Touch Of Enchantment Part 12

After fleeing the council meeting, she'd spent the afternoon combing the tent for the amulet. It was more imperative than ever that she return to the century where she belonged. Not just for her parents' sake, but for her own. This century was far too untidy for her tastes a" both in its dangers and its pa.s.sions. She had to return to her family, to her career, to an apartment that even now seemed more sterile than cozy, while she still had the will to do so.

But her frantic hunt had yielded nothing. Colin had apparently secured the necklace on his person. And that was one area she wasn't about to search.

She threw herself to her side, stealing a guilty glance at him. He reclined on his back with Lucy curled in the crook of his elbow. They both appeared blissfully untroubled by the rising wind or her mounting misery. Colin's lips were slightly parted. She wondered if he would wake up if she gently pressed her mouth against them. Stifling a groan, she rolled to her back.

How humiliating to discover that despite her lofty IQ, she was no more immune to a buff set of biceps and a sooty pair of lashes than any other woman!

It's just a crush, she a.s.sured herself firmly, no different from the one she'd had on Steve Kaufman in the tenth grade. Time had eventually eased even her wistful pining for him.

Once she returned to the twenty-first century, she'd have plenty of time to get over Colin. A lifetime to be precise, a lifetime of knowing she'd been attracted to a man who'd been dead for over seven hundred years, yet made every man she'd ever met seem like nothing more than an insipid phantom.

Tabitha dragged one of the furs over her head, preferring the stifling heat to the temptation of gazing in calf-like adoration at Colin's sleeping face.

She might have happily smothered herself if an eerie wail hadn't pierced the droning of the wind. Throwing back the furs, Tabitha sat straight up, struggling to hear over the erratic throb of her heart in her ears.

Then it came again a" an infant's unmistakable cry, borne on the wind like a banshee's lament.

Her first instinct was to leap off the cot into Colin's arms. But she was a card-carrying member of Mensa, not some quivering damsel in distress. She did not believe in knights in shining armor capable of protecting her from all harm, nor did she believe in ghosts. Colin was just a man like any other and there had to be some mundane scientific explanation for the unearthly sound.

She slipped off the cot, determined to get to the bottom of this before Colin was awakened by what he believed to be the ghostly echo of his sister's cry.

The castle loomed over Tabitha like some ancient tomb shadowed by mystery and menace.

She picked her way over the shattered stones that littered the courtyard, cursing herself with each painful step for not wearing her slippers. The wind sent clouds scudding across the moon in tattered shreds, veiling the fitful moonlight. Tabitha looked longingly over her shoulder toward the tent where Colin lay sleeping.

But another haunting cry beckoned her forward. Groaning with effort, she wrestled open the tower's heavy wooden door and slipped inside.

The instant the door drifted shut behind her, the crying stopped. Tabitha stood frozen in the inky blackness, the sudden silence more threatening than any spectral shriek.

"What did you expect?" she muttered through her chattering teeth. "That Colin's sister was going to jump out at you wearing a white bedsheet and yell 'Boo!' "

The wind obliged her expectations by seizing a shutter set high in the stone wall and slamming it open with a deafening crash. Tabitha jumped. Moonlight now came streaming through the narrow window, revealing a set of stone steps that seemed to wind into infinity.

She peered upward into the gathering shadows. "Can't be any worse than the Haunted House at Disney World." Her voice faded to a dubious whisper. "Can it?"

She began to climb, trying not to notice the grim blots that stained many of the steps. Apprehension had her huffing and puffing by the time she reached the first landing. She paused and c.o.c.ked her head to listen, praying she had only imagined the furtive whisper of a footfall behind her. The rasp of her breathing echoed in the narrow stairwell until she would have almost sworn some unseen thing was panting in time with her, mocking her growing panic.

She climbed faster, feeling more like the pursued than the pursuer. She no longer knew if she was rushing toward whatever lay in wait at the top of the stairs or fleeing from some terrible threat that lurked behind her. Her uncertainty mirrored her emotional predicament.

She was living in the present, yet trapped somewhere between the future and the past.

She ran toward the second landing, hoping to take shelter in its shadows. But when she looked over her shoulder, she crashed into something warm and solid. A scream tore from her throat. She might have gone on screaming forever if it weren't for the powerful hand that clamped itself firmly over her mouth.

