Draycott Eternal

by Christina Skye

  Maire smiled up at him with sadness in her face. “No one told me that a MacColl talked so much,” she whispered. “’Tis actions I demand now.” Her hands found him, bold in their searching. As she traced his hot, hard length, Coll threw back his head, shuddering as pleasure spiraled through him.

  Her perfume rose, a mix of heather and roses and rare spices from her dyeing herbs. Blinded by need, Coll pushed to his knees above her. “I am your enemy, Maire. I am a man you were trained to hate and fear since birth, a man who can bring you nothing but pain. Why do you welcome me and give such joy to my life?”

  She slid away the brooch that glittered on his shoulder and sighed as his naked skin met hers. “Only because I love you, Coll of Glenlyle. For now,” she whispered, “for tomorrow. For all eternity. These are my three wishes.”

  Fear blinded Coll at her words. They did not have eternity, nor even tomorrow. Their meetings could not be kept secret much longer, in spite of all his care.

  Which left only now.

  He stiffened. In one fierce stroke he parted her sweetness, sheathing himself deeper with each powerful thrust. Wildly, he drove her over the rich wool until she cried out and arched beneath him, whispering his name. Her body tensed, white and beautiful in the firelight. Passion sheened her brow and tremors drew her rigid against him.

  Coll watched, savoring her soft moans as her body closed in velvet tremors against him.

  All they needed was time, and time they would not have.

  When her eyes opened, he gripped her hands and moved within her, desperate to drown the fear, desperate to feel her passion yet again.

  Desperate to stay with her forever.

  He groaned and found the pounding pace of release within her while their hands linked. But even as fire swept through Coll, the north wind screamed over the glen and a pair of ravens laughed mockingly from the old stone circle.

  Somewhere a noose was closing around them.

  TWO HOURS LATER, the moon floated behind a veil of clouds and something tapped at Ian’s window.

  He flinched and began to sweat. A man in a black jumpsuit leveled a gun on Jamee as she ran through the fog. She was terrified, close to exhaustion, and Ian could do nothing to help her.

  Gasping, he sat up, gripping the sheets. Only a dream, he told himself, waiting for the terror to fade.

  Sweat streaked his forehead. Only a dream.

  Then he heard a sharp cry of panic from the far side of the room.

  Dear God, it was Jamee.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  JAMEE STOOD BESIDE the door, shaking the doorknob. The blankets were shoved in one corner and a long ribbon lay draped around her shoulders.

  She looked like a Christmas gift, Ian thought, satin over gold skin and silken curves.

  “Jamee?” he whispered, afraid to move. Afraid his touch might spiral her deeper into nightmares.

  She turned slowly. Her face was sheet-white. Her hands clutched her gown against her chest, where she had scooped it from the floor.

  “I woke up,” she whispered. “Just now. In spite of the dream I woke up, and this time I almost remembered.” Her dark eyes were enormous in the pale oval of her face. “You were there, too. At least, it felt like you. What does it mean, Ian?”

  “It means you’re beginning to control the memories. When you stop fighting them, they lose their power, Jamee.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Yes,” Ian said, pulling his jacket around her shoulders. Wanting to pull her against his chest instead.

  “I’m not running,” she said. “There’s a reason I’ve come here and a reason I’ve found you. I’ve got to find out what it is.”

  Ian didn’t answer.

  “Do you believe in fate, Ian?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Sometimes fate is just an excuse for our own mistakes.”

  “And the other times?”

  “We make our own fate, fashioned out of our fear and our hopes.” He smoothed the sheets and spread the coverlet over the bed, then turned down one corner. “Now, forget about fate and get some rest.”

  Jamee didn’t move. “Only if you’re beside me. Otherwise the dreams…they’re so close tonight.”

  Pain, Ian thought. But he nodded and moved to the far side of the bed. If he was very, very careful, he might be able to keep from touching her.

  AN HOUR BEFORE dawn Ian lay asleep with one leg sprawling off the end of the bed. As he dreamed about pink sand beaches and the hot, white burn of the Southern Cross, something warm and soft poured over his chest.

