by Karey Brown
“Will she be comin’ down, milord?”
“S’blood, woman, you could scare death with all your creeping about.” Broc refrained from grappling where his heart stuttered. Lairds were not jumpy! “Where did ye’ come from?”
Maeve pulled away from shadows. “The tunnels. Fastest way to this corridor.”
“She sleeps.”
“O’Shay be with her?”
“Aye.”
“Then all is as it should be. None be disturbin’ her as long as her shield guard watches over her. A good night ta’ ye’, milord. I’m weary and in need of mi’ own bed. Allysyn will tend the morning fires in the kitchen.”
“Och, but Henry’s lass is terrified of bein’ here.”
Maeve shook her head. “Nay, she’s sweet on mi’ Aedan and fears I’ll no’ accept her.” The elder woman shrugged. “I leave it to the lad ta’ decide whom his mate will be.” The laird’s arched brow said otherwise. With a laugh, she swatted his arm. “Ah, go on wi’ you.”
“Send word to Aunsgar. I’ll await him in the library.”
Maeve paused. “Aunsgar, milord?”
“Aye. And tell Garreck no’ ta’ make me wait.”
“Something’s happened?” Maeve looked beyond his shoulder at the closed door, her hands twisting and choking her apron. “Does the other come? Already? Surely, ‘tis too soon for him to claim her. She remembers nothing of who she was. She’s no’ ready for him.”
“Nothing ta’ fash yer’self with. Get ye’ below woman. Ye’ said yer’self, yer’ exhausted.”
Maeve bobbed a quick curtsey and spun away to do his bidding. Torchlight danced with their shadows as he followed her wake.
Neither were aware of the third shadow watching their descent before easing into the room Broc had just vacated.
* * * * *
“You cannot remain here, Keer’dra. Why have you come to this realm?”
“A redundant question I ask myself daily. Advice from a gorgeous chauffeur when I caught Peter with another woman.” Emily shrugged at the voice speaking from darkness. “Welcome to my angst. Gorgeous men forever equate my downfall.”
“Manipulations. I would have stopped you, had you not worn the amulet.”
“Amulet? Oh, right, the necklace. I’d forgotten about that. That chauffeur said it was a wedding gift, money pooled by Peter’s staff. They hate what Peter did to me. If you don’t mind, I really don’t want to talk about the guy who screwed me over. I must have lost the necklace in that accident.”
“Yes, this chauffeur is suspected as being none other than Pendaran.”
“Who?”
“You must leave. I will escort—“
“Yeah, good luck with that. I’ve been trying nearly every day to leave this place. They find me. Always. Unless you have a devious plan, they don’t allow me out of their sight. Even that damned cat stalks me. Broc said something about being hunted. Lame. Why do you hide your face?”
“You aren’t safe.”
“From you?”
“Especially from me.”
“Comforting.”
“Keer’dra.”
“Come morning, I’m trying my hand at sneaking away again.”
“Traveling on your own, here, would not be wise. Too dangerous.”
“You just said I need to leave. This is why I hate men. Nothing but riddles.”
His deep sigh provoked Emily to move deeper into the shadows where he remained hidden.
“Stay where you are.”
“And if I don’t?” She edged closer.
“I command—“
“Shut up. You and your ilk will never command me. Stupid man.”
“I am not a man.”
“Really? Sound like one. Deep voice. Arrogant. Bossy. Chauvinistic. Yep, man.”
Growling erupted. A faint orange light bloomed in front of her.
A face too beautiful to be real stared down at her. Emily gawked. High cheekbones, almond shaped azure eyes, and glowing white hair spilling all the way down to narrow hips. Disappointed the best part of lower extremities remained in shadow, she ignored his sudden chuckling as her eyes swept upward to drink in his wide, naked shoulders. “Who are you?”
“You lack fear.”
“Kinda hard to fear something that looks like it should be wrapped in a candy wrapper.”
Low rumbling came from his direction. “Keer’dra . . .”
His voice, she noted, had become very husky. Coupled with his accent, she was blissfully aware of her ovaries high-fiving each other. “Keep growling like that, and I’m liable to pounce.”
“You warrant a sound beating.”
