Revenge (Book 3 of Lost Highlander series) Read online

  “Let’s never get out of this bed again,” she said against his lips. She was rewarded with his dimpled smile for her suggestion.

  “I’m happy to do that,” he said, tugging her blouse out of her skirt and running his fingertips along her spine. “Shall your birthday well wishers come up here tomorrow and leave your gifts at the foot of the bed?” he teased, expertly snapping open her bra. It certainly hadn’t taken him too much practice to master that.

  As his big hands slipped their way down her sides, she sighed peacefully and pushed herself up on her elbows so he could get her top off more easily. All her hair got pushed into her face as he pulled it over her head and he chuckled, pushing it behind her ears and stroking the sides of her face with his thumbs.

  “Tell me,” she whispered when his eyes went a darker shade of blue.

  “That ye are beautiful?” he asked, his lip quirking up on one side.

  She poked him in the chest. “I guess, yes,” she pouted.

  He pulled her face close and playfully swiped her nose with his, then kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue and making her forget everything but his hands and mouth, his heart beating rapidly against her own.

  “I love ye, ye daft lass,” he said, breaking the kiss, his eyes twinkling midnight blue fire.

  As he began working her skirt down over her hips, she promised herself that she would only concentrate on what was important. Lachlan. Here and now. Wasn’t that right? It was so easy to believe everything was fine when she was in his arms. She gave herself over to him.

  Chapter 9

  As Bella cried into his shirt, he lay there, pain ravaged and weaker than a newborn kitten, but feeling something close to happiness. It was probably delirium.

  “Don’t cry,” he said, patting her hair. He loved her hair, the reddish brown and gold strands slipping through his fingers as he consoled her. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She sat up and hit him, punched him hard in the shoulder. He laughed at the ridiculousness of it.

  “Once again, I don’t understand ye,” he said, closing his eyes to block out her angry glare. He wanted to think of her smiling sweetly down at him, like she’d done earlier, before she’d started crying. “First ye’re sad I may be dying, then ye’re beating the crap out of me.”

  “Of course I’m sad ye’re ailing,” she said. Her hand was fluttering dangerously in the air over his shoulder and he used what was left of his strength to press himself into the couch to get away from her. She rolled her eyes and dropped her hand. “Ye are no’ dying,” she told him with conviction.

  He shrugged. “Whatever ye say, Bella,” he agreed.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s so. Whatever I say. And I say ye are no’ dying.” She got up and stomped to the fireplace, ruthlessly poking the logs so that the flames shot up, settling finally into a roaring blaze. “There.”

  Being rude to the fire seemed to put her in a better mood, and she brushed the soot off her hands and sat back down next to him. With a strange glimmer in her eyes, she gently placed her hand on his chest.

  He gave her a probing look and she blushed deep red from her hairline all the way down to her cleavage. He let his gaze linger on her rising and falling chest, wondering how offended she’d be if he complimented her breasts.

  “Ye’re a beautiful woman,” he said instead, and her blush darkened. His breath caught when her hand slowly started to make its way lower, stopping at his stomach. “Ye don’t have to stop,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t storm out of the room.

  With a soft sigh and a tremulous glance at him, she kept moving her hand ever lower, slowly. Torturously slowly. Against all reason, and surprising even him, he felt himself rising to meet her. When she saw what was happening, she turned to him and smiled.

  “It did make ye feel better before, did it no’?” she asked. “I mean, when we were …” She trailed off and he grasped her hand in his.

  Pulling her off the chair she was perched on, he drew her onto the couch so she draped across his chest. “It did,” he said, realizing that he did feel a little better. He was strong enough to pull her onto him for one thing, and he’d barely been able to lift his hand a few moments ago. “It seems we must constantly stay close to one another like this or I shall surely die.”

  At first he thought he was going to get hit again, but she kissed him passionately instead, her tongue greedily plundering his mouth and her impatient hands roaming and grappling him. He grunted in near pain and she gentled her touch, kneading softly, sighing with pleasure at his quick response.

