Immortal Desires (Well of Souls)

by Eno, Laura

  She wanted to turn and look into his eyes but caught herself just in time. Her hands stilled, forgetting to turn the papers in front of her. The air lacked even a vibration of sound, as if she'd been transported to another place and time where only the two of them existed.

  With a blur of motion, he disappeared from the edge of her vision. Deanna snapped her head around to see where he might have gone but her eyes roamed empty space. Sighing, she went back to work, wondering who he might be. There was something about him…

  Deanna laughed quietly to herself. The first man she'd given any notice to since Nick left and she couldn't get more than a glimpse of him. Maybe she was crazy and he didn't exist. Wouldn't that be a hoot. First a ghost, now this.

  ***

  That night she dreamed of him. He stood in the shadows of her bedroom, watching her sleep. The darkness stole his face again but she knew it was the same man she'd seen earlier that afternoon. His broad chest was bare and he wore the same tattoo around his bicep as her ghost-man. He spoke her name with a soft brogue, the lilt sending shivers down her body. As he stepped closer, she could see the kilt he wore slung low on his hips, the blue and black weave of tartan shimmering in the moonlight.

  Deanna blinked her eyes open with a start and turned on the lamp next to her bed. No one was there, of course, just as there wasn't any moonlight in the room. The dream had felt so real…

  She got up and turned on the bathroom light, leaving the door cracked open the way she did in hotel rooms. The experience spooked her. It was nothing like a normal dream. She trembled as she crawled back under the covers, drawing them up to her chin.

  After fidgeting for a while, Deanna finally fell back to sleep in her lightened room, wondering if she'd dream of him again. When the alarm went off the next morning, she was somewhat disappointed to find that she hadn't.

  ***

  Ian wrestled with his conscience for several hours before breaking down and allowing himself a glimpse of Deanna. He promised it would only be for a moment, just long enough to gaze at her without having to hide.

  His eyes closed, searching for her essence in the next apartment. When he located her, he found her asleep. Her smooth skin begged for his touch and he was doubly glad he hadn't gone to her room in person. No amount of restraint could have kept him from moving to her side. The hollow of her creamy throat invited his touch; his fingers curled with longing to obey as her scent wove its spell upon his senses.

  She mumbled something and pursed her lips—lips that he would give anything to taste. He groaned as heat coursed through his body and whispered her name, imagining the two of them lying in the heather of Scotland under the light of the moon.

  Deanna jerked and sat up, fumbling for the lamp as he quickly faded out of there, coming back to his body with a snap of startled reality. Had she heard him speak? It shouldn't have been possible…unless soul mates transcended the barriers? He shook his head at his folly, remorse for spying on her still warring with his need to be close to her.

  Ian closed his eyes, remembering her golden hair spread across the pillow, her moist lips waiting to be kissed. He stroked his cock, thinking of all the ways he'd like to take her and tried to dim the raging fire in the only way left to him.

  ***

  The next morning Ian stormed into Robert's office. "You canna recycle her. 'Tis wrong." His brogue thickened with emotion. "Send her back to my mortal self—back where she was meant to be." At least he'd have those sweet memories to carry with him through the long centuries.

  Robert motioned for him to shut the door and eased into a comfortable chair. "You don't know the risk you're asking me to take. What if the Conrí tainted her soul?"

  "They didna. I can tell." Ian took a deep breath, worried about Robert's reaction. "I connected with her last night. There's nothing of the Conrí there."

  "You did what?" Robert got to his feet and strode over to the window, balling his hands into a knot behind his back.

  "'Twas an accident, I assure you. I hadna thought it possible. She was dreaming and somehow I stepped into her thoughts."

  Robert spun around to face him, his face an unreadable mask. "You shouldn't have tried to make any contact with her. You've put me in a difficult position."

  "I ken that and I'm sorry." Ian walked over to his friend, coming to stand beside him. "But dinna you see? I'm already in love with her. Do you wish me to beg on behalf of my mortal self and my clan?"

