Chapter 15

15

Kendra’s aura shone like the sun, and Graeme was glad that Ritchie Watt didn’t seem to notice. Rays of purest white fanned out from her, lightening the grass, spilling across stone, and illuminating even the darkest corners and crannies of Castle Grath. It was as if the sun had come down from heavens, dropping right into the middle of his old home.

Graeme frowned, unable to stop glancing at her.

If her light grew any brighter, he’d need sunglasses.

Ritchie was almost at the far end of the wall. He still crept stealthily, unaware he’d been spotted.

Graeme shot a last look at Kendra, relieved to see she’d turned her back to him and appeared to be gazing out beyond the cliffs to the sea. It was likely the splendid view of sea and sky—admittedly breathtaking—that caused her aura to glow so beautifully.

She’d said she loved wild places.

And he loved preserving them.

Ready to do just that, he turned away from her and rolled his shoulders. Then he stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles. He also pulled the leather tie from his ponytail, letting his hair swing loose about his shoulders. Long hair, whipped by a strong sea wind, gave a warrior a distinct edge.

It also brought out a man’s fierceness.

A slow smile spread across his face, cold and deadly.

His fingers began to itch, his hands craving the feel of his leather-wrapped sword hilt against his palm. For now, he took his dirk from beneath his belt, testing its edge with the pad of his thumb.

When a bead of red appeared, his smile deepened.

But it still didn’t reach his eyes.

He knew they were hard and narrowed, as he watched Ritchie prepare to sprint from the end of the wall across the grass to where the moor path wound along the cliffs and then back down into the village.

It was a trek Ritchie wouldn’t be making.

In a whirl of speed, Graeme put himself in the youth’s path, his dirk deliberately turned so the blade caught the sun and gleamed wickedly. He needed even less time to grab Ritchie by the front of his jacket and hoist the lad a few feet off the ground.

“Was a bent knife not a good enough warning for you?” Graeme tightened his grip, letting the boy’s legs dangle in the air.

“You ken what I mean to do with you now?” Graeme released him then, taking no satisfaction when the youth dropped to his knees, anger and resentment all over him, soiling the cold morning air. “Twist off your knackers is what you deserve. Wouldn’t you say?”

Ritchie’s eyes sparked with defiance. His barely fuzzed chin jutted, his hands splayed on the grass as he struggled for balance.

He didn’t say a word.

“Get up.” Graeme made a flicking motion with his dirk. “I’ll not be cutting you. Not unless you give me damned good reason. I want answers from you, not your life on my conscience.”

Still looking sullen, Ritchie scrambled to his feet. “I don’t have anything to say to you.” He brushed at the front of his jacket, righted the sleeves. “Not one word, whatever you do to me.”

“So brave, what?” Graeme leaned in, set the tip of his dirk beneath the youth’s chin. “And such a fine display of loyalty to our dark-souled friend, Gavin Ramsay. Is he here somewhere, hiding in the old doocot or yonder perhaps, behind one of the headstones?”

Ritchie clamped his mouth tightly. Until Graeme pressed the dirk tip deeper against the soft flesh beneath his chin. “I wouldn’t know where he is.”

“But you’re talking now.” Graeme lowered the dirk, his point made.

“I didn’t tell you anything. There’s a difference.”

“So there is.”

Graeme leaned back against the wall, taking his time to cross his legs at the ankles and casually fold his arms. Watt wasn’t going anywhere, though the youth hadn’t yet discovered his trap.

All Graeme had to do was wait.

Lads like Ritchie fled better than they did anything else. And when this particular misspent youth tried to run, he’d suffer a rude awakening.

Knowing the lad needed a lesson, Graeme angled his dirk so the blade once again shone in the cold morning sun. “You know Ramsay can’t win against me.” He kept his gaze on the dirk, his will letting the blade lengthen, its magic-hewn steel beginning to glow blue. “It’s as pointless as a gnat thinking he can pester an ox to death.”

