“Mmm.” Rob gave a throaty Scottish murmur, drawing Kris’s attention away from the loch and back to him. Luckily for her, it also caught Effy’s attention.
“Ye ate them all?” She snatched the empty plate from his hands.
“Ye said not to drop them. Ye didnae say not to eat them.”
“And if I didnae tell ye not to drive into the water would I find ye swimming with Nessie of an afternoon?”
Rob didn’t answer. Really, what could he say?
“Nessie,” Kris repeated, anxious to keep their attention off her inability to lie. “Have you seen her?”
“Mmm,” Rob murmured again, this time the sound not one of skepticism but assent.
“If ye live in Drumnadrochit,” Effy said, “ye’ve seen her.”
Kris laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Everyone’s seen her?”
Effy lifted her chin to indicate the loch. “Ye have but to look.”
Kris spun about. All she saw was waves and shadows and rocks.
*
Not long afterward, Effy climbed into Rob’s car, admonishing him all the while: “I need to get home, but dinnae drive too fast. Ye give me a headache. And—”
Rob shut the door on the rest of her comment. “Ye give me a headache,” he muttered, moving around the rear bumper toward the driver’s side.
“Effy lives close to you?” Kris asked.
Rob lifted sad eyes. “The woman lives with me.”
Kris’s eyes widened. “You’re—”
“Cursed,” he muttered, and opened the driver’s side door.
Effy’s voice came tumbling out: “Ye can walk anywhere ye like, dearie, but stay away from the castle.”
“There’s a castle?” Kris forgot all about Rob and Effy’s living arrangements—were they were married or living in sin? What did it matter? There was a castle.
“Urquhart Castle. Ye must have heard of it.”
Kris had read about it. The structure overlooked Urquhart Bay, where many Nessie sightings occurred, and had figured prominently in the history of the Highlands, with many famous names like Robert the Bruce, Andrew Moray, and Bonnie Prince Charlie sprinkled through the tales.
“Is it dangerous?” Kris asked.
Effy’s Munchkins-in-the-shrubbery laugh flowed free. “Ach no. But they charge a fee, and the place is naught but a ruin. If ye want to know about Urquhart or the loch or even Nessie come to me.”
“Why not me?” Rob climbed into the car. “I’ve seen her more than you have. I drive this road every day.”
“I’ve seen her twice as many times as you, ye old goat.”
Thankfully Rob shut the door on the rest of the argument, then drove away.
The sun was setting, though it was hard to tell considering the gray, gloomy sky and incipient threat of rain. Still, by her calculations, Kris had an hour of daylight left. She didn’t want to waste it.
She hurried inside, casting a quick glance around the cottage as she moved to the bathroom to throw cold water on her face and smooth back her wildly curling hair. The damp air in Scotland was going to ruin any prayer she had of keeping it smooth.
The house possessed a living area that shared space with a small kitchen, a bedroom complete with a decent-sized bed, a chest of drawers, a night table, and a teeny-tiny closet. Luckily she didn’t need, and she hadn’t brought, very many clothes.
The place was warm—Effy must have turned on the heat—and it smelled of cookies.
“Biscuits,” Kris murmured, and her stomach growled. Thankfully Effy had also been kind enough to stock the small refrigerator with a few staples to tide Kris over until she could get to the market.
Kris made a quick jam sandwich, slugged a glass of milk, then, armed with her video camera, a Loyola University sweatshirt, and her best pair of walking shoes, set out.
The western horizon glowed a muted pink and orange, the tourist boats that had bobbed in the distance now disappeared. Nevertheless, Kris filmed a bit of the loch. She had to start somewhere.
The water slid past, dingy in the fading light and pockmarked by several bits of wood. Kris could see how someone with an active imagination might invent a lake monster, especially when everyone else was doing so.
Just as Kris lowered her camera, something splashed. She froze, squinting into the gloom, but she could see nothing beyond the first several feet of flowing, murky water.
