Dark and Stormy Knight (19 page)

He raised a hand in the manner of a boy scout. “I swear it on the grave of my sainted wife.”

No one else can ever possess my heart—never—never.

She bit her lip as a thousand needles pricked her heart. “You still love her, don’t you?”

“Aye, of course.” His dark brows puckered over his beautiful eyes. “Some part of me will always love her.”

She shouldn’t begrudge him, but she couldn’t help herself. She started to ask about Faith and then stopped herself. To do so would give her jealousy away. Besides, she had bigger onions to peel at the moment.

“What about the film rights? Do we still have a deal?”

His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? Of course we do.”

He thrust out his arms once more. She held her ground, afraid to trust him. Her gaze dropped to his crotch. He wasn’t hard, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lying.

“Come, my wee mouse. What is wrong? Have I done something to upset you?”

“Of course you haven’t.” She forced a smile to hide the lie. “What could you have done? I haven’t even seen you until now.”

Thrumming with trepidation, she stepped into his embrace. The next thing she knew, his mouth was on hers. The kiss seemed sincere, so she returned it. As their tongues entangled, her doubts melted away.

His hands swept down her body, big, warm, and hungry. He cupped her buttocks and pulled her against him, letting her feel his burgeoning desire.

She wanted him, too, but not in that way. Well, not right now anyway. Right now, she wanted more than anything on earth for him to write a letter to her one day as beautiful as the one he’d written to his wife. Or, at least, to express the same depth of feeling in some romantic way.

Then, he broke free of her and, in a breathless burr, said, “I wish I had time to make love to you before we set off, but breakfast is waiting.”

She smiled up at him, half-leery, half-hopeful. “I don’t mind skipping breakfast.”

“But I do.” Taking hold of her wrist, he pulled her toward the door. “To fight the curse, you’ll need to keep up your strength.”

Fight the curse? He’d told Tom he wasn’t over the moon. Had something changed between then and now? She tucked the thought away as he towed her along toward the staircase. She’d get to the bottom of it later. Right now, she was just thankful he wasn’t planning to ditch her.

“Who’s Faith?”

Gwyneth’s question jarred Leith. He hadn’t told her about Faith and the servants knew nothing about the relationship. That left only Tom, but he couldn’t believe the prophet would tell tales out of school. He might be blunt, but he was also trustworthy.

Leith swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. They were halfway to Inverness on A96, a two-lane highway flanked on both sides by open fields, scattered shrubs, and the occasional stone cottage. Now and again, the firth popped into view on the right-hand driver’s side.

“How do you know about her?”

“Does it matter?”

“Aye, it does. I’d like to know if I’ve misplaced my trust in Tom.”

“You haven’t,” she said. “I overheard you two talking this morning in the library.”

“I see,” he said tartly.

“Are you going to tell me?”

He couldn’t see how it would hurt anything. “Faith is the reason I know the curse is real.”

“You loved her?”

“Aye.” He ran a hand down his face to wipe away the pain he knew must show in his expression. “But only realized the truth too late.”

She went quiet and turned away, toward the side window. A car whooshed past going the other way. The shimmering firth with its low black hills came up alongside. Dark clouds gathered in the distance, hugging the horizon.

“Did you give me your blood to mend my bones?”

He stiffened. “Aye. Would you rather I hadn’t?”

“No, of course not.” She looked at him, brow furrowed. “Are you sure you didn’t turn me in the process?”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Would it matter if I had?”

“Not really.”

“So, you’re not averse to being turned?”

“Should I be?”

He rolled his eyes. Did she always answer a question with a question? His gaze flicked to her before returning to the road. She wore an ensemble pieced together from Mrs. King’s collections for the charity shop run by a local church. A shapeless sweater and baggy jeans rolled up at the ankles into wide cuffs. She looked like a child in her mother’s clothes, but still unbearably beautiful.

“I don’t think it will make a difference in terms of the curse,” he said, “though we really won’t know that until we speak to the druids.”

“How will it change me?”

“You’ll be immortal, your senses will be sharper, and, by and by, you’ll be able to change your form.”

He could feel her heated stare. “What will I be able to change into?”

He glanced her way. “Any sort of creature.”

