There was no response. But the island itself seemed to reject them, the sea churning up white and angry only steps from her feet.
Time was running out.
“Calan Duthac MacKay, I call you. I bind you with word and heart.” Kiera stumbled over the Gaelic phrases that she had seen in Agatha’s old book, but her voice was fierce. For good measure, she repeated the words twice more.
The third time the effect was electrifying. The wind roared to a howl and she was nearly knocked off her feet.
She felt Nicholas move closer, gripping her arm to hold her against a nearly horizontal gust. Something had changed….
“Straight ahead at the top of the cliff,” he muttered.
“I see them.” Six figures made their way between jagged boulders. Kiera’s heart leaped, but then hope faded.
Instinct told her that Calan was not among them.
She frowned into the wind, hunching her shoulders, glad now to have Nicholas Draycott beside her. “Calan Duthac MacKay, I call you now, by the love I bear you.”
The wind carried a distant shout across the beach. Gravel raked her face.
The first two figures came into clearer view. Kiera straightened against what felt like a physical blow of hatred.
“Magnus MacKay at their head,” Nicholas said harshly. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
The tall man who crossed the beach toward them stared from eyes as cold and hard as the stones that ringed the cove. “Leave now. You’re neither one wanted here.”
“I’ll leave when I have Calan.” Kiera lifted her voice, loud against the wind. “Calan Duthac MacKay—I call you.” More men ringed the beach, scowling behind Magnus. The island itself seemed to amplify their hostility.
And still no sign or sound from Calan.
“You’re too late,” Magnus cried angrily. “Your meddling caused his death. He’s gone from here, gone from all of us. He gave his life to save you, woman. He used all his energy to bring you back, thinking naught of himself.” His voice was hoarse with pain. “So get yourself gone from my island. Or haven’t you done enough harm to me and mine?”
Kiera closed her eyes.
Dead.
Lost to her forever.
Then the bond shimmered, pulled like a thread over the beach and up the rocky cliff. She touched warmth—and belonging.
“He is alive. You are lying to me.”
A tall figure separated from the rocks across the cove. Now Kiera saw a small stone cottage built right up against the cliff face.
Calan stood motionless, a bright tartan caught around his waist and no other clothing. The folds of wool stirred in the sharp wind as he turned toward the beach.
Kiera called his name, using the old phrases from the book of MacKay.
The bond between them snapped hard, hot and white as desire, almost knocking her off her feet.
“I bind you. I am bound in turn. The calling and my bond will last forever.” She raised one hand.
And then she began to run, with Magnus MacKay’s curses ringing in her ears….
Calan covered the sand, moving stiffly. His jaw was set. Then his arms were hard and strong, opening. Tightening around her, safe haven for them both as their bodies met.
“I am called, mo cridhe. I am bound. I and my Other hold to you.”
They heard Magnus’s scream of fury behind them.
Too late.
The wind rose as Nicholas Draycott gestured to the pilot. Scuffling feet crossed the sand.
“He’ll destroy you,” Magnus screamed. “You’ll destroy each other!”
The wind roared, gravel pelting the beach. The other men wrestled Magnus, still fighting, to the ground.
The wind abruptly died.
Sunlight shot through a ragged hole in the sullen clouds.
Kiera slid Calan’s arm over her shoulder, while Nicholas braced him from the other side.
“Let’s go home,” she said firmly. “I think that there are a few things we really should discuss.”
“The wolf,” he said, his eyes wary.
“The marriage date.” Her chin rose. “And then how many children. I’m thinking four.” She touched his bruised shoulder gently. “At least for a start.”
AGAINST THE HAMMER of the wind buffeting the plane, Kiera looked down at the waves battering the tiny island. It still seemed impossible that a community could live in such isolation, their secrets protected by storm and fog.
But the evidence was right beside her.
When Calan moved, she saw the spiraling mark on his wrist. The same silver lines covered her own. Even now the skin throbbed, and the bond between them sang with power.
In time she would understand all of it, but now was not the moment for questions. She gripped Calan’s hand, driven to feel the heat of his skin to reassure herself that he was safe.
Across from them Nicholas pulled out a small box from beneath his seat. The Englishman straightened his headphones and then opened the box. “Izzy gave me strict orders to give you this medicine. Two pills, and then I’m supposed to contact him with your temperature and vital signs as soon as I can.”
