Her soft lips were on his and the breasts he had glimpsed were pressed against his chest before Baird guessed what the woman was going to do.
And then nothing else mattered but her kiss.
Baird’s fingers of their own accord fitted to the neat indent of her. She was so tiny his hands nearly encircled her completely, her curves fit against him as though they were made for each other.
And Baird, a man not given to impulse, only cradled her closer and deepened his kiss. She trembled, as though she was also surprised by the heat of their kiss and just as powerless to end it as Baird. A protective tide swept through him and he lifted her to her toes, slanting his mouth across hers.
There was a rightness about kissing her, a sense of homecoming, a rush of victory that made absolutely no sense. In this moment, Baird didn’t care about what made sense. Her lips were as soft and warm as the rain, her kiss as sweet as honey.
Baird knew with sudden clarity he had come to Dunhelm precisely and purely to find this woman. It was no coincidence she was here, he was oddly certain of it. This woman was the lure that had drawn him not only to Dunhelm, but to this chamber.
He had been looking for her.
What? How could he look for someone he didn’t even know? That kind of thinking had no place in Baird Beauforte’s supremely rational mind!
Baird tore his lips away from hers, but his odd certainty didn’t fade. He stared at the woman as he backed warily away, and his hand rose to wipe away the nectar of her kiss. She was possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, as perfectly made as a china doll, but must be a few bricks short of a full load. She had just kissed him as though she couldn’t get enough of him, and for no reason at all!
And Baird had—very uncharacteristically—kissed her back.
In fact, he had kissed her first.
The whole situation was enough to make Baird uneasy. He had a very definite sense this woman knew more about him than he did about her.
Baird was no stranger to manipulation by the fair sex, but he had decided a long time ago he wasn’t going to be tricked again.
Okay. This woman had lost her father—in one way or another—and was obviously upset, maybe upset enough to be confused. And she was on Beauforte Resort property, which must be the reason Baird felt so responsible for her. He had offered to help her find her father and he would keep his word.
But that was it.
Baird swiftly turned his back on the woman before she could mess with his thinking any more than she already had. “Julian, find her a room in the renovation until we get this resolved,” he commanded crisply. The weight of her gaze bored into his shoulders, but Baird refused to turn and look at her. “It doesn’t matter where.”
Julian’s brow furrowed with concern. “But—”
“Just do it!” Baird snapped in a rare show of frustration. “Just do it and do it now!” He stalked toward the stairs, fighting the urge to take one last survey of the woman.
Baird forced himself to think of the appointment with the interior designer. They would talk prices and availability of materials, they would plan, they would be reasoned and unemotional.
He could hardly wait, Baird told himself grimly.
“King Bard,” the woman called softly from behind him.
Baird froze with one foot on the first step and hesitated for just a moment, bracing himself for another view of her feminine vulnerability.
But the sight still made his gut clench.
It seemed impossible she could appear softer than she had after their kiss, but she did. It was easy to imagine long sunny mornings spent in bed…
Baird pulled himself up short. Julian was right—the woman must be a crazy vagrant. Wherever she had come from, obviously she had been out in the elements too long.
But Baird’s lips burned. As much as he knew he should just march right out of there and put the woman out of his mind, he just couldn’t do it.
And she seemed to know it. She tucked a strand of blond hair behind one ear, the move accentuating the soft sweep of her jaw line. She stepped closer, her fair hair swaying behind her like a satiny curtain, and her blue, blue gaze locked with his.
Baird could feel her uncanny allure working its magic on him again. He forced himself to look away, to look anywhere other than her eyes, and his gaze had the misfortune to fall on her feet.
Baird had always had a weakness for the feminine foot. So different from his own, women’s feet spoke of delicacy and grace, of suppleness and strength. These—unfortunately for his determination to leave and ignore the woman—were among the finest pair he had ever seen.
Baird swallowed and stared.
Just to make matters worse, those tiny feet were bare against the accumulated moss on the stone floor, the contrast highlighting their dainty femininity. Baird gritted his teeth and struggled to not wonder how soft the pearly skin on her instep would be.
He failed utterly.
“I thought we were going to look for my father.” There was a thread of steel in her tone that had not been there before, but Baird seized on her words themselves.
Could her father—whoever he was—really have some claim on Dunhelm? Could Baird lose Dunhelm, after all he had been through to acquire it?
No way! An irrational panic swept through him and Baird knew he couldn’t let that happen at any cost. He shoved one hand through his hair. “I’ll get to it after my meeting with the designer.”
