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  Then he disappeared. Again. Pray tell, if kissing a woman down there sickens him, mayhap he should no’ perform the deed. He looked a bit green.

  A frown tugged at her lips, so she quickly forgot about him. More important thoughts filled her mind. The loss of her gift would not cause her grief, but she would hate to disappoint the man who took her in years ago.

  Suddenly, in the middle of the heated kitchen, a vision rose and clutched her round the throat. She froze mid-step and sensed Cook did the same. A woman materialized before them. Tall and thin, she sported silvery hair blowing around bone-thin shoulders. The ghostly visage stared right at Brianna.

  “Do ye see her, child?” Cook whispered.

  “Aye. She seems familiar. But, how is it ye see her, too?”

  “I be a ghost, no’ a vision, ye harlot,” the thin hag spat.

  Brianna gasped and broke the connection enough to step back two paces. The crone’s words rang true.

  “No’ true, ye ghost. Brianna be the finest woman-child to bless this earth.”

  “Brianna?” The crone shook her head and seemed to be rolling the name around with her tongue.

  “Aye, madam. Do ye know me?” A sense of foreboding slid through her heart along with a memory so old it hurt to recall. She shoved the image to the far reaches and waited.

  When her ghost did not answer, Brianna asked, “Yer voice sounds familiar though I canno’ imagine when we might have met.”

  “I died long ago, near fifteen years hence, murdered with all my clan and me lovely daughter, Jean. A fate a bit less cruel than another time.”

  “Murdered? How horrible for ye.”

  “Aye, betrayed unto our enemies by a young man’s jealousy turned to black treachery. He wanted me’ bonnie daughter, but she rejected him for another. In his grief, he led the murderous Macleods to our hideout. There we all died, but for him.”

  Brianna shared a quick knowing glance with Cook.

  This ghost must no’ realize we are also Macleods. What would she do if she did?

  As if sensing Brianna’s own thoughts, Cook stepped forward. “Ye said there be a second part as horrid as his treachery?”

  “Aye. Me other daughter had been spared such a death in the most vile of ways.”

  “What could be viler than being murdered?” Brianna asked before she recalled the unwanted advances of Ranald and other men of his vein.

  “An unknown man or beast took her from me arms when barely four years on this earth. I ne’er laid mine eyes upon her again.”

  Brianna’s spine prickled as images flooded her mind. Cook sobbed beside her. Never blessed with a family, her friend cared deeply for children.

  Brianna felt a sudden, yet melancholy attachment to this ghost. Was it her eyes? Or, might it be the shrill pain-filled voice? And, why did her sweep of silvery hair look familiar? When the woman twirled a lock of her hair, Brianna gasped.

  “What is it, Brianna?” Cook asked, as she placed a hand upon her shoulder.

  “My mother used to do that.” Brianna pointed at the ghost whose eyes rose to meet hers. “I do that e’en today.”

  With furrowed brow, the image glided closer and asked, “Who be yer mother?”

  “That ‘tis a mystery. Gregor found me when barely a babe. A hunter came across me as I lay beside a dead pony. Gregor said I bruised my ribs and hit my head. I remember living among strange people who called me daughter, but I always knew my name be Brianna, and I missed me mother.”

  All three women gazed at each other until the sound of a man’s raucous laughter caused the image to fade. Brianna watched her go and felt a familiar tug upon her heart.

  Mother?

  “Do ye believe she may have been yer mother?” Cook turned back to gather up foodstuffs to ready for the morning.

  “Possible, though I do no’ remember her face. Mostly, I remember a feeling. I should have asked her what year her child went missing.”

  “Too bad ye did no’ think to ask if she shared the gift of sight.”

  “Cook! Dare ye bring this up now? Someone might hear, and then where would I be. Witchery is a hanging offense, though what I do does no harm.”

  “No truer words be spoken. Sorry to bring it up, but ye might want to ask, should the ghost come a’visiting again.”

  After dinner, Brianna ducked through the tent flap, and then strode under the early evening stars. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms did not help warm her after the unusual visit.

  She saw no cause to mention the event to Gregor, so, instead, she put her skills to the task. Gregor wanted her to conjure a vision to aid the men in their hunt on the morrow. She inhaled a deep, soothing breath of night air.

