Haunted Warrior

by Allie Mackay

  Kendra blinked. She hadn’t realized they’d come so far down the jetty.

  “Ramsay is a bad-­tempered devil.” Graeme stopped beside the boat, releasing her hand. “He’ll no’ let anything stand in his way. If someone disagrees with him, they won’t for long. He knows how to persuade.”

  “I thought you were going to say threaten.”

  “I could have done.”

  “Scots are known for having strong minds.” Kendra spoke hers. “I wouldn’t think villagers would allow themselves to be bullied.”

  “They don’t if they’re aware of it.” He bent to free the Sea Wyfe’s lines. “Ramsay is smooth and can charm when he wishes.”

  “I wasn’t impressed.” Kendra remembered how he’d come on to her.

  “You’re not a lonely old widow whose only excitement is looking forward to a winter of cold and solitude.” He straightened, nodding a greeting when a man in a handmade sweater and a knitted cap walked past. “Or imagine a ne’er married fisherman past his prime and with no son to leave his boat and hard-­earned savings. Such folk are easily fooled when someone shows them even a breath of kindness.

  “And”—­his voice held an edge—­“Ramsay knows how to use timing. He finds the vulnerable and moves in when they’re most likely to accept whatever nonsense he spins for them. Folk hereabouts aren’t themselves these days. Many are up in arms, not wanting to see their village turned into an amusement park for tourists. Though there are a few exceptions, as I’ve told you.

  “Misguided fools, thinking they’ll benefit from the project. Then there are others with their own agenda.” He glanced back across the water, toward the Spindrift. Ramsay wasn’t in sight, but a sense of menace seemed to color the air around the house, making the atmosphere appear darker there than anywhere else along the cliffs.

  Kendra wondered if Graeme noticed, but he’d already hopped onto his boat. She looked away from the house, turning back to Graeme.

  “You mean Ramsay, with an agenda.” She already knew he did.

  “I do.” He reached to help her climb down onto the Sea Wyfe. “That one has aye had his own plans. And”—­his voice hardened again—­“he doesn’t stop at anything to see them put into place.”

  “You really don’t like him.” Kendra clambered aboard, gripping his arm when the boat swayed beneath her. “I do think the feeling is mutual.”

  “It is.”

  “I’ve seen how he looks at you.” That was as close as she’d go for the moment. She couldn’t mention auras and feelings, or the dark haze around Ramsay’s house.Such comments would spark questions she shouldn’t answer.

  She did let Graeme help her onto a seat near the front of the boat. As soon as she was settled, he untied the remaining lines, started the motor, and eased the Sea Wyfe away from the jetty.

  “Ramsay and his ilk have aye been good at glaring.” Graeme glanced at her as they left the mouth of the harbor and entered the bay. “I don’t mind returning his scowls. Bad blood has run between our families for centuries. And”—­he guided them past a cluster of black-­glistening tidal rocks—­“if you didn’t know, grudges are forever in these parts. Once an enemy, aye an enemy, even long after no one remembers what began the feud.”

  “But you do know,” Kendra guessed.

  The look he flashed her said she’d gotten it right. “Och, aye. I know every grievance that ever fell between the MacGraths and Ramsays. Gavin is a direct descendant of a man named Morcant. He started the trouble in days back when time wasn’t yet measured. Ever since, every man of Morcant’s blood has kept the tradition.

  “Gavin is trying to take the legacy to new levels. I don’t let him.” His dark eyes sparked pure male satisfaction when he glanced at her.

  “So I’ve seen.” Kendra shifted on the seat, for they were just leaving the bay and moving into open water. The long North Sea swells she’d watched from the shore were rolling right at them.

  She wasn’t ready to make their acquaintance.

  So she touched her lips instead, sure they still tingled from Graeme’s kiss. “You are going to great measures to convince him we’re a pair.”

  “That I am, aye.” His jaw was set, the smile she’d expected nowhere forthcoming.

  “He must really annoy you.” Kendra knew she sounded peeved, but she couldn’t help it. Recalling his kisses played havoc with her senses and her emotions.

