The Legend Mackinnon

by Donna Kauffman

  But this feeling, this new warmth when he’d pulled her to him, this was a different sort of gentling. Oddly, it was now she began to feel nervous.

  Before fear could fill her with doubts she reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth until he returned it, slowly and languorously. His arms slid around her and pulled her tightly to him. Cailean felt her eyes burn. This was a new kind of need, a more treacherous kind of want. To be held, like this.

  “Rory,” she said. It was barely more than a plea against his lips. A plea for what she didn’t know. She only knew she’d never been so terrified in her life.

  He brushed his lips against hers. When he slipped his tongue inside her mouth this time, it was a request, not a demand.

  She responded, then made a request of her own. “Make love to me, Rory.”

  There was no bleakness in his eyes now. But there was fear there. She wanted to reassure him there was nothing to fear with her, but knew no other way to tell him than this.

  Rory looked down into eyes that were a soft, mossy green. There was sated desire there, and a confidence he hadn’t seen before. Her passion had been a raw, honest thing that had stunned both of them. But this—what he saw in her eyes now—this truly made his stomach knot and his heart tighten. Make love to me.

  Every image of his past fled in the face of this moment. Even Kaithren and her cruelty. There was no cruelty here, no revenge. No manipulation. He believed her. Because manipulation had no part in this for him either. Heaven help them both.

  Make love to me. Her plea resonated throughout him.

  “I fear that is exactly what I’m doing,” he said. His hands were slowly memorizing her body, as if by their own accord, mapping each sweet valley and lean curve.

  Lovemaking. He’d thought he understood the difference. Enough to know he’d been careful never to stray over the line. There was lovemaking as an art form, from which one could derive an astonishing array of sexual pleasures. And then there was the lovemaking that had little to do with learned finesse and much to do with the hearts of the persons involved. He’d had plenty of time to perfect the former and had managed to always avoid the latter.

  His own heart thumped hard in his chest. What he did now would affect every second of the rest of his life in ways even Kaithren couldn’t have fathomed. His hands faltered and stilled, eliciting an instant whimper of dismay.

  “Cailean, I … we …” Dear Lord, he’d been inside her one time and she had him stammering like a schoolboy. And yet that little whimper, that instinctive little cry of dismay the instant he’d stopped touching her, beckoned to him. He should have been able to ignore it. He should have been able to ignore the leap of his pulse when she laid her hand on his. He should have been able to ignore the responding tug inside him that begged him to revel in the pleasure he and he alone could give her. Revel in the pleasure it would give him just to please her.

  “Rory.”

  He looked away from their joined hands, to her eyes.

  “If I am to be your key you can’t run away from what is happening between us.”

  He tensed at that, wanted to deny that this was exactly what he wanted to do. But the words wouldn’t come.

  “This is all part of it. Don’t you feel it? This exploration of one another, learning each other, binding ourselves together in this way—it’s vital.” She laid her hand on his chest. “Vital.”

  Hot and unexpected, anger clashed with desire. The anger came from knowing that she was right even as he didn’t understand how he knew. “I just want this to be over,” he ground out. “I hadn’t planned on this. I hadn’t planned on you.”

  Her eyes cleared and sharpened at his harsh indictment, but she made no move to cover herself or shift away from him. It made her words all the more stark, the content all the more impossible to ignore.

  “No,” she said softly, “you knew I’d come. Maybe not consciously, but you came back here for a reason. Maybe we’ve been destined for this all along.

  “What you don’t like is that you can’t control this and make it go the way you want, when you want, how you want. You couldn’t control what happened to you three hundred years ago either. No more than I can control the visions that strike me.” She tightened her hold on his hand. “If you run from this, from me, or try to impose your will on what is happening between us, then I am afraid we are both doomed.”

  Her fingers left him with a soft caress and absolute emptiness washed through him when she moved away from him and began dressing.

  “What exactly are you afraid of?” she asked. “A man who wants to end his life shouldn’t be afraid of anything.”

  He was forced to confront it then.

  He was forced to consider what it would be like if he was never allowed to hold her again, or touch her or make love to her. And a fear the likes of which he’d ever felt before swamped him.

  He looked back at her, her lithe body perched upon this pinnacle as if she were a mythical goddess and this was her throne, here, on MacKinnon land, high above the rest of the world. Her eyes looked directly into his, past his stormy denials and angry epithets, straight to his heart. And he knew what he was afraid of.

  “I do want to end my life as a mortal,” he said, his voice hoarse from the raw tightness of his throat. “But it will be easier to leave here if I do not care for anything.”

  She reached out a hand. “If you are to break the curse, maybe that is the first step you must take.”

  Rory stared at her hand, then back at her. He moved toward her and finally reached his hand out as well. “God help me,” he murmured. “I think I already have.”

  He expected to feel a doomed resignation, but when their hands intertwined, it was a shot of energy he felt; primal, a feeling of renewal. And a sense of hope. But hope for what? How could he feel renewal, when his ultimate goal was death?

