by Mae Clair
Her parents flew in from Florida with Melanie acting as matron of honor and Aren standing as Caith’s best man. The wedding was simple, an evening candlelight ceremony at the Breckwood mansion. Afterward, they’d taken an island honeymoon, enjoying sun-drenched afternoons surrounded by sparkling water and lazy nights of making love sheltered by palm trees. They returned in time for the opening of the new lodge and for Veronica to assume her place as manager.
Content, she folded her arms over her chest.
Beyond the windows, the ground was covered with snow, tumbling to the edges of the lake. Christmas was three weeks away, the first with her new husband and son. A time for rejoicing and love. As she watched the play of sunlight on water, she thought back to the first time she’d made love with Caith on the bank. They’d been children really, seventeen and eighteen, but the water had turned to fire, resurrecting buried myth.
Magic, Morgana had insisted when she’d told her mother-in-law about the experience a few short days ago. The assurance of true love.
Veronica still wasn’t certain she believed in the legend of Stone Willow, but she believed in Caith. He’d changed. He was mellower since Derry’s abduction, smiling more often and wanting to spend time with his family. It was as if in saving Derry, he’d finally made peace with Trask.
Derry was a little less open with strangers, but his natural exuberance and curiosity hadn’t suffered from his experience. Veronica credited a good portion of his recovery to Caith’s frank discussions about his own kidnapping. Their marriage brought additional stability and, within two days of the wedding, Derry began calling her “Mom,” a name she found simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.
Balin suffered the most, working hard to convince his family he’d learned a valuable lesson and would never make such a dreadful mistake again. A light jail sentence was later suspended in favor of community service. Two nights a week he helped at a center for homeless children in a neighboring town. Veronica had no doubt Caith would eventually come around and ease up on his nephew. He’d even hinted as much to Merlin on the phone.
High-profile and fashionable, Merlin had decided it was time to leave Coldcreek. After several discussions with Stuart, he’d finally convinced his father to give him BI’s Balitmore office, the golden carrot he’d coveted all along. Shortly after, Lew Walden left Stone Willow to stand by his daughter. While his wife’s death had propelled him to wander, Galina’s incarceration motivated him to consider law again.
Although he’d suspected her involvement, he’d convinced himself someone in the Breckwood family was at fault. Pegging Caith as a private investigator from the start, he’d run a background check, and then left anonymous notes hoping to steer Caith away from Galina. He’d prayed his suspicions about her weren’t true, but in the end, she’d only dug herself deeper.
Because of the Tolars, Veronica marveled silently. It reaffirmed the staggering thought that even people in high-ranking positions could fall prey to cult propaganda. Lew had apologized profusely, as he was the one who’d first sparked Galina’s interest in the Tolars. After starting work at Stone Willow, he’d learned the history of the property and shared the information with his daughter. According to him, Galina had long held a fascination with old world religions, but he’d never expected her to embrace the cult and lose perspective.
Veronica assured him she held no animosity toward him. It certainly wasn’t his fault his grown daughter had taken it upon herself to spin a complicated web of deceit and criminal behavior.
“Enjoying the view?”
Caith appeared behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He dropped a kiss on her neck. “Our son wants to go to the movies tonight. Since it’s Friday, I told him we’d go for dinner, too.”
“Mmm. Sounds good.” She leaned against him, hugging his arms close. He wore a long, black wool coat over a bone-colored turtleneck and faded jeans. The scent of wood-smoke and wet winter grasses clung to his clothing.
“You’re cold,” she noted. “Where have you been?”
“The cemetery.”
Stunned, Veronica turned. Ruddy color was high on his face, brightening the arctic spark of his eyes. In all the years she’d known him, he’d never visited Trask’s grave.
As if sensing her shock, Caith shrugged. “I owed Trask a visit. It was overdue.”
He kept the words light, but she could tell by the look in his eyes, he didn’t want her to make a fuss. He’d simply wanted her to know. After years of torturing himself, he could walk into the cemetery without guilt, without fear.
