She was talking to the devil!
And it didn’t matter a whit whether he was the real one or, as he claimed, just some kind of hellish guardian. Either way was just a bit too much.
Ghosts, she could handle.
Vampires, werewolves, devils, and demons weren’t her cuppa.
She was a paranormal-light kind of gal.
Unfortunately, she knew without asking that he wasn’t going to let her go anywhere until he’d had his say. And—she must be really losing it—but for some oddball reason, seeing his flash of perturbation when he’d mentioned Gregor and the mask made him seem less scary.
Almost . . . human.
So she put back her shoulders and took a deep breath, trying to look braver than she felt. “Why did you want Hardwick to see how close you could get to me?”
“Because”—he leaned against the window ledge, crossing his legs at the ankles—“I meant to threaten him with your soul. He needed to see I could take it if I desired.”
“You meant to take my soul?”
“It was a consideration, aye.”
Cilla stared at him, pretended bravura forgotten. “And now?”
She had to know.
“I chose otherwise.” He flicked a pebble off the window ledge, watching as it fell to the sea. “I decided to return Seagrave’s soul instead. So to speak, of course, considering his soul never left him. Only his life—”
“What?” Cilla’s eyes rounded.
Her heart slammed into her ribs and her blood roared in her ears. “Are you saying he’s a real man again? You broke his curse?”
“You could put it that way, aye.” He lifted a hand, examining his knuckles. “Though hearing the words makes me wonder what possessed me to do the like. I never did care for that cocky bastard.”
“But—”
“Touch her and I’ll kill you!” Hardwick burst into the courtyard, sword swinging. “A thousand times if that’s what it takes!”
“Indeed?” The Dark One looked unconcerned.
“Hardwick!” Cilla ran between them, flinging her arms wide. “No fighting . . . please!”
He grabbed her, yanking her behind him. “Stay out of this, lass,” he ordered, his voice terse. “You’ve no idea what he can do. I have to fight him.”
If he had the strength.
He’d spent the best part of the day trying to sift himself to Seagrave. Again and again, he’d failed, each attempt either not working at all or only getting him to the outermost reaches of Mac’s lands.
Until he’d summoned all his will for one last effort that landed him facedown in the mud of the path leading to his former home.
He’d needed forever to push to his knees.
Then he’d staggered about like a drink-taken fool, picking his way through weeds and fallen masonry and only gaining some semblance of his strength when he heard Cilla’s voice coming from the depths of the ruin.
Her voice and a laugh he recognized at once.
He shuddered, determined to keep her from the fiend’s clutches if it was the last thing he did.
“Conjure a blade, Dark One.” He narrowed his eyes on his foe, fury pounding through him. “We both know you can. Fight me like a man. . . . If you dare!”
The Dark One remained where he was, leaning arrogantly against the ledge of a window that had once been one of Hardwick’s favorites.
“I can summon a thousand swords,” he taunted, recrossing his legs casually. “One for each death you’ve threatened me with. But alas”—he sounded bored—“I’m here for another reason.”
Hardwick balanced his blade, readying to lunge. “Name one good enough to keep me from running you through.”
“It would be foolhardy.” The Dark One’s gaze dipped to his mud-splattered kilt and the dirt smudges on his knees. “Not wise at all in your condition.”
“My condition?” Hardwick glared at him.
The Dark One shrugged. “If you do not know—”
“I know that my blade craves blood.” Hardwick flung his left arm behind him, seizing Cilla’s wrist when she tried to clutch at him. “It’s been too long since its thirst’s been quenched!”
“And how long has it been since you’ve been a man?”
“That’s a fool question if e’er there was one.” Hardwick refused to answer it.
A Highlander was always a man.
And on a more practical note, the Dark One knew to the hour how long Hardwick hadn’t been a flesh-and-blood man.
He wouldn’t be baited.
Especially not in front of Cilla and, with surety, not when she was crying.
He blinked, catching the bright glitter in her eyes out of the corner of his own. The funny way her lower lip quivered and her breathing seemed to have gone all shallow and gulpy.
