the sheep were killed apurpose?” Lachlan said.

Danny took a step back and nodded.

“Someone killed them with a knife?” Piper asked, full of fear. She asked Danny if he was completely sure.

He nodded again. “Gutted, miss.”

She groaned and pressed her knuckles into her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of Danny, but those poor sheep. She recalled with a sinking heart that there was more news and looked at Danny for the final blow.

“What else?”

“Pietro’s gone missing,” Danny said.

“That must be what it feels like to fly,” Bella said, writhing against him.

He laughed, enjoying the feel of her silky bare skin against his side, her leg thrown wantonly across his thighs. They were covered in a sheen of sweat, and the cool night air seeping through the cracks in the hut caused him to shiver delectably.

“I can fly,” he said. “That was better.”

Her hand had been stroking his chest and it stilled. He wanted to punch himself for the slip. He had to be more careful.

While being a pilot may have impressed some women where he was from, this one wouldn’t have a damn clue what he was talking about and he’d already screwed up with his mention of trains.

“Ye made me feel like I could fly,” he amended, mentally rolling his eyes at himself.

When he looked at her, though, with her dewy skin and the sleepy, sated look on her beautiful face, he realized he meant it. Pushing himself up on his elbow, he grew serious.

“Why didn’t ye tell me?” he asked.

A blush overtook her from her breasts to her forehead, and she burrowed down into the quilt. When the moment of truth occurred, he’d realized, too late of course, that she was a virgin.

He’d nearly lost it, in more ways than one, and she’d gripped him tightly and begged him not to stop.

Hating himself and with a terrible sense of foreboding, he’d carried on, careful and meticulous, nearly driving himself mad holding back while he made sure she had no regrets. He was determined if he was going to hell, the road would be paved with his good intentions.

Pulling back the covers, he kissed her collarbone and nudged her chin up with his nose, smiling encouragingly.

She returned his smile, her face still blazing. She shrugged. “I was ashamed. On our wedding night, my husband locked us up in our room and crashed about and swore, then cut his hand and shook the blood on the sheets and stormed out. He didna return for three days, and then he was madder than before. But he never touched me, not in anger nor lust.”

Her eyes glistened with tears and he kissed her, pulling the tatty quilt up over them.

“He will never touch ye, or look at ye again, if I have any say about it,” he promised.

Once again, he realized he meant it, for whatever that was worth. Ever since he found himself in the wrong barn on the wrong estate, he’d felt like he was playing an elaborate video game. It was so real, it was unreal. He was actually saving a damsel in distress. He pulled her closer, sliding his hands down her back.

“I’ve never done that before,” he mused.

“I daresay ye have,” she said with a muffled giggle against his chest.

“No, I mean, I’ve never, erm, with someone who hasn’t.”

“Not even when ye were a virgin?” She craned her neck back to look at him. “Ah, did yer uncle or someone pay for a whore?”

“No!” he said, mortified she could think that so calmly. “My first girlfriend was experienced. We were in the same year, and she was going out with a football player until he dumped her right before end of term. I was what ye call a rebound. I think she was trying to pretend I was him the whole time. We were roughly the same build. She’d keep her eyes shut tight and tell me ‘no, not like that, like this’, and was always slightly disappointed, I think.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Aye, but I learned a lot.”

She sighed. “I liked it verra much. Perhaps we can do it again?”

“Oh, aye. As much as ye like.”

She wiggled closer and he let his hands roam lower.

“What’s football?” she asked.

He laughed and nibbled her earlobe. “A game where ye run about and kick a ball.” He leaned down to kiss her. “This is better.”

 ***

The morning barrelled in on them too soon, and when the rooster shrilly woke him, he rolled over and tried to find a position where he wasn’t being poked with sharp bits of straw.

Seriously, it couldn’t take that much advanced technological capability to find a softer substance to stuff a mattress. He thought if he had to stay here he could build an empire making comfortable beds.

Bella rolled over at the same time he did and they faced each other, smiling shyly.

He could count on two fingers the number of serious relationships he’d had in his twenty-seven years, not including the minor flings and disastrous casual dating he’d done since he’d been back from active duty.

He had never felt the heady mix of desire, protectiveness, and curiosity he did for this wee disheveled beauty lying next to him. About the only thing he knew for certain right now was that he wanted to keep her close.

He kissed her languorously until she flopped back onto the mattress, throwing her arm over her head.

“We must leave soon. Granny Jinty’s lads will return, and if they find me here, I’ll have to go back.”

