A Highlander for Christmas

by Christina Skye

  It was almost worse than any bullet.

  ~ ~ ~

  Maggie was sheet-white and bleeding. He set her carefully on an antique velvet sofa in Nicholas’s office. He touched her cheek, but she did not speak.

  Out cold, he realized.

  Panting, he ran to check the security cameras on the far wall. All appeared to be operating normally, and no alarms had been triggered, inside or out.

  What in the hell was going on?

  Turning, he studied the woman on the sofa, frowning at the blood streaking her temple. “Maggie, can you hear me?”

  His hands weren’t entirely steady as he moistened a towel with water and probed the angry welt. She winced, twisting restlessly at his touch. Gently, he cleaned away the blood, relieved when he found that the jagged gash was not deep. Jared’s medical knowledge was limited to basic field first aid, but he suspected the wound would heal without stitches. It was the impact of the fall that worried him. The sooner she woke up the better.

  Pulling a first aid kit from Nicholas’s desk, he layered antibiotic cream over the wound, then stood up slowly. “Damn it, Maggie, wake up.”

  She twisted beside him, muttering and flinging one arm out in panic just as she had done in the car. When he tried to hold her still, her fists tightened, flailing wildly at his chest.

  Jared cursed as she caught his chin in a point-blank blow. “Stop fighting me.”

  Her eyes opened, glazed with pain. “You’ll find naught here,” she whispered. “He has gone, and what you seek has gone with him.”

  “Who? Who are you talking about?”

  Her eyes seemed to glaze over. She struggled blindly and then went very still. After a moment she looked down, touching her dress, the sofa, her hands. And then she turned her head to stare at him.

  Jared watched confusion inch into recognition.

  “Jared?”

  “Right here.”

  “I-I don’t understand. Why are you here? I was in bed asleep and then—”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know. I think I heard a sound at the window. Or maybe it was the telephone.”

  “It wasn’t the phone,” he said grimly. “You were outside, Maggie. I found you down by the moat.” He decided not to mention his icy sense of pursuit. He didn’t entirely understand it himself.

  “Outside?” She stared at him in disbelief. “That’s impossible.” She tried to laugh, but the sound trailed away. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Dead serious.” So was whoever had watched them.

  She brushed her forehead and gasped as her fingers came away streaked with blood. “Why is there blood in my hair? What happened?”

  “You tell me.”

  She closed her eyes. “I … don’t remember. I was asleep and then I was here with you.”

  “Think,” Jared said tightly. “Something must have made you go outside.”

  “I don’t know. Didn’t you hear me?” She tried to stand up and winced at the movement.

  Her color fluctuated, and fresh blood appeared on her forehead. Arguing would get them nowhere, Jared thought. Grimly, he eased her back against the sofa. “Stop fighting me.”

  “I didn’t leave the abbey. I couldn’t have.” Maggie flinched as a trail of blood slid onto her cheek. “I don’t even know my way, remember? Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Because I was there, Maggie. I saw you.”

  Jared released her. His stomach was twisted into knots, and his mind seemed locked, unable to function. Though their contact was broken, he still felt the stabbing pain of her wound. He also saw that she had no memory of being outside.

  No one could lie that well, not through the link. She was just as confused as he was.

  He ran a hand through his hair and decided that putting a few feet between them would be a damned good idea, although he was beginning to wonder if distance would help.

  Before he could move, Maggie lunged unsteadily to her feet, color flooding into her face. “Why are you saying these things?”

  At least she was fully awake now. Unlike before, she seemed perfectly rational. “Because I have to. I saw you, Maggie. Someone else was there, watching us from the woods. Now why don’t you stop arguing, sit down, and help me find some answers?”

  “I don’t want to sit down.” She put a hand to her head, her voice trembling. “What you’re telling me is impossible.”

  “I only wish it were.” Jared’s eyes narrowed. “You’re bleeding again.”

  “I can handle a little blood. What I can’t handle is these ridiculous stories.”

  “Someone was out there, Maggie. I saw his movement in the trees.”

  “Why? Why would someone hide there to watch us?” Suddenly her body stiffened. “You think this is … because of my father.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to,” she muttered. “You’ve got ‘suspicious’ written all over your face.” She caught a jerky breath, “I want to leave.”

  “You’re in no condition to go anywhere.”

  “You can’t keep me here. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Jared’s eyes narrowed. There was one way to find some answers.

  His jaw clenched. Touching her would tell him what he needed to know. Before this, he had been too distracted to understand what to look for, but now he would be controlled and prepared. The process would leave him drained, but it was a price he’d have to pay.

  He took a step toward her.

  “What are you doing?” There was a broken note of panic in her voice.

  She slipped behind a heavy end table, and Jared followed. The contact would be painful, but if she was a threat to Nicholas, Jared had to find out now. He feinted left, then caught her shoulder as she spun in the opposite direction. When his fingers locked on her arm, the link slammed to life.

  Fear. Confusion. Searing anger.

  “Stop,” she gasped, trying to pull free.

  “I’m afraid I can’t. Not just yet.” He stilled his breath, focusing deep and fighting his way past shadowy barriers of fear and uncertainty. The heart, he thought. The heart never lied.

