Life Without Raine

Life Without Raine by Riley Ashford

Phaze www.phaze.com

Copyright ©2010 by Riley Ashford First published in 2010 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Life Without Raine by Riley Ashford

CONTENTS Life Without Raine Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five ****

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**** Life Without Raine **** Riley Ashford

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Life Without Raine Copyright (C) 2010 by Riley Ashford ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Edited by Will Belegon Cover Art (C) 2010 by Niki Browning Skyewolf Images (www.skyewolfimages.com) First Edition February 2010 ISBN-13: 978-1-60659-979-2 Published by: Phaze Books An imprint of Mundania Press LLC 6470A Glenway Ave., #109 Cincinnati, OH 45211 All rights reserved under the International and PanAmerican Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, Mundania Press LLC, 6470A Glenway Avenue, #109, Cincinnati, Ohio 45211, [email protected]. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control 5

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over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without permission from Mundania Press LLC. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author's rights and livelihood is appreciated. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Prologue THE PAST 13th Century, England "You are sure?" The crone stared at Connor Williams with rheumy blue eyes. Her cackle sent a shiver through his soul. "Would I lie to you, husband of my granddaughter? I have given you a gift—knowledge of the future." "Futures can be changed." "Can they?" The witch's gaze fell to the fire burning low in the hearth. She lived in a simple hut deep in the forest. Her kind worshipped female deities, an idea that he found strange. A few feet from the dwelling stood an imposing stone altar. Raine told him that they made offerings there and cast spells. She said no true follower of the Goddess practiced dark arts. Connor once scoffed at the power of magic, but now he knew better. After all, he had married a witch. "Misla." He squatted next to her and took one gnarled hand in his own. "If I must go to my death, then I will find a way to spare Raine." She shook her head. "'Tis true, you are not long for this world, m'lord. And neither is my precious kin. But there may be a way to see justice served, and there may be a way to reunite with Raine in another life." "Another life?" He shook his head. "When we die, we go to heaven or to hell." 7

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"How do you know? Have you ever been?" She cackled again. "We are always reborn. But take care, Connor, because the spell I cast will affect more than your soul. It will bind you to your betrayers. Justice must be served, m'lord, before your heart and Raine's can be as one." "I will do whatever it takes. However long it takes. Raine is worth my own life a thousand times over." "It better be so," said Misla. "Because magic offers no guarantees." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter One Connor had to wait...had to stay coherent enough to say the words that would make her hate him. As his hands memorized her body, he drank in these last moments of enjoyment with his wife. God knew he loved her. But if she stayed, she would fight by his side. Last night, he'd sought the witch's counsel; the old woman had given him little hope he could untangle himself from Solomon's wicked plot. Her hands slid up his chest, her firm body writhing under his touch. He could not lose his beloved to death. This was the only way to be sure she would leave—and live. She'd find another husband, another lover. The thought of her giving her body, her soul, to another man pained him so much that he stopped stroking her clit and cupped her sweet pussy. She moaned and rubbed her slick flesh against his palm. She knew only ecstasy—not his anguish. Never would she know the truth. Though their love could not be saved in this lifetime, there was still hope. True love binds the souls, said the witch. True love requires sacrifice. And the first sacrifice was the trust of his wife. He trailed soft, slow kisses down the curve of her stomach; he paused at the thought she might carry his child. He pressed his lips against her belly and prayed to God that his wife—and any child born from their love—would live long, happy lives. 9

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Sweat dewed her pale skin; he licked the tiny droplets, drawing patterns in her pale flesh with his tongue. His worship of her flesh led him to the nirvana of her sweet cunny. His hands shook as he parted her thighs. "Connor..." His name on her lips was the only permission he needed to taste her. Her swollen clit was as succulent as a ripe berry, and just as delicious. He tugged the morsel between his lips and suckled, flicking the tiny nub to the rhythm of her moans. "Please, my love," she begged, her restless hands plundered his hair. He slid his hands under her buttocks and pulled her close, breathing in her feminine scent. It was as earthy and intoxicating as the scent of the forest after a long rain. He smiled. This was the scent of his Raine. He stroked her to a higher peak, torturing her clit with flicks of his tongue. She moved against his mouth, taking her pleasure with the same innocence and wonder as the first time she lay with him. Was it only a fortnight ago they had wed? She stilled, arched, and cried out. Her cunt sucked at his chin, releasing the creamy evidence of her orgasm. He soothed her tormented pussy with long strokes of his tongue, drinking her woman's honey. Raine's hands were wrapped in his hair and she held him hostage as she rode the waves of bliss. Finally, she collapsed to the bed, sighing contentedly.

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He reluctantly rubbed his face against the coverlet. He loved her juices, loved the smell, the taste...but 'twas unseemly to kiss her with a pussy-wet chin. She pulled at his shoulders, her smile one of wifely satisfaction. "I am not done yet, my lord," she purred, drawing him up her body. He positioned himself above her and slowly entered. She was wet and ready and tight...he closed his eyes and moaned. He had no power to utter a word. Another stroke sent more pleasure rippling through him. She pulled him close, grasping with hungry little hands; he thrust harder and faster, her breathy moans battered at his control. One last gift for his wife. One...last...gift... "Connor!" The pulsations of her second orgasm tugged at his cock and he savored every one. He slowed his movements. He did not deserve the enjoyment he wanted. Mayhap she was not with child, and, if not, he did not deserve to sow his seed. She moved her hips, her hands sliding to grasp his buttocks. "More," she whispered in his ear, her breath feathering his lobe. "More." It was time. Despair knotted his throat, but he managed to whisper, "Loralee." She stilled underneath him, then her small hands pushed against his chest. He rolled off of her and, though it killed him to see the betrayal and hurt glittering in her blue eyes, he gave her a lazy smile. "Something wrong, my love?" 11

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"Who is—who is Loralee?" "An...acquaintance." "Of the past?" Hope lit the sheen of tears in her eyes. "If you call the last two nights the past," he replied, looking down at the coverlet. His jaw clenched at her gasp. Raine, his soul cried out, forgive me. "You were hunting with Solomon." "I was hunting Loralee. I visit her quite a bit, my love," he drawled. "Surely you did not expect me to end other liaisons after our marriage?" She pulled the coverlet up to her breasts. "I am lacking, I know, my lord. Yet I hoped I would be enough for you." "You are not lacking." How could she think such a thing? He went up in flames every time he touched her. "But I am a man with a wide and varied appetite. I cannot eat at the same table every night and remain satisfied." He hoped she did not notice how his voice cracked on the lie. She scrambled off the bed and hurriedly donned a shift. Candlelight flickered and he saw drops of light in the deep night of her hair. Like a raven's wing. "I honor my marriage vows, my lord. I neither wished to marry you, nor wanted to love you. However, I have done both. I will no longer warm your bed. Your mistresses will have to do." "We will bed together, wife. It is your duty to bear my sons. In time, you will learn to accept my other women." "I will not." Her expression tightened with anger Relief at the return of her spirit flooded through him. He had feared she would accept him sleeping with other women. 12

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No, the Raine that stood before him now was the proud, defiant beauty he had found in the woods a lifetime ago, willing to fight him with a dull knife and her wits. Pain clenched his heart. He had the comfort of knowing she would live—though she would believe him a liar and an adulterer for the rest of her days. "Connor, know that I have loved you. Know that you have hurt me deeply. I cannot stop loving you, but I will not sleep with you again." "You will be mother to my children." He ran a hand through his hair. "T'would be nothing to hold you prisoner long enough to do what 'twas necessary." "I do not know you." Tears spilled down her cheeks and Connor wanted to take back all that he had said. He pressed his lips together and sent her an indifferent look. "I am tired of your clinging ways, woman." He forced himself to yawn. "Our love play was fun, but now I am bored." "And I am a fool." Through hooded eyes he watched her leave. As the door shut behind her, he knew he had driven away his only happiness forever. Michael Connors bolted awake, sweat beading his skin as his heart tried to pound out of his chest. Goddamn it. Would the torment never end? Eight-hundred years he'd searched for Raine. In eight lifetimes, he'd never found her. Not once. Until now. 13

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He slept in the nude—a habit he'd acquired in every life. He ignored the chill as he got out of the four-poster bed. His bare feet slapped against the stone floor as he walked to the window. His bedroom was on the upper floor of the castle— the same room from which he could view the lands once granted to him by a loving father. The same room he'd once shared, oh so briefly, with Raine. All that had changed was the furniture...and his countenance. But his outside was only the vessel. The vessel could be damaged or destroyed, but what it held was eternal. Michael never remembered the journeys after death, or where he went while he waited to be born again. When he was old enough to think, to remember, his identity of Connor Williams was reaffirmed and his purpose renewed. He was one of the wealthiest men in the world, though no one knew it. He kept his wealth in various banks around the world under different identities. He couldn't count the number of times he'd had to pretend to be his own son or grandson or great-grandson. It was simple, really. The witch's spell had been so effective that he remembered all his lifetimes. He kept relevant information and bank account numbers in a secret spot. Unfortunately, he'd had to re-acquire the castle by fair means and foul. She would remember this place and she would remember them. Connor, know that I have loved you. I cannot stop loving you... Michael pressed his fingertips against the cold glass. Please, God, let her love shine as brightly for me as mine 14

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does for her. Let all that I have sacrificed in the name of love be rewarded. "Today, she arrives," he murmured to the storm-laden skies. "Today, she is finally mine." **** "Forbiddin' isn't it, Miss? Sure you want to stay here?" Raine Sinclair looked at the taxi driver, a grizzled character with greasy gray hair and faded blue eyes. "I've come too far to turn back now." "I'll get your bags then." Raine got out of the tiny cab, shut the door, and leaned against it. She clutched the invitation to her chest as she stared at the foreboding castle. Dark clouds hovered above it, threatening another storm. Rain had pummeled the cab most of the long drive. A chill wind swept across the craggy hillside, rattling the stiff grass; it surrounded Raine, stroking her face with cold fingers. She shivered. What was she doing here? She opened the invitation and read it again, though she'd long since memorized it. Raine, It's time to claim your inheritance. Please come to England. The strong scrawl on the thick cream paper seemed so familiar to her—even though she'd never received a handwritten note from Michael Connors. They'd emailed each other over the past six months, ever since she found out she was the heir to this pile of rocks. He'd always been polite and impersonal—acting just the way a proper British barrister 15

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should. Then two days ago, a FedEx package arrived at her office, and to her surprise, she found this handwritten note, plane tickets, and a map to the castle. You must arrive before the 12th of May. I know it's a bit strange, but the date is an important part of the conditions set forth in the will. He hadn't given her much time. May 12th was tomorrow. He had mentioned in his emails the eccentric nature of her distant relative. Apparently, some sort of archaic rites had to be performed in order for her to receive her full inheritance. She wondered if she'd be required to wear a wreath of exotic flowers and dance naked around a bonfire. She glanced at the castle. "I don't want you that much." I am compelled to tell you that if you choose to come to England and claim all that is yours, your life will change in ways you cannot possibly know. He felt compelled to tell her? Her life would change in ways she couldn't know? The wind howled as if giving voice to her distress. It whipped about her, loosening her hair from its clip. The strands tickled her neck and she swiped them away. Why had she followed his instructions? She'd taken leave of her job—not to mention her senses—just to be here. I will be waiting for you. And I for you, my love. Raine blinked. Where had that thought come from? She smiled. Maybe she harbored a tiny romantic fantasy of meeting some English duke. Her overactive imagination had been given plenty of fodder these last few months, enough to create any number of scenarios. A mysterious inheritance. A rendezvous with a stranger. A 16