“Even a unicorn?”

“Aye, lass.” He fought the smile threatening to bloom. “Once you learn the Fith-Fath.”

Her forehead wrinkled. What he said sounded like fee-faw. “Is that anything like fee-fi-fo-fum?”

“Only if you want to be a giant,” he said with a snort. “It’s an ancient shapeshifting spell.”

A devilish smile bowed her mouth—a warning to be on his guard against mischief. Tightening his grip on the wheel, he fixed his attention on the road ahead.

This stretch always made him uneasy; not because the scenery wasn’t nice enough, but because it reminded him of that doomed last march with the Bonnie Prince. If only they’d surprised Cumberland’s army the way they’d planned. If only they hadn’t been so knackered.

If only…

Och! That bloody phrase again.

Angst compressed Leith’s chest as he passed the sign for the battlefield, now a tourist attraction. Though he lived only ten miles away, he’d not returned to that godforsaken moor since that terrible day all was lost. For him and the Highlands. And, if he had his druthers, he’d keep it that way.

* * * *

Leith, holding tight to Gwyneth’s hand, strolled along a narrow cobblestone plaza lined with shops in the heart of Inverness, sizing up the changes brought about by the passage of time. The huddled storefronts lent a deceptively old-world charm to names like Game Station, Carphone Warehouse, Starbucks, and Mail Boxes Etc. Leith just shook his head. Like himself, the capital of the Highlands had changed with the times, though not necessarily for the better.

The once-sleepy streets now hummed with a steady stream of traffic. The noise of tires on pavement, droning engines, and squealing brakes drowned out the once-prominent hiss of River Ness. Bagpipes skirled from every corner. Double-decker buses chugged and rumbled. Camera-toting tourists crowded the sidewalks, babbling to each other in foreign tongues. Tourist traps hawking tacky tartan and Loch Ness Monster souvenirs lined the streets. The air, once as fresh as an ocean breeze, now stank of exhaust, grime, and fried food.

As they strolled along the plaza, he felt like a beggar who’d stolen into a fully laid banquet hall. He wanted to stuff himself, to gorge himself, to commit the deadly sin of gluttony. He kissed and touched her every chance he got.

In between public displays of affection, Gwyneth scanned every shop window they walked past. Now and then, she’d move in for a better look. If something captured her fancy, she’d pop inside. He’d follow, feeling part puppy dog, part pack mule, and part cash machine.

None of the three roles thrilled him. Shopping, as far as he could tell, was the female equivalent of deer stalking. Maybe he could pretend they were tracking prey. Or, better yet, hunting for buried treasure. Gwyneth might be a lady pirate—and a lusty one she’d make, too—and he a rake she’d shanghaied to carry the picks and shovels—and tend to her sexual needs, of course.

Lusty wench. Oh, aye. A tantalizing picture took shape in his mind. Her in a ruffled blouse and leather bustier with her milky breasts pushed up to her chin.

The image brought a smile to his face and filled his groin with tingling warmth.

In the fantasy, he put a military frockcoat over the top of her ensemble. The sort with big brass buttons, gold braid, and wide cuffs. Aye, with a flintlock tucked into the wide belt cinching the waist. On her lower half, he placed a skirt—hiked up to reveal thigh-high boots with stiletto heels.

And nothing whatsoever underneath. To give him easy access to the booty. Oh, aye. The feathers of desire tickled his cock. Tugging on the crotch of his jeans to give his budding erection more room, he looked around for a place to act out his fantasy.

That was when he noticed where his feisty wee pirate was headed—straight for Marks and Spencer, a posh department store. The last thing he wanted to do was walk about in there with a raging cockstand, so he parked his arse and her packages on a bench a few feet from the entrance, and lit a cigarette.

As he smoked, he pulled out the new smart phone he’d picked up across the way. Carphone Warehouse had been running a special, so the phone had cost next to nothing to upgrade from his old one. The new one had all sorts of nifty bells and whistles he’d probably never use. Still, the device looked cool as hell.

He’d bought her one, too—a package deal. To test their high-tech walkie-talkie system, he programmed in her number, thumb-typed
Buy something sexy
on the keypad, and pushed send. Then, he kicked back and enjoyed his smoke while waiting for her reply. When the cigarette was halfway gone, the phone chimed.

