by Jeanne Rose
Fairy fire.
He slid a hand up the inside of her thighs and instinctively she parted them, allowing him access. He made a sound deep in his throat . . . then suddenly raised his head.
And she was amazed when, with obvious effort, he pushed her away.
“That should not have happened,” Bain muttered. “We should not be so intimate when we canna be together.”
“Why not?” she asked before realizing the implication of her question.
He set her from him, rose, then helped her to her feet. “Your clothing should be dry. You can dress and I will take you to your vehicle.”
“Why don’t you ever answer a person’s questions?” Angry at him for making her want more – especially at herself for not resisting – Caitlin spun toward the fireplace and retrieved her clothes. “It really ticks me, the way you play all mysterious when it suits you. Are you trying to hide something? What is your problem? Will you please answer me for once?”
Bain turned to her, his expression bleak. “I, lady, am lost in a darkness from which there is no escape.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE WORDS WERE out of his mouth before he could stop them. Bain followed the admission with an old Gaelic curse as he stared into great green eyes that went all wide and soft on him. Plumbing their depths, he read a compassion that found its uncomfortable rest within his being.
“No escape?” Caitlin murmured, her intention of changing out of the robe seemingly forgotten for the moment. She dropped the garments onto the couch. “From what?”
Her robe slipped a bit on her shoulder, revealing soft white flesh. He took a deep breath, knowing he should be heeding the heat in his groin, not testing the honesty of a stranger. What a foolish impulse. The story of the brother and the lady’s own heroism had obviously affected him more deeply than he cared to acknowledge. He hadn’t known such a love was possible. He was used to dealing with those who put self-interest and greed above everything.
“I was only making a figure of speech,” he hedged.
“Is this your darkness?” She glanced about as if really seeing her surroundings for the first time. “This crumbling castle? Or is it something more?”
His heart beat swiftly at her insight. Not that he would confirm any conjecture she might make. “Sometimes we are trapped by circumstances.”
“Circumstances,” she echoed, “or your own actions?”
Her gaze narrowed and he sensed she mentally took a step back in an effort to break their fragile connection.
“Some crime, perhaps?” she probed. “Is that what you meant?”
“You have quite an imagination.”
“We already established that, but I’m not drawing on my ingenuity now,” she told him. “Rumor is there’s an escaped convict hanging around the area. One who’s dangerous and desperate. I was warned he might be using Black Broch as his cover.”
Though he wouldn’t give her the truth at any rate, Bain knew a moment’s disappointment. “So you think me a criminal. Do I look desperate, lady?” Purposely, he turned his most intimidating expression on her, yet was not the least surprised when she held her ground, only the flutter of her lashes and the deepening of her breath indicating he had any affect on her at all. “Do I frighten you?”
That she lifted her chin and said, “Evasive, as usual, but then what did I expect?” amused him.
For now it was she who was avoiding giving direct answers. Bain had no doubts that he did frighten this Caitlin Montgomery, no matter how brave a face she showed him. He observed it through her eyes . . . a fear that went far deeper than mere concern for her skin. Lovely, soft skin, he thought, distracted for a moment by his urge to sample it yet again. This fright went all the way to her very soul, and he guessed he was not the original source, but the immediate catalyst. She had reason to distrust. Another man?
Bain hated the thought.
Hated that he could care.
He’d gone too long without a woman. None had ever gotten past his natural armor before. This one was making him feel things best left alone . . . and far too easily for his peace of mind.
“You remind me of a bully I once knew,” Caitlin said. “He wanted people to be afraid of him so they couldn’t see through him . . . couldn’t guess that he was nearly consumed by his own demons.”
Another start, again covered by a laugh. “And what would you have me fear?”
She shook her head so the drying strands of her hair snaked around her shoulders. “I don’t know. Yet.”
“I am certain you shall herald the truth from the very walls of Black Broch should you think you’ve discovered it.”
She didn’t answer and Bain grew uneasy. Fears. Yes, he had his share.
And, linked to him even casually as she was, Caitlin had every reason to be afraid. Throughout his lifetime, many had sought and plotted to give themselves the opportunity to claim his ancestral legacy. But none was so powerful as the one who challenged him presently. They’d met before. Several times. And with each foray, his enemy grew more determined.
And, Bain worried, stronger.
His enemy would make minced meat of a lovely young lass like Caitlin should she stand in his way.
Bain knew banishing Caitlin from Black Broch for her own sake would be the wisest course. But he couldn’t. ’Twas more than the emerald green of her eyes and the flame of her red hair and her sleek and silky limbs that made him want to take her, to make her his forever.
Her fiery spirit . . . her heartfelt loyalty . . . her ability to love selflessly . . .
These were the qualities that made him long for the life Caitlin could show him, a life he could not, as things stood, have. These were the things that inspired guilt, a new experience for him. For these were also the things that made him hold onto her a bit longer, even if he kept himself from taking her in every sense of the word. For, may the almighty powers help him, they would then both be lost.
“Get dressed,” he said, abruptly striding away from her. “I shall return momentarily.”
