by Jeanne Rose
Professor Abernathy’s wound had been deep and massive, and Caitlin’s imagination was hard at work to her chagrin. She’d told Bain the Professor was annoying her. Surely he wouldn’t have taken that as a sign to “protect” her with his claymore. He hadn’t acted as if he wanted to do real violence to the skinheads who’d frightened her.
Still, she couldn’t help but be worried. Doubly so, as she realized she might be withholding the evidence of a prime suspect. She nearly sagged with relief when the police indicated the interrogation was over.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” she told Mrs. Abernathy as they left the manor house together.
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Abernathy wiped her red nose.
“I can help you pack, if you want.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m only taking a few things. Mary will send the rest on to Glasgow.” She gazed at Caitlin with soft brown eyes. “Don’t blame yourself, dear. It wasn’t your fault.”
Not her fault? “What do you mean?”
“Herbert insisted there was a prowler sneaking about your cottage at night,” Mrs. Abernathy explained. “He took it upon himself to investigate. He was concerned because you were a young woman on your own.”
Caitlin focused on the prowler part. “He saw someone outside my cottage?” Bain?
“Herbert was out snooping for hours the last two evenings.”
Which explained why Mrs. Abernathy had been calling for her husband the night before.
“I didn’t like it,” the older woman admitted. “I was afraid he’d get himself into trouble. But I never suspected the prowler would be a murderer.” She sniffed, wiping her nose again. “If I were you, I’d leave this place immediately. You’re welcome to come to Glasgow with me.”
Her emotions mixed, Caitlin seethed with questions:
Had the Professor died trying to protect her?
Then who had mimicked Bain’s voice in the fog?
Was Alistair indeed the trickster?
Or Julian?
Surely that person was the one who’d murdered Professor Abernathy. Not Bain.
“Caitlin? Would you like to come to Glasgow?” Mrs. Abernathy repeated.
Caitlin thought she probably should leave and could talk the authorities into allowing her to do so. But she needed to have a long talk with Bain.
“I can’t go yet.”
“I shall be very frightened for you.”
Poor Mrs. Abernathy. She took the woman’s hand. “Please don’t worry about me. You have enough troubles of your own.” Her eyes filled. “Again, I’m so sorry about your husband.” She felt even more guilty because she’d suspected him. “If I had known what he was doing, I would have insisted he stop it right away.”
What more could she do? She walked the older woman to her cottage and watched her pack. Then she waited with her until the taxi arrived.
Gazing after the vehicle’s departing red tail lights, Caitlin slowly became engulfed by the surrounding darkness. Her mood also dark, she could imagine the night as a living, threatening entity. The moon had already slid into the blackness of the west. It must be two or three in the morning, no time to be out by herself.
Though there really was no safety if someone wanted you dead, she thought. Professor Abernathy had been killed earlier in the evening. Shivering again, remembering the way his poor crumpled body had appeared in the headlight beams, she hurried into her cottage, locked the door and placed a chair beneath the knob.
Not that she was going to be able to sleep for more than two seconds.
TWO SECONDS turned into two hours.
Caitlin was up and dressed at dawn. A heavy dew lay on the grass as she pointed the car toward Black Broch. Intent on finding Bain for that talk, she parked the car in a spot below the ruins, then climbed the hill. As on other occasions, the castle seemed deserted. Staring at the ragged window slits in the crumbling towers, she wondered where and how on earth Bain hid his renovated rooms.
She also shouted his name several times, only to hear nothing but the lapping sound of the waves in the loch.
Then she tried something desperate, waving the falcon ring about, hoping it would change color. “I’m in trouble, Bain. Come help me.”
The moonstone remained opaquely white as if it refused to give credence to her lie.
And no one answered.
“Damn.” She shouted one last time, “I didn’t mean you had to stay away forever.”
Silence. Lapping water. The flit of a chill breeze through her hair.
She sighed and pulled up the collar of her jacket. Bain wasn’t going to appear until he wanted to. If he ever wanted to after she’d told him off at the fair. Were his feelings hurt? Even as she wondered, Caitlin knew it was far more important to determine what part, if any, Bain had played in Professor Abernathy’s death.
She was tortured by the idea that anyone had died because of her, was even more tortured when she thought of Bain killing the poor old man to protect her.
She couldn’t believe it of the man she loved.
She wouldn’t.
Only . . . she had to know for certain.
Wandering about the grounds of the castle for a bit longer, she found a rough path that led along the edge of the promontory. Sheer rock dropped to the loch more than fifty feet below and boulders clustered at the cliff’s base. She peered over gingerly, able to understand how those women who’d jumped had met an instant death.
Had those deaths been voluntary? Or had they, too, been murder?
Wandering further, Caitlin found a low doorway half overgrown with vines. The real entrance to Black Broch?
Excited, she scrambled in, only to gaze about an empty, musty chamber with an earthen floor. A huge length of chain hung on one wall. Was this all that remained of the castle’s dungeon? Unfortunately, there were no other doors leading anywhere else.
She came out into the morning sunlight again and completely circled the ruins, looking for hidden doors, even exploring the shadowy courtyard. The torchlight rooms she’d seen haunted her. If she didn’t know better, hadn’t been inside the castle more than once, she would suspect that her imagination had run away with her.
