Moon Cursed

by Lori Handeland

  “Mebe she’s got a woman friend,” Rob muttered.

  Effy let one hand fall back to her pint, where she caressed the glass thoughtfully, and glared. Rob continued to drink. He didn’t appear worried. Nevertheless, Kris jumped in to smooth things out: “I wanted to ask if you’d fixed the door to the cottage?”

  Effy’s face crinkled in confusion, and Kris’s heart took a quick, concerned thud. Then Rob murmured, “Ye think there’s a mad handyman strollin’ through the Highlands, repairin’ whatever he finds broke as he goes?”

  Both Effy and Kris glanced at him. Rob took a slow sip of his ale before continuing. “Of course I fixed it.”

  “What was wrong with the door?” Effy asked.

  “What wasnae?” Rob returned.

  “How did you know it was broken?” Kris asked.

  “Had a note on me own door this morning.” Now he frowned. “That wasnae from you?”

  Kris shook her head. Maybe it had been from—

  A mere brush of his fingertips across her arm, and she knew it was him.

  Kris turned, half-expecting to find no one there. A ghost of a touch from a ghost.

  But Liam was there, and she reached out to touch him, too, releasing a relieved little huff when her hand encountered solid, male flesh beneath the usual dark shirt.

  His hair was tied back, revealing the fine bones of his face, and his eyes blazed bright blue. He took her hand, and her foolish heart stuttered.

  “There ye are. I was afraid ye hadnae come.”

  Kris felt like she was in junior high and the coolest guy in school had asked her to dance.

  She needed to watch herself. What if she fell in love with Liam and then discovered—

  What? That he wasn’t real?

  Liam was right here. She was touching him. She could see him, and so could—

  Kris faced the Camerons, concerned they’d be staring at her with pity as she mooned over empty space.

  But they were staring at Liam, their expressions hard to read, especially as those expressions disappeared faster than a bunny down a hole as soon as Kris saw them. She could have sworn they were shocked, but why would that be?

  “You know Liam?” Kris asked.

  “Liam?” Effy repeated. Rob just snorted.

  “Of course they know me,” Liam said. “Isnae that right, Effy?”

  When Liam said her name, she started. “Right! I’ve known him all of me life.”

  “Don’t ye mean ye’ve known me all my life?” Liam asked quietly.

  “Yes. Of course. Since ye were a wee, sweet lad.”

  “Rob would let me trail around after him while he worked,” Liam continued. “Learned at his knee just how to use a hammer.”

  “Mmm,” Rob said, and lifted his nearly empty pint.

  “Let me get ye another.” Liam snatched it from the man’s hand, sweeping Effy’s up, too. “Would ye like one, Kris?”

  Kris nodded, unable to stop her gaze from flicking back and forth between Liam and the Camerons, searching in vain for a reason their conversation seemed so weird.

  Liam left. Effy and Rob contemplated their empty hands.

  “Liam grew up here?” Kris asked.

  The Camerons glanced at each other, then back at their hands.

  “Aye,” Effy agreed.

  “In Drumnadrochit?” she clarified.

  “Aye,” Rob said.

  Kris looked over in time to see Johnnie lean across the bar so he could hear what Liam had to say. The man straightened, glancing in Kris’s direction, then nodded.

  “Strange,” Kris murmured, and turned away.

  Effy lifted her wide, startled gaze. “Why?”

  Kris didn’t answer immediately, thinking back on whom she’d questioned about Liam and what they’d said. It had all been pretty much the same.

  “I asked several people in the village about Liam Grant, and no one had ever heard of him.”

  “That’s because most people in Drumnadrochit call me—”

  Effy took a quick, sharp, audible breath that had all of them turning toward her. But she put her hand over her mouth as if she’d hiccoughed and said, “ ’Scuse me.”

  Liam set three pints on the table. “Billy,” he finished.

  “Most people call you Billy?” Kris laughed. He looked nothing at all like a Billy.

  “‘Liam’ is short for ‘William,’” he said. “And when I was young…” He handed her a pint.

  “Billy,” she finished, lifting her brows at the Camerons.