Veronica touched his cheek. “I’m glad.”
Caith caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. “I’ve got something to show you.” Grinning, he slipped a business card from his coat pocket, flashing it between two fingers. “Dad thought it was time I made it official. You should have seen him when these arrived. He was like a kid at Christmas, passing them out to anyone who came within five feet.”
Veronica took the card, immediately recognizing the BI logo. She’d seen it displayed countless times on everything from letterhead and presentation folders to pens and corporate signs. Never, though, in conjunction with the name emblazoned in black script beneath it: Caithelden Breckwood, Investigative Services.
Breckwood. Not Lairen.
He’d made the name change legal before their marriage, giving his father an early Christmas present. Now after years of estrangement, he was on BI’s payroll.
Something warm and tingly spread through her stomach. “It’s beautiful. I don’t know why the two of you didn’t think of it before.”
Caith chuckled. “Stubborn, I guess.”
She was surprised to hear him admit it. “No argument there.” Smiling, she slipped the card into her pocket and wrapped her arms around his neck. She knew he’d already hired Nick Fontaine as a field assistant. “But are you going to like corporate investigative work? It’s not what you set out to do.”
He kissed her forehead. “It made up sixty-five percent of my clientele in Boston. And Force, one of the guys who kidnapped me and Trask, was mid-management in BI. He just hired two thugs to help him pull off the kidnapping. Yeah, they were eventually caught and ended up with life sentences, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten where they came from. Besides, being on retainer for BI doesn’t mean I won’t take cases outside of the business. Only now my motivation is different.” He trailed a thumb over her cheek. “I don’t want to wage a private battle in Trask’s memory any longer. I have a family to think about.”
His touch sent a shiver racing down her spine.
Family.
It was a beautiful word. Resting her head on his shoulder, she leaned against him. “I’ll love you whatever you do.”
He chucked a knuckle beneath her chin. “You love me because I’m good looking and rich.”
“I thought you were brainy and gifted.”
“That, too. You just want to hear me say I’m madly in love with you.”
“Well?” She drew back, arching a brow.
He traced his thumb down her jaw, and feathered it across her lip. When he spoke, his voice was husky and low, his eyes the deep blue of twilight seas. The humor melted from his gaze, replaced by something warm and giving. “I always will be.”
Pulling her close, he covered her mouth with his, sweeping her into a dizzying kaleidoscope of emotion. His kiss filled her with the promise of eternity, sealing what she’d known since they were children.
All the myths in the world couldn’t compete with the magic of true love. She didn’t have to look outside to know Stone Willow Lake burned with fire.
Meet the Author
Mae Clair opened a Pandora’s Box of characters when she was a child and never looked back. Her father, an artist who tinkered with writing, encouraged her to create make-believe worlds by spinning tales of far-off places on summer nights beneath the stars.
Mae loves creating character-driven fiction in se
ttings that vary from contemporary to mythical. Wherever her pen takes her, she flavors her stories with mystery and romance. Married to her high school sweetheart, she lives in Pennsylvania and is passionate about cryptozoology, old photographs, a good Maine lobster tail and cats.
Discover more about Mae on her website and blog at www.MaeClair.net
Turn the page for a special excerpt of Mae Clair’s
Weathering Rock
Drawn together across centuries, will their love be strong enough to defeat an ancient curse?
Colonel Caleb DeCardian was fighting America’s Civil War on the side of the Union when a freak shower of ball lightning transported him to the present, along with rival and former friend, Seth Reilly. Adapting to the 21st century is hard enough for the colonel, but he also has to find Seth, who cursed him to life as a werewolf. The last thing on Caleb’s mind is romance. Then fetching Arianna Hart nearly runs him down with her car. He can’t deny his attraction to the outspoken schoolteacher, but knows he should forget her.
