“Not really.” She pushed her empty plate aside. “I was wondering if you know anything about the history of this castle?”
“Aye. I know when it was built, and who built it.” He sopped up the last of his stew with a piece of bread, and chewed meditatively for a moment. “Ye know the legend, yes?”
“I know what I’ve read. But there’s more to it, I’m sure, than what shows up in academic books.”
“Aye, there’s always more…secrets, and lies, and lies about the secrets. And buried under all that, the truth.”
His words surprised her, and he bit them off almost with anger. Thin ice…she was treading on thin ice, and more than anything, she wanted to gain his trust, not drive him back to the forge. Not just yet, at least.
“Would you like something to drink? There’s tea…I have wine.” He looked up, as if she’d never asked him her question.
“Yes. Tea, for now. I still have work to do.”
He rose and poured them tea, setting a mug in front of her. Steam rose, curling in the soft light. The rain had started, muting the light even more. Craig lit a candle, setting it on the table between them.
“Do you live in the area?” She took a sip of tea. The desire to ask about the castle was almost overwhelming, but maybe for now she’d be better off changing the topic.
“I live here.” He leaned back in his chair. “I have a room off the stairs.”
“Oh…” Another enigma. “I didn’t realize demonstrators lived on sight.”
“Miss Langer…”
She raised an eyebrow.
He nodded, tipped his head, shifting in his chair. “I think there’s a misunderstanding. I’m no what you call a demonstrator…this isn’t a reenactment. I’m the blacksmith for Castle Cameron. I’ve always been the blacksmith here. I live in the castle, just like the cooper had, the gardener, the cook. They’re all gone now, and I’m the only one left.”
This time his words left her speechless. There was no emotion attached this time to his statement, just facts stated outright. Said with longing, or remorse, or regret, they’d have carried some meaning.
But they were odd facts, and she didn’t know how to place them in context, with what she knew of the castle, and what she didn’t know about this man.
Craig rose suddenly. “I best let you get on with your work. I did enjoy your company for lunch. I thank ye for that.” He gathered their plates, setting them in the sink. Again she was left at loose ends with him, not knowing if she’d said something wrong or if this was just his way.
“Yes. I’ll be in the library.”
He remained at the sink, his back to her. She caught the turn of his head, and a brief nod. At the door to the twisting stairs she hesitated, hand on the door frame.
“And you’ll be at the forge.” Of course he didn’t hear her, and she turned away, looking up at the stairs disappearing above her.
Chapter Five
The light had faded, and she’d lit a small lamp she’d found on the side table. It made a yellow circle of light on the table, and in that circle she sat, a leather-bound ledger open, notebook at her side.
There had been very little in the books she’d taken from the shelves that had added to her study of the lore of the castle, or given her any more information on Ross Cameron. It had occurred to her, more than once, that maybe the castle wasn’t where she should be doing her research. Maybe she was too close to the subject to be able to see it clearly. Perhaps the library in Inverness would have something more.
She sat up straight and stretched. Checking her watch she was surprised to find it was well past the time she’d allotted for her first day here. She sighed; that’s usually how it went. She got obsessed, immersed, and lost all track of time.
Carefully replacing the ledger, she paused at the table. There were no lights on the stairs, and she’d have to take the candle lamp with her. She wondered if there was some place in the castle that had electricity. It must be tedious carrying candles from one place to another. But then again, it had been that way here for over three hundred years. Juggling her bag and the lamp, she started down the stairs.
The kitchen was empty, and she wondered where Craig was. She’d like to say good-bye, and thank him for his help, and for lunch. But the idea of stumbling around the castle in the dark wasn’t something that appealed to her, no matter how attractive Mr. Craig James was, nor how interesting she found him to be.
Instead, she let herself out through the kitchen door, leaving the extinguished lamp on the table. Across the courtyard, the doors to the blacksmith shop were closed. It amazed her that he was so devoted to his craft. Shaking her head she laughed to herself. You’re one to talk. You’ve spent an entire day chasing ghosts.
