by Vonnie Davis
The wind screeched like banshees. Pines bent in reply. Her hand flew to her mouth to cover her gasp. Below stood a gigantic bear, staring at her with blazing golden eyes.
Ye shouldna have come, me bonnie lass. How will I ever keep me hands off ye?
Fear did a free fall through her system. Oh my God. Ronan was wrong; bears weren’t extinct here. She turned and bolted from the room.
* * *
Creighton read horror in her expression the moment her eyes landed on him. Damn, he shouldna stationed himself below her window, but he wanted to make sure the lass settled in peacefully for the night before he searched the area for wolves that had been killing his clan’s sheep. Not that this guest was any more special than any of the others. He saw to the safety and comfort of all the visitors at Matheson Lodge.
Now he’d have to hasten to her and allay her fears. He hurried behind the pines, where he’d laid his clothes after shifting earlier, and concentrated on morphing from one form of existence to another. A shimmer of transposing cosmic waves, a whirlwind of mind and soul continuum and he transmuted from bear back to human shape. Creighton gasped, forcing his human lungs to accept oxygen, and winced as systems within began functioning. Although the mutation took less than a minute, a time of discomfort existed with the acute awareness of his newly acquired being.
When he passed through the kitchen and stepped into the entry hallway of the converted castle, his steps faltered and his temper ignited. Bryce had his arms around Paisley. Bloody hell.
“No doubt ye are just exhausted from the trip.” Bryce’s hands rubbed her back while her arms stayed wrapped around his scrawny neck.
A flash of temper quickly blistered Creighton’s system. “What’s going on?” His voice had barely stopped echoing off the castle walls before Bryce released Paisley.
His brother’s quick action eased his rage. Where had that blaze of jealousy come from, searing his skin and singeing the hair on his chest?
“Our guest imagined she saw something. Fatigue, no doubt.”
Creighton waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’ll see to this. See to Colleen. Make sure her covers are about her wee shoulders. Ye know how quickly she catches the cold.”
Paisley stepped away from Bryce. “How old is your daughter?”
“She’ll be five in a few months. Ye will meet her in the morning and will no doubt hear her before ye see her.” He winked. “She’s a chatterbox and a rascal and the light of me life.”
“Ye can go now.” Creighton’s need to have the lass completely to himself grew stronger by the second.
His youngest brother had the nerve to wink before he took the stairs in his typical two at a time pace.
Creighton moved to within a step of her.
A blush kissed her cheeks and she set one bare foot on top of the other, perhaps in nervousness.
“Ye need baffies on yer feet in this auld, drafty castle.”
“Baffies?” Her voice held a sexy-as-hell breathy quality and his cock twitched in response.
“Aye. Slippers, ye Americans call them.” She wore a thin T-shirt and a pair of shorts that showcased long, shapely legs. His fingers itched to touch, and he clenched his fists to control them. Then, noticing she wore no bra, his sexual thoughts flamed hotter. In vain, he tried not to stare at her breasts through the worn Virginia Tech T-shirt. As if it had taken on a life of its own, his hand reached out and cupped her cheek. “Are ye all right, lass?”
Her sky blue eyes fastened on his and a jolt of keen desire unlocked something deep inside him. “Yes.” Her voice, barely a whisper, skittered across his skin, awakening every part of him as spring awakened the senses after hibernation.
Concerned about her getting chilled, he removed the plaid from his shoulder and draped it around her like a shawl. His hands squeezed her upper arms for just a second or two, and he was loath to cease the physical contact. “I’m thinking we should go where ’tis warmer. Then ye can tell me what troubles ye.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward the stairway and then at him. “There’s no need. You’ll only think I’m a crazy female, just like your brother does. I’m not some fragile woman who imagines she sees things when she’s tired. Or feels things in strange hallways.” Although she tugged the plaid around her in a defensive gesture, there was a flash of fortitude in her eyes that stirred his loins even more. “Do I look fragile to you?”
“Nay.” Truth was, she looked as if she could be a handful when provoked. What would it be like to tame her when she was mad as hell at the world—or him?