“They grow the fish big here,” she muttered.
From the sound of the splash and the suddenly larger swell of the waves, they grew them as big as a tank.
Kris was tempted to return to the cottage. Not because she was afraid, but because she hadn’t brought the proper equipment needed to film in the fast-approaching night.
Kris cursed her lack of foresight. She wasn’t used to being her own cameraman, and she hadn’t thought she’d find anything so soon. But if she wanted to have clear, perfect footage of whatever—make that whoever—had made that noise, she’d need the light she’d left in her backpack.
Then she heard another splash, nearer the shore, just past that next grove of trees, and before she could think any more about it Kris plunged into the gloom.
The ground was slick beneath the cover of the branches, and she slid a bit, had to slow down. But it wasn’t even a minute before she popped out on the shore of Loch Ness.
She looked left, right, across. The far side was hazy—too far away to really see, and she’d forgotten her binoculars along with the light. But still she was pretty certain she saw—
“Nada.” Either the culprit was track-star fast or there really was a fish the size of Cleveland in the loch.
Which would explain a few things.
Kris frowned. One of the theories about Nessie was that an unknown creature lived in the depths. Current cryptozoological speculation set the amount of undiscovered species between half a million and ten million—no one really knew. Which meant—
“There could be damn near anything out there.”
And that was fine. That was good. Proving that Nessie was a big, toothy, prehistoric fish would debunk the lake monster theory, too.
Kris emerged from the trees, intent on returning to the cottage, then unpacking and taking a shower until the hot water gave out, before jumping into bed and sleeping until the jet lag went away. She even made her way up to the road and turned in that direction.
Then she noticed the castle below.
Despite the fading sun, Kris lifted her camera. The ruins were too spooky to resist—all Gothic and Jane Eyre–ish—perched on a precipice. She could well imagine locking a mad wife in that tower. Back when it still had enough walls to keep someone in rather than allowing her to tumble right out.
A shadow shimmied at the edge of Kris’s screen, and without thought she zoomed in—
On a man slipping through the ruins of Urquhart Castle, the last of the light sparkling in his glistening wet hair.
CHAPTER 2
Someone was following him, and they weren’t very good at it.
Liam Grant quickly made his way to the tower house, the highest point of Urquhart Castle. From there he could see all of the ruins, as well as some of the road and a good portion of the water. Since he spent a lot of his free time staring into Loch Ness, Liam was very familiar with the area.
Because of that, he was in good position to observe the curvy blonde as she crept along in what had recently been his wake.
She carried a video camera—didn’t everyone nowadays?—so she was probably a tourist. Though why she still hung about long after the last visitor had left Liam had no idea.
He continued to watch as she stepped on every stone in her path and even tripped over a piece of the castle that had cracked off in the last high wind. This time of year, they had a lot of wind. As she tried to right herself, she made more noise than a busload of schoolchildren trundling across gravel.
Liam expected her to blunder around the ruins a bit, then scuttle off when full darkness descended. Except s
he glanced up and she saw him.
Her face was a pale oval surrounded by glorious shoulder-length curls. He’d hadn’t seen golden curls since—
Liam jerked away from the edge. He hadn’t thought of her in ages.
“You stay right there!”
The woman’s order was soon followed by the sound of her scrambling up the steps.
“As if I’ve got a choice in the matter,” he muttered, disgusted with himself. “Unless I fly away on gossamer wings or disappear into the mist like one of the wee folk.”
And how often had he wished that he could?
Liam turned as she burst into the tower area. Then he leaned against the cool stone and watched her.
’Twas the gloaming time, his favorite, when the night had just begun and the dawn was still so far away. Difficult to see in the gloaming. At least for her.
The woman’s gaze darted around the small space, skipping over Liam without pause. It appeared he hadn’t lost his talent for blending into the shadows.
From the way she scanned back and forth, back and forth, a bit frantically he figured she thought him a ghost. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But she didn’t run; she didn’t even call out. Instead her eyes narrowed on the place she’d seen him watching her, the place he yet remained.
