Kim Harrison - Hotter Than Hell

Crawling back up the length of his amazing body, she smiled and kissed his cheek before nestling close to his side. He tucked his arm around her, using his other hand to brush a stray strand of hair away from her face.

“ Mo gaol, ” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“What language is that?” she asked. The tips of her fingers drifted through the light sprinkling of hair covering his chest, circling his nipples and counting the lines of his rib cage while she rested her head on his shoulder. “You’ve used it before, but it’s not one I recognize. Is it Scottish?”

“Aye,” he answered in a low voice, his brogue slightly more pronounced than usual. “Scottish Gaelic. It’s what my family spoke most often when I was growing up.”

“And what does that mean—what you just said?”

He hesitated a moment, and she felt him tense beneath her. She was about to lift her head and look at him, to find out what the problem was, when he answered.

“My love,” he told her, tone rough with emotion. “ Mo gaol means my love.”

A wide grin spread across her face while a blossom of happiness she’d never felt before unfurled in her chest. At any other time, with any other man, it might feel as though things were happening too fast. But here, now, she knew it was absolutely right. Thanks to the stories she’d heard about Dougal since childhood and the dreams she’d been having about him on a regular basis since adulthood, she felt as though she’d known him forever.

“Is that what I am?” she asked. “Your love?”

She held her breath, waiting for his reply, a thousand thoughts racing through her brain depending on his response.

“Yes,” he said finally in a near whisper, “I think perhaps you are.”

At that, she inhaled sharply, tipping her head back to meet his eyes. Her own felt suspiciously damp. “I think you are, too. Mo gaol. ”

With a growl, he swooped in to capture her lips, kissing her with more than passion, more than desire…this kiss was filled with love.

A noise from the upper floor of the keep woke her some time later. From the second guttering candle on the small tabletop, she suspected hours had passed while she and Dougal had slept the sleep of the exhausted and thoroughly sated.

The sound came again, and she sat up, Dougal doing the same beside her as they both became aware that someone else was in the castle with them.

He rose, grabbing his clothes and quickly starting to dress. Scrambling across the dirt-covered floor, she found her own jeans and t-shirt and wiggled into them.

Dougal headed for the stairwell, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait,” she said in a hushed whisper. “Let me go up and see who it is. I’ll try to get rid of them so you won’t be seen.”

He hesitated, and she felt the rigid muscles of his forearm twitch beneath her fingers. But then he nodded, and she started forward.

She jogged silently up the stairs, wanting to catch whoever was snooping around before they reached the back of the keep and discovered Dougal’s secret lair.

Near the front entrance of the castle, a man stood by her things, leaning on a gnarled walking stick as he surveyed her sleeping bag, camera bag, and the other assorted things she’d brought for her stay at Castle MacKay. He was older, with white hair and a full white beard. His worn and patched work pants were held up by a pair of red suspenders over a plaid flannel shirt.

The ball of dread that had been sitting so heavy in her stomach broke up and disappeared as she recognized him as one of the patrons of the small cafe in town where she’d stopped before making the rest of the trek to the keep. Mr. Abernethy, she thought was his name.

“Hello,” she said, stepping forward, her fingers buried casually in the back pockets of her jeans.

Mr. Abernethy’s head came up, and he smiled, backlit by the bright morning sunshine of another beautiful Scottish summer morning. As he turned, she noticed the walking stick wasn’t the only thing he was holding. He also had a long, dangerous-looking shotgun tucked under his other arm.

She swallowed hard, stopping in her tracks.

“Hi, there,” he said, his accent similar to Dougal’s. “I came to see how you were doing up here in this place all alone.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she told him. She forced her lips to curve, her shoulders to relax in an “I’m not hiding anything” pose. “Taking a lot of pictures, making a lot of notes. It’s beautiful up here.”

“Good, good.”

When he started forward, still scanning the place with blatant curiosity, she quickly did the same, moving closer to the front of the keep to keep him from getting near the back. She had no doubt Dougal was standing at the top of the stairs, just on the other side of the opening that led to his underground room, and she wanted to keep Mr. Abernethy as far away from that spot as possible.

“They say this castle is haunted, did ye know that?”

Not haunted, she thought, occupied. There was a difference.

“Yes, so I’d heard,” she responded, doing her best to nudge him back outside. But he seemed happy right where he was, and didn’t move. “That’s part of the reason I wanted to visit.”

“Have you noticed anything, then? Anything…out of the ordinary?” he asked, his eyes moving all the time, scanning the surroundings.

Not unless he considered a man cursed to bear the traits of a mythical beast out of the ordinary.

“No, nothing. It’s a great place, but I haven’t seen or heard any signs of otherworldly inhabitation yet.” She gave a light chuckle, trying to lighten the mood and emphasize again that there was nothing going on here that he needed to be concerned about…on her behalf, or his own.

“Well…” He scratched his chin through the thick hair of his beard. “I guess I’ll be letting you get back to your work, then. If you need anything, just let us know.”

“I will,” she said, happy that he was finally leaving. “Thank you.”

Abernethy started to turn, but before he was all the way around, he stopped, his head swinging back to stare over her right shoulder with a keen, sharp gaze.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice going cautious and alert.

“What?” she repeated, turning in the direction of his gaze, even though she was pretty sure she knew exactly what he’d seen. “I don’t see anything.”

And she didn’t. But it was possible Dougal had peered around the corner just long enough for Abernethy to spot him. Dammit.

“There’s someone back there.” Abernethy took a single, dogged step forward, his boot crunching on the dirt of the floor.

“Mr. Abernethy, there’s no one there,” she told him firmly, moving directly into his path. “I’ve been here all day, exploring, taking pictures. If anyone else had come into the castle, I would know it. I knew you were here, didn’t I?”

But her assurances didn’t sway him one bit. His gaze never faltered from the dark doorway to the underground room.

“There’s someone there,” he said, lower this time, and with a distinct edge to his tone.

Bringing the barrel of his shotgun up and positioning it for easy firing, he stalked forward.

“No.” She threw herself in front of him, shuffling back as he advanced. “Mr. Abernethy, no one’s here, and I’d appreciate it if you would leave.”

He didn’t even acknowledge that she’d spoken, but continued as though he was hunting an elusive prey.

“Mr. Abernethy. Mr. Abernethy, please.”

She pushed at his chest, pressed up against him, and used her body weight to try to halt his advance. Finally, he stopped, but it was only to raise the shotgun to his shoulder and aim it at the darkness that concealed Dougal’s presence.