First order, clothes. Kate couldn’t recall what she had been wearing last night. But a dress and a sweater that belonged to her were neatly folded on a chest standing at the bottom of her large bedstead. Underwear, too. She shed her blanket and dressed. Her backpack was there. She examined it quickly and found the rest of her things intact.
She dug for her cell phone. There was still some battery power left, but it wasn’t picking up a signal. Figures. This part of Scotland seemed to be stuck in a former century.
Ten minutes later, Kate was downstairs, exploring the castle. It must have been renovated at some point, although not entirely. There was a central area that had been brought up to modern standards, but other parts of the keep had been left to rusticate in medieval splendor. She followed her nose to a huge kitchen, where a round-cheeked woman was bending over a gas range stirring a cast-iron pot. Kate stopped on the threshold, enjoying the smell of fresh bread baking. “Hullo? Excuse me for disturbing you.”
The woman turned, holding up her wooden spoon, and beamed at her. “Good morning to you, Miss. You needn’t have come down. I was going to bring up a tray.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary. I like to be active in the mornings. My name is Kate.”
“And I’m Irene Dumfries, dear. I have some water boiling for tea, if that suits you?”
“Yes, please, that would be wonderful.”
While the tea was brewing, Kate asked, “Mrs. Dumfries, did you notice what time I got here last night? I must have been sleepy from my journey, since I don’t remember my arrival too clearly.”
“Oh no. I understand from the Master that it was quite late. I have to be up to get the bread baking, you see, so I’m in bed early. Did you have a long journey? No wonder you look a little peaked. Never you mind. My cooking will fix you up in no time. How about a nice bowl of oat porridge?”
Fortunately, she liked oats. The grain figured in many of the dishes she had tried in the Highlands.
“Where is the Master? I would like to have a chat with him this morning.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Indeed, he asked that you be brought to his study as soon as you were up and about and finished with breakfast.”
She was tempted to chug her tea and bolt. She had a lot of questions. But the porridge smelled so good that she ate it in a leisurely manner and sipped her tea. The Master could damn well wait.
* * *
When Ross heard Kate’s voice outside his study door, his body reacted. His dick, which was being damned obstreperous this morning, rose aggressively. He was grateful he hadn’t donned tight pants.
She knocked on the wide oaken door. He waited a moment to try to compose himself, and then shouted for her to enter.
Kate did so. She was wearing a light summer dress and a cardigan. They must have been in the pack that he had ordered retrieved from her car. Her car was still in the village at the inn, where he had arranged for parking.
“Good morning,” he said.
She approached his desk. She regarded him with her head tilted slightly to one side. “What am I doing here? Did I drink too much or did you drug me? LSD, perhaps? I hear that causes trippy hallucinations.”
He had considered blaming the whole thing on hallucinogens. Or even an excess of single malt and a lively imagination. But he’d hoped she wouldn’t remember.
He gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Please sit.” He had placed the desk between them deliberately. It was a barrier. Without it, he was afraid he might grab her. He might even shift to the sea dragon right here, out of the water. Never had he felt less in control.
“I prefer to stand.”
Contrary woman. But he loved her spirit, her courage. He remembered the way she had squared her shoulders and bravely confronted the monster, even though she must have been terrified. No one had ever done that before.
She was his. It seemed impossible, yet it must be true. He had bonded with her mentally. She had not made any attempt to resist his invasion of her deepest and most private self. In fact, she had initiated their mental bond. Her connection with the untamed sea dragon had been powerful. She had violated the annual Midsummer’s Eve ritual, and the Zrakon could have killed her for that. Instead, he had gazed upon her in awe.
The hunger that had swept him last night was stronger than anything he had ever experienced. His extra-acute senses had sensed her heartbeat, her breathing, every slight movement she made. He had been inside her. Inside her. He wanted to explore her again, mind, body and soul. He wanted to be inside her in every possible way.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“No kidding. I woke up a little while ago in a bedroom where I don’t recall going to sleep. I’ll confess to being embarrassed. I must have taken too much of that delicious whiskey. I don’t remember much about last night. But I do know that the last time we met, you were swearing at me and threatening to have me arrested if I didn’t leave your forbidden island.”
She had the most pleasant, musical voice. He could listen to her talk all day. Even when she was annoyed with him.
Focus, he ordered himself.
She didn’t remember. Thank the gods for that. He hadn’t been certain the command to forget would work on her. He didn’t understand all the aspects of his magic, which he didn’t use often. Never before had he found himself in a predicament like this one.
He couldn’t stop staring at her. Even if he’d tried, he didn’t think he could have dreamed her up. She was exactly the sort of woman he pictured in some of his most outrageous fantasies. Her hair was such a deep black-brown that it had a sheen, as if complete darkness produced an aura of color. In contrast, her skin was ivory pale and flawless. When she blushed or grew angry, as she had been yesterday morning when he’d ordered her off the isle, rosy pink suffused her cheeks, making her face and throat look like roses over silk. Her eyes were sea green. Even without lipstick, her lips were a deep luscious pink.
