Paranormal Heartbreakers Boxed Set

by Jeanne Rose

  “Are we to fight, then?”

  “Perhaps with each other.” He lifted a brow. “But I promise you a very pleasant encounter.”

  Caught up in his light mood, Caitlin laughed as he speeded her to the very center of activity where workers were just finishing stacking wood into two huge piles. A half-dozen people with torches surrounded each. The horn blew again, and they set flame to the two great bonfires. Together, the conflagrations lit the night sky.

  Then the ground trembled and a wild rhythmic noise made Caitlin whip out of Bain’s grasp and fly around in alarm. “What in the world . . . ?”

  A thundering herd of panicked cattle split the crowd in two. Wrapping an arm around her waist, Bain lifted Caitlin off her feet to get her out of the stampede’s path. Wild-looking men, their light hair helmeted with bronze, brought up the rear. Another man rode in a wooden chariot, his hair slicked in spikes with a pale substance, his mustache braided. He was nearly naked, wearing little more than his tattoos – parallel lines on his sides and arms, a stripe down his nose and across his cheeks – that looked real rather than painted on.

  As he rode between the bonfires, people began to follow, running and laughing.

  Bain bent down so his lips were close enough to her ear that she might hear. “‘Tis considered good luck,” he explained. “The smoke of the bonfires is purifying.”

  The next thing she knew, wild musical notes struck the air – from lutes and harps, flutes and drums – their sounds enticing and urgent. The noisy people between the bonfires separated into two lines, men on one side, women on the other. They began to sway and tap their feet in time to the music, beginning a traditional dance.

  Bain urged Caitlin forward to her surprise, for it seemed he meant for them to join the promenade. She remembered thinking he wouldn’t know how to dance. He let her go at the end of the line.

  “Lady,” he said, bowing at the waist and backing away from her.

  More people were joining them, including other musicians. The melody grew fuller and Caitlin found herself easily copying the simple steps. The lines surged forward. Met. Partners clasped hands and circled each other. Swept away by the carefree, almost frantic mood, she laughed up into Bain’s face. He had never looked more open. Happier.

  The two lines separated, snaked through each other, dancers touching hands and changing partners all the way down the line and circling back again. Caitlin was grinning, enjoying herself thoroughly, when a hand fastened onto hers and jerked her to a stop.

  Hard.

  Startled, Caitlin looked up into the frowning face of Professor Abernathy. What in the world was he doing there? She was immediately on edge.

  “Come with me now. It’s urgent.”

  She read his lips rather than actually hearing him over the cacophony surrounding them. Why was his expression so contorted? The fire blazing hellishly behind him gave the normally mild-looking man a demonic look. And why was he trying to pull her off to one side?

  An unnamed fear swept through her and a frantic Caitlin plucked her arm away as if freeing herself from the devil. She ran to catch up to her place in line, goose-necking over her shoulder until the professor was swallowed whole by the surging crowd. Her hands were clammy and cold as she passed from partner to partner. Meeting again with Bain, her relief was intense. He whirled her in a circle, then stopped when she gripped his velvet tunic with both hands and sagged against his chest.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she pleaded.

  Sensing her urgency, he led her away from the celebration deeper into the heart of the strath. Sounds followed, cutting through the crisp, clear night. She glanced over her shoulder, saw other couples slipping away also, no doubt for secret trysts in the dark.

  Intimacy was the last thing on her mind at the moment. Her heart was pounding, her mind whirling. Had the professor followed her or had his appearance merely been a coincidence? The crone’s predictions echoed in her head. She’d spoken of a trickster, someone who would give her bad advice and mean her ill. He’d wanted her to leave with him. Why?

  No one could harm her while she was with such a powerful man as Bain Morghue, Caitlin told herself, especially not some elderly professor.

  He waited until they’d crossed the glen and had reached a sheltered cove of trees before demanding, “Now tell me what’s troubling you.”