  “Why? Tell me what’s happening.”

  “I can’t, damn it. I don’t understand myself,” he said grimly. “But I will.”

  Then Jared opened his hands with icy focus and slid one palm slowly over her chest.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Stop.”

  She trembled as she spoke.

  Jared tried to ignore the sound, willing her not to move. He needed only a few seconds of direct contact now. Then they would both be free.

  His hand slid lower, rising and falling with each tug of her breath. There was no time for argument. He had to know exactly what Maggie remembered of her time outside, and if she had any clue to who had been watching them.

  He closed his eyes, trying not to feel her softness beneath his fingers, trying not to notice her trembling or how much her warmth was affecting him.

  No excuse for making it personal, fool. But suddenly Jared couldn’t seem to do anything else.

  She twisted against him, her hip jammed against his taut thigh. He grimaced, trying to ignore his body’s instant response, then moved his palm between her breasts and watched her face as his fingers opened gently over her heart.

  The heart held the answers.

  Panic. Confusion.

  In a rush, her feelings battered him, but he held her still, forcing his way ever deeper into her mind. He needed all her secrets, no matter what they hid. He owed that to Nicholas.

  Cursing, he tightened his focus. Burning shapes took form, designs for platinum and beaten gold so clear and sharp that his breath caught at their clarity.

  So this was what Maggie Kincade saw when she worked. He hadn’t realized that images could be so compelling. Half lost now, he slid through the restless tides of her mind, caught by sunlight on a metal disk and sparks thrown from a newly polished ruby.

  So simp
le, he thought. And yet so hard to reach. There were dozens of designs now, each more striking than the last. Years of work were held there.

  He pushed deeper. Fury. Awe at the abbey around her. Leaden exhaustion.

  Jared winced as the pain throbbing at her forehead shot through him. The gash was hurting her badly, but he couldn’t afford to spare her.

  Or himself.

  His fingers tightened. “Have you ever been to the abbey before?”

  She blinked at him. “No, of course not.”

  The truth.

  “Have you ever wandered off like this before, without any memory of it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Again the truth.

  “Do you know who was watching us?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her breath came in ragged puffs, and Jared touched her confusion, knowing it was utterly real.

  Looking down, he saw her body strain. His hand was open, wrapped around the soft folds of her gown. He was shaking, sweating, fighting to keep his balance.

  How had things shot out of control so fast? Second by second she was dragging him deeper, capturing him with the dance of her mind even as her warm skin seduced his painfully aroused body.

  No excuse, he told himself.

  And no excuse for this damnable feeling of complete familiarity about her.

  “Have we ever met before?” He hadn’t meant to ask, but somehow the hoarse question slipped out. Maybe this was the source of what he was feeling. Maybe she had some fragmented memory of him from long before.

  “In New York.” She took an angry, shaken breath. “Why are you asking these things?”

  “Before New York.”

  “No. No.”

  Absolutely true. Damn it, what was she doing to him? Why couldn’t he pull his mind free of hers?

  He forced his fingers from her gown, sweating. Immediately she lurched away with a gasp. But distance made no difference. Every curve was imprinted on Jared’s brain. Every cell of his body carried the scent of her perfume and the heat of her skin.

  He took a hard breath. “I’m sorry for that. There were things that I needed to know.”

  “Like what? Whether you enjoyed touching me? Whether I frighten easily?”

  Blood oozed from the wound on her forehead. “I won’t do it again, Maggie.” There was no need. All he had to do now was calm her down.

  She backed toward the door, swaying. “And you think I’d believe you now?”

  “You must.”

  “Not a chance.” She took another jerky step, struck a lamp, and watched the brass frame clang to the floor. “You can’t push me around. You’re no better than those reporters in New York. At least they were honest about what they wanted. And they didn’t t-touch me.”

  “You don’t understand.” Of course she didn’t, and there was no way in hell he could begin to explain.

  “I don’t want to understand.” Her voice was strained.

  “You have to try, Maggie.”

  She covered her ears with trembling fingers. “Stop saying my name like that, as if you knew me well. As if we were old friends—or something more.”

  So she’d heard it in his voice. Maybe she’d even felt the same hints of recognition that he had. “Listen to me.”

  “No. All I want to do is get away. This house—you—I can’t stay here. Something’s wrong, terribly wrong.”

  Jared’s eyes narrowed. “How do you expect to leave when you can barely walk?”

  “I’ll manage,” she rasped. “Having a car crash would be a lot more pleasant than staying here with you.” She turned wildly. A pile of books toppled to the floor.

  “Maggie, stop.” Jared strode after her. “I can’t let you go.”

  “And you can’t keep me, either.” She backed another foot toward the door, clearly distraught. “I don’t remember, do you hear? Nothing about what happened tonight.” Her fingers dug at her head. “When I try, there’s only … shadows. Fear. Then pain. Terrible pain.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “No?” She laughed tightly. “What do you call what you just did?” Her ankle struck the corner of an end table, and Jared snagged a priceless blue-and-white Ming vase before it toppled to its ruin on the floor.

  The doorway was just behind her.