“I’m working on it.”

“Take a selfie in the dressing room,” he texted back.

He drummed his fingers on his thigh, waiting.

Ping.

A picture of her in a lacey black bra appeared on the screen above the words, “What do you think?”

Heat flooded his groin as he typed his reply: “I think it’s a keeper.”

Puff, blow, puff, smoke rings, finger drumming, puff.

He dropped the spent cigarette and crushed the ember under his heel.

Ping.

“Are you sure? It’s expensive.”

He laughed and shook his head as he thumb-typed, “You’re worth it.”

She replied with a smiley and a picture of her lower half clad in a garter belt with no knickers. Desire stiffened his prick as he fingered her wee muff on the screen. Perhaps Marks and Spencer carried pirate boots. Something told him not to get his hopes up.

No matter. He’d settle for the lingerie she’d shown him. Please let her be around long enough to wear them to rags. He was pretty sure he was in love with her, so it was only a matter of time before she fell ill. How much time, he couldn’t say. He’d left Edinburgh before Faith showed any symptoms.

Just as he glanced toward the department store entrance, out Gwyneth came with a small bag. As she approached, he stood and gathered her other packages.

“Will you model your purchases when we get back to Glenarvon?”

“Try and stop me.”

“I don’t suppose you happened to see a lady pirate’s costume while you were in there.”

She gave him a funny look. “Not that I recall.”

“Too bad.” He flashed a licentious grin. “You’d look mighty good as a lusty wench.”

Her brow furrowed and her lips compressed.

“You don’t fancy playing pirate queen and shanghaied Highlander?”

“It’s not that,” she said, glancing down the street. “I’m feeling a bit woozy and think I might need to eat something.”

A barb of concern snagged his heart. Please God, let it only be low blood sugar. “I thought we’d get ourselves a picnic hamper and head up to Urquhart Castle.” He pointed up the road. “There’s a gourmet shop just there that sells hampers filled with wine, smoked meats, cheese, and such. What do you think?”

“That sounds perfect.” She smiled, though more frailly than he would have liked. “Lead the way.”

* * * *

“Are you feeling better now that you’ve had a bite to eat?”

Gwyn, head resting in Leith’s lap, smiled up at him. “I am, actually.”

A bite to eat, he called it—a major understatement. She’d gorged herself on lox, ham, fruit, sausage, cheese, and bread until she feared her stomach would burst.

“Good.” He stroked her hair in a way that was both soothing and sensual. “I’m glad. But do tell me if you should start to feel poorly again, eh?”

She only smiled, not wanting to spoil the moment. While she did indeed feel better, something wasn’t right. Please, let it not be the curse. Not yet. As much as she longed for the upside of what that would mean, she wanted more days like today.

They’d parked in the lot for Urquhart Castle, an old ruin overlooking the loch, and hiked down to a secluded spot just beyond. When she expressed concerns about trespassing, he assured her all was fine. Scotland, apparently, has something called the “right to roam,” which gave citizens access to any land, public or private, for recreational purposes, provided they behaved responsibly and left things as they found them.

Despite her fatigue, she felt deliriously happy. Not to mention, amazed to find herself on the banks of Loch Ness with her head in the lap of the man of her dreams.

Leith had been so wonderful to her all day, she found it hard to believe he was the same man who’d threatened to spank her in his dungeon playroom. Or, for that matter, that he even had a dungeon playroom.

Not that she minded. As long as he promised not to hurt her, she’d visit the dungeon again. Playing pirate queen and shanghaied Highlander sounded like fun. So did being pulled around in that cart she’d seen by a real pony. A Highland pony. Black with a long white mane and tail. Her father showed her a picture of one once in a book about Scotland, and she’d thought the pony the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. Knowing her faery knight could shift into any sort of creature vastly increased the playroom possibilities.

For now, however, she just wanted to enjoy the sunshine, the refreshing lake breeze, the breathtaking scenery, and his company. Now that he’d owned his feelings and knew there was no turning back, he’d been acting much more like Heath MacDubh. He’d held her hand, fed her grapes, and even recited poetry.