  “Ever since yesterday, I’ve been near crazy to touch ye,” she said, pulling up his kilt and straddling him. “Are ye strong enough, d’ye think? I dinna want to kill ye, but I so want ye inside me.”

  Her innocent eagerness nearly undid him and a thrill ran down his entire body. He honestly didn’t care if she did kill him, as he couldn’t imagine a better way to go.

  “What about the others?” he asked, looking at the closed door of the sitting room. The house was quiet and a glance out the window showed him it was night. Would anyone come to check on him or had they left Bella to it? He didn’t think he could stand being interrupted again.

  She shook her head, dropping her mouth to his neck, nudging his shirt collar out of the way to nip at the base of his shoulder. “They are asleep. I love this part of ye.” She bit him again and he nearly started to cry.

  As his strength returned, he found his resolve strengthening as well. It was easy to want to roll over and give up on everything when your head was splitting open and your limbs felt like they were full of lead. But as Bella trailed small fluttering kisses across his shoulder and pressed her soft body against his, all he wanted to do was cling to her. To the future of being with her, of possibly living a somewhat peaceful life together. He pictured them sitting in front of a roaring hearth, children playing merrily at their feet.

  Her tongue rolled playfully over his earlobe and he turned his face to get her mouth back on his. The imaginary future children were shunted to the far recesses of his mind as their lips met. Her quiet, musical sigh and insistent kneading of her hands sparked his impatient desire. He felt good, and it was all because of her. More than anything, he wanted to return the favor.

  He started flipping up her apron and skirts and shift, sliding his hands down her miraculously smooth skin, happily surprised she wasn’t wearing her wool stockings.

  “Ah, that’s nice,” he said, sliding his fingers between her thighs and brushing her tender, heated skin.

  She shivered and smiled proudly. “I didna want another wasted opportunity,” she said, pressing herself against him.

  “Ye’re brilliant, lass,” he said, licking her neck and enjoying the shudder of pleasure it gave her.

  With much surer movements than before, she grappled away his kilt, pausing to survey him with round, hungry eyes. He couldn’t help himself and laughed, sliding his hands down her slender arms, delighted at her reaction. He let his hands settle at her hips, gripping her tightly, all the fury of his passion in his fingertips. He wanted her, but waited and just held on.

  For a lifetime, she stared at him, her chest still heaving and her lips parted. She seemed flustered, her limbs were trembling.

  “What are ye waiting for?” she whispered, a slightly confused catch in her voice.

  He smiled at her and pulled her slightly forward, kissing her and running his fingers down the sides of her legs, surprised to find he was shaking too.

  “For ye,” he said.

  She gasped and closed her eyes. When she reached down to guide him into her, his own eyes rolled back into his head and he merely hung onto her hips while she gleefully rode him.

  “Dear God,” he croaked as she dug her fingers into his chest and squeezed him with her legs.

  All he could do was let her have her way with him, and he was a sweaty, heavily breathing mess when she finally let him have his release. She collapsed on top of him as she
struggled to catch her breath.

  “Dear God,” he repeated, invigorated and sated and his headache completely gone.

  “I like it better each time,” she said after her breathing slowed. “I wish I could stay next to ye all night.”

  His heart sank, knowing she couldn’t. Quinn knew they were together, and understood that it was an exceptional situation, and wouldn’t give them more than a raised eyebrow. But he didn’t want Bella to come under the censure of Aunt Gwen or set a bad example for the impressionable Catie, who had already seen far too much from them.

  Pietro wanted Bella to stay with him because he loved having her near. She was a tonic to the terrible symptoms of his mysterious illness. No matter how bizarre it was, her proximity really did seem to cure him, at least temporarily. Was it a strange time travel curse, or that their destinies were linked? Would he literally die without her?

  While he thought about sharing his theories with her, she reluctantly got up and straightened his kilt, pulling the blanket over him and tucking it tenderly under his chin.