“O-o-oh, don’t you see?” She twisted free of his grip and tossed back her hair. “He’s lifted the curse. You’re whole again, just as before! That’s why he’s here. He came to tell me.”
She flashed a look at the Dark One as if they were old friends.
Hardwick frowned.
The Dark One may once have been a man, but Hardwick doubted he’d ever been anyone’s friend.
Sheathing his sword, he folded his arms. “That canna be.” He dismissed the notion at once. “You forget I sifted myself here. Were I others again, I would no’ have been able to do that.”
“And you’ll ne’er be able to do it again.” The Dark One drawled the words. “Transporting yourself here used the last reserves of such powers left to you. They’ve been dwindling ever since you hurtled back to life through the redemption tunnel.”
Hardwick snorted. “Redemption tunnel! I’ve ne’er heard the like in all my centuries.”
The Dark One arched a superior brow. “Perhaps because you were cursed and forbidden entry?”
“And you sent me into such a miracle-spending place?” Hardwick put his hand back on his sword hilt. “I dinna believe it. I ken your trickery.”
Annoyance flashed in the Dark One’s eyes. “You wouldn’t comprehend a thimbleful of my capabilities. Though I’ll ask if you haven’t felt weakened of late? Easily wearied and desiring mortal needs, such as sleep and other pesky habits?”
Hardwick set his jaw, not about to admit the like.
True as the queries were.
As unobtrusively as he could, he slipped his sword hand behind his back and flicked his fingers to summon his shield.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, this time using more vigorous wriggles. But he failed anew. His shield didn’t appear in his hand as was its usual wont.
In the window, the Dark One’s lips curved in a knowing smile.
A smile without warmth.
“It’s quite true, I assure you.” His voice was smooth, sovereign. “But if you persist in doubting me, I’ll regret my largesse so much that I’ll reverse your good fortune!”
At his words, Cilla stifled a sob.
Hardwick shot a glance at her, not missing that she’d blanched. The hand she’d pressed to her mouth trembled. She really did believe the whoreson. And seeing that she did gave his heart an unexpected lurch. His stomach clenched and churned, disbelief making it impossible to hope.
A pain, sharp and stinging, squeezed his heart.
He drew a deep breath, considering the Dark One with distrustful eyes. “If this be true . . . to what do I owe the honor?”
His foe threw back his head and laughed. “Not yourself, be sure of it!”
“What, then?”
His face sobering, the Dark One glanced aside, his gaze skimming out over the dark waters of the North Sea to the distant horizon beyond. When he turned back, he wore a grieved expression so surprisingly sincere Hardwick almost felt sympathy for him.
Knowing better, he folded his arms instead, waiting.
The Dark One pushed off the window ledge, a whiff of sulfur swirling around him. “It was your lady, Seagrave. I . . .” He made a gesture, looking annoyed
again. “I should not have gone to Dunroamin—”
“You what?” The ground dipped beneath Hardwick’s feet. His sword hand began to itch again. “Dinna tell me you—”
“Your lady can explain later.” Impatience edged the Dark One’s voice. “Press me and I shall leave you without an explanation. As is”—he glanced once more at the sea—“suffice it to say that it was not wise for me to see her. She reminded me of someone I knew long ago. Someone—”
“Someone you loved and lost.” Cilla finished for him.
Hardwick scowled at her.
The Dark One nodded. “It was many years past.” He looked at Hardwick, his obsidian gaze going deep. “Longer centuries than even you could count. But I never forgot. Her loss pains me to this day.”
He drew a long breath and released it slowly. “I nearly undid your curse that day I appeared to your lass at Dunroamin. Even”—he gave a bitter-sounding laugh—“felt bad for having frightened her. Imagine! But once I returned to my temple, I caught myself. . . . Until you strode into my inner sanctum, offering your all for one night in her arms. When you refused my offer of her soul for the pleasure—a test, no more—I remembered how I’d held my own woman’s cold and limp body, begging gods who wouldn’t listen to restore her to me. And I . . .”
