by Tarah Scott
She lifted her gaze to the sword. From pommel to tip, the sword was three and a half feet long. Like the shield, it shown to perfection, but nicks on the blade and wear on the pommel said the weapon had also been used—a lot. The helmet, too, showed signs of wear. When she examined the hem of the mail and found tiny bits of bent or twisted metal, she knew her guess was right. The luster of the armor couldn’t compare to the shield and sword, but weapons could be polished. If this wasn’t the real thing, it was a well-used replica.
Margot turned, dropped into the chair, and opened the browser on the computer. The high-powered computer had the window open in two seconds. Margot typed in Scottish Templar armor.
Hit after hit advertised stores selling replicated medieval armor. She typed in collectors, templar armor, and got six hits relating to people who bought various types of armor for collectors, as well as collections donated to museums. Page after page combined with different key words turned into another fifteen minutes that passed with having found only the London Museum exhibit of a Templar sword. She twisted and looked over her shoulder at the armor. Cat said suits of armor were a dime a dozen in these castles. That meant this armor came with Castle Morrison. Did that mean the lord of the manor had been of Templar stock?
She typed Scottish Templars in the Google bar, and began reading when the page loaded. The Scottish Order of the Knights Templar was one of Royal appointment, an Honor presented by the Royal Court. Only limited families were accepted into the Order and at the head of the organization were the heads of three families, seen to be of senior representation of the original Scottish Knights. These three families were: the House of Stewart; The House of Sinclair; and The House of Seton; which families were also recognized as representatives of the Carolingian bloodline.
Margot squinted at the screen and read out loud, “Carolingian bloodline.”
Five minutes later, she stared at a window that stated Merovingian bloodline: the royal bloodline of Jesus later merged with Carolingian bloodline.
Was Cat on some sort of hunt for the Holy Grail? What could the Holy Grail have to do with Castle Morrison? Not Castle Morrison, Margot realized. Lord Colin Morrison. She typed in Lord Colin Morrison, Isle of Lewis, and Scottish Templars. A page full of mismatched pieces of information appeared on the screen. Dammit. She needed to narrow the search.
Memory of Cat’s words that morning came to mind. “When I opened Castle Morrison’s doors, their sleuths went to work and uncovered that tidbit. I could have throttled them.”
Ghost Hunters, Inc. Margot typed in the name along with Castle Morrison. A page loaded with a picture of Castle Morrison. Just as she thought, the ghost busters weren’t about to let all that hard work go to waste. She scrolled down the page and froze at sight of a picture of Lord Colin Morrison.
Steely brown eyes stared back at her. Eyes she’d seen in dreams these past two nights. The same hard jaw, broad shoulders, even the tartan that draped his shoulder and wrapped his waist. A jolt of desire hit straight between her legs.
Margot shot to her feet. “What the hell.”
The chair fell backwards, hitting the carpet with a low thud. Desire tickled the insides of her stomach. Memory rose of his body pressed against her back, his cock nestled in the crack of her ass. Her heart jumped to a gallop. Feel of his large hands on her ribcage, his finger on her pleasure point, massaging, vibrating. His harsh laugh reverberated in her ear as he fit his cock into the entrance of her channel—Margot nearly fell forward in her fervor to grab the mouse. She yanked the cursor over the close button in the upper right hand corner of the screen. The web page disappeared, leaving the blue desktop image in its place.
She sent the mouse sliding across the desk and staggered back a step, bumping a calf against something. Margot jumped to the side and saw it was only the end of the chair leg. She seized the chair and righted it, then sat down facing the computer.
“You’ve gone and weirded yourself out,” she muttered. “You’ve seen weirder shit than this.” Yeah, but those things had been as a cop, where the things people did defied logic, not where computer photos reached inside her and—she shivered, her attention fixed on the blue screen. “You saw his picture somewhere and simply forgot.”
The clock bonged, causing her to jump. Three more chimes sounded.
“Damn,” Margot muttered, and clicked the start menu.
