What’s a womans to do when faced with the man of her dreams—literally?
Catrìona MacDougall has dreamed of a highland warrior for years and over the course of her life she’s fallen irretrievably in love with a man she can’t have. This won’t do and she vows it’s time to put the dream man on the shelf and find a real man who can make her melt. What should seem like a very uncomplicated plan soon proves to be anything but. Catrìona is about to get way more than she ever bargained on. Maybe dreams really can become reality.
Laird Braden Ross, once a brave warrior for his clan was to marry Catrìona MacDougall and what started as a marriage to solidify clan relations turns into a love match. But, when Braden leaves MacDougall land with his bride to be, they are ambushed by banished members of the Comyn clan under the direction of Morgana a druid priestess who has long held deep feelings for Braden and when those feelings weren’t returned she vowed to make him pay. She attacks Catrìona and leaves her to die in Braden’s arms after cursing him into a loveless existence until his soulmate releases him.
Braden has been trying to reach out to Catrìona but she is convinced he’s nothing but a dream. He needs to prove to her they are meant to be, before she banishes him to the afterlife.
HIS HEART'S DESIRE
Kristi Ahlers
Published by Tirgearr Publishing
Author Copyright 2012 Kristi Ahlers (http://kristiahlers.blogspot.com)
Cover Art: Amanda Stephanie (http://www.tirgearrdesign.com)
Editor: Kemberlee Shortland (http://www.kemberlee.com)
Proofreader: R. L. McCoy (http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com)
Book copyright: Bid Time Return, Richard Matheson, © 1975
Movie copyright: Somewhere in Time, Richard Matheson, © 1980
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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
DEDICATION
This story was a long time in coming so I want to make sure I thank everyone that helped me with this one!
First, thank you to Holly Greenfield and Pat McDermott! You ladies have no idea how much you helped to bring Braden and Cat to life. You ladies rock!
For Marilyn Rondeau, you’re an amazing friend and your support in me is beyond amazing and I’m thankful for you.
And for Bry because I love you . . .
The man of my dreams has almost faded now. The one I have created in my mind. The sort of man each woman dreams of in the deepest and most secret reaches of her heart. I can almost see him now before me. What would I say to him, if he were really here? “Forgive me, I have never known this feeling . . . I've lived without it all my life. Is it any wonder, then, that I failed to recognize you? You . . . who brought it to me for the first time. Is there any way I can tell you how my life has changed? Any way at all to let you know what sweetness you have given me? There is so much to say . . . I cannot find the words. Except for these . . . I love you.” Such would I say to him . . . if he were really here.
Elise McKenna, ‘Somewhere in Time’
CHAPTER ONE
Catrìona ran her hands down the hard back of her lover, reveling in the flexing muscles as he thrust deep into her woman’s center, becoming a part of her. This was the only time she ever felt complete.
“I love you, Catrìona. Feel me; know me.” His voice was rough, like sandpaper, and yet it drifted over her senses like velvet.
“I do; I do feel you.” Pain danced through her voice and heart as she realized her time with her knight was growing to an end. “I love you, Braden. Forever.” She grabbed at his strong buttocks in a pitiful attempt to hold him close.
“Aye, lass, forever,” he whispered.
Catrìona sat upright in bed pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes. Tears streamed down her face, but she ignored the salty drops. Her body burned as if she actually had been making passionate love, and she tried hard to bring her breathing under control. She was tired of forever waking to the taste of her tears and the pain in her heart.
An ache between her legs reminded her she was still unsatisfied. Yet she knew in her heart she would only experience the release she desired in the arms of her dream lover.
Reaching over, she clicked on her bedside lamp. The mournful sound of a saxophone from a jazz club down the street danced on the air. The lamp cast its buttery light over the small room as she gazed with longing at the old portrait hanging over her bedroom mantel. Her Scottish knight; her dream lover. She feared he was the only man she’d ever love.
Pathetic. He was nothing more than canvas, paint, shadows and color. But he looked so lifelike. On more than one occasion she had reached out to touch him, yet it was always in vain.
Catrìona padded over to the portrait and stared. “I wish I knew who you were and why you haunt me so.”
The man in the portrait didn’t answer her, but she didn’t expect him to. Still, something compelled her to speak her thoughts aloud. Somehow, she knew he heard her. He had always heard her. He stood in a commanding position with his broadsword in hand, ready to do battle for his lady-love or clan. Regardless of the reason, this man was willing to fight for what was important to him.
His long dark hair fell in sensual waves down his back, and his well-developed chest was bare, with the exception of a swath of plaid across the tawny skin. A Celtic armband encircled his left bicep, drawing Catrìona’s eye to the sinewy strength there. This strength would never be used against her but rather to protect her. A shiver of longing danced across her skin at the thought. Those dark eyes of his stared out, tempting and promising so much. She often wondered if her ancestor had taken artistic license when she created him. Catrìona knew deep in her heart she had not. The artist had faithfully captured the sensual gaze in his beautiful, dark brown eyes. The promise of fulfillment burned there, beckoning the unsuspecting.
