Chapter Four

 

Devin wiped a salty bead of sweat from his eye and sighed. The sun hung hazy and surprisingly hot overhead. He hadn’t slept a wink last night. Isabel had consumed his every thought. When his mind wasn’t obsessing on the crappy way he’d treated her it was busy obsessing about her hot little responsive body and his ever raging erection.

Every damn time he tried to pleasure himself an uncomfortable rush of shame would wash over him. Ample sized breasts, teeny tiny waist—raging hard-on. Treating her like a piece of meat, disrespecting her—instant withered cock. What was the matter with him? Most of the way he’d behaved the previous evening wasn’t him at all. Oh no, it’d been the warlock. That ever-denied newfound evil beastie within.

Some men would love being able to sway a woman like he had. Have her feeling his hands where they’d never been placed. Have her mind swim in the languid pools of desire he himself had helped implant.

For all Devin had tried to stay away from her, one look into those wide innocent eyes followed by her small, tentative hand on his chest had unraveled a recipe for disaster…had thoroughly unleashed the dark magic in him.

And the hot-blooded man.

“The Mr.’s comin,’” Vagrant Two said, spooning a ladle of water from a large wooden barrel.

Devin looked down the drive. Nothing. “How do you know?”

Vagrant Two poured a ladleful over his head and shook it. “Missus always gets extra edgy.”

“Ah.” Without doubt, Isabel was pacing back and forth, hands on hips, eyeing the progress. The wood had been delivered and men trekked around, some lost in thought as they planned, many busy laboring.

Isabel hadn’t looked at him once. Devin didn’t blame her. He wouldn’t look at him either if he were she. Damn it. He’d handled last night poorly. But he’d been under duress, out of his mind really. It’d been on the tip of his tongue to tell her everything, come clean. But what if it messed up whatever crappy haunted cycle they were in? Would Devin telling her everything put her at danger if this was all really one big residual haunting?

He thought about how sweet and soft her lips had tasted. How exceptionally gorgeous she’d appeared when she’d waited for his lips to fall on hers. How her hips had jutted up when she wanted more between her thighs.

When she’d wanted him between her thighs.

Hell and damnation.

“Here he comes,” Vagrant One said, having approached to get some water as well.

Devin’s eyes flew down the drive. A sleek black coach rolled their way, its wheels passing smoothly over the pit holed dirt beneath. Had the ‘Master’ figured out a way to create modern day shocks?

A shrill whistle resounded. He glanced at Isabel. Hell, she’d created that ear-splitting noise with her mouth. Everyone started to line up. Wow. While he’d given her ample credit for leading these guys yesterday, he was again astounded by her knack for management. It definitely made him feel more the arse for having put her in a position last night that could’ve cost her this level of respect.

No need to further incite her. Devin got in line. Ever the dutiful worker lined up behind his warrior woman, he watched as the carriage halted in front of Isabel. The driver hopped out, pulled down steps and opened the door. He stepped back and stood silently.

Nothing happened.

Devin couldn’t help but watch Isabel. She was the perfect example of a leader. Today, her hair was pulled back tight and wrapped into a small chignon. Clean and incredibly presentable, considering their current living conditions, she stood, back ramrod straight, head held high, hands folded neatly in front of her. Almost like an eighteenth century nanny presenting children to their father. Where’d that thought come from? Still, she did seem to suddenly carry a haughty, I’m-better-than-most scholarly air.

Hands shoved in his pockets, it took everything Devin had not to run up to her, rip loose her hair, rumple it and lightened her eyes. Make her look as carefree and sensual as she had the previous night. Bank that thought, lad. She’d probably try to slap you again. And there is the ‘respect thing.’ Damn, but she did have his mind going in circles already. He wanted to kiss the back of her hand then toss her over his lap and slap her cute little arse. Again, that whole good-versus-bad thing he experienced whenever he thought about her.

A pair of shiny black shoes descended the first step outside the carriage. Isabel’s back straightened more. The shoes quickly gave way to long legs, a strong upper half well-dressed, a top-hat…a handsome face.

Devin’s jaw dropped.

Calum?

Isabel issued a curtsy. The man tipped his hat, his dark gaze briefly sweeping over everything before returning to her. When he spoke, Devin did his best not to hit the ground.

“It goes well.” The ‘master’s’ attention turned to the line of men. He made a flick with his hand. “Back to work.”

The line of men fell away, leaving only Devin. There’s no way he was seeing correctly. Taking a few steps forward, he squinted, looked closer at the man bending his head talking quietly with Isabel. That face, that voice…it had to be.

