by Anne Stuart
v1.5
July 2007
A Dark & Stormy Night
Anne Stuart
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contents
Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 Epilogue
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ISBN 0-373-16702-4
A DARK & STORMY NIGHT
Copyright © 1997 by Anne Kristine Stuart Ohlrogge
Alt rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
Printed in U.S.A.
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Prologue
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O'Neal stood alone, at the very edge of the cliff, and raised his face to the keening wind. The storm was coming, he could feel it coursing through his veins, throbbing in the very center of his bones. A huge, powerful storm that would sweep everything from the land with a furious hand, wipe everything clean.
He was ready for it. For fifteen years he'd lived a solitary life on the tiny spit of land jutting out into the North Atlantic, wandering around in the huge old stone mansion like the lost soul that he was. He had tried to escape countless times, but something always called him back, and he'd given up trying to figure out what it was. He only knew he belonged here. There was no peace for him, anywhere in the world, but this remote piece of land on the coast of Maine was as close as he could come to acceptance. To peace.
Here he could be alone, alone with his past, alone with his future, alone with the strange curse that had torn his life apart. Here he could live out his days, doomed to solitude and the cold, salty embrace of the ocean.
Here he could endure, for as long as he had to. Until a storm too powerful to withstand swept him out to sea, and he would finally be free of the chains that bound him to this foreign land. This foreign life.
This curse.
Chapter One
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October, hurricane season
Katie Flynn was a weather junkie. Much as it pained her to admit it, she loved storms and high winds, thunder and lightning, tornadoes and hurricanes and floods. Not that she actually delighted in the human misery such natural disasters caused. But there was a small, passionate part of her that got caught up in the wildness of nature. In something far bigger than mere human concerns.
She didn't go so far as to wish any of those disasters on hapless people. But if the storms and natural disasters were going to come, and common sense assured her that bad weather was a fact of life, then she enjoyed it with a vicarious pleasure soundly tinged with guilt.
However, she wasn't enjoying herself now.
She'd never actually been in the path of a hurricane before. Growing up in western Pennsylvania she'd been aware of them hovering, but apart from some heavier-than-usual rainstorms she hadn't been prey to the dangers of weather when she was younger.
Now she was smack-dab in the middle of nowhere with Hurricane Margo bearing down on her, and she was not a happy camper.
To be truthful, she wasn't exactly in the middle of nowhere. She was somewhere along the coast of Maine. She'd been traveling in a northeasterly direction for hours now, as the sky grew ominously darker and her cellular phone lost contact with the outside world, and she hadn't passed one of those tidy, white-painted little seaside villages for ages. Nor had she passed any cars. It was early October—too late for foliage tours, and besides, anyone with any sense would be tucked away in some nice safe motel.
Assuming the motels would be safe if the hurricane hit
Katie should have stayed at the Lobster Pot Motel, glued to the Weather Channel and the increasing excitement. Instead she'd checked out, loaded her Subaru and headed into the grimly lit day. She'd promised herself she'd reach Bar Harbor and Mt. Desert Isle by evening, and she wasn't going to let the unlikely portent of a major hurricane get in her way. She liked to think of herself as practical and no nonsense, and getting into a tizzy over the possibility of a storm was a waste of time.
Much as she liked storms, she found they were usually vastly overrated. They never hit where they were supposed to, there was always less snow or less rain, the winds died down, and the entire situation usually petered out in a depressingly unspectacular fashion. If she spent the day in the boxlike room at the Lobster Pot it was guaranteed that the storm would miss Maine entirely.
So here she was in the late afternoon, alone in her car, the cell phone dead, the radio a mass of static, the sky an eerie gray color and no one around for miles.
"You could have handled this better, Katie, my girl," she said out loud. She liked to talk to herself occasionally—it came from living alone. Not that she wanted it any other way. She was twenty-eight years old. Too old to be sharing an apartment, too young to be tied down in marriage to some ambitious young businessman. She liked her freedom and her solitude. She just wished she had a little company in her solitude at that moment
At least the road was several miles away from the coast. If the hurricane hit, if it came with high surf and a storm surge, then she'd be miles inland. The road was paved, wide enough and deserted. Sooner or later she'd come to a town and a place to find shelter.
The crash echoed through the air like a blast of gunfire, and Katie slammed on the brakes in instinctive panic. Just in time to watch a huge tree crash down across the highway, thick branches splintering and skidding toward her small car.
She heard one connect with a solid thump, and she tried to shift into reverse, but the manual transmission had stalled out, and she was trapped, watching, as the huge old tree finally settled into a massive heap of trunk and limbs and brown leaves scudding away in the high winds.
