Paranormal Heartbreakers Boxed Set

by Jeanne Rose

  She frowned. “You didn’t come to my rescue again?”

  “I am here, am I not?”

  “But the attackers . . . the hounds . . .”

  “I think you’ve been having a dream.”

  “A dream?” she echoed, sounds and images so clear in her mind she could hardly believe it. “But it was so vivid. The warriors and their ladies. The magnificent horses shod in silver. The hounds snapping at their heels. And the leader of the procession, a woman with silvered black hair, wearing blood-red garments . . .”

  She imagined Bain stiffened, though he said nothing. He merely settled on the ground next to her.

  A dream. She looked down at the ring’s milky-white moonstone. This time the danger had been imagined, perhaps instigated by the incident of the day before combined with the fairy tale atmosphere of the clearing.

  “This grove of trees must be enchanted.”

  “I did say such existed,” he reminded her.

  She shuddered, then covered her inner turmoil by grousing, “But enchantment always seems so chilly.”

  “An easy problem to resolve.”

  He drew her into his side and draped his cape around her. She grew warm, not from the heaviness of the material, but from Bain’s very closeness. The arm wrapped around her shoulders. The thigh snugged against hers. She felt as if she were melting inside, from the tips of her toes to the lobes of her ears and every inch in-between.

  He filled every part of her.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. She had reason to fear this closeness. Fear Bain. That he was dangerous, especially to her, also helped to explain the source of the dream, she supposed. As the gold and black warrior, he had personified power and danger. All afternoon, she’d been thinking about him. About the strange things that had been happening to her. Now she had another incident to add to the list.

  Though this one wasn’t real, she reminded herself.

  Caitlin worried about the line between reality and imagination blurring. She guessed Dr. Hoffman would have something to say about that. Ty’s psychologist had been so certain she’d gotten deeply involved with Neil because of her relationship with her brother, her need to rescue another lost soul. And hadn’t she herself compared Bain’s seclusion with the isolation Ty had experienced? Was she repeating her mistake?

  She didn’t want to think so.

  She wanted to think that life offered her more than some cockeyed, fatal attraction.

  She wanted to think that she could truly fall in love.

  And be loved for who she was.

  “Tell me about the dream,” Bain said.

  At his urging, Caitlin did, leaving out nothing. And in the telling, the images became less real. Less frightening. More fanciful. Almost magical.

  “A Fairy Rade,” he pronounced when she had finished. “While doing your research, you must have read about the solemn processions of nobility and knights of the invisible world.”

  She’d come across plenty of reference to such before the trip, so he was undoubtedly correct.

  “But it seems the Rade became a Wild Hunt,” Bain went on.

  “A what?” Now that she hadn’t heard of.

  “Some people call fairies the ‘Unforgiven Dead’, due to their ancient Celtic history. When they ride about the countryside, looking for humans to sacrifice, it’s called a Wild Hunt.” “Do they actually kill people?”

  “More likely frighten them to death . . . if you believe the legends.”

  “But we are talking about legends,” stated Caitlin to reassure herself. Though that human head had looked very real.

  “You must have come upon some mention of the Wild Hunt in your studies,” Bain insisted. “You simply don’t remember it.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Now she was beginning to feel a little silly. “My imagination was working overtime, I guess. And I was thinking about magic and fairies all afternoon. I even imagined this clearing to be a fairy ring.”

  Suddenly remembering her sketches, she pulled away from Bain to search for the sketchpad and was relieved to find the darned thing within her reach. She was having an increasingly difficult time hanging onto her work.

  “I was even drawing strange little faces when I fell asleep,” she told Bain, pulling the sketchpad closer and settling back down next to him. Feral faces with pointed chins and ears, if not glowing red eyes.

  He slipped his arm behind her, the band of steel supporting her back. She allowed herself the luxury of relaxing against him, of fantasizing some more. Sweet, inviting fantasies that stirred her to her very core.

  “That explains it, then,” Bain murmured, his lips brushing the top of her head. “And your subconscious probably called up the Unseelie Court – the hellions of the invisible world, rarely favorable to humans – because of the go-round you and Auld Sandy had with those hooligans yesterday.”

  Of course. She’d been reliving that incident, as well, before falling asleep. Embarrassment flushed through her. “Thanks for not laughing.”

  “Dreams are powerful, not something to be made sport of.”

  He sounded serious, as if he really believed that.

  “What kind of dreams do you have, Bain?”

  When he didn’t answer immediately, Caitlin was afraid she’d offended him.

  Then he said, “A different life,” and she didn’t know whether or not she should be surprised.

  “How so?”

  “One with less demands. Or one with another willing to share them.”

  Again she had the distinct impression of his isolation. His loneliness.

  “We all want someone willing to share our problems,” she said softly. “But to find that person, you have to share yourself.”

  With his free hand, he turned her face to his. Her heart bumped against her ribs when he murmured, “Perhaps I would be willing to share myself right now.”

  “I didn’t mean physically.”

  Though her body thought otherwise. His flesh tempted hers through their layers of clothing as if the garments presented no barrier.

  “’Tis the closest two people can become.”