“You don’t scare me, seal man.” Ritchie put back his shoulders. “Gavin will?—”

“He isn’t long for this world.” Graeme shot a glance a Kendra, relieved she still had her back to him. He was happier to see the swirls of blowing mist drifting between them, a veil of haze and shadow called forth by whatever powers gave him his magic.

If she noticed, she’d be enchanted by the luminously soft Highland mist, so prized by visiting Americans. She wouldn’t doubt him when he told her such mists rose out of nowhere all along Scotland’s coasts, whirling and shifting, cloaking the cliffs and shoreline. She’d also believe that the mist, also called sea haar, often dissipated as swiftly as it’d appeared. That was true, after all.

This mist was different.

As if he knew, Ritchie Watt shifted uncomfortably. “You can’t touch Gavin. He?—”

“He sealed his fate when he pushed that rock off the cliff.” Graeme lifted the glittering length of his sword, arcing it through the mist spinning around them. “He’s a dead man, be warned.”

“Nae, that’s you.” Ritchie stood his ground, proving himself more brave than Graeme would’ve thought. “Gavin didn’t touch the rock. He made it move. He wasn’t anywhere near here, that’s how powerful he is.”

“Say you?” Graeme hoped his surprise didn’t show.

It was bad news if Ramsay’s skills had strengthened to such a degree.

“He can do more than will rocks to jump off cliffs.” Ritchie’s chest swelled on the boast. “He’s teaching me?—”

“What?” Graeme moved with lightning speed, placing his sword tip against the youth’s belly. Ritchie jumped back only to hit the barrier Graeme had cast around them. “See?” Graeme stepped closer, prodding him again with the sword. “All you’ll learn from Ramsay is how to ruin your life and make an arse out of yourself. He could’ve warned you there’d be no running from me.

“Bone Slicer hasn’t tasted blood in centuries.” Graeme flicked his wrist, letting the sword cut the leather of Ritchie’s jacket. “She’ll be thirsting for a good, long drink. Wouldn’t you say?

“Your master knows that.” Graeme whipped the sword tip again, making a twin gash on the other side of the jacket. “Too bad he didn’t tell you.”

“You were supposed to be dead.” Ritchie glared at him.

“And you? What was your place in this?” Graeme already had a good idea.

“Lookout.” Ritchie stood a bit taller, his voice full of pride. “He chose me to watch from the cliff and report back to him.”

Graeme couldn’t believe the lad’s stupidity.

But he lowered Bone Slicer, thrusting it back beneath his belt when the blade once again became an ordinary-looking Scottish dirk.

“The barrier’s still there,” he warned when Ritchie turned to flee.

He also shot out an arm, gripping the youth’s elbow. “I’ll take it down when I’m done with you. You can leave then, but you’ll not be going back to Pennard.”

“The hell I won’t be.” Ritchie tried to jerk free.

“Hell is where you’ll land if you don’t take the chance I’m giving you.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“Nae, you dinnae. And I’m no’ obliged to help you. But I like Roan Wylie and think he needs a better shot at keeping the Mermaid.”

“What’s a two-bit tavern to do with me?” Ritchie sounded bitter, splotches of angry red inching up his neck. “I like drinking there, nothing else.”

“You’ll soon be doing more there than knocking down free pints and helping yourself to Roan’s cooking.” Graeme lifted a hand, glanced briefly at his palm, and then reached to touch the youth’s jacket.

The two cuts vanished.

Ritchie eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing, seal man?”

Graeme took a moment to answer. “Something I should’ve done a long while ago. Too bad the idea only now came to me. You, lad”—he dug in his own jacket pocket, pulling out a wad of pound notes and thrusting them into Ritchie’s hand—“will be hieing yourself across Scotland, down to a place I know near Oban.”

“Oban?” Ritchie looked at him as if he’d said the moon.

“Aye, so I said.” Graeme spoke with determination, the thick mist around them beginning to thin. “Oban, gateway to the Western Isles. It’s fine country, full of hills, glens, and good, clean air.”