"There's no way in hell I'm getting around that," she said in a flat voice. She climbed out of the car, peering through her wind-whipped hair as she checked for damages. The front tires were still sound, the fender only slightly dented from a flying piece of wood. There was no going forward, but she should have no trouble backing up. Just beyond the blocked roadway the highway seemed to widen, and she realized she was probably frustratingly close to civilization. But there was no way she could get past that tree, even with her four-wheel-drive vehicle.
She glanced at the shattered tree trunk, then froze, pushing the blinding tangle of hair from her eyes to stare more closely. Then she shook her head. For a moment she thought she'd seen someone in the branches of the tree. A girl in a long white dress with white-blond hair drifting down over her shoulders.
Oddly enough the hair and the clothes weren't blowing in the wind the way Katie's were. But of course, there was no one there—she knew that when she looked again. It must have been a trick of the eerie light, the strange weather descending on this barren stretch of coast.
She glanced behind her down the road. Retracing her steps lacked appeal, as well—she hadn't seen a house or a car for hours now, and the wind was picking up. That wasn't the only ancient tree that was going to topple in this kind of wind, and next time she might not be so lucky.
There was, however, a narrow dirt road leading off to the right, one she hadn't noticed before. She almost discounted it, then saw two mailboxes. If t
here were mailboxes, there were houses, and people. Even if the people were gone there would at least be shelter. The road probably led to a couple of small summer cottages. They might be closed up for the winter, but she'd have no compunction about breaking in and finding a safe harbor from the storm.
If she was lucky the road might lead around to whatever town lay ahead. Not that she was counting on any sudden gift of good luck. From her experience, once the day started going wrong it stayed that way, and this day was going very wrong indeed.
She was hungry, too—she'd planned to stop for lunch along the way, but she hadn't even seen a mom-and-pop grocery store to stock up on diet Coke and pretzels. She could only hope the summer people had left some canned food behind.
She started down the narrow road, driving slowly, her headlights making little dent in the afternoon gloom. At least it wasn't raining—she suspected the track would turn into a sea of mud with very little provocation. She realized she was gripping the steering wheel far too tightly, but she couldn't relax. It was no wonder, she told herself. This qualified as a high-stress vacation.
The road seemed to go on for miles, though Katie knew it was probably only her imagination and the snaillike pace she was forced to maintain. It was only four in the afternoon—far too early for it to be so dark, but maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was traveling east. There was definitely something creepy about the light.
And creepy about the tree toppling down right in front of her. Not to mention that wraithlike image she'd imagined. She reached down and turned on the radio, rewarded once again with an annoying crackle and an occasional word or two coming through the static. The tape player had eaten three tapes that morning, and she wasn't about to endanger Clannad or the Cranberries. It was bad enough to lose Elvis Costello to a haywire technology.
She decided to sing, very loudly, to chase her nervousness away. If the hurricane did choose to land on the coast of Maine, it wouldn't be hitting for another twenty-four to thirty-six hours, so she was silly to let it rattle her. There was no reason for her inexplicable sense of impending doom.
She sang "Ain't Misbehaving," and the rain began to splat down on her windshield. She went through a couple of other Fats Waller songs, then switched to old show tunes, always a convenient staple for long distance driving. She was halfway through "I Cain't Say No" when the car came to a fork in the road, and she paused, foot on the clutch this time, to decide which way to go.
To the left seemed the infinitely wiser choice. The road was wider and more traveled, and it headed back in the direction of the highway, probably circumventing the fallen tree. If she took the path to the right she'd be heading directly to the ocean, and the road was narrow, rutted and unpromising.
And then she saw the figure again. Like a ghost, flitting through the wind-tossed trees, it was just a flash of white like a sheet torn off someone's clothesline. Katie knew she should ignore it.
She also knew she wouldn't. She turned right, heading toward the ocean and the ghostly figure. Heading toward the storm.
She stopped when she got to the headlands, putting the car in neutral and climbing out, ignoring the fat drops of rain that splattered her. Shading her face, she peered northward, and through the swirling rain and wind she thought she saw an outcropping of land with a large building looming in the mist. It was huge—it looked like a school or a college, and Katie breathed a sigh of relief. Civilization. Fate was finally on her side. She was about to head back to the car when something caught her attention. She looked over the cliff, down into the roiling, angry sea, watching with fascination as it crashed against the rocks below. She stared, hypnotized, unable to move, and she found herself looking into a pair of eyes.
It was a seal, watching her from the rough waves, its brown head steady amidst the angry ocean. It was alone in that stormy froth, and Katie felt a sudden lurch of fear. If the storm grew wilder it could be dashed against the rocks and killed. Could seals drown? She had no idea, she only knew it looked deadly out there in the raging sea.
She wanted to call out to the creature, but the wind would have torn her voice and tossed it to the skies, and besides, what could she say? Shoo? Swim for your life? The seal would take care of himself.
