Follow Me

Chapter Nine

Snow swirled through the air and the wind shoved its way between the edges of her cloak, so Harper was delighted to be able to lean into Daimh.

“Do I keep you from your tasks?” she asked.

“Aye, but without sorrow. It willnae hurt to take a few hours away from training. And I enjoy your company, lass.”

They had taken a small boat to Dornie and now walked along a stream, listening to the gusts as they encouraged the bare limbs on the trees to dance in gentle rhythm.

“Tell me of yer life before ye came here,” Daimh suggested.

Here was Harper’s chance to tell him she was no longer a virgin, even though speaking of Richard was never something she enjoyed.

“I was married to a cold and brutal man who did not treat me well.”

Feeling Daimh stiffen, nostrils flaring, and growling in anger. It was very gratifying. From his reaction, she was quite certain it would never occur to him to abuse a woman. “How long did you suffer him?” he asked, his tone clipped.

“Two years that seemed like twenty.”

“How did it end? If he still lives, I would be pleased to see to his apology.” His tone left no doubt as to how he would achieve that.

“I discovered he had a mistress and set me aside for her without remorse. But he was not as happy as I was. And then I was told he died.”Not exactly a lie. Richard was certainly not alive now.

“And ye entered the nunnery.”

Harper had to make certain to keep her story straight. “Yes. My mother and da were gone and my uncle thought it best.”

“Then ye have no dowry? Yer husband didnae return it when he no longer claimed ye?”

Harper had to think fast. “My uncle controls it what was left of it, but since I had no suitors, I did not worry about it.” Pressing her lips together, she searched her mind for details. “My uncle does not know I left the nunnery, and I am not concerned that he will look for me. I am safe here with Skye until the time comes I must go back.”

He stiffened beside her again and frowned with displeasure. Harper angled her head in question. “Have I said something to offend you?”

“Nay. It’s the thought of ye leaving here. It is most… unpleasant.”

Thrilled that he wanted her to stay, Harper pressed against him tighter. “’Tis cold,” she said as her excuse.

Undoing the plaid wrapped about his shoulders, he placed it over hers.

“That feels nice,” she responded, though she preferred the heat of his body. She had to remember she was a lady in the sixteenth century and shouldn’t be entertaining carnal thoughts. But his scent on the cloth smelled of leather and smoke and man, making it difficult to keep her mind out of the gutter.

Suddenly, he placed a finger up to his mouth indicating she should be quiet. Narrowing her eyes, she wondered what he had heard. Instead of speaking, he motioned for her to wait where she was while he searched for the source of the sound.

He took hold of her arm and pulled her toward the trees and braced her back against a large trunk, ensuring she was not visible. Then, she watched him melt into the landscape. Now she was wary and feeling woefully unprepared for this danger. She held the plaid tighter around her as the hair on the nape of her neck rose. Trepid, she searched the foliage for Daimh, but he had disappeared. Where did he go?

Hearing a branch snap, she peeked around the tree to investigate, taking a step forward. Was Daimh just pretending to tease her? But something told her there was danger and she tried to move back behind the tree, but it was too late. Three men surrounded her and she cried out in abject terror, her limbs shaking with fear.

They hemmed her in and were so close, their stench was overwhelming. She had to breathe through her mouth to keep from gagging. Knives rested in their hands, glinting in the sunlight and promising death. Where was Daimh? her mind screamed. She couldn’t believe he would desert her.

“Well, well, lookie what we have here,” the largest of the men said. By how the other two deferred to him, he seemed to be the one in charge. “I’ll have a turn and ye two can hae what’s left. That is, if she doesnae want another go with me.” His heinous cackle laden with depravity revealed rotten, crooked teeth.

He tweaked her chin and Harper recoiled at his putrid breath, swallowing back the rising bile in her throat.

“That not be fair. Ye got to go first on the last one and she was dead before we had a turn.”

“Maybe this one likes it rough, eh lass?”

Pure raw terror had her frozen to her core and she prayed they had not attacked Daimh before they appeared here. If they had hurt him, he couldn’t help her. And the vision of something bad happening to him made her ache.

The wicked leader reached out and grabbed the top of her bodice, yanking her to him. Petrified, she swung at him, beating his chest and head to the laughter of his companions.

“Tulloch Ard” reverberated in the air. Harper didn’t have to guess it was the MacKenzie war cry as an enraged Daimh flew out from the trees like an avenging angel of death. The men turned away from her, their attention on the warrior who threatened. Stepping further back from her attackers, she watched in abject terror as Daimh swung his claymore and his axe, one in each hand, cutting two of the men down before they could even react. The stench of blood filled the air as the third man, who had acted as leader, pulled his own weapon, and faced Daimh.

