Starry Knight

by Nina Mason

  “Have you got everything?” he called to her.

  “Everything but my mobile,” she said. “I guess I’ll have to get a new one before I go. Or do you think I should wait until I get to America and avoid the roaming charges?”

  “Neither,” he said, twinging with guilt. “I found your phone—at the bottom of the laundry hamper, oddly enough.”

  “That is odd.” Suspicion clouded her eyes. “I wonder how it got there.”

  He shrugged to augment the lie. “Who knows?”

  With a determined set to her features, she descended the portico steps. As she approached, he offered her a faltering smile, fished her phone out of his pocket, and held it out to her.

  Christ, how he hated that she was leaving and the thought of doing without her, but he hated even more the idea of her going so far away on her own when she was still a fledgling. He’d taught her the fundamentals of shifting and hunting, but she’d still need to find willing donors to satisfy her appetites.

  The mere idea of her shagging other men wrapped barbed wire around his heart. But what more could he do? Ordering her about was not the way to go, he’d learned that much in their brief time together. She was a free-spirited, freedom-loving, do-good-ing Aquarian. One faint whiff of his innate possessiveness and she’d fly away forever.

  Besides, he’d meant what he said about butterflies. He liked his elusive, erratic, endearing swallowtail just as she was. He just hoped she didn’t go ballistic when he slept with other women. She’d said she understood, of course, but Uranians were changeable creatures.

  “So, when should I plan on visiting?”

  While he’d asked the question a thousand times already, he’d yet to get a straight answer.

  “I told you,” she returned with a censorious scowl. “When I’m ready.”

  Swallowing his frustration, he dashed across the driveway, relieved her of her suitcase, and carried it to the Land Rover. After stowing the cases in the rear compartment, he hurried around and opened the passenger door for her.

  Circling around to the driver’s side, he climbed in behind the wheel, buckled up, and fired up the engine. As he pulled onto the main road, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She’d made it clear she wouldn’t stay. Not as his mistress, anyway, and that was all he was prepared to offer at this point. He’d married in haste twice before with disastrous results. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake a third time.

  Taking a breath, he shifted in his seat and turned the car toward Thurso. To save time, he was cutting across the peninsula on the A-9 rather than taking the coastal route through Wick. Downhearted, he flipped the radio to a classical station before throwing a glance toward Vanessa, who was staring out the windscreen with a glazed expression.

  Gathering his nerve, he tried again to pin her down. “You do want me to visit, don’t you?”

  She shot him an impatient glare. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  He compressed his lips, still dissatisfied. “It’ll cost a bloody fortune if I wait till the last minute to book a flight.”

  She heaved a sigh, making him feel like an errant child. “Just give me a little time to get settled in. That’s all I ask.”

  He drove on, saying nothing more. He changed the radio to a classic rock station, watched the green fields fly past, and marinated in the sauce of his anguish. Just about the time they reached the coast, she touched his arm, startling him a little.

  “I do want you to come, Callum. Please don’t think otherwise. I just have a lot on my mind.”

  So did he. He still hadn’t given Duncan an answer about Parliament and if he didn’t get on with it, his procrastination would make the decision for him. The stars favored an entrée into public life, so all that was keeping him from running was his fear of exposure—a fear heightened by the combination of her line of work and her tendency to say whatever popped into her head.

  “What are you going to tell your new boss about us?”

  “I wasn’t planning to tell him anything,” she said, giving him a puzzled look. “My personal life is none of his bloody business.”

  “I agree, but that’s not what I meant.”

  “Right,” she said, catching on. “The answer’s still the same.”

  “What if he figures it out?”

  “I’ll lie.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  She chewed her lip, but said nothing. He waited, blinking at her in time with the pounding in his temples.

  Finally, she said, her voice choked, “I’m also an idiot.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I’m an idiot.”

  “Are you?”

  “I must be to consider doing this.”

  Hope took wing inside his heart. “Should I turn the car around then?”

  She looked at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “I’ve just got the new-job jitters. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

  Her confidence wasn’t contagious. “What about your sexual requirements?”

  She shrugged. “When the need arises, I’ll pick someone up in a bar.”

  You mean the way you did with me? He bit his tongue to keep from giving voice to the demoralizing thought. He’d already decided to call Madam Pennick, if Vanessa put him off too long. He didn’t relish the prospect. He’d never liked going to whores and would feel even lower now that he was emotionally invested in someone else.

  Biting his lip, he returned his full attention to the road. She pulled out her cell phone and placed a call. He turned down the radio out of consideration and to make eavesdropping easier. Who was she calling? He didn’t have to wait long for the answer.

  “Hello. It’s me. Your troublesome progeny.”

  There was a pause in which Lord Bentley responded, followed by the usual polite exchange of inquiries about health, news, and so forth.

  Callum’s ears pricked up when she said, “I’ve got a rather large favor to ask. A dear friend of mine is thinking about running for the Commons as a Scottish Member of Parliament. I’d like you to help me convince him it’s a good idea.”

  Surprise enlivened his senses as she listened to her father’s response with a wrinkled brow. “Of course he’s a liberal,” she responded to whatever he’d said. “Do you honestly think I’d date a conservative?”

