by Ria Cantrell
He went back to the only home he really knew and that was what had been Castle Campbell. While he knew that it was no longer in the hands of the Campbell clan, he really didn’t know where else to begin his journey. He wandered through the portcullis and passed the now streaming mass of people who thrived among the keep and its outlying village. The MacCollums had truly restored the keep to its previous glory. The once crumbling façade was pristine as it had been when Gavin had lived. Derek was washed again with shame as he remembered how derelict Campbell Keep had become under the care of Roderick and himself. It seemed quite bitter to admit that the MacCollums would restore and nurture what he should have done long ago.
Derek made his way into the main hall and no one took any notice of him. The weight of his curse hit him squarely in the chest. They couldn’t see him. The reality of it was a bitter tincture to swallow. He was a ghost. Except, he could feel everything; the same as any mortal man. And Derek Campbell felt. He felt the things he refused to feel while he walked the earth. He felt every pang of hurt and remorse for all the heartache he had caused in the world. He felt tired. Beyond all else, he felt so very tired. When the realization that he could still feel everything came to pass, Derek was indeed grateful that he could not feel the pain from the fall from the tree.
While he was usually a lone wolf in many aspects of his life, he suddenly felt completely alone and isolated. The isolation was the worst feeling of all. Of all the remorse Derek was assailed with, the loneliness was a torture he thought he might not be able to bear. He walked amid the people and while he could see them, no one; not even the castle hounds made any notice of him. This, he realized, was more hell than redemption, to be sure.
Chapter 6
Sitting on the veranda of her hotel room, Kiera looked out on the lights coming alive like stars in a blackened sky. Rome was truly a magical place. It was funny how the night brought new life to the city and was really when the day began for many of its inhabitants. She took a deep breath, as the night breeze blew over her like the kiss of a lover. Kiera had been in Italy for about three weeks now on the first leg of her assignment. When she wasn’t running and fetching for the tyrant she worked for, she took time to explore the beauty of her new surroundings. It was amazing what a change of scenery had done for her. Jeannie had been right. While working for “Napoleon” was a daily struggle, Jeanne had said that being in an exciting new place would wash the heartache away. Kiera had not wanted to believe that such a thing was possible, but here she was breathing in the heady smells of delicious foods being cooked while watching the ancient city come alive and no thoughts of heartache dragged her down.
She would have loved to stay on in Italy a whole lot longer, but the documentary crew would be moving on to England and Wales in a week or so. Kiera had never been one to put much stock in the love of old things, but as she peered out from her perch, she had somehow fallen in love with the ancient place that was as rich in history as it was in delectable foods.
On one of her many walks, Kiera found herself wandering the ruins of Ancient Rome and felt a sudden pull to the past. For the first time in her life, she felt the draw of eras gone by and her love affair began to grow into a full blown obsession. She did not want to admit it, but she was starting to understand the lure of antiquities that held “the little general’s” every waking thought. Besides the history, Kiera was in love with the wonderful fare that was offered. When she had first arrived, she was still not eating well and in fact, food held little interest to her, but as she explored and got to know parts of her new digs, she was easily tempted to taste and try some of the wonderfully prepared creations in her travels. She had always loved the Americanized versions of Italian food, but the meals she enjoyed in Italy were like a sensory experience that could be likened to an orgasmic thrill.
Kiera grew to understand that the Italian people prided themselves on creating savory dishes that both teased and satisfied the human palate. As she leaned over the balcony of her terrace, the scent of roasting garlic drifted up from one of the bistros on the street below. It was not pungent but smelled heavenly and she could feel her mouth beginning to water at the aroma. Sauces tinged with aromatic basil floated upward to tickle her senses and Kiera suddenly felt quite hungry. Kiera had wondered how food tasted so much better here in Italy than she had ever remembered tasting anywhere else. Hell, she was a New Yorker and didn’t New Yorkers pride themselves on having some of the best restaurants in the world? Nothing compared to the delectable meals that she experienced in Italy. Everything seemed fresher, or bolder…or creamier. Kiera thought she could happily eat gelato for the rest of her life.
