by B. J. Scott
Stunned by what she’d just witnesses, Katherine scrubbed her fist across her eyes, then cautiously inched forward and examined the road ahead of her. The thin layer of fresh snow was unmarred. Not a mark to be seen beyond her car, let alone any hoof prints.
Had she imagined this? If so, she really needed to get a grip on reality. She was under a lot of pressure. Enough to make a sane woman’s mind run amok. Perhaps she fell asleep at the wheel and lapsed into her fantasy about her knight-in-shining-armor come to sweep her off her feet and carry her away. Perhaps he was here to rescue her again. She gave her head a shake. “Like that’s going to happen. Where was he the night Ethan tried to kill me?” She huffed and brushed the snow from her shoulders, then plucked a cell phone from her pocket and held it in the air. “Damn. The battery is fully charged, but there is no signal.” Useless in this particular crisis, she dropped the phone into her purse, assuming she’d have no reception at the croft either. But she’d deal with that once she got herself out of her current mess.
Frigid wind mixed with ice pellets whipped around her. The snow had turned to sleet. Katherine shivered, briskly rubbed her bare hands together before tucking them under her armpits. Regardless if the event was real or imaginary, she couldn’t stay here. The sun had almost set, and unless she wanted to give up her inheritance and die of hypothermia, she had to finish her journey.
Determined to forget about the vision she’d seen, Katherine got back behind the wheel and turned the key. Greeted by a mournful, whining sound and a loud thump on her first attempt to start the engine, she tried several times, but to no avail. The dinosaur her aunt called transportation had obviously breathed its last.
She slammed a balled fist on the dashboard. “Now what do I do?” Frustrated, she realized her only option was to walk. If she didn’t arrive in time to claim the croft as her own, at least she’d have a dry place to spend the night.
The sign denoting the edge of the property was about a half a mile back. Perhaps it was only a bit farther. Before climbing out of the car, she retrieved her purse, the wooden box, and her carryon bag. Hoping she was right and the croft was near, she trudged off on foot, praying there’d be no more surprises waiting for her when she arrived.
Chilled to the bone, her feet and hands numb from the cold, Katherine needed to keep moving. She huddled beneath her jacket, following the roadway for what seemed like at least another half a mile. About to give up hope, she halted when a plume of smoke billowing above the trees caught her attention. While logic told her the fire didn’t likely come from Glen Heather, she prayed whoever it belonged to could offer some assistance.
Straying from the laneway and entering the forest proved to be a huge mistake. Not only did she lose sight of the smoke, but hundreds — perhaps thousands — of trees surrounded her in a shroud of foliage and darkness. What had she been thinking? She mumbled a curse. Making foolish choices was starting to become a bad habit. One that needed to be nixed in a hurry.
The idea of returning to the car crossed Katherine’s mind, but her sense of direction had never been good, and the likelihood of finding the heap was slim-to-none. Lost in the forest and caught unprepared in the middle of a fluke snow storm, she dropped to her knees, folded her hands, and glanced skyward. “Lord, if you can hear me, I could sure use your help.”
As a child, she’d been raised Anglican and never missed a Sunday service. However, after the untimely deaths of her parents and grandmother, she’d put her beliefs aside. Desperate for guidance, she regretted the decision to shun her faith, and hoped God was listening now.
Her benediction completed, Katherine opened her eyes and let out a whoop of joy. Certain her prayers had been answered she narrowed her gaze, peering through a small opening in the trees at what looked like a building. “Thank you,” she muttered, quickly gathered her belongings, and scrambled to her feet. Not bothering to brush the snow and leaves from her slacks, she darted for the cottage, collapsing when she reached the door, just as the sun slipped below the horizon.
Winded, Katherine sucked in a large gulp of air, followed by another short sharp gasp. Tears of emotion dampened her cheeks and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. She’d made it to her destination and with no time to spare. She was finally home, a safe haven where Ethan would never find her.