She called Bain’s name one last time before giving up and heading for her car.
If he heard her, he wasn’t answering.
Until he did, she wondered how she would live with herself.
LULLED BY THE RELATIVE SAFETY of sunlight, Caitlin slipped on her nightgown and slid into bed when she returned to the cottage, then found herself musing about the madwoman who’d been found in Black Broch’s courtyard. She could understand how the woman had gotten to that unbalanced state, considering the crazy experiences she herself had had.
Caitlin wondered how she kept her own sanity. Perhaps she remained more centered because she blamed imagination for anything unusual. Creating art placed her in another reality of sorts. She could comfortably believe in all sorts of things at the imaginative level, yet keep her feet on the ground in the real world . . .
Sleeping deeply, she woke up with a start at dusk. Someone was pounding loudly on her door.
Caitlin sat straight up, staring into the room’s deep shadows. “Who is it?”
“Mary MacDonald. Are you all right? We haven’t seen you all day.”
She could hardly blame the woman for worrying, after the night before. She’d been remiss in not dropping by the manor house earlier. Rolling out of bed, she pulled on the kimono she used as a robe and opened the door to Mary’s concerned look.
“I was awake most of last night, so I’ve been sleeping.”
“Thank heavens.” Mary relaxed visibly. “We all had a bad night. You know, you can move into one of the bedrooms at the house if you like. You don’t have to stay out here by yourself.”
“Thank you, I’ll think about that,” she promised, knowing she wouldn’t. If Bain ever showed, she’d be better off in the cottage.
“Meantime, would you like some supper brought to yo
u? On the house, of course. You must be hungry.”
“Food would be wonderful.” She felt incredibly hollow.
Thanking Mary again before she closed the door, Caitlin switched on the lamp and stretched. Now she wasn’t tired at all, would probably be awake another night.
But she didn’t feel normally energetic. Deciding against getting dressed – she wouldn’t have to change if she didn’t go to the manor house – Caitlin retrieved her suitcases out of the closet and started sorting through her clothing. She wondered if it wouldn’t be best to book a flight home as soon as the police would allow her to leave the country.
The thought of which near broke her heart. She loved Bain Morghue, whoever he was, but it was no use trying to have a relationship with a phantom.
Knowing she could not leave, not until he told her to go, Caitlin set the suitcases aside.
Supper arrived, a big tray with thick soup, warm bread and fresh cheese. She ate more heartily than her appetite demanded.
Afterward, to keep her mind off Bain – the incessant questions and worries she had about him – she worked on her jewelry designs at the table beneath the cottage’s main window. Her pencil flew as if possessed. New ideas flowed effortlessly. Soon she had covered at least a dozen pages with abstractions of the moon and darkness and swords with jeweled pommels.
Like Bain’s claymore.
A bit ghoulish, but the designs were good. Perhaps she ought to create at night more often.
When she finally took a break, she glanced at the travel alarm. Five minutes after midnight.
Where was Bain now?
What was he doing?
Thinking of her?
“I need you Bain Morghue,” she whispered, twisting his ring on her finger. “God help me, but I do.”
The wind had risen and soughed about the eaves. Longing to see the man she loved, Caitlin opened the curtains and leaned forward to catch sight of a sky full of silver stars, a westering moon and low fog creeping over the ground. Soon the sky itself would be obliterated.
Then her breath caught as something stirred deep in the shadows. A huge form glided out of the blackness, towering, fluttering . . .
Frozen with fear, Caitlin clutched the window sill until she realized she was looking at a big black horse.
The stallion stopped directly in front of the window, his nostrils blowing steam. On his back, Bain sat stone still, his cloak flapping in the wind, his face harsh and stern. It was as if she had conjured him, as she had when she’d been in trouble. Only this time, he was the danger.
For several seconds, she stared, meeting him eye to eye, unable to suppress the longings that were growing stronger by the minute.
Meetin’ his eyes through glass is a direct and true invitation.
Bridget’s warning echoed through her head. Caitlin silently commanded Bain to take the damn invitation, and as he dismounted, she flew to the door.
“Bain . . .” was all she managed to get out before he lifted her off her feet, kicking the door shut behind him.
He carried her to the bed, threw her down and moved over her in a flurry of heated flesh and cold clothing. He smelled like mist, moss, chilled salty wind. She cried out in her joy at seeing him. Eyes fiercely blue, he angled his head to ravish her mouth. Their tongues danced as he undid the kimono, then slipped it and the nightgown over her head.
Naked beneath him, she writhed when he sipped at her breasts with a warm insistent mouth and parted her thighs to invade her secret moist places. She arched and shuddered, nearly losing herself.
“I’ve missed you, lady,” he muttered, the burr of his accent thicker than ever before. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
Caitlin could only moan.
Bain rained kisses over her throat and shoulders as he opened her thighs wider to position himself between them. He took her hand and pressed it against his tumescence.
At the moment, Caitlin didn’t care who he was or what he had done. She’d never felt such passionate longing. “I want you,” she whispered.