  Rob shrugged and picked up his fresh drink, but Effy nodded, fluffy white hair bobbing. “Aye. Billy he was.” She frowned. “Is?”

  “I prefer ‘Liam’ these days,” Liam said.

  “I bet ye do,” Rob murmured.

  Effy gave her brother a sharp glance and reached for his pint. He slapped her hand.

  “Dinnae,” he said, and she sniffed. But she took her hand back, and she didn’t try to touch his ale again.

  “Liam!” a voice called.

  Johnnie held up another glass, smiling widely. Liam crossed over and took it, then reached for his back pocket. The owner appeared horrified and waved away the offer of payment.

  “I’m glad you two are keeping company,” Effy murmured.

  Were they? Kris supposed that was as good a term as any. Or at least one she was willing to acknowledge.

  “Why’s that?” she asked.

  “He’s been too long alone. It isnae right.”

  Rob muttered something that sounded a lot like: “Is, too.”

  But when she would have asked him to repeat it, Effy continued, “He’s had a sad and lonely time. When he sees you, he smiles.” Effy glanced past Kris. “Everyone should have a reason to smile.”

  Liam joined them, and he did smile, which made Kris smile, too.

  “You don’t have to pay?” she asked.

  Rob snorted again. This time Liam cast him a quick glance. The old man tugged his ale closer and crooked an elbow around it as if he were in a prison cafeteria protecting his last piece of meat.

  Liam returned his gaze to Kris. “I help out when they need it. Johnnie wouldnae charge me for a few pints.”

  A slow, easy melody replaced the faint trill of bagpipes, and a few couples drifted onto a portable plank dance floor in one corner of the pub.

  “Dance Wednesday,” Liam explained. “They try to get folks in for the middle of the week.” He set down his pint, then reached for hers. “Would ye?”

  “Dance?” Kris let him take the glass. She wasn’t much for dancing. Hell, she wasn’t much for bars or gatherings or even men.

  Liam took her hand again, and she was lost. What was it about him that made her do things she normally wouldn’t?

  The other couples shifted to the side when Liam and Kris stepped onto the floor, though the movement seemed more deferential than polite. She tried to catch someone’s eye, to smile, to fit in, but they were all too involved with each other to notice. An instant later, so was she.

  She went into his arms, and he pulled her close, until her cheek rested against his shoulder just right. He had a natural grace, and where he led it was very easy to follow. Where he led she wanted to follow.

  Kris lifted her head, disturbed by the thought. She was not the type to follow anyone, let alone a man she’d just met, in a country she was only visiting. She couldn’t let great sex fry her brain, although she could see now, when she’d never been able to before, how that might happen.

  “Thug mi gaol,” he whispered. “Thug mi gaol.”

  As he slowly twirled her about the floor, she found herself lost in the beautiful lilt of that voice. She wanted to press her cheek back to his shoulder and listen. So she did.

  “Thug mi gaol don fhear bhan.” His chest vibrated as he sang. She rubbed her skin against his shirt, and the scent of him surrounded her.

  “Wicked,” she murmured, and he kissed her hair. How was she ever going to leave him?

  The song continued,
and so did they, around and around, captured in each other’s arms. Kris wished the music would last forever.

  She had found few occasions to dance, and she wasn’t very good at it. But Liam was an exquisite dancer, and with him she became one, too. They never brushed another couple, never bumped butts or tangled heels. They seemed shrouded in a bubble of music and warmth that existed only for them.

  “Agus gealladh dhusta, luaidh,” Liam murmured.

  Kris lifted her head. “What does that mean?”

  “‘I will never let anyone harm ye while I am here.’”

  The music ended, but they stood in the center of the floor, staring into each other’s eyes. She wanted to kiss him. But the way her skin felt—buzzing, humming, calling out for his—she didn’t think she could stop at a kiss. From the blaze of his eyes, she didn’t think he would, either.

  She slowly became aware of their surroundings. The pub was quiet, the dance floor empty but for them. She glanced to the right, then the left.

  Everyone was staring.

  “Liam,” she whispered.

  “Dinnae worry about them.”