  Caitlin suddenly felt foolish. “I’m not sure. I mean, strange things have been happening to me for days . . . and then the fortune teller going on about someone trying to fool me . . . and then the professor showing up here tonight.”

  “What professor?” Bain asked, stiffening.

  “An American. He and his wife are staying at the MacDonalds’, too.”

  Bain relaxed. “He undoubtedly heard about the festivities from some local and came for the experience. Perhaps he was worried about your being alone.”

  “I’d like to believe that. But he’s taken more than a friendly interest in my comings and goings in the past few days.” She gazed around their sheltered area. No one had followed. They were completely alone. “And he tried to drag me off from the dance tonight.”

  Bain tightened his arms around her. “And that was enough to frighten you?”

  “That and being chased along the sea lochs and then my cottage being ransacked.”

  “What?” Bain thundered. “Someone broke into your quarters? Why did you not tell me?”

  “Whoever it was only took a brush and a pillow case,” she said, defensive about not telling anyone because she was feeling even more foolish.

  Bain muttered something she didn’t understand. A Gaelic curse, perhaps?

  Some of the tension drained out of her and she was warmed by the depth of his concern. “Putting a curse on someone?”

  “And if I am?” he asked stiffly. “You find this amusing?”

  Part of her did . . . and part of her took the suggestion very seriously.

  “I’m relieved,” she assured him. “I really was frightened, but you make me feel better. Safe.”

  “I want nothing untoward to happen to you, my brave Heart.”

  So now she was his? She smiled even though he sounded worried, as if he had reason, and Caitlin found herself reassuring him. “I’m fine now. I’m with you.”

  At the moment she couldn’t conceive of ever having feared Bain Morghue. He was holding her as if she were precious to him.

  As if he would never let her go. As if he meant to keep her safe forever.

  His voice was a rough whisper against the velvet of the night. “If anything happened to you because of me . . .”

  Before she could ask him what he meant by that – how could her knowing him be dangerous? – he freed her just enough to kiss her. The mating of their mouths was more than a kiss, Caitlin thought as the blood wildly sang through her veins.

  He meant to brand her.

  To devour her whole.

  She gloried in the feel of his hard warrior’s body against hers, of the tongue invading her mouth in a rhythm that made her light-headed. The celebratory sounds from the middle of the glen grew less distinct as she became lost to his power. Alive. She felt so alive. Every inch of her being. Of her soul.

  Or their soul, one and the same, she thought hazily, drunk on the sweetness of his kiss. Two hearts beat as one. Why not two souls?

  The images the thought conjured . . .

  The emotions . . .

  The fear . . .

  No. Not fear. Fire. Heat quickly flashed through her faster than his hands slipped to her breasts. He tested their fullness, drew his thumbs across the already hardened nipples. When his hands moved again, she cried out, the protest lost in his mouth, which never left hers. He worked at her dress and tunic, opened her flesh to the cool night air and the strong imprint of his fingers as they memorized every inch of her. She should be cold but she was burning with desire.

  She wanted him. Needed him.

  And now she would have him.

  Her sense
s unnaturally heightened as he stripped her of the garment, she blamed the mead and the promised enchantment of Beltane for making her feel so wanton. The bells of her tunic tinkled beguilingly as they floated to the ground, leaving her one with nature.

  Breaking the kiss, she helped Bain remove his own clothing. Panting, hands tangling together in the garments, their frustrated laughter bloomed into a symphony of luscious sound as they completed the task. Though Caitlin only had glimpses of Bain’s musculature where the moon shot beams through breaks in the leafy bower overhead, she knew he was magnificent. Male beauty personified.

  Touching, memorizing, anticipating . . . she was well and truly enchanted.

  His skin slicked against her breasts as he lowered himself before her. On the way down, he kissed, nipped, tasted. Caitlin hung suspended between heaven and earth, between the moon and the stars. One arm behind her back balancing her, Bain surged forward and down so that she floated lightly to their bedding of discarded garments with him following to rest over her.