“Oh, yes, we can’t keep our precious Morticia waiting,” Julian muttered.
Baird fired a dark glance at his friend, his patience with dissenting opinions completely gone. “Our designer’s very good at what she does, whether you like her or not.”
Julian grimaced. “I wouldn’t know how good she is—what I do know is that she’s very—how should I put it?—ambitious.”
Baird stifled a growl, wishing for the umpteenth time Julian and Marissa could put their differences aside. There were days when he felt more like a mediator than an employer.
And that was the last thing he needed today.
“Just leave it, Julian.” Baird turned back to the stairs, his gaze unwillingly drawn one last time to those enticing feet. It was too easy to picture one cradled in his hand, cleaning the dirt away, sliding his palm over that graceful ankle…
He was losing it!
“Take care of her,” Baird commanded, then swung around and started up the stairs. “After the meeting, I’ll start looking for Hekod.”
“King Bard?”
What now? Baird reluctantly glanced back to find the woman standing ramrod straight, her chin high, his sweater hanging nearly to her knees. Her blue eyes shone with a clarity that made Baird wonder whether she was really as dumb as she seemed to want him to believe.
He refused to look below the hem of his sweater.
“I am Princess Aurelia, a Pictish priestess and daughter of the King,” she said with the same pride that she had declared her father’s title. “If I am to be your guest, I can only ask that you address me properly.”
Princess? Baird blinked but her gaze did not waver.
“No one calls me ‘her’ in my own presence,” she clarified, obviously mistaking the reason for his silence. “I do not take offense, for a barbarian such as yourself cannot be expected to know better, but in future, you could try to be decently mannered.”
Baird gritted his teeth and bit back a defense of America with an effort. Aurelia certainly wasn’t the first he had met in Britain who thought everyone from beyond their own borders was an illiterate colonial redneck.
Especially Americans.
But considering herself royalty was another thing entirely.
“Princess Aurelia?” he echoed skeptically.
Aurelia’s smile was dazzlingly bright. “Of course, I’m a princess!” She giggled like a teenager that he would question something she found self-evident. “King Hekod the Fifth is my sire, as you well know.”
Baird didn’t know any such thing.
What he did know now was that Aurelia was crazy. There was no doubt about it. She thought she was a princess, her father was a king and this was her home.
Such as it was.
Aurelia’s smile slowly faded when Baird said nothing. A wariness dawned in her expression again, as though the silliness was a mask that had slipped away.
Baird found himself intrigued by the hint there was more to her than met the eye. Which was the real Aurelia?
Baird told himself he shouldn’t care.
He certainly shouldn’t be replaying Aurelia’s luscious kiss over and over again in his mind.
“Well, I’m late, princess.” Baird bowed ever so slightly in her direction, and caught a wayward glimpse of her pale toes. The sight did hard and thick things to him that had no place in this situation. “Julian will find you a room.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.” Julian waved him off and Baird didn’t need any more encouragement to take the stairs two at a time.
Baird’s heart was still pounding when he reached the graciously wide entry to the hotel. Though he told himself it was because of the run across the lot, Baird wasn’t as sure of that as he would have liked to be.
It certainly wasn’t because he was anxious to pore over marble samples with Marissa Witlowe.
In fact, he couldn’t remember exactly why he had agreed to let Marissa come early to Dunhelm. Keeping her and Julian from each other’s throats was not going to be a treat.
Marissa pivoted at the sound of Baird’s arrival, her slender curves perfectly accentuated by her slim black suit. A pretty woman, she was impeccably groomed, as always, and right on time. Morticia was not such an unlikely moniker for her, with her preference for black clothes, her fair skin and love of dark lipstick.
Marissa raised one hand to pat the elegant coil of her glossy black hair and smiled at the sight of him. “Baird!” She waved with her fingertips, her high heels clicking as she crossed the new granite floor. Baird wondered whether he imagined the accentuated sway of her hips.
Marissa Witlowe had been hired by a human resources expert who hadn’t lasted long at Beauforte Resorts. All the same, Marissa had remained, and shown rare determination in working her way to the top. She was a competent designer, though not brilliant, but even Baird was quick to admit hotels seldom require decorating brilliance.
Marissa not only understood the Beauforte look, but she was good at digging out new suppliers and good prices for the materials the resorts needed. Baird gave her credit for that—and no more.
There certainly was nothing else between herself and Baird—never had been—they simply weren’t each other’s types. Marissa was simply Too Much Trouble. She took hours to get ready for the smallest occasion, she invariably broke nails or lost eyelashes or found minute snags in her stockings that required long sojourns in the women’s room to repair. Marissa was allergic to a change of plans and was almost as fussy an eater as Julian.
