Paranormal Heartbreakers Boxed Set

by Jeanne Rose

  He couldn’t afford to delay the second step of his plan.

  The guardian of Black Broch was dead – at least, he prayed so – but he needed to cast strong, dark spells to complete his work. The hours near midnight were best for that, though weakened as he was, he would have to rest and wait until the next night.

  He curled his lip as he thought about wringing the nasty little falcon’s neck. A creature of day, it should be easy enough to catch after dark. Unless the bird could take other forms. He made a mental note to be on guard for any sort of familiar.

  Meanwhile, sore and slightly woozy, he bought himself some new clothing, changed and paid for a room at a small hotel. Then he took a pain pill and lay down on the bed to peruse the aged, leather-bound book.

  The invisible world.

  The door which no mortal man had ever opened . . . and lived to tell the tale.

  Until now.

  FOLLOWING BAIN’S DIRECTIONS, Caitlin located the kitchen. Like the rest of the castle, it had no electricity and seemed deserted. But someone had cooked the pot of stew bubbling in a modern-looking pot hanging in the huge fireplace. And someone had also set a round of cheese next to the fresh-baked bread on the room’s central wooden table. Furtively looking around to make certain she was not being watched, Caitlin helped herself, then cut more bread and cheese to wrap in a towel and take upstairs.

  She brought along a thick tallow candle in its holder. The windows of Black Broch were high, narrow and shuttered; the torches burning on the walls few in number. She needed any extra light she could find.

  But even with a candle to guide her, she swore the return trip took much longer. Bain had said there were three doors to pass between the stairs and the kitchen, but Caitlin counted four. Was she lost?

  She paused, noticing the nearest doorway gaped open. Curious, she peered inside. The light from the candle glinted off rows and rows of books. A library? Though the room was narrow, its ceiling soared and wooden shelves climbed to the very top. Fascinated, she inhaled the musty odor of aging paper and leather and went inside. She held the candle aloft – Dickens, Shakespeare, Robert Burns, and other classics nestled between volumes of history and books in all sorts of foreign tongues. There even seemed to be a couple of scrolls lying on a shelf high above.

  What a collection. Alistair MacDonald would kill for the chance to examine it. Alistair . . . Atholl? Could they be one and the same? Had that scholarly man tried to kill for Bain’s inheritance? Caitlin wondered.

  One large book had hand-written letters on its spine – The Demon Lover. Instantly intrigued, she pulled it out and opened the yellowed pages, thoroughly fascinated as she recognized an old sketchbook. And what exquisite illustrations it held, water color combined with pen and ink, all bordered by swirling Celtic designs and each accompanied by calligraphied text.

  Caitlin placed the candle nearby and sat down on the floor, carefully turning the fragile pages back to the beginning. The first drawing portrayed a beautiful woman with long black hair and a deep red gown – The Queen of Air and Darkness. The text related the same tale she’d heard from Alistair, how the sometimes cruel and capricious queen fell in love with a mortal and stole him away. Except in this version, the mortal was named – a legendary Scottish chieftain, The MacBain.

  MacBain? Caitlin’s eyes widened.

  The MacBain loved his queen but missed his warrior companions and his world. The fairy queen allowed him to magically appear on battlefields to help his allies. Still, weakened by a terrible blood-feud, the chieftain’s clan eventually fell into disarray and was taken over by its enemies, the descendants of The MacBain’s evil misbegotten half-brother.

  Caitlin felt chills. But awed by art that took her breath away – battles, ancient ships on tossing seas, tender scenes of the queen and her lover in forest glades, fairy rades in fabulous detail – she read and reread the text, letting it sink in. She specifically focused on the part about the couple’s son. Half mortal and half fairy, he belonged to neither world and guarded the door that connected the two.

  Now, reading the legend again, with a MacBain playing the part of the stolen mortal lover, she couldn’t help but see Bain Morghue in the son/guardian’s role. It might only be a fairy tale, but seemed eerily appropriate. And hadn’t Bain said his father was some sort of warrior or soldier of fortune?