  “I shall pull the chair up close and keep my hand on ye while ye sleep,” she promised.

  “That’s kind,” he said, feeling comfortably sleepy as opposed to fitfully tired. “Tell me, is there any news?”

  She paused so long that he thought she might have drifted off, or didn’t want to talk about it. It was her family the Fergusons were gearing up to fight and it had to cause her grief.

  “We are waiting to see what my father does,” she said, her hand resting on his chest as she had promised. “Quinn has men stationed all along the roads so we may know as soon as possible. If my family makes another move against clan Ferguson, they shall ride to meet them on their own soil.” She leaned over and kissed him, then curled up as best she could in the armchair. “I know what shall happen,” she said after another long silence.

  He’d almost drifted off to sleep but perked up when he heard the certainty in her voice.

  “What?” he asked.

  “War, of course.”

  Chapter 10

  Piper was as polished as she was going to get. She’d gone downstairs that morning to find a harried Evie bouncing Magnus on her shoulder and barking instructions into her phone while waving at some men to bring in tables and chairs. Mellie was taking scrumptious smelling puff pastries out of the oven while expertly sliding in another pan behind them. When she wandered into the kitchen in her pajamas, they’d both screeched at her.

  “Finally,” Evie said, clicking off her phone.

  She pointed the men in the direction of the great dining hall that never got used, but was apparently going to be the main party room that night. It was massive and dreary and Piper hated it, but both Evie and Mel kept shushing her and telling her to trust them.

  Evie handed Magnus off to Mellie, then dragged Piper to get her ragged, ruined nails done at the village salon. Donna’s Beauty was somewhat awkwardly right next to Sam’s book store. Piper had pretended she wanted to buy a magazine for while she was getting worked on, but Evie’s face had gone so pale, she quickly dropped it. Whatever had happened between those two, it was serious, and Piper couldn’t get either one of them to talk.

  When she’d called up Sam on the phone, he’d merely brushed it off, redirecting all her attempts to everything that had happened to her and Lachlan while they were in the past. Evie kept sighing and woefully begging Piper to leave it for another time, and Mellie maddeningly just didn’t know anything. She was as confused about it as Piper. One day, Evie had shown up with newborn Magnus and a carload of luggage, and had barely spoken to Sam since.

  Piper tried to relax as Donna set their fingers and toes to soaking, letting out a pent up breath and trying not to notice her dark circles in the mirror that took up the entire wall of the salon. Evie cleared her throat and raised her eyebrow at Piper’s reflection.

  “What?” Piper said, prepared for the worst. She suspected Evie didn’t buy her sleepwalking story and now she was going to hear all about it.

  “You act like I’m going to say something awful,” Evie said, looking hurt. “I’m just worried about you.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, looking down at her feet in the bubbling water.

  “Well, you seem different since you got back. You even look different, like you’re always on edge. You’re never on edge.”

  Piper considered this. Unless she was willing to admit that she’d been secretly poring over the diary, there was nothing she could say.

  “I just haven’t been sleeping well,” Piper said.

  “Do you think it’s a side effect?” Evie asked in a hushed and anxious tone, glancing around to make sure Donna was far enough away to not overhear them. Piper shrugged, honestly not having considered that. “Does Lachlan have it?” Evie persisted.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Piper said. If anything he was way more mellow than he should have been. He should have been just as upset, if not more, than she was. “I never let him take his pendant off, though,” she continued. “Maybe I should have another one made.” She stared at herself in the mirror, musing over this until she saw Evie’s slack-jawed reflection next to her and realized what she’d just said. Damn it.

  Evie pounced. “How would you know how?” she demanded, quickly lowering her voice to an accusing hiss. “You have been looking at the book, haven’t you?”

  Piper looked down at her hands and made slow circles in the purple liquid. What had she just done? How could she get these worms back in their damned can? She made a decision she hoped she wouldn’t regret and lied once more to her best friend.

