The Legend Mackinnon

by Donna Kauffman

  His smile was a slow, wicked thing that only made her pulse thrum more loudly inside her ears. “I am your guide, remember? There are many paths I can take you down, Cailean. All of them will make you scream. With pleasure.” He drew his tongue very lightly along her lower lip.

  Run, her mind pleaded. Pull away. Stop this.

  “Choose a path, Cailean,” he went on. She felt his teeth nip ever so lightly on the edge of her chin. “Would it be easier for you if I chose? Do you like to be driven? Do you like to play victim?” He moved quickly and planted a hard kiss to her neck. “I play predator particularly well.”

  Dear God this was insanity … and all she could think about was what would he do to her next. And how much more of this intoxication could she stand. She shuddered as his tongue ran along her ear.

  “You shouldn’t—” It was all she could get out.

  “Aye, but I will,” came the rough whisper in her ear. “And you will enjoy it.” He tilted her chin down. “Open your eyes, Claren Key, and look upon the man who will conquer you.”

  He was the darkest of magic spells. He would do more than make her want, he would make her care. Therein would be her pain. He would hurt her. And she still didn’t want to stop him.

  Her breath came out on a slow groaning sigh as he pulled her earlobe into his mouth and suckled it.

  “I’m going to put more than my mouth on you, Cailean.”

  “Yes.” It was a simple statement; it was a monumental acquiescence.

  “I want to possess you. Body, mind, and spirit.”

  Dear God, yes.

  “I will know your every thought, your every desire. Your every secret.”

  She began to shake.

  His lips moved along her jaw, up across her temple. He buried his face in her hair and whispered in her ear. “In every way a man can own a woman, I will own you.”

  Heaven help her, she was sinking. Her thighs trembled so hard she was certain she would fall to the ground if he didn’t take her in his arms.

  He did not.

  He was wreaking unholy havoc with every cell in her body, bending them, twisting them, wringing unimaginable pleasure from them … and he’d yet to do more than touch her face. He hadn’t even kissed her. How on earth would she survive it? And goddamn it why hadn’t he started?

  “Please.” The word was issued past lips still wet from his tongue. Had that plea really come from her?

  “You haven’t answered me. Seduction or demand?”

  Christ, but if this wasn’t already seduction she didn’t know what was.

  “Say it, Cailean. I will make you scream no matter which path you choose. But you must choose your own destiny. I will no’ be accused of raping your will.” He moved his mouth to her other ear, teased her with his tongue, eliciting another moan from her. “Say it.”

  “I … I … want …”

  “You want me to take you?”

  “Y … yes.”

  “All you have to do is ask.” His mouth whispered over hers. “And I will. Until you tell me to stop, I will.”

  “Take me,” she pleaded hoarsely.

  He took her mouth, intimately and fully. His fingers dug through her hair, turning her head so that he could plunder her further, deeper. His lips were hot, his tongue wet, incessant.

  “Do you dream of being taken like this when you are alone at night?” he said against her mouth.

  She couldn’t think, could barely make sense of anything but the feel of him on her. She felt strung out, stretched beyond the boundaries of endurance.

  He’s said he’d make her scream.

  And she knew he would.

  She reached for him. And the moment she touched him, he released her.

  Only when she went reeling backward did she realize that at some point she had leaned into him, relied on him to keep her upright.

  She ended up in a stumbling half-sit on the bench. The chilled wind slapped at her steaming cheeks, the cold stone bit at her bare palms. When had the sun begun to set?

  She scraped the wayward strands of hair from her face, and, chest heaving, glared up at him.

  “Why the hell did you stop?”

  She took mild satisfaction that his breath wasn’t quite steady either. Storm-tossed was the word that came to mind when she looked into his eyes.

  “We will finish this,” he said, his voice raw. “But not here.”

  A hard laugh burst out of her, shocking her like a slap to the face. She felt like she’d just emerged from a unwanted vision, a very visceral one. Dazed, confused, and frustrated.

  “I don’t think so,” she said flatly, facing him.

  “There is no turning back.” He said it without menace, but there was no doubt he fully believed what he was saying.

  “Watch me.” She started to stand, but he moved forward, blocking her. In order to look directly at him, she was forced to look up. Had she actually begged this man to take her?

  He looked into her eyes and she felt that tremble of need vibrate within her again. Terrified by the power he held over her, she looked sharply away, down at her hands. They were knotted tightly together.

  “You will not crook your finger and expect me to follow,” she said, marshalling her breath so that her words didn’t waver. “I know I …” She trailed off.

  “What? Begged me?”

  “Arrogance is an ugly trait,” she retorted.

  “I am not arrogant. In fact, I have rarely been so humbled.”

  “You have a supremely odd way of showing it.”

  “I speak only the truth of what happened. Of what will happen.”

  “How have you been humbled? At what point did you feel you had less than total control?”

  “Control has nothing to do with it. That I felt compelled to talk to you at all is a humbling fact.”

  “Yes, mingling with the Claren peasantry must be tiring for one such as you.”

