Immortal Desires (Well of Souls) (9 page)

The whisky sloshed in the cup and he frowned into it, remembering what happened when he'd touched her earlier. He'd felt her heat as if it were his own, spreading desire through his blood. Nay, he couldn't afford to touch her again. Not until he knew who she was and what magic cursed her.

***

"Did you find out where the lass came from?" Munro asked the next morning at breakfast.

"Nay." Ian stabbed a piece of meat from his plate and avoided Munro's questioning look. He turned his head to glare at his mother when she laughed softly but she was speaking to Mairi and seemingly not paying attention to him.

A sharp intake of breath from Munro directed his sight to the stairway, where Deanna floated down in a cloud of blue material. One of his mother's dresses but the lass wore it well. Tearing his eyes away, Ian attacked his food while the fool next to him rose from the table to escort her to a seat.

"My beautiful lady, I am William Munro. Forgive my part in yesterday's bad manners."

Ian choked as Munro lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. The lass smiled and Ian ground his teeth together.

She slipped onto the bench opposite him and all Ian could see was the swell of her breasts, creamy skin rising from the blue bodice. Why did his mother think to dress her in that one?

A hint of pink touched her cheeks as Ian slowly raised his eyes to meet her face. She didn't smile at him but that only emphasized the fullness of her lips—lips he wanted to run his tongue over as she panted…

He pushed away from the table when he realized the room had gone silent with all eyes on the two of them, turning quickly to conceal his erection. "I'll be in the stables. Munro? Tomas?"

Tomas scraped the bench along the floor but Munro waved him on. "I'll be there in a minute."

Ian walked out, muttering in Gaelic about smitten fools. He thought he heard his mother's soft chuckle as he hit the door with unnecessary force but it was lost in Munro's deep bass asking the lass what she'd care to eat.

Chapter Seventeen

Torn between irritation and relief at watching Ian stalk out of the room with Tomas trailing behind him, Deanna's attention was thankfully diverted by Munro. She gave the stocky man a grateful smile and he rewarded her with a wink.

"Soul mates oft travel a rocky road to bliss."

Soul mates?
"What are you, a poet?"

"I can be, lass, but nay, I feel the tension in the room. You two belong together." Munro stuffed another bannock in his mouth before rising from the table, his movements surprisingly graceful for such a stout man.

Deanna floundered for what to do next when a young girl carried her plate over and slid into the seat next to her. "I'm Mairi," she said with a shy smile. Her dark hair and green eyes marked her as Ian's sister. "Are you really from the future? Will you be staying here with us?"

Deanna swallowed the lump in her throat. "I guess so. I don't know how to get back home."

"Did the Fae send you here?" The girl's nose wrinkled as she said it, making Deanna smile.

"I don't think so. What's the Fae?"

"Magical beings that cause trouble," the girl whispered, pausing to look around as if one might be listening to their conversation. She continued a bit louder. "There are nice ones too. I thought mayhap a nice one sent you back for my brother. He needs a wife."

"Mairi! Enough." Isobel came over and tapped her daughter on the shoulder. "You have chores to do."

"It's true," Mairi replied but jumped off of the bench at the same time. "The banns have already been posted for my marriage and he's still single."

Deanna thought the girl sounded disgusted by that fact. "How old are you?"

"I've sixteen summers," Mairi beamed at her. Deanna raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Life sure was different here.

What had she been doing at sixteen? Mooning over the captain of the football team and coping with braces on her teeth, if she remembered correctly. A mist formed in Deanna's eyes as she watched Isobel steer Mairi out of the room, her arm affectionately draped across her daughter's shoulders.

Deanna got up and helped clear the table before Isobel flapped her hands and pushed her toward the door. "It's a nice day. You need to get out of the keep and walk around the bailey. Do you like horses?"

The older woman gave her a serene smile but Deanna wasn't ready to run into Ian yet. She'd either try to hit him with her fist or kiss him. Either one could be disastrous. "Your son doesn't seem like he wants to talk to me."

Isobel's voice grew soft and lost its banter. "Ian is a fine laird but doesna understand matters of the heart."

Matters of the heart?
Deanna broke out in a cold sweat. She'd only been here a day, didn't belong here…and yet the woman's words pierced open the dark secret Deanna had tucked away in a hidden corner of her mind.

Ian Mackay drew her to him like no man ever had before. Not even Nick, the man she thought she'd love for the rest of her life. What was it about the aggravating Scotsman that had her willing to drop into his bed at the crook of a finger? Deanna didn't like pig-headed oafs.

It was a nice day, she conceded as she stepped outside. The air smelled fresher than anything she could remember. Walking in the opposite direction from the stables, Deanna studied the curtain wall surrounding the bailey, which had been missing on the modern version.

Rising thirty feet in the air, Deanna wondered what the view must be like along its walkway. Pretty spectacular, no doubt—not that she'd get the chance to see for herself. Guards stood at intervals along the top with their backs to her as they watched the valley below. The only way in or out was through the portcullises, wood and iron gates that were raised at the moment but could be lowered at the first sign of trouble.

The curtain wall must slope down towards the back of the uneven property, Deanna thought, since she could see over the top and view the river from her third-story window. Would the guard at the back gatehouse let her pass by and walk down to the river? It'd be worth a try. They all thought of her as a Cameron spy though, so he probably wouldn't let her through.

The rest of the bailey held barracks and other buildings whose purposes were unknown to her…and the stables, of course. She walked back to the wall of the keep itself and placed her hand on the cool stone, its rough facing pitted by hundreds of years of weathering the elements.

"If you're looking for something to pet, I can think of more suitable pleasures." The challenge in Ian's voice dared her to turn around and face him. He stood too close, letting his body heat warm her backside. Images of him from her dreams rose unbidden and her face flushed.