  He made them sound like a hardship.

  Hoping he couldn’t tell how much that bothered her, she gripped the edge of her seat, her gaze on the first roller’s steady approach.

  “Ramsay doesn’t irritate me.” The tense set of Graeme’s shoulders said that wasn’t true. “He just needs to be stopped. And”—­he glanced at her—­“to discover that this is no longer a world where plunder and glory can be had just because one wants the like. Raids, rape, and pillage went out of style centuries ago.”

  “You make it sound as if he’s one of his forebears.”

  “He’s worse. As one of their descendants, he carries the foul traits of them all.”

  Kendra started to ask for specifics, but just then her stomach tightened as the Sea Wyfe rose and fell over the white-­crested swell she’d been dreading. The encounter wasn’t as bad as she’d expected.

  But she wouldn’t call it pleasant.

  Not like looking at Graeme.

  It was more than the fact he was drop-­dead gorgeous. It was nice to feel sensual shivers racing over her skin each time she glanced at him. But being with him went beyond appreciating his dark good looks and his sexy Scottish burr. He made her feel safe. As if he’d bend gravity or stop the earth’s turning if such measures were required to protect someone he cared about.

  She could see him thrusting her behind him with one arm and brandishing a sword with the other, challenging anyone who’d harm her.

  He had that kind of air about him. He could have been a Highland warrior.

  And she could look at him forever.

  But as he needed to concentrate on maneuvering the boat across the next onslaught of long, even larger-­looking rollers, she opted to keep quiet and enjoy the view until they reached calmer water.

  Large, glassy waves hissed past the bow, and the neat row of Pennard’s whitewashed houses and the marina receded as they neared the jutting bulk of Pennard Head, the massive bluff that formed and protected the western end of the village. Rollers crashed against the rocks there, each breaking swell sending up fans of spray. The noise was deafening, elemental, and stirring. More seabirds than Kendra had ever seen jostled for room on the black, many-­ledged cliff face and others soared and nose-­dived everywhere, their constant flight making the crag seem alive.

  The birds’ cries, coupled with the roar of the sea and the rushing wind, filled Kendra’s senses until she felt more alive, more exhilarated, than ever before in her life. It was a heady sensation, incredibly wonderful and yet almost painful in its intensity.

  She could almost believe that nowhere else in the world existed.

  As if nothing mattered except her and Graeme, alone in his boat, and the wild and beautiful sea and landscape surrounding them.

  Glancing at him now, she felt a deep sense of longing, both for him and the land that seemed so much a part of him. With his profile limned against the sea and his long, dark hair blowing in the wind, he reminded her of their first meeting at Balmedie Beach and how he’d looked up on the high dunes, watching the horizon.

  She would’ve sworn he was some kind of guardian.

  That was the impression he’d given her that night.

  If she was honest, the electricity crackling between them now had been strong even then. He’d taken her breath away at Balmedie. And even if she’d tried to ignore the attraction, it was real.

  It was also more powerful than anything she’d ever felt in her life.

  As if he agreed, he flashed a look at her that made her heart soar. Hoping he wouldn’t guess, she smiled over at the seabirds cartwheelin
g up and down the cliffs they were just passing.

  “This is incredible.” She meant that. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Not many people have, lest they bother to take out a boat and come along this way.” He glanced toward Pennard Head, then back at her. “There is a cliff path. But its zigzagging climb is slippery and dangerous. So, aye”—­his voice took on a note of pride—­“you’re one of the few from out of town to enjoy this view of the bluff.”

  Kendra lifted a hand to shield her eyes from flying spray and tried to make out the track he’d described. She couldn’t see anything except glistening black rock, screaming seabirds, and—­her pulse jumped—­a cute little seal sunning on a ledge just out of reach of the tide. Gripping the edge of the boat, she leaned forward, hoping to get a better look at the seal.

  “O-­o-­oh, see there!” She pointed, her gaze locked on the seal’s doglike face, sure he was looking right back at her. “Is he one of yours?”

