Paranormal Heartbreakers Boxed Set

by Jeanne Rose

  “Yi-i-i!” Mouth and eyes almost comically wide, Mohawk dropped the stiletto and ran for his life.

  The others raced him for the safety of the car.

  Uttering a war-whoop that resounded through the glen, Bain charged forward, brandishing his weapon over his head. He led the horse through their midst, made a pass at the leader and brushed him hard so he fell. Then he did the same to the other two. They had difficulty rising – the one in the vest slunk along the ground like the vermin he was – and Caitlin imagined they were whining as loudly as their bully of a dog by the time they scrambled into their beat-up vehicle.

  She joined the shepherd, who was likewise on his feet now, watching the car drive off. “Are you all right?” she asked the man.

  “Thanks to ye and the Laird, aye.”

  Startled that he knew Bain’s identity, Caitlin thought to question the old man, but before she could do so, the horse thundered toward them and stopped mere inches away. Bain was looking at both of them with concern.

  “Those hooligans would o’ made ground sausage of me if the lass hadna stopped ’em,” the shepherd told Bain. “She coulda run, but she helped me instead. She’s a bonny brave lass.”

  Bain turned a thoughtful eye on Caitlin. “Aye, that she is, Auld Sandy.”

  Old Sandy? The crazy old shepherd the chemist had told her about.

  “And I’ll be thanking ye both for my lovelies, as well,” he said, retrieving his staff. “Kate and Maeve and Linette and Betty and Alanna and the rest.”

  Caitlin realized he was speaking of his flock. If the situation hadn’t been so grave, she might have smiled.

  Dismounting, Bain said, “You take care of your lassies, now.”

  “Aye, that I will, Laird Morghue.”

  Old Sandy retreated, making a ba-a-aing sound. The ewes and lambs quickly fell behind him, forming a small procession toward the nearest knoll. And Caitlin remembered the chemist telling her that the shepherd’s ewes followed him out of love. All were quickly swallowed by the growing dark.

  Turning, she realized Bain was staring at her intently. A flush making her cheeks burn with warmth, she looked down at her hands and realized the ring’s moonstone no longer glowed blue. Its milky white reflected the pale moon above.

  How odd.

  Frowning, she said, “It seems that Old Sandy knows you even if the other villagers don’t.” Even if he was purportedly a crazy old man.

  “We’ve met before.” And before she could ask him when and under what circumstances, he turned the tables on her. “But being that he’s a stranger to you, why did you put yourself in such danger?”

  Since he was making to dismount, Bain’s back was to her, and she couldn’t tell whether or not he disapproved.

  “Old Sandy was in trouble,” Caitlin said, retrieving her sketchbook from where it had flown. “I acted on instinct like any decent human being would. What about you? Why did you come to the rescue?”

  Lightly touching ground, he turned to her. “You needed me,” he said simply.

  And she realized the avowal pleased her. “But I’m practically a stranger to you.”

  “Nae, lady, ’tis as if you’re a part of me.”

  His moon-silvered expression was serious. And somewhat perplexed. Never having seen him appear the least bit uncertain before, Caitlin didn’t know how to respond. At the moment, she sensed Bain was open, emotionally unguarded.

  Because of her.

  A thrill shot through her. She had the power to affect this man who could be a strong and fierce adversary. He was also very territorial.

  ’Tis as if you’re a part of me.

  Or did he think she belonged to him?

  Her heart was beating wildly again. Out of fear more potent than that inspired by any skinheads. A fear that was also a deep longing. A knowledge that part of her wouldn’t mind belonging to him.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “Won’t.”

  “Won’t?” he echoed, frowning. “Won’t what?”

  Wouldn’t give up the control that had always been hers. For Caitlin knew that if she were further involved with this man, she could too easily become his for good.

  “Be late.” Her lie was a whisper against the night. “I must get back . . .”

  “I shall escort you to your lodgings.”

