The Warlord Forever (2 page)

“Am I to believe that you are?” David gave her a bitter look.

He had her there. She’d never been to Scotland, had never been very interested in Scottish myth and folklore. She did have him on one thing, though. “I do have my uncle’s journal and his notes on the find. The few he was able to make before he died anyway.”

“I must see them at once!” David lunged for the desk, his eyes wide with a crazed, desperate look.

Kenna shot to her feet and grabbed the journal from the desk, clutching it to her chest. Evan came up and stood protectively beside her.

“Everything my uncle found now belongs to Evan and I,” she said. “You’ll see what we allow you to see, and nothing more.”

“That tomb belongs in a museum!” David raged.

“Your museum?” she shot back.

“I’ve had quite enough of this for one night.” Evan finished his glass of scotch and carelessly tossed the empty glass on the desk, looking at David. “I expect you can find your way out.”

David glared back at Evan, then set his untouched glass of scotch on the desk and stormed out of the room. The sound of the front door closing signaled he was gone. But they hadn’t seen the last of him.

Kenna hugged Evan and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for getting rid of him.”

She liked having Evan around with all that was going on. She couldn’t have made it through her uncle’s funeral and the ensuing aftermath without him.

Evan chucked his finger under her chin. “I got your back, kid. Now find out what the hell is in that thing.” He swiped up his empty glass from the desk and strolled out of the study with a bottle of scotch in his other hand.

She knew he was as sick of all this as she was. He wanted it put to rest, but she couldn’t let it go yet. Not until she found the truth.

She stared across the room, at the heavy stone tomb resting on the Persian rug. It had taken six men to bring it into the house. She shivered, despite the blazing fire beside her. It was getting eerie staying in the house with the corpse of a dead Scottish warlord.

If that’s even what was in the tomb.

Kenna got settled behind her uncle’s desk and went back to his journal. She was almost to the end of his engrossing tale, and she wanted to find out how it ended.

****

Ian stirred, restless in his confined slumber. He had been trapped like this for centuries, having been so desperate to leave the world. Now he was desperate to rejoin it.

The ignoble Fey had tricked him once again.

Illora had laid him to rest as she’d promised, but while his body was still, his mind remained awake. Active. Thinking. Aware that life was continuing on at a fast pace to the most amazing future. A future he never could have imagined.

He’d witnessed the history of the world unfolding from the lonely confines of his tomb. He heard and felt life continuing on around him. Scotland had fallen to the English without him there to fight for his homeland’s freedom. He would have been great in that battle. Would have brought the whole country of England to its knees. But he couldn’t think about that now. His past could not be changed.

Life continued on, into an age called the Renaissance; a period of intellectual transformation in everything from literature and art to science and religion. The Globalization of the World. Then the Age of Enlightenment, which liberated the human mind, leading directly to the Industrial Revolution; an explosion of machinery and technology, from steam powered ships and railroads to engines and electricity. The world had become a busy, bustling place. Diseases had been cured and mortals were living longer.

None would live as long as he.

That no longer mattered to him. Getting out of his self-imposed prison was the most important thing. He wanted to stretch his legs in this new world. Feeling it wasn’t enough. He wanted to
see
it. To touch it. To once again taste life.

And he wanted to meet the woman of the house his tomb rested in. He wanted MacKenna Douglas to be the one who would finally wake him from this unending curse and set him free. Just like in the dream.

****

It was the dream again.

The same one she’d had every night since the tomb of Ian the Great had arrived in the house.

A wild, fearsome warrior came to her on a black horse. He wore no shirt over his strong, muscled chest and his long blonde hair flowed down his back. He jumped down from the horse, wearing only a kilt and a sword at his waist. His rough, rugged face was more handsome than any man she’d seen. His green eyes glowed with lust as he took her into his arms and kissed her.

Kenna melted into his arms, savoring his passionate kiss; a kiss as wild as the man. When he backed away from her and mounted his horse, she reached for him, not wanting him to leave her. He pulled her into his lap and the horse carried them across a green field, towards a stone castle.

