Labyrinth

by Tarah Scott

  Yep. Just as she’d imagined.

  She leaned her forehead against his chest and looked down at her hand covering him. “How about this?” She pulled up his kilt to reveal the swollen shaft. Heat pooled between her legs.

  How long could she wait? She wanted him badly. Badly enough to fuck him and end the sweet torture forever? Could she stop herself? With a forefinger, Margot traced a circle around the crown. The rod pulsed. She recalled the taste of him, sweet and salty. Margot trailed a finger over the tip again, felt the trickle of pre-cum coat the finger, then lifted it to her lips. She raised her gaze and held his eyes as she traced her lips with the sticky finger, then inserted it in her mouth and pulled it out through tight lips. His gaze sharpened.

  Her pulse jumped. He wants me. No other man had ever said so much with a single look.

  Except McNeil.

  Margot startled. No. She was here, now, with this man. She wrapped her hand around the rigid shaft and stroked from base to tip.

  She lifted on tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “Touch me like you did that first night. Gently now,” she gave him a light squeeze in demonstration, “not as rough as the night before last. It was interesting, but—”

  He seized her shoulders. “What are you saying? Ye were here two nights past?”

  His cock slipped from her grasp and the kilt fell back to his knees. Damn it, the dream was getting away from her. She really needed to get the hang of this.

  “Relax, sugar. If we don’t get it right this time, there’s always tonight.” She had planned on ending this now, but suddenly wasn’t sure.

  “There will be no tonight,” he snapped, and swept her off her feet.

  Margot threw her arms around his neck and hugged close to him. He smelled of sandalwood just as he had that first night. The comforting scent enveloped her like a warm blanket. She unexpectedly landed on the bed, him on top of her. His weight crushed her into the mattress. His belt buckle dug into her belly, but she didn't give a damn, and wrapped her arms around him. His cock pressed into her belly with promise of the long, hard ride that lay ahead. She arched into him.

  “I will no' hurt you,” he murmured.

  “I know.”

  He threaded his long fingers through her hair and fanned the dark locks across the pillow. “Beautiful.”

  Unexpected warmth rippled through her. Was she blushing? “I’m a sure thing, sugar. No need for talk of love.”

  This time, her cheeks warmed. Damn, he hadn’t been talking about love. Why had she said that? Margot gave herself a mental shake. This was a dream. No need for embarrassment. No need for any emotion. They were going to have a damn good fuck, then she would wake up.

  He leaned toward her and trailed moist kisses from ear to throat, then dragged one dress sleeve down her arm. His mouth closed over the areola through the fabric of the thin, lacy bra she wore. Pleasure threaded from nipple to the core between her legs. He rocked against her, his shaft hiking her skirt higher with each slow thrust. He suckled, tightening her clit with each torturous draw on her nipple.

  Margot wrapped one leg around his thigh. “More.”

  He groaned. She arched her hips, grazing the root of his cock with her swollen nub.

  He is worth the fire.

  He shifted to the other nipple, flicked the tip with his tongue, then lifted himself onto elbows and yanked her skirt to her hips. He scooted down until he lay beside her hips.

  Margot closed her eyes as he slipped a finger between the lace thong and her belly. Her flesh quivered when he moved downward, the finger tickling the curls before grazing her swollen sex and dipping into her moist heat. She arched into the digit. He penetrated deeper, drew out to the edge, then back in again as she thrust toward him. He flicked her pleasure point. She opened her eyes. His gaze was fixed on her curls as he thrust a forefinger into her and massaged her sensitive spot with a thumb. The erotic sight sent a shiver of desire through her.

  His thrusts deepened and she quickened her movements. Pressure mounted between her legs. She closed her eyes and thrust in quick spurts, imagining his cock filling her as his finger did. Once he finger fucked her, she would ride him like the wild stallion he was, and come even harder. Pleasure radiated through her. God, she would—he abruptly shifted and covered her mound with his moist lips.