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woman facing her destiny. She shook her head and chuckled. She was as nutty as one of her Aunt Giselda's fruitcakes. "All I need is sleep, food, and a good therapist." "What's that, Miss?" The taxi driver sent her a curious look as he placed her suitcases near the faint edge of the path leading to the castle. "Nothing." Raine looked at the last part of the note. Ever Yours, Michael Connors Ever Yours. What an odd way for him to end the letter. Was he sucking up to her? She was a potentially important client. If she met all the conditions of the will, even the weird ones, she would be a millionaire. Maybe he was hoping to maintain his employment. "Miss, this place be haunted." The driver's curiosity had turned to concern. "You're sure now, about stayin'?" "I hope so." The deep voice startled Raine. Though no one had been around at all moments ago, suddenly a man was walking toward them from the direction of the castle. "Where the hell did he come from?" muttered the cabbie. Good question. Raine had been staring at the note more than the surroundings, so he could have been making his way down the hill, but surely she should have seen him before now. Sheesh. He had appeared out of nowhere. Was there a secret passage? Was he even real? This place be haunted. His boots squelched against the wet ground. As he drew near, Raine's heart leapt in her chest. The man was gorgeous. Broad-shouldered, well-muscled—if the fit of his jeans were 17

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any indication—and definitely not the doddering old gentleman she'd envisioned. He had a face blessed by the gods—chiseled good looks, like the male models in the magazines she and her female coworkers oohed and aahed over at lunchtime. His eyes were gold; no, green...she couldn't really be sure. His expression was one of tenderness. How odd. He stopped in front her, his gaze filled with happiness, hunger and a hint of sadness. Her heart cried out in gladness; joy wrapped around her. She knew him. Somehow, she knew this man she'd never met. "Blessed be. It is you." The voice wasn't hers, but it came out of her mouth. He caught a strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. "I have waited a long time, my love." Shuddering, Raine tried to shake away the strange feelings enveloping her. "Who are you? What's happening?" She felt woozy and grabbed the hood of the cab to steady herself. The note fluttered to the ground and he picked it up. When he straightened, his face revealed none of the emotions she'd seen just seconds ago. Had she imagined his reactions to her? "I'm Michael Connors, Ms. Sinclair. Let's get you inside. I'm sure the trip wearied you." "The taxi driver—" "Don't worry about it. Mrs. Welter, the housekeeper, is waiting for you. There's tea in the main room. Go have a cup and relax." 18

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A cup of coffee sounded better than tea, but all she really wanted to do was collapse onto a bed and sleep. She started toward the stone Goliath that would be hers in forty-eight hours. An aching sorrow crept through her. She stumbled, feeling an unaccountable desire to cry. Not just to cry, but to wail. Grief invaded her; her limbs felt weighed down, her heart filled with loss. She stopped climbing the hill and tried to calm herself. Do not leave him again. He will die. The words made no sense. Leave who again? She looked over her shoulder and watched Mr. Connors pay the taxi driver. The old man waved to her, then got into the car, and drove away. Raine walked a few more steps, but the feelings of despair deepened. Her breath left her body in a whoosh as she dropped to her knees. Small rocks dug into her jeans, jabbing into her skin as she sank into the cold mud. Tears scalded her cheeks. "What the hell is going on? Jeez, I really do need a therapist." She wiped away the tears and struggled to rise. Her legs trembled, but at least she was able to stand on her own two feet. Barely. Keep close to him. Evil lurks nearby. Raine turned and watched Mr. Connors maneuver her two small bags under one arm and grab the big suitcase. As he started up the path, he noticed her. "Rai—Ms. Sinclair, is something wrong?" His gaze fell to her muddied jeans. "Did you fall? Are you okay?"

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He put down the baggage and jogged to her. He brushed back her loose hair, then hesitated. "I'm sorry. I'm being too forward." In his presence, everything seemed better. The sorrow holding her hostage faded, overtaken by the peculiar joy she'd felt when he introduced himself. She leaned close, put a hand against his cheek, and smiled. "Are you now, my lord?" "Raine." "Aye." Raine blinked. She felt fuzzy-headed and weak. "What the—" "It's okay, Ms. Sinclair. You fell and I was trying to help you." "I don't feel well." Nausea roiled in her guts; she clutched her stomach. "You need some sleep." He lifted her into his arms. "Whoa! What do you think you're doing?" "I'm taking you to the castle and putting you to bed. I'll come back for the luggage." "Mr. Connors—" "Michael." "I'm perfectly capable of walking." He looked at her. "Seein' as how you have two legs that I've seen you use, I know that about you." She laughed. Lord, she was tired. Still, she didn't really know him—though she would have to be dead not to be attracted to him. She resisted the urge to cup his face and try out those kissable lips. Instead, she asked, "Was that a Scottish burr in your accent? I thought you were English." 20

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"I'm a little bit of both." "Yeah, I'm a mish-mash myself. Aren't all Americans?" She looked at the ground. "You better put me down." "I would like to carry you. Consider it part of my services— no charge." He looked so yummy. So sad and yummy. Like Heathcliff, only without the bitterness. He smiled and offered, "Please?" The soft plea melted her resistance. His eyes held a tender look, a look she'd seen lovers share. A look she'd never had cause to share with anyone in her whole twenty-seven years. She should feel uncomfortable being hauled up the hill in a stranger's arms, but instead, she relaxed and, heaven help her, she snuggled close, enjoying the warmth and strength of Michael's arms. The whole thing seemed like it had happened before. Yes. He'd carried her this way many times. He liked holding her this way, liked the feel of her in his arms, the way she laughed and pretended to fight him as he hurried to their bedchamber. Exhaustion poured through her. She'd gone from the airport to the cab to the castle...she was so tired. Her eyes drifted shut. Her head lay against his chest and the steady rhythm of his heart lulled her to sleep. When Raine awoke, she was in a very comfortable fourposter-bed. A fire burned cheerily in the hearth across the room. Wow. She really was in a castle, her castle, in England. And the gorgeous barrister had tucked her in. Yummy. Her suitcases had been placed on the side of her bed. God, she was tired. She opened the smaller case and pulled out her toothbrush and toothpaste. She rummaged through the 21

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larger case and grabbed a T-shirt and jogging shirts to sleep in. She dragged herself into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. Then she took off her traveling clothes and put on the shirt and shorts. Feeling slightly better, she climbed back into bed. In no time at all, she was asleep again. **** The corridors hid untold dangers. She knew her life was in peril, but fear for her husband propelled her down the dark passage. She wished she had a torch, but dared not risk being found by Solomon. No matter that the one she loved did not love her—she would not see him killed. Pain still churned inside her. Pain, and the damnable love she could no more control than she could control the moon and the stars. She made it to the door. Her heart pounded, her palms slickened with sweat. What if—if Loralee or another wench slept next to him? Hurt and jealousy warred within her. Damn the man! Had it only been two days since he had shredded her heart? Two days since she packed her belongings with every intention of leaving here the way she had arrived—under the cover of night. And here she was sneaking to his bedchamber, instead of sneaking to the stables. She entered their bedroom and quietly shut the door behind her. The light of the dying fire offered some visibility. No one but Connor occupied the bed. Relief weakened her knees. Her husband slept on his stomach. The coverlet concealed him from the waist down, but she knew every battle scar, 22

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every muscle, every wicked line on his body. For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of gazing at his backside. Then she realized something was wrong Fear chilled her. Surely he breathed. She simply could not see... She rushed forward, caring not if she woke him and invoked his wrath. But he did not stir. She tugged on his shoulder—still he did not wake. Grabbing his arm, she managed to roll him over. His beautiful eyes stared unseeing at the heavens, a gaping wound where his heart should be. Blood covered his chest, the furs, her hands. No! No! No! An ungodly wail echoed in the room. "Connor!" **** "Connor!" "I'm here, love. I'm right here." Michael rose to greet the woman entering his room. Raine fell into his arms, sobbing. "Oh, my love! I am lost." He scooped her up and sat down on his bed. Her keening cut him to shreds. In the throes of the nightmare that led her to him, she had not realized she was in his bed, curled in his arms like a frightened kitten. The fire in the hearth crackled, the flickering light shadowing her beautiful face, so much like... "Raine! I never thought I would find you." He traced the curve of her jaw and smiled. Would she honor wedding vows spoken eight hundred years ago? 23

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She clutched at him, still reliving the moment she'd found his body in this room in this castle so many centuries before. Her lips sought his. Blind in her need, gripped by the memories of a life long past, she sought his comfort. He could not deny her. Nay, he could not resist the taste of her lips. Ah, how familiar the curve of her mouth, her sweetness just the same as he remembered. Their last parting pained him still. Tonight, he would begin his apology to her. Seek her forgiveness. Show her his eternal love. Her small hands fluttered around his shoulders, as if unsure where to land. He clasped them and gently pushed her against the bed. Her hair fanned out against the pillows and he picked up a strand and rubbed it between his fingers. Still as black and as soft as a raven's wing. He leaned forward and inhaled. Lavender and mint—the same scents she'd used to wash it so long ago. She moaned, seeking him, her eyes closed, her mind lost in dreams and memories. Tear tracks marred her pale cheeks. He kissed away those remnants of sorrow before covering her mouth with his own. She returned his kisses with a desperation that spoke of her love for him, of her need for him. His heart rejoiced. "Raine," he whispered against her lips. "Connor." His name was a sigh. "Love me." "I cannot. You are—" He sought the right word. "—unwell."

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Her mouth curved into a luscious pout. "And what would you be knowin' about my health?" Her smile turned sly. "Have you inspected all of my body? Just to be sure?" He laughed and the tension crowding his chest released. How he missed her impertinence! Stretching like a lithe cat, she wound her arms around his neck. "Love me," she demanded. "I will give you pleasure, beloved." Still, he hesitated; even though his wife asked him for lovemaking, the Raine in his bed was not his wife. Not yet. The witch had warned him that human souls were usually memory-less entities. Her spell had kept his memories alive. But the present Raine and the past Raine had to merge and become one...thus, the need for the potion and the ritual. "My lord?" He pushed away his doubts. Raine would not remember anything that happened here this eve as real. She'd believe it a dream. He would not take her body; he would bring her to orgasm. Her pleasure would be his pleasure. She wore a thin T-shirt and gray jogging shorts,; easily breached barriers. His hand slid under her shirt until he felt the curve of her breast; his fingers trembled as he cupped the tender weight in his hand. Then, his breath shallow with excitement, he found the nipple and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. It hardened, the tight bud an unbearable temptation. Patience, Connor. Patience. He pushed up her shirt and stopped, his heart pounding. Sweat trickled down his neck. Eight hundred years of waiting 25

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had taken its toll. And now his love, his only love, lay before him, a feast for a starving man. The deep coral of her areolas and the dusky tips of her nipples beckoned him. Grasping one breast, he leaned forward and swirled his tongue around the nipple, teasing it with licks until his love's soft moans begged him for more. He took the taut peak into his mouth and suckled. She cried out, shoved her hands into his hair, and pulled him closer still. He moved to her other breast, kissing the underside before tasting the areola. Patience. His lips clamped her nipple and suckled it with the same intensity he'd devoted to the other. His hard cock strained against the interior of his jeans. The rasp of the rough material against his flesh made his cock sensitive to Raine's squirming underneath him. It had been too long. He couldn't stop... He shuddered with desire, stalling the deep need to ravish her, to show her right now how much she meant to him. He positioned Raine beneath him, his jean-clad cock nestled between pussy lips protected only by the thin material of her shorts. He moved. Slowly. Raine had no such compunction. She grabbed his hips and writhed against him, her strokes short, frantic, and torturous. She bucked against him, her hands fisting against his buttocks. "Connor!" 26

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He felt the rise of his own pleasure, the bare edge of an orgasm threatening. He suckled her nipple, matching her dry strokes, enjoying his woman for the first time in eight centuries. Her scream of completion came scant seconds before orgasm claimed him. He cried out, his cock jerking hard and painfully against the confine of his jeans. As guilt slashed at his conscience, he rolled to the side, tucked Raine into the crook of his arm, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Do you love her?" Michael's breath lodged in his throat. Had Raine awakened from her unconscious state? How would he explain his actions? Then the question penetrated his sex-fogged brain and his stomach did a slow drop. "Love who?" "Loralee." "No," he said, his voice breaking. "Never." His heart clenched. Raine had remembered his betrayal. But her love for him was stronger than her pride. He'd been a fool to send her away. She was his muse, his light, his soul mate. Only together were they strong enough to face the challenges of life and love. "You are my heart," she said. "And you are mine." She cried, curling into his chest and giving voice to her despair. He held her, regret spearing him relentlessly for using her, for hurting her, for taking the woman's body that was not yet hers. Her sobs quieted and her grip relaxed. He wanted to heal her wounded spirit, but all he could do was stroke her back and murmur soothing nonsense. When her 27

