Legend Anthology

by Brynn Paulin, Lacey Thorn, Bronwyn Green, Carol Lynne

  “Of course, darling.”

  Shaking his head, he slipped from the main hall and into the antechamber behind it. A set of steps there led to his office in the tower—his tower, actually. In all there were six. Two large ones like this one and four smaller. He could literally feel his ancestors here. This was where Ailig had once done his work and met with townspeople. Ailig’s younger brother had taken over the castle and Ailig’s duties after his death, starting a long succession chain of Bennetts who had occupied the Bennett castle until the generation when there had only been a daughter who had married a merchant named Woods.

  He knew the entire history. His studies told him it was odd to be born back into the same family even generations later. He’d taken that as a sign as well. Today’s events, however, shook him. What if everything he’d always believed had been wrong?

  He’d been standing at one of the large windows in his office that had been added during the last century when he’d seen her. The long strands of her dark brown hair had whipped about her ivory-skinned face until she’d tied it back. For a time, she’d sat on the flat rock with her knees drawn up while she stared at the water. That hair. That profile. Her entire figure. When she’d lowered her legs to the ground, he’d fled from the window, tearing through the castle and down the path to the shore as quickly as he could for fear she’d leave before he spoke to her.

  His cousin Toby would laugh his ass off if he’d seen it. Of course, Toby had never had interest in a woman. Alec missed him. They’d been close since childhood and Alec would have liked to discuss this with him. But Toby had moved to the United States after university.

  Toby would tell him to stop being thick.

  Alec shook his head and sat behind the heavy oak desk at the far side of the chamber. He’d made a mistake. Even so it gutted him.

  He looked at the stack of paperwork on his desk. He’d be useless to complete it. They didn’t have any guests this time of year. Perhaps he should take a trip as well. It had been a bit since he’d been to the continent. Or perhaps he could fly over and see Toby—he remembered the woman’s American accent. Perhaps not. Bad idea.

  * * * *

  For the twentieth time since she’d returned, Emily tried rereading what she’d written on her manuscript that morning. Again, her mind drifted to the man she’d met on the beach. He hadn’t meant her any harm, and she did want to know him better. Seeing the castle was definitely secondary. What would he think if she showed up on his doorstep?

  He’d seemed so disappointed when she’d said no to seeing the castle—as disappointed as she still felt. Yet he hadn’t tried to convince or coerce her. They’d been on a deserted beach. If he’d wanted to harm her, he would have had ample opportunity.

  So what did that make her? An overly suspicious American who’d grown up in a big city? Just about. She couldn’t help being suspicious. When she’d been abandoned to foster care at five because her parents had had better things to do and her relatives had been just as busy, it hadn’t instilled much trust in her soul.

  She wanted to trust. Her therapist had told her it was fear of abandonment that kept her from investing in relationships. She’d fired him before he dumped her for being too crazy. Now she wrote about romances, true love and happily ever afters. How insane was that? She invested in characters who would never leave and who were so in love, they’d do anything for each other.

  She wanted that kind of love.

  Perhaps the instant attraction she’d felt to the man on the beach pointed to that. She’d never experienced that before. Sure, she’d had fleeting relationships with other men, but their allure had never been so quick or strong. Was that what the heroes and heroines in her books faced?

  “Emily, what in the hell is wrong with you?” she muttered. “Your instincts tell you he’s safe. Your hormones tell you he’s the one. And you’re running? Idiot.”

  Fine. Turning off her computer, she stowed it in its case and stuffed her notes in the side pocket. Gathering her purse and a sweater as well, she headed out to her car and locked her laptop in the trunk. She’d go and see the castle, talk to the guy from the beach then stop at the café in town and write for a bit.

  The drive to the castle went more quickly than she wanted it to. Nerves welled in her middle while prickles crawled up her back. Parked in the small lot to one side of the gate, she stared up at the sprawling brown and grey stone structure, taking in the huge towers and lofty walls.

  After the familiarity of the beach, she expected the same tingles now. Instead she felt a bland interest in seeing a historic monument. As the man had said, Americans seemed interested in castles. She couldn’t speak for others, but she sure was. She’d been intrigued by them and the middle ages for as long as she could remember.

  So are you going in, or are you going to stare at it all day?

  Fighting her nerves, she grabbed her purse and got out of the car. Her knees wobbly, she headed through the huge gate and approached the massive front door. Wood and iron, it was as imposing as the high stone walls. An incongruous intercom box had been installed in the wall beside it. Before she lost her nerve, she pressed the small white call button.

  And waited. It was a big place. How long should she wait? Should she ring again? Should she admit she was insane and just head to the café in town?

  Just as she decided to turn away, the door slowly swung open and she was again staring into deep blue eyes.

  “Do you always kiss strangers on your beach?” she asked. Nice opening, Emily. Jesus!

  He smiled. “No, never.”

  The tingles of awareness returned and she felt them trickle into her pussy. It was a damned good thing she was wearing thick jeans. However, her T-shirt suddenly felt snug, especially over her breasts. She didn’t dare look down to see if her nipples were saluting him. She feared they were. “Then why?” she asked.

  “You came here to ask that?”

