Midnight's Kiss

by Donna Grant

  “Saffron is no’ a liar. That’s the first thing you should know,” Arran said softly. “Second, I doona claim to be a good man, but if I give you my word on something, it’s my bond. I’ll work as long and as hard as you ask of me, and I give my vow I willna steal anything.”

  “Thank you.” It was just what she’d been looking to hear, but she hadn’t expected to believe it in every fiber of her body.

  Whoever Arran MacCarrick was, he was becoming more and more dangerous to her sanity. Too bad she needed him so desperately for the dig.

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  Arran tossed aside another shovelful of dirt and wondered why the hell he promised Ronnie he wouldn’t steal when he had sworn to Fallon he would if it came down to it.

  What a bloody damned mess he’d gotten himself into.

  His family came first, and that’s what everyone at MacLeod Castle was. But it didn’t explain his need to comfort Ronnie, or vow he wasn’t going to steal.

  There had been something in her voice when she spoke of thefts. Once he’d heard that, he found himself giving a promise before he realized it.

  There wasn’t much he could do until he found the spell, and then he’d have to do his damnedest to convince Ronnie to let him have it.

  “No’ going to happen,” he mumbled.

  “What?” a woman beside him asked.

  Arran shook his head and shoved the shovel into the ground. Memphaea, his god, wasn’t exactly content, but he had calmed tremendously since Arran arrived at the dig site. At least now Arran didn’t have to worry about his god pushing for his need for blood and death, not with the way Arran was working his body.

  His muscles strained, and he pushed himself harder. It felt good to be doing something physical. For too long he’d sat in the castle idle. That wouldn’t happen again.

  Magic washed over him, strong and forceful, taking his breath as it did. It was so powerful, it caused him to take a step back.

  He stared at the ground, trying to see through the dirt to what was beneath. There was something under the ground, something that had been buried a very long time.

  If it was the cargo of magical items lost as it traveled from Edinburgh to London, then there was no telling what they would unearth.

  There were things that could potentially harm someone. Or something that, in the wrong hands, could bring about war. None of the Warriors or Druids knew exactly what was in the shipment. Anything could be under the dirt.

  Anything.

  Arran glanced up and saw Ronnie staring at the ground intently. He narrowed his gaze at her. She cocked her head to the side, as if listening. Her lids began to lower, and then suddenly she was digging faster.

  In that instant, Arran knew. Ronnie was the Druid he’d felt. As soon as he realized it, he felt her magic. It pulsed over him stronger than any of the other magic around. It swarmed him, submerging him in the delightful magic that was Ronnie’s alone. He took a step back from the force of it, his body tensing from the effects of her magic.

  He’d wanted her before. Now … he needed her.

  His body was on fire, and only she could quench the flames. Their gazes clashed when she suddenly looked up. Worry clouded her hazel eyes for a moment. Then she seemed to accept … what? That he was watching her? That he wanted to push her back and take her right there in the dirt in front of everyone, to claim her as his own?

  There was no way she could know he’d guessed she was a Druid or that her power was unearthing artifacts. He’d bet most of what she uncovered were magical relics as well.

  Everyone thought she was one of the best archeologists because she was lucky in where she excavated, but Arran knew the truth now. It was no wonder she didn’t like it when Pete tried to brag.

  “Forget it,” said a man beside him.

  Arran turned his head at the sound of the Irish accent. “Forget what?”

  “Her. Dr. Reid. Every mon here has tried to get her attention. I don’t think she likes men.”

  Arran recalled how she’d looked at him, the flare of interest in her hazel gaze had been unmistakable. “Maybe she just hasna found the right man to show interest in.”

  Irish snorted. “Not likely, mate. She’s a cold one. Her only interest is what’s in the ground.”

  Arran turned his gaze back to Ronnie to find her kneeling and bent over, looking at something in the ground. Cold? Ronnie was anything but cold. She was passion and fire, and with the right man, she would glow with it.

  He’d like to see if he could bring out her passion, and maybe once he found the spell, Arran would take up the challenge. He wanted to find the spell soon, because he wasn’t sure how long he could retain control over the unbendable need that pushed him.

  With a shake of his head, he went back to shoveling to work off some of the frustration of his body. Dirt covered his jeans, and he’d long ago given up his shirt. Sweat ran down his back. The sounds of boots stepping in squishy earth along with the scrape of spades scooping and tossing dirt filled the air.

  To anyone who looked, he was concentrating on his job. In truth, Arran was focused on Ronnie. There were many conversations, but Arran blocked them all out. All except for Ronnie’s. With his enhanced hearing, he was able to pick her voice out of so many.

  Just by listening to her, he found she was precise in her management of the dig, and took no quarter from anyone. She worked harder than those paid and the volunteers.

  And her excitement when an artifact was found made him smile. She truly loved what she did. Even if she did use her magic to do it.

  Hours faded away while Arran continued to dig and push the others to keep working. By the time the bell for supper was rung, it was clear whatever they were uncovering was large.

  What it was was another matter entirely. Everyone speculated, but no one had any idea. Even the way Ronnie looked at the rocks that clearly formed some type of roof had her stumped.

