Beyond A Highland Whisper

by Maeve Greyson

  The steel sang, whispered through the wind of the sphere, consoling Latharn in his isolation. Faster, harder, it severed the air, whistling a lonesome tune.

  Hours of dueling unseen enemies had staved off the madness of centuries. The madness of isolation from the rest of humanity, but still being forced to watch their every move. No one could see within the crystal cell, but Latharn watched everything around him. The one-way walls showed his friends, his family, and all the orphaned children he’d ever saved. They’d lived their lives within his sight and also faced their deaths.

  Before his mother had discovered the way to break the curse, Latharn decided to end his hell. He couldn’t accept an eternity of unjust punishment within the crystal ball. He’d rather take his life and take his chances at losing his soul to the abyss. At least there, he wouldn’t be isolated and his family would find closure with his death. In their own time, they’d also find their peace.

  However, the malicious sorceress had foreseen such a possibility and taken care to prevent such an easy escape. Latharn couldn’t count the times he’d slashed open his body, just to watch the wound heal before a single drop of blood spilled.

  Therefore, he’d accepted his fate and turned his mind inward to find a way to survive. The chief druid, Emrys MacKay, had once told him meditation was the key to finding his strengths. All the mysteries of the universe waited inside him. All he needed was the patience and the discipline to find them.

  As he crouched then sprang to whip the blade through the air, the song of the steel echoed through the chamber. Its strength pulsated through his veins, the energy coursing through his mind. The power of the dance grew frenzied, his body tensed as he lunged for his unseen prey. His heart pounded; he barely breathed. His unblinking eyes stared straight ahead. Once again, Latharn’s mind escaped the stifling realms of his prison; he traveled through the mists of time.

  His consciousness journeyed through untold planes of existence. He explored universes of energy, discovering levels of enlightenment he’d never hoped to attain. It was during these travels through the veils that he’d found a fascinating form of energy he couldn’t resist.

  An aura of light pulsated with such an intensity of compassion it drew him like steel to a magnet. He’d touched it with his consciousness, to discover it flowed through him and connected to his soul. Shocked at the joining, he pulled away from the energy. He’d never experienced such an intimate melding on any of the planes he’d explored. Intrigued, he touched the energy again, locking with it as though it were a piece of a missing puzzle. The two auras danced and swirled upon the plane, discovering the universe together.

  He’d followed the light for an untold amount of time, since on the current plane, time didn’t exist. The playful energy teased and danced with him, first touching his mind before jumping back like a puppy pouncing with an enticing toy.

  It took him eons to realize this comforting presence was the life force he was destined to love. However, this realization confused him more. Before his mother had died, she had discovered how the curse of the witch’s ball could be broken. The one woman capable of winning Latharn’s heart must call out for his release. If this presence was the consciousness of the woman he was to love, where was her physical body?

  As it turned out, it was more like when was her physical body. Latharn had known the moment she was born. He’d become so adept at meditating through the planes, he’d watched over her as she’d grown. He’d suffered in silence as her parents belittled her. He’d watched them treat her as though they’d wished she’d never been born. His soul raged within his crystal prison as he watched the tear-filled life of the emotionally battered child. How could anyone be so cruel to a bairn of their own? Their words pained and damaged the lass more surely then if they’d beaten her with a club.

  When at last he’d found the pathway to her dreams, he’d been determined to do his best to comfort her. He would ensure she knew she was a precious gift. She would know her inner beauty was even greater than the loveliness of her physical body. It didn’t matter if he ever escaped his hell. All that mattered to Latharn was that he delivered Nessa from hers.

  He’d been proud as he’d watched her grow into a talented young woman. He wished she could see her own beauty but she was more sure of herself then he’d ever hoped she would be. When she’d started relationship exploration with the opposite sex, it was almost more than he could bear.

  It was then he decided to shape destiny with his own hands. If he’d consoled her subconscious while in her dreams, then he should be able to guide her to the location of the globe.

