by Mason, Nina
Okay, maybe calling him baby was laying it on a bit thick, but it was better than peeing on his leg to mark her territory. He was in front of her in a flash, smiling as she modeled the skimpy get-up from inside the cubicle.
Making a lustful noise deep in his throat, he swept through the curtain and snapped it closed behind him. In a blink, she was up against the mirror with his mouth on hers and his hands exploring her body.
“If I could take you right here without getting arrested, I so bloody would.”
She couldn’t contain the laugh that burst forth. “I gather from your reaction this one’s a keeper?”
“Oh, aye.” He flicked his tongue against her lips. “In fact, why don’t you keep it on under your clothes while we do a bit more shopping?”
* * * *
Backlit by the vivid vermillion sunset, Callum and Vanessa walked arm-in-arm back toward the car loaded down with packages, from Indecent as well as the other boutiques they’d patronized that afternoon. He’d bought her some earrings, a scarf, a silver trinket box, and everything else she fancied. He’d meant it when he’d told that overly solicitous shopgirl he would buy his bonny butterfly the moon and stars if she wished to have them.
While money might not buy happiness, it sure as hell could buy pleasure. Buying her things was like giving her an orgasm wrapped up in a box or bag—an orgasm she could keep long after the thrill subsided.
How long she could keep her baubles, however, remained to be seen.
For the moment, though, the simple knowledge of what she had on underneath her clothes kept him hard under his. What was it about garters that lit his wick like a torch? As far as he could figure, it had to do with the times in which he’d been born.
In sixteenth-century Scotland, lower-class women were as shameless about sex as the higher-born ones were demure. When the king’s carriage rolled through a town, it wasn’t uncommon for lasses to welcome the royal party with breasts bared and skirts lifted. On the march to Northumberland, the whores who followed the army walked about the camp stark naked, offering themselves to any soldier with enough silver in his pocket. More often than not, the bawdy transactions were conducted in plain sight amidst the cheers and whistles of drunken onlookers.
Though far from prudish, Callum was unaccustomed to such immodest displays of the female form. He also preferred to chase the women he favored. Mystique, not bawdiness, captured and kept his interest.
By the time they reached the car, loaded down with packages, he had ideas. Though he’d done his share of watching in his day, he’d never been one to engage in public rutting with whores. As a knighted baron and court astrologer, he held himself to a higher standard. Aye, he’d hired his fair share of prostitutes—more than his fair share, truth be known—but always with the utmost discretion.
Still, there was something to be said for the thrill of potentially being observed en flagrante delicto. What he was trying to decide right now was whether the kick was worth the risk of discovery, especially if he might run for Parliament.
At the car, which he’d moved to an out-of-the way spot after lunch, he loaded the packages into the back while she waited beside the locked passenger door. After slamming the rear hatch, he moved to where she stood, hooked an arm around her waist, and turned her toward the car.
“Spread ’em,” he said near her ear, “like you’re about to be searched by the police.”
She assumed the requested stance. “Am I?”
“Oh, aye, lass,” he rasped. “Cavities and all.”
He rolled his erection against her backside. Groaning with pleasure and need, he lifted her skirt, exposing the pale moons of her buttocks, bare but for those three wee straps.
“Have I done something wrong, officer?”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re guilty of public indecency. It’s obscene to walk around looking as good as you do right now.”
“Is it?” She laughed. “And why is that?”
“Because it gives the weaker sex wicked ideas.”
He unzipped, eased his cock out of the toothed slit, and rubbed the leaking tip with his thumb. As he parked himself at her humid entrance, intense longing rolled through him. He wanted her, damn it, and not just for a fuck. He was so lonely, so tired of mechanical sex, so ready to be with someone who cared. If only he could see a way to go forward with her. But he couldn’t. Try as he might, he just couldn’t. Asking her to stay was too much too soon and a long-distance relationship could never satisfy his supernatural sex drive.
