by Jeanne Rose
“All right, stocks, bonds, whatever you wish to call it.” Then she caught her breath when he reached over to brush back a tendril of her hair. “Red is a bonnie color.”
Face warm, she stirred in her seat and tried to forget about how handsome and mesmerizing he was. And how centered. She hadn’t gotten his mind steered in another direction, after all. She reminded herself he might be dangerous on every level and therefore couldn’t let down her guard. Glancing at the tapestry, she saw there was actually only one doe in the design, not a herd, and that the hunter seemed closer than she’d thought originally. She shifted uncomfortably – her mind was fuzzy with liqueur.
But not fuzzy enough to let him continue playing with her hair. She knew where that would lead. She brushed his hand away and tried to distract him once more.
“So why hasn’t anyone around here heard of you? Do you own Black Broch under a corporation name or something?”
“You are a very clever and lovely lady.”
He grasped her hand, giving it a squeeze that alarmed her even while it sent little thrills of pleasure zinging up her arm. He drew her nearer, yet didn’t really pull. She squirmed. It would be so easy to give in. His gaze was hypnotic . . .
Giving in would be a mistake, perhaps the biggest in her life. “So what’s the name of this corporation?” she croaked.
He frowned, let go of her hand, and for the first time, leaned away from her, back into his chair. “I grow tired of this interrogation. I have my reasons to keep my own counsel.”
Relieved that he’d put some distance between them, she hazarded a guess. “Real estate rivals?”
“Rivals?” He nodded. “There are those who would plot against me. For your own sake, keep your visit here secret.”
“My sake?”
“Most would not believe you, anyway. But, enough.” He leaned forward again, his tone silky. “Now ’tis your turn. What are you really doing here?”
She knew he meant this very place, this very moment, and was certain he’d like her to admit she was besotted with him and longed to jump into his bed. Her heart raced and her insides quaked with a more encompassing kind of fear than she’d experienced earlier.
“I thought this castle would provide inspiration for my new jewelry collection. I’m an artist.”
He stared at her thoughtfully. “Hmm, someone who sees beyond this world. Is that why you’ve asked for me, sought me out so diligently?”
Was he suggesting he himself was not of the ordinary world? “I want to do some designs that are based on the myth of the Demon Lover,” she said, drawing on Bridget’s fantastic tale. “You’d fit the role quite nicely – romantically handsome, powerful persona, mysterious, an air of danger.”
His momentary surprise turned to laughter. “Only an air of danger?” He leaned even farther forward to graze her cheek with a lazy finger before he took firm hold of her jaw. “Then it’s off to my lair, lass, to prove I’m truly dangerous. I’ll sample that fair soft skin all of a piece.”
She felt like she was being zapped with raw electricity. Was he going to kiss her? She’d be lost for sure. Intuitively knowing that if she allowed it, he could dominate her at some primal level she wanted to keep within her own control, she pulled away and rose from her chair, her limbs lethargic with too much sitting and strong alcohol. Still, fear of any kind was sobering.
“You are absolutely incredible. You ought to be an actor.”
He rose as well. “You think my words part of an act?” Then he took hold of her shoulders and drew her tightly against him, belly against belly, thigh against thigh. Her breasts flattened against his chest. “Is what you’re feeling not real?” He smiled and angled his head as if to take her mouth. “A Demon Lover is what you seek, eh? Then beware, fair Caitlin, for once you find him, running will do you no good. He will have power over you, even in the dark.”
Desperately, she turned her face and pushed against him. “Let go! I don’t need to run. I already told you I’m not afraid of the dark.”
“You are very courageous.”
She looked at him defiantly, her heart in her words as she thought of her younger brother. “I’ve fought the darkness and won. Gone into the deep night of the mind and brought back someone I loved . . . and I know I could do it again.”
He frowned, his hold loosening. “You must be very powerful.”
“My love was powerful. That’s all the magic I needed.”