“I know where Oban is.” Ritchie’s tone was surly. “I’m not going there.”

“You’ll do more than that,” Graeme corrected, not bothered by the lad’s resistance. “More specifically, you’ll present yourself to my friend, Sir Alexander Douglas, at Ravenscraig Castle, where he’ll employ you any way it serves him. I’ll let him know to expect you. Ravenscraig”—he held up a hand when Ritchie started to protest—“is a hotel now, and so popular that good help is always welcome.

“They have a re-created Highland village, One Cairn Village, with cottages and shops. Their Victorian Lodge Coach House is always full, as is their genealogy center. So there’s no shortage of work. Alex might also engage you for their frequent medieval reenactment events, though”—Graeme looked the slight, spike-haired youth up and down—“perhaps that wouldn’t work out very well.”

“None of it will.” Ritchie bristled. “I’m not going down there.”

“You will, and you’ll stay for a year or however long it takes for Alex to make something of you.” Graeme spoke bluntly now. “He’ll know when to send you back. And then you’ll work another year, for room and board only, at the Mermaid. Your wages earned will repay Roan for all the free food and ale he’s been giving you.”

“You’re a madman, MacGrath.” Ritchie straightened his shoulders, sadly only looking younger and vulnerable instead of streetwise, as he’d surely intended. “I already have work. I’m Gavin’s right-hand man. He used me tonight to come here and watch his stone magic and let him know if?—”

“He used you, aye.” Graeme resisted the urge to grab the youth and shake him. “And I’m telling you that if he has the mind power to send a boulder sailing off a cliff, he also has the means to watch what happens from afar. He didn’t send you here to spy on my hoped-for demise. He will have known his rock wouldn’t hurt me.”

Ritchie thinned his lips, saying nothing.

“I see you understand.” Graeme glanced again at the whirling mist, noting it was little more than a few thin threads now.

When he looked again at Ritchie, he saw he’d assumed too much.

The lad still didn’t grasp his meaning.

For that matter, Graeme himself was only guessing Ramsay’s motives. But his instinct told him he was right. And he always relied on his gut feelings.

“Ramsay sent you here to die.” Graeme didn’t cushion the words. “He knew I’d come up here and he also knew I’d find you. His mistake was to think I’d fall into such a blind rage that I’d kill you. He’ll have hoped I would, and then the police would’ve taken me away, eliminating me in a way he never could do on his own.

“In other words”—Graeme watched comprehension dawn on Ritchie’s face—“Ramsay set you up to be sacrificed.”

The youth shook his head, still disbelieving. “He’d never do that.”

“You know he would. He lives by being deceitful and manipulative. That’s his greatest magic, strengthened by greed and arrogance.”

“You’re the one thinking you’re something better.” Ritchie’s eyes glittered, his fists balling at his sides.

“I abhor evil, aye. And those who’d corrupt young fools like you, pulling you into the muck with them.”

Graeme saw the first hint of doubt cross Ritchie’s face. It was brief, a flickering only, gone in a flash. But it gave Graeme the encouragement to lower the impassible barrier he’d raised around them.

A flush stained Ritchie’s face. “I don’t need you telling me what to do.”

Graeme shrugged. “You should’ve thought of that before you became involved with Ramsay. All you can do now is use that money”—Graeme glanced at the crumpled notes still clutched in the lad’s hand—“and get yourself down to Oban. You’ll be safe there. Alex won’t let Ramsay or his goons come anywhere near Ravenscraig.”

Ritchie still glowered. “And if I don’t go?”

“Then you’ll meet Bone-Slicer in a very different way than you did today.” Graeme gripped his dirk, easing it up from beneath his belt just enough for the blade to start glowing blue again.

Ritchie stared, backing away. “You wouldn’t…”

The lad was right.

But Graeme leaned forward and met Ritchie’s gaze with deadly earnest. “You have two choices. Oban and my friend, Alex, or never knowing when you’ll wake in the night to find me standing beside your bed, ready to run you through. Pennard is too small for Ramsay and the vermin who flock to him. I think you’re still salvageable. Choose wisely.”

