Paranormal Heartbreakers Boxed Set

by Jeanne Rose

  He lifted, turned her and brought her down to straddle him. She didn’t think to protest. She couldn’t have resisted him if she had wanted to . . .

  This time they made love more leisurely, lips and hands touching, seeking. She closed her eyes, undulating her hips with his rhythm. Time had no meaning as they sought to become one, her softness enclosing his hard strength. Bain stroked her breasts, her thighs, her belly, finally anchoring his hands at her waist. He lifted and brought her down again, sliding her along his length. She moaned and he moved faster, making their release as explosive and sweet as the last.

  Afterward, Caitlin dozed in his arms, oblivious to danger or worries. When she stirred some time later, Bain lay on his back perusing the history guidebook, one arm cradling her against him.

  “Where did you find that?” she asked sleepily.

  “Between the bed and the wall.”

  “I must have been reading it in bed last night.” Then, in spite of being groggy, she remembered the footnote. “Do you belong to the clan of MacBain?”

  “I belong nowhere.” He added, “Though I’m descended from the MacBains on one side of my family.”

  Trying not to react to his lonely statement about belonging nowhere, she continued. “Is the name Morghue Scottish?”

  “‘Tis closer to the ancient language.”

  “Gaelic? It’s Celtic?”

  “Aye, my mother’s tongue.”

  Celtic. Morghue. The name wasn’t so far from Morrighan, if one really thought about it. In the soft, dark of night Caitlin could imagine Bain a haunted demon lover, the halfling son of the queen of the fairies. The Prince of Air and Darkness. But if she voiced such a theory, she would think herself crazy, even if he didn’t.

  So she continued with history. “Do you know about the feud within the MacBain clan? Are you descended from the misbegotten line?”

  He turned to gaze at her closely. “I am not so cruel that I would bury a regiment of soldiers alive.”

  Or run a claymore through Professor Abernathy.

  The thought came to her like a psychic flash. “But your enemy would. He’s related to the misbegotten MacBains, isn’t he?” And full of ruthless hatred. “Was it the same man who kidnapped you as a child?”

  Instead of answering, he kissed her. And she responded in kind. Even if she guessed the actual identity of the murderer, Bain probably wouldn’t admit she was right. And he was in danger himself; he’d said so.

  “I’m worried about you,” she said. “This guy is trying to kill you, isn’t he? Is Alistair MacDonald descended from the MacBains? Julian Taylor?” When he didn’t answer, she grew exasperated. “You’re so frustrating!”

  “And here I thought I had taken care of your needs, lady.” He turned her over on her back, moving over her.

  “I didn’t mean I was physically frustrated.” Though he could get her to that state quickly, naked as they were.

  He kissed her lips, her throat, her breasts, only pausing in his ministrations when he glanced at the window, now gray with dawn. “‘Tis nearly day. I must go.”

  “Right away?” She couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  “I fear so.” His movements reluctant, he rose to gather his clothing.

  She didn’t want to be clinging or possessive. She should be happy they’d spent so much of a night together. But she had to swallow a lump in her throat.

  “You aren’t leaving because I’m asking too many questions?” “Nae, lady.” He sat down on the bed to pull on his boots. “I have responsibilities.”

  Guarding ancestral land or ruins from rival relatives? People could get crazy about that sort of thing, Caitlin knew. And it made as much sense as guarding the door to the invisible world.

  “You don’t sound very happy about your duties.”

  Bain leaned over to kiss her yet again. “I am sorely weary of them.”

  “Then why don’t you quit? Surely you have a choice.”

  He mumbled a negative, nibbling her lower lip.

  “You could change your life if you really wanted to,” she insisted. “Why be miserable? For one thing, why don’t you let the authorities deal with your crazed relatives?”

  Which brought them back to the murder.

  Ignoring the fact, Bain got to his feet with a sigh. “I was happy this night and that must do.” Then he spotted the suitcases and a couple of sweaters folded on a chair. “What is this? Have you been packing?”