  “No,” she said, surprised to hear how believable she sounded. Surprised and ashamed. “It was something I remember from the first time I had to go through it, to find the spell to bring you and Sam back. I marked it, because I thought it might come in handy one day.” She rolled her shoulders tiredly. “I really don’t think it’s a side effect anyway. It was a shock to lose so much time,” she said, hoping that would be enough for Evie.

  “Okay, I can see that. But you seem angry. Like deep down angry.” Evie gave her a quelling look when she opened her mouth to argue. “Don’t tell me I’m being crazy. I get that I might be crazy where Sam is concerned, but you’re not going to make me believe you’re completely fine. Because I know you better than I know anybody.”

  Tears prickled at the back of Piper’s eyes and she couldn’t even wipe them away with her hands all gooey from the soak. She tipped her head back and blinked rapidly instead.

  “I’m not totally fine, but I don’t want you to worry.” She glared at Evie and flicked suds at her. “Technically, this is my birthday, so I think you need to shut up and let me bask in all this pampering.”

  Evie had stared at her suspiciously a bit longer, but had let it drop, starting a new, much more satisfying line of conversation about the latest village gossip.

  After nails and hair, she got her gown from the dry cleaner. Evie had not only decided to throw a village wide birthday party for her with only two days notice, but she had decreed it needed to be black tie as well. Since Fenella had left four lifetimes worth of gorgeous designer clothes behind as part of Piper’s inheritance, at least she had plenty of formal gowns to choose from. They were all a bit musty however, so she’d paid the dry cleaner triple to get it done in time.

  “The best part about having so much money is you can get stuff like this party done with very little notice,” Evie had said while they stuffed a hurried sandwich down their gullets before heading home to put the final touches on everything.

  “Glad you’ve been enjoying it,” Piper said sourly. Evie blushed, but Piper just rolled her eyes. “Somebody has to,” she said.

  It was true that having a lot of money did make certain things convenient, but she knew she could just as easily live without so very much of it. Just as she could live without this party tonight. It had been a chore shaking off her foul mood on the way back to the castle.

  The v
illagers trickled in and out the entire rest of the afternoon, bringing little gifts and filling her in on what had been going on while she was off supposedly exploring the globe. If anyone bothered to ask her about her travels, she just pulled a story from her past, but everyone mostly wanted to tell her what they’d been doing for eight months. She loved pretty much everyone from the town and was delighted that so many people came to pay their respects, but they had exhausted her and the actual party still loomed over her like a guillotine blade.

  Now she was sitting on the edge of her bed in her gown, her strappy, tottering high heels already digging into her ankles. She glanced down at her newly refurbished hands and had to admit Donna had done an amazing job at making it look like she hadn’t tried to claw into a sealed stone tomb just the night before. She stood up to study her elaborate hairstyle in the vanity mirror. The antique diamond and ruby combs sparkled quite nicely against her dark hair. Her cheeks were flushed and the shimmery eye makeup she’d laboriously applied made her look like a perfectly happy birthday girl, not at all like a tormented lunatic.

  Lachlan appeared behind her in the mirror and she turned, her breath stolen from her lungs by his dazzling appearance. They’d had to have a suit sent express post from Inverness, then specially tailored in the village, and while she had originally been more than a little disgusted by the extravagance, right now all she could do was stand and stare.

  Merciful heavens, but he was gorgeous. She felt like a little girl on Christmas morning every time she saw him, like he was her own perfect present she couldn’t wait to get her hands on. She loved him with his clothes on and with his clothes off. Right now he was almost more than she could handle in his sleek black tuxedo.

  “I canna tie the neck piece,” he said, handing her his bow tie.

  She panicked slightly. She didn’t know how to tie one either. For a billionaire, she was woefully inadequate at anything fancy. She stepped back to admire him, with his snowy white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his jacket fitting perfectly across his broad shoulders. His usually unruly raven black hair was wrapped with a cord into a neat queue at the back of his neck.