Nodding, he got out of bed and put his clothes on, a pleasant sense of duty filling him. Having a defined purpose ahead of him grounded him and he felt less adrift in this strange set of circumstances he’d woken up in.

He tossed her something ruffled and she caught it with a laugh, pulling it on over her head. She rewarded him with a cheerful smile and eyes full of hope.

“This may actually work,” she said, hopping out of bed.

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on his cheek, her own cheeks bright pink spots of blazing color. A series of indecipherable emotions flickered in her expressive eyes and she just as quickly turned away to finish dressing.

Pietro pulled on his boots feeling like a superhero—that he could take on the world for her.

They said goodbye to Granny Jinty and started off in the direction of what Bella said was her husband’s land, in case anyone asked the old lady. They doubled back to the forest edge and made it to the castle as a hunting party was setting out.

“There’ll be plenty of horses left. Can ye choose good ones?” she asked as they watched the group make its way up the hill.

He nodded, watching the party of more than a dozen well armed Highlanders set out.

“There’ll be a few stable lads, but I’ll set a distraction. Ye go in on my signal.”

She was already running toward the stable before he could ask what the signal was and he crouched by the tree, waiting.

A scream arose from the other side of the barn and a squat woman took off running from a rampaging pig that was almost as big as she was. A flash of Bella’s dress caught his eye as she scampered into some rose bushes that grew along the side of the barn. Two stable boys came out of the barn to see what the ruckus was about and began trying to herd the pig back to its pen. Well, if this wasn’t the sign, he would probably be waiting a mighty long time for another.

Throwing the last shred of his common sense to the wind, he put his head down and bolted toward the barn, swinging open the side door and ducking inside. He dropped down behind a hay bale and assessed the situation.

He had to marvel once again at the differences to the barn. There were still so many things that told him it was the same one he worked at every day. The building itself was essentially the same, though the stall doors, the floor, the lack of lights was all different.

A few horses stuck their heads over their wooden stall doors and he realized Bella was right. There were at least ten horses in here. With a glance at the open front doors, he saw the coast was clear and could still hear the squealing of the pig and the now furious woman yelling at the boys to catch it.

He ran down the row of stalls, looking over each horse, choosing a small, speedy roan mare and an impressive black stallion for himself.

Heart pounding with each passing second, he tossed blankets and saddles on them, barely pausing to tighten the girths. He almost got bit in his haste to slip a bridle on the stallion and took a precious second to soothe the beast, letting him sniff his knuckles.

Finally, he managed to lead both horses out the side door, where Bella was waiting with a frenzied look. With an almost magical grace, she was atop the mare and galloping toward the tree line, head low over the pommel.

Pietro prayed she wouldn’t slide off due to his fast saddling. He assumed they would lead the horses to the woods and go from there. So much for that.

With a quick test yank on the saddle of the stallion, he closed his eyes and threw himself over, racing to the trees. When he made it safely to find Bella impatiently waiting, he jumped off and without a word, hauled her off her horse.

“Ye could have been killed,” he said, refastening the saddle to his satisfaction. “I thought we were going to lead them.”

“That was a silly notion ye had,” she said. “Should we lead them all the way to Edinburgh, as well?”

He ignored her, trying to calm down. As he went through the motions of making everything the way he wanted, he felt better. He patted his horse and started to laugh, his pent up nerves dissipating.

“The pig,” he said, laughing harder.

“Aye,” she agreed. “I feel a bit sorry for it. It didna want to leave its pen. I had to prod it with a stick.”

He went to her side and kissed her forehead. He was about to apologize for snapping at her when he heard hooves thundering toward them. Disoriented, he twisted around, thinking one of their horses had taken off. They were both still there, looking as alarmed as he felt.

“A guard,” she hissed, no time for anything else.

“Bella, lass, what are ye doin’ out here?” A burly man covered in plaid burst into their little clearing.

When he saw Pietro, he drew a sword from his belt and with no movie-like warning whatsoever, charged at him. The sword whooshed past him, nicking his arm.

In horror and disbelief, Pietro looked at the spot of blood welling through his shirt and jumped away from the backswing, which was so close his eyes crossed when it swung past his face.

He staggered and almost fell flat on his back. He would have been killed on the next pass of the blade, had Bella not shrieked for the man to stop.

The slight glance he spared her gave Pietro enough time to race around the horse and behind the sword wielding guard, who lumbered to follow him instead of just turning in a circle and slicing him clean through.