Chapter 6

Chapter Six

B ella didn't know what to do or think. First the Highlander in her kitchen and now that man on the horse, riding toward her. His face . . . He'd wanted to kill her, she'd known it with a cold, hard dread. And then, a moment later, nothing. The loch was still as glass, the air was sweet and chill, and the silence absolute. Bella could tell herself she was imagining it, that the past few days had scrambled her brain, that her synapses had gotten crossed.

But she knew what she'd seen; she just wasn't sure what to do about it.

And there was something else. Just after the man on the horse disappeared into thin air there had been a movement on top of one of the shallow hills that surrounded the loch, where the road ran across from Gregor's croft. Something pale brown and shaggy and elongated had been standing there. She hadn't seen it for long, but long enough to know it was the pony with the strange green eyes.

When Gregor came to see her later in the day, bringing her milk, eggs, and butter, and asking her about some missing sheep he'd had grazing by the loch, she didn't know whether to mention her experiences or not.

"You've seen no one about?" he asked, concerned for his sheep. "No strangers?"

Yes, a ghost in the kitchen and another one riding a horse.

"Well . . . no."

"Where's Brian?"

Bella looked away from Gregor's keen gaze. "Brian's having a holiday. Sort of."

Gregor nodded. "Verra well." He gave her a dour smile. "If sheep went missing in the old days it was the way of the people to blame the each-uisge . There were other monsters, too, like your Nessie in Loch Ness, and creatures in other lochs that are not so famous. The waters of Scotland have always held their secrets. Only nowadays we dinna believe in such things."

Bella frowned. "Strange you should say that, Gregor. I did see a horse by the loch. Well, a pony. Twice. I thought it might have belonged to you."

Gregor shook his head. "I have no horse, Bella. Mabbe it was from over Mhairi."

"Maybe."

"I'll ask about. See if there's one missing. What did it look like?"

"Odd."

He gave her another dour smile. "Next you'll be telling me you're seeing ghosts, Bella."

She grimaced and knew she couldn't talk to Gregor. Whatever was happening to her, it was up to her to sort it out for herself.

When Gregor had gone, Bella stood and gazed across the reflections in Loch Fasail and over to the gray bulk of the mountains that sheltered Ardloch on the coast. The long twilights seemed to go on forever, so that there was very little darkness. It felt like another world, a dreamlike place where anything was possible. On nights like this Bella had no difficulty in believing the Highland tales of ghosties and ghouls and monsters in the lochs.

Brian had swum in the loch once and rushed out, white-faced, saying something had tugged his foot. She had laughed at him, but he'd been adamant it wasn't his imagination.

"This place is haunted. That massacre you're writing about, there must be restless spirits all around us. That's why no one else wanted to stay here. That's why it was so cheap."

"It's not haunted," she'd mocked, "and if it is I don't care. I want to live here forever."

"I do want to live here forever," she said now to the silence. "Despite the spirits and the each-uisge . Please, can I stay?"

And it was strange, but when she looked up there was a big bird, a majestic eagle, soaring above her. Considering her request.

* * *

The sweat popped out on Maclean's brow. Could ghosts sweat? Well, they must be able to, because he was.

He tried again, concentrating fiercely on the tea mug Bella had left on the desk the night before, and his fingers shook as he tried to close them about the hard shiny surface. For a heartbeat he felt it . . . and then his fingers slipped through.

Maclean sat, head bowed, feeling confused and depressed.

Since the rider had appeared and tried to hurt Bella, Maclean had felt a change in himself. A tingling in his fingertips. He'd hoped it meant he was regaining his sense of touch, but although several times he had almost caused the mug to move, it seemed he still had a long way to go.

He was worried, too.

What if something else happened to Bella? How could he protect her properly if he was barely anything more than a puff of air? He needed to regain his full faculties as soon as possible. When he was alive, there hadn't been much about warfare and battle he did not know. He had been protecting his people since he was a boy—it was one thing he was very proud of—and watching over Bella would be no hardship.

Indeed not.

Sometimes he wondered whether the real reason he wanted to feel again, to be a man again, was to protect Bella or because he wanted to hold her in his arms and feel her womanly curves. Both, maybe. It was true that the sight of her burned into him. He admitted it. For a man who could not feel hunger, Maclean was ravenous with lust. If this was two hundred and fifty years ago, he'd have taken her into his four-poster bed by now. He let himself picture them lying on the fine feather mattress with the bedcurtains pulled all around them and her soft pale skin flushed by his attentions. Muted, safe, intimate—just the two of them.

But that was a randy dream—there was no possibility of taking her to his bed. Whether he liked it or not, Maclean could only watch and listen, and every hour that passed increased his awareness of her.

Last night he had watched her sleep.

When Bella slept she had such a peaceful expression on her face and her body grew soft and relaxed as her breathing slowed. Maclean did not sleep himself. Like other functions of the living, this was denied him, so instead he watched her with an intensity that was almost envy.

"Maclean?"

With a jolt he had leaned closer in the darkness of Bella's bedroom.

