by Jeanne Rose
Though she might have a problem with a territorial bird. The falcon Caitlin had seen suddenly swooped low, shrieking so loudly she ducked into the courtyard for fear the bird intended attack.
“Crazy featherhead!” she yelled. The talons of a bird of prey could really do some damage. Thank goodness, the bird took off again.
She looked around the more protected courtyard, colder and spookier up close. Caitlin hugged herself, wishing she’d brought her coat. Sunlight never reached some of these dark shadows. They were as cold and forbidding as they’d been when the castle had originally been built. Before, really.
She knew that on this same site, a fortified tower or “broch” had existed in the time of the Celts. Caitlin wondered about the Celtic cairn that was supposed to lie beneath the castle’s foundations. Had the medieval builders ever dug down into it? Was that the same place where the evil laird had buried the soldiers? And where was the dungeon? Castles always had dungeons.
Trying not to spook herself with such musings, she peered closely at the walls as she wandered along. When some faint carvings attracted her eye, she scratched away dead vines to find a line of runes.
“Incredible.”
Awed that the hand of another human had created the magical symbols thousands of years before, she forgot her unfounded fears and opened her sketchbook to draw. But first, she lightly ran her fingers over the marks, hoping their power had been meant to do good, not evil.
“TRESPASSERS! INVADERS! ATTACK, ATTACK! Take up yer sword!”
Having been deeply and soundly asleep, Bain Morghue groaned as Ghillie Brown shook him until his teeth rattled.
“I tell ye, there be an enemy about! Take up yer sword!” screeched the old man.
Bain opened a hostile eye, ready to throttle his servant, when the meaning of Ghillie’s words suddenly sank in. In one smooth movement, adrenaline surging, he rolled his long body out of the great four-poster and wrapped his plaid about him. Ghillie handed him the claymore and scabbard that had been hanging on the headboard. The stones on the pommel caught the light as Bain withdrew the deadly length of steel.
“Enemies – where?” he demanded.
“In the courtyard! In the courtyard!” Ghillie squealed, nearly doing a little dance in his desperate excitement. “They be seeking a way to get in and kill us both!”
Forever worried that intruders could mean the end of him, Bain hurried toward the steps that led up to the main entrance, his bare feet slapping on cold stone. Reaching into a crevice at the landing, he cracked open the great door and slipped out quickly before it closed behind him.
Sword drawn, he prepared to shout a war cry as he hurtled into the courtyard. The sound died in his throat when he saw who whipped about to stare at him, her big green eyes round, her face ghost-white against the red of her hair. He was hit hard, his immediate response physical, the same as he’d experienced upon seeing her the first time. No matter. He didn’t know her or her connections. She could be a thief. Or worse. She didn’t belong here.
“And what is it you’re up to wandering about where you’re not wanted?” A few more strides brought him towering over her. He shoved her hard against the wall. She made a choked sound and dropped the tablet she was carrying. It took all his will to ignore her softness. To steel himself against her alluring woman-scent. “I didn’t give you leave to set foot on my property,” he went on in his most intimidating tone. “I could kill you where you stand!”
Her eyes grew wider. “K-kill me?”
Though he could think of a thousand things he would rather do to her – with her – Bain kept himself in check. “You do understand the word kill, do you not, lady?” For good measure, he brandished the claymore in her face. “Now . . . what are you doing on my property?”
Speechless, she stared at him defiantly.
He tightened his strong grip on her arm until she cried out and grew frantic. Struggling, she yelled, “Let go of me!”
“Orders?” he asked, his voice purposely soft and menacing. “I should be more accommodating if I were you, lady.” He wondered if she’d been sent to test his defenses.
Wild to get away, she struggled futilely against his greater strength, at last managing to stomp on his bare foot.
“Ah-h!” His face contorted in pain, but he didn’t release her. “You little vixen!”