“Not absolutely necessary, but I doubt it will hurt.” Calan glanced from Nicholas to Kiera. “Something’s different between you. No more cold or distance.” He nodded slowly. “About time.”
Then he took Kiera’s hand between his strong palms, with the folds of the thick wool tartan beneath them, bright in the sudden sunlight as the clouds passed. “Let’s go home.”
EPILOGUE
Call one by a true name and he must come. Bind one by a true name and he must yield. Love one by a true clan word and he must be caught forever.
—The True Book of Clan MacKay
Draycott Abbey
Midnight
THE NIGHT IS ALIVE.
Mystery shimmers at the corner of his glance. He walks the soft grass, touches the worn stones of Draycott Abbey. Near his hand a mound of lavender and the scent of a woman.
A woman he can never forget.
For so many years he has feared discovery and the power of his own fierce hunger. Only one woman has met his dark need. Now only she can test that fear—and make him whole again.
The wind draws him through the roses and down toward the moat. His clothes drop, forgotten as the thousand scents of night flow around him. Muscles flex and blood sings, power surging through him like long-forgotten hopes.
Across the valley he feels the weight of moonlight on his bare hands.
Alive.
Alive—with such power as no mortal man can know.
Will she accept this thing he can become? Will she flinch and will he lose her forever, the one true and beautiful thing that life has given him?
No more lies. No more shadows between them. He must give her the truth tonight.
A bird cries. Moon rising.
The dark, racing shape is gone, swallowed by the darkness.
SHE WALKED through the night, following the slope down from the great oak above the moat. In the sudden silence of the forest Kiera knew she was not alone. Old fear struggled with new shocks, and with every step she beat down her uncertainty. Her bitterness was done. She had no more hatred for the abbey or its owner. Her mother’s pain was put to rest, and the healing could begin.
Kiera had gathered the things her mother had sent her to find, and in doing so the abbey had worked its magic. Elena Draycott’s daughter had found her future shimmering in the eyes of a man who had seen too much pain and far too many shadows.
Moonlight touched her shoulders. A bird cried from the darkness. The little hairs stirred at her neck as she felt the weight of a presence.
The roses whispered. She heard the rough breath of an animal hidden in the tall reeds.
The leaves shook, and then the glimpse of sleek fur. Powerful muscles bunched as she faced her stark nightmare, cast in fully physical form, blocking the path before her.
So big, she thought, her heart frozen in her chest.
>
So…intelligent.
She had guessed this would be his shape. But to be face-to-face, close enough to see the wind flatten the dark fur…
She summoned her courage and her will, turning away from the safe and familiar past to find the hope of the future in those keen, unblinking eyes.
If she flinched, she would lose him.
That much Kiera knew.
She must accept him as he was, with no fear for the powerful thing he became. If not, he would vanish into the darkness and she would never see him again.
And all her hopes of happiness would be lost with him.
She stood tall, facing him without fear. “I’m here. Whatever you are—whatever it is you do—I’m not afraid.”
The low growl made her muscles tighten, but she held her ground, determined even when the long fur brushed her leg, skimmed her knee, and she felt the hot breath of the animal against her hand.
Such power could tear her apart in seconds.
She accepted the truth of it, but that made her love stronger, slowly reaching out until her fingers met the warm pelt. Muscles tensed at her touch. The great animal turned, its gaze locked with hers.
Power. Longing. Hunger. Unknown worlds in those burning, blue-gray eyes.
Kiera reached out for the future, never looking away.
The bond between them snapped hard, hot and white as desire. The force of his love almost knocked her off her feet.
Her fingers tightened, locked in that long fur. “Calan,” she whispered. Then her voice rose in fierce command. “Calan Duthac MacKay of Na h-Eileanan Flannach—I make my calling to you. I bind you with word and heart, your body to mine. Your shape to mine.” The old Gaelic phrases were still rough on her tongue, but there was no uncertainty in the voice she raised.
“I bind you, Calan MacKay, and I am bound in turn.”
The strong muscles clenched. She felt the stir of the wind as the animal passed, lost in one leap into the tall grass.
Her hands opened in the air where he had been. She yearned to feel the fur against her palm, to touch so much power. Strangeness fell before a desire so swift that her whole body shook. In a sigh she licked lips that felt hot and achingly sensitive. She had never known such need to touch and bond.
