Highlander's Portrait Page 8

  “Tha laird’s younger sister. ‘Tis a delight, tha’ one.” The older woman’s smile widened. Her obvious affection for Eoin’s sister warmed Ashlyn somehow.

  She felt safe for the first time since being rushed inside Dunvegan, version 1755. Maybe the manhandling didn’t bother her so much, either. At least for the moment.

  “Go on, lass, inta the tub. We need ye warm,” the other girl said. “I’m Maegan, by tha way.”

  “I’m Nessie.” The older woman’s expression softened. “These are a few of my lasses. Tha one I sent off is Peg.”

  Ashlyn sank into the hot water with a sigh, resting her back against the wooden side. She bent her knees, but it didn’t matter, both women had already seen her naked as the day she was born. The water surrounded her body, almost too warm, but it felt like a caress, increasing her sense of security in a way. Making her just a touch more comfortable with her very odd—unbelievable—situation.

  They fussed over her, washing her hair with a flowery scented soap, but she was grateful for feeling clean again. Soap like that was probably a luxury for them, so Ashlyn appreciated it, even if she couldn’t tell them.

  The two women washed her body as if she was a child and wouldn’t accept her attempt at, “I can do it myself,” so she let them do their thing. It felt good, anyway.

  She couldn’t help but think of Eoin’s hands all over her in that cave. And his mouth moving over hers, even if it was the second time she’d not really wanted to kiss him.

  Right?

  Her cheeks burned, and she avoided their gazes, even though there was no way they were mind readers.

  When either spoke, it was mostly to each other, not asking much of Ashlyn—although she’d kind of expected the opposite. For instance, “Why were you with our laird, nearly naked?” led the charge in her head, but nothing of the sort was mentioned.

  Maybe they knew better than to question Eoin—or her, as an extension of that, but they’d all made multiple inquiries when they’d all been down in the great hall.

  The laird had ignored them, so maybe that was it.

  The door creaked as it opened and Peg was back, but she wasn’t alone. An ebony-haired girl, who had to be in her late teens was on her heels, and both females had armfuls of fabric.

  Ah, the eighteenth century feminine attire.

  They were going to truss her up.

  Oh my God. This is real.

  No amount of repeating the idea alleviated her oh shit. She swallowed and sat taller in the tub.

  The new girl’s gaze glued to Ashlyn’s and her heart skipped.

  Curiosity was etched in the eyes that matched Eoin’s. She had to be his sister. Ashlyn could see him in her face, as well. The sibling resemblance was clear in the high cheekbones and the shape of their eyes.

  She was gorgeous, with natural alabaster skin Kate would be jealous as hell of. Her beauty stunned Ashlyn—not unlike the redhead who owned the shop she’d bought Eoin’s painting at.

  “Hello,” she croaked, then yelled at herself.

  “Good day,” the girl returned. She set her burden down on a trunk at the end of the four-poster bed and curtseyed. Her smile was wide and she had a dimple in her right cheek.

  The other servant—Peg—started straightening the garments out.

  “I’m Fiona,” the dark-haired beauty said.

  “My name’s Ashlyn,” she whispered as Nessie urged her to stand and step out of the tub onto some sort of animal fur rug. The hairy texture teased her toes, and she fidgeted. She was naked in front of four people now, with nowhere to hide.

  Maegan wrapped her in a sheet of material—a towel eighteenth century style. It wasn’t very soft, but it got the job done as the girl started rubbing down Ashlyn’s arms and back.

  Kate wouldn’t approve. Bath towels were supposed to be lavish, thick and soft. The second thought of her bestie jolted her in her skin.

  Her head spun. She was really here.

  Back in time.

  Like she’d stepped into one of her stories.

  She wavered on her feet, and her arms were contained in the linen, so she couldn’t even reach out to steady herself.

  No amount of squeezing her eyes shut and shouting no, no no, please no! in her head was working. Dizziness swamped her, and Ashlyn swayed.

  She wanted Eoin.

  Why? He kidnapped you, idiot!

  “She’s gonna fall,” Peg warned.

  Hands seized her shoulders before Ashlyn could tell them she was fine.

  But was she?

  No. Not even an iota of ‘okay.’ Not even close.