“Peter beat you to it.” She ogled his bare torso.
“Yes, the human will suffer—“
“The human?”
“Slumber, Keer’dra. I must take my leave of your dreams.”
“Oh.”
“Disappointed?”
“Not every day a girl gets a dream phantom as gorgeous as you.”
“Who said I was a phantom?” Wicked grin melted her.
“Oh, I don’t know, glowing moon-white hair, bluish gray skin—what’s up with that anyway? And, are those fangs? Sweet Jesus, I’ve hit the mother lode!” Her brows waggled. “I need to have car accidents more often if that’s what brings on dreams of serious sex masters!”
“Sex mast—I am a Shadow Master!”
“Whatever. Now, turn around. It’s my dream and I’d like to check out your ass.”
Hissing erupted. Suddenly, she was yanked into his arms, his mouth hungrily covering hers. She melted into him, moth to flame, her singed lips parting, allowing him complete possession. So, this is kissing. Sure beats the peck here and there from Peter. Instinctively, Emily arched, neck thrown back as Shadow Master swirled his hot tongue on the hollow of her throat, then trailed up to its throbbing pulse. A mind of their own, her fingers savagely entwined his hair, pulling him closer. Déjà vu teased, but she ignored the tingling of vague memories.
Dezenial’s fangs lengthened. Desire heightened. He did what he professed never to allow with her in this lifetime that she existed. He bit deeply and tasted her soul. She gasped, and he could feel her world spinning off its axis. Waves of ecstasy throbbed through her and into him, exploding in a fiery sensation forcing her to hang onto him for dear life.
His beautiful Emily did not realize this was the threshold of Lumynari mating.
Regrettably, he pulled away, suckling the punctures until they bled no more. Her head fell back until she was gazing up at him. “Your eyes glow red!”
“You belong to me, Keer’dra.”
She nodded, still floating. “No problem.” Something primal seized her. She grappled his neck. “Don’t leave me. Please.”
“You must slumber.” He chuckled against her hair, his hold tightening. She sagged against him, weakened from her first real taste of pleasure. She was his for the taking; for the claiming. “You tempt me, vixen, but I have vowed never to bring you into my world again.” He nuzzled her neck, licking the slight wound from his bite. Hungrily, she found his mouth. He knew she reveled in the spicy scent of him, coppery taste of her blood still in his mouth heightening her arousal. Almost, he gave in.
“Sleep.” He untangled her arms from his neck. “I will stand guard over you, hidden in shadows, as always.” Waving his hand, she slumped into his arms, instantly asleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
She was marinating in men. Sip coffee. Stay calm. Pretend I do this all the time. Yeah, right. This was her fifth morning at a trestle table, in medievalish great hall, and breaking her fast with thirty some odd men. Emphases on odd. Long hair, tailored beards, that part of the visage looked within character to the setting she found herself in. But, they wore denim. And didn’t look too comfortable doing so. Shouldn’t they be wearing tartans, plaids—whatever—Highland gear? And what’s with all their squirming? A few grumbled heatedly in their guttural language, tugging their belt loops, offering her blushin
g apologies before slipping back into their cursing as they battled their various pieces of clothing.
Weird.
And, what is in the water ‘round here because, they are gor-GEOUS! I could start a dating magazine.
Hot Highlanders.
Kissable Kilts.
Sizzling Sporrans—coffee nearly spewed from her mouth over that ridiculous title. No, no magazine. They could find their own dates. For herself, she had a HOT dream lover not even her favorite author could pen. Emily’s cheeks flamed. Her neck throbbed. So do other places, for that matter. She could feel heat staining her cheeks. Mr. Sandman had been uber generous last night. And I reciprocated by being rather brazen with my phantom lover. Darting her gaze over her table partners, they seemed oblivious to her odious memories. Emily floated through her memories, desperate to hold the phantom’s fading image. If only he were real, fangs and all. And naked. Definitely naked. Needing a distraction, her gaze wandered over the rim of her cup.
Obsidian eyes impaled her.
What the hell? Has there ever been a more exasperating man? He’s forever pissed—Sir Pissed. If not for his permanent scowl and his sewage-stench-attitude, he’d be gorgeous too. Emily inwardly cringed remembering her brief encounter with him yesterday. He’d been bent at the waist, shoeing a horse. She’d come up from behind, enjoying the full view of his—
“Did ye’ sleep well, lass?”