He looked aside again, his expression hardening.
“You were moved to give us a chance.” Cilla’s voice broke on the words.
She reached for Hardwick’s hand, twining their fingers.
He frowned, not believing a word. “There’s more. Even if you were moved by my lady’s resemblance to someone you knew thousands of years ago, I’ll ne’er accept you’d release a soul so easily.”
The almost imperceptible tightening of the Dark One’s lips proved it.
Wanting the truth, Hardwick yanked his hand from Cilla’s and whipped out his sword again. Raising it with lightning speed, he pressed its tip beneath the Dark One’s chin.
“Tell me now how it really was, or I’ll do my best to prove you can be killed.”
“Do you wish to spoil a romantic tale in front of your lady?” The Dark One cocked a brow, a look of mock surprise on his handsome face. “A pity . . .”
“Speak.” Hardwick pressed his sword tip harder against the Dark One’s neck.
As if swatting at a fly, the Dark One flicked a hand and the blade vanished, reappearing in its sheath at Hardwick’s side.
Smiling coldly at his little victory, the Dark One took a step forward. “The truth, Seagrave, is that I had no choice. There are powers in the Otherworld even greater than myself and my master. You evoked them yourself when you refused Cilla’s soul to be taken in exchange for your boon.”
“I broke my own curse?” Hardwick still couldn’t believe it.
“Call it what you like.” The Dark One shrugged. “Your selflessness unleashed the only power I cannot battle. The eternal strength of a pure and loving heart. In the moment you roared ‘Nae!’ at me, your love for your lady ripped open the entrance to the redemption tunnel and, much as I would have wished otherwise, I could not have prevented you from hurtling into it.”
Hardwick stared at him, too stunned for words.
Somewhere deep inside him, something coiled tight and then sprang free, releasing his doubt. His heart thundered wildly and his throat worked, the emotion clogging it making it difficult for him to deny his foe’s words.
Now he knew why he’d been plagued by such weariness of late. The all-too-mortal maladies he’d brushed aside as lust-dizziness.
“By all the saints!” He grabbed Cilla and pulled her against him.
She sobbed, flinging her arms around him and holding tight. “I told you it was true! I also believe he loved a woman who looked like me.”
She threw a glance at the Dark One. “You did, didn’t you?”
For a moment, his eyes darkened and a shadow crossed his face. But rather than answer her, he turned to Hardwick.
“Your journey from here, Seagrave, is your own.” Looking his formidable self again, he gripped Hardwick’s shoulder, squeezing hard. “Use it wisely. You know I’ll be watching.”
And then he was gone.
Only a stir in the wind and a faint whiff of sulfur indicating he’d even been there at all.
Chapter 18
“Wow.” Cilla began to shake all over.
The Dark One, or whoever he’d really been, might have vanished, but he’d upturned her world in his passing. Tiny whirlwinds still eddied across the courtyard’s grass-and-weed-clogged expanse, little twirling gusts of dried leaves and whatnot settling onto the ancient, muddied ground.
Her pulse leapt and skittered, showing no sign of slowing down.
She could still feel his presence.
The portent of his revelations hung heavy in the air. So thick, she almost choked on the hope he’d left with them. A tight, hot-throbbing knot grew in her throat, and her eyes began to burn.
She squeezed them shut and took several long, deep breaths, trying to ground herself.
But it didn’t do any good.
The wild, giddy exhilaration coursing through her wasn’t going anywhere.
So she did the unthinkable.
She started to cry, this time not bothering to check her tears.
“Cease your crying, sweetness.” Hardwick grasped her by the arms, holding tight. He was scowling again, the distrust back in his eyes. “There may no’ be a reason to rejoice, and if there isn’t, I canna stand the sight of your pain.”
“But it is true!” She blinked up at him, her heart thundering wildly. “All of it. I know it here,” she cried, pounding a fist against her breast. “I see it on you, too. There’s something different!”
And there was.