  Around them a cloying fog was rising – a living, viable entity sliding along their limbs – though she would swear the conditions were all wrong for such a turn in weather. Magic. That was it. Everything about the night was bewitched, even the unexpected haze.

  A thin veil of moist air surrounded Bain lovingly as he found her, stroked her, prepared to slide into her. Appropriate, for hadn’t he appeared to her out of the mists in the first place?

  Caitlin arched, and with a cry of triumph, met his thrust. His power impaled her, filled her, made her careen toward the edge of the visible universe. He held her there, suspended in time, as if the centuries would pass and he would not tire of loving her. Each time she reached for the stars, her fingers met fairy dust that scattered with the winds.

  She dug them into his flesh and whispered, “Bain, help me. Please . . . help me.”

  With a groan, he complied, shifting and driving into her until nothing could stop her from ecstasy.

  Behind her lids the inhabitants of the invisible world danced in a circle, trampling the grass into the earth. She joined them, whirling, gliding, leaping. Frenzied. Unable to stop on her own . . .

  Strong arms pulled her back to reality and Bain’s all-too-real flesh. He leaned back and cradled her against his chest as the fog reached up and devoured them both.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CAITLIN LAY IN BAIN’S ARMS for some time before her heartbeat returned to its normal cadence. She listened to his breathing and, above them, the stirring of leaves in the wind. Nature’s poetry. The air smelled of spring grass and moss and salty mist. She felt at one with nature, as if she’d just made love with a woodland god.

  Bain.

  Though he was quite human, thank goodness. Real flesh and blood. She snuggled her cheek against his warm chest, feeling more sheltered and loved than ever before in her life. The cool night couldn’t chill the embers of fire banked at her core. Things had changed between them, no matter how short a time they’d known each other. The relationship was about to take a new direction, she believed, loving the way his breath feathered her hair.

  She stirred and stretched. “That was wonderful.”

  “M-m-mm.” He sighed and slid a hand along her bare hip. “Aye, now we’ve done it,” he said, his tone holding the presage of doom.

  And making Caitlin stiffen. “Done it?” she echoed.

  “Finally sated our lust.” He rearranged the cloak that lay over them. “I suppose ’twas unavoidable. But let us not think on the problem you pose until the morrow.”

  Her emotions having risen like a dancer to the harp, they poised beneath the very surface of her skin. Hurt tingled along every nerve ending. “You think all we’ve shared is lust?” She lifted her head. “And that I’m a problem?”

  Rather than answering, he tried to press her closer. Caitlin pushed him away and rose to her elbow.

  “I gave myself of my own free will, Bain. I won’t try to tie you down or make you commit yourself . . . if that’s what you’re worried about.” Even though she loved him.

  “We are bound whether we will it or no, lass. Twice, thrice-bound now.” His voice sounded troubled as he stroked her arm. “You dunna understand.”

  “Of course I don’t understand. You’re never straight with me.” Didn’t he realize how insecure that made her feel? “We didn’t just sate our lust, Bain, we made love. At least I did,” she stated, a lump growing in her throat, a vise squeezing her heart. “I was touched to my very soul.”

  He sighed again. “All the worse for you, lass. Now you’ll never be free.”

  Wounded by his disappointing response, Caitlin said, “I am not listening to any more of your gloom and doom.” She’d thought he’d gotten beyond that. Had foolishly thought he might even return some of her feeling for him. She scrambled to her feet and tore her tunic and dress out from under him. The bells’ tinkle no longer sounded charming. “I had a glorious experience and you’re not going to ruin it!”

  “Caitlin.” He sat up, his voice soft as he watched her struggle with the unfamiliar clothing. “And what do you think you’re about?”

  “Leaving. You may be great at the physical part of making love, but you’re rotten when it comes to the rest!”

  “Caitlin, wait!”

  He rose to his feet and she hoped he would truly try to stop her, to mend the ache his cavalier attitude caused. Even in the dim light, she could appreciate his naked strength. Dried leaves clinging to his tousled hair, he truly resembled a god of the forest.