  “The murder had me scared silly. I was thinking about booking a flight home.” Though she had given up on the idea for the moment.

  Bain scowled at her. “You canna go. We are bound.”

  Telling her she couldn’t go was different than begging her not to. He couldn’t control her.

  “You’ve said that before but I’m waiting for proof.” A shared interest in defying darkness wasn’t enough. “You’ve made no promises to keep me here.”

  “You must stay. You are nearly as caught as I myself.”

  Resentful, she sat up and defiantly pulled the sheet around her. “If I wanted to, I could get on a plane and be out of this country – and out of your life for good – before you could blink an eye.” Which should set him an example for life-changing.

  He continued to scowl at her but she refused to drop her gaze. Finally, his expression changed. “Perhaps you are strong enough to break the tie.” Fastening his cloak, he gave one last glance to the suitcases, his expression now remote. “If you can leave, brave Caitlin, perhaps you should.”

  Then he opened the door and was gone.

  Mouth open in shock, she sank back down against the pillows. First Bain had high-handedly told her she couldn’t leave the country. Then he’d suggested she should.

  How ambivalent. But then, perhaps he was so wrapped up in defending himself from his murderous relative, he didn’t know his own mind.

  How unfair. Despite what had gone on between them, Bain’s final dismissal had been very cold. And though he’d always come to her defense in threatening situations, she felt she’d been left to face fear and mayhem on her own.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE NEXT MORNING Caitlin groggily dressed herself. Not having gotten another wink of sleep, she now felt horribly out-of-sorts.

  How dare Bain tell her to leave the country, and after he’d claimed she was a light in his darkness, that his heart would break if anything happened to her. She had to face it: Bain Morghue was not only mysterious but contradictory.

  But why? Because he was troubled? Or because he was in desperate straits of some sort?

  Either way, she’d do well to get on a plane and fly back to California as soon as the authorities would allow it. Professor Abernathy’s murder should be foremost on her mind. She made a mental note to call Sergeant Cooke after breakfast to find out how the investigation was progressing.

  Dressing to go to the manor house, she caught the falcon ring on the cardigan of her red sweater set. She gazed at the moonstone, thinking she ought to return such a priceless piece to its owner.

  Damn it all, she’d have to see Bain again.

  Thoroughly disgusted, she removed the ring from her finger and stuffed it into one of the cardigan’s pockets. Bain had better not try anything funny when she turned his token over to him. She tended to lose her head whenever she was around him. She’d simply have to steel herself.

  The morning sun shone gloriously through the manor’s windows when Caitlin joined Mary and Julian at the table in the dining room. Both were subdued, Mary sighing as she nibbled at a scone. A smile trembled about her lips when she saw Caitlin.

  “I’m so happy you’ve come to breakfast. I hope your sleep wasn’t too restless. I noticed the light was on all night.”

  “I caught a few winks.” And Caitlin wondered if her landlady had also seen Bain.

  “I still think you should move into the manor house. I would feel much more at ease.” Mary glanced at Julian. “I can understand masculine pride. But surely it isn’t beneat
h a young woman to seek safety in numbers.”

  The Englishman took a sip of tea. “I’m simply more comfortable in my own little house. I would have to sort and re-pack to move out, even for a night.” He clucked. “Such a lengthy and unpleasant task.”

  “I know how that is,” agreed Caitlin, relaxing as she realized no one was going to mention any midnight sightings. The room was a bit too warm, so she slipped off her cardigan and hung it on the back of her chair. “Last night I went through my things. I hope I can stuff everything in my cases. I don’t know how I always manage to bring back twice as much as I arrive with.”

  A solemn-faced Bridget entered the dining room and Caitlin ordered orange juice and a poached egg for breakfast. A basket of scones and muffins sat in the center of the table beside the tea pot.

  “Have you been packing, Caitlin?” Julian asked.

  “I took my suitcases out of the closet. That’s a start, I guess.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mary’s mouth trembled again.

  Which made Caitlin feel badly. “You have a lovely

  place . . .”