A sliver of doubt where only confidence had been before.
“You must believe!” She leaned into him, winding her arms around his neck, willing him to have faith. “If you don’t, maybe the undoing of the spell won’t work. It could be reversed, or the redemption tunnel might pull you back up into it.”
“I’m no’ sure anything has happened to be reversed. And I’m more than skeptical about the so-called redemption tunnel.” He shook his head, denial all over him. “There’s only one way to know for sure, and I’ll no’ risk that.”
“I say we do . . . try!” Swallowing against her tears, Cilla lifted up on her toes, kissing him hard and fierce before he had a chance to pull away.
She wound her arms around his neck, clinging to him in case he tried. “Please . . .” She let her tongue glide deep and pressed herself against him, well aware that the feel of her breasts rubbing across his chest might sway him.
He did groan, the hot slide of his own tongue tangling with hers. His sexy sandalwood scent drifted around her, flooding her senses and making her swoon. “Lass . . .” He pulled back to nip and lick her lips, then splayed his fingers across the back of her head, angling her face to kiss her more deeply.
“See.” She breathed the word against his mouth. “We’re kissing and nothing is happening.” Breaking away, she let her tongue glide along his jaw and then swirled its tip across the bottom of his ear. “No bogeymen jumping out of the shadows, no red devils, no—”
She jerked back, her eyes widening at the sudden rock-hard swell lifting his kilt. Hot, heavy, and demanding, it thrust urgently against her, making her burn even through the thick woolen folds of his plaid.
“Oh, my . . .” Her breath caught and her heart galloped. Leaning in for another kiss, she rubbed herself against him, already melting.
“O-o-oh, nae.” He set her from him forcefully, scowling darker than she’d ever seen. “As you’ve noticed, something is happening, and we must end it here and now.”
He stepped back, breathing hard. “I shouldn’t have forgotten myself, and I’ll no’ be endangering you—”
“Does that mean you won’t trust me, either?” Cilla stepped back, too. But she shrugged off her jacket as she did so, tossing it onto the g
rassy, rubble-strewn ground. “I thought we’d moved past all that. Have you forgotten the bliss you’ve given me? How I’ve lain open before you, begging, then quivering beneath your kisses?”
She lifted her chin, knew her eyes were blazing. “Yes, I mean those kisses.”
She wouldn’t have believed it, but he flushed. “Lass . . . dinna do this.”
“Or”—she glared at him, on a roll—“how you gave me those looks during my broken-china class, making me feel your fingers playing with me, even slipping beneath my panties to dip in and out of me and then rub my clit until I could hardly see straight, much less hold a workshop!”
“Cilla . . .” He shoved a hand through his hair. “You’ve seen the dangers. The Dark One’s word canna be trusted. I’ll no’ risk—”
“I believe him!” Grinning now, she reached for the buttons of her blouse, undoing them with a speed and deftness that surprised her. “As for trust, there are some who’d say I’m the one who’s needed the most trust in this twosome!”
Her blouse landed near her jacket.
The tilt in his kilt jerked.
She tossed back her hair, sent her bra flying. “Well?”
He turned away, his hands clenched at his sides.
Cilla bit down on her lip, drawing blood. Then she bent to tug off her shoes and socks. Straightening, she grabbed her belt buckle, undoing it so swiftly she broke a nail. Heart pounding, she ripped open her waist snap and yanked down the zipper. It took her less than a wink to rid herself of her pants and panties and kick both aside.
The moment she did, Hardwick tensed. As she looked, a great shudder ripped through him and his fisted hands tightened visibly, his knuckles now white.
She drew a deep breath and straightened her back.
It was now or never.
“Turn around.” Her voice brooked no refusal. “I’m naked.”
“Damnation!” He whirled to face her, closing the distance between them in two great strides. “I’d sworn no’ to touch you again. You shouldn’t have done this,” he growled, reaching for her, pulling her so hard against him she gasped. “ ’Tis too late now. . . . I canna help myself.”
Tall, Dark, and Kilted Page 29