Though she thought to, Caitlin didn’t object. Instead, she silently watched Bain retreat, his back straight, his head held high, his stride long. First he’d dismissed her, and now he didn’t give her so much as a glance before leaving the room through a far door she hadn’t before noticed.
All this talk of fear made it seem less real. Made him seem more human. She paused at that. What an odd thought. Human. As if he weren’t.
Why had he terminated their conversation so abruptly? Had she struck too close to home? Was he like the bully she’d mentioned, all bravado to hide his own frailties? Maybe. But there was more to him. She wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating Bain Morghue. Not like she had Neil. She tried never to make the same mistake twice.
Quickly, she changed back into her sweater and pants, then pulled her fingertips through her almost dry hair to fluff it out. If only she had a mirror and a comb. And a lipstick wouldn’t be out of order, either.
But as he swept back into the room, Bain gave her the feeling that she looked just fine. More than fine. His deep blue eyes glinted appreciatively as they swept over her, coming to rest on her face as he stopped before her.
Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been for him to demand, “Give me your right hand.”
“What?”
“Are you deaf, lass? Your hand.”
When she didn’t comply, he reached for it, his fingers warm and strong – though unthreatening – as he tugged at her wrist. His mere touch fired her blood and she was certain he knew it. Not that he indicated any such thing. No twinkle in his eyes. No blatant quiver to his lips. His expression might be stone, but he knew. She was certain.
Feeling something slide over her middle finger, she tore her gaze free and looked down.
“Oh.” She glanced at his face, still impassive, then back at the heavy metal ring which immediately warmed to her skin. “It’s . . . wonderful.”
A graceful silver falcon tu
rned in a flurry of feathers, clutching a milky white moonstone in its talons. She lifted her hand toward the firelight and a subtle blue immediately winked from its depths. The detailing of the falcon itself – multiple layers of feathers resembling the intertwining spirals of ancient Celtic design – was superb.
“I wish I had designed this.” She stared at Bain in wonder that he had such an object, the kind of thing she herself would love to create. “Who is the artist?”
“Someone no longer of this world.”
Dead? “Pity.” Although carefully polished, the ring did look very old. “I would give anything to see more of this person’s work.”
“Perhaps you shall have that opportunity.”
Mesmerized by the hint of promise in his tone – did he own more like pieces, then? – she met his gaze and caught her breath. Raw desire stared back out at her, drawing a curl of warmth from her belly and a damp flush between her thighs. Embarrassed, Caitlin looked away, concentrated on the ring and started to slip it from her finger.
“No.” He caught her hand and shoved the silver back across her knuckle. “’Tis yours.”
“I couldn’t.”
”You must. And you mustn’t remove it, not even while you sleep.”
“Not take it off?” He was still holding onto her, making it near impossible for her to think. “Why ever not?”
“You said you believe in magic, Caitlin Montgomery. Were you truthful with me?”
Breathless, she slipped her hand free. “I’m to believe this is a magical ring? What’s it supposed to do? Drive off other falcons?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Strange, but I would’ve bet you didn’t have a whimsical bone in your body.”
He frowned her quivery grin away. “Don’t make light, lady. I give you this token to keep you safe. While you wear it, I protect you.”
“So are you the falcon? Or the hunter?”
She meant it as a joke, to loosen him up, but he didn’t appear amused. His expression was dead serious. A strange foreboding flitted through her, and she felt compelled to do as he demanded.
Even so, she tried to argue, “It’s a little heavy.”
Like magic, the ring’s weight lightened until she could barely tell it wrapped around her finger . . . as if it had subtly become part of her.
“My enemies will not dare touch you as long as you wear my token. Take it off . . .”
That he didn’t finish the sentence chilled her. She remembered thinking earlier that his enemies were her enemies. Someone had lain in wait for her barely an hour before. Someone had tried to force her into the loch.
Someone he knew?
His enemy?
“You’re a dangerous man to be around in more ways than one, aren’t you?”
“Best that you not forget so.”
Before she could question him further, he picked up her coat and slipped it about her shoulders, his fingers lingering a little too long, his breath warm on the back of her neck. She shivered. But then, as if having second thoughts about any hesitation, he swept her from the room. A moment later, the dark cloaked them both. Even when they exited the tunnel into the night that was now still and dry but for the muck underfoot, Bain held her fast. That he was
dangerous, Caitlin did not doubt. And yet she had no desire to shrug free of him. She felt oddly connected, as if they were one somehow. The thought was both scary and exhilarating.
“So where’s your faithful steed?” she asked breathlessly, searching the area for the big black stallion.
“I believe you have your own steed . . . uh, auto.”
“Stopped dead by a tree. Lightning struck a major limb, and the resulting mess blocked the road. I was forced to abandon my car.”
Caitlin tried not to worry that the man who’d been chasing her might now be laying in wait. She had The Morghue for protection, after all, and she knew how fierce he could be when his anger was aroused.
“It’ll take several men or even mechanical equipment to open the way again,” she speculated.
“We shall see.”