As she needed to take care of herself.
She got back in the car and drove onward, into the darkness and the gathering rain, the headlights less than effective against the black storm. At least now she knew where she was heading. That large stone building would be proof against a hundred hurricanes, and it had seemed as if there was at least some light in the darkness. If she hurried she could reach safety before the fitful daylight disappeared entirely.
It wasn't the night to hurry. It wasn't the road to hurry. The tires skidded in the deepening mud, the wipers couldn't keep up with the battering of rain. The huge old building loomed ahead of her, never getting any closer, and Katie found herself praying under her breath. "Please let me get there safely. Please let me get there now. Please." It didn't matter that she sounded like a whiny, impatient child in her mumbled entreaties. She was beyond dignity and well over the edge into truly pathetic need.
At last the road seemed to lead directly up to the huge stone building. It was smaller than she realized—it might be simply an old sea captain's mansion or a private school for wayward boys. That was all she needed at that point. A cadre of gang members to welcome her on a dark and stormy night.
She picked up speed, no longer caring about the condition of the road. She needed to stop driving, she needed food, she needed a bathroom, and she couldn't hold out much longer. She passed a gate, but the rain was coming down so heavily she couldn't see. The tires began to spin beneath her, and she pressed the gas pedal carefully. The car lurched ahead, and she was about to floor it when once again that white creature flitted across the rain-soaked windshield. And a young girl's face was staring at her.
Katie slammed on the brakes in panic, feeling the car slide forward through the mud, picking up speed despite her best efforts to stop it. She could see only darkness ahead of her, she could smell the sea, and she had the sudden, calm feeling that she was going to die.
The car slammed to an abrupt halt, and the sudden silence was shocking. The engine had stalled out once more, but the wipers were still dashing back and forth across the windshield, making little progress against the heavy downpour. The headlights speared out into rain and darkness, nothing more, and Katie sat there dazed, pushing the hair away from her face with a trembling hand as she tried to pull herself together.
"You're all right, Katie," she said aloud. It wasn't much of a comfort—her voice was shaking. "You'll just have to go for help." She opened the door and peered out, ready to step out into…
Nothingness. The car was perched at the edge of a cliff, the front-left tire hanging out over the stormy surf. Katie slammed the door again, cowering back into the car, only to have the lightweight vehicle sway beneath her. She couldn't stay where she was, but every movement she made seemed to make her perch more precarious.
"Don't move!" The wind caught a man's voice and swirled it toward her; for once in her life Katie was obedient. She didn't swing around abruptly to search for her rescuer—she allowed herself a brief, careful look in the rearview mirror. She could see the beam of a flashlight through the heavy rain but not much more.
She took a deep, calming breath. "What am I supposed to do, then?" she called out, trying to keep the asperity from her voice. "Just wait here until the car goes over the cliff?"
"Be quiet!" The voice was cool and clipped, and she wondered if she was imagining the faint Irish accent. "Willie's doing his best to secure your car, but we don't need you distracting us."
And she'd always had the fond belief that the Irish, the real Irish as opposed to her fourth-generation immigrant family, were charming. Nevertheless, if the ungracious creature was going to save her life, that would constitute charm enough, and she sat very still, watching the windshield wipers dash back an
d forth.
She felt the sudden lurch at the back of the car, and she swallowed a small scream as the vehicle shifted. If the unseen Willie was trying to secure her car he was doing a rotten job of it, and she was in no mood to head over the cliff with the Subaru as a coffin.
The car jerked again, and this time the little scream made it as far as her mouth. She bit it off, clenching the steering wheel tightly. As if it would do any good.
"All right, then," the disembodied voice came again, over the sound of the driving rain. "Open the door very slowly. You're going to need to move fast when I say the word, so be prepared."
Katie glanced back at the darkened interior of the car, wondering what she could grab. What did they say when an airplane crashed—you weren't supposed to take your purse, you were just supposed to run like hell?
She didn't even carry a purse, and her waist pack with her wallet was tossed somewhere in the back seat. But there was no way she was leaving her car without her beloved laptop computer.
"Open the damned door!"
She stopped thinking about her computer as the car lurched and settled again. She pulled the door handle, pushing against the door with extreme care. The wind was holding it closed, and she leaned her shoulder against it, only to have the car slide once more.
The door was yanked open from outside, and a tall, rain-shrouded figure reached out for her with strong hands. "Quickly now!" he shouted over the shrieking wind, pulling her.
The car began to slide over the cliff with a slow, rending groan, and Katie Flynn had left her seat belt fastened.
His curses were hurled toward the wind as he reached across her and struggled with the seat belt. Her own panicked hands were in the way, trying to release it, as well, and he slapped at her. All the while the car kept sliding inexorably downward.