Catrìona called the painting Her Highlander, not knowing who he was or if he even hailed from the Highlands. “Why do I dream about you with such detail? I can feel your hot breath on my skin. Your rough and callused fingers are like magic on my flesh.”
She continued to stare. Tonight the dreams had been different. Tonight she had almost reached orgasm. This time the slight clenching of her womb had rippled through her—she’d tottered on the sweet, delicious precipice and ached to crash over the edge to total oblivion.
No answer came from the painting, so she turned away from him and padded back to her bed. After taking a moment to straighten the sheets, she climbed into the cool linen. A quick glance at her alarm clock confirmed it was still too early to get up. It was two a.m.
Catrìona hadn’t even been asleep for three hours before the dream had wakened her. Her sensual dreams were not uncommon, but it had been different this time. This time she had felt more than her phantom lover’s touch. This time she’d smelled him; a combination of spice and male musk—a potent elixir. She was supremely aware of the rough texture of the sheeting beneath her naked body. The scent of heather and wood smoke hung in the air.
Her feelings for the portrait were odd, and she was the first to admit it. Her grandmother had accepted Catrìona’s preoccupation with the knight right from the beginning. That had been the summer she’d turned thirteen. Catrìona had always loved visiting her Grammy. It meant seeing him. Her mother would drop Catrìona off with a kiss on the cheek and promise to call—a promise she never managed to keep, no matter how h
ard Catrìona prayed she would. Grammy would dry her eyes and set her up in her special bedroom with the portrait of the knight hanging across the room on the wall. When she finally asked about him, when she was around eleven, her grandmother’s answer had been vague but offered with a smile. Catrìona now knew it had been a knowing smile.
“See, lass, you have your very own guardian knight. He will ease your loneliness.”
And he had. He came to her, teasing her with his kind words, making her feel like a princess of old. There had been magic at Grammy’s house.
Well, her grandmother was dead now. She had passed on to the next realm three weeks ago, leaving Catrìona bereft. Frustrated at her physical and emotional condition, Catrìona growled aloud. Why was she being so unreasonable? And what did it say about her that she was so taken with a painting? It was as pathetic as the women who went gaga over Brad Pitt, convinced that if they were able to get his attention he’d leave Angelina Jolie. Yeah, sure, that happened all the time in the real world. The same could be said about her. Her Highlander was not going to step out of his frame and into her arms.
She turned away from the picture and stared at the opposite wall. She had a very important client appointment tomorrow, and needed to get her act together. Catrìona designed wedding dresses, and this next commission could win her the success she’d been working towards for years. She had to land this account.
Staying up into the early hours of the morning, lamenting over her pathetic hang-up with a man who did not exist, was not going to help her situation. The sounds of the French Quarter drifted on the air. No matter the time of day, the Quarter hummed with activity. Voices rose in laughter and good cheer, reminding her of how alone she was at that moment. Punching the pillow in a pitiable attempt to make herself comfortable, Catrìona closed her eyes and allowed the sandman to work his magic once again.
* * *
Laird Braden Ross gazed down from his gilded frame and ground his teeth. He ached to hold his love in the bright light of day. He loathed having to sulk among the shadows, only being allowed to leave his place on the wall when the night was at its deepest.
Braden adjusted his manhood behind his plaid as he watched her through the misty veil between planes. Never before in the centuries he’d been trapped between this world and the next had he cursed his fate as much as he did now. Several times over the centuries, he’d mistakenly thought she’s the one, but each time he had tried to make the connection—something got in the way.
Rebecca MacDougall, ancestress to Catrìona, had almost been the one he thought he’d been waiting for. She had been a talented painter and had managed to capture his likeness back in the eighteenth century. Rebecca was one of the few who could not only see him, but feel him as well. He knew they’d shared an attraction, but after awhile it was only one-sided. She was a nice enough lass; she simply didn’t fire his blood.
Then his Catrìona was born. The moment her mother brought her to visit her grandmother, he had known without a doubt—her soul, the one he had been waiting for, had finally found a new heart. His own heart finally felt complete. Fate had finally returned his soul mate to him.
“So, my friend, are we in better spirits now? Please say you are,” Alec said.
Braden looked over his shoulder and frowned. His time between worlds would have been unbearable, if not for his cousin and first in command. Alec had also run afoul of Morgana, the powerful druid priestess who led banished members of the hated Comyn clan. The vicious bitch had killed Braden’s beautiful Catrìona. Then she had cursed Alec and him to a loveless existence.
“Sod off, Alec.” He turned back from his sleeping love.
“So that would be, nae.”
“Aye.” He heard the frustration in his tone.
Neither man spoke for a moment. Silence hung heavily between them as they watched Catrìona slumber.
“Mayhap, you could put a suggestion in her ear,” Alec offered.
“A suggestion? Pray tell, what would you like me to say?”