Kiera vowed that she would treat herself to learn how to prepare some of the wonderful dishes she had eaten while staying in Rome. She had also always loved to cook, but somehow in the last months of her dying relationship with Jackson, that simple pleasure had also fallen by the wayside. She did not want to think about not being able to cook for that “special” someone right now. She had been feeling too good to succumb to the pitfalls of break-up blues.
Kiera leaned over the balcony; watching a couple kissing before the fountain that was illuminated in the piazza just beyond the hotel. Yes, romance blossomed in this magical place. Even that thought did not tug at her like she thought it would. She had made some friends while on the location of the documentary and not all were women. One thing could be said about Italian men. They certainly appreciated the feminine form. While she did not particularly want to date any of them, Kiera learned another art form in Rome. It seemed flirting was an Olympic sport and well…when in Rome…. Even though she knew it for what it was, Kiera enjoyed the attention. She suddenly felt beautiful again. She had put back some of the weight that she lost during her breakup. She seemed to have gained the luster back in her hair and most of all in her eyes. She breathed in another deep cleansing breath, catching a hint of jasmine on the breeze, which blotted out the previous scents of delicious dishes being prepared.
She was going to be alright. No; she was alright. Suddenly, she knew that whatever had happened between her and Jackson did not define her. She vowed not to ever be the victim again and if that meant guarding her heart carefully, she would. Still, as she glanced down at the couple locked in a passionate kiss, something deep inside her called out to that part of her heart that wanted to be loved; that craved to be awoken.
The next morning, Kiera made her way to the documentary set. The “little general” was already in a black mood and as soon as he saw Kiera approach, he laced into her for some small infraction that he conjured in his petty mind. Straightening her shoulders, she refused to be pummeled mentally by this man. She hoped that his mood would improve throughout the day, but instead, he seemed to be more aggressive with each passing hour. Everything and anything was her fault. If his coffee had too much cream, it was Kiera’s fault. Kiera tried to not roll her eyes at the latest of scoldings she received. That would only buy her more abuse at the hands of the beady eyed pig that was her boss. Instead she just smiled sweetly and tried to laugh it off, but by the end of the day, her nerves were frazzled and she felt as if she had been physically abused. She treated herself to a gelato on the way back to her place and bumped into one of her new friends, Giancarlo. In broken English peppered with his luscious Italian accent, he asked her to have a drink later that night. Normally she would have said no, but after the day she had, a drink would have been just the perfect thing to soothe her frayed nerves.
Giancarlo was short, dark and handsome. While he was pretty to look at, he was most definitely not her type. He had a wiry sort of athletic build, like someone who rode in the Tour d’ France, and in fact, he was an avid cyclist. He was a good six inches shorter than Kiera, but he had an infectious smile and he was an incurable flirt. Kiera knew that a couple of drinks with Giancarlo would be good for a few laughs, but the flirting thing was not just a way of life for him. He prided himself as being quite the Casanova with the ladies. That alone would
never let Kiera be attracted to him. She had enough of men who were players to last her a lifetime. Still, he was fun to talk to and he made her feel pretty, so why not…a drink would be just right. Kiera agreed to meet him later after nine or so. Italian time was quite a little bit different than American time. She told him she would see him later and she strolled back to her room. She wanted to take a good hot bath and peruse the fashion magazine she had picked up in the lobby gift shop.
Letting herself into her room, Kiera dumped her bag on the bed and headed to the bathroom for that bath she promised herself. Pinning her long thick tresses up and slipping out of her clothes, she sank blissfully into the steaming tub which eased the tension from her shoulders immediately. Stretching her legs out she let the water envelope her. With a deep sigh, Kiera felt the stress of the day vanishing. She did not realize she had even dozed off when she began to dream.