Blood pulsed in her ears, the frantic pounding of her heart blocking all other sound as she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck. She turned to face him and knew she'd made a mistake. Deanna took a step back, the cold stone sandwiching her in place while his gaze flamed the front of her body. How could one look make her want to tug off that kilt—the one now rising in her direction? She jerked her eyes back up to his face and saw a satisfied grin play across his lips.

His hands came up to rest on the wall, caging her in, a look of devilment in his eyes. "I've decided to get to know you better, lass."

Deanna silently cursed her weakness as her eyelids fluttered closed of their own volition—a sure sign to him that she wanted to be kissed. He took advantage of the invitation and it was all she could manage not to moan as his lips brushed against hers. A spark of familiarity swept through her staggering emotions, as if they'd done this before.

He pulled back and she watched him study her face, his eyes widened in surprise. So he felt it too—that jolt of awareness every time he touched her that said she already knew him.

"Who are you?" His question held a sense of wonder in the tone and Deanna sank into the depth of his eyes.

He kissed her again and she felt his body shudder as he drew her close, his hands coming down to trail fingers through her hair. The sensations of his touch coursed through her veins; her clothes hung too heavily on her body and became cumbersome.

"Stop. Please." What a crazy thing to say when all she wanted was for him to continue.

"Why?" His lips nibbled down her neck, leaving feathery kisses along her throat. "Doesna this please you?"

"Yes. No." Her voice faded into a moan. "You need to stop. I need to get back to my own time. Your mother says you keep the brooch locked up but I think holding it might send me back."

He pulled back slowly and regarded her in silence, then spun on his heel and walked away. Deanna slid down the wall until she sat on the ground, trying to figure out what to do next. Flee back into the castle and hide in her room? Run after Ian and tell him she changed her mind? Click her heels together three times? She needed to get her hands on that brooch.

Her eyes stung and she gave them an angry swipe. She must look absurd, sitting here on the ground. Deanna stood up and dusted off her dress, heading away from the direction that Ian took. He was the last person she needed to see right now. She couldn't think straight around him.

As Deanna turned the corner more trouble stomped her way, sporting wild copper hair and a look of murder smoldering in baleful brown eyes.

Chapter Eighteen

"Keep yer filthy hands to yerself and off my betrothed or I'll throw you in the midden, so I will." The girl stood several inches shorter than Deanna but looked capable of carrying out her threat. With her fists locked on her hips, the girl stared a challenge that looked serious.

Deanna shook her head in bewilderment. She didn't have any experience with catfights. "Who are you talking about?"

"Are ye daft? The Laird—or have ye been kissing so many ye canna keep them straight?"

"Ian? Betrothed?" Deanna snapped her mouth shut, annoyed with her one-word sentences. She sounded like a parrot.

Apparently deciding her warning had been sufficient, the girl flounced away with one last glare over her shoulder. Her hair flew in a wild tangle with the wind, reminding Deanna of a copper-haired Medusa.

How could Ian kiss her like that if he was betrothed? The nerve of the man! She'd have a few things to say to him the next time they met—right after she forced him to give her the brooch.

Deanna rounded the corner of the keep, still fuming at Ian's poor behavior, when a whiff of sewage brought her up short. This was the side the garderobes opened up to. It smelled worse than being inside one of them. She supposed it still beat having to empty out a chamberpot though, and hurried to retrace her steps.

The other side held a small garden, redolent with the smells of herbs and Deanna took an appreciative breath. Roasting meat turned on a spit behind the garden, tended to by a waifish boy who gave her a broad smile as she passed by. Someone from the keep yelled at him and he spun back around to watch the meat. Deanna hurried her steps, sorry she'd distracted him.

The graveyard sat back here and Deanna stepped into it, searching the ground where she'd found the brooch before. It wasn't there—not that she'd expected to find it again.

The spot where the Bean Nighe had been was vacant now. Deanna wished she had taken the time to see whose grave she'd knelt in front of. In 2012, there had been a headstone there. Had it been Ian's?

Thinking of him brought her anger rushing back. She liked him better as a ghost. At least then he wasn't practically married.

Going back up the hill, the door she found at the rear of the keep led her into a small sitting room next to the dining area. Isobel happened to be there, going over lists at a desk.

"Did you enjoy your walk around the bailey?" she asked.

"It was very informative." Deanna grimaced but didn't explain her comment when Isobel cocked an eyebrow at her. For all she knew, Ian's behavior was socially acceptable. Deanna didn't need to alienate Isobel by complaining about her son's behavior. "My head still hurts. I think I'll go lie down for a while."

She left before Isobel could ask any questions and ran up the stairs to her room, hiding her face in a pillow on the bed. She detested tears; they didn't serve any useful purpose.

Growing up without a mother, she'd learned early on that tears made her father uncomfortable and had suppressed them. They'd shared their mutual grief in stoic silence through the years, never giving each other cause for concern.

What would her father make of all this, she wondered? He'd followed his wife around the country for the sake of her career, his own profession of English teacher carrying him to a new high school every couple of years. He'd sacrificed a long-standing position in a stable community for love. Dad would probably tell her to listen to her heart.

That was a problem. Deanna had just shed tears over a man she didn't even know, yet images of Ian flooded her head. He had a magnetic quality that pulled her ever closer with each moment she remained here. If she didn't leave soon, she never would. And there was the slight problem of him already belonging to another woman…

Did any of that matter? She didn't belong here. Deanna understood that she must fight to get back home, even if her heart chose to stay. She stood up, ready to go ask for the brooch again. It was the only right thing to do.