  Arran wanted to keep working, but his strength and endurance were beginning to look conspicuous. He slammed the tip of the shovel into the ground and stepped out of the dig site to call it a day.

  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his eyes from Ronnie. He heard her voice before he found her inspecting another section. Section two, and one that everyone said wouldn’t yield anything worthwhile.

  Yet Ronnie kept having them dig.

  While everyone made for the food tent, Arran went to wash the dirt and sweat off. The bucket of water waiting for him in the tent wasn’t nearly enough. He’d prefer a nice long swim in a loch. There was one near. Near enough to visit.

  As tempting as that was, Arran pushed aside the swim for another time. He stripped out of his dirty jeans and scooped the water in his hands and over his body.

  When he’d gotten all the dirt and sweat off, he ducked his head in the bucket and scrubbed his fingers along his scalp. Only then did he lift his head from the water and towel off.

  He pulled out a pair of cargo pants and a plain white tee that he put on. After raking his hands through his hair and scratching his jaw, which was in need of a shave, he put his boots back on and headed for the food.

  “You’re late,” Andy said when he saw Arran walk into the food tent.

  Arran shrugged. “Aye, but clean.”

  Andy laughed and reached for another shepherd’s pie. “The food isn’t all that great, but it’s food. Tomorrow some of the volunteers are heading into the nearby town to stay at the hotel for hot showers and hot food.”

  “You have no’ truly experienced Scotland unless you sleep beneath the stars and hunt for your own food.”

  “Ah … yeah. I think I’ll pass on truly experiencing Scotland, then, dude. I wouldn’t know the first thing about where to hunt for food, much less what to do with it after I caught it.”

  “If you caught it,” Arran said, trying his best to keep the smile from showing.

  Andy grew pale and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Have I mentioned I hate the si
ght of blood? This is why archeology suits me. Everything is already dead. Bones I can handle. Blood? Yeah, not so much.”

  “So I guess I shouldna come to you if I get cut?”

  Andy rolled his eyes. “Dude, you were just joking with me! I should’ve known. Ronnie says I take everything too serious.”

  He walked away, leaving Arran chuckling after him. He liked Andy. Arran grabbed a shepherd’s pie, a roll, two apples, and a beer. There was a huge tub of bottled beer stuck in ice off to the side, and everyone had taken at least one.

  Arran sat with other volunteers. Even though he’d been in this modern world a year and had learned much, he still found the people interesting to listen to. Especially when they came from different countries.

  Many at the site were Brits, but there was also an equal number of Americans. There was the odd Irishman, Frenchman, and even a German or two.

  Arran was content to listen to them talk of their homes, their lives, and mundane things. He tried to keep in the background, but all too soon they noticed him and pulled him into the conversations.

  He hated having to lie, but in order to keep who he was, and his family, secret, lying was essential. A good liar mixed in as much of the truth as he could.

  It had soon become common knowledge that he was friends with Saffron, and everyone wanted to know about her and what had happened when she disappeared for those three years.

  Arran quickly diverted those questions by asking some of his own. He was always amazed at how people wanted to talk about themselves, given the chance. And he made sure they had those chances often.

  It was well past ten when he rose from the table and made for his tent. Yet, as he stood in the night air, he found he wasn’t tired.

  His gaze went to Ronnie’s tent. The light was on but dim, and he saw no movement inside. Arran started walking toward her tent, even when he knew it was a bad idea.

  “Ronnie,” he called as he reached the tent.

  When there was no answer, he poked his head inside and found her lying on her stomach on her cot, her feet and one arm hanging off the side.

  For long minutes, Arran simply looked at her sleeping. Her bun that she tied her hair in every day was hanging loose. It would take the smallest touch to knock it free so he could see her hair in all its glory.

  But he didn’t touch her. The light from her lamp cast her face in a golden glow, and it was then he saw the dark circles under her eyes.

  “She does this,” Andy whispered as he came up beside Arran.

  Arran raised a brow in question.

  “She works herself into exhaustion. Tomorrow she’ll wake refreshed and ready. She might go a few nights without sleep because of something involving the dig, and then she collapses.”

  “You look out for her,” Arran said.

  Andy shrugged, his thin hair blowing in the breeze. “She took me as her assistant when no one else would. She’s taught me so much.”

  “You’re loyal. Everyone needs someone like that.”

  “She’s loyal to me as well,” Andy said. “No matter what, she keeps bringing me on these digs as her site manager. She’s even allowed me to take the credit on my finds.”

  Arran nodded and turned his attention back to Ronnie. “She can no’ sleep like that. She’ll wake with a crick in her neck.”

  “What are you going to do?” Andy hastily asked.

  Arran grinned at him. “Doona fash yourself, lad. Her virtue is safe with me.”

  “Yeah, right. I see how you look at her,” Andy said, and set aside the clipboard on Ronnie’s chair. “I’ll get her boots. Just turn her over when I’m done.”

  Arran waited while Andy made quick work of removing Ronnie’s boots, and then it was time to touch her. He hesitated for a minute because he wanted to feel her skin again, but at the same time, he knew it wasn’t a good idea.