  And now she was on her way to Scotland. He’d even managed to fixate her upon the area of Durness. Once upon his homeland and in the exact proximity of the globe, Latharn knew he’d be even stronger at manifesting his powers around her.

  It was time he took a different path in her dreams. As her lover.

  Chapter Four

  Deardha couldn’t believe he had never cried out to her. Damn that hard-headed Highlander. She had figured for certain he would drop to his knees and beg to hear her terms. She would’ve wagered her finest athame Latharn would plead for his release within weeks of his imprisonment. She had watched the man his entire life. Latharn MacKay thrived best when surrounded by those he loved. The man needed the touch of his clan more then he needed the touch of his damnable Highland plaid. And yet even when he’d watched his mother jump to her death, the stubborn fool had just stood there within the bauble, silent as a stone cairn.

  “I shouldha’ just destroyed him rather than imprison him!”

  With an irritated hiss, Deardha traced her fingertips across varying sizes of globes as she worried about the darkened room. The shelves flickered with crystal orbs glimmering in every spectrum of the rainbow. Over the past six hundred years, she had collected souls much as a child collects fireflies on a summer’s eve. She smiled with pride at her varied collection. It wasn’t easy tending so many fools. A few scattered orbs along the shelves had gone dark. She’d allowed their lights to flicker away. Some of the occupants became such simpering bores. No matter. Bright, shining replacements abounded.

  Turning from her beloved collection of souls, she focused on the largest orb of her assortment. Her scrying globe rested upon a massive stone pedestal in the center of the room.

  “Show me the bitch,” she commanded with a wave of her hand as she stormed across her chambers.

  The center orb filled with a blue-white haze as though someone had just exhaled a puff of smoke and blown it inside the glass. Mist swirled inside the globe as Deardha tapped her nails upon the surface. “Focus now! I know she’s far but Latharn has succeeded in guiding her to our shores and we must prepare for her arrival.”

  Nessa’s laughing face appeared in the vision, chattering into her cell phone as she packed for her trip. A shiver of revulsion swept over her body as Deardha stroked the cool smooth glass between her hands. “I still do not understand what he sees in that bit of fluff. There’s not enough woman there for a good night’s ride!”

  Deardha dispersed the vision with a wave of disgust, spitting her disapproval on the floor. Smoothing her hands over the frigid glass, she inhaled a deep, cleansing breath, and lowered her voice to an evil purr. “Now, on to more pleasant things. Show me the weak one we found the other day, the one who shows such promise for destroying the scrawny bitch.”

  The crystal didn’t falter, but shifted to show the image of a surly, dark-haired man as he towered over a cringing young woman. Excitement surged through Deardha’s body. Oh, this was wondrous. Perfect timing. She watched the scene play out within the crystal: the man stormed in a fit of rage and the woman cowered before him, terrified. Deardha rubbed her hands together as she hissed into the glass. “Oh go on, you know you want to hit her. You know she really deserves it.”

  A resounding slap echoed from the depths of the globe, followed by the sound of the woman’s sobs. Deardha nodded with a satisfied chuckle. This on
e would serve her purpose well. She controlled his weak soul without even taking over his body. He was her puppet, his mind so open to her suggestions, she need but whisper to him across the mists.

  Of course, she should get out more. It had been centuries since she’d been out in the world. She could stir up so much more mischief if she possessed the man. It wouldn’t take much to take him over. After all, the simpleton had already forfeited his soul when he had read the ancient mantra backward during the dark of the moon.

  “Ye should figure out what those Latin words mean before ye start dabbling in my world, fool.”

  She idly tapped a fingernail on the glowing crystal before her. With a sigh, Deardha decided to wait and see how it all unwound. After all, she hadn’t survived over six hundred years by tossing caution to the wind.

  Chapter Five

  “Of all the languages I’ve been able to learn, why is it I can’t seem to grasp Gaelic?” Trish worried the ear bud from her ear and leaned forward to peer out the window of the plane.