  “Seals belong to no man, lass. They answer only to their own good selves. Long may it be so.” He smiled on the words, his fondness for the creatures apparent. “But, aye, thon wee one is from the seals I monitor. I recognize him by his markings and the shape of his head. Anyone who spends time around seals soon discovers they’re as individual as we are.

  “His friends will be a bit farther along the cliffs.” He indicated a point up ahead where Kendra could just make out the flash of white breakers. “That’s where their haul-­out site is. I’ve told you”—­he glanced at her—­“that’s a place where they pull themselves ashore. They favor the protected sides of tidal rocks, ledges, and sandbanks. And they’re greatest in number two hours before and after low tide. We’ll be there soon and you’ll see them.”

  “I can’t wait.” Kendra looked back at the seal. He’d slipped into the water, his dark, dome-­shaped head bobbing in the waves as he stared after them.

  Graeme was right.

  This was a special place. Wonder surged inside her, warming her heart. The little seal rolled onto his back, lifting a flipper as if waving farewell as the boat moved steadily on.

  “Are they all so playful?” She watched the seal until he dove beneath the water, disappearing.

  “They are, aye. You can help me look for Bart.” Graeme’s voice held affection. “He wasn’t there last time and I’ve been worried about him. Bart’s an older bull seal. He’s massive and thickly whiskered, but friendly as a dog. If you see him, you’ll know he’s Bart.”

  “Aren’t seals tagged or something?”

  “Aye, some. But their annual molt wasn’t too long ago, in September. The transmitters are attached to their fur by epoxy.” He paused as the Sea Wyfe arced over another roller and then plunged down the other side. “When seals molt, the transmitters often fall off. I suspect Bart has other ways of losing his. He’s quite a character.”

  Kendra nodded, her gaze focused on the cliffs.

  It was then that she remembered Iain had said Graeme’s ancestral ruin, Castle Grath, was on a bluff just beyond Pennard Head.

  She took a breath, knowing she had to ask about his family’s home. “Isn’t Pennard Head where—­”

  “Aye, it’s where Ramsay can no longer keep us in his sights.” Graeme was slowing the boat, moving carefully past a cluster of jagged-­edged tidal rocks. He’d clearly misunderstood her. “As soon as we’re past these skerries, we’re out of his reach.

  “Although…” He didn’t finish, his jaw clenching as he circled around the last jutting rock.

  “What?” Kendra was burning to know.

  Graeme didn’t look at her.

  His face closed even more. Then he drew a long breath, and she knew he was about to break, revealing something he normally wouldn’t.

  He shoved back his hair and the sight of his strong arm flexing made her forget about seals and even his oily foe. Only a short while ago, he’d slid his arm around her, pulling her hard against him.

  She wanted more such embraces. She yearned for his kisses and the way he looked at her with his dark, intense gaze. She remembered her dream, how he’d approached her bed, his attention riveted on her naked breasts….

  Kendra drew a breath as a rush of desire washed through her. She shifted on her seat, growing restless. He was just too devilishly sexy, his appeal made lethal by his Scottish accent and dimples.

  It was a potent combination.

  Fortunately, the look on his face helped squash sensual thoughts and yearnings.

  He was angry, though not at her.

  “Ramsay”—­he spoke the name as if it soured his tongue—­“might not be able to see us from the Spindrift any longer, but he once tried to stretch his tentacles this far, the conniving bastard.”

  “I don’t understand.” She had an idea, but wanted him to tell her.

  “There’s a ruinous old castle up on the cliffs above my seal-­watching place.” He had to be speaking of Castle Grath. But to Kendra’s disappointment, he didn’t show any sign of admitting a connection to the stronghold. “Ramsay wanted to buy the ruin and sell one-­square-­foot ‘lots’ to any Scotland-­loving fools eager to call themselves a laird. He hoped to finance the purchase that way and, of course, to make a tidy sum from gullible American tourists.”

  Kendra blinked. “I’ve heard of such schemes.”

  She’d expected something worse.

  “Aye, it’s a common moneymaking ploy here.” He looked at her, his expression measuring, as if he were debating what to tell her.

  “That’s surely not why you dislike him so much.” She knew there was more.