Devin, can you hear me? Where the hell are you?

Devin continued to stare at the man who was surely Calum. But the sound of Leathan’s voice in his mind was far more important. He spoke back within the mind, Leathan?

Calum turned his way. Isabel stopped talking. “Who are you, young man?”

Devin didn’t like the unusual gleam in Calum’s eyes when asked that.

Leathan, you there still?

No answer.

Calum strode his way. “Again, who are you?”

Oh yeah, it was definitely him. “You know bloody well who I am, ghost.”

Stopping short, Calum looked truly affronted. Then, in a split second, his face dropped all expression. Just like the ‘Calum’ he’d met at the Victorian. Devin didn’t hesitate, kept on talking. “What, you don’t recognize me?”

Isabel kicked in, flying up alongside Calum. “Forgive this, he is new. Irish.” She faltered, unsure what to say next. “You know how odd the Irish can be.”

An unexpected plethora of rage suddenly poured through Devin. Here stood the man who had been the reason behind him becoming a warlock. Here stood his ancestor, a mar upon Devin’s very existence. The very one who had turned his world inside out. Enraged, he met Calum halfway, stopped when nose to nose. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who the hell I am.”

Devin was so furious he hardly noticed the dark clouds rolling in too fast. The driving rain that started to pour, creating a convenient barrier between him, Calum, Isabel and curious ears.

Calum’s eyes started to glow. A black crackling aura appeared around him. Devin brushed his wet hair aside, so furious he couldn’t see straight. Isabel whimpered beside them.

Where the hell are you, lad?

Leathan’s voice was stronger now.

Come back, cuz. Now. This from Seth.

He didn’t care where the hell they were coming from. He wanted blood.

He wanted Calum.

Devin lunged and wrapped his hands around Calum’s throat. They fell to the ground. Enraged, bloodlust driven, Devin rolled, gripped, didn’t go.

“Shit man.”

Somehow it wasn’t Calum but Seth.

“You asshole! Get a hold of yourself or we’ll go down now, both of us,” Seth said.

Hands around Seth’s neck, Seth’s around his, they finally stopped rolling. What the hell? Panting rapidly, Devin stared at his cousin. Not Calum at all. Just Seth, face red, eyes wild. Trying to get his rage under control, Devin willed his hands to loosen. No luck.

Seth flipped him and put more pressure on his windpipe. That did it. With no air left, his hands fell away from Seth’s throat. His arms fell listlessly to his side. Clenching the warm grass, the red slowly receded from his vision until nothing but Seth straddling him and Leathan standing over, remained.

“Shit,” he muttered and closed his eyes.

Seth panted and tried to catch his breath. “Shit’s right.” He rolled away, landed on his back next to Devin and stared at the same bright blue sky overhead.

Leathan plunked down in the grass on his other side. “Thought we’d lost you there, lad.”

Devin stared at the sky, the pleasant, ignorant puffs of clouds billowing overhead. Anger still bubbled near the surface. “I had him. I almost had him.”

“Who?” Seth said, still trying to catch his breath. “Fucking Satan?”

“Fucking something,” Leathan agreed.

“Fucking, Calum is who,” Devin muttered.

“Enough!” Andrea stood over them, shaking with fury. “All three of you shut your mouths. Listen to you. You never swore like this before the Victorian. You sound terrible. Not the guys I knew.” She swung around and headed for the house. “And she doesn’t deserve this. You guys are completely nuts…and….nasty!”

All three remained lying in the grass looking up at the sky.

“You saw Calum?” Seth asked.

“Aye,” Devin responded.

“No kidding.”

“Oh yeah, and you’re never gonna believe where.”

Leathan asked, “What’s up? Where’d you go?”

“Pretty sure, back to when this house was built,” Devin said. “Hell of a thing.”

Now that he’d calmed down, it felt bloody good to be back in the twenty-first century with his cousins.

“Back to when this house was built?” Leathan asked.

“Yep.”

“Holy hell,” Seth said. “What year?”

“1722.”

“Damn!”

“Yeah, you’ve no idea.”

“So what’s this about Calum?” Seth asked.

Devin shook his head and watched one cloud swallow another. “I think I met him when he was mortal. Or should I say, alive.”

“No!” Leathan said.

“Yep.”

“Shit,” Seth said.

“Hell,” Leathan added.

Devin, rage dissipated, crossed his arms behind his head and truly relished being home, such as it was. “Andrea’s pissed, eh? Are we really cursing more than before?”

