Paranormal Heartbreakers Boxed Set

by Jeanne Rose

  Down and down. Deep black darkness.

  Earth sifted about her, giving her the creeps. But dim light burned farther on and something white glowed in the tunnel’s wall. She paused to glance at the white thing as she passed by, her skin crawling as she recognized a human skull. She forced herself to look at it more closely, to see that it wore a helmet and was attached to a body curled up in some sort of a niche. Bony fingers rested on a sword.

  My God. She had entered the legendary Celtic cairn on which Black Broch sat. An ancient mass grave.

  But skeletons could do no harm to her or to Bain.

  And Julian could.

  His crazy laughter still echoed from below. She only wished he’d freak out completely, spasm into a catatonic state. Unfortunately, he was probably the type of psychotic who became as strong as three or four men twice his size. The laughter grew louder as she suddenly came out of the tunnel. And swords clashed. Bain and Julian fought desperately in a great round area built like a beehive in stone.

  Torches burning on the walls revealed more skeletons in niches all around. The nearest had been a lady who still wore her elaborate golden spiral jewelry. Next to her lay another warrior, hands on his gold-hilted sword.

  Gold. The cairn was full of it. Caitlin’s eyes picked up the torchlight sheen of innumerable golden objects lying in niches and on the floor.

  But her only concern was for Bain.

  She gazed at the skeleton with the sword, planning to pluck the weapon from its fingers.

  “You will not stop me!” Julian suddenly shouted, then lapsed into some sort of rhythmic Gaelic.

  Bain roared and raised his sword, only to have it knocked from his hands.

  “No!” Caitlin ran for the fallen weapon and threw it to Bain.

  The next moment, Julian snarled and sent his claymore whizzing through the air to slam into the earth mere inches from her. She jumped back, her heart pounding. But then she seized the heavy sword and pulled it out, ready to do battle.

  “Slit my throat will you?” she yelled.

  But now Julian was paying no attention to either her or Bain. His face rapt, he ran toward the wall, shouting in Gaelic. “You will be sorry!” Bain shouted.

  Thunder rumbled. Or was it an earthquake? Silently, Caitlin prayed that the walls wouldn’t cave in. They were so far underground.

  “The door! The door!” chanted Julian, dancing around.

  “Stupid fool!” said Bain.

  Why wasn’t he doing anything, now that he had the drop on the other man? Instead he lowered his sword and turned to look at her, while behind him a great door seemed to be opening. Caitlin stared, open-mouthed, as golden light spilled out, then grass and trees appeared that were more delicate and green than she’d ever seen in her life.

  “Go!” Bain yelled to her, pointing back the way they’d come.

  But she stood rooted to the spot, nerveless fingers letting the sword drop.

  And Julian ran into the golden light, faltering only as his body began to waver in grotesque patterns, to shimmer in painful rhythms . . . until he started screaming in agony . . . and disintegrated into dust.

  Bain took hold of the great door and, with a groan, pushed. “Run, Caitlin! He’s dead! And all hell is going to break loose!”

  But she was pinned to the spot. She saw riders in the distance, horses drifting through the incredibly green foliage. Sweet bells rang, hounds bayed. And she was very, very dizzy.

  The door suddenly slammed shut.

  And Bain was beside her. “I told you to go! I canna stop them – they will be out for any mortal’s blood!”

  She awoke as from a dream. “If I’m going, it’ll be with you!”

  You would have to take your pure sweet love and travel through the grave, into death itself.

  On instinct, she reached for the bejeweled claymore, tearing it from his hand.

  “Caitlin!”

  “Come and get me!” she taunted, running for the tunnel with the weapon, praying he’d follow.

  She heard his heavy breathing as he gave chase. She ran like a stag before the hunters. She ran for her life.

  And his.

  A skeleton fell beneath her feet. Bones crunched. Dead fingers clutched at her ankles as the earth trembled viciously. The walls of the tunnel were caving in.

