Haunted Warrior (17 page)

“That’s no one’s business.” Anger kicked up inside Graeme, heating his blood. But he kept his face impassive. “Where Kendra sleeps is not Ramsay’s concern. You can tell him she’s mine, for she is.”

Now, more than ever, he was determined to protect her.

Another, deeper part of him, sought to make her his in truth. But he ignored that strong yearning and focused his mind on the Fleming brothers, releasing the binding circle he’d cast around them.

“Tell him”—­he went toe-­to-­toe against them both, fisting his hands in their shirtfronts—­“that if he so much as glances at Kendra, I’ll tear him into so many pieces, even the gulls won’t find enough to fill their bellies with him.”

Before either man could respond, Graeme spun them around and pressed his forearms against their throats. “Do that now”—­he tightened his grip, making them splutter—­“or you’ll meet a fate as fine as Ramsay’s. I wouldn’t mind seeing you choking on your own blood….”

He didn’t finish; just took his arms from their necks and then gave each a hard shove. “Now be gone and dinnae forget my words.”

They reeled, stumbling before they righted themselves. Then, without a backward glance, they bolted from the strand and tore off down Harbour Street, their hurrying footsteps echoing along the waterfront.

Graeme stayed where he was, looking after them. Only when the night stilled again did he cross the road and go back inside the Keel.

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be staying there long.

Roddie and Patrick posed no further threat that night. But Ramsay would be furious. His temper might even send him straight to the Laughing Gull. It was a possibility Graeme couldn’t allow.

He’d have to go there first.

And if he didn’t want to frighten Kendra at this late hour, there was only one way to do it.

And so a very short while later, Graeme found himself back inside the best room of his cottage. He sat exceptionally still on his not-­too-­comfortable sofa, trying to ignore Jock’s contented snores. Of course, the dog slept curled on the worn and welcoming armchair beside the hearth fire. Jock’s black-­and-­white body took up the cozy chair’s entire soft-­cushioned seat.

Graeme didn’t mind.

His dog deserved a good life.

Each time Jock returned to him, he made certain their new round together topped the one before. Knowing his friend was happy was one of Graeme’s few pleasures in his own oft-­times trying, seven-­hundred-­years-­and-­a day lifetime. Banning Jock from the armchair was the last thing he’d do.

Thwarting Gavin Ramsay, on the other hand, was a desire that burned in his blood.

The craven’s face flashed before his mind’s eye and he fisted his hands, forgetting he’d been trying to keep them relaxed at his sides.

Ramsay did get to him.

He was an enemy who took what he wanted, when he wanted it, and always with total disregard to the consequences. And now he’d set his sights on Kendra. The thought curdled Graeme’s liver. It also made him again
wish he and Ramsay could’ve clashed in days when they’d have faced each other in a medieval shield wall.

Graeme would’ve had done with his foe quickly, using a short ax to hook away his shield and then ramming a stabbing sword right into the bastard’s throat.

As things stood…

There were still ways to get the better of a fiend like Ramsay.

And as far as Graeme knew, the other man hadn’t yet mastered the fine and magical art of astral projection. Graeme excelled at sending his conscious mind elsewhere when need arose. He was skilled in several highly effective techniques. His favorite was a method of dual consciousness that allowed him to visit other places while never leaving his sitting room.

It was how he most often kept an eye on his ancestral home, Castle Grath.

Physically walking around the ruin was a painful experience, as being there reminded him too strongly of those he’d loved and lost over the centuries.

Tonight he’d use the awakened dreaming state, as dual consciousness was sometimes called, to visit Kendra’s room at the Laughing Gull. Such a projection was too intrusive for his liking, but necessary under the circumstances. At least she wouldn’t know he was there.

Yet if Ramsay or one of his henchmen harangued her, he would see and could be there in minutes.

And then…

Memories of long-­ago shield walls flooded his mind. For a beat, he could almost feel the straps of a shield on his left forearm, the leather-­wrapped hilt of a short stabbing sword gripped in his right hand. But he cleared the images from his thoughts and focused instead on the softly glowing slabs of peat piled on his hearth grate.