  ”I understand,” the landlady interjected. “’Twould be best if you left, however.” She sighed. “I’m only sad over this horrid situation, and I’m worried that other travelers won’t be willing to come here.”

  “I’m sure it will all blow over,” Caitlin assured her, “as soon as they catch the murderer and put him away.” She only hoped for Mary’s sake, that one of her husband’s swords wouldn’t turn out to be the murder weapon. She glanced toward the door opening into the hallway. “Where is Alistair this morning?”

  “Taking a walk.”

  “I could use a walk, too,” remarked Julian.

  Caitlin said nothing, hoping the Englishman wouldn’t try to talk her into accompanying him. She no longer trusted either Julian or Alistair.

  “I only hope the fresh air softens my husband’s mood.” Mary rolled her eyes. “He’s so angry at the police, he wants to sell this house and move to another part of the country. And I’m so fond of the area. We used to stay here on holiday, even when we lived in Glasgow.”

  “Things will settle down,” Caitlin said, as Bridget delivered her orange juice and poached egg.

  The housekeeper gestured to the basket of scones and muffins. “Ye should be eating or ye’ll be losing your strength.”

  “True.” Caitlin reached for a scone.

  Bridget frowned. “Ye’ve been losing weight.”

  “Only a few pounds.” Her waistbands were a bit loose now.

  “Dinna fade away,” intoned the housekeeper. “Not when there be a storm coming up the likes a’which we’ve nae before seen.”

  “Whatever are you talking about?” Mary asked, not trying to hide her annoyance.

  “My sister was reading the tea leaves last night.” Bridget’s eyes grew round. “She saw the clash of mighty swords, the door to hell standing wide open, the face of the divil hisself!” Pausing to great effect, the housekeeper leaned closer to Caitlin. “’Twoulda been better if ye’d left long ago.”

  Chills shot up Caitlin’s spine.

  “Enough!” Mary demanded. “Please, we’ve had enough horror and fear in this house, Bridget. If you can’t say something positive, say nothing at all.”

  As the housekeeper left, Caitlin thought to place the scone aside since she was no longer hungry. But she did need her strength, she decided, so she forced herself to butter and finish it with the egg and a cup of tea. Not that she wanted to believe the housekeeper’s pronouncements.

  A bit distracted – she had a lot to do – she rose from the table a few minutes later and took leave of Julian and Mary. Headed for the door, she nearly ran into Alistair. He responded gruffly when she wished him good morning.

  Julian, on the other hand, cheerfully called, “Bon voyage, Caitlin, in case I don’t see you again.”

  Alistair raised his brows. “She’s leaving? Today?”

  She had her hand on the doorknob. “More likely tomorrow or the day after.”

  Alistair grunted and turned away. Julian’s smile fled.

  And Caitlin left, unsettled, certain both men appeared disappointed that she wasn’t leaving the country immediately.

  Why?

  Because they were concerned for her? Or because one of them – Bain’s murderous enemy? – thought she was in the way?

  AFTER ENJOYING a solitary few minutes over a last cup of tea, he noticed Caitlin’s red cardigan hanging on the back of a chair. Silly little American. He’d take it to her in hopes that he might speed her departure. She was definitely making the right choice in leaving Scotland. Picking up the sweater, he slung it over his arm. He was already out the door when he noticed a weight banging against his leg. He delved into the pocket, felt a round object and pulled it forth.

  The falcon ring.

  For a moment, hands trembling, he could only gape.

  Praise the ancient, evil gods.

  For he held his enemy’s personal token, and with it, his enemy’s life.

  If he were quick enough, that is. And wise.

  He murmured a few words in Gaelic to offset the spell on the moonstone before slipping it onto his little finger. He wanted no warning for Bain Morghue.

  Then he threw the sweater aside and fairly sprinted for his quarters. He should take care of Caitlin, of course. The chit deserved to die, after all the trouble she’d caused. But he’d wait until later to slit her pretty throat. First he had more important prey to stalk.

