Chapter Fifteen
Tira had her hand hovering over Iain’s shoulder when the clatter of horse hooves on wood stopped her. The coach rolled beneath a gateway, darkening the interior—not enough she couldn’t penetrate it, but enough to show arrival. The sound of a portcullis rising came next, and within a blink they drew to a stop. Iain regarded her from his seat, fully attired and immaculately groomed, proving he’d stalled time again.
“I wish you’d cease that.” Tira dropped her hand. It should be chilled in the carriage with just a skirt for modesty. Tira flicked a glance down at herself. She had the shredded remains of her chemise and blouse still dangling off her shoulders. But it wasn’t chilled. And it wasn’t warm. It felt vacant.
“What?”
“You . . . alter time. Change . . . perception.”
“So?” It was soft-spoken.
“I thought it magical until you shut me out.”
He sighed heavily but didn’t answer.
“I mean . . . I want to be with you when you do it. I want to be part of it again. To share in it.”
“Cover yourself.”
She pulled the cloak from where it was crumpled beneath her, wrapped it about her, put the hood over her head, and held both ends together at her chin for good measure. “Is that better?”
“You canna’ have it both ways, leannan. I thought it possible, but I was wrong.”
“Both ways?”
“You want me because of the vampirism. It stirs the blood, mixes up the senses, overrides objections. There’s nae stopping it. We just proved it.”
Her skin tingled as he listed exactly what happened and what was starting up again. It was easy to hear the effect in her reply. “Does it matter why?”
“Aye. And to a degree I’d na’ thought possible.”
“I . . . want you, Iain.” Her heart rate had elevated, her nerve endings started twitching, and her canines lengthened.
His face went grim. Dark. Then Grant opened the door to receive a hissed snarl from her, showing full teeth. Fear touched his face for the barest moment before it was gone. He nodded at Iain and got a nod in reply.
“Everything is prepared, Your Grace.”
“What’s been prepared, Iain?” She hadn’t much control over her voice or it wouldn’t rise with what sounded like worry. Then she admitted it. She was worried. Where was he taking her? Would he be with her? Would he lock her in again? And for how long?
“Come, Tira.” Iain stood outside the carriage, the sway of the coach the only indicator he’d moved. “My household is up and dressed to welcome us.”
“All of them?”
He nodded.
“At this hour?”
“MacAvee lairds keep odd hours. The households adapt.”
And here she was still suffering waves of illicit yearning and desire, her hair unbound, clothing in disarray, and covered over with a wrinkled cloak. Tira concentrated and felt her teeth retracting. “You could’ve warned me,” she whispered.
“Would it have mattered?”
No. The need and desire were too strong. Too vivid. Too massive. And she’d been the instigator. Again.
“Come. They’ve been told of your illness.”
Tira stopped at the door in a stoop, one hand on the railing while the other held her cloak together. “My . . . illness ?”
“You suffered massively from seasickness. The entire voyage. You were too ill to venture from your cabin.”
“I was locked in, Iain. I couldn’t leave it.”
“Semantics.”
“Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?”
“Cold. Distant.”
“Because anything else is beyond me! Can you na’ just come down? Please?”
The hand held toward her trembled, warming her heart, strengthening her legs, and making it feel like she flew to his side. Tira lifted her chin and turned to face a virtual sea of faces and welcoming smiles. An elderly man stepped forward, clad in a MacAvee plaid kilt, black jacket, frothy white lace-fronted shirt, while he held a large feather-topped tam in one hand.
“Greetings, Your Grace! Even without introduction, I ken you as MacAvee laird. At first glance! You’re the image of your grandsire. I was but a wee lad, but I swear . . . the verra image. Welcome to the Hall. We’ve kept it readied and prepared for your arrival at any time, to orders.”
“Thornton . . . is na’ it?”
The man bowed, displaying a bald spot ringed with silver hair. “Aye. Gerard Thornton. Steward and comptroller of MacAvee Hall. This is your new wife?”
“Her Grace, the Duchess of MacAvee.”
Sean announced it with a voice that seemed incongruous on such a thin frame. Tira curtsied, holding the cloak like the most perfect ball gown.
“Come in. Please. Follow me. We’ve prepared . . .”
There was more. Tira heard a portion as the man led them, speaking his words to the air in front of him. But then it didn’t matter as her eyes widened on the breath-taking sight of MacAvee’s great hall. The two-story carved entrance doors opened to a raised entry that dropped down into such an enormous chamber; the size was impossible to gauge, despite the volume of torches they’d lit. Tira had to use her new power, enhancing her eyesight to bring everything into perfect focus.
A hammer-beam ceiling spanned the entire chamber, its surface covered with colorful paintings in the Jacobite style. There were no less than four fireplaces carved into both walls, with stone sides and thick wooden mantels. Black rock walls peeked from between tapestries and banners, framing sizable paintings that could only have come from the paintbrushes of Renaissance masters.
Each step echoed through the chamber, blending into a beat of thumping noise, dragging her pulse into it. They passed through an archway at the far end into what might be a hall, although the width couldn’t be easily spanned with a glance. This space had dark wooden walls rising only two stories, framed wherever she looked with more tapestries, more torches in sconces, and more paintings, although these mainly featured Iain in several different poses and costumes. Tira noted more than one portrait of a woman as well. And everywhere was the glint of silver, gold, or crystal. It appeared the castle hadn’t been changed or modified in the years Iain refrained from visiting it. Or perhaps Iain liked the medieval period. He didn’t offer and she didn’t ask. It felt nearly too sacrosanct even to whisper in such magnificence.
Thornton hadn’t the same issue. He turned and addressed Iain and then her. “I’ll show you the chieftain chamber now. If you’ll follow me?”
