Starry Knight (7 page)

They returned to their meals, she taking tiny bites of egg and fish between sips of coffee; he giving the illusion of eating without actually doing so. Finally, she looked up from her food, fixed him in her gaze, and asked, in typical out-of-the-blue water-bearer fashion, “What’s your position on off-shore drilling in the North Sea?”

“I oppose it,” he said, meaning it.

“Because it’s an environmental travesty, right?”

“Because not one penny of the revenue winds up in Scotland’s coffers,” he corrected her—not that she was wrong about the devastating environmental impact of the practice. “England reaps the profits from mining our national resources and invests the money in its own enterprises whilst cutting Scotland’s public services to the bone. It’s bloody appalling.”

“I can see why you feel that way, but I don’t want to see anybody profiting from off-shore drilling. We should be arresting our dependence on fossil fuels, not looking for new sources to feed our addiction—especially at the expense of the natural environment.”

He agreed with her. Humankind’s callous disregard for the health of the planet was insupportable. Water pollution, air pollution, ozone depletion, deforestation, global warming, and toxic waste, to name a few.

What the devil were people thinking? Aye, well. He knew perfectly well they were thinking only about themselves.
Fuck the planet and everybody on it so long as I can live in a grand house, drive a luxury car, and buy loads of things that will only go out of fashion.

Bloody hell. People said money was the root of all evil, but he disagreed. Money was merely the means to an end. The true root of all evil was selfishness.

The waitress was back, looking from him to Vanessa with a frown. “Didn’t you like the food, my lord? You’ve barely touched a bite.”

“It was fine,” Callum told her. “I’m just not all that hungry.”

She turned to Vanessa. “Not hungry for good food? I don’t know about you, lass, but I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed if he wanted my blood.”

The statement lanced Callum’s heart. Breath held, he awaited Vanessa’s reaction.

“Nor would I,” the lady flippantly replied, gazing at him with a wicked gleam in her eye.

Did she already suspect the truth? Callum compressed his lips to keep from saying something impulsive whilst reminding himself her sussing out the truth wasn’t the end of the world. For one thing, he could easily erase the knowledge from her mind. For another, he could feed on her the way he was dying to.

“Would you like me to box up the leftovers?” the waitress asked. “You could take it with you and have a picnic later. It’s a lovely day for it.”

“No, thank you,” he said, fishing out his wallet. “Just the check, if you don’t mind.”

The server collected their dirty plates and took them away. Lady Vanessa leaned in, her blue gaze intent. “Can I ask you something that might seem rather odd?”

“Of course,” he said, overruling his alarm. “Ask whatever you like.”

“Did you by any chance go out the window last night?”

He bristled, but still held her gaze, hoping she wouldn’t notice. “The window? No. Of course not. Why?”

“It’s just that, well,”—she looked away from his lying eyes, thank the stars—“I could have sworn I saw muddy footprints on the carpet this morning.”

“Aye, well,” he began, licking his lips. “That does seem extremely odd. They must have been there already—don’t you think?—and you simply failed to notice.”

“Maybe.” Her eyes narrowed as she turned toward the view. “But I really don’t think so.”

The waitress brought the check, which he promptly paid, and they walked to the car in silence. On the winding drive to the next stop on his sightseeing tour, he thought long and hard about taking her back to John o’Groats, cleansing her memory of him, and leaving her on the doorstep of the inn. It was by far the safest and most sensible course. So why was he still driving toward Whaligoe? Lust? Loneliness? A bit of both?

By the time he pulled into the unmarked parking tarmac above the steps, Callum had made up his mind to proceed as planned. After parking the car, he led Lady Vanessa along a track through a farmstead edging the sea cliffs until they reached the top of the steps, a steep flight of flagstones zigzagging down the cliff face. Locals claimed there were 365 steps in all, the Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historical Monuments of Scotland, that there were only 330. He’d always been too preoccupied trying to keep his footing in the thick haar often engulfing the lower portion of the steps to be bothered with counting.

Even without the fog, the grade was steep, the flagstones slippery when wet, and the height off-putting for those suffering from vertigo. On the plus side, the hike down was abundant with wild flowers and seabirds, and the view down below into the “goe”—a small rocky inlet surrounded by soaring cliffs—was nothing short of breathtaking.