Emily jumped, her knee smacking the underside of the table. “Yes, thank you, uh . . . “
“Colin. I’m the resident doctor.” Several coughed into their fists and muttered words beyond Emily’s hearing. “Yer’ eyes look a bit glassy, milady.” Colin grinned, stealing looks over his shoulder every few seconds towards Broc. The laird continued to glare at Emily as if they were the only two in this massive hall. Worse, she noticed all the men stealing looks between herself and their laird.
“Yes, Colin, I slept well. Until that rude cat decided to wake me up in the most uncanny way.” She reached for the decanter and refilled her coffee . . . and noticed their lunatic grinning had terminated. “Are we only allowed one cup? I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—“
“No, no, mi’ lady, by all means, enjoy your coffee. ‘Tis a savory—“
“Is he choking?” Emily started to rise, Aedan’s face as crimson as his hair.
“He’ll live,” Broc stated. “For the moment.” His tone sliced across the room. Almost, she checked to see if she bled. “What-of-the-cat?”
“Uh, well,” Emily didn’t appreciate how he enunciated each word with his teeth clenched. This is really becoming too much. Anything having to do with me, sets him into a teeth-gnashing rage. How many times have I asked to leave here? Which brought to mind the catastrophe of her attempted escape upon horseback—the beast had nipped her shoulder and chased her up to the very front door! Even the fucking animals are my wardens! If Peter hadn’t taken our wedding plans, my dress, our honeymoon reservations and used it all to marry another—that bitch even wore my dress, though I did hear she had to let out several inches around the chest and waist . . . it’s the little things . . . and his father in on the entire scheme, sending me here on this trumped up real estate purchase—men need to come with warning labels. No, Broc-Butthead, it’s really not my fault that I’m here. Well, yes, it is because I’m gullible, but I really don’t want to impose on you any longer. Gah. Last night’s plea fell on deaf ears. Which is why I’m not saying shit to him again. I’m leaving, one way or another.
“Lass, yer’ starin’,” Garreck whispered. “An ye’ might want ta’ answer the laird. Mornings aren’t his best time o’ day.”
“As opposed to the rest of the time we’re graced with Sir Yells A Lot?”
“Och, lass, ye’v a penchant fer’ death.”
Emily smiled at Garreck and waggled her brows. “It’s a gift.”
Broc’s voice was cold and exact. “I will have you tell me about the cat.”
“No.” Emily stuck out her tongue. “Brute.”
Grim Reaper shot out of his chair. “Now, Lady Emily!”
“Fine! Since you have a need to obsess, I’ll tell you. Your cat’s a damn pervert!”
All eyes swung to Aedan.
“His favorite pastime is to sit on the ledge of the tub while I bathe, and I swear-to-God, he watches every movement I make! And when I step out of the bath to dry off? That little freak actually tilts his head, the female body of great interest to him.” Emily’s eyes narrowed. “I warned, if he didn’t stop staring so hard, curiosity would kill the cat, and what does he do?” Emily threw up her hands. “Rubs against my wet legs, his fur sticking to—“
Aedan leapt from his bench, bolted across the great hall, and literally dove out the open door. Unholy roaring—Broc loudest of all—men surged, ran, and jostled as they simultaneously attempted to squeeze through the door opening.
“I’m the laird! Get yer’ arses outa mi’ way!”
“Oh my God! They’re not going to hunt down the poor thing, are they?”
“Oh, aye, mi’ lady. Time the swine was shown a thing or two ‘bout respect,” Reignsfeugh stated, strutting to her end of the table and settling in. He too had rushed towards the double front doors, then had a change of heart. He reached for the coffeepot, poured himself the dark brew and scrutinized various platters. “Shame ta’ let all this food and good coffee go to waste.”
Maeve gave a rather loud ‘harrumph’.
“They’re going to teach respect,” Emily smirked. “To a cat?”