And apparently, somewhere and some time, Marissa had adopted a flowery, extravagant way of expressing herself—not to mention a glaringly phony British accent—she obviously thought suited a creative personality like her own.
Having Marissa on the Beauforte team for the even most mundane business function was such a huge pain that it cured Baird of any desire for female company for a good month afterward.
The sight of her, here in Dunhelm but dressed as though she were popping out for a goat-cheese-and-endive salad at one of Julian’s chichi bistros, was a tangible reminder of the real world that should have been more welcome than it was.
But Baird had to force his smile. He found himself half wishing the real world had stayed safely ensconced in head office, where it belonged.
“How was the flight from London?”
“Uneventful.” Marissa waved the question off dismissively, then leaned closer. The move granted Baird a view of her cleavage and a waft of her musky perfume.
Before Baird could do more than wonder whether the view was deliberately offered—much less why—Marissa’s gaze dropped to his jeans. Baird hoped she hadn’t noticed what he thought she had noticed.
He knew he should have gone for relaxed-fit jeans.
Silently, he blamed Aurelia for getting under his skin in a way that no woman ever had done. And more quickly than Baird would have thought possible.
Aurelia was going to be trouble with a capital T. Why had Baird listened to impulse and invited her to stay? He was never impulsive!
Worse, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He couldn’t even concentrate on Marissa’s chatter, his mind replaying that hot kiss over and over again.
And Marissa evidently had noticed the result.
“The gates look simply divine! And this place is absolutely fabulous!” Marissa smiled with something more than professional respect gleaming in her dark eyes. Baird felt the back of his neck heat in embarrassment, but Marissa continued merrily along, kissing her fingertips dramatically. “Of course, you always have the most impeccable taste, darling, you truly do.”
“The logo on the gate was your idea,” Baird reminded her, his tone coolly professional. “I’m just glad it worked out so well. Did you get pricing on the travertine marble?”
Marissa’s lips thinned ever so slightly before she ducked her head and dug into her briefcase. “Why, of course, darling! Why else would I be here other than to work, work, work?”
Aurelia certainly had not expected Bard, son of Erc, to find her kiss repulsive! Her feathers ruffled with feminine pride and she glared at the priest to whose company she had been abandoned.
The insult was even worse given the tingle of awareness kissing Bard had awakened within her.
After all, Aurelia knew she was not plain! Men came from far and wide to court her, but Aurelia turned them all aside. She wanted a partner who cared for her, not merely her face. Beauty, after all, would fade and it was the person within who endured.
Aurelia had learned much of the power of that kind of partnership from her parents’ example and she wanted no less for herself.
All the same, Bard’s rejection irked her. Why, she had even been called a beauty!
But the new king of Dunhelm could not bear to have her touch him. That just proved he was an unmannered barbarian!
The priest urged Aurelia impatiently toward the stairs. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I don’t know about you, but I could use a brandy. Let’s find you a guest room pronto.”
Guest? Ha! No doubt this priest would toss her into some dank and dour prison, crawling with rats.
Aurelia tightened her lips and stalked toward the stairs. They would drag her out periodically to interrogate her—perhaps even torture her—then cast her back into misery.
Oh, she knew well enough the kind of brutality of which Bard was capable! But she, she would not bend readily to his will. Somehow she would find her sire, and somehow she would prevail against this villain.
Or Aurelia would die trying.
Decision made, Aurelia stormed to the summit of the stairs, then froze on the spot. She stared dumbstruck at the changed scene before her.
What had happened to the holding she knew as well as the palm of her own hand?
Walls had been ruined, the rubble moved so the structures Aurelia knew were virtually obliterated. Her father’s great wooden hall was gone so completely it might never have existed. And she had raised a chalice of mead within those carved walls this very morning, before the battle.
At least, it seemed as though it had been this very morning.
Aurelia frowned and eyed stones heavy with moss where there had not even been stones. She chewed her lip with uncertainty and she had the odd sense her mind taunted her to reach for a truth hung just out of reach.
She must have been drugged. There were plants Aurelia knew well more than potent enough for such a task.
“Come on,” the priest urged impatiently. “Let’s get out of this miserable rain already. God, I hate this place. Beats me why people choose to live here.”
Aurelia stepped forward at his demand, all the while fighting to hide her response to Bard’s wanton destruction. If she had not recognized the ritual well, Aurelia might have doubted she was home.
