Highlander’s Curse (16 page)

Until Adira, courtesan to his master, had discovered the effects of ingesting blood, that is. Blood brought them the power to be whole again. And if that blood
came from one of the half-Mortal Fae descendants, it also carried Magic.

Bloodlust
, it had been called in the ancient tome Adira had found, a designation he’d never understood until recently. He’d tried to fight the addiction and he’d lost. But now, with the Magic flowing through his veins, he wondered why he’d ever resisted giving himself over fully to the demon Bloodlust.

Abigail Porter belonged to him. He’d gone to too much trouble and expense to find her only to be thwarted by some young stallion she fancied.

He’d hoped to accomplish his goal in a rational, civilized manner, but now that seemed much less important than it had before. He would have Abigail. He would have her blood, with the Magic and power it imparted. For as long as they both lived, she belonged to him.

If that meant taking her by force and eliminating his competition, he was more than prepared to do whatever was necessary. The choice would be theirs, not his. Whatever happened from this point forward was not his fault.

Lifting his injured knuckles to his lips, he brushed his tongue over the blood, the tang of the Magic no more than a faint aftertaste now.

He’d have to act quickly, before the effects of her blood were completely gone from his system. That, or he’d need a fresh infusion.

A chuckle burbled up from his chest, bursting forth in full-throated laughter that seized and shook his entire body.

As if timing mattered. In truth, he would have a fresh infusion no matter what!

W
hat the hell?

Abby twisted her body in front of the full-length mirror, angling her arm for a better view of what she’d just glimpsed.

Bruises! One, two, three . . . she held up her elbow, checking the underside. Sure enough. Five of them. Exactly where Jonathan had grabbed her last night.

“Son of a—” She bit off the expletive, clenching her teeth against her irritation. Temper wouldn’t do her any good. She didn’t need to get angry; she needed to get smart.

Muttering under her breath, she dragged her T-shirt over her head and tossed it to the bed before digging through one of her drawers, pulling out a long-sleeved silk undershirt. It was thick enough to hide the marks but thin enough to wear without overheating. Thin
enough, as a matter of fact, that she’d never think of wearing the wispy white item by itself. A sleeveless water-repellent zip-up vest over it, though, and the problem was solved.

One of the problems
, she corrected herself, grabbing up her backpack and slipping out her door. She still had to deal with the whole “Jonathan issue.”

At the bottom of the staircase she stopped, mentally preparing herself to step into the normal bustle of activity she’d find just outside the door.

Most of their crew had already climbed into the nearest van. Jonathan stood by the door of the second, motioning her forward the instant their eyes met.

No way. Dealing with something for her meant avoiding it, and that was exactly what she intended to do now, heading for the first van.

“We’re full up, Porter. You’re in Two today.” Mackenzie motioned her head toward the second van without so much as looking up from her ever-present clipboard.

“Is there a way we can shuffle, Mackenzie? I was hoping to have a couple of minutes to get your advice on an area of the paper I’m writing.”

Just as Abby had hoped, the other woman’s head bobbed up, her eyes widening for an instant, her surprise evident. To her credit, recovery was instantaneous.

“Fine. I do have a few ideas on the direction of the paper I’d wanted to discuss with you anyway. Barton,” Mackenzie pointed her clipboard at the closest woman. “Grab your gear. You’re in Two.”

Abby climbed into the van, pulling the door shut behind her and scrunching down in her seat. So far so good. Sure, she’d have to make up something to ask
Mackenzie’s opinion on, but that was no big deal. If she could just manage to arrange things as neatly at the dig site, everything would be fine.

The van pulled out onto the road and she glanced out the window for the first time. Jonathan stared directly at her. Abby averted her gaze, refusing to meet his eyes.

From the beginning she’d felt oddly uncomfortable around him, but she’d chalked that up to nerves over having a rich, influential man interested in her.

But not now.

In the days since their little accident out at the dig site, he’d been at her elbow every time she turned around. She still wasn’t sure exactly what had transpired between them that day other than that being alone with him made her feel even more uncomfortable than it had before. What sane man in this day and age touched his mouth to another person’s fresh wound? There were a million diseases out there roaming the planet, and he’d been sucking on her hand like a vacuum drawing poison. Too bizarre. And after that little outburst on the front porch last night? Their relationship, such as it was, had been elevated to a place where she was more than uncomfortable. More like totally creeped out.

From here on out she was taking Colin’s advice to keep her distance from Jonathan Flynn. Two months remained until the dig was due to end. Until then, she’d simply have to find a way to make sure she didn’t end up alone with him, no matter what she had to do.

Eight weeks of fancy footwork. She could do that. Abby squared her shoulders, sitting up straighter in her seat. After all, how hard could something like that be to arrange?

