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?
He scrubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He couldn’t remember a sorry thing.Son of a bitch, his mind felt 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 will have ye know that not a damn thing knocked me on my arse. I chose to sit in this accursed bit of sorcery because ye said thatcenterplace was too far to reach on foot from the hospital.” Damned if his mouth didn’t 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 around in such twisted bits of metal that would be better put to use in the making of shields and swords.
“This way—come on.” Lilia waited 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 had already come to love every aspect of it. He’d never be able to resist this woman nor—he had firmly decided—would he ever wish to 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 back, still staring up at the building and determined not to enter it until he learned more. “And I dinnaplay. I am not a bairn.” He’d follow her to hell and back. That he already knew. But she best be clear and know 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 itplayfor 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. But he had to admit, she also made his heart pound harder.He would 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 at a brightly lit patch of the room farther down the way. Her call echoed up through the heights of the massive beams arched across the ceiling.
Saint’s bones.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 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 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 tookbattle readystance. “Mistress Vivienne wishes to learn some of ourmoooves.”
“What the hell is wrong with ye?” Graham glared at Angus. The man acted the fool. “And ye sound like a Highland cow.” He took a step back and frowned up and down at Angus’s odd-looking, skintight apparel. “And what the devil are ye wearing?” 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 sampling 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, nudging 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 damn near hurt Graham’s eyes to look at it.
“I thank ye.” At least the clothing Alberti offered him was not colored as though woven for a whore. He dropped the silky pile to the floor, peeled off his shirt, then started to unzip his jeans.
Alarm filled Alberti’s face. “No, no, no!” He scooped the clothes up, 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 was 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.
He halted, swallowing hard as every nerve ending flashed hot and ready. Lore a’mighty,what the devil was the woman wearing? It was 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 mecurve of her waist. Saint’s bones. 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 blonde 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 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 around her fine hips.
Lore a’mighty. He would give anything to be that bit o’ cloth.
She clapped her hands. “Hurry and get changed. When we’re finished working out, I’ve got another surprise for you. I really think you’re going to like it.”
“Aye.” Graham nodded with a tensed jerk. He dare say no more lest he shock the lass with talk of what he truly wished she would give him. The wordlikewouldn’t 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!” 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 on the long wooden bench balanced on steel poles embedded in the floor. “I dinna give a rat’s arse about the building 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 was not ashamed of his man parts by any means but didn’t wish to parade around like a stag rutting for a mate. That would not do at all when it came to making the proper impression on the fine Mistress Lilia and wooing her into becoming his wife.
“Think of Mother Sinclair.” Angus leaned back against one of the many gleaming white basins jutting out from one wall. “That should take the bone out of yer willy.”
The mere mention of Mother Sinclair was as effective as a heavy dousing of icy loch water. “Aye . . . now the problem iskeepingthe bone out of my 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 swiving tight, my cock willna have room to raise its head.”
