by Donna Grant
Lucan gave Cara an encouraging nod.
“Da was late for supper one night. Mum paced our cottage, wringing her hands in between telling me to eat. I knew something was wrong.”
“Do you remember what clan you belonged to?” Lucan’s hands began to rub up and down her arms, giving her warmth.
She shook her head.
“It doesna matter. Go on.”
“When Da finally returned, he was sweaty and breathing hard. He held his sword and it dripped with blood.” She remembered watching the blood drop from the blade to a puddle on the floor. It had been so bright, so thick. “Da was scared. Mum began to cry, her tears silent as they turned to look at me.”
Cara didn’t pull away when Lucan drew her against him. She inhaled his scent and his heat, letting it relax her. Her arms wrapped around him, her hands gripping his tunic as if he were her lifeline.
“What happened?”
She laid her forehead on his shoulder and drew in a shaky breath. “Mum put me in a hole we’d dug beneath the floor of our cottage. It was large enough for all of us, but they wouldn’t come with me. I started to cry, begging them not to leave me.
“Mum kissed me and put her necklace around my neck. She told me to stay safe, to stay quiet no matter what I heard. She then whispered words I couldn’t understand, but she told me it didn’t matter.”
Cara couldn’t stop trembling. Lucan’s hands were firm and gentle, soothing and encouraging.
“They were protecting you,” he said. “Did you hear what they thought was coming for them?”
“Nay. Da faced the door, his sword ready. He winked at me over his shoulder and told me everything would be all right. He had never lied to me, so I let Mum shut me in the hole. She pulled the rug over the small door and whispered that she loved me.”
Lucan’s hands had moved to her hair, stroking the long, thick strands and massaging her scalp. His touch helped control the horror that filled her with every memory that surfaced. Shivers of delight ran from her head down to her fingers and toes. She liked Lucan’s touch. She liked it too much.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “I didn’t let the Warrior get you before, and I won’t let the memories harm you now.” He turned her so that she lay across his legs, his arms supporting her.
With her head resting on his chest, his heart beating beneath her ear, she found the strength to continue. “I heard the eerie screeches and screams long before they attacked the house. I tried to see through the slats of the floor, but the rug hid everything.
“I heard Mum and Da whisper that they loved each other a heartbeat before the door burst open. I screamed, but they never heard me. My parents fought them, but it was over so quickly. Then there was silence.”
“Did you leave then?”
She shook her head. “There was silence, but I knew whatever had killed my parents was still there. It wasn’t long before I could hear cloth ripping and the beds being overturned. I sat huddled in the hole with the screams of my parents echoing in my ears.”
Lucan’s hand held her head against him, his thumb rubbing slow circles behind her ear. Her skin prickled and warmed with his touch. “How long did you stay?”
“I don’t remember. I was too afraid to leave at first, but hunger drove me out. When I stepped out of the hole and saw what they had done to my home and my parents, I knew I had to get as far away as I could.”
Cara swallowed and squeezed her eyes closed as she recalled seeing her mother on her stomach, blood dripping from her mouth as her empty eyes stared into nothing.
“That’s when the nuns found you?” Lucan asked.
“Aye. I don’t know how long I walked,” she said, guessing what he would ask next. Tears clogged her throat. Her eyes grew heavy with each stroke of Lucan’s large fingers through her hair.
No one had ever touched her with such tenderness before. The nuns had been kind, but they could never replace her parents. And because she planned to take her vows, the men of clan MacClure gave her a wide berth.
“The screams I heard tonight. They remind me of what killed my parents.”
Lucan stiffened. His warm breath fanned her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Cara tried to open her eyes. There was so much she needed to know, so many questions she had, but her eyes refused to obey. Her body was exhausted. For the first time in years, she found she wasn’t afraid of the dark. Not when Lucan held her.
Just as she drifted off to sleep she thought she felt Lucan’s lips on her forehead.
* * *
Lucan stared at the beauty in his arms. Cara had endured a terrible blow with the loss of her parents. Any number of things could have happened to her while she wandered the Highlands. Thankfully, the nuns had found her.
It was the wyrran that had killed her parents. But why? And he was relatively sure her mother had used some Druid magic to hide Cara, and maybe even the necklace, from the wyrran.
Lucan didn’t know much about Druids. In fact, he knew hardly anything other than that there were good ones and evil ones, which didn’t help Cara. As far as he knew, only Druids could use magic like Cara had explained. But if her parents were Druids, why did Deirdre want them killed?
He threaded his fingers in Cara’s chestnut tresses again, letting the cool, silky mass glide over his hands. He couldn’t remember the last time he had touched a woman’s hair, or even cared to.
The past three hundred years had made him think of many things he had taken for granted. Like touching someone. Lucan hadn’t trusted himself near a woman since Deirdre had unleashed the god within him.
No matter how great his need became, he always took care of it himself. He couldn’t take the chance of exposing what he was to anyone. Yet in his arms was a woman who not only had seen what he could become but also still trusted him enough to let him hold her while she relived painful memories.
