Men of Midnight Complete Collection

by Emilie Richards

  “Then you didn’t?”

  “Children have a way of hearing the very things we wish they would no’.”

  “Mara, what did you say?”

  “No’ that, exactly.”

  “What, then?”

  “Billie, you and Iain are caught up in something I dinna understand, no’ completely. But long ago your ancestors fell in love, and there were terrible results. Now you and Iain must change that. Nowt more can be said about it except this. I feel the presence of Ruaridh and Christina strongly when you and Iain are together. It’s as if they are with you.”

  “With us?” Billie held up the green wool dress that Mara had brought with her. “You mean ghosts? Iain told me today that they were married in the chapel.”

  “Nowt so direct as ghosts. I can no’ explain, because I dinna understand it myself. But there’s something more.” She slid the dress over her head and turned for Billie to zip it. “Iain will be facing trouble soon. I wish I could tell you more, but I can no’ see clearly the fate of anyone that I love. I only know that I see a black cloud moving toward Druidheachd. I see it in my dreams and when I’m awake. And sometimes recently I see Iain standing before it, his head bared and his face turned toward the sky.”

  “A black cloud?”

  Mara picked up her hairbrush and began to stroke her hair. “I worry that his life…” She stopped and shook her head.

  “What? His life’s in danger? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “It’s all mixed up in my head. I dinna know when the trouble will start, or if it already has. And there are different kinds of trouble…” She turned, and her eyes were bleak. “But he should be canny. That I know.”

  “Look, Mara, it’s your wedding night. Let go of all this now. Iain’s fine, and Lord knows he’s careful. He doesn’t let anything or anyone get too near him. You’re about to fly off to California, where you can’t do a thing. I promise I’ll keep the good laird out of the loch and fistfights while you’re gone.”

  There was a knock on the door, and it opened before either woman could answer. “Damn,” Duncan said. “I hoped I’d catch more of a view.”

  “You’ll have all the views you want later on tonight,” Billie said. “She’s almost ready.”

  “She’d better hurry. I heard a commotion downstairs. I think someone’s noticed we’re gone.”

  “I’ll take care of the dress and everything else,” Billie said. “You two scoot.” She hugged Mara again, then Duncan, who was in sport clothes, at the doorway. “Have a safe, wonderful honeymoon. And I promise, everything will be exactly the way you left it when you return.”

  Mara nodded gravely. After another round of hugs she tucked her arm into Duncan’s, and in a moment they had vanished down the back stairwell.

  The huge house felt empty, even though the shouts from downstairs were audible. Billie shivered. There was no longer a need to put on a happy front. Better than most people, she understood the place of superstition and legend in the lives of the Highlanders. From the beginning she had appreciated the story of the MacFarlane curse as a whopping big folktale to be savored and even, perhaps, to be studied for what it said about the people who had passed it along for hundreds of years.

  But now the scholarly part of her was still, and the part that seemed to be the newest link in a remarkable chain of events was begging to be heard.

  “Billie?”

  She actually jumped. She didn’t know what she had expected, but it was not Iain’s voice. She turned and found him standing an arm’s length away.

  “You were a million miles from here. Thinking about Mara and Duncan?”

  “I was thinking that I need to go home.”

  “Home?”

  “Back to Flora’s.”

  “But I have a room for you here. You don’t need to go anywhere. You can go to bed right now, if you like.”

  She didn’t want to argue. She most certainly didn’t want to tell him that she was spooked, she who relished ghost stories and bloody legends as more grist for her intellectual mill. She simply begged. “Look, will you please find me a ride home? I’m completely exhausted, and I’ll sleep much better in my own bed. I’ll owe you one if you do this for me.”

  Shouts and cheers echoed from below. Billie suspected that Mara and Duncan had just driven away. Iain shook his head. “Those who are still left are a merry lot. I can’t trust a one of them to drive you back to the village.”

  Mentally she found and discarded half a dozen potential rides. Flora had gone home several hours ago, and so had everyone else she knew well enough to ask. Even Alasdair Melville, who had been politely attentive all evening, had been called away on an emergency. “I know. What about Andrew? I’ll ask him myself.”

  “He’s gone already. He’s driving Duncan’s car with a woman who looks a bit like Mara in the seat beside him, to throw off the men who’ll be bound to chase them. Duncan and Mara are in Andrew’s car going off in the opposite direction.”

  “Clever.”

  “Not clever enough by half, but we tried.” He paused. “I’ll drive you.”

  “You can’t do that. You’re having the party of the century.”

  “I can be gone a bit. The fresh air will be welcome.”

  “Don’t try to fool me. There’s enough fresh air sweeping through these drafty old halls to pump up a million pairs of lungs.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  She realized he was absolutely determined. It was too late to say she’d changed her mind. In full dress kilt, complete with sgian dubh in a sheath strapped to his leg, he had the look of a man who would throw her over his shoulder and carry her to the car. “All right. If you’re sure.”

  He didn’t deign to answer. “Get your things. I’ll wait in the kitchen.” He pointed to the back stairwell that Mara and Duncan had taken.