Another set of doors was opened at the end of the hall, leading to a four-man-wide spiral stair, or maybe it was wide enough to accommodate three men on horseback, such as a Seton chieftain had built at Fyvie Castle. She’d heard of it but never seen such a thing and wondered why such trivial things occurred to her now.
The landing at the top was another rock-walled edifice, with but one ending. There was a smaller set of doors, surmising a small room. That was proven a misnomer upon opening them. Tira felt the same slack-jawed response to even more spacious, torchlit luxury. MacAvee’s chamber had one wall devoted entirely to a window. If it wasn’t a rain-filled night, the view would be extraordinary: ocean as far as the eye could see, topped by sky just as broad and all-encompassing. Tira followed the steward and Iain into the center of the room and then pirouetted in a slow circle.
It already felt big and incredibly desolate. Tira tightened her hands on the cloak’s opening. Large and lonely . . . and that window couldn’t be safe. There wasn’t a drape attached to either side of it that she could see. There were various shapes of furniture along the other walls, two fireplaces, as many groupings of chairs, as if conversations took place in the chieftain’s chambers, and on a raised platform to one side was a structure she immediately knew was a bed, with three wooden sides enclosing it.
“Thornton? Her Grace and I thank you. Grant? See to things.”
Iain spoke for her. Tira didn’t move. She kept her eyes on the raised bed while projecting with every fiber of her new powers. Don’t leave me! Iain . . . please! She heard the doors thumping together before they thudded into place. Then she heard the distinct sound of a key turning in a lock.
He’d locked her in. Emptiness settled around her, making everything even more chilled and vacant and lonely. Tira moved slowly toward the window, her hands out like a sightless person. If this was her future, she’d rather face pure sunlight and have it ended and done with. But then her fingers touched cold black stone. She splayed her hand open and found nothing but solid rock.
“I had it walled in over a century ago.”
Tira whirled to see Iain standing near the door, directly beneath a candlelit chandelier, highlighting his beauty, arms folded, showing their size, legs apart, showing his readiness for confrontation. He’d untied his hair, as well.
“You didn’t leave?”
“I doona’ concede defeat that easily.”
Black eyes locked with hers as he just stood there, unmoving.
“We . . . have to talk, Iain.”
He stopped breathing for a moment, looked over her head and way up the wall before returning to her gaze. “Can we na’ do something I have a fair chance of success at?”
“I can’t even heft a sword.”
One side of his lip lifted. “I have other skills.”
“As I’m very much aware.”
This time he grinned. Then he sobered. “You wish to talk?”
She nodded.
He gestured her to one of the groupings of furniture about a fireplace. A fire sparked to life in the grate before she settled into an overly large, stuffed wing chair. Tira studied the beginning flames for a bit before looking up at where he stood, an arm reclining on the mantel.
“How do you do that?” she asked.
“ ’Tis part my power. Yours appears to be an ability to see through solid rock walls.”
“It’s an incredible view,” she replied.
“Still is. If you wish, I’ll take you there.”
“Where?”
“Either tower. Or along the battlements. The view does na’ discriminate. Every guardsman has noted it as well as every guest.”
“You take in guests?”
“MacAvee does na’ turn down wayward travelers.”
“What of the women?”
She could tell he stiffened. “What women?”
“You can start with the ones in the paintings.”
“Oh. Paid ones. Mostly.”
“Not wives?”
“The first duke took a wife.”
“You mean you took a wife when pretending to be the first duke.”
“There’s nae pretence, love. I was the first duke. As such, a union was forced. I dinna’ marry of my own free will. Na’ until you.”
His voice cracked slightly. Tira narrowed her eyes. “Forced? You?”
“ ’Twas the best way to end the MacGruder Clan feud and gain Castle Blannock.”
“You’re married?”
“You see? The more I speak the angrier you become.”
“Iain—”
“I’m widowed. She passed on. A decade ago. An auld woman of ninety-two.”
“No children?”
“She locked me from her chamber. I dinna’ fight it. We had little in common. She golfed. Rode to hounds. Hunted. Fished. She excelled at every Scot pursuit.”
“Sounds divine.”
“Did I fail to mention a face like a horse and frame to match? There was nae way to get drunk enough to tup her.”
“Why don’t you move closer?”
He straightened. She could hear the rustle of his clothing. “That would be unwise.”
“Why?”
“I canna’ keep a strict enough leash on it . . . and I am still a gentleman born.”
“It?”
“I need you, Tira. Vastly. To a consuming level. ’Tis ever-increasing and ever-present. If I’m near you, I lose control. . . and do things that make you hate me.”
His voice dropped as did his gaze. The man was mistaken. She didn’t hate him at all. What she felt startled and shocked her, sending a surge of emotion with each beat of her heart that blended with the rivulet of shivers coursing through her skin. And he had a great gift with words, especially when they snagged in the middle.
“You must excuse me now. I’ve . . . things to see to yet.”
“Things?”
“Grant is bringing my pallet and your mattress.”
“Oh. Good. I’d hate to think I have to tote it.”
Tira pushed the hood off her head. She probably looked a sight. It had been impossible to tell on his yacht since he didn’t keep any mirrors. She looked about as it occurred to her. There hadn’t been any in the lower rooms, either.
“Why are there no mirrors, Iain?”
“I had them destroyed.”
“Why?”
He cleared his throat. “A vampire has nae reflection. Such a thing could cause rumor and speculation.”
“You fear those?”
“There’s only one thing I fear.”
His voice was nonexistent. If she hadn’t used her enhanced hearing, she’d have missed it.
“And that is . . . ?”
He flinched. She saw it and heard it. As well as the rapid beat of his heart. And the next moment he was at the chamber door, twisting the key and showing he’d used his power again.
“Iain! Don’t you dare leave! You hear?”