However, the more Katherine studied the structure, the less convinced she became it was Glen Heather. In the photos of her aunt’s abode, the larger-than-average cottage was nowhere near in this good of shape. Her ancestral home was in serious need of repairs. The place she’d landed was likely belonged to someone else, perhaps even someone who’d not welcomed being disturbed by a stranger. But she couldn’t sit here speculating. There was only one way to find out.
Calling on the last of her strength, she climbed to her feet, and knocked on the door. When no one answered, she balled her fist and pounded harder. “Is anyone home? Please, my car skidded off the road and I need to use your phone.” She wrapped her arms around her body and danced from one foot to the other in an attempt to generate some heat. After waiting a few more minutes, she reached for the latch — shocked when the door opened without the need of a key.
Katherine warily entered, swamped by a sudden feeling of déjà vu the moment she crossed the threshold and entered what appeared to be a kitchen. There was something strangely familiar about the place. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she’d been here before. But that would be impossible. The solicitors didn’t include any pictures of the interior, and this was her first trip to Scotland.
Pleasantly surprised to find a fire burning on the hearth, Katherine shoved the idea she was trespassing to the back of her mind and moved closer. Warmth enveloped her and the inviting scent of peat and wood smoke filled her lungs. She warmed her hands over the flames and moaned aloud. It felt so good.
After a quick glance around the kitchen, Katherine called out, “Hello, is anyone home?” She spoke quietly at first, then raised the volume of her voice when no one replied. “Hello?”
Judging by the fieldstone construction of the abode and thatched roof, the primitive furnishing, and the lack of modern appliances or conveniences, the place could have been built as early as the thirteenth century. The kitchen appeared to be one of several rooms. If everything she’d read about Scottish history was true, this was certainly not the typical one-room home of a Highland crofter. Obviously the original owner was a man of high standing in the community. Perhaps he was a wealthy farmer, a clan elder, or even held a title.
Regardless of who the first lodgers were, Katherine was exhausted, cold, and hungry. Surely the current resident would understand her plight, take pity, and grant her sanctuary for the night. Or so she hoped as she left the kitchen and entered what looked very much like a parlor. Again, not something she’d expect to find in a home this old.
“Is anyone here?”
Except for the crackling of wood burning on yet another hearth, she was greeted by silence. Her gaze traveled to a wall on which hung an assortment of colorful tapestries, swords, shields, and other medieval weaponry. Large overstuffed chairs and ornately carved tables completed the furnishings. And what appeared to be valuable vases and statues from the Orient adorned the mantle. In addition she saw a clock and moved toward it. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear it was same one she’d seen in the lawyer’s office, or one exactly like it.
Her thoughts quickly returned to where she was and who might live here. The knight on horseback immediately came to mind. If this was his home, it would certainly explain why he was in the area. Given the way he was dressed, the weapons on the wall, and ancient furnishings, she was all but certain she’d stumbled into his idea of a medieval paradise.
However, if this was Glen Heather, these items could have belonged to her aunt. Perhaps she traveled to exotic places and had a fondness for antiques. And while the home was supposed to be unoccupied, the solicitors could have lit the fires and candles when they dropped off h
er supplies. They did say there was a lot more to the estate than she thought and they’d seen it well stocked with things she’d need.
From the parlor, she ventured into the hallway, stunned to find four more doors. For a country cottage, the place was huge. Finding herself drawn to a room at the end of the passage, she wondered if perhaps the inhabitants were asleep and hadn’t heard her when she called out earlier.
Heart hammering, Katherine rapped on the door. “Excuse me. Is anyone in there?” She waited with baited breath. There was no telling what the occupants might think or do once they discovered her presence.
“Please, I need to use a phone.” Silence being her only reply, Katherine reached for the latch.
On the opposite side of the door was a bedchamber. A large, wooden, four-post bed, with a thick mattress covered with pelts and blankets was the focal point of the room. A fire burned low on an iron brassier in the corner. She’d seen one of the ancient heating devices when visiting a museum in New York City. Beside the bed stood a small table on which sat a lit candle, a clay jug, and a pewter goblet.
