Highland Destiny (3 page)

The jarring motion of the carriage did not steady, but it seemed to shudder now. Actually, it had halted.
Strange
. Why would they be stopping here? Mackenzie was under the impression that it would take all night to reach their destination. She heard men shouting, and what sounded like a scuffle. Were they being robbed? In the brief second that someone shouted "Highwaymen!" and the carriage door was thrown open, Mackenzie was suddenly very grateful that she hadn't changed into the gown they'd given her. She was still dressed in her plaid Bermuda shorts and gauzy white tank top. She glanced down at her Nikes and was doubly thankful she hadn't worn the less-functional espadrilles, just in case she had to run. She pressed herself against the carriage wall, and held her breath.

When the door was yanked open, Mackenzie didn't know what to expect. Probably a man yelling "Give me all your jewels" or something equally cliched like that. Whatever it was, it definitely was not a long, muscular arm reaching in for
her
of all things! The strong arm dragged her out of the carriage and brought her up hard against a wall. No, against a rock hard muscular chest. The man had his arm wrapped around her ribs, just under her breasts. Mackenzie had never before been so aware of her breasts before. Ever. And she was hot. There was heat everywhere that he touched. Odd that this man was so warm against her back. Although she 23

And there was a lot of him to notice; six foot plus, easy.

Mackenzie shook off the odd feelings and thought of the dagger she'd tucked into her waistband. Mentally thanking Josef, her kickboxing trainer, Mackenzie stomped the man's foot as hard as she could, drove her elbow into his ribs, and twirled into him with her arm raised to stab him. But as she looked up and locked eyes with her attacker, she gasped and stepped back.

It was him!

The Highland warrior from the oil painting that she'd been so fascinated with! In that brief flash of recognition, Mackenzie hesitated, and the man saw her intentions; the dagger had glinted in the moonlight. Nevertheless, Mackenzie swung, but he'd blocked her swing and she'd only grazed his forearm, dropping her dagger in the process. He swore, and reached for her again, but she danced out of his reach. While it didn't incapacitate him as she'd initially planned, it did buy her precious time. She took off sprinting full-out for the trees on the left. She didn't know what she would do once she reached them, but perhaps just getting to cover would help buy her more time. What did this guy want with her anyway?

As she ran, she tore off the cloak; it was tangling in her legs and the last thing she needed was to trip right now. Once more thinking grateful thoughts to still be dressed in 21st century clothes, she ran as fast as she could across the too open meadow. Not hearing any sounds of pursuit behind her, Mackenzie turned once, losing her hair clip in the process, 24

Wrong move. She felt the impact before she heard him. The man had tackled her around the waist and drove her face down to the grass. Mackenzie wryly thought that an NFL

linebacker would have been easier to avoid.

He pinned her to the ground, letting her feel helpless for a moment, before roughly rolling her onto her back. His hands were all over her, and they were not gentle. He was running his hands across her breasts, ribs, stomach, thighs...was
this
what he wanted? Had Mackenzie been naive in thinking it was jewels? The thought made her eyes widen in fear and then narrow with determination.

"NO!" she shouted, and tried valiantly to free herself. Her thrashing only made her more aware of his strong muscular body pressing along every inch of hers. Instinctively, in a timelessly female move, she freed her knee and brought it up to his groin. Her attacker was one step ahead of her though, and shifted his weight so that his hipbone ground into her soft abdomen, and she inhaled quickly with the pressure. He captured both of her wrists in one of his large hands and put a dagger to her throat; her dagger. She swore, and froze.

"Smart. Now Miss Stewart, lie still."

He spoke softly with the same lilting Scottish burr she'd heard from the receptionist, except rather than sounding musical to her American ears, it sounded seductive.

Mackenzie was so annoyed that she found anything seductive about her attacker, that she missed his familiar use of her 25

"While I admire your courage, lass, my patience only extends so far."
Damn his voice was sexy
. It was throaty, and raw, and dark, and reached places deep inside her, and what was she thinking?

The man recaptured her wrists and then pulled her to stand up with him, the blade never leaving her throat. Her wrists were seared with the heat from his one hand. He held them in front of her, as if she were handcuffed. She frowned as she realized her breathing and heart rate had yet to slow.

Mackenzie hadn't realized how tall he was; she had to tilt her head back to meet his steely gaze. He was not only tall, but he had broad shoulders and muscles to spare. The plaid tartan and kilt he wore only seemed to emphasize just how very muscular he was. He made her feel small. Since there weren't too many men out there who could make her feel small, this frightened her a bit. It actually frightened her more than the huge sword slung across his back. Mackenzie started thinking of ways to get him to drop the blade at her neck, but the only thing that kept coming to mind was her original plan. So she tried once more, shifting her weight slightly enough that she didn't think he would notice, and swiftly bringing her knee up towards his groin. But the man must have been a mind reader, because just as swiftly he sidestepped her, yanked her arms above her head, and 26

"Lass, if you try that again, I'll tie you to my horse." Damn him, but he sounded amused.