  Robert's face softened. "I know a thing or two about love. I also know it can end badly. What makes you think he'll accept her, showing up without a past or family?"

  Ian snorted. "What is there to think on? We belong together. Of course I'll accept her."

  Robert put a hand on his shoulder, compassion plain on his face. "My friend, you are not the person you once were. You understand much that he did not. It might not go as well as you think."

  He was right, of course. Ian struggled with the concept, suddenly realizing he could be sending Deanna to a horrible fate. Might his former self reject her…or worse? His throat thickened as he recalled the turbulent times.

  What of her? Would she risk everything for the chance at real love? "I already told you she's no tainted. What if you give her the chance to decide for herself?"

  Robert gave him an exasperated look. "Once she's there we're merely bystanders to fate. We can't help either of you in that timeframe."

  "I ken that." Ian hoped they were doing the right thing—hoped she would forgive him for the shock about to befall her and the many lonely years she might face as a result.

  "Give me your brooch." Robert held out his hand, a slight smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

  Mystified, Ian unclasped it from his lapel and handed the heirloom over to him. "Will I get it back?"

  "I'm not sure," Robert replied absentmindedly. He held the Celtic knot up to the light, its silver framework a thing of beauty. A large sapphire sat in the middle, surrounded by ten smaller rubies. "Deanna will need it to get where she's going."

  Robert chanted over it, melodious words that Ian didn't understand. He realized it must be in the ancient tongue of the Immortals. The brooch disappeared from Robert's hand.

  "Where'd it go?"

  "Back to Scotland," Robert said. His eyes sparkled with an inner light. "Promise me you'll stay away from her."

  "Aye, you have my word." It might kill him to keep it but somehow he'd honor his promise.

  Chapter Ten

  Deanna studied the brochure for Mackay Castle Resort carefully. Their main recreations boasted of outdoor adventures—trout and salmon fishing along the River Naver, hiking along trails, climbing—that sort of thing. They also had an indoor pool and spa, yoga classes and massage amenities.

  Their main claim to fame though, was the ghost sightings—supposedly from inhabitants dating back to the 1500's. That was the reason for inclusion in the fall issue of the magazine. Deanna hadn't ever been much for believing in ghosts before she came to work for Light Street. Now she wasn't so sure after her own recent visitations.

  Robert knocked on the doorframe and swept into her office, gracefully sinking into the chair in front of the desk. "What do you think of the property?"

  "It sounds awesome. I know I'd love to stay at a place like that."

  "Now's your chance." His smile beguiled her for a second and Deanna lost her train of thought. "I have plane tickets for you if you'd like to investigate the property yourself for the article."

  "Really?" Deanna managed to restrain herself from jumping over the desk and giving Robert a hug. Very unprofessional. "I'd love to. When? I was planning on going back to San Diego next week and packing my things—"

  He waved her off. "You can do that when you get back. There's no hurry, is there? The company can pay another month's rent if it's due."

  She gulped in some air, sternly reminding herself not to squeak out her answer. "I was concerned about that, but if you need me to go to Scotland right away, that's fine.
"

  "Right now is the best time, really. The summer season hasn't started yet so you'll practically have the place all to yourself." Robert stood back up and dropped a packet on her desk. "You'll leave Denver at 7:00 am on the 29th and arrive in Inverness at 1:00pm on the 30th. It's a two-hour drive from there to the castle, which is located near Syre. We'll have someone waiting to escort you. Oh, and make sure you visit the cemetery on property while you're there. It has its own history to tell."

  He gave her a little bow and walked out, leaving Deanna with her head spinning. She fingered the packet, then tore it open. Inside were plane tickets, confirmation of a week's stay at the castle, a company credit card with her name on it, and a stack of British pound notes. Deanna tilted her head toward the ceiling, waiting for confetti to rain down on her or something equally over the top. This company didn't do anything by half.

  Stuffing it all back into the envelope, Deanna left the office and skipped to the elevator, tapping her foot when it didn't rise fast enough. She had to get to her apartment before she broke into a victory dance. Dashing through the door, she slammed it shut and let out a yell that hopefully nobody heard.