She had heard his story, knew the truth, and still looked at him with trust in her dark, fathomless eyes. He had never seen someone so beautiful, so breathtaking. If he had seen her before Deirdre, he would have claimed Cara for his wife. There was something special about her, something innately pure that called to him on a level he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—ignore.
In all his three hundred and some odd years, no one had affected him like Cara did. He shifted and groaned as his cock rubbed against her hip. Desire, white-hot and violent, shot through him, making his rod ache.
Cara murmured and nestled against him. Her lips were parted, her breathing even as she slept. He knew he should set her aside and let her sleep, but he couldn’t let go. Her curves were too soft, her scent too sweet.
His hunger too great.
Nay. He wouldn’t let go of Cara. Not now. Mayhap not ever.
* * *
Fallon watched Lucan from the shadows of the corridor. The way he stroked Cara’s hair and held her gently against him made Fallon realize their existence couldn’t continue as it was any longer—at least not for Lucan.
Fallon watched his brother’s face, the longing and desire and need mixed together as he stared at Cara. Fallon had never seen Lucan look at a woman so, and whether Fallon wanted it or not, Cara was now a part of them.
Only time would tell for how long, though.
There was no way Fallon would allow himself to care for any woman, not with the god inside him. For one thing, he was immortal and would outlive everyone. For another, he was a monster. No woman would be able to tolerate what he became when he wasn’t drunk from the wine.
And no woman wanted an intoxicated fool.
Fallon turned away from the scene with Lucan and Cara. It hurt too much to see how desperately his brother wanted the woman. If it were in Fallon’s power to give her to Lucan, he would.
At one time Fallon had thought himself invincible. He would be the next laird of the feared and respected MacLeods. How quickly everything had changed, in a matter of hours.
He was laird now, but laird to no clan or lands. He was
nothing.
Nay. You’re a monster, unable to control your own feelings.
Rage and hopelessness ripped through Fallon. He felt the god stir within him, longing to be free, to use the powers that were his. Fallon hurried to the hall and reached for the half-empty bottle of wine. He drank deeply until he could no longer feel the god.
Only then did the anger inside Fallon ease. He rested his head on his arms and realized he had failed his brothers. As the eldest, he should have been the one to learn to control the god as Lucan had. As eldest, Fallon should have been able to help Quinn with his rage and grief. As eldest, Fallon should be the one shouldering the problems of their family instead of turning to the wine.
But he couldn’t.
The torment of what he had become after Deirdre unbound the god had left a deep scar on Fallon’s soul. He no longer trusted his own judgment. He was unfit to use the title of laird or attempt to lead his small family.
His father would be ashamed of him, but then again his father hadn’t seen what Fallon had done with the god raging inside him. Fallon had slaughtered animals, destroyed anything in his path. God’s blood, he had attacked his own brothers!
Thank God they were also immortal, or he would have their deaths on his conscience as well.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cara rolled over and stretched. She had slept deeply, never waking, as she usually did, from nightmares involving creatures with eerie shrieks and her parents’ screams.
She opened her eyes to see the first rays of dawn pouring through the window to fill her chamber. It surprised her to find all the candles blown out and the embers of the fire barely visible. Yet she was warm.
Lucan.
In a blink, the events of the previous day played in her mind, from her near fatal fall, to the attack, to the shared memories between her and Lucan. He had held her, reassured her, when she would have fallen apart. His sleek, hard body had cradled her, awakening a desire, a craving, to touch and caress him. To learn the man beneath the clothes. She ducked her head, embarrassed by her thoughts, but despite the shame, the thoughts didn’t go away. Instead, her mind grew bolder.
His mouth had been close to hers. Had she but tilted her head, she could have brushed her lips against his. Warmth spread through her as she imagined what it would be like to kiss Lucan MacLeod. He was a warrior, a Highlander with raw sexuality that would have made even Sister Abigail have such impure thoughts.
Cara sat up and saw an indentation on the bed. She leaned forward and smoothed her hand over the blankets. There was still a bit of warmth there and a hint of sandalwood, which meant Lucan had stayed with her all night.
Just knowing what he was—what was inside him—should have frightened her. But he had saved her, protected her from the very things that tried to take her from him. She shouldn’t trust him, but she found that she did.
She threw off the covers and spotted her shoes and stockings near the hearth. With a smile, she hurried to dress. It wasn’t until she was descending the stairs to the hall that she wondered if the dead bodies were still there.
With her hand on the stone wall beside her, she slowed her steps and glanced around the great hall. There wasn’t a dead body or spot of blood to be found. Everything was just as it had been before the attack. Even Fallon lying on the bench at the table, an arm draped over his eyes. After Lucan’s tale, she understood why Fallon drank as he did.
Quinn strode into the hall and to the table, his light brown hair ruffled from the wind. Her heart broke for Quinn. After three hundred years he still hadn’t gotten over the loss of his wife and son.
Cara took the final steps down the stairs and looked toward the hearth. Somehow she had known Lucan would be there. He stood with his back to the fire, his gaze on her.
Just looking at him sent a little thrill running through her, making her impossibly aware of him. She found herself walking toward the hearth and didn’t stop until she stood in front of him.
“Good morn.” His voice was deep and rich, sliding over her as his gaze did.