And Ritchie did, cramming the pound notes into his pocket and racing off along the cliff path, running in the opposite direction of Pennard.

Graeme waited until he disappeared behind a dip in the path before he shoved a hand through his hair and started back to Kendra.

The last thing he wanted was to have to explain to her how Ramsay managed to send the rock hurtling over the cliff. Too bad he had a feeling he’d have no choice but to tell her truth.

And when he did…

All kinds of other questions would arise.

Kendra felt Graeme’s return even before she heard him striding through the high, wind-tossed grass. The air around her charged, turning electric on his approach. The sensation intensified as he neared, strengthening until ripples of awareness raced along her nerves and her pulse quickened, her mouth going dry.

If he’d glanced her way, noticed anything odd when she’d turned her back to him to speak with Jock MacAllister, he’d surely want to grill her.

Knowing she had to deliver Jock’s message was hard enough.

She wasn’t ready for a barrage of questions, especially when she had enough of her own. She hadn’t forgotten that Graeme’s footsteps hadn’t left tracks in the sand when he’d left her at Balmedie Beach.

Nor had she missed Jock MacAllister’s implied comment that he’d known Graeme during his earthly existence, impossible as that was.

He certainly was like no other man she’d ever met.

Everything about him was compelling, from his dark good looks and rich Scottish accent to the pride and devotion he had for Pennard. Now, as he closed the space between them, regardless of what she’d been doing and where he’d been, a delicious swirl of shivers washed over her and her heart beat faster.

She could tell he was almost upon her.

Unable to wait, she turned to face him as he came up to her. His gaze was fixed on her, his stride purposeful. The morning sun did wicked things to his glossy black hair. It fell loosely around his shoulders, gleaming in a way that wasn’t good for her or any female with blood in her veins. As she watched, he pulled a leather band from his pocket and reached to retie his hair in a ponytail. The quivering in the air increased, the entire atmosphere seeming to shift as he neared. Kendra took a deep breath to steady herself, meeting his gaze as calmly as she could.

The village youth, Ritchie Watt, wasn’t with him.

“What happened to the boy?” She was glad for something to say.

“He’s a greater fool than I’d thought, that’s what.” Graeme stopped before her, pulling a leather band from his jacket pocket and tying back his hair. “You won’t believe what he said he was doing here.”

“He got away?” Kendra looked past him, scanning the wall the youth had been creeping along. Nothing moved there except the grass, still bent by the wind, and a few wisps of curling mist, all that remained from the sea haar that had swept the bluff.

“I let him go.” Graeme stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. “He didn’t push the boulder. No one did. That’s why I sent him away.” He took a long breath, his gaze on a tall Celtic cross in a pocket of deep shadow near the wall with the pillared arches. “I have a good friend who runs a castle hotel near Oban, down in the southwest. Ritchie can work there. Alex will get him turned around—I’m sure of it. If the boy takes my advice and goes there, and I’m no’ certain he will.”

He looked back at her. “Ramsay has him in his thrall, feeding him all kinds of dangerous rot.”

Kendra hardly heard a word.

Her powerful physical attraction to him made it difficult to focus on anything else. Wishing she could, she tucked her hair behind an ear and then adjusted her jacket, pretending to tighten it against the wind. Anything to keep him from guessing how strongly he affected her.

How badly she wanted to forget everything except him and how tempting it was to be alone with him in such an old, atmospheric place.

“So how did he explain the falling rock?” It was all she could think to say. She looked at him, waiting uncomfortably as the air between them thickened even more, warming with his proximity. “I have a feeling he must’ve said something outrageous.”

She was sure of it because of Graeme’s hesitation.

Her question put an almost pained expression on his face, and it was clear he didn’t want to answer. Glancing away from her, he looked out at the sea, glittering now in the sun. She could tell he was searching for words.