They traversed the uneven ground in silence for the several minutes it took to crest the final hill where she caught sight of her car. The engine was still running, and the lights were still on, illuminating several leafy branches. To Caitlin’s confusion, the tree limb looked to be far smaller than she had remembered. Its branches didn’t come close to blocking the entire width of the road.
“Talk about imagination,” she muttered, taking the lead downhill. “I could have gotten around this mess if I had only tried.”
“Fear intensifies emotions and perceptions.”
Caitlin thought perhaps the limb would appear larger from the vantage point of the car. But the angle made no difference. It seemed her perception had been off about tenfold.
“At least the creep didn’t take my keys, and I haven’t run out of gas,” she muttered, checking things out.
She picked up her sketchbook from where it had slid onto the floor, glancing through the windshield as she set it on the passenger seat.
Before her, Bain grabbed hold of the limb, and seemingly without real difficulty, inched it away from the car. Not wanting to appear weak and docile, Caitlin immediately jumped to help. While awkward, the task wasn’t nearly as difficult as she had imagined it would be.
A moment later, they stood at her vehicle and she had no more excuses to delay her departure. She stared up at Bain, at his moon-silvered profile, and something within her mourned his imminent loss.
“When shall I see you again?” Caitlin asked. Not if but when, for she couldn’t imagine not.
“When you wish.”
“What? I rub this ring and you appear like some kind of a genie?”
“Genie?”
What she could see of his expression by the moon peering from between a moving sky of clouds was genuinely puzzled. So he wasn’t up on his fairy tales.
“Never mind. Maybe I’ll just put my two lips together and blow,” she teased, remembering Lauren Bacall’s old line.
“I am no dog, lady, but a man.”
His expression turned indignant. He wasn’t a movie buff, either.
“I’ll figure something out,” she muttered, wondering if he were truly humorless.
She started to get into the car, only to have him suddenly grasp her and mold her against his length. A kiss? She raised her lips expectantly, her heart pounding.
But then, just as suddenly, he let her go with a growl. “I will know when you need me.” He strode off into the darkness.
She turned in a circle, seeking him. But he had well and truly disappeared. Vanished as smoothly and silently as he had come to her rescue when she had needed him.
I will know when you need me.
The words echoed through her mind. Almost as if she had imagined them . . . if not the entire episode.
But no, the storm had struck the tree limb that now rested at its base. The evidence sat there, before her eyes. Remembering someone had instigated this latest encounter with Bain, someone who’d been after her and still could be lurking nearby, she quickly slid into the driver’s seat and locked the doors. While doing so, her gaze met the ring. Bain’s ring.
More proof.
Caitlin started the car and turned it at the crossroads toward the B&B.
Why was she always giving herself a hard time when it came to Bain Morghue? Why did she question his very existence, as if he weren’t really part of this world?
The questions plagued her as she drove. She was becoming obsessed with this man who stood apart from any other she’d known. And yet the situations she’d been finding herself in lately felt all too familiar, too close to her skin for comfort. But she didn’t want to think she was repeating the same mistake she’d made with Neil. She didn’t want to believe the psychologist who’d told her she was attracted to troubled men as a result of her intense relationship with her brother. This time was different, she assured herself.
Strange how far a good dose of adrenaline could go to addle one’s brain. Almost as effective as fairy wine . . . or as Bain’s home brew.
Home at last.
The cottage loomed before her a pale blue-white. Caitlin stopped the rental car near
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the front door. Cutting the engine, she shot a penetrating look around the nearby grounds, wishing she could see into every cranny and shadow. She felt safe enough, though she could very well be fooling herself into thinking she had nothing to worry about.
For even if Bain’s ring could protect her from his so-called enemies, who would protect her from him?
“WHAT AN UNUSUAL DESIGN!” Mary exclaimed when she noticed the ring during breakfast the next morning. “Might I be having a closer look?”
Uncomfortable at the attention brought to Bain’s talisman, Caitlin set down the basket of scones and reluctantly gave the hostess her hand. Mary gingerly touched a fingertip to the intricately fashioned falcon.
“Ah, such fine work. Why didn’t you ever show this to us before?”
“It’s not mine,” Caitlin said before thinking. “Er, I didn’t design it. One of your countrymen did.”
She assumed one had though Bain hadn’t gone into details. Now as Alistair and Julian and the Abernathys took turns admiring the ring from a distance, she hoped no one would question her more closely.
That hope went unanswered when Alistair asked, “You acquired this yesterday?” His gaze was pinned to the piece as if it troubled him.
“I couldn’t resist,” she hedged, hoping he wouldn’t ask where. She didn’t want to lie outright.
When he looked up at her, his brow was furrowed and his dark brown eyes held a strange glint. “I’m surprised you found the time what with all the activities you had planned.”
“Now, Alistair,” Mary said, “’tis always possible for a clever lass to squeeze in a wee bit of time for shopping.”
With a grunt of acknowledgment, her husband settled back in his chair. But Caitlin couldn’t help but wonder at his thoughts. For some reason, the ring seemed to disturb him.
“Would you allow me a closer look?” Julian asked, quickly grasping her hand when she again reached for the scone basket. “Hmm, it appears to be an old piece that might be very valuable, indeed.”
