The Legend Mackinnon

by Donna Kauffman

  And yet he was still both, modern and ancient. Uncloaked, he was even more imposing. He stood there, arms crossed, ankle deep in furs, the firelight dancing behind him as he studied her.

  “When you’ve lived as long as I have, a comfortable place to sleep becomes very important.”

  She understood then. “You sleep here.”

  “I did no’ go tae this trouble for a guest room. I dinna have guests here.” His brogue twinkled into his speech once again, making her want to relax her guard.

  She stood up straighter. “What are you proposing then?”

  He stepped from the furs. “I’m proposing we eat and go to bed.”

  As weary as she was, this was no time to allow him the upper hand. If he thought she was going to be the blushing maiden, he could think again.

  She walked over and pulled back the curtains. She slid her backpack and coat to a small heap on the floor. There was a footstool she made use of, though she still had to jump to boost herself up on the side. “I prefer this side, is that okay with you?” It was the closest to the fire and the side with the stool and very obviously the side he slept on.

  The bed was amazingly soft and pulled her in like a downy sponge. She could feel her eyelids grow drowsy even as she shifted to untie her boots and slip them off. As she sunk into the mattress, she discovered she suddenly didn’t care about needling him.

  She snatched a long velvet covered pillow and tucked it under her head as she stretched out. A long, appreciative groan eased from her as she allowed the bed to take over and pull her the rest of the way in.

  As she drifted into sleep, she heard his dry voice.

  “That side is fine.”

  Rory stood watching her far longer than he should have. What was he to do about her? He sure as hell knew what he wanted to do with her. Christ in heaven but the expressions that had crossed her face as she’d examined the bed had made him hard as the stone bench he’d almost taken her on seemingly eons ago now.

  His stomach growled loudly. He was ravenous, but too tired to want to do anything about it. Still, it was something to do to postpone the inevitable. He went to a small door on the other side of the fireplace, glancing at her once more before stepping into the small adjoining room.

  She was curled on her side, clutching a long pillow to her chest, loosened strands of hair falling in a tangle across the pillows piled under her head. He wanted badly to smooth those snarled strands and feel once again the softness of her cheek, trace that slight plumpness of her bottom lip.

  He sighed in disgust. He would not let her leave until she’d found a way to lift his curse. But how long would he last before he gave in to this spell she had cast upon him? This curse of need.

  He looked at her and felt himself jerk in awareness, even when all she did was sleep. The fires of hell were licking at his bootheels and he hadn’t even begun to feel the heat. He swore heavily and closed the door behind him.

  Cailean purred as she shifted into an even more comfortable spot. These were the most exquisite accommodations she could ever recall having on a dig. She bolted upright.

  She wasn’t on a dig. She flipped pillows off and pushed the hair from her face. She knew immediately where she was … and why. She looked next to her and sighed in relief. At least she was alone.

  From the looks of things, she had been alone all night. She pushed her hair back and peered through the silks. The chair was empty and the fire had gone to glowing embers. There were several candles burning and the torches by the doorway had been replaced with small kerosene lamps, both lit.

  Where was he? And more urgently, where was the bathroom? She envisioned having to climb back through the long maze of passageways. There had to be something better than that.

  She used the step stool to climb down from the bed. The floor was amazingly warm and she wondered how many layers of rugs he had in here. Then she spied the corner door. She knocked, but got no response, so she pushed it open.

  This room was much chillier. She walked inside, leaving the door open to allow the lamps to cast some light inside. There was a wooden table, almost a foot thick and definitely not newly made. However, the chair placed next to it was a work of art. She ran her hand over the smooth curved back and admired the bowed dowel rods that ran from the rim to the seat. He truly was a craftsmen. I guess when you live that long, you’re bound to learn a few things. Realizing she was caressing the wood, she quickly removed her hand.

  This room was much smaller than the bedroom. Several cardboard boxes were scattered on top of the long, narrow table which stood along the opposite wall. In the corner was a small kerosene cookstove and several dishes. Now this looked more like bachelor digs.

  She lit two lanterns with the matches she found and grabbed an apple and a bread roll. Then she noticed a small sink in the far corner with a pump handle. If he had running water down here, then there was hope for other indoor plumbing.

  She finished off the roll, then primed the handle and was rewarded with a splash of extremely cold water. She managed to wash her hands, face, and do a cursory job on her teeth before she reached for the handtowel hanging from the bar on the side. It was soft and smelled sweet, making her wonder how on earth he did his laundry.

  She crunched the apple and looked around. The ceiling slanted down to head height and she almost didn’t see the smaller door under the stone eaves. She creaked the door open and sighed in relief.

  As bathrooms went, it wasn’t much. The very basics of archaic essentials. But it was far more accommodating than some of her desert digs and not bad for an ancient underground castle. Rory’s talents were growing more amazing by the minute.

  Feeling refreshed and wide awake now, she headed back into the bedroom. She was about to go into the hallway and call for him when she spied the narrow stone steps leading up the wall in the shadowed corner behind the headboard.