  “Trish.” Nessa sighed in her most motherly tone. “You know they speak English in Scotland, right?” Thumbing through the pile of archeological journals in her lap, she continued making notes without glancing up from the pages. They went through this on the way to every dig. How many languages did Trish think she had to learn?

  As she pulled a map out of her carry-on, Trish stabbed the paper in emphasis of each of her words. “Look at some of these place names! Are you trying to tell me if I didn’t know Gaelic it wouldn’t be easier for me to get us around?”

  Ignoring the map as she highlighted an entry in her journal, Nessa placated Trish with an absentminded nod. “You always do a wonderful job of getting us around, Trish, no matter what country we find ourselves exploring.” Maybe Trish would take a nap once the engines settled in to their regular flight pattern drone.

  Nessa pulled the journal closer as a particular article caught her attention and she adjusted her reading glasses for a better view. “MacKay? Why does that name seem so familiar? Is that the name of any of the contacts we’ve been given to get in touch with once we reach Balnakiel?”

  Pulling her BlackBerry out of her pocket, Trish studied the screen as she rolled the wheel with her thumb. “Hmm. No. I don’t have any MacKays on my list. Why? What’s it say?”

  Nessa pinched the bridge of her nose, then stuffed her glasses into the neck of her shirt. Leaning her head back against the seat, she squinted her eyes, struggling to place the name. With a shrug, she hid a yawn behind her hand as she stretched her legs as far as the seat would allow. “Nothing really.” She yawned again and nodded toward Trish’s BlackBerry as she struggled to stay awake. “You better put that thing away. You’re not supposed to have it on. The journal just mentioned something about how MacKay Castle had been restored at Balnakiel Bay.”

  Trish shrugged her shoulders in obvious dismissal of Nessa’s words. “Lots of castles have been restored. Scotland’s National Trust restores a lot of the castles as well as a lot of privately funded landmarks. I was reading about it on the Internet the other night. Scotland is proud of its past.” Trish shoved her BlackBerry back in her pocket and fiddled with her iPod. Stuffing her ear bud back into place, she closed her eyes as the lesson began.

  With a tired sigh, Nessa pushed all the journals back inside her carry-on and shoved it under the seat. With a glance at Trish, she realized she needn’t bother answering by the faraway look on Trish’s face.

  Maybe the reason the name MacKay sounded so familiar was that it cropped up every time she turned around. The closer they got to Scotland, the more the name appeared. It was as though someone were trying to lead her toward some unknown goal. Trying to guide her to...what? What could be so important for her to find out about the MacKay clan? What awaited her arrival in Scotland and how did it link to the MacKay family? Could it be some sort of career-making find, mystically fueling the excitement in her blood?

  Serendipity? Fate? Destiny? Karma? For some reason, Nessa couldn’t seem to get these ideologies out of her mind either. She was a fervent follower of archeological history and fact. She believed what she could see and touch. Why did these mystically directed belief systems keep cropping up in her head?

  Could part of it be because her fantasy Highlander had become increasingly more seductive in her dreams? Once she’d planned her trip to Scotland, the man had a single-minded purpose. The Scot was determined to have some sort of active part in her waking life and not just in her subconscious mind. Her Highlander ramped up his visits each night to ensure he maintained a place in her constant awareness. Her undivided attention during her dreams was no longer enough. He now wanted her mind during her daylight hours as well.

  Although he still never spoke, it was obvious he led Nessa down a path with single-minded determination The seduction level of her dreams served to deepen their relationship even more.

  With an amused huff, Nessa closed her eyes and settled deeper into her seat. Thank goodness the man was in her dreams and didn’t exist in her waking reality. In real life, what in the world would a hunk like that want with a homely little bookworm like her?

  He cradled her chin in his hand and lifted her face to meet his smoldering gaze. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips across hers and traced his fingers along her cheek. With a velvet touch, he tasted her upturned mouth, lingering as though she were a tempting treat he savored.