Wind brushed her shoulders.
“I bind you, Kiera, heart of my heart.” Callused fingers touched her cheek, turning her to meet the sweet shock of his naked body, where he gripped her close.
“I bind you with word and heart, your body to mine.” His lips grazed hers, then clung to her mouth. He dragged in a harsh breath. “Your shape to mine.”
She met his kiss, her hands tangling in his hair until there was no space between their aching bodies. “I bind you and am bound in turn,” Calan said in a voice thick with desire. “I and my Other hold to you. It is done,” he said gravely.
Kiera knew it was done for all his human life. No papers or lawyers could change this bonding, done in the old way. Her knowledge of Calan’s uniqueness was still limited, but each day he told her more.
He tilted her face up to his, frowning. “You’re done with bitterness, and the Draycott past is truly healed?”
For answer, she kissed him one more time, her mouth hungry and searching. Her sister would find her own answers at the abbey. For Kiera the shadows were put to rest.
Then Calan’s hands were on her face, her hair. Wind touched her shoulders as they fought to see who could tug away her clothes first, blouse and sweater flying onto the dark grass.
Skin met yearning skin. Calan’s fingers moved slowly over her body. He claimed her…and was claimed in turn.
Moonlight spilled over the quiet glade and a bird called from the old oak at the top of the hill. But tonight the Other hunted no longer.
Draycott Abbey was at peace.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Moonlight on weathered stone.
The rich scent of roses in a spring wind.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this new journey to Draycott Abbey. Calan carries dark memories, and I have the sense that he has more secrets to reveal. My next book, Bound by Night, brings Calan face-to-face with his oldest Scottish friend, now his harshest enemy. When their conflict threatens Draycott Abbey and the life of Kiera’s sister, the abbey ghost must intervene.
With disastrous results.
Watch for Bound by Night next year.
Meanwhile, if you’re interested in my earlier Draycott Abbey stories, visit my new Web site, www.draycottabbey.com, for a complete list of the books and novellas in this magical series. Stop by for new videos, excerpts and sketches of new stories to come.
If you’d like a signed bookplate to go with your book, please drop me a note at: [email protected]. If you have a reading group, let me know so I can send you a kit of special materials for your group.
Researching a new book is always a joy for me. I’m always delighted to pass along information about my favorite research books when I’m done. If you are interested in Scotland’s grand past, you’ll enjoy At Home in Scotland, by Lesley Astaire and Roddy Martine (New York: Abbeville Press, 1987). Their book offers an engaging look into the glorious private estates of Scotland, far less seen than their counterparts to the south. Sometimes quirky, often dramatic and always unforgettable, these homes are captured in inspiring detail.
For photos of the scenic north coasts, see Charlie Waite, Scottish Islands (London: Constable, 1989). The drama and brooding power of Scotland’s mountains and shores are captured in these remarkable photographs.
For a book filled with anecdotes and historic photographs, savor The National Trust: Country House Album (Boston: Little Brown, 1989). A skillful writer, Christopher Simon Sykes shows what really happened on busy, socially connected country house weekends in the last century.
Of course only one estate has a guardian ghost and his loyal cat companion. Only one estate hides banks of rare heirloom roses and dark secrets.
And if Izzy Teague has worked his way under your skin, you can find more details about his difficult, shadowy past at my Web site. Visit www.christinaskye.com/izzyfiles for details from his secret cases and personal history.
During the first month of sale of Bound by Dreams in the winter of 2009, Izzy will be offering special prizes to randomly selected members who sign in. Be sure to drop by and ask him a question. You might be lucky and win the shirt off his back.
The T-shirt, that is.
Meanwhile, I’ve savored all your messages. Thank you for telling me again and again how much you’ve enjoyed your visits to magical Draycott Abbey. Already a new story of haunting shadows and dark betrayal is unfolding. Adrian and Gideon will soon be charged with more dangerous duties. The safety of the abbey has been betrayed.
The testing has begun.
Until your next visit, happy reading.
Christina Skye
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4429-4
BOUND BY DREAMS
Copyright © 2009 by Roberta Helmer
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.HQNBooks.com
>
Christina Skye, Bound by Dreams
Bound by Dreams Page 24