Snarling, he swung his sword and Daimh twisted away as the weight of the miscreant’s steel pulled the attacker off balance. But he quickly recovered and met Daimh blade to blade.

Harper couldn’t stand by and just do nothing. What if Daimh needed help? What if she needed to protect herself? Scurrying to the nearest dead man, she snapped up his dirk. Fearing she might be more of an obstacle than a help, she hung back, ready if she was needed. Her breath came in panicked gasps as she watched the two square off. She had never been so frightened. Her pulse was pounding so loud it deafened the sounds of the battle.

Gripping the blade by the hilt, she waited for a possible opening to aid Daimh, but he moved like a dancer in a duel with the devil. She was having trouble assimilating that this was actually happening before her eyes.

A slash, a feint, a deflect. The two were evenly matched in size, but Daimh seemed much more in control. His block became a chop, his parry a riposte. His face showed no expression, his focus complete. The opponent swung out of pure frustration and missed. The move proved to be a fatal mistake. Daimh’s claymore found its mark, nearly cutting the man in half across his midsection. The man, shock upon his dirty face, dropped to his knees, the sword slipping from his hand. He crumpled over and an icy cloud expelled from his mouth with his last breath.

Her adrenaline flowed through her at a fever pitch. This was real. So very real. Her body could have been violated, her life taken. Daimh could have been murdered before her eyes. The weight of it was all too much. Her knees weak and throat tight, she leaned back against the tree to steady herself.

With no other threats to eliminate, Daimh turned his frantic gaze to Harper. Blood splattered his clothes, but, thankfully, he was unharmed. Relief washed over her as tears coursed down her cheeks.

He wiped his weapons on the last dead man’s tunic and quickly tucked his claymore into the sheath strapped to his back and his axe into his belt, before racing to her. He swept her up in his arms and held tight. Never in her life had she felt so shaken, so safe, so excited, so stunned by what had just transpired.

His mouth came crashing down on hers with a ferocity that took her breath away. His tongue pressed between her lips and danced with her own. He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her neck, the sensitive place below her ear, his breath hot. The primal impulse drove her to madness. Slipping his arm under her legs as her knees failed her, he carried her away from the dead men down to the bank of the burn, where he laid her gently on the moss.

Hesitating, he seemed to wait for a sign from her. The visceral heat and intensity of near death drove her to madness. There was no need to doubt or think more of it. She wanted him, needed him to quell the agony of desire and make him hers. She reached for him and wove her hands in his shoulder-length hair, pulling him closer. Then his hands were everywhere. As he cupped her breast under the plaid, Harper moaned with pleasure. Nothing had ever felt this delicious. That is, until his lips replaced his hands. Had she died and gone to heaven? This was what the poets wrote about. And she wanted more.

He wrapped them both in the plaid to keep out the chill wind but didn’t slow his sensuous assault on her yielding body. His lips worshipped her nipples, then slid down her abdomen until his fingers and his mouth teased and toyed with her most sensitive parts. Wanting him inside her as she had never wanted a man before, she lifted her hips and wrapped her legs around his waist. The passion and adrenaline combined. He thrust himself deep, pulled back, and thrust again. Crying out in the sheer sensations that flooded her, she exploded in a shower of stars, gasping for more even as she soared on the waves of the first release.

Growling with lust, he pumped in and out as she was re-ignited and together they rode the heights of their climaxes.

Exhausted, her limbs like melted butter, she pulled him against her, holding onto the feeling of oneness and utter joy.

Lifting on one elbow to ease his weight off her, she wrapped herself tighter about him, letting him know wordlessly that his body was a comfort rather than a burden. Their breaths mingled in the afternoon chill, keeping each other warm and safe from the intrusion of the world.

Finally, he eased over onto his side and stroked her cheek. “I hae ne’er been so frightened, lass. When I heard them approach, I circled around to get behind them for the advantage. But I realize now I left ye more vulnerable and I can only ask yer forgiveness.”

Puzzled, Harper angled her head. “I did wonder why you disappeared for a moment. But it was my own fault. I was curious. If I had stayed where you put me, I would have been hidden. But you saved us. Were you as frightened as I was?”

His laugh vibrated against her. “Nay, I had no fear for meself. I only worried they might harm ye and then death would not be sufficient for them.”

Blinking at this revelation, Harper was speechless. This man, this warrior in her arms, just faced three vicious attackers and his only concern was for her safety. He seemed to care nothing for his own. No man she had ever met would sacrifice himself to protect her. If this wasn’t love, it was certainly the stirring and she reached to bring his body closer.