  Margot cried out. She snapped open her eyes. His gaze met and held hers as he shifted between her thighs, lifting her legs over his shoulders, and settling between them. She couldn’t look away as his tongue swept inside her channel, then dragged the wet cream upward between her folds. He flicked, then sucked, drawing her out. Pressure built. He sucked harder. His tongue flicked faster. His fingers wrapped around her legs.

  Climax rolled over her. He buried his mouth deeper in her curls as pleasure bowed her off the bed. Warmth spread through her. She could wrap herself around him forever.

  White light flashed behind her eyelids and she fell off the edge.

  Chapter Ten

  Margot’s eyes snapped open. She gulped in air as the climax faded. Heart racing, she released a shaky breath and leaned back against the pillow. That climax was better than…hell, even better than the last. Her breathing slowed and her gaze fell on the picture of Castle Morrison. She studied the picture, shifting left as if doing so would somehow give her a different perspective on the structure. The renovated castle and picture were identical…almost.

  She shivered, suddenly aware of the cold, and dropped her gaze to the fireplace. The log she had thrown on the embers had caught fire on the bottom, but died out before getting going. She hadn’t got the hang of banking a fire to keep it going. Cat had employees who made sure guest’s rooms stayed warm. Maybe she hadn’t assigned anyone to Margot’s room because she wasn’t a paying customer. No friendship had ever run truer. Margot glanced at the clock on the nightstand. One o’clock. She was due to meet Cat in half an hour. They were going to the outdoor market. After that, Cat had planned a tour of the dungeons, then Margot had a dinner date with McNeil.

  Later, when everyone was in bed, she would go back to Cat’s office and get a look at those hidden files. Margot ignored the clenching of her stomach at memory of seeing Cat with Williams last night. She'd sacrificed too much— her job, maybe even her reputation—to let a case of the jitters stop her.

  *****

  Margot waited beside Cat, who discussed tomatoes with the owner of the vegetable stand at Stornoway’s open market. Dark clouds sat parked overhead, but the market buzzed with activity. Three dozen or so stands lined each side of the street. Most were local residents selling one or two types of vegetables or fruits to make a little extra money, with a few professional farmers scattered throughout the market. According to Cat, people came from all over the island to buy from the farmers. Margot breathed deep of the crisp air as Cat turned back to her.

  “Let’s go.” Cat started forward through the crowded isle.

  “Are tomato negotiations always that complicated?” Margot asked.

  Cat grimaced. "You wouldn't believe how many we go through, and we'll need more once we're full up. I want at least three vegetable suppliers. If I depend on only one or two, they'll strong arm me. This keeps things friendly but competitive."

  "You've really taken to the business life."

  Margot couldn't deny her surprise. Cat had never displayed any talent, much less interest, in anything other than men. But that really hadn’t changed, had it? Despite appearances, men were the very thing Cat was interested in. Last night had proven that. Nausea turned Margot’s stomach. How had watching a killer fuck her next victim gotten her wet? How had that revived the dream about Colin Morrison—and what did the whole fucking thing say about her?

  "I hope I'm not boring you by grocery shopping.” Cat paused at a stand with a variety of berries.

  Margot halted beside her and realized her insides were shaking.

  Cat started forward again. “I've just been so much busier than I thought I'd be with the renovations
."

  "No problem," Margot managed in an even voice. "I’m glad to see more of the island. I’m starting to understand the appeal." She thought of McNeil, and how they hadn't been in Stornoway two minutes before running into family. He was right. The island was like Wilkinson County. Too much like Wilkinson County. "Why Scotland?” Margot asked Cat. “Why a castle?"

  Cat laughed as if the two of them strolling past fruit and vegetable stands on a small island in the north of Scotland was the most natural thing in the world…as if she didn’t know Margot really meant, why a castle after killing Donny?

  "It was bad enough the way people pitied me when I was a kid,” Cat said. “I couldn’t take it after Donny’s death."

  Margot halted in surprise. A large body bumped into her back. She looked around. A woman smiled and pressed past.

  Margot faced Cat. “Pity? What are you talking about? You’re one of the richest women in Wilkinson County.”

  “Money doesn’t buy respect.”

  Margot’s heart thumped. A lesson learned too late?

  “Did it ever occur to you that I left because I couldn't deal with being there where he died?” Cat said.