He could hear the frown in Seth’s voice. “Don’t think so.”

“Question,” Leathan said.

“Yeah?” Devin and Seth asked simultaneously.

“Who’s ‘she’?”

“Who’s who?” Devin asked.

“She,” Leathan said. “Before she called us nuts, Andrea said─” He held his hands up in the air and made quotation marks, “She doesn’t deserve this.”

Seth shrugged.

Devin continued to look at the clouds overhead. She. She? No! Sitting upright, he watched as Andrea led a woman into the distant house. He watched the woman’s long, blond hair blow in the breeze. It couldn’t be. Seth and Leathan sat up as well.

Seth cleared his throat, eyes on the blond vanishing into the house. “You were gone one night. There something beyond your reunion with Calum you’re not telling us about?”

Devin stumbled to his feet. Was it really her?

“I’d say yes,” Leathan said.

There’s no way on Ireland’s green Earth, Isabel was here. In person. No, he had to be seeing a ghost. With long strides, he headed for the Georgian. Had she traveled with him to the future? Had he really fought then chatted with his cousins when she had just been thrust into true hell? A place totally foreign to her? Bursting through the front door, Devin looked around frantically. Where was she?

“She’s in here,” Andrea said.

Devin walked into the living room slowly. His hand instinctively fell to his hip to make sure her picture was still there. Now, away from complete terror, on his own territory, it was hard for him to breathe when the woman curled up on her sofa matched the woman in the picture.

“Isabel,” he said gently.

She didn’t respond, distant eyes focused on the fire. He wondered if she’d even heard him.

Andrea shook her head. “Why don’t you…go fix something to eat, Devin.”

Go fix something to eat? He stared intently at Isabel. His ghost turned human. His fantasy turned reality. Biting his lip, he shook his head at Andrea.

Andrea shot him a look that made walking on red hot nails with sun-burned feet seem more preferable than her appraisal. He frowned and backed away. No one messed with Andrea when she was determined to protect.

Leathan and Seth stood behind him. He turned, shook his head and pointed toward the kitchen. Both followed. Devin sat on an island stool and braced his head in his hands on the countertop. This couldn’t be happening.

“Who is she?”

Devin pulled out the picture and set it on the countertop without looking at them.

“Wow,” Seth said softly. “You serious?”

He ran his hand through his hair and stared at the picture now in Seth’s hands. “Aye.”

Leathan took the picture, narrowing his eyes at it. “Unbelievable. You brought the ghost back with you?”

“I think we all know she’s no ghost,” Devin returned. “At least…not right now.”

“You have no idea whether she’s real or not,” Leathan countered. “If nothing else, the Victorian taught us that.”

“Damn straight.” Seth issued a wide grin and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Here we go again.”

Leathan batted him upside the head.

Seth frowned. “What?”

“Have a little compassion, eh?”

“Why?”

Devin ground his teeth. “Because that woman in the other room is definitely on the rough end of things.” He stood and grabbed the picture from Leathan. “Because, whether all of this excites you or not, Andrea’s husband is still trapped somewhere in this house and things are only bound to get worse.”

Bloody Americans. Why was he sitting here listening to Seth when Isabel was in the other room no doubt having a much deserved break-down on Andrea? He should be in there helping her through this. Devin headed down the hallway and stopped at the doorway to the living room.

Fully expecting Isabel to be sobbing in Andrea’s arms, surprise froze him at the door jam. The eighteenth century lass stopped pacing and narrowed her eyes at him. “You!”

Lord she was gorgeous and apparently furious with him. So much for the delicate, hysterical damsel in distress. He took a step into the room. “Are you all right?”

“Do I look all right?” She stalked his way. “What the hell am I doing in the twenty-first century? Walking in this house?” She patted her front, sides. “And not a ghost!”

Devin glanced at Andrea. She shrugged and offered a small grin. “Just told her what century she was in and she freaked.”

“You seem a lot better with all of this than you did a few minutes ago,” he responded carefully to Isabel.

Her violet blue eyes flared with disgust. “That’s because I’m not supposed to be here. At least not in this form.” She poked him in the chest. “You’re not supposed to have brought me here. My ghost would’ve got through to you enough eventually.”

He wrapped his hand around her obtrusive hand and squeezed gently. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

Isabel yanked away her hand, accent changing slightly, taking on a slightly southern and very American drawl. “Simple. I, like this house, exist in multiple dimensions.” She shook her head and turned away. “All of which are of Calum’s making.”