Cottage in the Mist Page 5

  "Oh my God. How awful." Her fingers twined with his. "I don't know what to say. Do you know who did it?"

  "No' for sure, but I have an idea." The words felt ripped from his chest.

  "Someone you knew then?"

  "The son of an old enemy of my father's. But he would have had to have help. Which means my father was betrayed."

  "Which makes it all the worse. It must be tearing you apart." She pushed close, as if somehow she could wipe the agony away with merely her physical presence. And he blessed her for it, pulling her tighter against him.

  "I have no' had the time to really think it all through yet. It happened so fast. I barely got out of there alive."

  "You were there?" Her eyes widened, her fingers tightening on his arm.

  "Aye. And they were coming for me next."

  "But you escaped."

  "For the moment, yes. But they know that as long as I live, I'll seek vengeance."

  "And so this enemy wants you dead?" She frowned, a tiny line forming between her eyes. "Surely the authorities can do something."

  "Mayhap. I dinna know. That's why I came to Duncreag. I need Iain's help."

  "Then surely he'll give it to you."

  "That he will. It's just a matter of whether it will be enough. But I dinna want you to worry. And I need you to know that whatever happens, being here with you has helped me to forget—at least for a little while."

  She nodded. "Me, too. I mean, you've helped me too. It's almost as if we were meant to find each other. As crazy as that sounds."

  Despite the gravity of the conversation, he laughed. "Well, if you are a wee bit daft then I must be as well."

  For a moment he simply let his mind drift, relishing the feel of her lying next to him, and then he bent his head, first kissing her eyes and then the line of her nose and the curve of her brow. Then finally kissing her lips, the sweet intoxication almost more than he could bear. She opened her mouth and he traced the line of her teeth with his tongue, her taste at once familiar and exotic.

  He wondered if he could ever truly get enough of her. Or if he would forever be doomed to wanting more. He smiled against her mouth, realizing there were far worse fates.

  There was magic in the bright green of her eyes and Bram marveled at the emotions rocketing through him. Emotions that she inspired. There was desire, certainly, more than he had ever known, but there was so much more than that. There was a kind of fierce possessiveness, a protective urge as old as time itself. Something he had never felt before.

  And even more surprising, there was a gentle tenderness, the need to cherish and revere, the power of his need almost unmanning. And finally, there was a selflessness as foreign to him as breathing under water. He knew in that instant that he would give anything, do anything, if it would make her happy.

  She smiled up at him, her eyes like a spring meadow. And with a groan, he captured her mouth with his, his tongue and lips communicating all that he was feeling. It was a take no prisoners kiss, both of them taking and giving.

  Then he shifted, kissing her cheeks and eyes, the soft curve of her ear and the gentle slope of her neck. He trailed kisses along the cleft between her breasts, then he pulled one swollen peak into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the taut nipple until she cried out, the sound filling him with pleasure.

  Sucking harder, he caressed the other breast, unable to get enough of her, secretly willing the night to last forever. Her fingers twined in his hair, urging him onward, her body like a fine bow, primed and waiting. Waiting for him. He smiled at his own rhetoric, wondering when he had become a bard.

  Slowly he inched downward, his tongue tasting first the soft skin of her belly and then, lower still, trailing soft kisses along her inner thighs, his tongue stroking her skin, his desire demanding he take more, that he taste all of her, that he make her once and forever his.

  Shifting slightly, he pushed her legs apart and bent to kiss her, lapping at her delicate softness, drinking in her sweetness. Her hands tightened in his hair, her body arching joyfully upward, meeting him, wanting him.

  Using his tongue and his fingers, he drove her closer and closer to the edge, feeding on the soft sounds of her passion. And then her body tensed, arching up off the bed.

  "Bram," she cried.

  Needing her now more than life itself, he slid upward again, covering her mouth with his as her hand closed around him. Fire raged through him and he thrust his tongue into her mouth, the moist, hot feel almost his undoing.