Though her adult, professional fascination with spells and fairy tales and crystals began when her little brother had been lost inside himself. Her work had grown from beliefs that were mostly left behind with childhood.
“Heart and willpower. You are blessed with both.” He allowed her to step away. “All right, Caitlin Montgomery, you may do as you wish – go or stay.”
“I’m leaving.” While she had the chance and before he got her to reveal other secrets, which wouldn’t make her look so strong, after all. Relieved at a deep if inarticulate level, she glanced at her watch. It still showed five o’clock. “My watch must have stopped.”
“The door is this way,” Bain told her, walking away.
She followed him out of the firelight room, into a long passageway and up a flight of stone steps. What should she say when they parted? What if she never saw him again? She was contemplating the question when he opened the door.
“Good night, Caitlin.”
The same salty wind was blowing but the afternoon had turned to twilight. Gloaming, the Scots called it.
Caitlin turned and stared at Bain for a moment until he raised her hand and kissed it, turning it over to likewise set his lips softly against the palm. Her skin reacted to the light brush and she backed away.
“I shall dream of you if we don’t meet again,” he told her, retreating inside.
Not meeting again – that’s one thing she feared.
And, yes, she still feared him also.
The door shut.
And the thought made her heart ache. “Why won’t I see you? Are you leaving for one of your other sites?” she called, but if he heard, he made no response.
Mysterious, reclusive man.
And not-too-bright woman, she told herself, glancing about. Escape while you can. But she didn’t have a flashlight or even a match to show her down the steep dark hillside.
And Bain Morghue had candles.
Glancing up at the tower she’d just left, she moved forward to knock, surprised when she couldn’t make out the shape of a door. Where was it? She hadn’t so much as taken two steps away. Circling the tower didn’t help either. She finally concluded the door must have been the tricky kind, similar to those that swung out to reveal secret chambers.
And she was tired, injured, and still a tiny bit tipsy from the strong and unusual liqueur. The latter was probably the reason the rocks and bits of heather looked so beautiful as she meandered down the side of the promontory. Even the sound of the waves in the loch sounded like high, sweet, beckoning voices.
Everything seemed more intense because of the intoxicating drink, no doubt the reason she’d responded to Bain the way she had. For no matter how handsome he was or how appealing he appeared to be, Bain Morghue was a dangerous man, one who would be reckoned with on his own terms.
Thank God she had escaped his lair unscathed this time.
HIDDEN BEHIND ONE OF the larger stones in the cairns below Black Broch, he watched Caitlin Montgomery descend slowly, get into her car and drive off.
Strange.
He hadn’t considered her a potential opponent.
All that prattle about designing jewelry. All that innocent fresh-faced interest in the beauty of Scotland. All that surprise over the stalled car and the midnight ride.
Usually astute, he had believed her, thought her authentic. Of course, there was another possible explanation for the American woman’s entry into the castle today. A simple explanation. His enemy had rightfully earned his reputation as a womanizer par excellence.
He fing
ered the sketch book he’d managed to pick up in the small courtyard, closer than he’d ever gotten before. He’d opened the pages and seen her amateur attempt at drawing the old runes. If she were a rival, she had hardly reached his own level of expertise. And she could be quite useful. Hadn’t she kept his enemy so busy, the bastard had not been aware of the threat so close to his inner abode? Even the sharp-eyed sentry hadn’t detected his presence.
Rising, he stared up at the dark castle, wondering if he should use her or rid himself of possible competition. It would take some serious thought. In the end, he would utilize every weapon, take every measure, use every ounce of strength necessary to get what he wanted.
Soon.
CHAPTER THREE
“MY WIFE AND I are going to Lochfynton to see the standing stones tomorrow morning,” Professor Abernathy told Caitlin early the next evening in the parlor where everyone would gather for a traditional before dinner sherry. He took a sip. “We thought you might like to join us.”
