Immortal Desires (Well of Souls) (8 page)

His expression didn't change. "So? Where is it?"

"I don't have it now. It disappeared when I fell on your floor. It was an intricate knot of silver with a large sapphire in the middle, surrounded by ten smaller rubies."

He knocked his chair over backwards and advanced on her, a thunderous expression on his face. "Where have you seen that brooch before?"

The heat of his body so close to her brought back Deanna's memories of the man in her dreams. She tilted her head back and focused on Ian's lips. She watched him hesitate; he could feel the force of that connection too. Energy charged between them and she stifled a moan, wanting nothing more than for this man to kiss her, no matter the consequences.

He stepped back, his eyes narrowed to slits of hard emeralds. "Tell me where you saw the brooch." His brogue thickened, sounding dangerous. Instead of fear, Deanna felt energy course through her body, striking her erogenous zones.

Confusion swept over Deanna—her sexual tension, his anger. She didn't know what to make of it all. "I told you. I had it with me in the graveyard. That's where I found it."

"Nay. It's a family heirloom, locked up for safekeeping." He flicked his hand at her guards. "Take her up to the room next to mine and bar the door."

Her handlers dragged her up two flights of stairs, tossing her into the very room she was staying in—in that other life. Gone were the little modern amenities that someone from the 21
^st
century would expect—the small refrigerator stocked with juices and sodas, the alarm clock next to the bed. Candles sat where lamps were just yesterday. The room itself was larger too, no longer partitioned off to hold a bathroom.

Deanna slumped down onto the bed, shock beginning to set in as her eyes confirmed the worst. She'd traveled back in time somehow. Had this egotistical brute really been the same man haunting her dreams? It didn't seem possible but her body begged to differ.

The biggest question of all curled her stomach into knots. How did she get back home again?

Chapter Fifteen

Too many impossibilities surrounded the woman upstairs. Ian sent everyone out of the room—other than Munro and Tomas, the captain of his guard. He needed to think, not listen to rampant speculation.

"My laird, I will personally punish the guards at the gate for allowing a Cameron to pass by them." Tomas sat stiffly, his eyes staring straight ahead to some point on the wall. Ian saw the sweat bead on his brow, though the day was cool.

"Nay. Be at ease, Tomas. She didna come through the gate. I felt a powerful magic about her." Ian hoped the lust in his loins came from that magic as well. Any other explanation would sicken him. The Camerons were filth beneath his boots. To be attracted to one? He might as well jump on the back of a kelpie and let the horse drag him to a watery death.

Munro tugged at his earlobe with a shadow of a grin. "She doesna look much like a Cameron, everything on display and all."

"Haud yer wheesht!" Ian slammed his hand down on the table, the sound ricocheting around the room. "I willna discuss her…attributes. We need to find out who sent her here and why."

Munro shrugged. "You're the Druid. Canna you sense her purpose?"

"Nay." Ian growled low in his throat, maddened by his initial failure. "But I will."

Tomas looked over at him now and spoke as his lifelong friend, not his captain. "Dinna you find it odd that she appears on Bealtuinn?"

Ian rolled his eyes at him. "You mean besides the ancient magic, dropping out of nowhere, speaking English with a strange accent and being indecently dressed?"
And burning my blood with desire?
He wasn't going to admit to that one. There were too many odd things about her to feel comfortable with the temptress under his roof.

"She must be from around here," Munro said. "She recognized you."

"Should I list her oddities again?" Ian shook his head. "She's no from around here but I'm going to find out who she is." He got up from the table and stalked upstairs, ready for a fight.

***

The door opened without so much as a knock but Deanna had been expecting that. She waited behind the door with a heavy wooden vase in her hand, the only weapon she could find. It was the laird himself who stepped through but she didn't care, swinging at his head with a strength pumped full of anger.

His arm shot out and grabbed her wrist before he even turned toward her. Some reflexes. Deanna saw fire brimming in those green eyes as he locked gazes with her. She licked her lips and his nostrils flared.

"You'll have to be faster than that, lass." He took the vase from her hand and set it on a table, still gripping her wrist. "My mother is fond of that vase."

Somehow, the mention of his mother made him a little more human in her eyes and Deanna relaxed a little. Big mistake. He dragged her over to the bed and tossed her down, careful not to get too close to her.

"Start talking." He crossed his arms over his chest, his feet planted in a wide stance.

Deanna drew into a cross-legged position and found his eyes riveted to her crotch. Men… "If we're going to talk, at least look at my face."

He jerked his head up and narrowed his eyes at her. "Mayhap you shouldna dress so wantonly."

Deanna started to bristle, then realized for this time period it was true. Well, there was nothing she could do about that. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Who sent you here and by what magic?" He leaned in and she could feel his body heat. His brogue was thicker than the man in her dreams but she was sure it was him. Why didn't he know her?

"Why have you been haunting my dreams?" she shot back. That brought a bark of laughter from him. Not exactly the response she'd been expecting.

"Haunting your dreams? Are you daft?" He bent down closer, a wicked smile on his face. Deanna felt her heart speed up and hoped he couldn't hear it. "I dinna haunt dreams, lass. I create them."

His lips were inches away from hers now, the dark stubble along his jaw line only adding to his magnificence. The man dripped sex appeal. The words out of his mouth kept slapping her across the face, though.

He rose back up like a satisfied cat. "You can stay in here until you feel like answering my questions." He turned and stalked out the door, leaving Deanna furious enough to think of picking the vase back up and hurling it at him. What an egotistical, pompous jerk. She wished she didn't want to wrap her legs around him at the same time.