  Anxious to get the end of the tale, she turned another page and swallowed her disappointment when she found it blank. So were the other pages that followed, though smaller pencil sketches had been stuck between them. Sighing, she examined several sketches closely. The beauty of the work made her certain the same artist had created them.

  One in particular attracted her, a study for a medallion, an abstraction of two figures who faced one another, legs and arms intertwined. The design was lovely, though the faces weren’t finished. Caitlin wondered why. Anyone could see that one of the figures should be female, the other male. The Celts thought male and female a magically balanced combination, the inspiration for many of their motifs, including the famous even-armed cross.

  Knowing she shouldn’t but tempted to show Bain anyway, she removed the post-card-sized drawing of the medallion and carefully placed it in the pocket of her cardigan. Then she rose to put the sketchbook back on the shelves. Another loose piece of paper drifted down to the floor. She stooped to pick up the drawing, a heroic study of a man on horseback. Frowning, she held it closer to the candle to get a better look.

  It took her only a moment to recognize the handsome, cloaked rider on the black horse: Bain Morghue. Some other artist had drawn him . . . and left her mark at the bottom of the page. Caitlin’s mouth dropped as she noted the drawing’s title, the artist’s signature and date: The Prince of Air and Darkness,

  Janet Drummond, 1902.

  Something snapped inside of Caitlin. Since the murder, her days and nights had reversed. Maybe her confused time clock had something to do with it . . . maybe her horror when she’d thought Bain mortally wounded . . . but she fully believed Janet Drummond’s drawings. On the way upstairs, she gazed about, certain she was traversing an enchanted castle with a layout of rooms that was never-ending and ever-changing, with doors that magically appeared and disappeared.

  Was she doomed to disappear herself, she wondered, never to be seen again like Janet Drummond? What or who lurked in the shifting shadows of the endless passageways? Or would madness take her to the promontory and death?

  Not if she could help it.

  She burst into Bain’s bedroom. Wearing only a plaid, he paused at stroking the falcon perched on the back of a chair and gave her a startled face. The falcon shrilled and flew up to the window ledge.

  Caitlin brandished the paper in her hand. “You’ve got some explaining to do. Look at this.” She pushed the drawing of the horseman under his nose.

  He raised a brow. “Very nicely done.”

  “I’m not asking you for a critique.” She had no patience for his clever avoidances now. “Look at the signature and the date.”

  “Where did you get this?”

  “From your library where I found a sketchbook of Janet Drummond’s drawings.” When he continued to appear uncomprehending, her temper surged. “I should have known you’d play dumb about this.”

  “Dumb about what, lady?” He took hold of her shoulders. “Sit down, now. You are all aflutter.”

  She shook him off, ignoring the expanse of muscular body exposed by the casually draped plaid. “I don’t want to sit, I want some answers. Do you . . . did you know Janet Drummond? Did you pose for this portrait?”

  He glanced at the drawing. “1902. Do I look as if I am more than a hundred years old?”

  Of course, he knew that wouldn’t seem possible. “But this is you.”

  “You think it bears a resemblance?” He stepped closer to peer intently. “Perhaps a wee bit, especially about that long, ugly nose . . .”

  ”No sarcasm, please. I’m not in the mood. What is Janet Drummond’s wor
k doing in your library?”

  “My family’s library,” he corrected. “A collection that spans centuries.”

  “She was one of the women who disappeared, maybe died in the vicinity of Black Broch,” she rushed on breathlessly. “Alistair MacDonald said several were pushed off the promontory and one was found raving mad in the courtyard.”

  “Perhaps the man was trying to frighten you.”

  She sighed at the glib answer. What had she expected? “So you deny knowing anything about Janet Drummond or that women have died here.”

  “I didna say I knew nothing of a woman named Janet Drummond. And many people have died on this land over the centuries.”

  “Please, I don’t want to hear about the buried soldiers again. Let’s get back to Janet.”