  She never tired of the scent of him, a luscious combination of the essence of pine, the sea, and aroused male. Nessa inhaled deeper as she released herself to him.

  Leaning into his arms, she molded herself against him. She relished the heat of his hardened body. She starved for his touch, every nerve ending heightened, waiting for his exploration. From his rippling muscles to his velvety skin, she ached to devour him, to enfold him with all of her senses.

  He deepened his kiss, his unrelenting mouth opened hers, demanding complete possession. He closed his embrace, then slid his hands down her back, pulling her body hard against his erection, rock hard and straining against her belly. There was no doubt of what was to come.

  His lips seared a trail down her throat and suckled her tingling breasts. Her knees grew weak. Her mind wasn’t interested in maintaining her balance but in the delights caressing her body. Nessa’s knees buckled; she would’ve collapsed had he not caught her up into his arms and lowered her to the ground.

  Her breath caught in her throat, lips parted with expectation as his body loomed above her. With painstaking care, he ran his hands up her thighs and gently splayed her legs. As he blew against the dark curls at the vee of her thighs, he fixed her with a heavy-lidded gaze. A smile of satisfaction curled his lips as he watched her breathing quicken. Imprisoning her eyes with his own sultry stare, he traced his fingertips down her inner thighs. As he lowered his mouth, he purred with pleasure and introduced her to the other uses of his skillful tongue.

  His mouth was pure, unadulterated rapture. How was it possible for him to ignite so many nerve endings with his inquisitive tongue? Head to the side, she arched her back in ecstasy, burying her hands in his hair. Pulling him tighter into her welcoming heat, she moaned with abandon as he exquisitely tortured her until she thought she would die. Her heart risked exploding from her chest, pounding against her ribs. He suckled her nub into his mouth as he buried his fingers into her greedy depths. Caressing and teasing, he drove her past reason. She was beyond anything but pure sensation.

  Nessa shrieked as her body exploded into delightful shards of bliss.

  “Nessa! Wake up!”

  Nessa grunted as Trish elbowed her in the ribs. Trish glanced around the cabin of the plane before she settled back into her seat.

  “Dammit!” Nessa blew her short curls out of her face and struggled to catch her breath. She needed some air.

  What a dream.

  Fanning her shirt, she squirmed in her seat. Now she needed to change her clothes.

  Trish stretched over Nessa and cli
cked on the overhead fan. “‘Dammit’ is right. I’m not going to ask what you were dreaming about because me as well as everybody else sitting in coach, and maybe even first class, already knows.”

  With a wicked grin as she adjusted the tray table, Trish caught the eye of the flight attendant and motioned for two glasses of water.

  Pulling a tissue out of her pocket, Nessa dabbed at the sweat on her face. She accepted the water from the winking attendant, and gulped at the welcomed drink.

  She glanced around the cabin at all the smiling faces then edged up to Trish with a breathless whisper, “I think I just had my first mind-blowing orgasm.”

  Chapter Six

  At least they had placed his shelf so he had a decent view of the streets. Latharn’s humorless laugh echoed off the glass walls of his prison. His shelf. After six hundred years, he’d reduced himself to referring to his prison as though he were a child’s bauble in the nursery.

  “Brodie, my love, what did ye do with the crate of hand painted-dishes Moira brought round yesterday eve?” Fiona MacKay’s voice lilted from the stockroom at the back of the store.

  Latharn heaved a bored sigh as he leaned up against the clear, curved wall. This century’s guardians—his descendants, Brodie and his wife, Fiona—were decent enough, but he failed to see their interest in this little shop they’d decided to set up in Balnakiel. Fiona should be home having babies and Brodie should be caring for the MacKay estate while they waited for Nessa’s arrival in Scotland. Yet there the man stood in the corner with a dust rag in his hand as though he were some sort of chambermaid. And if Brodie bent over one more time and gave Latharn a clear view of his arse in that kilt, Latharn was going to pelt him with an object from the other side of the shop. His distant cousin’s hairy backside was not the view he preferred in all of Scotland.