My Seductive Highlander (10 page)

“Good day to you too,” Lilia answered, wondering where the sweet old lady had gone.
Odd time of day for a shift change. Even for volunteers.

Oh well. Maybe the old lady couldn't handle an entire shift. Lilia shrugged and hurried back to the main lobby. Graham was cautiously circling an oversized marble fountain sculpted into the shape of a huge orb with water bubbling from its center.

She waved him over to the set of steel doors at the opposite side of the room, by the small waiting area filled with uncomfortable-looking chairs and decorative urns of plastic plants. “Come on. I'll even let you push the button.” She chuckled at the memory of fighting with Mairi and Kenna to be the one who got to push the button whenever the family happened across an elevator.

“Push the button?” Graham flexed his hands as he gave the steel doors a stern up-and-down look.

“Right there. The one with the arrow pointing up.”

Graham shoved his fisted hand against the button and held it.

Lilia patted his muscled forearm. “You don't have to hold it down. You just push it so it lights up, then let go. The elevator will be here in a minute.”

A bell sounded and the steel doors slid open with a bang.

“Mother o'God.” Graham backed up a step. “ 'Tis a burial cairn made of steel.”

“Yeah…elevators kind of creep me out too but we won't be in it very long.” Lilia latched on to his elbow and pulled.

“In it?” A look of disbelief arched Graham's brows higher as he locked his legs and refused to move forward.

“Come on. Before someone else on another floor pushes the button and it leaves.” Lilia pulled him in the rest of the way, patting his chest as she led him to the back of the elevator. “I get to push the button this time.” She jabbed a knuckle against the “7” button then took a stance beside Graham. The doors slid closed and the elevator took off.

“Son of a bitch!” Graham splayed his hands against the wall on either side of him, lowering himself into a defensive crouch.

Lilia laid a hand atop his arm. Poor guy. She didn't like elevators either and
she
knew how they worked. “It's okay. We're almost there.”

The elevator jerked to a stop, the bell dinged, and the doors slid open. Graham rushed out into the hall, glancing back at the elevator as though it were a beast that had just spit him out. His eyes grew even wider as he looked around and realized the elevator had transported them to a different place. His voice shaking, he drew closer to Lilia. “Where the hell are we now?”

“Seventh floor.” Lilia took up his hand and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Eliza's room is down this way.” Her heart went out to him as his nostrils flared and he jerked his gaze about. “Disinfectant.” She wouldn't add that the sickening aroma of death also filled the air.

An efficient-looking older woman dressed in bright flowery scrubs and clutching a steel clipboard to her chest met them just as they passed the nurses' station. “Good day t'ye, Miss Sinclair. I thought ye'd already been by for yer morning visit wi' Mistress Eliza. She didna mention ye'd not been in yet. Ye ken how she always fusses when ye stay here longer than she deems fit.”

Dear stubborn Eliza. Bound and determined that Lilia wasn't going to waste a precious minute of life sitting at the hospital waiting for her to die. “I know. She always tries to run me off as soon as I get here.”

Lilia pulled Graham forward with an apologetic shrug. “I'm afraid we ran a bit late this morning. How is she? Has there been any change?” Even though her mind knew the odds of Eliza improving were nil, her heart couldn't help but hope.

Compassion softened the nurse's face as she barely shook her head. “Och, no. No change at all. But she does seem ta be restin' a wee bit easier today. I believe the new medication is controllin' her pain a great deal better now that we've put her on the timed IV and she doesna have to ask for it. She's none too happy about it—too strong-willed for her own good, that one is. Ye must convince her 'tis no' a sign of weakness to allow us to ease her troubles.”

Lilia swallowed hard, battling the choking knot of emotions lodged in her throat. “I'll do my best but you know Eliza. She thinks she's supposed to take care of everyone else—not the other way around.” She nervously hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and gently pulled Graham forward. “We'll pop in and sit with her a bit. Even if the meds have her groggy, hopefully she'll know we're there.”

The nurse nodded with an understanding smile. “I'm sure she will, dearie. I'm sure she will.”

Lilia reluctantly led the way into Eliza's room, bolstering her trembling wall of control as much as she could. It always broke her heart to see Eliza so still, so small—a faded weak shadow of the vibrant soul she'd once been.

Lilia bit her lip. Eliza seemed paler today but the nurse was right—the stubborn old woman appeared to actually be resting rather than fighting the endless pain. The deep lines of her struggle that had been etched across her drawn face were somehow softer.

Graham eased into the room beside Lilia, his movements silent and reverent in the hush of the low-lit area. He scowled at the monitors mounted around the head of the bed, his eyes narrowing at the plastic bags of liquid hanging from the IV poles and the tangle of tubes disappearing into the padded tape cuffing both of Eliza's pale thin arms and the port embedded just below her collarbone.