“Good morn. I found my shoes,” she said, and lifted the hem of her gown to show him.
One side of his mouth lifted in a grin. “I thought you might need them. And your stockings.”
Cara glanced at the fire as she felt her body heat under his gaze. “You stayed with me all night.”
He nodded.
“Thank you. I haven’t slept that well in a very long time.”
“My pleasure.” He motioned to the table. “Are you hungry? We don’t have much.”
She followed him to the table. Fallon had sat up, his eyes bleary as he ran his hands through his hair. Quinn slid onto the bench beside Fallon while Lucan sat next to her.
Though she tried to ignore the stares of the three brothers, it was impossible to do so. Finally, she put her hands in her lap and said, “Thank you, all of you, for saving me last night.”
Fallon lowered his gaze from hers. “The Warrior nearly got away with you.”
“But he didn’t,” she said.
Beneath the table, Lucan’s hand closed over hers. She looked at him, amazed at how her heart sped up with just a touch from him.
“Lucan told us of your tale,” Quinn said between bites. “You don’t remember what clan you belonged to?”
She shook her head. “I wish I did, but I don’t know if that makes a difference.”
“It does,” Lucan said. “Remember how I told you there were a number of clans who had the god inside them? Your clan might be one.”
“I thought you said you dinna know what clans were involved, and I cannot see how my mother’s blood can help.”
Fallon coughed into his hand. “The Warrior said he had come for you and the Demon’s Kiss.”
“I think the Demon’s Kiss is my mother’s necklace,” she said, and pulled the vial from beneath her gown. She refused to take it off, so she leaned forward so that Fallon and Quinn could look at it.
When they were done, she sat back and ran her fingers over the cool metal of the vial. The memory that had nagged at her while she told her tale to Lucan had come to her in her dreams. “I heard my mother call it Demon’s Kiss only once, late at night when she thought I was asleep. Da had told her then there was something coming for her. I hadn’t remembered that until last night.”
Lucan’s thumb moved back and forth over her knuckles. “Did your father say what was coming?”
“Nay.”
“And you never heard them talk of magic or Druids?” Fallon asked.
Cara shook her head.
Quinn pushed his empty trencher away and drummed his fingers on the table. “Why does Deirdre want Cara and the necklace?”
“Deirdre?” Cara repeated. “Surely it cannot be the same Deirdre who awakened the god.”
“Believe me, it is,” Fallon said, hate dripping from every word. “She may not have a god inside her, but she is immortal thanks to her knowledge of black magic.”
Cara found what little appetite she had, had vanished. She hoped to never meet this Deirdre who had destroyed the MacLeod clan, the brothers, and now Cara’s people. Too late she remembered the village. “I want to see the village.”
Lucan’s stroking of her hand paused. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. We haven’t had a chance to bury the dead.”
“I need to see it.” She looked into his green eyes and saw worry there. “Please, Lucan.”
The brothers exchanged a glance. Lucan let out a sigh and gave a quick jerk of his head. “Only if you promise not to wander off. We stay together.”
“Are you expecting those . . . things . . . to attack again so soon?”
Quinn snorted. “There’s no doubt the wyrran will attack again. They want you and that vial, not to mention Deirdre will do anything to get us back under her control. She’ll most certainly send her pets back for another attack.”
“With more Warriors,” Fallon added.
Cara turned her gaze to Lucan. His jaw was clen
ched, a muscle working in his cheek.
After a moment of silence, Quinn rose and leaned a foot on the bench. “If Cara is going to stay, and it looks like she is, she needs to know how to defend herself.”
“She doesna stand a chance against a Warrior.” Fallon sent a glance at Quinn that said he didn’t think Quinn was thinking straight.
Lucan, still holding her hand, leaned his other elbow on the table. “Quinn has a point. I don’t want Cara in another situation like she was in last night. Deirdre’s wyrrans aren’t immortal, and they’re small enough Cara should be able to hold her own against them.”
Fallon sighed heavily and rose from the table. “I suppose I’ll see if I can find her a weapon.”
Cara didn’t know whether to be glad they were going to show her how to protect herself or worried that they were going to show her how to protect herself.
When Fallon and Quinn moved away from the table Cara grasped Lucan’s arm. “Can’t I just hide like before?” she whispered.
His smile was tender as he looked at her. “If I thought that would keep you safe, aye. The Warriors were able to find you despite me putting you deep in the dungeons. That Warrior said he smelled you, which means he smelled the magic. Hiding will do you no good.”
“Wonderful,” she said, and briefly closed her eyes.
Lucan rose and held out his hand for her. “Everything will be all right. Trust me, Cara.”
“I do,” she said before she even realized the words passed her lips. She put her hand in his and let him pull her from the bench.
His eyes darkened when her body brushed his. She found it difficult to take a breath being so close to him, and even though she knew she should put some distance between them, she couldn’t.
Cara forgot to breathe when his hand cupped her face, his fingers sliding in her hair and teasing the skin at her neck. Tremors of delight, of anticipation, raced over her skin.
She tried to remind herself she was going to take the vows of a nun, but never feeling Lucan’s touch again seemed a sin in itself.