Aurelia looked to the sea, knowing it would tell her no lies. She eyed the sweep of the coastline, the reassuring shade of hazy blue with which the sea always met the sky.
That was familiar, at least. She recognized the crags and beaches, the great stones and the waves that stretched to the horizon, and felt her fears settle as surely as the waves pounding on the shore.
Back across the island and in the other direction, Aurelia could barely discern the silhouetted towers that had been falling apart as long as anyone could remember. The dimple of an old chambered tomb, left by people long forgotten, could be seen if she squinted into the morning sun.
Were the crumbling towers shorter than before? And what had happened to all the trees surrounding her father’s hall? Bard’s men must have raided the towers for material to build his great stone hall, just ahead. And the trees could have been chopped and burned with alarming speed.
This was her home, regardless of how quickly Bard had managed to make his mark upon it.
Aurelia took a deep breath and looked once more at the construction they approached. Workers crawled over the site like bees in a hive, their clothing different but no less strange than that of Bard and his priest. The great stone hall rose high behind them, higher than any hall Aurelia had ever seen.
Surely everyone she knew could not have been slaughtered? It looked as though Bard had need of every strong man for the ambitious construction he made here.
Encouraged by the thought, Aurelia focused her attention on the men themselves, hopefully seeking a familiar face. She scanned the first workman she and the priest passed by, but did not know him. Nor the second, nor the third. Aurelia returned more than one questioning glance, and hoped desperately the priest did not notice her curiosity.
But there were no faces she knew in the yard.
Aurelia refused to despair. Maybe the women, at least, had been allowed to survive as household slaves and whores. They would be hidden away at this hour, working in kitchens and storerooms and fields. With so many men filling the courtyard, Aurelia knew there must be women kept to service their needs.
It was the fate of conquered women everywhere to roll to their backs, willingly or not. Somewhere on this holding, Aurelia would find someone she knew.
The priest led her through a wide portal set beside a soaring tower that had not existed before. The portal was thrice as high as Aurelia stood, its wooden doors heavy with iron studs and folded back against the inside. As they passed beneath its shadow, Aurelia glanced up and saw the spikes of a wicked iron gate that could be dropped across the passage.
She had never seen such fine ironwork in all her days and slanted a glance to the priest. Aurelia knew well enough blacksmiths possessed a secret power and taught their songs only to specially chosen apprentices. Had this priest been responsible for increasing the power of the smiths’ songs?
The high walls were wrought so carefully of stone that they seemed perfectly smooth. Aurelia touched one as she passed through the passageway behind the portal and marveled at the thin line sealing each stone to the next.
The craft of the stonemason had also been taken to new heights by Bard’s men.
The truth could not be denied. There was powerful witchery at work in this place.
Aurelia slanted a glance to the impassive priest, much impressed by his influence. Perhaps her father had underestimated the powers of the men from Rome.
Another pair of doors—these wooden ones ornamented with swirls of gold or brass—opened at the priest’s touch to reveal a hall of such sumptuous design that Aurelia halted and gaped.
The floor was like a gaming board, alternating dark and light squares, but wrought of some infinitely smooth stone cut with incredible precision. The ceiling arched high overhead and Aurelia could not imagine what magic possessed the slender columns that they could hold up a roof wrought of stone. The interior was in the midst of being painted most artfully with writhing Celtic dragons and knots.
On the far side of the hall, a pair of staircases wound skyward like two embracing arms, their curves smooth beyond belief. Rails gleamed gold on either side of each staircase and red tapestries were being laid against the stone stairs.
Despite her determination to despise everything associated with Bard, son of Erc, Aurelia was impressed.
A long table of dark wood was being assembled between the ends of the staircases, its front rife with ornamentation. The wood gleamed with a reddish hue alien to this corner of the world. Where the staircases met high above, Aurelia could just spot a wide double doorway.
The hall was filled with the sounds of hammering and men muttering. She assumed they chanted the spells that made such wizardry possible. And such power!
Aurelia feared suddenly that her abilities might be as nothing compared to the sorcery of Bard and his priest.
But it would not do to let this priest see her doubts.
The priest shook his head impatiently. “I know it isn’t done, we’re weeks behind schedule, but it doesn’t look so bad that you have to stare! Surely you can see that the reception area will be stunning when it’s finally finished?”
The reception area?
This was not even the king’s hall?
Aurelia swallowed with an effort. She had never seen such wealth and could not imagine anything could be more ostentatious than this. For the son of a reviled and deposed king, Bard was unexpectedly affluent. How had he amassed such awesome wealth?
Through no honest means, Aurelia was certain of that.