  “Arran?”

  He glanced at Andy. “Doona tell her it was me.”

  “Why?”

  “I doona think she cares for me much.”

  When Andy didn’t immediately respond, Arran glared at him.

  “Okay,” Andy said, and held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll be sure to leave your name out.”

  Arran took a deep breath and rolled Ronnie into his arms. He cradled her against him, the shock of her warmth and softness causing him to still instantly.

  Blood pounded in his ears and his balls tightened as all the blood pooled in his cock. Just from the exquisite, amazing feel of her. Arran’s fingers squeezed her as the sudden need to hold her against him forever filled him. She sighed and rested her head against his chest.

  That simple movement touched something deep within him. And caused his desire to soar until he shook with the force of it.

  It took everything Arran had to lower Ronnie back onto the cot. He’d never been so grateful to have someone watching him as he did at that moment.

  Arran pulled the blanket over Ronnie and straightened. He gave her one last look before turning off her lamp and walking out of the tent.

  “Arran?” Andy called.

  But he couldn’t answer. He needed a run. Anything to calm the need consuming him.

  Instead of running off as he wanted, Arran went into his tent and pretended to sleep.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  The box was small. The wood was smooth and dark, unblemished and seamless except for the line around the top where the curved lid opened.

  Veronica.

  Her name was whispered in the musical notes that sounded whenever her abilities were used. She could feel the box beneath the ground, sense it inciting her to find it.

  If her name hadn’t been whispered, it would have been as every other artifact she’d gone looking for. Yet she felt fear now.

  Every instinct she had cautioned her, but she couldn’t listen. The box wanted her.

  She was driven to find it. She’d known when she reached Muirkirk there was something special waiting to be found. Soon she would move aside the dirt separating her from the relic. She would hold the box in her hands. And she would open it.

  Ronnie smiled. She placed her hands over the ground and felt the box below her. Its song was so loud, there were times it was all she could hear. It was begging her to release it, to let the sun shine upon it once more.

  It was meant to be out in the world, not hidden away and forgotten. Its beauty was simple, its artwork meant to be marveled. She, along with all the others, would do just that. But first, she would be the one to hold it and drink in its beauty.

  Ronnie could hardly contain her excitement. Her hands itched to open the lid and see what was inside. The box, and whatever was inside, was hers. It wouldn’t go to a museum. This one she would keep for herself.

  Excitement coursed through Ronnie. The box’s music grew louder, her name more insistent.

  “Soon,” she whispered. “I’m coming for you soon.”

  She began to move away the dirt with her bare hands when something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Ronnie shifted her gaze and found Arran staring. He was shaking his head, his golden eyes full of apprehension.

  And then his eyes shifted to white.

  * * *

  Ronnie gasped and sat up, her breathing harsh and loud. She looked around the tent as her mind realized she was no longer dreaming.

  She lifted her hands and saw they were coated with dirt as if she had been digging. With her bare hands. Ronnie worked the dirt from beneath her fingernails and tried to calm her racing heart.

  It was true the song of the box was stronger than any she had ever encountered. And up until that dream, she hadn’t even known it was a box that called to her.

  Then again, she’d never had a dream about an artifact she was digging up either.

  She ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes. Her lips parted so she could breathe through her mouth while she tried to remember that dreams weren’t real.

  It was a surprise that she’d
had such a vivid dream of the box and the relentless need she had to find it. But what caused her stomach to fall to her feet was that Arran had been in her dream.

  Was the desire she tried desperately to ignore spilling over into her dreams? It had to be. Her body wanted Arran with an intensity that shook her to her very core. That had to be the reason.

  The only reason.

  “Please let it be the only reason,” she prayed.

  Ronnie threw back the covers and rose from the bed. She stared down at herself still fully dressed and tried to remember the night before.

  She’d been beyond exhausted. She recalled that part. Past that was all a blur.

  “Oh, good. You’re awake.”

  She turned at Andy’s voice as he came into her tent. Her stomach let out a loud growl at the smell of biscuits, which Andy promptly handed to her.

  “I figured you’d be hungry since you passed out last night,” he said with a smile.

  Ronnie sighed and sank into her chair to eat the biscuits and drink the large mug of coffee. “Again? I knew I was tired, but I didn’t think I was that tired. I normally don’t take off my boots either.”

  When Andy looked away so he didn’t have to meet her eyes, she set down her coffee and cocked her head at her friend. “Andy? What happened?”

  “He asked me not to tell you.”

  A sick feeling began in her stomach. “Who?”

  “Arran. He found you asleep. I took off your shoes, and he turned you over and covered you with the blanket.”

  Ronnie looked at her cot. Arran had found her and helped her. He’d held her. She’d been in his arms, felt his hard body and the strength of his muscles once more, and she hadn’t even been awake to enjoy it? She felt cheated and angry that she hadn’t been able to touch him again at her leisure.

  “Probably for the better,” she mumbled.

  “What?” Andy asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I won’t tell him you told me.”

  “Good,” Andy said with a sigh. “He’s a likable fellow, but I get the feeling he’s not someone you want to piss off. I suspect he’d be a bad enemy to have.”