  Margot stared.

  “Don’t look so shocked.” Cat began walking again.

  Margot cursed her stupidity and fell in alongside. “You never talked to me. How could I know?”

  “I heard what people were saying,” Cat replied. "A girl from the wrong side of the tracks marrying the county's richest eligible bachelor…”

  The old guilt surfaced. Margot had heard the rumors…had thought them herself. “That was one rumor,” she agreed. “That's how it is in a small town. Hell, that's how it is in big towns. People like to talk. So what? What did that have to do with you leaving?"

  “We had been married only a few years.” Cat looked at her. “He was young and strong. He shouldn’t have died.”

  “No one young and strong should die,” Margot said. “That’s what makes it a tragedy.”

  “I know you blame me, Margot.”

  “Blame you? It’s not your fault he—” her voice caught and she realized her heart was pounding again. She gave into the emotion. Why pretend she didn’t grieve over her cousin’s death. Why pretend she wasn’t angry he died? “I miss him like hell, but that’s got nothing to do with you.”

  Cat looked at her and, for the first time since Donny's death, Margot saw doubt in her eyes. Maybe she should have given into her anger—and grief—a long time ago.

  Cat broke the stare. “You said you wanted to pick up a souvenir for your dad. One of the best curio shops in town is at the end of the block. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

  Margot watched as Cat weaved her way through the crowd. Margot’s heart slowed, but the hot emotion that swept through her left a quiver in her stomach…and a bizarre question. Cat had come damn close to saying she knew Margot had figured out Cat murdered Donny. Why?

  Twenty minutes later, Margot completed her purchase of a sgian dubh, a traditional Scottish dagger. Permits and postage were necessary to mail the dagger to the U.S., but the clerk assured her she’d take care of everything for the right fee. It would be worth every penny to see her father's face when she returned home. A Southern boy like him appreciated a good weapon, and this would be one of a kind in Wilkinson County. She laughed. He would likely use it to skin rabbits.

  Margot stuck her credit card back in her tiny wallet and was slipping it into her back pocket when she noticed a plaque above a glass case that read Clan badge belt buckles. She stepped over and scanned the buckles until she spotted one that read Clan Morrison of the Isle of Lewis. The square, antiqued silver buckle showed a hand clutching a sword that rose above a castle tower sitting on the swell of a wave.

  "Where is the Morrison buckle with the driftwood?" she called to the clerk.

  The clerk looked up from the paperwork she still filled out. “Which one?”

  Margot glanced at the buckle. "I see you have the Morrison buckle with an arm coming out of a castle. Where's the one with the driftwood?"

  The woman set down her pencil and came around to the case. “Which one are ye referring to?”

  Margot pointed to the Morrison buckle.

  “Aye,” the clerk said. “That's the Morrison badge.”

  "I'm wondering about the other one."

  "Other one?"

  "The driftwood within a circle." Margot scanned the other badges and saw more than one buckle design for some of them. "Maybe the circle doesn't matter," she said. "But the driftwood, wouldn't that be the badge?"

  "Driftwood?" the clerk repeated, then, "Ah, you mean the Mac Gille Mhoire badge. Their badge was the driftwood because Gille Mhiore, a Norseman they claim as their ancestor, washed ashore on the Isle of Lewis. But that's only a legend."

  “Legend?" Margot said. “But I saw—” she broke off, remembering where she'd seen the buckle. “You're telling me no one makes these driftwood badges?”

  The woman looked startled. "No. There are different renditions of the Morrison badge, but only one design is approved by the Standing Council of Scottish Chiefs."

  Dread crept up Margot’s spine. “These are all silver. What about leather?”

  “Leather badges were common before silver came into use, but today, most people prefer silver.”

  “Do you have a picture of the driftwood badge?" Margot asked.

  "I've never seen one. I can ask, if ye like.”

  Margot shook her head. "No…no, thank you." She smiled. "If you need any more information about shipping the dagger, please call me."