And that was just her face. Her body, he knew, was equally alluring. He had held her in his arms, carrying her up the steep castle stairs and putting her to bed as gently as he could, afraid to waken her. But she had slept peacefully despite the ordeal of being abducted by the Zrakon.
“The single malt is local,” he said, endeavoring to keep his voice steady. Just looking at her made his cock jerk in his pants. “It’s a good deal stronger than anything that’s sold commercially.”
“I’d expect to have one helluva hangover, but I feel pretty good.” She sounded cheerful. He had noticed yesterday that she had a pleasant way of interacting with people. She was a genuinely friendly and outgoing person. He couldn’t say the same about himself.
“So why did you change your mind? About having me here, I mean?”
He tried a smile. “I couldn’t just leave you passed out on the beach.”
“So that’s where you found me? On the beach?”
He nodded. He meant a different stretch of sand than she remembered, though. At least he hoped she didn’t remember anything after she and the villagers had been gathered on the mainland beach, awaiting the arrival of the local monster. “Do you have any recollection of the festivities last night?”
She looked uneasy. “I remember that everybody thought some creature from the sea was going to make one of the townswomen his fuck buddy. And that she appeared to be quite willing—the result, I suppose, of drinking too much of that homegrown brew.”
Ross cleared his throat. “You did tell me you were gathering information about local folklore.”
“And you told me there wasn’t any local folklore.”
“Oh aye. But perhaps you can see now why we don’t want this legend known. The annual sea monster fucking ceremony is the sort of thing that would bring the press down upon us. Television. The international tabloids. It would be all over YouTube in minutes. Every year the villagers take a vote. Never has there been even a single endorsement for revealing our secret to outsiders. That secret has been guarded for ce
nturies.”
“Which makes me rather inconvenient, doesn’t it? What are you going to do? Slit my throat with that dirk you were brandishing yesterday?”
From deep inside him a roar erupted. “No!” Ross felt his body shudder, and for a few seconds he thought he might lose control. Shit, it was getting stronger. She is mine, the Zrakon reminded him. I want her.
“On the contrary,” he gritted out. “If what you told me yesterday about your grandparents is correct, you might not be an outsider. I don’t think you’d have been allowed to remain in the village last night if you were, and you certainly wouldn’t have slept peacefully here. Crazy though it seems, I believe this place is protected by some sort of magic. It literally doesn’t let outlanders in. If they do wander by, it plants in them a strong suggestion to leave.”
She frowned as she considered this. “What about the Rev. John Lambeth? He told me he would be witnessing the festival for the first time.”
“He was born here. He has lived elsewhere for most of his life, but he is one of us.”
“Well, I’ve lived in Boston, Mass., USA for all of my life and my parents are Americans. It’s only my grandparents who came from this corner of Scotland.”
The Zrakon has claimed you as his own, and that makes you one of us.
But of course, he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet.
“This is the opportunity I’ve decided to offer you, Ms. Beaton. I kicked you off the island yesterday, and that was rude. I’d like to make up for it by offering you a place to stay while you conduct that research you mentioned. We have a remarkable library here. I will give you the run of the place. Perhaps you will discover more about your family.
“All I ask in return is that you don’t speak or write about this to anybody. If you want to tell our story in some heavily disguised way, as fiction, that might be allowed. Perhaps a fantasy novel that’s set in some invented world?”
She returned his look with a level green gaze. “That’s very generous of you. Thank you.” She paused, and then added, “So I’m not a prisoner here, right?”
“Of course not.” He smiled reassuringly. “What an absurd idea.”
He couldn’t tell her the truth, which was that the Zrakon was unlikely ever to let her leave.
Chapter Seven
The Mallochbirn library was a treasure trove. It was full of wonderful volumes from earlier centuries, gilded and bound in leather. Kate was careful when handling the books, wearing the thin gloves Ross had provided so she wouldn’t leave oily fingerprints. Most of the books were novels, biographies, histories and poetry. There were many that she suspected were valuable first editions.
A considerable number of books were written in other languages, including French, Italian, Gaelic, German, Latin and Ancient Greek. There were a few in Russian, and several in a language that she presumed, from its script, to be Persian, Arabic, or Ottoman Turkish.
There were account books from the estate and registers of land deeds and rental contracts. Reports from gamekeepers and fisheries, distilleries and lumber mills. Malloch had invited her to examine whatever she wanted, and she took him up on that, although the sheer volume of the material was such that she could only look at a fraction of it.
She found several historical accounts of events in the Mallochbirn lands, including some information about the tenants. There were several references to the Buchanan family, whom she believed to be her ancestors. It appeared that the Buchanans had been living on the estate for many generations. There was even a record of a marriage between a Malloch and a Buchanan back in the nineteenth century. One Catriona Isabel Buchanan had married the laird at the time, Angus Charles Malloch.
That was amusing. Catriona was her own given name. The Napoleonic Age Catriona had probably been her ancestor. If so, she and the current laird were distantly related, sharing some miniscule percentage of their DNA.
Maybe I do indeed belong here, she mused. What a peculiar and fascinating idea.