He moved closer to the bed, his head tilting to one side as he peered closer at Eliza's face. He bowed with a slight dip of his closely cropped beard, one hand fisted to the center of his chest. “ 'Tis my honor to meet ye, Mistress Eliza. Graham MacTavish at yer service.”

Lilia's heart hitched as Eliza's eyelids barely fluttered and twitched. Her beloved guardian, fragile and worn from her battle, was making a valiant effort to rise from the depths of her drug-induced sleep. One of her mottled hands shifted atop the coverlet, her knobby fingers trembling as she lifted them in what appeared to be a weak acknowledgment that they were there. Her thin lips moved but no sound managed to escape.

Lilia slid her hand beneath Eliza's cold, drawn fingers, gently cupping what had become little more than skin-covered bones. “Granny sent Graham to us along with his friend Angus. Graham wanted to meet you. He's your kin.” Her voice broke. Lilia swallowed hard and took another deep breath. She didn't dare let the dam break and free her emotions. She had to be strong. Control had to be maintained or she'd never regain it.

Eliza finally managed to open her watery eyes and focus on Graham. Her thin lips twitched at the corners as she wheezed in a shallow breath. “ 'Tis about time ye got here.” Her whisper was weak and broken but at least finally audible.

Graham shifted closer. A sad smile lifted one corner of his moustache. His voice fell to the hushed, consoling tone usually heard in the presence of the dying or out of respect to the already dead. “Aye, my kinsman. I did tarry. But I'm here now and that's all that matters.”

“Aye,” Eliza whispered, her eyes slowly closing. “See that ye do well.” Without lifting her hand from the pillow cradling her bruised arm or reopening her eyes, she pointed a shaking finger at him. “I'll haunt yer arse the rest of yer days if ye hurt m'wee lass.”

Graham solemnly bowed his head in acceptance of Eliza's verdict. “I swear t'ye that our fine lassie here will ne'er again face this world alone, milady.” Graham eased his hand to the small of Lilia's back and gently pulled her closer. “I gi' ye my oath, Mistress Eliza, I'll protect this fine woman well and guard her true.”

Eliza didn't respond but the quiet beeping of the heart monitor changed in rhythm, increasing in speed for an extended string of rapid erratic beats. The wavering green line bounced faster, additional spikes jumping across the screen. It carried on for several minutes then gently smoothed back to the weary beep with the neon line barely rippling. Eliza's fingers twitched in Lilia's hand, curling a bit tighter in a weak squeeze, then relaxed and went still. The old woman's sunken chest shifted with a slow, deep inhale, then her body settled back in place as she released the breath.

Lilia held her breath, afraid to move as she stared down at Eliza's face. The palest flush of color now washed across Eliza's cheeks and she seemed almost serene. “What pact did you two just make?” she whispered, blinking fast and hard against the tears stinging in her eyes.
I will not cry. I will not.

Graham pressed a warm, soft kiss against her temple. “That I will always be with ye.” His voice dropped to a lower whisper—a deep, lilting caress that lifted her up and held her. His soothing tone reassured her at a very basic level that all would somehow be well. “I grant ye, lass, she'll rest easier now as she prepares for her final journey.”

Settling Lilia's hand firmly in the crook of his arm, he gently pulled her away from the bed and turned them toward the door. “Come. Ye ken she wishes ye ta go. Leave her to her rest now that she knows ye to be safe and protected.”

He jerked awake, body tensed, all senses alert. A cold sweat peppered across his brow. Graham sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, floundering to remember where the hell he was and how the hell he had gotten here.

“We're here.” The clear, sweet voice beside him soothed him immediately.

Lilia turned to him with a smile as she twisted the wee bit of metal shoved into the odd black post that seemed to control the beast of the machine and its deadly racket stilled. What in blazes had they called this thing?
Au…to…mo—what-the-hell?

Graham scrubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
I canna remember a sorry thing.
Son of a bitch, me mind's wrapped in wool.

Bumping the door open with her shoulder, Lilia fixed him with an apologetic look. “Sorry. I was afraid those pills might knock you on your ass. Your body isn't used to stuff like that.” She yanked open the second door on her side of the beast and retrieved a great black bag out from behind her seat. “But at least you didn't puke.”