***

Ian couldn't believe how badly he'd handled that, letting her lead the conversation. All he could think about was tasting those sweet lips. He'd barely managed to escape with his dignity intact. One more second and he might have thrown himself down on top of her—a Cameron. He must be losing his mind. That's the only explanation he could think of.

His mother passed him with a tray of soup and bread and started up the stairs.

"Where are you taking that?"

"The girl must be hungry. You dinna intend to starve her, do you?" She gave him a knowing smile and kept walking.

Ian opened his mouth to say something but he'd only be talking to her back. He'd had enough losing battles for one day and she did need to eat—until he decided to throw her out on her ear, which would be soon. He'd get his answers first, though.

***

Boulder, May 2012

Robert spotted Ian sitting at a table, staring off into space while absently stirring his coffee. He hid a smile and walked over to join him.

"How goes the memories?" he asked and slid into a seat.

Ian looked over at him and grimaced. "I am acting the fool."

"When did she show up?"

"In 1505. I'd recently had a skirmish with a few Cameron trespassing on my land so the bitterness of my father's death was fresh on my mind. It would have been easier if her name hadna been the same."

"Well, you were young," Robert said. "What were you? Twenty-three?"

"Aye. That's still no excuse. I could feel the difference of her, but in my arrogance I've decided it was the magic surrounding her." Ian went back to staring into the distance. Robert decided to leave him be for now. He'd adjust to the double memories soon enough.

"I'm sure your mortal self will figure it out."

Ian grunted, his eyes haunted as he gazed back over at Robert. "If I give her a chance before throwing her out to fend for herself."

"Have faith in yourself, my friend." Robert patted Ian's shoulder as he walked by. "I always have."

Chapter Sixteen

Highlands, May 1505

There was a knock on the door, followed by a pause. Curious, Deanna grumbled a curt "Come in" but stayed on the bed. A tall woman entered, her long dark hair held back in a braid, carrying a tray of food. Deanna's stomach growled in response to the aroma. She hadn't eaten breakfast before she left for the graveyard and it seemed to be nighttime here.

"I'm Isobel, Ian's mother." She had a pleasant lilt to her voice and Deanna thawed slightly. It would be nice to talk to someone who didn't bark orders at her.

Isobel set the tray over on a table by the fireplace and sat down at the other end. "Will you come eat? You must be hungry."

"What do you think of my son?" she asked once Deanna started to eat.

"You mean the pig-headed Neanderthal who locked me up in this room?" Deanna gave her a hard stare, then decided it wasn't wise to alienate the woman. After all, she did bring food up here.

Isobel laughed, a melodious sound that drew a smile from Deanna. "He's young yet. I'm afraid it's your name that fashes him so. Tell me, are you of the Camerons of Achadh nan Seileach?"

"Never heard of them. As I told him, I'm not even from this country…or this century."

"I didna think so." The woman sat still, as if listening to something Deanna couldn't hear. Her eyes, as green as her son's, refocused after a moment. "I had a vision of you, along with a Bean Sidhe."

"A banshee?" Deanna frowned, trying to dredge up any facts on the mythological creature. "Don't they scream a lot?"

"I dinna ken. Have you met many?" Her eyes widened and Deanna assumed it was a serious question.

"I haven't met any—I don't think."

"What I saw next to you was the Bean Nighe—the washer woman who predicts death. You didna see her?"

"I did see a woman with a bloody rag right before I came here," Deanna admitted. "But she didn't send me. I found a brooch and it started shining when I held it. Then I was here." She shrugged, not understanding it herself.

"A brooch? What did it look like?"

Deanna described it and the woman's face drained of all color. "What do you know about the brooch? Can it send me back home?"

Isobel wiped a tear away from her cheek and gave her a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Aye, I ken the brooch. It belonged to my husband. He was wearing it when he died. It's been locked in a chest ever since. My son refuses to wear it. Where did you find it?"

"In the graveyard." Deanna gulped. How much should she reveal? Did this woman really need to know that her son would be the last Mackay laird and they would all haunt a hotel in the future? No. Deanna couldn't tell them anything useful and she didn't want to change history.

A new thought struck her and panic clawed its way up her throat. Was she changing the timeline just by being here? Would people die that weren't supposed to because of some action she took?

"You look like you could use a bit of drink. You're swaying, lass."

"I suppose I could. I was just thinking about how I might be disrupting history."

"Nay. Dinna fash yourself about that." The color had returned to Isobel's cheeks. "Fate has a way of placing you where you belong—whether you like it or no."

She gathered up the tray and eyed Deanna's clothes. "It willna do to have you wandering around like that. I'll bring up something to help you sleep and one of my dresses."

Isobel threw the door open and spoke to the guard standing there in Gaelic. He shook his head and she spoke again, this time with finger-pointing. Deanna saw his gaze drift over to her, then shrug. Isobel turned around and gave her a nod. "The garderobe is at the end of the hallway."

Deanna hoped that was some kind of bathroom and hurried down the hall. Anything beat squatting in the bushes outside.

***

Ian stared at the fire long after everyone else had retired for the evening. What bewitchment lay over him? All he saw within the flames was golden hair…and a sweet curve of ass in those trousers that fit like a second skin.

He gripped the cup in his hand and tried to slow the thunder of his heart as a smile spread over his lips. She had fire in her soul—the kind that burned a man if he wasn't careful.

Sipping the whisky, Ian thought about what his mother had told him earlier. She really believed the woman was from the future and not a spy for the Camerons. Why could she read the lass, when his Druid powers couldn't penetrate the magic that shrouded Deanna in mystery?

Deanna… It was a pretty name. He tried it on his tongue and the sound pleased him. Mayhap he should go up to her room and talk to her again.