Vacation with a Vampire & Other Immortals (11 page)

E
mma’s kidnapper/hero lived in luxury.

His palatial estate took up half a city block not far from Princes Street, and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of Edinburgh twinkled like fallen stars. Inside the house, she stood in a book-filled study, with a fire blazing in a man-size hearth. Leather chairs dotted the floor as if silently inviting guests to get comfortable.

She was so far from comfy, Emma thought she might never relax again.

Her gaze slid to the man standing with his back to the fire. His coat and sword were gone and still he was formidable. Broad chest, muscular legs and thickly muscled arms—the man was a walking weapon. She should be terrified of him—and yet, there was something inside her that…yearned. That ached for him. Wanted to crawl inside his embrace and stay there. Ridiculous, she told herself. She was clearly having some sort of delayed reaction to what had happened to her.

“Think, Emma. What would a Cirico demon want with a Campbell?”

“I don’t know,” she said for at least the fifth time since he’d brought her here to this…palace. For the past hour, he’d questioned her, made her repeat her conversation with Derek and in general hadn’t given her a moment’s peace. “Until an hour ago, I didn’t even know there
were
demons.”

“Yet he found you. Marked you.” Bain nodded at her neatly bandaged arms.

For a second or two, she remembered him carefully rolling her long-sleeved shirt up and tenderly bandaging the slices Derek’s fingernails had made on her skin. In those moments, Sinclair had seemed gentle. But it hadn’t lasted long.

“What does that mean exactly?” she asked. “He ‘marked me.’”

“He’s tasted your blood—”

“Don’t remind me—”

“When he escapes again—”

“When?”

Bain nodded. “The blasted demons never stay gone for long. And once he’s out, he will find you.”

“Oh, God.” Her knees folded and she sat down right where she was, landing on an ornate rug that was more beautiful than padded. “What can I do?”

“You will stay here. With me.”

A decree, she thought, said with the same tone of authority that an ancient lord of the manor would have used to an annoying peasant. She wanted to be insulted, but, really, she was grateful. And what did that say? She didn’t know this guy from a hole in the wall. For all she knew, he could be just as crazy as that…
demon.
But no. Her mind argued with her even as she considered it. He wasn’t crazy. He was the hero in this picture. He’d saved her from whatever Derek had had planned. And he’d brought her here and bandaged her—she remembered the soft touch of his hands on her skin and recalled, very clearly, the buzz of sensation just being near him had caused.

So yes, she was grateful to him and intrigued by him and, God knows, she didn’t want to think about facing Derek alone—still, she couldn’t just stay here with Bain Sinclair indefinitely.

“For how long?” she asked.

Those wide shoulders moved in a lazy shrug as if her question were of no consequence. “For however long it takes.”

She shook her head, despite the tremors racking her body. “I can’t do that. I have classes. Obligations.”

“You will stay.”

Emma lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. She never had been one to follow orders easily. Even when it was the logical, rational thing to do. “You can’t make me.”

Bain smiled at her as he walked stealthily across the room. “I can and I will. Where would you go for help if not to me? The police? They’d think you crazy. Lock you away and then the demon would have you.”

“Damn it.” He was right. But that wasn’t her only option. She could catch a plane and—

“Would you think to run to your home in America? Would you lead the demon to your family?”

She glared at him. “How are you doing that? Reading my mind?”

“For you, Emma Campbell,” he said, not bothering to answer the question, “there is no one but me.”

“Madison,” she corrected absently, hating to admit that he was right. She couldn’t very well take a plane to California, leading Derek right to her family’s door. “My name is Madison. My mother was a Campbell before she married.”

He sneered and in that movement she saw him as he should have been. Standing on a Highland mountain, hair blowing in a cold wind, bare, muscular legs braced wide apart, a kilt flapping at his knees and his plaid tossed over one shoulder. The image in her mind was so real, so detailed, it was more like a memory than imagination.