  Brianna shivered. The sun had set, causing the sky to darken to pitch. The salt-laden wind grew in strength. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders, whipping wild and free. Gentle swells dipped and surged along the beach far below the cliff, though with less fury than the day she met Draco. Seabirds swooped and shrieked as if begging a fisherman for morsels of crusty bannock or day-old oatmeal cakes. A sinister inkling made her turn. Brianna gasped at the shadow in surprise.

  “I find ye alone.”

  A blackened profile kept her from seeing the mouth uttering those words, but the sound and smell made her spring into action. She flew across the ground until she found the trail beside the cliffs. Well worn from her daily walks to fill the water bags, she used the low light of new stars to guide her feet on the path. As she headed for the stream, her nemesis loomed close at hand.

  CHAPTER 10

  Brianna fleetingly wondered what happened to her guardian, since Ranald’s attention meant Gregor failed in his promise. She sprinted away, putting space between her and the oaf. A shadow rose and blocked the light of the rising stars before her body flew off the trail. Brianna landed hard on her stomach and breasts. Something heavy landed on top.

  A large, sweaty body pinned her to the dirt. Through the thin material of her work frock, pebbles and plant stalks poked her chest and thighs. Sand skinned the soft flesh of her bare arms and calves as he forced her to her back. One hand covered her mouth while the other tore the bodice of her frock.

  Her muffled scream for help drew his laugh. With her right breast bared, her stare did nothing to deter the brute. His shadowy profile lowered, and his teeth bit her exposed nipple. His other hand slid lower, pulling at her skirts.

  Brianna squirmed and flailed, striking bone and sensitive skin without mercy. His meaty erection prodded her naked thigh. Her shoes flew off as she kicked and fought for purchase in the undergrowth. He writhed in lustful agitation as his cock sought her womanly folds. The horror of the moment flashed across her eyes until she sensed a fog-enshrouded vision, which foretold of Ranald’s bloody corpse dropping into the sea.

  She laughed.

  Ranald stopped moving. He seemed mesmerized by the sound.

  “Witch. Played hard to get, but my cock will stroke ye ‘til I explode inside of ye, ye bonnie wench.”

  “Nay, ye shall no’.” A deep growl rose in volume from behind Ranald’s left shoulder, but he did not desist in his actions. In fact, he doubled his aggressive attempts to take her as he growled at the interrupting stranger.

  “Wait yer turn. Ye are no’ Gregor, I can tell, so keep yer trap shut and ye can share the bitch.”

  Brianna shrieked as the bulbous tip of his engorged cock shoved at the mouth of her womanly folds. When Ranald’s entire weight lifted away, she gasped. Then she smelled blood.

  She pushed down her skirts and rolled onto both knees. She peered into the night. All around her loomed the inky blackness. A sprinkling of stars did little to light the scene. The scent of moss and ocean spray replaced the rancid odors of her attacker.

  Where had Ranald gone? More importantly, where was her savior? She had not recognized the low voice as he growled at her foe.

  A splash to her left broke the tense silence. She jumped to her feet in time to see a large, dark shape surge pa
st, trapped within the current of the nearby stream. She ran beside it, peering with wide-opened eyes. Could the lump be Ranald, or was it her protector?

  Within seconds, the floating mass disappeared over the crest and tumbled limb over limb into the sea.

  “I pray that be Ranald,” Brianna said.

  “If that be the name of the beast who sought to ravish ye, then yes.”

  A ripple of terrorized ice ran down her spine until she listened more closely to the voice in the dark. The voice belonged to a hero and she wanted nothing more than to reward him.

  “A reward? Anything my lady has to offer will be well appreciated.”

  She knew she had not voiced her decision. The voice’s owner read her mind. Only one man professed such ability.

  “Draco?” Silence surrounded her while a stiff breeze buffeted her hair and frock. She stood fast, unwilling to let fear sway her from discovering the truth. She wandered blindly toward the voice only to trip on a patch of brockweed.

  “If ye want me to fall from the cliff, by all means keep away. However, if ye want yer reward, show yourself to me.”

