Moon Cursed (12 page)

“Nessie’s not a horse.” Although there had been several reports of the monster with a mane.

“Neither is a water horse. They’re massive. With tails that resemble the tail of a snake instead of horse and much shorter legs.”

“What about a
guivre
?”

Dougal considered this, brow furrowing. “A
guivre
is a French myth. Dragon-like creature that prowled medieval France. I’ve seen drawings. It resembles Nessie, except for the wings and breathing fire.” He sat up straighter, too. “They have horns, which a lot of Nessie sightings describe.”

“And which most experts have pointed out resemble the autumn horns of a red deer.”

“Aye,” Dougal said absently, Foghorn Leghorn resemblance firmly in place. “But they inhabit bodies of water and Scotland is a short trip from France.”

“Especially if you have wings,” Kris pointed out.

Dougal glanced at her, amusement brimming in his lovely gray eyes. It felt so good to be able to say what she thought instead of prevaricating so she wouldn’t have to lie.

“
Guivres
are said to be very aggressive,” he continued. “They attack humans.”

“And if they were real,” Kris said, “I’d be worried.”

His amusement deepened. “I just meant that I wasn’t sure if I should add the
guivre
to my display on possible legends that created Nessie. She isn’t violent.” His gaze returned to the loch, where the water remained as smooth as glass.

“See anything?”

When Dougal didn’t answer, Kris turned to look at him and he kissed her.

As kisses went, it wasn’t half-bad. His lips were firm but soft. His goatee tickled just a bit. Kris didn’t pull away, curious if perhaps the air in Scotland, or the water, would make her react to any kiss the way she’d reacted to Liam Grant’s.

No such luck. While the kiss was pleasant, it left her uninterested in anything more. She certainly wasn’t possessed by the urge to get naked with Dougal right here and now.

Should she be glad about that or sad?

A huge splash erupted, as if something had been dropped into the water. Like a piano.

Or a very large tail.

Kris and Dougal broke apart, Kris reaching for her camera as both of them glanced toward the loch.

But nothing was there.

CHAPTER 9

“Sorry about that,” Dougal said again as he dropped off Kris in front of her cottage. “It was just the…” He waved his hand toward the loch, where the moon reflected brilliant silver across a gently rolling surface.

“Don’t worry about it.” Kris got out of the car, lifting her hand when Dougal would have followed. “As kisses go, it was nice.”

He winced. “Nice isn’t exactly what a guy’s hoping for.”

“Better than disgusting.”

Dougal laughed, and she felt better. She’d been afraid his kissing her, and her letting him, had ruined the friendship. And she wanted this friendship. She needed someone else in this Nessie-nuts town whom she could talk to.

“No harm, no foul,” Kris continued. “Thanks for taking me to The Clansman, and thanks for the fantastic meal.”

“You paid for your own.”

“But I wouldn’t have known about the place if not for you. Too bad we didn’t see Nessie.”

Dougal snorted, waved, then pulled away.

His car negotiated the bend and disappeared. Strange, but the rumble of the motor seemed to disappear, too. Sounds behaved differently here. Must have something to do with the mountains, the water, the atmosphere. Who knew?

Kris found her gaze drawn to the loch. It
was
too bad they hadn’t seen Nessie. If Kris was going to figure out this hoax, she needed to get a glimpse of the monster—or whatever was being used to depict the monster. How could she ever uncover the truth unless she saw with her own eyes the lie?

The night was still except for the lap of the loch and some small animal–type rustles from the distant trees. Up on the hill, a pebble rolled slowly downward. Nothing to be alarmed about.

So why was she suddenly alarmed?

Because that feeling was back—the one where she just knew she was being watched.

But the trees, the road, the loch, the cottage continued to loom empty and dark. All was silent; there was only a hint of a breeze.

Kris began to turn, and pain exploded, right before the entire world faded to black.

*   *   *

Kris swam toward consciousness. The closer she got, the more her head hurt. The
swoosh
of the waves made her nauseous. And there was something about those waves she needed to remember. Something disturbing.

It came to her in a burst of clarity so bright she winced as if lightning had flashed directly in front of her wide-open eyes. She’d been conked on the head, and now she was being carried.

To the water.

Kris struggled. Whoever was carrying her stopped walking; the arms that held her tightened, and everything twirled sickeningly. Her eyes popped open, and she stared directly into the face of Liam Grant.

“How’s yer head?” he asked.

Kris turned to the right and saw her cottage. She glanced over his shoulder and saw the loch. Had he been carrying her
to
the house all along? She was too dizzy to be sure.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I was out for a walk, and I saw someone draggin’ ye to the water.”

“Someone?”

He gave her a strange look. “Aye. Did ye think it might be some
thing
?”

She shook her head, then had to concentrate on not puking when the pain shrieked for her to do just that. “Hush,” she murmured.

“I didnae say anything,” Liam whispered, and began to move again.

She laid her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes. He smelled like freshwater and moonlight. Or maybe that was just the freshwater and moonlight.

“Your hair is wet,” she said.

“Yers, too.”

Kris reached up. So it was.

“Ye were very near the water.” He kept his voice low and the rumble in his chest combined with the chill of the night and the dampness on her skin made Kris shiver. He pulled her closer, but still she couldn’t get warm. “Ye fought when I picked ye up. I cannae say that I blame ye.”

They reached the cottage, and Liam set Kris on her feet, though he kept his arm around her waist. Kris was grateful for the support. Her hands were twitching like a meth addict’s. He had to lay his on top of hers so that she could unlock the door.