She tried to stomp his foot again, but he grabbed her other arm and pushed her back, looming over her so closely that her panting breath feathered his face. His groin tightened and he was tempted to kiss her. To let his long-unassuaged lust consume them both. Then perhaps she would give him the satisfaction of seeing her quake.
She had the audacity to glare at him. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“You’re trespassing. ’Tis a crime.”
“Then call the authorities and leave me be! You’re nothing but a bully.”
“You dare reproach me?”
“I’d dare more if I could!”
Surprised by and respecting her grit, deciding that perhaps he had made a mistake and that she was no threat, after all, he laughed and let go. Off-balance, she stumbled backward, smacking her head hard against the stone wall. Her lashes fluttered and her knees gave way.
Bain caught her before she fell. “Silly nervy lass,” he growled, raking a hand through her hair and coming up with a smear of blood. “Now look what you’ve done.”
Look what she’d done?
Caitlin’s heart ricocheted in her chest from immediate fear and something she couldn’t quite define . . . something that went deeper . . . and was infinitely more dangerous. But she was too weak to object when he picked her up and carried her out of the courtyard into the wan afternoon sunlight. Her head throbbed. She ignored the pain and the lump that lodged squarely in her throat and the little thrill that the proximity and expanse of his naked flesh gave her. She moaned and closed her eyes.
A minute later, she opened them again to find they’d entered a cool dark passage. The horseman was descending. Of any possible imagined scenario, she would never have expected the man to appear wild-haired and half-naked in a trailing plaid, brandishing a sword. She would never have imagined being carried off by him. At the bottom of the steps, light beckoned from an open door.
“Ghillie!” he roared so loud, her head throbbed even worse.
“Can you tone it down, please?” she whispered weakly.
He paid no attention and yelled again, then brought Caitlin into a firelight room to lay her across a cushioned throne-like chair. She wasn’t sure if the place actually resembled a medieval reception hall – fireplace, sconces of candles, high rafters and tapestries – or if she was delirious.
She thought she must be hallucinating for sure when the person named Ghillie appeared. He was a very short, ugly man with weathered leathery skin nearly the same brown color as his clothing. Although bald, Ghillie had tufts of hair growing from the tops of his huge ears that made him look shaggy. She blinked into his beady little eyes and groaned.
“Get hot water and a clean rag,” the rider ordered. “The lady has hurt her head.”
Ghillie seemed reluctant. “But, Laird . . .”
Laird? Her midnight rider was a nobleman?
“No buts, go fetch what I ask for. She is not our enemy.”
Muttering to himself, the strange brown man skittered away.
And Caitlin leaned back against the cushions, once more to close her eyes. And to pray . . . if only she could get out of the place unscathed. She’d had enough experience with a threatening if fascinating man.
When the throbbing quieted, she opened her eyes. Ghillie was staring down at her, basin and rag in hand. He wrinkled his bulbous nose as if in distaste. Masking her fear once more, Caitlin glared at him and quickly sat up. Ghillie croaked and jumped back, water sloshing. Despite being told she meant no harm, he was obviously as afraid of her as she was of him.
Surprised, she felt stronger at the knowledge. “Where did the hulk go?”
>
Ghillie wiggled his bushy brows. “Who? Who? Laird Morghue?”
“Morghue? Is that his name?”
“The Laird be changin’ his clothing.”
“Good idea. It’s cold to be wearing nothing but a bolt of fabric.” Though she admitted Morghue had been quite an eyeful. Since Ghillie continued to stand like an unmoving rock, Caitlin reached for the basin and rag herself. “Can I have those?”
He surrendered the items gladly and scurried away.
She winced when she touched the back of her head and felt the rising egg-sized lump. Putting the basin on the stone floor, she immersed the rag in the hot water, wrung it out and started to clean her wound.
Strong fingers clasped hers in mid-action. “Allow me. You can’t see what you are doing.”