  Bain taunted her by sliding the length of his leg along hers. Caitlin squirmed inside as prickles of delight shot through her, and her breath caught in her throat.

  “No,” she whispered, “it’s not. Physical is easy.” At least it normally was when two people were seriously attracted to one another. Nothing seemed to be easy with this man. “It’s sharing what’s inside you that’s most difficult. And, ultimately, most rewarding.”

  His tempting mouth loomed closer as he said, “You’re very wise for someone so very young.”

  “You’re not so old yourself.”

  “You have no idea of how truly old I am.”

  Certain too much responsibility had made him feel old before his time, certain he was about to kiss her, she said, “It’s your lifestyle,” stopping him cold, his lips mere centimeters from mating with hers.

  “Pardon?”

  “All work, no play.” From what she could see of his expression by moonlight, he was far too serious, even now. “You need fun in your life, Bain. You need to let go. To dare to be silly and carefree. You need to learn to love life.”

  He backed off. Slightly. “As you do?”

  “I do . . . at least most of the time. I might not have reached all my goals,” she said, thinking not only of developing her talents to the fullest, but of that love she yearned for herself. “Yet. But I’ll keep looking until I do. A part of me will never give up believing that somewhere, someday, I’ll have everything I want.”

  His smile grew cynical. “Fame and wealth for your jewelry designs?”

  “Happiness and someone to share it with,” she countered indignantly, poking him in the chest. “See, we mortals all really want the same thing.”

  “Mortals,” he echoed softly. The mocking smile intensified before it rapidly faded. His brow furrowed as he delved deep into her eyes searching for some truth
important to him. “Nae, Caitlin, you are an unusual lass, to be certain.”

  One who was getting all tangled up in his irresistible spell. “Except for having some talent as an artist, I’m as ordinary as they come.”

  “Not at all ordinary or I wouldna want you so much.”

  Her heart thudded painfully. “You want me?” She’d thought so the night before. Then he’d pushed her away, leaving her angry and confused and empty.

  “More than any lass I’ve ever known, Pure Heart.”

  And as he murmured the endearment, at that very moment, she knew he was telling her the truth. Then why had he rejected her? Out of fear? Of her? For her? Or for himself?

  He stopped her wondering with a kiss. Deep, sensual, prying from her a wanton response. She tried to stay in control, tried to keep her mind separate from what their mouths were doing, what their bodies were yearning for, but she couldn’t hang onto reality, not when the pleasure was so penetrating. The invisible world beckoned. A dream rather than a nightmare, this time. She and Bain whirling to music. A courting dance. And this only from a kiss. A touch. Two bodies fully clothed stretching out on a magical bed of mist together.

  He settled her close against the cradle of his arm, sheltered them both against the damp ground with his cape. “Perhaps you can teach me.”

  “I don’t think you need lessons,” she whispered, daring to tease him even now when he was sending a sensual message along each and every one of her nerves. His hand was roaming, caressing her hip. Her waist. The flat of her stomach. She gasped, “You’re doing just fine.”

  His laughter rumbled through her. “Nae, not this.”

  He sent his touch higher yet, so that her breast burned for more intimate contact. One without the boundaries of cloth . . . or of good sense.

  “Teach me to be young again,” he implored. “To appreciate life. To have hope.”

  “A tall order,” she breathed.

  “But a challenge worthy of you, lady.”

  Hyper-aware of his beguiling fingers through her blouse, she could barely follow his words. “Bain Morghue offering me a dare?”

  “If you would.”

  She wondered if she was up to it. After his rejection the day before . . .

  “I’m not sure,” she said honestly.

  “Teach me,” he urged, tempting her.

  “Education takes patience and time.” She kept her tone light so he wouldn’t fathom how serious were her words. “Two qualities you sorely lack.”

  “I have time.”

  He said nothing about the patience part, Caitlin noted. “And when you disappear into the mists, I never know if I’ll see you again.”

  Surprising her, Bain suddenly rose, pulling her to her feet, though he kept an arm firmly around her waist. She remained tucked into his body under the cape.

  “See me you shall,” he assured her.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow, early evening. Do you know of a town called Braemarton?”

  “I think I drove through it this morning.” Though she’d been so distracted, she didn’t remember much about the place.

  “Take the paved road out of town west a mile and you’ll be coming to a fork. Keep to the right until you see tents of the Fair.”

  “What kind of fair?”

  “One celebrating the old ways.”

  A date? “Like one of the medieval or Renaissance fairs we have in the States?” He was actually making a date with her?

  “Aye, but more authentic.”

  “And you really will be there.”

  “My solemn word, lass.”

  Bain sealed the promise with a kiss that sent her blood singing through her veins. Suddenly, anything seemed possible. Caitlin clung to him for what was an eternity and yet no time at all. When he released her, she sensed his reluctance to let her go – far more satisfying than the inexplicable anger he’d displayed the night before.

  But let her go he did, whistling for his steed, who’d been grazing nearby, while she fetched her sketchpad.