She opened Windows Explorer, clicked on tools, folder options, then the view tab. When she hit show hidden files, half a dozen folders appeared.
“Bingo!”
Creak of wood yanked her attention to the door. Someone had entered the anteroom. Cat. Margot dragged the mouse to the close button and closed Explorer. She leaped to her feet and scanned the room. Nowhere to hide. The door knob jiggled. Margot dropped to the floor. She grabbed the chair and pulled it toward her as she scooted into the corner beneath the desk. She hugged her knees to her chest as the door opened. If Cat sat at her desk, there would be no explaining her way out of this.
The door creaked open in unison with Cat's soft laughter. "You are a rascal," she teased, her southern drawl miraculously intact.
"Ms. Bower, you're the one who’s teased me all evening."
Margot stiffened. Franklin Williams.
"Will you punish me?" Cat asked in a petulant voice.
The door shut with a hard click and Cat grunted. Margot envisioned Williams pressing Cat against the door. He was a tall, good looking man with dark hair and large hands. A tiny vibration tickled Margot’s butt. She barely stifled a gasp. She’d set her Blackberry on vibrate, then put it in her pocket and forgotten it. The small phone vibrated a second time and she shifted so that the right butt cheek wasn’t pressed to the carpet where it might buzz. Williams groaned, and Margot’s heart thundered.
They were closer.
"You're one hot Southern girl," he said.
"You have no idea," Cat purred.
Something bumped into the front of the desk. Margot jerked back from the wood. The slow downward slide of a zipper froze her. Sweet Christ, they weren’t—another bump as if someone had accidentally kicked the front panel.
"That's what I’m talking about," Williams said.
Cat moaned, and Margot reflexively glanced upward. Williams had hoisted Cat onto the desk. Margot jammed shut her eyes, and her ears filled with the sound of Cat's moans. Margot couldn't halt the picture of Cat spread across the desk, nipples erect as Williams slipped inside her.
Margot tensed when Williams grunted. Cat gave a cry and Margot snapped open her eyes. Cat couldn’t possibly have climaxed that quickly. Cat giggled and Margot barely suppressed a gasp when Williams stumbled into view, Cat wrapped around his waist. He took two more steps and jammed her against the tapestry that hung on the wall beside the shield. Margot couldn’t tear her gaze from his ass as it bunched with the effort of pumped into Cat. He abruptly reached back with one hand and unclasped her legs from his waist. In one fluid movement, he lifted Cat off him, spun her around to face the wall, then rammed his cock into her pussy from behind. She cried out and Margot's mind reeled with memory of Colin Morrison shoving her against the wall just as Williams did Cat.
His hot breath washed over her ear. “This is what you want.”
Williams' hand slid around Cat's waist and reached between her legs just as Colin had her.
He began vibrating Margot's swollen sex in a quick, insistent motion. Pressure mounted. She shifted slightly and the spot he massaged leaped to life with a force that made her see stars behind her closed lids. Hard cock began to fill her. The scent of sandalwood enveloped her. Pleasure shot through to her core. Margot strained against the mounting orgasm.
Cat's cry yanked Margot from the trance. She stared, trembling, as the muscle in Williams' arm flexed in evidence of his finger working furiously on Cat's clit. She seized his hand and bucked against his fingers as he thrust into her from behind. She screamed and spasmed in orgasm. Williams tore his fingers from her channel, then pinned
her against the wall and slammed into her with all his force.
Margot held her breath until he groaned with a final, hard thrust, frozen in that instant of orgasm, then let his head fall back as he gave three more slow thrusts. Margot’s heart thumped wildly in anticipation of the moment they would collapse to the floor and discover that she'd watched the erotic encounter. But Cat turned in Williams' embrace and entwined her arms around his neck.
"You sure know how to make a girl scream," she murmured.
"I aim to please." He lowered his head and took a nipple in his mouth.