Then she was alone in a darkened room. Kenna knew the cold stone beneath her hands was not real. The Gaelic writing of the inscription did not make sense to her. She knew she wasn’t downstairs in her uncle’s study, standing beside the ancient tomb, because this was a dream.

So why did she feel wide awake suddenly? Every night, the warrior encased in his stone coffer called to her in dreams. Beckoned her to him. To release him.

She never knew how to do it, but tonight was different. She’d finished reading her uncle’s journal. He’d truly believed the secret to immortality was buried with the warlord, and reciting the spell engraved on the tomb would open it.

Kenna watched herself standing beside the tomb; a dream within a dream. A cool breeze blew through the study, swirling her white satin nightgown around her ankles and tossing the curls of her long strawberry blonde hair over her shoulders.

That felt real.

The breeze settled, and she thought she heard the faint sound of a whisper. A breath of life from within the tomb. She grew frightened, wanted to back away. What if it really did carry a curse? Would she die like her uncle? Had he been afraid in his last moments? Had he felt pain? What had happened to him?

He’d discovered how to open the tomb, yet he hadn’t, so he couldn’t have died from a curse. It was a ridiculous notion made up by reporters hungry for a story. So what or who had killed him? Or had it simply been an accident? And what would happen to her if she followed the instructions in his journal and read the inscription to open the tomb?

What would be worse? Finding out what was inside, or leaving it closed forever and not knowing? The image of the giant man in a kilt surfaced again in her mind. He stood atop a crag of rocks, the wind blowing through the waves of his long blonde hair, his deep green eyes staring so intensely at her. He was the one who wanted her to do this. To read the inscription.

Light from the hallway spilled into the dark study and she could see the words on the tomb, so delicately engraved into the rough stone. She hadn’t had time to decipher them, but somehow she knew what they said. And then she found she was reading them aloud.

“An ancient warrior lies herein,

Banished by the curse of an evil sin.

Ian the Great, you are called to rise,

To look upon the world, to open your eyes.

Let these words spoken in number,

Awaken you to life and end your slumber.

Time goes on, in and around you,

Come back to the living, and start anew.”

Holy shit.

Kenna just stared down at the tomb, amazed she had read the words in the ancient tongue and understood them. She supposed one could do anything they wanted in a dream. Is that really what the words said? Had she opened the tomb? Unleashed the curse?

No
.

She hadn’t. Because nothing happened. She waited another moment, but still nothing happened. This was the worst dream she’d ever had. She was disappointed because somewhere, deep down inside, she’d wanted something to happen. For once, something exciting and different, like for the tomb to explode with light and release an irresistible warlord. The man from her dreams.

Since that wasn’t happening, she decided to go back to sleep and give up the childish notion that an immortal Scottish warlord could be awakened from a few simple words. Things like that didn’t happen in real life.

****

Not all was right in the house. She could feel it. Could hear it, actually. There was a person downstairs. It wasn’t Evan. Kenna checked on him in his room, and he was passed out drunk in bed, fully dressed, and sleeping on top of the blankets with his shoes on.

She crept to the edge of the stairwell as the grandfather's clock announced the top of the hour with the familiar chimes of Westminster, then bellowed out three steady bongs. Who would be in the kitchen at three in the morning?

She found her feet carrying her soundlessly down the carpeted stairs. She should probably have a weapon in hand, or wake Evan, but the security alarm hadn’t gone off. Had someone cut the power to the house? The lights were on in the hallway.

There was that noise again. A rustling sound. Like someone was looking for something. Her first thought was that someone was after her uncle’s find. It could be a lunatic or a fanatic who managed to get into the house. Or David Wilkes. But how would they get past the security system?

Kenna stepped into the dark study. Immediately her heart started racing. The lid to the tomb was open, lying on the rug next to the stone coffin. Disbelief made her rush over to the tomb, then acknowledgment got her adrenaline pumping.

The tomb was empty.