  The harsh planes of his face seemed ever sharper in the dimming light.

  “That I still talked to you when I knew you were a Claren is the most humbling of all.”

  “I am most sorry I shamed you,” she said, her tone making it clear she felt no such thing.

  “There was no shame in me when I touched you, Cailean Claren.” His voice softened, alarming her in ways she couldn’t name. “There was calculation, yes. There was manipulation, most assuredly. There was desire. For you to be conquered. For me to be the conqueror.” He ran his gaze over her face and she felt as if she had been caressed. “It wasn’t that way before. I will do whatever I have to, to make certain it is not that way again.”

  He stood over her, like some medieval warrior who intended to stake his claim. And his claim was her. “I have won nothing from you.”

  “Not you, but one of your kind.”

  “My kind? You mean a Claren?” Understanding dawned. “Have you been a victim of the curse? Is that why you hate the Clarens?”

  His jaw clenched, making the muscles in his cheeks twitch. He all but growled the words. “It was one of you that laid this curse upon me.”

  “What curse?”

  He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “And it will be one of you that will remove it. You will free me, Cailean Claren.”

  “I cannot free you, whatever it is. I have visions, yes. If you want to call me a Key, then fine, I’m one of them. But I have no power over what I see. I have no magic.” She swung her legs around and stood shakily on the other side of the bench. “You can make me beg for you, Rory MacKinnon, but you can’t make me free you from whatever curse you believe is upon you. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”

  “You can. And you will. You are the only one, Cailean. You are the only Key.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  He tilted his head just slightly. “You have the look of her, you know.”

  Bewildered, she said, “The look of who?”

  “Kaithren.”

  Cailean’s blood froze.

  “You kn
ow of whom I speak,” he said, almost gently. “Don’t you, Cailean.”

  “I … I …” Dear God, who—what—was he?

  “You know who I am, too. John Roderick, third son of Calum.”

  “But you … you said you weren’t a spirit.”

  “I am most certainly not that. In fact, it is my mortality, or rather the lack of it, that I wish you to fix.”

  He walked slowly around the bench. He took her chin in his hand.

  “Kaithren cast the spell of immortality over me. You, Cailean Claren, will be the death of me.”

  TWENTY

  She could not take it in, and yet it fit. It was as if her whole life had merely been a path she was to follow that would lead her to this specific point, to this specific place, to this specific man.

  “I will not kill you. I could not.”

  “Not directly, perhaps.”

  She moved out of his grasp. Something uncontrollable happened whenever he touched her.

  “You can’t leave,” he said.

  “I most certainly can.” She ran toward the gate, not caring if she was half stumbling in her haste.

  “Are you willing to go against your vision? Your destiny? How am I to guide you if you leave?”

  He would guide her straight to hell. It would be a carnal journey, a sinful path of decadent exploration and erotic discovery. A wave of pleasure coursed through her. She cursed under her breath.

  “You had a reason for coming here, too, Cailean. You won’t be able to fulfill it if you leave.”

  She blew out a breath. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Stonelachen.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Stonelachen? But it’s—”

  “Very hard to find.”

  “Lachlan searched for it.”

  “He didn’t know where to look.”

  “If there is a castle, or even a ruin of one back in those rocks, one that has been there for three hun—” Her voice broke as the enormity of what was happening to her, of just who she was talking to, assailed her.

  He was right. She could not walk away from him, his past, her past … or their future. Not as a scientist, not as a woman, and most of all, not as a Claren. She gripped the gate for support. “Three hundred years is a long time for something to remain hidden.”

  Rory shrugged. “The MacKinnons were a crafty lot. Stonelachen was impregnable for good reason. The MacKinnons lost down here, on this land, not up there.” He gestured to the stone edifices that rose above them, beyond the boundaries of the cemetery. “The blood of battle was never spilled within the sanctity of Stonelachen.”

  “But the Clarens took ownership of it when they defeated your clan.”

  His expression darkened. “Aye, they did. And they lost it as well, to the MacDonalds. It was abandoned shortly after that. Stonelachen only gave her secrets to those born to her. It is useless to anyone else. She has been empty ever since.”

  “Except for you. How long …?” She couldn’t even phrase the entire question. It was too fantastical, despite the living proof standing before her.

  “I’ve been here for several years, as I told you. I’ve been here before. Many times. This is the first time I have stayed. And now I know why.”

  “I don’t—”

  He raised his hand. “Enough. I’ll talk no more of it here.” He walked toward the back of the cemetery.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Follow me and find out.”

  “But—” She sighed in frustration. A mixture of fear and dread balled up inside her. Along with excitement. This was a once in a lifetime chance, she told herself. An incredible find. He was living history.

  With a quick glance at her car, she snatched up her backpack and shoved her notebook inside, then hurried to catch up. And she knew that no matter what she told herself, it wasn’t the scientist that followed the man. It was the woman. The Claren woman.

  Cailean had always considered herself to be in good physical shape. But there was no denying that every muscle in her body ached … and it had nothing to do with sexual urges. In fact, as she glowered at Rory’s back as they traversed yet another impossibly rugged slope, she couldn’t believe he’d made her feel anything other than pain.