  She saw her chance and lunged, gasping, but Jared managed to catch her shoulders and pin her against his chest.

  Heat. So much sweet, searing heat.

  And so much joy in simply holding her. Jared could barely breathe with the force of it—and with the painful sense of familiarity that followed.

  Beside them a row of Venetian glass paperweights exploded over the floor in a cloud of glittering fragments. Dimly, he heard wind snap at the windows, banging the fragile colored panes. The very stones of the abbey seemed to shake in their distress.

  “Broken,” Maggie whispered. “All of them broken.” She shoved at his chest. “What’s happening to me?”

  “To us,” he said harshly, his hands spanning her shoulders. She felt perfect, he thought. As if she belonged right there, nestled at his chest.

  He wanted to feel her this way often. He wanted to guard and protect her always.

  Madness.

  She swayed, and his arms tightened. Slowly, he drew her head against his chest, knowing it would make the pain lessen. She was dizzy, exhausted, but she still didn’t back down an inch. She only raised her head and studied him as if through a long, blurred tunnel. “Why won’t you let me go?” And then her eyes closed.

  He didn’t answer. God help him, he couldn’t answer.

  He didn’t want to let her go, not ever again. His jaw clenched as he had a sharp impression of horses at the gallop and the clamor of angry soldiers. Almost like a memory, he thought. As if once before he’d let her go, and something terrible had happened.

  There was only one thought in his mind as he carried her up the shadowed stairs to her room. He could not let her be harmed again.

  ~ ~ ~

  The moat shimmered. Clouds veiled the moon.

  Virgo rising.

  Saturn trine Uranus.

  The walls of high stone groaned softly, heavy with centuries of memory and travail. Quiet yet not quiet, they waited, never impatient. Never forgetting.

  Somewhere in the night came the low peal of distant bells as Jared settled Maggie in her bed beneath a sea of damask covers. Her eyes were closed, and she did not see how he straightened the white linen pillows and spread another blanket across her body. When he was finished, something held him still, too deep for naming. The play of moonlight on her hair, perhaps, or simple curiosity to watch her vibrant features relaxed in sleep.

  By the bed he stood, drinking in the sight of her, a man too long cheated of beauty and wonder. Moonlight left his face in shadow, gaunt cheeks a reminder of nights of hell, and days of pain in a box.

  He wouldn’t think of that now. Now was for wonder and imagining. Dear heaven, he thought, how beautiful she was. How lost in sleep with one hand curved against her cheek and her hair spread wild upon her pillow.

  Desire wrenched at his chest, silent as dreams too long buried. Heat flared as he saw the etched line of her cheek and the outline of one silken thigh.

  He should go. There would be no peace for him in watching and wanting.

  And yet he stayed, caught by magic. Wishing that for one night he might be a different man. A hero with happier eyes and a soul that did not bear the weight of sadness.

  Jared stiffened, struck with the sudden sense that they were not alone. Energy rippled—like an intelligence that he could not define. He scanned the room, frowning at the velvet curtains, the small gilt mirror, the roses in a silver vase. Suddenly he smelled roses everywhere, rich and glorious, perfuming every corner of the room. It was an illusion, he knew, but one just as real as any other part of the night’s magic.

  He should turn away. He should return to his work, scanning the three new files from Nic
holas and then trying to sleep.

  He did none of those things.

  The magic held him. And yes, the wanting.

  Too aware, too restless for sleep, he stood in a bar of moonlight and watched her. Wanted her. When she twisted against the pillow, he ignored all reason and smoothed a strand from her cheek, shuddering as the contact sent him down to meet the racing pattern of her dreams. They were fleet, filled with colors and yearning, images that left her harrowed, breathless, caught by trailing sadness.

  For dreams, they felt very old.

  Jared stiffened when she shoved back blankets and linen, rose warily to her feet.

  “Maggie?” he whispered.

  She did not turn, did not hear, framed in moonlight and unaware that he stood mere feet away. Somewhere a bird cried a shrill lament, and Jared felt the skin pull taut, prickling across his shoulders.

  Dreamlike, she reached for the table beside the bed and cradled her hands around emptiness. Empty still, her fingers rose, as if to lift a candle high. Her white gown flashed as she padded barefoot to the door, eased it open, and listened intently, each movement filled with caution.

  Jared followed her down the hall and along the spiral stairs to the great front hall, where she stopped, head cocked to listen. Satisfied, she crept along the wall to the rear corridor.

  Where was she going now?

  The thick oak door to the cellar loomed in the shadows. She made a ghostlike movement as if to set a candle on the floor, then shoved at the door. Frowning, she put her shoulder to the wood, surprised that it did not move.

  What purpose could she have here?

  His only answer was the sight of her digging at the outline of the heavy door, almost as if searching for a lock or knob that did not exist.

  Jared inched closer. Curious to see what she would do next, he slid back the shiny new high-tech bolt and pushed open the heavy, climate-controlled door. Shadows stretched before them, covering the broad stone steps spiraling down to the wine vaults, part of the abbey’s original foundation. Instantly she plunged ahead, oblivious to the shadows, with the sure step of someone who knew the passage well. But how was that possible?