CursedLaird

Cursed Laird

Tara Nina

Book three in the Cursed
MacKinnons series.

While diving for treasure,
Caledonia uncovers a statue of a hot Scottish laird. When a lovelorn ghost
appears with a sad tale and anti-curse, Caledonia’s life takes a spin toward
the implausible. Especially when nightfall comes and the statue transforms into
a gorgeous hunk right before her eyes. Her need to help turns into
uncontrollable lust that a one-time, mind-blowing sexual adventure in his arms
cannot sate.

Struan MacKinnon wakes to learn
over two hundred years have passed. He lands in the arms of a lass with a
sexual drive that matches, if not surpasses, his own. The little wildcat
ignites his lust and warms his heart in a way he has never experienced. But he
is not free to love her.

Imprisoned by a curse, he’s man by
night, stone by day. Caledonia has her work cut out for her. She must win his
heart in order to save his soul.

Chapter One

Deeper. Deeper. She had to go deeper. Coolness cut her to
the bone. Darkness surrounded her. Something lured her over the ledge. Beckoned
to her soul to push beyond her limits. Caledonia knew better but couldn’t stop.
The words of her favorite poem urged her to descend farther.

Thy mighty Ben Lawers surrounds thee

Four rounded forts protect thy sleeping bairn

Chained within the center floats thy fourth

Safe beneath thy watchful eye of Breadalbane

Rest ye weary one fer yer day of release shall come

Lest nay be the month of one when thy favored fish of
Balloch run

The sporadic flash from her diving watch caught her
attention.
Damn. Out of time.
But she was so close. Gut instinct told her
something lay at the bottom of the loch. That poem teased her with its meaning
since she’d found it as a young child. It hinted of a great hidden treasure.
She was sure of it.

When she’d finally located the one spot in the loch she
hadn’t explored, the rules of diving played against her. Caledonia stared into
the black abyss in the loch’s deepest point. Today, time ticked against her,
but tomorrow she’d be back.

Whatever you’re hiding is yours for another day.
Caledonia turned and slowly ascended, even though every ounce of her ached to
explore that pit. To her knowledge, no one had ever ventured into that
location. Glancing down, she vowed tomorrow whatever prize lay buried beneath
its depths she’d locate and retrieve.

Breaking the surface, Caledonia gathered her bearings then
waved to her poppa, who stood fishing off the bow of their trawler,
Marcail
Struana
. The moment he spotted her he lowered his pole, hauled in the
anchor and maneuvered toward her. He cut the engine as soon as he reached her
and helped guide her onboard.

“I was getting worried, lass,” he said in his thick,
Scottish brogue. “You know I don’t like it when you dive alone. Cutting it a
bit short on your air, weren’t you?”

They had this argument earlier when she sent the other two
members of the crew, the O’Reilly brothers, on an errand. Several scuba tanks
needed refills and she wanted the Trimix tanks readied in order to accomplish a
dive to the bottom of the pit. At that depth she wouldn’t go alone, Percy would
be with her.

“Aye, but I was so close,” she replied with a smile,
deciding not to comment on his concern.

“Close to what, child? This ole loch’s been plundered over
and over. Nothing’s ever been found but a few dozen bits ‘n’ pieces of those
ancient crannogs. I think our time would be better spent searching elsewhere.”

Caledonia touched his hand and met his curious gaze. Those
bright, baby blues of his held a world of knowledge and she respected his
wisdom, but on this she wouldn’t budge. This loch called to her and she was
determined to find out why. “There’s something down there, Poppa. I feel it in
my gut.”

“Let’s pray you’re right. I’d hate to think we’ve spent the
last week trawling for nothing but fish.”

As he turned to secure her scuba tank in the holder,
Caledonia smiled. She knew how much he missed the fisherman’s life. It saddened
her to think of the decline the fishing industry suffered over the years, which
caused many to leave the business. Her father included. Now they worked as a
team, trying to keep her salvage recovery company running. She asked, even
though she suspected he had success from the twinkle in his eyes, “Do I take it
we’re having fresh fish tonight?”

“Aye,” he replied with a nod toward the cooler.

Caledonia lifted the lid to the smaller of the two fish holding
tanks situated in the deck. Both were located in the stern. Four good-sized
salmon lay on ice in the bin. “Looks like a good day indeed,” Caledonia
praised.

Poppa harrumphed good-naturedly as he readied the trawler
for home. Caledonia wiggled out of her drysuit and hung it beside the scuba
tank. She slipped on a light-pink cover-up over her one-piece bathing suit,
gathered her notes and took a seat on the bench in the wheelhouse. With
precision, she marked the coordinates of where she intended to dive tomorrow.

