“Are you really to be my husband?”
“Aye, lass. When you come of age, we will wed proper, and you will come to live with me at Castle Ross.”
Catrìona looked at her fingers. “Will it matter I am half-English?”
“No, lass, your heritage willna matter once you are married to me. I willna allow anyone to hurt you because of the country of your birth.”
Catrìona listened to what Braden said and saw he meant every word. With a shy smile, she placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for liking me, Braden. Will I see you again?”
“Och, of course you will, lass.”
“I mean, before we marry; will you come to visit?”
“I’ll try, Pixie. How is that? My duties keep me verra busy.”
Catrìona thought about what he said. “You will marry me when I am old enough? You won’t forget?”
“Nae, I willna forget. I’ll come for you. I promise.”
“You can’t break a promise, Braden.”
“I keep my promises, Pixie. I am a man of my word. You’ll see me again, and I will marry you when the time is right.”
With a sharp nod of her head Catrìona sat back and leaned against the young man who would eventually be her future.
“You remember that time, don’t you, lass?”
“I remember having a dream,” Catrìona qualified as she stared across the room at nothing in particular.
Ignoring Catrìona’s words, Elspeth continued. “He kept his promise to you. He visited often and soon duty turned to love. You were both quite taken with each other. It was a love match and everyone within your sphere felt the heat of that love. It was a love that knew no bounds. ‘Twas a timeless love. Such emotion is rare. Very rare indeed.”
Catrìona stood, too restless to sit still. She walked around the perimeter of the room. A raised bed, draped in forest green brocade material, occupied one complete wall of this masculine space. The four posts were covered with detailed carving of Celtic and Viking designs. The patina of the wood was a warm oak color. She resisted the urge to trace the lines, knowing it was an antique and not wanting to mar the finish with her fingerprints.
“Your love became a thing of legends. When your life was cut short, Laird Braden lost himself in his pain. It is said he promised to avenge your death.”
Catrìona covered her ears. “I don’t want to hear this!” she cried as she tore across the room and out the door.
She ran the length of the corridor and past the gallery. She didn’t stop until she reached her little rental car. Then, and only then, did she stop. The breath heaved from her chest and her heart pounded a furious rhythm. It couldn’t be true. Her dreams were just that—dreams. There was no way she was a reincarnated soul of her past ancestor.
With a very shaky hand, she opened her backpack and tried to pull out her keys, but the ring caught on the canvas she had carefully rolled and placed in the bag earlier.
Catrìona slid down the side of the car and sat unceremoniously on the gravel. With great care she pulled the painting out and unrolled it. Braden. His name was Braden. A strong moniker for a man who looked capable of supporting the world on his shoulders.
She brushed the tears from her face and looked back at the imposing fortress in front of her. Above it, the sun played hide and seek with the gray clouds that moved across the sky.
Life, it seemed, was full of surprises. And not all of them were good. Catrìona didn’t know what to do next. It wasn’t every day that a person flew halfway around the world only to find she was the reincarnated soul of a long-dead Highland girl. And it was too much to process that her dreams were, in fact, lost memories.
Crunching gravel interrupted her thoughts.
“Lass, are you all right?” Elspeth moved to her side and blocked out the sun. “You left in such a hurry.”
Catrìona stood and handed the canvas to the little woman. “Is this Braden?”
Elspeth brought a wrinkled hand to her mouth. “Where did you get this, lass?”
Catrìona shrugged. “It’s been in my family for centuries. Handed down from mother to daughter.”
Elspeth traced a finger across his brow. “This is my Braden.”
“Your Braden?”
She chuckled. “Well, not my Braden exactly.” Never taking her eyes off the canvas, she continued, “This lad lived and loved with a ferocity no one had ever witnessed at the time. It was love that led him to his tragic end.”
Catrìona resisted the urge to yank the portrait back. She didn’t like seeing someone else touch it. Added to that, she didn’t like hearing that his love for her—if what Elspeth said was true—had led him to his death. But her curiosity wouldn’t let her walk away from the questions plaguing her.
“What do you mean, his love for a woman led to his death?”
“Come, we’ll have a cup of tea, and I will tell you the rest of the tale.”
Sincerity shone in Elspeth’s eyes, and Catrìona wanted to hear the rest of the story. However, she was reluctant to blindly follow a stranger.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Catrìona. No harm will come to you in my care.”
Catrìona offered a small smile. “Please, call me Cat. Only my grandmother called me Catrìona”
“Very well, Cat.” Elspeth slipped her arm through hers. “Shall we?”
Cat allowed Elspeth to lead her to a thatched roof cottage a little distance from the castle. They entered the tidy abode, and Elspeth set to preparing their tea. Once her hostess duties were discharged, she sat at the table.
“You’ve said a lot that is hard to understand or believe. I confess I’ve been dreaming about this man since I was a very young girl,” Catrìona revealed.
“There is a reason for that, lass. He is your past and your destiny.”
“How?”