“Where do they lead to?” Vanessa asked as they began the walk down.

He kept a firm grip on her hand. Her boots, while becoming, weren’t the best choice for this endeavor and he wanted to be sure she didn’t slip.

“To a grassy area called the Bink and the ruins of an old store salt once used to cure fish. From there, you can climb down to a rocky shelf known as the Neist, if you’re so inclined. Whaligoe got its name from a dead whale that washed into the ‘goe’ once upon a time.”

“Why were they built?” she asked.

“Harbors are scarce along this stretch of the coast,” he told her, keeping a firm grip on her hand, “so the locals were forced to use Whaligoe as a fishing station and needed a way to get their catches up the cliffs and to the market at Wick. If this proves too taxing for you, do let me know, eh?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “But I’ll let you know if that changes.” She took a quick breath. “Speaking of change, if you should decide to run for Parliament—and I sincerely hope you do—I’m sure I could arrange a meeting with my father.”

“Could you?” He did his best to feign surprise. “Duncan’s been trying in vain to get on your father’s calendar for months.”

“Has he?”

The question, though brief, was shaded with suspicion. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned Duncan. “I believe he expressed something to that effect last night,” he added, backpedaling. “Though I was preoccupied signing books, so I might have heard him wrong.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” She looked right at him, her watery blue pools shimmering with distrust. “Is that why you chatted me up in the bar last night? So your friend could gain access to my father?”

It was all he could do not to go off on her. How dare she accuse him of having ulterior motives when she’d come to Caithness hoping to expose his dark secret! “Nay, lass,” he ground out, keeping his temper in check. “I chatted you up because I saw you eyeing me at the signing like you wanted to fuck my brains out. And I wanted to fuck yours out, too. Something terrible. And, God help me, I still do.”

He grabbed her shoulders, jerked her to him, and kissed her hard on the mouth. Then, remembering himself, he put her away from him, turned on his heel, and started back up the steps.

“Tell me something, if you would,” he said, rounding on her. “Why are you so keen on me running for Parliament?”

“I don’t have any ulterior motives,” she replied, “if that’s what you’re thinking. I just care about saving the planet from those who would rape her for their own personal gain with no thought for the devastating environmental footprint they’re leaving behind for future generations.” She heaved a sigh and bit her lip in a way that made him yearn to kiss her. “Look, the truth is, I want you to run for Parliament because my father needs all the allies he can get in the Commons. He could help you pass legislation to help protect Scotland’s natural resources and you could help support his measures to do the same in England. Don’t you see? It’s a win-win, Callum. And, as far as I’m concerned, a complete no-brainer.”

“Spoken like a true Aquarian do-good-er.”

Her mouth tightened impatiently. “Will you at least think about what I’ve said?”

“Aye, I’ll think about it.”

Turning, he started back up the steps with her on his heels. Despite her compelling points, he still wasn’t easy about stepping into the public eye. While he’d taken pains over the years to ensure his legal records were copacetic—the title to the castle, his bank accounts, his birth records, driving license, passport, etc.—his dossier wasn’t water-tight enough to float under pressure.

Was getting back in the game worth the risk?

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

“To the beach,” he replied without stopping, “to watch the sunset.”

* * * *

On the drive to Sinclair’s Bay, Callum seemed broody and distant and Vanessa started to feel guilty about her ulterior motives. She came close to fessing up several times, but then talked herself out of it. If she confessed, he might take her back to John o’Groats—the last thing she wanted.

“Is anything amiss?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, no.” He darted a glance in her direction. “Of course not. What could be amiss?”

“I don’t know,” she returned. “That’s why I’m asking.”

“Everything’s fine,” he said with an unconvincing grin. “I was just thinking is all.”

“What about?” she pressed.

He shrugged the shoulder nearest her and flicked another look her way. “Duncan. Parliament. Dinner. You.” With an off-handed chuckle, he added, “Save us both some time, my lady, and ask what I
wasn’t
thinking about.”

Thankfully, he seemed in better spirits, but far from easy. Her courage faltered but she restored it with a deep breath. “What were you thinking about me?”

With a laugh, he said, “I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count.”

