Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

MORE THAN A STORM CLOUD

"Fuck a duck!"

Kate gripped the seat in front of her until her knuckles glowed white as the small aircraft landed on the Highland airstrip with one final, tooth-rattling bump.

Bouncing through storm clouds while flinching from thunder flashes was not Kate's idea of an ideal flight. Squaring her shoulders, she determined not to flinch or tense. The plane had landed safely. She was ready for anything—just a little green around the gills.

Having collected her suitcase in the arrivals hall, Kate was surprised to find a man waiting for her inside the small terminal building. The owner of the inn in Kildear village, where Kate had booked a room for a week, had been quite specific in advising her to call a cab as soon as she landed. If you land, Kate thought now. And could she trust the driver holding up a sign? He looked more like a Special Ops guy than a local driver. Dressed in black, he had a face like well-carved granite. Walking up to him, she introduced herself. "Thanks so much for meeting me, but I'm afraid there's been a mistake?—"

"No mistake," he informed her. "My chieftain sent me."

"The Laird of Kildear?" Had sent a driver for Kate? Good start!

The sign he was holding bore the laird's crest, which featured a rampant dragon. Kate was so busy admiring that, she let go of her suitcase, and the driver took it and made for the exit.

Following at speed, she called after him, "I should have explained—I booked a room at the Rising Star Inn—I don't want to put the laird to any trouble."

"No trouble. That room has been canceled. You will stay at the castle with the laird's other guests."

That was rather high-handed. She had two options: stay or go. Obviously, stay, but not happily. Nothing about this felt right.

Bill's worried face flew into her mind. I can handle this, Kate thought fiercely. "It's very kind of your chieftain to arrange this. Please thank him from me."

This was greeted by a grunt as the driver opened the rear door of a beautiful vintage Bentley. "Ms. Trent?"

The vehicle had been meticulously restored, but seemed out of place in the wilds of Scotland, but Kate supposed anything was possible for a billionaire landowner like Torran Kildear. With a title, a castle, and the biggest security company in the world, he was hardly going to send a horse and cart.

She tensed as the car door closed on a familiar world, leaving Kate firmly in the laird's realm. But she was here to get a story, and if that involved entering another person's opulent life for a few days, she had to get over it.

Kate's colleagues in the office had joked that the storms were caused by the gods' anger, because they had never been invited to one of Torran Kildear's infamous Gatherings. When Bill saw the invitation, he actually apologized for subjecting Kate to what he'd heard was the equivalent of a Roman orgy. "But, I can't send one of my bearded wonders," he'd said, prompting Kate to check her chin.

"I'll fit in just fine," she'd assured him.

"Go for broke," Bill had advised. "Wear your shortest skirt, bring back a scoop, and get out of there fast," he'd recommended, throwing PC caution to the wind.

Naturally, Kate had ignored this advice. Sensible travel gear was in order: jeans and a hoodie, with a warm jacket, heel socks, and waterproof trail runners. Glamorous, she was not.

Her outfit for the party was not so run-of-the-mill, but at least she'd be well covered up. No skin on show for Kate Trent. The invitation stated: fancy dress optional. With a distinct lack of "gowns" on the rail in her bedsit that passed for a wardrobe, Kate had rented an appropriate outfit.

Her pulse picked up as the classic vehicle slowed in front of huge gilded gates. Opening as if by magic, they led the way to a very long drive. Kate's sense of isolation increased as the gates swung to behind them. But the rain had stopped, allowing the beauty of Scotland to be revealed. The grand driveway was edged with a most beautiful, well-tended border of lilacs and roses, both renowned for magical properties and for negating malicious intent.

Lush green fields stretched away on either side, edged by stately trees and a sparkling river. Beyond these, a carpet of purple heather stretched away to the foot of towering mist-shrouded hills. There was no sign of a storm, and she couldn't imagine having anything to worry about in such beautiful scenery.

Until the castle loomed into view.

Now, that did look a bit sinister…

Pull yourself together, Kate told herself firmly as they passed beneath an imposing stone archway. The castle had been weathered by centuries of gales and driving rain. It was hardly going to be a chocolate-box sight. But does it have to be quite so gloomy?