  Another pause as her father said his piece.

  “His name’s Callum Lyon. He’s a baron and an astrologer.” With a slanting look Callum’s way, she added, “In a very tastefully decorated castle.”

  Pause.

  “He’s not a flake,” she insisted, eyes flinty, tone sharp. “He’s a good mate of Duncan Faol’s. You know, the political consultant, who’s been trying to get a meeting with you. By the way, I told Mr. Faol I’d arrange an audience in exchange for a favor he did for me. You’ll like him. His heart’s in the right place.”

  Pause.

  “Callum’s right here. Driving me back to London to help me close up my flat.”

  Pause, during which her face colored. How Callum would love to know what the earl had asked to provoke a blush.

  “He’s perfectly suitable”—she looked right at Callum and batted her eyes—“but I’m fairly certain he’s only using me for sex.”

  Bloody hell. Had she actually said that to her father? As Lord Bentley spoke on the other end, a lump the size of a cricket ball formed in the pit of Callum’s stomach.

  “Would you like to speak to him?” Vanessa’s gaze flicked in his direction. “He’s right here.”

  There was another pause during which the cricket ball in his gut grew to the approximate size and weight of a curling stone.

  “Thanks, father. I’m sure that will be fine.”

  Vanessa disconnected the call, slipped the phone into her handbag, and turned to Callum with an unsettling twinkle in her eye. “He wants to know what your intentions are toward his daughter. And, quite frankly, I’d rather like to hear
the answer myself.”

  Classic water-bearer maneuver.

  “Just as you told him,” he said, mirroring her teasing expression, “I’m using you for sex.”

  “Way to sidestep the question, Simba.”

  He rolled his eyes, exasperated. One minute she pushed him away, the next she tried to get her hooks in. From moment to moment, he didn’t know if he was coming or going. “What would you like me to say?”

  “Nothing,” she snipped.

  He shook his head and compressed his mouth. Women, bloody hell. The greatest mystery of the universe. “You’re the one leaving me, remember?”

  “I’m not leaving you,” she said, eyes like blue obsidian. “I’m living my life.”

  “Ah, I see,” he said tartly. “And how exactly do you see a relationship working with me in Scotland and you gallivanting around New Orleans?”

  “I doubt I’ll be gallivanting.” Her nostrils flared, her eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. “And I’m just trying to coach you on how to make a good impression on my father. Tell him your intentions are honorable, even if you don’t mean it. You need his endorsement and that’s guaranteed to get it. He’d love nothing more than to marry me off to a man like you.”

  “A man like me?” The words stabbed like a dirk. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

  “Someone who can keep me on a leash.”

  Callum, mildly stunned, shook his head. “Lass, if there’s a man alive who can keep you on a tether, I’d like to buy him a posh dram.”

  While he couldn’t bring himself to say it, he appreciated the phone call to her father. Truly. Maybe not all the things she’d said, but certainly the gesture. He knew it must have been hard for her. She and her father clearly weren’t estranged, but there was definitely tension there. Callum had felt it that first night they met when he probed her mind. Unable to win her father’s approval, she’d put him up on a pedestal even as she defied him. It was an odd relationship, to be sure. Odd and complicated. But, then again, what parent-adult child relationship was easy? His certainly hadn’t been. In his day, however, an heir didn’t question his parental authority, however tyrannical it might have been, without risking not only disinheritance, but disownment as well.

  Would Lord Bentley endorse his candidacy should he decide to run? He was leaning toward throwing his hat in the ring, but leaning and committing was hardly the same thing. He felt similarly about Vanessa. He was leaning toward taking their relationship to the next level, whatever that might be, but wasn’t quite ready to do so. Not that he’d get anywhere even if he did, what with her living in America and all.

  Speaking of which, how was he supposed to visit her if he was campaigning for the election? Or was that her plan all along? Keep him entangled over here so he couldn’t show up over there and cramp her style. He licked his lips, tasting bitterness. Much as he didn’t want to believe it, he wouldn’t put it past her, given how she’d tricked her way into his castle. Still, he’d like to believe her motives for having him run were only the ones she’d stated.

  They were all the way to Fort Augustus, deep in the pine forest that edged the winding road, before she said, “Pull over, Callum.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just pull over,” she said, slipping her hand between his legs, “before I change my mind.”

  Lust surging, he glanced in the rearview mirror. There was nobody behind them for as far as he could see. Easing his foot off the gas, he steered toward the turn out, brought the vehicle to a stop, and switched off the engine.

  “You honestly want to do it in the car on the side of the road like a couple of teenagers?”

  “Why not? There’s no one around.”

  “What if the road patrol should come along?”

  “You’ll make him forget what he saw—unless you’d rather not.”

  She gave his package a squeeze, inciting another onrush of desire. He reached for her, pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest, inhaling the fragrance of her hair. He’d miss that pleasant scent. Hell, he’d miss everything about her. More than he cared to think about right now. He set his cheek atop her head. His heart was heavy and beating hard. He rubbed her back in slow-moving circles.

