The Legend Mackinnon (26 page)

She’d expected the fury and she wasn’t disappointed. She spoke before the rage in his eyes could spew forth. “I’m not my ancestors, Rory. I didn’t betray you or slay your men. But like it or not, my heritage is mixed up with yours. My people—” Her voice broke on that word and she had to pause as the wonder of that truth washed over her. “My people were here too, even if their time of occupation was brief. Even if their occupation was ill-achieved.”

He looked away and shrugged. “I hear what you say, Cailean Claren, but you will have to forgive me if I dinna like it much.”

“I’m not asking you to like it. Neither of us is particularly thrilled with our current circumstances,” she said pointedly.

He took her face in his hand and held her chin tilted up. She could have pulled from his grasp, but she did not. Her breath had deserted her like a traitor at his touch and she found she had no will to break the connection.

“Your heart beats faster when I touch you. Your pupils dilate and your skin warms.” He moved closer to her and she vainly tried to moisten her throat. “You say you are not thrilled, yet you thrill easily and swiftly to me. Isn’t that true, Cailean?

“The past between Claren and MacKinnon blood has been brutal and ugly. It doesna have to be that way this time.”

His touch on her skin, the way the burr slipped in and out of his speech, his commanding presence … and the fact that she wanted more of all of it, combined to leave her trembling.

He stepped in closer, reaching over her head and shoving the torch he held into a stone sconce on the wall behind her. He leaned in to her, trapping her in the space between the cold stone and his very warm body. “Do ye tremble in fear, lass, or anticipation?”

“It won’t matter,” she managed.

He merely raised one brow.

“It will end badly,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Unions of any sort between a Claren and MacKinnon always have.”

“Ah yes, Lachlan and his legendary curse.” He lifted his head, but did not step away.

Cailean was torn between the need to move away from his overwhelming presence and the desire to step forward and curl into the warmth and protection he could certainly offer her.

Protection? She blinked at the idea. How insane was it to want protection from the only man she’d ever needed protection from?

“How can you question it after what you told me of Kaithren?” Her head began to throb now, and she looked down, away from the light as she pressed her eyelids shut. “The curse on you is real, as is the curse on our clans. It all began back then—with Kaithren, with Edwyna, we may never know. But it exists.”

He gently lifted her chin up to him. “All the more reason for us to find the answer, to end it once and for all. And I don’t speak only of the curse on our clans. Do you not wish to end your curse as well?”

As the Key, she was an integral part to it all. She reached up a shaky hand and covered his as he caressed her cheek. He would guide her to the end of the curse; his, the clans’, and hers. He would guide her to the solution.

“Maybe I will be the death of you after all, John Roderick MacKinnon.”

B
ecause he did not want to, he pulled his hand from beneath hers.

“Then we have an agreement.” He wanted to know that he would be in control of everything that passed between them, and yet he could already feel her faery sorcery at work on him. Why else did his heart beat so strongly at the mere touch of her?

“Yer tired and hungry,” he said, more gruffly than he’d intended. She stiffened and pulled away from him. “Come,” he ordered, willing his body to cool, his pulse to slow.

“Yes, master.”

His lips quirked at the sarcasm. She had a a sharp wit. And an innocent heart.

His pulse thrummed hot and heavy at the mere thought of how she reacted to his touch. Her kiss had been one of inexperience, which made no sense for a woman who was surely past her first quarter century. Was that the secret of her power? Was it her naiveté in that realm that called to him? He wouldn’t have thought so. Innocence had never
been attractive to him. He preferred to be partner, not teacher.

He grabbed a torch and headed across the hall, not looking to see if she followed. Another button pressed, another stone moved, and they were in another passageway. “Stay close, this area hasn’t fared as well as others.”

“It must have been hard to live like this.”

“Everyone who lived within the castle knew their way.” He turned sideways to shift around a pile of stone that had fallen in and caught himself just in time, reaching for her hand. She was in fine shape, fatigued though she might be. She had no need of his assistance, and still he felt the loss of the warmth he’d have gained from holding her hand in his. Conversation was a wise diversion and an easy one given her innate curiosity. “If you mean supplies, that wasn’t as hard as you’d think.”

“I figured that much. Those fireplaces in the main hall weren’t designed for roasting marshmallows. I was referring to being underground. It’s like living in a cave. A huge cave, but still. No sunlight, no way to mark the days from the nights.”

“There are places of sunlight and moonlight.” He turned another corner. “It is not entirely an underground fortress.” He turned again and the passage became narrow.

Cailean followed closely behind him, staring into the succession of door-size openings they passed, but unable to see anything inside them but inky blackness. She was so intent on her surroundings, she almost walked right into him when he stopped at a wooden door.

She ran her hand over the cut planks. It was obviously newly made, the planks measured and cut specifically to fit in the misshapen stone doorway. They had been sanded and stained to a beautiful finish, all fastened together with broad brass straps. “You made this?”

“It’s just a door.”

If she wasn’t so exhausted, she would have been amused by the nonplussed look on his face. “Does it work?”

“What? Of course it does.”

“Then, can we go in?”

His face actually colored. The door swung soundlessly open. “Your chambers, madam,” he said darkly, then swept an arm in front of him.

“I don’t need much,” she said as she quickly stepped inside the dark room. “A mat on the floor will do.”

“I think I can accommodate you.”

He swung the torch up and lit the sconces on either side of the door. “I’ll get the fire going.”

The sudden brightness made her blink, and once again, she was shocked into speechlessness.

