Paranormal Heartbreakers Boxed Set

by Jeanne Rose

  Jeanne Rose

  Paranormal

  Heartbreakers

  Boxed set

  THE PRINCE OF AIR & DARKNESS

  HEART OF DREAMS

  GOODNIGHT, MY LOVE

  THE PRINCE

  OF AIR & DARKNESS

  Jeanne Rose

  CARRIED AWAY BY A DEMON LOVER

  Black Broch was no place for a foreign visitor, but Caitlin Montgomery paid no heed to the fearful mutterings of the villagers. Not when the ruined castle drew her like a gateway to the world of the fairies and demons that had once ruled this land. Her escape was cut off when a dark figure rode down from the mist-shrouded ruins and carried her away, into that lost world of myth and legend.

  Copyright © 2011 by Patricia Pinianski & Linda Sweeney

  THE PRINCE OF AIR & DARKNESS

  was originally print-published by a traditional publishing house

  Other digital novels now available from Jeanne Rose

  originally print-published

  HEART OF DREAMS

  GOODNIGHT, MY LOVE

  THE PRINCE

  OF AIR & DARKNESS

  Jeanne Rose

  PROLOGUE

  THE SMALL PARCEL looked quite ordinary, he thought with satisfaction as he carried his newest purchase into the study. No one would guess the power and means to riches that lay beneath the ordinary brown-paper wrapping . . . not even the used book seller. The merchant had been interested only in the extravagant price he’d been able to garner.

  Though eager to examine his treasure, he first carefully bolted the door and pulled the heavy curtains across the room’s single large window. He required utmost privacy for this intellectual sojourn into the past. The compendium he’d been seeking for a decade held the key to his future.

  Sitting at the polished oak desk, he slit open the wrapping with a pair of antique silver scissors. His hands trembled slightly as he removed the ancient leather-bound volume embossed with intricate twining gold leaf. The pages inside were yellowed with age and the dust made his hands itch and his nose quiver. He paid the small inconveniences no mind. Rather, he pored over the first paragraph:

  The Ogham Alphabet was especially favoured by the Celts of Pre-Christian times, when it was used for magical and divinatory purposes . . .

  Nothing new here. Impatient, he thumbed farther into the book, until he found the alphabet itself. Gazing over the series of strokes arranged on either side of a dividing line brought a smile of gratification to his lips. Runes. Never before had he seen such a complete, beautifully-defined set. Eagerly, he continued on.

  The last section of the book contained the magical quatrains.

  Once more, he was ready to carry on the quest. Laying the book down carefully, he took a key from the desk drawer and rose to unlock the carved wooden cabinet sitting against the north wall. He ran his fingers over the wands of hazel wood and blackthorn, basic tools for the adept, but passed over them to choose the silk-shrouded casket and the sheathed dirk, both of which he carried back to the desk.

  A ragged map lay at the bottom of the casket. Finally, it would serve its true purpose. He opened the book again, searching for the legendary quatrain. Upon finding it, he shouted in triumph and read aloud in Gaelic:

  “His sword shall not pierce

  His wrath shall not burn

  His word shall not halt

  His power shall not carry in either world.

  By the power of this spell

  Such is the lot of The Prince of Air and Darkness.”

  At last, he had the edge to prevail. Nothing would stop him now.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MIDNIGHT. FOG. DARKNESS palpable enough to touch.

  Caitlin Montgomery shivered. Deciding she’d had enough of Scottish country ambiance, she turned up the rental car’s heater to drive away the damp night chill. The small vehicle inched along the steep winding road, its headlights barely cutting through the drifting mist. Knowing that sheer drops might lurk on either side, that the car could too easily drop off the road and into a narrow salt-water loch, made Caitlin nervous. In this rugged area of western Scotland called Strathclyde, the land was deeply penetrated and chopped by the sea.