  God's blood, he wanted this woman. Wanted her with a fury unlike anything he had felt before.

  Her hand slid up and down, stroking, squeezing, caressing, the pain sweet, his need burgeoning into white-hot desire. With a groan, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. With a crooked grin, she sat up, straddling him. And then slowly lifted and slid down again, taking him deep inside her.

  He sucked in a breath, wondering if there could be anything better than the feel of her hot and wet against his taut skin, only to lose the thought as she began to move, her hands on his shoulders, her long, wild hair falling like a screen around them.

  Grasping her hips, he helped her set the pace, slow and easy, each upward motion almost separating them. She licked her lips, her eyes glazing over with passion.

  "Now, Bram."

  Her words bit into him, as much an aphrodisiac as her movements. He increased the pace, driving deeper, harder, with each stroke. She threw back her head, her body glistening from the exertion.

  Lost in the moment, she rode him for all she was worth, her eyes closed, her face beautiful in her abandonment. He stroked her breasts, his hands cupping and fondling as together they climbed higher and higher. In, out, in, out, harder and faster, until there was nothing but the motion, the friction, and the incredible union of their bodies—their souls.

  Finally, standing at the edge of the precipice, he dropped his hands back to her hips, timing their movements for one last powerful thrust. She cried his name as she tightened around him, and he felt the spasm of her release, the ecstasy driving him higher, taking him over the edge until there was nothing but heat, and light—and Lily.

  *****

  Lily yawned and snuggled closer into the warmth of the bed, lost for a moment in the magical seconds between sleep and the conscious world, a place where everything was possible and nothing bad could ever happen. But, as always, it slipped away as her mind became fully awake, reality slamming home with painful finality.

  Her parents were dead.

  Her life would never be the same again. And now, now she was truly alone.

  But then another thought pushed its way front and center.

  Bram.

  She'd spent the night making love with Bram.

  On the surface it was insane. But in the cold, pale light of morning, she felt no sense of regret. Last night had been magnificent. And no matter what happened next, she wasn't sorry.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she opened her eyes and rolled over, but Bram wasn't there. The bed was empty. Her heart constricting, she sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. Everything else was as she remembered. The fireplace. The bed. The only thing missing was the man.

  The gray dawn through the cottage windows proved that the storm had passed, although there was still no sign of the sun. She could see coals glowing in the fireplace, and her clothes had been spread across a chair to dry. So it hadn't been a dream. The cottage was real. And that meant that Bram was real, too.

  And he'd left her there.

  Except that even as she had the thought, she rejected it. Bram wouldn't just leave her on her own. No matter how he felt with the morning's light, he wouldn't just walk away. Would he?

  With a shiver, Lily pulled the fur closer around her, running through the things they had said. The things they had done. Her cheeks burned as a blush stole across her face, and she shook her head, trying not to let her thoughts grow maudlin.

  Last night had been amazing. Never in her life had
she considered that lovemaking could be like that. So powerful, so explosive, yet at the same time so gentle, almost worshipful. With Bram she'd been fearless. Willing to trust him in a way she'd never dared trust anyone else.

  But there had been no promises. No words of love. She and Bram had both admitted feeling a strange connection. As if they'd known each other for more than just a few hours. But even as she had the thought, she realized how foolish it sounded. How was it possible to establish that kind of intimate connection with someone in so short a time?

  Her fingers closed around her ring, and she remembered her mother telling her once that she'd known Lily's father was the man for her the first time she'd set eyes on him. And that she'd never doubted that first impression. She'd known, even then, that they would spend the rest of their lives together.

  So maybe this was her moment. Her man.

  Except that said man was currently missing.

  The cynic inside her whispered that he was long gone. Taking what he wanted and then heading for the door. But her heart wasn't as certain. Their lovemaking had been too powerful for it to have been all an act.

  Something beyond the physical had passed between them. Something that bound them together in a way she had no words to explain. Which meant that he was coming back.

