Highlander’s Curse (9 page)

Not that she’d dream of complaining about her accommodations. She knew how lucky she was the dig organizers had found this wonderful old bed-and-breakfast so close to their dig site. Swan House fairly resonated with history. And having access to a wireless internet connection, even as unreliable as it sometimes was, was a rare and unexpected blessing.

“Dun Ard,” she murmured, her fingers flying over the keys.

To her surprise, it popped up on the first page of entries. Not a town at all but instead, an ancient family holding turned into a rustic-looking hunting lodge. A quick MapQuest search informed her that the lodge was within a few hours’ drive from here. With the rain, there would be no site work today and because of that, no reason she couldn’t use one of the vans.

She didn’t have a single excuse not to do this. None except her own cowardice, and that was the one excuse she simply wasn’t willing to accept.

Less than an hour later, freshly showered and more determined than ever, Abby stepped into the hallway and headed down the stairs. She refused to allow herself
to dwell on what would happen once she reached her destination, instead focusing on the journey itself.

Too much thought on what she’d do when she actually came face-to-face with the inhabitant of her dreams, and her determination might well evaporate before she even got started.

“Abigail!”

Her footsteps faltered as she recognized the voice of her benefactor, Jonathan Flynn, the man responsible for her great fortune in being chosen for a coveted spot on this dig.

“Where are you headed so early this morning, my dear? I thought the rain delay would have everyone sleeping late.”

“Sightseeing. I thought rather than waste the day, I’d take in some of the countryside.” The lie fell from her lips as easily as if it were truth.

“What a marvelous idea.” Flynn’s face creased in a smile as he approached. “I’ll join you on your explorations, if you don’t mind. I’ve been wanting to get out and about a bit.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Flynn. I’d really prefer to go alone. I’ve begun work on my initial findings report and I need some time to think through what we’ve found so far and what the implications are.”

Abby hoped the lie would satisfy him because, truly, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But considering the fact he’d made it obvious on more than one occasion that his interest in her wasn’t entirely confined to the professional arena, somehow, confessing she was off to hunt for a man who haunted her dreams didn’t seem a wise idea.

“Jonathan,” he corrected, any real emotion masked by the false smile he so often wore. “We’re far too close for such formality, Abigail. It would mean so much to me if you’d but use my given name. As I’ve asked you before.”

“Jonathan,” she murmured in response, a ripple of guilt troubling her conscience. Yes, he’d asked before. And, yes, she’d ignored the request, not wanting to lead him on.

“That’s better. Here, then.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “Take my car. I’ll feel better knowing you’re driving it rather than one of those lumbering site vans.”

“Thank you, Jonathan.”

She reached for the keys, surprised when he captured her hand.

“My cellular phone is lying in the passenger seat, just in case you need anything. You have the number for Swan House with you?” He paused, not continuing until she nodded her affirmation. “Very well. Be careful, my Abigail. The roads are wet and narrow. I’d be quite distressed should any harm befall you.” With that warning, he lifted her hand, brushing his lips against her wrist before letting go and walking away.

Abby let out a shaky breath and all but ran through the big front door and down to the car park. Once in the vehicle, she wiped the rain from her face, fastened her seat belt, and leaned her head back against the plush leather headrest.

Was this whole road trip a huge mistake?

With a last glance back toward the house, she started up the engine and pulled out onto the road. She hadn’t seen Jonathan standing in the parlor window watching
her, but she was sure he’d been there. It was as if she could feel his eyes following her.

Jonathan Flynn was a great guy, the kind of guy most women would give their eyeteeth to have show an interest in them. Perhaps it was only that his interest in her was
so
obvious—and the teasing she took from the others on the team as a result of it—that made her uncomfortable.

He certainly had been blessed with all the prerequisites to classify him as a perfect catch. He was wealthy, handsome, intelligent, and generous to a fault. She knew that she should be feeling lucky to have caught his eye.

Instead she simply felt uncomfortable.

Again she sighed, tightening her hold on the steering wheel.

More the fool, her. Here she was, driving away from perfect catch material, headed toward some mystery dream man she’d met only once. One who’d never bothered to try to see her again after spending that one night with her.

Which probably should tell her something important about her own mental state, not to mention what kind of guy this Colin MacAlister really was.

Abby chewed on the corner of her mouth, considering for a moment whether to turn the car around and head straight back to Swan House.

No. She had to do this. It was the only way to get Colin MacAlister out of her system. And without a doubt, she’d reached a point where getting him out of her system was the only way to save her sanity.

W
ill you be wanting yer tea here in the sitting room, Mr. Flynn?”

Flynn O’Dannan turned with a start toward the elderly hotel keeper, shaken by her use of his name. Of course. She thought it his surname. Not for the first time he silently acknowledged the foolishness of his having used any part of his real name in this charade.