Chapter 15.

Tabitha's a.s.sailant was no ethereal wisp or shadowy phantom. He was not spirit, but flesh a" an ingenious melding of muscle and sinew strong enough to pin her against the wall without causing her even a twinge of pain. The rasp of his breathing mingled with her own. She smelled woodsmoke in his hair, tasted sweat and leather on the palm pressed against her lips. As the fear melted from her bones, she sagged against him, exulting in the very mortality that made them both vulnerable.

"Stop shrieking, la.s.s." Colin's harsh voice came out of the darkness, coupled with the feral gleam of his eyes. "Before you wake both the living and the dead."

She managed a shaky nod. He slowly withdrew his hand, his fingertips lingering against her bottom lip for an immeasurable second. Instead of stepping away from her, he braced his palms against the wall on each side of her shoulders, managing to loom over her despite their similar heights. He kept one knee c.o.c.ked between her own, which would put her in a very awkward position indeed if she attempted a step in any direction.

"Howa?" she croaked, then paused to clear her throat. "I left you sleeping in the tent. How did you get into the castlea up the stairs?"

"I took the secret pa.s.sageway from the garden."

"Then you must have heard it," she said, excited to learn she wasn't the only one going mad. "The crying!"

"I heard naught. Naught but the wailing of the wind and the sound of you creeping out of the tent and breaking the oath you made to me."

Tabitha would have almost sworn she heard a note of hurt in that fierce, proud voice. She wanted to see his expression, but the moonlight pooled on the stairs below them, refusing to brave the shadows. "I slipped out of the tent because I heard a baby crying."

"You should be ashamed, la.s.s!" The raw bitterness in his voice stunned her. "Defiling my poor dead sister's memory to shield your own greed! Do you think I'm as gullible and superst.i.tious as those women in the village? I suppose next you'll be trying to convince me the shade of my father is rising from his grave and the sky is teeming with witches."

The word sent a faint tremor through her. A tremor she knew he must have felt, given their proximity. If they got any closer, her teeth were going to start chattering again. "If you don't believe I heard crying, then why do you think I was wandering around this G.o.dforsaken ruin in the dead of night? For my aerobic benefit?"

"To rob me blind, of course. Twas a temptation you could not resist, I suppose. Knowing all the wealth of Ravenshaw sat moldering behind these castle walls, ripe for the picking. I knew you were the sort of woman to prey upon a man's weakness the first time I laid eyes on you."

Tabitha's outrage obscured her common sense.

"That's an unfair accusation, isn't it, coming from a man with no discernible weaknesses?"

He put his hands on her then and they both knew it was a mistake. She should have swayed away from the possessive grip of his hands on her shoulders, but instead she swayed nearer, mesmerized by the glint in his eyes as a cobra is mesmerized by the undulating rhythm of its master's dance.

"Why I ought to a" " he bit off through his clenched teeth.

"What?" she demanded, tingling with the awareness that she was taunting him at her own risk. "Have me dragged before your precious council? Chop off the rest of my hair? Kiss me?" Her lips parted, inviting hima no, begging him, to do just that.

She knew the instant their lips met that she had ignited a sweet and perilous magic. Only this time it wasn't Colin at risk of turning into a frog, but she who was being transformed from cool-headed girl to hot-blooded woman.

If he had given her a barbarian's crude caress, it might have quenched her impossible longing for him. Instead, he took her mouth with a tender sweep of his tongue that only whet her desire. His lips slanted across hers again and again a" tasting, teasing, nipping, claiming a" until she was limp with need. She clung to his muscled forearms, savoring the thrill of his tongue thrusting deep into her mouth. He groaned his approval as her own tongue responded to the suggestive rhythm, shyly at first, then with helpless abandon.

It was every good-night kiss Tabitha had never gotten, every backseat prom night pa.s.s she'd never intercepted, every erotic dream she'd never confessed. Colin had accused her of being a thief, but he was the one stealing her breath, her will, her very heart. If this delicious communion was his idea of punishment, then she wanted to die in his arms, unrepentant, a victim of all the wicked sins she'd never had the courage to indulge in.