  What she wouldn’t give to be home right now, cruising a nice multi-lane California freeway with plenty of highway lights and bright neon signs advertising restaurants and bars. She’d never experienced such a spooky sense of total aloneness, not even when driving through a seedy part of Santa Barbara by herself.

  Her shoulders were beginning to ache from hunching over the wheel. And though the night was cold, she was so tired she had to keep a window cracked to remain alert.

  If only she hadn’t stayed so long in Inveraray. She should have started back for the village of Droon and her Bed and Breakfast hours earlier, before the fog had settled over the coast. But she’d had such a fascinating time exploring an old graveyard and sketching the stones, then visiting with some locals at a pub afterward, she’d forgotten the time.

  She shoved the car into second as it groaned up an incline, then slowed the vehicle when the mist cleared at the top. The fog had been hiding a dim, faraway moon whose glow revealed the craggy black shapes of mountains in the distance, strips of open water, and, nearer by, the dark outlines of low stone walls which enclosed fields of heather and gorse.

  Caitlin peered closely, trying to catch any stray pinprick of light. She’d spotted a couple of thatch-roofed crofts when she’d driven in the opposite direction that morning. Nothing visible now. Too bad. The presence of other people in the vicinity would make her feel better.

  Safer.

  The car nosed back into the fog and rolled downhill. When the engine coughed, Caitlin immediately switched into neutral and gunned the accelerator. All she needed was to be stranded out here in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night.

  At least it was only the steep roads that were dangerous, she assured herself. No muggers or drug addicts . . . or crazy would-be suitors lurking about. Her feeling of unease could be due to the newness of the foreign setting. Since she’d arrived in the British Isles mere days before, she was neither used to the steering wheel being on the right side of the rental car, nor the one-lane rural roads.

  Caitlin looked for landmarks through each break in the fog. Nearby lay a circle of cairns, ancient Celtic burial mounds. Beyond, perched on a rocky promontory above the sea, were the massive ruins of a legendary castle called Black Broch. The mist swirled again and she sighed with relief when she caught a glimpse of the Halt sign at the corner of the intersection. At last. On the other side of the road stood a bigger sign pointing toward Droon. Soon she’d be safe and warm in bed.

  But as the car crawled to a stop, the engine coughed again, then sputtered into silence.

  “What?” Annoyed and disbelieving, Caitlin turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. “I can’t be out of gas!” Not when the gauge showed the tank was half-full. And there couldn’t be anything wrong with the battery or the headlights wouldn’t be blazing. “You can’t be stalled!” She tried the ignition again. Click, click. Click, click.

  Definitely stalled. “Damn!” She hit the steering wheel with the flat of her hand.

  What a mess. Nearly a mile to Droon and no one else driving by. What to do? Stubbornly trying to start the car one last time, Caitlin clenched her jaw when it wouldn’t cooperate. Putting it in neutral, she got out and pushed the vehicle onto the gravel shoulder. What a night. She wouldn’t get to bed until the wee hours of the morning.

  Cursing, she grabbed her sketchbook and stuck it in her purse, then slung the bag over her shoulder and tightened her lightweight blue trench coat, wishing she’d worn a thicker swea
ter underneath, one of good Scots wool. The creak of the crossroads sign in the breeze made her shiver. She was reluctant to turn the car’s headlights off and enshroud herself completely in darkness. She didn’t even have a flashlight.

  Suddenly, through the fog, came the soft clop, clop of approaching hoof beats.

  A pony-cart, perhaps? The throwback to an earlier time was not an uncommon sight in rural Scotland. Her spirits rising, Caitlin called, “Hello? Is somebody there?”

  No answer. But a form took shape beyond the beam of the headlights – the tall shadowy silhouette of a man on horseback. She backed up when the horse and rider stepped right out of the fog. Steam rose from the great shimmering beast’s nostrils and his eyes glowed red as he pranced directly toward her.

  “A-h-h!” She stumbled further backward, flattening herself against the car.