  “If it’s any consolation to you, this terrifies me as well.”

  He said nothing, just pulled her to the portal and they climbed out of the howling wind and down the stairs. At the first sharp curve, she tugged his hand to a stop. “Rory, I …” There were so many things … She broke off and tried to gather her thoughts. “We have to talk. There are things you have to know, important things—”

  He pressed his fingers to her lips. “Not now, Cailean. Let things lie for a bit.” He continued down the stairs.

  “No, really, I should have told you sooner, but—”

  This time he turned and shushed her with his mouth. When he finally lifted his head, her heart was pounding and her mind was spinning and she had no idea what she’d been about to say. “Why did you do that?”

  He looked so stern, it surprised her when he suddenly smiled. It wasn’t the light, happy smile of a contented man—it was the dark, promising smile of a fallen angel. She shivered even before he spoke.

  “If we are destined to learn about each other, as you say, then I plan to start our education immediately. And I’m nothing if not thorough when I want to educate myself.”

  “Rory, we really must—”

  “Do much more of this.” He turned her so her back wedged in the stone corner and leaned fully into her while he took her mouth in a slow, methodical seduction.

  She didn’t try and stop him—she didn’t want to. But she also knew that she could never again let him think he controlled the situation between them. That much of their path she understood.

  She slipped her hands between them and slid them down over his chest until she could grip his hips. He jerked involuntarily as she leaned into him and her hand closed over his buttocks, then slipped her fingers lower, brushing them between the backs of his legs.

  She nipped her way to his ear. “Since we’re talking about education, did you know that there is an aboriginal tribe in New Guinea that believes that …” She whispered in his ear.

  His groan was very satisfactory. He took her mouth in a fierce kiss, then, when she was totally without breath, he grinned and said, “Did you
know that in fourteenth century Russia, there was a band of Mongols who thought it was very pleasurable to …” He leaned up and whispered in her ear.

  She experienced a slight dip of her knees. “You know,” she said, sliding her hands around the front of him … and down. “Education is a wonderful thing. Why don’t we go share our … bodies of knowledge.”

  Cailean had no idea what time it was, or what day for that matter, when she finally roused herself. She stretched, then groaned as muscles whimpered. She thought she heard Rory stirring in the anteroom. Her stomach grumbled in response to the idea of food.

  Her gaze drifted to the pile of furs in front of the glowing embers of what remained of the fire. She had no idea how long ago her last meal had been. She rolled to her back, the satin pillow she held feeling deliciously cool against the tender skin of her chest and stomach.

  She felt decadent, like she’d been taken on an erotic journey to new worlds. And she had, all without ever leaving this room.

  Her thoughts drifted languorously over the past hours and heat stole through her yet again. Several hundred years of practice gave a man a certain amount of stamina. She only wished the same could be said of her.

  They had both been careful to keep things on an “educational” level. There had been no declarations and no epiphanies. But there had been other moments, like when she’d awoken to find them curled around each other. She remembered nestling against his chest, held there by a lightly caressing hand. Or the time when his face had been buried in the crook of her neck, his fingers having woven through hers as they slept.

  She rolled to her stomach and pressed her face into the pillow. What on earth had she done? Falling in love with Rory MacKinnon was definitely not wise.

  A rueful smile crossed her face. If Rory wasn’t allowed to control the path he took to salvation, what had made her think she could?

  The vision flashed through her mind again, along with the words she’d heard in her mind.

  He will bring you pain.

  Now she understood how.

  He chose that moment to come into the room. He was freshly shaven and naked as the day he was born. He was supremely at home in his body, but then he’d had a long, long time to get used to it.

  He carried a small wooden platter with some fruit and rolls and preserves stacked haphazardly on top. He was smiling. It made her heart ache.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Everything, she wanted to say. “You were right,” she said.

  He laid the tray on the foot of the bed, spilling half the fruit across the tangled sheets as he sat beside her.

  “This comes as no surprise tae me,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. He tucked a wayward tangle of hair behind her ear. She smiled as she remembered the hour he had spent stroking a brush through her long hair.

  His smile faded as her dreamy expression faltered and she looked away. He turned her chin toward him. “What’s the matter?”

  She didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want him to touch her so gently, so reverently. Didn’t he know what he was doing? Didn’t he realize what was happening to them?

  “It’s easier when you don’t care.” She’d meant to say it flippantly. Instead she’d sounded pathetically needy and bleak. She rolled from his touch, not caring if the fruit all spilled to the floor.

  “Cailean—”

  “No,” she said. “Don’t.” She went to the fireplace and piled some of the wood onto the grate. She was fully aware that she was as naked as he was. Her lifestyle had made her less than prudish about nudity, something that had surprised Rory. She’d teased him and reveled in his response.

  She heard him come toward her and knew if he touched her, she’d end up back in bed … or in his arms right here, clinging to him, saying things she wasn’t prepared to say, admitting feelings, to herself and to him, she had no business feeling.