Her muscles froze and she had to force her arms down. She couldn’t relax, not remembering how he’d talked of killing her with the fancy sword with its gold hilt and jeweled pommel. He came around to the front of her chair. Reluctantly, she noticed he looked almost as good in the black trousers, shirt and boots as he did without them. Expressionless, he knelt and held her jaw steady as he gently swabbed at the lump. She tried not to flinch or react to the tingling warmth of his touch.
Even so, she couldn’t help but grit out, “Haven’t you done enough to me already?”
“You hit your head yourself, lass. It wasn’t I who did the damage. Besides, you were trespassing.”
“If you’re so uptight about someone coming onto your property, you ought to put up fences and signs.” She paused, thinking about the inquiries she’d made in Droon. “Incidentally, nobody seems to know this castle is your property. They don’t even know you.”
He didn’t respond. Turning her face directly toward him, he gazed so deeply into her eyes, she caught her breath and all thought fled. For a moment, she was lost . . .
“Your pupils seem normal.”
His observation broke the spell and she squirmed a little and cleared her throat. “At least I don’t have a concussion.”
He rose, towering over her. “So you can be on your way.”
Oddly enough, she was dismayed. Only moments ago, she had prayed to escape unscathed. And now that she had permission, she was reluctant to run. She wanted to see more of the fascinating place . . . and of Bain Morghue. He was dangerous, yes. Maybe that was part of his fascination. That and a seething virility she couldn’t deny, that made Neil Howard pale by comparison. Thinking of how that short-lived attraction had turned out, Caitlin was beginning to wonder whether she was drawn to the wrong sort of men.
If he’d really meant to hurt her, Caitlin told herself, he could have done so rather than taking care of her injury. If she were cautious, she should be safe enough for a while longer.
She licked her parched lips and once more ignored her good sense that told her to run while she had the chance. “The last time we met, I believe you said I could see you if I wanted to.”
“And so you have.”
“But now you’re kicking me out?”
“I respect your courage and am giving you your freedom, lady. There’s a difference.”
He said it so seriously, she once more had to tamper down her alarm. “So, what – you were considering locking me in your dungeon?” She couldn’t help herself. “Who do you think you are, some medieval overlord?”
“I know who I am, as do my enemies who seek me.”
She frowned and muttered, “Sounds like a fairy tale to me.”
“Fairy tale! Fairy tale!” muttered Ghillie in the background, making Caitlin realize he was lurking nearby.
She glanced toward the sound as he opened the shutters of a high, narrow window. A large bird flapped inside and sank its talons into a leather-covered perch near the wall.
Again wondering if she were dreaming, Caitlin murmured, “A hunting falcon? I guess you do live like a medieval lord. Not that it gives you the right to be so high-handed. Furthermore, as far as seeking you out is concerned, I’ve been asking around about you and I’ve yet to find out your full name.”
“’Tis Bain Morghue.”
Finally. “Lord Morghue?”
“Bain will do,” he said.
“I’m Caitlin Montgomery.”
“Fine, brave Caitlin, and now that we’ve established the niceties, I fear I must encourage you to leave again. It will soon be dark outside.”
The more he tried to get rid of her, the more she felt like digging in. Who gave him the right to push her around? They didn’t live in feudal times.
“I’m not afraid of the dark.” Not normally. She glanced at the heavy wooden table on one side of the fireplace. A flask of amber liquid glimmered there, surrounded by several goblets. Her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. “I could use a drink before I leave. Is that brandy? Sherry?”
“Neither.” Bain’s tone was clipped. “You wouldn’t care for it.”
“A sip or two would soothe my headache, get my blood pumping again.” And give her a little time to find out more about this mysterious man and his castle. She wanted answers. And to dispel the notion that she lacked solid judgment when it came to men. When Bain didn’t make a move, she said, “Surely you owe me one gesture of hospitality.”
He gazed at her measuringly.