  “No, that’s not necessary.” Any longer in his company and she might lose what was left of her good sense. “I got out here on my own.”

  ”You should choose your arguments wisely, lady.” His expression was grave. “You cannot win them all. You could lose yourself in the dark and I would be obligated to come to your rescue yet again this night.”

  So he was determined. She heard no room for negotiation in his tone. Irritated, she muttered, “Fine,” and took off.

  Just as quickly he caught her arm, grinding her to a halt. “’Twould be faster to ride.” He called to the horse in the foreign tongue Caitlin had heard before.

  “No!” she protested. She couldn’t trust herself being so close to Bain again. She remembered the night they’d met. The enchanted ride. The magical kiss afterward. Too dangerous. “I need the exercise to get rid of all that extra adrenaline.”

  “Then I shall walk with you.”

  He let her go and allowed her to set the pace. Then he fell in step with her. His mount followed several yards behind, softly blowing through his nose as if content.

  “What’s your horse’s name?”

  “In English . . . Raven.”

  “So you were speaking Gaelic?” When he nodded, she went on to a far more important question. “I was thinking of you just seconds before you appeared. Odd, isn’t it? Almost as if you could read my mind.”

  “The mind can be a strong tool when used to its fullest capacity.”

  “But you came so quickly.”

  “I was in the area.”

  “Strange. I didn’t hear your horse’s hoof beats until the very moment I needed you.”

  “You were preoccupied.”

  “And the ring. It was glowing blue.” As if it were sending a signal, she thought.

  “Reflecting your heightened emotions.”

  “Like a mood ring?” When he furrowed his brow as if he didn’t understand, she reminded him, “Very popular in the early seventies. Only I never heard of a moonstone turning colors like that.”

  “Not all moonstones are magic.”

  She couldn’t tell whether or not he was teasing her. “What do you know of magic?”

  He laughed softly, the sound holding a touch of irony. “You would be surprised, lass.”

  “Try me.”

  “Why the very land around us is enchanted, don’t ye know?” His voice was mesmerizing as it took on more of a burr than usual. “’Tis said islands off the coast sometimes disappear and then years or decades or even centuries later reappear.”

  Who hadn’t heard such legends? But she wanted his opinion. “So where do they supposedly go when they disappear?”

  “Nowhere. They become part of the invisible world.”

  “A world that mortals cannot see, of course.”

  “Unless they be particularly wise or pure of heart.”

  Grinning at his seriousness, she chose to play along. “How . . . enchanting. So you’re saying Scotland is some kind of a fairy land?”

  “Only certain areas – sacred groves, ancient hills, deep dark springs – anywhere the fey dominates the real.”

  “And have you seen this so-called invisible world yourself?” She strained her eyes through the dark to gauge his reaction.

  But rather than giving her a direct answer, he said, “You are not a woman who only believes in those things you can see, brave Caitlin, or you would not have been able to save your brother. You would not even have tried.”

  A compliment? Or an attempt to distract her? “I’m not the subject here,” she reminded him as they approached the main road back to the B&B. “Why don’t you like talking about yourself?”

&
nbsp; “There are many things that interest me more.”

  “What about your family, then?” She was determined to get something concrete about his life out of him. Other people could see him. She had witnessed the proof, but she wanted even more solidity. “Do you have any siblings?”

  “Not of full blood.”

  “So your parents divorced and remarried?”

  “My father died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need. ’Twas a long time ago. I barely remember him.”

  “But your mother is still alive?” she prodded as they turned onto the asphalt road toward home.

  “Aye.”

  “Do you realize that’s three personal questions in a row you’ve actually answered,” she said in wonder. “You surprise me.”

  “Sometimes, lady, I surprise myself.”

  Bain realized he’d done something he hadn’t meant to, had opened up a wee bit more than was wise to this woman who captivated him. That wouldn’t do. Not at all. There was safety in a certain amount of ignorance, he thought, reminded of that fact when they reached the crossroads and he glanced up at Black Broch.

