Lost in the Highlands, Volume 3, page 22
“Shhh,” said a familiar voice as the bed gave at his side. “It’s all right my love, I am here now.”
Cool, clammy, hands slid up his thighs and wrapped around his jutting erection.
Gavin pulled in a sharp intake of air. “Lass,” he half moaned/groaned. Reaching down, he grabbed her hands and opened his eyes. In disbelief, he stared up at the crimson haired beauty. The one that had plagued him many a night in his dreams. Sure he was dreaming, he closed his eyes and reopened them again.
She was still there.
“Jillian?”
“Aye, laird, it’s me, your love, Jillian.” She tightened her hold, making him gasp in pain. “Were you expecting someone else?” Her ice blue eyes sparkled with venom.
Although her tone was sweet in an almost sickly way, Gavin had a hard time coming to terms with what he was seeing. Gritting back the pain she was causing, he choked, “Nay.”
“And here I thought you would be happy to see me.” Her ice blue eyes flashed with venom.
“How?” It was the only word he seemed to be able to manage.
Jillian dug her nails in deeper to the point she was almost drawing blood. “I’ve fought my way back from the dead for you. For us.”
Gavin tried to lift his hands but found he could do naught but endure the torture she was wielding against his person with her nails. “Jillian,” he gasped and then groaned as she dug her nails in deeper.
“Did you miss me?” She asked sweetly enough but there was still a sickly tone of contempt accompanying it.
“Yes,” he nodded.
She smiled then. It wasn’t a nice smile and then to his utter amazement, she lowered her mouth and suckled him.
His entire body tensed and at first, the intense pleasure he felt from her mouth made his erection stiffen even more but then she nipped at him and caused another unwelcome bought of pain.
Again, he tried to move but his body wasn’t cooperating. Dizzily, he looked around the room. Everything seemed to be moving in and out of focus.
Jillian continued her ministrations and just when he was on the precipice, she pulled away again.
His body shook from the conflicting sensations. Pain, pleasure, and then pain again. “Why are ye doing this?” he rasped out.
“That’s the million dollar question, my laird, she scathed. “ Why indeed.” She gave him a wicked mocking smile and then lowered her head once again.
CHAPTER 1
HIGHLAND GAMES, CENTRAL VIRGINIA
Present Day
Clarion, the oldest living member/heir of the cursed Grey clan by a few meagre minutes, pressed his palms down on the round table.
Leaning forward, he gave the witch sitting on the other side a look that many a man had run from in the past. “Where did ye send him, witch?”
Looking unfazed, she merely sat back and crossed her arms. “I am no witch.”
Clarion slapped his palms down, causing the table to shake and the very large Highlander to his right, to take a step forward.
Tilde cut a look to the Highlander named Timothy and shook her head.
Obeying, Timothy took a step back and resumed his silent vigil at her side.
“Woman, or witch, I no care what ye are…if ye do no tell me where ye sent me brother, I will release yer head from yer shoulders and enjoy doing it.”
Tilde shrugged. “Try if ye like but killing me will no bring yer brother back to ye or release him from the curse ye have brought against him and yer family.”
“I am no the cause of that damnable curse!” he roared.
“Makes no never mind ta me. It will no change what has already been set in motion.”
Clarion was at the end of his tether. He had spent a fortnight following his brother but was always a step behind. Every time he got close, something untoward happened and he lost sight of him once more. He figured the forces that be, were working against him, but that was nothing new. He had dealt with worse in his life thus far and was not one to give up so easily. Besides, if he did, he probably wouldn’t be around much longer and neither would his brother—damnable witches.
Trying another tactic, he pulled out a chair and sat down. “I have coin,” he said.
Tilde seemed to contemplate what he said and then finally asked, “How much coin?”
“More than ye could spend in yer lifetime.”
Her red brow raised an inch and her eyes took on a glassy fevered look that Clarion knew well—greed.
“I can no guarantee ye anything…”
“If ye can no…”
“Let me finish, Highlander,” she snapped.
Clarion gritted his teeth. “Speak yer mind, woman, and do it quickly, else I may lose what little patience I have left.”
Tilde leaned forward and grabbed a deck of tarot cards off the table. One by one, she laid them out. Turning one over, she studied it. “It will no be an easy task, but I may be able ta help ye get ta yer kin on the next full moon.”
“Is that what the cards say?”
She let out a loud cackling laugh. “No, Highlander. It is no what the cards say.”
“If the cards are no telling ye anything, why are ye putting them out on the table?”
“Oh, but they are telling me something. Jes not what ye think they are telling me.”
“Witch, I am warning ye…”
“And I am warning ye, Highlander…speak ta me thusly one more time and ye can forget about ever finding yer kin.”
Fighting for patience, Clarion scrubbed his hands over his face and then set them back on the table. “I am listening.”
Tilde gave him a toothy grin and settled back in her chair. “Glad ta see ye have come ta yer senses.”
“Get on with it,” he forced out.
“As I was saying, before ye rudely interrupted me…I may be able ta send ye back on the next full moon.”