  Seeing the opening in the floor above, Caitlin scrambled, clawed her way out of the pit even as the dirt began to fall faster. She turned. “Bain!”

  He was there with his hand outstretched. Grasping it, she pulled for all she was worth, but his feet slipped and his weight dragged on her.

  “Let go.” he yelled. “Save yourself.”

  “I love you.” she cried. “I’m not going to let you go.”

  Trying again, struggling against the shifting earth, he scrambled out after her. At the same time, the pit closed in on itself with a great, dull roar. Clouds of dust rose to the very ceiling.

  Coughing, choking, they sank into each other’s arms. The room whirled and spun, and Caitlin could no longer keep her eyes open.

  SHE CAME TO HEARING the matter-of-fact voice of Sergeant Cooke.

  “So a bump on the head and a few cuts are the worst of it, eh?” he said. “You are very, very lucky, Morghue. Trying to fight the man and him a vicious psychopath. Look at the way he killed poor Herbert Abernathy.”

  “Wanted for questioning in several ritualistic murders in London,” put in one of the constables standing at Cooke’s side. “Criminally insane. We brought it up on a computer in Inveraray.”

  Bain smiled, adjusting the ice pack on Caitlin’s head and stroking her hair when he noticed her eyes were open. “We are lucky indeed, especially that you came by and scared him off. I only wish that he hadna disappeared so fast.”

  Cooke sighed. “The storm helped hide him, I’m sure.”

  Caitlin remembered the storm but she hadn’t noticed any constables rushing in to scare off Julian. She also thought she remembered a sword battle but, except for a small cut on his chin, Bain didn’t seem any the worse for it.

  Befuddled and disoriented, she swiveled her gaze about the great reception hall. How had they gotten upstairs? How had she come to be lying on the mahogany leather couch, resting in Bain’s arms?

  Multiple tapers burned in a candelabra on the table. But the light was still dim and Sergeant Cooke squinted as he filled out his report.

  He focused on Caitlin. “We’re here because the MacDonalds called to say you were missing, young lady. You can thank them for that. When we investigated, we found Julian Taylor’s cottage trashed, his mirror shattered, and him missing. Mary MacDonald feared he might have killed you, too.”

  She struggled to find her voice. “H-how did you get in here?”

  The Sergeant raised his sandy brows. “Why, the same way the madman entered. The door was open.” He gave Bain a hard look. “Are you sure she’s all right, Morghue? She might have a concussion.”

  “The tapestry pole that struck her was light, but I will take her to a doctor, if you think it best.”

  Cooke waved his pen, as if suggesting Bain use his own judgment. “Watch her pupils. And don’t let her fall asleep for several hours.” He asked Caitlin, “Do you have a headache, lass?”

  “No.” Though her mind certainly felt gooey. She could hardly focus.

  The Sergeant stood. “I should be going. We have things to do, a lot more country to search. Some men from Scotland Yard are in Droon itself, you know. We have to check with the airports and all the boat and ship companies, though they’re already looking for Taylor.”

  “Here’s his picture,” said a helpful constable, flashing a photo of Julian before her. Sleek hair, ordinary eyes, a smooth good-looking face smiling pleasantly.

  Caitlin recalled that hair standing on end, those eyes blazing, that mouth snarling, that face horribly disfigured with terrible scars. And she suddenly also remembered Julian screaming as . . . he . . . had he really disappeared into thin air?

 
; “My God.” she said with a shudder, knocking the ice pack off. “I remember.”

  Bain tightened his hold on her and kissed her forehead. “Do not worry, my heart, everything is all right now.” His voice was firm. “And we shall bolt the doors as soon as the constables have left.”

  Sergeant Cooke smiled. “So you two are engaged, are you?”

  Engaged? Caitlin widened her eyes, feeling as if she’d awakened in some other time and place, and, possibly, planet.

  Or had the other visions been the dream?

  Cooke leaned over her. “You still look a bit confused, lass. But Laird Morghue here assures me he’ll be taking good care of you. We’ll go, if you’ll nae be needing us.”