  “Maybe we should—” She stepped back. His arms, still around her waist, held on, and she stumbled into his chest.

  He kissed her, and she forgot that everyone was staring.

  He still tasted of sinfully expensive chocolate, of midnight and seduction, with a side of nut-brown ale. His tongue was warm, but his lips were cool, a blessed oasis amid a sudden heat.

  She’d been right. A kiss wasn’t enough. She had to touch him, bury her fingers in his silky black hair, run a nail down the side of his neck until he shuddered, hardening against her belly, which was pressed tightly to him, shielding him as he’d promised to shield her.

  What on earth was going on? Kris had no idea, but she didn’t want it to stop.

  Of course it did. Nothing good lasts forever. And something that great … well, it only lasted a minute, maybe two, before a voice interrupted.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER 17

  Dougal Scott barreled toward them, fists clenched. Kris wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to Liam.

  Dougal swung. Liam ducked. Kris tried to, but she wasn’t as quick as Liam and the fist caught her on the cheek. Everyone gasped.

  Light exploded, then the pain. Kris didn’t fall, but she staggered. Liam turned, caught, then righted her. She thought he would hold her and she even began to go into his arms, but as soon as she was solid on her feet he was gone.

  His arm was a blur, shooting out, popping Dougal on the chin. The blow seemed too fast to pack much punch, but it must have, since Dougal went down like a house of cards in a sudden wind.

  No one came forward to help. No one stepped in to stop them, not even Johnnie. Back home, a place like this might keep a shotgun under the bar, or at least a bat. But here, the owner just watched, as did everyone else.

  It was weird.

  Dougal lay sprawled on the dance floor, the hand that had hit her now rubbing his own chin. His gaze went past Liam to Kris. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Kris wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t “all right.” Her cheek hurt like a son of a bitch. She was going to have a bruise, if not a black eye. But he did seem sorry, and he hadn’t meant to hurt her. But what the hell had gotten into him?

  “Here, dearie.” Effy appeared at her side with a dish towel of ice. “Press this right there.” She showed Kris what to do.

  “None for me?” Dougal asked.

  Effy sniffed and ignored him.

  Dougal got to his feet and shoved past Liam, headed in Kris’s direction.

  Liam grabbed him. “Ye willnae go near her again.”

  Dougal drew himself up, towering over Liam, yet Liam was the one who appeared fearsome.

  “I’ll kill ye if ye hurt her,” Liam vowed.

  “Whoa,” Kris said—ignoring Effy’s murmurs of, “Shh, dearie.”—“Calm down.”

  Both men turned, blinking as if they’d forgotten Kris was there. Which they couldn’t have considering they’d been talking—no, arguing—over her.

  “You slept with him, didn’t you?” Dougal demanded.

  The question was so shockingly inappropriate Kris’s mouth fell open. Then her cheeks flamed, giving him the answer he did not deserve.

  Dougal made a disgusted sound. “Of course you did. Women can never help themselves around a pretty face, a perfect body. I’m sure he’s got a cock the size of Inverness.”

  Kris winced. Nice.

  “Dinnae listen to him,” Effy said. “Sometimes Dougal can be—”

  “Honest?” Dougal interrupted. “Forthright?”

  “An ass,” Liam muttered.

  “Takes one to know one,” Dougal returned, and Kris couldn’t help it; she giggled.

  Dougal’s face flushed, and Kris blurted, “Sorry! It’s just so school yard. Fighting over a girl and ‘takes one to know one.’ It struck me—” Dougal turned on his heel and strode out. “Funny,” she finished as the door slammed behind him.

  The room remained silent for several ticks of the clock, then broke into loud conversation as if nothing had happened.

  “What was that?” she asked. “He and I— We— Didn’t. I mean, we talk. We were friendly. But—”

  “Dougal tries so hard to fit in,” Effy said softly. “But he cannae. He must have thought, in you, he’d found a kindred spirit at last.”

  Kris cast her a quick, suspicious glance. Did Effy know she and Dougal were fellow skeptics? How?

  “Yer both American,” Effy continued. “Newcomers. Interested in Nessie and the like. I’m sure he felt ye were his special friend.”