  Fiona’s pretty face was marred with a frown. “Are ye well, lass? Ashlyn, ye said?” The girl struggled with her name—it wasn’t period appropriate, after all.

  “I’m…I’m…I don’t know!” She tried not to wail, but damn tears blurred her vision again. They were hot on her cheeks, too, and she couldn’t muster the energy to wipe them away.

  Four sets of eyes watched her with concern, and the MacLeod women wore nearly identical frowns and furrowed brows.

  “Shit,” Ashlyn whispered. She shook her head.

  Nessie gasped.

  The other two servants exchanged a nervous look, but amusement rippled Eoin’s little sister’s mouth.

  “I like her,” the girl announced.

  The older woman muttered something in Gaelic and tsked. Her lips were pursed and she crossed her arms over her ample breasts.

  Ashlyn’s cheeks seared. Eoin had said the older woman didn’t like cursing, so she should watch her mouth. Kate wouldn’t be able to cut it here, her favorite word started with an f and ended with a k. She avoided Nessie’s gaze and looked at Eoin’s little sister. “I guess that’s good,” she said.

  Fiona flashed her dimple and grabbed what had to be a chemise from the end of the bed. “Let’s get ye dressed.”

  “The laird said he’d be back fer her,” Maegan said.

  “He’s wit’ Grandfa, tha’ could take hours.” Fiona rolled her eyes.

  Peg took the chemise and tugged it over Ashlyn’s head. The material was butter-soft and she palmed it as it settled over her body. It was lower cut than it’d appeared to be when Fiona had handled it, but she wasn’t surprised it would only be the first of multiple layers.

  She wasn’t looking forward to the corseted top on the green gown. Her breasts weren’t huge, but they were too large to go without some sort of support. Unlike Kate, who wore corsets for fun, she wasn’t a fan.

  “That’s so pretty,” she blurted when Fiona lifted the shimmery material and held it up.

  It was a lighter color than it’d appeared when lying flat, a Kelly Green, with an intricate pattern of leaves embroidered into the bodice and at the bottom of the skirt in a darker green thread that caught the light as it moved.

  The teen beamed. “’Tis mine, an’ I fancy it verra much.”

  “Thank you for letting me wear it.”

  “Oh, ‘tis no bother.” She frowned. “My brother doesna approve of it.”

  “Oh.”

  Nessie urged Ashlyn to turn toward the fire as they got the yards and yards of fine fabric over her head.

  The gown rustled as it fell into place, and Ashlyn had to resist caressing the front of the dress. When she looked down, it hit her why Eoin wouldn’t want his baby sister wearing the thing. It was so low cut, if she bent over, she feared her boobs would pull a Janet Jackson.

  Heat washed over her body, burning up to her ears. The crimson flush was visible on the bare skin of her chest, too. She wanted to cover up, and she wasn’t even with him yet.

  How would Eoin feel about her in this gown? Then again, he’d seen her naked, too.

  It was fine, expensive no doubt for the time, and true lady’s attire. Kate would love it for her fantasy collection.

  They made quick work of the ties at the back, but thankfully Peg and Maegan didn’t pull the corset so tight Ashlyn couldn’t breathe. However, her breasts were on display. She
was rocking cleavage that would make her bestie proud. She gulped.

  Fiona clapped. “So bonnie, Ashlyn!”

  “Tha lass does tha’ gown well.” Nessie’s pride was obvious and made her want to fidget.

  Peg and Maegan beamed, taking turns going on about how lovely she was.

  They made quick work of her hair, putting it up in what Ashlyn considered close to a French twist. A part of her was giddy, like she was going to a ball, and another part was terrified, and couldn’t help the shudders that threatened, shaking her to her core. She was dressed up like a lady, like she was going to some Renn Fest, but this was real.

  She was in 1755, and this wasn’t a dream.

  Could this trip be the most authentic research she ever did?

  Ashlyn snorted.

  Guess that’s thinking positive, right?

  “Come ta my rooms! I’ve a lookin’ glass!” Fiona tugged her hand.

  “Slow down, milady. The laird will require Lady Ashlyn’s presence,” Nessie admonished.

  Lady Ashlyn? “Wait. I’m not—”

  “I’ll take her ta them!” the girl exclaimed, obviously not daunted by the older woman.