She felt oddly content. She had fallen in love with the rough, craggy scenery— rolling hills and rugged mountains, wildflowers dotting the landscape, the jagged coastline, the many lochs, the fiercely pounding sea. It called to her. Her spirit seemed to have found its home.
One of the last documents Kate examined before the darkening sky outside told her that it was time to break for supper was the diagram of the castle and its grounds. There were several interesting things about the keep—it had a dungeon, for example. Probably a relic from medieval times. She hoped it wasn’t still being used!
There were also references to an underground cavern. When she read about this, she experienced a strange flash of deja vu. A cavern under the castle? Why did that sound familiar to her?
The final castle feature that intrigued her was in the garden—a maze. She loved mazes. It had been built in the late eighteenth century when such things were all the rage. Its hedgerows were intricately laid out. The puzzle was complex. But as she looked at the maze map, she saw the patterns there. She was good at pattern detection. She also had a near photographic memory, which she made use of as she memorized the maze and its solution.
A mischievous notion occurred to her, and she pondered how to put it in practice.
* * *
Mrs. Dumfries beamed as she carried a tray of delicious smelling roast leg of lamb into the Mallochbirn Castle dining room. On the friendly cook’s advice, Kate had dressed for dinner. She did have one garment suitable for eveningwear. It was a simple black dress made of a knit material that bounced back surprisingly well from being rolled up and tucked into corners of overnight bags.
It was flattering too, clinging to her curves and falling a bit short on her long, slim legs. She didn’t have a pair of heels in the backpack, but her sandals looked okay with the dress. It was summer, after all.
The dining room was quite elegant, with a huge dining table set with fine china and silver. Large portraits of Scots—probably former lairds of Mallochbirn—dominated each of the walls. There were four places set. Ross stood at the head. He indicated that she should take the seat on his left. A man she hadn’t met carried in another tray with streaming vegetables and other side dishes.
“Kate, this is my steward, Hamish,” said Ross. “He takes care of all sorts of things around the keep and the estate. Hamish, meet Catriona Beaton, my guest.”
Hamish, a wiry middle-aged man with greying red hair and a dour expression, nodded to her. Mrs. Dumfries, all smiles, added, “We don’t know what we would do around here without Hamish. He’s our rock.”
Hamish looked embarrassed and said nothing. Kate smiled at him and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Hamish’s grip was firm but quick, as if he didn’t want to intrude on her by touching her hand for more than a split second.
“Is this the entire household?” she asked.
“No, there’s also Jamie Dumfries, Mrs. Dumfries’ son, but he’s probably out chatting up the local lasses. He’s seventeen,” Ross added, as if that explained everything. Which it probably did.
“But he’s a good lad,” his mum said, smiling beneficently. “There’s also Annie, a girl from the village who’s here three days a week to help with the cleaning and shopping and such. But she goes home at night.”
“And of course, there’s Cameron,” Ross added. “He’s not around much these days, though.”
“Who is Cameron?”
“My brother. He spends most of his time in Edinburgh. Or even farther afield.”
“I didn’t realize you had a brother.”
“I have three brothers and a sister. We have a family house in Edinburgh, and those wretches escape to the city as often as possible.”
“Cameron is his twin brother, Miss,” Mrs. Dumfries chimed in, “They look so much alike that even those of us who have been with the family forever can hardly tell them apart.”
Good lord, there were two of them? And other siblings as well?
“Twins run in my family,” Ross said.
“They show up every few generations. My father wasn’t a twin, but my grandfather was.”
“So you’re the oldest brother? And the elder twin? That’s why you’re the laird?”
“Firstborn child and older twin. By eight minutes, aye. Lucky me.” He sounded as if he didn’t really consider it lucky at all.
“They’re a fine family, Miss,” Mrs. Dumfries said. “You should see them making merry when they all get together.”
“Holidays are quite a lark around here,” Ross agreed.
The food was delicious. Kate complimented Mrs. Dumfries as she tasted all the dishes, and that lady beamed with the praise.
Kate couldn’t help stealing glances at Ross Malloch even when she was addressing a comment to one of the others at the table. Everything he did seemed sexy to her—carving the roast, spooning potatoes and spinach, cutting his meat and spearing it with his fork, carrying his fork to his lips. She had to swallow the laughter that kept bubbling up inside her. If it turned her on to watch him eating, just imagine how exciting it would be to touch him, kiss him, lie down beside him...
Even more thrilling, he seemed to be reacting the same way toward her. More often than not, when she glanced at him, he was already looking at her. When their eyes met, sparks flew, and erotic visions danced in her head. Chemistry was present in the room, and all the crazy protons and electrons in her cells seemed to be yearning to bond and exchange atomic bits with his. Or something. She had never been too good at chemistry.
There was a good deal of friendly chatter at the dining table, inspired by Mrs. Dumfries, who was both affable and inquisitive, and Kate, who was naturally outgoing. Hamish didn’t have much to say, but when he did speak, his wit was dry and gentle. Kate liked him. Ross was genial enough, too, although he sometimes seemed a little distant, as if his attention kept wandering.
Shifters, Beasts, and Monsters Page 9