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tears were spent and sleep claimed her, he kissed her brow and prayed that she would be free of nightmares. Tomorrow night, should Misla's potion work, she would remember all and love him as she once did. Until then, he had to leave her be. "Soon, my love, we will be together." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Two Raine felt like she'd been on an all-night drunk. Her limbs trembled, her mouth felt like she'd swallowed a whole bag of cotton, and she had some serious blank spots when it came to remembering anything about last night. Michael had hauled her up the hill, then...nothing. She'd slept like the dead. Now, she felt like the dead. Except...one vague dream haunted her. In it, she and Michael were together in bed, exchanging words of love and gestures of passion. Been here one friggin' day and I'm already fantasizing about the gorgeous barrister. She managed to walk outside her room, but the hallway tilted. She clutched the rough stone wall and rested her cheek against it, contemplating the idea of sleeping all day. But no...Michael wanted to take her on a tour and tell her the rest of the conditions of the will. The housekeeper, Mrs. Welter, a dour-faced woman with graying blonde hair and a disinterested gaze, woke her an hour ago with the message. Not even a shower and the strong coffee, not tea, thank God, brought by Mrs. Welter had made her feel better. Dressing had been a chore, too. She ditched undergarments altogether and slid into a cream-colored sundress with spaghetti straps and shoved her feet into a pair of low-slung sandals. Forget make-up and fancy hairdos. She barely had the energy to brush a single strand, much less wrestle her too-long hair into submission. Right now, she didn't care if she looked like she'd scare away the Loch Ness monster. 29

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"Ms. Sinclair?" The resonant voice of Michael brought an instant smile to her face. She turned and found him leaning against the opposite wall studying her. He straightened and crossed the hall. He lifted his hand, presumably to touch her face, and stopped. "Feeling rough?" "Afraid so." His mouth was beautiful. Perfect. Familiar. She shook away the weird thoughts. "Jetlag, most likely. It was kind of you to haul me up the hill and tuck me into bed, Mr. Connors." "My pleasure. Please, call me Michael." "And you can call me Raine." "Raine." He said her name as if he were eating a gourmet truffle. Erotic shivers heated her belly and flowed between her thighs. She was turned on and all the man had done was say her name. She swallowed the nervous knot forming in her throat. Heavens! The way he affected her should terrify her to bits— she'd never felt this connected to another human being. Before she realized what she was doing, she stepped into his arms. His eyes reminded her of a tiger's; intelligent, predatory, hungry. He knew her heart. Saw into her soul. Offered her a promise of—what was she doing? She jumped back as if his skin had turned acidic. "I-I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me." "It's okay. I don't mind comforting a beautiful woman." 30

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Her lips twitched. "And just how many beautiful woman do you comfort, my lord?" "Only one, beloved. Only you." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, then put a hand on her hip. "That better be so, Connor, or you will be regrettin' the day you met me." "Never." "Never is a long time." She looked at him from beneath her lashes and made her smile coy. "I can make you regret one thing." "What?" She stepped into his embrace and rubbed her breasts against him. "Not properly seeing to your wife's wanton needs." Her nipples pebbled against his muscled chest, the sensitive tips demanding attention. "Touch me, Connor." "It is not time. We must wait." "Whatever for?" She grasped his hands, putting them to her breasts. She sighed as he cupped them, moaned when his thumbs brushed the taut peaks. Then she spun, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the hall. Twenty paces later, she found the small nook they'd taken advantage of many times. She pushed him inside, wondering at his reluctance. Connor never turned down a chance to make love to her. "Do you find me wanting, my lord?" "No." He choked on the word. "I find you irresistible." He pushed down the top of her dress and gazed at her breasts. With infinite care, he cupped them, tested their weight, and then captured one turgid nipple. The warmth and motion of his tongue made her flesh tingle. She reached for 31

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him, to touch him as he touched her, but he whispered, "Nay. This is for you and only you." "'Tisn't fair," she said, but leaned against the wall, her eyes closed, and allowed him to pleasure her. His mouth encircled her nipple, teasing it with too-brief suckles, before attending to the other in the same manner. His hands kneaded her breasts as he played his torturous game. Sensations rocketed through her, twirling and spinning and making her writhe with the joyous pain of anticipation. Heat coiled in her belly, spun down to her woman's core. Her pussy slickened with her desire. "Connor," she moaned. "Please..." His patient tending collapsed. His tongue lapped at her nipples, trading one for the other rapidly. She strained upward, her hips moving against his erection, barred by their clothing. God, the roughness of his tongue, the quickness of his movements drove her mad. "Touch yourself," he demanded, his voice thick with need. Without question, she cupped her breasts, pinching the peaks to the point of pain. She gasped, squeezing her own flesh, and twisting her nipples. She opened her eyes to view Connor's reaction. And smiled. He looked as if he hadn't seen her in a hundred years—his gaze was filled with his love, his lust, his thin edge of control. How happy he made her. No man had ever wanted her this way. She, a witch, a woman no man dared to look upon, much less marry. 32

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Then she had no time to think on Connor's strange reactions, because he knelt, lifted her dress, and put his mouth against her clit. Oh, God. He grabbed her buttocks and pulled her close, his tongue stroking her clit, pausing to drink from her, to lick her entrance, and even, the rogue, to stroke the bit of flesh between her anus and vagina. Then he kissed her inner lips until he reached the swollen nub. One kiss, then two...he suckled the pleasure spot. She felt the rise of her bliss. Connor knew it as well, for two of his fingers penetrated her and attempted to do the job meant for his cock. Oh, yes. Yes... His fingers stroked her, his mouth suckled her clit, and she pulled hard on her distended nipples. "Connor...Connor!" Her orgasm shattered and she cried out, bucking against Connor's mouth, the feel of his tongue stroking her almost painful, now that her body trembled with release. Her legs felt weak as a newborn colt's, her nipples sore, and her mouth dry. She tried to move away from his persistent fingers and tongue, but he would not be swayed. "'Tis enough," she gasped, squirming. He suckled her clit, hard, and inserted a third finger into her vagina and moved faster. She nearly swallowed her tongue from the fierce rise of another orgasm. Surely not... She came again, the intensity of it tearing a scream from her throat. 33

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Raine clutched the wall behind her, trying to find purchase, some way to cling to it so that her treacherous knees wouldn't buckle. Connor released her, soothing her clit with his tongue, removing his fingers from her wet heat, moving his other hand from her buttock to her calf. "No regrets now," he said, sounding smug as he rose. Pure male satisfaction lit his gaze. She felt too sated to knock him down a peg. Instead, she threw her arms around his head and laughed. "No regrets, my love. Never." He kissed her and she kissed him back. She felt his cock, restrained by his odd trousers, press into her stomach. She pulled out of his embrace and dropped to her knees. "No, Raine." She looked up at him and smiled coyly. "I made a vow to you, m'lord. 'Tis my wifely duty, to pleasure you." "I...do not require such service." His voice was hoarse and his gaze wild with lust. "Please, love." "Well, you did say please." She figured out how to unbutton the rough material that encased his legs. He wore more strange clothing underneath the trousers, but it had a quite convenient feature: a slit. She reached inside and freed his cock. "Raine..." Her name sounded like both protest and plea. She licked his shaft and brought the mushroomed head into her mouth. She felt him tremble under the assault of her lips and she tasted his escaping seed. His musky male scent infiltrated 34

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both her scent and taste. Oh, God. Pleasure wound through her. Wrapping a hand around the base of his cock, she stroked his shaft as she licked and sucked the quivering head. His hands pressed on her skull as he moved his hips in rhythm with her short, hard strokes. She felt her own body liquefy all over again as she gave enjoyment to her husband. "Raine!" He tried to pull away, but she grabbed his thighs and held him still. Then she sucked him to his balls, until his cock brushed the back of her throat. Come geysered into her mouth and she swallowed those hot splashes eagerly. Soon, his cock had expended all his seed. She kissed and licked his softening cock, paying it homage for the pleasure it always gave her. Then Connor helped her to stand. "We probably should not have done that," he said, with mild regret lacing his words. "But it has been so long." "Not so long. You are not easily sated." She laughed and cupped his face. "There is nothing better in this world that making love with you, Connor." "I love you, Raine. More than you will ever know." He hugged her tightly. Raine snuggled into his embrace, but despair crept into her happiness. Something bad was going to happen to him. The foreboding would not relent and she didn't know what to do. She had to protect him at all costs. **** 35

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Raine blinked, stumbled, and stopped. Somehow she had managed to leave the hallway and start down the staircase without a clue as to how she'd done it. Michael held her arm as he stared at her. "Something wrong, Ms. Sinclair?" "W-what?" He pointed to the huge paintings on the wall as he escorted her down the huge steps. "Family history boring you to tears, I take it? You might be interested in Connor Williams. His mother was Scottish and his father English." God, she felt fuzzy-headed. How had she gotten on the stairs? And why the hell did her nipples hurt? And her vagina felt...as if it'd had sex. Great sex. Had she somehow managed to cream herself between meeting Michael in the hallway and the short trip to the stairs? Yep. As nutty as Aunt Giselda's fruitcake, all right. Or as horny as a sailor on dollar whore night. Or both. She tried to gather her wits and concentrate on Michael's words. "Scottish and English? Didn't they hate each other?" Michael laughed. "Not all, or Connor wouldn't have been born. When Robert died, he named Connor his heir. He was Robert's oldest son, but really, giving his estates to his bastard was a way to show his love for Connor's mother." His expression grew somber. "But you're right. The English loyal to his father, including his half-brother Solomon, resented Connor's presence. Solomon plotted to kill him and his wife...Raine." She stumbled on the stairs again and he steadied her. "Her name was Raine?" "Yes. You didn't know you were named after an ancestor?" 36

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"I didn't know I was an English heiress. My parents never really told me much about the family." "Probably didn't know much themselves. It took a while to find you." His smile held a secret. She wondered about him— about his connection to this family. He seemed so much more than just a stuffy English lawyer. They'd almost reached the end of the staircase. He let go of her arm and she felt a keen loss. She resisted the urge to grab onto his hand and hold it forever. Instead, she took a steadying breath and focused on getting to the ground floor without breaking her neck. She followed him into the dining room, where he seated her at the head of the long cherry wood table. "What happened to them? To Connor and Raine?" "Solomon killed Connor. Raine disappeared. No one really knows what happened to her." "Maybe Solomon hunted her down and killed her, too." He stilled, his gaze suddenly intense. "Is that what happened? He killed you?" "Me?" Raine made a sound of disbelief. Maybe Michael Connors was the one as fruity as one of Aunt Giselda's fruitcakes. "Are you kidding?" "I meant Raine. Do you think he killed her, too?" "For Pete's sake, I just heard the story. How would I know?" His expression blanked then a ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. "Forgive me. It's just that you look a lot like her. I must admit I hold some fascination for Connor and 37

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Raine's story. It was such a tragedy—true love rent asunder by betrayal." "You're a romantic." "I wasn't always." She accepted the coffee poured by Mrs. Welter. The old woman flashed a look at Michael, who had taken a seat to the left of Raine. She saw him nod slightly to the housekeeper. Mrs. Welter put the silver pot near Raine and left the room, the sound of her sturdy black shoes thudding against the floor in a way suggesting she wasn't too happy about the silent request to leave. "She reminds me of Mrs. Danvers." Michael chuckled. "She's not a bad sort. Just set in her ways." "Afraid the American will order tiger-striped cushions for all the chairs and paint the walls pink?" His grin widened. "Something like that." "I hadn't really thought about living here. It's strange. It's like I've been here before. I know things about this place." She spread jam on her toast and nibbled on it. "Maybe it's just because I love historical romance novels—especially medievals." "Maybe you have been here." "No. I've never been to England before." "Do you believe in reincarnation?" She laughed, but stifled it when she saw the serious expression on his face. She shook her head. "No, I don't believe in reincarnation. And I don't believe in fairies, monsters, ghosts, or witches." 38

