With Dreams Only of You

by Kathryn Le Veque, Suzan Tisdale, Eliza Knight, Cynthia Wright, Christi Caldwell, Eva Devon

  “Then we’ll see how you feel in the light of day and when the adventure is over.”

  Mac squared her shoulders and ran up the stairs and into the castle.

  He lingered. Maybe his parents’ love had made him different, but he wasn’t a fool when it came to these things. When love hit you like a ton of bricks, you didn’t ignore it or deny it. You grabbed it because you never knew when it might be taken away.

  And while he couldn’t definitely say he loved Mac, he knew she belonged to him. Destiny had put her in his path and only fools questioned the almighty hand of destiny.

  Or. . . Someone was afraid and it was very clear that Mac was afraid to ever trust that someone wouldn’t abandon her at the first opportunity.

  It was going to be quite the challenge proving to her that love was worth the risk. Thank God he loved a challenge.

  Chapter Nine

  Mac had no idea where Connor had found her a pair of hiking boots, but they fit perfectly. And she was exceptionally glad she had them because the grass and heather were soaked with dew. And they weren’t exactly on a leisurely stroll.

  She had a really sneaky feeling he’d sent someone to Fort William to buy them yesterday. The Duke of Aberoth seemed, much like James, to be the kind of guy who got stuff done come hell or high water.

  Dawn light bathed the Highlands in purple and gold. It would have been absolutely breathtaking if she wasn’t already out of breath. As she kept climbing up, she promised herself to start a serious fitness routine when she returned home. Never again did she want to be red-cheeked and huffing for breath while following two uber-hot, ridiculously fit men up a mountainside.

  She paused and couldn’t stop herself from staring at James. He moved so easily over the uneven terrain, his broad body working as if it had been made to carry a fifty pound pack over rocky mountains.

  He glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. “Do you need any assistance, Mac?”

  “No,” she immediately piped. She refused to admit how out of shape she was. “I’m fine. Carry on.”

  He gave her a playful salute and resumed climbing.

  Mac hoisted her pack on her shoulders and pushed herself forward.

  This morning had been awkward. Awkward on her part. She’d sipped her coffee eyeing James as if he’d grown a second head. But he seemed to act like last night’s conversation hadn’t happened at all.

  Which only made it more awkward in her opinion.

  If she didn’t know better, she’d have chalked it up to one of her intense and terribly realistic dreams.

  How could he talk like that then act as if nothing had happened?

  If possible, he was nicer. He’d insisted on carrying her water and sandwiches. Essentially she was carrying an extra sweater in her pack and her phone.

  He’d also taken great delight in speaking very loudly to Connor, seeming to take perverse pleasure in the Duke’s every wince.

  In fact, Aberoth was a good thirty feet ahead of them, silent, and climbing with a determination that suggested that he was in no mood to make light of his, no doubt, mind bending hangover.

  It served him right, after all that nonsense he’d spouted about her glorious freckles and how he’d love to show her his treasures.

  She rolled her eyes.

  There was only one word for someone like that.

  Manwhore.

  Charming manwhore, but manwhore nonetheless. She could still enjoy his company but she pitied any woman who fell for Connor.

  Then again, she had a dangerous suspicion that James wasn’t exactly a saint when it came to women. From the way he had kissed her senseless, he clearly had a great deal of experience at rendering women speechless with his lips.

  Which only made her wonder how skilled he was with those lips in other areas. . . No. She wasn’t going to let herself think those thoughts. That wasn’t what she was here for. She was here to end her crazy dreams. Not start an affair with a guy who’d leave her in a lurch the moment he got what he wanted.

  She focused on step after step until she realized both Aberoth and James had stopped at the mouth of a small cave in the hillside.

  “Here?” James asked, a note of astonishment in his usually deep voice.

  Aberoth scowled. “You said to keep the damned thing away from people.”

  James nodded. “True.”

  Aberoth whipped a flashlight out of his pack. “Let’s go, but mind your step. It’s old and while it has been used by humans for some time, there are still loose rocks and uneven ground.”

  James held out his hand and looked at her expectantly.

  It would be so easy to be defiant, but as she looked at his strong hand, she couldn’t fight her urge to slip her fingers into his grasp. She loved holding his hand. There was no point denying it.

  Before she could give it a second thought, she slipped her fingers into his.

  They stepped into the cool, dark space. It smelled intensely of water and old earth.

  “This was a Jacobite hideout hundreds of years ago,” Connor said. “In the last days, just after Culloden, several wounded men holed up here, trying to avoid the British.”

  “Did they escape?” she asked.

  Connor shown the beam ahead, but she could still see him shake his head.

  “No,” he said flatly. “They were discovered halfway down the ben, after they left this sanctuary. They were massacred. Each and every one.”

  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, hugging herself. It was so easy for her to imagine the fear, the desperation of those men. Obviously, they couldn’t stay in the cave forever. They’d needed food and medicines. So, they’d taken their chances and died.

  A life and all its hopes gone. Just like that.

  Connor stopped on the narrow path. “Here we are.”

  She squinted. “Here, where?”

  At last, Connor gave a knowing smile. “Canny Scots, Mac. Canny Scots.”