“Then have me.”
Quickly unfastening his trousers, he lifted her hips and plunged forward to join them. She cried out, then wrapped her legs around his clothed legs. He thrust strong and fast, over and over, until the night itself seemed to pulsate. Caitlin arched her back and grasped his powerful shoulders.
He seemed intent on making them totally one, his heart and hers beating a single rhythm together, their limbs so intertwined, she didn’t know where she ended and he began. Trembling, she abandoned herself to the inevitable, seeking a release. When it came, she cried out, the pleasure excruciating, the silver stars now burning behind her lids. Bain groaned and shuddered as he reached his own climax, then sank down atop her.
Some moments later, he rolled to the side and cradled her in his arms. Her cheek resting against him, Caitlin gradually realized he was still fully dressed. She unbuttoned his black shirt, running her hand through the light matting of dark hair on his chest. He helped her take the shirt off, then sat up to remove his trousers and boots.
As he did so, she remembered something other than the passion that had overtaken her. “Bain?”
“Yes, my heart.” Naked, he lay back down and draped the bedclothes over them. “I was sorry I did not stop you as soon as you walked away.”
She had to fight against the sensations he caused as he turned her toward him and caressed the length of her spine. She took a deep breath and tried to put some mental space between them. “I appreciate your apology but . . . there’s something else . . . there’s been a murder.”
His expression changed, his gaze more alert and steady. “Here?”
She nodded. “Professor Abernathy . . . the man I told you had been bothering me. He and his wife were staying in the next cottage.” Noticing Bain again didn’t react, she went on, “I mistakenly thought the professor was following me, meant me harm. But he was only worried about my welfare.”
“As I suggested.”
Though he still wasn’t showing any emotion. “He was murdered, lying in a ditch all covered with blood. Don’t you think that’s terrible?”
“Aye. Murder is always terrible.” He sighed and attempted to draw her closer.
But she held him off. “If it’s so awful, how can you be so casual about it?”
“I have seen many awful things.”
“But Professor Abernathy was innocent. He wasn’t up to anything. He was a tourist, for heaven’s sake. He didn’t deserve to have his chest ripped open by a sword! There was blood all over.”
”You found the body?” he interjected.
She nodded and broke into a sob.
Murmuring softly, he drew her to him and kissed the tears running down her cheeks. “Poor, sweet Caitlin, no wonder you are so distraught.”
Her voice shook. “The police came and questioned everyone. We’re all afraid some maniac is running around in the dark looking for another victim.” When she regained her composure, she asked, “Where have you been the past thirty-six hours?”
“Away.”
“Away where?”
This time, it was he who drew back to look at her. “Are you accusing me of this deed, lady?”
Her heart raced as she gazed deeply into his eyes. They held an open expression, not the sly expression of a murderer, of a man who could sneak up on another in the dark and leave them in a ditch.
“No,” she finally said. That she truly did believe in his innocence seemed to lift a weight from her heart. “It’s just that you do have a sword and Professor Abernathy spotted someone skulking about my cottage. I thought he might have seen you.”
Bain scowled fiercely and she felt a serious thrill of fear. Then his gaze seemed faraway, removed, as if he were focusing on something beyond her. “Aye, now I understand. ’Tis his doing.”
“Whose doing?” she asked anxiously.
“My enemy. I should have expected this.” Bain rose on his elbow to stare at the curtained window. “If he
canna harm me or you, he will see that another suffers. He was always full of ruthless hatred.”
“You know who killed Professor Abernathy?” She sat up, holding the sheet about her. “We have to tell the police!”
“‘Tis not necessary. He shall meet his fate on his own. Even if he destroys me first.”
Bain destroyed? She prayed he was exaggerating. “You can’t let a murderer go free or expect fate to take care of him. He’s broken the law.”
“Broken many laws, Caitlin.”
“What? When?”
His eyes glowed midnight blue in the lamplight. “I canna explain more.”
“You’re unbelievable!” she cried in frustration and outrage. “This is a murder we’re dealing with here. If you won’t go to the police, I will. Tell me the killer’s name.”
“’Twould only place you in terrible danger.”
“More danger than I’m in with a killer loose outside?”
He took her hand and touched the falcon on her middle finger. “The ring will protect you.”
She ripped her hand from his. “I’m not in the mood for magic or visionary experiences.” She’d seen death up close, real blood. “This is serious, Bain.”
“Aye. Very serious.” He sat up and before she could react, scooped her up and slid her into his lap. “My heart would be fairly broken if anything happened to you.”
Did that mean he loved her?
Bain stroked her hair and pressed kisses against her temple. The combination of romantic words, the kind she’d been longing for, and the proximity of his warm, warm flesh nearly made her forget everything but him. Them. This moment. She slid an arm about his bare waist, appreciating the hard muscles of his back. “I think of you when I am awake. I dream of you when I sleep,” Bain murmured, lowering his head to take her mouth. “I am not nearly so alone since I found you at the crossroads, my brave Caitlin. There is some light in the darkness.”
He spoke so intently, with such longing. Touched deeply, she stroked his cheek and pressed herself against him. The proof of his renewed desire throbbed against her hip.