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"Your ancestor was a witch." Raine's stomach took a dive. She lost interest in finishing breakfast. She was beginning to lose interest in her inheritance. Michael studied her, his tiger eyes asking questions she didn't understand. How could such a gorgeous man be so mentally damaged? "You mean that people thought she was a witch, right?" "No, Raine. I mean she was a witch. She lived with her grandmother, a very powerful witch, in the woods near this castle. Connor hunted her down one night because he believed she was responsible for a sudden illness among the castle inhabitants. Solomon told him she'd cursed Connor and his people." "Remove the curse, witch, or I will remove your head." Her heart leapt in fear, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how he terrified her. Misla told her no one escaped fate. If hers was to die by this man's hand, then so be it. "If I had cursed you, Connor Williams, you would not be standin' in front of me swingin' about that fancy sword." She tossed back her hair and put a hand on her hip. "If you do not go now, I will turn you into a frog." "A frog?" Raine turned to Michael. He looked bemused. What had they'd been talking about? She needed time to gather her wits. Just for something to do, she refreshed her coffee and added a dollop of cream. She needed a big dose of caffeine. She felt tired, as if she hadn't slept at all last night. At the same time, a weird sense of satisfaction enveloped her. 39

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Michael's left eyebrow quirked. "You just told me how you didn't believe in witches. How did you plan on turning me into a frog?" "Don't be ridiculous. I never said I would turn you into a frog. It's strange, though. I thought—" Raine stopped, realizing how silly she'd sound if she told him about imagining Connor and Raine's meeting. "Never mind. I get the impression that Raine and Connor had a Romeo and Juliet kind of relationship. Beautiful, but tragic." "Yes. But Raine and Connor still have a chance for a happy ending." The coffee was too hot. She put down the cup and licked her singed lips. "All right. I'll bite. How can they have a happy ending? They've been dead for centuries." "A love like theirs is stronger than death." Ah. She understood now. "They reunited in the afterlife. It's a nice thought." He opened his mouth to speak, then apparently changed his mind. Instead, he shook his head, a rueful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He watched her nibble the toast with such a ravenous gaze, she had the distinct feeling he wanted to nibble her. She cleared her throat. "Uh, so, what's next, Michael?" "I'll show you around the castle. What do you want to see first?" "Raine's portrait." ****

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"My God." Raine put a hand against her throat and took a deep breath. "You weren't kidding. She could be my twin." Raine stared at the portrait. She...no, the other Raine...lounged on a beautiful red chaise. Connor stood behind her with one hand on her shoulder. Both of their gazes held looks of joyful possession. She envied them. Envied the eternal love she had always felt denied her whole life. She touched the ornate frame. It was almost as if she could remember posing for it. Hadn't Connor teased her? Tickled her...trying to make her move when the artist insisted they remain still. "It is amazin' we got a portrait finished with all your play," she said, looking at Connor through her lashes. A flash of surprise lit his eyes and for a moment Raine saw the face of the man who looked like Connor, but was not. His face was somehow different, his clothes strange, their favorite room filled with items she didn't recognize. She shivered against the odd sensations and felt the arms of her love surround her, protect her, add his strength to hers. And as always, the delicious buzz of need zipped through her. Their couplings satisfied her beyond her wildest expectations, but her thirst for Connor was unquenchable, her appetite always ravenous when near him. She turned in his arms and kissed him, mating her tongue with his, reveling in his groans of desire. "Take me," she whispered, hitching up her dress. His hands covered hers and he lowered the cloth she grasped in her hands. She blinked up at him, confused. "What is wrong?" 41

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"I cannot, my love." Her brows rose as she posed an impertinent question with her eyes, not daring to voice the thought aloud. A dull flush rose from his neck to color his cheeks. "My sword will always be strong enough to impale you." "If you say so, my lord. But as you are so fond of pointin' out, actions speak louder than words." She flounced away, twitching her hips. Mere seconds passed before he caught her arm and whirled her around, his playful growl sending shivers to her very core. Her hand dipped to his cock, but he captured her fingers and nibbled on them one at a time. He backed her toward the wall as she kissed the strong column of his neck, the rough line of his jaw, the dip in his chin. Breathing in his scent, she moaned. "Connor." His name was desire, need, all that she was and ever wanted to be...Connor's lady, his wife, his love. This time when she reached for his cock, he didn't stay her hand. In fact, he'd already freed it from his trousers. She encircled the smooth, warm flesh then trailed her fingers from the base to its tip. She grinned when his length jerked against her palm. He tipped her chin so that she would look at him. "I want you so much." She felt his sigh skitter across her cheek. "Are you sure of our joining?" Raine puzzled over his words, the urgency in his voice pricking her mind. Something she was supposed to remember. Something that wasn't quite right. Something important that pulled her in two directions. 42

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She looked at him, the fire in his gaze, and knew nothing she'd forgotten would mean more than reassuring Connor she wanted him and only him. "I am always sure about our joinings." She grinned. "So, warrior, do you plan to impale me with that fancy sword or not?" "Aye, my lady," he said, lifting her. She closed her eyes as his cock slid into her pussy. He was so big and hard; he filled her, completed her. His arms hooked under her shoulders and he pressed her against the wall. "Show me your breasts," he whispered. Lowering her top, she watched the hungry expression on his face as she revealed her breasts to him. With a groan, he clamped onto a nipple and suckled it. Bliss roiled through her and she encouraged his needy treatment of her breast, the way he licked and nipped the tender flesh. As eager as he was to the tending of her breasts, his cock's movements were too slow, too careful. She rocked on him, wanting to feel him pump into her, wanting to feel the intense pleasure he always brought her. "Harder, my love," she said. "Faster." Her breath caught in her throat when he honored her requests. He abandoned her breasts and pounded into her, his head cradled in the crook of her neck. Sweat rolled down her skin, but all she felt was the great need filling her belly, the spark ignited by his motions. "Raine," he muttered. "My heart."

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She shattered, a million sensations of light and sound and feeling. Still, he fucked her, as hard and as fast as before and another pleasurable sensation built and burst inside her. "Connor..." She licked the sweat from his neck, nipping the flesh with her teeth. Her hands grasped his shoulders, her nails digging into his shirt to pierce to the skin underneath. She gasped as another wave of nearly intolerable bliss overwhelmed her. Then Connor found his pleasure, yelling her name, and speared her with his cock. She felt the pulsing of him emptying his seed into her. He held onto her, shuddering. Only when he lifted his head and looked at her did she see the tears coursing down his cheeks and the utter desolation in his gaze. **** Raine shook her head. Her thoughts had been scattered and fuzzy from the time she'd left the cab. Maybe it was jetlag. She felt that weird sense of satisfaction again and another blank spot. "Did I space out again?" She cradled her head as a dull ache crept across her skull. They were sitting in the portrait room on one of the modern sofas. "Are you okay, Raine?" Michael's voice sounded strained. And fearful? She lifted her head to look at him. Michael Connors didn't look like a man who feared. Yet, there, in his gaze, she saw fear and the shadow of guilt. 44

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"You should know that part of the will has some odd conditions." He looked away from her steady gaze, focusing on the portrait of Connor and Raine. "I'm not sure I want to know." "Nothing too strange, I assure you. Tonight is the twelfth. At a glen not far from here, we must meet at midnight and you must imbibe a special drink." "What?" Raine couldn't hide her astonishment. "Why?" "At dawn the next morning, all that you see here is yours— as well as a considerable fortune." He shrugged. "In order to receive your inheritance, you must perform this ritual." "Oh Jeez. Now, it's a ritual?" "Raine—" "Phone call, sir." The brittle voice of the housekeeper startled Raine. She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced at Mrs. Welter. The woman's cold, gray eyes chilled her. "Your office. Says it's urgent." Michael smiled at her. "Please forgive me, Raine." "I'll stay here and wait for you." He nodded to her. The look in his eyes held tender regret and that strange shadow of guilt. She resisted an insane urge to reassure him, to kiss him, to place a hand against his cheek and murmur her love. Before she could act on any of the strange impulses, Michael hurried out of the room. Raine ignored Mrs. Welter. She hoped one of the conditions of the will didn't include keeping this woman in her employment. "Might I bring you some tea?" "No, thank you." 45

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The woman sniffed her disapproval. Raine refrained from rolling her eyes. Instead, she pasted on a smile and met Mrs. Welter's gaze. "I'm fine. Really. Please feel free to attend to your duties." "Be assured, Miss. I always see to my duties." Her low tone made the statement sound more like a threat than a reassurance. Raine shivered and watched the woman stride toward the door. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "My daughter's visitin' today. Just so you know, she and Mr. Connors are quite close." With a swish of her gray dress, she disappeared through the door. La-de-da. Raine gritted her teeth. The woman sure wasn't trying to warm up to her new employer. Hmphf. She just might agree to dance naked around a bonfire, if it meant she could fire Mrs. Welter the next day. She'd be damned if she shared her castle with that old biddy. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Three He entered the library and locked the door, then turned and surveyed the room. The slightly parted curtains allowed sunlight to illuminate the white dust cloths covering the furniture. The rest of the library was shrouded in darkness. A room full of ghosts. But every room in this cursed place had ghosts. "Are you here?" he whispered. "Yes." A woman rose from one of the wingbacks positioned in front of the fireplace. The shadows hid the face he knew so well. He had never loved another the way he'd loved her. And if things went well...she would be his and the castle would be theirs. "She believes?" "Almost." "Will she perform the ritual?" "I don't know yet." "It's essential that she drinks the potion." "I know, my love." He walked to her and gathered her into his arms. Her arms slid around his neck; her lips grazed his chin. "Your waiting is almost over, my darling." She brought his hands to her breasts and arched as he cupped them. "I will be yours this night." He pinched her nipples hard. Her low moan thickened the hot lust already claiming him. He unbuttoned her shirt and unsnapped the front-clasp bra. He licked the tender skin of 47

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her breast until his teeth found her nipple. The light bite made her cry out. "I want you now." He suckled her, grabbing her buttocks and pulling her close so he could rub his erection on her center. "No." She broke free and stepped out of his reach. "I weary of your games. I love you. I ache for you. What stops us from consummation?" She snapped her bra and buttoned her shirt, then smoothed her hair. "Just a few hours more." "It's an eternity." She leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on his mouth, but her hands, her wicked, wicked hands, unzipped his pants and stroked his hard-on. Pleasure clouded his mind, crowding out the anger and frustration. She kneeled and slid her tongue down his length until her hot mouth connected with his balls, licking them, wrapping eager fingers around his cock to stroke it as she suckled and licked his testicles. Then her mouth and hand switched places. While her hand cupped and kneaded his balls, her mouth sucked the tip of his cock. He felt the soft piercing of her tongue in the slit before she took all of him into her mouth, down her sleek, wet throat. He fucked her mouth with slow movements, reveling in the feel of her tongue, her lips, her hands on his ass urging him forward... "I'm coming..." He never lasted against her skilled tongue. His orgasm rocked his entire body. His hands slipped into the 48

