Clenching his teeth to keep from groaning aloud, he lifted his kilt and wrapped his hand firmly around his shaft. It had been a hundred years since he’d touched a woman, and though he wasn’t shy about relieving his own pent-up desires when the need grew too great, he hadn’t had the luxury of watching a woman in the throes of passion to help himself along for a hundred years, either.
He was hot and heavy, his erection pointing skyward with an arousal he hadn’t felt in recent—or extended—memory. Several feet away, the woman began to thrash, spreading her legs wider, driving her hand deeper into what he knew would be full, slick, pink folds. It took every ounce of his control not to stalk forward, remove her hand and replace it with his eager, raging erection.
What would it feel like to bury himself inside a woman again? To kiss and fondle and thrust his way to completion.
Of all the things he missed from his former life, he thought perhaps he missed fucking a willing lass most.
Her cries threatening to send him over the brink, he tightened his hold on himself, his fingers dancing and tugging on the rigid length. His own breathing grew ragged as he continued to watch the woman pleasuring herself, as his movements sped up and his legs turned weak with impending climax.
It was all he could do not to close his eyes in ecstasy, but he wanted to see her, wanted to watch the muscles in her thighs tighten, her back bow, her face contort as she reached her peak.
When she did, her shout echoed off the stone walls and through the keep, sending his blood past the boiling point. With it went the last of his control as he came in great, wracking spasms. If he’d ever had an orgasm such as that before in his misbegotten life, he certainly couldn’t recall it. It made him almost glad the woman had come to his castle, encroaching upon his invisible but private boundaries.
It even made a part of him wish she might stay a while.
CHAPTER 2
LAURA AWOKE BRIGHT AND EARLY, FEELING RELAXED, loose-limbed, and happy, as she always did after one of her erotic dreams about the mysterious Dougal MacKay. As she dressed and gathered her things, she found herself smiling for no particular reason and actually looking forward to the task ahead of exploring this intimidating, rundown keep.
Also typical of the mornings after having one of her bizarre dreams about a man she’d never met, she wondered how much of them might be true and how much was simply her imagination running wild.
Did Dougal MacKay really exist? According to family stories and journals left behind by her great-grandmother Cosmina, he had at one time, but that didn’t mean that the legends of his continued existence were true. He could have died years ago; many, many years ago, if his age at the time of her great-grandmother Cosmina’s curse was any indication. If the curse had worked, however, he would still be alive and may not have aged a day since the enthralling words were spoken.
She also wondered at the scales that covered his body in her dreams, and the breath that was hot as lava. Were those, too, a result of the hex her great-grandmother had thrust upon him, or merely the way her subconscious chose to picture a man who would have been cursed in such a way.
She didn’t know, but she prayed she would find out. After all, she hadn’t made the trip all the way from the United States to Scotland for nothing.
Outside, the day was glorious, with the sun shining and a gentle breeze ruffling the tall green grass surrounding the castle. To document her search, she’d brought along a number of notebooks, as well as her camera.
She snapped several pictures inside the first initial room of the keep, then walked around outside to do the same. The landscape really was beautiful, and she could understand why someone, hundreds of years ago, had decided to build their castle here, overlooking both the ocean and the valley below.
But the longer she lingered outdoors, and the more she found to photograph, the more she realized she was stalling. Because as much as she wanted to find Dougal MacKay and discover the facts of the legend and her dreams, the truth was, she was afraid. Afraid of what she would find…and afraid of finding nothing. Afraid of learning that the images that had haunted her for years now weren’t real…or that they were.
To further her procrastination, she considered going into town for breakfast, but then decided that was only avoiding the inevitable. She should get down to business and see what she could discover before she was faced with another long, lonely night inside this dreary castle.
Ignoring the tickle of anticipation that skated down her spine, she carried her camera back inside and gathered her other, more well-worn leather tote that contained some of the notes and clippings and research she’d gathered for this trek, as well as several cans of soda and the energy bars she’d brought along for situations just like this, when she might not have the time—or the inclination—to go into town for a bite to eat.
With her camera dangling in the crook of her elbow, she tossed the satchel strap over her shoulder and tore open the wrapper of one of the bars, biting into the yogurt-covered granola while she slowly made her way deeper into the keep. Chewing worked as a bit of a distraction, but still her heart pounded inside her chest, and the muscles of her diaphragm contracted as she struggled to breathe normally.
Nothing will hurt you. Nothing will hurt you, she told herself over and over. She was here for a reason, and even if she was very afraid monsters—at least the storybook kind—really did exist, she was determined to see this quest through to the end.
Sunlight shone in narrow, muted beams through the door and tall windows of the main room, but past that, the structure was still fairly dark and dank. That didn’t keep her from noticing a great number of cobwebs she hadn’t the night before, though.
Her booted feet scuffed through the dirt covering the stone floor as she tiptoed deeper into the structure. It was beautiful, in a way. She could picture it one or two hundred years ago—a fire blazing in the hearth, tapestries covering the walls, a long trestle table crowded with people eating roasted boar and mutton stew.
She lifted her camera to snap a picture here or there as she moved along, but found nothing of exceptional interest. With the exception of an occasional broken-down table or chair, any furniture had been removed long ago.
To her right, a wide stone staircase led to the second level, where she imagined bedchambers and maybe a solar had been located. She was just turning to move in that direction when a noise from the other side of the keep, deep in the heart of the castle, startled her.
She stood frozen, pulse kicking as she slowly turned her head toward where she thought the sound had come from. Something had rattled, like glasses clinking together, only louder.
It was probably just one of those rats she’d envisioned sharing her space last night. But if it wasn’t…well, she was looking for the castle’s rumored inhabitant, so following the noise might be the way to go, whether she wanted to or not.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly spun on one foot and tiptoed across the earthen floor. Far at the back of the keep, to the left of one of the hearths, was the shadow of a doorway she hadn’t noticed before. Stepping carefully and quietly, she entered the cavernous area, her hand tracing the rough stone of the wall to guide her path.
About six steps in, she hit a curved set of narrow stairs leading downwards. She’d left her flashlight behind, but her eyes adjusted to the light enough to keep from tripping and falling to her death.
At first there was pitch dark, but the closer she got to the bottom of the stairs, the lighter it became, a muted orange glow flickering at the base of the steps.