~She was walking amid the ruins of an ancient castle. There was thick foliage covering much of the crumbled stone, but she still had to see the tower that remained mostly whole as she made her way through the briars and thorny clinging vines. Something pulled at her to push onward even when the thorns scraped against her cheek or snagged into her hair. Oddly, there was an old door made of thick oak that still was at the entrance of the tower. The hinges were rusted over but Kiera tugged with all her might, hoping to budge the heavy barrier to allow her access to the ancient ruin. It had been shut a long time, she was certain; although how it remained she could not understand. Surely it should have rotted away like the timbers of the rest of the ruin. Frustrated, she gave it a final tug and in the process, cut her finger on a thorn from a trailing vine. “Damn it,” she cursed out loud as a crimson droplet of blood beaded from the cut. She watched as a small drop splashed on one of the hinges and she brought her finger to her lips and sucked instinctively at the cut.
Giving the door a final exasperated tug, Kiera was sure she would fail at her attempt to open it. Only she found it opened with less effort than she had expected. She nearly tumbled onto her seat but held onto the handle of the door to prevent her from landing into more thorns. She expected the tower to smell musty but instead of cloying dust and fetid air, she found it to be clean. She expected to be quickly tangled in cobwebs, but again, there were none. She felt her way up the spiraling stairs, wondering what she would find at the top of it. Even though the sun shone brightly outside of the tower ruin, inky darkness nearly blackened out any hope of sight as she groped her way higher. She did not think how dangerous it would be to get to the top in nearly utter darkness and she did not want to think how treacherous the decent back down would be once she had. Only, as she made her way higher, feeling for the wall the entire way, she suddenly saw a glimmer of light at the top of the stairs. It beckoned her onward.
As she reached the final step, she found herself in a room sparsely furnished, with furniture from a much different time. And there, with his back to her, was a man of great size and strength. Her first instinct was to run, but something held her to her spot. When he turned around, she expected to see anger at her intrusion. For a moment his dark stormy eyes held hers and he spoke. It was a language she did not recognize, but he was dressed in a plaid and shirt of some kind. Gaelic…that must be it.
“I…I am sorry. I thought this to be a ruin. I did not think anyone lived here. Forgive me for my intrusion.”
Kiera began to back away, but something about the way he looked at her made her want to stay. He was imposing, but she was not frightened by him. His eyes were like the color of a stormy sea, not quite green, nor blue, but they shone with deep intensity as they gazed upon her. And they seemed so very sad. Straight brown hair hung just above his shoulder. There was the growth of daily beard over his strong square jaw, but it accentuated his very handsome face. A man of his size could have been likened to that of a monster, but Kiera noted he was anything but. He was positively gorgeous! Broad shoulders and chest narrowed to slim hips. His arms were deeply muscled and he looked as if he could crush a person with his bare hands. Still, Kiera was not afraid of him. He spoke again and said, “Finally, ye’ are here. Ye’ dunna’ know how long I have waited fer ye’, lass.”~
Kiera woke with a start. That was one helluva a dream! It wasn’t like her to fantasize about someone even in her dreams but for the first few moments after she woke, she could not stop her heart from pounding; and it wasn’t just from jolting awake. It was from the image of that guy in her dreams. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen and then she reminded herself by saying out loud, “Right, idiot…that was why it was a dream. Guys don’t look like that and if they did, for sure they would be the wrong type of guy for you. Get a grip.”
Still, the memory of the dream lingered as she dressed and put her make up on to meet up with Giancarlo. She wondered if she would be able to concentrate on Giancarlo’s accented English with the dream hunk occupying her mind.
When she arrived at the designated place, Giancarlo greeted her with a kiss for each cheek. Kiera loved the European custom of the double kiss. He winked and said, “Ah, Bella mia…you look so beautiful tonight.”