Though she didn’t need alcohol after being so tipsy the day before that she’d gone to bed without dinner and slept fourteen hours, Caitlin politely tried her own drink. The sherry wasn’t nearly as tasty – or as heady – as Bain’s brew. But then, dangerous or not, Bain Morghue was heady enough for any red-blooded woman. He seemed to seethe with seductiveness and power.
Suddenly realizing the professor was waiting for her answer, Caitlin snapped back to the present. The standing stones. She was already looking forward to seeing the local monoliths similar to Stonehenge.
“How kind of you to offer,” she said graciously. “You’re sure I won’t be intruding?”
“No, no, not at all. Mrs. Abernathy and I want to get to know you better.” The professor leaned in a little closer. “It’ll be nice to spend time with another American. Sometimes I have to fight through the native accent to comprehend what’s being said,” he admitted.
“I understand completely,” she murmured, distracted by bits of images and sounds that flitted through her mind.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t close herself off from her encounter with Bain, a fact that disturbed her deeply. But surely she could handle the Scotsman after her experience with Neil. For one, it had taken several dates to recognize Neil’s dark side, while she’d recognized the darkness in Bain straight off. Forewarned was forearmed, right?
“Professor. Caitlin.” Julian joined them and looked at her with great interest. “We seem to have missed each other yesterday evening and you didn’t join us for breakfast this morning. You must have made some exciting finds.”
“Not that exciting.”
At least not today, when she’d taken what she’d hoped would be a mind and spirit-cleansing walk about the countryside. Instead, she’d dwelled on Bain. And for some reason, no doubt due to the warning he’d given her, she was hesitant about bringing up her encounter with Bain to anyone. That she felt as if he had a hold over her made her distinctly uneasy.
“I saw your car parked in the driveway,” Julian said as Alistair and Mary and the professor’s wife joined them, glasses in hand. “A new model. What was wrong with it, anyway?”
“The mechanic wasn’t certain,” Caitlin said. “Some mysterious burned out wires. All he could suggest was fairy fire.”
Julian started while Alistair laughed and said, “Quite the imaginative one, that Jack.”
“May the Dear Lord protect us!” Bridget stood frozen, halfway to putting away the sherry decanter, a beautiful piece of cut crystal with a stopper in the shape of a fairy. “Ye shouldna laugh at what ye nae ken, Mr. MacDonald.”
“Now Bridget,” admonished Mary kindly. “There are no fairies. Jacko is full of stories is all.”
Bridget shook her head in disagreement and replaced the decanter in the liquor cabinet, then swept out of the room, mumbling ominously to herself.
“Fairy fire? Is that some kind of local legend?” asked Mrs. Abernathy.
“No, not local.” Mary warmed to the topic. “All of Scotland is riddled with legends. Our sherry decanter pays tribute to the tale of fairy wine, you know.”
“Fairy wine?” Caitlin echoed faintly.
“A magical brew that’s said to intensify the senses,” Mary went on. “To make things more beautiful or more frightening. Of course legend has it that any potion or food a mortal takes from a fairy has the power to bind that person to its magical giver forever unless the giver chooses to release the person.”
The others smiled and laughed at the idea. But not Caitlin.
Uneasily, she remembered how, after drinking Bain’s brew, all her senses had seemed more alert, how her fright had multiplied . . . and her longings. And it was true, she’d spent far too much time thinking of Bain. But fairy wine?
“Speaking of legends,” Alistair said. “Some friends of ours would like to meet you, Caitlin. They’re interested in seeing your jewelry designs and willing to share their knowledge of Celtic myths, a particular interest of theirs. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?”
“All right.” Caitlin couldn’t pass up such a terrific opportunity. And she had to admit she wouldn’t mind some company so she could get over this growing obsession with a man she would probably never see again. Thinking about him wasn’t good for her at all. “I appreciate all the help I can get.”
“Sounds like you’re going to have a full day tomorrow.” Julian moved closer as if determined to be the focus of her attention. “Have you had the chance yet to explore Droon?”
“I drove around town after I picked up my car yesterday.”