A soft, broken sound escaped her as he dragged his mouth from hers and pressed it to the pulse throbbing in her throat. He murmured her name, inhaling the fragrance of her hair as if it were scented with the most precious of perfumes.

Even as she tipped her head to the side, urging him to taste the sensitive skin behind her ear, Tabitha was compelled to try to break the spell his kiss had cast. She barely recognized her breathy voice. "There's a perfectly s-s-sound scientific explanation for the physical attraction between us. It's simply a result of" a" she whimpered with pleasure as he caught her earlobe between his teeth and gently tugged a" "r-r-rioting pheromones. Pheromones are chemical substances that can serve as s.e.xual stimuli between two otherwise wildly" a" the word deepened to a moan as he probed the virgin sh.e.l.l of her ear with the tip of his tongue a" "incompatible individuals."

"Tabitha?" he whispered hoa.r.s.ely in her ear.

"Yes, Colin."

"Hush."

Just in case she had any intention of disobeying him, he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to his chest, and seized her mouth with his own, his kiss even darker and more demanding than before. He kissed her as if he would die from want of her and Tabitha found his need irresistible. No one had ever really needed her before. Even her parents had always had each other.

She might have melted down the wall into a puddle of pure delight had his knee not been there to brace her. She gasped at the sweet friction of his muscular thigh riding between her legs. She was only too aware that the coa.r.s.e fabric of Magwyn's gown was all that separated him from flesh throbbing in antic.i.p.ation of his touch.

If he hadn't stiffened in her arms, she might have thought the sharp cry was her own.

An infant's wail came echoing down the enclosed staircase with eerie clarity. They peered upward into the shadows, struggling to steady their ragged breathing, Colin wide-eyed with shock. She clutched his arms.

He touched a finger to her tingling lips, then gestured for her to follow him up the winding stairs.

"No," she whispered.

"I'll not leave you here alone, la.s.s."

"And I'm not going anywhere until you apologize."

"For kissing you?" he hissed, putting his face close to hers as if he just might do it again.

"For accusing me of breaking into your castle to rob you." Tabitha knew she was being childish, but for some reason it was very important to her that Colin clear her name.

It took him a tense moment to accept that his thunderous scowl alone wasn't going to budge her. "Very well," he growled through clenched teeth. "I humbly beg your pardon, my lady."

As he wheeled around and started up the stairs, Tabitha hurried after him, more afraid of being left behind than forging ahead. "I'm not your lady."

"Yet," he said evenly, infuriating her anew with his boundless arrogance.

"Ever," she muttered at his back, but even to her, the denial sounded hollow and unconvincing.

As they crept up the stairs, Tabitha clutched the back of Colin's tunic the way a toddler would clutch a security blanket. He might very well need both of his arms to defend them against the unseen horror that awaited them in the chapel tower. Although he wore no dagger or sword, she had already learned that a man like Colin was never truly unarmed.

Just as they reached the iron-banded door at the top of the stairs, the crying ceased. The ominous silence echoed like a dirge. Tabitha shuddered.

Colin reached around and squeezed her trembling hands. "Don't be afraid, la.s.s. Tis probably naught but the wind whistling through a crack in the stone."

She offered him a tremulous smile, trying not to cower. Easing her even more firmly behind him, he splayed his hand against the door and thrust it open in one decisive motion.

An array of bewildering impressions bombarded Tabitha's fear-numbed senses: a gold crucifix hanging askew on a plastered wall; the m.u.f.fled coo of a dove; slender candles flickering on a carved altar. Disengaging himself from her grip, Colin drifted forward, drawn inexorably toward that row of flickering beacons in a place where he had expected to find only darkness.

A tranquil hush hung over the chapel. Which only made the shock more keen when something large and squat came charging at Colin out of a shadowy corner, bawling like an enraged heifer.

Caught off guard by the flying tackle, he went sailing backward, striking his head against the wall with a resounding thud. Plaster dust clouded the air. Choking back a scream, Tabitha raced toward the altar. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up a candlestick, determined to bash Colin's a.s.sailant over the head with it.

A woman's plaintive wail of dismay froze her fingers around the polished bra.s.s.

"Colin! Master Colin, is that you?"

Tabitha slowly turned to find Colin being cradled across the lap of a woman large enough to be a defensive end for the New York Giants. The candlestick slid from her hand to clatter on the plank floor.