  She nodded. “He’ll take care of me.” Of that she was sure.

  “We’ll be stopping by the MacDonalds to tell them you are all right,” said the Sergeant.

  Letting Caitlin lie back against the cushions and replacing the ice pack, Bain walked the policemen to the door and out into the passageway. Voices drifted back.

  “So you’re newly returned to the area?” remarked Sergeant Cooke. “Well, what a fine renovation you are doing, Morghue. This old castle will be quite a tourist attraction when you are through.”

  “I am not sure ’twill be open to the public. I am thinking to keep it our own home.”

  “Still, it’ll be some sight from outside, even from the road.”

  “But you’ll be needing a telephone,” added a constable. “Would have made it easier to reach you.”

  “We shall be getting one very soon,” said Bain reassuringly, before all the voices faded as they continued toward the outer door.

  Telephones? Tourist attractions? What was he talking about? To heck with the ice pack. Caitlin pulled herself up into a sitting position, something crackling in her sweater pocket. She delved into it and pulled out the little sketch of the male/female medallion. She’d forgotten she had it. She did a double-take when she saw the faces were finished.

  How had that happened? And the man looked like Bain; the woman like her.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall and Bain came in, frowning. “Lie back down, lass. You should be resting.”

  But she was too excited. “Look at this!”

  He stopped by the couch and took the sketch from her. “Aye, very nicely done. A good luck token meant to keep you safe.”

  “But I swear the faces weren’t finished when I picked it up. I had it in my pocket all this time.”

  Bain didn’t react to the puzzle of the faces. Instead, he suggested, “Perhaps the medallion helped protect you from Julian Taylor.”

  Julian. Again she flashed on him disappearing in golden light. “H-he disintegrated.”

  “He is gone. ’Tis all that matters.” The blue of his eyes glimmered in the firelight as he leaned over her. The frown darkened to a scowl. “A lump the size of an egg. Bastard! He deserved to disintegrate for laying even one finger on you!”

  She felt her head, remembering the falling tapestry, wondering what else had actually happened and what she’d hallucinated. The changed faces on the medallion were the least of many strange things . . .

  But her memory had many holes. She couldn’t recall anything about agreeing to be engaged.

  “Did you propose to me?”

  He looked startled. “You dinna remember it?”

  She shook her head, then winced. “Just a lot of yelling and fighting when we were down in the cairn.” She stiffened. “The cairn under Black Broch – it exists!”

  “Not any more. ’Tis caved in,” said Bain hurriedly. “And I have to admit I am relieved that any museum or thief would have to dig for miles to find anything. My family has a superstition about the gold and such staying here but at least I no longer have to guard it every minute.”

  He was only guarding gold? Again, she struggled to understand as memories flitted through her mind. “What about the door?”

  “S-shh! You should really rest.” He stroked her cheek. “And I am more concerned that you dinna remember my romantic proposal.”

  “But I saw–”

  ”Stars, when that tapestry fell on you.”

  “But you’re the–”

  ”Man who loves you,” he cut in. “The man who owes you everything, brave sweet Caitlin.” He knelt, his expression taking her breath away. “So I shall ask you again – will you marry me? I have been waiting for you all my life.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you, too.” True love. Mystery. Passion and courage. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

  She wasn’t sure what would happen in the future, but she knew they belonged together, felt as if she’d gone through a great trial to win him.

  They kissed, lips and hands touching, seeking like the intertwining Celtic medallion. Male and female, the perfect balance. A beautiful even-armed cross.

  A never-ending knot that symbolized eternity.

  EPILOGUE

  THE NIGHT CAITLIN AND BAIN attended their engagement party at the MacDonald’s house began with clear moonlight but soon turned to heavy mist and restless wind. Caitlin didn’t care. She’d learned to appreciate the area’s quicksilver atmosphere.