There was enough light to make her way around the corner to her car. Dumping her bag on the front seat, she stuck the key in the ignition. Nothing. She tried again. The car refused to start.
“Damn. What the hell?” She scowled, fishing out her cell phone, not really sure who she would call, but at least she could search for the nearest garage. But it was dead; the charger was back at the inn. Of course it’s dead, she thought. If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.
She got out of the car, staring at it as if that would either make it start, or make whatever was wrong magically apparent. Even if it did, she’d have no idea what to do.
The only thing she could think of was to kick the tire. So she did. And then she kicked it again. As she did the rain started again, pelting her with cold drops.
“Damn, damn, damn.”
“That won't make it work, ye ken.”
She spun around. Craig was behind her, holding a lantern.
“I know that.”
“Ye best come in out of the rain. There's naught can be done for it tonight.”
The rain was falling harder, and she wiped a strand of hair out of her eyes. She hated cars, and when they stopped doing what they were supposed to do, it drove her crazy. It was the only time she ever turned to the men in her life—her father when she was younger, or boyfriends—and literally handed over the keys. And now Craig was here, offering to help.
Throwing another hateful look at the car, she yanked open the door and grabbed her bag. Slamming the door, she followed him around through the courtyard, and into the kitchen.
“Can I use your phone to call for...someone to come fix it?” She shrugged out of her wet coat, draping it over the back of the chair. Somehow, in the short time since she'd passed through the kitchen on her way out, he'd rekindled the fire and it blazed merrily on the hearth.
“There is no phone here.”
“Oh. Then can you drive me to...”
He was already shaking his head, so she didn't bother to finish that sentence. “No car?”
“Aye. No car. You can stay here tonight. It's no bother.”
“I can't...it would be...” What would it be? An imposition? Certainly not an inconvenience to her, since this is where she needed to be, at least for the near future. But it would be for him, to have a stranger staying with him.
“Are you sure?”
“Aye. I wouldn't have said the words if I didn't mean them.” He cast her a sidelong glance, and she caught a glimpse of a smile. “And I'll feed ye, too, if you like. I'm thinking you'll take the offer of wine now, rather than tea.”
He'd already taken a pair of thick rough glasses from the cupboard, setting them on the table. A bottle appeared next, and he sat down across from her. The lamp he'd carried rested on the counter by the sink. She noticed he’d taken the leather tie out of his hair, and it fell in waves around his shoulders.
“It's made here, if you're interested in the history of it.” He poured, filling her glass with a lovely claret-colored liquid.
“You make wine as well as things out of iron?” The wine tasted deep and rich, and she took another, much longer drink.
“I make what I need, and then I make what I love.” He glanced around the room, th
en pointed to the door. “Hinges, the latch...they're needed and I make them.”
“What have you made that you love?” The wine and dim light made her just a bit braver than she might have been. Warmth spread through her, from the fire, from the wine. And a warmth that was definitely sexual, a shivery excitement at being in the room with this sinfully beautiful man. She shook her head, took another swallow of wine. It was nothing, couldn’t be anything other than being here in Scotland, in the castle.
Craig hesitated, took a drink of wine, set the glass down, then turned it restlessly in his hands, eyes downcast. “The graveyard gate.”
The words were almost lost in the sound of the rain on the window, and he stared into his wine for a long time after he spoke. The urge to know more was too great, and she ventured the question that rose to her mind.
“Who's in the graveyard that you loved?” As soon as she said the words she almost wished she hadn't, hoping he wouldn't pull away. Under her breath she cursed; wine made her silly, say silly things. This was one of those things.
“Family, friends...a woman I loved.”
Despite herself, and her slightly tipsy condition, she did a mental calculation. There were no contemporary markers in the yard...
“Which woman?”
He raised his eyes to hers. “She looked like you.”