Throbbing with frustration, he thrust his hips, pushing into her. He buried his length to the hilt, drew back, and buried himself again. His fangs dropped, crying for blood. Throwing back his head, he roared to jettison the need.
Vanessa rolled her hips and pushed back, taking him even deeper. He withdrew until just his cockhead was still embedded, circled her succulent opening, and plunged in again. As blistering pleasure rushed through him, a sound behind him made him freeze. Bloody hell. Whoever was there had seen much too much. He pulled out, sucked his fangs back in, and zipped up.
“What’s wrong?” Vanessa asked, starting to turn.
Holding her where she was, he sorted out her dress before whispering near her ear, “We’ve got company. Get in the car and let me handle it, eh?”
He fished out the clicker, unlocked the car, and, as she climbed in, he rounded on the intruder. His gut twisted when he saw it was the gold-digging clerk from the lingerie boutique. What the devil was her name? Oh, right. Monique.
He fixed her with a contemptuous glare. “Can I help you with something?”
“That depends.” She held up a fancy cell phone. “How much is it worth to you to keep the video of what you’ve just been doing off the internet?”
Callum licked his lips, tasting bile and ruin. “How much do you want?”
“Enough to open that second shop I told you about.”
Judging by her smug expression, she believed she had him by the bollocks.
“Will you take a check?” he asked, playing along. “I don’t carry that much cash around nor will an ATM dispense as much as I presume you’re hoping to collect.”
“A check’s fine,” she said, regarding him suspiciously, “as long as it’s good.”
“It will be,” he assured her. “Besides, you’ll have my address on the check, so, if it should bounce, which it won’t, you’ll know where to find me.”
“That’s true.” Hope was breaking through the clouds of skepticism in her pale blue eyes.
He opened the passenger door and reached past Vanessa to retrieve his checkbook from the glove compartment.
“You’re not actually going to pay her off, are you?”
“No.”
After shutting the door, he opened the checkbook against the side of the Range Rover, unclipped his pen, and wrote in the date. “Whom do I make it out to…and for how much?”
The blackmailer came closer and looked over his shoulder, just as he hoped she would.
“Monique Sinclair,” she said, “And I think fifty thousand pounds ought to cover my start-up expenses.”
He frowned and arched an eyebrow. “Sinclair? Are you by any chance related to Alasdair Sinclair, the SMP?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. He’s my father.”
Bloody hell. Kicking himself for being so reckless, Callum filled in the blanks just as she’d instructed, tore the check free, and, turning to face her, held the payment out to her. When she made to grab the note, he pulled it back.
“Not so fast, Miss Sinclair.” He narrowed his eyes. “First, I’ll have your phone so I can erase the evidence.”
With a superior smirk, she handed over her mobile. As he let her take the check, he dropped her phone on the ground and stomped it into debris.
“Hey,” she complained, “that was an iPhone.”
“Ask me if I give a fuck.”
In one fluid move, he pinned her back against the Range Rover and drilled into her mind through her schem
ing eyes. “This never happened. You never saw me or the lass I’m with. And if you should ever meet either of us again, it will be as strangers. Nod if you understand me.”
She dipped and raised her head like a robot, her glassy gaze locked with his.
“Good.” He snatched the check from her hand. “Now bugger off and don’t look back.”
He crumpled the check into a wad as he circled around to the driver’s side. Vanessa, seemingly unaware of what he’d just done, offered him a nervous smile as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Is everything okay?”
“I believe so.”
“Good. I was worried.”
“Don’t be. I’ve got everything under control.”
Everything to do with Monique Sinclair, anyway. Where Vanessa Meadows was concerned, he was moving closer to the point of no return with every moment they spent together.