After a moment, he turned back to her, tightened his grip on her shoulders. “He said Ramsay used magic to make the boulder fly off the cliff. That’s what Ritchie believes, anyway. I’ve no doubt Ramsay told him such bunk, knowing the lad would buy it. He sent Ritchie here under the guise of keeping watch. The lad was told to report back to Ramsay at the Spindrift, supposedly with word that I’d been eliminated by a spell-driven rock.”

Kendra frowned, something niggling at her. “Ramsay sent him here on a fool’s errand?” And then it came to her. “He must’ve had a reason? The rock did fall. That means Ramsay knew it would, so how?—”

“Easy.” Graeme bent a long, assessing look on the nearby ruins. “Anyone familiar with this site, and Ramsay is, knows that a lot of the fallen masonry from the tower lies along the other side of those broken walls, near the cliff edge. Sending Ritchie here and telling him to hide among that rubble would’ve almost guaranteed one of the rocks would break away and crash to the beach below.

“I thought you said rocks don’t often fall off the cliffs?”

“I did, and they don’t. Unless”—he stepped back, releasing her shoulders—“something disturbs them. With the exception of where Grath’s sea gate once stood, where we climbed up the cliff, the edge of this bluff has been worn away over time. Rabbit holes and puffin burrows have done the rest, and now there are quite a few places where large chunks of sod and grass thrust out over the edge, with nothing but a four hundred foot drop to the sea beneath.”

“Mercy.” Kendra felt herself blanch. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me that before we came up here.”

“There was no need. The old sea-gate stair is solid enough, just slippery. And”—he flashed a glance at her—“I wasn’t about to let you fall.”

Kendra believed him, her heart warming to know he’d protect her. Again, the word guardian flickered across her mind, reminding her of her first impression of him on the dunes at Balmedie. She’d sensed then that he was the kind of man who’d walk through fire for someone or something he cared about. His expression now, as he stood looking at her, told her she’d been right.

“But why would Ramsay want to put a young boy in such danger?” She still didn’t understand the man’s motive.

“I can only guess, but I’m betting he banked on Ritchie disturbing the rocks and causing one to fall down onto the beach, perhaps striking one of us. At the least, he will have hoped such an event would send me straight for the cliff path, which it did.

“Chances are Ramsay figured I’d spot Ritchie and my temper would break.” He turned toward the sea again, took a deep breath. “He would’ve counted on me pouncing on the lad. Slight as Watt is, I could seriously hurt him, or worse, if I struck him in a rage.”

“And then the authorities would’ve arrested you.” Kendra understood at last.

Graeme nodded, his gaze still on the water. “It’d be a tidy way for Ramsay to get rid of me. And I promise you, he wouldn’t bat an eye if I had killed Ritchie. He views the lad as disposable, knowing one night of bragging and giving out rounds of ale in the harbor bars of Aberdeen would pull in enough new lackeys to serve him.

“He can charm when he wants to.” His tone hardened. “You saw that on your first night at the Laughing Gull.”

“His moves left me cold. He struck me as a snake-oil salesman.” Kendra shuddered, remembering how he’d come on to her. “I’ve never cared for such men.”

For one thing, she was crazy about Graeme.

And now was surely a good moment to tell him about Jock MacAllister. Unfortunately, her mind blanked each time she tried to think of a good way to start. If he’d said he believed Ramsay had the skill to move a boulder from afar, she would’ve felt better about admitting to seeing and talking to ghosts. She could’ve run with his acceptance of supernatural powers and slid smoothly into such a subject.

But he’d called the notion bunk.

Kendra knew such things were possible.

Through her work, she was aware how crazy that kind of power sounded to nonbelievers. There was a big difference in talking whimsically about selkie folklore and accepting that a modern-day man could sit in his home and will a boulder to hurtle off a cliff top. So she bit her tongue, letting the chance slip by.