Katherine eyed the decanter. Thirstier than she could ever remember, she’d give anything for a drink about now. Curious if the jug was full or empty, she licked her parched lips and approached the bed slowly, her legs so heavy that each step was harder to take than the last. If she didn’t find a place to rest soon, she’d collapse from exhaustion.
It was rude to help herself, but Katherine had already broken every rule of etiquette she could think of, so one more wouldn’t make a difference. She lifted the jug, removed the cork, and sniffed the content. The heavenly aroma of spices taunted her nostrils, and she immediately recognize the scent of mulled wine. Her parents served it every year at Christmas, though she’d been too young to sample any.
She wasn’t much for spirits, but right now anything would suffice. It might even help to warm her up. After sitting on the edge of the bed, she filled the cup and raised it to her lips. The flavor of fermented fruit and cloves splashed across her tongue and heated her belly. She’d never tasted anything so good, nor had she been more grateful.
“Catriona,” a man shouted.
Startled, her breath caught and she dropped the cup. Someone was coming, and oddly enough, he knew her name, or at least the Gaelic form of it.
“Saint’s teeth, lass, where in damnation are you hiding? When I get my hands on you, you’ll wish you’d heeded my summons.”
Gripped by an unsavory mix of fear and panic, Katherine clutched a hand to her throat and prayed it wasn’t Ethan. It didn’t sound like him, but he could have hired someone to track her down. He had business connections all over the world, so it wouldn’t be unusual for him to have discovered her whereabouts so quickly. When he set his mind to something, he was like a pitbull with a bone. He didn’t know what it meant to give up.
Whoever it was, he was getting closer and he did not sound happy. She had to think fast, and waiting around for him to find her was not an option. Katherine rose to a wobbly stance, grabbing the bedpost for support when the room began to tilt.
“Catriona!”
Desperate to escape, she tried to take a step, but her legs suddenly refused to cooperate. Upon her second attempt, her knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor with a thud. She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling, wishing things would stop spinning. Nausea rocked her belly and her head throbbed, her mind clouded by an insidious fog that was rapidly destroying her ability to think clearly. “What … what’s happening to me?” she croaked.
The door to the bedroom slammed against the wall. “There you be,” the man growled.
“Lord help me,” she mumbled. The face of a man she didn’t know swam in front of her eyes, before everything faded to black.
Chapter Three
Unable to recall the last time she’d been so cozy and contented, Katherine snuggled deeper into the covers. Feeling as if she was enveloped in a lover’s warm embrace, cherished, and protected from harm, she buried her face in the pillow, and inhaled deeply, allowing an intoxicating, woodsy masculine scent to fill her nostrils.
She squirmed with delight and released a soft sigh when a gentle hand brushed her shoulder, then skimmed her breast with a feather light caress that caused her nipples to tighten, straining against the fabric of her gown. Hardened buds, aching to feel warm soft lips encompass them as her lover began to nibble and suckle.
Drawing her lower lip between her teeth, she moaned aloud, savoring the touch, the swell of excitement, and anticipation bubbling up from deep within her core. When a strong hand slipped between her thighs, she arched her back, lifted her hips from the bed, and relinquished the last of her reserve, granting access to her most intimate place.
Deft fingers tenderly stroked the sensitive folds of her sex before encircling her bud of arousal, then repeated the actions over and over until she thought she might burst into flames or perish from pure ecstasy. A rush of moist heat pooled between her thighs. Every nerve and fiber of her being coming alive with sensations, a carnal awareness — the likes of which she’d never known — her body crying out for release.
“You’re hot and ready. Let yourself go, Ceit. I’ll catch you,” a deep voice rumbled in her ear as the tempo and pressure increased. And when he plunged his fingers into her body, she began to tremble, the ache of need spilling from her core, tension coiling in her belly, heat that started as a spark igniting a full blaze that raged through her like a wildfire out of control. Hopelessly entrapped in a euphoric fog of unbridled passion and reckless abandon, she pumped her hips, riding the waves of her orgasm as it racked her body until only a soft ripple of pleasure remained. But it wasn’t enough, she wanted more, she wanted all of him. She longed to feel the press of his body as he covered hers, to feel him plunging deep inside as her body sheathed his length. “Please. I want you. I need you,” she muttered softly.