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fine silk of her hair; he held her head and ejaculated fiercely into her mouth, shuddering as she drank all of him. She rose regally. As always, she was the queen and he was her subject. He felt as if he'd been the one kneeling before her. He zipped his pants and watched her wipe her mouth. "You know what to do," she said softly. "You can count on me." "Yes, my darling. Of that, I am sure." **** After half an hour, Raine grew restless. She'd looked at all the portraits in the room—twice—yet the only one that held her interest was Raine and Connor's. She wondered at the coincidence of Michael's last name being "Connors." And he bore a strange resemblance to the Connor in the portrait. A chill danced across her nape. Did he...did he believe that they were the doomed lovers of centuries past? Surely not! "Michael?" said a female voice. Raine turned and watched a small, perfect woman flit into the room. Blonde hair framed a heart-shaped face; wide blue eyes stared guilelessly at Raine. Who was this little pixie? "He had to take a phone call." The woman placed a hand against her chest and took in a breath. "You startled me." A smile flashed, revealing dimples. "Michael spends so much time in this room; I just assumed he was in here. You must be Raine Sinclair. I'm Fiona Welter." "The housekeeper's daughter?" 49

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Laughter tinkled, but the woman's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Yes. But I don't work here. I'm Michael's...friend." She purred it in a way that suggested her friendship with Michael included bedroom privileges. Raine extended her hand, shivering when Fiona's hand slipped into hers. The pixie's skin was as cold as ice on a winter day. "It's nice to meet you." "And how do you find the castle? Besides drafty, old, and crumbling." Laughter tinkled again. "I find it quite charming, although it needs a coat of paint." She made a show of perusing the walls. "Do you like pink?" Fiona's jaw dropped. "Pink?" "It's my favorite color." "I—well, it's your castle." She regained her composure. "If you meet you the conditions of the will, of course." Her catty smile suggested Raine would not. Raine didn't like Fiona. Something about her cool perfection grated on her nerves. Or maybe it was the implication that the woman was sleeping with Michael. Heat filled her face and her vision blurred. "I have every intention of claimin' what is mine. And I will not abide a greedy little thief who thinks she is clever enough to take what belongs to me." Fiona's brow furrowed and she took a step back. "I beg your pardon?" "You better be beggin' more than my pardon, missy. You ain't any better than the dogs who fight over the bones after supper. But you do not want the scraps any more, do you?" "Raine!" 50

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Michael's voice filtered through her consciousness. She turned and saw him in the doorway, sporting an open shirt and a kilt. At what point had he changed into such strange clothes? And why? Pain ripped through her and she clutched her stomach. The room began to spin. "Connor..." She saw Fiona's face, a look of satisfaction in her glacierblue eyes, then Connor was there, his strong arms enveloping her...then nothing but darkness and silence. **** Michael sat in the chair and stared at the crackling fire. Honor compelled him to tell Raine the truth about their liaisons. She didn't remember their joinings, except as Past Raine, and guilt ate at him for taking her, even though his body rejoiced at finding its mate once again. She was so hot, so tight, so welcoming. He closed his eyes at the thought of her after the midnight ceremony, when her past and present would flow into one and she remembered their love. In this room, Raine's scent clung to everything. Lavender and mint, the same scents he remembered from their first lives together. She slept soundly in the bed behind him, tucked into the bedcovers. He hadn't dared to remove her clothes. He'd already proven himself unable to resist the temptations she offered. Fear clogged his throat. What if she was so appalled by his behavior she refused to go through with the ceremony? Surely eternal love merited forgiveness. Maybe he wasn't an honorable man after all. He could not confess to her because he was selfish and afraid to lose her. 51

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He'd waited so long, so very, very long. Was it possible that he had forfeited his future with her by giving into his base need to possess her? **** Raine awoke in the big, soft bed. She was tucked under the covers and the curtains had been drawn. The only light in the room was from the fire burning brightly in the hearth. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she realized someone was sitting in the wingback positioned to the left of the huge stone fireplace. "I wanted to make sure you were okay." Michael rose from the chair and walked to the bed. "How are you feeling? Should I call my physician?" "No. I'm fine. I must be suffering from a bad case of jetlag. First time crossing the Atlantic, y'know." She sat up, pressing fingers to her temples. Lord, her head ached something fierce. "Would you think I'm weird if I said I remembered this place? I've tried to think of every possible explanation—medieval romances or too many Travel Channel specials. Has this castle ever been filmed?" Michael shrugged. "A time or two. But you don't believe that's the cause, do you? Of your memories?" "You're making me nervous, hovering like that." Raine patted the bed and Michael sat on the edge, looking as if he might bolt. "No. And neither do you. You think I'm her. The other Raine." "I think you're a beautiful woman with a beautiful soul." He reached out and plucked a curl draped on her shoulder. "You 52

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may think I'm too bold, but I must admit that I'm immensely attracted to you." Raine digested this information as her belly squeezed nervously. "I think you're hot, too." He chuckled. "What should we do about it? This attraction of ours?" "I-I don't know." "Yes, you do." He sighed as he dropped the curl. The desire in his gaze was edged with regret. "What if I were to tell I've made love to you already? That I've tasted the sweetness between your legs and felt your mouth on my cock? What if I said that you begged me to fuck you and I did? That I enjoyed every damned moment of being in your arms and I wished it would last forever?" Raine's heart pounded furiously. Jesus, God. Was he nuts? Or was she? His words sounded like the truth, but how could he claim to have slept with her? She didn't remember his touches or his kisses. She'd felt ill practically the whole time she'd been here and those odd blank spots...she shook off the crazy implications. "You're scaring me," she said. "I know." He dropped his head into his hands. His whole body shuddered and she swore she heard the sound of his weeping. Alarmed at the depth of his emotion, she laid her hand on his back. "Michael?" He stood up swiftly and kept his back to her. "I cannot bear it, Raine. I've waited so long. And I'm ruining it because 53

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I can't keep my hands off you. You're my very heart. I've wanted nothing and no one as much as I've wanted you." He turned to go, but Raine scooted off the bed and chased after him. She grabbed his shirt and tugged on it until he turned to face her. Holy shit. He was crying! His vulnerability was her undoing. She didn't care if he was crazy—or if she was—she desperately wanted to comfort him. She didn't understand his words, but she felt the weight of his emotion. How could she be his heart, his love, if they had only just met? Their emails and brief phone conversations had always been curt and professional. Nothing made sense. "I'm sorry." He stepped back. "I'm acting like a fool. Please forgive me." He looked away, as if ashamed. "Please consider the castle and its fortune yours. There is no need to perform Mr. Wallace's little rituals. You should be able to choose what you want...and who you want. In this lifetime and any other." Raine felt as though something important was slipping away. Her mind might be confused, but her body knew exactly what to do. She cupped his face and kissed the man silly. He melted instantly, gathering her so close that his heat soaked into her. She tasted his tears, licking them from the corners of his mouth. God, his soul-deep need for her radiated from him and encompassed her with terrible yearning. Suddenly, she wanted him so much she couldn't get his clothes off fast enough. She wanted to burrow into his skin, 54

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meld with him, until she couldn't separate her body from his. I've waited so long, too, my love. So very long. Within moments, their clothes were scattered on the floor. Raine trembled, not from the chill in the room, but from the intensity of her own emotions, her own need for this man. She led him to the bed and pushed him onto it. Somehow, she sensed he needed tenderness. She crawled on top of him and aligned her pussy against his hard cock. Her breasts pressed against the hard muscles of his chest, the nipples pebbling against his warm flesh. She kissed him. She taunted him, licking his mouth and biting his lower lip. She teased him unmercifully until he wrapped his hand into her hair and held her still. "Witch," he muttered. Then he plundered her mouth, taking from her all that she had promised. His possessive kiss stole her breath. Heat raced through her every nerve ending. God, she wanted him. Wanted him so much. She escaped his demanding mouth and laid siege to his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. She worshipped him, even as she tortured him. She dragged her mouth down his chest. She swirled her tongue over the flat coin of his nipples, flicking the tiny nubs. He moaned, writhing under her tender assault. She touched him everywhere, unable to get enough of how he felt underneath her palms. She skimmed her fingertips over his ribs and curled in the hair scattered across his belly. He was so gorgeous, so strong. This was the kind of body built by hard work, not by a gym membership. A warrior's body. 55

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Her warrior. Raine sat up, wiggling down so that her slick cunt rubbed against his cock. His shaft twitched against her sensitive clit and she moaned, biting her lip as she tried to control the whip of her own lust. Michael's eyes were filled with an emotion that she could only call love. She no longer worried if it were possible to love someone your soul knew, even if your mind rebelled against such absurdity. Never in her life had she felt so compelled to be near someone. Not in any relationship. Wanting Michael was like wanting to breathe—natural and necessary to live. "I've never felt this way," she admitted softly. "It is as if I've known you forever." "You have." She lifted up so that she could fit his shaft into her wet heat. As the two became one, they both shuddered at the physical connection and at the communing of hearts too long separated. She wanted to be gentle. She had hoped to give him a long, slow burn, but lust wiped away any thoughts of benevolent seduction. He cupped her breasts, plucking at her nipples as she rode his cock, grinding her clit against his pelvic bone. He played with her breasts, allowing her to ride him as fast and as hard as she needed. The orgasm shattered, so blissfully violent that her pussy expelled his cock. Her breathing was harsh and her body quaked with pleasure. "More! Oh, Michael, I want more!" "As my lady wishes." He rolled her onto her side then scooted off the bed. 56

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When he returned, he held the belt from his pants. She watched him, her body slick with sweat, the cream of her release still easing from her thighs. Michael scooted her toward the elaborately engraved headboard. Through the spindly columns on either side of a hand-chiseled angel, he slipped the belt through. He raised her arms above her head and knotted the belt around her wrists. The position made her vulnerable. Heat speared her belly as she thought about what else he might to do her. She had asked for more, hadn't she? He bent down to kiss her, a rough possession that bespoke of needs not yet met. His mouth dived down her neck to lick away the sweat. He wasn't patient or kind. He assaulted her breasts with mouth and hands, squeezing hard as he bit lightly on the tips. Pleasure-pain undulated to her core. Her breath went ragged all over again and her heart beat wildly. He looked almost barbaric as he rose to his knees. Pulling up her legs so that they lay flush against him, he slid his cock inside her. He wrapped his arms around her calves and fucked her. Her pussy accepted his carnal punishment and pleasure coiled tightly in her core. "Yes, Raine. Oh, yes!" He pounded into her, his gaze on hers. "Oh, God. I'm going to come!" He pulled out and slid his cock between her slick folds. Hot splashes of come hit her stomach as his shaft jerked against her clit. The sensual motion sent her over the edge into bliss. 57

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After a long moment, Michael released her. He retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom. He wiped her skin clean and then drew her into his embrace. "You don't have to go through with it, you know." "I'm afraid it's too late for that." He chuckled. "Quite frankly, I hope we do it again. What I meant is that you don't have to go through with the ritual tonight. I've been so blinded by my own wishes that I never thought to consider yours. I assumed you would...well, it's not really important. I want your happiness more than anything." She stared deeply into his eyes. The ritual was important. Not because it would honor Mr. Wallace's wishes or because it would rightfully gain her a fortune. No, she sensed that whatever she had to do tonight was important to Michael. And that meant more to her than all the money in the world. "I want to go through with it, Michael. And what's more, I want you—as you are now." "You have given me more than I deserve." **** "That American is bloody insane," said Fiona as Michael handed her a gin and tonic. Her guileless gaze slid over him like an icy breeze. He returned to the bar and poured himself a brandy. "She's not insane—though I'm sure you would like her to be." 58

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"I don't wish her harm, even if she is dotty." She sipped her drink. "You must admit that her uncalled for display of anger toward me and calling you Connor, for God's sake, were not the actions of a sane person." At what point had Fiona's presence begun to unsettle him? He'd known her since she was thirteen, had paid for her education, and had facilitated her engagement to a young man of good family. Mrs. Welter, a widower, had worked for him for the last eleven years. Of course, she didn't know that her unseen benefactor was Michael Connors. She knew him only as dear Mr. Wallace's barrister. "She's going to ruin this lovely old place." Fiona shuddered. "She said she wanted to paint the castle pink." He laughed. "Said that, did she?" "And sputtered some nonsense about me not wanting the scraps any more." Michael stilled. "Tell me exactly what she said." "I don't remember." Fiona rolled her eyes. "Her accent was quite good, though." He crossed the room and grabbed the little idiot's arm. "Your recall is excellent, Fiona. Now, tell me what she said." She yanked away her arm and sent him a hurt look. "Honestly, Michael—" She bit her lip then sighed. "She said, 'You ain't any better than the dogs who fight over the bones after supper. But you do not want the scraps any more, do you?'" It was too coincidental. Why would Raine tell Fiona the same thing she'd told Loralee? "I want you to leave the castle." 59