  “And so we shall,” he agreed. “If you’ll only sit down and catch your breath.”

  Making a sound of exasperation, she took a seat on one of the claw-footed chairs before the fireplace.

  Bain reclined across from her and gazed into the leaping flames. “Janet Drummond was a local artist whose work was inspired by other worlds. She became lost in it, obsessed by beauty she herself could not possess.”

  “But what happened to her? She walked away from her home and no one ever saw her again.”

  “Where do people go when they waste away?” He shrugged. “I believe Janet was the lady who was found raving in Black Broch’s courtyard.”

  “In 1931? The woman in the courtyard was young. Janet would have been well into middle age by then. And, even if she was the one found in the courtyard, where had she been for nearly thirty years?”

  He looked impatient. “I have tried my best to answer you, Caitlin. I canna do more.” And he reached across to touch her.

  She pulled back. “I don’t think so.”

  He frowned. “What is wrong?”

  “Something’s very awry. Things don’t make sense.”

  “You are tired. Come and lie down.”

  ”I don’t want to lie down. And I’ve had it with moonstones that turn blue and magical swords and wounds that heal on their own.” She stared at the scabbing that seemed even less thick than before. “I’ve had it with secret doors and rooms that can’t possibly exist.” She jumped up and glanced about. “ How can this chamber and the vast hallways out there could fit into the space of Black Broch’s ruins, massive as they are?”

  “You are distraught.”

  ”More than distraught. I’m tired of making excuses for things that I’ve seen with my own eyes. I admit I have a good imagination but I couldn’t dream up all this in a million years.” She stared him boldly in the eye. “Janet Drummond was illustrating a story called The Demon Lover about the fairy queen and a MacBain. She drew you as their halfling son, the Prince of Air and Darkness.” She held up the horseman sketch for effect. “And are you?”

  The smile flickering about his lips held no warmth.

  She repeated, “Are you the Prince of Air and Darkness?”

  He suddenly rose, all smooth muscle, and approached to tower over her. “What if I were?”

  The threatening pose surprised Caitlin, prompting her to drop the drawing.

  “You would be in trouble, wouldn’t you?” he asked, his voice all soft threat.

  Taking hold of her shoulders, he lifted her right off the floor and anchored her against the wall. He was so strong, she felt a thrill of fear. His eyes burned deep and blue, his hot breath fanned her face.

  “You want me to be a demon lover, don’t you, Caitlin? A man who lures you into his world of darkness and keeps you in his thrall. Shall I take you to my bed, ravish you ’til you forget the daylight, ’til you know nothing but my name?”

  He gave her no chance to answer, crushing her to him and covering her mouth with a punishing kiss. In spite of the situation, she felt herself responding.

  At first.

  But she wouldn’t be manhandled and she would handle her fear. “Stop it!” she cried, squirming. “Stop it, Bain. I don’t want you this way!”

  He lifted his head, breathing hard, his expression still angry. He released her and she fell back against the wall, shaky.

  “You should be knowing your heart, lady. One minute you are weeping because I am wounded. The next you are badgering me with furious questions. You have more than once accused me of murder. You must take me as I am or not at all.”

  She conceded, “I don’t think you’re a murderer.”

  “Even when I have told you to leave, I did so for your own good. I have always tried to protect you.”

  She had to admit the last was true – he’d come to her rescue at least four times – but she asked, “Protect me from what?”

  “My life, lady. My enemies. My obligations. Sharing my existence is not for the faint of heart.”

  “Sharing your existence? We’ve only been on one actual date and spent half a night together.”

  His eyes were haunted. “I canna ask you for more, Caitlin, no matter how I love you.”

  “You love me?”

  “With all my heart and soul.”

  He’d never said admitted such before.

  “But ’tis too much to ask you to risk everything for me.”

  “You make it sound like you’re doomed or something. Please. I want to understand.”

  “Nae, ’tis impossible. I canna violate my oath.”