Oh, Emma had read plenty of books with Highland heroes, and Bain Sinclair was the personification of every one of them. Arrogant. Proud. Determined. Funny that she’d never before realized how annoying those traits would be in real life.

“The Campbells have been known for treachery since time began,” he said, sneer still in place. “Diluting that blood through marriage does not change it. I knew many of your clan in the Highlands where I grew up, and learned early never to trust one of them. Tell me, then, why I should trust you.”

“Nobody asked you to trust me,” she reminded him. “You’re the one who carried me out of the university library and brought me here. You’re the one who’s insisting I stay. I don’t even know you. Why should I trust
you?
”

His lip curled, defining that sneer of his even further. “As I’m the one who saved your pretty backside from a hungering demon, I’m thinking I’ve earned the right to demand the trust of a Campbell. Yet, I warn you. If there’s a Campbell involved in demon treachery,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “I’ll discover the truth of it. You can no more hide the truth of it than you can hide the blood that runs in your veins.”

Emma refused to have this conversation sitting at his feet and looking up at him. She stood, stabbed her index finger at him and said, “My mother is a Campbell and is one of the nicest human beings on the
planet.
Don’t you talk about her like that. And while we’re at it, I’m the one who should be worried about trusting
you.
”

“I’ll remind you yet again that I saved your beautiful hide, didn’t I?”

Beautiful?
Not to mention
pretty backside?
She shook her head.
Concentrate, Emma.

“I could have handled him myself,” she argued. “Eventually.”

He laughed and the sound nearly rattled the windowpanes. “Lie to yourself all you want, woman. But don’t expect me to believe it. You were a tasty morsel to the demon and well you know it. If not for me—”

“Which begs the question,” Emma interrupted, “what were you doing there, anyway? How come you were so handy to the scene? For all I know you were working with Derek the Troll.”

“You accuse me of being in league with a demon?” He looked astonished at the idea.

“How do I know?” She waved one hand at him. “You’re the one carrying a sword for God’s sake. You’re the one who kidnapped
me.
I didn’t ask for any of this. And besides, we know I wasn’t working with that thing. It almost killed me, remember?”

“He could have, but didn’t,” Sinclair told her, studying her carefully as if looking for some sign that she was what she claimed to be. She saw wary suspicion in his eyes and Emma stiffened. “He wanted something from you.”

“Well, I don’t know what. What could a demon want with me, anyway? I’m a student, for pity’s sake,” she muttered, then narrowed her eyes on him. “And I’m pretty darn disappointed in Scotland, let me tell you. I’ve dreamed about coming here all my life and never once did I dream about
demons.
I thought this was going to be a fun trip to a gorgeous place and all of a sudden it’s a nightmare.”

“Edinburgh is not all of Scotland,” he said, dismissing the ancient city with another of his sneers. “’Tis a city like any other, with too many people and too many cars and too much noise for a man to think. There’s good and bad here, like any other city of its kind. If you want beauty, you must go to my true home. The Highlands.”

For one brief moment, her heart fluttered. It was the way he said the word
Highlands.
Like a man missing a lover. She heard his affection for the place in his tone and knew that this at least was one thing they shared. Emma had been reading about and dreaming of the Highlands of Scotland for as long as she could remember. But she only said, “You’re no Highlander. You don’t talk like one.”

He frowned at her. “How am I supposed to speak, then, lass?”

“You know—” she waved one hand at him “—doona, dinna, canna, willna…”

He stared at her for a long minute and the flames crackling in the hearth were the only sound in the room beyond the pounding of her own heart. Then he laughed again. He threw his head back, planted both fists on his hips and laughed loud and long, the booming music of his laughter echoing off the walls, the ceiling and settling down over her like a warm blanket.

Despite her anger, Emma felt something inside her stir in response. Her blood heated, every nerve jangled in anticipation. There was something old within her. Something ancient. Something that recognized this man. She felt as though she’d been waiting for him. She didn’t understand, but as she watched him every cell in her body leaped to life as they never had before. She
knew
Bain Sinclair with a bone-deep knowledge that had no explanation.