  “We need to talk. Yesterday I told you that there were things you needed to know. Things you’ll want to know. I should have told you already, but …” She very carefully kept her gaze away from the bed.

  His expression had become unreadable. It pained her in a way she hadn’t expected. He’d been more open with her over the last however many hours than she’d ever expected, certainly more than he had, she was sure. So this closing off, this shutting her out, hurt. It shouldn’t have.

  More proof.

  “Well, if we’re to have a civilized conversation, I suppose we should dress like civilized people.” His King’s English was as crisp and sharp as a freshly creased piece of parchment. “Will the dining room, such as it is, be appropriate? Or should we adjourn back to the main hall? I’m afraid our thrones are long gone, but you seem to have a distinct ability to command an audience, whether on a pedestal or not.”

  “The dining room will be fine,” she said, suddenly weary. She pulled a blanket from the pile on the bed.

  Rory didn’t dress either, but gathered the scattered fruit and carted them back to the other room. He was angry. That he placed the platter on the table with utmost gentility before carefully seating her in the chair told her just how controlled a rage he was in.

  “Don’t be angry with me.”

  “Don’t shut me out,” he said shortly. He took a roll and leaned back against the long counter table.

  “This isn’t about us—”

  “Don’t be foolish. Everything said here, done here, is about us. Right now, there is nothing else but us.” He started to take a bite of the roll, but ended up tossing it on the counter instead. He leaned over the table, fists planted on either side of the platter. “You told me we had to bind ourselves together. Consider me bound.”

  Her throat tightened at the bald, rawly stated admission.

  He moved in even closer. “Tell me this, Cailean lass, did ye honestly believe I was tae be the only one caught in these deadly ties?”

  “No.”

  “What di’ ye say?” he goaded, cupping one hand to his ear. “I canno’ hear you?”

  She shoved the chair back, suddenly fighting to control her own rage. “I said no,” she shouted. “No. You’re not the only one bound. Okay? There, I said it. I’m falling in love with you, John Roderick MacKinnon, and I’m not any happier about it than you are.”

  They both stood there staring at each other, speechless as the echo of her words faded between them.

  “But there is more to deal with in all of this than just us,” she said hoarsely.

  “Like what?” He was rounding the table.

  “Your brother, Duncan.”

  That stopped him. His eyes narrowed. “What of Duncan?”

  “I met him. And my cousin Maggie. In North Carolina. Last week.” She slumped back down into the chair, weighted down by his incredulous expression.

  “But he’s—”

  “A ghost.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Rory stared. “A ghost,” he repeated.

  “What, you don’t believe me? Mr. Immortal?”

  Actually, it was the exact opposite that had left him speechless. “Do you know,” he said quietly, “that I have never told another human being the truth about what I am?”

  Her expression turned thoughtful and her shoulders lost some of their defiant stance. “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “I have spent my life evading any long-term contact with another person. If I’m around long enough, people start to notice things. Like they age and I never seem to. Oh, I could get away with it for five, even ten years. But eventually …” He walked toward her. “And then there is the problem with having to leave people you’ve grown to like. Over and over, again and again. It’s simply easier to avoid the relationships in the first place.”

  She reached up and stroked his face. It was a simple gesture of comfort, yet it almost brought him to his knees.

  “I chose long ago to never let myself get close enough,” he said, his voice vibrating with emotion, “to allow even the simplest of caresses.” He trapped her hand to his fa
ce when she would have pulled it away. “If I cannot share my life, my experiences, then why tempt myself? Oh, there were many who would have been fascinated, perhaps even believed my fantastical tales. Not one would have truly understood. Until you.”

  “We are not so different, Rory. Maybe that is why I knew, somewhere inside, who and what you are. I, too, have spent a life cutting myself off from those very same connections. When I begin to care, the visions start increasing. The pain and frustration is—” She broke off when he slipped her hand down to his chest and covered it with his own. She stared at their joined hands laid over his heart. “You understand that pain. It became easier not to get close.” She looked up. “Until you.”

  “Then we understand each other.” He dropped a soft kiss to her lips, then led her over to sit in the soft furs. “Tell me about my brother.”

  “It will be easiest to explain from the beginning.”

  He nodded. “I want to know it all.”

  “I was on a dig in Peru when I heard about my inheritance. This was the first I’d ever heard of Lachlan.” She went on to relay the story, and in doing so, she talked about her past, her childhood, about her visions. She ended up telling him, with his encouragement, more about herself and her thoughts and ideas than she’d ever shared with anyone. It shouldn’t have been so earth-shattering, yet it was. To share like this, to sink into a deeper relationship, to allow intimacy of an entirely different sort to blossom between them, was simply profound.

  When she was done, Rory sat back, dropping her hand for the first time since she’d begun.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He waved off her concern. “This is all beginning to seem too … real, I suppose,” He turned to look at the fire. The flames flashed shadows across his face. “I suppose I thought you’d merely seen an apparition of him, a haunting of the place where he died.”