She was cold, but he was colder. Once inside, Kris tried to walk to the bedroom and retrieve blankets, but she only made it as far as the couch before she had to sit down.

Liam moved fast, yanking the quilt off the bed and covering her with it.

“Th-th-there are more in the closet.” Her chattering teeth barely missed clipping off her tongue.

“I’m all right,” he said.

And while Liam’s skin had been chilled, it wasn’t covered in goose bumps, like hers. He wasn’t shivering. Which was amazing considering he didn’t have a jacket and his arms were bared by his smoke-colored T-shirt.

“Your h-h-hands are l-like ice.”

He glanced at them, then shoved them behind his back. “Family curse.” He shrugged. “I’ve had my share of women tell me I’m a cold-blooded bastard.”

Kris frowned. He didn’t seem cold-blooded at all. He’d just saved her life.

“C-c-cold hands, warm h-heart,” she said.

“I believe one or two have mentioned that I dinnae have a heart.”

Kris wasn’t sure how to respond. He seemed determined to paint himself in a bad light, even though he’d just risked his health, if not his life, rescuing her from—

Who?

“Tea,” Liam blurted, heading for the kitchenette.

“I don’t—,” Kris began.

“Ye do,” he interrupted. “And so do I.”

They remained silent while Liam put on the kettle, then searched out the tea and cups. Had she ever seen a man half as beautiful? Why was he hiding in Drumnadrochit? He could earn hundreds with that face alone.

Her gaze wandered over the taut pecs, honed biceps, and flat belly. The body would net him thousands.

Then again, was making a living with your appearance all it was cracked up to be? Constant diets, facials, workouts, highlights. Being told what to do, what to wear, what to eat, and what not to.

Kris was small potatoes in the TV arena, but sometimes she became heartily sick of it all. Maybe Liam had the right idea. At least he was happy here.

Or maybe not. His shoulders slumped; his head, too. His expression was as far from happy as she’d yet to see. She had to wonder what lay in his past that haunted him.

He approached with two mugs of steaming tea and handed her one. Kris took it, immediately grateful he’d insisted as the heat from the cup thawed her aching fingers and the steam from the tea did the same for her stinging cheeks.

“Drink.” Liam urged the mug to her lips. “ ’Twill stop the shivers.”

She drank, and in a few moments he was proved right. When she looked at him again, he stared out the window at the loch, a frown marring his perfect face.

“Did you see who hit me?” she asked.

His sapphire blue eyes cut back to hers. “I couldnae say.”

“Couldnae? Or wouldnae?”

“Ye think I’m protecting a murderer?”

“I’m not dead,” she pointed out.

“Ye would have been.”

“You’re sure?”

“Aye,” he said, and glanced out the window again.

“You didn’t recognize him?”

“I didnae see him.” He growled low with annoyance. “Hell, with the dark and the mist, it could have been a her.”

“What mist?” Kris asked.

He flipped his fingers toward the loch. “It comes and it goes.”

She’d seen that already for herself.

“Ye’ll have t’ report this to the authorities,” he said.

“Right.” Kris began to get up.

“Not now.”

“But—”

“Whoever attacked ye is gone. Won’t do any good fer Alan Mac to be out here in the dark. Time enough to tell him tomorrow.”

Since she wanted nothing less than to leave her house and walk into the village—she wasn’t even sure she could—Kris decided Liam’s advice was sound. Even though it wasn’t.

“What about evidence?” she asked, but her eyes were so heavy she could barely keep them open.

“Shyte!” he muttered, the Scottish twist to the curse making her smile. “Well, there’s naught to be done. Ye cannae walk all that way, and I cannae carry ye. Ye don’t have a phone?” She shook her head, then groaned at the return of the pain. “How about some medicine? Fer yer head,” he clarified when she frowned, confused.

“Aspirin. In the bathroom.”

He returned with the pills and a glass of water. As soon as she took them, he held out his hand. She put the empty glass into it, and his lips twitched. He set the glass on the coffee table, then caught her hand. “T’ bed with ye,” he said.

Kris suddenly became aware of the small cottage and the even smaller space between her and Liam Grant.

The space shrunk when he pulled her upright, and she stumbled into him. “Sorry.” Her balance had gone to shyte.

He murmured nonsense that was really quite soothing as he helped her into her room.

“Am I
supposed
to go to bed?” She sat on the side, kicked off her shoes. As they hit the ground, dried mud broke off, crackling against the floor like sleet on a roof.

“Mo chridhe,” he murmured, putting a hand to her shoulder and pushing her onto the mattress. “Ye were made for bed.”

Kris blinked. God, he was so sexy. Every word he spoke rippled along her skin like a caress; every caress shot through her like a … shot.

She laughed, and he straightened, pulling away. He’d probably never had that reaction in the bedroom before.

Kris cleared her throat. “I meant, if I have a concussion I might…” She paused, trying to remember what she’d been about to say. He was so close; he smelled so good. And he was so damn pretty.

“You might…?” he encouraged.

“Fall down and I can’t get up.”

Leaning over, he kissed her brow. “I won’t let ye fall.”

Despite the chill of his hands, his lips were warm, and she wanted them to stay right where they were. Or perhaps move about a bit.

The giggle threatened again. She
must
have a concussion. Kris did
not
giggle. Not only was it unprofessional, but she’d rarely found anything in this world worth giggling about.

“I might fall asleep,” she clarified, “and never wake up.”

She was falling asleep now; she couldn’t seem to stop.