Alec shrugged. “Well, clearly she is as besotted with you as you are with her. She responds to your . . . er . . . advances in her dreams. So, suggest she take a trip back home to Scotland.”
“For what purpose?” Braden hated the spark of anticipation that rushed through him.
“She’s a smart lass. I think she could help you—us—get out of this predicament.”
“No one said you had to be here with me. You did that all on your own.”
“Aye, when my best friend is about to be killed by a druid priestess, after an attempt to avenge his lady-love’s death, I’m going to step in. Good thing, too, or you would’ve been trapped in between worlds alone. Now, wouldn’t that have been fun?”
Braden narrowed his eyes. “It would’ve been a lot more peaceful, that’s for sure.”
“Aye, plenty of time for you to brood and carry on like a lass. And what made you think it was a good idea to go to Morgana? Did you know she held an affection for you?” He snorted his mirth. “If you learned anything before our untimely capture, I would’ve thought you knew a woman doesn’t like to hear about another who holds your heart.”
Braden flinched. “You’re correct. Not one of my more brilliant moves, but I honestly did not know Morgana held feelings for me.”
“You were duped by a female no less.” Alec pointed his finger at him. “She had no intention of allowing you to avenge Catrìona’s death. She was responsible for it and pleased about her success.”
Braden pinched the bridge of his nose. Yes, he had made the mistake of trusting the druid priestess, but love and grief were a powerful combination and his ability to think clearly had been impaired. But, sheesh, after centuries confined in the shadows, he really didn’t feel the need to dredge up his moment of weakness. “Are you finished, Alec? The answer had better be ‘Aye, Braden’.”
Alec wandered about their space as he spoke. “Seriously, my friend, the lass has magic about her.”
“Do you ken what you’re saying, Alec?”
“Aye. Why do you think I would dare suggest such a thing? Imagine walking in the sunshine again? Plus, there is the benefit that you will not have to make war or avenge your love, since the Comyns handily saw to their own demise.”
“There is always a price to pay when a druid priestess is involved,” Braden reluctantly admitted.
“What could be worse than this?” Alec gestured to their dark and misty surroundings. “Aye, this is bloody paradise, it is. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”
“Will you cease?”
“Then speak to her. She already wants to travel there; we’ve seen the brochures. ‘T’will be easy. I yearn to walk my Highlands again. And remember, there is always the journal. I think it’s time she found that.”
Braden smiled. The idea was brilliant and perhaps it could work, provided Catrìona felt compelled enough to put her life on hold to free him from his misty existence.
He didn’t have long to wait before she drifted off to sleep. He turned once more to talk to his friend, but Alec had gone. Braden stepped into Catrìona’s bedroom and her sweet heather scent wrapped itself around him once again. When the time came to leave her, it was always so hard. Soon . . .
Bending, he kissed her upon her brow and whispered, “Catrìona, my love. Go to Scotland. Learn the truth about me. Save me. Save me, my love. The answers are in Scotland.”
She murmured in her sleep and rolled over. Placing his mouth against hers, he breathed, “I love you, forever. Go to Scotland.”
“Scotland . . .”
“Aye, lass, Scotland. Home. Bonny Castle Ross in the Highland hills.”
Catrìona smiled in her sleep, and his heart turned over in his chest. This had to work. It just had to. His life meant nothing, trapped as he was in the frame. “Scotland, lass. Scotland.”
He pulled away from her and returned to his gilded frame. “Sweet dreams, Catrìona.”
CHAPTER TWO
&nb
sp; “Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it,” Catrìona mumbled to herself as she sat at the kitchen bar diligently working on a dress design that had been giving her problems from the start. Nothing seemed to be going right—from the material to the demands of the bride. In the last few months, she’d won the lottery as far as difficult brides went. And to think she’d fought tooth and nail to win this commission. As her irritation grew, the more sidetracked she became. She glanced at the glossy brochures and the old journal sitting on the countertop.
The diary had fallen out, as if from thin air, while she’d stood in her closet today. She’d opened the fragile journal and had seen an entry dated 1675. She’d not found time to read the tantalizing book yet, but had quickly thumbed through the delicate vellum pages. What she’d managed to glimpse had spurned her sudden and overwhelming need to visit Scotland. Throwing the sketchpad on the table, she pulled out the brochures she’d collected over the months. The more she thought about the random idea of flying to Scotland and searching out the truth of her Highlander, the less important the dress design became. At this rate, the damn dress would never be finished.
Catrìona was consumed with making a success of her business. Unfortunately, the Sheridan wedding was her ticket to that success. The Sheridans were part of the local aristocracy and the marriage of their spoiled daughter, Celeste, was to be the event of the season. Celeste had been nothing short of a terror to work with, and her mother no better. You would think they were royalty the way they carried on. Who cared that their family plantation outside New Orleans had been in their family for generations, or that Celeste had managed to land one of the most eligible bachelors the city had to offer? Bully for her. It didn’t give her leave to treat people badly.
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