  Safety for both of them.

  So when she urged, “Tell me about your mother,” he thought to change the subject. Then again, more avoidance would only make her more suspicious. Besides which, he didn’t have to tell her everything.

  “My mother is a very strong-willed woman. Autocratic, in fact,” Bain admitted as they took the turn toward the MacDonald’s place. He glanced over his shoulder to check on the horse. The stallion’s great head bobbed as he docilely followed along behind them. “And while she still possesses great beauty and can charm the kilt off a man when she so desires, she can also be

  cruel.”

  “Are you close to her?”

  “Nae.” Caitlin wouldn’t believe the distance. For all her talk, she would have no way of truly comprehending his situation. “Though I think she loves me in her own fashion, my mother does not understand me or what I would have of life.”

  “That’s a common enough complaint,” she said, her laughter soft and alluring. “My parents never understood me, either, especially when they realized I wanted to be an artist. Mother browbeat me into getting a degree in art education so I would always have teaching to fall back on. So, did your mother have plans for you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Exactly what I am doing. Seeing to our holdings.”

  “And that was okay with you?” Caitlin asked, sounding puzzled.

  Bain clenched his jaw, took a deep breath and said, “I had no choice in the matter.”

  “Family duty, huh? I guess that’s more ingrained into people who have castles and such as part of their heritage than it is into us Americans. Our culture is so much newer and so is our thinking, I guess. However, there is something to be said for tradition, too.”

  She was trying to make him feel better. Bain couldn’t believe Caitlin Montgomery had the audacity to feel sorry for him. The knowledge irked Bain. Her cottage lay just ahead. Good. He would be glad to be rid of her. Why he’d ever allowed himself to get involved in such a personal discussion in the first place, he couldn’t fathom.

  Neither could he fathom the depth of his own anger.

  Mere seconds later, they stood at her front door. Eyes rolling, the black turned away from them and took an interest in nibbling at a patch of sweet grass. Giving them privacy? Bain grimaced.

  Wondering what she was thinking now, he stared down at the comely lass with her wildfire hair and her come-hither eyes and felt his anger grow. He wanted brave Caitlin and not merely for a night. He’d never before known a woman quite like her. One who would protect a crazy old man to whom she had no allegiance. One who would enter the darkness to steal back a brother she loved. Truth be known, he’d never really respected a woman he was attracted to before. Not like this.

  And in wanting Caitlin with every fiber of his being, he knew she was the one thing he could not allow himself. For he could not condemn her to hell. No mortal woman would or could meet his excessive expectations. ’Twas the story of his lonely life.

  Would his destiny always be thus – to hunger after a wild and foolish fancy?

  His resentment turned on Caitlin. She made him feel these things better left buried. She reminded him of his own discontent.

  As if she could read his seething thoughts, she grew wide-

  eyed and said, “If you’re not happy with your life, Bain, then do something about it.”

  The soft-spoken demand triggered wild and embittered emotions deep inside him.

  So when she went on, adding, “This is almost the Twenty-first Century, you know, and we all can make our own choices,” he chose to stop her blathering with a punishing kiss.

  One meant to frighten.

  Unleashing his still-flourishing intensity, Bain forced Caitlin back against the cottage door and ground his mouth into hers. She was so soft and helpless against him, like a field mouse caught in the jaws of a hunting falcon. He could swallow her whole, this innocent little American.

  She had no idea . . .

  It truly seemed she didn’t, for rather than wresting herself from his arms, ducking into her cottage and bolting the door against him as would be wise, Caitlin accepted his tongue with a cry that came from deep within, dropped her sketch pad to wind her arms about his neck and pulled herself tight against him.

  The circumstances rapidly altered.

  His harsh intentions fell to naught.

  Her power over him was such that he couldn’t control himself, couldn’t keep from turning what was meant to be punishment into an act of seduction. His hands skimmed her breasts, his palms enticed by the nipples that hardened beneath her sweater.

