Maxwell’s grin stretched wider but he complied, treating her burning flesh to the heavenly relief of a well directed scratch. “Aye. Yer just like my little mare. Ye’re both divine sweetness and fully tamed as long as ye’re scratched in all the right places.”
Trish released an ecstatic shudder. Leaning forward, she braced her hands on her knees and shifted her body into his magical fingers like a cat directing its master’s caress. “Less talk and more scratching. Every time you open your mouth, all you do is piss me off.”
Maxwell’s deep laughter exploded through the halls of the keep. Tucking his chin with a single nod, his eyes sparkled with amusement as he angled closer and adjusted the direction of his satisfying touch. “As ye wish, my little mare. As ye wish.”
ChapterNine
Maxwell scanned the winding paths trailing about the private gardens. Thank the gods no one appeared to be about. He returned his gaze to Trish’s shapely derriere, seductively swinging from side to side in her revealing pair of close fitting trews.
God’s beard.Maxwell scrubbed his face with one hand, ending the motion with an absent-minded pulling of hair on his chin. Did all the women of Trish’s time walk about in such revealing clothes?Lore a’mighty.From the back, the skintight clothing showed the cleft of her buttocks and the view of the front hinted at the treasures waiting to be enjoyed.
Maxwell adjusted his swollen member to a less obvious fold of his kilt and prayed for a sudden blast of cold Highland wind to give him some relief. Perhaps he’d best remain outside even after Trish decided to go in for supper.
Trish’s laughter rang out as she lobbed an odd-shaped ball across the garden to Ramsay.
Maxwell grinned as he eased closer, taking care to move down an alternate path shielded by a row of carefully planted firs. The young trees barely reached his chin, the perfect height to observe Trish while she took in a little fresh air and played with the boys.
Maxwell chuckled at how Ramsay and Keagan took right to the lumpy ball Trish had fashioned from scraps of leather. What was the word she’d used to describe the knobby orb?Base ball?Aye…that was it. Maxwell moved soundlessly closer to the trio, biting back the urge to laugh as Ramsay spewed a Gaelic curse word as the ball flew past his head.
“Ramsay?” Trish shook a finger at the red cheeked lad. “I’m not positive about what you just said but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to use that word.”
Ramsay ducked his head as he turned to run for the ball but not before shooting a mischievous wink to Keagan.
“I saw that, Ramsay,” Trish warned as she pulled her collar closer about her neck.
Maxwell edged his way through an opening in the firs and stepped out into the clearing. “The wind grows colder. Do ye no’ think ye’d best be coming inside?”
Trish squeaked and jumped aside, one hand pressed against her throat. “Will you please stop sneaking up on me?” Waving a hand toward the two boys at the other end of the clearing, she shook her head. “And no, we’re not ready to come inside. We’ve only been tossing around the ball for a little while. If you’re cold, go on in. I know the way back to the kitchens.”
Maxwell snorted, squared his shoulders and turned into the wind. “I’m no’ cold. I’m a Highlander, lass. I find the bite of the breeze refreshing.” And thank the gods for the chilly air cooling the stubborn member between his legs, or else he’d ne’er be able to walk. Maxwell shifted his stance and forced himself to keep his gaze fixed on Trish’s face. “The color’s high upon your cheeks and your wee fingers are red with the cold. It’s no’ been that long since ye were unwell. Ye need to take care.”
Trish sniffed against the cold and pulled her sleeves down farther over her hands. “My fingers are a bit numb with the cold. I wish my gloves had followed me down the rabbit hole.”
“Rabbit hole?”
“Never mind.” Trish grinned with a shake of her head.
Maxwell caught the ball, scowling at Keagan for lobbing it toward his head. Rubbing a thumb over the rough seams of the leather orb, Maxwell grinned at the uneven stitches. “I hope the stitches on your clothes are better than these else they’ll never last.”
Trish caught the corner of her lip between her teeth and hugged Ramsay to her when he ran to her side. “I don’t sew my own clothing. I buy it. Ready-made. In a shop.”
“Yep.” Ramsay bobbed his head up and down in complete agreement. “Her and Mama buy a lot a stuff online too.”
“Online?” Maxwell frowned. What the hell wasonline? Sometimes Trish and the boy said the oddest things. The future must be quite different.
“Yeah. Ye know. Online with computers and stuff.” Ramsay pulled out from under the curve of Trish’s arm and motioned out the shape of a box in the air.
Trish took the ball out of Maxwell’s grasp and shoved it into Ramsay’s hands. “Enough, Ramsay. Remember what we talked about. Why don’t you and Keagan play a little more ball and then it’s back to work.”
Ramsay’s smile disappeared and he tucked his chin against his chest. “Yes, ma’am.”
As Ramsay scampered away to join his cousin, Maxwell searched Trish’s face. “What did ye mean when ye told the boy to remember what ye’d said? He didna say anything amiss.” An uneasiness stirred in Maxwell’s gut. Secrets were rarely ever good.
Trish shrugged as she shuffled her feet in the thin layer of snow coating the flagstones of the path. “Ramsay and I have to be careful while we’re here. It could be dangerous if we changed the past.”
“How?” Trish’s suddenly wary tone stirred Maxwell’s already growing sense of uneasiness. “What do ye fear, Trish? Ye must know that none of us would ever allow anything to harm either you or the boy.”
“I know.” Trish edged a few steps back and worried a hand through the longer length of her unruly curls. “It’s one of those things that’s hard to explain.” Trish paused, frowning as she struggled to continue. “It’s like the perpetual riddle: if I go back in time and accidentally kill my father before he meets my mother, how will I be born to go back in time to accidentally kill my father?”