  He reached up, pressed his hand against a particularly jagged stone and the wall swung open.

  Connor stepped through the opening and bent. After a few seconds, she heard the hiss of gas and she spotted the camping lamp on the floor.

  It cast an unnaturally bright light over them, penetrating the thick darkness.

  A box, about four feet long and two feet wide sat in the corner of the small chamber.

  “I used to come up here as a boy,” Connor said. “A wonderful place to come and think and get away from everyone.”

  James stood still, seemingly frozen.

  She squeezed his hand. “Are you okay?”

  He gave a terse nod then pulled away from her. “Let’s open it.”

  Connor headed over and knelt. The box had an electronic key pad. He punched in a four digit code and the locking mechanisms clicked.

  All this for a sword.

  Connor gestured to James. “All yours, my friend.”

  But James didn’t seem eager. In fact, he stared at the box, again frozen. Mesmerized. Or horrified. It was hard to tell.

  “It can’t hurt us,” she said gently.

  “Can’t it?” James said.

  “No.” And she was determined to prove it true. Her dreams had brought her here for a purpose and she refused to believe it was for something bad.

  Wordlessly, she knelt, opened the lid then reached in.

  Covered in dark felt, the sword was heavy and unwieldy.

  She tugged the fabric back and the blade shone in the strange light.

  Even after all this time, it shone.

  She touched the hilt. Cold. So cold. It was tempting to jerk her fingers back but she refused to indulge herself in fear.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. Then she realized there were scratchings on the blade. “What are those?”

  “Writing,” James said flatly.

  She narrowed her gaze, trying to pick out letters and words but it was unreadable. Except one word.

  Theodosia.

  The sword’s name perh
aps? A woman? Mac’s fingers itched to trace the name, but she curled her fingers into her palm.

  The other unreadable text was almost certainly Latin.

  “Well, you have the sword,” Connor said. “Now what?”

  “Now?” James knelt beside Mac and took the Gladius in his hands. “We destroy it.”

  A wave of intense nausea hit Mac. “W-What?”

  “It’s the only way to stop it,” James said flatly. “I’m tired of it having real or imagined power over us.”

  “You can’t,” she protested, her chest growing strangely tight.

  “Mac,” James gritted. “You don’t understand.”

  He wrapped the Gladius back in the felt and stood. “Let’s go.”

  Mac shook her head. “No.”

  “No?” James echoed.

  “Not until you promise me you won’t destroy it,” she demanded.

  “That’s a promise I can’t make. This thing needs to go away. And clearly, even hidden in a mountainside isn’t good enough. Do you honestly think your dreams are going to end if you just see this thing?”

  “How do we know? Let me go to sleep tonight. Maybe I won’t have dreams. Maybe—”

  Any sort of empathy vanished from James face. “My parents are dead, Mac. This thing is bad luck and—”

  She touched his forearm, longing to comfort him. “I understand.”

  The cold, untouchable look softened. “I know you do. So, please understand why I feel compelled to do it.”

  She drew in a slow breath. How did she explain that every fiber of her being screamed that if he destroyed the sword he and all his descendants would be haunted through time?

  “Look,” she soothed. “Let’s make a deal. You can make your decision after we find out what the writing says.”

  “It’s illegible,” he scoffed.

  “Now you’re just being troublesome, King,” put in Connor. “An intelligent man like you can think of something.”

  James glared at his friend. “You’re not helping.”

  “Yes, he is,” she insisted. “Please.”

  A muscle ticked in James’ jaw. “You’re asking a great deal, Mac.”

  “I know. I know. But I can’t tell you how important this is to me. To us.”

  That seemed to give him pause. “Fine. We find out what the writing says then I destroy it. And Mac, if we can’t discern what the engraving is, this thing is being destroyed anyway.”

  She swallowed. It was enough for now. Somehow, she’d make him see reason. Reason? Oh God, she wanted to laugh. Where did reason come into play with this situation? Still, the sword was the key. She knew it in her gut.

  “Okay,” she said.

  A resigned look, strained James’ beautiful face. “Let’s get back to the helicopter.”

  Connor frowned. “Good God man, why?”

  James’ smile was grim. “Because, I’m doing as Mac commands.”

  Connor let out a sigh and shoved his hand through his long, dark hair. “You’re going to London.”

  “Yes,” James confirmed.

  “What? Why?” she asked.

  “Because we’re going to need experts and I just happen to know a few,” James replied.

  Mac swallowed, feeling like her feet had suddenly stepped onto some unknowable path.

  “The British Museum, Mac,” James added with an arched brow. “That’s where this ends.”

  Chapter Ten

  James stared out at London from the best view The Savoy had to offer. He’d thought about a small hotel near Sloane Square. It would have been his preference. But Mac had never been to London and he wanted her to have an exceptional experience.

  The look of pure terror on her face had stunned him in that cave. Yet, he almost hadn’t relented. Bloody hell, he’d been close to being brutal. If he could have, he would have wedged that damned Gladius between two rocks and cracked the blade. Then he would have thrown it into the closest incinerator he could find. It was only the note of absolute desperation in her voice that had stopped him.