  He was exactly where he’d said he would be a few minutes later, arguing with a stern-faced woman old enough to be his grandmother. Billie had seen her from a distance stalking back and forth and giving orders throughout the evening.

  “Billie, have you met Gertie Beggs, my housekeeper?”

  “No.” Billie held out her hand. Gertie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the one staying with Flora?” She shook Billie’s hand and dropped it abruptly.

  “That’s right.”

  “She’s told me of you.”

  “Don’t believe a word she says. I’m as docile as a lamb.”

  “You’ll be trouble for Master Iain.”

  “Gertie!” Iain frowned. “That’s absolutely not appropriate.”

  “She’s a MacFarlane, can you no’ ken what that means?”

  “It means I don’t judge people on anything as foolish as ancient ancestors,” Billie said.

  “I’m no’ judging you, lass. I’ve nowt against you. I’m just afraid.” To Billie’s surprise, Gertie’s eyes filled with tears.

  Iain put his hand on Billie’s shoulder. “Come on, Billie. Let me get you home.”

  Billie was upset by Gertie’s very real distress, but she knew there was nothing she could say or do to alleviate it. “That’s sounding better all the time.”

  It was snowing harder outside, and she held Iain’s arm as they walked to the garage, which was nearly hidden in a thicket of trees. Under different circumstances she would have been enchanted by the snow. Now she was merely chilled. She slipped gratefully into the passenger seat of Iain’s Jaguar and under a wool blanket that covered it.

  “It was a wonderful party,” she said as he started down the drive. She wanted to dispel the gloom generated by Gertie’s warning and her own private encounter with Mara. “You’ve made the wedding a memorable event. Stories about it will probably be handed down for generations.”

  “It turned out well. They deserved a party. Neither of them has had an easy time of it.”

  “Mara’s…” She struggled for the right word. “Predictions? Visions? I don’t know what to call them. But whatever they are, they must
take a terrible toll. She seems to feel other people’s pain.”

  “Aye.”

  “Iain, how much credence do you put in them?”

  “Is this an exam?”

  “Please, just give me your opinion.”

  “There’s magic here. There always has been, and there will continue to be long after you and I are dust. I took my degree at Oxford. I studied philosophy and logic as well as other more practical subjects, and nothing I learned there could begin to explain some of the things that Mara’s seen or some of the things that have happened in Druidheachd.”

  “Then you believe she can see the future?”

  “I’ve been personal witness to it.”

  “Is she always right?”

  “There is always some truth in what she sees.”

  Billie shivered and told herself it was the cold. “She’s worried about you.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Iain, do you think she has reason to be?”

  Again he didn’t answer.

  “Is there anything I can do? Do you really think this has something to do with me? Because if you think it does, I’ll stay as far away from you as I can. I don’t want to be accused of bringing some ancient curse to conclusion. I came to do research, not to start you on the path to doom and destruction.”

  “What led you here, Billie?”

  This time she didn’t answer. She was still ashamed of the reason she had fled her own country.

  “Why here and not somewhere else? There are a hundred picturesque Highland villages where you could have settled in and listened for stories.”

  “My family came from this one.”

  “And that called you here, didn’t it? In some curious way, that was the factor that made you choose Druidheachd. Your family has been gone from this place for a century, yet somehow you knew that a long time ago they had come from this wee dot on the British map. And so you came back.”

  “That doesn’t seem odd to me. It was a connection of sorts, and I had no other connections to guide me. Druidheachd seemed to have everything I needed. It’s remote. In many ways it’s hardly progressed into the twentieth century. Legend and superstition are still a part of the fabric of daily life. It turned out to be a perfect choice.”

  Falling snow shone in the beam of the Jaguar’s headlights as they continued along the narrow road that wound beside Loch Ceo. They were on a downward slope, moving slowly and carefully but still making good time. There was a mesmerizing crunch of snow under the tires, and the perfectly tuned purr of the engine, but otherwise the night was silent. Billie pulled the blanket tighter around her and stared out the window. There was nothing to see. The snow curtained off the shadows of mountains and the glistening waters of the loch. She and Iain were alone, in a world that seemed suddenly devoid of all other life. She couldn’t resist her next sentence.

  “Iain, Mara told me that when you and I are together she feels the presence of Ruaridh and Christina.”

  He turned to her, taking his eyes off the road for only a moment. But it was at that precise second that the car began to spin. He bit off an oath in an accent as broad as Andrew’s and began to wrestle with the steering wheel. “Hold on!”

  Billie grabbed an armrest and watched him struggle. Her own experience driving on snow was limited to none, but she knew the rules and, obviously, so did he. He steered into the spin without braking. She knew what awaited them just off the road. Together they’d already been baptized in the waters of the loch, and this time their chances of emerging were nil. The car shuddered and the tires squealed as they bounced off the road, then just as the loch loomed in front of them, Iain regained control. Carefully he edged back onto the road. Then and only then did he gently tap the brakes.

  Nothing happened except that the car picked up speed. The hill was steeper here, and the ice covering the road was thicker. Despite Iain’s efforts, the car sped faster down the hill. He tapped the brakes once more, but nothing happened. The car fishtailed again and slid sideways, turned, picked up more speed and began to careen from one side of the road to the other.