  He sought her skin, found the entry to its smoothness easy, for she did not try to stop him. His hands shot up her sides and converged on the sweet flesh he sought. Scraps of lace were no deterrent. He merely pushed them aside and took her soft fullness in each hand. The catch of her breath, the whisper of his name crossing her lips thrilled him.

  And everywhere Caitlin touched him, intentional or no, his body came alive. Meaning to show her how well she stirred him, he spread his thighs and, abandoning her breasts for the moment, cupped her buttocks and pulled her into his need, which was hot and throbbing. He imagined the obstruction of garments between them gone, imagined burying himself deep within her. The friction of their heat made him shudder with arousal. And made his movements against her more intense.

  Caitlin squirmed under the assault, but her reaction was one of pleasure, for, moaning, she deepened the kiss and clung to him as if she would never let him go.

  If only that were true . . . if only she could hold onto him until she brought him back to the light he’d never known . . .

  The thought akin to a deluge of ice water sluicing through his veins, he cooled instantly. He ignored the terrible ache between his thighs – in the region of his heart – and, grabbing her shoulders, slammed her against the door. Then he backed off at arms’ length. Eyes shadowed with fear and confusion, Caitlin stared up at him in open-mouthed silence.

  An uneasiness suddenly filled him. A perception of something being wrong. Senses alert, he tried to pinpoint his reason for discontent, but the feeling was vague. Undefined. This woman muddled his senses, made him long for things that could not be.

  She must be the danger he sensed, Bain told himself, wishing he were well and truly convinced.

  “What’s wrong?” Caitlin finally managed without anger or recrimination.

  Dare she feel sorry for him yet again?

  “What’s wrong is the absence of your good sense,” he said tightly, everything else forgotten for the moment. “Beware of what animal instincts you stir in a man, lady,” he warned. “Or next time, you will not be let off so easily. I’ll be taking more than a simple kiss.”

  Whistling for the stallion, he turned from her, but not before he saw
the hurt and hunger in her expression. He fought his own reaction. Guilt was for a lesser man. One who had weaknesses.

  He was allowed no such flaws. ’Twas not in his nature. He was, after all, his mother’s only son and had inherited her capacity for cruelty.

  WONDERING WHAT HAD HAPPENED to Bain Morghue to make him so cruel at times, Caitlin watched him ride away without aiming so much as a look her way.

  Her hurt grew as her fright receded.

  For a moment after he’d thrown her against the door, she’d relived the fear she’d experienced when Neil Howard had threatened to kill her.

  Bain had been angry, though she didn’t know why.

  That kiss had been meant to punish her. She’d known that, too, and yet she’d participated fully and would have slept with him if he hadn’t stopped. Thinking about the psychologist’s claims that she might be attracted to the wrong sort of man, she picked up her sketch pad and slipped inside.

  Without turning on the lights, she moved to the window. A movement outside caught her attention – Professor Abernathy disappearing behind some decorative hedges between the cottage and the manor. What was he doing wandering about in the dark?

  Caitlin focused out into the distance to find Bain. For a fleeting second, he reined in the black and glanced back as if searching for her . . . and then horse and rider disappeared into the rising mists.

  Caitlin still suffered the ache Bain had created inside her.

  Pressing her forehead to the glass, she faced the fact that she was mooning over a man who had rejected her. Where was her self-respect? She turned from the window and felt for the wall switch, then was treated to yet another shock.

  Someone had ransacked her things.

  The covers on her bed were rumpled, her portfolio case on the table near the fireplace was unzipped, and some personal items that had been neatly arranged on her washstand were now strewn all over. Aghast, Caitlin stared at the proof of violation, wondering how the person had gotten in. The door had been locked exactly as she’d left it, and all the windows seemed to be intact.

  Her heart beat wildly as she turned in place, searching all the dark corners of the room. She was alone.