“I saw something and, yes, perhaps I overreacted, but I saw what I saw and heard what I heard. I’m not crazy.” Her eyes narrowed and her chin jutted in a pugnacious manner.
God help him, he was charmed by both her strength and vulnerability. What a paradox.
“Bryce is the crazy one if he didna take yer concerns seriously. Come, we’ll share a drop of brandy. ’Tis a blustery night outside.”
“Yes, a dreich nicht.”
At her easy use of the Scottish expression, Creighton’s brows rose as he led her to his office. He opened the carved wooden door and stepped back to allow her to enter his sanctum first. Scents of something sweet wafted as she passed by, a sensual spell spinning over his soul. To ask what the fragrance was would be too forward, but he would’ve liked to order it by the barrelful.
She sat cross-legged in front of the roaring fire, sifting her fingers through her blonde hair, something he longed to do. It shimmered like gold in the firelight. His body tightened, and he muttered a curse. He’d do well to keep his distance. The wee slip of a thing could never handle the power of the passion that roared through his veins. What was it about her that drew him?
He strode toward the antique server to pour a small serving of Camus brandy for her and a larger, bracing one for himself.
For all he knew, this enticing female was part of her eccentric grandmother’s premature arrangements to sell her inheritance to an oil company. Perhaps Paisley had been the one to hatch the plan. Some women could be devious characters.
His inner bear growled its dissent. She’s pure of heart.
Creighton wasn’t so sure.
“Who’s pure of heart?” Her throaty voice floated toward him from the hearth.
His hand stilled, the crystal decanter halfway to the glasses. Bloody hell! Had she heard his bear’s thoughts? He mentally lowered his telepathic shield into place as a precaution. Surely she couldna. That would make her magical in some way. He kept his back to her as he poured the liquor.
“Ah … I didna make meself clear. I was complementing ye, saying ye seemed pure of heart.” As if he didn’t have enough on his mind worrying over Angus’s will and the possibility of losing part of the sleuth’s habitat. Did he now have to worry about an American being able to hear his bear’s thoughts? What manner of person was she?
After he handed her a snifter, he settled into his leather armchair and waited for the effects of the tipple to calm them both. “Did ye go to university at Virginia Tech, then?” The firelight showcased her bonnie breasts beneath her Virginia Tech T-shirt, driving him mad. Was there anything about her appearance he didna like?
“Yes. I studied to become a veterinary assistant.”
He took another sip of brandy. “Is that what ye do? Take care of sick animals?”
She nodded before she drank and shuddered afterward. “God, this stuff is awful.” She set the snifter next to her on the hearth. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
“It’s an acquired taste, to be sure.” He swallowed another mouthful. “Me mum handles the reservations here at the lodge. She says ye and yer grandmother dinna ken how long yer going to stay with us.”
“No, we don’t. I wasn’t sure how well Gram could handle the trip. She’d tell you she’s as strong as the stink on a pig, but she tires more easily of late. I worry about her.” She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip for a beat. “Gram also wants to see a lot of Scotla
nd, to revisit her roots while we’re here.”
“Ye care a great deal for yer grandmother.” He watched her over the rim of his snifter.
A shy smile spread, its warmth touching something in his heart. “Yes, I do. Gram is all I have. All I’ve ever had.”
An odd thing for her to say. What about her parents? Would her devotion cause her to go along with her grandmother’s schemes?
“What happened tonight would weigh heavily on her.” She pushed her hair off her forehead. “I’ll have to keep it to myself.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and the glass cradled in his fingers. “Won’t ye tell me what troubles ye, lass?”
Paisley lifted a shoulder; the slight movement caused the plaid to shift, exposing more of her thin T-shirt, as well as her unfettered breasts. “There’s a lot troubling me tonight.”
She stretched those long, shapely legs, drawing his gaze downward from her breasts.
Good God, I’m a lecher. I can’t keep me eyes off her. He sat back, sipped his Camus and forced his attention to her blue eyes behind her awful glasses. A small smile plucked his lips. At last, something about her he didna like—those black, owlish frames. He swirled the amber liquid in the antique goblet. “Such as?”