  The woman nodded, and Margot crossed to the exit and pushed past the door. She stopped outside the shop. Her insides trembled. She wanted like hell to tell herself she'd seen Colin Morrison wearing it on Ghost Hunters Inc's site, but the picture hadn't included the lower half of his body. No. She'd seen him and that badge when it wasn't possible to have known either of them existed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Margot followed the guests of Morrison Castle down the narrow stairs leading to the dungeon. She had to be right in figuring Cat had nothing hidden in the dungeon, or she wouldn’t be giving a tour of the lower level. Margot took the final step onto a brick floor and couldn't help an "Ohh.” An arched entry opened into a hallway that T'd left and right. The brick floor looked new. The walls were made of a sandy colored stone that gave them an airy look absent in the darker stone of the rest of the castle.

  “The stone looks new,” Tory Hanley said.

  “Thankfully, the previous owners redid this part of the castle five years ago,” Cat said. “If this stone hadn’t been replaced, this section of the castle would have collapsed.”

  Like the east section Cat was having repaired now, Margot realized.

  “Oh,” Tory intoned. “There are actual cells down here. Were they used for torture?”

  Cat laughed. “Not torture, exactly, but imprisonment, for certain.”

  “So Lord Morrison imprisoned people here,” Tory said with that same high school girl naiveté Margot had seen on her first day there.

  “He very well could have,” Cat replied. “Colin was the law in this part of the island and wouldn’t have hesitated to imprison a criminal.”

  Margot shifted her gaze from Tory to Cat. Cat spoke of the Scottish Lord as if they were old friends. “My castle, my ghost,” she had said. Apparently, she took her ownership seriously.

  Cat entered the first cell on the left. The small group crowded inside with her. Margot entered last and leaned against the wall as they examined the room.

  "What are these two pieces of metal sticking out from the wall?" Tory asked. Before anyone could answer, she added, “Shackles—they’re for chaining people to the wall. They look so old.” Her brows furrowed. “But you said the walls had been replaced.

  Cat brushed past Franklin Williams and Margot didn’t miss the way she glanced up at him through her lashes. His gaze dropped to Cat’s hips as she took the three steps to
join Tory beside the left wall.

  “This wall and the one opposite, in the cell on the other side of the stairs, are the only walls that weren’t replaced,” Cat said.

  Tory’s eyes widened. “So criminals could have been shackled to these chains.”

  Williams stepped up beside her and Cat, and examined the metal. "Wouldn't be much need for these today." His waggled his brows. "At least, not as instruments of imprisonment."

  The other men chuckled and a blush crept up Tory Hanley’s cheeks.

  “Are the other cells like this one?” Leslie Evans asked.

  “Yes,” Cat answered. “Though there are no remains of irons in the others.”

  Tory looked disappointed and Margot nearly laughed.

  “Come along and I’ll show you the secret passage leading from the dungeons to the first floor.” Cat started forward. She cast Margot a questioning look as she passed.

  Margot shrugged and waited until everyone had filed out. She started to turn, but stopped when her gaze caught on the shackles. She recalled Williams’ joke about not needing shackles as instruments of imprisonment and thought of Charlie. A picture rose of her chained to the wall, an iron band across her neck to hold her head in place, legs chained spread eagle as he ran a palm up her breast, and across a sensitive nipple.

  She shivered as much from pleasure as from the cold that penetrated bone-deep from the stone through the sensitive flesh of her back and ass. He grasped a nipple between thumb and forefinger and rolled the rigid areola. Pleasure spiked. Eyes locked with hers, he brought his mouth close to hers. He shifted his gaze to her lips, then abruptly dropped to his knees. Margot trembled when warm fingers splayed across her hips. He slid his thumbs into her dampened folds and slid upward, spreading her, more, more…more.

  Cool air washed over her exposed sex. Moist warmth swept up through her drenched channel, the tip of his tongue flicking her clit as he lapped cream in that single stroke. Pleasure shot through her. Chains rattled when she jerked. He rose and stepped close again. Her eyes remained locked with Charlie's blue eyes as they morphed into Colin Morrison's dark eyes. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, then trailed his tongue along the inside of her lips, careful the tip barely penetrated her mouth. Hint of her tangy cream sizzled on the end of her tongue.