  He had sworn not to tell? What? “Much of what I’ve heard and seen seemed like a dream. And sometimes my imagination is overactive.” She gestured to the drawing lying on the floor. “But I didn’t create that asleep or awake. I deserve explanations. And I don’t deserve to be pushed off the promontory.”

  “The women who died there were not murdered.”

  “Suicide?”

  “More like a loss of wits. But you need have no fear the same will happen to you, Caitlin, for you are braver than the danger inside. You are not tortured by guilt or anger or even fear. You have no need to run from your life.”

  “What was Janet Drummond running from?”

  “Greed. She married an old man for his money.”

  “And the others?”

  “The desire to escape responsibilities, to titillate their senses, to gain some sort of power . . .” He shrugged. “The pure of heart will always survive.”

  Realizing he meant her, she stepped closer. “I’m not perfect. And I’m certainly not selfless.”

  “As close as a mortal can be,” he insisted. “You fought the darkness for your brother. You tried to help a man who carried demons on his back. You create art because you want beauty for a world that is often ugly.” He touched her face, his expression softening. “And you want magic to be real because you think it could make the same savage world a better place.”

  True, she’d always been drawn to magical art and its fantasy realms because crystals and spells and such could seemingly overcome all obstacles and impossibilities.

  Embarrassed, she demurred, “You make me sound like a goody-two-shoes.”

  His gaze was intense. “Nae. The woman I love.”

  “Oh, Bain.” She went to him, wrapped her arms about his neck. “I love you, too. Our love is an even more important reason for honesty. I don’t know where to find you.”

  ”I have always found you when you needed me.”

  He kissed her deeply, pressed her close, winding part of the plaid about her. Before she was too distracted, she pressed a finger lightly against his lips.

  “One more thing . . .”

  He smiled. “And what is that, my heart?”

  “When you love someone, you’re concerned for him, Bain. You want to know his enemies. You want to help.” Even as she spoke his smile faded and his expression darkened. “And don’t give me some tripe about being doomed or cursed. If you are the Prince of Air and Darkness . . .” And she was startled to realize their conversation had proceeded as if that premise were true. “ . . . then there must be a way to change your circumstances. Even a spe
ll can be broken. How does one free the guardian of the invisible world?”

  AGAIN, BAIN WAS STUNNED at the depth of Caitlin’s caring. No other woman had made such an inquiry.

  “I canna ask you for that, lady.”

  “Yes, you can.” She seemed to know instinctively that she was the key.

  “I willna ask you for it.” For this was beyond danger.

  “Ask,” she demanded.

  He sighed, as usual feeling compelled when she was so intense and heart-serious. “You would have to travel through the grave, into death itself.”

  Her eyes widened. Then she shivered. And he knew she was afraid.

  He tightened his hold on her and stroked her back. “Nae think of anything but this moment, lady.”

  Quickly, passionately, he kissed her lips, her throat, then stooped to lift her off her feet and carry her to the bed. He made love to her as if it were their last hour on earth. He branded her with his mouth, invaded her with his tongue, strove to become one with her soft, quivering body. He wanted her to be the woman he had always waited for. The lover he had come to believe did not really exist.

  But, even so, he realized that was next to impossible.

  She would need time to believe the truth she felt but could not accept.

  And more time to learn to appreciate her true strength.

  Time.

  Something else his enemy had stolen from him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BLUE SKY AND SUNLIGHT. Though the sight was only a sliver through the open shutters of the chamber’s high window, Caitlin felt wonderful.

  Bain loved her.

  She stretched in the great four-poster, then yawned. The fire had died down but her man lay against her, offsetting any chill from the broch’s stone walls. She touched the dark hair spilling over his forehead, making sure he was real warm flesh and blood.

  He murmured contentedly in his sleep.

  Her memories of the night before, their conversation about the Prince of Air and Darkness, seemed like a dream. She’d been so tired and upset, had been through so much, she understood how she could have slid into a skewed state of mind.