It felt as if the room contracted around her to just him, and her, and the circle of light that enclosed them. “There is no one...no one out there...” She wanted to know, without asking him the obvious, or telling him what he already knew.
“Do you believe in magic, Arianna?”
The question took her completely off guard, and she thought she misunderstood him. “Magic? Like magicians and stage magic?”
“No, I mean real magic. The kind that changes life, for better or worse.”
Lightening flashed, and thunder rolled in the distance. The atmosphere in the room changed, became charged, as if the electricity outside had filled the smoky room, as if it was a palpable form that moved between her and Craig.
“I don't know...I've never seen that kind of magic.”
“I’m not asking if ye’ve seen it. I’m asking if ye believe.”
“I…I’m not sure I can believe in something I’ve never seen.”
“Do ye believe in the wind?”
She stared at him, no words coming to mind, none at all. Finally she shook her head, then thought better of it, and nodded.
“Come with me.”
He rose, held out his hand. She hesitated, then took it and let him lead her out of the kitchen, the lamp casting shadows ahead of them. Her body felt loose and shivery; she’d had only a glass—or maybe two?—of wine. But could she blame how she felt on the wine, or on the company she was with?
He took her to a downstairs room, and once again pulled a huge key from the ring on his belt. The key rattled in the lock, and the large oak door swung open. He moved silently into the room.
“This is her.” Craig held the lamp higher. She stepped beside him and looked up at the painting on the wall. Her heart stuttered in her chest like a bird in a cage, her mouth going dry.
The painting showed a young woman looking out of the painting, her gaze clear and frank. Her expression was neither happy nor sad, or maybe it was both. She seemed just as enigmatic as the man standing beside her.
Beyond that, the woman could have been Arianna's twin. The obvious differences were there, of course. Her dark hair was pulled back in a complex braid; she wore a tartan shawl over one shoulder, and a white linen blouse edged with lace.
“Who is she?”
“Bridget Munro.”
“The woman on the marker in the yard?”
“Aye. The love of my life.”
Arianna suddenly felt light-headed and dizzy. It was the wine, or that she hadn't eaten since lunch. Or else it was the fact this man had just told her the love of his life had died in 1768.
“Ye think I'm mad, I know. It sounds mad, when I say it out loud.”
“I don't know what I think.” The woman…Bridget Munro…stared down at them, her dark eyes telling nothing. She turned to look at Craig.
He was looking up at the painting, a mixture of longing and stoic acceptance playing across his face. Then he shrugged.
“I think I'm mad most days.”
“I'm not her though.” Arianna's voice deserted her and she tried again. “I'm not her.”
He looked down at her. “I ken that. There will never be another.”
She held his gaze, and her heart clenched. He wasn't crazy, she didn't think. But she didn't care. A memory from her childhood: a cat, a feral really, coming to the porch, tentatively sniffing her hand, bolting when she reached to pet him. She's spent the summer sitting still, gaining its trust, until it curled in her lap and went to sleep.
Gently, slowly she reached for him, touched first the cloth of his shirt, then her fingers brushing against the warmth of his arm. He moved away, and the warmth beneath her fingers cooling. He drew a breath, a choked sound that made her think he was on the verge of tears. But she knew better; this wasn't a man who cried easily.
She held still, touching only cloth, and he moved back gradually, until her hand rested on his arm. And then in one movement he set the lamp on the floor and pulled her into his arms.
Slowly he brushed his lips over hers, a frisson of dizzy excitement rushing through her. She tilted her head back, falling into the kiss, into the warmth of his arms as he pulled her close.
The kiss deepened, his lips parting, hers following his lead. His tongue probed her mouth, and she opened to him. It was the most intimate kiss she’d shared with anyone, his tongue sliding against hers, delving deeper, pulling back. For an instant she saw them, arms and legs entwined, in the throes of making love.