Liam kept still and quiet, wondering what she would do if she saw him, or what she would do if she did not.
So he wasn’t prepared when she suddenly set down her camera and strode forward—full speed ahead! Damn the torpedoes! Typical American—and nearly slammed into him as he straightened away from the wall.
“You’re…” She lifted her chin, and the warmth of her breath in the chill of the night sent a puff of mist across his face. She smelled like spun sugar and cherries. He wanted to dip his head and steal a taste.
Frowning, she reached out and placed a palm against his chest. His body reacted with embarrassing swiftness. The last time a woman’s hand had touched him he’d—
Liam snatched her wrist and jerked her fingers away. Those large brown eyes widened.
“Ye should not touch a strange man in the dark of the night, lass. Ye may get what ye are not askin’ for. Unless, of course…” He tightened his grip, drawing her closer. “Ye were askin’.”
“You’re … real?” she murmured.
He couldn’t help it. The coming moon, the promise of stars, the scent of the loch in her hair, and that husky, take me voice … He kissed her. What better way to prove—to her and to himself—that he did yet exist?
She tasted as she smelled—sugar, cherries, and the freshness of the water on the wind. Her lips parted as she gasped, and he would have let her go, except her hand flexed, nails scraping his shirt as she gathered it into her fist and held on.
When her tongue darted out, just a flick along his lower lip, he was lost. He kissed her as he hadn’t kissed a woman in aeons, and she kissed him right back.
She was nearly his height; he didn’t have to bend even his neck to delve. She continued to cling to his shirt as if he would run away. As if he could.
She should have slapped him. That she didn’t only made him crave more.
He tasted her, and she was sweet, warm, and willing. Everything he’d missed in a woman.
He continued to kiss but nothing else, afraid if he let himself touch, he’d do so much more than that. As he’d been told, as he’d been shown, men were beasts, and right now Liam Grant was all man.
So he let his mouth do the ravaging; she didn’t seem to mind. However, he didn’t sink his fingers into her glorious hair. Didn’t fill his palms with her firm, soft breasts. Didn’t open his trousers, pull down hers, and—
Dìteadh. He was a beast.
On the loch, something splashed, and she pulled her mouth from his, releasing his shirt at the same time. However, she remained close enough that he was drawn to the heat of her body amid the ever-increasing chill.
She stared at him, brow furrowed. “Why did you kiss me?”
Was she really that naïve? If so, she shouldn’t be out here alone. Hell, she shouldn’t be anywhere without her keeper.
She continued to stare at him, waiting for an answer. Why had he kissed her?
“Ye asked if I was real.”
She shook her head, laughed a little, stepped back. He had to clench his hands to keep from reaching out. “Of course you’re real. What else could you be?”
“The ghost of Urquhart Castle?”
She tilted her head. “Is there a ghost of Urquhart Castle?”
“In Scotland, lass, there’s a ghost of every castle.”
“Except there’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Liam lifted a brow. “I ken you’re not from around here.”
“And you are.”
“Always have been,” Liam agreed, then sighed. “Always will be.”
A sharp scritch from below—shoes on stone—made her tense and frown. The call, “Hullo!” made her step around Liam and glance over the edge. “What are ye doing up there?”
“I, uh, well, you see, we—”
“We?” The man repeated. “How many of ye are there?”
Liam slipped across the short space and started down the stairs.
“Just me and—” The woman cursed. He heard her hurry after him, but by then Liam had reached the ground and disappeared.
*
Footsteps pounded up the steps, and a second man burst in. It wasn’t until disappointment flared that Kris realized she’d been hoping it was him.
However, where the first man had been close to her own height and wiry with muscle, this one, whom she figured to be the night watchman of the castle considering the uniform, was huge—at least six-three and over two hundred pounds, his muscles reminiscent of those she’d glimpsed in the high school weight room during those hours the football team spent grunting and posturing.