Coughing and throat clearing, more men excused themselves, they too rushing outdoors. Emily twisted on the bench and observed through the massive leaded windows as everyone chased after Aedan. Looking over his shoulder caused him to stumble. Emily gasped. She came very close to shouting like a crazed fan screaming for the touchdown. Leaping up, Aedan tore away from the cursing, fist-waving lunatics.
“I sure hate to see what you do about a peeping tom,” she muttered.
“Castration,” Reignsfeugh remarked casually, stuffing an entire boiled egg into his mouth.
“Now you look like the chicken about to give birth.”
Egg rocketed from Reignsfeugh’s mouth, past Emily, and bounced a few times on the floor before wobbling to a stop. His eyes widened in horror. Emily laughed, wheezed, smacked the table several times, as if that really ever helped one to cease laughing, and roared louder when Reignsfeugh attempted to fish the egg from the floor. At long last, calming herself, mopping her eyes with her cuff, she avoided looking at Reignsfeugh or she’d be a lost cause, laughter unavoidable at his expense. There were men still seated at Broc’s table. She studied them for several seconds, they doing likewise. She couldn’t help but take note that their hair was similar to her own, very, very white and very long, though hers went to the backs of her knees, there’s wasn’t far off. Her aunt had hated her hair. Evil hair, she’d sermonized. But then, according to Aunt Millie, everything and anything having to do with Emily was sinful. For a few seconds, here in this massive great hall, even though she found herself amongst strangers, she felt more a part of the group than she’d ever felt in her life.
I must be getting my period. Uber emotional and sappy. Ugh. Next, I’ll cry and require bucket loads of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy.
His hair had been white as well. Glowing white. Emily abruptly stood. “Maeve, I’ll help you clear this mess and then wash—“
“Not today, lass. I ‘ave the girls from the village ta’ assist me this morn. Garreck has been waiting, too patient for his own good,” she gave his shoulder a motherly pat as she passed by. “He thought ye’ might like a tour of the grounds, ta’ stretch yer’ legs, and breathe fresh air.”
Emily nodded, covertly studying Reignsfeugh while wiping her hands one last time. His head was covered with swirling blue tattoos instead of hair. And he stood nearly seven feet—she’d asked. His lineage was Redwood. Period. He’d corrected her by informing he was Celt. Yeah, okay, and she was of the Fey. Ev
eryone had sported off expressions while looking at Maeve. Whatever. Emily was five-three. If she was lucky. Reignsfeugh was seven feet. Redwood. And right now, he was grinning sweetly at Maeve. Almost, Emily gasped. Why, he’s sweet on her! Maeve bustled about, oblivious. In fact, the elderly woman bustled everywhere but where Reignsfeugh was sitting. Uh huh. Show me around, my ass. They want a few moments of privacy. Smiling conspiratorially, Emily wrapped her hand around Garreck’s bicep. Very hard muscles, this one. Yep! I’ve died and gone to Highlander-Heaven.
“Are you married,” she asked. “By the way, Maeve, thank you for breakfast. It tasted wonderful, and you make the best coffee.”
“Ah, gi’ on wi’ ye’, lass.” Maeve grinned, wiping down another table.
Reignsfeugh choked down his food. “Aye, ye’ make the best Cornish—“
“Ye’, auld mohn, can just take yer’ compliments, that are three thousand years too late, and stuff ‘em up yer’ plaid!” Maeve tossed down her cleaning cloth and flounced across the great hall until a dark corridor swallowed her whole. It did not, however, swallow garbled words coming back towards them, nor the guffaws now exploding from Reignsfeugh.
“Did she say three thousand years?” Emily asked.
Reignsfeugh tapped his temple. “She’s a wee nutter.”
“Not married,” Garreck stepped aside to allow her first passage out the main entrance.
“What? Oh, right. Ever been?”
“No.”
“Really? A Highlander, and you’re single?”
“Just about all of us are, my lady.” His hold tightened on her arm, preventing her from slipping in parts of the snow that had iced. “Many of their wives were killed a long, long time ago.”
“Killed?”
“Aye. Doona fash yerself. It was a verra long time ago.”
“But killed? You said ‘many’. A bus accident?”
“Bus? I doona recognize this ‘bus’.”
“Mode of transportation. I don’t know what you call it here in Scotland.”