The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

“Someone made you afraid, didn’t they?” Daniel asked, his look too shrewd. “Someone not me.”

Violet couldn’t answer. At times—when she heard a particular timbre in a man’s voice, or when someone caught hold of her with a certain pressure—the images came to her and swept away all reason. When Daniel had pinned her to the wall, Violet had struck out as she had all those years ago. Only at sixteen, she’d not been strong enough to fight.

“You never have to be afraid of me,” Daniel said. The teasing note in his voice, the smiles, had gone.

Violet shook her head and tried to laugh. “I’d never be afraid of you, Daniel Mackenzie.”

“I’m serious, lass.” His deep baritone rumbled. “I never will hurt you. I want you—I wager you can’t mistake that. But I’m not one to take what isn’t freely given.”

I want you. Violet felt his hardness through the wool of his kilt, a man aroused. Gone were the bustles and crinolines of previous decades—free and easy skirts let a woman feel a man’s wanting against her, even through layers of clothing.

They were in a balloon, a hundred and more feet above the earth, winter wind knifing past them, and Daniel wanted her. He had to be mad.

And yet . . . if it could be only Daniel and herself, floating forever, the troubles of the world left on the rocky slopes below them, Violet could find happiness. The basket pushed at her feet as the balloon lifted her away from the petty worries of her life.

Up here, she could enter a world of true sweetness, if only for a little while. This was her magical barge, and Daniel was the magician who could banish all the monsters.

For answer, Violet rose on her tiptoes and kissed his lips.

The spanner fell with a clatter to the bottom of the basket, Daniel’s strong hand splaying across her bu**ocks to lift her to him. His kiss turned harder, masterful. His mouth opened hers, tongue sweeping in to take. Violet met him halfway, her heart beating wildly.

His arms were hard, his shirt a thin layer over solid muscle. Violet let her hands play over him as he kissed her, running her touch up his arms and down the firm length of his back.

Daniel’s strength took her breath away, and yet at the same time, he poured strength into her. Her magician was working his magic, taking away all pain, all sorrows.

When Daniel pulled back from the kiss, cold slapped at her. “Oh, you tempt me, Vi,” Daniel said, a warm glow in his eyes. “You tempt me much. I’m sorry I told Dupuis and Simon to chase us.”

Violet glanced down, the ground so far away it was heart-stopping. A man on a large horse—the draft horse she’d seen in the barn—trotted along a road that cut through the valley below them. Much farther behind was a man driving a cart. The horseman looked up and waved, and Daniel waved back.

“It is only a kiss,” Violet said. Her voice still didn’t work right. She who could master five languages and various accents in each one now could barely pronounce scratchy words in English.

“Only a kiss?” Daniel’s arms tightened around her. “Grind me to powder beneath your heel, why don’t you?” His hand on her bu**ocks lifted her again, the touch intimate and yet freeing. “Let me—”

He broke off and looked up. Let me . . . Let me what? Have my wicked way with you? Violet leaned closer to him, caring for nothing but the words on his lips, his lips themselves, the radiant heat of his body. I need you, Daniel. And I’m scared.

Daniel released her suddenly as the balloon swayed hard. The basket shoved upward, a strong gust sending it rocking. Violet shouted, her yell carried away on the wind, as Daniel grabbed ropes, pulling hard until the basket stopped its sickening spin.

He thrust the ropes at her. “Hang on to these. Now we see if my hot-air personal dirigible is truly dirigible.”

“Now we see?” Violet stared at him as she grasped the lines. “You said you’d done this before.”

“Flown a balloon before, yes. Never tried to steer one with this system. Now, when I tell you right, you pull the rope in your right hand, left, the one in your left. Can you do that?”

“I think I can remember right from left,” Violet answered shakily and started to wrap the ropes around her hands.

Daniel grabbed her. “No. You hold them. If one jerks wild, I don’t need it pulling you out of the basket at worst, tearing off your fingers at best.”

Violet’s eyes widened, and she unwrapped the ropes. Daniel retrieved the crankshaft, stuck it into his engine, and wound it again. A larger flame jumped from the top of the open box, the basket tipped, and Violet let out another yelp.

Daniel laughed. “I like that you like to scream. Left, now. Left!”

Violet yanked the rope as Daniel continued to crank, the flame spurting. The basket righted from its horrible listing, and the balloon rose higher still.

Wind buffeted them. Violet watched Daniel’s body move as he worked, and wondered why he wanted to go so high. It was freezing now, the wind dry but icy.

Violet glanced ahead of them, and suddenly understood why he wanted the height. Rocks and cliffs rushed at them, the trees on them looking so close she might be able to reach out and touch them. She sucked in a breath.

“Higher!” she shouted. “We need to go higher!”

“What the bloody hell do ye think I’m doing? Pull the right rope! Right!”

“I’m pulling it!” Violet yanked on it with all her strength.

Daniel kept pumping the fire. The rocks rushed at them. At any moment they’d hit, the basket would splinter, and she and Daniel would tumble down. Would they land on rocks, arms around each other, hurting but surviving? Or be plunged to their deaths?