Kris had always been too focused on schoolwork to date a football player—hell, be honest she’d been too much of a geek for any of them to notice. But she hadn’t been blind or stupid or gay, and she’d looked in whenever she passed the window of that weight room. She’d looked in, and she’d remembered.
Right now, she couldn’t think why. When she compared the bulky, overpumped pecs revealed by the guard’s uniform with the hard, sinewy ripples beneath the worn T-shirt of the disappearing man, the latter won without question.
The newcomer flicked her a glance. He had blue eyes, too, but they seemed washed out when set in that pale face beneath hair an unfortunate shade of orangutan.
He trained his flashlight into every shady corner. Kris followed the beam eagerly. But no one was there.
The man turned to her with a frown. “Ye said ‘we.’”
“There was a guy here, but now he’s…” Kris spread her hands. “Not.”
The frown deepened. “Where did he go?”
Kris pointed at the stairs, then shrugged.
“I came up directly,” the guard said. “I didnae see anyone coming down.”
A trickle of unease rolled across Kris’s spine, but she quashed it. There had been a man. He’d kissed her, for crying out loud! Ghosts couldn’t kiss.
Because ghosts did not exist.
“Well, he isn’t here,” she said a bit too sharply, “so he had to have gone down there. Unless you know of another way out.”
“Just…” The guard made a motion of diving off the edge.
Kris resisted the urge to scurry over and check. She’d have heard him if he’d jumped. There would have been an unpleasant splat. Kris shuddered.
“Getting cool out here now, miss. Best ye go back—” He paused. “Where are ye stayin’? I didnae see a car.”
“Loch Side Cottage.”
“Ah, the Cameron place. Then ye havenae far to go. I’ll walk ye.”
“No need.” She picked up her video camera, thrilled it hadn’t gotten trampled in the commotion.
Or stolen by the ghost.
Kris coughed to
stifle the inappropriate laughter that threatened to burst free.
“What kind of man would I be if I let a woman walk about in the night all alone?”
“Don’t you have to…” Kris waved vaguely at the castle. “Watch things?”
In the glare of the flashlight, his lips curved. “Urquhart has stood since the sixth century. I doubt it’ll disappear if I glance away.”
Unlike the man who’d kissed her.
“You’re sure you didn’t see anyone?” she asked.
“You’re sure ye did?” He stared at the deep, dark sky. “The night plays tricks.”
If all that had happened was that she’d seen a shadow, Kris would agree. But the night wasn’t such a trickster that it conjured solid, handsome men, who spoke with a brogue and kissed with their tongues.
“I’m Alan Mac,” he continued. “Chief constable of Drumnadrochit.”
Kris blinked. “Not the watchman?”
“There is a watchman.” Alan Mac looked away. “But it’s not me.”
Kris followed his gaze, but she didn’t see a watchman anywhere. She supposed there were a lot of nooks and crannies. He could be anywhere.
“What’s the head cop doing here if there’s a guard on duty?”
“Taking a stroll.”
Kris found that hard to believe. Then again, did she want to accuse the “head cop” of lying? And really, why would he?
“I didnae catch your name.”
“Kris.” She held out her hand. “Kris Daniels.”
His fingers were as cold as the breeze, and she started. “Sorry.” He rubbed his palm on his pants. “Me blood’s always been a wee bit thin. It’s pleased I am to meet ye.” He indicated the stairway. “And now, if ye’d be so kind as to get off the tower.”
“Sure.” Kris went down the stairs, grateful for the constable’s flashlight, which showed her the way.
Once on solid ground, he insisted on seeing her to the cottage. Nothing she said would dissuade him.
As they walked along, Kris searched for a question, any question, to break the eerie stillness. “Does the watchman run across a lot of trespassers at night?”
“Ach, no. No reason to come way out here in the dark.”
“But…” Kris glanced at the water. “The loch. The…” She had a hard time getting the foolish word out, but she managed. “Monster.”
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