  Two days and she'd be on her way to Scotland! Deanna pulled her meager belongings out of the drawers and tossed them onto the bed. Maybe she should go shopping for a few more outfits. Had Robert really asked her to visit a graveyard? She needed to pack her camera too. Luckily, she'd brought it with her.

  Deanna collapsed in a chair, her mind whirling with things to take care of before she left. Too many things. Slow down! She took a deep breath and jumped back up again.

  ***

  Robert touched the excitement in Deanna's mind, his heart tinged with sadness that he couldn't make the transition easier for her. She was a strong-willed girl, though. In time, she'd be the perfect candidate, provided the ordeal led her in the right direction and didn't break her spirit. So many possibilities—for both of them.

  He smiled to himself. Ian had a few things to learn as well. The man thought he knew his younger self but mortals had a way of surprising you, something the five-hundred-year-old Ian had forgotten over time.

  Ian met him in the private dining room they often shared to discuss matters over a meal. The younger man's green eyes flashed with suppressed excitement although his exterior remained calm.

  Robert gave him a nod. "She's leaving in two days so she'll be in place on Bealtuinn."

  Ian twisted his hands together, a pained expression on his face. "I hope she'll forgive me."

  "You're having second thoughts?"

  "Nay! I dinna want to hurt her, 'tis all. It will be a shock but she'll come around." Ian glanced down at his hands and flexed them, rubbing his knuckles as if they hurt.

  Robert raised his glass. "Here's to a successful trip."

  Ian nodded and downed his drink in a single gulp.

  They ate in silence, each one lost in reflection. Robert wondered if Ian was reliving the years of his mortal existence. He got his answer toward the end of the meal.

  "Why dinna I have any memory of Deanna? If she went back, shouldna I already have those memories?"

  "It doesn't work that way," Robert replied carefully. He'd already been prepared for this question. "She'll be re-writing your history. I'm not sure, but I think you'll be living the moments along with your younger self, albeit at an accelerated pace."

  "I dinna understand."

  Robert smiled, thinking back to the words Ian spoke to him the first time they met—words that Ian didn't remember because they hadn't happened yet. "That's all right. Neither do I. Some things aren't meant for us to know."

  ***

  Later that night, Ian searched his memories again in a fruitless attempt to conjure up Deanna in his past. Nothing. Of course, she hadn't gone back yet but the absence of her made him nervous. Wasn't time circular or something like that? It didn't make sense to him. His throat thickened and he struggled to swallow. The thought of losing her—in either time period…

  He waited until Deanna was asleep and then slipped into her dream. "Come back to me, Deanna. I dinna want to live without you."

  "I will," she mumbled, turning her lips to kiss his phantom self.

  He stood before her in his tartan, careful not to reveal his face. She traced the tattoo on his arm with her fingertips and a rush of pleasure coursed through his body.

  It wasn't at all the same as being able to hold her in his arms, but it was enough for now. After she made the trip, he'd have that pleasure for years.

  Ian left her then, allowing her to sleep in a natural state as he reveled in the memory of her touch. Her voice, promising to come back to him, soothed his disquiet thoughts and eased his guilt. For a while anyway.

  Chapter Eleven

  Highlands, April 2012

  A driver met Deanna at the Inverness airport to take her to the hotel at Mackay Castle. Despite her intentions to soak in the rugged beauty of the highlands during the drive, Deanna dozed off until she had almost reached her destination. The unintended nap did her some good though, and she kept her eyes glued to the scenery outside as they approached the area of Strathnaver where she'd be staying for a week.

  The castle sat on a hill surrounded by a green valley and overlooked the River Naver. Despite the parking lot off to one side of the property, the castle itself looked ancient. She imagined the people who occupied it hundreds of years ago would still recognize parts of it.