“For one, the cold spot and whispers in the hallway just before one reaches the steps. I’m sure I heard something.” She shook her head once. “Someone. And the temperature has to be twenty degrees colder in that spot.” A shiver shifted his plaid off her shoulders a bit more.
“My great-grandparents, no doubt.” How would he explain this? Would she freak?
Her eyebrows rose above her glasses. “You … you’re not suggesting …”
“Aye, lassie. I am. Me great-grandparents were killed in their sleep by a family enemy. Their spirits remain.” At her shocked expression, he quickly added, “They’re gentle spirits. Ye and yer grandmother will be safe, I assure you.”
Paisley reached for her brandy snifter, her hand trembling as she brought it to her lips. “Great. Just like some old movie—a haunted castle. Well, don’t expect me to scream and faint into your arms.” She drained the amber liquid in a few quick gulps and shuddered.
Another smile threatened and this time he gave it full rein. “Ye’ve already done that.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips formed a thin line. “I’ve never fainted before. I hope you’re not going to keep throwing that at me.”
Och, she was sensitive, this one. Well, he’d not mock her. “There are spirits everywhere if we’re only in tune with our surroundings. The world is more than what we can see and touch. As fer our ghosts, ye have nothing to fear. When ye encounter them, call them by name.”
“By name?”
“Aye. Broden and Ainsley Matheson.”
She leaned back against the stones of the massive fireplace. “What a trip. Three cramped, noisy planes. Two ghosts. And one bear everyone says doesn’t exist.” She sighed and closed those mesmerizing eyes. “I can’t wait to get back home.”
Shifting had definitely been a mistake. She’d seen him. “Bear?”
“Yes. I stood at my window earlier, listening to the storm rage, and a bear stared at me.” She pushed her glasses to the bridge of her nose, and that one action made him want to protect her. Her vibrant blue eyes studied him, no doubt waiting for his reaction.
For the first time in his life, he wished he wasn’t a shifter bound by all the responsibilities and duties of his firstborn status. He emptied the snifter, relishing the burning, bracing warmth flooding his system. He took a deep breath. “That was me. I always take a walk around the grounds to see fer meself that everything is secure before I turn in fer the night.”
While part of that statement was true, his bear had planned to search for predators on the estate. Sheep belonging to him and other members of his clan were being killed. Earlier, when he, Kendric, and Neilan had patrolled the shoreline in search of wolves, they’d found sheep skeletons amid tracks, scat, and odors of both wolves and bears. Something very strange was going on in his community.
“You?” She leaned toward him, her arms wrapping around her legs.
He forced a smile, hoping he could put her at ease. “I can see how ye mistook me for a beast of some sort. My father had this long, black fur coat. On dreich nichts like tonight, I slip it on.” His hand waved toward his bare knees. “A kilt is not the warmest garment, no matter how hearty the male wearing it.”
Her forehead furrowed, and he wished he could kiss away the tension there—everywhere. “But … but you spoke to me.”
“Och, did the wind carry me words, then?” Christ, she could hear the bear’s thoughts. He needed more brandy, but her piercing stare pinned him in the chair.
“But … I saw a bear.” She removed her glasses and rubbed her fingertips over her eyes. “I’m tired. Really tired. Maybe my eyes are too fatigued to grasp images correctly. I just don’t know.” She shook her head before putting her glasses back on. “I could have sworn I saw a bear.”
Her tone of self-doubt bothered him. His desire to protect his shifting capabilities warred with his innate tendency toward honesty. Her gaze bore into his, and the bear within wanted to impress her. Show her how strong we are. Let me roar, just once.
“Think something.” She tilted her head to the side.
“What? A dinna ken yer meaning.” Thank goodness he’d lowered the shield. He was struggling to keep the bear buried beneath his human persona.
Her eyes narrowed. “Humor me. The words you spoke when you were outside, standing below my window … think them.”