  “Brianna?” Gregor’s voice boomed through the gloom. She jumped.

  She spun to face the voice and tripped again. She slowly rolled to her feet. With a groan, Brianna brushed dirt and leaves from her skirt then tugged at her ripped bodice. Gregor arrived, holding a flaming torch.

  “Where have ye been? Cook and I have been worried sick.”

  “Oh? Why?” she asked, though she suspected she knew. How would her guardian explain his lack of protection, especially after he gave her his word?

  “Ranald hit me o’er the head with a tankard. A full one, mind ye. So I have a headache and wet trews.” His chuckle faded when he spied her torn blouse and the twigs in her hair. “He is a dead man.”

  “Ne’re a truer word ‘twas spoken.” Brianna sighed with sudden weariness.

  “What do ye mean? Where is he?”

  “May we take this inside, sir? I am chilled to the bone.” She glanced at her state of dishabille. “And, I have lost my shoes.”

  “Aye, lass. A spot of whisky might assist us both, this night.”

  Gregor’s genuine remorse lay evident in his words and eased her mind. The candle’s flame danced in the breeze blowing up and over the cliff face. Turning back toward the tents, Brianna heard the flapping of great wings. Who actually saved her from the nightmare named Ranald MacLean?

  Had my savior been Draco? Or the dragon?

  She chuckled with a false bravado as she faced the realization wild creatures and mythical beasts do not talk to lassies. She felt no need to walk the beach, so what brought her to the top of the natural stairway? Nay, she knew the answer. She wanted a chance to talk with the man who filled her nights with both dreams and nightmares.

  ***

  Come morning, empty tents and half-filled ale casks lay strewn across their camp. Rising early, Brianna had helped Nia and Cook serve food to grumbling men. Word of Ranald’s fate reached their ears. A somber mood fell over the camp. The unanimous decision to return to the Macleod tower in Glenelg cut short their hunting trip.

  After washing the pots, trenchers, and tankards, the women packed the kitchen and piled their bundles outside the tent. Foodstuffs loaded in burlap bags sat among tins filled with flour and spices. The sailors kept busy transporting the goods to the launch area in readiness for departure.

  How could she leave Staffa knowing the heart of her heart lived here? Draco’s sadness and solitude, as well as his kindness, pulled at her. She slipped away and made her way down to the sand below the cliff face.

  She yearned to discuss last night with him. Would he believe her tale? Would he confess to the murder of Gregor’s friend? She described to Gregor how Ranald had treated her before his death.

  “Aye, ‘tis the way of all men to meet their fate, be it good or bad. Aye, the beastie must have grabbed him. Good thing the creature ne’er saw ye as well.”

  Poor Gregor had begged her forgiveness. Ranald’s attentions were not the fault of her guardian, and Ranald paid for his indiscretion. Brianna shivered when she recalled the attack. Only one man could tempt her to lay aside her virtue.

  “Draco,” she whispered on the wind.

  “I am here, sweet one.”

  She had unwittingly arrived at the hidden mouth of the great cavern. Draco crouched high above the beach on a protruding crag. As he looked down on her, a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and her heart skipped a beat. She rubbed each of her moistened palms down the front of her skirts.

  With the agility of a cat, he jumped down and joined her on the sand. He wore the same leather vest and trews. His fresh, masculine scent filled her nostrils, and she inhaled long and deep.

  In silent agreement, he held out his hand and she grasped it, tight. Walking hand in hand toward the mouth of the cave, she felt no hesitation or fear. When his flesh touched hers, no remorse touched her heart. Only love. Her attention locked on a lovely sound as they walked deep inside the cave.

  “What is this I hear?”

  “The melody of the cave. It is unique to this cavern alone. This occurs only when the sand in its mouth is of a certain consistency, with the right amount of moisture, and when the walls are heated. No’ quite as damp as the day ye fell into my arms.”

  She could not help but smile with what must look like a silly, childish grin to this older man. “How old are ye?”

  “One and thirty.”

  She stared, and then smiled.

  “I am glad ye find this bit of information appealing. Or, are ye thinking of the sounds of the cave? The phenomenon adds to the aura of witchery and helps keep visitors away.”