  She wanted to ask how much further, but she’d cut her own tongue out first. There had been no talk since they’d begun the ascent and she wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence. It was almost full dark. And very cold. Certainly they had to reach Stonelachen soon. She diverted attention from her screaming muscles by imagining what the castle would look like. Abandoned as it had been for centuries now, certainly it had to be more ruin than functional building. Secrets, he’d said. What secrets could a castle contain? Secrets that had held civilization at bay for three centuries?

  They topped the narrow ridge, and she held what breath she had in anticipation, only to be met with sheer rock. “No.” The word, a wail, came out without permission.

  Rory stopped and turned. “Yes.”

  “How?” It was all she could manage.

  “You’ll see.” He turned and began to climb toward the towering wall of stone.

  She could do nothing but follow, muttering several choice imprecations under her breath as she did. Even when they were less than twenty yards away, she could see no way up or around it.

  Then Rory disappeared into the rock wall.

  She stopped dead. “Okay.” She ran a hand across her forehead. In the last week or so, she’d met a three-hundred-year-old ghost and now his three-hundred-plus-year-old brother. A brother who made her feel things …

  “And I’m dealing with that pretty damn well, considering,” she said aloud. “But I draw the line at a man who can walk through walls.”

  Rory reappeared as suddenly as he’d vanished. “Are you coming? It’s getting cold out here.”

  “Sure. Fine. Just teach me that walking through walls trick and I’ll be right there.” She sounded more like Maggie with her sarcastic tone than her usual serious self.

  A pang tugged at her heart as she thought of her cousin. For the first time in her life, she’d have appreciated the companionship and comfort of family. And a friend. Maggie was literally the only one who would understand. Cailean hoped she was okay.

  And then it hit her. Duncan. Brothers.

  She looked up at Rory, who stared down at her, hands on his hips. She’d have to tell him about Duncan.

  “Come on. I willna harm ye.”

  Her heart tripped at the soft sounding burr. It occurred to her now that back in the cemetery, he’d spoken with the clarity of the King’s English, almost chillingly so.

  She’d reacted to his perfectly modulated commands with a depth of feeling she’d never experienced before, as if there had been no choice but to follow him down the darkly sensual path he was creating. And yet, the gentle rolling of his brogue affected her much more. She felt comforted, protected. It made no sense, but if he’d slipped into the patterns of speech of his early life, who knows what she might have done with him on that stone bench.

  “Cailean.”

  “Okay.” She carefully picked her way up the last stretch of scrabbling slope. She looked over the wall behind him, but still saw nothing. “I may have visions, but I can’t move through stone. Sorry.”

  A small hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. He lifted his hand out to her.

  Cailean studied the broad palm and long fingers as if the devil himself had offered her a treat. She looked back to his eyes, eyes that were glittering despite the lack of light.

  She slowly lifted her hand, pausing slightly, then placed it in his. He didn’t react in any visible way, but when his fingers closed over hers, she felt an energy flow between them that was so primal she couldn’t deny the connection. She had truly committed herself now.

  “Follow me.”

  As if she’d ever had a choice.

 
He turned and stepped into the stone, or so it appeared. What looked to be a rough edge was actually a slice in the rock. Straight on it appeared like a wrinkle in the stone, forged from the crushing pressure of the ice floes that had created the Trotternish eons ago. She turned sideways and slithered into the tight space. There was a grinding sound and for several heart-stopping seconds she thought she would be crushed. Then the stone in front of Rory shifted and she was freed. She stumbled behind him into an open area the size of a small courtyard. It was mostly a rock tumble, with towering stone walls all around.

  She looked up to find the night sky twinkling above her, the moon had risen, bathing them in blue-white light, casting long shadows from the rocky spears above. She turned slowly. “This is amazing.” She turned in time to catch a brief flash of pride cross his face.

  “This is only the beginning.”

  He dropped her hand and stepped behind her, reaching into the passage. Seconds later there was the same grinding sound. Cailean’s eyes widened as the boulder in front of her shifted and rolled, as if being pushed by some unseen hand. It stopped directly in front of the passage.

  “An auld trick my ancestors learned from the Druids. Interesting lot, that.”

  He took her hand again, the combination of his smile and his strong hand in hers stilling any words she might have uttered. He stopped long enough to light a small torch, then led her through the open area through another hidden passage in a tumble of rocks directly across from their entrance. No moving stones this time, not that it mattered. She was quickly lost in the maze-like warren of passages Rory drew her through.

  In the flickering shadows she saw other passages not taken and some others that had caved in. Occasionally they wandered briefly through an open moonlit area, only to quickly descend back into the stone passageways.

  “It’s no wonder no one found this,” she said in hushed tones. She felt like she was entering a sort of sacred ground. Other than Rory, she was very likely the first person to enter this part of Scotland in several centuries.

  Rory nodded toward the next passageway. “As I said, Stonelachen only gives her secrets to those born to her.”