Flipping through the folder, she located the map of the loch
and highlighted the area she’d covered in today’s dive. She made note of a
fishing boat she’d discovered. From the looks of its non-decayed condition, it
must have been recently sunk by the last storm. Caledonia closed the file and
tucked it under the cushion beneath her. She stood and walked the railing as
Poppa steered for the small fishing village they called home, Lawers Glen.
She’d been born there. Loch Tay was in her blood.

She scouted the shoreline, noting several homemade docks.
Quite possibly, it belonged to one of those. This evening she’d post the fact
she found a boat on the bulletin board at the pub. If claimed, she’d then worry
about raising it.

Caledonia stared across the ripple-free water. Blue for as
far as she could see, surrounded by rolling hills of green, met her approving
gaze. The sun sat low on the horizon, gracing the loch with a world of
phenomenal early-evening colors. The perfect setting, if she was painting a picture
of serenity and beauty. Sun reflected off the glasslike surface, causing her to
squint. Something lay on the bottom of Loch Tay, she sensed it. For as long as
she could remember, a strange sensation tugged at her soul each time she sat
along its shore. This odd calling led her to learn to dive.

Every clear day for the past week she, Poppa and the
O’Reillys prowled the loch for treasure. At night, an eerie sensation settled
in her soul and kept her awake. A niggling tug deep within her, a haunting whisper
on the wind that tickled her fascination and lured her to search beneath the
loch’s surface.

Why this particular location? Why not some faraway exotic
location known for sunken ships from battles long forgotten? The questions
plagued her. Caledonia sorted through her thoughts. For years she’d studied the
best locations to find possible chunks of lost eras. But here… She shook her
head. She’d grown up here and knew every nook and cranny of the surrounding
area like the back of her hand. It was doubtful they’d find anything, as Poppa
claimed.

So why continue?

It had to be the history of the place, she decided. Since
childhood, she’d studied Scottish history, legends and lore. There was one
thing Loch Tay boasted the other lochs didn’t. Crannogs. As a young girl, she
remembered sitting on the dock and fantasizing about living in one of those
stilted abodes. Now, she wanted to know what lay hidden within them.

A cool breeze blew across the loch. A haunting whisper
followed on its lofty coattail.
Beware. ‘Tis too high a price to pay for
what ye seek.
Caledonia stiffened, straining to hear the words again. She
shook her head, not certain if she’d heard it at all. One glance at Poppa and
she knew he hadn’t heard it.

Had she? Had she truly heard a whispered warning? Then it
hit her as she realized the origin. Spirits walked among them, this she
believed with every ounce of her being. Chin tilted, she held a defiant stance
and stared out across the loch. If the spirits of this land spoke a word of
warning, then she knew she was right. Something lay hidden within the loch and
she had to be getting close, otherwise they wouldn’t have attempted to frighten
her with an eerie prediction.

What price was too high? Caledonia gazed at the spot she
intended to dive. Better yet, what did the spirits protect they didn’t want her
to find?

* * * * *

Through binoculars, he watched. What was she up to this
time? He’d temporarily lost track of her after she raised that small yacht,
which sank off the coast of Kinnairds Head. It amazed him she’d accomplished
such a salvage feat with the beat-up trawler as her only vessel. But she did
it. Probably by the strength of sheer stubbornness, he snorted. From what he’d
heard, she received a minimal retrieval fee from the insurance company for that
one. For such a paltry sum, he never would’ve bothered.

His
company didn’t retrieve common vessels for the
everyday person. No. His team located and retrieved treasures sunken for
centuries—long-forgotten, timeless items worth huge sums of money when sold to
the right collector. He couldn’t help but smirk.

Finding her in Lawers Glen, he’d thought it was some sort of
joke. There wasn’t anything in that loch worth finding, besides crannogs. He’d
told her that every time she’d mentioned the possibility of a search and
salvage expedition here. In his opinion, those weren’t worth wasting time on.
Nothing valuable had ever been found in one. The Crannog Society claimed them
to be an ancient architectural masterpiece and turned them into a tourist spot,
thus slightly stimulating the area’s dying economy.

His eyebrow cocked and the corner of his lips upturned as he
saw her jot notes in a folder. From past experience, he knew her methods. If
she made notes, then she was on to something. But what?