  Feeling decidedly more positive, Lily threw off the covers and quickly crossed the room to pull on her clothes. Her skirt and blouse were thankfully dry, although stained with mud and grass. She doubted they'd ever come completely clean. One of her shoes lay by the edge of the bed, but even after kneeling to look at the floor underneath, she couldn't find the other one. And impatience was beginning to gnaw at her stomach.

  She needed to find Bram. To prove to herself that he felt the same as she did about last night. And the simplest course of action seemed to be to go outside and look for him.

  To heck with the shoe.

  And so, clutching the one she had found, she strode barefoot across the room and threw open the door. The mist still swirled across the clearing, but it had been relegated to the ground now, and was already beginning to dissipate. The air was crisp and fresh. Cleaned by the rain.

  There was nothing left to show the fierceness of the storm but a few puddles and a broken branch or two on the neighboring trees. She supposed she ought to go and check on the rental car. But only after she'd found Bram. She hadn't seen his car last night, but she presumed there must be one. Maybe he'd gone to get help. Or maybe he'd gone for breakfast.

  Or maybe he'd just gone, the little voice in her head insisted.

  "Bram?" she called, her voice sounding hesitant. Why couldn't she just sing it out? If she believed he was here, then why was she suddenly so afraid? Because Justin left you, the little voice goaded.

  "But this is different," she whispered fiercely. This was Bram.

  Again she felt as if the words held more meaning than just the things that had happened between them last night. Even now, she couldn't shake the feeling that somehow they had always known each other.

  "Bram?" she called again, this time with more conviction.

  From somewhere within the trees that surrounded the cottage she heard a noise. An answer. With a smile she walked across the clearing, stepping into the shadow of the trees, just as the sun burst out from behind the clouds.

  For a moment everything was quiet, and then the hairs on her neck stood on end. Turning slowly back toward the cottage, she found herself holding her breath without understanding why.

  For a moment the clearing before her looked the same, and she started to turn away, to call for Bram again. But then her mind made sense of the reason she'd felt so uneasy, and she turned again to face the clearing.

  The empty clearing.

  Where only moments ago there had stood a stone cottage, there was nothing but vines and weeds accentuated by a tumble of stone where once, at least in her mind's eye, there had been a chimney.

  CHAPTER 6

  "ACH, YOU PUIR WEE LAMB, I canna believe you were out there in that storm." Agnes Abernathy dabbed the cut on Lily's head one last time and then firmly affixed a bandage. On the surface, Agnes had the buttoned-up sensibility of a wise old woman, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her an impish quality that hinted at a much younger soul. "That should hold you for now. The cut isn't deep. But the knock on your head was pretty severe."

  Lily winced at the pronouncement. Severe enough to have made her imagine the cottage in the mist.

  And the man who'd changed her forever.

  Grief did strange things, but she wasn't a person normally given to fantasy. And yet this morning she'd woken in her car with Jamie Abernathy, Agnes's husband, pounding on the window, worried no doubt that her injuries had been far worse than they actually were.

  She hadn't bothered to tell him that she hadn't spent the night in the car. That she hadn't been out in the storm much at all. How could she possibly explain the light in the woods? The shelter of the cottage. The warmth of the fire. The heat of the man.

  There was no cottage. Or at least there hadn't been one in a very long time. She'd seen the ruins with her own two eyes. Touched the tumble of stones with her own two hands.

  There was no cottage.

  And so there could have been no man.

  She'd made it all up. Out of desperation or panic or God knows what. And now… now she was sitting in Mrs. Abernathy's cozy parlor at Duncreag trying to pretend that nothing had happened. That everything was normal.

  "Are you sure you dinna want me to call the doctor?"

  Lily pulled her thoughts away from last night, shaking her head. "No, really. I'm fine. Just a little banged up. It could have been a lot worse." In truth she wasn't sure how, but she wasn't ready to discuss it. Especially with a woman she hardly knew. No matter how lovely she might seem.

  "Aye, I suppose it could. That river can be nasty. Especially with the kind of rain we had last night. I'm grateful that you and your wee car weren't washed away."