He also took several deep breaths, willing himself to completely relax.

Years of experience had taught him that he’d need to concentrate on the fire for at least a quarter of an hour before his mind would clear and slow enough for him to enter the required state of deep consciousness. Once there, he’d mentally walk himself out of his cottage. He’d move along the waterfront, slip inside the Laughing Gull Inn, and then head up the stairs to Kendra’s room.

He didn’t need to know the room number.

He’d scent her instantly. His senses sharpened when he astral projected, and her signature fragrance would draw him even before he reached the guest floor at the inn. Her overbright aura would also guide him.

All he had to do was make the journey there.

Then he was.

And as so often with his astral wanderings, arriving seemed almost effortless. He’d only had to visualize the path and he was transported instantly. Though he knew the whole magical process took at least a half hour, his prep work and focus time considered.

Not that it mattered.

What did was that Kendra slept in the nude.

Graeme frowned. Seeing her naked was not why he’d come here.

Sure, it’d been a risk. Sending a goodly portion of his conscious mind into her room at the Laughing Gull in the quietest hours of the night left little doubt that he’d find her slumbering.

He just hadn’t expected his first glimpse of her to be the sweet curve of her bottom.

What he’d been prepared to discover was Ramsay or one of his goons lurking in the inn’s upstairs hallway, watching Kendra’s door. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see the bastards inside her room. It wouldn’t be
the first time Ramsay forced himself on a woman, though he always managed to wriggle out of any legal ramifications.

But his nemesis wasn’t here.

And he was just glad Kendra wasn’t sleeping on her back. The view was tempting enough. She must’ve had a restless night, because the bed sheets had slipped down, only covering her to midthigh. In another time, another world, he’d have whipped the bedding right off her. He’d have savored every tantalizing inch of her, smoothing his hands along each sleek line and luscious curve of her body, kissing her all the while and making love to her until the sun rose. Even then he’d want more, he was sure.

He was getting hard just looking at her.

And he’d fisted his hands so tightly, his knuckles hurt.

Turning abruptly, he went to the window, keeping his back to her bed. It was not the time for such complications. Never in all his nearly seven hundred years of living had he done anything as foolhardy as come here tonight. Yet he had felt compelled to check on her. He was sure Ramsay had noted her beaconlike aura. If he’d caught wind of her mentioning the ghostly herring fleet in the pub—­and Graeme was certain Ramsay had—­he’d believe he could use her special talents.

Graeme knew she possessed a supernatural gift.

Frowning, he shoved a hand through his hair. He stepped closer to the window, looking down at the harbor just across the road from the inn. The tide was running swift, a light chop letting the boats rock at their moorings. Black, glassy water splashed over exposed rocks, glinting darkly in the moonlight. It was still a peaceful night. But the atmosphere in the room behind him crackled, the air picking up the turbulence of his thoughts.

He shouldn’t have allowed his anger at Ramsay to accompany him. And he sure as hell was out of bounds letting one look at Kendra’s delectable bottom fire such burning need inside him. Curvy and well made, she was the kind of woman no man could gaze upon and not want to possess thoroughly. He could easily imagine her soft, warm body beneath him, and the pleasure of losing himself deep inside her.

What he should do was leave.

He had only to retrace the mental path he’d followed to get here.

If he did, he’d be back on his sofa in quick time. He’d be alone in the Keel, no longer in danger of doing something he’d regret. He’d be free to get the sleep he needed, his night’s rest serenaded by Jock’s fluting snores.

But he couldn’t make himself leave her.

Kendra’s scent filled the room and—­his scowl deepened—­whatever it was bewitched him. Clean, light, and perhaps lily of the valley, the fragrance teased his senses. It also held him here as soundly as if he’d cast one of his own powerful binding spells.

Surely there wasn’t anything wrong in relishing a few deep breaths of her soft, womanly scent?

Once more, and he’d leave on the exhale.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a pleasure. It’d been even longer since a woman had stirred him so greatly.

And that was why he needed to go.