  “Not anymore,” Kris muttered.

  Liam pulled the ice pack away from her throbbing cheek. He grimaced when he saw what lay beneath.

  “Mo gradh,” he whispered. “Tha me duilich.”

  When he spoke to her like that she forgot who she was, who he was; she only remembered what they’d been like together.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  Liam shook his head, gently putting the ice pack to her cheek once more and holding it there with his hand atop hers.

  “‘My love,’” Effy translated, considering gaze on Liam. “‘I am sorry.’”

  “If I wanted her t’ know,” Liam growled, “I could have told her myself.”

  Effy winked at Kris, then returned to her table.

  Silence settled between them. This only made the loud conversation, the tinkling of glasses, the music, which had started up again but now played a rousing, modern tune, seem to pulse all around, separating Kris and Liam from everyone else.

  “Why didn’t you want me to know what you said?” Kris asked.

  Liam shrugged and looked away. “We’ve just met. I shouldnae be callin’ you my love.”

  Except Kris didn’t want him to stop.

  And that was probably her most foolish thought of all in a day that had been full of them.

  Couples jiggled on the dance floor. Liam took one glance at their gyrations, made a face, and clasped her hand. “I’ll walk ye home,” he said.

  Considering everything, she’d let him.

  As they made their way to the exit, Alan Mac’s large form sprouted from the crowd. Perhaps Johnnie had not been as nonchalant about the fight as he’d seemed. Perhaps instead of pulling out his gun or his bat, he’d pulled out his telephone and called the cops.

  Several people spoke at once. Alan Mac frowned. When someone jabbed a finger in Liam and Kris’s direction, he followed it, and his eyes widened.

  Liam sighed as the constable headed toward them. Kris prepared to tell Alan Mac just who was at fault in the altercation. She didn’t get a chance.

  “What are you doing here?” Alan demanded.

  Kris turned to Liam. “Why is that the first question everyone asks you?”

  “I dinnae get out much.”

  Alan Mac choked; then he started to cough.
Johnnie appeared at his side with a pint, which the big man chugged like water. When he lowered the empty glass and handed it to the bartender, his face had gone as scarlet as Dougal’s.

  “What’s going on?” Kris handed the now-sopping dish towel to Johnnie as well. “Everyone acts like you’re a hermit. If they aren’t saying they never heard of you.” She narrowed her gaze on Alan Mac. “You told me he was a ghost.” She filled her palm with Liam’s ample biceps. “He doesna feel like a ghost t’ me,” she mocked.

  “Ye were talking about him?” Alan Mac shoved a finger in Liam’s face. Liam appeared ready to bite it off.

  Kris’s head began to ache. “Let me guess. You grew up together. It’s hard for you to think of him as anything other than Billy.”

  “How’d ye know?” Liam murmured, his gaze holding Alan Mac’s.

  The constable remained silent.

  Johnnie brought Alan another pint, and he took it, breaking eye contact with Liam to down this one nearly as fast as the first.

  “Should you be slamming those while on duty?” Kris asked.

  “Not.” Alan Mac wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shoved the glass at Johnnie. “On duty, that is. I’ll have another.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I need it.”

  Liam straightened. “What happened?”

  Alan Mac glanced around as if afraid they’d be overheard. Considering they were in the middle of nearly a hundred people, he had a legitimate concern. Except everyone had lost interest in them and returned to their drinking and dancing. Nevertheless, the constable lowered his voice: “Another body. This one caught in the lock at Dochgarroch.”

  “Woman?” Liam asked, and Alan nodded. “Same as the others?”

  Kris cast Liam a sharp look. How did he know so much about it?

  “No,” Alan Mac said. “Not bopped over the head and drowned. Not this time.” He took a breath. “Maybe it’s not the same killer.”

  Liam lifted a brow. “Because two would be better?”

  Alan Mac’s broad shoulders slumped. He obviously hadn’t thought of that.

  “If not drowned,” Liam continued, “then what?”

  “Knife to the chest.” Kris stilled. “But that wasnae the strangest part.”

  “A third dead woman, this one with a knife in her chest, isnae the worst of it?” Liam asked.