“Then took the road out along the coast?”
“Actually, I followed it all the way to Black Broch. That old castle is really a fascinating place.”
The firelight tete-a-tete came back in goose-bump-producing clarity. The way Bain Morghue’s touch had made her bones melt. The way his eyes had devoured her. The way his threat of sampling her all of a piece had aroused as much as frightened her. She told herself she should try to learn more about the mysterious man. Surely if he really were The Morghue, a Scottish Laird, the MacDonalds would know of him. And some reality sharing would make her feel safer.
Bain had insisted that people would not believe her, she remembered, had hinted she keep quiet for her own sake. His other warning, his reference to rivals kept her
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tongue in check. She would not leak out Bain Morghue’s presence. In her mind, what were probably real estate rivals had become enemies, and at some level, she felt as if his enemies were her enemies. A ridiculous idea – after all, she didn’t even know the man – and yet one she couldn’t shake. In some strange, indefinable way, she felt a connection to him despite his threats.
“Black Broch?” Julian mused, his brow furrowed. “You ought to avoid that place. Today I heard a convict is loose in the vicinity. Supposedly a dangerous, desperate man. If he’s hiding amidst the rubble of Black Broch, you could have put yourself in danger wandering around alone.”
A convict loose. A dangerous, desperate man. Bain? A chill shot through Caitlin. The description certainly fit.
“Don’t worry, I’m always careful.”
But how safe was a woman when faced with a near-naked man brandishing a claymore, and worse, a mesmerizing quality that made him unforgettable?
THE GLOAMING. TWILIGHT. Barely forty-eight hours after her second encounter with the most fascinating man she’d ever met, Caitlin stood in a circle of standing stones, which loomed over her like rugged if inanimate giants, and replayed their meeting in her mind.
And wondered if they would meet again. She knew she should hope they wouldn’t.
She’d dreamed of him the night before. Whether asleep or awake, she remembered every detail of Bain Morghue. Dark hair, perpetually windblown. Chiseled features. Strong, yet gentle fingers. Blue eyes nearly violet. Seething virility. Too bad he’d frightened her so, that she hadn’t been able to properly appreciate his appearing before her in nothing but a pl
aid. Now she longed for another look, the chance to see whether her memory betrayed her or whether he really had the most beautiful male form she’d ever seen.
Caitlin sighed, both wishing for and dreading another encounter with her mysterious midnight rider. Was she really attracted to the wrong sort of man?
The day that should have been stimulating had grown flat quickly. After remembering she’d left a nearly full sketchbook lying amid the damp stones of Black Broch, she’d swallowed her frustration and come here to the windswept area near Lochfynton that morning with Professor and Mrs. Abernathy. The couple had been so happy to talk to another American that they’d never stopped. Another sketchbook in hand, she hadn’t been able to draw the ancient Celtic patterns decorating the standing stones.
That afternoon, the MacDonalds and their friends, the Fergusons, had been so interested in seeing her designs and in finding out about her plans for the research trip, that they’d barely mentioned The Guardian of Black Broch before cutting short their discussion of Celtic myth. Of course, they’d promised to make it up to her another day.
And afterward, she’d suffered through an incredibly boring early evening tea. Julian Taylor had caught her going into the tea shop and had insisted on joining her. Though he was good-looking and ostensibly charming, he’d talked about antiques until Caitlin had wished she’d never heard of the subject.
Or maybe it was just that she’d met Bain Morghue, after which all other men would seem boring.
She certainly was popular with the people at the B&B, especially with Julian, who had asked to see her again. She’d been ready to turn him down, but then she’d thought better of it. He was nothing like Bain Morghue and she wanted to prove something to herself about the men she chose to see.
Though, at the moment, she greatly appreciated being alone.
But was she?
A scuffle of gravel made her whip around, staring off toward the darkening path that led to her car. No one in sight. Probably some small animal. She tamped down the slight thrill that shot through her . . . the memory that threatened to panic her.