  “I’m not leaving you, I promise,” she said, lifting his spirits a wee bit. “I’m only pursuing my dream of becoming what I’ve spent loads of time and money preparing for. I wish you’d try to understand.”

  “I do understand,” he said, chest heating. “But I can’t shake the awful feeling you’re never coming back.”

  Drawing back, she gazed into him like a crystal ball. “Oh, my God. You think I won’t. You actually think this is all a ruse to abandon you.”

  “Swear to me it isn’t.”

  “Jesus, Callum. How many times do I have to tell you? This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I care for you, I do, but I need more than that. I need my own interests, my own identity, and my own purpose. And I need to know that any man I choose to commit to will support me in those things.”

  He scoffed in spite of himself. “Isn’t pleasing your man purpose enough?”

  Oh, fuck. Had he really just said that aloud? Aye, he wanted a woman who’d worship the ground he walked upon, but what man didn’t? He was just being honest, unlike most, and it didn’t mean he didn’t respect her as his equal or think her incapable of holding down a job.

  Clearly, Vanessa could achieve anything she set her mind to. He just wished she’d set her mind to an occupation slightly less threatening and a whole lot closer to Barrogill.

  Her eyes caught fire and her nostrils flared. “And, just like that, the male chauvinist pig rears his ugly head. I knew all along you were repressing antiquated attitudes about women’s roles, and this just proves I was right.”

  “I’m not, I swear,” he protested, suddenly sweating. “It’s just that, well, I can’t understand what you need with a bloody career. I offered to support you, didn’t I?”

  Uh, oh. Clearly not the right thing to say. The fire in her eyes now blazed like a funeral pyre—his, unfortunately.

  “You have a career,” she said, her voice and eyes filled with venom.

  “That’s different.”

  “Why? Because you’ve got a penis?”

  He could almost hear the ice cracking under his feet. One more thoughtless remark and he’d plunge into the icy depths. To keep the fight from escalating further, he pressed his lips against hers.

  She called him a name against his mouth before kissing him back. Their arms went around each other. Their tongues scrimmaged. His need of her threatened to gut him.

  He massaged her breasts through her blouse, aware of the smooth, thin silk of the blouse and the stiff, rough lace of the bra underneath. She lowered his fly and opened his trousers. He was already hard. He pushed his cock into her grasp with a breathless moan.

  Down, down on the seat they went, clawing at each other’s bodies, tearing at the clothes that stood in their way. He nipped at her neck and collarbone as he lifted her skirt. Her fingers raked his back and his ass as he ran his up and down her haunches. Her legs parted and clamped around him. When she arched up in invitation, he thrust into her, shuddering as warm lushness swallowed his length.

  He pushed up, his hands on the leather seat on either side of her. The console was in her back, but she didn’t seem bothered. He drew back and hovered on the brink of slipping from her before driving into her again. She reared up to take him deeper and dug her high heels into his ass. He pulled back and thrust again, rotating a little as he filled her. The moan she emitted shot white-hot sparks through his pelvis.

  She planted her hands on his chest and ground against him each time he plunged into her. Slow at first, then fast, relentless, both of them pumping in wild, mindless abandon. While wonderful, it also tasted bittersweet. He was melting, drowning, slamming into her with a mixture of joy and anguish that tore him like parchment.

 
Lowering his face to her neck, he bit down, sinking his fangs into skin and muscle. As her blood bubbled salty and sweet over his tongue, her sex convulsed around his, calling him to join in. He obliged with a pulsating eruption of ecstasy.

  He shuddered into stillness, gratified and panting, his overheated face and disheveled hair dripped with sweat. He looked down at her, into her eyes, sure he saw a glimmer of affection. Or was it doubt? He said nothing. What was there left to say?

  Once they’d sorted themselves out, he pulled back onto the motorway, her head parked against his shoulder. He twisted his neck to kiss her hair, flaring his nostrils to take in the fresh herbal scent of her shampoo.

  God, how he was going to miss her. He missed her already.

  Eager for a distraction, he switched the radio to BBC Scotland. An Edinburgher was praising the virtues of Scotland remaining in the U.K.

  Callum’s blood began to boil. He might have been made a faery drone, but that didn’t make him any less a Highlander. He’d agitated for independence for decade upon decade and still yearned for freedom with every fiber of his being. How could he now sing O Flower of Scotland without wanting to weep?—for all the wrong reasons.

  And we can still rise now

  and be the nation again

  that stood against him

  Proud Edward’s army

  And sent him homeward

  Tae think again

  Callum might have laughed at the irony if it wasn’t so bloody depressing.

  The possibility of running for Parliament, he was less keen on. On the one hand, he didn’t like the idea of giving up his privacy or the risks of exposure involved. On the other, he’d love nothing better than to raise holy hell on the floor of the Commons about the way they’d been grasping Scotland’s resources with one hand whilst slashing her public services with the other. He’d also love to hold the prime minister’s balls to the fire to ensure he kept his promises about shifting more power to the Scottish Parliament.

  Plus, there were the celestial influences to consider. The planetary forces in his tenth sector—the portion of his chart pertaining to career, fame, and reputation—seemed to favor an entrée into politics at this time. What didn’t help were the daily calls from Duncan haranguing him for a decision.