  The black horse snorted and tossed his head when his heavily cloaked rider sharply drew in the reins. She could almost imagine she was gazing at a vision. Were the animal’s eyes really red? And what kind of face was the rider’s cloak hiding? A skull, perhaps?

  Goosebumps rose along her skin. Her heart pounded. She suddenly remembered the superstitious housekeeper’s warning that very morning at breakfast: “Nae be gettin’ caught at a crossroads in the midst o’ the night or the divil hisself’ll take ye.”

  What a comforting thought. Then again, if the apparition were indeed the devil, he could give her a lift somewhere. Despite her attempt at humor, she flinched when the rider started to pull back his high collar. But the face revealed by the lights of her small car was that of a man – a very handsome man with dark windblown hair and chiseled features.

  He frowned down at her. “Are you ill, lady?” His voice was deep, his accent more cultured British than Scottish brogue.

  Caitlin shook her head and let her breathing slow as she realized she’d let her imagination get away with her. How ridiculous. The rider was a human being, not the devil, and his horse’s eyes had only glowed red because they’d reflected the headlights.

  She finally managed to point at the vehicle. “My car’s ill, not me.”

  His brooding frown didn’t waver. “And what might you be doing out here this night?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? The engine died. I’m stranded.”

  He glanced about. “You are alone?”

  Suddenly uncomfortable, she quickly said, “I’m on my way to the MacDonald Bed and Breakfast near Droon. The owners are expecting me.” A small white lie, but one that made her feel better. “Do you know anybody around here who has a phone? I’ll get someone to come and pick me up.”

  “I have no knowledge of my neighbors.”

  “Well, what about you?” she asked reluctantly. “Can I use your telephone?”

  Though she wasn’t certain she wanted to enter this man’s abode. He might be fully human and devastatingly handsome, but something about him frightened her . . . an air of danger. Surely this man had sensed her fear when he’d appeared out of the mists, and yet he’d done nothing to assuage her uneasiness.

  He told her, “I own very few modern conveniences.”

  “And I suppose that means you’re no good at fixing cars.”

  His horse stirred restlessly and he shifted the reins. His intense blue eyes, startling in contrast with his dark hair, flicked over her. “Are you truly alone, lady?”

  Wishing she could say she had an army of friends nearby, Caitlin inched her hand toward the door handle. Her instincts told her to be on guard. “Why?”

  “I have had problems with trespassers of late.”

  So that explained his unsmiling watchfulness. She sagged with relief and dropped her hand. “Don’t worry, I’m no trespasser. I merely want to get to my lodgings. Looks like I’m going to have to walk.” She glanced at the car’s dimming headlights. “And if I don’t watch out, I’ll have a dead battery as well as whatever else is wrong with this bucket of bolts.”

  As she opened the door to turn the lights off, she felt edgy. Now she would be alone with the brooding stranger in the dark. At least the mist was starting to lift. The black shape of the horse and rider loomed in pale moonlight, then edged closer with the creak of leather and jingle of bit.

  “I will take you to your lodgings,” he stated, reaching down for her.

  She stepped back, her heart pounding again inordinately hard. But then she had reason to be wary of aggressive strangers. “Uh, I don’t ride.”

  “But I do. You need only sit in front of me.” He already had an iron grip on her wrist and was pulling her toward him. “Put your foot in the stirrup and jump up.”

  An order, not a suggestion. She tried to jerk away. “No, really . . .”

  But he didn’t let go. “You are very strong-willed.”

  “I told you I don’t ride.”

  “You will reach your lodgings much faster on horse than by foot.” He laughed softly and his slight accent thickened for a moment, “I mean you no harm, lass.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “My offer was meant to be chivalrous, not threatening.” He slid his booted foot out of the stirrup. “Allow me to take you to your lodgings.”