Arianna finds Caleb bewildering, yet intriguing: courtly manners, smoldering sensuality and eyes that glow silver at night? When she sees Civil War photographs featuring a Union officer who looks exactly like Caleb, she begins to understand the man she is falling in love with harbors multiple secrets--some of which threaten the possibility of their happiness.
Finding a decent guy who'll commit is hard enough. How can she expect Caleb to forsake his own century to be with her?
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Chapter 1
The June moon rode a ragged ridge of bone-white clouds, filmy and pale as the translucent skin of an onion. Honeysuckle mingled with the aroma of sweet clover and drifted through the open window of Arianna Hart’s Chrysler Sebring. It was a pleasant night, touched by fog and ripe with all the scents and sounds that heralded summer’s arrival. In the distance, the rooftops of Weathering Rock jutted above the trees, silvered with the ice-white blood of the moon.
The old manor home predated the Civil War and had been a landmark for the town of Sagehill as far back as she could remember. Ball lightning and freak storms were said to roll through the surrounding fields like a tempest of Earth and sky, giving rise to superstition and legend. Even now, tendrils of fog twined among the trees. Arianna didn’t care about the weather anomalies or myths. It was the past that fascinated her, a passion she’d carried into her career as a teacher of American history at the local middle school. Engrossed in her thoughts, absently humming along to Lady Gaga on the radio, she was unprepared when a man on horseback plunged from the trees.
“Shit!” With a shriek of horror, she slammed on the brakes sending the Sebring fishtailing across the road. The horse reared upright, trapping the rider in the beam of her headlights, his hair a blaze of bright silver. She watched in horror as he lost his battle to stay mounted and tumbled backward to the ground. The horse wasted no time in thundering off between the trees, and was swallowed by ribbons of fog.
“Oh, God!” Arianna popped the door, fumbling off her seatbelt and stumbling in her haste to reach the prone man. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” She was babbling, her heart in her throat, nerves in the stratosphere. “Are you all right?”
Of course he wasn’t all right! He wasn’t even moving. He looked to be in his early thirties, dressed in jeans, a dark t-shirt and an archaic-looking frock coat. The garment was straight out of a history book.
“Sir?” Arianna knelt on the roadside. Now that she saw him up close, she realized his hair was blond, not silver, cut longer than fashionable. He had a lean but muscular physique and--she couldn’t help noticing--was handsome as sin. If she was going to mow someone down, why not go for the gold? “Um--” She prodded his shoulder, jumping when he responded with a groan. Arianna sank back on her haunches. “Thank God!”
The man stirred and rolled his head on the asphalt, dragging one leg upright. He made an abortive attempt to wedge it beneath him, and raised a hand to his head. “What happened? I need to reach Meade.”
“Who?” Arianna didn’t like the way he was holding his head. “Uh, look…I’m not sure who you are, but I’m going to call an ambulance. My cellphone is in the car--”
“No.” Wincing, he struggled to sit.
Arianna did what she could to assist, surprised when he completed the action by climbing to his feet and steadying himself against her. He was taller than she’d thought, six foot-one or two, every inch of him dazed and wobbly male. She could feel the press of his body to hers--sinew and muscle, the taut, well-formed lines of a denim-clad hip and thigh.
“I don’t need an ambulance.” His eyes were touched by an eerie silver sheen. Like an animal’s at night when reflecting light. “I live at Weathering Rock.
“You might have a concussion.”
“No hospital.” He looked away and his face fell back into shadow. It made her wonder if she’d imagined that feral glow. When he spoke again, his speech carried a formal inflection. “May I impose upon you to drive me home? It appears I require assistance.”
“What about your horse?”
“It knows the way.” He pressed two fingers against his temple, his eyes narrowing to painful slits. “I didn’t see you. Like Seth at Crinkeshaw.”
His distraction worried Arianna. It made her reconsider calling an ambulance, but he seemed to read the thought in her eyes. “My…brother…is at home. He’s a doctor.”
“Your brother lives at Weathering Rock?”
“We both do. It’s not far.”