Margot's stomach turned. Sweet Christ, a forty-seven year old man couldn't fuck a woman, then turn around and fuck her again two minutes later. Damn, Cat. It would be like her to keep an ample supply of Viagra in hand. And hard cock wasn't necessary for them to continue, Margot realized with horror. A picture flashed of Cat in the desk chair with Williams' head between her legs as he sucked her into another mind numbing orgasm. He straightened from Cat's breast and kissed her long and hard.
Cat pulled back, breathing hard. She reached between them and fondled his cock. "Mmm, it wouldn't take long."
Margot's heart fell.
Cat released him. "But I can't chance you distracting me too long. It's pushing four-thirty, and my office is the first one cleaned by the morning crew. I can't have them catching the boss fraternizing with the guests."
Please, please, please, please. Margot prayed, and closed her eyes to emphasize the supplication.
"As long as I can get a rain check," Williams said.
Margot opened her eyes in time to see Cat undulate her mound against Williams thickening rod. Margot grimaced. The man was a horse.
"I'll give you plenty of rain checks," Cat purred. He reached down, but Cat side stepped him and laughed. "We have lots of time." She skirted the desk and disappeared from view, Williams behind her.
Finally, footsteps moved toward the door and, a moment later, the door clicked shut. Margot remained under the desk, her insides still quivering. Only, it wasn't the possibility of getting caught that had her shaking, but the wonder of what sort of sick fuck she was to have recalled Colin Morrison while watching Cat and Williams. Margot recalled Cat saying the cleaning crew would soon arrive to clean the office. She shoved the chair away from the desk and scrambled to her feet.
Clearing the history on the computer took five seconds, the cache, another eight. She would have to return to get into the hidden files. She ignored the turn of her stomach and hurried to the door. She cracked it open an inch and peered into the anteroom. Empty. She crossed to the outer door, checked the hallway, found it empty, and headed for her room.
Chapter Nine
Margot stopped dead in the hallway. “Third time’s a charm.”
She ignored the chill on her shoulders and started past the locked doors she’d tried in the first two dreams. Short sleeve dresses weren’t meant to be worn in drafty castles. She turned the corner of the first hallway and kept going until she rounded the next juncture and the two doors came into view up ahead. Recollection surfaced of the very different encounters with the Scot in those rooms. She slowed. There had been something about him that second night…
Unease steered her away from the second door. She took three more paces to the first door on the left and swung it open. As before, a low fire burned in the hearth and the bed was turned down. Like the first two times, she experienced an urge to crawl beneath the covers. This soft but compelling need forced her forward two steps before she caught herself. This wasn’t right. Or was it? Instead of the uneasiness she’d steeled herself for, a sense of calm settled over her. Gooseflesh crawled up her arms and she swung her gaze to the right to see Lord Morrison standing in the doorway looking just as he had that first night.
“You,” he said in a growl.
“That’s right, sugar.” Margot started toward him. “It’s time I get this dream out of my system.”
“Are ye insane?” he demanded. “Or have you so little pride, you will sacrifice your life just to be bedded?”
She stopped in front of him. “Insane? Probably. As for being bedded, we’ll get the deed done right now.”
His brow lifted. “Deed?”
The word washed over her like a Gulf water breeze and her body swayed as if she stood in the Biloxi surf. Margot released a breath. “Damn, but if I believed in bayou magic, I’d say you were working some powerful mojo.”
“Magick?” he repeated.
She raked her gaze down his body. Hell, yes. Six feet of magic. Dark hair, broad chest, long torso, and those legs…the man was built to please. Yet a man’s good looks hadn’t ever induced her to conjure a dream lover night after night. But this wasn’t nighttime. She’d discovered the hidden files in Cat’s office, then gone back to her room and lain awake until dawn. She'd finally given up and gotten out of bed.
When Cat wasn’t anywhere to be found, Margot had taken her morning bike ride, then eaten a light breakfast and gone back to her room. She glanced at the floor length curtains on the far wall. Sunlight peeked around the edges of the heavy brocade. Well, damn. She’d fallen asleep and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
She hadn’t taken a nap since she’d been four years old and stayed with her grandmother. Mamma hadn’t believed in afternoon naps. Afternoon drinks had been what consumed her attention. Those afternoon drinks resulted in liver disease and an early grave. A familiar pang stabbed at Margot. Mamma, a Louisiana Cajun, had married a Mississippi moonshiner who took her across the border to Wilkinson County.