“When is that going ta be?”
“In three weeks.”
“Three weeks,” he repeated. “I can no wait that long.”
“Well…” She shrugged. “I can no help that. The moon will be full in three weeks. If ye need ta leave before that, try ta find another witch ta do yer bidding.”
Clarion scowled at her. “I thought ye said that ye were no witch.”
She shrugged and flipped another card over. “Time will tell, Highlander. Time will tell.”
“Och, bloody contrary witches.” He stood up from the table.
“Not so fast, Highlander. Where is my coin?” Again, the fevered look of greed entered her eyes.
“I will give it ta ye, when ye give me what I ask.”
“So be it. Return in three weeks, before the moon is at its highest peak.”
“What time is that?”
“The witching hour, of course.”
“Unlike ye, I am no witch, so would ye care ta elaborate further?”
She gave him a doubtful look but replied anyway, “Before midnight.”
“Great.” He turned to leave.
“Highlander,” she called.
Clarion turned back around and gave her a bland stare.
“If ye try ta double cross me, there will be Hell ta pay,” she warned.
“What else is new,” he muttered, garnering more cackling laughter from the witch.
Rolling his eyes, Clarion lifted the tent flap and stepped outside into a torrential downpour. “Bloody Hell!”
CHAPTER 2
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past - Greystone Castle
“Okay, boy. See?” Paige waved a stick at the dog. He looked better than the last time she was here, but he still had a lot of fur missing. She named him Elvis, but he tended not to respond when she called him that so she used ‘good doggie or boy’ instead.
“Fetch!” She tossed the stick out into the middle of the courtyard.
Elvis slowly swung his head in the direction of the stick and then just as slowly back towards where Paige stood.
“Come on boy! You can do it!” Lifting her skirt, she jumped off the stair, and ran towards the stick.
Looking over her shoulder, she checked to see if the dog was following.
He wasn’t.
“Aw, come on.” She stopped. “What kind of dog are you?”
Elvis opened his mouth and yawned, obviously not the least bit interested in playing fetch.
“Bet you’d chase my shoe,” she said but Elvis wasn’t listening. He was too busy investigating a clump of grass near the steps.
Paige bent over and picked up the stick she threw. Standing once more, she caught sight of the tree in the middle of the courtyard and shivered involuntarily. That was the same tree all of the men had been hanging from when she was last here, in this time.
Fighting the urge not to cry, she forced her eyes away, and looked back at Elvis.
Sensing her watching him, Elvis looked up for a moment and met her gaze with his world-weary eyes. Then he lifted his leg and proceeded to pee on top of what he just sniffed.
“Well,” she sighed, walking with the stick back to the stairs. “So much for that.”
Leaning down, she gathered up the rest of the sticks that she had collected for the fire.
“Come on, boy,” she called, but Elvis didn’t seem inclined to follow her just yet. “Fine. I’ll leave the door open for you, but don’t stay out past dark or I’m leaving you outside.”
Elvis wagged his tail and trotted over to another clump of grass.
“I wish I was as easily amused.” Turning, Paige carried the bundle of sticks inside.
The hall was unusually quiet now that the men were gone; making each step she took sound louder than it should.
Bending over, she piled the wood in a neat stack on the hearth. The fire was almost out, so she added a stick to it, and prodded the coals until the flames caught once more.
Standing back up, she pressed her hand to her lower back and rubbed. Her muscles were stiff and sore from sitting for days tending to Gavin. His condition hadn’t altered since the day at the Loch.
Each day was the same. She woke up, but Gavin didn’t. Paige tried to keep her spirits up, especially around the boys, Muir, Alec, and Graham but her resolve was dwindling quickly.
Finally, with her urging, Muir, Alec, and Graham went off to retrieve Callum from Shamus.
At first, they refused, but after a few days of her constant nagging, they had finally agreed to leave.
She was glad when they did leave, at first, so she wouldn’t have to keep up the pretence of keeping it together any longer. But now that they had been gone for over a week, she was starting to worry if they would return at all.
Not having the inclination, nor the energy, to climb the stairs at the moment, she sat heavily down into one of the chairs near the hearth. The last time she sat here, Gavin was eating her ‘Oatmeal Surprise’ with all the men.
A slight smile crested her lips, remembering their expressions of horror while they ate it—or tried to. It wasn’t very good.
The open door creaked as it moved back and forth in the wind. The sound, lulled her, and her eyes drifted shut. Paige knew she should get up and go check on Gavin but she couldn’t seem to muster the oomph to move just yet. Besides, what would be the point? He would still be sleeping and she would still be wondering if he would ever wake again.
♦
Gavin drifted in and out of consciousness. His breathing was ragged and his body was stiff and sore. He felt like his horse was sitting on top of him. Every time something tangible entered his mind, it slipped away before he could grab hold of what it was. On some level he knew he was in Greystone, in his own bed, but the how of it all seemed to elude him.
A shuffling sounded across the room and he clung to the noise like a lifeline, trying to remain awake. It was hard though. It seemed his mind was wont to go back to the oblivion he had just escaped from.