  Was it her imagination or was that relief in his eyes?

  “I came for the tour you offered.”

  He held out his hand. “Then, come inside.”

  Her vision grew fuzzy when she touched him, and for a moment, she saw another man dressed in a dark green tunic and a black embroidered belt—a belt she’d felt around her wrists. Then the vision cleared and she again saw her host.

  “This is the newer portion of the castle,” he said. “Built in the sixteen hundreds. This section is two times the size of the main keep. This portion has four towers that are used as rooms for our bed and breakfast borders. Of course, in keeping with architecture at that time, there are numerous rooms on this floor and each of the other two floors.”

  She looked around seeing the ornate, stately décor that she’d expect to see in a castle. It was gorgeous, yet mysterious with its numerous doors and two stairways leading to other portions of the castle. The part of her who’d always wanted to be a princess longed to explore the hidden nooks and crannies of this place and discover its secrets.

  But nothing was familiar. She didn’t get so much as a vague vibration. It was nothing like she’d written.

  “Would you like to see more of this part, or would you like to see the main keep first. That’s where my family lives.”

  “Family?” If he was married, she’d kick him in the balls then she was outta here.

  “My mum, stepfather and I,” he answered. His thumb stroked her cheek as if he’d heard her thoughts. “No worries, love. I’ve no wife and kiddies hidden away.” His other hand tightened around hers. “Come along. I think the main keep is more interesting anyway.”

  She nodded and he led her down a long hallway to a partially ajar door. If he’d come this far to answer her ring, no wonder he’d taken so long. Pushing it open, he pulled her into a cavernous room. Recollection hit Emily like a sledgehammer to the gut. The air burst from her and her knees buckled as she went down, sharp pain running through her.

  “Bollocks!” her host exclaimed, catching her before she hit the gro
und. “Oh love,” he whispered. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to a couch on one end of the great hall. The furniture looked out of place to her, for she remembered a dais and long trundle tables with heavy chairs and benches.

  Taking her purse, he placed it on a coffee table beside the couch then knelt down beside her. Carefully, he felt her forehead.

  She wasn’t sick. She struggled under the weight of the double planes of reality before her eyes. “What’s happening?” she murmured.

  “I suspect you’re remembering.”

  She shook her head. “No. I need to leave.”

  Panic filled his gaze. “You’ll be all right. Perhaps a glass of water would help.”

  Emily doubted it, but she nodded. As soon as he left the hall—somehow she knew it was to go to the kitchens—she stumbled to her feet and headed for the hallway that lead to the front door.

  It took half a second to realise she’d gone through the wrong doorway. Her dizziness had receded slightly, but the knot of recognition pulled strong at her lungs. She could barely breathe as she glanced around the dim antechamber. A set of narrow stairs to the side beckoned her and she followed the call.

  She entered a large chamber containing a heavy dark oak desk. The room had been walled off to divide it, but this was the place Ailig had called his thinking room. And those stairs would lead to Emma’s solar. She followed them, finding another divided chamber and another set of stairs…to the bed chamber.

  The bed chamber was just as it was in her dreams. A large wood bed with thick posters dominated the centre of the chamber. Stumbling forward, she placed her hand on one tall poster, splaying her hand over the wide expanse of wood.

  The place where Emma and Ailig had made love…

  How could it be? That was only a dream. A writer’s fantasy to put on the pages of a manuscript to please a reader.

  “Emma!”

  She heard the voice as if in a dream and turned to see Ailig standing in the doorway of the chamber, worry on his face. “I’d thought you’d left.”

  She shook her head. “Make love to me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve missed you. I need you. It’s been too long.”

  He came to her, pulling off his clothes while she removed hers as well. Home. This was home. He was home. And she’d been lost for so long. She gasped at the pleasure that flooded her when he pulled her into his arms.

  His lips covered hers in a frenzy, exploring her mouth, claiming it, taking possession. She clung to his wide shoulders, feeling the light abrasion of his sparse chest hair against her nipples. Arousal filled her pussy with hot liquid as she burned for him, her womb clenching and her body trembling. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he lifted her then placed his knee on the bed, laying her upon the mattress. An instant later, his thick arousal prodded at her opening.

  “Yes,” she cried as the wide head stretched her as he worked his way into her tight channel. “More,” she groaned. “All of you.”

  “Bloody hell, yes,” he rasped, his hips thrusting forward. Her scream tore through the tower as he hit the back of her sheath, sending a bolt of wild sensation scraping through her. Tears filled her eyes. It was so good. So right. She’d waited forever…

  Driven by need, she bucked against his hips trying for more of him as he pistoned in and out of her, every thick ridge of him rubbing against her sensitive walls. Her nails dug into his shoulders as his head tilted back. “Oh God…” she cried as her body began to convulse around him. Shards of electric sensation raced through her.

  “Yes, love! Emma!” he gasped, his hips still pumping. A moment later, he froze deep inside her, his cum filling her in hot spurting ribbons.

  They collapsed together on the bed. He cradled her against his chest while she listened to his thundering heart. She trailed her fingers along the thin line of hair on his chest, the recollection still tightly wrapped around her. As he stroked her back, she sighed as reality poked her. Good lord, she was naked with a stranger. She’d just fucked a stranger! Of all the times to lose her mind.