  “Why keep such beauty hidden? If others came and heard this, mayhap some would stay. A small village might grow upon the cliffs. There is a freshwater stream to provide plenty of drinking water, birds and boar enough to eat to fill their bellies, and enough topsoil to grow food.”

  Draco dropped her hand as if her touch burned his skin. He stood and stared into the dark.

  What have I done or said to make his entire body stiffen?

  ”Ye must no’ think this way. More importantly, ye must no’ tell anyone of these features. I want no one joining me in my solitude.”

  “Do no’ say such things, Draco. A man canno’ live alone as ye. ‘Tis unnatural. Especially one who has lived here since the age of…?”

  “Sixteen. I have lived here for fifteen years. Alone.” The word hissed from between his lips.

  Her eyes widened at the thought.

  He has lived alone since barely a man? Why did he bristle at my words? Does he fear strangers for some unknown reason?

  “I fear no one.”

  “No’ e’en the beast?” she whispered. He did not answer, but his shoulders stiffened even more.

  Why does he refuse to share what he knows of the winged creature?

  He whirled back toward her and wrapped one of her hands in both of his. Heat spread up her arm. Carnal thoughts rushed to her mind, and she dipped her head to hide the heat flooding her cheekbones. Brianna’s lips pressed together to stifle a moan.

  “Do no’ worry about me, love. Now, what shall we do this day? Explore the deeper parts of the cave or—”

  “I canno’. I am leaving.”

  “Explain.”

  “Ranald is dead.” She waited for his reaction.

  “This troubles ye? Ye miss him?”

  She gasped and pulled her hand away. “I hated him, and I am glad he is dead. I am sorry it came to this, but the beast did him in. The others have no desire to join Ranald in death.”

  “Ah. The beast, again.”

  “Ye do no’ believe me?”

  Draco picked up a twisted length of driftwood and threw it against the cave wall where it splintered into pieces. Her stomach growled. She had hastened through a meager breakfast of oatcakes in order to pack up their belongings.

  He clasped her hand in his o
nce more. “Lass, I ne’er knew such a hungry woman. I will have to feed ye if I hope to keep ye occupied. Maybe the others will leave ye behind.”

  “Nay! I must go with them. Laird Gregor Macleod is adamant we leave at high tide.”

  “Macleod?”

  She watched his eyes close while his lips tightened into a thin line. Releasing her, both his hands fisted at his sides. She waited for him to speak, wondering why the name Macleod stopped him cold.

  With a cry of distress, she recalled the tale he shared about his people and their deaths. His harsh utterance of her adopted clan’s surname mirrored the response of the silver-haired hag. Could the incident of treachery she spouted be the same?

  And, was Draco the young man who caused all those deaths?

  “E’en ye think me guilty of such a crime!”

  She shook her head, but Draco disappeared farther inside the huge cavern. The immense structure’s walls glistened like emeralds. Greenish moss snaked up one side, while the black basalt ceiling loomed high overhead. Damp sand clung to her toes as she padded deeper into the void.

  Where has he run?

  He could not have scurried up to the hole in the ceiling during the mere moment he had slipped from her sight. Brianna stared at the ground for clues.

  “Footprints!” She sped along the sandy bank beside the small stream, which flowed into the cave. Turning to stare at the waves, she would say a quick goodbye before the rising tide got any higher.

  “I shall no’ be trapped again.” Memories of her near drowning, and the talons that saved her, caused a shiver. Images morphed into memories of the wonderful touch of Draco’s lips on her breasts.

  “And other places,” she sighed. Wandering down a dark passage off the main cave, she ducked under the low ceiling and noticed an unusual stench wafted around her.

  “I ought to leave.” If Draco did not care to say goodbye, so be it. Retreating toward the cavern’s main entrance, the eerie sound of leathery wings sucked the air from her lungs.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Oh, nay. The beast?” In the shadow-filled tunnel, a breeze picked up and tugged at Brianna’s hair. The noise grew. Hunched over, using her fingers to guide her in the dark, she slid along one wall of the cave. Her fingernails clawed damp stone while she peered into the shadows. Before she reached the path to return her back to the main chamber, a cloud of foul smelling bats buffeted her forehead. She shrieked with disgust and surprise.