Chapter 8
Back at Barrogill, alone in Callum’s room, Vanessa awoke shivering with the uncanny feeling she had company. Worn out from shopping, jet lag, and the night of lovemaking, she’d elected to take a quick nap while Callum attended to other business. The room, comfortably warm when she’d lain down, now felt like a refrigerator. Prickling with cold and concern, she sat up, rubbed her arms, and looked around, but saw no one else.
“You must stay here with him,” a disembodied female voice said from the ethers. “He will be happy with you.”
Caught off guard, Vanessa sputtered as words escaped her. Was this the same ghost she’d met before? While the voice had a similar cadence, she couldn’t be sure until the spirit appeared.
“Show yourself.”
The spirit made no response, either visual or verbal.
“Fine,” Vanessa said, perturbed. “If you won’t show yourself, at least tell me if you’re the ghost I met before or the spirit of his dead wife.”
“I am both.”
“But…that isn’t possible.”
Near the foot of the bed, the apparition grew more perceptible. “When I leaped from the tower, I expected to find my husband waiting for me at the gates of Heaven, but he wasn’t there. I knew then he hadn’t been killed at the Battle of Flodden Field, as I’d been informed, so I came back to Barrogill to await his return.”
“Wait! What?” Vanessa was stumped. “You were told Callum was killed at Flodden Field? But…wasn’t that battle fought hundreds of years ago?”
“Aye,” said the shimmering spirit. “In the year fifteen hundred and thirteen, to be precise.”
Vanessa’s brain refused to accept the spirit’s statement. The ghost had to be confusing Callum with one of his ancestors. “Are you talking about the same man who currently occupies the castle?”
“Aye, lass. The very same.”
Incredulous, Vanessa regarded the ghost narrowly. “And you’re telling me he died at a battle fought hundreds of years ago?”
“Nay. Though I was told he’d perished in the battle with all the other nobles, I was wrongly informed. I waited two hundred years, during which the castle fell into the hands of Clan Sinclair, but by and by Callum returned—alone and unhappy—so I vowed to keep watch until he found someone who could make him happy.”
“And what makes you think I’m that person?”
“The Knight of Wands.”
Vanessa eyed the apparition narrowly. “That reminds me, how did you know about the card?”
“In the space between the realms, one knows all there is to know.”
Always something of a wiz at solving puzzles, Vanessa wasn’t about to let this one stump her. Taking a moment, she considered the clues now in her possession. First, a vampire was rumored to live inside Barrogill; second, the vampire, according to the ghost, had been in front of her the whole time; and third, Callum was supposedly killed centuries ago. If the ghost was to be believed, only one explanation made sense.
“Is Callum the vampire of Barrogill?”
Before the ghost could answer, footsteps sounded on the floorboards in the hall. Sure it was Callum, Vanessa broke out in a cold sweat. Meanwhile, the apparition vanished and the room grew warmer. Just outside the closed door, the footfalls stopped. She thought about the camera in her luggage, but her conscience stopped her from retrieving it. He was a good person who relished his privacy. Exposing what he was would ruin his life, which she just couldn’t bring herself to do. As much as she wanted to prove herself as a paranormal investigator, she cared too much about Callum to hurt him like that.
The handle turned. She stiffened, held her breath, and swallowed hard. The door swung open, but he didn’t come into the room. Instead, he just stood in the doorway, looking at her. He was wearing jeans and a button-down shirt with the tails tucked in. A smile bowed his lion’s mouth as he watched her. She forced a smile, saying nothing. Did he somehow know she knew?
She studied him carefully, trying to see him through new eyes. He didn’t look any different. He was still the golden-haired Adonis who turned her insides to caramel. She licked her lips, weighing her next move. Should she pretend all was well or say something?
Deciding on the latter course, she said, “I met your ghost again.”
“Oh, aye?” He came a few steps into the room, amplifying her anxiety. “What did she have to say?”