And unexpectedly, he broke the fine thread of tension between them by laughing. “All right, then, I see how it is.” His voice mellowed to a smooth and rather seductive tone, making Caitlin’s toes tingle and her senses go on alert. “You shall get what you want, fair lass.” He turned to the man who seemed to be his servant. “Ghillie, pour us out two goblets.”
“But, but . . .” the brown man huffed.
Bain merely stared mercilessly until Ghillie did as he wished. Then he dragged a chair up close to Caitlin’s. Ghillie brought the drinks on a pewter tray. As Caitlin reached for hers, the brown man looked directly at her, eyes wide.
“Is it poison or something?” she asked, hand hovering.
“Of course not, or it would also kill me,” Bain assured her. When she finally took her drink, he motioned Ghillie away. “It’s only my own specially distilled liqueur.”
She stared into the goblet – old-fashioned hand-blown glass in which the substance seemed to glow. Smiling, Bain lightly clicked the rim of his to Caitlin’s before taking a sip. She hesitated – for who knew what dangers lurked in the goblet – then told herself that if he could drink the stuff, she certainly could. She took a tiny sip. The liqueur was soothing, smooth, slightly sweet, yet light, and most definitely alcoholic. Perhaps it was her mood or her injury, but the mere taste of the stuff went directly to her head.
Indeed, her pain already receding, Caitlin took a bigger sip and watched the room pulse with warmth. “It makes me feel a lot better.”
“I’m sure you would feel nice anyway.”
Titillated, she noted the flicker of the torches reflected in his intense eyes. For a moment, their blue nearly seemed a shade of violet.
“You can stay here all night if you wish, lass.”
Startled, Caitlin sat up straighter and felt the blood creep up her neck. He certainly wasn’t implying she could curl up by herself in front of the fire. “I only wanted a drink, not a proposition.” Though she also had to admit she found the idea oddly intriguing considering the man had given her such a fright. His expression knowing, he crooked a rakish eyebrow at her. “Sometimes you receive more than you bargain for.”
The reminder brought her back to her senses. “You’re very attractive, Mr. Bain Morghue, but awfully full of yourself. We’ve barely met.” Feeling his very presence bearing down on her, she tried to keep it light. “And I’d have to know more about you and this situation before I even agreed to be friends.”
“Sometimes there are no easy explanations.”
“Try me.” Realizing he could take that the wrong way, she immediately rushed on. “I mean, tell me how you managed to obtain this property without any of your neighbors knowing about it
.”
His smile appeared almost demonic as he slid a hand along the arm of his chair until their fingers were mere centimeters apart. Her pulse surged. She yearned to be touched, so strongly that she was shocked at herself, but somehow she managed to slip her own hand onto her lap.
“You do own this castle, don’t you?”
He leaned forward. “Aye.”
Nervously, she inched farther back in her seat and glanced at the nearest tapestry, a herd of does fleeing a hunter. “So, did you, uh . . . buy this place recently?”
His look seared her. “I’ve owned it time out of mind.”
Time out of mind? Hadn’t she heard that phrase before? She couldn’t quite remember where or when as she considered the subject of deeds in the British Isles. Perhaps they could stretch back a very long time.
“Are you saying you inherited this castle? Then how come no one in Droon knows that? Why hasn’t anyone heard of you?” She held up a cautioning hand, partially to keep him at bay. “And don’t give me some answer about people who seek you will know you and so on.” When he didn’t answer, merely stared at her as if he were looking inside her, she prompted him. “Surely there’s an explanation that makes sense, like . . . maybe you’ve been an absentee landlord for years.”
“That is true,” he finally said. “I have other similar holdings in Scotland, as well as in Ireland and Wales that have taken my time.”
“Castles? And why have you come back here?” She glanced about. “Are you fixing up the place? It’d make a great tourist attraction. Maybe even an inn of sorts. You must be wealthy.”
“I have gold beyond measure.”
“Gold? Now that has to be an exaggeration. No one hordes gold these days.” Although he would indeed need big bucks to deal with fixing up castles.