  He opened his eyes and saw Jamee’s hands, Jamee’s warm silky hair and slumberous body. She was draped over him like tinsel on a Christmas tree.

  A cold shower, he told himself tightly. No, a dozen cold showers, he decided as her hand slid under the covers and nudged the hot skin that hardened at her touch. In spite of his discomfort, Ian felt a grin curve his lips. She had turned to him in the night, drawn because she trusted him—even in her sleep. That fact made his grin grow huge.

  Another part of his anatomy grew huge, too.

  With a drowsy sigh Jamee laid her head against his arm. Her leg slid beneath his while her hand opened over his naked chest.

  Ian swallowed hard and felt all his careful rules go soaring out the window.

  JAMEE OPENED her eyes and looked around her as sunlight spilled through the curtains. A briefcase was shoved against the corner of the desk and a man’s comb and brush occupied the dresser.

  Ian’s comb.

  Ian’s brush.

  She remembered the feel of warm muscles flexing beneath her fingers and the dense springy hair that covered his chest. Which meant she had poured herself over him.

  Again.

  Her face flamed. Why did she have no willpower where Ian McCall was concerned?

  A sound came from the bathroom. Ian emerged wearing a pair of black jeans unbuttoned at the waist. His hair was slicked back and beads of moisture skittered down his chest.

  Jamee couldn’t take her eyes off him. Her throat felt dry and her heart began to hammer. “I—I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  She forced her gaze away from that glorious expanse of wet skin. “Bunking with me wasn’t part of your job description,” she said tightly. She tugged the sheet close, wrapped it twice around her body and pushed swiftly to her feet.

  “Jamee, stop.” Ian caught her wrist and pulled her to a halt. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m not falling apart, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “But you thought it. I can read it right now in your face. And don’t try to tell me that waking you up in the middle of the night without a stitch on is standard procedure for your clients.”

  “You know it isn’t.”

  Jamee took a hard breath. “You asked me once what I wanted from you, Ian.” She watched a drop of water inch down his neck. She could barely keep from brushing it off with her fingertip. Or maybe with her lips, while her tongue did slow, carnal things to his skin. Then maybe he’d stop frowning and the light would fill his eyes again as it had in the cottage.

  Maybe not.

  “All I want is for the waiting to be over. I want to be in control of my life again.” She ran a hand awkwardly through her hair. “How close are you to having answers?”

  Ian pulled on a black turtleneck. “Every lead is being checked. It’s only a matter of time until we find the clue we need.”

  Jamee gave a ragged laugh. “In other words, you still haven’t got anything solid. The kidnappers could even be one of the people here at Dunraven.”

  Ian’s jaw moved, but he didn’t answer.

  “Tell me, Ian. The truth. Please, no more lies.”

  After a moment, he shrugged on his jacket. As before, his hand moved unconsciously, checking each pocket. “All right, no lies, Jamee. They could be anyone, anywhere. I can vouch for Duncan, Kara and Angus, but beyond that…” He di
dn’t finish.

  He didn’t have to.

  Jamee swayed as his meaning hit. Anyone. Anywhere.

  She straightened her shoulders. “Thank you for being honest at least.” She ran one hand over a cone of silk bouclé thread. “You wanted my schedule?”

  Ian nodded.

  “I’ll be here working for two hours. I want to finish my last design for Duncan and Kara. After that, I don’t know. I thought maybe I’d walk down to Rose Cottage. My parents were very happy there…”

  “Don’t go alone. Duncan or I will go with you.”

  He was right, of course. He was doing everything necessary to keep her safe, and she couldn’t make his job any harder.

  “I understand.” At the same time Jamee felt as if she were suffocating, held captive in the shadows of this beautiful old castle while every choice was inexorably taken from her control.

  KARA PUSHED ASIDE a curtain and looked out at the dark curve of the sea. “Something’s not right, Duncan.”

  Her husband moved behind her. “What do you mean? You’ve got a house full of Christmas decorations, twelve dozen racks of vintage clothing and a steam train on the back lawn. What could possibly be wrong?”

  “I’m serious, Duncan.” Kara shivered. “Something’s out there. Watching. Waiting.”