Think the words? Sure, he could think them, but he could never voice them. They’d been spoken from his bear’s soul. Something inside his chest budged, as if the bear wanted to articulate its earlier message. He struggled to repress the morphing from man to beast. While beads of sweat poured out of him, chills caused the hair on his arms and legs to stand on end. He fought for control, shuddering with the exertion, yet something inside was stronger, demanding to be heard. If the bear couldn’t rise to the surface, he would damn well raise the telepathic shield. Ye shouldna have come, me bonnie lass. How will I ever keep me hands off ye?
A gasp escaped Paisley’s lips. Her blue eyes widened and her chin dropped. Before he could react, she ran from the room.
He sprung from his chair. Her footfalls lightly retreated up the steps. He bent to retrieve his plaid that had slipped to the floor when she bolted. Bloody hell. She can hear me bear.
Chapter Three
Paisley closed and locked her bedroom door. Her heart thrummed in her ears and her breathing came in rapid bursts. There was no doubt about it. She’d heard the man’s thoughts. A man. A human being. Today she’d crossed the line from somebody who could communicate with animals to a freak who could read minds. Her hands shook as she poured a glass of water from the container next to her bed. After several gulps, she began pacing the room, refusing to look out the windows.
“Think, Paisley, think. You pulled back those drapes and peered into the darkness and saw Creighton looking at you.” She wrapped her arms around herself and stilled. He said he wore a long, fur coat. What man macho enough to dress in a kilt would also wear a fur coat? She reached for more water, replaying the scene in her mind. Was the creature a bear or a man?
The being—man or animal—was big and stood on its hind legs; Creighton was exceptionally tall. He was the tallest of the three brothers. The bear was broad; Creighton’s shoulders and chest were massive. Earlier, when he stood near her downstairs, his power and magnetism whispered to her femininity. Or was it his testosterone, for he certainly exuded plenty of that. Creighton was the epitome of the expression “larger than life.” His appeal made her edgy, almost combative and yet needy at the same time. She did not do needy when it came to men.
Creighton’s mesmerizing eyes were dark brown with golden flecks. The eyes of the bear glowed yellow. The sight had freaked her. She shook her head once and sipped at the
water. Whatever … or whoever stood below her window had eyes that blazed golden in a furry or hairy face. The Scot’s eyebrows were dark and thick; thicker than she normally liked, but on his broad face, they didn’t look out of place. So, the question remained. Had she seen a bear or a massive man? She rubbed her fingers over her forehead and exhaled a bark of nervous laughter. Or did she simply need her glasses changed?
She pulled back the covers and slipped into the bed. It had to be Creighton. Hadn’t he repeated the thoughts she heard the bear/beast/man think? As his internal dialogue played slow motion in her mind, her heart stuttered. Oh my God. He was worried about keeping his hands off me. Is he thinking of hurting me? Heat rushed through her, settling in her core. Or something else?
The phone’s incessant ringing on her nightstand woke Paisley and she snatched the receiver before the noise woke Gram. “Hello?” A quick glance at the clock told her she’d been asleep for over an hour. Who would be calling so near midnight?
“Paisley, I’m sorry to wake ye. It’s Creighton. I need yer assistance.” His breathing was heavy, as if he’d been running.
She fumbled for her glasses and slipped them on. “What is it?” How could she possibly help him? The man seemed in control of everything.
“Ye said ye studied veterinary science. I’m at the stables. One of our horses is trying to foal and something’s wrong. Normally I’d call me uncle Earnan, but the storm is raging too fierce for him to drive here at his age.”
She shoved the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m on my way. Give me a couple minutes to dress.”
“Thanks. I’ll meet ye at the bottom of the steps. Please hurry. She’s a maiden mare, so she’s especially skittish. She won’t let me near her.”
Paisley tugged on jeans and the brown sweater she liked least. No doubt it would get ruined, since she didn’t have a protective jacket to wear. She shoved her feet into heavy socks and hiking boots, wishing she had her equipment bag with her. What things would she need to help the horse? Grabbing her down coat, she hurried for the stairway.