“The legend goes that in his sorrow at the death of his Catrìona, Braden went to a powerful druid priestess seeking her help in avenging your death. The woman, named Morgana, was in love with Braden. Her jealousy at the love he felt for another rotted inside her soul. His pain was her panacea, and she grew strong from his agony. Instead of helping him, she cursed him to live in the place between worlds, only to be freed when his soul mate returned to him. To make sure his suffering never abated, the curse never allowed him to forget the pain of the loss of his love.”
Catrìona gasped at such incredible cruelty.
“For the past nine centuries he has been waiting for you to return to him.”
Catrìona shook her head. This was too fantastic to believe. “I’m sorry, but although this story moves me—I’m not the person you think I am.”
Elspeth laughed. “Oh, lass. You are, and deep down you know it, too. You’ve dreamed of Braden, and I’ll bet they have been very vivid dreams.”
Catrìona’s cheeks heated when she thought back to the last few semi-erotic dreams she’d had. Yeah, they were vivid all right. “Be that as it may, I don’t see how you come to the conclusion I’m—the old Catrìona.”
“Tell me of your dreams.”
She didn’t know if she could do this. They were so personal. In her dreams he was real and their connection tangible. She’d never shared the full extent of her feelings when it came to her dream man. “They’re terribly personal.”
“Ah. So that is the way of it.”
Cat’s cheeks were red but she resisted the urge to bend her head. “Is there any way I can help him, if what you say is true?”
“Aye. The night of Samhain is almost upon us. ‘Tis when the magic is strongest between the veils.”
Catrìona swallowed. Natalia had said the same back in New Orleans. “Can I release him, so he may go to the next place? It’s so cruel that he is suffering.”
“Aye. You could perform a Release Ceremony on Samhain.”
“A release ceremony? A mystic in New Orleans suggested such a ceremony as a way of releasing him from my dreams.”
Elspeth cocked her head to the side
. “Is this what you want, lass?”
Good question. Did she want to be free of her dark Highlander? The answer was yes and no. She wanted to be able to find love, and that couldn’t happen if she didn’t say farewell to her dream man. “Yes.”
“Very well. Here is what you must do. You need to purchase four candles. Red for passion, strength, and love; orange for encouragement; green for harmony; and aqua for emotional healing. You must light them in the order I just gave you. You’ll recite a chant which I will get you. This all must be done on Samhain and in a room the soul once occupied.”
Catrìona nodded. She was glad to hear it wasn’t going to be too intricate. “This will free him and give him peace?”
“Aye.” Elspeth nodded.
“Thank you.” Catrìona gathered her bag. It was time to do a little shopping and a whole lot of praying. She hoped she was going to do the right thing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Samhain had arrived, and Braden knew Catrìona had read parts of the journal and spoken with Elspeth. His raw nerves would not allow him respite. He so badly wanted to visit Catrìona in their dream world and assure her that all would be well, that he loved and wanted to care for her in his way. Despite his need to hold her, he employed all his self-control and gave her the space she needed to make her decision. He only hoped what she’d read in the journal would not adversely influence her. He felt it was important that she learn she was not alone with her dreams. He was real.
His Catrìona had been strong in her first life and even more so in this, her second. To think he’d found his heart’s desire through a clan negotiation astounded him. And to think he’d held this passion for her for centuries amazed him. She’d been such a pretty little lass and had grown into an amazing woman. The pain of his loss was as fresh today as it had been centuries earlier.
Now that he, Alec and Catrìona were all back in Scotland, he felt the connection and the magic of the land. The mystic energy was strong here, and he knew that this time he would be able to leave this gray realm and take his place among the living again.
Alec wandered over and clapped him on the back. “She has read the journal and has visited the keep. It won’t be long now.”
“Aye.”
“What is with you, anyhow? You should be thrilled but instead you’re moping again.”
“I am not moping! I’m concerned. In order for her to call us into her world, she must have enough magic behind her—and a great deal of belief.”
“She has it, and you know it. Why are you not sure of your lady? What are you so afraid of?”
Braden turned to his friend. “Only a fool never admits to fear. What if Morgana added something to the curse we’re not aware of? What if we die, or Catrìona dies, as a result of summoning us?”
Alec scratched his head. “Frankly, I think you’re giving Morgana too much credit. I personally don’t think she’s done anything extra. She was probably too short-sighted to think beyond what she was doing.”
Braden acknowledged that comment with a wry nod of his head. “We need to make plans about how we’re going to proceed if Catrìona does bring us forward from this place.”
“Aye, we must find proper attire. Clearly we will stick out, dressed as we are now. They seem to favor rather confining clothes in this time period.”
“There will also be Catrìona’s reaction.”
This was the one thing Braden feared most. He wanted her to throw herself into his embrace and let that be that. He didn’t want her to be afraid or to scream down the walls. Although he didn’t think that would be her reaction, it was possible. Braden imagined it would be rather a big shock to be alone with him and his friend.
“Well, I’d be prepared for any contingency, but suggest you take it slow.”
This was the first time in a very long time Alec had said anything that made sense.
“Aye, slow and steady.”
“You’re so going to fail on that.” Alec laughed.
“I can do slow and steady.” Braden frowned. He could.