  In one fluid movement, Bain mounted the stallion, and before she could protest, scooped her up and set her before him the way he had the night they’d met. No need to protest now. She wrapped her arms around his waist, lay her head on his chest and listened to his heart thunder in time with the hoof beats all the way home.

  Stopped before her cottage, he kissed her one last time, then released her. Her heart plummeted with her body. The moment her toes touched solid ground, she felt a sense of loss that only grew greater, as, with a wave, Bain rode off, the hounds of hell on his heels.

  “Tomorrow,” she called after him, disappointed and a bit anxious when he didn’t acknowledge her.

  She blinked and he was gone, suddenly one with the night.

  Leaving her with the uneasy feeling that the last hour with him had been all of a piece with the dream.

  Not that she wanted to believe it. Not that she would believe it, she told herself firmly as she entered the cottage. Braemarton. Mid-afternoon. A fair. She would be there.

  And Bain Morghue had better show.

  Thinking to clean up before dinner, she removed her blouse, only to be puzzled by a rip in the sleeve. The vision of a hound sailing toward her and sinking its jaws into her arm flashed through her mind. But that was ridiculous, of course, for that had been part of her dream. Still, she stared at the jagged tear for a moment more before choosing to put it out of her mind.

  After showering, she joined the others at the manor but did no more than pick at her food. Her distraction did not go unnoticed. Alistair and the professor particularly seared her with meaningful looks, while Bridget muttered to herself in dire tones as she collected Caitlin’s half-full plate.

  “’Tis always the way it begins,” the housekeeper mourned. “A bonny lass misplacin’ her appetite, refusin’ mortal company, losin’ the use o’ her tongue. Next ye’ll be up an’ disappearin’ like the others.”

  “Bridget,” Alistair growled.

  The housekeeper protested, “’Tis the truth. An’ many a year has passed since The Guardian’s appetite has been sated.”

  “This Guardian of yours sounds like a cannibal,” Julian said dryly. “As for myself, I prefer a good piece of cooked lamb or beef.” He turned to Caitlin. “What about you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I found a little pub that serves the best leg of lamb,” he went on. “I thought we could take our evening meal there.”

  “Sure.” Though she remembered agreeing to see him again, she couldn’t remember why exactly. “Sometime.”

  “Not sometime. Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s impossible. I’m busy with research.”

  “But you’ve already agreed to it,” Julian insisted. “The other day, over tea.”

  Had they made a specific date? Undoubtedly so.

  “An early dinner,” she agreed, adding, “This is a working vacation for me.” He needn’t know that her evening’s research would be done with another man.

  Though Julian didn’t appear altogether pleased, he inclined his head in a gentlemanly fashion. “Very well.”

  She excused herself from the table as Bridget brought out the dessert.

  Barely an hour later, she lay in bed, sleepily anticipating what the next afternoon would bring. She’d barely closed her eyes and snuggled deep into her pillows before the noises began.

  Wind wailing. Bushes thrashing. A howl in the distance.

  She shifted restlessly, tried to force the sounds away.

  Instead they drew closer.

  The windows rattled and the very walls groaned as if with some great weight. Sharp pings against the roof irritated her further. Great. An unexpected storm to keep her awake just when she wanted to be especially well-rested. Opening her eyes, she stared out a nearby window. While the glass rattled within its panes, she could see no sign of a storm beyond.

  As if the storm were within the house itself.

  A creepy feeling shot
through her, especially when her attention was drawn toward an ominous creaking and groaning. Either her eyes were deceiving her, or the front door was bulging inward, as if made from rubber rather than wood.

  Heart pounding, Caitlin shot straight up, ready to bolt. But to where?

  Again she checked out the window in the direction of the manor. Not a leaf of the hedges moved.

  What was going on?

  Then it came to her: a dream. She was asleep and having another damned dream. That was it. No other explanation.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Caitlin muttered, “Oh, knock it off,” before falling back to the mattress and pulling the pillow over her head to shut out the sounds.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THINKING SHE SHOULD HAVE worn the silky dress she’d brought with her from home – Bain had never seen her in anything but casual clothing like the sweater and corduroy skirt she now wore – Caitlin was wondering if she had time to return to the Bed and Breakfast and change before driving out to Braemarton, when she was snapped to by Julian’s piqued tone.

  “Are you certain you’ve been getting enough sleep?”

  She looked at her dinner companion inquiringly. “Sleep?”

  “You seem to be drifting off again.” Obvious annoyance with her made his features sharpen more than usual. “I’ve asked you the same question twice now.”

  Caitlin flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry.” Mostly because she hadn’t found an excuse to cancel. A person who took her commitments seriously, she hadn’t thought to let Julian down. She’d only agreed to dinner, after all. Unfortunately, Bain had been uppermost in her mind from the moment she had awakened. “I am a little distracted.”

  “Yes, I noticed.” He sliced into his leg of lamb with a vigor spurred by irritation. “There must be something important on your mind.”

  “More like sensory overload,” she hedged, remembering how Bain had made her nerves sing the night before.

  “Sounds serious. Perhaps you’d care to tell me about it. Tell me about something, for heaven’s sake,” Julian griped, taking a bite of the meat.