Rising ominously above the waters of a Stygian moat, jagged turrets and a towering keep seemed to suck the remaining light from the sky. A heavy iron-studded door suggested more gloom beyond the entrance?—

And WTF?—?

Craning her neck to try to get a better view, Kate couldn't believe birds were so big in Scotland. She wasn't mistaken. It was definitely something flying?—

Yes. A fast-moving bank of clouds, she told herself sensibly.

Before she could bring what she'd seen to the driver's attention, they were rattling over a cobbled courtyard flooded with light. Several uniformed staff members hurried out to greet them, which Kate took as a good sign, but as she stepped out of the car, she was surprised by the faint smell of smoke. It wasn't unpleasant. She guessed they were barbequing in the kitchen and didn't give it another thought as she was ushered into the warmth.

Finding the laird's staff so friendly was a great start. Kate was gregarious and loved chatting and sharing, to discover all the quirks that made people unique and interesting. It was no surprise she'd been drawn to journalism. She had no interest in money-grubbing and reputation trashing, but when it came to meeting new people, Kate was in her element.

An older woman called Ingrid introduced herself as the housekeeper, while several younger, uniformed maids quizzed Kate about London. When she'd answered their questions, Kate asked a few of her own. "What do you love about Kildear?"

"The laird," the maids chorused.

"And he has the best-looking friends," one piped up.

"I look forward to meeting him," Kate said, reserving judgment until she'd done just that.

"Don't expect too much," a maid who introduced herself as Lucy said. "When he's here, the laird keeps himself apart."

Another mystery? Kate thought about media images of the searingly good-looking laird, whose Gatherings had caused a sensation in the press. So, he did mix with some people, just not all people, she reasoned.

"But when you do see him," Lucy said, distracting Kate with a lift of her brow and an appreciative wink, "you're going to feel the same way we do."

"Which is?"

The maids laughed as Lucy suggested, "Like swooning?"

Hmm. If Kate's dream the previous night was anything to go by, they could be right. "What do you mean by keeps himself apart?" Kate queried, looking to add color to her article. "What's the point of him coming here if he doesn't mix?"

"He's our chieftain," Lucy said as if that explained everything.

There was definitely something more going on here. Kate's nose for a story was twitching. The maids were loyal, she got that. It would be unfair to press them, so she settled for "Gorgeous, but unavailable," to the delight of her new friends, adding, because she couldn't stop herself, "Is there a wife—a girlfriend?"

"No, but he has plenty of admirers," Kate was assured.

"Now, now, girls," the housekeeper, Ingrid, intervened. "That's enough gossip for one night. You'll have our visitor wanting to leave us before she's arrived."

"Not at all," Kate said. "I should tell you right away that I'm here to write an article about weather conditions in Kildear for an extremely respectable magazine called Storm, so you're quite safe confiding in me."

Ingrid hummed, as if to say, "proof of the pudding,'' while the other girls laughed, but the relaxed atmosphere had definitely changed. Who could blame them? Did anyone want a snooper poring over their life?

"I'm sorry," Kate said quickly. "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not a muckraker looking for gossip. Your laird invited me to investigate storm activity and to attend the Gathering. Unless something truly awful happens, I can't see myself showing the castle in anything other than a positive light."

A collective sigh of relief swept over the kitchen, but she could sense them thinking, Okay, we'll give you the benefit of the doubt, and then we'll make up our minds about you.

"That's fine by me," she said out loud.

Everyone looked at Kate as if she'd gone mad. "I didn't say a word," Ingrid pointed out, "but you're most welcome here. I know I speak for all of us when I wish you a happy and productive stay at the Castle of Kildear."

And then the house phone rang, and an angry male voice filled the kitchen. "What's keeping the woman? Send her up right away!"

"Yes, sir." Ingrid glanced at Kate. "Laird Torran is waiting for you."

Torran knew Kate Trent had arrived. What he didn't understand was how she could waste his time like this. Using human second sight, he'd watched her since she'd arrived at the airport in London. During her flight and entry to the castle, he'd drawn a few conclusions: Kate Trent was bright, and both interested and interesting. Like so many visitors before her, she was surprised by what she found inside the castle. Expecting the forbidding exterior walls to dictate the interior décor, she'd had her eyes opened by the lively colors of Thorgar: violet for energy, mercury green for its powerful spectral rays, and chrome blue to remind Torran of Thorgar's skies. Not forgetting fire red for that color's passionate effect on both man and dragon.