But just when he started to close his senses to her scent in preparation for his return journey to the Keel, he made the grave error of letting his gaze fall on the blue plaid chair beside the window.

Kendra’s lingerie was on the chair.

He needed only one look at her lacy black panties and bra to run hard as granite.

“Damnation.”
He growled the word, fisting his hands again as his entire body tightened.

On the bed, Kendra stirred, rolling onto her back so that her full, round breasts were fully exposed, their lushness adding to his misery.

He refused to look lower.

There were some things beyond a man’s endurance. And he had invaded her privacy enough for one night.

He did strike an immediate retreat, willing his conscious mind to drift back across the room, past her bed, and toward the waiting door.

Her eyes popped open and she sat up just as he was reaching for the doorknob.

“Graeme…” She looked right at him, impossible as it was.

He stared at her breasts, unable not to. “I’m no’ really here, lass. You’re only dreaming, seeing things that aren’t there.”

“I don’t think so.” She blinked and rubbed her eyes. The movement made her breasts sway, upping his torment.

“It’s true.” He willed her to believe.

Regret pierced him that he couldn’t go to her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her. Only this time he knew he could never stop at a kiss. He’d cup and squeeze her breasts, rolling her nipples beneath his thumbs, and then…

He couldn’t finish the thought.

Moonlight fell across the whole of her lush, feminine body, a benediction in light and shadow, all smooth, creamy skin and temptation.

Anger and frustration punched him like an iron fist in the chest.

Kendra settled back on her elbows, a slight frown now creasing her brow. Her lovely blue eyes looked
heavy, the lids slowly lowering. His craft hadn’t failed him, despite his inner turmoil. She’d bought his mental suggestion and accepted him as a dream.

Already, her fair head was sinking onto the pillow, true sleep upon her.

“You’re an arse, MacGrath.” He cursed himself softly, his hand still on the doorknob.

Then, when he could stand the agony no longer, he did what he should have done immediately upon finding her safe and alone in her room.

He slipped out the door and sent himself back along the waterfront to his cottage.

He just hoped that when he took her out on the
Sea Wyfe
later that morning, he’d be able to look at her without thinking of her naked breasts.

Somehow he doubted it.

Early the next morning, Kendra slipped from the Laughing Gull Inn as unobtrusively as possible. She closed the door with even greater caution, keenly aware of the clatter of pots and pans coming from the inn’s kitchen. Iain, and most likely Janet, as well, was clearly readying for the breakfast rush. The last thing she needed was for either of them to hear her and come asking why she was stepping outside at such an ungodly hour.

She could say she’d slept poorly and wanted a walk before breakfast.

That was even true.

She’d had the strangest dream. A vivid one in which Graeme had approached her bed, looking down at her with such desire, only to vanish into thin air even as his appreciative gaze moved along the length of her body. He’d been so real, her own longings had fluttered inside her, her heart beating wildly long after he’d gone.

She’d been unable to reclaim the dream.

But the impact of his devilish good looks had stayed with her, haunting her. Remembering the heat in his eyes, she could feel a flush spreading across her cheeks. How sure she’d been that she could’ve reached out and touched his arm, the rest of him. She’d wanted him, her body catching fire. She still burned for him now.

But she pushed him from her mind, summoning the focus her career required of her. Her assignment was the real reason she stood outside the inn, scanning the road and waterfront before more than a faint hint of gray edged the horizon. Pennard at this hour was dark, cold, and silent.

And she was about to go to work.

So she took a deep breath and lifted her head, closing her eyes as she drew on the powerful white-­light energy that would shield her from any lesser energies she might encounter at the empty house she wished to explore. She opened her eyes only when the familiar, tingly warmth of her psychic defenses rose around her.

She never faced spirits, or other supernatural beings, without such a safeguard. Those unseen could cause her great harm.

Although, as she made her way down Harbour Street toward the derelict house and its scaffold-­covered walls, her instincts told her that whatever Otherworldly vibrations she’d noticed there had all but dissipated. Only a trace remained, rippling the air with its dark, unknown energy when she stopped at the cottage door.