“I'll have ye ken, no' a damn thing knocked me on me arse. I chose to sit in this godforsaken bit of sorcery because ye said that
center
place was too far to reach on foot from the hospital.” Damned if his mouth didna feel dry as dust and as crusty as week-old horse dung. He yanked up on the silver handle and shoved open the door. The sooner he was shed of this wickedness, the better. He unfolded his way out of the cramped belly of the beast, turned, then kicked the door shut. 'Twas a damn bit of sorriness when folk set aside the pleasure of owning a good horse to trek about in such twisted bits of metal that would be better put t'use in the makin' of shields and swords.

“This way—come on.” Lilia stood waiting at the grassy edge of the gravel lot beside a fence that looked like endless lengths of chain mail stretched between evenly spaced, headless spears. Her inviting smile curled a bit higher with just enough wickedness to make his mouth water. He was truly damned and he'd already come t'love every aspect of it. He'd never be able to resist this woman nor—he had firmly decided—would he ever wish t'try.

“Come on. We'll see if Alberti has any workout clothes in the shop that'll fit you. Then you can play too.” Lilia pulled open one side of the double glass doors leading into a great gray metal building that was damn nigh big enough to hold not only the grand twenty-horse stable back at MacKenna Keep but the paddock and bailey as well.

Graham stopped just before entering the building, craning his neck to examine its massive height and width. “What is this place?” He took a step, still staring up at the building. He'd no' enter it until he learned more. “And I dinna
play
. I'm no' a bairn.” He'd follow her to hell and back. That he already knew. But she'd best be clear and ken him for the man that he was.

“Bairn,” Lilia repeated, frowning as she bounced her fine round butt back against the glass door and held it open even wider. Her brows arched with recognition. “Oh, don't get all huffy. I call it ‘play' for lack of a better word.” She rolled her eyes and jerked her thumb toward the darker interior of the building. “I'm betting once you see what I'm talking about, you'll want to join in. Come on”—her wicked smile returned—“trust me.”

Something about the way she looked when she said those words made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight on end.
Aye, but I must admit she makes m'heart pound a wee bit harder.
He'd trust her, all right…and that would more than likely be his undoing. He waved her forward. “Lead on, dear lass. Lead on.”

Lilia hitched the wide black strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and spun into the room. “Alberti—over here!” She waved across the great tomb of the place, toward a brightly lit patch of the room farther down the way. Her call echoed up into the heights of the massive beams arched across the ceiling.

God's beard.
Graham stared at the size of the wide beams marching down the sides of the building then curving overhead like the skeleton of a great ship turned upside down. What the hell kind of forge had produced such monstrous pieces of metal? 'Twould take all the smithies in Scotland to hammer out such lengths. His steps pinged and echoed as they walked across the gleaming floor—yellow and looking to be made of wood much akin to the floors in the man Alberti's home—but how had they achieved such a shining finish?

“ 'Tis about time ye got here, man.” Angus came up behind him, clapping him on the shoulder as he lunged forward with what looked to be a small sword that had never been sharpened. “They want us to help them practice for their wee competition.” Angus stepped back, waggled a bushy brow, then took
battle ready
stance. “Mistress Vivienne wishes t'learn some of our
moooves
.”

“What the hell is wrong wi' ye, man?” Angus was actin' the fool. “And ye sound like a Highland cow.” Graham took a step back and frowned up and down at Angus's odd-looking, skintight apparel. “And what the hell are ye wearin'?” He'd left the man to himself but a few hours and he looked as though he'd stuffed his body into a wee lass's stockings; and he was talking as daft as old Herschel whenever he came down from his mountain after samplin' the wild herbs.

“These should fit you, my fine man.” Alberti held out a thin pile of neatly folded clothing. “Luckily, one of my taller clients changed his mind after ordering them and I graciously agreed to add them back into my shop's inventory.” He waited, lifting the stack of black, silky-looking material a bit higher and closer to Graham.

Graham stared down at the clothes then glanced over at Angus, who immediately grinned and smoothed his hand across his barrel chest, proudly patting his own bright blue shirt that would damn near glow in the dark.

“I thank ye.” At least the clothing Alberti offered him wasna colored as though woven for a whore. He dropped the silky pile to the floor, peeled his shirt off over his head, then started to unzip his jeans.

Alarm filled Alberti's face. “No, no, no!” He scooped the clothes up from the floor, shoved them against Graham's chest, and turned him toward a stone block wall inset with two shining steel doors. One door had a bright white glyph of a figure in a kilt. The other door had a similar white representation of a figure with no kilt. Alberti pointed to the door with the kiltless glyph. “Through that door is the men's shower room. You can change in there.”

Men's shower room. What the hell is a men's shower room?
Graham shrugged. Must be yet another strange facet of this time. As Graham headed that way, the door bearing the simple picture of the kilted figure swung open and Lilia stepped out.