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"What? No. You can't make me leave!" Misla had said he might search a thousand years and never find Raine again, and the hag had nearly been right. Her spell had been strong and though she long ago settled into dust, he'd been born, time and again, with the full knowledge of who he had been and knew the intricate spell Misla had made him memorize. He had searched eight lifetimes for his beloved. For Raine. He'd begun to fear that his planning, his sacrifices, had been for naught. The witch's spell offered one new life every hundred years. Eight times he had grown to manhood, reclaimed his fortunes, and bought this castle. How many times had he repaired the damage incurred by those who'd managed to own it while he wasted time reliving a childhood? The echo of their former lives together was a warning, but he refused to allow anyone to prevent his reunion with Raine. Misla had told him that justice had to be served first. Did that mean Solomon and Loralee would somehow return on this night? Damn it! Surely, he and Raine deserved their reunion. Happiness was their only future. They had earned it. "Gone away again, Michael? I do wonder where your thoughts travel these days." Michael glanced at Fiona's thin, pale hand on the cuff of his jacket. She toyed with the button there, looking coyly up at him through her blonde lashes. "Nowhere, Fiona. Not any more." "I'll stay through dinner, all right?" He sighed, dread settling into his stomach. "Fine." 60

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Her slow smile brought him no comfort. **** Raine awoke, her heart pounding, the word "Connor" frozen on her lips. Sweat beaded her brow, fear knotted her throat. Something felt wrong. Oppressive. Dark despair imprisoned her. She struggled out of the bed's heavy covers and pressed trembling hands to her temples. Where was Michael? Making love to him had been almost surreal. She could still smell his essence, still feel him pressed against her. Was it possible to fall in love so quickly? She felt like a silly schoolgirl with a crush, but she knew the truth when it slapped her in the face. She was in love with Michael. Keep close to him. Evil lurks nearby. She glanced at the window and saw that it was long past dusk. She was probably late for dinner. Sliding to the floor, her legs wobbled, her knees buckled. She grabbed the nearest bedpost and clung to it. Nausea cramped her stomach. Terror clawed at her, a living thing shredding her guts with poisoned talons. Keep close to him. Evil lurks nearby. Raine let go of the bedpost and shuffled to the door, her insides on fire, her lungs laboring with the effort to breathe. It was as if all the oxygen in the room had been siphoned out. She grabbed the doorknob and wrenched it open, stumbling into the hallway. Clinging to the wall, she felt the oppression lift suddenly, as if someone had pulled off an iron blanket. 61

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She took several deep breaths and willed her heartbeat to slow its erratic pace. "Something wrong, Miss?" Raine turned to find Mrs. Welter contemplating her from the shadows of the hallway. The woman held a small oddlyshaped pewter bowl. Over it, she dangled a large black crystal. It swung in an arc from a thin silver chain. A noxious mist rose from the bowl; Raine covered her mouth to keep from breathing the fumes. "Feeling poorly, are you?" "W-what are you doing to me?" Mrs. Welter's lips formed a nasty smile. "Gettin' you out of the way. You don't belong here. You don't belong with Mr. Connors. Better dead, I say, than owning a castle that ain't yours." **** Michael poured a glass of wine for each of his two friends, Derrick and Margo, and looked at his watch. The last time he'd checked on Raine, she'd been sleeping peacefully. He didn't trust himself to stay long with her. That's why he'd sent Mrs. Welter to wake her for dinner. Raine had been more affected by her previous-life memories than he'd believed possible. But she had admitted to wanting him, Michael, and that was something. Courting his wife all over again—that wouldn't be a bad thing now, would it? "Honestly," said Margo, fluffing her red hair with its flattering pageboy cut, "I can't wait to meet your American. 62

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You've looked at your watch a half dozen times. She must be much more interesting than Derrick and I." She looked at Derrick and winked. The tall, slender man with short brown hair grinned and raised his glass in toast. "To Raine. Long may she...reign." Margo laughed, raised her glass, and drank. Michael did the same, though Derrick's puns were wearing thin. He hadn't expected to entertain guests, especially on this night, when he would finally be able to claim his true love. But Derrick and Margo never thought to call ahead. It was their natures to do as they pleased. Unfortunately, they decided dinner at the castle suited them this evening. Mrs. Welter had settled them in the library and told Michael they'd arrived. "Getting married yet?" he asked, just to nettle them. Derrick snickered. "Margo and I? Be serious, Michael." Margo pursed her lips. "We've never been engaged. We're just..." She lifted an elegant shoulder, the thin silver strap of her evening gown glittering in the lamplight. "Friends." "Margo! Derrick!" Fiona said as she entered the library. "How delightful to see you!" She air kissed Margo's cheeks, but Derrick received a lingering kiss on the lips. "Is that Tom standing in your shadow yet again, m'dear?" asked Margo. "Oh!" Fiona stepped aside and allowed her fiance to enter the library. "C'mon, Tommy, join the fun." Michael put down his wine glass and shook Tom's hand, hiding his surprise. What the hell was wrong with Fiona? He had told her to leave after dinner. Why the hell had she invited her fiance to come dine as well? Doubt seeded with 63

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foreboding crept along his spine. Everything seemed okay on the surface. Coincidences, surely—but still the uneasiness refused to abate. God in heaven! This evening was turning out to be a bloody debacle. "Why don't we sit down to dinner?" Michael gestured for the ladies to move ahead of him. They walked out of the library, through the great hall, and into the dining room. "Fiona? Would you be hostess while I check on Raine? Your mother seems to have disappeared." "You worry too much," said Margo, sweeping her hand toward a chair. "Sit down. Americans have terrible manners. She's probably all kinds of delighted about causing a delay. She'll arrive soon." Fiona's guileless gaze met his. "Are you the woman's puppet? She'll be along. Really, you shouldn't worry about her." She looked at Margo. "She really does have the most atrocious manners." "Fiona," he said in a low voice. "Refrain from talking badly about Ms. Sinclair. This is her castle—and so is everything in it." "Apparently, we are no longer allowed to express opinions." She glared at him. "Does she own those, too?" Michael felt dizzy. Something was wrong. It snapped and sizzled around him, tinting the air with an evil he could not place. "Please excuse me." "Michael!" Margo and Fiona's protests rang out together. He paused, glanced at Derrick, who looked as surprised as he did about the shout-out. 64

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"What's going on?" he asked. "Why don't you want me to leave this room?" "Don't be daft," said Margo, sitting at the table. "I've never seen you pander to a woman. I'm unnerved by it." He frowned and glanced at Fiona. She looked away, but not before he caught the glimpse of worry in her eyes. He crossed the room and took her elbow. "What is it?" She shook her head. "Fiona." "My mother...she's..." Fiona looked at him, her eyes wide. She caught his hand and brought it to her cheek. "She only wanted to get her out of the way for the ritual. If Raine doesn't drink the potion, if she doesn't stand in the glen at midnight, the castle and the fortune will be yours." "No!" Eight hundred years of searching, of waiting...was it all for naught? "You little fool." Michael withdrew his hand and stepped away. "'Tis Raine I want. 'Tis Raine I have always wanted and you have taken her from me. I canna forgive this treachery." Fiona brought a hand to her throat, a shocked expression on her face. "What's wrong with you? Your voice?" She glanced around the room, seeking support from the others, yet finding none. "You can't love the American! You just met her. She's nothing! Nothing!" "She is my heart, Fiona." Michael felt as though he'd been dealt a mortal blow. His guts churned with hate, with hurt, with betrayal. Raine! Violence swirled through him, the taut strings of anger pulling 65

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at his control. Vengeance covered him like a cloak and he pulled it close, savoring the impulses of a warrior long dead. "I suppose we should find her then," said Margo rising from the table. "What do you say, Derrick?" "Seems the thing to do," he agreed. He rose, too. "Castle first?" "Yes." "Fiona said the girl wasn't to be harmed," interjected Tommy, who remained at the table, his gaze on the empty plate before him. "Why should we believe her?" asked Margo. "She's a liar. And a silly twit, besides." Margo and Derrick turned to Michael and waited for his decision. He nodded his assent and strode from the room, his friends following. Fiona and Tommy remained, one smiling, and the other staring in disbelief at the empty doorway. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Four Raine stumbled along the stone path; her hands tied with a rough-hewn rope. She had no idea how much time had passed or where they walked on the castle grounds. Indigo shadows blanketed the outdoors; stars dotted the skyline. Mrs. Welter cared nothing for her weakened state and showed no expression at all when Raine fell to her knees and vomited into the nearby rose bushes. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she looked up at the dour old woman then at the derringer pointed at her forehead. Mrs. Welter's hand was as steady and cold as her stare. "Come along, miss. The sooner you're out of the way, the sooner my daughter gets all that she deserves." "She deserves a swift kick in the ass." Mrs. Welter slapped her with the gun. The metal bit into the soft flesh of her cheek. Pain radiated down her jaw. "Don't you ever talk that way about my Fiona. Michael couldn't see what was in front him all this time. Fiona is his equal in every way! I worked my fingers to the bone to keep this castle nice for her. That money is hers. And Michael is, too." She slapped Raine again. This time, the derringer smacked her temple. "And you! Nothing but a tart, you are. I heard you plowing 'im, you slut." This woman was insane. Raine realized that she was going to die. She had finally found what she wanted and she was going to die for it. For him. For love. 67

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"Mrs. Welter, you don't have to kill me. I-I'll sign over the inheritance. Fiona can have it all." Except Michael. Goddamned Fiona would never have him. "I don't believe a word out your filthy mouth, whore. Get up!" She tugged on the rope, but Raine refused to rise. Emptying her stomach made her feel better; her mind was clearing, too. When Mrs. Welter tightened her grip on the rope to yank it, Raine jerked it down. The old woman stumbled forward. Raine swung her tied hands upward and connected with the arm that held the gun; the derringer flew into the grass behind them. "No!" screamed Mrs. Welter. Raine rose and swung her arms again, this time smacking the crazy woman under the jaw. She fell, her skull hitting the uneven stones with a sharp crack. "Jesus." Raine knelt beside the unconscious woman and placed a palm against her chest. Relief flooded her when she felt the rise and fall of breath. She might not like Mrs. Welter, but she didn't wish for her death. But the bitch sure as hell was fired. Raine stood and looked around. The stone path ended just before a thicket of trees. She shuddered to think what the housekeeper had planned for her in those woods. Behind her, the castle rose in the distance, stark against the evening sky, yet as welcoming to her as a fuzzy blanket, hot cocoa, and a crackling fire. Home. 68

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She trudged toward the castle, her arms aching and itchy from the rope. Her legs still felt like wet noodles and her breath rattled in her chest. Night sounds filtered around her: hoots of owls, chirping of crickets, snapping of twigs. Her stomach clenched as fear swirled through her. What kind of bird or bug snapped twigs with its movements? She increased her pace, despite the pain ricocheting up her spine from semi-jogging. Running was out of the question, but her sudden need to be away from the forest forced her to move faster. All she had to do was get to the castle. **** Michael met Derrick and Margo in the library. Their gazes told him what he already knew. Raine wasn't in the castle. Tommy and Fiona had disappeared from the dining hall, not that he gave a good goddamn. Goodbye and good riddance to bad rubbish. Fiona and Mrs. Welter would be escorted from the property as soon as he could arrange it. He pushed a hand through his hair and curbed his desire to pound his fists against the walls. Where had Mrs. Welter taken Raine? "Do you have any torches?" asked Margo. "This damned old place is the only habitable thing for miles. Where else could they go, but outside?" "The glen." Michael frowned. "But why go there? The ritual is supposed to..." 69