She gathered from that he was entertaining thoughts of an erotic nature. Good. She was entertaining similar thoughts herself.

By the time they reached the bay, the sky was streaked with bands of pink, orange, and gold. It was a spectacular sight, as were the sugar-white sand and brilliant turquoise sea below the bluff where they’d parked the car. Vanessa might have believed she’d been transported to the Caribbean had it not been for the bone-chilling offshore wind.

When she crossed her arms and shivered visibly, Callum very chivalrously took off his suit coat and offered it to her. No fool, she accepted the jacket and thanked him as she pulled it on. Taking her hand, he led her down a steep trail and across a bunch of rocks, neither of which did her boots any good.

Everywhere she looked, there were seabirds—wheeling overhead, perched on ledges, diving in the surf. Over the hiss of the sea, they conversed about the view, the weather, the stars, and the birds. He pointed out a group of puffins—comical-looking black and white birds with bright orange legs and bills. She enjoyed the camaraderie, his closeness, the smell of him on his jacket, and the feel of his big, warm hand encasing hers.

It behooves me to warn you double Leos are ruthless romantics—a dangerous prospect for a dispassionate water bearer.

Yes, well. She just hoped part of his ruthless plan was to kiss her like she’d never been kissed before while they strolled hand-in-hand along the beach. At the water’s edge, they shed their shoes for a walk along the surf, which quickly turned into a rollicking game of tag with each other and the waves. She couldn’t remember a time she’d enjoyed herself more—particularly in the company of a man.

At the moment, they were sitting on some rocks, barefoot, mildly sunburnt, and windblown, their loose hair whipping around their faces. Feeling blessedly at peace, she looked out over the sea. The sun, now low in the sky, was cutting a blinding white swath across the glistening amber-blue water.

“Look, up there,” Callum said, his voice barely audible over the birds and wind.

Vanessa shifted her gaze to the direction he pointed. High on the cliff overlooking the bay stood the ruin of a castle.

“That’s Girnigoe, once the seat of Clan Sinclair,” he said, looking at the castle’s crumbling remains. “It was built by William, the second Earl of Caithness, before his death at Flodden Field. The fourth earl, William’s grandson, imprisoned his own son and heir in the dungeon for being too lenient toward the townspeople. When, after seven years, poor John yet lived, the father gave him only salted beef, with nothing to drink, to hasten his death. He died all right, but not before the thirst drove him mad.”

“How atrocious,” she said, deeply appalled. Her parents might have been neglectful, but they were never deliberately cruel.

“Aye,” he agreed, his voice strained. “And John wasn’t the only poor lad to die so cruelly at the hands of that madman.”

Clearly, there was more to the story, but, at the moment, she was more interested in getting warm. “Isn’t there some place we could get out of the wind?”

“As it happens,” he said, giving her a look that took the chill off, “I know the perfect place. There’s a hidden sea cave just over yon.”

Yes! A cozy cave would serve both her immediate purposes.

Callum got to his feet, took her hand, and pulled her across the dunes toward the cliffs. She couldn’t see the entrance to the cave until he swept back a curtain of vines. She followed him through the narrow entrance, holding tightly to his hand. The interior was cool, dark, and smelled a bit fishy, but not offensively so.

Stepping in front of her, he put a hand on her chin and lifted her gaze to his. The spark between them was palpable and she longed for him to kiss her. She licked her lips invitingly, hoping he’d take the hint.

“You’re very bonny,
mo dearbadan-de
,” he said softly, seductively, as he brushed back a wayward strand of her hair.

“What did you just call me?”

“My butterfly,” he said, “in Gaelic.”

She put her arms around his neck and offered him her mouth. He accepted, nibbling and flicking his tongue against her lips. She pulled the band from his ponytail, freeing his windblown mane. As it tumbled around his shoulders, she wove her fingers among its silky strands, pressing his mouth harder against hers.

When he offered his tongue, she greeted it with her own. He moaned—a deep, needful sound that dumped accelerant on her desire. She thrust her hips against him, finding him as aroused as her. He pushed back, grinding against her as he walked her backward toward the wall of the cave. As her back met rough rock, warm fingers came under her blouse, climbed her ribs, and pushed under her bra. As he teased her nipples, something deep in her core turned all soft and molten.