  "You and me both," Lily sighed.

  "'Tis no' much of a welcome we've given you, I'm afraid. But that doesn't mean we're not delighted you're here. Valerie was really worried."

  "I'm grateful that you called to let her know I was okay. My cell isn't working up here. I forgot to arrange for European coverage when I left."

  "Well, it wouldn't have done you any good." Mrs. Abernathy shrugged. "Between the hills and the valleys there is no' much coverage even if you've got a Scottish phone. Can I get you anything else to eat?"

  The woman had been fussing over Lily since her husband had brought her home.

  Home. Now there was a thought. The tower was imposing. Magnificent in its own way, but it was hard to think of it as anyone's home. Even though the inside had been remodeled to turn it into an inn, the bones were still clearly medieval.

  Something chased across her spine and she shivered.

  "How about some more tea?" Mrs. Abernathy urged, her keen eyes taking in Lily's discomfort.

  Lily nodded, holding out her cup, grateful to be taken care of.

  Mrs. Abernathy poured the tea and then sat back, her gaze assessing. "I canna help but feel that there's more to the story than what you've told us."

  "If there is, then I don't remember it," Lily answered. "I'm afraid everything went a bit hazy after I hit my head." Actually it had gone the way of Alice down the rabbit hole, but she wasn't about to admit that. "So how do you know Valerie?" she asked, trying to shift the conversation away from the talk of last night.

  Mrs. Abernathy held her gaze for a moment more, and then smiled. "Actually I met her through your mother."

  "You knew my mother?" Lily wondered why Valerie hadn't mentioned the fact. But then decided that if she'd known, she might not have wanted to come. Ghosts of the past and all that.

  "Aye. And your father, too," Mrs. Abernathy was saying. "They stayed here once, a long time ago. Just after they were married. Long before you were born." She sat back, taking a sip of her tea. "They were love
ly people, your parents."

  "Yes, they were. I'm glad you had the chance to know them. But then where does Valerie come into it?" She frowned, trying to put it all together.

  "Well, actually she came to stay not long after that. On your mother's recommendation. It was just after her first divorce." Valerie had been married three times. None of them keepers, as she was fond of saying. "I think she needed a friend, and frankly, so did I. Anyway, we bonded over red wine and old American movies."

  "And you've kept in touch all these years."

  "Aye. She's been here a few more times. And I met her in New York one fall. My grand adventure, Jamie calls it." Mrs. Abernathy smiled, her eyes softening with the memory. "I canna tell you how sorry I was to hear about your parents. But I was glad when you decided to come here. Duncreag is a magical place. You can feel it in the air. If there's anywhere that can soothe your soul, it's here."

  "And are Katherine and Iain in residence?" Lily asked, wondering idly what a Scottish laird would look like.

  "I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Abernathy asked, her brows drawing together as she frowned.

  "Valerie said that the new laird was moving in. Something about an inheritance?"

  "Well," Mrs. Abernathy said, tilting her head to one side quizzically, "that much is surely true. But the new laird's name is Jeffrey. Jeffrey St. Claire. 'Tis him and his wife Elaine who've come to live here."

  Lily frowned. "I'm sorry. Clearly I've gotten the names wrong. I must have misunderstood." She mentally chided herself for the mistake. Katherine and Iain were the names that Bram had given her. And Bram wasn't real. Which meant, of course, that his Katherine and Iain never existed either.

  Again Mrs. Abernathy seemed to be searching her face and Lily struggled not to blurt it all out. It would be so nice to confide in someone. But she was fairly certain that even in the Highlands, a woman spouting tales of disappearing cottages and dark, rugged strangers would result in a call to the nearest psych ward.

  "Ach, well, that's easy enough to do." Mrs. Abernathy smiled, but there was still something Lily couldn't quite put a name to reflected in her eyes. "Especially after all that you've been through. Jeffrey and Elaine have gone out for the day. They should be back later this evening."