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Derrick and Margo's silence warned him he'd said too much. Their expressions mirrored the same concern. "What ritual?" asked Derrick, his glance sliding toward Margo's. Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. "I'm afraid Raine must fulfill some strange requirements in order to inherit. There is a very old, stone altar deep in the woods. Ingredients must be gathered and blessed on it and a potion made from it. If Raine drinks it before midnight, she will inherit." "Indeed." Derrick crossed the room to the bar and took out the brandy snifter. "So that's what Fiona was going on about." "Wallace was an odd fellow," said Margo. "No one ever saw him. Except for you, Michael." "He was a crafty old codger," he conceded. Mr. Wallace was merely one of his many aliases. As the enigmatic Mr. Wallace, he had purchased the property from overseas and, as far as anyone knew, the purported elderly gentleman had never visited the castle. As soon as Michael found Raine, he had arranged Mr. Wallace's demise so that he could lure his love back to the place they had called home. "So she drinks a concoction before midnight and voila! She's a rich woman who owns a castle. Does the handsome barrister come with the deal, too?" Margo looked at him, her gaze revealing more than curiosity. "Yes," he answered. He could be honest about that, at least. "I appreciate your help, but I don't expect you to ruin your shoes helping me hunt for Raine outside." He walked toward the door, but Derrick blocked his way. 70

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"Don't be ridiculous, old boy. We're your friends." Derrick stepped aside, downed his brandy, and waved to Margo. "Take off your heels, darling. We shall go barefoot for this adventure." Michael found three flashlights in the kitchen pantry. "We'll take the old path to the woods and check out the glen first," said Michael. "Follow me." They left out the back kitchen door and hurried through the well-tended gardens, down the uneven stone path that led to the woods. The three beams of light bounced through the darkness until one beam of light swept across the rocky trail and found Fiona crumpled in a heap, red streaks dripping through the shiny strands of her blonde hair. "Fiona!" Michael hurried to her side. Derrick and Margo followed, shining their lights on her still, pale form. "Is she—?" asked Margo. Michael pressed two fingers against her throat and sighed with relief at the strong pulse that beat there. "She's alive." Derrick crouched down, gingerly turned the girl's head, and lifted her hair. "Got a gash on her skull. No worries, old boy. I know enough first aid to help her. Go find your American." He brandished a cell phone. "Besides, I can call the cavalry." Michael stood. "Good show, Derrick." Margo directed her flashlight at her gold watch. "It's after ten o'clock. We don't have much time to find her—if you wish to follow Wallace's strange requests." **** 71

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Raine stumbled and fell to her knees. She sucked in deep breaths, but couldn't seem to get any air into her lungs. She felt dizzy and cold, even though it was a warm summer evening. Her arms ached from being tied and from getting beaten by an old lady. She blearily resolved to start working out with weights—if she got out of this mess. Given everyone's odd behavior, she wondered at the wisdom of returning to the castle. The only person she could hope to trust was Michael, but all his talk of reincarnation, soul mates and rituals weren't exactly conversations of the sane. But where else could she go? She knew from the ride out here the castle was the only thing for miles. Trust your love. Go to him. Her friggin' trip to England had been a one-way ticket to Looneyville. God, she was tired. Her body had never felt so worn out. Her mind clicked sluggishly, trying to find inspiration to go on. Maybe she could sleep, right here on the garden path. Just sleep... "Raine?" She looked over her shoulder to see a man staring at her. He was lean and tall with short blond hair and an expression that made the hair on her nape rise. He bent to help her, his cold hands curling around her arms. He yanked her up none too gently and smiled. "Who are you?" she asked. "Don't you recognize me, witch?" 72

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"I hardly think calling me a witch is the way to begin a conversation," she said, a tremor in her voice. Dark fear crept up her spine, spreading chilled tendrils through her body. He's going to hurt you, just as he's done before. Run! Her legs felt like wet noodles and wouldn't obey the voice in her head. The man leaned into her face, his blue gaze gleaming with cruelty. "I'm hurt, Raine, m'love. After those good times we shared." "You're crazy. I've never seen you before in my life." "In this life," he said. "I followed Connor to the woods and listened at the opened window. I heard his pleas to your grandmother. Immortality—of a sort—he gained that eve. For you. A common whore. A witch." His spittle landed on her cheek, but she was still as a stone. Horrible knowledge rose, battering her brain with images. Running through the forest, blood on her hands, her keening mixing with wild wind. A storm was coming and she wanted it. Needed it to escape. The thunder of horses' hooves, the wicked laughter of a woman scorned, the triumphant cries of... "Solomon," she whispered. "The reason Connor could never find you is because I found you first. And killed you. The last time...hmmm...eighteen-seventy-six. A pretty six-year-old in her mother's sitting room all alone." He'd been merciful that time, pressing the pillow to her face, smothering her into eternal sleep. He'd been her widowed mother's beau and pretended he'd found her there, limp and unresponsive. She'd floated away, watching her 73

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Earth mother cry as her tormentor comforted the poor woman. And all the time, her soul cried out for Connor. "It's not true." Tears fell as memories that were not hers flooded her mind. She'd been searching for Connor for eight lifetimes. Her heart knew it. "We can only come back once every hundred years," said Solomon. "And we all come back together. The witch proclaimed that the circle must be closed before peace is found." His grin was manic. "Killing you and Michael together will mean peace for me and my Loralee." "No!" She struggled against his grip, but it was useless. Her body had been battered and bruised and offered her no help. Not again. Please, goddess, not again. "Where are you taking me?" she screamed as Solomon dragged her toward the dark forest. "To the glen. You have a potion to drink. You are the sacrifice and you will end all our suffering." **** "Do you think she would be in the glen?" Margo asked as they jogged along the garden path that led to the forest. "It's worth a look." Michael felt cold foreboding settle in his heart. Fear made his temples pound. He felt like ice coated his insides, clinging to his organs, sharp points piercing him. "Why do you think ol' Wallace wanted her to drink a potion in a glen in the dark of night?" "Damn it!" Michael looked down to see what his foot had hit. The flashlight revealed the prone form of his housekeeper. "My God! It's Mrs. Welter." 74

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They knelt next to the older woman. Margo felt her neck. "Still has a pulse." "What the hell happened? Did Raine knock her out and escape?" "If she did, why didn't she go back to the castle?" asked Margo. "Maybe whoever hit Fiona, got to her mother, too. Or..." She grimaced. "Or maybe Raine did it." "No. Why the hell would she hurt Fiona or Mrs. Welter?" "If it's not Raine knocking people about and she's still missing, then we're dealing with an unknown person or persons. You better be careful, darling. I have a bad feeling about all of this." "So do I." "Well, go on. Looks like I'm on nursing duty until help arrives." Michael rose, nodded his thanks to Margo, then jogged to the edge of the forest and paused. His flashlight barely made a dent in the darkness between the trees. The forest wasn't nearly as large as it had been eight hundred years ago. And the path was clearer, thanks to centuries of use. Even so, it took a good twenty minutes to get there, and that was at a fast clip. As he rounded the final curve of the overgrown dirt path, he saw a circle of lit torches and in the middle of flickering light stood Raine. Oh my God! Her arms were tied behind her back, a gag stuffed into her mouth, and her slim ankles fettered to a short chain. The chain was staked in the ground by a huge, ugly metal spike. She looked exhausted, but angry. Relief flooded through him. 75

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No one could tamp down that spirited nature of hers. Not even... Thomas? His heart demanded that he march straight to Raine and rescue her, but rusty warrior instincts snapped into place. She was the morsel baiting the trap. He would incapacitate the hunter first then he would release her. He walked around the sacred circle toward the altar of the goddess, where Thomas stood preparing the potion, muttering ancient prayers under his breath. He didn't hear Michael until the last second. As he attempted to whirl around, Michael wrapped an arm around his throat and pressed against the vulnerable bulge of his Adam's apple. "Connor," he rasped. "So good of you to join us." He quelled the jolt of surprise at hearing his old name. Michael pressed harder and Thomas gurgled. He released the pressure a little and hissed, "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you." "I'm your brother." Shock was a lightning bolt to his gut. "Solomon." "Aye. We've learned families connected by blood aren't tied to loyalty, haven't we? But soul mates..." He coughed, straining for a full breath. "There is such a thing as that." "There is such a thing as death, too," he replied as memories replayed. Loralee's attempted seduction after Raine left and her screams of outrage as he slammed the door in her face. Solomon waking him from deep sleep so that he could see Connor's anguish as the sword pierced his heart. "You cared nothing for your death. The only fear you ever showed was for her. You took my birthright. You took Loralee. 76

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And I took the life of your beloved Raine, brother. Eight times, I took her life." "Tonight, I take yours." "I don't think that's a good idea." Margo stepped into the sacred circle, her gaze steady...and devoid of all emotion. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Five Margo stumbled forward as if pushed and Michael noticed her hands linked in front of her. What he mistook for lack of emotion was the cold fire of her fury, the deeply banked embers of rage he recognized easily. He'd harbored such a rage against his betrayers since the eve they drove the sword into his mortal flesh. "She faked it," said Margo. "Bloody bitch." "That's the pot calling the kettle black." Fiona's soulless gaze flicked over Michael. "I'm terribly sorry about Derrick. Consider what I did to him as re-payment for what your witch did to my mother." "Practically fell over us as she ran down the path," said Margo. "I really wished she'd killed me. Being used as a hostage is quite boring." "Shut up!" shouted Fiona. "Eight hundred years and you choose her. Again, you choose her." Fiona entered the sacred circle, the gun she'd pointed at Margo now pointed at Raine's head. "Did I not serve you steadfast and true as I always have, my love? I was your favorite until she bewitched you." She gestured for Margo to stand next to Raine. His friend didn't hesitate to obey, but her actions were unhurried, as if she were out for a stroll instead of being threatened with imminent death. He silently cheered her on. His gaze sought Raine's. Her eyes shone with tears of anger and helplessness, yet he saw her trying to convey strength to him. He tried to do the same for her, even though 78

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the terror they would lose each other for another eternity constricted his chest. "Stop looking at him!" Fiona brought the gun across Raine's cheek. The gag muffled her scream of pain, but he felt it reverberate through his soul. He squeezed Thomas's neck. "Do not force my hand, Fiona." "Loralee. You will not harm Solomon. Let him go. Or I kill Margo." He had no choice. Impotent fury lashed at him and he fisted his hands to keep himself from throttling the man and woman who'd brought them so much pain, damn the consequences. Let them share death. "Tie him to the tree behind the altar. I want him as far from the witch as possible, but where he can watch us." Fiona's smile curved in a cruel mockery of joy and suddenly Fiona's familiarity, the comfort he felt around her made sense. His soul had recognized hers, but had given him no other information. Souls were tricky things, indeed. Fiona blindfolded Raine and then she smashed Margo's temple with the butt of the gun. His friend slumped unconscious to the ground. Fiona observed the woman and frowned. "It's too bad. I really liked her and Derrick." "Did you kill him, too?" "It's unfortunate they stopped by this evening," she mused, placing the gun on the altar. "It's time to break the curse you placed upon us all when you bargained with the witch." 79

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He'd been a fool. All this time, he'd believed that Solomon had used Loralee to betray him. His brother had killed him with no more emotion than a man swatting a fly. But now, he understood the true nature of evil. Loralee. She had manipulated everything from the beginning. In their early days together, Solomon had been easygoing. He was no warrior, but though he lacked brawn, he had brains. He'd been a boon companion. Solomon had been his best friend and loyal compatriot—until she arrived. Connor had never seen the connection until now. Loralee had poisoned his brother's mind; it was she who sought revenge for his rejection. It was she who had caused everyone so much suffering. Even poor Solomon. "She's only using you, brother. She doesn't love you." "Shut up!" screeched Fiona. "You know nothing. I earned his devotion." She looked at the items on the altar and smiled at Thomas. "You've done well, my love. Only one more item necessary." She took Misla's offering knife and slashed Thomas's throat. "No!" Michael strained against his ropes, long dead feelings of kinship for his sibling rising from some unknown corner of his heart. The pain of watching Thomas, of watching Solomon, die made the fury burning through him as deep and fiery as hell. Fiona wiped the knife on the grass next to the fallen body. She slashed her palm to bleed into a vial and then gathered some of Thomas's draining blood into it, too. "You cursed us all that night. Misla was crafty. She knew a soul group must 80