“I’d like to see where the rock went over the edge.” Graeme stepped beside her again. “If you’re game, we should be able to see the spot from the tower.” His gaze went to the ruined shell with its three deep-cut windows. “It’s solid and we can easily climb to the second embrasure. I’ve been up there before and know there’s a fine view of the beach. The stone benches framing the alcove are intact. We can rest there before we head back down.”

Kendra followed his gaze, deciding the window arch in question looked like a much more precarious perch than he’d described.

“I don’t know…” She didn’t finish, considering.

Even if they went up there and the window seats proved as comfortable as her secondhand, over-stuffed sofa back home, she’d be treading dangerous ground by putting herself in such a potentially romantic spot with him. She’d fantasized about sitting in just such a ruined tower window with Mr. Right beside her, nuzzling her neck and whispering sweet nothings in her ear as they gazed out at the sea. In her dreams, such moments didn’t stop at neck nuzzles. They grew increasingly heated, indulging her deepest, darkest desires.

Graeme lifted her chin, his expression earnest. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Kendra almost laughed, nervously. What would he think if he knew she wanted something to happen?

“I know that.” She did. He’d plainly stated why he wanted to go up there. And it hadn’t been because he meant to make love to her.

Sadly.

But she still hesitated. The wind was tugging at his hair, threatening to undo the knotted band that held his ponytail, and watching his long, black hair tossing reminded her of the crisp dusting of chest hair she’d felt when she’d slid her hand beneath his shirt down on the beach. She also recalled the hard strength of his muscles, the seductive warmth of his skin. She’d love to see his chest, run her hands freely over him, touching him everywhere.

He’d be beautiful naked.

The thought excited her.

Whirls of tingly sensation swept her most intimate places, warming and melting her. And because it’d been so long since she’d experienced such yearning, she also felt heat shoot up her neck to stain her cheeks.

The truth was, she could almost climax just standing here thinking about having Graeme unclothed before her, hers to touch and enjoy.

Only problem was, after the pleasure, she’d spend a lifetime aching for him.

She frowned, wishing they’d never met.

He smiled, dazzling her in a way that made her ever so glad they had.

No matter what happened, she wouldn’t have wanted to miss a moment with him. So she straightened her shoulders and tossed back her hair, forcing a smile as she braced herself to do something she knew she shouldn’t.

“Okay.” She hooked her arm through his, anticipation beating inside her. “Let’s go visit your ancestors’ tower window. I’d love to see the view and”—she patted her jacket pocket—“maybe take a few photos, as well.”

She didn’t say what she really wanted.

But as Graeme led her across the grass and past the broken walls and scattered mounds of rubble, she could sense that something had shifted between them. She didn’t know if it was this place or the promise of being alone together in a secluded medieval window embrasure or just the impact of having shared a moment of danger.

Whatever it was quickened her breath and made her heart pound.

And when they reached the base of the tower, stopping before a set of admittedly sturdy-looking steps, her entire body thrummed with desire, a reckless craving such as she’d never before known.

“See?” He smiled down at her, taking her hand. “It’s exactly as I said. We just need to skirt these nettles”—he guided her around them—“and then we’ve only a short climb up this stair to the alcove. There’s nothing to worry about.” He leaned in, kissed her brow.

“I know,” Kendra fibbed, a thousand worries weighing on her, the main one being how she’d ever live without him once she left Scotland. Because she knew something monumental was going to happen when they reached the ruined embrasure.

“Then come.” Their gazes locked for a moment, the look in his eyes underscoring her impression.

Almost light-headed, she broke the eye contact first, looking down at the broad, age-worn stones that wound up the tower’s curving wall. Unfortunately, her gaze fell across his groin, and she couldn’t miss the telltale ridge that indicated he was also stirred.

She pretended she hadn’t seen.

But she had, and her whole body, all her emotions, went into overdrive. Tremors spilled through her, a torrent of need that only worsened as he tightened his grip on her hand and led her up the ancient steps.

Oh yes, they’d reached a turning point.

And there would be no going back.

Not if she wanted to cast all caution to the wind and seize what pleasure she could, even if the memories haunted her forever.