“I know the way.” Forcing herself to speak calmly, Arianna guided him to the passenger’s side of the Sebring. She didn’t know if she was crazy or foolish for helping a stranger into her car. She said a silent prayer he was harmless and wouldn’t turn out to be a deranged serial killer.
“I’m going to call a friend. He’s a cop.”
“No.” He grabbed her wrist and held fast. “I won’t hurt you.”
She balked, disturbed he’d read her mind so easily. He needed to have his head examined if he thought she was going to take his word at face value. Wasn’t she always getting something in her email, forwarded by a well-meaning friend that warned of men who preyed on unsuspecting women? There was nothing to stop him from stuffing her in the trunk and driving off.
Except if he’d wanted to harm her he would have done it by now. Not everyone was an ax murderer or a fugitive from American’s Most Wanted.
She pulled her arm free. “What’s your name?”
“Caleb.” There was pain in his voice, the answer spoken through gritted teeth. “Caleb DeCardian.” He opened the door of the Sebring and folded into the seat. With his face turned away, Arianna did a visual check, searching for blood. She couldn’t see any, but suspected he’d hit his head when he’d fallen. He appeared dazed enough to be nursing a concussion.
Squelching her panic, she rounded the vehicle and climbed in the driver’s side. She left the door hanging open, the dome light brightening the interior of the car while she fished in her purse for her cell. “I have insurance.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I rode out in front of you.”
At least he was honest. What kind of an idiot went for a horseback ride when it was almost midnight? A handsome idiot.
No question about it. His platinum hair was wavy and thick, highlighted by streaks of white-gold. It dipped beneath his collar in the back and covered his ears. The style meshed well with his tailored black frock coat, a strange contrast against the faded denim of his jeans and the tightly defining fit of a navy t-shirt. The clothing molded his body well, accentuating long legs and a broad chest. He must be as eccentric as he was good-looking.
Locating her cell, Arianna punched out her home number and closed the car door. A half-hour earlier she’d left her friend’s home for the night. She didn’t want to worry Lauren over her whereabouts, but thought it wise to play safe. Dating a cop for a year had taught her the value of being cautious
. When her answering machine kicked in, she pretended to have a conversation with her friend.
“Hi, Lauren?” Pause. “No, I didn’t get home yet. Something came up. I’ll call you in about twenty minutes, as soon as I get in the door. I’m stopping at Weathering Rock--you know that old house on Blackberry Lane?” A longer pause. “No, I’ll explain later. Talk to you then.” She felt foolish for pulling the charade, but wanted Caleb to think someone was waiting to hear from her.
“Are you all right?” she asked again as she started the ignition and eased the car onto the road.
He gave a noncommittal grunt. It made her think of lawsuits and catastrophic medical bills. Everyone was sue-happy these days. He’d admitted to riding out in front of her, but how quickly would that change once a fee-hungry lawyer sank greedy claws into him?
She could always call Lucas for help, even if she didn’t want to involve the police directly. Her ex-boyfriend would know what to do, though asking for advice was guaranteed to trigger one of his you-need-a-keeper spiels. It was no wonder they’d split up. As Lauren liked to say--there were no King Arthurs left in the world, just Arthurs who expected to be treated like kings.
“Sagehill isn’t far,” she said, contemplating her liability, court dates and how complicated the whole situation might become.
“Weathering Rock is closer.” In the half-gloom of fog and moonlight, Caleb’s eyes flashed like crystal. “What’s your name?”
She considered lying, but smothered the impulse. “Arianna Hart. My friends call me Ari.”
“Annie,” he said, still sounding confused.
She would have corrected him, but grew distracted when he stretched his legs in an attempt to get more comfortable. He was almost too tall for the tiny vehicle, his proximity charging the air with a goosebump-crackle of electricity. The taut pull of faded denim over his thighs was disconcerting, especially when her glance wandered higher, revealing how well his jeans defined all areas of his lower anatomy.