He kissed her again, more gently this time, but no less enticing. With agonizing slowness, he ran his hands up and down her body. This time, their lovemaking was slow and tender, and Harper was lifted into what felt like another plane of existence. She had never dreamed it could be like this and the thought terrified her. This was a man who could break down her defenses and touch her soul. How ironic that she had to go back hundreds of years to find him. But the question remained—how could she ever go back now?

***

She must think me a barbarian. First she watched me cut down three miscreants who threatened her. And then, like a starving animal, I ravished her. Not once, but twice.

The woman was so full of passion, he thought he might hae died and gone to heaven. Her skin was like the finest velvet, her mouth a harbor for his tongue, and her body pure magnificence. She welcomed him as a long-lost soul aching for a haven. Oh, to nestle in that sanctuary forever.

Just the thought of what had transpired had his cock hard again. He would ne’er be able to get enough of this lass even if he bedded her every day, twice or thrice a day, for the remainder of his life. He had known she was perfect, sent to him as if by the faeries to make up for every hardship he had ever suffered in his life. But he also recognized it as the cruel prank that it was. He could ne’er have her as his bride, ne’er confide his secret, for she would certainly reject him if she knew. What lass in her right mind would choose a man who was the target of the wee folk? If only he knew why the fae were angry. And again, the thought came. What if they were nae mad at him, but at his mother or da? Then he would nae be at risk.

So it might be possible, that the faeries were done with playing tricks on him and Harper was meant to be his. Was it possible? But there was still the matter of his changeling brother, a truth she could ne’er accept and one he could not abandon, no matter the reason. ’Twas the thing of torment. Then again, maybe she was stronger and braver than he imagined and a possible fae curse would not send her running away.

***

Harper gazed upon Daimh as he rowed them back to the castle in the small boat. Not only was he devastatingly handsome, but so brave and honorable. The splotches of blood on his tunic did not offend her and she realized they were a sign that he would protect her at all costs. And he was an amazing lover, too. Everything she had ever dreamed of and more.

“Thank you. For protecting me.”

“Nay, lass, ye ne’er have to thank me for that. It is me duty. And me honor.”

“Who were they?” she asked.

Shrugging, he shook his head. “There are men who have no clan loyalty and simply roam about, looking for anyone they can rob or…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

A warmth like liquid honey filled her. This man was the stuff of fairy tales and all she could ever want in a partner. But there was that question again. Could she stay here? Could she live her life in so foreign a place? It made no sense, but then, matters of the heart rarely did. Isn’t that what the poets said?

***

When they returned to the castle entrance, Daimh kissed her cheek and said he hoped to see her later. After he took his leave to attend to duties, Harper entered the hall.

Maisie and Freya ran up to her, trilling with excitement. “The queen is coming for a visit!”

“The queen? Mary? Queen of Scots?” Harper responded.

The two women nodded, vibrating with glee. Harper noticed Skye following behind them, the color drained from her cheeks. The twittering girl left to spread the news and Skye approached her, took her hands, and pulled her toward an alcove. She peered over her shoulder to make certain the others would not hear them.

Harper could read Skye’s mind and knew her trepidations. If the Queen did not believe their stories, they could be labeled spies or witches and hanged. The thought was horrifying.

“It will be okay. We got this,” Harper reassured her, hoping she sounded convincing, but she was as frightened as Skye looked.

“We’ll be exposed,” Skye whispered.

“No. We are smarter than that. You know history. I have traveled in France and can remember locations. And we both speak French.” She hesitated but pushed away the growing anxiety. “How much time do we have?”

“The messenger said a sennight.”

At Harper’s confused look, Skye managed a smile. “Seven days. But one miss-step, one mistake, and we are both doomed.”

“We got this,” Harper said, hoping for the truth of her reassurance.

The two turned back to the other women, pasting smiles on their faces.

“So exciting,” Skye said aloud so the others could hear. Neasa had just joined them from the kitchens and placed a hand on Skye’s shoulder. “It is manageable, my lady. And we will not disgrace ourselves, or put ye at risk. Ye have me word,” she whispered. And she swept away to see to the myriad of chores.

“That thought never crossed me mind,” Skye responded to Neasa’s retreating back. Looking at Harper, she forced another smile. “We will have time to get our stories straight.”

Harper heaved a sigh. “In the meantime, how can I help prepare?”

“If you could help Neasa supervise the cleaning and airing of chambers…?”

“Thank you. It will be nice to have a purpose. And later, we will plan.”