“Yes, thank you. Over by the fire will be fine.”

He turned his back on the woman, stroking his thumb and forefinger against his chin as he peered through the ruffled curtains to watch Abigail drive away.

Abigail. So trusting. So innocent. So absolutely desirable. The latter realization had come as a pleasant surprise over the last couple of weeks. Having her turn out to be the one he sought would certainly bring an
unexpected bonus. But was she the one? Was she all Mortal or was it the Faerie blood rushing through her veins that called to him?

She’s Faerie!
Every one of his instincts screamed the accusation every time she came near. And though his instincts rarely let him down, he wanted proof before he made any drastic moves. Absolute, irrefutable proof.

But how?

Just a taste. Her blood can’t deceive.

No! With a snort of disdain, he turned his back on the window to take a seat by the crackling fireplace. He would not allow the demon Bloodlust to lure him down that path again. He had more than enough poor choices haunting his past without adding another.

Joining the rebellion against the Earth Mother had been only his first mistake. His second, choosing to follow Reynard Servans, had been equally unwise.

As always when he allowed himself to dwell on the past, fear and regret curdled in his stomach as if it had been only yesterday.

His poor choices had resulted in his being exiled from his home world, banished forever to the Mortal Plain, his precious magic stripped from him.

Drawing on his inner discipline, Flynn loosened his grip on the arms of his chair and reached for the now cooled cup of tea.

That was all behind him now.

Once he’d faced the truth of his reality, he’d found the power to move forward. He wanted nothing so much as to go home to Wyddecol. Not to rule, but simply to live peacefully in the home of his ancestors, bathed in the glow of Faerie Magic.

Lo, but he missed the feel of the Magic coursing through his body!

Just a taste.

His grip on the cup tightened as he fought to ignore the ever-present demon.

There was a better way, though it required time and patience. A female descendant of the Fae could locate and open a portal to the Realm of Faerie. He needed only to find such a woman and convince her to help him. The woman he needed was Fae, but she was Mortal as well.

In Abigail Porter, he hoped to have found such a one as he sought.

Mortals were, for the most part, easily manipulated if you were clever and patient. Take the time to win a Mortal’s heart and she’d do anything you asked of her. Winning Abigail’s heart should be an easy enough task. In his experience, Mortals were vastly materialistic. He had only to shower her with her heart’s desires to win her over, and that was something he could certainly do.

Once he was sure she was the one.

Too often he’d seen the results of mistaking some woman for what she was not. And as for him, he was through making mistakes.

Flynn reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black case. One glance inside assured him the GPS tracker in his cell phone was functioning properly, giving him an accurate record of wherever Abigail traveled on this little jaunt of hers. He’d worked far too hard to find her to carelessly allow her to slip away now.

Not that he actually thought she’d run away. Already he could feel her molding to his desires. Even on a day
off, she chose to spend her time working on his project, to make it better, to please him.

Rising to his feet, he walked back to the window, staring off into the distance, thoughts of Abigail filling his mind. Filling his senses.

Just a taste.

Once again he rejected the lure of the Bloodlust. There was a better way. Win Abigail’s heart, and she would do his bidding without question. A better way, and though it would take time, he had all the time in the world.

T
he rain had turned to a fine, light mist by the time Abby pulled into the car park at Dun Ard. Her stomach knotted into a tight little ball as her foot hit the crushed gravel and she fought the urge to turn around and run as she made her way down the walk and up the massive stone stairs.

This was it. In a matter of moments, she’d be face-to-face with the man she couldn’t seem to escape. Though she’d played that meeting over and over in her mind as the miles had slipped past, now that she had arrived, she still had no idea what she’d say to him.

Hi, remember me? We slept together that one time. You kissed me good-bye and my lips tingled for a week. I’ve dreamed about you making love to me every single night since then.

Yeah. Probably not. If he didn’t already think her a stalker, that little speech would push him over the edge.

At the top stair, her stomach flip-flopped again. What if he didn’t remember her? What if he wasn’t here? What if they’d never even heard of him?

A fine, prickly layer of perspiration broke out on her skin, and she dragged a hand over her forehead before opening the door and stepping inside.

“Good day, Miss. Welcome to Dun Ard.” A smiling, ruddy-faced woman stood up from her seat behind a large antique desk, extending her hand in greeting. “I’m Margaret MacAlister. Are you looking for lodging?”

“No. I’m . . . uh . . .” Abby gulped in a breath, hoping to steady her shaking voice. “I’m actually looking for someone. Colin MacAlister. Is he here?”

The woman’s smile disappeared, a suspicious frown wrinkling her brow as she clasped her hands at her waist, looking for all the world like the disapproving headmistress in an old English movie.