“Sure you can. You’ve only been hungering for her for what?” Alec pretended to count. “Six centuries.”
“Eight,” Braden growled.
“Yeah, but you’re not counting.” Alec smiled. “You might want to work on growling less and talking more. I have a feeling your lass will appreciate the difference.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you go and find a faery to pester for awhile.”
Alec cocked a brow. “You told me to leave the fey alone.”
“Aye, but now I’m telling you to go.”
“All right, all right. I get the point. You want time alone to fret about all that could go wrong, rather than focus on all that could go right.”
Braden turned to respond, but his friend was gone. He had also been right. Truth was, it was easier to plan for all that could go wrong rather than focus on all that could go right. In this situation, erring on the side of caution was better. Braden was so close to being able to hold his lass in his arms again. There was only one more night before Samhain. Catrìona was so near, and yet it felt as if she were lifetimes away.
He needed this second chance. They deserved this second chance. He vowed that nothing would stand in the way of their happy ending. Not time, nor jealousy, nor fear.
* * *
Elspeth had shown Catrìona the way to the chamber, but escorted her only as far as the stairs before heading back to her cottage. Catrìona gingerly walked into Braden’s old room and noted there were no electric lights. Cat quickly lit the tapers in the wrought iron sconces before the sun dipped too low on the horizon.
Elspeth had given Catrìona the key earlier in the morning, along with the chant she should say as she lit the candles. Being in the castle when no one was around was strange. The keep was so silent. Still.
With care, she pulled the candles and portrait out of her carry-all. Catrìona sat on the tester bed and unrolled the canvas. She took a moment to stare at the picture that was her talisman.
“I hope you find the peace you deserve.” She wiped a tear that slipped from her welling eyes. “Loving you has been so easy, but I need to find a man here in my time. I want you to find your own peace. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to find my own.”
For a split second she contemplated packing her bag and returning to her hotel room. The desire was strong—so strong that it took her by surprise. Catrìona wanted to do this. She wanted to put her attraction and feelings for a long dead man into proper perspective. She needed to mourn him and then move on with her life. She deserved to be happy—not haunted by things she couldn’t have.
Catrìona moved away from the bed and walked over to the candles. Picking them up, she began laying them out in a circle. She returned to the bed, retrieved the portrait, and placed it on a chair which she set in the center of the circle.
She closed her eyes and let her breath out slowly. Taking the slip of paper out of her pocket, she scanned the words one more time, making sure she knew them by heart. The time had come. Catrìona whispered in a low but sure voice,
“A breath with the earth,
A breath with the sky,
A breath with the spirit of this place.”
She bent and lit the first candle. The green was for harmony, followed by aqua for emotional healing, then orange for encouragement, and last red for love, passion and strength. A combination of excitement and fear rushed through Catrìona. This was the point of no return.
Once all the candles were lit, she stood by the painting and said, “O Goddess, grant me strength of humility and understanding. Give me knowledge of love and inspiration to do what I must. Give me your love and strength to say goodbye to the soul of the haunted. Give him strength to accept his new fate. Seek your peace, Laird Braden Ross. You are free to move on to the next plane.”
“Thank you, lass, but what I would really like is a precious taste of your sweet lips.”
“Ah, man, can’t you wait until I fin
d a way out of this place?” another male voice asked almost frantically. “No offense, but I don’t want to have to watch that.”
Catrìona opened her eyes and stood motionless. He was there! He was living and breathing and so very, very large. She resisted the urge to giggle when she thought of the trite expression ‘larger than life’. Inhaling, she took in his musky male scent, and her heart cried out for him. Instead, she stood rooted in her place.
“Braden?” She shuffled her feet a few steps and stopped. “How can this be?”
There in front of her were two very big, very handsome men, one of whom was Braden. He had to be Braden. He was more beautiful in flesh and blood than he was on canvas. But he wasn’t supposed to be standing there. He was supposed to be finding his happy ending in the mystic realm. She blinked hard and looked again.
Both men stood with legs braced apart, bare-chested, and clad in tartan.
Her eyes tracked over Braden’s incredible body. His body didn’t come from any exercise regime found in today’s gyms. Catrìona looked at his legs once more and licked her lips. A burning desire to nibble her way down from his six-pack to the area covered by the plaid scared her for a moment. Oh, this was not right. She must be losing her mind. Men really didn’t come alive from a painting. And who was the other man? She didn’t recognize him. Was he friend or foe? Lord, she hoped he was friend because the sword hanging down his back, from the strap across his equally bare chest, was beyond description. And, judging from the size of the muscles in his arm, he’d easily wield that steel with little effort.
The other thing that surprised her was that Braden spoke English. Not Gaelic. Then again, she had to be having a delusion, so it would make sense she’d hear a language she could understand. At least, that’s what she prayed. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Maybe she was suffering delusions from fumes from the candles. Maybe there was something funky in the wax!
Another thought came crashing down on her. She was very much alone with two strange men who could easily hurt her if they desired. Rape and torture was not on the list of things she wanted to experience in any lifetime. Oh, she was so screwed—and not in a good way!
His Heart's Desire Page 4