They were, indeed, busy. The queen was coming to visit, and the work was frantic. The floors were swept and sprinkled with fresh mats made of rushes intermingled with lavender and rosemary. Linens were scrubbed and the kitchen was a flurry of activity. Everything had to be perfect.

Days passed and Harper barely had time to even speak to Daimh. They would exchange a smile or a brief touch as they passed in the hall, but Harper wanted to spend time with him. Their lovemaking was an epiphany and Harper wanted to reassure herself this was all real. How ironic, to determine what was actually true when she was living hundreds of years in the past.

Four days had gone by, and the work went on from sunrise to sunset. But the sense of excitement permeated, and no one seemed to mind the additional efforts. After all, their queen was honoring them as their guest and there could be nothing more wonderful.

Harper was carrying an armload of sheets through the main hall when Daimh approached her. Just the nearness of him quickened her heart.

“I want to apologize.” He pulled her into a dark corner so they would not be overheard.

“Apologize?” Did he believe their lovemaking was a mistake?Her stomach tightened at the thought.

“I took advantage of ye, lass. My blood was hot and all I could think was how those villains could have hurt ye and it blocked me good sense.”

Harper did not want any misunderstanding. “Do you regret it?” she asked, fearful of his answer.

A slow smile lit his face. “Nay. Never. But do ye?”

“Nay. In fact, I would not mind trying again. Without the attack first, that is.” Heat rose to her cheeks. Would it put him off that she was so bold?

His mouth dropped open in surprise. “Do ye mean it? Because I can think of naught but ye and how much I want ye.”

Relief poured through her. “The castle quiets by midnight and all are exhausted from the extra work. And my chamber offers privacy.” Was she again too forward? After all, this was not the twenty-first century. Here, woman needed to behave a certain way. That is, unless they were to be thought of as whores.

Skye was approaching, so Daimh gave Harper a quick nod and was gone. It was hard to miss Skye’s raised eyebrows. “Find a friend, did ye?” she asked, her sarcasm obvious.

Harper tried not to feel embarrassed. Skye was, after all, her best friend in the world and Harper knew Skye would be happy if she was happy.

“We need to go for a walk and plan,” Skye said, pulling Harper’s thoughts from Daimh and the coming of midnight. “Time is getting short.”

“You’re right,” Harper agreed. “We need to have our stories straight.”

“I have been giving it some thought, and I am certain we can do this.” Skye’s usual confidence had returned, so Harper relaxed.

Once outside, they wrapped their cloaks tight against the chill wind blowing from the loch and walked far enough from the castle walls to ensure they were not overheard.

“Do you ever get used to the cold and damp?” Harper asked.

“Caen,” Skye said, ignoring Harper’s question. “It is a relatively small village west of Paris and just south of the English Channel. There are two abbeys there, along with a castle, built in the eleventh century by William the Conqueror and used as part of his power base. One of the abbeys was his, the other built for his wife, Mathilde. In fact, she is buried there, at the Abbey of Sainte-Trinite.”

“I think I actually visited there once when I was young, but I remember little of it. And Mary will certainly know of this place.” Concern edged Harper’s tone. “What if we make a mistake? We could miss details.”

“Yes, she might know of it, but I would be surprised if she is intimately acquainted with the nuns or the residents of the area. I can’t imagine she would have actually been there. So, it is familiar enough to be believable, but not so much that we will be caught in a lie.”

“Did you tell people here you were of the nobility?”

“I did,” Skye said. “I said my mother was of noble birth and my father Scottish, but that wouldn’t necessarily mean they had wealth. And hopefully the queen will be too busy to pry into details.”

“We need more, just in case. And you know the stakes. If we are caught in even one small lie. And your husband would not be able to help you or me.”

“You’re right. I will say our fathers both worked for the church in Caen as scribes. In fact, they went to Caen to work for the church. And my mother was descended from the Girard family. A distant relative, but still titled. You and I grew up together and…?”

“And I was briefly married. My parents were dead by then and when my husband set me aside, my uncle sent me to the church to become a nun.”

“And since my parents were dead, as well, I sought to serve the queen when I was intercepted by miscreants. My guard was routed and I ran and ended up here.”

Harper was quiet for a moment, digesting all this. “I would believe it,” Harper laughed.

“Let’s hope everyone else does. But it sounds good.”

“Thank heaven for your studies in history.”

“We should go back and help. There is still much to do to prepare for a royal visit. But—how is Daimh?”

Harper heaved a sigh. “Amazing. I’ve never met anyone like him.”

“And you’re not likely to again if you return to the twenty-first century.” Skye grinned. “Besides, you’d miss me too much.”

“I would,” Harper agreed.