  There was a small hole in the stone ceiling. As she emerged through the hole, the steps turned sharply left and went upward again. She was in a small tower-like structure, all stone. Dim light came from somewhere above. After several more short flights, she took a sharp turn … and suddenly found herself standing on the top of the world.

  The sun was a glowing yellow ball just rising over the craggy peaks. There was a relatively flat area several yards square, beyond which the world fell. Standing on one of the higher pinnacles of the mountain, she could see for miles.

  Rory sat several feet away, a fur wrapped around him as he watched the sunrise.

  “You’re awake,” he said without turning.

  “This is incredible.”

  “It’s worth the visit.”

  She wanted to ask him how many times he’d sat here and watched this, but she suddenly felt like she was intruding. Which was ridiculous. He’d all but dragged her here. If anyone should feel intruded upon, it should be her. But at this moment, she only felt gratitude for this view.

  She stepped away from the stone portal only to be almost knocked to her knees by a sudden gust of wind. Heart pounding, she grabbed the stone and debated going back down the stairs for her jacket. But the steps were steep, with no railing and the descent would be slow. She’d miss the show if she left now. She carefully sat down, leaning her back against the stone for support and a wind break.

  “It’s better from here.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll get blown off the edge.”

  “Crawl.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Crawl over here. I’m no’ planning tae toss ye off,” he added, when she didn’t respond. He looked at her for the first time that day. It made her toes curl. “I need you, remember?”

  She held his gaze for a long moment, then moved carefully away from the rock. If she was going to find the key to the legend and end her visions, it looked like she needed him too. She scooted slowly over to him, the wind ripping at her braid.

  Rory lifted his arm and held the fur open at his side. An amused smile ghosted his lips. �
��I won’t bite either.”

  Biting wasn’t her concern. Then she laughed silently at herself. As if she were some ravishing goddess that he wouldn’t be able to resist. He’d made it more than clear yesterday that while he could play her like the finest violin, she was but one of many violins whose strings he’d chosen to pluck.

  He’d also made it clear he’d just been establishing the boundaries to which he was willing to go. Since she’d more or less agreed to work with him, he wouldn’t need to resort to seduction any longer to gain her cooperation.

  She crawled next to him and he closed the cloak—and his arm—around her. They sat in silence and simply watched. He was big and warm and she was supremely aware of every contact point between them.

  When the last particle of yellow broke free of the highest peak, he spoke. “You can see now why Stonelachen was undefeatable.”

  “I can see why you would give your life to save it.”

  “Aye, I did give my life.”

  “I see what you meant about not being so far beneath the surface. It’s just the surface itself is so inaccessible.”

  “Exactly.”

  The sheer drops from the points below made it obvious why no climbers had found entrance into the castle either. Still … “With modern technology and all the professional climbers in the world, I’m still amazed that no one stumbled across this place.”

  “Most of the portals are blocked with moving stones. Unless you knew where they were and how to trigger them, it’s unlikely you’d stumble into Stonelachen.”

  “It must fill a goodly part of this mountain.” He nodded. “I guess I still can’t get over the fact that something as big and unique as this didn’t find its way into recorded history.”

  He merely shrugged. “Go figure.”

  A short laugh burst out before she could stop it.

  “Wha’ is so amusing?”

  His question brought her attention to his mouth. She looked back out to the horizon. “Nothing. It was just such a modern thing to say.”

  “I’m a modern man.” His tone was quiet, almost desolate.

  “I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.”

  “It’s not something easily explained.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  Now he turned his attention forward once again. “Does the scientist in you want to analyze me?”

  “Well, I’d be lying if I said that encountering a man several centuries old didn’t trigger a few scientific queries. The DNA I usually examine is several thousand years old.” A smile curved her lips. “Yours would be a lot fresher.”

  He didn’t return her smile, but he did look at her again. “And yet you haven’t analyzed anything. I have given you no proof that what I say is true.”

  Her smile faded and her heart bumped against her chest as she looked at him. “I know what you say is true,” she said quietly. “Maybe I knew it even before you told me.”

  “I thought scientists were trained to accept only fact.”

  “Science is based largely on theory, which we spend our time trying to prove. But this isn’t about theories or proof. It isn’t even instinct. It’s just …” She couldn’t find the words. “Do you want me to analyze you? Take samples, run tests? Prove you are who you say you are? Haven’t you spent several hundred years moving from one place to another to avoid that very thing?”

  “There was nothing simple about it.”

  She stared at his profile. He wasn’t classically handsome, his features were too harsh. Yet he was captivating and it was impossible to look away.

  “I don’t want you to run tests,” he said abruptly.

  “What?”

  He turned on her. “You were studying me as if I were already on a glass slide under a microscope. I said I don’t want—”

  “I wasn’t studying you as a scientist.” Why in heavens had she confessed that?

  “What is going on behind those bonnie green eyes of yours, Cailean Claren?”

  There was a moment, a long, elastic moment when she knew she could evade his question and change the topic away from the tantalizing void that yawned in front of her. But she didn’t choose that path. Maybe the choice had already been made when she followed him home.

  “I was wondering what it would be like to make love with you.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  “I’m no’ certain that is something we should find out.”

  “But you want to, don’t you?” She felt his body tense, even as his eyes darkened further.