She’d been expecting a medieval version of a bachelor’s pad. A stone bench or two, some hay on the floor maybe, a fire and a cot or something.

Instead she felt like she’d fallen into a sultan’s harem. There
was
a stone bench, which was actually a part of the opposite wall, and there was a rather large fireplace. Beyond that, nothing was as she’d expected.

Furs covered the area in front of the fireplace, but it was the amazing array of Persian, Oriental, and Turkish rugs, with their rich jewel tone colors and variety of sizes and plushness that caught her immediate attention. They were spread around the room, overlapping here and there, and simply rolled up in places where the stone walls weren’t squared off properly, the intent being insulation, not affected décor. But the result was that of opulent decadence, which was topped only by the bed.

It sat in the middle of the room and aside from an armoire shoved over in the far corner, and a heavy wooden chair near the fireplace, it was the only piece of furniture in the room.

It had four thick posts that rose toweringly overhead, draped with layers of sheer silks that hung to the floor on
three of the four sides. Through the filmy layers, she could see a massive carved headboard filling the remaining side. Pillows of all shapes and sizes, fashioned in a variety of colors and fabrics, were heaped on the bed, spilling off to one side where several lay on the floor.

“How on earth did you get that thing in here?” she said, her gaze fixed on the monstrous bed.

“Scots ingenuity is legend,” he said, without looking up from the fire he was building. “I dismantled it, carted it in, and built the thing again. Not so tricky.”

“But those posts …” She thought of the lattice work of passages they’d been through and it seemed an impossibility. Yet here it stood. “It’s an awful lot of work for a place to sleep.”

She turned to face him. He’d taken his duster off and she found herself short of breath again as she looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time. It hadn’t been the coat making his shoulders seem broad, they were indeed wide enough all on their own. His chest was deep without being massive, made more so by his lean hips and long thighs. He wore a cream colored shirt tucked into dark pants, both of which looked impossibly modern on her centuries-old warrior.

And yet he was still both, modern and ancient. Uncloaked, he was even more imposing. He stood there, arms crossed, ankle deep in furs, the firelight dancing behind him as he studied her.

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, a comfortable place to sleep becomes very important.”

She understood then. “You sleep here.”

“I did no’ go tae this trouble for a guest room. I dinna have guests here.” His brogue twinkled into his speech once again, making her want to relax her guard.

She stood up straighter. “What are you proposing then?”

He stepped from the furs. “I’m proposing we eat and go to bed.”

As weary as she was, this was no time to allow him the upper hand. If he thought she was going to be the blushing maiden, he could think again.

She walked over and pulled back the curtains. She slid her backpack and coat to a small heap on the floor. There was a footstool she made use of, though she still had to jump to boost herself up on the side. “I prefer this side, is that okay with you?” It was the closest to the fire and the side with the stool and very obviously the side he slept on.

The bed was amazingly soft and pulled her in like a downy sponge. She could feel her eyelids grow drowsy even as she shifted to untie her boots and slip them off. As she sunk into the mattress, she discovered she suddenly didn’t care about needling him.

She snatched a long velvet covered pillow and tucked it under her head as she stretched out. A long, appreciative groan eased from her as she allowed the bed to take over and pull her the rest of the way in.

As she drifted into sleep, she heard his dry voice.

“That side is fine.”

R
ory stood watching her far longer than he should have. What was he to do about her? He sure as hell knew what he wanted to do
with
her. Christ in heaven but the expressions that had crossed her face as she’d examined the bed had made him hard as the stone bench he’d almost taken her on seemingly eons ago now.

His stomach growled loudly. He was ravenous, but too tired to want to do anything about it. Still, it was something to do to postpone the inevitable. He went to a small door on the other side of the fireplace, glancing at her once more before stepping into the small adjoining room.

She was curled on her side, clutching a long pillow to
her chest, loosened strands of hair falling in a tangle across the pillows piled under her head. He wanted badly to smooth those snarled strands and feel once again the softness of her cheek, trace that slight plumpness of her bottom lip.

He sighed in disgust. He would not let her leave until she’d found a way to lift his curse. But how long would he last before he gave in to this spell she had cast upon him? This curse of need.

He looked at her and felt himself jerk in awareness, even when all she did was sleep. The fires of hell were licking at his bootheels and he hadn’t even begun to feel the heat. He swore heavily and closed the door behind him.

C
ailean purred as she shifted into an even more comfortable spot. These were the most exquisite accommodations she could ever recall having on a dig. She bolted upright.

She wasn’t on a dig. She flipped pillows off and pushed the hair from her face. She knew immediately where she was … and why. She looked next to her and sighed in relief. At least she was alone.

From the looks of things, she had been alone all night. She pushed her hair back and peered through the silks. The chair was empty and the fire had gone to glowing embers. There were several candles burning and the torches by the doorway had been replaced with small kerosene lamps, both lit.

Where was he? And more urgently, where was the bathroom? She envisioned having to climb back through the long maze of passageways. There had to be something better than that.

She used the step stool to climb down from the bed. The floor was amazingly warm and she wondered how many layers of rugs he had in here. Then she spied the corner
door. She knocked, but got no response, so she pushed it open.

This room was much chillier. She walked inside, leaving the door open to allow the lamps to cast some light inside. There was a wooden table, almost a foot thick and definitely not newly made. However, the chair placed next to it was a work of art. She ran her hand over the smooth curved back and admired the bowed dowel rods that ran from the rim to the seat. He truly was a craftsmen.
I guess when you live that long, you’re bound to learn a few things
. Realizing she was caressing the wood, she quickly removed her hand.