"Maclean."

Bella was calling his name in her dreams.

All the hairs on his skin had stood straight up. She was dreaming of him .

"I'm here," he'd whispered, peering into her face. "Och, Bella, ye are so beautiful." He bent forward and kissed the air above her cheek.

"Maclean . . ." She'd turned over and snuggled into her quilt, a smile curving her mouth.

Maclean's eyes stung with tears. He had not cried since he was a wee lad, but he was in danger of it now.

Because, if he lived in her dreams, did that mean he existed, somewhere in the shadowy realm of sleep?

Did that make him real ?

At that moment Bella came into the room, her hair still tangled from sleep, her face fresh and beautiful, all of her so delicious. He badly wanted to stand up and swing her into his arms and take her straight back upstairs to bed.

"Not real enough, unfortunately," he muttered dejectedly, and reaching out his hand tried to grasp the mug once more.

* * *

Bella couldn't stop smiling as she began to make herself some toast. Last night she had a wonderful dream. She paused, butter knife in one hand, toast in the other, and closed her eyes to remember.

Maclean had been standing in the shadows, watching her.

"You're not real," she told him firmly.

"I'm caught between life and death, neither one thing nor the other. But I am a man. I want ye like a man wants a woman."

How could he do that? Make her heart beat stronger like that? Just with his voice and his words?

And then the scene had changed. They were lying in the soft fragrant grass by the Cailleach Stones, beneath a night sky full of strange moving colors—green and blue and yellow, surging and shivering. She was watching the sky over Maclean's broad, strong shoulder, because his body was on top of hers. Heavy, powerful and very masculine. His legs between hers were moving with a rough friction, and his hands on her hips, his fingers strong and callused, were probably bruising her skin with a grip more used to a sword hilt than a woman's tender flesh.

But the thing was, she was loving every moment of it.

Her mouth clung to his and she heard herself moan. Her Highlander was not gentle, but he wanted her. And she wanted him to stay just where he was now—inside her. She could feel every inch of him. He was big and silken, elegantly stroking her inner flesh, making her senses quiver and ache. Another moment and she would shatter. . .

He lifted his head and his eyes were full of tenderness.

"I like to watch ye while ye sleep."

The surroundings had altered again. Now Bella was back in her bedroom and Maclean was leaning over her, his face darker than the night. Bella's eyes opened and she thought: Is this a dream or am I awake? Although she knew it could not be the latter, such things were not possible.

"Och, Bella, ye are so beautiful." His voice was husky, deep, and it stirred her very soul. And then he bent and kissed her cheek, his lips as gentle as a moth's wing. "Sleep now, sleep now…"

And Bella drifted away on the warmth of his breath.

Now Maclean's husky voice played over in her head and she smiled again, knowing she was being silly. Very silly. In reality Maclean had been a black-hearted villain and here she was making him into a romantic hero, but she couldn't help it. She wished she could dream about him every night. It certainly lifted her spirits, not to mention her libido.

"Och, Maclean," she murmured.

The mug on her desk suddenly flew out over the edge and crashed to the floor.

Bella stared, wide-eyed.

And then the phone rang and nearly sent her through the roof.

It was Georgiana in Edinburgh.

"Bella, there you are," she said in her brittle voice. "I thought I should let you know that Brian is staying here with us."

"He told me."

"Oh. I didn't know what he'd told you. He was in a bit of a state when he arrived here. Actually, I thought you might ring him."

Did Georgiana expect her to apologize for upsetting Brian? Bella knew she wasn't going to do that, not ever again. The silence seemed to unnerve Georgiana and when she spoke now there was a catch to her voice.

"I don't pretend to know what happened between you two, Bella, and I don't want to, but I did wonder . . . you wouldn't consider coming down to Edinburgh for a few days, would you? Just over the weekend. You and Brian could talk, sort things out. I'd make sure you had time alone. I'm certain you're just as keen to see him as he is to see you."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Bella's heart was bumping and she felt slightly sick. "Brian said everything he wanted to say to me before he left. I think you'll find he doesn't want to see me."

"Bella, I'm sure—"

"I'm working, Georgiana. If Brian wants to talk, he knows where I am."

Georgiana gave a loud sigh, as if she thought Bella was being childish. Perhaps Brian was right to covet Georgiana, perhaps they were made for each other.

"All right. If that's what you want, I'll tell him. Goodbye, Bella."

The call disconnected. Bella pulled a face at it. Her good mood was spoiled now. She glanced at the mug on the floor. Maybe there was a very slight earth tremor? Bella glanced about her, but nothing else seemed to have moved. Her gaze fell on a stack of her heaviest books. She had put the replica of Maclean's portrait under there to flatten out the creases after Brian had crumpled it. She removed it now and held it up to inspect it. Not too bad, she thought. Almost as good as new.

Her good mood restored, Bella replaced it on the wall above her desk, so that she could look up and see it as she worked. Her fingers lingered on the paper.

Och, Bella, ye are so beautiful.

If only dreams could come true.