Page 19 of The Story of his Highland Bride
“Could you stop for a moment?” she said.
He pulled lightly on the reins, and Claymore slowed to a halt. “Are ye unwell? Do ye need to catch yer breath?”
Eloise twisted around in the saddle once more, and before she had even attempted to answer his questions, her arms slipped around him. She pulled him tightly into her embrace, burying her face in his shoulder as she held him. The sensation startled him, stealing the breath from his lungs and prompting his heart to forget to beat. No one had held him like that in a very long time.
“Thank you for saving me, and… thank you for sharing your pain,” she whispered against his skin, for the collar of his leine had slipped slightly. It was so akin to a kiss that his skin tingled, willing her to graze her lips against that spot again. “I know it’s not easy to be vulnerable, especially with you being a big Lairdand all,” she added, smiling against his feverish flesh. “But, for a second or two, I didn’t feel so out of my depth. No matter what era it is, there’ll always be fellow lost souls, you know?”
Both of his arms encircled her against his will, his head dipping until his temple pressed to hers. A punch of her rich scent hit him squarely in the face, dazing him. His lips parted, his tongue eager to taste the curve of her neck, where the scent was the strongest. It would take but half a second to kiss her the way he desired to, in that moment, and every fiber of his being screamed for him to give into that want.
Restrain yerself!he scolded himself.Ye’re nae a wayward wee lad who cannae control his urges.
“Daenae try to flee again,” he growled, releasing her. “Ye could’ve got us both killed if there’d been more of them wolves, and they’renaebehind a fence. Whatever ye are, and whatever yer purpose here might be, ye cannae be wanderin’ as ye please. From now on, ye wait in yer chambers until I give ye permission to leave. And when ye do leave, it’ll be me guidin’ ye back to wherever ye’ve come from.”
It was not the sultry, passionate reassurance of protection that he had hoped to give, but then his tongue never did as it was told. Still, he could hear how harsh he sounded, and as he pulled back, he saw a renewed fear upon her beautiful face.
“So, we’re back to that?” she said stiffly.
He squeezed his thighs and urged Claymore back into a lope. “If ye mean me makin’ sure ye’re nae a danger to yerself or me clan, then aye—we’re back to that.”
As they rode on, he felt her pull away from him. She shuffled forward in the saddle, gripping the front edge to make sure she did not accidentally move backward. And as she removed his arm from around her waist, he knew he had fallen back into a bad habit that had begun when his parents had died—he had pushed her away, and he doubted he could ever pull her back into his desperate embrace again.
It will be for the best, for both of us,he told himself, while his lonely heart yearned for what he would never allow himself to have.
11
For two endless days, Jackson stuck to his word. Eloise was left alone in her bedroom, behind a locked door, with nothing to entertain herself other than napping, eating, drinking, occasionally crying, and creating increasingly elaborate plans for how she was going to get back to her own time. Of course, it was a romantic idea, falling for the incredibly attractive Laird who’d rescued her from a pack of wolves and had hugged her in a way that no man had ever hugged her, but there was a reason that women in the 21stcentury used stories like that for escapism: they weren’t realistic.
For starters, just two days in 1701 had sent her into a spiral of boredom. There was nothing to read, no phone to aimlessly scroll through, and no laptop to get any kind of work done. There was a stack of papers and some ink on the writing desk, which she’d attempted to use, but cutting her own quill wasn’t something she’d been taught at university, and nor was how to stop the ink from spraying everywhere, every time she tried to write a single letter.
On the evening of the second day, Eloise was ready to tie every blanket and fur and dress she could find, to fashion a rope that she could dangle out of the window to make her next escape. If she fell to her death, she figured that at least she wouldn’t have to endure another hour of mind-numbing nothingness.
But just as she was eyeing up the blankets, figuring out how many she might need to make it down to the manicured gardens below, the door opened, and a blissfully familiar face entered.
“Kaitlyn, thank God!” Eloise rushed to the maid and hugged her like she’d been starved for company for months instead of days.
The maid froze in Eloise’s embrace, before relaxing and patting her awkwardly on the back. “It’s nice to see ye too,” she said, chuckling. “I cannae say any lass has ever embraced me like that, but then I’ve never had meself a friend. All the other maids tease me, and they daenae like that the Laird trusts me, so I’m usually by meself.”
“You’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen!” Eloise cried, pulling back to get a better look at her newfound acquaintance. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be back to counting flagstones. Trust me, when you get to about a hundred, you lose track and then you’ve got to start all over again, andthatwould’ve made me lose the will to live.”
Kaitlyn laughed, but the flicker of worry in her eyes suggested she thought Eloise might’ve veered toward madness again. “I saw ye only a few hours ago.”
“A few hours? No, no, no, you’ve been gone for weeks. It feels that way, anyway. What do you lot do for fun, huh? Don’t you… read poetry to one another or read books? The Laird said he wasn’t a big reader, but he could’ve asked if I was one,” Eloise grumbled, keeping hold of the maid’s hand as she dragged her toward the armchairs. “Tell me all about your day. Every detail.”
She wouldn’t admit that, in the very quiet moments when there was absolutely nothing to do but sit with her thoughts, she ended up thinking about Jackson. At first, her thoughts had been the angry kind—he’d saved her, hugged her, held her, and then told her off like she was a little kid, while adding a subtle layer of “or else” menace to the scolding. But after a while, her thoughts kept circling back to the hugging and the holding, and the definite desire she’d felt, nudging against her backside. Kilts and belted plaids weren’t exactly good at hiding that kind of thing; there was nowhere to tuck away the obvious.
And I can’t keep thinking about that sort of stuff, or I’ll be writing a very different kind of novel when I get back to 2016.It made her hot, just imagining the daring love scene, perhaps in a forest glade with only the moonlight to reveal the two entangled bodies, moving together in sweet, sweet harmony.
“Ye’ve gone red, Eloise. Are ye sure ye’re well? Should I fetch Old Joan for ye?” Kaitlyn seemed concerned, as she sat down in the opposite armchair.
It was only then that Eloise noticed that the maid had brought something with her. Not a tray of food—which tended to be the same chunk of bread and cheese and a wrinkly apple—but abeautiful dress. It appeared to be made of some sort of silk or satin, though her research memory was rusty on the fabrics of the era. Still, either way, it was gorgeous and sleek and a deep, garnet red.
“Are you going to a party?” Eloise raised a curious eyebrow. “Have you come to rub it in, that you’re allowed to go wherever you like, while I’m stuck up here in my ivory tower?” She meant it as a joke, but her newfound friend looked horrified.
“Nay, Eloise, it’s for ye!” Kaitlyn insisted. “I would never be so cruel. Indeed, it was me and Her Ladyship who’ve been plottin’ how to get ye out for an evenin’, at least. She’s asked if ye’ll dine with her and His Lairdship tonight, and she told me to bring ye this as a peace offerin’. Och, she’s furious with His Lairdship for keepin’ ye locked up in here, but he relented to the notion of ye comin’ down for dinner.”
Disappointment twinged in Eloise’s chest. “So, he didn’t ask me to come to dinner?”
“Nay, but he dinnae seem averse to the idea, either,” Kaitlyn promised, holding up the beautiful, delicate garment. “Shall I ready ye? Och, please daenae send me back to him with a rejection. He’s always in a foul mood at this time of year, though I must say, he’s nae been quite so unpleasant since ye arrived.”