  Duncan made a sharp sound and pulled her around to face him. “Did you see something, Kara? Something that might affect Jamee?”

  Her eyes widened, staring over his shoulders. Her body went very still. Seconds passed before Kara took a sharp breath and shook her head. “No, I didn’t see anything. Not the way you mean. It’s just a feeling, like an itch at the back of my neck that won’t go away.”

  “Then forget about it. Jamee’s in the best of hands. Between Ian, myself and the rest of the men from Security International, she’s as safe as the queen.”

  Kara rested her hand against his cheek. “Are you always so confident?”

  “I wasn’t once. You saved my life then, and I’ll never forget it. I know what you can do, Kara. What you can feel. If you’re feeling something specific like that now—”

  “No.” She sighed and sank back against his chest. “Not like before, with your brother Kyle. I guess I’m just tired from the pregnancy and finishing up this shoot. Tell me to shut up, why don’t you?”

  Duncan’s eyes darkened. His hand slid into hers. “Actually, I had something else in mind for you to do, my love.”

  TWO HOURS OF WORKING warp textures of green and smoke and rose into a huge bouclé landscape left Jamee with a stiff neck and a raging appetite. She smoothed the six-foot tapestry, pleased with the curve of Dunraven’s dark hills above a darker coast. She rubbed her aching neck and thought of the scones she’d been smelling for an hour. Her hair flowed unbound around her shoulders, as she pulled on a sweater and slipped on her shoes.

  She almost bumped into Hidoshi at the kitchen door.

  “In search of food?”

  Jamee nodded conspiratorially. “Those scones that Angus makes would be just the thing.”

  Hidoshi smiled. “Especially smothered with butter and fresh honey.”

  “You get the butter, and I’ll get the tea going.” As Jamee moved around the kitchen, she frowned. “Are you nearly done with your shoot?”

  “Two more days. Maybe three. Having us here has been the devil of a nuisance for Kara and her husband, but Dunraven’s been very good about it. I think he’s worrying that Kara will overwork. Now especially.”

  Jamee set three blueberry scones on a Wedgwood plate and went searching for honey. “Now?”

  “She’s expecting a child.” Hidoshi’s face creased in a grin. “She doesn’t think that anyone else knows, but Duncan’s so delirious he’s been telling everyone he’s a father-to-be. Then he remembers and he swears us all to secrecy.” Hidoshi shook his head. “She’ll be spitting nails if she finds out, not that it matters. She forgives him for anything when he gives her one of those hot Highland looks.”

  Jamee didn’t laugh. She’d seen those looks from Ian and knew how absolutely lethal they could be. She frowned down at the honey and licked a drop from her hand.

  “I hope you won’t mind if I take some photographs of your weaving. It’s got incredible texture, just the sort of thing I like to shoot.”

  “Be my guest. I’m sure Kara and Duncan wouldn’t mind.”

  Hidoshi slid his lanky body into a chair across from Jamee. “Actually, Kara suggested it. I think she wants the pictures as a gift for Duncan.”

  The door creaked open. A young man in a baseball hat with a smiling Mickey Mouse face on it grinned at Hidoshi. “I wondered where you’d gone. I should have known food was involved.”

  Hidoshi held up a half-eaten scone. “Come and join us in gluttony, my friend. There’s honey and Jamee’s made tea.” The photographer turned to Jamee. “This is Rob Day, my assistant. Be careful you don’t play poker with him, because he never loses. I think he cheats, but I’ve never been able to catch him at it.”

  “Because I’m too good, boss.” Hidoshi’s assistant grinned and held out a hand. The baseball cap inched back on his head. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Night. The weaving is cool.”

  “Thank you.” Jamee handed over a scone and another teacup. “Have you been working outside all morning?”

  The young man rubbed his neck and nodded. “Setting up for a series of shots from the cliffs. Damn tiring work in this wind.” He pulled up a chair, wolfed down one scone, and grabbed another off Hidoshi’s plate.

  “Hey, get your own grub,” Hidoshi barked.

  “Try to make me!”