  He cut the motor, letting the Sea Wyfe rock in the current. “There are many reasons Ramsay and I aren’t friends.” His tone was somber, his dark gaze locked on hers. “The land he wanted was my own. He sought to get his hands on my family’s ancestral seat, the crumbling shell of Castle Grath.

  “Selling deeds to Americans was only a front.” His voice turned cold, his disdain palpable. “Ramsay had no intention of ever allowing Diaspora Scots to run over the property, waving titles and maps and looking for their little piece of the Auld Hameland.

  “What he wanted”—­he pushed back his hair again—­“was free rein to tear up the ruin and dig the land.”

  “He was hoping to find buried treasure?” Kendra was again surprised.

  Searching for treasure was the pastime of many.

  But it didn’t make people evil.

  The look on Graeme’s face said it did. “Not really treasure, nae.” He shook his head, watching her as he spoke. “Ramsay hoped to find a relic he believed might be secreted at Grath.”

  Kendra’s interest quickened. “A relic?”

  “Of sorts, aye.”

  “Of sorts?” Kendra repeated his words.

  He looked sorry he’d let them slip. “An instrument of destruction is a better term.”

  Kendra felt her eyes round. “I don’t understand.”

  “Be glad you don’t.” He glanced at the clouds gathering on the horizon and frowned. “Ramsay hoped to locate the Shadow Wand, a fabled length of jet and amber once said to have been in my family’s possession. Anyone who wielded the relic held untold power.” He looked at her as if he expected her to laugh.

  She didn’t.

  “There’s more, I can tell,” she pressed, sensing in the air stirrings that the Shadow Wand was of much greater significance than a mere myth. She tucked her hair behind an ear, kept her voice neutral. “I’d love to hear why he wanted such a thing. Most people wouldn’t—­”

  “Gavin Ramsay isn’t like anyone you’ve ever met.” He paused less than a second. “I told you he carries the taint of his ancestors.”

  “I remember.”

  “Their blood has influenced him.” Graeme’s face was deadly earnest.

  “So?” Kendra hoped she didn’t sound flippant. But she didn’t want to show too much interest and risk him going silent.

  “It’s simple.” He spoke matter-­of-­fac
tly. “Gavin Ramsay’s forebear, Morcant, was a dark druid. He was also the original owner of the Shadow Wand. When his greed and thirst for power made him even more corrupt, the wand fell into the hands of my ancestors.

  “Or so clan legend claims.” He turned back to the boat’s wheel, as if the subject were closed.

  Kendra was only getting started. “And now Gavin wants the relic back.”

  “That he does.” Graeme restarted the motor. “And I am here to thwart him.”

  Kendra grabbed her seat as the Sea Wyfe surged forward, cutting straight through a swell, the spray pluming down the boat’s sides.

  And I am here to thwart him. Graeme’s words echoed in her mind, something telling her there was much more to their rivalry than him keeping his foe from finding a legendary relic that might not even be real.

  Graeme was real.

  And seeing him so determined and fierce only made him all the more attractive to her. He’d wrapped himself around her heart now. It was only a matter of time before he noticed her feelings.

  She was doing the one thing she’d vowed never to do: fall in love on the job.

  Chapter 11

  Graeme looked at the cliffs towering above the Sea Wyfe and knew he’d gone too far. Not distance-­wise, but in sharing such confidences with Kendra.

  He should not have spoken of the Shadow Wand to her.

  He’d been equally foolish to show the depth of his animosity toward Ramsay. Kendra couldn’t begin to understand the danger posed by the bastard.

  And he wanted to keep it that way.

  There were times when ignorance really was bliss.

  This was one of them.

  Sliding a glance at Kendra now, he saw that such a shield of innocence might just be possible. She leaned forward with her gaze on the cliffs, her eyes lit with wonder. He knew the look. It was the misty-­eyed, oooh-­this-­is-­the-­land-­of-­my-­ancestors sense of affinity most often seen on the faces of Scotland-­loving Americans whenever they encountered anything even remotely resembling their sentimental ideals of Braveheart or Briga-