Kiera smiled and rolled her eyes. Ever the charmer, but she wasn’t complaining. She sat with him at a table on the patio and he ordered a bottle of wine. As they sat sipping the delicious wine and chatting, a wistful light gleamed in Giancarlo’s eyes. He said, “Bella, why you no have a boyfriend?”
“Giancarlo, are you offering,” Kiera teased.
“No, no, baby. I just look at you and see you so sad and I think…why? You are a beautiful woman…Why?”
Kiera had not shared much about her private life with Giancarlo but for some reason, she suddenly felt like telling him. She explained about Jackson and that she was sort of taking a break from dating for a while. She saw a sad look in Giancarlo’s eyes. Italians were suckers for passion and romance so the idea of willfully resisting the possibility of it was abhorrent to him. Finally, he said, “Baby, you need a man. I finda one for you.”
“No, Giancarlo. I am fine.”
“Not fine. A beautiful woman should have a lover. Tonight, I almost thought I see a lover in your eyes, like you meet someone, no?”
As the memory of the dream pushed to the forefront of her mind, she hastily shook her head and said a bit too quickly, “No. I haven’t met anyone. I can’t right now anyway. I will be leaving soon. It would be too complicated to start a relationship.”
“Ma’ no. You should have…how do you say...affair…booty call.”
When he said booty call, Kiera laughed out loud. It was so funny to hear him say that. With a grin he said, “Maybe I no say that right.”
“You did. It still is funny to hear. I don’t really want a booty call, Gianni.”
“But you need passion, baby. You need a man to make love to you, really make love to you, baby. Not like your stupido lover. Someone…like…me.”
“Gianni, are you offering again?”
“Well, si, si, but not what you think. I mean like me. Like a man who loves women and wants to…I no have the right English…Shit…Passion, baby. Romance. You know.…”
Kiera did know. She knew Giancarlo meant well and he was probably right. Maybe what she needed was a good fling, but she just wasn’t ready for that. Smiling, she said, “Well, maybe someday. Just not right now.”
Giancarlo looked puzzled. To him a day without passion was like a day without eating. Neither aspect was to his liking. It just did not sit right with him. He frowned and said, “Baby…you don’t know how…beautiful you are. How perfect.”
Bringing his hand to his lips and kissing at the air he said, “You are like a work of art. Face like an angel…body like…Venus….”
He winked and then made a more vulgar gesture with both hands to admire the attributes of her chest that normally she would have taken offense to, but with Giancarlo, she couldn’t be offended. She smiled at his appraisal. She could always count on him to make her feel sexy and she appreciated
his concern. She leaned over and kissed him and said, “Thank you.”
With a sexy little grin he said, “Why baby? I only tell you the truth.”
“You are a terrible flirt but I love you for it.”
“No. I am a lover of beautiful women. I no lie about that…with you.”
“Gianni, I know you don’t.”
Taking her hands in his he looked into her eyes again. With a half grin he said, “I see a man, Baby. Maybe you no meet him yet, but I see him. He will make love to you like you need. You’ll see.”
“Are you sure you aren’t seeing your own reflection, Gianni?”
He laughed then and said, “I can show you, Bella. You will like, I promise. Now I am offering.”
“I would be offended if you didn’t. You have every time we have been together.”
He smiled that disarming smile. She had no doubt that a little fling with Giancarlo would be fun, but that was really the last thing she wanted. She wasn’t very into the “booty call” as he so eloquently put it. Still she didn’t want to hurt his feelings so she said, “I have no doubt that you are quite the lover, Gianni. But you know, I really love you as my friend. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Well, we no ruin. But I understand. You, Bella, really want the boyfriend. Even though you deny it. I want that for you, too. Even if I don’t find for you, I know that is what your heart needs. I think it will be soon.”
“Oh, I had no idea that Italians were fortune tellers, too.”
“Don’t make fun, baby. Many of Italians have, how do you say, gypsy in us. I tell you, I see a man for you very soon.”