Fighting the urge to let it pull him back under the blanket of darkness, he forced his eyes open. Everything was blurry—out of focus.
A crackling noise and the smell of burning wood let him know there was a fire in the hearth. It was a comforting scent—one he remembered quite vividly.
Slowly, other things became tangible. The feel of the furs beneath his fingers. The rawness in his throat. The pain behind his eyes. All were a welcome respite from feeling nothing.
“Water,” he croaked, barely audible. A task as simple as speaking sapped his strength.
The shuffling grew louder and he heard the distinct sound of water being poured into a glass—a glorious sound, indeed.
A gentle hand slipped behind his head, levering him up, and a glass pressed to his lips.
He drank the water down in huge gulps, and it dribbled from his mouth down onto his chin and chest. It tasted so good, felt so good on his raw throat that he did not even notice the overly sweet aftertaste.
The arm that held his head tightened and the water continued to pour down his throat, to the point he was gasping for air.
He tried to pull his head back but it was stuck in a vice like grip. From lack of air, he gurgled and gasped.
Suddenly the water stopped and his head was dropped back onto the pillows. Rolling to his side, he coughed and wheezed, trying to drag air back into his lungs. “Are ye trying ta kill me?” he rasped.
“Not yet, but I might,” a harsh female voice taunted.
Gavin’s blood ran cold.
He knew that voice.
Pressing himself up, he looked over his shoulder, right into the smiling eyes of the woman he thought he would never see again—Jillian.
“Ye can no be real.”
“What’s the matter, laird?” she scathed the last. “I thought ye would be happy ta see me after I have given ye so much pleasure.”
She spoke sweetly now, but there was a burning fire of hatred in her eyes. Suddenly, Gavin remembered awaking before and seeing her but he had thought it was a dream. A very bad dream.
“Ye can no be real,” he repeated, shivering now. Not from fear, but from a cold that was spreading throughout his body.
“Oh, I am real.”
“What…did…ye…do…ta…me?” he chattered.
“Oh, that.” She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Jes a wee bit o’ potion ta keep ye from trying ta interfere with what I have planned for that evil lass ye brought ta our home.”
Gavin never gave much credence to the word fear. It was a wasted emotion, or so Morgan had told him time and again while they were training. But now, fear was running rampant and he was unable to thwart it like he had so many other times in the past.
She gave him a winning smile. “Not ta worry, laird,” she said a bit too cheerily. “I will rid these walls of her vileness soon enough.”
“Jillian…” He struggled against the effects of the drug she had given him. “She is no consequence ta me,” he implored. “Jes let her go back ta whence she came and we can be together. I promise...”
She laughed. It was a high keening sound and it made gooseflesh rise on his skin.
“Think ye would have a care with what promises ye toss around. Have ye so soon forgotten the last one ye made ta me and broke?”
“Jillian, I …” His tongue felt swollen in his mouth and he couldn’t get out the words he wanted to say.
“No need ta worry. I forgive ye. Now, ye go on back ta sleep and I’ll take care of the lass, jes like I did with all the others before her.”
She turned to leave but then stopped and faced him again. “And that man too,” she added. “Now he was a bit harder ta bring down, but Broderick took care of him for me. Jes like a good man should.”
Gavin’s blood was near boiling at this point but he was helpless to do naught but listen to her insane rantings. Even while he fought against the effects of the drug, and the cloying darkness that seemed to want to swallow him whole, it occurred to him, that she was nothing more than a she-devil in disguise.
The bitter residue of this knowledge sat heavily on his tongue as he remembered all too clearly that his own insatiable desire and bruised ego had brought him here this day. And now, his sweet lass, Paige, the woman his heart now belonged to—she would bear the brunt of his horrible mistake.
♦
Groggily, Paige looked around to see what had woken her and spotted Elvis at her side. She lowered her feet and sat forward. “So, you decided to come in, finally,” she said to Elvis but he didn’t seem to hear her. Instead he was standing at her side, growling.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Paige leaned forward to see what the dog was upset about.
Granted, they had a precarious relationship, with one another, but they had come to an understanding of sorts, or so she had thought. “Are you hungry?”
Elvis barked loudly.
Paige reared back, suddenly afraid. She hadn’t heard him do that since the day Broderick had tried to approach her outside, after she had run from him.
Jumping up, Paige quickly grabbed one of the sticks from the hearth and got into a defensive stance.
As her eyes scanned the room, a sickening feeling settled in her gut. Was Broderick back?
“Who’s there?” she called out. “Show yourself…or I’ll…I’ll, sic my dog on you. I swear I will. And he’s a beast. He’ll eat you alive,” she warned.
At that moment, Elvis decided to sit down, putting most of his bottom on her foot.
Great.
Now, he didn’t look nearly as ferocious as moments before. “Elvis get up and protect me.” She gently nudged his backside.
Elvis seemed unfazed by her command and leaned more fully against her legs.
“How am I to fight off the enemy with you sitting on my foot?”
Still unfazed, Elvis yawned loudly and lowered all the way down onto the floor.
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