CursedLaird by Tara Nina

chest with her forefinger as she spoke.
    “ That’s how I like to be kissed. Not too hard, but
not too soft either. Don’t you forget it.”
    Pure laughter broke from him. Caledonia stepped back and
simply stared. Did he not understand what she said? Or was he making fun of
her? When he finally stopped, he cleared his throat, looked her straight in the
eyes, and lowered so close to her face she felt the heat of his breath on her
cheek.
    “Lass.” His thick brogue rolled on a deep timbre. “Ye got
the drop on mi this time. Be warned.” He brushed his thumb across her bottom
lip as he held her wide-eyed stare. “I won’t be forgetting how ye likes it.”
     
    He wasn’t exactly sure where he was but one thing he did
know—the black-headed minx with the oddest-colored blue eyes he’d ever seen
knew how to kiss. Pressed against her moments earlier stirred his blood back to
life and hardened his shaft. Just the thought of it made him remember something
else just as important if not more about this feisty boireannach . She
knew how to bring a man to his knees and not in a pleasurable way. Absently, he
shifted his stance, adjusting the injured party into a more comfortable
position.
    Taking in his surroundings more clearly, he still didn’t
recognize the room in which he stood. Odd items hung on the wall, lined the
shelves and sat upon the table. He closed his eyes as his thoughts knotted.
What had Mary said? Two hundred years cursed. Gavin and Ian were freed, yet the
others remained lost. Castle MacKinnon. Home.
    He opened his eyes and leveled his gaze on the woman named
Caledonia. Fine name for a strong woman. Studying her from head to toe, he
deemed her different. On her bottom, she wore men’s trews and some sort
of shirt covered her breasts. Both items fit snug and reminded him she had fine
curves.
    Caledonia spoke. Her Scottish lilt tickled his ears. At
least he woke in Scotland. Thank the angels. “My name is Caledonia Kavanagh.”
    “Milady.” He nodded politely then replied, “I am Struan
MacKinnon o’ Clan MacKinnon from Lochsbury. Is what Mary said the truth? Have I
been cursed for over two hundred years?”
    “Aye,” Caledonia replied.
    He liked the way she met his gaze directly when she spoke.
She didn’t lower her eyes or play shy like the women of his time. Mary’s image
graced his thoughts and weighed heavy on his heart. Now there was a fine woman
to whom he owed his life. He sighed, knowing that was a love that was never
meant to be. He managed to find his voice and asked, “Where am I now?”
    “Lawers Glen on the southern shore of Loch Tay.”
    He released a sigh of relief. He may not have woken in a
familiar time, but he knew where he was. If he left right now, it would be
several days walk for home. Struan turned for the door and was out of it before
she could stop him.
    “You mustn’t go out there.” Her voice followed behind him as
did her footsteps.
    Darkness surrounded him. A full moon hung over the loch,
dancing across its surface. He inhaled deep. Fresh air filled his lungs.
Freedom flowed through his veins. Though he tried to grapple with the
knowledge, it seemed impossible over two hundred years had passed. The loch
remained the same. He strolled down the dock. A large, strange-looking boat was
moored alongside. A thick odor lingered near the rear of the boat and made his
nose crinkle. It didn’t smell natural.
    The light of the moon granted him the ability to read the
words written upon the boat’s bow. Marcail Struana . Gaelic for pearl of
the stream. It struck him odd to find such on this boat. His name Struan and the word Struana both meant stream. Was it coincidence or destiny he
awakened in the care o’ this woman named Caledonia? Did she love the water in
the same manner as he? Struan snorted at the thought as he continued past to
the dock’s end. Being frozen in stone muddled his brains with feminine thoughts
of destiny.
    If it were not for MacGillivray, his life