  In a moment, the two were scuffling like teenagers. Jamee watched them in silence, feeling about a hundred years old. Maybe having a price on your head did that to you.

  No self-pity, she told herself curtly. Self-pity was stupid, as well as useless.

  “Have you seen Rose Cottage?” Hidoshi asked after landing a final punch on Rob’s shoulder that nearly sent his teacup flying.

  “Not yet.”

  “You should go right now. The sun’s out and the hills are beautiful in the light. According to Dunraven legend, whoever spends the first night of their honeymoon at Rose Cottage will never part.” His brow rose in a wicked slant. “I for one hope so, since Duncan and Kara were nice enough to let Megan and me stay there on our honeymoon. The place really is magic, you know.”

  “So was the magnum of champagne I heard Duncan sent down to you.” Rob grinned. “You two were probably drunk for a week. Talk about magic.”

  Another scuffle seemed imminent, but Hidoshi abruptly looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. “Kara will be going nuts in the ballroom. We’re setting up a period shoot of a Victorian Christmas and the lighting is a killer. By the way, I’m sorry you missed the dinner scene last night. Hope you’re feeling better.”

  “Like a new woman,” Jamee said lightly.

  Hidoshi tapped his jaw, then looked at Rob. “Maybe you could take Jamee down and show her the cottage. I still need a few shots of the exterior, and I suppose I could trust you to manage them without ruining all my film,” he said, breaking into a smile.

  “Righto.” His lanky assistant finished off his fourth scone and looked at Jamee. “If you still want to go, that is.”

  “Fine with me.” Jamee finished her tea and pushed to her feet, then remembered Ian’s warnings. “Have either of you seen Ian this morning?”

  “Wasn’t he with you?” Hidoshi asked. The calm assumption of their intimacy made Jamee flush.

  “He left several hours ago.”

  Hidoshi worked a hand through his purple-streaked hair. “I haven’t seen him. Have you, Rob?”

  His assistant pulled off his cap and scratched his forehead. “I think he was talking with Angus and one of the workmen down by the orchard.”

  “Perfect. That’s right on your way to the cottage,” Hidoshi said decisively. “What are you waiting for?”

  “You’re sure he was there?” Jamee h
esitated.

  “No doubt about it. Not unless there’s another man around here who’s wearing solid black and watching everyone who comes in and out like they might be alien cyborgs sent to take over earth. What did you say his job was, anyway?”

  Jamee looked out at the hills, golden in the morning sunlight. “He analyzes things.”

  “Like the stock market?”

  “No, not that kind of thing. Things that are far more important than blue-chip stocks or municipal bonds.” She walked to the door, suddenly anxious to see Ian again. “Down the hill to the right, isn’t that the way?”

  ROSE COTTAGE was just as magical as Jamee had expected from her parents’ description. The low, thatched roof was bare of roses now, but pine trees and holly clustered by the front door and slanting sunlight left squares of gold in the narrow windows. In spring, the cottage would be smothered in colors, awash in the fragrance of roses.

  Inside, wooden beams crossed the painted ceiling above a vast stone hearth streaked with sunlight. “I had no idea the cottage was so old,” Jamee said. “There’s some kind of stillness about it. Almost like an air of expectation. It makes the hairs prickle on my neck.”

  “Weird, isn’t it? I noticed that right away.” Beside her, Rob crouched low, busily clicking pictures of the roof. “One of my shots was full of shadows that shouldn’t have been there. Hidoshi claims it’s because I held my camera toward the sun, but who knows? After visiting Dunraven, I’d believe in anything—even a few ghosts.” He was quiet for a moment, then gave an uncertain chuckle. “Why don’t you go inside and look around?”

  As Jamee pushed open the door, something rustled in the bushes beside her.

  “There he is again,” the photographer whispered.

  “Who?”

  “That big gray cat. He’s curled up in the sun at the edge of the walk.”

  Jamee looked back, stunned to see a long gray form resting languidly in a bar of sunlight between two hedges. How had the animal gotten all the way up here?

  The gray head tilted and his amber eyes flickered. Once again, Jamee had the disturbing sense that the cat was looking deep into her mind, reading images that even she was not aware of.