  She pulled her from the room in a blur, and dragged her down a long hallway.

  Ashlyn wanted to look around, but Fiona had them at top speed and it was all she could do to keep up.

  Eoin’s sister’s room had an obvious feminine touch the room they’d been in had lacked, from the padded window seat to the slender carved pillars on the bed. There was a large MacLeod tartan covering the bedding, but under it was a fur blanket that made Ashlyn want to curl up against it to see if it was as soft as it looked.

  The room was warmer, because it was smaller, and the fire burned bright.

  The teen went to the corner immediately, leaving Ashlyn by the bed, and dragged an intricately carved, harp-shaped mirror over by the fireplace. Fiona beckoned. “Come, Lady Ashlyn.”

  “You don’t have to call me that. I’m not a lady.”

  “Ah, but ye look like one.”

  Her eyes found themselves in the cloudy reflection, and they went wide with the shock Ashlyn could see all over her face. “Holy shit,” she whispered.

  Fiona giggled. “Didna my brother tell ye? Doona speak as such around Nessie.”

  Heat flared all over, and she locked eyes with the girl’s deep blue ones. “Uh. Sorry.”

  She grinned. “Doesna bother me. But Grandfa is also…sensitive ta curses.”

  “Good to know. Thanks.” Ashlyn smiled.

  “Ye…speak…unusual.” The girl frowned. Her black hair was long, hanging loose in thick waves to her waist, and shifted as she cocked her head to one side. Her gown was rich fabric, like the green one, but it had a modest neckline and was deep red. It also had pink flowers embroidered on the bodice.

  Fiona was definitely a girly girl. Kate would approve.

  “Ah. I’m not…from around here.” She didn’t want to pull the whole I’m-from-the-future thing until she talked to Eoin. Ashlyn swallowed. Averted her eyes back to her reflection.

  The gown was probably the finest thing she’d ever worn. She wanted to twirl.

  Fiona was still studying her—she could sense it from her peripheral vision, but the laird’s little sister didn’t make further inquiries.

  Maybe Eoin had everyone trained?

  “Come, I’ll take ye ta my Grandfa’s chambers. Isna good ta keep my brother waiting.”

  She didn’t argue, but her heart jumped at the thought of seeing Eoin again.

  Chapter Ten

  Noise at the door made Eoin look up.

  “Come,” his grandfather called.

  The familiar dark head of his little pest peeked in, and his instinct was to yell at her to return to her rooms—or demand to know why she was defying his orders—but Fiona wasn’t alone.

  He blinked at the flash of green fabric.

  Ashlyn stepped into the room and stood beside his younger sister. She fidgeted at Fiona’s side, her discomfort a live thing he could feel. It didn’t keep him from taking her in, even though it meant ignoring his instinct to reassure her.

  His eyes raked her frame, settling above the waist on the exposed expanse of creamy flesh. The air in the room dissipated, and he wanted to tug at the nowhere-near-tight neckline of the saffron leine his grandfather had given him to wear.

  Eoin swallowed—twice. He was too hot.

  Did the fire need to be banked?

  He needed to look at the hearth to check, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the petite blonde lass he’d kidnapped from the future.

  She was… Gorgeous seemed too weak a term.

  The gown he’d forbidden his sister from wearing was perfect on Ashlyn.

  Made for Ashlyn.

  Not only did it hug her slender torso and form to it, placing her breasts high and tempting, it flared at the hip, hinting at the rounded perfection there, and flowing down to the floor in a gracious way that made her even more attractive.

  “Who is this vision?” Angus breathed, pushing to his feet with his hands held out.

  “‘Tis just me, Grandfa.” Fiona beamed, true to her cheeky nature, and their grandfather chuckled.

  He shook his head. “Ye are bonnie, as ye well know, my lassie, bu’ I doona refer ta ye, this time.”

  Ashlyn flushed that enchanting shade of crimson and it lit the skin of her neck and visible collarbones, too.

  Made Eoin itch to run his fingers over every inch of her. He had to avert his gaze. His cock twitched. Which was ridiculous, considering he’d seen her clothed in a whole lot less than his sister’s fancy dress.

  The elderly charmer crossed the distance to Ashlyn, and took both her hands in his. “Ye, lass, are a bonnie sight for an old man.”