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travel together until what was rent asunder is mended again." Fiona mixed herbs with the blood, muttering magical words under her breath. "To be born with the knowledge that you are Connor, to have eternity to search for Raine, to trade her blood for yours...aye, we all felt the power of that spell." "Trade my blood?" "Misla did as you asked because she knew you would pay a blood price." Fiona spit on Thomas's body. "He was in your room to kill her, not you. Solomon was such a fool. After Raine found your body, Solomon and I chased her into the forest and pierced her heart with the same sword that gouged yours." She grinned girlishly as she held up the completed potion. "She will drink this and as she does, I will say the words to release your bond to her and bind you to me. Your precious Raine will die a slow, painful death." Fiona's blue eyes blazed. "She stole you from me. Bewitched you. The goddess gave us her blessing, my love, because in this century, I was born into the family that served you." "Do not do this, Fiona." Helplessness raged with his fear, his fury. "I will never love you. I will never bond with you. Soul mates cannot be ripped from each other." "I am your soul mate!" she screamed. "She is a witch who has convinced you that you do not love me any more. She dies and you are free of the spell." Michael watched Fiona stomp to the center of the circle and yank the blindfold from Raine's face. She tore the gag from her mouth and tossed the mangled cloth to the ground. Horror twisted his guts as he watched his betrayer once again 81

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threaten the life of his beloved. It's not fair, his soul cried, this is not the way it should end. He strained against the ropes, cursing Thomas's too-tight knots. He couldn't get free, damn it. Tears gathered in his eyes. No! No! No! "You will drink this, bitch." "I will not." Fiona grabbed Raine's hair and pulled it viciously. "Drink it!" "He will not be yours, Loralee," said Raine, her eyes blazing with impotent rage. "I do not have to imbibe your poison to remember my love. Connor is my heart." She smiled. "Misla lied to him...and to you." "The only liar is you." Fiona's expression hinted at her doubts. "Solomon heard the witch tell Connor the blessing and the curse of his request. Her magic was great, her connection to the goddess strong." She squared her shoulders, confidence returning. "We all traveled together these lifetimes past. We are bound by Misla's spell until you offer your life for Connor's." Raine laughed, tossing her hair behind her shoulder in the sassy way Connor remembered. Her spirit was beautiful, shining and bright and willful. She was as much a warrior as he. Their deaths were imminent, he knew, and his only wish was for Raine, to touch her, to kiss her, one last time. "You've killed me eight times," said Raine. "You spilled my blood as a sacrifice time and again, but still we arrive at this place, this moment." "Nay! I only wanted to keep you from him. Only in this lifetime did I realize that the potion and spells would end the 82

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nightmare." Fiona shoved the vial against Raine's lips. "Drink and free us!" "You are bound, betrayers and lovers, until love mends broken trust and justice be served," chanted Raine, turning her head from the noxious poison. Her lips curved in a grim smile. "I needed no potion, no spell, no ritual. I needed only to be near Connor on this night for my past and present to mend." "This night?" asked Fiona, her fingers clenching the vial, her half-crazed glare switching between Raine and Connor. "The anniversary of our deaths. The anniversary of all that was set into motion when you and Solomon murdered us." Raine's gaze sought Connor's and his heart leapt in gladness at the recognition in her eyes. "I know you, my lord. That night, you sent me away to save me." "And you did not go, silly wench," said Connor, his voice hoarse. "You returned to save me." He strained against his ropes, a seed of hope planted that they could yet survive. Fiona screamed. She dashed the vial to the ground, but instead of shattering, it rolled toward the fire. Her anger carried her to the altar, where she picked up the ritual knife and turned toward Raine. "I beg you," yelled Connor. "Don't do this, Loralee. I-I give you..." She swung to face him and he flinched at the evil she projected; madness marred the once lovely face of Fiona Welter. In her cold blue eyes, he saw the tortured soul of Loralee and knew she would rather see him die than live to love her enemy. 83

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"What will you give me?" she cooed. "Your soul? That, I own." He looked at Raine and saw the courage in her eyes, the strength of heart and mind he knew so well. She would fight with every breath and should she die, she would meet it with honor. He could offer no less. "My heart belongs to Raine. To murder either one of us is for naught. Our souls will find each other again." "We shall see." Fiona spun and ran, the knife raised and aimed at Raine's chest. Raine turned at the last second and the blade glanced off her shoulder, cutting through her thin T-shirt. A slash of red traveled her arm; her cry of pain ripped him to shreds. He could only watch as she sought to knock Fiona off balance, but the woman stayed just out of reach, twirling the dagger with a terrifying, practiced ease. Fiona lunged and Raine jumped away. She fell, tripped by the short chain. Fiona leapt onto her stomach as Raine writhed to get away, and shouted her triumph. "Nooooo!" yelled Connor as he watched the descent of the blade, made more horrific by the firelight dancing across its wicked edge. Then, to his amazement, Fiona jerked like a puppet, her head yanked backwards, the knife plucked from her gasp. He saw Margo behind her as she grabbed the blonde's grimy hair and put the blade against her throat. "I've had just about enough of you," said Margo, dragging Fiona off Raine. "Eight lifetimes of chasing Connor, you say. Eight lifetimes of 84

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killing Raine, too." Margo's laugh suggested Fiona was a nincompoop, instead of a centuries-old soul seeking revenge. Connor watched as Margo pulled Fiona's hair until her tender neck bent at a painful angle. "The potion, my dear." With trembling fingers, her gaze focused on Margo's calm stare, Fiona grabbed the bottle next to her hip and held the offering to her captor. "Drink it." "No." Margo crouched, the knife pressed against Fiona's jugular. "All these stories about what I said and what I did. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. 'Tis true, we are a soul group, Loralee. 'Tis true, the circle of pain and mistrust and betrayal must be broken. 'Tis true, my lovely betrayer, that my spells are strong." She leaned close and her soft-spoken words traveled to Connor's ears. "But the potion...the potion has always been for you and Solomon." "W-who..." Fiona's confused gaze sought Connor's. "Misla," he confirmed. Fiona paled, her eyes wide with fear. "It can't be." "You hunted Raine. I hunted you. But fate is fate, child, and the Universe holds no notion of time. All that has been and all that will be unfolds as it should. The blood price was mine, not Connor's. You knew it not when you brought this very blade across my throat. My prayer to the goddess answered for us all, to remember our lives, to live again to reunite two souls denied, and to punish those whose actions caused such pain." "No!" howled Fiona. "No!" 85

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"Drink the potion," said Margo kindly. "It will release you from this world and break the chains you forged so long ago." "Connor..." Fiona's tear-filled gaze begged him for mercy, for intervention, but his heart was cold to her pleas. He felt only pity that her hatred had created pain and suffering for them all for so many lifetimes. She saw his decision in his eyes and wailed. Margo grabbed the vial and dumped the contents down Fiona's open mouth. The woman sputtered, gagged, clutching at her throat with desperate hands. She spasmed, twisting and turning in the sacred circle, the shadows created by the flickering flames dancing across her convulsing body. Then she stilled and gave a last, strangled gasp as death claimed her. "Grandmother?" "Aye," said Margo kneeling to free Raine. "The circle is broken. You and Connor can live this lifetime as you should, with love and longevity." Margo patted Raine's flat belly. "And strong, fine children." As Margo tugged off the clasps on her ankles, Raine surged forward, running to Connor. Her shaking hands undid the knots; the ropes loosened and Connor wrapped his arms around her. Alive. In his arms. Forever. "You're squeezing the breath out of me," murmured Raine against his chest. He laughed, unable to stop his tears of joy, and eased the pressure of his hug to look down on her beautiful face. Love shone in her eyes, her cocky smile belying the tender strokes of her fingers as she traced his tears. 86

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"A warrior bawling like a babe," she teased. "Hardly the way to catch a girl's fancy." "'Tis enough I caught you," he murmured, lowering his head to taste her lips. Epilogue "Are you sure a pregnant woman should be doing this?" asked Raine as Connor flipped her onto her back. They had just finished making love the old-fashioned way in their very large, comfy, four-poster bed. Slick with sweat, sated beyond measure, they had been snuggling...until Connor rose to his knees and scooted between her legs. Again. "You're only two months along," he said, his grin wicked. "I have other ways to make love to you when our babe makes your belly big and round." "You're damned lucky you didn't say fat." He put a hand to his heart in mock surprise. "Never would I call my wife overweight." "You're a wise warrior." A year and two months had passed since that terrible night in the forest when Raine regained her past life memories and Loralee broke their cursed soul circle. They had found Derrick, too, and while his stab wounds were deep, they were not fatal. Misla, who insisted she preferred the name of Margo, badgered the poor man into an engagement. Raine felt strange knowing her grandmother inhabited the body of a young woman, a young woman in love with an incorrigible bachelor. 87

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Fiona and Thomas were reported as missing persons— Margo had seen to the disposal of the bodies. Mrs. Welter recovered, but the loss of her daughter sent her into madness. Connor paid for her care at a London sanitarium. "Don't you think it's strange I conceived on the anniversary of our deaths?" "Nope," said Connor, his gaze eagerly assessing her cunt, still slick with come from her minutes-ago orgasm. "It is the anniversary of rebirth—our lives, our hope, our love." He leaned down and patted her flat belly. "And our child." He picked up her leg and placed it on his shoulder; his hand coasted over her calf and down her thigh. He placed her other leg between his knees then pulled her close. His cock teased the edge of her pussy. "This isn't going to work," she said, though her voice was a little too breathy to be convincing. He smiled at her, his heart thumping when he recognized the familiar desire blazing in her eyes. Her hand traveled to the nest of curls and he sucked in a breath as he watched one slim finger stroke her clit. "Raine..." "Yes, my love?" He entered her slowly, her pussy muscles clutching around his cock. Her cunt felt different at this angle, and the strange tightness turned him on so much, damned if he wasn't halfway to orgasm. Looking down at her finger diddling her clit, he gritted his teeth. Raine was never afraid to show her love for him. She 88

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took her pleasure with him...and without him, while letting him watch, of course. Her body always welcomed him, the same way her soul remained open and loving to him. He pulled out slowly, stopping when her vagina covered only the head of his cock, closing his eyes against the nearly intolerable sensation. He pushed inside her again, and shuddered. Her moans were low, breathy, and dangerous to his selfcontrol. She moved, urging him to take her, harder and faster. He knew if he looked down and saw her fingers sliding over her clit, through her pussy lips...he would lose it. But what was life without a little risk? He sheathed himself inside her wet heat until his balls were pressed against her ass. Then he dared to look down. Oh, hell. Her fingers worked against her clit; her cunt so juicy, his mouth watered with the desire to taste her. His cock was swollen, tender, ready to explode. "Come with me," said Raine. "I'm so close, my love." Connor moved then, holding onto her leg as he pumped into her, watching her fingers rub the swollen nub. "Raine," he moaned. His gaze dropped to his cock penetrating her vagina. Watching his cock enter her, watching her pleasure her clit, watching her face as orgasm overtook her...he came hard, jerking inside her wet, tight pussy until his seed was spent, and his insides a pile of trembling mush. He lowered her leg, bent down and placed a kiss on her clit, then crawled next to her. 89

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"I love you," he whispered, pushing away the strands of hair clinging to her neck. He kissed her collarbone, the underside of her jaw, then the sweet softness of her lips. "I will always love you." She smiled against his mouth and he lifted to see her expression. The love in her tear-filled gaze took away his breath. She placed her hand against his chest, where his heart beat with his need for her. "I love you, too," she said. "For all eternity."

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