Abruptly he turned away from her, taking the light with him, leaving the painting in the dark, and Arianna in shadow and surprise. But in the dark, his hand found hers, and she followed him into the hall, the lamp casting wavering shadows. The first door he came to he pushed open, the first door he hadn’t used a key to unlock.
She wasn’t surprised to find the room was a bedroom. The lamp went out and in the dark he pulled her back into his arms. Expecting a kiss, she tilted her head up to him, but instead he bent his head, nuzzling her neck, murmuring words, his lips leaving a hot trail of fire over her skin.
The words she didn’t understand, but it was clear what he wanted. She wanted the same, to be in bed with him, to have him naked beside her. To have sex with him, plain and simple, if that could be simple.
His hands rose to her breasts, caressing her gently, slowly, almost reverently. She closed her eyes, letting the sensations build inside of her, both the physical sensations of his hands on her, the tingle that ran through her as he moved over her, and the thrill at the realization this was a stranger who was touching her, a man she had just met.
The touching and caressing slowly changed, grew more and more aggressive until she found herself gasping, arching against him, wanting more. She opened her eyes, breath catching in her throat as she looked at him.
“Make love to me, Craig. Please.”
His eyes were so heavy lidded, she thought they were closed. But he lifted his face, eyes meeting hers with a look so searing she felt as if she’d melt on the spot.
“Aye.”
Watery silver light filled the room. The rain must have stopped, and the moon shone somewhere out there. Or she’d grown accustom to the dark, adapted to it. But she could see him, see the passion in his eyes, the graceful way he undid whatever held up his kilt. It fell to the floor, and he pulled his shirt over his head. Then he stood, relaxed and expectant, watching her.
He was, to put it simply, beautiful. The arms she’d seen were only the tip of the iceberg. His chest was sculpted, stomach flat, hips narrow. Her gaze drifted lower, and she briefly closed her eyes, embarrassed by her desire to look at all of him.
But she wanted to see h
im, needed to see. She opened her eyes.
His cock lay against his thigh, long, not yet fully hard, emerging from dark hair. She blinked, wondering what it would feel like, to have him make love to her, to have him inside her, moving, thrusting…
“Undress, woman. It’s no going to work with ye clothes on.”
She looked at him, wide-eyed, face flushing hot, then reached for the zipper on her jeans. No man had ever watched her the way he did, standing across from her with his hands on his hips, eyes never leaving her. Suddenly self-conscious under the heat of his gaze, her hands flattered with the zipper. She reached for the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it over her head, finding brief comfort with fabric over her face. Craig made a noise, a soft sound, not words, but the meaning was clear. The shirt came off, landing on the floor.
She toed off her shoes, pulled the zipper down, then slid her jeans down her legs, and she stepped out of them. As she straightened, he took a step toward her, reaching for her, setting his hands on her waist, pulling her toward him. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, sliding them down as he reached to cup her ass. She wiggled in his hands, and the panties pooled around her ankles.
“I want ye, Arianna, like I’ve wanted no one for a long time. I can’t explain it…I don’t want to try. I just want ye…”
He dropped his head to her shoulder, nuzzling her neck. “Soft…like the wind in the morning.”
She raised her hands, winding her fingers through his thick hair, letting her head fall back while he kissed her neck. She felt him reach behind her, his fingers against her back, and then the sharp snap of her bra coming undone.
Raising his head, he slowly slid one finger beneath her bra strap, pulling it down her arm. He kissed her shoulder, his lips softly caressing her skin. He pulled down the other strap, trailing a line of kisses down that shoulder. Her heart beat faster, breath catching in her throat as he let the bra fall to the floor.
The light caught his dark hair, gilding it with silver, as he bent his head, kissing the round fullness of one breast, nuzzling his cheek against her. Something unfurled deep inside her as he took one nipple into his mouth, as his tongue caressing her, something dark and sweet, a physical thud that made her weak in the knees.
Kiss Of Fire (BBW Dragon Shifter Paranormal Romance): Dragon Shifter Romance Page 3