  “Arms over your neck and duck your head,” Iain shouted.

  Billie didn’t have time to think about what Iain planned to do. She did exactly as he’d ordered. A million thoughts roared through her head at once, but only one was perfectly clear.

  Somehow, she and a medieval seductress named Christina were responsible for this.

  CHAPTER 8

  He had a bruise where his forehead had slammed against the steering wheel and a shoulder that throbbed unmercifully every time he raised his left arm. The Jaguar, which had been a gift to his father as a young man, was in worse shape and now resided in Edinburgh in the care of a vintage automobile expert who promised it would be better than new when he’d finished with it.

  And then there was Billie.

  Iain woke up on Christmas morning to an empty house, images of the woman he had almost deposited in the loch and a flagrant arousal. He had been dreaming that Billie was sleeping beside him. He could still feel the slender length of a leg curved over his, the soft pressure of her breasts against his side, the silky tickle of her hair against his shoulder. He could imagine what it felt like to trail his hand down the swell of her hips and bottom before he slowly turned her onto her back and savored the welcome that awaited him.

  Merry Christmas.

  Fearnshader was as still as a tomb. His household staff was small, and because of the wedding they had worked particularly hard in the past weeks. Now they were scattered around Scotland and beyond on a well-deserved holiday, and he was completely alone. He had celebrated Christmas by himself for years, ever since he had finished his course at Oxford and returned to take over the family estate. He had not been able to bear the institution of new Christmas traditions when memories of holidays spent with his parents were still deeply entrenched within Fearnshader’s stone walls. So he had done nothing, and now nothing was a tradition itself.

  Snow had fallen through the night, and frost webbed the multipaned windows of his bedroom. He rose and hoped that the chill would chase away thoughts of Billie, but instead he found himself imagining what it would be like to have her rising with him, to stand in this room together, wrapped in each other’s arms for a good-morning kiss.

  Merry Christmas.

  An hour later, after a breakfast so silent that even the ghosts of Christmases past could not be heard, he found himself in the Land Rover that had been his gift to himself on his twenty-first birthday, driving down the loch road that had nearly been the scene of his death, to check on the woman who had nearly died with him. Hollyhock yapped at every passing car from the back seat but did nothing to distract Iain’s thoughts.

  He had tried ringing Billie, but there was something wrong with the lines in the village, a not uncommon occurrence. Once in the car he was glad that he hadn’t been able to speak to her on the phone. He wanted more, even though he knew how dangerous it was. He wanted to see for himself that she was really all right. He wanted to know that she was not suffering, that she was not lonely, that whatever had brought her to Druidheachd was not haunting her as he was haunted.

  The village was storybook lovely, with snow etching stones as old as the earth itself and blue smoke curling from ancient chimneys. He passed children in brand-new Christmas coats riding down the mellow slope of High Street on brand-new Christmas sledges.

  He parked on the street and walked up the hill toward Flora’s cottage, where an elaborate wreath hung from the door. He suspected Billie’s handiwork immediately, since the wreath was nearly as large as Flora herself. He knocked before he could change his mind and promised himself that he would only stay long enough to be certain that she was fine.

  Billie answered the door. Her red blouse was a bright contrast to the pallor of her skin. A bruise adorned her jaw and another her cheekbone. She was an independent woman, with a brain that worked like lightning and more courage than a modern major general. And still he
wanted to put his arms around her, hold her close and keep her safe forever—along with the thousand others things he could think of to do to her.

  “Iain.” She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. She reached up and touched his forehead. Lightly. Gently. And desire roared through him. “It’s worse than I thought it would be. How’s the shoulder?”

  He told himself she was just being kind. He told himself he needed to practice self-control. “Fine, if I’m careful. But I came to find out about you.”

  “Did you?” She smiled, and there was a shyness about it that enchanted him. “I’m fine. Perfect. Thanks to you.”

  “Thanks to me you were in a rather serious accident.”

  “Thanks to you I survived it. You were brilliant. I don’t know how you managed to slide into that tree instead of the loch, but we almost took our last swim together.” Her fingertips brushed his cheek as she dropped her hand. “Iain, I’m sorry. I really am. I shouldn’t have been so pigheaded and insisted you bring me back here that night.”

  “You’ve apologized ten times, Billie. And you didn’t insist that I bring you home. I volunteered, and I chose the wrong car to drive. It’s behind us now. We’re still here discussing it, aren’t we?”

  “But your Jaguar isn’t.”

  “It can be fixed. It needed some bodywork anyway.”

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  He smiled. How could he not smile at her despite every warning voice inside him? “Is it working?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes searched his. Standing so close to her he was powerless. He relived his dream, the magical feel of her body against his, the warm glide of his hand over her skin. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t have, not for any reason. “I bet you have plans for the day, don’t you?” she said at last.

  “Actually, this was as far as I’d planned.”

  “Flora’s son Steuart and his wife invited me to their house for tea. Flora’s going.”

  “Then I won’t keep you.” He didn’t move.