"Och, Colin, me puir wee laddie!" the woman crooned. "I've gone and killed you, I have!" Flesh jiggled on her arms as she pressed Colin's face to the spongy mountains of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, rocking him as if he were an infant.

As he struggled his way free to keep from smothering, Tabitha fought a hysterical desire to giggle.

"Auld Nana?" he whispered, blinking up at the woman through dazed eyes. "Is that you, Nana? I thought you were dead."

"And I, you, m' sweet lad," she murmured, stroking his dark curls. " 'Twould seem we were both wrong."

Colin shook his head as if to clear it, then scrambled to his feet. He jerked his tunic straight, his stormy glower warning Tabitha not to laugh. But she was too busy scanning the shadows for the source of that peculiar cooing. Perhaps a dove had flown in through the shattered stained-gla.s.s window over the nave.

As Colin helped Nana to her feet, groaning beneath his breath with effort, Tabitha murmured, "Colin?"

"Aye?"

"If Nana's no ghost" a" she pointed toward the basket in the corner, her finger trembling a" "then neither is she."

Colin gazed at Tabitha for a long moment as if afraid to look at the basket, hope chasing doubt across his face. Nana clasped her beefy hands and stood silently as he took one step toward the corner, then another, his confident gait robbed of its swagger. As he lowered his powerful body to kneel beside the makeshift cradle, an inexpressible tenderness softened his rugged features.

He reached into the basket and lifted the baby girl nestled within as if she were fashioned of spun gla.s.s, a treasure beyond price. Dark curls, nearly identical to his own, furred her tiny pink head. She cooed down at him in delight, then burped as if she'd just downed an entire pint of Molson's.

It was in that moment when Colin turned to her with tears of wonder and thanksgiving misting his eyes that Tabitha knew she was lost.

More lost than she'd been when she tumbled into this alien century. More lost than when his lips had tenderly grazed hers for the very first time.

She wanted him to look at her that way as she marched down a flower-strewn aisle to stand at his side. She wanted him to hold her children with the fierce strength in his warrior's hands gentled by love.

She managed to smile at him through her own unshed tears, thrown off balance by the most d.a.m.ning truth of all. She wanted him.

Sir Colin of Ravenshaw, the seventh laird of Castle Raven, marched down the moonlit hill, a conquering hero at last.

Tabitha trailed shyly at his heels with a beaming Nana lumbering behind. The child in his arms had set up a l.u.s.ty wail, but he simply pressed a kiss to the tip of her adorable little nose, making no attempt to quiet her. The baby puckered her pliant features into a miniature of her brother's habitual scowl. The poor thing probably had gas, Tabitha thought. G.o.d only knew what Nana had been feeding her.

As her churlish bellow rolled through their camp, Colin's people came spilling out of their tents and bedrolls, obviously fearing they had been set upon by an entire horde of murderous apparitions. They swarmed around their laird, seeking comfort in his unexpected presence.

Arjon and the blonde emerged from the same rumpled bedroll while Granny Cora limped out with her unlit pipe still clenched between her yellowed teeth. Jenny clung to her mama's shift, her freshly cropped curls tousled by sleep.

"Dear G.o.d in heaven! What terrible noise is that?" Magwyn cried, clapping her hands over her ears.

Colin grinned down at his squalling charge. "Is that any way to address your lady? I find her tones to be rather dulcet. I suspect she'll be a fine singer someday." Almost as if responding to her besotted brother's praise, the baby waved her fat little arms and lapsed into a happy chortle.

Tabitha had never been one to "ooh" and "ah" over drooling infants, but even to her skeptical eye, there was something alluring about the child's rebellious curls and petulant rosebud of a mouth.

Iselda pointed a trembling finger at Colin's burden before swooning in Magwyn's arms. Magwyn staggered beneath her bulk.

" 'Tis the ghost!" called out Chauncey, tripping over his overgrown feet. "The ghost from the tower!"

Nana boxed his ears and shoved her way through the mob like a running back plowing through the defensive line. A symphony of grunts and groans marked her progress as she smashed toes and elbowed spleens.

"She's no ghost, you buffoon, and neither am I."

"Auld Nana!" breathed Magwyn. "You're alive."