  Stone walls towered against the backdrop of blue sky, its round towers at each end rising higher still above the landscape. She wondered what life must have been like for the Mackay clan so long ago. Was there once a small village situated at the base of the hill, as there was now?

  Sheep dotted the fertile river valley, a reminder of past times when things weren't so idyllic. During the Clearances of the 1700's, the people had been driven from their homes in preference to pastureland for sheep.

  A bony man ran out to greet her as the car pulled up to the front entrance, his long gray hair pulled back from his face into a neat ponytail.

  "You'd be Ms. Cameron? Welcome to Mackay Castle." He clasped her hand as she stepped out of the car and smiled broadly at her. "I'm Andrew MacFegan, the proprietor of this fine establishment. Dinna hesitate to ask for anything you desire during your stay."

  "I'm happy to be here, Mr. MacFegan." And she was. Her breath caught at the wild beauty surrounding her. She still couldn't believe all this was a part of her job. "It's beautiful here."

  "Aye. Wait till you tour the castle." Mr. MacFegan beamed with pride. "Dinna fash yourself with the bags. Someone will see them to your room."

  He led her through the heavy wood doors and into an entryway with a rough stone floor. "The stones are original to the house."

  Deanna coughed to stifle a giggle. "House" came out as "hoos" and struck her as utterly charming—in a hilarious sort of way.

  They walked into a grand room with a fireplace that took up half the wall. A huge portrait hung above it and Deanna's heart tripped as she stared at it. The man posed in a white shirt and blue, green and black kilt, his long dark hair flowing freely halfway down his chest. Emerald-green eyes gazed out at her, seeming to beckon Deanna to step closer. He looked dangerous, delicious and so much like the man in her dreams that Deanna wanted to fondle the painting.

  "Aye, startling portrait that." Mr. MacFegan grinned at her and Deanna felt her cheeks grow hot. "That's Ian Mackay, the last laird of the castle. He's said to haunt the grounds here, although I've never seen him myself. Other ghosties abound but none as bother the guests except to entertain them."

  Deanna yanked her eyes away from the gorgeous hunk on the wall as Mr. MacFegan ushered her into the dining room. Broad windows opened onto a view of the river, giving each table a stunning vista to gaze at.

  A bar sat at the far end of the room and Deanna wandered over to it. The stout bartender asked if she wanted something to drink, his older face full of cheer. Declining, she spotted a sign on t
he wall behind him, either very old or fashioned to look that way. It said:

  Here's tae the heath, the hill and the heather,

  The bonnet, the plaid, the kilt and the feather.

  She turned back to Mr. MacFegan and smiled. "This place is charming. I love it here."

  "Aye, it's bonnie. There's no place like the highlands. Let me show you to your room and come see me whenever you want to have a blether."

  Deanna followed him up the stairs, struggling with the word blether for a minute before she remembered it meant to have a chat.

  He opened a door about halfway between the stairs and the end of the hallway on the third floor and stepped aside. "I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay with us."

  "Thank you. I already am." Deanna headed for the window as the door closed behind her. She had the same view of the river as the dining room downstairs. A few white clouds scuttled by, doing nothing to block the sun from highlighting the water with a thousand sparkles.

  With the small town out of sight on the other side of the hill, it was easy to imagine the medieval history of the place. No telephone poles or cars hindered her view to spoil the fantasy. Her hands grazed the rough stone of the outer wall as she tried to picture who might have once lived here.

  An image of Ian Mackay floated in front of her face. Why had he been the last laird of the castle? What misfortune befell the inhabitants? Deanna rested her cheek against the cool stone trying to sense those calamitous times. The images of the man from her dreams blended with the portrait hanging downstairs until she was almost convinced they were one and the same.

  Nonsense. She shoved away from the wall with a nervous laugh and looked at the rest of the room. A beautifully carved four-poster bed dominated it, the bedspread in blue, green and black plaid—the colors of the Mackay clan. A large crest lay in the center of the pattern, a hand holding a dagger within a circle with the words Manu Forti above it. Below the circle was written: Bratach Bhan Chlann Aoidh.