  Now, they were in London, another byway on her quest and a barrier to his goal. Except. . . Except this byway was allowing him more time with her. And he was damned well going to use that time. Mac was convinced his interest in her was cursory or just lust.

  He was going to prove otherwise. . . So, he’d deliberately arranged their appointment with the British Museum for the next morning.

  He was going to use this night to show Mac how very interested in her he was.

  After all, a centuries old title and millions of pounds in the bank had to be good for something.

  Tonight was just the beginning.

  The bathroom door opened and Mac stood in a stunning cocktail dress. The emerald green silk was the perfect match to her red hair and pale skin.

  “You look like a goddess, Mac.”

  She scowled. “Hyperbole doesn’t become you.”

  He laughed. “Are you saying you prefer my British sense of understatement?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well then,” he said softly. “You look quite nice, old thing.”

  She smiled. “Why thank you.”

  “Shall we?”

  A frown pulled at her lips. “This feels weird, you know.”

  “What does?” Though, in fact, he felt he had a good idea.

  “Letting you totally run the evening. I mean, I’ve never been on a date where I let the guy choose everything. It feels very nineteen fifties.”

  He closed the distance between them and took her hand in his. Slowly, he raised it to his lips, turned her hand over and kissed her palm.

  “Oh, Mac,” he whispered. “No one could ever diminish you to a passive, female creature. You are a fire waiting to be unleashed.”

  “There it is again.” When she spoke this time, her voice was a breathy whisper. “Hyperbole again.”

  He looked her dead on. Challenging her. “There wasn’t a damned thing exaggerated in my statement. You’re a force, Mac. You’re the only one who doesn’t know it. And tonight? I’m doing it all for you.”

  She swallowed. He could see the fine muscles of her throat work as she tried to hide her apprehension.

  There was so much fear in her. Fear of letting herself be the bold woman he knew she was. And he couldn’t wait to help her conquer it because then she’d see that she was meant to be with him.

  * * *

  Mac couldn’t get over the Rolls Royce. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. She had a list of things that were completely overwhelming. She’d figured he was going to take her somewhere nice for dinner and then maybe a walk, but the night had turned into something absolutely out of her fantasies. In fact, it was so fantastical she hadn’t even ever imagined some of it.

  They’d started at the Ritz Bar where she’d felt the old money wrap around her like a vintage, fur coat. Everywhere she’d looked there had been understated jewelry that, no doubt, had come from Winston’s or Cartier. Then the Rolls had showed up. A Silver Ghost classic.

  It was like getting into a car straight out of Downton Abbey and way cooler than anything brand new. The crowds on Pall Mall had gaped, pointed, and took pictures. Frankly, it had been all she could do not to whip out her phone and take a selfie herself.

  Luckily, she had more dignity than that, but only just.

  He’d been willing to talk about just about anything except for his plans for the night and the sword.

  Her mind, on the other hand, had been utterly blown when they pulled up in front of The Old Vic Theater. Benedict Cumberbatch’s face had looked down at her from the massive signage above the ancient theater. Richard III had been entirely sold out. That’s what she’d found when she checked a few weeks ago, not that she could really afford to go see it.

  Unless she was lucky enough to score student rush tickets, of course.

  Somehow James had pulled orchestra seats, front and center. She could see the sweat on Benedict Cumberbatch’s brow and the performan
ce had been electrifying.

  It had also stunned her that he’d picked something that she so clearly would enjoy. She’d been abuzz with the play over dinner. She’d never heard of the restaurant before, but it was packed. Once again, with people wearing clothes and jewels that she’d only ever read about or looked at on Pinterest.

  The food had nearly competed with the play, but really who or what could compete with Shakespeare and Benedict Cumberbatch?

  After she’d scraped the last of the crème brûlée from her bowl and drank the last of her dessert wine, she’d expected them to go back to the hotel.

  They hadn’t.

  And so, they sat in the Rolls driving past sights she’d studied passionately for years. As her hand idly stroked the stunning, cream colored leather, she stared out the window, transfixed.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, that delicious voice soft over the London traffic.

  “That’s a silly question,” she replied.

  “How so?”

  She blinked then grinned at him. “How could I not?”

  He let out a sigh. “You’d be surprised. Some people aren’t easily pleased.”

  She laughed but in her heart she felt a degree of sadness for him. “You have been spending time with the wrong people then.”

  The Rolls made a turn and her mouth dropped. She didn’t care how clichéd it was. She defied anyone not to do what she was doing just now, namely act like a complete fan girl.

  The Tower of London stood near the river, a jewel of its own, bathed in stunning lights projected from the ground.

  The Rolls ignored the road and took a private drive that led up to an entrance gate.

  “You can’t be serious,” she said.

  A slow smile tilted his gorgeous mouth. “Can’t I?”

  “James?” she swallowed, her breath suddenly shallow with anticipation. “This—This. . . It’s too much.”

  “Nothing is too much for you, Mac. I need you to understand that.”

  She was beginning to, but it was hard. Could he really see her that way? All her life she’d fought. Even after finding her new family and an acceptance she’d never imagined as a child, she still sometimes had trouble seeing herself as worthy.