  Or a demon lover who’d finished a woodsy seduction.

  When he said nothing, merely continued to stare at her implacably, she scurried away from him, shouting, “From now on, you stay away from me.”

  Enough of his mysterious ways.

  Caitlin glanced toward the tents of the fair, darkened now, the crowd having dispersed. She wasn’t going back to get her clothing, didn’t care if she lost her sweater and skirt. Fog still cloaked the deserted area. She glanced about nervously, spooked well and good. Someone could be waiting to jump her and she wouldn’t see them until they were already upon her. Her shoes crunched on gravel as she hurried to the car. Her hand was on the door when she realized she didn’t have her wallet or keys. “Damn!”

  Well, she’d walk to the B&B if she had to. But then she glanced in the vehicle’s window and spotted what appeared to be her sweater. She tried the handle. The door opened easily. The sweater and skirt she’d worn to the fair lay folded neatly on the passenger seat. How did they get there? she wondered with a thrill of unease.

  Sliding into the car, she felt the pockets of the clothing, quickly locating her keys and wallet. Even the book she’d purchased was lying safely beneath the pile in a paper bag.

  Strange.

  But she was too hurt and angry to think long upon another miraculous incident. She just wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and Bain Morghue. Inserting the ignition key, she started up the car and spun its wheels pulling out into the road. With difficulty, she swallowed her tears and drove faster than she should through the fog. She had trusted him and had given herself, but Bain hadn’t been able to trust and give back. At least not enough to whisper sweet words in her ear after making love. She hadn’t required promises, merely a loving touch.

  But then, they’d probably never be able to have anything close to a normal, natural relationship.

  Caitlin tried to ignore the little voice inside her that suggested Bain wouldn’t be half as interesting if he were a run-of-the-mill kind of guy. Was her interest in the unusual – the unknown that was the inspiration for her magical jewelry – also the reason she felt attracted to troubled men? Because they were so unusual they peaked her curiosity?

  Taking a curve too fast, Caitlin decided she was sick and tired of digging into her psyche about men who attracted her.

  She was sick and tired of the frequent, bothersome fog.

  She was even sick and tired of Scotland.r />
  When she turned in the MacDonalds’ drive and parked near her cottage, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. Having left a light on inside, the window glowed dimly through the mist. She found the key and was about to place it in the lock when she heard furtive movement from behind her.

  Heart pounding, she whirled around. “W-who’s there?”

  The tall form of a man loomed in the fog.

  “Caitlin?”

  Bain’s voice. What was he doing here? How had he beaten her home? The horse. He’d taken shortcuts.

  Now her pulse speeded for reasons other than fear, but she hardened herself against a too-easy-seduction. “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “There’s no need to talk,” he said smoothly. “Give me the ring.”

  “Why? Do you want to break up?” she asked sarcastically.

  As if he’d ever committed himself to her. She twisted the intricate falcon on her finger, thinking she ought to slide it off and throw it at him, not even knowing what stopped her.

  “Give me the ring, Caitlin. You don’t need it anymore.”

  His voice was soft and mesmerizing. Coaxing. Not a trace of anger. He should be mad as a hornet after the way she’d left. So why wasn’t he? Caitlin narrowed her eyes against the swirling mist, barely able to glimpse the pale oval of his face.

  “Give me the ring.”

  His voice sounded hollow, stilted. And he remained some distance away. Which also was unlike him. Usually he came close enough to breathe down her neck.

  Fingers still twisting the ring, she fought the growing impulse to slide it from her finger. “Is the danger over?”

  “It’s gone. Give me the ring, Caitlin!” he commanded for the fourth time.

  How very insistent. That was more like the Bain she knew. Caitlin started to free herself of his token . . . when a loud call suddenly split the air from somewhere in back of her.

  “Herbert Abernathy!” the professor’s wife shouted. The open door of the American couple’s thatch-roofed cottage spilled light into the gloom. “Where are you? It’s the middle of the night.”