  Without waiting, he lifted and seated her before him sideways, so that her legs dangled against one of his. The hard muscles of his chest pressed into her softer flesh and his breath was warm against her nape as he reined the animal and turned it toward Droon. Caitlin’s nerves fluttered and she squirmed, trying to get comfortable, fully aware of the man’s warm hard thighs pressing into her bottom.

  “Hold onto me,” he commanded.

  She had no choice if she wanted to maintain her balance. She slid an arm beneath the cloak and about his waist. She judged him to be fairly tall, over six feet, and he was lean and hard with muscle.

  The horse tossed its head and lengthened its stride until they were galloping. Holding onto the rider with one arm, a handful of mane with her free hand, Caitlin felt as if she were flying through some kind of wild romantic dream. The road to Droon skirted the sea – on one side, moon-silvered hills and glens slid past like magic, while on the other, waves sang at the foot of sheer rocky cliffs.

  Earth and water.

  The wind fluttered the rider’s cloak behind and about them. High above, thousands of stars flamed in stunning glory.

  Fire and air.

  But the ride was far from some dream. Aware of the flexing muscles of the galloping animal beneath her, hearing the rhythm of the pounding hooves, Caitlin was also all too conscious of the physical presence of the man in whose arms she rested.

  Flesh and blood.

  The ride would be over too soon, she thought.

  Though she hadn’t told him where the MacDonald place was located, the stranger headed his horse in the correct direction. How odd, after his insisting he had no knowledge of his neighbors. Perhaps he meant personal knowledge, she told herself. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t know who lived where. He slowed his mount as he turned it onto the gravel road that led up to the manor.

  The magic had to end. Indicating her guest cottage beyond the larger building, she broke the spell. “Over there.”

  He guided the horse to her doorstep and reined it to a halt. “I trust I have delivered you whole and unharmed.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He took hold of her chin and turned her face toward him, his accent coming to the fore again. “You had no need to fear my mount . . . or me, lass.”

  Reaction from his touch shuddered through her as she said, “The name’s Caitlin Montgomery.”

  His eyes were shadowed, yet she imagined they blazed with more than a passing interest as he said, “A lovely name for a lovely and spirited woman.”

  His voice was low and throbbing and affected her far more than she might like. Whispers of heat fluttered through her. He was a stranger, for heaven’s sake, and she didn’t know anything about him. Remembering the last time she’d been so attracted – another mysterious man who’d p
roven to be dangerous – she tried to wiggle free, but he held her fast about the waist.

  “Good night,” she said pointedly. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other since you live around here.”

  He acted as if he had no intention of letting her go. His finger gently tracing her lower lip made her insides tighten. “If you truly want to see me again, you shall.”

  “Is there some reason I shouldn’t want to see you?” Caitlin struggled with herself – her reaction was definitely inappropriate – and searched for her infamous determination. “Have you got a bad reputation or something?”

  “Some would say so.”

  She firmly pushed at his restraining arm until she could slide down from the saddle . . . only to have him stop her mid-drop. He had hold of her waist again, though this time she was turned and pulled against him, her feet dangling. She was amazed at his strength. And at her inability to object in an effective manner.

  “Here’s to whether we meet again or no.”

  Without giving her time to think, he covered her mouth with a searching kiss. And it was sheer instinct that opened Caitlin’s lips, that allowed her to share his breath. As their tongues touched, her back arched and she wound her arms about his neck. Heat spread from her middle, making her blood sing. But the kiss was over as swiftly as it had begun. With another soft laugh, the mounted stranger let her slide to the ground. Feeling oddly dizzy, she nearly stumbled as he rode away.

  A minute or two later, she had located her keys and let herself into the cottage. Fearing the lights would nearly blind her, she made her way through the shadows and collapsed on the bed. As she lay there, tired but now strangely wakeful, she swore she could still hear hoof beats.

  She touched her lips in remembrance of the kiss and wondered what had possessed her to let a man whose name she didn’t even know get so close.