Highlander's Kiss (Clan Matheson #1)

“Be careful, both of you.” Finlay lifted a hand. “I’ll see you on your return.”


“That you will.” She smiled at Finlay, cloaked herself and extended her veil over Kirk then whisked them out the open window and soared toward the MacKenzie’s lair. If Aleck and Adair lived, she would see them freed. She wouldn’t rest until she had.





Chapter 3


The dawn’s rising sunshine streamed through the gap in Tavish’s navy curtains and fluttered over Julia’s closed eyelids. Birds twittered outside and she wriggled, her legs trapped under one of Tavish’s muscled legs. On his belly, he lay half over top of her, his arm a warm and solid weight around her waist.

Soundly, he slept, her movement not even making him stir. He must be exhausted. He’d woken her throughout the night, each time for only a moment or two but his worry for her had been clear to see each time he had. She smoothed one thumb under the dark shadows lining his eyes then slid her fingers through his silky black shoulder-length hair. Tingles raced across her fingertips.

Sometime during the night, he’d taken his shirt off and tossed it onto the end of his bed and now his shoulders, so wide and heavy with muscle, lay temptingly before her. They rippled with strength and she pushed the covers back a little more and exposed his broad back and tapered waist. Black trews clung to his hips and his golden skin gleamed. Oh my, she truly shouldn’t be looking her full quite like this.

She pulled the covers back up and continued to mentally berate herself as she snuck out of bed. She tiptoed across the cold polished floorboards toward the corner oak chest. In the topmost drawer, a pair of white socks poked out and she tugged them free and pulled them onto her chilled feet. She trailed her fingers down the front of the shirt Tavish had loaned her. The buttons were quite shiny and made of a similar substance to that of the water bottle she’d sipped from last eve. They must be plastic too. Never had she seen buttons made of anything other than bone, wood, or sea shells. There was so much in this time she wished to see.

Propped on top of the chest, a colorful image was wedged inside a dark wooden frame. She picked the frame up and stroked the glass covering the image within, one incredibly lifelike and completely captivating. Tavish stood impeccably attired in pleated tan trews and a pale blue collared shirt and leather belt, his arm slung over another man’s shoulders, a man identical to him in every way. His twin. Tor wore a similar pair of trews to Tavish but in a forest-green and a pressed tan shirt. The two stood underneath a large elm tree with a thick matting of amber colored leaves at their feet, the stone walls of Ivanson Castle rising high behind them. Such a precious image. She would adore having one like this of her and Arabel.

Gently, she set the picture back in its rightful place then hopped across to the window. She slid one finger between the navy curtains and opened them an inch. Below in the stony inner courtyard, muscled men in billowy shirts and belted Matheson plaids strode toward the training area near the far curtain wall. They stretched then partnered up and tapped their swords together. With a heave, they struck and fought, each strike of their blade against the other’s ricocheting toward her. She jumped at the fierce clanging and checked on Tavish over her shoulder.

Eyes closed, he stretched then patted the space where she’d been. “Julia?” He jerked upright, flung his eyes open then as he spied her at the window, sighed raggedly. “You gave me a fright. I didn’t hear you wake up. What are you doing over there?”

“I wanted to see more of your time.”

“It’s cold out of bed.” He shoved the covers back and marched toward her. Those broad shoulders she’d not long admired led to a glorious chest holding a smattering of hair as dark as his head, and defined abs that had her fingers itching to touch him once more. Goodness. He must train daily with the sword to have built such strength within his body. He wrapped his arms around her and swamped her in his heat. “Let me warm you up. My shifter blood runs hotter than mere human blood alone.”

Her hands were squished between them, right against his chest. She spread her fingers wide, closed her eyes and breathed in his warm and fresh scent. “Mmm, now I’m much warmer.”

“I see my clansmen are already at training.” Over her head, he pushed the curtains right back and flooded the chamber with sunshine. “Sorry for sleeping in. I didn’t mean to. Let’s turn you around so I can check your wound, then I can show you around so you can see more of my time.”

“There is no pain.”