  “Do no’ speak to me of wants, Cailean,” he warned.

  She saw it then, the flicker of … was it fear?

  “Why? What do you have to fear from me?”

  “I am not—”

  “Ah, but you are.” She loosened her hand from the fur and brought it up to his cheek. He didn’t flinch or move when she laid her palm against his skin. A muscle twitching in his temple was the only sign that her touch disconcerted him. It was enough.

  “We have enough to work out between us,” he said, his jaw tight.

  His morning stubble rubbed against her palm. It made her skin twitch and her blood heat. “I think if we are to discover anything, we must work through this first.”

  Before she knew what was happening, he turned and laid her flat on her back, cushioned between the fur and his body. He pressed down on her and her vision was filled with his eyes, his mouth, his parting lips.

  “You do, do ye?” he said. The menacing tone didn’t frighten her. It thrilled her. He pushed his mouth close to her ear. “What do ye want to work out first, lass?”

  She shuddered beneath him.

  “Do ye want my touch first? Here?” He pressed his lips to the soft skin below her ear. “Here?” He trailed his tongue along the side of her neck. “Maybe here?” He nipped at her chin. “Or here?”

  Cailean couldn’t have formed coherent speech if her life depended on it. A moan slipped from her lips as he moved his mouth down the other side of her neck. He took one ear lobe in his mouth. She squirmed under him. “Please,” she managed.

  He nuzzled her ear, then bit the lobe, eliciting a small cry of pleasure from her. “Please what?”

  “Rory.”

  He pulled his mouth away. “Open your eyes.”

  She did. The sun was at his back, casting his dark head in a golden halo. His face was a mask of desire, his eyes were bottomless. Her empty angel.

  She reached up and stroked his face. “Come to me,” she said.

  The emptiness in his expression tore at her heart. “ ’Tis druidheachd,” he whispered hoarsely. “Only sorcery could make me want you so.”

  “I am not bewitching you. I’m responding to what you’ve made me feel. Perhaps you are the sorcerer and it is I who should be afraid.”

  “I am not afraid.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  He held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity as the battle raged in his eyes.

  “Come to me, Rory.”

  A long groan tore from somewhere deep inside him as he lost the battle and swooped down to claim her mouth in a crushing kiss. He didn’t merely take, he plundered. He had no use for finesse or slow seduction, and in truth, she’d have been impatient with all that. This is what she wanted, this man with a raging passion for her, a man who had no thought in his mind but of claiming her.

  He consumed her. His tongue was bold and direct, a warrior that invaded her mouth with an intent to conquer. He wasn’t satisfied with that and pulled her into a duel. Parrying and thrusting, demanding that she keep up with him.

  “Kiss me,” he said roughly. “Take me like this.” He took her mouth again and again, turning her head so he could plunge the farthest depths of her. He rolled so she was on top of him, swallowing her short scream with his mouth. Long strands of hair whipped wildly about her head, the chilled air burned her hot skin.

  “Kiss me,” he demanded again. He pulled her head down until their lips were barely brushi
ng. “Kiss me, Cailean. Show me that you are part of this insanity, this need.”

  She sunk her fingers into his dark hair, her eyes burning into his as she leaned in and took his mouth, with full intent to conquer. She felt him groan beneath her and his hands came up to grip her hips. The fur was a tangle around them.

  She kissed him hard and long. She bit his chin and suckled his earlobes until she felt him hard between her legs and she wanted nothing more than to claw away the clothes that prevented her from reaching what she wanted most. “Is that what you meant?” she whispered in his ear. “Do my kisses inflame you as yours do me?” He turned his head to take her mouth again. When she tore away, she traced the tip of her tongue along his jaw to his neck, and said, “Do you want to be buried inside me as badly as I need to feel you there?”

  He pulled her hips tight against him and ground his hips into her. “Sweet God, yes,” he said darkly, the confession sounding as if it had been ripped from somewhere deep inside him.

  “Now,” she demanded.

  He rolled her back into the tangle of fur and pulled at their clothes. Her hands tangled with his. There was no finesse, no time spent exploring bodies. Just frantic haste. And then he was there, pushing inside her.

  He groaned, long and low as he pushed himself fully inside her. She clutched at him with her hands and with her body.

  It was fast, hard, and incredibly fulfilling. He shouted out his release, thrusting into her again and again as he convulsed within her. He raised his head, leaving her dangling on the edge.

  “I said I’d make you scream,” he said. He reached down between them and caressed her slick, aching need.

  And scream she did.

  Her body still shuddering, he moved to slide out of her but she caught him to her.

  “This is no curse,” she said intently. “This is no trickery here between us. Not for me.”

  He held her gaze silently, the flash of bleakness in his eyes making her heart ache. “Rory—”

  He shushed her, then pressed his face in her hair. He turned to his side and, without a word, pulled her close. Something gentled inside her then. Not the ferocity of her need. She might be sated, but even now she wanted him again. And again. He had unlocked something in her just as he’d said he would. The bold, demanding woman she had just been with him was totally foreign to her, and it thrilled her to know she was his match. Ferocious. Yes, she was that. Perhaps there was warrior in her blood as well.