“As much as it pains me to say this, I must leave you now, Ceit. But I willna be far, ma gaol.”
The words were soft, barely above a whisper. But Katherine was still lost in a glorious fantasy, and didn’t want to wake up, not yet. Perhaps not ever. “Just a little longer. Please,” she whimpered and inclined her chin. But when something warm and moist brushed across her lips, her eyelids flew open and she shot up with a start. “Where … how?” she stammered and quickly brought her fingers to her mouth.
Her lips were swollen and tender, as if she’d been kissing someone for hours, her body buzzing and tingling like she’d been well loved. Yet, the last thing she remembered was taking a sip of wine and collapsing on the floor. She recalled the gruff voice of an angry man shouting her name. Fearing he could still be here, she clutched the pelt under her chin. Her gaze darted around the room, but to her relief, she was very much alone. Or at least she was now.
“Wow. That was unbelievable. The most vivid one yet.” She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, her body still humming from her epic release. While she never saw his face, she recognized his scent, the husky rasp of his voice, the tenderness of his caress. It was her knight.
But that was impossible. He wasn’t real. At least not in this lifetime. It was a dream and nothing more.
After convincing herself it was another delusion brought on by exhaustion, Katherine struggled to regain her composure. But the task became more difficult when her gaze locked on the brassier in the corner of the room. Someone had layered fresh logs atop smoldering coals and the faint scent of male musk mixed with pine and leather hung on the air. Her jacket and the rest of her clothing were suspended from a peg on the wall. Confused as to how they came to be there, she peeked beneath the covers and gasped. She wore a thin cotton nightgown that was bunched up around her hips, and nothing more.
Heat rose in her cheeks and pangs of concern twisted her gut. While she could dismiss the notion of her fantasy lover as a dream, she couldn’t dispute that someone had been here. And not only had they helped her out of her damp clothes and into bed, they�
��d seen her naked and may have even taken intimate liberties. The thought made her shudder. The burning question now was who was it, and what else happened while she slumbered?
The words she’d heard upon waking entered her thoughts. He’d said he had to leave and called her ma gaol. She recalled her father whispering the same phrase to her mother on occasion, and knew it was a Gaelic term of endearment. The man who spoke had also called her Ceit, which she knew translated to Kate. Odd, since no one — with the exception of Aunt Agnes — ever referred to her as anything but Katherine. Her mother insisted her proper name be used at all times.
Scrunching the pelt beneath her chin, she called out. “Hello. Is anyone here?” She quickly chomped down on her lower lip, chastising herself beneath her breath. Informing the stranger who’d occupied her bed that she’d awakened was not only foolish, but an open invitation for him to return and perhaps do her harm. But it was too late to be cautious.
She stiffened, warily watching the door and listening for a reply, but none came. Minutes ticked by, but it felt like hours. Unable to stand the curiosity any longer, she shouted again. She had to know for certain if the stranger were still here. “Can anyone hear me?”
The echo of her voice was greeted with silence. The depth of her solitude realized, Katherine expelled the breath she was holding and slid to the edge of the bed. Nature called and she needed to relieve herself in the worst way. But first she had to find the bathroom, if a croft this old was so equipped.
“Burr.” She shuddered as her bare feet hit the cold plank floor and a shiver ran up her spine. Despite the fire in the brassier, the room was chilly and she could see her breath. Wondering how people ever survived in ancient times, she grabbed a length of plaid and draped it around her shoulders before bending down to slip on her boots. Tucked beneath the bed she spotted a porcelain chamber pot and reached for it. “This will suffice in an emergency,” she chuckled as she shifted from one foot to the other. And this was an emergency.