  When he reached his place of privacy, he bolted the door behind him and removed the long, narrow wooden box stuck between the bed’s springs and mattress. Thankfully, the police hadn’t done a really thorough search or they might have found it.

  He could have handled them, of course, but policemen tended to be like ants. The more one stepped on, the more swarmed out of the hill. Besides, he would soon be beyond the reach of the law. With access to another world and power over its fierce denizens, he could come and go at will, could do exactly as he liked.

  Opening the wooden box, he removed the precious dirk, along with the pencil portrait of Bain he’d stolen from Caitlin earlier. He held the deadly dagger up by the window, appreciating the way light glittered on the gems sunk into its pommel, glowed on the gold of its hilt. The blade was sharper and more shiny than any earthly metal. He couldn’t wait to draw blood with the weapon, to laugh in the face of his fallen enemy as he hefted the matching claymore and slung on the golden armor buried beneath Black Broch.

  “Death to Bain Morghue!” he shouted to the rafters. He had fought the fiend before but this time he would win.

  Hardly able to contain himself, he changed to sturdier shoes and a warmer jacket before readying the dirk. Taking a length of narrow cord and the portrait, he folded the paper and tied it about the dagger’s hilt.

  “So much for your little whore!” he hissed. “Her repulsive, fawning love shall help kill you!”

  Last but not least, he stood before the mirror on the opposite side of the room and raised the dirk.

  “Hear me, O powers of evil,” he droned in Gaelic, holding the dirk high. “I am Atholl. Show me my enemy.”

  He watched closely as the mirror clouded over, then cleared to reveal Black Broch on its promontory, waves dashing below. Heavy clouds broiled in the distance and a tiny figure paced near the cliff.

  Morghue.

  “Cloak me, evil ones. Hide me from my enemy and his minions. Give me his life!” he demanded, voice rising to a near shout.

  For effect, he smashed the mirror, chortling as silvery shards flew through the air.

  The time for waiting was ended.

  Hiding the dirk beneath his jacket, he slammed out the door and ran to the car. There he flung himself to the ground to untie the antique claymore he’d secured beneath it, the weapon that had killed foolish Abernathy. He’d throw the inferior sword into the loch once he’d obtained the dirk’s mate.

  He placed the claymore in the
back seat. Then he got into the car and spun its wheels, sending the vehicle shooting down the driveway.

  “Death to the Prince of Air and Darkness!” he shouted. “By the hand of Atholl, the true heir of the MacBains!”

  For in one fell swoop, he would gain unlimited power and gold while finally avenging his ancestors.

  IN THE SHADOW of Black Broch’s main tower, Bain leaned against a battered wall and gazed down into the sea loch. Dark water splashed restlessly, sending spray flying up and over the rough faces of the bordering rocks.

  A storm must be raging out at sea.

  A storm that could be heading inland, Bain thought, observing the low hang of gray clouds on the horizon. He cared naught. Let the cold rain fall, the ragged lightning split the sky, the tempestuous winds howl. The woman who had obsessed him night and day was leaving him behind.

  Even now, if her strength hadn’t deserted her, she could be winging her way back to her homeland . . . and safety. He had renounced his claim on her. He had bid her goodbye. Only his dreams would be haunted by the lovely face, the soft rounded body, the courageous warmth of spirit that had called out to him from the very beginning.

  Brave Caitlin. Pure of heart. Sweet of soul. With a soaring vision. And, even so, she was able to keep her feet firmly on the ground.

  He had never met another of her like, had been tempted to tell her the whole truth, something he’d never before done. If anyone could accept him, help him face the life he’d grown deathly tired of, she was that woman. But because she was so special, because he cared so much, he’d had to let her go. He’d been truthful when he’d admitted that his heart would break if anything happened to her.

  Unfortunately, in his world, anything could and did happen.

  The clouds roiled closer. Bain stepped out onto the path that lay between the sheer drop and the ruins. A doorway to shelter lay behind him but he wanted to feel the rain and the wind. He had walked several paces when his skin began to prickle. The tiny hairs rose on the back of his neck.