Mackenzie did not doubt that he would. His clear blue eyes were almost silver in the light of the moon, and they sparked with his annoyance at her. She lost her breath for a moment.

"What do you want from me?" she demanded, however it came out so quietly that it lost all power.

His eyes narrowed at her breathless question, "To make sure that you are unarmed."

His eyes dropped for a second and Mackenzie realized that with her arms restrained above her head, her breasts were moving conspicuously with her ragged breathing. She almost rolled her eyes at that. Only helpless damsels in distress were supposed to have heaving bosoms. She was normally far from helpless. Of course, normally she didn't have a dagger at her throat.
What a weird dream
, she thought, because she was now thoroughly convinced that this was a dream. She must have hit her head and passed out on the tour of the castle and was now understandably dreaming about the man she'd seen in the painting. Right? Mackenzie tried to calm her breathing. Dreaming or not, she was not about to become some cliched damsel in distress. But once his eyes had finished their insulting perusal of her body, and his gaze came back to hers, she almost gasped. The sparking anger was gone, and in its place was some emotion that had turned the blue flashes to molten sapphire. No one had ever looked at her like this in her life, with such open desire. It was like he 27

His voice broke the spell his eyes had on her and she sucked in a shuddering breath.

"You will come with me without complaint." He raised an eyebrow as if to dare her to run again.

She glared at him mutinously. He would probably just
love
an excuse to tie her to his horse. The man ignored her glare, and instead his eyes swept down her body as if he were appraising a horse. The look he gave her was beyond incredulous; in fact Mackenzie couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips in response to the shock on his face.

"Where are your clothes? You canna be seen in this undressed state!"

It wasn't so much his question, but rather his tone, high-handed and arrogant, that got under her skin. "There's nothing wrong with my clothes!" Mackenzie snapped at him.

"And just because some pushy Scotsman decides he doesn't approve of my outfit, which is by the way, perfectly normal for an American tourist, it doesn't mean that I will automatically change them!" she huffed. Her anger caused her to speak her thoughts without censoring them, forgetting that she was playing the part of
Isabella
Stewart who would be from this era, and who would be dressed in a gown, a modest gown.

The man simply shook his head and put her dagger in his waistband. Then he started to tow her towards the line of men and horses that waited in front of her carriage.

Mackenzie stumbled along behind him because he still had 28

I don't even know who this guy is!

"Who are you?" Mackenzie's question caused him to break stride long enough to look down at her with suspicion, but seeing only curiosity in her eyes, he answered.

"I'd be Connor MacRae, Laird of Castle Eilean Donan, Earl of Kintail.

Eilean Donan? The same castle she had booked a room in?

This was definitely a dream. It was too coincidental; the same man from the painting, the same castle, she must have fallen asleep or something. But wow, what a dream!

Connor seemed to be watching her face carefully. He must be wondering why she was smiling, little did he know...

"Now stop trying my patience and come."

Mackenzie didn't know what made her do it, whether it was his high-handed behavior, or the way his gaze seemed to unnerve her, but she dug in her heels and yanked her hands free. "And if I don't?"

Connor's eyes darkened a fraction and he warned her softly, "Then I would bind your hands and throw you over my shoulder." His answer irritated Mackenzie, there was no way this was a dream, she would never dream up some guy who would treat her like she was beneath him. She looked poised to run again, and Connor saw that.

29

"No, no please, it's unnecessary. I won't try to run again.

Please..." her voice broke. She knew now that she was definitely not dreaming. This was far too real, and far too scary.

"I have your word on that?" Connor stared into her eyes for a second longer than was necessary.

Mackenzie bit her lip and looked down at the ground, before she breathed out, "You're right; I have nowhere to run." As she said it, her anger fled and she realized just how true those words were. She hugged her arms around herself.

If she was really in the 1700s, 200 years before her own time, then did it really matter who she was with? That thought made her so incredibly sad, that Connor must have seen something on her face.

His voice gentled when he replied, "Good. Now, come along. We have a long ride ahead of us."

Mackenzie's head whipped up at that. "A horse? I get to ride a
horse
?!" She'd loved riding as a kid, and she was excited to be on a horse again. It must have showed on her face because Connor was looking at her as if she were slow.

30

Her sheer tank top suddenly felt invisible. When Connor came up to her she bent down and asked,

"Should I ride sidesaddle?"

"Aye, lass you should, however, 'twill be easier if you stay astride. We have a long ride ahead of us, and we need to ride quickly. You'll also need to cover yourself." He handed her the grey cloak, and asked her if she had anything warm.

"A gown, in the carriage, I think," she trailed off as one of Connor's men was already walking toward the carriage. They followed his commands without his even having to speak them aloud. This man was powerful. That shouldn't have 31