  “Th-th-thank you,” she murmured, but she didn’t look at his grandfather.

  Her eyes found his and Eoin needed a distraction. He couldn’t very well ravish her in front of an audience, especially this one.

  “Wha’ are ye doin’ ou’ of yer chambers?” he tried to bark at his sister, but the question came out cracked.

  Fiona’s sweet smile was replaced by a glare so fast it should’ve made his head spin, but he was used to such things from his little pest. “Grandfa didna agree wit’ yer...orders.”

  He frowned.

  “Now, now, no’ in front a’ tha guest,” Angus said.

  Eoin narrowed his eyes at his ever-the-peacemaker grandfather. “Ye dote on her—”

  “Later, Eoin.” Angus’ voice was hard.

  Fiona harrumphed and narrowed her eyes, daring him to defy the man who’d raised them.

  Ashlyn froze, her unease obvious. She swayed in ladies’ slippers that were no doubt his sister’s. She didn’t pull away from their grandfather’s grip, but Eoin’s gut said she was just being polite.

  “I shall have words wit’ ye.” He pointed at Fiona. “And ye.” He pointed to their grandfather’s chest. “As well as Jamie MacLeod.” Maybe he’d replace his cousin as steward.

  His sister’s fists were balled at her sides. She wore a scowl that destroyed her beauty. “Ye are a barbar—”

  “Lass, return ta yer quarters,” Angus commanded. “We shall speak later, indeed.” He looked at Eoin. “Jamie need no’ be involved. Tha lad was followin’ my orders.”

  He frowned again. It wasn’t fair to pit his cousin against his grandfather, who’d been the laird much longer than Eoin himself, but that only irritated him more. He grunted and swallowed some choice curses that would raise Angus’ ire.

  Fiona glared at him before whirling away, her skirts swooshing as she obeyed their grandfather, and fairly stomped to the door, which she slammed on her way out.

  Ashlyn winced. “I’m sorry.”

  His grandfather’s blue eyes were soft when he looked back at her. “No need fer ye ta apologize, lass. ‘Tis a family conflict. ‘Twill be remedied shortly.”

  “She willna marry a MacDonald,” Eoin growled.
<
br />   Angus sent him a silencing glare, then glanced back at his Ashlyn. “Come, lass. Never ye mind my lad here, or my granddaughter. Let us speak of yer journey.”

  “My…my…journey?” she stuttered, but let his grandfather lead her toward the fire, and Eoin brought over a chair with a padded seat for her.

  She looked at him as she sat, but didn’t thank him.

  Not that he blamed her. He was still in the wrong, no matter how lovely she was in attire from his time.

  He swallowed a sigh and carried the carved chair from his grandfather’s desk closer to the warm fire. Eoin sat next to her, while Angus asked a few polite questions and Ashlyn answered quietly.

  She looked overwhelmed, and with wide brown eyes and the slight tremor to her shoulders, no doubt she was just that.

  Guilt swirled around his stomach, jumping up to form in lump in his throat. He didn’t know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut. When he got her alone, she was probably going to flay him open as soon as she regained her composure. Since he couldn’t define a reason for his selfishness, he couldn’t fathom what he’d say to her then, either.

  “I’m Angus MacLeod, an’ I used ta be laird, a ’fore this one. I’m grandfa to Eoin, and the lovely lassie who lef’ here in a huff.”

  He snorted. Angus’ obvious affection for him and his little bother was evident with the way the man spoke, despite what he’d said about his sister’s current insolence.

  “Nice…to meet you.” Ashlyn gained strength with each passing second. She let his scoundrel of a grandfather kiss her knuckles, and her cheeks went pink all over again.

  “We lost his da, my lad Gregor, when Eoin was a lad. So I was laird again then, too. So he could finish growin’ an’ learnin’.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She looked at Eoin, and the genuine sympathy she wore, shining in those dark eyes, made him sit taller.

  His heart stuttered. He didn’t deserve for her to look at him with anything but disdain. “‘Twas a long time ago,” he muttered.

  “Where do ye hail from, lass?” his grandfather asked, and she averted her gaze back to the older man, but then Ashlyn pinned her pretty brown eyes on him, her brow drawn tight.