*  *  *

“Are you sure you’ll no be wanting more eggs and toast? It’s no a problem, lad. Or more of the black pudding and beans? I’ve plenty more in the kitchen. A fine braw lad like yerself needs a filling breakfast to start his day.” Mrs. MacKee stood over Colin, supervising every bite he put in his mouth. “You need more tea. I’ll be right back with another pot.”

He smiled as the woman disappeared through the big white door, humming as she went. He’d asked at the pub last night and several people had suggested Mrs. MacKee as having rooms to let. When he’d arrived on her steps, he’d found the woman perched precariously on a stepladder, attempting to change a bulb in her front hallway.

Considering she looked to him to be easily ninety-five if she was a day, he’d insisted on changing it for her, which quickly enough led to a variety of other little tasks. The result had been one of the best breakfasts he’d ever had, though his admittedly prodigious ability to eat was being tested by the little woman and her seemingly endless supply of food.

She’d started him off with an enormous bowl of sweet, creamy oats followed by a plate she’d referred to as a traditional Scottish breakfast. It followed no tradition he’d ever known, but it was certainly one he could fully support. Eggs, ham, tomatoes, beans, and black pudding had filled the plate from edge to edge, accompanied by a rack of light brown toast and heavenly sweet jam.

A glance out the window told him the morning was getting away from him. Heavy, mist-filled clouds
were already rolling in with the heat of the waning morning. If he hoped to catch Abby to make amends for his behavior the evening before, he’d better push himself away from the bounty Mrs. MacKee seemed determined to provide him.

The thought of seeing Abby again this morning brought a twinge of excitement along with it.

Her response to him last night had been all the proof he’d needed that none of this was her fault. At least not intentionally. Oh, he didn’t doubt it was she who had brought him here. The Earth Mother’s visit in the RoundHouse had been quite clear on that point.

It was just that he honestly believed Abby had absolutely no idea about any of this.

Mrs. MacKee’s return with another little metal pot of tea was interrupted by a knock at her door, and she bustled away to see to it.

Colin finished off the last of his food, lifted his backpack from under the table, and left the dining room, saying his good-byes to Mrs. MacKee as he passed her in the parlor, where she was busily checking in a new guest.

He passed through the profusion of flowers that grew on the grounds of MacKee house in a riot of color and scents to let himself out through the gate and onto the quiet lane. The gate itself drew his attention for a moment, an elaborate wooden affair that arched over the walk like a doorway. Above his head the wood creaked and groaned and the roses twining there dropped petals on his shoulders as he let the gate click shut.

All of this would make for a pleasant memory when he returned to his own time. No one in the villages
decorated their homes in this manner. Any gardening they might do would be plants that provided food. Only the very wealthy could afford to devote large plots of land and time to that which did nothing more than please the senses. These were things he would miss.

And hot showers. He’d developed quite a fondness for standing under the hot, stinging spray of a shower.

But home was where he belonged, where he was needed. If all went well today, if he could convince Abby of the truth of his situation, he might end this day, which had already begun so well, in the place where he could actually do some good. Perhaps before another sunset he would find himself returned to his own time, where he at least stood a chance to save his kinsmen and his king.

Hoisting his backpack on his shoulder, he made quick work of crossing through the small village, arriving at Swan House only to learn that Abby and her coworkers had left quite some time earlier for the dig site where they’d spend their day.

Damnation. He’d known he should have refused that second plate of food, but he’d allowed the lure of the decadent shower and his stomach to overrule his good sense.

Not willing to waste another entire day waiting for Abby’s return, he headed toward to pub to arrange transportation out to the dig site.

A
knife! The metal, likely iron, was separated from what had to be the handle. Just a bit more dirt and then she could call to the others to bring the camera to photograph her find before she moved it from its resting place.

She’d known what she’d find the instant Jonathan had brought her to this spot. Separated from the main dig site by a copse of trees, she initially voiced a concern as to whether it was included in their permissions for the dig, but that was, of course, Jonathan’s area of expertise, not hers, as he’d quickly reminded her.

There had also been the matter of leaving the comfort of the others to accompany Jonathan to this spot, but she rationalized her actions in that she was well within screaming distance.

Besides, Jonathan had been a perfect gentleman this morning. Maybe he felt guilty for his behavior the night before, as well he should. Whatever the reason, his focus today clearly centered on the work. His excitement had spilled over in his voice as he’d followed the coordinates on his handheld GPS device to lead her here. Based on his latest research he was positive, he’d confided, that this would have been the spot where the peoples he sought would have staged a camp.

He simply wanted some concrete proof before he shifted the whole operation to this spot. Proof she’d known she could give him the instant she allowed her feelings to spread out in search of what might lie underground. Artifacts! Bits of history calling out to her to free them from the layers of dirt within which they lay hidden.