Graham halted, swallowing hard as every nerve ending flashed hot and ready.
God a'mighty.
What the hell was the woman wearin'? 'Twas more revealing than her clothing on the night they met.

Thick-soled black boots encased her feet and she held one of the dull-edged swords in each hand. Her plump, generous breasts shimmered and strained against the bit of silk binding them, accentuating the bare
come to me
curve of her waist.
Holy Mother o' God.
Her fine arse, round and full, perfect for filling a man's hands as he buried himself in her heat, swayed and bounced with a mouth-watering wiggle with every step she took. Her blond hair was swept up into a high golden braid that swung back and forth like a gleaming pendulum marking time.

Graham struggled to generate the least bit of wetness back into his suddenly parched mouth. The woman nary needed a sword to stop an enemy. The mere sight of her in that shining black cloth encasing her curves like a second skin was enough to bring any man to his knees and have him begging for mercy—and more.

Lilia pointed one of her swords back at the steel doors. “Hurry and get changed. We're going to practice in the ring for a bit and then we'll go out back and work with the horses.” A relaxed smile lit her face as she slid her swords into the sheaths hanging from a bit of strapping hugging low about her fine hips.

Lore a'mighty. I'd give anything to be that bit o' cloth.

Lilia scrubbed her hands together then clapped them. “Hurry and get changed. When we're finished working out, I've got another surprise for you. I really think you're gonna like it.”

“Aye.” Graham nodded with a tense jerk. He dare say no more lest he shock the lass with talk of what he truly wished she'd give him. The word “like” wouldna begin to cover it. He forced his gaze away from her delectable curves and walked stiffly to the shower room.

He pushed through the door. The darkened room immediately flooded with bright light. “Sons a bitches!” Graham tensed. What strange magic lit the flameless torches without even touching the wee switch embedded in the wall? The more he discovered the ways of this time, the less comfortable he felt in this worrisome place.

“Mistress Vivienne said ye might need a bit a help with the clothes.” Angus shoved through the door after him, grinning as he folded his arms across his chest and looked around the room. “Can ye imagine the stonemasons it must ha' took to chip out all these wee squares?”

Graham dumped the clothes atop the long wooden bench balanced atop evenly spaced sets of steel poles embedded in the floor. “I dinna give a rat's arse about the buildin' of this strange place.” He shucked his jeans into a pile at his feet then picked up the silky black trews and the strange tunic fitted with narrow straps at the shoulders rather than respectable sleeves. His biggest concern at this particular moment was stuffing his rock-hard cock into the thin bit of silk and putting it on display. He wasna ashamed of his man parts but he didna wish to parade around like a stag rutting for a mate. That wouldna do at all when it came to making the proper impression on the fine Mistress Lilia and wooing her into being his wife.

“Think of Mother Sinclair.” Angus leaned back against one of the many gleaming white basins jutting out from one wall. “That'll take the bone outta yer willy.”

The mere mention of Mother Sinclair was as effective as a heavy dousing of icy loch water. “Aye…now the problem is
keepin'
the bone outta me willy.” Graham yanked on the skintight trews, huffing as he strained to pull them up his muscular legs. “Hell's balls…these damn things are so swivin' tight, my cock willna have room t'raise its head.”

Angus yanked down at his own crotch as he squatted up and down. “Nay. The things give. Ye best keep the old woman in yer mind. When Mistress Vivienne took to bouncing about in her wee lovely tights, my cock had no problem at all lifting his head to pay her proper respect.” His eyes widened a bit, then he twisted about and picked up something from the steel shelf mounted above the ceramic basins. “I nearly forgot. Here.” He held out a milky white object with black edging that covered the palm of his hand.

“What the hell is that?” Graham took the strange oblong bowl and studied it.

“Yer codpiece.” Angus thumped on his own crotch. “The man Alberti said t'wear the wee bowl to help protect yer parts lest a sword goes astray.”

Graham squeezed the cushioned rim of the odd apparatus, then ran his fingertips around the slitted openings running the length of the cup. “A codpiece?”

“Aye.” Angus winked as one corner of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Or d'ye need a much smaller one?”

Sliding the cup down the front of his pants, Graham rolled his eyes as he shifted the piece firmly into place. He'd no' lower himself to such a discussion with the irritating numpty. He smoothed the tight shirt down across his chest, then sat on the bench and put on his boots. “See to it that ye control yer swordplay so ye dinna hurt the women.” He stamped his feet down harder in his heavy boots as he stood and flexed to settle the strange clothing more comfortably in place. “If ye make the mistake of gettin' too rough with my Lilia—ye'll no' be needin' a codpiece after I'm done wi' ye.”