The retrieval of that yacht must have restored her
confidence. He dropped the binoculars to hang around his neck. Seeing the
trawler turn toward shore and the dock he knew belonged to the Kavanaghs, he
made his way down the hill to his car. Something in this loch held Caledonia’s
attention and he intended to find out what.

In all their years together, her instincts never failed
them. Except once off the coast of Bermuda, he mused. Came up bust on that
venture. Her claims the Triangle interfered with their finding anything still
annoyed him to this day. Ghost, ghouls and imaginary mystical triangles weren’t
real. Looting sunken treasure, now that equaled reality in his book. From the
looks of what he’d seen watching Cali, his gut told him she was definitely on
to something.

Now to find out what, he decided as he slid into the
driver’s side of his latest purchase. He sighed contentedly, sinking into the
plush, leather seat. Rolls–Royce truly had a way with fine leather.

* * * * *

Nothing tasted better than a Guinness after a day of diving.
Caledonia tipped her glass to Poppa. “Here’s to a successful day.”

“Aye, lassie. That it was.” He nodded in return then they
each took a sip.

Regulars filled the Thistle Pub. Young and old lined the
solid oak bar that ran the length of the back wall. Only a few of the ten
tables around the room were occupied. Having grown up in this village, she knew
everyone and they knew her. The place buzzed with chatter, laughter and a
friendly game of darts. So when the door opened and the place dropped into a
dead silence, she knew she wasn’t going to like what she saw when she turned
around.

Kip stood in the doorway. Not a blond hair out of place, or
a wrinkle in his metro-chic clothes, he stared across the room directly at her.
If she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes were a stunning shade of blue. Guess those
were the contacts of choice for the day. He looked down his nose at everyone,
as if the pub was beneath his haughty standard. Which she knew in his eyes, it
was. Holding his tall, lean frame in a straight-as-an-arrow stance, he
maneuvered toward her, making sure not to touch anything along the way.

Abel and Percy O’Reilly ended his chance of a clean,
unhindered arrival by bumping into him on purpose. Caledonia couldn’t help but
smirk when he nearly fell on his arse from the contact. The O’Reillys made a
solid wall of thick, testosterone-riddled male flesh and refused to let him
pass. From where she sat, all she saw was Kip’s head bobbing from side to side,
trying to make eye contact with her.

“You’re not welcome here, Crosby,” Percy said. His Scottish
brogue deepened as he stood his ground against the much-smaller man. Caledonia
knew if she said go, the brothers would pummel Kip to a pulp. They’d grown up
together, learned to fish and dive together, and got into more trouble than she
cared to remember together. They were the brothers she never had, and at the
moment she contemplated letting them use Kip as a punching bag.

“That decision isn’t yours to make, it’s Cali’s,” Kip said.
His voice cracked and she knew the massive brothers with their bright-red hair
intimidated him. They always had when they worked with her and Kip at her prior
salvage company.

She swallowed the smile that teased her lips. If only she
were a mean person. She sighed as she stood and worked her way in between the
O’Reilly boys. Being five-foot-five-inches tall and full-figured, she didn’t
consider herself to be a petite woman, but standing between these two made her
feel small and doll-like.

“You remember the O’Reillys, don’t you, Kip?” she quipped.

“I remember they left the operation same time as you.”

“You make it sound like I quit a job. We got divorced,”
Caledonia said. “They considered themselves part of the settlement.”

“We didn’t work for you,” Percy stated, flexing his biceps.
“We worked with Caledonia. Still do.”

“Caledonia, you want us to throw him out?” Abel asked
without taking his eyes off Kip.

Seeing Kip squirm gave her momentary joy. For the first time
since their divorce, she liked the look on his face. Though he tried to hide
it, she knew fear raced through his veins. His gaze darted from man to man then
back to her. He wasn’t a fighter. No. He was a sniveling coward of a thief.
Caledonia crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a hardened gaze directly
at Kip. In no way was she going to let him charm his way back into her life.
Those boyish good looks held no magic over her anymore. And without that, he
had nothing as far as she was concerned.

“What do you want, Kip?” she asked point-blank.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. Sweat beaded his brow and he dabbed
it with the pressed, white handkerchief he kept in the left breast pocket of
his blazer. Funny, when they’d first gotten married, he wouldn’t have been
caught dead in one of those. Though she hated to admit it, he smelled nice. The
cologne she recognized as her favorite and knew it was expensive. Just like
everything else he tended to own over the last few years of their marriage.
Nothing
was too good for Kip Crosby.
The memory of his words slid through her brain
and tightened her spine.