  She’d also learned to appreciate the multiple facets of her husband-to-be over the past few weeks. Possessing several degrees, including one in ancient history, he was intelligently informed on many subjects, yet able to make small talk with the lowliest shepherd. Very wealthy, he preferred a life of activity over leisure. Protective in an old-fashioned way, he still encouraged Caitlin to be a jewelry designer, had suggested new European markets since she was going to stay in Scotland. His personality leaning toward brooding moods, he could nevertheless laugh and play, especially now that he had someone with whom to share his life.

  But, despite living together for so many days, Caitlin was quite aware of Bain Morghue’s deep abiding aura of mystery. She still wasn’t certain about all she’d seen and experienced since meeting him, and it seemed she might never be sure.

  She was thinking on that as they walked down the road from the manor house to Black Broch. The moon was a ghostly eye glowing through the fog and chill mist swirled about them. But Bain kept her warm and close, an arm slung around her shoulders.

  “Did you see Tam and the other people from the Braemarton Fair at the party?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  “And the man with the blue snake tattoo?” His long hair and mustache braided, he’d been wearing a t-shirt with the Lochfynton Standing Stones and the words Celtic Myth silk-screened on it.

  “I don’t believe he could speak any English, and he was positively desiccating the refreshment table.”

  Bain laughed.

  Caitlin poked him. “That man scared me. I saw him in the fairy rade with a human skull on his spear.”

  She waited for him to once again tell her she’d only been dreaming. He remained silent, the wind feathering his hair around his handsome face.

  “Now I can understand Ghillie being at the party and Tam and some of the others,” she went on. “But the snake tattoo guy?” Not to mention the little fluttering thing she’d caught sight of in the bathroom mirror that hadn’t been a moth. “I thought the door to the invisible world was closed.” When she spoke as if unusual events were fact, she’d noticed, Bain gave her straighter answers. “Is the door closed?”

  “There could be more than one door, sweet Caitlin.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “You need have no fear. You are in no danger.” He added, “And my responsibility is over.”

  Though he’d seemed reluctant to commit to visiting her family in the states. Instead, he’d generously offered to pay their fares to the British Isles, suggesting they come as often as they liked.

  He cleared his throat. “My mother may be coming to the wedding, you know.”

  Caitlin widened her eyes. “Is her name Morrighan? You’ve never said.”

  “Some call her Maggie. From all that she’s heard, she has great respe
ct for you.”

  “I hope so.” And that her mother-in-law would get along with her parents. “What about your other relatives?”

  “Some may come bringing gifts. Others we may not see until we produce a first-born.”

  Caitlin experienced an odd thrill at the mention of a child. “Well, no one had best try to steal the babe away and make her spin gold or some such.”

  Bain laughed long and loud. “What a wit you are, my heart. No one would have the nerve to come up against the bairn’s mother.”

  She took a deep breath of relief and tightened her arm about his waist. “I’m not always sure . . . when I’m dealing with the extraordinary.”

  “Life is full of illusion.”

  “Especially your life.”

  “Which you now share.” Bain sobered, gazing down at her. “You have a responsibility, you know, as one of the wise who can see beyond ordinary reality.”

  “Responsibility to use it as inspiration for my art?” Something she looked forward to. “Or responsibility to keep it a secret?”

  “Who would believe you?”

  True, she could hardly believe herself. “I only wish I could be certain about exactly what I’m seeing when I see it.”

  “There is no certainty. Which is as it should be. The fey wouldna be half so beautiful if they could not flit about the real world like phantoms.”

  Though his love was quite real. She trusted in that fully. Thinking about how happy she was to wake up in his arms every morning, she didn’t pay attention to where she stepped.

  “Are you all right, sweet Caitlin?”

  “It’s these high heels. I forgot to change to my walking shoes before we left. We need a car.” She’d turned in her rental vehicle.

  “Nae. A car is too ordinary.” He whistled into the wind.

  Seconds later, his nostrils steaming, the black stallion came galloping out of the fog, giving her a start. And when she really thought about it, Caitlin had to admit she wanted to continue to be surprised by life. She’d come to Scotland for romance and myth and mystery beyond the ordinary world.