“Before I tell you, I need to make a confession. Earlier, while you were out, I went into the dungeon hoping to find the vampire. What I found instead was your ghost, who told me what I was looking for was right under my nose. Then, a few minutes ago, she told me you supposedly died at Flodden Field. I’ve been so blind, but now, well…I think I’ve figured it out. Please, Callum, tell me the truth. I’ll swear on anything you name that I won’t breathe a word to anybody, ever. Not even my boss.”
Looking remarkably calm, he came closer and claimed the seat beside her, but said nothing. The silence grew ominous. Just as she opened her mouth to fill the void, he said, “If I tell you, know that I’ll have to take the knowledge from you before we part ways.”
“Take the knowledge?” Alarm pricked her heart. “You mean…erase my memory?”
“Aye. Exactly. But only the bits about me.”
Resistance flared inside her. She’d never met anyone like him before and didn’t want to forget him or the wonderful hours they’d spent together. “What if I give you my solemn pledge never to repeat what I know to another living soul?”
“I’ve already been too reckless by allowing you to be here,” he said, looking grave. “To trust you to keep my secret is out of the question.”
He was right. She couldn’t be trusted. Not because she didn’t mean well, but because she might let something slip accidentally. As long as she retained the knowledge, he was at risk, and it was only right to put his interests above her own.
“Fine,” she said thickly. “Take the memories of you when I go, but don’t leave me in the dark in the meantime.”
“Very well,” he said, licking his lips. “But first, I’m not the sort of vampire you probably imagine. Aye, I drink blood, but I’m not a reanimated corpse like the vampires in the movies; I belong to the ranks of the faeries.”
She swallowed her surprise. “Did you say faeries?—as in Tinker Bell?”
“Not at all like Tinker Bell,” he said with no trace of humor. “More like the faeries of Celtic legend. Are you familiar at all with the stories of Avalon, the mythological Isle of Apples?”
She nodded. She’d studied the Arthurian legends and their history in college. Avalon was an otherworld island ruled by Morgan Le Fay, a powerful and, by some accounts, ruthless sorceress. “It’s supposed to be a paradise where no one ages or dies, the sun never sets, and flowers bloom once and never fade.”
“All true,” he said sullenly, “though even a paradise can be a prison.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Aye. In life, I was the court astrologer to James the Fourth, who, as you probably don’t know, was killed at the Battle of Flodden Field.”
Her heart was hammering and her mouth felt dry. “But you weren’t?”
“Nay, I was taken from the battlefield into Avalon.”
Vanessa’s mind was swimming from all she’d learned so far. “So…you’re immortal?”
“Aye, more or less, though not invincible. In fact, if Queen Morgan didn’t believe me dead, I wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
She knitted her brow. “Why does she believe you’re dead?”
He gave her a tight smile. “Perhaps I should begin at the beginning...”
“Perhaps you should,” she said, still struggling to wrap her mind around what he’d told her so far.
He got to his feet, took hold of the bedpost, and turned away from her. “I’ve never spoken of these things to anyone before…”
Her heart felt swollen and heavy. She liked him more than she’d ever liked any man, and hated the idea of forgetting him. At the same time, forgetting him might be for the best because...well, if she couldn’t remember him, she couldn’t miss him, either.
“Before the battle, I warned the king not to invade England, told him the stars and planets disfavored the campaign, but he wouldn’t listen. Don’t get me wrong, he was a good king, but also stubbornly convinced his superior army would prevail. He also was determined to help France by diverting some of King Henry’s troops from the campaign in Italy. It didn’t help that Henry had opened old wounds by declaring himself Overlord of Scotland.
“I was his astrologer, but also an able-bodied knight, so I had no choice but to join the fight, even though I knew the casualties would be heavy…and that I would likely be among them.” He heaved a sigh and shook his head. “The stars weren’t wrong. When the smoke cleared, half our army laid dead upon the field. Not only foot soldiers, but hundreds of earls, lords, and knights, too—a whole generation of nobles cut down like haystalks in a battle that, had the king only heeded the warnings of the heavens, would never had taken place.”