She brought her hands to her face as she gazed down into the vacant space. She shook her head, heard herself mumbling, “This can’t be happening.”

Nothing but an empty box.

A crash of breaking glass echoed through the house. Kenna rushed back to the doorway of the study and peered down the hallway towards the kitchen, her long hair falling over her shoulder. A faint light glowed in the distance. Like the light from the refrigerator.

What the hell?

She didn’t know what to do. Run into the kitchen, or hide? Her feet carried her swiftly down the hallway, headed straight for the kitchen, making up her mind for her. She should be afraid, but she knew what she’d find there.
Who
she’d find there. Maybe she was still dreaming.

She froze when her bare feet landed on the cool tiles. Remains of food and containers were strewn all about the floor. A milk carton was spilled on its side, the white liquid making a puddle around it. The refrigerator was wide open, providing the only light in the room.

Standing there was a man. A giant man; huge, muscular, with long, wild blonde hair. He wore a loose, white linen shirt and a checkered kilt of green and navy around his waist. His back was to her as he rummaged through the contents of the fridge, smelling things, and then eating them or tossing them over his hulking shoulder.

There went the tofu burgers.

She didn’t blame him on that one. The housekeeper, Rosa, had stocked the fridge and pantry before taking a vacation. She had been trying to get the family to eat healthier, but tofu wasn’t going to do the trick.

The man found a Tupperware with the lasagna. He appeared to like that. He devoured the leftovers, tossed the empty plastic container, and then took a long swallow from a bottle of beer resting on one of the shelves. As he went back to pillaging the fridge, Kenna blinked to rid herself of the apparition. It couldn’t be the man from her dreams.
Was she hallucinating?

“I ken you’re watching me, lassie.” His deep voice filled the room. “Are you through, or will you bide a wee?” He slanted a glance over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I pure like the food here, and wouldna mind sharing.”

Kenna blinked again, gaping open-mouthed at this large, kilted man in her kitchen. He couldn’t be real. She had to be dreaming. Yes, that’s it. She was still dreaming, so she took the time to admire him as he turned to face her.

His features were hard and angular, like he’d been chiseled from stone. A really big Scottish one. Broad shoulders and strong arms. Large hands. Strong legs dusted with light hair. A sword strapped around his lean waist.

When he realized she noticed the weapon, his strong brow quirked with curiosity. The small lilt of a smile curling up the corners of his mouth softened him slightly, putting her at ease. Like he’d never dream of hurting her.

He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

“My, but you’re a bonnie thing.” He came towards her, growing larger, towering over her.

Kenna swallowed nervously. This didn’t feel like a dream anymore. This man was very real. She could feel the heat radiating off him. Could smell his scent, like the forest and the sea.

“I dinna mean to make a hash o’ things, but I was bloody starvin’ and you have loads o’ scran.”

Was she supposed to be understanding any of what he was saying? He reached his hand out for her, but she backed away. “You’re a dream.” She shook her head in disbelief. “What are you doing in my kitchen?”

****

Ian was not prepared to be so taken with MacKenna Douglas. Her soft, beautiful voice had comforted him while he’d been trapped in darkness, his tomb residing in her home. He could still hear her speaking the words that had freed him. Just as he’d led her to in her dreams.

The rest of her was even more beguiling. The loose white silk she wore revealed round shoulders and clung to the shape of her full breasts and the curve of her hips. Her reddish gold hair tumbled to her waist in loose curls. Hazel green eyes surrounded by long lashes stared up at him in shock.

“I’m no’ a dream, lass.”

And neither was this woman. He’d walked in her dreams, imagining her beauty, tasting her lips, taking her to his home where he made love to her. In reality, she was more beautiful than he’d dreamed her to be. Just the sweet scent of her roused him.

He’d planned on searching the house for her after he satisfied his hunger. He had another craving that needed tending. He wanted to make his dreams of this woman come true.

“But you can’t be here,” she replied. “You just can’t. It’s
impossible
.”