Kate Trent couldn't know why these tints affected her, but she appreciated their brilliance, as well as the light they threw. She found the architecture impressive. The ceiling of the vaulted hallway was more than thirty feet high, allowing dragons to assemble in their true form, if they so wished. Stained glass windows filtered light through the spectrum of Thorgar, while rich fabrics and furnishings vied with solid gold to continue this lavish theme.

Tapping his foot with increasing impatience, he knocked back three fingers of whisky. Thinking back to the introductory text he'd received from Kate Trent, he fully expected the journalist in person to put him to sleep within five minutes, but if she would write what he wanted, he was willing to grant the requested interview.

Plus, her scent was promising. He'd picked it up on the wind. It told him she was young, pretty, and eager—and innocent, which, for a dragon, was an irresistible lure.

The magazine she worked for was worthy and boring, but a tame journalist could quash the rumors currently circulating. The last thing he needed was an invasion by the world's press while trouble in Thorgar was brewing.

The question was this: would Kate Trent fit the brief for a tame journalist? On paper, yes, but now he'd seen more of her, Torran wasn't so sure. She might work for a fusty magazine, but Ms. Trent was no studious spinster. With more pep than a squirrel on double espresso, she had more smarts than he could safely let loose on his guests.

It was time for his guests to wise up. Dragon hearts had grown soft under Torran's protection. Kate Trent might be the disruptor needed. Certain other qualities had aroused his interest. Lush, young, feisty, and intelligent, it would be foolish to cast her aside without fully evaluating her potential.

Torran's press stated that he, Torran Kildear, Laird of Kildear, was a billionaire philanthropist who had returned to his Scottish roots to restore Kildear Castle, no expense spared, when, in fact, he was a dragon shifter with Highland blood. Thirty-two in human years, he was ageless in dragon. Staff who worked at the castle only cared that their laird was back, providing work as well as the protection of his security company.

Torran's most recent visit was to Thorgar, where the White Hordes were stirring up trouble again. On the same time continuum as Earth, Thorgar was where most of his dragon kin lived, and it was his duty to protect them. Hence the Gathering. This was a coming together, not of his clan, but of his kind. Some dragons chose not to live dual lives as he did and were content to remain on Earth, never shifting into their alternate self. But with the balance between good and evil disturbed, it was necessary to summon all the winged forces.

The costume ball he had planned would explain away the sudden influx of visitors. That was where Kate Trent came in useful. He would encourage her to write her piece, giving a simple explanation for what Torran knew would be dramatic and prolonged storm activity with so many dragons visiting.

"Send her up!" he yelled impatiently at Ingrid. Scowling, he turned at the sound of a knock on the door.

A young woman with striking red hair entered the room. A bright aura surrounded her. A trick of the light, he reasoned as she smiled and said, "Your lairdship? My apologies. I was chatting downstairs. I hope I haven't kept you waiting…?"

Kept me waiting? It was a wonder fire and brimstone didn't billow from his mouth. He had no time to waste on entertaining his tame journalist. A quick briefing should suffice.

His last flight had confirmed trouble in Thorgar. Dropping below the storm clouds, he'd plunged to earth at speed to make this meeting. Dragon legs extended like an eagle poised to snatch a fish from a lake, he'd seized hold of the landing rail outside the topmost turret of the castle with massive steel-strong claws. Folding his gold-tipped wings, he'd made the transition to human form in full expectation of an eager Ms. Trent rushing through the castle to find him. Instead, there was an impatient laird and a journalist who apparently couldn't give a damn.

"You have kept me waiting, and my time is short."

"Forgive me," she said with maximum charm. "You have the loveliest staff, and I was distracted."

"Clearly," he rapped.

He'd felt a strange connection between them when he watched Kate board her flight in London. He felt that same pull now. Standing in front of him, looking like a fire-haired, if somewhat rebellious, wood nymph, there was definitely something about this woman?—

There was something about every woman.

And far faster ways to fly.