She’d never experienced anything like this before. Emma’s earlier worries about being with him disappeared as she realized that through the fear and the worry and the confusion one thing rang clear in her mind. This man was where she belonged. This man was sanctuary.

This man was
everything
.

When his laughter finally died away, he looked down at her, still grinning, and Emma’s heart stuttered painfully in her chest.

“That’s foolishness, lass,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. His gaze was steady and so pale a blue Emma felt as though she were looking at pieces of the sky.

“No Highlander talks like that. At least, not anymore.” His smile faded as he led her to a nearby sofa, sat her down and then seated himself beside her. “Centuries ago, perhaps.” He looked toward the window, but his gaze was fixed on something much farther away than the night outside. “Many things were different then. We walked our land as kings and fought and held it against countless enemies. But times change and a wise man changes with them.”

“We? Centuries?” Her voice was a whisper. Her gaze locked on his profile as he seemed to stare into a past she could never fully understand. Was he really saying what she thought he was saying?

She swallowed hard. He spoke as if he’d seen those changes come and roll past. Had personally ridden the tide of history. It didn’t make sense, but then what about tonight’s happenings did? Why shouldn’t she be sitting in a veritable palace in Edinburgh with a Highlander who was as mystical and mysterious as the feelings he engendered inside her?

He turned his face to hers, looked deeply into her eyes and said only, “Aye, lass. Centuries.”

She met his gaze and saw the truth shining there at her. Of course he was centuries old. Of course he was part of the magic of Scotland. Breath caught in her lungs, she whispered, “How many?”

“Several.”

Her stomach did a quick pitch and roll before cautiously settling again. It seemed impossible, of course. No one lived forever. But what about that night so far
had
been possible? Emma gave herself a mental pat on the back for accepting this latest piece of craziness so easily. Was her brain just giving up the fight for logic? No, she thought, with another good look at Bain Sinclair. It wasn’t hard to believe in what he was saying because he was exactly the kind of man legends were built around.

He met her gaze squarely, silently, as if giving her time to adjust. But in a very weird way, knowing that he was centuries old made perfect sense. He was simply too
male
to be a modern-day man.

“You’re telling me you’ve lived hundreds of years.” Her gaze moved over his features, cataloging them carefully, etching the harsh planes and angles into her memory. Unnecessary, though, she thought, since a part of her recognized him. Knew him. He looked no more than thirty-five, yet his eyes were as ancient as time itself. “How is that possible?”

“I’m an immortal.”

“Immortal.” His features were calm, almost dispassionate, and she knew instinctively he wasn’t lying. She took a deep breath, blew it out and dragged in another one. “Oh, God.”

“I’ll not hurt you, Emma,” he said, then frowned slightly, “unless I find you’re in league with that demon, after all.”

“I’m not, but you…” She pushed both hands through her short, red hair and rubbed at her scalp as if she could somehow slow down her racing thoughts with a quick massage. “How—when—why?”

Still keeping his gaze locked on hers, he said softly, “I died in 1046 and was made an immortal Guardian. We few protect this world from the demons trying to destroy it.”

“Immortals. Demons,” she whispered, caught in the heat of those amazing eyes of his. “Guardians, for Pete’s sake. One of us is really crazy, Bain. And I don’t think it’s you. So what does that say about me?”

“That you’re a woman with a cool head on her shoulders,” he told her, one corner of his mouth tipping up. “One not willing to take things at surface truth. A woman who trusts her instincts.”

“Right.” She blew out a breath, scrubbed her hands up and down her forearms and felt the bandages he’d applied as soon as he’d brought her here. He’d saved her from Derek. Treated her cuts. Fed her. Was offering her protection. And now, he’d trusted her with a secret she knew instinctively he didn’t share with many others. She was being pulled into a world she never would have thought existed and somehow…it felt
right.

“I don’t understand any of this,” she whispered. Emma looked at him and knew that everything he was saying was the absolute truth. But her heart was at war with her brain, that still screamed for logic.