Though Wilkinson County bordered three Louisiana counties on two sides, once you got out of the borderlands, the Louisiana Cajun influence died fast. Mamma hadn’t ever really fit in. Despite the fact Daddy came from Cajun stock like Mamma, there were those who never let her forget she hadn’t been born on the Mississippi side of the border.
The memory of Margot’s latest discovery in Cat’s office shoved aside the past and she narrowed her eyes on Colin Morrison. “I still can't figure out how I knew what you looked like. Has to be the research I did on the castle after Cat called.” She lifted a hand and touched his broad forehead. “So real.” She traced a finger along his hairline, jaw, and mouth. “A man like you could rock my world—”
He grasped her fingers and yanked them away. Margot froze. He studied her with an intensity that forced her back a step before she halted the action. Sweet Christ, she’d forgotten many men, but how could she possibly have forgotten those eyes? She dropped her attention to his mouth. Could a woman memorize a man’s mouth? Could a woman forget that mouth? She leaned forward until every groove became visible, and brushed her lips against his.
He seized her shoulders and shoved her at arm’s length. “What do ye want?”
She grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him to within an inch of her face. “This.” Margot yanked his mouth against hers.
His mouth covered hers, lips full and moist, and hungry. Fingers flexed on her shoulders. Holding tight with one hand, she grabbed his ass with the other and rubbed herself against his erection. Already hard as steel. This was the only way to dream. She backed him against the wall as he had her the last time—no. She wanted him, but she wouldn’t be rough. That part of the dream she would change.
Margot released his butt and shirt, and cupped his face. Slowly, she lengthened the kiss, moved languidly, then gently flicked her tongue against his lips. He opened and she slid inside to meet the warmth of his tongue. He groaned, and his tongue swept her mouth, then rolled around her tongue, sucking. He drew back and flicked the edge of her tongue with his.
Her breath caught as she envisioned the flick of that tongue on her clit, his mouth sucking, the mounting pressure as he teased—Margot shoved his tartan from his shoulder and began unbuttoning his shirt. She broke the kiss and dropped her gaze to the shaky fingers fumbling with the last button. It slipped from her fingers twice and she finally yanked it free. She pushed the fabric aside and came face to face with h
is bronze expanse of chest. This she wouldn’t forget.
She flattened her palms against warm flesh. His hands dropped from her shoulders as she gently raked fingernails over his nipples. The small pink buds hardened and her nipples pebbled in response. Tonight would end this strange reoccurring dream. Sadness tightened her chest.
He’s just a dream.
Why did the possibility of not seeing his brown eyes again bother her?
Margot wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his. “What do you say, sugar? We’ll make this a dream to remember?”
Despite the hard erection pressing into her belly, his arms remained at his sides. Was her psyche mired in some torturous cycle meant to keep her dream lover beyond her reach? Maybe Reverend Johnson had been right, and God did punish sinners. If she was going to burn in hellfire, it sure as hell wouldn’t be for mere sinful thoughts.
Margot lifted on tiptoes and traced the seam of his mouth with her tongue while slowly undulating her hips against him. His shaft pulsed. Now here was something worth facing the fire for. She ran moist lips along his jaw, neck, and down his chest where she flicked her tongue against a pebbled nipple. A groan reverberated through his chest. She closed her teeth around the hardened point.
He grasped her shoulders. “You play with fire, lass.”
Desire rocketed through her at the vibration of his deep voice. His soft burr was nothing like the clipped tones she’d heard from the locals.
She gave a low laugh and lightly grazed the nipple with her teeth as she pulled back. “Have you been talking to Reverend Johnson?” Of course he had. His response had been taken from her mind. What other responses could she project onto him? Margot reached between them and traced the rigid line of his erection through the wool kilt.
He sucked in a breath.