  “My name’s not Emma,” she murmured.

  “I know, love. At least, I didn’t figure it was. Mine’s not Ailig either. Not anymore.”

  Ailig? She pushed up on her elbow. “What did you say?”

  “I’m not Ailig. Anymore.”

  “How do you know about him? No one has read my notes…”

  “You’re researching the middle ages?” He cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb over her still taut nipple. Her thoughts muddled and she struggled to work her way through the layers of arousal to make clear-headed conversation. All she wanted to do was to sink under his spell again.

  “I’m writing a book. A romance novel. That’s what I do.”

  Comprehension filled his gaze. “And your hero and heroine are Ailig and Emma? How far are you in the story? Have you gotten to the part where Emma drowns while Ailig is on a mission for King Henry.”

  She sat up, horror shafting through her. “What! I would never kill a character.”

  “They’re not characters. They’re history.” He got up from the bed. Swallowing the desire which rose at the sight of his muscled buttocks, she watched him go to a wardrobe across the room. Things had spiralled far out of hand. She needed to get out of here.

  He removed a large black robe and brought it back to her. Returning, he handed it to her. “I have something you should see.”

  Chapter Two

  Emily held the robe to her chest debating her next step. Get on her clothes and hightail it out of here, or put on the robe and look at what he wanted to show her.

  “Put on the robe.”

  She looked up at the iron-hard tone. A delighted shudder slithered down her spine at his dominance. It wasn’t fear that drove her to follow his command, but the desire to comply and please him. What on earth was that? Okay, she knew, even if she didn’t want to admit it. She’d always liked the dominating type—not bullies, just men who were in complete control of their surroundings and the situation, who made her feel safe, secure and utterly…well, dominated. To date she’d never found a man like that.

  Maybe that was why she’d never invested in a relationship. Ha! Take that Mr. Therapist.

  Careful not to trip on the hem of the robe, she let her lover lead her to the lower level which housed his office. He went immediately to the bookshelf and pulled down two thick spiral bound notebooks and another older hard bound book. He returned to the desk and sat in the chair behind the desk, setting the books on the work surface. Desire still shone in his eyes, despite his determination to share with her, and he patted his knees. “Come have a seat.”

  She pointed to a seat on the other side of the desk. “I could sit there and look at them.”

  His lips compressed and he regarded her with a raised eyebrow. Damned raised brow. Again with the dominance. Both did her in. With a sigh, she gathered up the trailing edge of the robe and padded to him.

  “I’m too heavy to sit on your lap.”

  “Hardly.” Grasping her waist, he pulled her down. “You are a naughty wench—”

  She heard his next words in her head, remembering them as he said them now. Perhaps you need a thrashing.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph. How could she know he was going to say that? And why on earth did it fill her with such anticipation? As he said it, her body wept, pouring forth the honey which longed to coat him. She bit her lip then perched on his knees. He pulled her back so her ass cradled his rigid cock and her knees were spread wide around his. “Lean forward and rest on the desk,” he said.

  Crossing her arms on the desk she did as he bid. “Which should I look at first?” she asked.

  “Probably, the notebooks. Start with the red one. That’s my mother’s account from thirty years ago.”

  She felt him watching her as she opened the one he indicated. Alec turned eight months old today. It’s strange. His first word was Emma. Emma? I had always hoped he’d say mama first.
Further along she found accounts of a young Alec telling his mother about knighthood and life in the middle ages and…Emma. He insisted his name wasn’t really Alec. It was Ailig, but his mum could call him Alec if she really wanted to. He just wanted to set her straight.

  Emily turned and looked at him. “You’re Alec.”

  “I probably should have already told you that—before we slept together.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Emily,” she said before turning back to the notebooks, opening the second and Alec’s accounts of past life regressions. She turned to the most dog-eared section, finding more about Ailig and Emma. She couldn’t believe what she was reading. If it didn’t exactly match what she’d been writing in her notebooks and manuscript about Emma and Ailig, she’d think he was playing some sort of elaborate joke on her. As it was, her stomach was churning and her head throbbed with tension.

  These missives…the recollection that had hit her so hard…the instant attraction. “What does this mean?” she asked. Could she really take this at face value?

  Alec opened the heavy book and showed her a short passage about Sir Ailig Bennett.

  She shook her head, disbelief settling in. “I must have read this somewhere in school.”

  “Emily,” he chided. “All those details? Look at this passage? It’s less than ten lines long. A blip in history. I guarantee you, you won’t find more elsewhere. What you’ve written covers far more than this.”

  “Maybe,” she hedged, unwilling to admit he was right. “There’s something else. Something Ailig gave Emma. It’s not here.”

  She’d just written it this morning before she’d met him. A necklace, a oblong piece of Connemara marble wrapped in a spiral of silver. Ailig had given it to Emma after they’d first made love.

  “You mean this?”

  Dread filled Emily as Alec flipped through the pages, stopping near the end of the notebook with his past life work. He pointed towards a passage. Reluctantly, she read.